#nothing gives me more glee than seeing someone from the crew of a show give me

[rexsterss]

The Kiners are right of course, their kisses would need to have their own show

This is not the first time they want clonexclone action babes

[sillygum]

“And I don't care.” Luffy laughs into his balled first, the action quickly turning into an exhausting choked cough. Mortals like this surgeon were tools, good tools never talked back yet the young dragon can't stop the tired smile creasing his face. The rumors did little too describe the man as a person beyond his actions and the ever growing list of crimes. Murder, extortion, grand larceny, none of which matters now, Luffy has him and a cure was within reach. "And you're mean, I kind of like that shihihi."

All the excitement has his weak heart fluttering in a beat doctors clearly worry over. It's too much but it's the most their master's managed in months. Luffy clutches at his chest, white robes thick to keep his failing body warm under duck feathers and chasmer. Still, he manages to smile at the man, glee almost foreign to him now.

"You will fix me." Not a question or fact but an order. Luffy was sick of sleeping, sick of catching life in barely conscious winks and whispers. He dreamed of exploring the world, collecting fighters of all shapes and sizes. No, that wouldn't be enough anymore. This sleeping disease had side lined him for too long to just be a collector and spectator. Near death would be a fire in his belly once it was in his past.

"Show him." Empty hand gestures to a new primary physician. "My charts, give him —" The room begins to sway and he can feel exhaustion pooling into his mind; the warmth of his bed and rest so inviting. "—any-anything he needs." Voice fades, awakeness slipping through his fingers. In the corners of his vision he can see doctors moving about, drawing liquids into syringes and checking equipment.

With their master out once more several doctors work to stir him again. A long neck woman in white steps forward, coily blue hair pulled back in a low bun, skin like polished smokey quarts and trimmed square fingernails. From her lab coat she pulls a pen, free hand holding up an open folder to the pirate. On the left a long list of symptoms divides the page accompanied by possible causes from diseases to sudden onset illnesses, all of which have been marked with an X at the end to rule them out. On the right page are the current cocktail of drugs that keep their master conscious for more than five minutes; the dosages alarmingly high for someone his weight.

“He's been like this for almost three years and nothing we have done has been able to combat his symptoms for long. Strong emotions bring on his sleepy spells, positive ones like joy and excitement as you can see—” Pen gestures behind her where Luffy is still being fussed over. “Put him right out. That's where you come in.” Pen taps against the man's collar. “A full heart and lung transplant should be easy enough given the nature of your fruit. From there we will work our way through every possible cure and if it comes down to it...” Sigh parts her glossy lips, lavender eyes glancing away. What is the life of a pirate compared to a dragon? If he didn't lose his life here for a just cause it would surely be thrown away elsewhere, pointlessly.

“We are aware of your fruit's hidden ability. While my master would much rather keep you and your crew alive in exchange for his life, we have ways of forcing you to use it on him.” Pinched brows smooch back into expressionless fixtures as hand turns notes back towards her, a single page flipped. "We have numberous healthy subjects below deck and will begin there." The woman speaks as if the pirate's already agreed to lend his service, there is little alternative and Nyisha refuses to pretend choice plays any factor in his decision beyond bed side manor.

There are two circumstances in the world that might have brought a man like Trafalgar Law to the hellscape that is a Celestial’s private ship. No – scratch that. There’s only one thing that could have brought him here, because despite the horrors he’d witnessed in his childhood at the hands of the corrupt World Government (and by extension, the despot Celestials who pulled them by their strings) – despite the unbridled fury that had once fueled his entire existence and filled him with an insatiable desire to bring the whole world down with him when he inevitable succumbed to his own illness, Trafalgar Law’s imagination could never have conjured a nightmare quite like this.

No. He’d sooner die than use his ability to save the life of one of these deranged despots – and if it were as simple as that, he would have already sent this atrocity of a ship to the bottom of the seabed, even if he’d had to go down with it. But it’s not that simple, because that one and only leverage they might have had on him is the crew that’s become his second family. The crew who, although they’d fought so valiantly, had not been sufficiently equipped to ward off a troop of guards of the finest caliber money could buy.

Devil Fruit powers aside, Law’s keen combat senses and the unfathomable combination of horror and icy rage that had washed over him when he’d made it back to the Tang to find his submarine and crew under attack might have been enough to take them all out himself – damn the consequences.

He would have done it. Would have let the instinct to save them – to protect them – take over and taken great satisfaction in dismembering each and every one of them who’d dared to lay hands on his family before they’d make for the Polar Tang and the safety of the ocean’s dark depths. They would have spent a lifetime on the run and looking over their shoulders, no doubt, but Law would have given anything to see it through if it meant getting them the hell out of there.

But by the time he’d returned from his business in the port town, it had been too late. No less than half of his crew had already been incapacitated – Bepo and half a dozen others already overwhelmed by their unexpected assailants. A brilliant strategist and one who’d always prided himself on being prepared for every worse case scenario, with another thirty seconds the Captain might have been able to concoct an escape plan for them.

Unfortunately for him, thirty seconds were more than these guards were going to give him to think things through. It was only by the greatest show of willpower he’d ever exhibited that Law managed to stop himself from burying Kikoku into one of the many guards that advanced upon him – not that it did anything to hold his acid tongue or withering death glares at bay as they’d cuffed and collared him. This was definitely a targeted attack – they’d had time to research their targets.

And now he found himself face-to-face with one of the Celestials he’d spent his whole life hating from afar. The sight of the ailing man sitting up on the bed before him fills him with a revulsion that leaves him even more unsteady than the strength-sapping effect of his seastone manacles. These are the people who sit so far above the rest of the world. Who look down on everything and everyone below them and who purchase, toss about, and kill in the name of entertainment. The ones who think they rule the world, though there’s nothing more he’d like than to single-handedly turn that notion on its head in his lifetime.

And exactly the kind of people something with his acerbic snark should not be left alone in a room with.

“You don’t want to know what I want to do right now,” he growls through gritted teeth, visions of carnage playing out in the back of his mind even as he struggles to keep his tongue in check for the sake of the crew that had been dragged along elsewhere on the ship. Leverage to keep him in line for whatever treatment this bastard has sought him out for. It doesn’t take a surgeon’s keen eye to know whatever he’s got can’t be good. “So what is it? What brings a Celestial Dragon low enough to leave the comfort of the Holy Land? Get a hangnail waving a gun around at one of your slaves?"

[cafecourage]

The moment they realized they loved you. (Isekai Au Edition) Part 2

If you want more information on this AU here is the Link!

Sky:

- It started slow and very sweet.

- He took a long time realizing who you were. But he still believed in the others when they started to recognize you.

- When your behind him cheering you on, he feels invincible. Since during his adventure Impa tore into him pretty badly when he was late to save Zelda.

- Your presence is comforting to him. It feels like home despite being on the ground.

___________________________________

Being back in Skyloft was a small blessing for the chain. The tight knit community had already welcomed the travelers with little to no questions about their origins. It was a stroke of luck that they landed in front of the bazaar in the early morning when no one else was up yet. Their first day there was a resting day in attempt to gather information on the black blood monsters and inventory checks.

Sky took his time catching up with everyone. Letting the Headmaster and Sun know about the situation that had the hero hopping around in the timeline. Then he needed to go down to the small settlement on the surface to check on them. Sun did already tell him that things where still safe down there and that he should take a break. But he still would rather check it out himself just in case something did happen it better to be safe than sorry.

Despite being able to jump off from any of the decks in Skyloft. He automatically went towards the plaza near the tower of light. During his adventure it was the quickest way to the opening above Faron Woods. Sky was just turning the bend when he saw his Loftwing was already there on the docks and under its wing was You. You were trying to put a small amount of distance between you and the bird but the creature kept bring you closer to hold.

“(Y/n)!” Sky was baffled at his Loftwings reactions to you. He dashes to your side. “I’m so sorry. He isn’t normally like this.”

“It’s fine.” Your uncontrollable laughter the was full with childlike glee finally reached him. “In fact, I think he recognizes me!” You whispered smiling. The Crimson Loftwing cooed now leaning into his masters touch as Sky softly pet the side of his necks. Sky wondered if what you said was the truth. Since a Loftwing and its rider do share a special connection, it’s fully possible that his also felt and heard you. “Hey Link?” Suddenly your demeanor changed. “Can I ask something?”

Your bashful and embarrassed expression made Sky feel soft inside. “Of course.”

“One of these days can you show me around the sky or the surface?” You shifted awkwardly from him. He actually forgot that you haven’t physically been to his era before. That for the longest time you only saw things from his point of view without the ability to truly explore anything. “You don’t need to- “

“Are you free now?” He quickly cut you off. “I was actually heading down there now to check on the settlement.”

“Really?” Your face seems to brighten but then you remembered something and leaned closer to him whispering again “I don’t have a Loftwing though.”

He gently takes your hand “my Loftwing is strong enough for both of us.” He guided you to his side. You eyed the bird with uncertainty but you let him help you up onto the harness. Sky got on behind you reaching around you to get the reins. “Hold on to me if you get scared.” He teasingly warned and before you could question him. His Loftwing took off nose diving off of the deck.

You let out a small squeak as you latched onto his tunic. Sky almost felt bad that he actually scared you. But once in the air and on a steady path you finally opened your eyes again. “Woah!” The sight was nothing special but it was still just as beautiful. The clouds below them created an endless sea of white. “It’s so pretty.” Pride bubbled up as Sky watch you taken in the beauty of his home. This was just the start of what he wanted to show you as different locations came into his mind. “Hey.” You looking over your shoulder with hope in your eyes. ”Next time can we go to the Lumpy Pumpkin? I remember you singing high praises about their pumpkin soup.”

Sky tried to think of what he wanted to do tomorrow, right now there wasn’t anything that needed his attention. “If we have time tomorrow, I can take you there for lunch or dinner.” Maybe he could take a break from being a hero for a bit.

“Great! It’s a date then.” You sent a wink his way that sent his brain into a haywire before looking back into the endless sky. He was lucky his Loftwing is able to steer himself. As dot’s where finally connecting in Sky’s head. Pure love and affection bubble up as he embraces his new found feelings.

- He will be the one to uno reverse card on you. All love and affection will drown you instead. There was so much he wanted to tell you before to thank you for being by his side and encouraging him.

- Cuddle time will start here because of his need to make sure you know your loved too.

- He would be the one to confess first, but it would probably be played off as friends telling each other that they love each other.

- You’re not dense but overly affectionate. He might just need to spell out how you make him feel on a daily basis. Maybe then you’ll understand what you’re doing to him.

___________________________________

Legend:

- It hit him like a freight train.

- He isn’t mad at you. He is mad at himself. He had made his dues with what the people he had lost. Yet here he is. Already going too far.

- Your ability to make the situation brighter slowly eroded the walls he put up years ago.

- It might be all in his head, but he swears that you always make sure his needs are met even if he is trying to hide them.

___________________________________

“Link!!!” You barreled towards him ignoring the questioning stares the people of Windfall Island. “Link! Link! Link! LOOK!!!” You hold up a pink rabbit stuffed animal that you bought. “It you!”

The veteran in question huffed, “seriously of all things.” He turned on his heels “I’m going back on the ship.” He didn’t know why he was still entertaining your antics at that point.

“Wha- Hey! I was joking!” They were stocking up in Windfall and Legend was not happy to be on a boat nor in the ocean again. He wouldn’t say that he afraid.

Just… cautious…

You on the other hand looked like you were having the time of your life on the ship talking the it’s Captain and crew member’s. Yet most of the time you would stay by his side. The reason was obvious but nether wanted to talk about it.

Which is why you dragged him out to the port island. ‘An easy distraction.’ You told him, ‘I can show you around so we won’t get lost!’ He wasn’t worried about that. Legend trusted you. A fact he will never say out loud. However, he would rather hole up somewhere and escape the world then be here.

A soft hand took his when Legend reached the docks. He already knew who it was since you’ve been following him like a lost puppy all day. “One more place please?” You looked at him expectingly. “Then you can go back.”

“What are you a child? Why can’t you just go alone?” Legend snapped back, “you don’t have to be around me.”

“Legend I like being with you.” You pointed out like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “However.” You let go of his hand. “I also understand if you don’t want to hang out anymore and want to go rest.” There was no fighting back. No offense to his words. Nothing. Just a warm smile that filled him with warmth, that was accompanied by words fueled by unlimited care and understanding which made his heart beat faster. The silence between you two seemed to give you an answer. You turned around. A panicked feeling shot through. Legend was surprised with himself when he almost reached out to you when you walked away.

Instead, he watched you go. In the wake of his own emotions, he realized what had been happening. How he has been acting around you was starting to get familiar. “Not again.” He whispered disappointed in himself.

___________________________________

- Legend is going to be bitter about it. He isn’t going to take it out on you, but his mannerisms are going to be different after this.

- Not quite closed off, but it’s almost like he is mourning another loss.

- You would need to drown him in love and affection before he realizes you like him back. But like Twilight, he is going to be heartbroken if you decide to leave him to go back home.

___________________________________

Wild:

- Its progression was as natural as breathing.

- He just got off of his adventure so he always had you by his side. Just being near you is second nature.

- If anything, he was more than excited to actually have you physically be here alongside him.

- It rare to see ether of you not near each other when traveling together you two are inseparable.

___________________________________

The only upside of being in Wild’s Era is that the champion knew what to expect, it’s chaotic was normal for him and actually brought him a bit of peace. You came with that peace of mind. Having you join the chain to him was almost like you never left his side in the first place. From the moment he woke up after being told his name and what he needed to from Zelda, he was aware of your presence. You were the one to encourage him to explore the ruin kingdom. You were the one to recognize structures that the people in his world didn’t know about. The weird part was that you didn’t know how he was before the calamity, but he didn’t question that fact too much. He was more than happy to have someone treat him as a different person from before.

Now having you physically with him. Wild wanted to bring you to all of your favorite locations that you vocally told him about.

But that had to wait for now, because the downside to Wild’s Hyrule was the amount of things that wanted him dead. Moblins? Bokablins? Those guys are fine to fight they were push overs unless infected with the black blood. Actually, most of Wild’s monsters were like that. Once you get a hang of fighting them and recognize their patterns. They are a breeze.

A common threat that was annoy to deal with however, was the Yiga Clan. Which leads to the situation Wild and the others found themselves getting in while on the road to Hateno. He should of figured that they were going to strike when he got back to his Era. But he honestly didn’t think it would be in this quantity they were out number but thanks to Warriors taking control of the situation where managing. He was trying to make sure everyone was accounted for and was alive when he heard a string of curses coming from his right.

You had been knocked on the ground by a Blade Master. Your sword was near the clan member. Wild felt his world freeze in that moment as he bolted towards your body. With a falcon bow in hand. Wild side jumped. Locked in an ancient arrow and let it go.

The arrow sped towards the Blade Master. Hitting him directly. Turning the Yiga member into a bunch of Sheikah blue ribbons before collapsing into an orb where the arrow hit.

Wild slide towards your body. A pulse he needed to feel a pulse. Placing the tips of his index and middle finger on the base of your thumb and wrist. He pressed lightly to feel the blood pulsing beneath his fingers. A sigh of relief escaped him. Wild was lucky that the battle had come to an end. As the other Yiga members ether retreated in horror of what happened to one of their own or cut down quickly.

Hyrule join him soon after shooing him out of the way gently. Wild didn’t move from your side all that much. He didn’t want to. Just in case you left him too. He doesn’t know a life without you in it. A world like that just doesn’t exist.

Wild knows the name of the cause of his feelings. It’s the same thing that drives him to share his experience with you. He wants to be by your side and to make you happy.

___________________________________

- He is protective but not controlling. If anything, he wants to spar with you more. So, you can get better at fighting.

- You can bet he is going to start making you taste the different foods he had discovered, or sneak out to visit areas in his world more often. He doesn’t want you to miss a thing.

- There is so much he wants to do with you. So much he wants to share. So many things to say. That he just wants to do it all at once so there can be new things you both can discover together.

(Part 1)

[shivada-jade]

songs of a siren

characters: venti, beidou, kazuha, albedo ➡ mention(s): xiangling, ningguang, sucrose, timaeus, peepaw warning(s): yo ho ho me hearties

note: whenever i write venti, i always have 27 tabs of rhymezone opened up. my rhyming vocabulary will be unstoppable in a few weeks time. no one can stop me, it will be sublime

Venti:

Venti has seen many things in his free-spirited life. He's seen many different lives and creatures, but something he has never seen before are the fabled sirens of the sea.

"Beware of the sirens!" The old captains of Teyvat warned, "Their music is captivating and will drown you into sea."

"Music?" The bard asks with sparkling eyes.

The old sea captain squints her eyes. "Bard, do you have selective hearing? The sirens will drown you in sea."

Venti laughs, "But I've never heard of singing sirens! Just sirens. I wish to see one."

"Younglings these days," the captain shakes her head, tipping her chair back just enough so she wouldn't fall.

"I'm actually older than I look, you can see me in many books," he chuckles, hopping off the table right outside of Angel's Share.

"Thank you for your sea tips captain!" He says, tipping his hat in a bow with a hand behind his back. "I'll put it to jolly good use. With your knowledge, I'll make sure nothing bad will happen!"

Venti sneakily snatches an apple from a sleeping person's hand and saunters on his way, whistling a few notes.

"Sirens of the Sea will be my next tune!"

Everyday, Venti comes out playing his lyre to the sea, hoping he would be able to hear someone sing back. He made his winds carry his song to the deepest part of the waters, trying to catch the attention of sirens.

And everyday, he would return to the tavern, fruitless as the patrons pat his back singing a drunken song.

The young adults nearby would shake their heads, kindly telling Venti that sirens are not real. The grandparents' eyes would twinkle when they heard Venti playing the song for the sirens while kids would sit next to Venti who played his lyre at the docks.

His green cape flew back as he played a different style of music, one that's more mellow and calm compared to the upbeat kind he plays so often. There, he swears he sees the flip of a tail far beyond the ocean.

He bid farewell to the children and apologize for not being to able to play more music for them. "I'll be back if you bring apples!"

Venti waves goodbye and walks out the exits of Mondstadt.

His legs brush the long grass, reaching to touch his hand as he hikes up Starsnatch Cliff, until he remembers he can fly. Oops.

Swirls of teal lift his feet, representing the winds carrying him to the top. The blue of the sky reflected on the waters, and he decides today is the perfect day to sing for his siren again.

Letting his lashes rest on his cheeks, he plays the same mellow tune at the docks, sometimes peeking with one eye to see if the siren is there.

That's when he hears it. The sound of a loud splash ringing in his ear. His lyre playing turns quick and exited, when looking down to see a bobbing head, and a colourful siren tail behind it.

Venti waves his hand wildly, stopping his lyre playing momentarily.

"A real siren!"

The siren freezes, and sinks a bit deeper in the water. The green bard slowly floats down with a friendly smile.

"Did you enjoy my music?" He asks in glee, waiting for an answer. Venti hovers right above the water so his clothes won't get wet. He sees the siren's eyes look at the instrument in his hand and pushes it to their face, making them lean back a bit from shock. "Do you wanna try the lyre?"

"The lyre?" The siren repeats, gliding a finger on the wood of the instrument.

"Just don't sing okay? I can't drown yet, my pride is still high, and the kids there would be in dismay."

The siren laughs, now gripping on the lyre, "Do you always speak like this?"

"Yep!" He says, relieved you feel comfortable with him and seem friendly too. He scratches the back of his head. "Although... you're taking this lightly. Is it true your singing drowns people?" He asks politely.

The tip of the siren's finger touches their lip, thinking. "Well, in some cases, it does."

Venti's eyes widen.

"But not in the way your folktale mention it!" The siren continues, now clasping on the lyre that Venti let go of, playing a few strings. "Sometimes when our folk sing, the sailors are curious where the singing comes from. But the sailor that spread the story of the deadly, singing sirens is The Sailor That Can't Swim."

"The Sailor That Can't Swim? Now that's a tale I need to hear! Though, I must say, I do pity for him."

