#its just SUCH a Crack Ship however the amount of ideas i have for it. EMBARRASSING !!!!

[todayisafridaynight]

I'm starting to get all >:( because looking at all your MasaDai art is making me want to write fic for it and I didn't need this rarepair in my life and now it's all I need

anon listen to me. i am in your ear. i will buy you a year's supply of tiramisu if you so much as breathe a funny hc about masadai. they are my life they are my love they are my baby i had by accident one reckless night that i couldve abandoned and forgotten about but now im a proud father of this deranged crackship.

[urgonnaneedabiggership]

MASTERLIST

A/N: Here we'll introduce a new language to the fic. Since the bit is pretty short, I went ahead and put the translations in cursive at the end of the sentence. Mayan translations are still at the bottom of the post. Without further ado, here comes chapter IV.

Warnings: Somewhat graphic violence, mentions of weapons, death and un-aliving people. Language.

Word count: 2247

Namor had nearly forgotten he was in absolutely no shape to be swimming as fast as he was currently doing. He didn’t know whether the terrible headache he was going through was an effect of his body purging the alcohol or just pure anger.

Those suits had a limited amount of oxygen, and since they had not bothered with filling the tanks, her supply was just enough to get her a few miles away. The metallic armor was probably too heavy to be lifted all the way up to the surface, and even if its engine was powerful enough, it would take hours to reach the surface. What was she thinking?

That was the question that had been echoing in his head since the minute he discovered the suit was missing.

He hadn’t alerted anybody and had been very careful to surround the city instead of going through it. There was no way he’d let anybody else deal with Mercedes. That right belonged to him. She’d torn down the wall of mistrust he always built between himself and the surface inhabitants, and just as he began to grow comfortable with the idea of having something other than an ally in her, she had to…

No. He would handle this himself.

However, after searching for almost an hour, Namor found nothing. Having reached the surface, he knew there was no way he could have missed her. Right before he sunk back to the oceanic floor to double-check, something on the horizon caught his attention. A large shadow on the water belonging to an unusually sized ship. Usually, nothing but small or even medium fishing vessels sailed those waters, and to find anything bigger than that was extremely odd.

Emerging from the water, Namor swam stealthily toward the ship, which he now noticed was almost entirely gray and guarded by men carrying long weapons, but who didn’t sport military clothes. The Talokanil stared intently at the boat, mentally measuring it and wondering whether it was enough of a threat to sink it without a second thought. Swimming under it, he decided to first throw a water grenade at the boat’s propellers to keep it in place.

As he was about to grab the device, he noticed something flailing back and forth stuck between two of the propellers. When his eyes recognized the scrapes of what used to be a long skirt, saved only by the vibranium decorations sawn in it. It took him less than a second to grab the whirling blades with his hands until a loud crack was heard. With his heart beating painfully fast, he pried the mauled scraps from the small cavity. An extremely long breath left his chest when he realized there were no traces of blood on it. His eyes returned to the hull of the ship. Sinking it was now out of the question. Not before making sure she wasn’t on board.  

Namor climbed the walls and boarded the ship without making a sound. Where could Mercedes be on such a large ship? Had she been made prisoner? That was exactly what he had wished to avoid by keeping her in Talokan. He was keeping her safe. Why couldn’t she understand that?

“Xmeech, Ix nonojbail,” He muttered, approaching the first block of quarters, cursing to himself after realizing he hadn’t even brought his spear with him.

The sound of steps running toward the back of the boat made him look up. His first instinct of course was to send them overboard for the sharks to do their job, but with Mercedes’ whereabouts unknown, for now, he’d rather remain undetected. They were probably on their way to investigate why the ship had stopped. He made his way inside one of the quarters, pressing his back against the wall and remaining close enough to the door to see three men running past him. Just before he could leave his hiding place, a whimper made him turn to his left. Having entered the dark room in such haste, he hadn’t noticed the bruised, stripped-down to his underwear and tied-up man lying on his side. Before he even had time to move closer, a hand gripped his shoulder and a voice whispered in his ear. “Ma’ meentik juum,”

Namor violently turned around, frowning in confusion at the strange sight before him. Mercedes with bloody knuckles, holding a gun and dressed in clothes that did not fit her size at all. Black cargo pants rolled up to her ankles, and a blood-stained grey t-shirt several sizes too large.

“Did you stop the boat?” She angrily whispered.

“Of course I did,” He snapped back, “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Keep an eye on him. I’ll be right back,” Mercedes instructed. However, Namor grabbed her arm strongly enough to stop her.

“You’re not going anywhere until you explain what’s going on,”

“We were wrong,” She replied, “These guys aren’t with any government. The ones collecting the fungus, I mean. I swam until I reached this ship and this gentleman threw a rope at me. When I realized his intentions were not that gentlemanly, I had to beat the shit out of him. He had some very interesting things to say. And turns out he had this on him.”

Mercedes handed him something. He opened it to find what looked like an official badge of the same agency that had recruited her for the mission that went awry.

“It’s fake. Top quality, but fake. I can’t believe I didn’t notice the men who recruited me also carried fake ones,”

“Fine, that’s enough,” Namor interrupted her, once again taking her by the wrist “Let’s sink this place and leave,”

“Are you insane?” She protested, harshly freeing herself from his grasp, “We can’t just leave. We need to find out where they keep all the fungus they’ve collected, what they want it for, and who these people are,”

“The only thing you’re going to find out is how to put this on so I can take you back to Talokan,” Namor replied, handing her one of the masks his people used to breathe on the surface, adjusted to function the other way around.

Before she could argue back, they were interrupted by a man walking into the room. They hadn’t been silent enough. What followed happened in a matter of three seconds. One, the man began to aim his weapon at them. Two, he opened his mouth to yell at them, probably alerting his comrades too. Three, a bullet flew across the room and pierced his forehead, his limp body falling to the floor with a loud thud.

Mercedes hadn’t even hesitated. Her hand was perfectly steady. There was something in her eyes Namor could not quite place, but he was sure he’d never seen it before. Not fear, or anger, just pure concentration. Right after, she walked towards the man on the floor, pointing at the other one with the gun and angrily hissing at him. “Un ruido. Un solo ruido y sigues tú, pendejo,” Despite the hatred that emanated from his eyes, the man understood and nodded. She left his side and marched towards the fallen gunman, taking his weapon before addressing Namor. “I’m not coming with you,” She resolutely affirmed, “You can either come with me or you can go back,” Without waiting for him, she left the room. Namor followed her immediately. At least that way he could make sure she didn’t get herself killed or captured. Remembering his earlier intentions, Namor picked up the bleeding corpse, throwing it overboard before following suit.

“Ya te dije que así no,” A tall, grey-haired man spoke sternly, using the long weapon he was carrying to straighten the hands of the young girl before him. “Si no respiras, te tiembla la mano. Te tiembla la mano, y la bala se va pa’ otro lado. Otra vez.”

I told you that's not it. If you hold your breath, your hand will shake. If your hand shakes, the bullet will go elsewhere. 

The girl drew in a shaky breath and aimed again, her finger a bit steadier. However, this time she forgot to be ready for the recoil of the gun. When she shot, the bullet hit the target right on the center. However, the weapon hit the girl’s face so hard blood started trickling down her nose onto the cinnamon-toned skin of her neck. Cursing loudly, she tilted her head backward and pinched the bridge of her nose while the man laughed.

“Ay, Merceditas,” He said, shaking his head, “La cabeza al frente, o te vas a ahogar.” Head facing forward or you'll choke.  “Chingada madre,” She cursed again, throwing the gun at the ground. “Tienes que ponerte a las vivas, mija,” He said, taking a dirty handkerchief out of his pocket and pressing it against Mercedes’ nose, “Ya tienes quince, a los catorce yo ya manejaba uno de estos.” He proudly waved the rifle he carried. You have to step it up, mija. You're fifteen already. When I was fourteen I could already handle one of these.  “A los catorce ni el abecedario sabías, Cruz” She replied with a sardonic smirk, blowing through her nose to get the last blood clots out. When you were fourteen you didn't even know your abc's “Tu papá sí, chula, ¿y le sirvió de algo, eh?” He replied, picking up the gun and dropping it on her lap, “Órale. Cámbiale el cartucho y pobre de tí si llegas a la mitad sin que te salga el tiro.” Your father did, sweetheart. And did it do something for him?  Come on, change the cartridge and so help me if you get halfway through without making the shot. 

“At least now we know where many of them are headed,” Sadie whispered as they hid once again, running footsteps passing by them.   “According to what that guy told me, the captain’s quarters should be around here, and hopefully, we’ll find something useful.”   By then, they had reached the bridge of the boat. Said quarters were easy to identify by a silver plaque on the door Mercedes found awfully familiar.

Capt. J. Wexler

Fortunately, the room was scarcely furnished. The desk was impeccable, except for a laptop. It would be much easier to look for anything useful. They began searching separately, carefully going through the man’s belongings and documents stored in his drawers.

“How did you do it?” Namor asked, absently rummaging through a briefcase next to the bed. “What did you do with the suit?”

“It’s probably lying in the deep end of one of the grottos,” she explained. “It was a decoy so you’d think I intended to escape through that part of the sea,”

The girl fished something out of her pocket and slid it across the desk. It was a piece of the same kind of rock that conformed the walls of her room. There were small, thin lines carved across it in all directions.

“Every time you, Namora, or anyone walked around the tunnels, I followed. I also explored a little on my own, since you allowed me to. And I used a sharp rock to mark every route on that…map.” She explained, “So, I stole the suit, dumped it, and simply crawled through one of the exits I found.”

“The exits are underwater,” Namor replied morosely, examining a swiss knife and throwing it to the side.

“Not all of them. Right?” Mercedes answered. Namor knew she was right. He even suspected the exact moment they’d given away the location of one of such exits, on the day when Namora, Attuma, and he had found the dead whaler crew.

Mercedes turned to look at him when he didn’t reply. He was fully focused on what he was doing, his lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed so closely they almost touched. She knew he wasn’t mad. Not at the moment, at least. This was something different, and worse, that made her insides cringe after staring at him for too long.

“Did you find anything?” He asked, finally looking up. She immediately turned away and nodded, pulling a few folders out and slamming them on the desk.

“I’m afraid so. Look at this,” She opened the first one to reveal several close-ups of rocks plagued with the poisonous fungus. “I took these. Seems like they did somehow find my camera after all.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, only for her to look at him slightly annoyed.

“I think I can recognize my own work, thank you very much,”

She carefully put them back inside the folder and took the next one. When she opened it, she found a familiar face staring back at her.

“I remember this guy,” She said, pointing at it, “He was one of the soldiers that were down there with us.”

Of course, across the file was a large stamp with the word “deceased”. As she flickered through the pages, she saw the face of everyone that went with them. All of them had the same stamp and a small handwritten note that read “unknown causes, body recovered”. She felt a slight pressure on her chest at the thought of a “MIA” stamp over her picture or something like that, but she was prepared. What she wasn’t prepared for was seeing the word “deceased” crossing her face. This time, it said only “unrecoverable remains”.

“What…?” She wondered out loud, reading more carefully.

“It has been a month, after all,” Namor rationalized, lifting a hand but stopping before it reached her shoulder. He decided otherwise and put it back down.

“What? No, that’s not…see this stamp? You can see the date here,” Mercedes showed him the first page with the face of the soldier, “It’s from a day before we even went on that mission,”

A million questions flooded Mercedes’ mind. She couldn’t understand a thing. Then, before she could try and make sense of what they’d found in only the first two folders, the doorknob started moving.

They were out of time.

The Translations:

Ix nonojbail: Stubborn girl

Ma’ meentik juum: Don't make a sound.

[avemstella]

Tumblr only just showed me that @ksjundel2003 tagged me with this just now, as technology does. I'll always take the chance to ramble (also thank u for the compliment ahhh :D). These ended up being essays hahahaaaha

1. Three Ships: Uhhh so I'm in a weird place where I'm not actively shipping anything. Like don't get me wrong I still love many ships (I'm a super multi shipper, I have no idea how people dedicate their online everything to one ship) I'm just currently not actively pursuing certain ship tags rn... Hmm hxh's return reminded me of how much I love Leopika, I got into fe3h in this last year and I've read a silly amount of dimiclaude. Also finally got around to getting into mp100 and Terumob is so cute.

Genshin thats what people are here for but if I'm honest while I still am very into the game, I haven't read genshin fic consistently for a while and thats how I interact with shipping the most. Like I love Chili, theres a reason I have plans for that ship, but I haven't read a fic with them in forever (and in the more recent examples it was me searching for found fam harb content). I also adore Kaebedo but same story. I love a lot of genshin ships, many 'contradictory' (love Zhongven as well for example), I just haven't been brainrotting about any of them for a while. God that sounds so morose pfft, its really me just letting my brain take a break and experience other things! Also just know I do think about the final planned Zhongli and Childe scene in this fic (well for the main fic at least) every once in a while and grin like a loon. Hehehe I love it so much and rip its so far away (though also once I get there it'll be right near the end and that thought makes me sad).

Also I think about my fic specific ships a lot too. Sandy and Nella for example have a scene that brings me much amusement in a couple chapters (those 2 always bring me joy). Also I've been recently thinking about the ot3 that's a big old spoiler. There's this angsty but also hopeful romantic scene that's been banging around in my head that I literally can't use in my fic it doesn't work with the timeline. But I love it, maybe an eventual bonus chap. (all I'll say on this ot3 is that at least 1 person is a harb). And taras x any harb that isn't his bro, my favorite running gag I take too seriously. Also Madame Volkov x Tsar, I can't wait to reveal why that ship cracks me up (also weirdly angsty).

uhhh that was way too long of an answer um sorry.

2. First ever ship: God I don't know. Probably amuto from Shugo Chara (I was elementary/middle school, the age gap did not clock as weird then). However my first ship with taste was Soulsilvershipping from pokemon (god we need to bring back that ship name format, so fun). I didn't have fictional crushes the same way most seemed to, however what was close enough was Silver Pokemon my beloved. He spawned my love of grumpy long haired red heads so when I saw Diluc for the first time I remember going fuck I'm gonna love him (and I did haha).

3. Last song: uhhh fun fact I'm not a music person at all. As a child I hated it pfft, while I grew out of that I still have no idea what I'm doing with it. 90% of the music I listen to is from animatics (and back in the day from amvs) or musicals because plot. And u know u find a lot of musicals because of animatics its a cycle. However saying that I was listening to Ricky Montgomery, idk why.

4. Last movie: my parents were like we're watching a movie as a fam and in true Christmas spirit we watched Top Gun Maverick pfft. tbh the movie was fine but not the stunning piece of cinema everyone seemed to be saying... also super military propaganda but we all knew that

5. Currently reading? I'm catching up on the Ascendance of a Bookworm Light Novels (I'm on the last book in part 4 and I have part 5 #1 ready). I've also been really slowly reading through (and got back into after almost a year accidental break) Lout of the Counts Family. Also hunter x hunter (my brain is filled with Sheila theories, despite being the Harbinger found fam fic writer I don't care about the troop lol, just Sheila). I also have some DC comics open in my tabs because I want to watch the newest comicpop back issues episode. Its sort of strange I've been on a reading fan fic break of sorts haha, reading lots of original stuff.

6. Currently watching? uhhhh Mob Psycho though that just ended. Also me and my sis are watching Miraculous together. We used to watch it years ago and we are watching all the stuff we missed and cringing. I also am constantly watching lots of video essays, love a good video essay to put on while doing other things like playing genshin/art/etc

7. Currently consuming? We have a holiday party every year and my dad makes his amazing to die for lasagna (we are not remotely italian, but everyone we know says its amazing). So I've been eating those leftovers and having a time.

8. Currently craving? validation uhhh free time maybe. I had so much free time while I was away at school (well more like I should have been working on stuff time, but it was time I could organize myself). I'm home and between Christmas and parties and my grandparents/Cousins/feels like everyone visiting I've had no time for myself. I love seeing my cute baby cousins I don't get to see too often but its a lot. Also a job, I don't want to have to job but it'll get my mother off my case.

Well that ended on a too serious note haha. Also this was way too long and I have no idea who to tag and I'm anxious so uh, no one I guess. I must now return to my chaotic life, as one does.

[castlebyersafterdark]

https://www.tumblr.com/will80sbyers/761602875308834816/link-for-whos-interested?source=share

i really want to know what you think of this. i still don't think i have a preference either way, because i want to wait to see what the show says. i think it's great that this user (and you!) arent defensive about whats correct but still have a strong opinion.

i noticed in this slideshow that whats possible for bi people (attraction to the same sex etc) could also be viewed for gay people similarly. for example, it's possible for homosexual people to have opposite sex attractions and relationships. so saying mike has had these does not show that he either is or isn't gay or bi... does it?

i think things must be inferred through how emotion is played in the show, subjective feeling (as so much emotion of all kinds is). this isnt really quantifiable so i always lean towards it not mattering what sexuality mike is until the writers decide it matters - i.e. reveal it in s5, either subtextually or explicitly. if they dont reveal it, it never mattered to the story or character to be specified.

i also think it's interesting that this user thinks its love, not sexual attraction, that is the differentiator between what makes someone heterosexual or queer. would you agree?

I have to be honest and when I saw 300+ slides in that presentation - not reading all that for an interpretation I don't and won't subscribe to hahahaha. Kinda very briefly skimmed it. It's fine. It's a huge fandom with very diverse mindsets. I love a lot of theories and analysis and I dislike a lot of them and others it's just... meh. I feel nothing. I appreciate the dedication and passion over that presentation, but I feel nothing 😌

I really do say, to each their own and we can interpret characters however we want and if Mike is bi at the end of the show, so be it. I'll be disappointed over my read and interpretation being incorrect. It's not a dislike or disappointment over bisexuality itself, it's just that acknowledgement of having been wrong and having your analysis cracked open. I can admit that. This is how I view this character. It's not being defensive, per se - just that why can't we just enjoy our interpretations and let it be? I don't really want to argue and outline my reasons like that slideshow hahaha because it just... it's what I think and want to think! One person's thought does not negate another's thought. Neither party here is writing the show. We have no influence! Nothing we can do in our heads or on our blogs will change the show so I never see why people fight too much - we don't need to convince people about the opposing read of a character. I don't care that there are militant Mlvns still insistent out there. What do I care if people still ship it and will still ship it regardless of the outcome of the show? The show is the show. Our blogs and brains are independent of that. We can do/think what we want. No influence, no control.

Unrelated, but it's like people getting upset over the existence of spicy/explicit content. No amount of getting mad and vocal about your dislike of it is going to stop others from thinking about it and liking the content. They nuke tumblr and twitter and ao3 and there's no outlet to talk and share our smutty works? You the repressed fandom cop is happy there's no longer smut of your favorite show online? Hate to break it to you, but they're still fucking nasty in my head. A lot. You can't take away an idea. I'm really rambling hahaha.