The siren splashes Venti, making him dripping in cold water. The berette on his head now droops to his eyes. He grins mischievously as he wrings the water out, showing the hair he hides. A strong gust of wind dries the siren's face, making them go back in the water to splash Venti.

"Right, so," the siren pops out their head again. "It was my great great grandfather that actually sang the song. The sailor was curious and fell off his ship, but he didn't know how to swim and drowned. His first mate blamed my great great grandfather's singing for making his captain drown. We're not bad actually. We stopped singing music so close to the surface."

"Wouldn't that be a sight," the bard hums, listening to the song you play on his lyre while looking at the sky above. "Say, Siren. What do you want me to call you? Let me know before the day turns night"

"You ask me my name before telling me yours?" The siren teases, giving his lyre back.

"Ah! My apologies, I'm Venti the bard!... Uh, I can't seem to get a word that rhymes with 'apologies' that go great with my sentence, so I hope you accept my repentance."

"It's alright." The siren says. "I'm [Name]. It's not everyday I can make friends with someone from the surface."

[Name] draws a figure in the air. "My first surface friends told me to be wary of others, but I think I can trust you," [Name] glances at the green glass, strapped on Venti's hip. "One of them even has the same looking glass orb as you. A vision he called it."

Venti shrugs with a smile, feeling like he knows the person the siren was referring to, "I would like to make a song for you, [Name]. Let's have others know what a wonderful siren you are."

Kazuha:

He sits at the side of the ship, playing his leaf like a flute beautifully. The crewmates on The Crux hum the same notes on repeat. They are broken records.

"Even the sturgeon and the ray, they get the urge and start to play!" A kid sings out loud, skipping behind Kazuha.

"Hmm hmm mmm" the kid hums, replacing the words he doesn't know with just the tune itself. "Under the sea!"

Kazuha sighs, letting go of his leaf for the ocean winds to take. His finger traces the lines of the ship, bored and somewhat annoyed. Beidou's crew had been singing the same song for hours after leaving Liyue, showing no signs of ever stopping. It was like a curse.

He looks over the horizon, the crescent moon shining on the ocean, making the ripples turn to satin sheets covering the water. The world is asleep, but not The Crux Crew.

He lets his hair free from the tie; snow hair moves with the breeze, waiting for his friend to appear.

A tall woman settles her hand on the boy's shoulders, sighing. "It's time to get rest. Your siren friend won't come, especially if sirens don't exist," she says saying the last part to herself.

"Beidou," Kazuha greets without turning his head.

"Come on, kid," Beidou insists. "It's late."

Kazuha stays seated, looking over the waters to find his siren friend. "I think I'll stay here a bit more. The ocean calls me as much as the wind."

He feels Beidou's hand leaving is shoulder. He silently thanks him for respecting his wishes.

"Good night, Captain. See you tomorrow," he says waving her off.

The sea captain lifts a hand while turning away, even when she knows Kazuha isn't looking.

Kazuha waits.

He waits some more.

Maybe Beidou is right. His siren friend won't be back today. He'll just wait again tomorrow.

He begins to stand until he sees a familiar figure in the ocean.

"[Name]," he breathes out gently.

A shimmering siren tail waves at him instead of a hand. Kazuha laughs and waves eagerly. He walks along the side, reaching one of the 'emergency boats' strapped on the ship and untangles its ropes, letting it fall to the ocean with a splash.

He gently falls down, the winds he summons cushioning his landing onto the small boat. His ruby eyes spot something in your hand and he asks about it.

"This? A weird green boy gave me this thing called a lyre. Said he had tons more so he gave me this one after making a song with me." [Name] presents it to Kazuha with both hands, grinning. "The boy even taught me a song."

"Oh?" He tilts his head, "Go ahead, play the song. Perhaps some day we may duet."

The siren sends him a thumbs up and start pulling the strings of a lyre.

Kazuha feels his eye twitch. "This song... what's the name?"

"Do you not like it?"

"No it's just... the crew was singing this song all day. I was wondering what song it is."

"Oh the green boy and I made it. I didn't know it would go that famous!"

"Hmm, keep playing."

Kazuha didn't mind the song the siren plays. After all, when [Name] plays the song, it sounds enchanting. He understands why people tend to fall overboard when hearing a siren play music. In fact, he almost drowned himself when hearing his siren friend sing for the first time.

...

He was preparing a boat to escape Inazuma by a secluded beach covered with sakura trees and many plants of nature.

Placing the planks in one spot, he hears a song in the sea.

Strange.

Enchanted by the singing, he walks out to sea. The water reaching his ankles, his knee then soon his chest to look for what was making the music. The sounds of nature call him back, desperately trying to make him safe, but he was too curious. The singing stops and Kazuha sinks under the sea to hear clearer, but instead his eyes widen and a few bubbles escape his mouth.

Glowing eyes stare at him.

A few scales pattern adorning their face. He looks behind the face and sees a tail, a fish tale. He knows it's a siren.

He sinks deeper, noting the details on the siren. How human ears aren't there, it's replaced by these webbed-like frills looking like a crown. He is amazed, and it seems the siren is too by seeing land legs for the first time so close.

Kazuha kicks his feet up, remembering he needs air to breathe, but a pesky seaweed wrapped around his leg, not letting go. The salt water stings his eyes, hurting more from every second. The lungs that need air start to fail him.

The siren in front of him flicks it's tail, quickly weaving their hands to untangle the boy from the seaweed.

The last of the bubbles escape Kazuha's lips. He shuts his eyes as he feels the drag of a current and the arms of the siren taking him to who knows where.

"So many... regrets," he thinks, letting himself be carried by a creature from only fairytales.

His head breaks the water tension and he immediately gasps for air. He coughs out water, chest heaving against the sandy beach, trying to calm himself. He stills, watching the siren lay on their stomach next to him, drawing flowers and fishes on the sand with the tip of their finger.

Sand sticks on Kazuha's wet skin and clothes.

"Thank you," he says weakly.

The siren perks their head up, hearing Kazuha's voice. "You're welcome!" They return to drawing on the sand and speak up without diverting attention from the drawing, "You're... the first human I've met."

Kazuha props himself up, his elbows acting as support. "Oh really? You're the first siren I met."

"No, duh. You had this dumb look on your face when you saw me," the siren teases, now looking at Kazuha. "All the other sirens say that humans are looking to hurt us. Why is it you don't want to hurt me?"

"Well- I was on the verge of dying."

The sound of feet stomping on the ground startles Kazuha and his new friend. Both of them sit up straight, feeling the ground shake.

"The Raiden Shogun..."

Kazuha flips his head to his unfinished boat and stands, quickly trying to complete it.

"Human," the siren calls, now back in the ocean. Kazuha looks at the siren. "Your broken boat will not take you anywhere. Just hold on to my back."

Kazuha chuckles and runs to the siren, knowing what they said is true. The guards will take him the second they reach him.

He trudges through the water, and clasps his arms around the siren's neck. "I know of a ship that can hide me for the time being." He says.

"So... what's your name?"

...

The song [Name] plays ceases, and Kazuha claps his hands lightly, careful not to wake the crew. He gives a small, "Heh" and leans on his small boat to be closer to the siren's face.

Their faces draw closer and [Name's] cheeks feel warm. Kazuha looks like a prince under the moon and stars shining on him.

Delicate hands make their way to cradle [Name's] jaw, making their foreheads touch. His thumb swipes [Name's] bottom lip all while gazing into their dilated eyes.

"I think your siren family are calling you," Kazuha says cheekily and quickly moving back away from [Name] after hearing the sound of other sirens calling for them.

"Oh, I- Well-" [Name] takes a deep breath before speaking, "Will you be here again?"

"Just as the moon awaits for the sun to rise once more, I will stay as well. I'll wait for your arrival once more at the same spot."

Beidou:

The well known Captain of the Crux Fleet does not believe in sirens. Dragons and the water form called Osial is one thing. Sirens, or better yet- merpeople are a kids' tale in her mind. Not even after Kazuha telling her he befriended a siren.

It's a child's tale; a myth not to believe in, which is ridiculous in Kazuha's opinion because they live in a world of myths.

She stands, sitting on a box of crates, peeking at her anemo wielding friend untangle the ropes of the emergency boat to get down closer to the waters.

Despite her crew telling her to rest at nights, she doesn't. As captain, it's her duty to keep watch after all her crew members, ensuring full safety on the fleet. She watches Kazuha always docking down from her ship to he his siren, but she never follows, only seeing his white hair descend from her sight.

Kazuha harnesses the wind to lift himself up back on the ship after hours being with the so-called siren. His hands move, controlling the wind once again to lift the boat, strapping it back on the ship. His ruby eyes glint to Beidou, who waves at him.

"Enjoy time with the siren?"

Kazuha sighs, knowing Beidou's doing this for the sake of it. "Beidou, they're real. My friend and every other siren in the waters." He says, trying to cover his flushed face by turning away from her.

"Right, right. Well, you only have one hour to sleep at most until the sun rises again."

"What about you?" Asks Kazuha, his back still facing Beidou. "Not even the bravest of warriors could stand their posts if they lack the energy to do so."

Beidou places her hands on her hips and laughs, "Come on, kid. I'll even tuck you in."

"Thank you... but I'm quite sure I can tuck myself in."

"Nonsense. You'll be tucked in."

She takes Kazuha to his own chambers in the ship, amused how he did not struggle against her.

After tucking him in, the tall captain stands at the figure of her ship and overlooks the sea. It is coincidental how when the topic of sirens came up the conversations, there was a song accompanied by it. The song will be the death of her.

Her chestnut hair weaves in the wind as she inhales deeply, enjoying the crisp air. She spots the seen peeking out from it's blanket of blue waves. She is blessed with another day.

One by one, her crew starts to file out. She greets them a good morning and with a surprise, "Crew! We're heading to Liyue. Chef Xiangling sent her kind invitation to eat for free!"

Woops and hoorays echo. Food made by Xiangling is the best.

The Captain lifts a hand and everyone quiets, "Set sail to Liyue!"

Upon reaching Liyue, Beidou swears something was following them, but every time she looks back, there would be nothing. She shrugs it off, thinking it was the lack of sleep getting to her and continues to lower the sails, preparing to land.

"I'll meet you there," she tells her crew. They accept their orders, already knowing were to go. They chatter their way to Wanmin Restaurant. She turns to Kazuha, seeing as he won't leave without her. "Kazuha, has something been following us?" She asks, knowing his sensitivity to things around him.

"Yes, but you won't believe me if I said what, or who, was following us."

Beidou groans, "Kazuha, sirens are just a folklore. I've spent years in my reckless teenage life looking for sirens. There just aren't any." She slaps Kazuha's back, "Let's go eat. You still look weary."

Kazuha purses his lips, looking at his Captain dead in the eyes. "[Name] is waiting below this ship. [Name] wouldn't follow us to Liyue unless something needs to be said." He waits for Beidou's reply.

"Alright, it's about time I met this siren friend of yours."

Surprised, Kazuha parts his mouth. "Wait, really?"

Beidou gives no answer, but instead unties the boat Kazuha uses to go 'meet his siren friend.' She waits on the tiny boat for Kazuha to join. When he takes a step in, Beidou releases the ropes she was once holding and falls to the ocean. This part of the ship is hidden from the people of Liyue, and Kazuha thanks his luck because who knows what people will do when they see a siren?

The small boat rocks side to side, balancing itself. Beidou lazily reaches for the water and splashes Kazuha's face who only tightens his lip in response. "Relax," the woman teases. "Your friend will be here if they're real, right?"

Kazuha summons a leaf, twiddling it with his fingers, waiting until he jumps in the water.

Beidou sharply turns to Kazuha, leaning over the boat to reach for him. "Kazuha!"

She jumps in after him with a smooth dive.

And that's when she sees that sirens are true.

The salt water stings her eyes as she looks at Kazuha making hang motions, pointing to her and up to the surface. The siren nods, understanding, swimming to Beidou. They wave, chuckling with the jaw-slacked face the sea captain makes.

Bubbles escape her lungs, so she treads up quickly, breathing in the air and then coming back down. Kazuha swims beside the siren and shows a smug face, as if saying "What did you say about sirens?"

Divine is the only word to describe Kazuha's siren friend. From the shimmering tale to the beauty of their smile, Beidou can only describe the siren as simply divine (a word Ningguang taught her).

The siren's webbed-like ear perks up to the surface. They tap Kazuha's shouder and cup their ears and point up.

Breathtaking.

Beidou notes how Kazuha and his friend communicate with each other so effectively with only a look in the eye and a few hand movements.

Kazuha nods, smiling then swims up to the surface, but Beidou stays, amazed by the tail of the siren.

"Up," the siren mouths. Beidou remembers the pain in her lungs for not having to get air in a while. She swims up, giving the siren one last look and breaking free from the water.

Strands of brown hair stick to her skin, looking at Kazuha with so much child-like wonder.

"Kazuha, is your siren friend single by any chance?"

Albedo:

Rumours of the singing siren spread through Mondstadt. Greeting Timaeus and Sucrose, he ignores the new song that spread around Teyvat called "A Siren's Tale," but he can't help but wonder if the tales are true.

On rare days Albedo isn't on Dragonspine or his office, he's sketching alongside the water and the marine life inside. It's a new interest he's taken in after learning everything above land. The ocean is so huge, there's an endless amount of questions under the sea.

He finishes the last stroke of a drawing. The Snapdragon and the crab next to it look realistic in his canvas. He sits on an isolated rock, a good distance away from the beach, enjoying the calming tunes of the ocean.

Wait- tunes?

He almost drops his canvas and charcoal, making eye contact with a bobbing head. Curious eyes flit from Albedo to his sketch in hand.

His immediate reaction is to create a flower to lift and up to glide back to shore, but he can't.

The stranger drifts closer to the rock Albedo sits on, revealing a tail that flickers behind it.

A siren.

"You aren't Venti, but I'll take it. I love someone of arts and crafts

Albedo tilts his head quizzically, charmed, "I am indeed not Venti, but thank you for the compliment." He takes a while, studying the details on the siren. "You're not what the song describes you as."

Lifting themselves onto the rock beside Albedo, the siren brings up their tail to wrap around what they sit on. "The song? Oh the one Venti made. I'm so sure we described myself perfectly, partly because I helped make it."

Albedo takes another canvas from his bag and draws circles to get the base of a face, "Well, physically yes. It captures your looks, but never did it once mention how enchanting you are."

The siren sputters, obviously not expecting a stranger to flirt. "What- huh?"

Albedo laughs, looking at the siren that sits next to him, analyzing their features before returning to his sketch. "I apologize. Socializing is not my thing."

"Yeah, I could tell. People usually tell me their names before saying things like that. Granted, I only met three other people before you."

"One being Venti?"

"Yeah. I visit him around this time everyday, but he said he's struggling to pay back a bartender so he's hiding with an old friend in Liyue. His friend's name is Peepaw. Should've been back by now, but he's gone."

"..Oh."

Two fingers push down the drawing and he looks at the siren, confused.

"Are you drawing me?" They grin. "It's fantastic, but why?"

Albedo explains, "I tend to sketch what fascinates me. Your beauty was surprising, I couldn't help but draw you." His charcoal grazes the canvas so swiftly, it's dancing on ice. The black tool turns to a stub, until it turns to nothing but ashes on his finger. His sketch is only half finished.

"Excuse this lousy drawing. I appear to be out of charcoal."

The siren jumps into the water and comes back up with rusted metal from a sword. "Will this work?"

"Ah, that's a sword. I can't use that for sketching."

"Oh..."

Albedo lifts a finger, a thought is said out loud, "I realize I have yet to ask your name. I'm Albedo, Chief Alchemist of The Knights of Favonius."

"Wow that's a long name." The siren takes a deep breath and speaks in one go, "Hello, Albedochiefalchemistofthenightsoffavonius. Pleasure to meet you, I'm [Name]."

"How charming." He says, putting his canvas in his bag. "I mean to ask another question, would it be alright to visit you again soon? You live under the sea, surely you know about the mysteries we have there."

[Name] looks at him like he was an alien. "Are you for real?"

"I'm pretty sure I am."

"You can just tell me you want to hang out. I know I'm fun," they say puffing their chest, proud of themselves.

"You certainly have high views of yourself," Albedo laughs, covering the bottom half of his face with his charcoal stained hand. "I'll be here tomorrow, if you would take your time to see me again."

[polnareffenjoyer]

Uh unsure how many characters you’re willing to write for but can I have the SDC crew reacting to seeing their crush’s sketchbook filled with drawings and silly comics of them? On the case you do have a limit on how many, then I’m fine with either Polnareff, Kakoyin, Jotaro or Avdol (who can pick whoever if you want to!) Hope you’re having a lovely day!💕💕

This is such a cute idea anon, hope you like it. Also I don't really have a character limit, I wanted to do all of the crusaders but then I got tired and it already took me such a long time to finish it and ahhh. Sorry for all the grammatical errors, English is not my first language and it's already so late when I'm finishing it and it's just bleh. I hope you like it anyways, sending much love to you anon! ♥️

Stardust Crusaders finding their crushes' sketchbook

Jotaro Kujo

He notices that you've been spending most of your free time drawing in that sketchbook of yours. Truth be told, it bothers him a lot. Jotaro has had a big fat crush on you for a while now, and he secretly longs for your company. He can't admit that tho, he has a hard ass bad boy reputation to maintain after all. What would people say if the saw him all flustered for a girl? The fact that you would rather sit by yourself and draw than be around him and the others bugs him. So one day, when you're busy with something else, he takes your beloved sketchbook and decides to see what's in there. He knows he's being creepy, but he couldn't care less. Just trying to get to know you better, without actually talking to you. Exactly.

He's very flustered but would rather die than admit it. Has read through all of it, admiring every single little drawing. After he's done, he'll just put it back where he found it, it the exact same place just so you don't notice someone has been messing with it. You probably have no idea he had seen your sketchbook at first, but you surely notice the blush dusting his cheeks whenever he speaks to you from that day on. Probably avoids you for a little while because he's so flustered.

The rest of the crew also notices something is off, Jotaro is always lost in thoughts and smokes more frequently. He can't keep himself from thinking about those cute drawings of yours, reading through your comics was a true delight. It fills him with glee to know that HE, among all of the crusaders, is the one who's the main character in your stories. It makes him giddy on the inside.

His secret eventually comes to light one night, he accidentally admits to having read through your comics while a late night talk between the whole group. While you were talking, Kakyoin had brought up the topic of your sketchbook. Now it's your turn to be embarassed, blushing crimson while trying to get as much information out of him as possible. How much did he see? Did he read through ALL OF THEM?

The rest of the crusaders are shocked at first, but quickly they start to laugh at the scene. Jotaro is reluctant to give any information, but he eventually tells you that yes, indeed, he's seen EVERYTHING. However, doesn't admit what the content of the sketchbook really is. Despite everything, he would never embarass you like that.

After everyone goes to sleep, you catch Jotaro before he has a chance to fall asleep, lying on his sleeping bag while looking at the night sky. You want to apologize, say anything, just to talk to him, but you're unable to find right words. He just sighs.

"Yare yare daze, there's no need to be embarassed [Y/N], I'm not mad"

Your eyes light up at his words. You want to say something, anything, thank him, but before you get a chance to do so, Jotaro's deep voice cuts you off.

"To be honest, I think your drawings are amazing. I really liked them" you notice his face is slightly tinted red from underneath his cap "But if you wanted me to model for you, you could've just said so"

With that, he rolls over and away from you. Completely baboozled, you roll over as well and try to sleep, or at least pretend to be asleep. Honestly, neither of you had slept much that night.

Kakyoin Noriaki

Kakyoin had a thing for you since you joined the crusaders, and your sketchbook is probably the very first thing he had noticed about you. He's always been interested in art, his parents had signed him up to numerous art courses and whatnot through his life. He's always loved drawing and painting, using it as an escape from his daily problems, and seeing that you two might have something in common makes him incredibly happy, especially since he has feelings for you.