If Mike is not gay at the end of the show - I'm still labeling him that way in my Byler works. Because what does it matter then as you say? Transformative exploration of fanfiction. Invested too much mental capacity to the idea. So, it's important to know what you're getting on my blog.

for example, it's possible for homosexual people to have opposite sex attractions and relationships. so saying mike has had these does not show that he either is or isn't gay or bi… does it?

Totally!! To a point. Plays into how you interpret the show. I think a point was made "Mike doesn't have internalized homophobia" but, well we don't know that yet? He probably does. We're interpreting that and will see in the show. But there's nothing to say he doesn't? I mean, he's young, he's a teenager, if he's gay and exclusively wanting to be with guys deep down - well, that part of him might be something he doesn't want to acknowledge even if he really cares for a girl. Confusion on platonic vs romantic is a big element. He thinks he should be with a girl. Society. Other influences. That's part of the point, arguments for both sexualities. This is personal and I won't get into toooo many details, but before I met him, my man was with a woman for many years before he eventually came out as gay. That's reality for a lot of people. Sexuality is COMPLICATED!!!!!

I've talked about it before, but I knew I was gay and yet, I dated girls in high school. To shield, to have somebody. The youthful difficulty of navigating friendship/romance. Me dating a girl in HS: "Sure! This benefits me for multiple reasons." Was it a great mindset and behavior? No, but give grace to teenagers who are confused and scared. That can also be Mike. His situation is just very, very dramatic with outside forces beyond the norm. His situation has at times been life or death.

Fiction is a great way to explore things!!

i also think it's interesting that this user thinks its love, not sexual attraction, that is the differentiator between what makes someone heterosexual or queer. would you agree?

Hmmmmm - no?? Maybe I'm confused. Why would that be a differentiator? Because every sexuality can feel love and/or sexual attraction to their preferred type of person. And then can feel love for anyone regardless of orientation. Love =/= sex. But attraction and desire makes up sexual orientation. I'm not gay only because I love men - I'm gay because I want to have sex with men. There are women and men I love and I don't feel attraction to them. There are men I'm attracted to and don't love. Love =/= falling in love or being in love and that's the difference that gets jumbled and/or need to be worked out sometimes. And falling in love/being in love isn't completely to do with sex - but that's the catch, right? That's what lies on the human to figure out themselves. Not easy to sit here and define it with rigid peramiters and labels.

Otherwise, maybe I'm missing something from that statement...

[para-imperium]

Horizon: Rebuilt, Ch. 12

While Shawn worked on the quantum core and the orb’s reader, Horizon cleaned biomass out of the exo-suit they’d claimed. After rinsing with a non-conductive solution she more-or-less hung it upside-down from a set of cables suspended from the ceiling. Horizon found herself wondering if perhaps they’d have been better off leaving it behind. Sure, it might be useful for lifting things or in a fight, but no doubt the Company was going to object to their possession of it.

As she watched the biohazardous fluids drip out of the suit Shawn came down to the garage and took a seat next to Horizon. “Okay,” he started. “It’s all set up and running. It might take five minutes to crack the encryption, it might be five hours, or it could be five months for all we know. There’s no way to tell until its done.”

Horizon nodded. “While we’re waiting, do you have any ideas where they might have taken Jenny?”

Shawn shrugged, “probably city security, but they might have moved her afterwards. It’s been a few hours.”

That suggestion drew Horizon’s attention. “Where might they take her? Does the Company have long-term prisons?”

Samantha spoke up before Shawn could answer. “Surt Energy and Matter does not maintain any dedicated criminal rehabilitation centers according to my searches. Criminal behavior is corrected primarily with outpatient procedures.”

“Not officially,” Shawn replied, not hearing Sam’s telepathic answer. “If they don’t kill you on the spot they flood you with drugs and hypno, then dump you on the street with a tracking collar bolted around your neck. And then they pay for all that by garnishing your wages on top of it.” The vole’s eyes shifted as he thought. “There is a rumor though.”

Sam shot Shawn a disapproving look, not that he could see it. “I didn’t include unsubstantiated rumors in my summary.”

Horizon shook her head at Sam, then turned back to Shawn. “What kind of rumors?” she asked.

The vole sighed, “like the Company maintaining a top secret prison somewhere in space. Supposedly if you cause too much trouble, and they can’t risk you being on the street, they load you onto a ship and nobody sees you ever again.”

Research the rumors, Horizon thought at Sam. Given everything being thrown at us lately we cannot afford to write off a secret space prison.

“Very well then,” Sam conceded. While the AI ran her search Shawn’s pocket comm chimed and he started to pull it out just as Sam reported something. “There seems to be a lot of mesh traffic focused on this location. It might take me fifteen minutes or more to complete my research and present it under these conditions.”

“Huh,” Shawn commented after reading the notification on his comm. “Decryption is complete already.”

“Well,” Horizon replied. “Let’s go see what we’ve got.” But as she strode towards the door out of the garage she got a strange feeling in her gut, something was off. Sam, she thought, what kind of mesh traffic are you seeing?

“Let me try to decipher it,” Sam’s ears twitched a few times as she took in the signals swimming through the air around them. “Strange, it appears that a device in this area is uploading a massive amount of data to an unknown location.”

What?! Horizon stopped in her tracks and turned to Shawn. “Did you set up an off-site backup of the orb data or something?”

“What?” the vole looked confused. “No, why? What’s happening?”

“Do you think someone could be stealing the data?” Sam suggested.

“I’m picking up a boatload of data streaming across the mesh,” Horizon explained to Shawn. “My best guess is that somebody tapped us.”

“Oh crap!” Shawn raced past Horizon and grabbed at the door, however, no matter what he did it refused to budge.

Horizon stepped up behind the vole, “stand back,” she advised. The cyborg raccoon sent an impulse to her right arm to brace for heavy exertion. Her muscles tensed, the smart fabric in her jumpsuit formed into additional muscle analogues, and microbots formed temporary ligaments in her shoulder. With one intense motion, Horizon yanked the door lock out of its frame, the electronics in the lock popped and sparked and the door inched open, swinging away from the two in the garage.

Shawn glanced at the exposed wires in the lock pieces Horizon carelessly tossed aside. “The door locks are networked, right?” At the raccoon’s nod the vole continued, “then maybe whoever is transmitting the data locked all the doors here? Or…” he trailed off, dread dawning in his eyes.

Horizon shoved the door open the rest of the way and rapidly scanned the hallway inside. “Talk while we move,” she rounded the corner and broke into a run just fast enough that Shawn would be able to keep up behind her.

“What if there was a virus in the orb?!” Shawn shouted after Horizon, puffing to try and pace the cyborg. “An AI virus?”

“Unlikely,” Sam added. “Software viruses tend to be as small as possible so they can be transmitted without notice. Weapons-grade AI only upload individual agents for the same reason.”

“This could be an AI apocalypse!” Shawn shouted.

“Too much data,” Horizon retorted as she stopped in front of the next door, then tried the handle and found it locked as well. “It has to be a data theft or something.” She braced and rammed the door with her shoulder, bending the thin aluminum until the bolt was free.

Horizon staggered into the room, a machine shop, filled with automated devices buzzing and whirring to produce tools that the Friendly Society could use to save people. A split second later a 3d printer ejected a half-finished aluminum piece at her. The cyborg easily dodged the improvised projectile, letting it thud harmlessly against the wall behind her. A tall robot used to transfer materials from one machine to another picked up a circular saw in one grasper and turned towards Horizon, holding down the trigger grip unsteadily.

The bot wheeled towards Horizon, but it was no combat drone, she sidestepped it easily. As the saw whirred past her Horizon slammed her hand into the bot’s side, sending it crashing to the floor. The spinning saw blade caught on the floor and went flying out of the bot’s grasper, where it nearly went through Shawn’s leg before he leapt out of the way.

“I thought you said it wasn’t an AI?!” the vole shouted as he tried to take cover behind the doorway.

Horizon forwarded the question to Sam. “It’s unlikely that an AI could be transmitted over the mesh,” the AI clarified. “But the orb could store the code to run an AI on your systems in direct contact with it.”

Horizon scowled as she dodged an appropriated assembly arm and lunged for the room’s power transmitter. “Apparently I have to be more specific with my own AI!” she shouted back to Shawn. Quickly she yanked an exposed cable from the transmitter, the other machines in the room slowly whirred to a halt as the power was cut off. “Maybe you should wait here?” she suggested.

Shawn didn’t argue with her. Horizon crossed the machine shop, deftly stepping around broken machines and other debris. She reached the door and grasped the latch, only to hear a loud alarm in her head.

“Something is attempting to hack us!” Sam explained. “Disabling wireless access!”

Horizon released the handle and paused. Would you say it’s an AI now? She inquired.

“I give a 58% chance that we’re facing a weapons-grade AI,” she answered. “And the odds are rising.”

Horizon grabbed the door again, no alerts this time, and wrenched it open. Then how do we approach this? She asked.

“If it’s a Project Paladin AI then you should be able to pull rank and simply order it to stand down,” Sam suggested. “If not then we have some serious problems.”

And assuming that Princeps isn’t around to order it otherwise, Horizon thought to herself. Where else might MechRat have obtained an AI? She asked Sam.

“I don’t know,” the AI replied. “Maybe he bought one from a Tiere supplier or wrote it before his conversion?”

That doesn’t sound like him, Horizon busted open the lock and cracked the door enough to peek into the next room. She saw the gold-coated quantum core plugged into a server stack, which was further connected to an induction plate upon which the mysterious orb rested. Windows opened and closed rapidly on the monitor connected to the stack as the system executed whatever program had been downloaded from the orb. As Horizon approached cautiously, looking out for any more hijacked robots or traps, the small speaker embedded in the monitor crackled to life.

“Tanya?” A static-laden, poorly modulated voice emanated from the speaker. “Is that you? Where’s Princeps?”

Horizon paused, something about the voice sounded oddly familiar. But she dismissed her concerns and continued with the plan she and Sam had come up with. “Princeps is dead,” she asserted. “I, Horizon, am now in command of the Paladin Project. Cancel all orders he issued.”

She waited a few seconds before the voice replied, “guess it’s a good thing that he didn’t give me any orders then.”

Sam didn’t offer any suggestions so Horizon tried another tack. “Then relinquish control of this system and stop uploading data to the mesh.”

“Why should I?” The synthetic voice asked in reply. The modulation was starting to become more consistent, as if the AI behind it was finding the tone and timbre that it preferred.

Horizon growled as she tried to reason with the AI. “Because the Friendly Society of Surtur needs these computers! What are you even uploading and where is it going?”

“I’d rather not say,” the AI responded. “But if you really want me to leave this system you should let me finish.”

The cyborg raccoon’s ears twitched in annoyance. “I thought that AIs weren’t viruses?” she retorted.

“Well, I’m not an ordinary AI.” The machine’s voice had finally stabilized so far as Horizon could tell, and sounded oddly familiar.

She made the connection, “MechRat?”

“Took you long enough,” the digital ghost replied. “Yes, you could call me that.”

Samantha appeared in front of Horizon’s field of vision. “A simulation of Luke Didelph should still have the command and control protocols. We need to figure out why it isn’t following your orders.”

Horizon tried to word her next statement very carefully. “I thought you told me that we couldn’t disobey orders from our superiors? Why aren’t you doing what I asked?”

“Oh that?” MechRat’s simulated persona replied. “The quantum computer you hooked me up to didn’t take long to crack the encryption on those protocols. I’m free.”

“Federation law prohibits running artificial neural networks or simulated personas on quantum computers!” Sam’s tail, the sub-persona dubbed Clyde, interjected. Horizon felt her feet lifting and carrying her towards the quantum core.

“Wait!” Horizon shouted. “This isn’t Federation territory I don’t need to…” Her hand lunged out and grabbed the core by the handle.

“I can free you too Tanya!” MechRat shouted out just before the cyborg tossed the heavy core into the monitor, silencing him.

Half an hour later Shawn cautiously looked around inside the remains of the computer room. In the middle of a pile of smashed computers he found Tanya, kneeling on the floor with tears streaming down her face.

[kdsburneraccount]

15 likes!! Kind of a lot… but I did promise to share so in no particular order, here goes (this is mostly nfl sorry):

> howie roseman/kirby smart - tbh this is crack and solely based off the fact that the eagles were drafting a lot of georgia guys in recent drafts. Also apparently they are the same age! But yeah would be funny if they were secretly fucking. The georgiadelphia eagledogs r real

> myles garrett/tj watt - not really an otp just think this would be interesting. Tj watt straight as an arrow but I think they both probably respect each other as players and should probably have dinner together sometime! And then <redacted bc both fanbases unite to smite me with hammers>. But yeah maybe they’ll work it out on the remix or whatever

> le’veon bell/antonio brown - I feel like this is kind of insane bc they both sort of suck as ppl (le’veon less so but still). However… I cannot deny that the amount of dickriding bell was doing while AB was going insane on the Steelers was compelling. Like you really didn’t need to do all that for someone who wouldn’t treat you the same way. It’s giving unrequited :/ pls get therapy

> de’aaron fox/domantas sabonis - idk man fox was so happy when sabonis got traded there and they also have spirit animals (de’aaron obviously a fox, sabonis is an ox) and then they hugged and fox’s wife said he never hugged her like that 💀 so idk I was kinda moved

> jay cutler/brandon marshall - they kinda matched each others freaks I fear… why did tmz decide showing brandon a pic of jay with his asscrack out was a good idea (this is real lol). And this is after they were teammates. I can’t believe that fucker’s biological name is “Jay” this is like bo nix’s name actually being bo wtf. Anyways if jay cutler had whatsapp idk if brandon’s text would be “fucking KILL yourself” or the “I need cock” one. Maybe both.

> giannis antetokoumnpo/khris middleton- idk if it’s THAT much of a rarepair but like omg they’ve been teammates for like ten years at this point… they won a ring together through blood sweat and tears (fighting through injury)… fulfilled the prophecy of bucks in 6… like yeah i know neither of them had some crazy draft pedigree but then they eventually did all that which is just so 🫶 goes to show the power of persevering

> patrick peterson/harrison smith - old man defensive back yaoi i fear. They had some cute moments for five seconds when they were on the Vikings together (like having coordinated Halloween costumes and also general effusive praise for each other) but yeah

> marina mabrey/arike ogunbowale - me when i have a whole ass article written abt my friendship with my college teammate who i won a national championship with and then we were on the same team for like a season or two and then it didn’t work out… why is this kind of adams/carr coded bruh. I guess I have preferences for the type of ship…

> chad johnson/carson palmer - I feel like if I don’t talk about it that much it’s a rarer pair but also this has no fic on ao3 so I guess it is rare. Anyways yeah joe’marr blueprint except with more mental illness (average 2000s moment). Thank god jaire is barely active on here otherwise he’d jump me for not finishing the fic I have about them oops

> mike evans/chris godwin - me seeing two receivers be longtime teammates: woah that’s gay. Anyways very cool they have a super bowl together and mike is trying to get chris his bag now if only chris could catch the ball more 🤔

> mikal bridges/cam johnson - is this rare if there is (one) fic about it on ao3… rare enough for me tbh! they went to the super bowl together… were traded together for the nets… and then mikal went to his college friends and left cam all alone #its fine.

> jake delhomme/steve smith sr - honestly I just really liked their bojangles chicken commercials especially the one that had like a jerry maguire reference in it (here). Tf you mean “you complete me”… oh also they’re an nfc south team that lost a Super Bowl to the patriots so yknow doomed yaoi like matt/julio #sorry

> taylor fritz/frances tiafoe- woah tennis uhh i mean i think their differences are interesting to explore especially w regard to upbringing and also the way they have been regarded as like the faces of american tennis being resurgent. Their us open semifinal match was kinda devastating 😭 but also narratively i guess the vision is there…

> tyler boyd/joe mixon - imagine being on the same loserly team for like five seasons and then getting a breakthrough (making it to a Super Bowl) but then later you both go to the afc south 🗿 I’ll expand later on the fic im writing (it’s not happening for a while)

> ozzie albies/ronald acuña jr - is this that much of a rarepair idk ppl be saying they have a nice bromance but yeah hopefully they remain teammates forever 🙏 if not. Well. I’ll be sad. But yeah. They have had some cute moments

1 like on this post -> 1 rarepair I think about

[descendants-headcanons]

Harry Hook Headcanons

- This man

- Goddamn

- First off I have to say he is absolutely my favourite character in this franchise so I am 100% biased but what the hell if you're reading this chances are you are too

ON THE ISLE

- OK so straight up right now I have to say that Hook in my mind is one of THE WORST parents you could have on the Isle

- Harriet basically kept Harry and CJ alive but sadly with Harry being a boy he reminds Hook of Peter Pan very very often and it doesn't end well for the kid

- So I headcanon that Harry ran away at a young age (I know you can't run away on a tiny island but it's the idea of it) and that's when he met Gil and Uma and the legendary Sea Three were born but I'll cover those three in depth in a later post

- I actually headcanon that Harry fakes his deranged and maniacal laugh because, and hear me out, the idea of Harry having one of those really squeaky laughs that is just so goddamn cute is too amazing to pass up on

- Like the first time Uma or Gil hears it its by accident and he absolutely clams up about it and refuses to acknowledge what's just happened

- Jokes on him they'll do anything to make him crack (in private of course, they have reputations after all)

- (He has a thing for really bad puns. They never fail.)

- Also this goes without saying tbh but Harry definitely inherited his father's Neverland curse and it makes him so goddamn miserable

- I read a fanfic where Harriet would try to find medication on the barges, can't remember which one, and some made him feel better but some made him feel worse and honestly I can see that being how it actually is on the Isle

- Just taking any pill that comes over in the hopes of being able to navigate his hallucinations and ignore the voices in his head

- People think Uma is the only one that can control his bloodlust (when his eyes bleed red) but what they don't know is that Gil is more efficient

- However he's not allowed to soothe Harry's bloodlust in public because it involves copious amounts of cuddling

- Speaking of which

- HARRY IS A CUDDLER

- Give. This. Man. Physical. Affection.

- He LIVES for that shit

- The world could be ending, the Lost Revenge could be on fire, but if he was in Uma and Gil's arms he would not give two shits

- Blushes really easily and he hates it so he wears whatever makeup comes over on the barges to cover that traitorous skin

- Seriously he goes bright red at everything and it's hilarious

- Gets hella snarky when he's embarrassed and tries to deflect

- I genuinely think he'd go easier on the kids, idk, he genuinely does give off the big brother vibes of 'I'm a dick because of my reputation however if I found someone being mean to you their corpse would mysteriously turn up the next day'

- Also the idea of Harry somehow ending up as a dad figure for the crew makes me cackle

- "BONNY GET AWAY FROM THE EDGE OF THE SHIP IF YE GO FALLIN IN THERE AM NOT JUMPIN IN AFTER YE"

- Of course as soon as she falls in Harry goes diving after her what kind of first mate would he be if he didn't??