He'll try to approach you about your sketchbook very subtely, afraid that he might scare you away by being too pushy. Of course you get extremely flustered everytime he brings it up, but it doesn't discourage him. Kakyoin respects your boundaries and understands that you might not be ready to show him your drawings yet. Despite that, he's always willing to share his knowledge with you. He'll give you advices about proper shading while you two are waiting in the hotel lobby for the rest of the group to finish up picking rooms. During a long car ride, he'll talk to you about his favourite artists. If you want him to show you how to put certain shading techniques into practice, he'll be more than happy to do so. He'll just pick a random piece of paper and start drawing on it, you might want to lean in closer and maybe put your head on his shoulder to get a better look? He has no objections! Just sayin.

When he eventually gets to see your sketchbook, this man is so honored! He didn't mean to look, at first he though it was just some book lying around and wanted to take a look inside, out off boredom. Once he realizes what he's reading at, his face flushes with crimson. Your sketchbook is filled with sketches of him? This whole time you were actually drawing him, out of all people? He couldn't be more grateful that no one else was around, if someone saw him reading through your comics with this stupid smile on his face and red cheeks, they would've though he went mad.

Kakyoin wastes no time trying to find you. For a moment, he thinks that perhaps he should've waited a bit, just to get you alone and not embarass you infront of the whole crew. He can't think straight though, his mind filled with your cute little drawings, with his face drawn with black pen over and over again. With glee, he notes that you had used the very techniques he had told you about earlier. If you had drawn him so many times, does it mean that you have a crush on him too? It's too good to be true.

"[Y/N]! Can I talk with you for a minute?"

He goes to confront you immediately. Others give him a puzzled look, but he couldn't care less. He grabs your arms and leads you away.

"Don't be mad [Y/N], but I've seen your sketchbook and I have to say, I think your art is beyond amazing!"

You're at loss of words, your face red and you could swear that you've never felt so embarassed in your whole entire life. However, his reaction is making you feel a bit better. He's not mad, nor is he making fun of you. If anything, he seems enamoured.

"Please, [Y/N], we should draw together! Maybe next time we have a chance, I should paint your portrait?"

Despite the awkwardness, the whole situation turns out amazing in the end. How he's sure you must have feelings for him, and it makes him incredibly happy, hoping that one day, after your crusade is done, he'll get a chance to repay you and make that promised portrait.

Muhammad Avdol

With everything that's been happening lately, Avdol gets a little bit distracted from you. Before he would steal glances your way all the time, watching with curiosity as you would draw something in your sketchbook. Recently, he's been too busy fighting enemy stand users and... well, trying not to die. He still cares about you a lot and watches over you during fights, ready to shield you from danger with his own body, if it's what it takes to keep you safe.

It probably happens because of a mishap. While you are deciding on your rooming, you leave your sketchbook lying next to Avdol's things and go to the bathroom. After he's done helping Joseph with translating and getting everything done, he goes back and assumes that it's just one of his books that has fallen out of the bag. Not thinking much of it, he picks it up and leaves with Mrs Joestar to settle in their shared room.

You can imagine the panic and shock that nearly paralyzes you once you notice that your beloved sketchbook is gone, nowhere to be seen, reduced to atoms! You begin to look around frantically, looking under the furniture while sweating profusely. Other quests give you weird looks, but you don't even notice them staring. Polnareff is one of them, he asks if you're okay and tries to calm you down, but to no avail. After he leaves, you try to focus really hard and try to remember - when did you see it last time? It was on that chair for sure when you left. God, you can only pray that it doesn't end up in Avdol's hands somehow...

Meanwhile, Avdol is getting ready for shower and goes through his bag. He notices the book he picked up from the lobby isn't even a book, but a sketchbook! Now he's sure he must've picked it up by mistake, he decides it would be best to put it down and not look through it. It's someone's very personal art after all, it would be very disrespectful to - wait a damn minute, is that HIM?

Long story short, he goes through a good portion of your drawings before Joseph comes out of the shower and gives him a puzzled look, seeing how his eyes are literally shinning with adoration. He puts your sketchbook back into his bag, acting as if nothing happened and continues on with his nightly routine. Later on, when Joseph is already fast asleep, he contemplates about whether or not he should go to your room right now and ask about the sketchbook he had found. He's already suspecting it's yours, whose else would it be? He has seen you drawing often, could it be that you returned his feelings and had spent your time sketching him? Ultimately, he decides to wait until tomorrow to find out.

The very next day, he knocks on your door early in the morning. It startles you awake, running up to your door to look through a peephole, seeing a muscular man on the other side. Sighing heavily, you unlock the door and open it just a little bit.

"Excuse my intrusion, [Y/N], but I have found something that I think belongs to you."

Now that's embarassing. You see your sketchbook in his hand, a wide, knowing smile on his face. He knows it's yours. All it took is one look at your stupid red face to figure it out. God, he can read you like an open book, can't he? While you reach out to take it from him, your fingers touch just slightly.

"Don't worry, I swear I won't tell anyone about this" she winked at you, which almost made you gasp "If anything, I think I should maybe pose for you in private? So you can get a better look? You should think about it..."

Who would've thought this man could be such a flirt sometimes...

Jean Pierre Polnareff

You better watch out, because if this man has a crush on you, you bet he would go above and beyond to find out what's inside that sketchbook. I'm not joking. He forgets what personal space is, he's even worse that Jotaro, because while JoJo would make sure to be sneaky, Polnareff wouldn't even bother. He'll try to catch a sneak peak by looking over your shoulder while you're drawing, constantly asking you questions about art related things, everything always leading to your sketchbook.

He wants to know what's inside. Simple as that. You're like an enigma to him, I feel like all women are mysteries to him and he always works towards finding out what their secrets are. You are especially interesting to him, because of how secretive you are with your art. He's captivated, and while he never had any interest in arts himself, he had always fancied himself as a man with a great sense of beauty. That being said, he's always trying to get your attention while talking about how "France is a wonderful country for artists! You should come and visit after our crusade is over, [Y/N]! I'll show you all the greatest museums and art galleries!"

He's like a puppy, following you around and being just a bit too pushy. If you tell him you feel uncomfortable, he'll back off of course. He's not just some juvenile pervert after all! He's a honourable man who would never touch or bother a woman without her permission, no matter how desperate he seems sometimes.

When he finally sees your sketchbook, it's probably because he did it on purpose and not because of an accident. He wanted to make sure that it was him your were capturing in your drawing, and boy was he happy when he saw what's inside! It's all him, cute little sketches, little comics, it's better that he could've ever imagined! He's literally crying the tears of joy while reading them. Before it was all just wishful thinking, but now it turns out to be true! He's honoured, admiring every single little drawing with hit tears streaming down his face. He must look pathetic right now, if anyone was around they would think the was a mad man. He gets up and runs away with your sketchbook in his hand, trying to find you.

"[Y/N]! Ma cherie! Mon coeur! My love, my life! We need to talk!"

Did i mention that he doesn't shy away from nicknames? Yeah.

It's probably the worst confrontation compared to the rest of them, he's not subtle like Kakyoin and decides to talk with you about your drawings right then and there, in front of everyone. At first they're surprised, looking at Polnareff as is he was crazy, but slowly their shock is replaced with amusement. Joseph doesn't even try to hold back his laughter, while the rest of the crew is trying to keep it cool as not to embarass you any further while the Frenchman is just going on and on with his declarations of undying love. It's a bit dramatic, one of these moments that you will probably laugh about in the future, but you felt like disappearing right then and there.

"Your drawing are magnifique! [Y/N], my love, if you wanted to draw me, you could've just said so! Although I don't think I deserve to be potrayed by you, to be drawn by your skilled hands, ma cherie!"

You snatch the sketchbook from him. After that incident you probably try to avoid him, but he won't give up! He's more determined than ever, knowing that you feel the same way as he does fills him with hope, hope for a future life with you that is! He won't give up until he makes you the happiest woman on earth.

[themandhoelorian]

Dincember - December 4: Hot Chocolate

summary: Mando has unique ways of showing his affection for his son, like getting him hyper on too many cups of hot chocolate, but it’s only after a long day of bringing the kid down from his sugar high that you realize Mando has similar ways of showing how much he cares for you.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn!reader

warnings: a caffeine addiction, sleep deprivation, the smallest sexual innuendo, Din being sweeter than hot chocolate, not super well edited ahaha

word count: 3.2k 

a/n: asdfghkldf this is so so late but this week has been long and exhausting (no this fic was definitely NOT me projecting), and I haven’t had as much time as I’d like to write :/. I’m not even really sure this makes sense, but that’s kind of how my brain works when it’s exhausted, so hopefully on some level that’s accurate ahaha 

***

You never understood the appeal of caf until you joined Mando’s crew. 

The first time someone offered you a cup, that one day you showed up to the tiny mechanic shop of your first job with bags under your eyes, complaining about how little sleep you’d gotten the night before, you thought you’d been handed a steaming cup of motor oil by accident instead. 

The dark liquid felt like lava on the roof of your mouth, leaving the taste of bitter ash on your tongue as you willed sip after sip down your throat. It did pull you out of the sleep-deprived fog, but it was more of a jolt in the opposite direction than a gentle tug, your body shooting into overdrive and hands shaking so intensely you burned your fingers on your soldering iron more times than you could count that day. 

After that, you tried to stay away from caf as much as possible. No matter how little you’d slept the night before, how often you were caught staring blankly at the wall instead of untangling a mess of wires, you always refused when you saw a mug of hellfire coming your way. The acrid taste, the jitters, none of it was worth enduring when you just had to make it to closing before you could go home and sleep away the fatigue. 

But now, your full time job is taking care of a child, and every night is a night with too little sleep. You spend your days trying to wrangle a warm, mischievous demon into compliance instead of just manipulating cold scraps of metal, and the kid doesn’t have “closing hours”- not with how violently he reacts to the notion of bedtime- so there’s never a sweet finish line to look forward to at the end of the day. 

You thought you’d known exhaustion before, felt it heavy on your shoulders those months you worked overtime to make ends meet, but that was light years away from what you feel now. The black hole of sleep consumes you as soon as you get the chance to lie down, and when you inevitably wake to the sound of cries a few hours later, it feels like the weight of the galaxy is crushing your lungs, making it nearly impossible to crawl back out of bed.

So after just a few weeks on the Crest, after that one day when you accidentally dozed off watching the kid play and woke to find him sticking a finger into the barrel of a blaster (thankfully Mando had the sense not to keep his weapons loaded on the ship or Maker, that could’ve ended badly), you bought a caf maker on the next planet and forced yourself to chug a cup every morning since.

The taste still sucks, no matter how much cream you’ve tried mixing in, but it doesn’t make you jittery like it used to, the caffeine just enough to keep you awake, and now you don’t know how you ever took care of the little womp rat without it, especially on the days when Mando returns from his hunts and the child bursts with energy to welcome his father home.

Even if it’s only been a couple days since Mando left, you’d think he’d been gone for months with the way they act at seeing each other again. The kid’s just downright ecstatic, dropping whatever part he’s playing with as soon as he hears the hiss of the hull opening and babbling excitedly as he runs into his father’s arms. He’ll follow Mando’s every move for at least an hour after he’s returned, and sometimes, you have to literally pry him from the beskar so Mando can retreat to the cockpit and set the course to the next planet.

And then there’s Mando. He’ll look stoic as ever as he takes the child into his arms, but you can feel how eager he is to reunite with his son, his affection all but spilling out the sides of his armored chest. He’ll never admit it, of course, you’re not sure he’d even be able to find the words to say it if he wanted to, but he finds other ways to show the kid how much he missed him, how deeply he cares about his little foundling.

More often than not, those methods include spoiling the child to no end, giving into the kid’s every desire and providing him with a few moments of pure, unrestrained joy. And more often than not, you’re left with the not-so-simple task of dealing with the consequences of giving the child his every wish, easing him down from the euphoric high and re-establishing that he absolutely cannot expect that kind of indulgence with anyone but his father.

Like one time, Mando stayed awake with him all night long, conceding five more minutes every time the kid whined when he was told it was time for bed. Five minutes quickly turned into hours as they watched the bright mosaic of hyperspace go by, the kid so happy to just sit in Mando’s lap while he spoke in the soothing tones of his people’s tongue. You were only able to pull the child from his father’s arms in the early hours of the morning, all three of you only half conscious at that point, and you spent several cycles trying to get the kid (and yourself) back on a normal sleep schedule.

Or like today, when Mando returned this morning while it was still dark outside, and you woke to the smell of cocoa and peppermint what felt like mere minutes after you’d fallen asleep. When you finally pulled yourself from the bunk, you found Mando sitting next to the child as they sipped on steaming liquid, his helmet tilted back just enough for him to bring the mug to his lips. 

He made the kid hot chocolate, you realized from the way the child threw back his bowl so quickly he left milky brown splotches on his face. Of course. Mando had made a habit of bringing sweets back for his son after he’d once gotten his hands on a chocolate bar you’d splurged on in the market, nearly bouncing off the walls with glee as he devoured the entire thing in seconds. That was a memorable day for all of you: the kid found his new favorite snack, Mando found another way to indulge the child, and you found out that when the kid has sugar in his system, you need caf more than water to survive the day.

So it’s no surprise that several hours and a couple more servings of hot chocolate later, long after Mando’s gone to the cockpit to fly to the next planet, you’re chasing the tiny ball of energy around the hull, running on nothing but an unhealthy amount of caf mixed with a little bit of spite, worried you might collapse before the sugar-fueled monster falls asleep.

You have half a mind to be mad at Mando for getting the kid so hyped up on the decadent drink and inevitably making your job that much harder, but you can’t get the image of them together this morning out of your head, Mando dabbing the mess from the child’s face as giggles bubbled from his tiny mouth. The memory’s shaded with the golden haze of dawn, like those dreams that feel warm and familiar, and you can feel your heart swell re-imagining that moment of perfect bliss, father and son so content just to be with each other and the sweetness in their cups.

And oh, you know you could never be upset at Mando for indulging the kid, creating those little pockets of warmth in a life filled mostly by cold, dead space, no matter how much more work it makes for you. Not when you know that he savors those moments as much as the child, that the days he’s back with his son are the only times he doesn’t have to be tough and menacing and deadly, the Crest the only place he doesn’t have to armor up his feelings just as much as his body.

You’re willing to reign in the kid, be the tough one on the ship, if it means Mando can show his son the softness that lies beneath the beskar, tuck away the sharp edges when he holds the little green menace in his lap. You’re willing to lose weeks of sleep course-correcting after each indulgence if it means he can let the honey of his love ooze thick and messy before he’s off to the next quarry and has to lock his affection behind iron walls again. You’re even willing to drink all the caf in the galaxy, let cup after cup burn bitter down your throat, if it means he can have a moment of peace sipping hot chocolate with his son at the break of dawn. 

You’re more than willing, happy even, to do all that and more for him, especially if it means you can catch glimpses of the man behind the guise of “Mando” in the process, a man whose heart you’ve found yourself wondering more and more about lately, wondering if it might one day beat strong and steady for you the same way it does for the kid.

So no, you’re not mad at Mando, not in the slightest. It’s more that right now you’re worried you might not be physically able to do those things for him, the shorter than usual night of sleep catching up with you faster than you can fight it off with caf. You’re pretty sure it stopped working after your third cup anyway, the additional caffeine just making you dizzy and no more energized, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep up with the child’s pace. You’ve played peekaboo and thrown around his favorite silver ball and even tried to show him how to rewire an old generator (not that you had any luck with that), and he still hasn’t crashed from his sugar high. 

You have no idea what else to do to keep the child busy, and Maker, you’re just so kriffing tired right now, so you’ve resorted to leaning against the door of the weapons closet, floating in that hazy space on the brink of consciousness, using what little of your energy remains to make sure he at least won’t get his hands on a blaster again. 

You’re not even completely sure what the kid’s doing right now, just know he’s somewhere on the other side of the hull, and you can only hope that Mando doesn’t come down here and find you and the kid like this. The last thing you want to do is make him worry, doubt how much you care about his son’s well being, but it’s like he can feel your exhaustion radiating through the ship because the next thing you know, the heavy echoes of his boots fill the hull as he descends the ladder from the cockpit. 

You will yourself to sit up straighter as you hear his footsteps getting louder, locate the child before Mando can, but your body is working on a little bit of a lag, and by the time you actually open your eyes, Mando’s walking past you, the child snoring softly in his arms.

Of course he fell asleep as soon as you took eyes off of him, the little monster.

Mando doesn’t say anything as he tucks the child into his makeshift bed before striding back to the other side of the hull, and some faraway part of your brain tells you to explain yourself or apologize or say kriffing anything at this point, but the inky gravity of sleep is pulling you in deeper with each passing moment, and you can’t be bothered to speak when your eyes are threatening to droop shut again. 

They must have at some point because you don’t remember seeing Mando approach you, but somehow he’s in front of you now, holding a mug out in front of your face. Maker, you must’ve drifted off, long enough for him to decide you needed some help staying awake and make you a cup of caf, and as you reach for it instinctively, bringing the cup to your lips in the trained motion, you can’t decide if it’s just as a thoughtful gesture or a thinly veiled warning for you to actually do your job.

You hum as the warm liquid coats your tongue, deliciously silky and slightly sweet, and it’s only when you swallow, the milky substance gliding down your throat, that you realize-

“This isn’t caf,” you mumble, looking up from the mug to meet Mando’s gaze.

“I never said it was.”

You just stare at him wordlessly, trying to figure out why he made you hot chocolate when it’s not going to make you any more functional. You have no idea how long you sit there thinking, too far gone to even understand the concept of time right now, but it must be a while because he breaks the silence first with a sigh.

“Cyar’ika, you have to stop drinking that crap. It’s not good for you.”

“Need it,” you respond, almost too quickly considering how long it took you to answer him before. Apparently the only thing you can understand in this groggy fog is your caf addiction. “Gonna fall asleep if not.”

“You’re about to anyway. Come on, you need to sleep.”

For some reason you giggle at that, unable to stop the laughter rising through your chest. He’s right, of course, but it just seems so damn funny right now that Mando, who has told you he rarely sleeps when he’s away, who you’ve never seen rest for more than an hour at a time, is telling you that you’re the one that needs sleep.

“You sleep even less than me, Mando. You can’t talk,” you accuse.

He jerks his helmet back in something like disbelief, and you can’t stop yourself from giggling again.

“Well I’m not the one falling asleep on the floor right now,” he counters.

“That’s fair,” you admit. You take a few more sips of the hot chocolate, closing your eyes in pleasure as the warmth floods your veins. Maybe it’s just because you’re so used to the sharp bite of caf, but the sugary drink feels so good, like something comforting and familiar though you can’t quite place your finger on where you recognize it from. It’s almost like you’re wrapped up in the thickest blanket or, even better, by strong arms as you’re lulled to sleep, and you’re not sure that’s what you were thinking of, but you realize that’s exactly what you want right now. 

And then your stupid, half-conscious brain decides to ask for it in the worst way possible.

“How about this, I’ll sleep if you sleep with me.”

You only catch how kriffing suggestive it sounds as the words come tumbling out of your mouth, but then all at once, you’re utterly aware of how much you’ve been embarrassing yourself. First getting caught falling asleep on the job and then accidentally making a very blunt pass at your boss, and Maker, you’re just a whole ass mess today aren’t you? Suddenly you feel very awake, your eyes going wide as you stumble over your words trying to backtrack as quickly as possible.

“Oh stars, I didn’t mean sleep with me, that’s definitely not what I, well, not that I wouldn’t…no, I just- I do need sleep but so do you, even if you’re not actually falling asleep right now, so I was just gonna say that we should both-”

But then your rambling is cut off by a chuckle coming from the modulator, his voice light and playful in a way you’ve never heard before.

If you weren’t so kriffing worried about what he was thinking about you right now, you might’ve thought it was the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard.

“I know what you meant, cyar’ika,” he says. 