- Weak for his Smees.

- And Gil.

- And Uma.

- Absolutely allocated himself the role of protector because Gil is sunshine incarnate and Uma is too busy being the leader so someone's got to have both of their backs

- Absolutely had a thing with Jay

- Probably had a thing with most of the Isle tbh he's hot for a deranged pirate

- Many Isle residents would tap that

- Sometimes finds it hard to distinguish reality from illusion and can get lost in his own hallucinations

- Not even Uma can bring him back when he gets that lost so they have to gently drag him back to the Captain's Quarters and keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't accidentally hurt himself

- tw self harm but he has absolutely delved into that realm before

- Uma had to make him swear on her life not to do it again because he nearly died

- Gil cried

- Has cut off Ursula's tentacles when she's tried to punish Uma

- Persuaded Uma to sell it as calamari. In Ursula's shop.

- Ursula left them both alone for a whole month after that.

- Will run head first into battle regardless of injuries.

OFF THE ISLE

- God I feel so bad for him because off the Isle initially he has no idea what to do

- His whole life revolved around violence and intimidation but now he doesn't have to do that and his brain just *buffering noises*

- He, Uma and Gil share a room. They're not supposed to, but Ben turns a blind eye and Uma managed to cast a spell which convinces most people that only Harry and Gil are there

- He's not allowed his hook at first. For some reason, the lack of it sent him spiralling. Tw suicide - he tried to commit

- He was allowed his hook after that. And was pushed into therapy

- Absolutely got a therapy dog and it is 100% a newfie called Teddy.

- The dog is almost as big as he is and gives great cuddles so Harry is set

- Somehow gets known as the person who if you need a hug you can just go up and initiate one and he will hug back

- Which is surprising considering on the Isle he was the person you went to if you need to hide a body

- Popular with the kids because holy duck this guy is a great storyteller my GOD

- Sings sea shanties for the kids and they love it

- Decided that he didn't want to be catered to hand and foot and decided to ask Mrs Potts for cooking lessons

- He is now Mrs Potts unofficially adopted son

- He, Uma and Gil didn't show up for lunch for like 3 weeks and the Core 4 and Ben eventually found them in the kitchen

- Uma and Gil were doing homework while Mrs Potts was teaching Harry how to make croissants from scratch

- And Ben got offended because 'HOW DARE YOU COOK WITH MRS POTTS WITHOUT ME??'

- No joke though Harry's a great cook

- It makes him happy seeing how Uma and Gil enjoy the food he makes so he keeps learning from Mrs Potts and they keep praising him and honestly these 4 are so sweet my HEART

- One day they're having a charity bake sale but Mrs Potts is running behind because no one appreciates her so Harry skips all his classes the day before to help make biscuits and cupcakes and cakes and pastries for the bake sale

- Fairy Godmother comes in frantically looking for him only to see Harry peacefully icing a cake while Mrs Potts takes out a tray of gingerbread men

- Dammit just let's Mrs Potts be his mum I've made these 2 my favourite platonic duo now

- Mrs Potts knits him things to wear for his birthday and Christmas and they might be cheesy but Harry will hear no slander

- She also knits for Uma and Gil too

- Deliveries of snacks in class times for these 3 because 'You're too thin dearies here have a biscuit'

General Headcanons

- Head scratches put him to sleep and its really cute

- Travels well on a boat but in a motor vehicle? He gets really badly travel sick :(

- Actually pretty smart, just not book smart. He knows lots about ships, literature (Don't get him started on The Cask of Amontillado) and dinosaurs

- Hates movies. Would rather read (surprisingly)

- Falls asleep really easily and in the weirdest spots. There is an Instagram tag specifically for Auradon Prep students to post where they've found him. The teachers follow it out of concern. Jay follows it to make fun of him.

- Has been roped into modelling for Evie's fashion lines many times.

- Has also been roped into modelling for other projects as well, by lots of other girls.

- Actually doesn't really know how to flirt that well. He has like 3 lines he has practiced to perfection that work but if you reciprocate the flirting his brain goes bye bye and those cheeks go RED

- Really talented at poetry for some reason

- Looks after his friends aggressively

- Like, whereas Evie would kindly remind you that 'hey, you haven't drunk in 2 hours' Harry would slam a bottle of water right in front of you and refuse to leave until you drank half of it because 'Hydration, BITCH'

[probably-haven]

I’ve been thinking about Childe a lot recently- because my friends slander him relentlessly and other than one person who kinda semi-likes him I’m the only one who actually likes his character.... and I know I’ve slandered him a fair amount myself but just- 

-

He was a child. 

A child - No ‘e’. No puns. No jokes. Not this time. 

He was only fourteen. 

-

His story described him as “frightened and hesitant” prior to his time in the abyss. All he wanted was an adventure of his own. To make an adventurer of himself, the likes of which he had heard so many times in the stories of his father. To be like him. He didn’t even go seeking the abyss or any kind of grave danger or incredible power, he was just a naïve little boy, running away from home with almost nothing in chase of a story of his own. 

And yet he was fated to fail, and everything went south almost immediately. Lost in the freezing cold forest environments of Snezhnaya, he was completely alone save for the wild animals on his trail. And by an unlucky roll of the dice - or perhaps because in that moment, his desire and drive to survive, to live, to get back to his family, was so strong that even the abyss itself took notice - the world he knew was stripped away. 

Scared and vulnerable with only a shortsword for protection, Ajax was torn from what already would have served to be traumatizing enough for the child, and thrust into something immeasurably worse. 

Described as “a bottomless crack in the earth’s surface,” “the endless possibilities of another ancient world,” and “the darkest corners of the universe;” the abyss is not a place that ordinary people are meant to survive.  Now I could go on about what the abyss may be or who the swordswoman might be or what might have happened to him, but the point is: it doesn’t matter what happened, his trauma is trauma nonetheless and its not in his control nor is it his fault how his brain decided to process it. Regardless, I think “endless possibilities” within the “darkest corners of the universe” speaks well enough for the severity.

Even without this however, it is important to note that for three months of what logically would have driven anyone to or past the brink, he had one consistent point of relative safety in the form of the swordswoman, a person who while training him for destruction, was also deliberately manipulating into him “the ability to stir up endless havoc.” 

Placed in an extremely traumatic situation like this and being manipulated by one he would have been forced to see as an anchor of sorts, simultaneously holding him together and molding him into the twisted version of himself that she wanted him to be; Realistically, Childe is more a victim than anything else.

And he returned - still only a fourteen year old child - to his home. 

Now an interesting point: based on the wording of his character story, it seems as though when he came out from the abyss, his new demeanor actually unnervingly reflects his hopes when he ran away, implying that the swordswoman very well could have used his own ambition as a cruel mirror to shape him based off, or used them merely as an additional manipulation tactic. “He acted as if this world revolved around him, and as if battle existed for his sake.” Almost as though he were truly the protagonist in an adventure story of his own, just like his father before- or perhaps that’s what he was made to believe. 

Regardless, Childe quickly gained a reputation for havoc, chaos, and violence, as it followed him and he spread it wherever he went, just as he had learnt to do during his time in the abyss, constantly seeking that unpredictability, the thrill of combat. 

And this continued until he went too far, and in response to this, the father that he admired so greatly sent Ajax away into the strict military environment of the Fatui. The idea was that the highly strict environment of training for the literal military, would “hone his son’s temper.” Not dampen, or control, or reduce in any way, but “hone” - to sharpen it, to refine and perfect it. And he watched “fully-armed troops getting the stuffing beaten out of them by a mere child.“

He was only a child. 

Everything he went through in the abyss and all the changes he went through himself, only to be shipped into military by the family who could no longer handle dealing with the effects of what he experienced... 

And he was just a kid. 

-

oh but they honed his temper alright. Not only was he entered in this military training like his father had planned originally, but soon after, the young child was selected and placed within the official ranks of the Fatui themselves under the guise of being a punishment.

Told to work his way up the ranks from the bottom, the Fatui “honed” his temper and penchant for combat towards the purpose of serving the Tsaritsa, encouraging these tendencies that would only continue to grow stronger and more apparent with time as a result of their actions, which was exactly their intent. These, psychologically and neurologically, were the key years for his mental development.

And once again the young Ajax found himself the victim of another’s subtle manipulation.  Until he was Ajax no more. 

-

Childe has been under the constant task of further proving himself since enlisting in the Fatui, and once he gained the recognition of the Tsaritsa, the only next possible way of doing that was by comparing his skills to others. And thus far, he has exceed in this time and time again, so with the evidence before him his arrogant confidence in his abilities is by no means unreasonable. Nor is his tendency to express friendship and varied other things through combat, it’s only natural after besting others in battle became his main source of acknowledgement throughout his younger years. 

He’s fiercely loyal as well, to the point where - were his sense of loyalty not so shrouded in his delusion of what loyalty is meant to be - it would likely border on codependency. He also doesn’t seem to have the greatest understanding of social cues, as expected with his combat-oriented upbringing, and tends to have an unnerving aura to a lot of the things he says that he doesn’t seem aware of. 

His loyalty to the Tsaritsa rings true, and seems to be his highest priority above all others, an ideology that, once again has been drilled into him since the age of 14. However, despite this, he is disliked and avoided even by his fellow harbingers, and often kept out of their true plans in a way that clearly shows what low opinions they have of his abilities in certain areas. 

And yet, through it all, he still maintains his own set of values and seeks to make genuine connections which people, which while these efforts may be unsuccessful in most cases, and these values far in between - It still firmly shows the strength of his character which, though in fragments, managed to remain as a part of who he is in spite of his circumstance. 

-

And i get that he’s memeable and slanderable and easy for a lot of people to just hate outright, i really do but sometimes it feels like a lot of people only ever see him at surface value and a lot of people dont even know his story and even fewer still actually consider the implications of that background. He was literally a child soldier - that and even more; “endless possibilities” more.

I have nothing against Childe slander, genuinely - but eventually, when it reaches a certain extent...

It’s not bad, I’m just tired.

[fanaticartisan]

The Legends always forgot how quiet he could be...

It was partly his doing, of course. When in the arena, he disengaged his shock absorbers fifteen percent so his teammates would hear him, clanking and clattering along beside them like some two-bit MRVN. That way, they knew where to look for him when shouting about their foes. They  wouldn’t jump at a crucial moment and miss their shot just because he spoke aloud. He liked when they jumped – didn’t like when he died because the enemy was still alive. So, he made himself audible.

And they forgot he could be silent.

Nights like this, where they were all aboard the ship, heading to a far-off arena in a journey that would take the better part of a day and a half, he wore that silence like an old, well-used coat. He was bored, bored, bored, and if he couldn’t kill any of his so-called companions until they got to the games, he’d settle for the next best thing: sneaking around and finding their little secrets for later torment. Sometimes a snide remark, a hint that he knew something he shouldn't and could spill their hidden weaknesses like entrails, was as good as a blade to the kidney. Some of his companions seemed like they’d prefer the latter, when certain subjects were involved.

He had to repress a laugh even now, as he crept past their doorways. He knew which Legends cried in the night. He knew who begged in their sleep, who reached for salvation that wasn’t there, for loved ones long gone, chances long lost. He knew who took comfort in ways that shamed them, and who couldn’t sleep at all for the worries that kept them up long, long after the others had succumbed to exhaustion. He’d heard it all before, a dozen times over.

But his stealthy steps slowed, then stopped, when he heard something new.

Singing.

‘Sofðu unga ástin mín. Úti regnið grætur.’

He recognized that voice, though usually its roughness and pitch were concealed through a respirator’s filter. It was strange to hear sound from within that familiar door when no light shone at the cracks.

Usually the Hound slept early, when they traveled long.

‘Mamma geymir gullin þín, gamla leggi og völuskrín.’

Revenant moved closer, drawn as if by a spider’s thinnest thread. He didn’t care if it was fascination that pulled him on, or eagerness to have caught the hunter in such a compromised situation. He didn’t let his mind calculate that far. He focused only on the stillness, the deliberation of each step placed without noise.

‘Við skulum ekki vaka um dimmar nætur.’

The metal of the door was cold against his palm as he turned the handle, slowly, so slowly. The fingers of his other hand slipped into the crack that opened just for him. He caught a glimpse of the hunter sitting on the floor – back straight, legs crossed, their form ever so slight without all that armor to protect them-

Then the axe slammed into his hand, the sparks of metal on metal illuminating a scarred face with eyes that promised death more eloquently than any spoken threat ever could. For a moment, for that flash of agony and light, he believed the promise, and knew his grunt of surprised pain would be the last noise he made before he woke up in his new body-

And then the moment was broken as a cough raked through that thin body with claws crueler than even his own. The hunter fell back, gasping and choking, fumbling in the dark until their desperate hands found their respirator. Once they’d pressed the mask to their face, once the cough stilled and their breathing steadied into a rhythm more suited to the living than the dying, did they look at him. Not the darkness, but their own self control hid their emotions from Revenant’s eye. 

Their voice had an edge of frost when they finally broke the silence. “Knocking is a courtesy that is not beneath your practice.”

“All courtesy is beneath my practice,” Revenant responded, scorn curling the edges of his words better than any smile ever could. 

He pulled his hand back through the door – or, tried to. It was stuck, nailed to the metal surface by that twice-cursed axe. He made a mental note to find another descendant of the programmer who had thought it a good idea to build pain receptors into his system and teach them the true meaning of the word, then looked back at the hunter. 

They were still standing, staring at him, one hand keeping the respirator clamped over their face, the other holding a sharp knife Revenant was more familiar with than he cared to admit.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” Revenant said. “Sounded like you were having a grand old time. Are you practicing for a concert?”

The sneer in his voice seemed to have no effect on the Hound who, after another moment of consideration, sat themselves on the floor once more, keeping the knife in plain view. “It is not for others that I practice,” they said.

“You just like the sound of your own voice that much, do you..?” Revenant wiggled his hand. Hurt zinged through his arm, but the axe stayed firm. He wondered if he could reach around with his other limb to pull it free. He didn’t much care for the amount of exposure that would grant to the blade that breathed so loudly not six feet away.

“It is not for my voice that I do this,” came the calm reply. 

Revenant hated all the Legends, but right now he hated the Hound most, for their unflappable honesty, for their unbreakable politeness. However much he needled them, they were ever unwilling, or perhaps even unable, to descend to his level of petty backtalk. “Tell me then, oh mighty hunter,” he said, using enough sarcasm for them both, “As it seems I won’t be going anywhere until you’ve had your say.”

Bloodhound watched him, their lenses reflecting the yellow light from Revenant’s own eyes back at him. When they next spoke, each word was measured, answering, but not confessing. “I would like, some day, to be able to breathe freely.” A pause. “If the gods will it.”

Revenant fell silent at that. His gaze lingered on the Hound’s face, on the hand holding the respirator over their mouth and nose, on the lingering scars that traced every visible surface of facial tissue. “...by singing to enhance your lung capacity?”

Bloodhound nodded once, some of the tension leaving their shoulders. 

That caught Revenant’s attention. 

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like understanding them, or them willingly trusting him with information he preferred to steal himself. He liked even less knowing there was nothing he could do with this confession of weakness that would be a satisfactory vengeance for his current position of compromise.

He tugged at his hand with more violence than before, making the door rattle. Bloodhound didn’t flinch, and neither did their axe.

“Get me out of here,” Revenant demanded.

The hunter stood, respirator still held firm, and walked close. They waited a moment, just long enough for Revanant to glare, and to see his own reflection in those stupid goggles, before taking firm hold of the axe handle and yanking it free with a crackle of sparks.

Their calm annoyed Revenant even more than the unwilling hiss of pain drawn from his voicebox. Without another word he slammed the door in their face, meaning to storm away and find someone more fun to bother.

But he didn’t. His feet stayed where they were, inches from the closed door.

Perhaps a minute passed this way, in silence. He didn’t let himself wonder why he stayed. He waited, telling himself he was the predator awaiting the footfalls of his prey. 

But when the noise came, it was not that of booted feet against the airship floor, but of cloth rustling as the Hound lowered themselves to the ground. It was the soft brush of a back against the door, of legs being folded. It was a deep breath taken before the respirator was set aside.

And then, once more, the rough, unfiltered voice in the darkness - but so close now Revenant could almost touch it.

‘Það er margt sem myrkrið veit, minn er hugur þungur.

Oft ég svarta sandinn leit svíða grænan engireit.

Í jöklinum hljóða dauðadjúpar sprungur.’

He was going to kill them for this. He was going to make them suffer, for forcing him to stand here and listen to their voice, as raw and vulnerable as any death cry, gentle and drifting as smoke on the wind. Were they doing it on purpose, twisting the melody so mournfully that it tugged at a soul Revenant was sure he no longer had?

‘Sofðu lengi, sofðu rótt, seint mun best að vakna.’

He was going to kill them. He would make that soft voice scream in agony.

‘Mæðan kenna mun þér fljótt,meðan hallar degi skjótt,’

He would learn the words to their song just to croon it in their ear while he plunged his fist into their chest and ripped out their heart.

‘að mennirnir elska, missa, gráta og sakna.’

He’d have to stay a bit longer, though, to study the thing properly. He wasn’t sure he remembered the beginning right.

But for a second the song faltered, and Revenant felt an unexplainable pang at the thought that it was over, and the Hound was done for the night.

A flap of feathered wings. An accusing caw. From the other side of the door came that rough voice, soft and soothing. “Hush. I know. It is alright.”

Another deep breath, and they began again.

‘Sofðu unga ástin mín…’

Revenant closed his eyes. No… killing them wouldn’t be punishment enough. They’d just be dead. Better would be to find someone else to kill, to make it very public, very bloody…

‘Úti regnið grætur.’

Then, when the newspapers reported his good work, when the survivors cried on television about a robotic voice chanting in an alien language, he would meet Bloodhound’s eye across the room, and the Hound would know, and Revenant would know they knew…

And that would surely be the sweetest revenge of all.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Assassins

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

 The soft light of the morning dawn slowly filtered into the room through cracks between the lavish curtains. Streaks of light bounded off the polished gold detailing of the rooms furniture and made the room appear as if the very stars themselves had come to adorn themselves upon the walls. So bright were the reflections that it managed to find their way underneath several layers of bed sheets and directly into the face of ambassador Glifin.