Oh, thank Maker, you think, waves of something like relief washing warm over your body. You’re not quite sure how he can understand what it is you want when you can’t even articulate it yourself, but your brain is still too foggy to care, deciding it doesn’t really matter how he knows you so well, just that he does.

Mando eases the mug from your hands, the worn leather of his gloves brushing lightly over your knuckles. You whine in protest as he steals the liquid comfort from your fingers, but it’s quickly replaced by his hands wrapping around yours to help you off the ground.

“I’ll make you more tomorrow,” he assures you, his voice as velvety as the drink he just took from your grasp. “But now, we need to sleep.”

We, not you. 

You barely catch the distinction as he leads you to the bunk while his thumb rubs soothing circles on your lower back, but it just leaves you even more confused in your sleepy daze. You didn’t think he was actually going to entertain your suggestion, even if he did take it in the more innocent way, and when you crawl into the bunk and he doesn’t follow, you think maybe you just misheard him.

But as you close your eyes, your exhaustion starting to pull you away from reality again, you hear the clang of metal on metal behind you, and a gentle tap on your calf halts your descent into the stillness of sleep as Mando climbs into the bunk next to you.

It’s only after he shuts the door, when your body is pressed to his so you both fit in the tiny space, that you realize he’s taken his armor off, the first time he’s ever done so in front of you. You can’t see him at all in the darkness of the bunk, you’re not sure you could even open your eyes again at this point anyway, but even in your delirium you can grasp the weight of how vulnerable he’s making himself right now, letting you run your fingers lazily across the tight muscles of his bicep and rest your head against his broad chest.

And once again, you’re overcome by the feeling of something pleasant and vaguely familiar, your heart swelling the same way it did when you first saw Mando and the child this morning, the same warmth in your veins as the first sip of hot chocolate. You couldn’t quite place it before, but for some reason, as you listen to the way his heart beats strong and steady against you, you think you finally recognize it, the way Mando’s been making you feel all day, the reason he knew exactly what you needed before you could even realize it yourself.

It’s just a hazy flash in the moment before the black hole of sleep finally consumes you, an inkling of a breakthrough you may or not remember tomorrow, but you think this feeling, the acrid taste of caf replaced by smooth chocolate on your tongue, a strong body turned soft as it’s molded to yours, has a four letter name you thought you and Mando only saved for the child.

Maybe that’s why you’re learning to use it for each other too.

[themeowsticvigilante]

Orpheum's Tales: Music of the Night

[featuring the Shaymin crew from @shaymincafe ]

A morning breeze sweeps along the quiet forest of Floarama Town, Orpehum's usual abode when he is alone by himself. After all, the town was special to him, a second home. This town is where his constellation appears first every night.

The bard plucked a few strings from his lute, a morning routine he so regularly performed. A good note would be a blessed day but a bad one would be a tragedy … an omen even. Fortunately, the Victini deity would smile upon him as the lute produced a perfect note.

He sighed a breath of fresh air, relief overcoming him as the day would proceed as normal, for him at the least. Donning his trusty bard hat, off he went to meet someone, another Shaymin as he was taking flight towards the rendezvous.

The gentle breeze made the journey quite refreshing, after all … no one would knowingly dwell into turbulent weather, especially a deity like him. As he took flight, he was in the form of a wisp, vibrant green with wings similar to a Yanma for he wouldn't just reveal himself to mortals just like that.

Moments passed before he could finally see the rendezvous from afar, vaguely sensing someone waving towards him. Realizing it was a familiar face, he immediately went in and landed in front of her, giving her a bow as soon as he returned to his Shaymin form.

"Orpheum! Glad you could make it!" A Shaymin in a vibrant pink hue gleefully greeted the bard with a smile.

"Good morning, Rosemary. I too am glad to be here." He nodded to himself, his face a vibrant glee, and looking around the place. "So this is your ... what was the word … Cafè? Sorry, I have been too accustomed to the word tavern."

"Yes, it is! Shaymin Cafè~ not the most subtle name we can think of but it does attract quite the crowd." She giggles and motions for him to follow her. "Come! Let's introduce you to the others"

"Right now, you say?" He looked a bit nervous, his audience usually consisted of only one but to a few 'mon of his kind? He isn't used to that kind of stage but he internally reigned in his thoughts and smiled. "Sure! I am excited."

~~~

The doors to the cafè opened, immediately getting the attention of everyone inside. Rosemary was the one to enter with Orpheum following close behind, his lute perched on his back as an archer would their quiver. There was silence as the rest of the Shaymin staff immediately averted their attention towards Orpheum.

"Everyone, meet Orpheum! Better give him a warm welcome because he is a special Shaymin~" Rosemary broke the silence as she winked at them and gave him an introductory pat on the back.

"Greetings! Greetings!" He gave them a bow and a huge grin trying not to break the otherwise momentum that Rosemary had set. "Orpheum the Blossoming Bard, at your service!"

One of the Shaymin finally took interest, narrowing her eyes as she approached Orpheum. She circled around the bard as if to do a thorough inspection. "A bard, aye? … sing a song for us why don't cha." Shiso, the purple one, commanded as she crossed her arms and looked at him intently.

"A song? Yes yes of course! I actually have a short one I made en route here … it's supposed to be about this cafe." Orpheum's ears perked up, immediately getting his lute and clearing his throat a bit. "I hope all of you enjoy~!"

"Go ahead. We'd love to hear it!" Rosemary smiles, eagerly waiting to play his song as the rest of the staff.

"Okay here goes …" He plucked a few notes and began to slowly gain momentum as he started to sing the piece he created.

Come one, come all!

There is a place for all!

Come one, come all!

Everyone is welcome, big or small!

Smiles, smiles are all abound~!

With happy thoughts all around!

We are always ready to serve you.

For we treat you as family too!

Come one, come all! The cafè is open!

A place to bring family or a friend!

Come one, come all! It's a party!

When you join us at the Shaymin Cafè!

He gave a bow after he sang as he always did with every performance he made. Just before he did, he can already hear applause from the group, one even cheering gleefully.

"Woooh! Great song, dude!" Chicory, the blue one blurted out, eagerly waiting to request an encore.

"Impressive. Looks like you're an a-okay then." Shiso shrugs smirking as she hugged Pumpkin, the orange one next to her, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Pumpkin here seems to like it too." She looks over at Pumpkin with a nod of approval.

"Simply wonderful, Orpheum! Bravo!" Rosemary cheered gleefully, enjoying the performance wholeheartedly like the rest of the staff.

"Thanks, everyone! My heart is filled with joy knowing all of you enjoyed my song." He says, visibly blushing at his newfound audience. "It isn't new that I get applause but it always is overwhelming for me."

Rosemary stood up from her seat, looking like she was about to say something important. "Alright, everyone! Cafè is opening in half an hour, be sure to make this ready for the customers like you always do!"

The staff immediately started tidying up the cafè, with Rosemary on her way to put the specials on display outside and putting the open sign but not before she looked back at Orpheum with a reassuring smile.

"Welcome to the Shaymin Cafè"

He smiled for a bit while looking a bit conflicted on something as if pondering upon a certain thought that's been on his mind. He followed Rosemary and called out to her. "Rosemary!"

The pink Shaymin immediately turned to face him, looking confused at his sudden urgency and wanting to know what was up. "Yes, Orpheum? You need anything?"

"I was just thinking if I can take a stroll for a moment? Perhaps, more than a few moments to be precise?"

"Sure but … is everything alright? You maybe need some tea to help calm yourself down?"

"No no, please save it for your patrons. I may need some time for myself, worry not … I'll be back before you know it~" He gave her a reassuring smile as a small gust of wind blew around him.

"Okay if you say so. Guess I'll see you around." With Rosemary's wave, Orpheum immediately turned into a wisp and rode along with the wind, letting it carry him towards someplace else.

~~~

It was now nightfall, as the cafè was still bustling with patrons but no sign of Orpheum anywhere. Admittedly, Rosemary was getting concerned for him but she kept that to herself while she worked the tables and managed the patrons like the rest of her staff.

"Psst hey, Rosemary. Where's that hotshot Shaymin you were talking about?" Vetle was there as always, raising an eyebrow as he asked Rosemary about the supposed 'guest' she was advertising just outside of the shop. "I'm just waiting here."

"He'll be here soon, Vetle. Don't you worry." Her smile was hiding that concern still bubbling inside of her as she silently scanned the room for at least a teal-colored wisp. "Just sit back and rela- huh?"

She felt a gentle breeze going through her fur as she turned around, trying to spot someone from the crowd of patrons in the various tables laid around but there was still no sign of Orpheum. She can only do nothing but hum her worries away only, why does it feel like her hums had a rhythm to them? As if there was something or someone playing?

It seemed like she wasn't the only one that would notice it as a small crowd would soon form as almost everyone was turning their heads toward what seemed like someone plucking the strings of a lute effortlessly. Rosemary went towards the crowd of patrons and staff alike to see what was going and that's when she saw them.

A stranger was there playing a teal-colored lute with black-gloved paws as the crowd watched on in awe, daring not to say anything during the performance. They wore a black Venetian mask that covered the upper part of their face, while their body was adorned in a turquoise long coat laced with lacey green accents along with teal pants and black boots.

The stranger was just sitting by themselves on one of the tables and somehow inconspicuously slipped out of sight and started playing as if to make a dynamic entrance of sorts. Either that or the people were too busy minding their business to notice a well-dressed musician enter the shop and take a seat.

After a while, the stranger seemed to stop playing presumably because they were done with their tune and had a mysterious smile as he got up from his seat and bowed to the newly formed audience.

"Greetings, greetings! I am Favonius, Bard of the Blossoms! I'm sure you have been waiting for more than a moment for me but now … I shall now begin~"

It took a few seconds for Rosemary to realize what she should be doing but she immediately got up to the front of the store and called the attention of the patrons.

"Yes! Please settle down, everyone, and sit tight. Service will still continue while the performance is going on. Hope you all enjoy~"

Immediately as everyone did settle into their seats, all eyes were on Favonius as a mix of expressions gathered within the audience. Most were of course intrigued by his presence after all, if that initial introduction was what's to come what more could he show for a full performance? Favonius smiled as soon as they were now eagerly waiting for him in silence and with a single strum of his lute, he now started to a tune to which he would sing.

Lucete, Lucete Stellae …~

Our hearts flutter each night and day.

Lucete, Lucete Stellae …~

Beckoning to us the hallowed way.

When the night is cold and barren still,

With dark hearts of ill will.

Something within us will start to burn,

Igniting for what we really yearn.

We have triumphed, every one of us,

Our trials never left us in the dust.

Our stories, written in our memory,

As it was always meant to be.

Bless the light, as the torch ignites,

To our journeys and fights.

From within our grasp to far off lands,

Making every victory grand.

Even when fear looms and doubts arise,

Triumph comes at a well-fought price.

Even when we ourselves have faltered,

Sacrifices will be honored.

Lucete, Lucete Stellae …~

May the light bring us the way.

Lucete, Lucete Stellae …~

To brave the night and seize the day.

The room filled with praise from the audience as Favonius made a solemn bow, holding his hat to his side right after strumming the last tune to his song. He definitely felt satisfied knowing he would make everyone's night.

"Thank you, my fabled patrons. Thank you! I hope you all enjoyed the show for tonight but for now, farewell and have a good night."

Favonius immediately exited the stage and disappeared into the cafè exit giving everyone a swift wave and flew off towards somewhere else. A few patrons were able to witness Favonius exit but all they saw outside was a wisp that sort of disappeared into the wind.

~~~

Soon enough it was time for the cafè to close while the patrons were still talking about the performance earlier on their way out the exit. Rosemary and the other Shaymins were just cleaning up after such an eventful night as they too were talking about the performance but more importantly, Favonius themselves.

"Man, that thing earlier was pretty unexpected! Even my boyfriend agreed it felt almost like a dream …" Chicory exclaimed while he was sweeping the floors looking towards Vetle, a teal-colored Shaymin leaning against a wall. "But still, that was pretty cool! How did you even contact them, Rosemary?"

Rosemary was just as confused as Chicory when she was asked that, she was by herself and looking towards the windows when she was snapped out of her pondering. "Huh? Oh … you know, I have some connections." Rosemary smiled nervously knowing that she had no idea where he came from.

"Hmm …? You don't look so sure … was he just a stranger? Because it's not usual for you to just invite someone willy-nilly like that …" Chicory raised his eyebrow, stopping what he was doing as he was really eager to know.

"Umm you see … I …" Just as she was about to say something, a gust of wind blew into the inside of the cafè, the very same gust of wind that alerted them to a familiar presence but no tune was to be heard. This time, there came a knock on the cafè door followed by a greeting.

"Greetings, fellow Shaymins. May I come in? I hope I am not interrupting closing hours …"

"Not at all, Favonius. Please come in!" Rosemary breathed a sigh of relief, finally able to at least ask them about what happened, and crossed her arms. “Take a seat … you have some explaining to do.”

“Ohh … my apologies for the commotion earlier, madam~” He bows his head and removes his mask revealing who was behind it all this time. “I … tend to be nervous in front of a large crowd.”

“O-Orpheum!?! All this time, you were Favonius? Wh-why didn’t you told me …?” Rosemary was utterly shocked at the revelation, so was Chicory and the rest of the Shaymin present. “Wh-why did have to hide like that ...? Explain yourself.”

“W-well you see, I’m not really adept at showing my face to a large audience … and your establishment attracts such a crowd. I’m afraid I must don an outfit to appear mysterious. Otherwise, they will eventually know that I’m a deity…” Orpheum stammered in his words, really hoping that his act wasn’t a grievous fault.

“Wait am I hearing this correct? You’re a god!?!” Chicory was barely listening to Orpheum’s whole explanation and instead focused on the part where he mentioned he was a deity. “Are you kidding me!?!”

Chicory’s excitableness did make Orpheum at least for at least a little bit as he smiled. “Yes, I’m a deity. Perhaps it is time to let all of you know. Rosemary was the only one who knew.” He looked over at Rosemary as she gave him a reassuring okay gesture. “But if I did show my true face to a large crowd, there would be consequences. I hope all of you understand why I did that earlier …”

Rosemary would then put a hand on his shoulder and smile. “Of course it’s fine! Let’s just let be our little secret. Right, guys? Especially you, Vetle. Don’t you go around and spill the beans.”

“Yes! Me and my boyfriend here are 100% in it for this little secret! Right, Vetle?” Chicory piped in as Vetle gave a shrug, presumably as a way of approval. “Yeah yeah, whatever. I won’t tell if it means I get the front row seats.” Vetle added with a smirk on his face.

“Me and my girlfriend also agree. Your secret’s safe with us.” Pumpkin also added to the conversation as Shiso gave a nod. “Don’t you worry a thing.”

“See, Orpheum? You’ll be just fine. After all, Shaymin’s gotta stick together.” Rosemary then smiled, Orpheum shedding a tear and let out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, everyone … truly this has been an eventful day. But I am grateful for every one of your understanding. But alas, I must take my leave for now. Have a good night. It has been a pleasure meeting all of you.” With that, the Shaymin bard exited the café but not without giving a wave from his hat and letting the wind carry him back towards the forest.

[satuguro]

stars | pt. 1

@astroninaaa : I saw you answered that ask about sokka and omg please right something for him!!! anything!!! i would die for it!!! maybe some angst with a happy ending??? oof i love it

IN WHICH: sokka’s one second too late in making you feel special.

PAIRING(S): sokka x reader, hints of zuko x reader

INSPIRED BY: chasing cars — snow patrol, arsonist’s lullaby — hozier

WARNING: angst, but wbk

NOTES: hi love! thank you sm for requesting and i got a bit carried away, so i’m making this two parts. i’ll tag you when i post the next one. i hope i did your request justice <3

part 2!

you had never been good with words. emotions weren’t your thing — you always added salt to wounds and always found the wrong things to say.

granted, you had a plausible reason for not voicing your emotions. you were raised by bandits, people who hid too much of their trauma behind a tough front. you were once a mere fire nation orphan, left behind by your family because your fire bender mother loved your earth bender father. they were killed as a result of your birth, but they hid you away before it was too late.

you were picked off of the street and raised by ‘bad’ people that became your family. you were the community daughter, protected and loved by everyone despite your firebending abilities. you were trained by them and were taught to survive and fight with your weapon of choice; shurikens.

you had met the avatar and his little ‘crew’ through your dysfunctional family. they had captured them and were having a meeting of sorts to decide what the next move would be. it was you, the youngest of the group and the only person who had arrived late to the meeting, who convinced the others to let them go.

the stalactites of the cave hung heavily over you all as the other bandits gathered around in a circle, surrounding the avatar and his friends. it was a wonder how they hadn’t escaped; but there were talented benders within your group, and one too many people with weapons.

“i say we turn them in!” one criminal yelled with glee, the rambunctious cheers of the others shaking the rocks above and causing dust to fall.

“no— we can work this out!” aang protested, offering a childishly innocent smile as the shadows of the criminals loomed over him and the others. using his airbending would mean possible death— the rocks overhead were weak as is.

sokka raised his boomerang threateningly, backing up along with the others as he readied himself to throw.

“am i late?” a voice — a younger voice — broke through the tension in the cave, making all the bandits hesitate and turn towards the little light that moved towards them.

your mouth and nose were covered by a black mask, leaving your amber eyes on display as you glared at the criminals around you. in your left hand was a ball of fire that you brandished as if it was nothing.

“i told you to be here before 10!” your motherly figure, a criminal named meili, scolded amongst the crowd as you walked forward confidently. there was no reason to show fear— you had known these people since you were a child.

“i got distracted,” you murmured, moving gently through the crowd before you stood in the middle, your permanent scowl melting into a look of shock.

two water tribes, an earth bender, and an airbender. they were looking at your with a mix of caution, hatred, and shock— what was a firebender doing with a bunch of misfit criminals?

“you’re the avatar,” you breathed, your vulnerability falling for just a moment before you glared at the bandits around you. your fire burned brighter as anger suddenly hit you.

“why would you turn him in? don’t you want peace?”

it felt like so long ago. if zuko was hard to trust, you were even harder. you were a bandit and a firebender— how bad could it get? it was toph who had trusted you quicker than the others did; you were brutally honest, much like her, and she appreciated someone who could bring the others back to reality. aang was next, after you tried to teach him some techniques that were a mix of techniques you had learned from your diverse group.

katara and sokka were the hardest to get close to. they sent you dirty looks, ignored you when you spoke, and called you ‘fire nation scum’ — for good reason, you had to admit. but they soon learned to trust you after you saved them from harm more than once.

oddly, you had created a strong bond with sokka. you couldn’t pinpoint the time it began, but there was a solid connection between you both. you bonded over the little things— from feeling like an outsider to your favorite food while growing up. you promised him that you would show him the world one day, as long as he promised to show you his world back home.

you had a connection, and while you never could figure out what your quickening heart and fluttering stomach meant, sokka figured it out for himself.

the moon hung heavily over the horizon, shining down on you as you stared up at it. below the cliff you sat upon was water that reached on for miles, crashing against the jagged rocks below you. your legs hung off the ledge, your eyes shut tight as you took in everything around you.

the soft breeze that prickled your skin. the smell of salty air. the rustling of the trees behind you.

a snap of a twig.

your eyes snapped open, body turning in your seat at you threw a shuriken towards the sound. all you heard was a scream and a ‘thunk’ against wood. your hand lit ablaze as you stood up, raising your fire to see.

sokka, looking as if he was ready to pass out, was breathing heavily against a tree that your shuriken had hit. it had missed him by centimeters, and the poor boy was terrified.

“spirits, y/n, it’s me! sokka! the only sokka you know!” sokka’s breathing came out in labored breaths, and the sound of his squeaky, terrified voice made your shoulders relax. your fire disappeared into your palm and your shuriken was put away.

“you shouldn’t sneak up on someone,” you muttered, turning around to sit in the position you were once in as if nothing happened. you heard him shuffle behind you before he cautiously took a seat next to you.

“and you shouldn’t sit near deadly cliffs,” sokka sassed, making you scoff. but not without a teasing smile.

“are you chicken?”

“me? chicken? never.” sokka puffed out his chest, making you roll your eyes as a soft laugh left your lips. the rare sound made his face bloom a deep red, his eyes lingering at your face for just a moment too long before he averted his eyes. “why’re you out here? we were telling campfire stories.”

“no reason,” you said, staring up at the sky. you were looking at the stars with such wonder written all over your face. your mouth was slightly agape and you looked so... relaxed. happy. it was rare. “it’s beautiful, huh?” you asked, voice dreamy as you stared at the moon.

“yeah,” sokka responded, eyes still set on you. you turned to him, oblivious to the stare he had before you grabbed his face by his chin, your warm touch sending sparks up and down his arms. you gently turned his head to the stars.

“not me, sokka. never me.”

sokka learned later on into your friendship that you didn’t believe you were beautiful.

you had confessed it one day during a ‘confession hour’ around the campfire. you had said the words so quietly that you had to repeat it a second time with burning cheeks. at first sokka couldn’t believe it — were you blind to how gorgeous you were? but as he heard the compliments of the others and saw the doubtful smile on your face, he knew it was no joke.

sokka wanted to tell you that you were beautiful, that he thought you were beautiful.

“it’s two words. just two! you’ll be fine.” sokka paced in his tent, jumping around to get himself ready for the conversation he was ready to have with you. it had been two nights since your confession to the group, and sokka wanted to make you feel special. you deserved to feel special. “okay! okay—“

sokka walked out of the tent, pretending to stretch in order to play it cool. his confident front dropped, however, at the sight of katara and aang. both of them were sitting on some seats toph had bended out of the ground, and both were looking at him with knowing faces.

“are you gonna do it?” aang asked excitedly, practically buzzing in his seat as he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, propping his chin up on his hands.

“you better,” katara said sternly, giving her sheepish brother a look. “honestly, it took you long enough to realize—“

“thank you, i gotta go!” sokka groaned, making a beeline for the forest, listening to their laughing behind him. you had told him that the forest was your safe place, that despite the many things you were bound to burn, you found solace under the trees.

his feet made little noises against the grass below as he maneuvered around the trees. the thrumming of sokka’s heart was loud as he walked, ready to confess and praying that it would all go well—

he had been too late.

he caught you and zuko laying side by side under a tree, staring at the stars. the stars that you and sokka used to stare at for hours. and while sokka knew he couldn’t claim all the stars for the both of you, nothing but pain struck his heart at the sight of you both. the guards you both put up daily were gone, nearly nonexistent as you whispered to each other. your arms were touching, and sokka saw how dangerously close your hands were to each other.

the worst part? he watched you lean up on your elbows and softly take zuko’s face — the scarred part of his face — in your hands. the prince closed his eyes contentedly, and was practically nuzzling his face into the palm of your hand. sokka felt his heart break in two when he heard you say two words that he longed to tell you. you said it under the stars — your stars.

“you’re beautiful.”

┈┈ 𑁍༅ཾ༚ ┈┈

NOTES: thanks for reading! this’ll be a two part series, so i’ll try to write the next one as soon as i can

buy me a coffee here! any likes, reblogs, or donations are appreciated :)

part 2 is here!

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (22) (org.) || atz

trigger warnings: gunshots, blood, injury, whipping

You freeze.

Every muscle in your body goes taut, a cold shiver running down your spine. The arm around your waist is firm, strong and from the almost unbreakable grip he has on you, he doesn’t intend on letting you go any soon.

“I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.” The man behind you purrs, his breath ghosting over the sensitive shell of your ear. A squeak escapes you as the barrel of the musket digs into your temple. You might be terrified to the point of near unconsciousness, but part of your mind registers that this isn’t the same lieutenant that you had seen yesterday. “The rest of you, show yourselves.”

Your heart sinks in your chest as the rest of your crew come into sight.

Most of them are tied up in groups with rope, their heads hanging low as Navy soldiers kick and push them out of the cargo hold, where they had been hidden from sight. So that was why the ship had been so strangely silent when you and Wooyoung had returned to the Treasure.

They had been captured.

“Hello, hello, hello, my two dear pirates.” The man behind you locks one arm around your neck, dragging you up the gangplank with him and you choke, your fingers scrabbling fruitlessly against his arm. His well polished boots click smartly on the deck of the Treasure as he addresses all of the pirates on board. “Now, we’re finally all here together. I’ve been waiting for this the whole night.”

There’s poison in his voice, sweet as honey and as dangerous as snake venom. You don’t dare to struggle against him for fear of being shot point blank in the head, but his hold on you is making you panic and he’s crushing your windpipe, making every breath an arduous effort.

Before you, you see Jongho on the ground, arms in heavy iron shackles used only for slaves, beaten and bloodied black and blue by the Navy soldiers. Your eyes widen in horror at the sight of him. Glancing around more desperately, you try to spot your master, Yunho, Yeosang, the captain.

“Ahh, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m head of port investigation, Leon Bastiville. I heard two of you had a fun trip to the governor’s last night.” The officer behind you yanks your head back by the hair and you let out a muffled whimper, tears trailing down your cheeks as he twists the musket playfully against your temple. “Did you enjoy yourselves? I heard one of you got shot by my men… Was it you, sweet one?”

Every alarm, every warning bell, every danger alert you have in your instinct is screaming in your head at full volume, telling you to get the hell away from this man and put an entire ocean between the two of you, but you’re too terrified to move an inch. Something seems off about him, as if you can feel the sheer madness radiating from him like some sort of black miasma. You’re scared. You don’t want to die.

Leon suddenly rams the musket against your temple hard enough to bruise and your face snaps to the side from the force, fresh tears springing from your eyes at the pain. “Answer me!”

“Yes…” You choke out, voice trembling beyond your control. Behind you, Wooyoung snarls and yanks against his bonds, but his two guards are too strong for him to do anything.

“Since you replied so nicely, let me tell you what you missed last night.” The officer sighs, stroking your hair gently. You’re so used to the same action being done to you by San and Wooyoung, but this man’s touch feels corrosive against you and you try your best to flinch away from him.

“Stay still.” Leon’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper, silken and dark. “I don’t want my finger to slip.”

Terror, cold as frost, spreads through your entire body. You can’t move.

“While the two of you were off causing your little commotion back there at the official’s building,” The officer drawls, playfully resting his chin on your shoulder as he addresses the crew, “one of my men ran back to the harbor to report it to me. My colleague that saw to you yesterday, Yoongi, was already suspicious of you. He smelled gunpowder on your ship, but your little de facto captain told us that you hadn’t been fired on.”

Every movement he makes, you can feel.

“So when I heard about the events of last night, I decided to check the ship out for myself.” His cheeks press against yours when he smiles. “And lo and behold, what did I find? The Pirate King himself, with his one green eye and his Treasure.”

Something cold wraps around your throat.

It was your fault.

You remember everything. The book, the guards, the delay because of your injury.

Captain.

“Bring him out.” Leon clicks his tongue and you see your captain shoved forward, head bowed and hands bound in front of him. Part of you desperately wants to run to the man who named you, to insist he never incline his head to someone he doesn’t respect, but you are completely powerless now. He looks so small, so defeated that you want to cry. Your captain’s head is bowed, and it’s all your fault.

“So, I wonder what you were trying to achieve by coming to Nassau.” The officer sighs, rolling the question on his tongue. Captain simply remains silent, not saying a word as he averts his eyes to the deck. You can feel Leon’s mood darkening at your captain’s refusal to speak.

“Bring me the cat.”

Cat? Why would this officer call for a cat, of all things?

Your question is answered when a young soldier steps forward, holding a thin, dark shape in his hand. Dread fills you when you realise what it is.

“I hope you can bear the claws of a cat o’ nine tails, milord.” Leon smiles, looking rather amused. Disgust and loathing rises in you at how sick in the mind this man is. He jerks a thumb at your captain. “Flog him till he talks.”

Your heart drops in your chest.

“Or stops moving.”

Your head jerks up before you can stop it.

No.

The members of the crew have similar reactions, all of them screaming some protest or another, but they are quickly silenced by their guards with some sort of blow or slap. Yunho gets backhanded so hard across the face that he collapses to the ground, blood trickling from his mouth. You see Yeosang at your right, face pale as a sheet and tears silently streaming down his cheeks.

Before your eyes, your captain is stripped of his shirt. He doesn’t make a sound, only stares forward, and you can feel the irritation pricking at Leon’s skin when he doesn’t react the way he wants him to.

An officer raises a whip to your captain’s bare back and brings it down.

You flinch at the sight and your eyes close instinctively against it, you can’t bear to watch. You hear the whistling of the cat o’ nine tails as it comes down against your captain’s back, the sharp stinging sound it makes against his skin, the soft cry it tears from Yeosang’s mouth. Then the sound repeats, again and again and again, till you lose count and tears rolls down your cheeks, your chest heaving with silent sobs.

Leon’s hand comes up to grip your chin, forcing your eyes open. “Watch, or your captain dies.”

You’re weeping openly now. Hongjoong’s back is a mutilated, bloody mess of raw flesh and shredded skin, crimson streaming from several open wounds. Your captain is on his knees, face pressed against the floor, body trembling. You can’t even begin to imagine what absolute agony he must be in, your musket wound was nothing compared to this. But your captain remains silent, teeth gritted against the torment brought on with each swing of the whip.

He doesn’t make a sound.

Why? Why doesn’t he try to fight back? Why isn’t he trying to escape?

The whip comes down.

A muffled scream leaves your captain’s mouth, it tears at your heart like claws.

The whip comes down.

You can barely see any untouched skin, your captain’s back is nothing more than a raw, bloody piece of flesh.

The whip comes down.

Your captain’s arms give out from under him, and he collapses to the ground, choking from trying to gasp for air and stifle the cries that fight to leave his mouth at the same time.

“Not willing to talk, huh?” Leon breathes, but you can hear the barely restrained fury in his voice. He must not be used to having people resist him like this. The musket digs deeper into your temple, but honestly you don’t care anymore, at this point, you’d rather he just shoot you and spare you the pain of watching your captain get flogged. “Should we move on to another victim?”

The officer’s eyes search the trembling crew for his next victim, but a soft groan from your captain stops him.

“Are you tired already?” Leon turns back in shock, only to see Hongjoong forcing himself back into a kneeling position, arms shaking against the pain as he looks at the Naval officer with a chuckle. “Maybe you’re not training your men hard enough.”

You want to slap your captain for the sheer stupidity of his words. His back is completely torn and ravaged, and if they continue whipping him they’ll be cutting into raw flesh or worse, his spine. And even if he does survive the whipping, the size of this wound is so huge that there’s no way it’ll be able to heal without him getting some sort of major infection.

If the whipping doesn’t kill him, the infection will.

What is your captain doing?

The young guard administering the lashes looks every bit as uncomfortable as you feel, glancing at his superior officer in worry. “Sir, I’ve already administered fifty lashes, but he might die if I continue-”

“Carry on.” Leon spits, voice rising in vindictive glee. But before the young guard can protest or carry out his orders, the officer pauses. “Wait.”

Silence drags across the deck as the commanding officer seems to be contemplating something. Then he turns to look at you, in his arms.

A terrifying smile looms on his face and for a second, your heart stops beating.

Leon turns back to address your captain.

“If you’re not willing to talk when being whipped…” He pauses for a short moment, glancing over at your captain. “... I wonder if your tongue will loosen if I do it to one of your crew, then?”

The question sinks in.

“No!” You hear San, Yeosang and Wooyoung scream simultaneously at once, but you can’t register the words that Leon has just said. They’re going to whip you, probably flog you to death, just to get captain to talk...

Your eyes meet your captain’s, blood roaring through your ears. And ever since the whipping started, your captain looks afraid.

“No-” Hongjoong begins to say, but then Leon’s fingers are at the front of your shirt, pulling at the clasp.

Your eyes fly wide in realisation. Your bindings!

This may seem like the worst time to think about this, but you can’t have your gender revealed now. Not when the rest of the crew already had begun to trust you so deeply as one of their own, not when Wooyoung had confessed to you the some of the deepest, darkest secrets of his heart.

Uncaring of the gun at your head, you flail and thrash against him, to no avail.

Leon growls, fury vibrating through him. “Stop struggling!” With that, he shoves you to the ground, the sound of cloth tearing filling the air as you crash to the deck next to your captain.

There’s a sudden silence as everyone takes you in. You can see every emotion in Hongjoong’s green eye, shock, pain, realisation, then betrayal.

“A woman…” Leon steps over to you, sheer wonderment and interest in his voice. You don’t like where this is going. He yanks you to your feet by the hair and you scream in pain as every nerve ending on your head floods you with a sharp agony. The smile on his face is something you’ll see in nightmares for days to come. “She’s coming back with us. I hope you’re pure for sale, my sweet, but I suppose that may be difficult when you’re on the same ship as so many men.”