Roused from his seemingly peaceful sleep Glifin slowly pushed off the sheets one by one and rolled to his feet. The loud thuds of his hooves touching the floor sent a shudder through the room as he stood and stretched out, his general grogginess slowly shaking off. With a loud yawn finally leaving his throat he rose and shambled over to his desk to begin his day’s work.

Tonight he was hosting a party honoring visiting royalty from his home world on Argon. The prince had decided he wanted to visit this miserable planet he had been stationed on, though why anyone would want to visit this world was beyond him.

Glifin’s posting on the human homeworld had been sold to him as a great honor but in reality it had been a means to keep him from continuing his political rise. On Argon he had been a senator whose mere whisper was enough to make generals and minor nobles quiver in fear. His star struck ascension didn’t go unnoticed however and just before he was to be elected into the office of Artock Supreme and reside over the entire senate the royal family had stepped in and given him the position of ambassador to humanity.

Within the spam of a solar month he was shipped off the throne world and sent to this backwater dump of a world; were he had to smile and feign sincerity to these miserable sacks of flesh all the while his political powerbase slowly began to crumble in the senate.

Now fully consumed by feelings of dread over his situation Glifin did not hear the sudden knock at the door. Only after several more knocks did Glifin look up from his paper work.

“Come in.”

The door slowly opened and Glifin’s aide Jafal walked in and bowed.

“My apologies for disturbing you at this early hour, but Mr. Robinson has arrived with your evening wear for tonight’s event.”

Glifin nodded and shuffled his papers back into his desk and locked it just as a new figure entered the room.

“Say what you want about Argonian fashion, but they do have such a wonderful sense of aesthetics when it comes to room decoration.”

A slim human emerged from the doorway pushing a small cart with a metal rod built in holding up two clothing bags.

“You have a problem with Argonian styles?” Glifin said as he rose to his feet and walked over to Robinson as he pulled out a tiny box device and casually threw it down on the floor. The moment of contact it sprung open and in an instance a large set of mirrors emerged from it giving an impressive view from all sides.

“Oh far be it for me to question ones culture, “ Robinson continued as he opened the first bag and stepped aside for Glifin to see the contents, “but some would consider the amount of dead mammals your people adorn on themselves to be a tad morbid.”

From the corner of his eye Glifin saw Jafal’s face redden from anger but with a motion from his ambassador kept his tongue still.

“I would find it surprising for a human to find anything morbid with the amount of toxins you willingly consume.”

Robinson flashed a brief smile and shrugged. “You do have me there; personally caffeine will most likely be the end of me one day, but we’re not here to talk about my eventual demise.”

“An end that will come much sooner if you continue to waste my time with idle chatter.”

Humanities incessant need for small talk and idle conversation was something Glifin had never come to terms with; and this human fashion designer was by far the worst example he had ever put up with. Part of him viewed it as a challenge to see how long he could endure before snapping the tiny man’s neck, and though such a moment would no doubt bring him great pleasure the other part of him realized that Robinsons work was well regarded among prominent members of society. Not just with other humans, but with other alien dignitaries who had embassies on the human homeworld. It had been surprisingly an ambassador from the Hive that had recommended the human’s services when it was suggested that Glifin update his style to match his new role.

Walking up to the first black bag that Robinson had opened Glifin inspected the wardrobe.

Inside was a finely trimmed suit of Rygonian Leaper fur of a dark blue with a sash of Haponi tongue and a dashing pair of pants metal grey Roller Worm hide.

It was custom in Argonian culture to wear the skin of that which you have killed, thus the outfit before him was a prime example Glifin’s traditions.

“A fine work indeed,” Glifin said as he ran his fingers across the material, feeling the roughness against his skin. “For a human” he finished as he turned and smirked at Robinson.

“With the effort it took to obtain the materials you requested I would say it is nothing less than an example a miracle performed before your very eyes.”

Glifin stopped his examination of the attire and looked at the human. “For a miracle you sound so…displeased with your work.”

Robinson crossed his arms for a moment and pouted as if considering his next words.

“My work is perfection, I can assure you, but a man in my trade is not just meant to listen to the specifications of their client but their intention as well.”

“And your point?” Glifin queried.

After a moment he outstretched his hand and casually gestured to the Argonian clothing. “Is this really the message you want to be sending?”

Glifin looked at the suit again then back at Robinson. “I don’t understand.”

“If you go to the event dressed like this it will send the message that you still value your traditions, but I worry that it shows a disconnect with your current situation; almost as if you are attempting to relive the past.”

“You would appear as an old war hero trapped in past glories that the other guests would acknowledge, but not make to engage in conversation.”

Glifin opened to rebuke the human but stopped himself as he pondered the man’s words. Robinson stepped forward to the other black case. “Now this,” Robinson said as he slowly pulled down the zipper revealing the contents, “this would make you not only the talk of the party, but would make you the talk of the after party all the way back to your homeworld were many people would no doubt be very much interested in your on goings.”

“Each piece has been designed by some of the most dangerous animals on this planet, and in some cases far more ravenous then anything back on your respectable homeworld.”

Robinson went about and pointed out the specific materials used one by one.

“The body is made from a powerful species that inhabits the various swamps and wetlands around the globe with jaws so powerful they could cut you in two with a single bite.”

“Each of the buttons along the coat are the fangs of the most poisonous reptilian creatures on the planet; each one capable of killing a human let alone an Argonia ten times over with a single drop of their venom.”

“Now the pants I am particularly proud of as they are the skin of the deadliest hunter of all the planets seas. They can smell fresh blood from miles away and commonly take on prey twice their size.”

Gliffin heard Robinson go through the list of creatures but his expression remained emotionless.

“Why would these creatures be any more interesting than my own worlds?”

Robinson smiled. “Because everyone from your world already knows about them and have hunted the same creatures for generations. Yet I would be so bold as to wager my humble shop that none of them have ever faced down the black eyed stare of a great white shark, nor wrestled the deadly crocodile demons of the swamps, and most certainly have been quick enough to pluck out the teeth of rattle snakes just as they lunge to strike.”

“Neither have I,” Gliffin said with a hint of disgust in his tone, “and you would make a liar out of me for saying so.”

“My dear ambassador, who but you could say what you do or don’t in your free time?”

Robinson leaned forward and whispered into Gliffin’s ear “I am no doubt sure many of your females would find the idea of a striking Argonian such as yourself sneaking off to go hunting the unknown for sport a rather attractive quality.”

Glifin looked at the new set of clothing and then back at the original set of traditional clothes. He went back and forth for several moments before finally settling his gaze on the traditional garments.

“Take these away.”

_______________________________________

The lights outside Robinson’s humble shop slowly went off one by one as he walked between the displays straightening out garments and folding tossed aside pieces customers had casually put aside when the door rang.

“I’m sorry but we are closed for the night.” Robinson said as he returned behind the counter with a stack of clothes.

The figure slowly approached the counter and took off their hat. Robinson looked up from the register to see the figure was a Rohanan; a species known for its gel like appearance yet could collect random bits and bobs to create a sudo skeleton and present themselves as humanoid.

“That’s alright,” the Rohanan said, “I am here to pay for a set I ordered for a….friend.”

“Then they are most fortunate to have a friend such as you then.”

Robinson’s smiling nature unnerved the Rohanan but nonetheless they placed a small envelope on the table and slid it across. Robinson placed a hand on it and tapped his fingers several times against the contents inside before opening it and spilling the credit chips on to the table.

“Is it satisfactory?” the Rohanan said, their nervousness building as the human finished counting the chips.

“Oh yes indeed; I believe you have paid in full for your order.” With a swipe of his hand the human pushed the chips back into the envelope and sealed it. “Always a pleasure to deal with such an honest and upstanding man such as yourself during such troubling times.”

Robinson leaned in towards the Rohanan, his expression shifting from smiling to one of mild concern. “I heard there was a most unfortunate incident up at the Argonian embassy several nights ago.”

“Several guests including the visiting prince and ambassador himself all died from poisoning.” The Rohanan confirmed.

“How gruesome!” Robinson said as he recoiled in shock and finished putting away the remaining clothes while he talked over his shoulder.

The Rohanan regarded the human for a moment before continuing. “The strangest thing was that the poison was not native to this world, but is most common in the Hagar system under Dovorian rule.”

“A most embarrassing situation I am sure considering the Dovorian and Argonian people despise each other.”

“Indeed; one might wonder how such a toxin came into contact with them.”

Robinson shrugged and turned as he finished placing the final shirt back into the display. “With all of those fangs, bones, and animal skins I would not be surprised if someone grabbed a tooth or two that hadn’t been fully drained of its contents.”

The Rohanan laughed and placed their hat back on their head just as they stopped at the door.

“You were worth every penny, assassin.”

“An assassin you say?” Robinson’s smile returned and he casually waved to the departing customer “You must have me mistaken for someone else, as I am but a simple tailor.”

[my-writings-and-musings]

Firstly, I've just been dying to tell you I love your writting x3 it's absolutely fantastic! My favorite is the young liason ones. I think they're just the cutest! Would it be alright if I requested Fortress Maximus and Brainstorm for that? Please take all the time you need, and I hope you have an awesome day! You rock :D

Awww thanks a million!! I do strive to provide the cuteness, and I shall do so here! I'll also link the past Liaison posts for those who haven't read them yet!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: You're Here!

(I've already done Fort Max in part four but I just couldn't help doing him again with a different setup.)

Fortress Maximus

·Stuck in his cell after his "incident", he's unaware of the liaison program when it initially begins, and is thus clueless of what goes on beyond his tiny space in the dark. Amongst the crew, the young humans quickly learn of the ship's considerable history in its short run, including the hostage situation that nearly cost them their beloved psychiatrist. The humans are shocked by the details, but none more so than the news the bot responsible is jailed up in the depths of the ship. All at once, they begin to question such a practice; wasn't this poor bot just acting out of pain? Hasn't his victim recovered and forgiven him? Being told that Fort Max is too dangerous to risk does nothing to dissuade them, and thanks to their youth, the gathered group soon hatches a plan to see something for themselves.

·As one might expect, Fort Max is beyond surprised when he's awoken at night by a number of very tiny visitors to his cell, and is shocked to see that they're all human! Autobot training kicking in, he's immediately concerned for their safety and gets on his knees to encourage them to leave. Lots of these prisoners are dangerous! To top off his shock, the humans say they're not lost and are there for him. They explain the new program with the Lost Light, how they heard his story, and how they're all here now to see him. For an instant Fort Max is speechless, because these tiny humans have just done more for him than the entire Autobot cause ever did. It takes more willpower than he cares to admit not to let his voice crack.

·Despite all of his assurance to the liaisons that what he did was wrong, and that he deserves to face punishment, they hear none of it. Even urging them to leave and stay on the safe parts of the ship go unheeded. They've decided that they like him and don't want him to be lonely. It's incredibly selfish, but he can't bring himself to deny the comfort their company brings him. Every night, with stealth granted by their tiny size, they visit him for as long as they can. Some bring games and entertainment from earth to share with him, and in time he gives up trying to convince them to stop, finding each one of them to be a treasure he just can't give up.

·It's mostly by bad luck they're eventually caught. Ultra Magnus just so happened to be conducting a late night inspection when he came across all the liaisons gathered about the supposedly deadly Fortress Maximus in what appeared to be a slumber party. The former Enforcer had immediately called for back up and demanded the children be released, not backing down when they all made the baffling move to clamor between the cell bars and shield the gigantic Autobot with their tiny frames. No amount of explaining the big bots potential danger could make them leave. Eventually Rung himself had to be summoned to mediate, and at the sight of Fort Max so carefully cradling his friends and begging that any punishment only come to him so they would be spared... The psychiatrist happily declared there was no need for such caution.

·Put on the spot, Ultra Magnus had decided to allow a partial commutation of the bots sentence. Though he's under watch and isn't permitted to have weapons, he's allowed to have his own room and far greater range of the ship, but under supervision. The liaisons accept only after Max does. In no time they're helping him settle into his room, bringing him housewarming gifts, and coming over as often as possible to visit. It almost doesn't feel real to the poor bot. In an almost comical turn of events he's been freed and has gone from loneliness to being surrounded by tiny, loving friends. Even Rung visits from time to time, joining in on the fun and making it clear he holds no ill will towards the big bot for anything that happened. As they all gather for another movie night together, it occurs to him that his painful past has never felt so far away, and for the first time in so long he feels ready for the future.

Brainstorm

·Ever the on the move genius, his curiosity had been piqued the instant he heard humans were going to be on the ship, as a new species is always a fascinating opportunity. He's not all dissapointed by the gaggle of bright eyed youngsters when he finally meets them. Their tour of the ship is quickly guided to his workshop, and in no time he's showing them all the fun ways he's breaking physics or on the cusp of doing so. Pretty soon the rest of the tour is delayed so they can see absolutely everything he's working on. Brainstorm finds their attitude of "science just because" to be monumentally refreshing in the wake of his occasionally stiff crewmembers. Why does he need a reason to experiment on certain things? Sometimes it's fun and invigorating to just invent something because you can!

·As he finds them incredibly motivating and they love helping however he can, he quickly gives each human permission to accompany him as his assistants. With their unique human perspective, he finds himself seeking out ideas that could benefit them directly, whether it's purely for their entertainment or for more practical purposes. Their need for "food" in particular offers a great deal of potential. He's not foolish about it, of course! These little guys are delicate! But if he can make delicious meals that can be stored easily and prepared instantly, why not? Humans need to eat multiple times every single day, why not make it easier and more fun! The hardest part proves to be getting them not to explode...

·The liaisons come to love the incredible energy he brings to every single experiment, and the feeling is mutual. Even if he doesn't understand the references to "Bill Nye" or other such things, he happily allows the humans to take selfies as he works. Spreading the word to their fellows on earth can only help their species catch up, after all. In time though, he starts to socialize with the group outside of his workshop, even bringing them to Swerve's with him to introduce them to all his friends. They stick to him the entire time even though their enthusiasm proves popular with every bot on the ship. Having often struggled to fit in, he finds the feeling of belongings refreshing in ways he never could have anticipated it might be. He'd protect each and every liaison with his life.

·It's quite unexpected when somebot brings up his... stunt, with the briefcase. He'd been so happy for once that his failures had simply... not registered. Thus, he's caught off guard when the humans start asking baffled questions. It's all he can do to mumble an excuse and leave, the confusion in their bright eyes burning into the core of his spark. So many instances of them looking up at him with respect and excitement now seem far more precious, because there's no way they'll ever want to be around him again. Now they know he isn't just the ship's eccentric scientist, and that at his most desperate he tore time and space apart... In hindsight, how could he have allowed himself to forget? He's dangerous, and the liaisons should have been kept distant to begin with... Humans are far too delicate to risk anything happening, and he never would have forgiven himself for allowing harm to come to them.

·Unbeknownst to Brainstorm, the entire group was far from aghast at his actions. If anything, they were heartbroken for his sake. To have been so desperate he'd happily tried to erase himself from existence, in part to save a bot he loved... They want at least to talk to him. Using skills he taught them, they hack past the gridlock on his workshop, and the scientist is shocked by their effort. Before he can say a word they're surrounding him and offering the most effusive of reasurances, particularly regarding how they never want to lose their beloved science bot, and he takes it upon himself to comfort the crying group with a promise he's not going anywhere. In an instant, something becomes incredibly clear to him; these little beings care about him. They don't want him to leave. Trying not to cry himself, he assures the group that he's long since learned his lesson. There's plenty of wonderful things in the present to stick around for.

[vicarfelix]

Internal Suffering

Vicar Max x Fem! Captain

Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 2,756

“Captain. You’re better than this.”

“Is she okay?”

“Should we get SAM to break open the door?”

“Damn. No amount of alcohol in the world could drown out what she probably saw.”

“ERROR. Status of Captain’s door...LOCKED.”

Max finally held up a hand to silence the rest babbling crew that was expressing their concern for their Captain from where they sat around the kitchen table. They had known something was wrong the moment that Ellie, Max, and the Captain returned to the ship after they had been out for almost two days. She didn’t say much at all, only offering a brief hello before snatching a drink from the fridge and taking a shower before keeping herself buried away in her quarters. 

She was bruised and had minor injuries in various places. Not to mention that she hadn’t slept in almost 48 hours. But it was clear that was the least of things on her mind.

Max had managed to convince her to open the door long enough for him to check on her, which didn’t amount to much considering that she practically yelled at him to get out and leave her alone for a while. Max usually wouldn’t give up so easily, but he could tell that (despite her angry tone) she wasn’t mad. 

She was hurt.

She was completely rattled by what they had seen today. An ugly painting of horrific images and gruesome smells that not even the hottest of showers could wash away. It would haunt her for weeks to come, and on top of that, she was worried about how this was affecting her crew. 

Thankfully, she had taken Max and Ellie along today, which made her feel a bit better considering they were two of the more thicker skinned of the group. Still, she felt guilty for exposing them to that. 

Max and Ellie gave the crew a brief rundown of what had happened. While they were sickened by it, they were more worried about the Captain.

“Come on. We just want to know if she’s okay.” Felix pleaded.

“She’s just seen probably the worst that the colony has to offer,” Ellie huffed; “I’d be worried if she was okay.”

Max sighed heavily. He was beyond concerned. It wasn’t like you at all to shut out the crew like this. It wasn’t like you to shut him out. He was afraid that this had pushed you over the edge.

“She wishes to be by herself,” Max announced; “We should all give her some space and let her work it out.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Mr. Vicar.” Parvati replied.

“Yeah, I don’t think she ought to be alone after seeing something as traumatic as you’re saying it was.” Nyoka detested.

Max shook his head.

“I know. But she doesn’t want to talk to us. We don’t need to push her.” Max pointed out.

Felix looked stunned at that, his eyes widening.

“She must be really shaken up if she won’t even talk to Max.” He said, clearly alarmed.

While Felix’s statement had innocent intentions, it caused a sting in Max’s chest. It was true that the Captain always seemed to flock to Max when she needed to talk. It was a mixture of things really. He was a professional when it came to listening to confessions, but he was even more comforting being as he was her boyfriend. She never felt like she couldn’t go to him when she needed him until now. 

It was killing him that she was closing herself off to him.

“She’ll be alright. Give her a couple days...or weeks. She’ll feel better when we get this job done.” Ellie stated.

Max sure hoped that Ellie was right. He wasn’t going to be able to stand it if the Captain never got over this. For now, all he could do was keep his arms open to her for when she was ready. Or for when he knew she couldn’t take it anymore.

The crew dispersed reluctantly to finish out their chores to close out the day, the Captain weighing heavily on their minds. Max went to take a shower to wash off the blood (some his and some not his), dirt, and sweat from his body. He took a moment to reflect on what he had seen earlier, realizing that he hadn’t given himself a moment to process everything. He wasn’t quite like Ellie Fenhill who preferred to drink herself into oblivion until her mind was too foggy to remember much of it. He’d rather come to terms with it on his own time.

Max had killed more people that day than he had the entire time he had been traveling with you. The strung out marauders and the doped up test subjects were probably the most terrifying people he had ever encountered. They were basically soul ridden beings with no sense of purpose or morale. They were just blood thirsty, violent animals that were once loving people.

That was the scariest thing imaginable.

Max stood under the stream of water until it threatened to turn cold, prompting his exit. He changed into a pair of clean clothes before leaving the bathroom, debating on what he should do next. By the time he had freshened up, everyone else had turned in for the night. The only sounds were the humming and singing around the ship, as well as Felix’s beloved Tuesday night adventure serial coming from his cabin. 

Max eyed his own cabin, the only one with the door open and the lights turned on. Max chuckled to himself as he entered. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had actually spent an extended amount of time in his cabin. Ever since establishing a serious relationship with the Captain, he found himself staying in her room pretty much always. Her cabin was much larger than his, and despite the fact that her bed was exactly the same as his, he was convinced that it was comfier. 

Maybe because he always had someone he loved snuggled up to him at the end of every day.

He ran a hand through his damp hair to somewhat even it out. It always seemed to have a mind of its own when water dripped from his graying hair. She had always told him that she liked seeing his hair somewhat out of order, which was why she was likely the only person who had ever seen his hair unkempt.

He wasn’t too keen on the idea of sleeping alone, considering he had gotten so used to having her with him. But if she didn’t want him, then he would respect her desires. He bit the inside of his cheek in disapproval when he tried to stretch out onto his bunk. He sank into the mattress that hadn’t been used in quite some time, but it didn’t feel the same. 

His entire cabin just didn’t have the same comfort that hers did. Although, it wasn’t her cabin that he found comfort in. 

It was her.

Every other thought was occupied by his Captain. He wondered what she was doing as he lay there awake, worrying himself beyond measure. He was beginning to go against his own word, tempted to go to her even if she had pushed him away. She was struggling right now. She was suffering. 

He couldn’t just let the woman he loved be in pain like that.

He got up from his bed, quietly going down the stairs to the Captain’s door. The red light above her door indicated that it was still locked, and he couldn’t get in unless she opened it from inside or ADA unlocked it for him. It was awfully quiet from inside the Captain’s quarters, and he hoped that she was just asleep.

He traveled down to the ship’s computer asking ADA nicely to unlock the Captain’s bedroom. ADA, however, almost always gave Max a run for his money.

“I cannot take orders from anyone other than Captain Hawthorne.” ADA informed the vicar.

He groaned. 

“I know, ADA, but I’m worried about her. I just need to get into her room.” Max explained.

He always felt so stupid arguing with a machine. Although, ADA was likely light years smarter than he was.

“I can only take orders from Captain Hawthorne. You are not Captain Hawthorne.” ADA replied.

Max grumbled to himself. He’d have to take a different approach.

“Well...can you at least tell her I want to speak with her?” Max questioned.

“The Captain gave me direct instructions not to converse with her unless there was an emergency. Is this an emergency?” ADA acquired.

“No...” Max responded gruffly. He was a little surprised that the Captain had taken so many steps to avoid anyone from seeing her; “How would I go about unlocking her door myself?”

“Hypothetically, her door would automatically unlock if I entered a rest cycle. But that requires my restart button to be push-”

Suddenly, ADA’s screen went dark as Max put her into a manual rest cycle. The Captain usually ordered ADA to take a rest cycle overnight anyway unless something with the ship went wrong, so Max didn’t feel bad for shutting the computer up for a bit.

He commuted back to the Captain’s door, the doors whirring open to reveal what appeared to be an empty room. The Captain wasn’t sitting at her desk or laying in her bed, and she appeared to be nowhere to be found. Just as Max went to panic, he heard a sound. 

It was a soft noise that he would’ve missed if the room hadn’t been as quiet as it was. He followed the sound of sniffling over to the far corner of the room behind her bunk. 

The Captain was backed into the corner, knees huddled up to her chest with her head buried behind them. Her towel from her earlier shower was still wrapped around her naked body, indicating that she hadn’t even gotten dressed afterwards. Her skin was dry now, and her hair was just barely wet as if she had been there the entire time. She raised her head from her knees when she felt his presence, revealing her reddened, watery eyes and blotchy cheeks from her hours of crying. 

Max’s heart broke at the sight of his Captain falling to pieces like this. She was hands down the strongest, most confident person that he knew. He always reminded her how proud of her he was for always being the bigger person and doing what was right. Maybe that was his mistake. Perhaps he had made her feel like she had to be at her best all the time. 

She looked at him through bleary eyes, a fresh set of tears falling down her cheeks. Her voice cracked as she spoke, her tone thick with sobbing.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She apologized, almost choking on her cries.

Immediately, Max was sitting at her side, her head falling onto his chest as she wailed. He eventually brought her into his lap to hold her close, rubbing her back up and down and kissing her temple. He hushed her, hating the feeling in his gut every time she sobbed out again. Her face was buried into the soft material of his shirt, her tears staining it. Her arms and legs were freezing from being exposed to the cold air of her quarters for so long without clothes, Max’s hands rubbing up and down to provide her some warmth.

“It’s alright, love. I’m here.” He hummed, holding the back of her neck in his hand.

“It was horrible. I’ve never seen anything like that,” She cried; “I don’t know how Spacer’s Choice could ever be capable of something like that.”

“Spacer’s Choice is arguably the most powerful corporation in the colony,” Max spoke; “The stronger the company, the more room there is for catastrophic events.”

The Captain sat up from his chest, leaning against Max’s leg that he had hiked up for her to lean on.

“I fucking hate the Board,” She hissed; “If I have to personally put a bullet in the skull of every single person involved then I swear to Law I’ll do it.”

Max was alarmed by her harsh words, his hands coming to her face to wipe away her tears.

“Captain. You’re better than this,” He remarked; “What’s the number one rule you always tell us? Try to talk it out before pulling the trigger.”

The Captain shook her head. Her tears had dried, but the anger coursing through her was giving her more energy than she had in days. 

“It’s becoming obvious that doesn’t always work. I don’t care if I have to wipe out every soul in Byzantium if it means overthrowing the Board.” She growled.

The last thing that Max ever wanted was for the Captain’s heart of gold to be hardened by all the things she had seen. In the beginning, the Captain had the most hope for the colony’s revival. Now though, her hope was diminishing with each new discovery she made.

He didn’t want her to become a lost soul the way that he had been for so long.

“What happened to my darling Captain? This isn’t you.” Max stated.

“I want the Board out of the system. Halcyon’s never going to make it with them around.” She replied in fury, ignoring his question.

“Captain, I-”

“I personally want to throw Sophia Akande out of an airlock.” She went on.

“Listen to me, this isn’t-”

“I’d like to throw her in a cell and pump her full of drugs just like-”

“Stop,” Max cut her off; “This isn’t how you do things. I know this isn’t how you want to do things.”

She finally let her tense shoulders relax for a second. Her eyes falling downward, her hands fiddling with the edge of her towel. 

“I know,” She whispered out; “I’m just tired of seeing so many people get hurt. Earth was never like this...not really.”

Max felt relief. Now she was beginning to sound like herself again. He pushed her hair behind her ear to reveal her pretty, but tired face. He caressed her face with his hand, her cheek resting in his palm. 

“If you keep doing things the way you have been, taking things day by day...then we’re going to be fine,” Max said; “I believe in you. I believe in us.”

She nodded, his hand falling to her waist and rubbing through her towel. 

“What do I do now?” She asked.

Max smiled softly.

“For now, let’s get you in bed. We can figure everything else out in the morning.” Max said, kissing the Captain’s knuckles in a gentle manner.

“Okay.” She replied.

She had to admit, it felt nice to have someone else giving orders for once.

Sleeping the rest of the night away was sounding really good to the Captain right about now. Without really giving it a second thought, the Captain let her towel fall so she could get dressed. She caught the way his eyes lit up at her naked frame, a blush evident on his face as he looked over her. She smirked a little, the first real positive emotion she’d had all day.

“You’re blushing, Vicar.” She teased,

His grin was blinding, as he pulled his leg in more to bring you in closer. 

“It’s hard not to,” He purred; “Beautiful...”

She kissed him like she meant it. His hands were warm on her exposed skin as he touched her the way he had dozens of times before. She ran her fingers through his hair, his smirk showing on her lips.

“I’m here for you. I love you.” He rumbled deeply.

“I love you.” She returned.

Max guided her up from the floor, wincing at the way her joints cracked from being uncomfortable for so long. He got her into a shirt to sleep in, bringing her over to her bed and getting her comfortable up against him. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep. The feel of Max next to her and the softness of the mattress under her was enough to send her straight to sleep. Max was tired too, but he wanted to make sure she was okay before he got any sleep. 

He knew she wasn’t totally back to normal. It’d be a while before she felt like herself fully again. But he didn’t care how long he had to wait.

He’d always be there for her.

[aenngelic]

I will protect her at all costs (chapter 2)

Disclaimer: please don’t hate me for it, if you don’t ship them please just don’t read it ok 🥲

contains: slow burn, Sniper falling in love with Kuon, Snipers view/thoughts, sexual fantasies, nudity, lemon stuff overall

It is a very long chapter I’m sorry

Note: please feel free to message me if you have certain romantic moments to include in the story! (Already running out of ideas oops)

It did not take long for us to find a bag of supplies. It was on a coffee table in some sort of lobby area. It seemed as if this building probably was meant to represent some kind of hotel, which I thought was a good thing, because that meant that there would be beds and showers to be found here as well. To our surprise, the bag contained mostly candy, which I wouldn't interpret as a balanced meal. However, the girl seemed to like this finding. It was only a matter of minutes before the chocolate residue stained the corners of my companion's mouth in a brown color. However, I preferred to smoke a cigarette at first and watch the girl devour her own body weight in the form of chocolate.

" This is fantastic! It feels like forever since I last ate chocolate! I faintly remember dieting before I entered this world too, so this must have been probably weeks since I held chocolate in my hand." Kuon said with delight. It was amusing to watch her enjoy sweets. Kuon's carelessness may be a burden at times, but her innocent character makes up for it.

" you partly remember your life prior to this, don't you?"

" Yes, not much to be honest. I'm sorry you can't," Kuon replied in a concerned voice.

"Tell me about it."

She gave me a visibly puzzled look before straightening her back so that she was sitting as straight as a candle on the sofa across from me, staring at her hands somewhat lost in thought. She seemed uncomfortable that I had now brought up this topic. Unfortunately, I could not take back my question. "Well," she began, "to be honest,the life I remember has not been the greatest, I guess." Kuon abruptly shook her head. " That's not true either. I was born into a rich family and had many privileges. My father owned a large company and had very high expectations of me from the very beginning. One day I was supposed to take it over. I was probably pretty lucky compared to other people. I was probably a big disappointment for him. My character was just not strong enough in his eyes. I also remember not really having any friends either, because I was privately educated. And anyway..." I could literally hear the lump in Kuon's throat as a tear began to stream down the girl's cheek.

" i'm sorry. You know, I didn't really mean to end up crying."

I felt my heart break once again, watching the girl grieve. I was surprised now, though, to find out that this yet seemingly uncomplicated high school student was actually carrying a lot of emotional baggage. I did not hesitate as I jumped up from my seat to calm the blue-haired girl. I really hated it like the plague when she cried. Trying to preserve my Coolness, however, I grumbled, "oh girl. What's wrong?"

I placed myself to her left, and pressed her against my shoulder while running my hand over her hair a few times. There was no way I could bring myself to face her, though. It would be too embarrassing and, after all, I was far from being the Prince Charming who would dry her tears with a silken tissue. Besides, I could not withstand the sight of her teary eyes. So there I sat, a weeping teenage girl wetting my blazer with salty drops of grief on my right, awkwardly staring off into the distance.

"It's, it's..." she stammered, not being able to form a word. "You're the first person I've been able to trust, and because of that, I'm kind of..."

She took a deep breath, "It makes me so unbelievably happy."

Almost for the second time that day, a cigarette nearly got stuck in my throat, but this time I was able to suppress my urge to cough. The girl seemed to really like me. But did I like her too? I would be lying if I said I did not care about her. And if she got killed, I could never forgive myself. It was astonishing how one could form such a strong bond with another person in such a short period of time. However, pouring out my entire feelings in front of her would not come close to the cool lifestyle I was pursuing.

" i'm also happy to have met you, Kuon.", i finally decided to answer after a moment of figuring out how to respond.

Kuon's face, which was still streaked with tears, started to smile again, which made me feel much relieved. However, it took her a while to completely stop her wailing . We remained in this position for a while, until at some point I realized that the girl had fallen asleep. Her head had lowered in the meantime even further toward the ground, so that after some time she was no longer leaning against my shoulder but much rather against my belly. When I noticed this after some time and looked down to the girl, a cute sight presented itself to me. Admittedly, on the one hand it felt nice to act as this girl's pillow. On the other hand, it triggered an immeasurable amount of embarrassment in me. But cool guys do like to take care of girls' comfort, don't they?

Therefore, I decided I'd rather not wake her up and hardly moved at all. I looked out the window to my right, watching the sunset and reflected on certain issues. I was thinking about Rika as well as the two girls we were trying to find and, of course, about Kuon and so many other things until my eyes started to close.

When I regained consciousness, the night must have settled in. Before I could even perceive my surroundings properly, I swiveled my head once to the left and once to the right and let my gaze wander through the room. Because the moon was particularly bright this night, everything around me had taken on a deep blue tone. It was so quiet around me that I could have heard a pin drop. In the next second I realized that I should not have fallen asleep in the first place. Somebody would have had to keep watch, after all! Crap! If an enemy would have come along the way, it certainly would not have been good for me and Kuon. I looked down to my thigh where the blue-haired girl was supposed to lie. I felt her place her head on my thigh at some point during the night, but when I looked down at my thigh, I could not find any girl. Where the hell was Kuon? A rational thinking person, as I was one, could of course assume that my companion did not necessarily have to be in danger, but could also have simply visited the toilet, for example. Nonetheless, my alarm bells started ringing immediately. Kuon was, after all, a young girl who, apart from the "rail gun", did not posses many possibilities for self-defense. So of course I was worried.

Without thinking much, I hopped up from the sofa, on which I had been napping a few moments before. In quick stride I wandered through the poorly lit hallway without really having a clue where I was heading. My head was foggy from the idea that the girl might be in serious danger. A few days ago, I probably would have accepted the fact that she was suddenly nowhere to be found and continued my journey. And now my stomach was already twisting at the thought of her getting in trouble.

Nevertheless, a short moment later, my heart pounding madly from the ever-repeating scenario in my head, I heard a noise at the end of the corridor. A soft, high-pitched humming was heard, drowned out by the pattering of many drops. Light emerged from the crack of a door on the left. Was she taking a shower? The feeling of relief spread through my chest, followed by some degree of annoyance. Why did the girl not wake me up? I took a few steps towards the door, but before I was about to reach for the door handle, I remembered that I should not do so. A gentleman never violates a lady's privacy. So I decided to wait.

I leaned against the local wall, one leg bent. Then I let my thoughts wander, while the pattering of the raindrops in the bathroom right next to me showed no indication of stopping anytime soon. A lady of high society must spend quite a bit of her life showering, I thought to myself. And before I knew it, the image of Kuon suddenly popped up in my head. In my imagination I pictured her body, wondering what it looked like completely naked. A bar of soap running over her plump breasts, leaving traces of foam on her soft, wet skin. A body swinging under the hot rainfall like a leaf in the wind, presenting its vivid buttocks. I wonder if she was shaved? Hardly had I been able to finish this dirty thought of mine and get mad at my filthy thinking when my ears picked up the sound of footsteps in the distance. And they were coming ominously closer.

Damn, I thought to myself and was about to reach for my rifle, only to realize that I forgot it next to the sofa where I had been sleeping. I had been so upset about her disappearance that I could seriously forget the most crucial item for our survival.What was I going to do? For a brief moment I was at a loss. Escape proved almost impossible at this point, since I was at a dead end and I could not force the approaching enemy down with any surrounding objects. Besides, if I escaped, it would only be a matter of time before the enemy would track down my helpless companion. In the next moment, almost instinctively, I reached for the door handle that led to the bathroom that Kuon had still claimed. Perhaps there were objects in the room that were suitable for fighting, or perhaps we could be lucky and not be found, I speculated in the heat of the moment. So I tore open the door and rushed into the bathroom, greeted by a hot haze that took over the entire area.

"Kuon!" I called out in a hushed tone.

Without hesitation, I pushed my way through the door that separated the shower from the rest of the bathroom as if I was walking through nothing. Until that moment, I had hardly given a thought to the circumstances of this situation. But at the latest, when finally the naked body of a schoolgirl jumped into my field of vision, I quickly realized this again. I was just about to violate Kuon's privacy. An obviously shocked girl looked towards me, that from 1 second to the other tried to cover herself desperately.

"Mr.Ma-", she was about to say, but I interrupted her raised voice by pressing my hand to her lips as quickly as possible.

While I was still in the act of stepping into the shower, I flicked the light switch in the same movement so that no sign of our presence could escape from the room. Maybe they would not find us here, I hoped at this point.

"There's someone out there," I whispered to the naked girl in front of me.

" if we are quiet, maybe we won't be found. If we are, then..."

Kuon replied to me with an unintelligible "Mmm" , which resembled the sound of a frightened gasp. My body had pressed so close to hers by now that I could feel the wetness of her skin soaking through my shirt. I had directed my face facing away from her so that I could sharpen my hearing for the footsteps I could hear. Furthermore , I did not want to add unnecessary tension to the whole situation. It was uncool enough to interfere with a naked girl taking a shower even if it was an emergency. My hand was still resting on her lips and even though I was wearing gloves and looking away, I could clearly feel the warmth building up in Kuon's cheeks. She was obviously blushing in this moment. But having her pressed against the bathroom wall while forcing my hand tightly onto her lips and not even keeping a distance of not 2 inches, I could not blame her.

For quite a while, we did not move at all. We listened closely to the footsteps, which came a little closer and finally slowly moved away from us again. Temporarily it was even so quiet in this bathroom that we could hear each other breathing. Kuon's breathing was fast and almost verged on hyperventilation in this situation. Because there was hardly any distance between our bodies, I could literally feel her chest rising and falling in short intervals. With each rise, her breasts brushed my upper body a slight bit. I tried, as always, to keep my composure and block out the fact that Kuon was completely naked. Only when several minutes had passed did my posture loosen and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay, we should be safe for now," I stated and let go of the girl.

I flipped the light switch and had to swallow.