Terror swallows you whole.

He wants to sell you as a-

Hongjoong lunges to his feet faster than you can blink. You gasp at the sight of your captain, who’s somehow standing despite the fact that he should be physically in too much pain to do so. His green eye is burning with fire, an uncontrollable fire that ravages everything in its path and burns the world around it to cinders.

The look in his eyes alone lets you understand why he was named the Pirate King. Nobody could ever match the sheer determination and will that burns in his very soul, a roaring blaze that even the ocean cannot put out.

For a moment, he’s as blinding as the sun.

“Wooyoung!” Hongjoong shouts, and immediately the head gunner bursts into action, his ropes falling from his wrists as he tosses three smoke bombs you know were hidden in his shirt to the ground. The deck explodes into a smoky mixture of ash, fine sand and ground glass that San had concocted a long time ago, sending the Navy officers into a panic as they scatter, eyes watering from the blinding powder. The crew of the Treasure, already long familiar with this ever since Yeosang started experimenting with these smoke bombs, turn away from the wind and keep their eyes and noses shut tight against it.

Wooyoung takes this opportunity to use a knife hidden in his boot to cut through the bonds of Jongho and Yunho, who roar into battle like two furious lions. You watch as Jongho tears the sword of a officer off him with his bare hands, before picking the unfortunate man up and tossing him into the sea mercilessly, before smashing through anyone in his way like a one man battering ram.

Yunho rips a spear from the hands of a younger soldier, kicking him to the side before tearing through the deck, freeing as many of his crew mates as possible, all of who join in the fight, armed or not.

In a single second, the tides have shifted.

Leon hisses in rage as the battle happens before him, dragging you back with him as he moves towards the gangplank. The gun has long left your head, Leon using it to sweep the area for any potential intruders.

“You’re coming with me.” He growls, yanking you back. You try to fight back, but he simply smacks you so hard that you feel like you’ve been knocked silly for a moment, head swimming as you try to get your bearings. “I need to call for reinforcements, so-”

Hongjoong raises a short piece of rope with two knots done on it. For some reason, you immediately know what it is, the power thrumming through it too immense to be that of any human.

“Pulling the first knot could yield a gentle, southeasterly wind, while pulling two could generate a strong northerly wind, but the third knot would unleash a hurricane. Hongjoong-hyung has one of these, but he’s used the first knot already.”

But you’re already on the gangplank, and if Hongjoong pulls the second knot now, you’ll be left at the harbor alone, never to see them again. Your eyes meet your captain’s, and for a second, you see them falter.

Suddenly, he flies out of nowhere, lunging for your captor. Leon snarls and tries to kick him away, but then he raises a short knife and buries it in Leon’s arm. The man holding you stumbles back onto the gangplank, falling onto the ground and your saviour takes your hand.

“Let’s go!” He shouts, yanking you with him as the two of you sprint for the ship. Seeing this, Hongjoong raises a hand to undo the second knot on the rope.

You glance back, only to see your captor’s face twisted into one of hatred, the loaded musket pointed straight at your backs.

Hongjoong pulls free the second knot on the rope.

The hand holding yours yanks you in front of him and into his chest, shielding you with himself.

The sound of successive gunshots fill the air.

You feel his body jerk once. Twice. Thrice.

The wind picks up in speed, and all of a sudden the Treasure is speeding away from Nassau, leaving the port island a mere speck in the distance.

“Chin... Hae…” You hear him gasp out through ragged breaths. His chest is heaving against you. You can’t breathe. You can’t think.

Like an insect trapped in amber, you watch, frozen in time, as the arms holding you close slacken, falling from your shoulders. Then he crumples to his knees, crashing to the ground, and that is when you see the blood pouring from three different holes in his back.

Your mouth opens in a scream of his name.

[itsclydebitches]

Robert Picardo as The Doctor is the best thing about Voyager. Now I’m just imagining him teaming up with Penny.

It’s “Write incredibly niche crossover fic in response to an ask” hour! 🥳️

***

One might assume that when the ship hit an unknown anomaly, resulting in a non-organic entity that produced life signs appearing on the bridge, claiming she was from another reality significantly different from their own, that someone of significant rank would see fit to inform the Chief Medical Officer of this threatening, precarious development.

They didn't. The Doctor only found out when Paris stumbled into his sickbay, arm wrapped gingerly around his waist.

"Hiya, Doc. Don't suppose you know anything about treating hugs?"

"Hugs?"

His programming demanded that he focus on the most life threatening problem at any given time. Nevertheless, the Doctor found his gaze shifting to the woman behind Paris, hovering anxiously in the doorway. She appeared human at first glance, but the mechanisms attached to her legs and the soft, nearly undiscernible hum of a power source gave her away. She smoothed hands down the front of her skirt, casting him curious glances in turn.

Paris heaved himself onto a bed, biting off a curse. "Penny, meet the Doc. Doc, Penny. I bet you two would make great friends, I'd just prefer it if you started gabbing after we figure out if I'm dying."

"If only we were so lucky," the Doctor said, already in the midst of a scan, "Hmm. Sadly, the crew will have to weather your presence a while longer, Lieutenant Paris. Your rib was broken."

"Oh, that's just great, I — wait. Was?"

"Already healed." The Doctor waved the osteogenic stimulator in Paris' face. He bat at it like an obnoxious fly. "Really, you people do make a fuss over the smallest bumps and bruises. You're fragile too. Am I to understand that your eighth rib cracked under the force of a hug?"

Paris gestured across the sickbay, his other arm lightly palpitating his side. "Yeah? Maybe? Ask Ms. Super Strength over there."

The address seemed to break whatever stupor Penny was in. She let out a little gasp and flew to Paris' side, fast enough that the Doctor was left blinking at the near teleportation. He made a note to run a self-diagnosis later, just to ensure his optical processors were functioning properly.

"I did not mean to hurt you, Mr. Paris," Penny said, her voice soft and, seemingly, sincere. She reached out towards the biobed, only to draw her hands back before touching his leg. "I thought for sure that someone on such a dangerous mission, a part of your bridge team, would have his aura unlocked."

Paris blinked. "Aura?"

"Whatever it is she's emitting, I'd wager," the Doctor said, now scanning Penny from the top of her curls to the toe of her boots. At his words a shimmering green light appeared on the surface of her skin, seeming to be both a part of and separate from her. "Huh. Fascinating."

Penny nodded. Crisis averted and conversation turned scientific, she seemed to shake off the previous anxiety, beginning to bounce with a child-like glee. "Yes! Where I come from everyone has aura — it is the manifestation of our souls — but only a few are able to use it. You must train for a very long time and then your aura can protect you!" Penny looked down at her gloved hands, deflating just a bit. "I would like to show you, but I am not a human girl. Or a faunus one. Aura creates a shield to absorb damage and it can heal minor wounds, but though I am the first synthetic being to generate aura, my body is inorganic. Injuring myself would not provide you with the demonstration my friends could give you. I am sorry."

"That's, uh..." Paris pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let me see if I understand this. You're sorry that you're not the one who's injured and instantly healing?"

"Yes."

"Right. Well, that's enough alternate reality for one day." Paris hoped down from the bed, patting Penny's shoulder. "Don't even worry about it, kid. Doc's given me a clean bill of health — "

"I've done nothing of the sort. There's clearly something wrong with you, though nothing I’m capable of fixing."

" — and you saved me from another of Tuvok's drills. Can't tell you how grateful I am."

Paris only had two inches on Penny, if that, but she looked up at him like he was larger than life. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. Safety drills with a Vulcan? That's this reality's torture. You're a hero, Penny, no question."

The Doctor was just opening his mouth to remind Lieutenant Paris of their protocols, which included trying to limit the subjective information given to visiting species, when the door opened and in stumbled Ensign Kim.

His expression was poised somewhere between worry and humor. It was, all in all, an unbecoming look.

"Salutations, Harry!" Penny gave a rather exaggerated wave considering they were only a few feet apart. Kim playfully held up his hands, warding off an advance.

"Don't tell me you're injured too," the Doctor said, but it seemed the trio was inclined to ignore him. What utterly rude behavior. He'd certainly never experienced that before.

Harry slung one arm around Penny's shoulders, his other over Paris', drawing the two close together. "Do you want to know a secret?"

"Oh yes!"

"Depends on the secret, Harry..."

He shot a feral grin at Paris. "Remember the fight last month? Gordon laying into Maria over those power couplings?"

The Doctor certainly remembered. It wasn't every day he got to extract a fork from a man's back. Not that Maria had pushed Gordon onto the utensil on purpose. Their rather dramatic fight had led to an equally dramatic makeup, the majority of which, sadly, took place in his sickbay.

"Well," Harry went on, "the Captain wanted me to install some cameras in the mess hall. The whole ship, really, given the number of anomalies we've encountered, you among them." He poked Penny in the ribs, eliciting a giggle. "But the majority of incidents tends to happen over meals, for whatever reason, and what I'm getting at is that I now have a recording of Tom Paris getting tackled by a little girl and crying like a baby."

"Delete it," Tom said at the exact moment Penny apologized again. For a second their three voices overlapped, demands, guilt, and elation all blending together. The Doctor observed the strange phenomenon, trying to follow what precisely had taken place. Something about Lieutenant Paris sharing his replicator rations, thus earning said, rib-crushing hug? Not that it mattered. The point, according to Ensign Kim, was that he'd secured the best moment in Voyager history on tape and, yes, he'd already sent a copy to everyone on board.

Such interactions, though humorous in their own way, were not meant for a professional environment. The Doctor had just opened his mouth to tell them all to get out, take the reality-bending anomaly with you, when the Captain saved him the trouble.

"Ensign Kim, Lieutenant Paris, please report to my ready room immediately."

"You're busted," Paris sang, doing a strange little dance.

"I'm busted? You're the one who tried to counterfeit extra rations for her — !"

And away they went, bickering all the while. The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief.

That is, until he realized that Penny hadn't gone with them.

"Ah... hello?"

"Salutations!"

The Doctor winced. "No need to shout. I'm right beside you."

"Oh. I am sorry." Penny came even closer, rocking forward on the balls of her feet. "Mr. Paris called you 'Doctor.' My father is a doctor too. He is the one who built me."

"And he did quite a remarkable job of it," he said, taking another few, discrete scans. "But I am a medical doctor, not a... biological engineer, I suppose, and as impressive a specimen as you are, I have a great deal of work to do. Not the least of which is adding your information to the ship's database in case your presence causes more than just a cracked rib. Because we certainly wouldn't want to inform the Chief Medical Officer of a new passenger, now would we? So if you would please...?" The Doctor made a few shooing motions that he hoped she understood. There was no way to tell how people in her reality might communicate, especially through something as complex as body language.

Case in point: Penny gave him a salute in return. The Doctor could only stare. No one had ever saluted him before.

...he rather liked it.

"Doctor?" Another hiss as the doors opened. Penny began vibrating.

"Salutations, Kes!"

The Doctor winced. "Is that the only greeting you know?"

"Says the man who begins every conversation with 'Please state the nature of the medical emergency.'"

Today was just a bundle of discoveries. The Doctor found that he didn't like the look Kes was casting him, nor the implications of her statement. "I tried others," he defended himself. "That was the best way to greet my fellow crewmembers! It's what I prefer, thank you very much."

"'Salutations' is what I prefer too," Penny said, seeming to have missed his earlier criticism. "It's such a fun, happy word, don't you think?"

"I don't — I'm not — " The Doctor cut himself off with a huff. From the corner of his eye he saw Kes snatch a vial off the nearby tray — Ensign Harver's medication — and give a jaunty wave and she trotted out the door. He'd raised his finger to point sternly at Penny, turned it on Kes, only to turn it back when she abandoned him. Rude. 

"I am a doctor," he said, “not an entertainer. It is my job to fix any and all medical problems that may develop on this ship, not to have fun with wordplay. I'm not programmed for fun."

"...programmed?"

Dismissing the whispered word, the Doctor decided that the best course of action was to simply ignore the girl. She was clearly attached to the rest of the crew already, so if he ceased engaging with her she would become bored and leave him in peace. However, no sooner had he turned away then Penny had zipped in front of him, demonstrating that impressive speed again. One moment there were the pristinely white walls of his sickbay, the next a mass of red and green had assaulted his vision, not unlike an exuberant Christmas tree. The Doctor stumbled back with a squawk.

"You are programmed? You are like me!" she cried, snatching his hand. He was too stunned to immediately pull away and Penny took full advantage of his shock, poking and prodding at his palm with an intensity he might have otherwise admired. "You feel very human. Father said that I must not get too close to people. They might notice the metal I am made of, but your father has done a most excellent job! I would never have know that you are an android too."

The description of Doctor Zimmerman as his father made something hot coil in the pit of the Doctor's nonexistent stomach, the feeling undercut only by the strange sensation of Penny holding his hand. Yes, now that she'd mentioned it, he could feel the difference: she possessed a heavier, less pliable appendage than a human would. It wasn't unpleasant, just an intimacy he hadn't asked for, and the Doctor snatched his fingers back, settling on the easiest of her assumptions to correct.

He straightened his shirt, adopting a sardonic smile. "I am not an android, I am a hologram. I am produced using a magnetic containment field and I can modulate my own projection to interact with the matter around us, or pass through it, if I so choose. It is a very convincing imitation of life, dependent on the ship's computers and the projectors in this room. In short, my existence is a far less impressive display of technological advancement than yours, something I suspect Lieutenant Torres would greatly admire. Perhaps you should visit her and leave me in peace."

Penny didn't leave though, just continued to stare up at him, obscenely innocent. "Imitation?"

"Are you programmed to repeat whatever I say? Perhaps I should be clearer: please leave!"

"You are not an imitation."

Reports were a common occurrence on Voyager, of first contacts, missions gone wrong, the current status of the ship. The Doctor considered himself quite qualified to explain any and all situations he might experience and, due to his increased memory, was arguably in a better position to provide an objectively accurate account of events. It was rather a point of pride, in fact. Yet if the Captain had asked him to explain the change that had just taken place, he would have been at a loss. Penny was a kind and soft-spoken girl, outside of her exuberance, of course. Yet someone different stood before him now, hard-eyed and burning with passion. Quite literally. The Doctor felt her core temperature rising by several degrees, the space between them growing hot as her mechanics responded to whatever emotion was currently coursing through her circuits.

How interesting, in a rather intimidating way. 

"I'm... not?" The Doctor suspected that any disagreement would be a mistake.

Penny furiously shook her head, curls whipping about her face. "You are not! And I find it very upsetting to hear you speak that way. I... I suppose Ruby must have been very upset too."

Ruby?

The Doctor didn't get the chance to ask. Penny grabbed his hand again, gripping it with a strength that made him better appreciate Lieutenant Paris' injuries.

"I used to think as you do, Doctor," she said, all green-eyed intensity. "That I was not a real girl because my father built me, because I could do more than a human girl could and, sometimes, less than as well, but I was wrong. And you..." Penny took a deep breath, her face lighting up with a smile. "You’ve got a heart and a soul. I can feel it. You think just because you're got a computer and projectors instead of nuts and bolts that makes you any less real than me?"

"I... no." And to his intense surprise, the Doctor found that he meant it. So what if he didn't have a physical stomach to experience anxiety in? Or if he could only exist in here and the holodeck? He thought, felt, could learn, make decisions... what else was life, really? Unconsciously, the Doctor squeezed Penny’s hand back. "You’re right. I’m not an imitation, but the real thing. Quite a stellar example of life too, if I do say so myself."

Penny squealed and flung her arms around him, pulling him into one of those deadly hugs. The Doctor winced, hesitantly reaching up to pat her back, but it appeared that this quick formality wouldn't appease her as it did Ensign Kim. With a sigh he rolled his eyes and resigned himself to the attention.

It wasn't horrible.

"I am so very glad that I have made a new friend today," Penny said, rocking him side-to-side.

"Oh. Are we friends now?"

"Yes!"

"Ah, well then, as a friend..." The Doctor cleared his throat, letting her take just a little more of his weight. "I don't suppose you have any advice on choosing a name?"

[luninosity]

Catching up on some @evanstanweek prompts (last week got busy!) - somewhat belated, but still fun!

Here’s day 5: alternate universe. Which my brain decided was...a space AU? With diplomat!Chris and courier ship captain!Seb?

Read at AO3 here (1,834 words, no warnings, adorable attraction and hand-touches) or read here on tumblr below!

#

Stars streak and flow and swirl along the swiftspace tunnel. They spin and flare and flood color through the viewing windows: white, red, golden, blue, against the dark joyous infinity of space. Chris Evans, as a Federated Planets diplomat and ambassador, has seen a lot of stars and a lot of space. The sheer delight of it all kicks him in the heart every time.

 He gets to be here. On adventures. Flying through darkness and light and beauty. Visiting new worlds, helping people solve problems.

 He wanders across the small upper observation lounge, weary and entranced.

 The courier ship’s sleek and graceful, a silver-grey water-bird with the jeweled light of the universe pooling along her skin. From this angle Chris can see her side, the line of her hull, as well; the view’s maybe not as entirely unrestricted as it would be from the larger more forward deck below, but he likes the connection right here.

 He gazes at the stars, and lets himself relax a fraction: sleeves shoved up, collar undone, hands in his pockets. Negotiations at his back. Peace achieved. Success.

 Maybe he grins at the stars, and maybe they grin back, but that’s okay: nobody else is here to witness their casual shared relief and giddiness. It’s relatively late—the middle of the night, according to ship’s time, anyway—and the observation lounge is quiet, up here.

 Except that’s not true. Because there’s a tiny chirp, pleasant and musical—and it’s not Chris’s communicator—

 He turns. The person who’d been settled into the large corner chair—not facing the door—bolts up hastily and silences the notification and says, “Apologies, Ambassador—” and Chris realizes all at once, a supernova to the gut, that that’s not just any person.

 That’s Sebastian Stan, or more accurately Captain Sebastian Stan.

 In command of this beautiful graceful Federated Planets courier ship. Here to ferry Chris back to the capital planet after negotiations. And so damn beautiful himself that Chris, experienced diplomat that he is, had forgotten how to talk for a good five seconds upon first meeting.

 Captain Stan’s got fluffy dark hair and bright eyes the color of morning mist over the geothermal lakes of Skystone. He’s nearly Chris’s height and nearly Chris’s age, human like Chris but raised on the colony world of Apa Sâmbetei; he’s young for a captain, though not so young that it’s wildly extraordinary, and he’s disarmingly sweet and enthusiastic and passionate in a heartfelt way, someone who talks about his ship and flying the stars as if he’ll never get tired of new missions and explorations, whether that’s as big as discovering a new nebula or as small as bringing a single diplomat back home for debriefing.

 And Chris had fallen head over heels—hopelessly, ridiculously, he knows—the second Captain Stan had run down the ramp at the spaceport and said, “Welcome aboard, Ambassador!” with cheerful disregard for formal impersonal protocol but equally cheerful enthusiasm about inviting Chris on board his ship for the next week.

 Chris’s heart’s always loved people who love the world. And Sebastian Stan so clearly does. So glorious, so vibrant.

 Two days in, they haven’t spoken much. That first brief welcome. Dinner at the captain’s table yesterday, which is in fact the only table, because Sebastian’s crew only numbers seven and they’re all friends. A quick encounter outside the rec-holo room that morning, Chris having asked if he could reserve some workout time and Captain Stan apparently just leaving, having been doing…something…in a clinging dark blue gym shirt and grey sweatpants, just before. He’d been flushed and sweat-damp and glowing; he’d obviously not been expecting Chris to show up ten minutes early. Chris had blurted out, “Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t interrupting—I thought it’d take longer to get here—” and then had wanted to bite off his own tongue for implying Sebastian’s ship was too small or too simple or whatever the hell he’d just managed to babble.

 “No, it’s fine, it’s all yours!” Sebastian’d said instantly. “I’m—I mean, we’re—I mean the Calliope’s at your disposal, Ambassador, of course—” He’d vanished into the lift Chris’d just exited, at that.

 Right now Sebastian looks on the verge of vanishing again: swinging boots to the deck’s carpet, picking up his communicator and tablet, plainly on the brink of getting up. “I didn’t mean to disturb you—”

 Chris says, “You were here first!” and holds up a hand, though he’s not even sure what the gesture’s supposed to mean. Stay? Wait? I’ll go? I’m sorry for barging in on your observation deck time? “And it’s your ship—I’ll just go, I just couldn’t sleep—”

 Sebastian’s smile’s sudden and complicated: wry, understanding, gently concerned. He gets up, but tosses communicator and tablet back down onto his chair: not leaving, then. When he comes to stand at Chris’s side, his eyes are very soft and warm, clear smoky shimmery grey-blue opals.

 He’s still mostly in uniform, though he’s unzipped the jacket and also pushed up both sleeves, and the navy-blue top and tight black undershirt and silver trim all frame his face and throat and body like an antique portrait-decoration. “That moment after a mission. And before the next one.”

 “Yeah.” Chris exhales, tries to remember to gaze at stars and not Captain Stan. “Like jumping off the wind-cliffs on Selene. Like sky-diving, in free-fall, knowing you’ve done everything right, you should land fine, but that minute right before you come down safe and sound, but there’s nothing left you can do now…But, look, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, I didn’t know anyone’d be here—”

 “You aren’t interrupting.” Sebastian shrugs, one-shouldered; glances out at the view. “I love this spot too. I always have. And I love the stars in motion. We’re going somewhere, doing something. On our way to help someone. The way you just did.”

 “I didn’t do all that much.” But he kind of likes the compliment, the glow it sparks in his bones. “Part of a whole delegation. We just got the factions in a room, got them to talk. They did the rest.”

 “But you did that,” Sebastian points out. “You gave them the space, the encouragement, the opening to speak and to listen. What you did…that’ll help end the war on Tacitara, and that’ll make life better for all their people. That’s important.”

 “Yeah,” Chris says. “I mean…yeah. I know. It is important. I just…”