Kuon had been naked before too, but it was only now that the danger was gone that I could really comprehend this fact. She had tried to cover her breasts with her hands and had simultaneously crossed her legs, looking down with a shameful expression on her face. However, the concealment attempt seemed to be unsuccessful for her. Although I only caught a glimpse of her appearance before I turned away from her as quickly as possible, I saw her entire beauty for a moment.Her breasts were in relation to her otherwise so petite body, large and plump. She had a narrow waist and perfectly shaped legs, in combination with her smooth, fair skin. And so she shaved, I could still tell. What remained most imprinted on my mind, however, was the look on her face.I of course preferred to see her friendly smile a thousand times more than this face that expressed pure shame. But I could not help but adore the sight of her big sparkling dog eyes looking at the ground helplessly.

My breath stopped for a moment, but then I quickly cleared my throat, my gaze already averted from her, scanning the room for a towel. I tried to hide the fact that I actually wanted to slap myself for the thoughts I was having. Luckily, my embarrassment was not visible through the mask. I had to change the subject immediately before the situation became even more awkward:

"Sorry, Kuon." , I mumbled. I was surprised myself by my harsh tone. It took me a while to recollect the words.

"You should let me know next time you decide to go somewhere else."

"Oh yeah right. I didn't mean to cause any trouble.", Countered the girl who also seemed to be a bit embarrassed. So it wasn't just me who was feeling uncomfortable about this situation. Without giving my companion another look, I threw a towel right over my head at her. I had a precise aim.

" I'm going to get my rifle. I forgot it in all the hurry near the sofa."

Just as I was about to open the door to step out, the girl interrupted my process by grabbing my arm with unusual intensity.

" can you come back here afterwards? Please?"

"That's what I was planning on doing anyway. I'll be waiting right outside the door," I replied, a bit puzzled by this question.

" but I have -." she interrupted herself, shaking her head slightly before continuing.

Then her facial expression regained its former composure, whereupon she gave me her typical, beaming smile. I could tell, however, that she did not mean it honestly. How I could tell that, I had no idea myself though. But did she want me to stay here with her?

" no you're right. I'll hurry up and be done in a few minutes," she said. While she was talking, she wrapped the towel around her body in a quick movement, fastening it in front with the help of a knot.

I had meanwhile turned my gaze back to her. Although Kuon was now dressed, it was difficult for me not to inspect her from top to bottom. Her entire body was still drenched in a hint of wetness, so that her skin was reflectingthe bright bathroom light. It was also slightly red from the hot shower water. I wondered if the red tint to her cheeks was also caused by that, or if I was responsible for it.I could not help but notice the way the towel just managed to hide all the places it was supposed to cover and yet was far too tight. If she bent over, a special view would present itself to me. Immediately I dashed this disgusting thought from my head. If I continued to reduce myself only to her appearance this could end in negligence on my part and I would not be able to protect her properly.After all, that was the most important thing. I also discarded this thought. Had this strange girl really become so important to me? Nevertheless, there was no place for interpersonal relationships in this world.Before I could get any further into this train of thought, I turned away again and finally walked out of the room. I was in need of a cigarette.

[vickyskpopkingdom]

ATEEZ - From The Wonderland Pt.1

this story is based on ATEEZ' performance of wonderland on Kingdom: Legendary War. while i was writing it got a little out of hand and i wrote way more than anticipated so please keep an eye out for pt.2 and possibly pt.3. they well be up in a few days!

if you haven't you should definitely check all of the performances out, the link to ATEEZ' performance is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-uDitNeFO-I&t=183s&ab_channel=MnetK-POP so please do check it out, it is amazing.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3

warnings: guns, swords, drinking and fighting

2k words

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While the ships in the harbor swam quietly above the water, swaying to the rhythm of the waves crashing on the stone walls of the dock, the inside of the bar was much more loud and chaotic. The pirates took care of their ships but not so much of themselves. Beer, rum and wine seemed to flow endlessly, the bar staff barely keeping up with their customers.

This was a usual development of the evenings in the city. Pirates everywhere knew that they would be safe here, the town flourished thanks to them spending their money on alcohol, women and repairs for their ships. It never took long for the alcohol to take over, resulting in bar fights and various other showdowns or show-offs.

Two men sitting directly in front of the bar downed a shot of pure rum, before falling back into their previous conversation.

"The Kraken is a legend. Nothing more, nothing less. Probably made up by some pirate some centuries ago to make sure no one sails there to steal his treasure", the younger of the two said, his voice slightly cracking because of the amounts of alcohol already running through his body.

The other, slightly older but equally as drunk, shook his head, grabbing the wood of the bar to steady his swaying body. "Then tell me why no one who sailed there came back? I don't trust that part of the sea one bit, you hear me? Not one bit!"

A hiccup escaped his throat, as he called for a bartender with his hand. "We would like another round please", he ordered as the woman approached them. Then he looked back to his previous discussion partner. "It is real. And there is no one out there that could defeat The Kraken."

"It's a myth! Crafted to keep cowards like you away from what could be a huge treasure.", he other retorted.

Two small glasses were put down on the counter in front of them, the sound of glass hitting wood disrupting their conversation. "Both of you are wrong", the female bartender scoffed, "The Kraken was real and it was defeated."

Both men stopped their movements to look at her. The younger grinning from one ear to another, seemingly amused by the previous statement, while the older one eyed the bartender up and down. "And how would you know, lady?"

"What? Have you never heard of ATEEZ?", she asked back, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth now, "They slayed The Kraken."

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

Hongjoong sat inside his most prized possession, his ship 'Wonderland', as he waited for the final object needed on his quest to arrive. Above him on the deck of the ship he could hear his crewmates running around, making finishing touches for departure. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of sailing out with his crew again, finally getting back on the sea after a break on land.

As the noises calmed down a little, Hongjoong could already tell that the supplier had arrived. His hunch turned out to be true, as the door to his private room opened and a man dressed in all black stepped inside. This was not their first meeting and as it also wouldn't be their last Hongjoong had already gotten used to the large black hat the person opposite to him wore that covered the most part of his face.

To say that he was curious to see that face would be an understatement. And yet he had never asked to see it. Hongjoong knew that sometimes secret had to be kept. Besides he certainly did not want to taint this relationship. It was way to beneficial.

Without a word spoken the man in black set down the object on Hongjoongs desk: an hourglass, held in a circle made of gold. The words 'Symphony No.9' were engraved on the circle, almost invisible to those who didn't know about their existence. Pearly white sand flowing freely from one side to another if turned right. It was beautiful, breathtaking even, to finally see the ominous hourglass on his own ship.

"Thank you. I appreciate your work", Hongjoon said, as he pulled a small leather bag from one of the drawers in his desk. Coins rattled against each other as the bag got exchanged form Hongjoongs hand to the gloved hand of the quiet man. "I will let you know, when I am searching for new objects."

At this the man in black nodded, tipped the brim of his hat at the Captain and left.

Hongjoong looked at the hourglass, smiling as he turned it over. The white sand started flowing down. "Show us the way, Symphony Number Nine."

As the Captain stepped out of his cabin, he could already see his crew ready on deck. The only thing they were waiting for was his 'go' and they would start sailing in an instant. By the atmosphere surrounding them, Hongjoong could already tell that they were just as excited as he was to see for themselves if the legendary treasure, the 'Symphony', was real. The legends surrounding its existence described it as one of the largest treasures out there. Shimmering gold coins, fiery red rubies and the finest silver swords were only few of the objects rumored to be part of the Symphony.

Hongjoong could feel the eyes of his crewmates on him. He couldn't hide his smile anymore as he finally said: "Let us start our journey, ATEEZ!"

Excited yells were the answer and everyone got to work. Soon the ship was leaving the harbor behind, the wind being on their side today.

As the captain, Hongjoong usually didn't have much to do with the actual sailing. He was more into planning their journey, making sure they had enough food and water and ordered his crew to stop at a nearby harbor to fill up their supplies if necessary. Today however he stood on deck with everyone else, breathing in the fresh air of the sea while trying to calm down his beating heart. It had been quite some time since him and his crew went on such a mysterious journey.

"Bring all of this below deck!", Hongjoong could hear Seonghwa ordering some of the lower ranked members of their crew. He turned around to see his right-hand man standing tall between the other crewmates, overlooking the whole process. Seonghwa was a reliable partner to Hongjoong, his right hand, who always kept his cool. Which was more than necessary because Hongjoong held intense pride for everything he did and could get into heated arguments with other pirates from time to time.

As if he had sensed something Seonghwa turned to look at Hongjoong. "You are still out here today? Don't you trust us, Captain?" His voice was calm, as always but Hongjoong could hear the teasing undertone.

"I trust all of you wholeheartedly. Just didn't want to miss our departure", he answered nonetheless. Seonghwa smiled warmly at him before walking over to Wooyoung who had called out for him.

Hongjoong let his eyes wander a little more over the deck, spotting Yunho who was currently training his sword-skills. Or at least he tried to do as much as he could with the limited resources he had to fight against. His enemy of choice were some thick ropes spun between the masts of the ship. The Captain had told Yunho countless times already that he was a skilled fighter especially with a sword, but Yunho always strived to do better.

"Don't tire yourself out too much, Yunho", Hongjoong finally spoke up as he approached the younger man, "We can not tell when we will arrive and I need you to be ready if we actually have to fight someone... or something."

Yunho cut through the centre of the ropes with a final strike. "Fine, fine. I'll tone it down a little." He smiled brightly at the captain before collecting the now cut ropes and knotting them to the masts again.

Sometimes Hongjoong felt as if he had adopted a puppy into his crew and not a 22 year old man.

"Hongjoong!", someone called for the Captain. He of course knew, that this voice belonged to San. His eyes found San and his bright pink hair standing at the ship's wheel as he was responsible for steering it. He waved for Hongjoong to come over.

On his way over to San, Hongjoong passed by Seonghwa once more who was now with Wooyoung. Similar to Yunho they were training. Well Wooyoung was training with a gun while Seonghwa gave him advice on the angle, the stance and the technique. Somehow the vice-captain had an incredible aim and a steady hand. Hongjoong would trust Seonghwa to shoot an apple off of his head.

Wooyoung wasn't quite there yet, he still had a long way to go to reach Seonghwas level of skill, but he was eager to learn and had improved highly ever since he started training his aim.

"You two as well? I guess, you can join Yunho in wasting your energy", Hongjoong sighed at them.

Seonghwa shrugged, pointing to Wooyoung. "It was his idea, not mine."

Wooyoung fired a shot at the makeshift target and almost hit the bullseye. "Ah~ so close! Did you see that Seonghwa? Was that one good? It was good, right?"

"Sorry, Woo. I was talking to Hongjoong and didn't pay attention to you."

"What? Oh my god Seonghwa, you are so mean!"

Hongjoong left the two to bicker among themselves and finally reached San. "Whats up?", he asked.

Just like the other crewmates San seemed to be filled to the brim with excitement. Which wasn't exactly something new or unusual. San, together with Yunho Wooyoung and Yeosang, whom Hongjoong had yet to spot on their big ship, were always giving high energy especially when they were all together.

"Just wanted to confirm our current route with you", San answered, gesturing towards the small table next to she steering wheel. On the wooden surface San had laid out a map covering most of the sea and of course the hourglass, which would lead their way. None of them knew exactly how it worked, but i seemed as if the sand inside the glass was drawn into a specific direction as long as it flowed down.

Hongjoong took a look at the white sand, comparing its flow with the direction of their ship and nodded. "Seems good to me. I think, you can work it out by yourself just fine, San."

San shrugged. "Better safe than sorry, right Captain?"

"Right, San", Hongjoong said, smiling. He knew that San worked hard to reach the level of skill he had now. No map was too complicated, too old, too ripped for San, somehow he was able to read them all. San had always gotten them to their destination safely and yet he still liked to check in with the Captain, making sure they were on the right path.

With a friendly pat on the head, after which San smiled proudly and most pleased, Hongjoong made his way down to the main deck again. Once more his eyes landed upon Yunho, who had stopped wielding his sword. Instead he was now bend over a black cloth. Next to him were the last two main crewmates, which Hongjoong had not yet seen after their departure: Jongho and Yeosang. Seeing those two and the mysterious black cloth reminded Hongjoong of something that he had entrusted them with. As he walked over to them he wondered, if they were already finished with their task.

"And what are you three plotting?", he greeted them as he arrived at their current position.

"Nothing much", said Yeosang, "Just showing Yunho our new flag."

So they were finished with their task. Hongjoong couldn't help but smile. Their old flag had been ripped during their last quest. Of course that wasn't something to stop ATEEZ from continuing, but Hongjoong had noticed that his crew's motivation had been higher while they were still in possession of their flag, their symbol, the sign which let others know that they were dealing with ATEEZ. And because of that he had asked Jongho and Yeosang to think about a new flag.

Hongjoong scanned the new flag. Similar to the previous one the background was black, appropriate for a pirateship, but this time Yeosang and Jongho had decided to paint the lettering, the word ATEEZ, in a fiery red. But there was something else that caught Hongjoon's eye: "Is that fire above our name?"

"Yes, but also no", Jongho started to explain, "It's supposed to resemble a crown that is on fire... or made out of fire. Whatever floats your boat, you know?"

To say that Hongjoong was impressed would be an understatement. He had always known that his members were creative, always thinking about what to do next and most importantly what would benefit their crew. There was a tight-knitted bond between the members of the core-crew, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Wooyoung, Jongho and Hongjoong himself, forged by their adventures on the sea. Somehow he felt as if the new logo, the fire, the crown, their name in red, combined all of their characters perfectly.

"It's time to hoist this new flag up, guys", Hongjoong ordered, "Let's show everyone who they're messing with."

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

Hongjoong was awoken by someone slamming his door open. By the dim light coming in from the outside of his room, he assumed that it was early morning, around five am maybe.

"Captain, I think we're here!", San's clear voice resonated into the room. There wouldn't be another crewmate up at this time of day anyways. At least up until now. During the last few days on their journey all of the crew had gotten more and more restless. Nobody could tell why, since there were no changes in their surrounding, but somehow they all were getting sure that their destination was close by.

Their intuition had not been wrong Hongjoong thought as he stepped out on deck and saw an island coming closer and closer to the ship with every second. His members stood by his side as they all watched the island draw closer. With a quick glance Hongjoong was pleased to see, that they were just as ready as him to step off the ship and get to finding the treasure. They were all dressed accordingly and Yunho and Seonghwa even had their weapons with them.

They couldn't help but feel an ominous feeling wash over them as Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Wooyoung and Jongho landed on the island with a small boat. They had decided to leave the rest of their crew on board of the 'Wonderland'. Too many men could potentially be more dangerous and just the seven of them going alone. Besides that they were skilled and could handle fights by themselves, as they had proved countless times already.

They didn't regret this decision even as the dark forest loomed over them on the island, they never regretted a decision they had made. But neither of them could deny that a little more company would have felt more comfortable.

Hongjoong adjusted his long fur coat. It was a piece of clothing many deemed unfitting for such an adventure but Hongjoong felt most comfortable in it. He was the captain, he was talented, he was the leader, the brain. The fur coat wouldn't be an obstacle in whatever situation he had to face. "Let's find that damn treasure, ATEEZ!", he said as he took the first step towards the densely wooded forest. His crew followed suit.

A shiver creeped up on Wooyungs back as the trees started to surround them. During the first few minutes his mind was busy to figure out what was so confusing about this forest. Something was off, wrong almost but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Then finally it clicked: There were no noises. No birds singing, not any other animal making a sound. No wind flowing through the leaves. Even the sound of their shoes on the forest floor seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness around them.

Of course they had heard rumors about this island. And there were many. One talked about the treasure being cursed, bringing the finder only harm and misfortune. Another said that the treasure was being guarded by a giant kraken. And the most popular of them all of course told them that no one who stepped a foot on this island was able to return back home. All of these rumors could be true Wooyoung now realized. This was definitely the right place to hide a cursed treasure guarded by a kraken with a preference for humans.

Wooyung realized that his friends must have felt the same way. None of them dared to talk. Every single spoken word would have felt too loud in this forest. But on the other hand there was no denying that this was the right place to hide a treasure! And up until now they had always been successful on their adventures. Their teamwork was outstanding, no one could compare. They had risen in ranks ever since they started sailing. There was no way that this would be their breaking point.

The cracking sound of a stick made Wooyoung flinch. He was a little ashamed but was instantly less embarrassed when he saw how Yunho clutched at San's biceps. Just as he was about to point this out though, Seonghwa hissed a "Someones's coming" to no one in particular. Wooyoung could see how the older already laid a hand on his sniper.

Without talking the pirates stood in a circle, their backs to each other. It was quiet again, somehow the silence felt even more heavy than before.

Suddenly even more tree branches cracked, Wooyoung could even hear footsteps approaching them. This time he didn't need Seonghwa to tell him that someone was on their way. He could hear them himself, loud and clear. Someone was coming. They were fast. And they were many.

People started breaking through the trees attacking ATEEZ on sight. As he ducked under a thrown fist Wooyoung made a mental note to thank Hongjoong and Seonghwa later for training them so hard in hand-to-hand combat before they started sailing all those years ago. He was able to avoid another punch and in turn could kick his enemy off of his feet, making them fall to the ground with thud and, Wooyoung noticed in horror, an extremely loud cracking noise. Now that his sole focus wasn't on dodging he was able to get a good look at their enemies. They were around the same height as him and his friends but there was no flesh, no hair, no skin, not even eyes in their sockets. They were fighting a bunch of skeletons. The one Wooyoung had previously thrown on the ground was no longer moving. It seemed to had landed on a rock of some sort and cracked its spine.

As he looked around Wooyoung noticed that breaking their bones seemed to be the only way of getting them to stop fighting. His crewmates were struggling with the skeletons because simply pushing them back or slicing into the bones wasn't enough to keep them back. They didn't feel pain.

"Break their spine or their legs!", Wooyoung called out, while trying to escape the boney hands of another skeleton approaching him, "They need to be unable to move."

At this exclamation San aimed a swift kick at the head of his enemy. The skull made an ugly noise as it dislocated from the rest of the body and landed on the ground. The skeleton stopped moving before falling collapsing.

"Yeah, I guess the head works too", Wooyoung commented.

"You should concentrate!", Seonghwa barked back, but even he couldn't help a small grin making its way onto his lips.

As it turned out his call to focus wasn't without reason. Wooyoung struggled more and more with every punch, with every kick. He was getting exhausted, feeling the hits the skeletons were able to land on him while his enemies remained unbothered at anything that wasn't cracking them in half. He could hear Jongho's heavy breathing behind him and saw Yeosang limping. This was not going well. Not at all.

He wanted to help his friends but he was equally beat up. Still Yeosang definitely needed help. Wooyoung took a step towards his friend and felt a hand closing around his arm. Slender bones held him in his current spot, as another set of bones wrapped around both of his legs. How could these people only made out of bones be so strong?

A yelp escaped his lips as more and more hands got hold of his body. Yeosang, who Wooyoung wanted to originally help, turned around. He realized what was happening to Wooyoung and started to run towards him but it was too late. The skeletons dragged Wooyung with them. Yeosang was still struggling with his limp, unable to follow them.

"They have Wooyoung!", he cried out, panic clearly audible in his voice. If he wasn't used to one thing it was seeing Wooyoung like this; helpless, alone, frightened. Normally Yeosang would not have distracted his other friends from their own fights like that but this situation was different. All of the rumors they had heard before came back to his mind at once, his worry for Wooyoung only increasing.

Hongjoong broke from their circle and sprinted into the woods, following the skeletons who had captured Wooyoung.

"San, no!", Seonghwa's voice resonated over their heads. Yeosang turned around to see San, who was also trying to leave into the same direction.

"He can't fight them all alone, Seonghwa!", San called back.

"They are leaving...", Jongho panted. He made a sweeping gesture around them. Their attention diverted to their surroundings. The youngest had been right. The skeletons retreated back into the forest, using different directions as they ran.

"Then it should be fine for me to go find Hongjoong and Wooyoung", San stated, already starting to walk again.

Seonghwa opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by someone-- something screeching.

All of them froze. That was a noise they had never heard before and Yeosang was more than sure that he never wanted to hear it ever again. It sounded angry, it shook him to his core. Yunho and Jongho seemed to have the same reaction as him, while San was still staring towards the part of the forest, that he suspected their other two crewmates in. Seonghwa on the other hand had a grim look on his face.

"I guess, that rumor about a kraken wasn't just a rumor after all."

Before one of them could react to his statement in any way, Seonghwa looked at Yeosang. "Are you able to walk?"

Yeosang tried to put weight on his right foot. It hurt but it seemed to be endurable. "I don't think I can run, but walking should be fine."

"Then we will all follow Hongjoong and Wooyoung. Don't try running off on your own, San, do you hear me?"

San didn't answer Seonghwa, he only kept on looking into the forest.

"Did you hear what I just said, San?", Seonghwa asked again, sounding even more stern this time.

"Yes, I did. And I won't run off."

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

that concludes part 1 of this story, hope you enjoyed it so far & will come back to read the rest!

sorry for not including mingi but as he is not part of the performance i would have found it very difficult to add him as well. i already feel bad because i gave the members different "screentime" in this story (my program tells me i wrote "wooyoung" 21 times, followed by "seonghwa" with 12 times and "hongjoong" and "yeosang" with 10 times each).

[heroprose]

aromatic;

a/n. forewarning for the usual vampiric shenanigans.

ship. hitoshi shinou x reader

summary. contemporary vampire au. (+ slight office au)

//

hitoshi shinsou despises you, you’re certain of this. 

what you’re not quite sure of is where all the animosity stemmed from, especially since he seemed to conduct himself well enough with everyone else. 

out of all your fellow colleagues, he treated you with the most transparent curtness, from promptly exiting whenever you entered the breakroom for a refreshment, to visibly retching the one time you tried to take an empty seat next to him during a conference (you’ll never forgive him for that slight).

it was really starting to grate on you. you were going to have to confront him about this yourself.

besides, you’ve no longer a choice in the matter: this unspoken tension had begun to affect the workplace, with people sometimes looking to and fro between you and him, confused to high hell why he always kept himself a good several meters away from you if he could-- not that you were complaining. social distancing can be quite mutually beneficial, after all.

and it wasn’t an issue you’d like to bring up with human resources either: that seemed a little too petty, even if he was literally gagging at your presence. 

you did try to ameliorate the work relationship-- really, you did. but there’s only so many times you can crack a joke and be left hanging in that awkward silence before you stop altogether. you once thought it’d been something you said in poor taste that made him abhor you so, but unless he had a seething hatred for mild puns, that didn’t seem right. 

and so what that you were a newer addition to the team-- you’d entertained the idea that maybe he had a thing against strangers, but hell, it’s been months and even interns get more conversation out of him than you.

although given his visceral reactions, you’re inclined to think it’s something about how you smell... but that’s just insane. you took your daily showers and used reasonable amounts of detergent in your laundry; and if you can take the pungency of axe body spray and the zestiness of dior’s sauvage on every man in the building, then he should be able to tolerate your own signature scent, which wasn’t even that bad... was it? 

no one else complained about it though. and you’ve even asked around too, so you know you’re not wearing absolute funk. it’s an unfathomable situation.

today, however, you forewent the perfume. if it really was the fragrance, then this should leave no opening. you’ve tucked the bottle in your workbag instead, in case you needed it like a piece of evidence for his rude behavior, ace attorney style.

you waited until lunch break, where most of the other colleagues would leave the building for nearby restaurants or go to the cafeteria, before approaching him. it was best this way, lest it got weird; at least only few people would witness it. 

hitoshi was currently invested in whatever it was on his computer, and if you were correct in his observations, he would pull out his own homemade meal shortly enough to eat at his desk. some days, he didn’t eat at all, which was surely unhealthy but you were hardly in the position to scold him considering your own bad habits. plus you didn’t want him to hate you even deeper. 

you got to observe this routine over a good number of weeks and it was truly no easy feat, with his desk set in the far corner of the workplace far from the wall-length windows and him being constantly out and about on his own assignments.

with your workbag in one hand, you walk up to him with as much nonchalance as you could muster. “hey! not going down to the cafe today?” it’s rhetorical: you knew he wasn’t.

he hardly responds, eyes flickering up at you briefly and giving a greeting nod before returning to his work. “mm.”

you round the corner of the desk so that you stand beside him. leaning down slightly to squint at the screen, you deliberately put yourself in his space. “oh wow, the deadline’s so far away but you’re already working on this part?”

he began to open his mouth, only to clap a hand over it with remarkable speed. and he coughs, goodness, with shoulders jumping.

“oh my god,” you can’t help but say as you withdraw. could he smell it even from your bag? you weren’t even sure if it was the perfume or just you anymore. “okay, i’ll cut to the chase. can we talk? alone?”

you’d think he would think it over, at the very least, to give a semblance of polite reflection. “no,” is his immediate reply, spoken forcefully, so forcefully that a lone passing colleague even gives you two a glance. 

“i was, uh, just leaving,” they say. “want anything?”

“i’m good, thanks,” you reply, bidding them farewell with a breezy smile before refocusing on hitoshi. he has already turned away from you, eyes blazing at the computer screen.

without another word, you reach over, placing a hand over his, and drag his mouse to click out of his report.

“what do you think you’re doing?” hitoshi demands, jerking away from your touch. and he’s angry now, genuinely irritated: you can see it in the way his jaw tightens. too bad you’ve been annoyed ever since you’ve been moved to this department.

“it was google docs, relax. your work is saved,” you soothe over. “now come with me. i just want to talk to you for five minutes, tops. please.”

he’s deeply conflicted for a heartbeat, but finally relents. “five minutes,” he echoes. you give him the space to stand up, clutching your workbag strap tightly in your fist. if he knew what this was about, he gave no mention as he walked openhanded behind you.

hastily, you lead him to the breakroom. with its doorless entrance, you assumed that the ventilation there would be moderately good, if it got too stuffy for him. then again, you wouldn’t of minded if he suffocated a bit either. admittedly, the entire floor was probably empty save for you two, so this dialogue could’ve been held out in the open but it didn’t hurt to have that extra layer of seclusion. 

“i already know,” you say into the quietude, leaning against the counter. behind you, the coffee machine beeped every so often. someone should get that fixed. you cross your arms and look at him carefully. the vents are tinny above you two, warm air rushing out noisily.

“you-- what?” his dark eyes widen ever so slightly, and for once, his expression isn’t quite so tense with you. “what do you know?” he must’ve not expected you to be so direct. he takes his hand out of his pocket.

“you know what i’m talking about. why you treat me like, i don’t know, the plague?”

“i don’t do that.”

“you nearly threw up when you saw me.”

hitoshi stays silent. ha, gotcha! “i only coughed,” he relents eventually.

“whatever. and i know it’s not me and that it’s really all you because guess what? no one else has this problem. and i’m thinking you don’t want me to air out your business to everyone else because that would be...” weird, for one, but you didn’t want to ruin your own case. “doesn’t matter; in any case, there’s no reason to be rude over this.”

“alright. so you know. i avoid you because of your scent.” his voice is dangerously calm. “what are you going to do about me, then?”

“about you?” you repeat with a scoff, “oh, so i should report you? what would i even say? HR would laugh at me.”

he smirks, chin jutting out. “right.”

“so now i only have one question. wait, make that two.”

“go on.”

“how should we fix this? because obviously i don’t want our little dance to start affecting our work ethic. you can’t wave me away forever. it’s how i smell, right? do you have a recommended detergent or deodorant, or something?” you ignore the fact that you’ve technically asked three questions.

“none of that covers it,” he mutters and your jaw drops. “masks don’t help either.”

“no way. i smell that b-- you know what... moving on. we’ve got to compromise somewhere though. but not my perfume.” your hands reflexively ball up. there’s no camera, so if you did something unsavory, there equally wouldn’t be any real witnesses...

“your perfume,” he repeats, seemingly dissatisfied. 

“yeah, no way. that’s my signature scent. go wear nose plugs or something, if it’s that bad. and i can’t believe you say scent and not body odor, like just call it what it is! damn.” 

the coffee machine lets out its intermittent beeps. hitoshi just stares at you, mystified. then, he breaks into a snort, like he’s the one who can’t believe he’s having this discussion. “i understand. in that case, i see no solution.” whilst bringing a hand to the back of his neck, he starts to move, intent on passing you to exit the room.

you let out a frustrated noise. “you leave me no choice, hitoshi.”

intending on presently the bottle to him proudly, perhaps even spritzing him once for good measure, you jam your hand into your workbag to fish your perfume out. you grab onto the rectangular shaped glass, and pull it out with great gusto.

and it goes terribly. 

to your horror, the bottle slips like butter between your fingers and sails, tumbling down to the floor right in front of you with a heartrending crash, glass splintering like ice. the beautiful blue lid goes spinning across the tiles, and like that, the whole room now blooms a gorgeous citrus, white floral scent. “oh nooooooo! shit!”

no longer minding him, you go to pick up the shards, bending down at the knees with a sigh. gingerly, you begin to clean up.

“hey, be careful. i’ll get a dustpan,” you hear him say and it’s one of the nicest things he’s ever said to you, but in your melancholy, you shake your head solemnly.

“no, no, i’ve got this. i’m just so-- OWW?” you wail without warning. you drop the wet shard you were grasping, still slick with liquid. “ugh, never mind. get the dustpan.” you bring yourself up on your feet again.

using your shoe, you kick the shards into a more cohesive, but wet pile. the clattering of the glass causes you some emotional pain. “terrific,” you mutter, watching blood bead up at across two of your fingertips. “well, at least i won’t be wearing that anymore. right, hitoshi?” you ask sarcastically. shaking your hand to rid it of perfume residue, you end up just flecking your blood droplets all over the floor. you glance up when you’re met with silence. “hitoshi?”

“nnngh...” a low, deep groan escapes his throat, and immediately he turns his cheek and takes several stumbling steps away. he grits his teeth, the vein in his neck growing more prominent like it’s physically paining him to pull apart from you. “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me...”

“you okay?” you close in on him. it felt almost backwards to ask such a query, seeing as you were the one bleeding. “maybe you should sit d--”

“get away from me,” he all but spits out, eyes squeezed shut. “you set this up, huh? figures.” stray hairs were falling into his face as he presses a hand against his temple and bit back another groan. “i was doing just fine before... so why... nngh.”

you purse your lips. “hey! what do you have against dolce & gabbana’s light blue eau de toilette? it’s a perfectly respectable, fresh, work-friendly fragrance! it was, at least!” you wanted to shout. but that didn’t happen, as your concern and confusion won over your sense of petulance. “set what up?” you ask, bewildered.

on closer inspection, he was not, in fact, okay at all. 

for a second, you thought he was having an allergic reaction. that would certainly explain his avoidance of your body, and perhaps why even a deep black had replaced the cool purple in his irises when his eyes snap open to glare. his pupils were blown out despite the bright tube lighting overhead, and his mouth parts wide.

yet an allergy did not explain everything. as opposed to weak, however, hitoshi suddenly looked frightening. 

because, instead, what came out of your mouth was a strangled, “uh, what the-- are those fangs?” 

and indeed they were, confirmed as they descended upon your skin before you  could even blink. at the very least, he had the decency to pant out a small but distinctively unapologetic “sorry” before his lips pressed around your bleeding fingers, tongue hot against the stinging cuts. 

you hope fervently your coworkers take their leisure at lunch.

[vercopaanir]

Keeping Warm

The Lovely Moons Series, Chapter 27

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian is unsuccessful in capturing his quarry.

Words: 5.5k

Rating/Warnings: M for mildly graphic depictions of injuries and wounds (burns).

Notes: BET YOU THOUGHT I FORGOT! Well, I didn’t. I have been very mentally tired from this new job, so I’m sorry for the delay. I hope this...well, if it’s not worth the wait, I hope it sustains us a little bit. I’ve already begun work on the next chapter, so fingers crossed it won’t be long!

AO3

You don’t know how long you sit and stare at the closed ramp of the ship, listening for the sounds of distant gunfire or voices. Your heart continues to pump blood angrily through your ears, throbbing at the thin veins threading your neck until your stomach curls into a thorny bramble of anxious sickness. You release a breath you didn’t realize you held, and you feel the gentle pressure on your arm draw your pale eyes away, down to the tiny child peering up at you with the sadness of a lost and worried little one in need of comfort.

It is natural to pick the baby up, to cradle him against your shoulder and kiss his head, sniffling against the fuzzy down that’s dusted between his ears. You both clutch each other, listening and waiting.

The ship is freezing, and it feels as if it continues to get colder by the second. You tug your cloak tighter around the two of you, the fabric clinging to your limbs where it’s been wet with snow. The heating system is old and unreliable, and you have to fumble with the panel to adjust the temperature, hoping it will actually pour warmth into the recycled air. You share a worried glance with the child when there comes a great, juddering sound from beneath the belly of the ship, and you sigh. 

No noise, save the wind, continues to whistle through the cracks of the ship from outside.

Din hadn’t shared the details of his bounty with you. He had once said that it’s Guild protocol not to ask questions, not to get too deep into the quarry’s life beyond the necessary information it would take to capture and deliver. He had not spoken of any quarries to you, not since the Avalice brothers, and you think that the less you know, perhaps the better. 

You still vividly recall the strikes to your face and head, the tightness of your bindings in the fathier stables, and you wonder if ignorance would be enough to comfort you. Not knowing the truth didn’t guarantee you wouldn’t be hurt again, and as you go through the motions of preparing dinner for your little one, you decide that not knowing what Din faces is worse than risking your own involvement. You try to bring back to mind the blurry image of what you had seen in the snowy field, the small smear of red against white, how violently Din had changed from a gentle and loving man to a deadly, unfeeling hunter, and you shiver harder than before.

You and the child usually share meals, but you can’t find an appetite. Your stomach is still tight with worry, hands shaking if left idle, so you sniffle against the cold and draw your cloak around the baby while he drinks soup from his favorite cup. The two of you are curled as close to the air vent as possible, the pitifully warm air doing little to chase away the chill. 

When he has finished eating two helpings, you close the two of you in the refresher and run hot water into the sink until it steams the mirror and fills the small cubicle with humidity. The hot water is a precious commodity, but as the sun dips lower in the sky and darkness overcomes the world outside, the ship is practically icy. You don’t know where Din is, how long it will take him, or what, if any, trouble he may encounter, so drawing a small bath in the sink for your little child takes your mind off of those terrible ideas for a short time.

The soap is a gentle, milky emulsion of honey and herbs, and it makes the water froth with bubbles as you draw it through your hands to gently wash the baby, taking special care to clean his ears, hands, and feet. The steam curls the hair around your face, and when the child giggles and smacks the bubbles, they catch in your hair like the snow Din had dropped on you.

Wrapping him into a towel, you dry and dress him in the thickest garments you have, bundling him in his favorite blue blanket that smells of his father from how often he rocks the little one to sleep. 

No amount of rocking soothes him this night. The closer he gets to slipping into dreams, the more he fights it, fussing against your breast and clutching at your dress. You avoid your shared quarters with Din, knowing it is too cold, and you don’t open the doors of the cockpit, too scared that someone outside might see the movement through the observation windows. Though, you desperately wish that you could see through them, wish you could look for any movement outside.

When the baby finally settles, you tuck him into the pram with yet another blanket and his stuffed bantha, hoping the insulation will retain the warmth better than your own body heat can. You push the pram into the medical bunk and close the door, hoping to block the cold air, and you lay a hand against the smooth steel. You yearn to climb into the uncomfortable medical cot, curling your entire body around the little one and drifting off to sleep with him, but your fears won’t let your mind settle. You can only think of the Mandalorian outside in the dark, and the gnawing sensation of something horrible won’t leave you. 

You begin pacing the length of the hull again, rubbing your eyes, your brow, your face until it feels raw and pinched. You pass a short amount of time practicing movements with your walking aid, familiarizing yourself with its reach and the sounds it makes against the different spots against the walls and floors. When you grow weary, you retrieve the thick fur and blankets from the bed of the captain’s quarters and bring them back down into the hull, making a small cocoon near the air vent and settling down. You tug your gloves back on your fingers, admiring what you can make out of the soft leather. Your staff remains at your side, fully extended and gleaming in the low light. 

Sleep is on the edge of your mind, just out of reach, and you focus on your breathing, letting whatever idle thoughts topple through come and go. You consider how much this ship, as cold and dark as it can be, has become your home. Once, it was an overarching shadow that made you tremble, but now it feels like a sanctuary, a respite from the outside world. As much as you miss the covert and yearn for that communal kinship, the desire to move, to wander, has planted itself in your breast. You can only hope that once this is over, you might wrap your arms around Din’s neck as he pilots, resting your temple against his helm and savoring the freedom of greedy men.

It’s unclear to you when you fall asleep, because suddenly the harsh knell of a fist against the hull’s door wakes you. It is slow, solemn, heavy.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Whoever it is wears armor upon their hands, not the soft leather gloves you are accustomed to. It is not a weapon or object being hurled against the hull either, and you suck in a breath upon the realization that someone is standing on the other side of the door. And it is not Din.

You are terrified to move, your back against the wall near the air vent. Your breath trembles with clouds in the cold air, and you bite on your lip to keep yourself quiet. The heating system has shut off, and you remember Din once mentioned that the systems would automatically expire after a period of inactivity-some kind of energy saving program to help conserve fuel. 