 “You want to do more,” Sebastian says. “You want to help even more. More people, more worlds. Get them all to talk to each other.”

 “Well…yeah.” And those words, Sebastian’s words, disarm him. How can someone he’s barely met know him, see him, so well? From a moment alone with the stars, with the night?

 Sebastian’s smile quirks. “And you’re here. For a whole week. Stuck in transit, with nothing to do.”

 “I don’t mean it like that,” Chris protests.

 “I know.” Sebastian, looking Chris’s way, is outlined by star-streaks. They shine topaz and violet and sapphire in his hair, along his left cheekbone. “I get it.”

 A flash of memory surfaces; the Calliope, Chris recalls, had been one of the smaller ships bringing medical aid, and assisting in desperate evacuations, after the horrific planetary eruptions on Cronus. He hadn’t known her captain’s name at the time, or if he had he hadn’t remembered.

 Sebastian would’ve been several years younger then, maybe right out of the Flight Academy. Maybe even a first assignment.

 Those lapidary grey-blue eyes’ve seen a lot, behind sparkling youthful glee about space and courier missions. Probably as much, if not more, than Chris has in Federation negotiations.

 He says, “I know you do,” and he means it. “Thanks.”

 Sebastian now looks surprised. “For what?”

 “Um…talking to me?”

 “You said you couldn’t sleep.” Sebastian gives him a small head-tip: familiarity. “I get that sometimes too.”

 Chris winces again. “I really didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

 “You didn’t, I said.” Sebastian sighs. “Trying to write. Not that it’s working. I’m glad I was here, though. If you wanted someone to talk to.”

 “I’m glad you were here too.” He means that, also. “Writing?”

 “Ah.” Sebastian makes a face: half-abashed, half-amused at his own letting that out, self-deprecating but not exactly shy. “Not anything really…I mean, maybe someday…I just like telling stories, sort of…places I’ve been, people I’ve met, kind of fictionalized, kind of travel writing…sort of memoir…I’ve published a couple pieces, on the holonet…nothing big, though, just in my spare time…”

 Chris narrows his eyes at this dismissal. He’s a decent diplomat; he can tell when someone’s kicking sand over the truth. “Anything I’d know?”

 Sebastian laughs. “Not unless you read The Next Horizon’s creative contributor’s section on a dedicated basis.”

 “Yeah, the thing is,” Chris says, “literally billions of people on billions of planets read some version of The Next Horizon, that’s pretty much the biggest place you can contribute something, if you’re at all into literature and arts and writing,” and stares at Sebastian very hard.

 “It’s only three short pieces so far—”

 “Three?!”

 Sebastian’s cheeks get pink under the rainbow wash of swiftspace star-field color; he does a small head-duck and nose-scrunch and says, “Sorry?” as if that’s something to feel guilty about, and eyes the Calliope’s hull out the viewport like he’s longing for a spontaneous spacewalk.

 “Fuck,” Chris says, wholeheartedly impressed. “I mean…fuck. Wow.”

 Sebastian gets over embarrassment enough to laugh. “Nice diplomatic language, Ambassador.”

 “Chris,” Chris corrects. “Please.”

 And Sebastian’s eyes get even happier, even more luminous and shining. “Then it’s Sebastian. Definitely.”

 “Sebastian.”

 That earns a tiny lip-lick, a shift of weight: suddenly the room and the stars and Chris’s skin prickle with awareness. Sebastian’s looking at him, at the sound of his own name on Chris’s lips; Chris has found him beautiful already, but abruptly it’s real and sharp and thrumming like a plucked wire: Chris and Sebastian, together under space-light.

 “Chris,” Sebastian says.

 “Yeah?” Chris shifts weight as well. Closer to him. Enough to reach out and touch. And neither of them draws away.

 “I’m glad it was us,” Sebastian says. “Me. The closest available courier. For you.” His fingertips are near enough to brush Chris’s, in the next heartbeat.

 Chris turns his hand. Lets the touch happen: lets his skin drink in the feel of Sebastian’s fingers, the way they’re warm and curious and unafraid, moving to meet his.

 He thinks about starlight, and the week’s journey to Earth, and time to get to know Sebastian more, time to talk about words and stories and saving people. He thinks about debriefings, and some accumulated shore leave after that, before a next assignment.

 He wonders whether Sebastian’s got any stored-up leave also; he wonders whether Sebastian likes the ocean, or wind-cliffs, or quiet retreats in a snowy cabin with space to write and some cozy hand-made non-replicator hot chocolate, the way Chris’s mother taught him. He wants to find out.

 He says, under rushing flowing galactic kaleidoscope glow, with Sebastian’s fingers twining themselves into his, “I’m glad it was you, too.”

[littlegrrl7]

A Devil’s Heaven

Smutty excerpt Chapter 26

Ikemen Sengoku - Oda Nobunaga/OC

Spanking

---

“I see you are finally awake. I thought you’d sleep all day,” She sipped from a small brass cup and, with a smile, handed him one. He swallowed it and made a face at the thick bitterness.

“It’s an acquired taste.” She turned again as a wooden pole swung free on one of the lower decks. Her Chinese sounded harsh and barking compared to the lilting Portuguese or her pleasantly accented Japanese. Two men saluted her and got the pole under control, raising a smaller sail.

“Chiara—”

“Captain,” she corrected him gently but without a glance, her eyes still on the rogue pole on the lower deck of her ship. Nobunaga gritted his teeth.

“Captain, where precisely are you taking me?”

“To see the world with me, as you desired.” Her full lips curled upward, and he felt that tug in his groin. Dear spirits, what exactly happened last night? His gut rolled. It must have been that dark brandy. He put a hand to his forehead shading his sensitive eyes from the sun.

“Chiara, I don’t—”

“Captain,” she sounded vaguely annoyed.

“I have a country to run and citizens to care for. I can’t be flitting off with you to see the world.”

At this, she stopped, turning to give him her full attention. “Nobunaga, that is not what you said last night.”

He frowned, still trying to piece together the evening. “I—”

“You said someone named Mitsuhide and your man Hideyoshi could handle things for a while. I sent them a letter this morning before we cast off.”

“I said that?”

Now she definitely looked annoyed. Her eyes left his, scanning the boat.

“Matisse!”

The redhead looked up from where he was tying off some large ropes. “Aye, Captain?”

“You have command,” she barked, then brushed past Nobunaga, stating in a low voice, “my cabin, now.”

A few of the men looked from the first mate to their captain, then eyed Nobunaga speculatively. Low murmurs started.

“If you hens have time to gossip, then I guess we can send you over the deck for barnacle duty,” Matisse commented loudly as he moved to the upper decks. The men immediately clammed up and got back to work. He eyed Nobunaga curiously.

“Did you overstay the party, Lord Oda?” He smirked.

Nobunaga turned to follow Chiara to her cabin at the rear of the ship.

She motioned him through the door, her lips pressed tight, then closed it firmly behind him.

“Speak.” Her eyes were flinty, his narrowed.

“Chiara, last night. I can’t recall all of it. I remember we came back to your ship, we had sex. Then we drank and talked and—”

Spirits, he had lapped brandy out of her navel. And then she poured it over his cock—

“And?” She eyed him in annoyance.

“And I honestly don’t recall saying I could leave with you. I expected to disembark the ship this morning before you left the harbor.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that now. We’ve been underway for hours.”

“Hours?” his voice rose, alarmed.

“You said, and I quote, ‘let those layabouts take care of the country for a while, I need to conquer the world with my beautiful Captain.’”

“Layabouts? Chiara, I have never in my life used such a word.”

“You were quite drunk.”

“So, perhaps, you shouldn’t have taken my oaths as truth while I was intoxicated.”

“You were quite adamant.” She smirked.

“You need to turn this boat around and take me back! I have responsibilities. I have a summit to be at in less than a month!”

“Tides out, we are already underway,” she clipped as if that explained everything.

He sighed, holding his head. “Chiara, do you recall when we first met, you were concerned that I would simply take you as my own, giving you no choice? You are doing precisely that.”

She frowned at this, then gestured for him to sit in her chair.

“Is it so terrible?” She asked, straddling his lap, her breasts brushed seductively against his chest through the thin cloth. She still smelled heavily of rich brandy and the tobacco they had smoked. Was she still drunk?

He had been smoking?

“Chiara…”

“Is it?” Her lips were so soft, caressing his neck, then covering his mouth. His mind drifted in the pleasure of it. Nobunaga brought his hands to her shoulders.

“How are you even sober after last night?”

She shrugged, lacing her fingers through his hair. “Come sail with me Nobunaga, I’ll show you the world.”

He let his hands slowly slide down her back to cup her hips.

“Chiara, there is nothing I would love more, but I have to make arrangements first. I have nothing packed with me. I’ve left no direction for my men. You can’t just steal me away.”

“It appears that I can because I have,” she countered playfully. Her hips shifted enticingly on Nobunaga's lap, making promises of encasing him in a tight, seductive heat.

He growled.

“You need to take me back.”

“I don’t need to do shit. You are on my ship. I make the rules here.”

“Oh, do you?”

Suddenly she was lifted into the air. He took three steps and tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed.

“The crew is loyal to me. What are you going to do about it, Nobunaga? Tell me I’m a bad girl? Scold me?” Her eyes lit dark with glee as she turned to him. Chiara’s hands were already at the buttons of her blouse. That gap fell lower, exposing her breasts.

“That is exactly what I am going to do. You seem to have forgotten your manners,  Captain .” His eyes roved over her, and then his hand shot forward, flipping her face down, a mass of golden hair in his fist. He pinned her, the weight of his palm to her shoulder blades. “If you want to act like a naughty girl taking what she wants instead of asking nicely, then that is how you will be treated.” His other hand came forward, yanking her pants down to her knees, exposing the ample round curve of her ass. He noticed a perfect ring of purple teeth marks on her left cheek.

His teeth marks, Nobunaga groaned and his cock gave a hard, lurching throb.

He gave her a few light slaps watching the flesh of cheek roll enticingly with it. His hand went to his buckle, katana sheaths hit the wooden floor as they slid off his belt.

“Wait, Nobunaga!” Chiara squirmed. She tried to twist to see what he was doing when the first crack of leather hit her skin. She squealed.

The second strike hit, and she screamed. Then the searing heat of his tongue soothed the abused flesh. His hand squeezed, palming her right cheek rolling it gently.

“I’m waiting for your apology,” his voice wavered somewhere between pissed off and aroused.

A string of Portuguese came out so virulent he was certain she was swearing. He raised his belt again.

Crack.

She panted angrily. “You bastard. I—”

His tongue soothed over the abused skin again, and Chiara slumped into the mussed bedding with a moan.

“You?” His large hand rubbed a warm circle on her reddened skin.

“I am not sorry for stealing you from a life you could no longer stand to be mired in!”

“Mouthy girl.” The leather cracked against her flesh again, sending it into a tantalizing jiggle. He followed it up with rhythmic light slaps that had her moaning and writhing despite him still having a firm grip on her hair. Chiara clenched her hands in the bed sheets.

“Stop,” she gritted out, not even trying to look back at him. Nobunaga paused, then raised the belt again. The silence spun out brittle between them, with only her panting breath filling it.

“You know what word to use if you desire for me to stop.” He dragged the leather slowly over her abused flesh. Waiting.

Chiara went quiet.

He adjusted the grip on her hair, softening it just slightly. She turned her head just enough to look back at him. His eyes locked with hers. Those dark blonde lashes fluttered as they stared each other down, neither budging. Nobunaga traced his belt over the soft skin just below her cheeks. Chiara licked her lips, leaning back into it.

“Harder.”

His dick throbbed confined by his hakama. Dear spirits, this woman would be the death of him.

He cracked the belt three times across her ass, relishing the high-pitched cries, the way her back arched as she leaned into it. He glanced down and saw her arousal trickling down her thigh. With a groan, he released her hair to spread those cheeks and taste her. She bucked and twisted on his tongue, and he kneeled on the bed, putting a hand under her to lift her hips higher. His fingers brushed up her back once again to grip that mane of hair.

“More?” he growled the question into her skin.

“God, Yes!” It was more of a high pleading whine coming out of her throat than anything commanding. He raised the belt.

The door opened.

“Captain, is everything alright in here?” Matisse stepped into the room, and his mouth gaped in shock.

Read more on A03 https://archiveofourown.org/works/28048281/chapters/68713227

[janeyseymour]

Secret Santa

My wonderful friend Ay had an idea to do a white elephant with this bunch? I don’t really understand white elephant, so I changed it a bit, and uh... this was born. I hope you enjoy!

Every year since being reincarnated, the queens did a secret santa gift exchange. This year, they added the entire diner crew. Fluff ensues.

Christmas was coming, and as usual, Jane was in the Christmas spirit as much as anybody else.

“Every year, we do a secret santa exchange between the queens and I know for a fact the others wouldn’t mind if you and your family joined in on the fun!” the queen explained to her waitress friend.

“It honestly might be better that way,” Aragon let out a laugh. “We all end up finding out who our secret santa is before we exchange gifts anyway.”

“We’d love to do that!”

“Sounds great! So, we normally draw names, well... tonight. And then, on Christmas Eve we usually exchange gifts. Although, I’m sure we could do another night if you would rather celebrate Christmas Eve with just Lulu and Jim. You’re more than welcome to hang out with us that day too though! And oh, Becky, Dawn and Ogie will surely be around too right? Maybe even Cal? We’d be more than happy to have you all. Although, again, it really wouldn’t be offensive to us if-”

“Jane, you’re rambling.”

“Oh, dammit. Sorry,” the silver queen apologized.

“There’s really nothing to apologize for. We’d love to celebrate Christmas Eve with you, and I’m sure everyone would love to participate in the secret santa exchange!”

The group of thirteen gathered at the diner one night, ready to pick names out of a hat.

“Okay, the rule is, if you pick yourself, you have to redraw. We don’t need another situation like last year,” Jane laughed, giving a pointed look at the fourth queen. The previous year, Anna had picked herself and bought herself a new car- one she crashed and totalled approximately a week later.

“Oh god, don’t remind me Seymour,” the red queen groaned in embarrassment.

“Who’s first?” When no one made a move, the blonde looked towards the youngest one there. “Well Lu?”

The girl in pigtails stuck her hand in the bowl with all of the names and picked. Thankfully, she was excelling in her reading and knew how to read each and every person’s name there. She opened it up, not letting anybody see who she had, and grinned.

“You didn’t get yourself, right love?”

“Nope! I got the perfect person!” Jane. She had gotten her Aunt Janey.

The group continued to pick until everyone had someone. Nobody had gotten themselves, and everybody had kept it a secret.

“So the other rule is it has to fit in a plastic bag from the diner. That way, when everyone brings their presents over, it isn’t given away who had who based on the bag everyone carries in. “And yes, we learned this from previous years.”

Cathy laughed, fondly remembering the time she had figured out who had who based on the bags they all carried in and who ended up with the gift bags before they had even started opening presents.

“And one final thing, keep the name of the person you have in your hand. That’s the tag we use so we can’t identify others by their writing.” Kat let out a laugh, remembering she knew in previous years who her secret santa was based on handwriting alone.

And so, there they were on Christmas Eve, having eaten more than they had on Thanksgiving and laughing more than they ever had.

“Lu, are you excited for Santa to come?” Anne bounced the little one in her lap.

“I am! I hope Santa brings you guys everything you want too!” The girl beamed, always thinking of others. “Can we start our secret santa present thingy so I can go to bed so Santa can come?”

“I think that’s a great idea miss Lu!” Jenna beamed at her daughter. It was becoming a hassle to get her daughter to go to bed these days, so her wanting to go to bed was a welcomed change.

“So, how do you guys run this thing?” Becky looked towards Jane for guidance.

“Well, we usually all sit on the floor in a circle,” Jane began and gestured for everyone to move before continuing. “And since we all put our bags under the tree, why don’t we just all pass the bags out? Lulu can start since she’s the youngest, and then whoever her secret santa is can go next and so on. Who wants to play Santa this year?”

“Me!” Lulu’s hand shot up, and she was out of the second queen’s lap in an instant.

The little one had passed out everyone’s presents, and

“Go ahead little Lu,” Anne beamed, hoping that her younger friend would like her gift.

The girl opened her present with no hesitation, her mouth agape once she saw what was in the bag: a new apron with all of the queens’ assigned colors in stripes with the addition of a purple stripe. “Woah! This is amazing! Thank you secret santa! I love it!”

“Who do you think gave you the gift?” Jim questioned.

“I don’t know, but whoever did, thank you!” Lulu exclaimed, already having put the apron on proudly.

“Hun, the point of the game is to guess who gave you the gift,” Becky told her gently.

“Oh!” the girl laughed, a bit confused but happy to go along with the game. “I think... Lina!”

“Wasn’t me mija,” the first queen shrugged. “Guess again?”

“Aunt Janey?”

“Good guess love, but it wasn’t me either. One more guess,” the silver queen laughed.

“Annie?”

“Bingo!” The green queen exclaimed. Lulu immediately launched herself at the woman with space buns.

“Oh my gosh Annie, thank you so much! I love it!”

“I’m glad you like it! I worked pretty hard on it!” Nobody but Jane knew the truth in that statement. The second queen had caved and asked- no. begged- Jane to teach her how to sew in order to make this present.

“I love it! It has all of your colors from the show! But, what’s this purple here for?”

“Well, I figured, you might like to have your own color!”

(Lulu would claim her favorite color was purple for the rest of her life.)

“Okay Annie, it's your turn to open your present!”

“Wheels for my heelies? Bro! This could be anyone!”

“Look a little closer,” Becky stifled a laugh.

“What? Wait, turtles? This could only be from Dawn!”

“You caught me,” the waitress with glasses blushed.

(The silly queen would always make sure to put these wheels in when Dawn was around.)

“A new turtle pin!” Dawn grinned and happily attached it to her shirt. “Thank you to uh,” the waitress glanced at it and remembered all of the queens’ respected colors. “Catherine!”

“I think it’s safe to say everyone here has earned the right to call me Catalina, or even Lina,” the first wife said genuinely.

“Thank you Lina.” Dawn smiled at the nickname.

(That pin became her second favorite- right under the turtle pin that Ogie gave her as a wedding present.)

“These are beautiful.” The golden queen admired the beautiful earrings that she had received.

“Any guesses?”

“Jane?”

“It wasn’t me, and I really don’t know who it’s from,” the blonde said earnestly.

“Cathy?”

“Not from me.”

“Jenna?” The head waitress shook her head no.

“What the-”

“It’s from me,” the usually gruff cook said shyly as he raised his hand quietly.

“Thank you Cal.” Catherine went about taking her Christmas earrings out and putting her new ones in. “They’re beautiful.”

“I hope you like them.”

(Catherine wore them to a press junket. Cal noticed and smiled to himself. He was glad she liked them enough to wear on a red carpet. When the gold queen was asked about the beautiful earrings, she was happy to tell the world a close friend named Cal gave them to her.)

“A new apron? And a new spatula?” Cal looked confused. In reality, this could be from anyone. “Jenna?” the brunette made a ‘no’ gesture. “Jim?”

“Nope.”

“Look a little closer at the spatula,” Cathy spoke up. “ Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers” was engraved into it.

“Shakespeare?” Cal looked a bit bewildered.

“It means that if a cook can’t bear to eat his own food, he isn’t a very good cook, and we all know you’re one of the best around,” Cathy explained, a tint of red shading her face. “And I’ve noticed that your apron is stapled to keep it together. Figured you might like a new one.”

“I- Thanks Cath.” The man smiled one of the most genuine smiles any of his coworkers had ever seen. Jenna would be sure to tell Cathy how much that present had meant to him, because the lord knew that Cal wasn’t very good at expressing his feelings.

(It didn’t go unnoticed that the spatula was used exactly once before it hung in a shadowbox that the cook would touch for good luck every time he walked into the diner for the rest of his time working.)

“Bookmarks? This could quite literally be from anyone,” the writer laughed. “Who do I have left to choose from?” She surveyed the room before noticing that a certain mother wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Jenna?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know I needed new bookmarks?” She truly thought that only her fellow queens would pick up on the fact that she was using strange objects as bookmarks.

“I’ve seen the way you’ll use anything as a bookmark, but I’ve never seen you use a proper bookmark,” Jenna explained. “For crying out loud, I saw you use a soda can tab the other day.”

“I-” the sixth queen was truly stunned. And then, she got a closer look at the bookmarks. They were beautiful- all different shades of blue, but each had delicate details and accents with her fellow queens colors. “These are beautiful. Thank you.”

(She would go on to use these bookmarks for the rest of her days, alternating between the different bookmarks.)

“A new pie dish!” the baker exclaimed with glee. “Oh how wonderful! Thank you!”

“Who’s it from?” Jim questioned.

“It’s from-,” Jenna eyed up the pie dish for a long while before catching that on the side in small and crisp writing it read, “ all i wanna do is bake... all i do is sing... all i do is bake and sing” “-Thank you Kat.”

“You’re welcome,” the pink haired queen tried to say it casually. “Hope you like it.”

“I love it. And I love the reference to the musical.”

(Whenever she brought over pie to the queens from that day forward, she made sure to bake it in the pie dish that the fifth queen had gifted her.)

“A book on American history...?” Katherine grinned, knowing exactly who gave it to her. “Thank you Ogie.”

“I thought since you liked British history so much, you might like to read up on American history now that you live in the states,” Ogie offered. “If you don’t like it though, I can surely think of something else to get you.”

“That won’t be necessary. I love it. Thank you.”

(Kat would stay up late into the night reading about the fascinating history of the country she now resided in. Cathy would find her asleep the next morning with the book in her lap before leaving the room. She returned with the bookmark matched with her friend’s color and bookmark the page for her, but not before attaching a sticky note that read, “ I expect this to be returned to me when you wake up.” When Ogie was playing Paul Revere the next time, the fifth queen was in the front row watching her friend reenact her new favorite part of history.)

“Wow! This is beautiful! Almost an exact replica of the one the Paul Revere wears in my reenactments! Thank you!”

“Well, who do you think got it for you hun?” Dawn also admired the new coat her husband had just been given.

“I- I- I, Cleves?” he guessed. Surely, this was a rather expensive gift, and everyone knew that the red queen had money to spare.

“Nope, wasn’t me.”

“Becky?”

“You wish. I’m not going to encourage your-”

“That’s enough Becky. My daughter is in the room,” Jenna scolded her boisterous friend.

“She won’t encourage his what, Mama?” the little girl in the room stared up at her mother with wide eyes.

“Nothing to worry about hun. Just some adult stuff.” The baker hoped that would be enough. It seemed to work- the girl was back to asking Ogie who he thought gave him the coat.

“Jim?”

“I thought you might like to have it the next time you go on for Revere. That other guy’s coat is huge on you.”

“Thank you Jim!” The elf-man lunged to hug his friend.

“This tie is stunning Jane,” the lanky doctor said confidently.

“How’d you know it was me?” The silver queen was shocked. She didn’t think it was that obvious who she had. She certainly didn’t slip up and tell Jenna either.

“It’s silver.”

“Oh.” In all honesty, the blonde didn’t even realize she had bought a tie in the color that she had been assigned all those years ago. She was just drawn to it.

“Thank you.”