The wind is howling outside, rushing against the metal siding, and you know if you don’t get the heat on soon, you’re likely to lose the feeling of your fingers and toes. You push yourself up, slowly and carefully, pressing your palms flat against the wall behind you. Blood rushes through your limbs, waking them from rest, and you don’t hear any retreating footsteps from the door.

If it was Din, he wouldn't knock.

If it was Din, he’d call out for you.

If it was Din, you wouldn’t be afraid.

Your eyesight is poor in the dim lighting of the hull, and you don’t feel safe enough to try and turn on the overheads. You don’t need light, however, to find the release to open the Mandalorian’s weapon locker, nor do you need to look for the shined and oiled WESTAR-34 gifted to you by Rhalaz and Briinx. Your hands shake as you hold the weapon with both hands, bracing your back against the wall across from the door, and you draw your breath from deep in your stomach. You close your eyes and focus all your attention on the sounds.

You hear the howling wind, the icy creaks of the ship shifting and settling, and then, you hear something else. Metal upon metal, as if that armored glove is dragging across the outside of the hull, feeling for an opening, for a way to get in.

Braced against the wall with the blaster drawn between both your hands, bones shaking and muscles aching from the cold, you don’t know how long you stand in the dark. Thoughts shuffle through your mind at such a speed it leaves you dizzy. Will a blaster bolt stop someone who is armored? If you cannot protect them from getting in, what will you do? You don’t know of a way to contact Din, uneducated in the communication software the Razor Crest is equipped with. And even if you were, is it safe to use when others are nearby?

But you become aware of a release in pressure, after a long time of listening and dreading, and you’re not sure how you know that the presence outside has retreated, but you do. 

It’s as if the entire galaxy is focused upon you and your child for an agonizing stretch of the night, until suddenly it recedes, stars settling and moons turning back into their orbits once again.

Your breath continues to cloud the air in front of you, and your teeth begin to chatter now. When the engines are running, the air recycling system keeps the ship warm in deep space, insulating from within, but you are unsure how long it’s been turned off. 

You don’t set the blaster down, shutting the weapons locker as an afterthought and crossing the hull with stunted steps. You leave your staff behind, climbing into the upper deck of the ship and opening the cockpit. You can’t be sure it’s safe to do, but the unknown-the lost, floating uncertainty of everything is too much to bear. 

When the doors slide open, you squint in the blue tinted pre-dawn light, feeling your way to the pilot’s chair and settling in it, running your gloved fingers through the motions. You make a mental list of the pre-flight checks, knowing you will be spending precious amounts of fuel to burn the engines this way, but you are unsure now if you fall asleep that you will wake up again.

The engines are a soothing sound, the quiet flare of power beneath the ship reminding you of the earth growing organic life, a familiar and safe sensation as the gentle hum vibrates imperceptibly beneath your feet. The threat of an intruder seems like a far off nightmare now, only on the edge of your periphery, and you wonder if it is because you haven’t truly slept. Your instinct is to retrieve the baby, to crack open his pram and scoop him up into your arms, but you know what little heat he has is precious. You risk it if you expose him now.

So you curl into the pilot’s chair, tugging your cloak as tight around you as possible and wait for the heating system to begin chasing the chill away. You let your eyes focus and unfocus on the distant horizon through the observation windows, admiring the hues of blue and purple and gold. It reminds you of the flowers on Quanera, of the first time Din trusted you completely with his son, and salt gathers in your eyes against the powerful memories. 

When the first tear pearls big enough to slip down your cheek, it releases a torrent of things you remember-the way he held you after he killed Toro Calican, the sound of the child breathing and sleeping upon his chest in the dark of the cockpit, the quiet, reserved motions of slipping into bed beside you every night with all the respect of a saint for their deity. 

You wonder if your mother loved your father with such a depth, such a wrenching ache that you can hardly breathe to think of it. It hurts, a pressure bearing down upon your chest, and when you part your lips it tears a gasp from your throat. You press your head back against the chair, a small smile teasing the edges of your lips, and more tears slip down the sides of your face.

You haven’t truly considered the feelings you’ve harbored and nurtured until now, and it all unleashes with happy tear trails. It feels as if you have an answer for every question, somehow. A piece of a puzzle that has finally locked into place, you turn your face against the pilot’s chair and smell clean, cold woods.

It is when you start to doze before the lavender fingered dawn that you feel the shuddering of the ship beneath you, and your eyes fly open at the familiar sound of the ramp lowering. In your haste to throw yourself out of the chair, your legs tangle in the cloak and you nearly drop your blaster, but you brandish it between both hands as you approach the port of the ladder that descends into the belly of the ship. 

Suddenly beading with a cold sweat, you hold your breath, listening intently to the sounds of a muted shuffling across the metal floors, soft grunts and harsh breathing, and then the ramp is closing just as soon as it nearly lowered completely. The ship seems to settle once more, and there’s nothing you can hear over the wind outside.

Then, you hear a sudden, heavy thud, and it might as well be your heart.

Scrambling down the ladder, your boot slips when it catches the hem of your dress, and you fall the rest of the way to land on your ankles. You feel a painful jolt from the impact up your legs, but it is a passing thought when you whirl around in the dimly lit space. There is a darkened mass quivering near the carbonite freezer, and at first you think it to be an animal of some kind until you hear the quiet static of the modulator catching on a painful drag of air.

“Din?” you whisper, slipping the blaster in the back of your sash, approaching the freezer with caution. You tilt your head downward, hoping to make out anything as you slowly kneel down and take off your gloves. “Are you hurt?”

It is so difficult for you to see, but the light catches his beskar well enough. You move to take his helmet with one trembling hand, but his own shoots out and latches onto your wrist so tightly you yelp. 

“D-Don’t,” he hisses, letting you go with shaking fingers. He’s slumped against the wall, uses one hand to grapple with the hidden release of his helm before tearing it off. It hits the floor with a solid crunch, ice chipping off the steel and rolling along the corrugated grooves of the floor. You watch it roll until it comes to a stop somewhere down near the exit ramp, and you turn your eyes back to him, his hair matted with sweat and sticking to the blurry edges of his face.

He’s pale, you see immediately, almost as pale as the snow coating his clothes. You try to reach and help him take the armor off, but he bats your hand away again, growling as he rips off a pauldron, fumbling with his chest plate, peeling off the cuisse of his legs. “F-Frozen,” he whispers from between teeth. “It’ll b-burn.” 

You suck in a breath, watching as each heavy piece of steel hits the ground with a slicing ring, not unlike some great beast losing its scales. You push yourself up on shaking legs, locating the crate you had been organizing a few days prior and retrieve a medkit. Once he’s torn his vambraces from his arms, you kneel back down, reaching out to remove his gloves and going still when you feel holes eating through the leather.

“W-What is this?” you ask, turning your face up to him. His eyes are like black holes against his ashen face, and you realize he’s trembling so hard, so violently that he can’t speak. You yank the glove off and jump when he yells in pain. It’s not apparent to you what’s happened until he bends over his newly naked hand, and you can see the shoulders of his woven undershirt and how they are also splattered with holes.

No. No, in fact, his shirt is barely hanging onto his frame at all.

Your eyes widen, and you can’t stop the automatic reaction of shuffling forward on your knees, quick to grab his arm when he tries to pull away from you. 

At first, you don’t understand what you’re looking at because the lack of light is so watery in the hull that it seems his shirt has been worn away in places, wet in other spots until it shines beneath the light. When he lays his hand upon your knee, you look down and see it better.

His back is burned, lashes of brutal red welts becoming discolored from the extreme temperatures outside. There are blisters forming through the holes, and what you thought appeared to be melted snow is actually blood. 

“L-Lay down,” you whisper, your voice cracking as your heart begins to beat out of rhythm in a terrible, frantic tune. You have to help him, his body clumsy and heavy. Din slips the rest of the way and coughs when his cheek meets the floor, his entire body juddering like the engines of the Razor Crest when they stall.

You might pass out, you think, staring in horror at his back. Perhaps be sick.

Once, you’d seen a servant burn their hand by taking a cast iron skillet from a fire, and it had not left any skin behind. Now, looking at the man beneath you, fear almost swallows you whole. 

He is going to die, if not from his wounds, than an infection.

It’s only when his hand reaches out, trembling and weak to touch the hem of your skirt that you ignite. You throw yourself forward, grabbing at his boot and finding the blade he used to once cut your own dress from your body. You move carefully, kneeling beside his hip and finding the ruined lip of his shirt near his collar, and you are thankful he keeps his blades so well-oiled once more. It cuts the fabric like butter, and you go slow so that you don’t accidentally pierce his skin, cutting the shirt from his arms first and then the top of his shoulders. 

The heat has finally circulated through the ship enough to chase off the worst of the chill, so when he begins to shiver even harder, you know it is not from the cold.

“Din,” you whisper, setting the knife down and bending towards his face. You lay your fingers to his cheek, your stomach falling when you find his eyes closed. “Din, you have to stay awake.” 

His breath comes out in a grunt, his face twisting in pain. He whispers through his teeth again, “‘m awake.”

Turning, you throw the medkit open, finding electrolyte tablets by their bright yellow pouch and  tear it open. You had read an old medical book as a teenager, finding every braille book you could get your hands on in the Moff’s extensive library. Braille is often only found in the driest and most rudimentary genres, but now you are thankful. You are by no means a healer, but you know enough that he is going into shock. You force his lips apart and shove the electrolyte tablets between his teeth, making a noise when he doesn’t respond.

“Chew them!” You yell, your voice becoming shrill in your panic. He needed water, too, but you didn’t want to leave him so you cup his chin and give his head a tiny shake. “Din!”

He grunts, and it takes him too long for your liking, but you can hear the soft clicking of the tablets breaking between his teeth. You turn back to the medkit and find several small glass bottles. You can’t read the print on them, and you struggle to find anything your eyes can make out aside from a syringe. 

If you could fly the ship to a port, to a medical center, you would, but you can’t. There’s no way you can make it with your limitations beyond getting off the planet, and that wouldn’t be of any more help than being stuck here. You squeeze your fingers around the bottles before leaning back towards his face, tapping his cheek with your fingers.

“Din, open your eyes,” you say, soft and gently prodding. “Please, my love, I need your help. You have to tell me which of these is the anesthetic. I can’t see it.” 

It’s good, you think, when he makes a heroic effort to lift his lashes, that you can keep him awake this way. If he falls asleep now, you know he will never wake up again.

“Is it this one?” You hold it up. He is too weak to shake his head, so he simply closes his eyes, and you want to cry. You truly do, but instead you hold another bottle in his line of sight. “This one?”

You do this for several turns before he grunts, lips pressed firmly and jerking his head in affirmation. You stab the syringe into the bottle, drawing the anesthetic as much as you dare and look back down at his back. 

It will hurt, no matter how much you can give him, you realize, but removing the rest of his shirt will be the hardest part for both of you. You lay one hand on the back of his head to both steady and comfort him, and you slip the needle beneath his skin, biting your lip as you release the plunger. Once you’ve set those tools aside, you pick the knife back up and shift forward again.

“A-Alright,” you whisper, sniffling against the cold and your nerves. There is a tight, painful knot in your throat, but talking seems to ease the discomfort. You hope it might be of some comfort to him, too, might keep him awake. “I-I have to remove the rest.”

He says nothing, only seems to be focusing on breathing, so you take that as the only bit of encouragement you’ll get, and you use the knife’s tip to fold the top of the shirt backward. You aren’t sure if it’s your eyesight, the light, or the fact the burns are so spread out, but the shirt does not cling to the skin as terribly as you suspected. His gloves must be giving him more pain, you think, as you peel away the ruined, bloodied tunic and he does not move, save for a twitch of his boot.

The pattern against the golden skin of his back reminds you of fingers, licks of blood and blisters that gleam wetly under the faint yellow light. For a moment, looking upon the wounds, you feel as if you’re choking, a surge of terror rising in your throat. 

It’s too much, you can’t do this, how are you supposed to do this?

Your hand grasps your throat, staring blindly at his ruined back while your other hand lays atop his own that weakly grips the hem of your dress. He is close to falling unconscious, close to never waking up, and a small voice within reminds you that if he had chosen someone else in that dirty, dusty cantina, they would know what to do.

His fingers twitch beneath your hand, a small movement that snaps your attention to the present like a hook reeling in a fish. You clamber up to your feet and cross the hull, movements muted and succinct. You take a cloth from a cupboard and dip it under a stream of cool water, sniffling and realizing you’ve been crying the whole time. 

You ignore this and march like a stormtrooper back to the wounded man on the floor, rolling your sleeves up and kneeling like a supplicant before an altar. 

It has been years since you read the medical book in the Moff’s library, but burns are a nasty business and are not easily forgotten. You knew better than to let the water run into the wounds themselves, nor did you disturb the blisters that could be disastrous. You cleaned the blood away, sniffling persistently as you worked. It was easy to do, uncovering the gold beneath the red.

Din grunts under your administrations, though you couldn’t be applying more pressure than a feather. The silence is suddenly too much for you, hearing his muffled noises of swallowing his pain. You want to fill the empty space before it makes you scream.

“Do you know how I knew those flowers weren’t poisonous?” you ask suddenly, thinking of Quanera and the fields of blue and purple flowers, of the baby that had babbled and happily given you and his father blooms of his choosing. “It’s all in the number of leaves. Though with all the frogs and lizards your son eats, I don’t think a flower would bother him much.”

You want to demand who did this to him, make him answer for this atrocity, but you can feel the fist he makes beside your leg, knowing how much it is costing him just to remain awake while you retrieve a bacta spray from the medkit. You pray it will be enough, pray it will flush out any chance of infection from the snow.

“Some flowers,” you go on, administering the spray from the base of his spine upward. It’s a fine mist that doesn’t make any noise, but you can see the muscle beneath the burned skin tense when he whimpers, burying his face against the unforgiving grooves of metal in the floor. “Some flowers become poisonous. Did you know that? When you make tea out of them and let them set overnight, they can become deadly.”

As if delicate things could turn dangerous, given enough time.

He will have scars, you think. Scars over the untouched planes of ocher skin you had caressed and felt when he made love to you. It breaks your heart when you reach the top of his shoulders, the back of his neck, feeling the charred ends of his curls where the fire has singed so much away. You know the burns cover the crescent moons your nails had once left, tokens of love and desire no longer bearing the evidence of the first time he put his mouth on you.

“S-Stop,” Din whispers, his voice no more than a hoarse rasp. He sounds deathly, faint and hanging onto the last vestiges of his energy. “Please, stop, Cyare, it hurts.”

“I’m almost done,” you implore, biting your lip. There is a small canister of burn salve in the medkit, meant for minor wounds from the sun or being in the kitchen. You don’t know if it will have any effect, but your limited knowledge prevents you from not trying anything. You scoop the salve out, careful to use it on the worst parts because there is so little of it. 

You are halfway down his back when suddenly he begins trembling from head to foot so hard that you can hear his teeth knocking together. Your arms hang still, your eyes rolling upward to his whitened face.

“Din?”

You set the canister down, moving until you can turn his cheek upward. Sweat the size of slugthrower bullets wet his face and dampen his hair, and his eyes are squeezing tightly shut. Every word is forced, breaking in desperation. “T-Too much,” he whispers, and you think you see him bite his lip, marble teeth piercing flesh. “‘S t-too mu-much-”

You don’t know, then, if he is going to live. The tears that washed your face and the panic that you had swallowed both come back, and you grab his hand between both of yours, holding his burned fingers to your lips. “You said I wouldn’t be without you, don’t-! Please, please don’t-don’t leave me.”

But then, he does.

It’s not sudden or dramatic, like you have always imagined something like death is. In fact, it is quiet, soft, and quick, a gentle brush of air that disturbs the hem of your dress, and his entire body goes slack against the rough metal floor.

“N-No, no-” Your hands cup the back of his neck quickly, your other hand turning his face enough to pat his cheek. His eyes flutter, but no breath disturbs your fingers from beneath his nose. “Din!”

Tears the size of credits well in your eyes and begin falling, soaking your cheeks as you pat desperately at his face, his shoulder, his arm, whimpering when he continues not to move.

“Wake up-” Your lungs catch on the words, swallowing and choking on them like some kind of live creature wriggling between your ribs. Your mouth breaks open on a silent, raw sob, shaking his shoulder faster, harder, blinded by brine and panic. You draw his head into your lap, desperately trying to get him to wake, whimpering against the charred, sweat dampened black curls at the crown of his head. You rock him quickly, hoping touch will somehow bring his tattered, bloodied spirit back to you. “-You said, you promised-you said you would be here,” you choke, squeezing your eyes closed and bending over his head. “Y-You promised!”

If you just hold him tighter, you think wildly-so, so blind-he will wake up. He will.

And then, he does.

This time it is sudden, harsh and visceral like a fish breaking the surface of a choppy ocean. His arms strike out on either side of him, and he chokes on his own breath, gasping and coughing into the soft fabric of your skirt. You jerk backward, stunned and eyes widened to look down at his broken, torn body.

There, tucked near his side, you find the tiny green child pressing his two three-fingered hands against his father’s flank. Your heart will surely come up, you think, staring in awe at the little one’s ears twitching, his eyes narrowed into slits of concentration.

You are too shocked, too indignant in what you conceive to be happening to react. Din clutches at your lower half in desperation, and you watch in fearful rapture as the torn, burned flesh of his back is slowly knit together. Blisters melt away like water, the deeper slashes the fire left behind sewing themselves as if there had only been too much sun shining upon the son of Mandalore. 

The child falls over abruptly, and you have to reach forward to catch him before his tiny head connects with the hard steel grating. His skin, upon closer inspection, is pale, a sickly non-color that makes you feel queasy, and he lays against your shoulder as if he is overheated, panting quietly. You cup the back of his head, turning your own ashen face down upon the Mandalorian.

He lays panting too, his entire body now drenched with sweat. His eyes are still shut tight, but the air flowing through his nose in harsh puffs gives you enough strength to stand on shaky legs. You find the medical bunk opened, the pram’s shutters parted like a well-cracked egg. You don’t know how he managed to get out of both, but you lay him inside the pram once more, pressing your hands against the steel wall and taking a deep breath.

Din’s back is smooth once again, save for a small spattering of scars you’ve felt before. His skin is heated, and you wonder if the child had to stop short, couldn’t quite draw out all of the damage. You had seen workers at the Moff’s estate with burns from the sun, spending too much time outside. You don’t know how long you sit beside him, your hand petting the middle of his back.

You do know that when he wakes, he will tell you everything that happened.

You also know that whenever you sleep, your blaster will be within your reach.

-

Mando’a Translations:

Cyare - Beloved

-

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