(Jim wore the tie to the second opening night for SiX on broadway many years later. Jane cried when she recognized the tie.)

“Aren’t you going to open your gift?” Cleves asked the third queen expectantly.

“Oh, I guess I just got so... wrapped up in watching everyone else open their gifts!” The punniest queen grinned.

“Just for that, you lose your turn. You go last,” Cleves retorted as she went to open her present.

“Well, I only know one woman who would buy me a designer athletic bag. Thank you Becky!” the red queen acknowledged the rowdy waitress.

“Yeah, yeah. Not a problem. I figured you might like to carry your things in it instead of that small little bag you have.”

“Thank you.”

(Anna of Cleves would use that bag until it ripped, and then she retired it so that she could keep it forever. Becky would be happy to buy her another bag when she needed it.)

“Cleves!” Becky gasped.

“What?”

“These shoes!”

“I’ve seen the shoes you guys wear while you’re waitressing. I read up on these shoes a lot. They’re supposedly really comfortable and they’re stunning. All leather.”

(Becky was more than happy to throw away the ratty pair of shoes she had been wearing since Jenna started working at Joe’s Diner all those years ago and replace them with the shoes Cleves had bought her. And when a new pair showed up at her house a few years later with a note that read: bitchin’ kicks! , well, Becky let out a full-on belly laugh.)

And that left Jane to open her present.

“Well, go on, open it hun,” Jenna encouraged her friend.

Jane was expecting some sort of artwork from the little girl who was no doubt her secret santa. What she wasn’t expecting was a handmade mug with the little girl’s thumbprints in the shape of a heart- under it reading “ Best Aunt”. At the sight of it, the blonde’s eyes welled with tears.

“Thank you Lulu,” she choked out.

“What is it?” Anne asked, curious as to what could elicit such a reaction from her costar.

“It’s a best aunt mug,” Jane whispered.

“Hey, I thought that was me! You little rascal!” both Anna and Becky exclaimed at the same time.

“D-do you like it Aunt Janey?” Lulu stood from her spot in her mother’s lap and resituated herself in the third queen’s, hugging her.

“I absolutely love it, and I love you. It’s perfect. Thank you so much honey.”

(Jane would never use another mug again, nor did she let anyone else in the house use it. It was her mug, and no one dared to touch it.)

After the gift exchange was over, the group settled in to watch a movie, more than happy to spend all of the time in the world together. The youngest member of the group hadn’t strayed from her surrogate aunt’s side, more than happy to snuggle into the warmth that the older woman radiated. It wasn’t long before she was snoring quietly in the arms of her favorite queen.

“You’re all more than welcome to stay the night if you want,” Catherine offered knowing how tired the bunch had become.

“As much as we’d love to,” Jim began before Jenna interrupted.

“It might be easier to have her just sleep here instead of trying to get her into the car and then into bed without her waking up.”

“That’s a fair point. But, all of the gifts are at our house babe.”

“Hey, it’s not a big deal if you guys stay, and it’s not a big deal if you don’t stay. We all know you’re all gonna end up here again in the morning anyway, so it’s totally up to you.” Anne waved a dismissive hand.

“We wouldn't want to impose,” Dawn muffled a yawn.

“We’ve got more than enough room between the living room and the basement, but it’s up to you,” Cathy mumbled, half asleep against Catherine.

“If you guys don’t mind,” Jenna smiled. The six queens all quickly reminded her that it was their idea. “Okay, so Santa’s presents are still at my house, so we’re gonna have to-”

“I’ll go with Jim and get it all together for you, don’t worry Jenna,” Ogie offered.

“I’ll go with them. They need a man to get this job done.” Cal stood and grabbed his coat, the other two men following suit.

“Alright girls, head to bed, Jenna and I can stay up for the boys.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Becky grumbled, picking herself up and heading towards the basement, pulling a half-asleep Dawn with her.

“Goodnight Janey,” the queens all stood and kissed the mother figure of the house on the cheek before retreating to their rooms.

“I better take Lu down-”

“You guys can stay in my room. I’m sure Annie won’t mind a bedmate for the night.”

“I can’t take your room from you.”

“You can. I insist. Lu isn’t going to sleep on one of the couches!”

“But it’s your room.”

“Okay, I do have that pullout in my room. I can sleep on there, and the three of you can have my bed.”

“I’m not taking your bed from you!”

“Well Lu surely isn’t sleeping on that pullout! Not the night before Santa’s coming!”

“Lu can stay with you then. Jim and I will take the couch.”

“But, you’re going to wake up sore.”

“So would you if you slept on it.”

“But you’re my guests.”

“We’re hardly guests at this point.”

“You don’t live here.”

“We might as well.”

“Just take my offer.”

“You’re sleeping in your own bed Seymour. Lu can stay with you, and Jim and I can take the pullout. That’s final,” the brunette turned on her mom voice.

“Damn Hunterson. No need to pull out the mom voice on me!”

“There is a need!”

“Okay, okay!” Jane laughed putting her hands up in mock surrender. “I suppose you win this round. Let’s get her to bed before the Santas arrive.”

The men arrived a while later, promising the two women who had stayed up that they could take care of setting out all the presents.

“Dawn and Becky are downstairs. There’s more than enough room for all of you to stay down there comfortably,” Jane informed them.

“Jane’s been kind enough to share her room with us for the night,” Jenna told her husband. “Lu’s gonna stay with her and we’re gonna stay on the pull-out. Hope that’s alright.”

Jim nodded before instructing the other men on where to put Lulu’s presents.

Although the two women had been told they were more than welcome to go to bed once Jim, Ogie, and Cal arrived back, they stayed and watched them diligently. Satisfied with the display that had the queens’ presents to each other (because of course they all got each other presents on top of their secret santa exchange) as well as the additional presents from the diner gang, everyone set out to bed.

Christmas Day had arrived, and at exactly 5:03 am, Jane Seymour was woken by a small child poking her cheek incessantly.

“Aunt Janey!” she whispered. “It’s Christmas. Do you think Santa came? Do you think Santa knowed I stayed here instead of at my own house?”

“Lu, it’s 5 in the morning. I don’t know if Santa came yet. Why don’t we give him a couple more hours to make sure he knows you’re here and not home?”

“This is like my home!” the little one whisper-shouted, melting the blonde’s heart.

“That’s so sweet of you to say hun. Why don’t we go back to sleep for a little bit though? It’s very early, and you know how your girls like their sleep.”

“Hmm,” Lulu thought this over for a second. “I guess you’re right. Good night Aunt Janey. Merry Christmas, and love you.”

“I love you too little Lu,” the blonde sighed as her surrogate niece snuggled into her side for a few more hours.

Opening presents was about as chaotic as anyone could guess in the house with thirteen people in it. After presents were done, Cal set out to make breakfast for everyone, muttering that if he couldn’t do that, what kind of cook would he be? It didn’t go unnoticed by the writer that he used his new spatula and apron as opposed to one of the spatulas in the queens’ house, the first and only time he ever used the kitchen tool.

“Hey Jenna?” Jane called from her place on the couch. The baker looked over at her friend inquisitively. “I have one more present for you.”

“What? You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Well, maybe it’s not for you, per se. It’s for the little one inside of you.” The third queen stood and walked towards the Christmas tree before almost magically producing one last present from under it.

Jenna opened the present with care and glanced at it before bursting into tears.

A simple onesie that said “ Heart of Gold, Green, Silver, Red, Pink, and Blue” .

“We thought it might be nice to give you for the new baby. We already love him or her so much.”

(When Olivia Pomatter arrived in the world, it was the first onesie the Hunterson-Pomatter duo put their new daughter in. Jane cried.)

[dreaming-gamer]

Hello, dear!😍😍😍❤❤❤

May I request for the dmc boys, especially our boys V and Nero, as dogs?👀👀👀

Like, if they are turned into dogs? What will happen?👀👀👀

You can answer it anytime you want, take your precious time, dear! I really love your works, and I hope you like this request of mine☺☺☺❤❤❤😍😍😍

Hello dearie! ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you so much for your sweet words and this request! I had a lot of fun with it ❤️❤️❤️ Sorry it took me so long to get it done. I hope you’ll like it! 😄😄😄❤️❤️❤️

Random headcanon (or short story): A day as dogs

Upon investigating a library filled to the brim with demonic lore, Nero and V have an unfortunate run-in with a magical trap. After suddenly being emerged in a cloud of smoke both of them find themselves in canine form. And when Griffon emerges, seeing them suddenly on four paws, his cackling laughter echoes throughout the room until Shadow growls at him.

Nero:

His first thought when being turned into a dog: Okay, something feels reeeally different. His sense of smell is a lot sharper but why does it feel like some of the colors of the world dimmed?    

His second thought: What the hell?

It’s so radically different from his Devil Trigger form, having two extra arms was pure instinct, easy to control but suddenly finding himself on all fours on two sets of paws and no thumbs to grip stuff? With something swishing behind him, oh, that’s a tail and it’s long and fluffy, how will Kyrie react, how is he supposed to go back to human?!

And when his questions all come out in the form of barks, an equal amount of disbelief and anger sets in. Griffon’s laughter doesn’t help but his first     uncoordinated attempts to get to the bird are very ineffective.    

Nero wants back to his human form NOW and Nico might not be a scientist but her self-proclaimed genius brain-cells have got to be able to find a solution, right?

White, fluffy fur all over him, he’s taken on the form of a Samoyed dog and he just knows Nico will make fun of him for it, but what other choice do they have? They need her help.

Carries the Red Queen in his mouth but has to ask Shadow to bring the Blue Rose along, his tail can’t really grab anything like his wings could.    

He can even understand Shadow now, what. Is. Going. On. And she’s slightly taller than him. It’s so weird, being stuck on all fours.    

Nero doesn’t want Kyrie to find out, she will be so worried and he just wants to go back to his old self. Unfortunately, since Nico has no clue how to fix this, she enlists Kyrie’s help in looking for whatever can help. The crew of Devil May Cry is away on their own missions and Nero takes that as a small blessing, as Dante would NEVER let him hear the end of it if he found out about this.

Kyrie has a hard time to not just smile at Nero’s adorable, fluffy Samoyed form. If Nero could blush in dog form he so would, especially as she looks at him with such adoration. But when that initial reaction is over, she is of course worried, wanting to know how and why this happened and what they can do about it to get him back to his true self.

They don’t tell the kids at the orphanage about it, but since he can’t do a lot to help in this dog form, Nero keeps an eye on them and they end up dragging him into playing with them. Who knew it could be so fun to play catch? Don’t tell Nico he said that. The kids absolutely adore him and Nero is 100% expecting them to beg Kyrie for permission to keep him, or for them to get another dog very soon...

V:

This is… peculiar. He’s now a Belgian Sheepdog, specifically a Groenendael, a long-haired black dog. The shift in how tall everything is compared to him suddenly is quite staggering.

He immediately makes his brain go through magic, rituals, demons, whatever on earth could have caused this particular condition in the two of them. Never has he heard of anything like it.    

His familiars are still available to him and Griffon’s laughter is not helping even a little. The avian even takes to calling him pet names of the more canine variety in his moments of glee. It’s not “Princess” or “Shakespeare” no more, here comes “Fido” and “Sir Pooch”, to V’s slight annoyance.

Shadow on the other time is confused, but delighted. Her master is now around her size and it gives her joy to be able to look after him more properly. V can also communicate with her more directly now, actually able to tell what she wishes to say without having to ask for an interpretation from Griffon, or by judging from her feelings that get transmitted through their bond.

V is surprised at how happy she is about the whole situation, but ultimately it’s a warm feeling spreading in his chest at how much of a mothercat she is towards him, even in this form. However, he gratefully declines her offer to hunt for him for now. He would very much prefer to consume his next meal as a human.    

He is not at all surprised that Nico brings out a camera to snap photos of them when they arrive, he just obediently sits on his hind-legs, waiting for her to be satisfied and willing to listen. Nero on the other hand drags it out while demanding to know why she feels that is necessary and she would only dare show Dante!

They must communicate anything they wish to say through Griffon, but any words that they attempt to speak come out as a chorus of barks, so V and Nero takes turns to tell Griffon what to tell Nico. Only sometimes, the avian phrases his translation in a way that annoys the Queen of Machines, making an argument break out. Some convincing barks get them back on track, somewhat.

Attempts to help as much as he can while in this limiting form, but not being able to really turn a page in a book without either tearing at it with his paws, or getting slobber on it from using his mouth, it feels much too ineffective to have Nico or Kyrie constantly turn the pages for him. And V has such respect for books that he doesn’t want to destroy any of them. He wishes to be useful in finding a solution, but everything he says has to be translated by Griffon and often not in the detail V would wish for.    

It is… surprisingly relaxing to just lay down, listening to them rustling with the pages of books in their search, scribbling down notes or humming in thought. V’s now more sensitive hearing takes him by surprise from time to time, at how clearly he picks up sounds. How many nuances there are to it.    

Without noticing, the light  crackling of the lit fire in the fireplace has a downright sleep-inducing effect on him. Not to mention that the floor in the front of it is so blissfully warm and comforting. V nods off in a nap that might have been long overdue.

How they change back:

V:

“Someone looks like they don’t mind their new lifestyle.” Nico’s snicker and the click of the camera make the vestiges of slumber withdraw from his mind and V looks up from his place by the fireplace to find her grinning face. Her expression turns almost apologetic.

“Sorry, did I wake ya?” Nico sits down in an easy squat next to him, hand   stretched out to pet him but she stops her hand, close to his dark, fluffy fur. As if she just remembered that hey, he’s actually only a dog in look and not in mind at the moment. Maybe he’s not fine with her just petting him out of the blue.

V smirks, or as much as he manages with his canine mouth, however the  musculature seems different and feels different. Instead he lets his tail wiggle, just a little. She may pet him. Never would he have taken Nico as a dog person but as her grins widens and she scratches him behind his ears, he learns that those fingers that have been coated in oil a million times eases his tension with relative ease. It’s quite the soothing feeling. The smell of cigarette smoke from her doesn’t even bother his nose too much.

“Ye gonna give a poetic recounting for how life as a dog is, once ye turn back?” She jokes, continuing to soothe as she scratches and pets him. V slowly lays down again, just welcoming the nice touches. His back twitches as he chuckles, or at least he would in human form, it more comes out in the form of a huff. It helps that she sounds so sure that he will turn back and not spend the rest of his life as a dog. Though at the moment, that thought doesn’t even seem so bad. But he would miss books terribly much.    

Out of the blue however, Nico wraps her arms around his form, giving him a big hug. Just as she seemingly enjoys the feeling of his fur under her cheek, V feels something change and fast.     

Nausea hits as his vision morphs, adding more hues of color than he had just gotten used to. He closes his eyes, feeling the rest of the change to his body goes much quicker, as if by magic. Legs and arms relocate themselves, paws transforming into hands but with no pain.    

There’s a hint of a sweet smelling smoke left in the air as he coughs, Nico’s arms slowly letting go of him, her eyes wide behind her glasses and her mouth in the shape of a huge ‘o’, a soft “Oh-hee” being mumbled under her breath.

V’s looking like a human again, as if nothing was amiss in the first place. Frankly, the loss of fur suddenly makes him feel a bit chilled as he is only wearing his usual sleeveless leather coat and pants. Thankfully, the warmth  spreading from the fireplace helps.    

“I’m a genius.” The confident glint in Nico’s eyes brings out a chuckle from V as he has a hard time to imagine that Nico’s hug was really the reason he suddenly found himself back in human form. Nico’s eyes snap to him, but there’s a grin evident on her face. “Welcome back sir Pooch.”

“Please do erase the existence of that nickname from your mind.” It feels surprisingly weird to speak in human words again but from now on, he won’t take that for granted. 

Nico just grins at him and he is not taking it as an affirmative. She raises from the floor, holding out her hand for him to take. He does and it feels good to come back to his usual height, how the world used to look.    

“Gonna see how the jackass is doing. Ye comin’ with?”

“I’ll leave that to you.” V softly picks up a book from the bookshelves, he has felt a longing to read after all. The touch of a hard leather cover feels good, the weight just right in his hand. “I have some reading up to do.” He smirks. Finding out the source of this particular adventure would be preferable. Shadow brushes against his side, ultimately happy he’s back to his original self, from what he can tell. Perhaps he should write a recollection of this, in the form of poems...

Nero:

After spending most of the day as a dog, Nero tries to activate his Devil Trigger to see if it can cancel the whole transformation, or if he will turn into a doggo with wings. Sadly neither of the cases happens. In fact, nothing does.

Kyrie pats him when his sad puppy eyes breaks her heart. Her embrace is as calming as ever when she hugs him tight and tells him everything will be alright. Hums a calming tone next to his fluffy ears.

Her scent is even better than he’s used to, thanks to his heightened sense of smell. It’s a calming scent of something flowery, making him let out a sound of content. Only it sounds like a huff. His ears pull back in excitement.

But suddenly, that flowery scent is overpowered by a new, sweet scent that coats the inside of his nose and by the Qliphoth, what is that and where did the smoke come from, why is his body suddenly feeling stretchy but there’s no pain to speak of--

The spell and smoke wears off, leaving Nero finding himself in a very sweet embrace with Kyrie. Why or how it wore off, he doesn’t care, he just beams and holds on to her, his love for her and the kids having grown a little bit from the whole ordeal. Hey, even his clothes came back, however that could be. Nero shrugs it off as ‘magic’.

“Welcome back.” Kyrie’s soft voice and kind smile is all he ever wanted to behold. Nero feels as if he never wishes her to go.    

“It’s real good to be back.” He grins, moving in for a kiss.              

Only for him to snap his head back at the sudden sound of the door being thrown open behind them.    

“Aw man, I guess Kyrie’s got ye covered huh? V’s back too!” She snickers. “Don’t worry, I’ll give ye copies of yer ‘day as a dog’ pictures.” Nero blushes furiously, cheeks red as tomatoes as he shouts at her to get out.

Aftermath:

Upon returning to the library, making sure to be protected by charms against spells this time, they find a diary depicting how the spell trap was a hastily scribbled together joke spell that the self-proclaimed librarian had set up. It was never meant to last very long, but one way to break the spell early was through a “physical sign of caring.” Finding the inscriptions for it was easy enough once they started to look and hopefully, erasing the lines would mean no one else had to go through this strange series of events. Ultimately, V felt as if this experience had not been all bad. It does make him realize he feels more comfortable with his own skin than he had previously realized.

[whatiwillsay]

so i was bored (btw this is stupid and probably doesnt make sense, you dont even have to answer lmao) and i decided to look through haviland stillwell's instagram and there is a picture of dec 2013 that she took of her mom on the glee set. her mom is a casting director so at first i just thought 'oh she probably did casting of extras for this episode and haviland tagged along'. but then i looked up the credits for the episodes that were filmed around the date of the post and neither of them are credited (uncredited cast and crew are also listed and nothing there either). then a couple of posts later haviland is congratulating lea on her album with a 2006 picture of a picture of haviland showing/giving like a plastic flower thing (its hard to tell what it is) to lea which is weird bc they hadnt talked since around 2008. (this post also sort of calmed my feelings about the "relationship" bc i thought they had been "together" while they were in fiddler together and lea was 17 and haviland was 22, but if the picture means anything their "relationship" happened while lea was 19-20 and haviland was 24-25. still not super great but you know better than 17).

i know people think that there are some dianna songs on lea's first album. but i had always gotten the vibe that she just put this album to sort of enter the pop scene. i never got any vibes that the songs were personal to her except of course 'if you say so'. her second album feels more personal to me bc she has talked about what some of the songs are about (getaway car, hey you, sentimental memories) but after seeing haviland's post maybe there might be more to the louder album than i think idk. there is a slight theme of having to be apart from someone in the album though. also there is that funny and petty?? thing of lea saying she "taylor swift-ed" one of her exes on her second album on her ellen interview👀👀 i always thought the song she was referring to was sentimental memories which seems to be about matthew paetz but obviously everything i prevously thought about her is wrong so...

anyway... this probably made no sense. im just frustrated that i cant find a reason why haviland and her mom would show up to the glee set out of nowhere and im probably making it a bigger deal than what it actually is.

Lmaooo this was a trip

Ok what songs on lea’s second album are about dianna go

[amicicidalgambler]

=> Aboard the Starbase Frontier.

infiniteproxy You'd die before admitting to the loathsome existential dread that has you by the throat, as your waiting has whittled down to weeks, then days-- now mere hours, poised and awaiting word to set everything into motion.

You wonder if Vriska truly comprehends the extent of all that you stand to give up-- if anyone who has never been helmed ever could. To allow yourself to be pulled from the rig, from your systems, from half of your self; to diminish yourself by choice, confined to a crippled body, to pitiful senses and nothing but silence beyond the churning chaos of your own thoughts for the foreseeable future...

You have to keep your sights on what lay further beyond, and excise the rest. Fear was unacceptable, and you will not hesitate.

You have done all that you possibly can to prepare, including the gradual strategic abandonment of one of the cargo bays, which now lay in wait devoid of personnel. All that remains is to trigger a station-wide lockdown and hope that the quarantine protocols hold long enough to allow Vriska time to move unimpeded. Beyond that...

One way or another, your life as you currently know it will end this night.

amicicidalgambler And so will yours.

You've been suiting up for your mission in the same meticulous way that you start every evening. You carved out every angle of your face with makeup even though half of it was going to be hidden under a mask, you perfectly plaited your hair that was going to stay tucked underneath your clothes, you fussed over your clothes even though you had a leather jacket and boots and pads to carefully layer over it all.

And as you do, you wonder if Goldwave has any idea about what you're keeping behind the curtain. Once this was over you wanted to let him in on everything, but you had no idea what he suspected. Could he tell that you were in love? See the kind of purpose you were following? You doubted it. Nobody looks at someone like you and thinks you're happy, after all.

But either way, you wanted this terrible cantankerous bastard in your life, and, well. Rescuing a helmsman you saw as family was a real test for what you've been learning, wasn't it?

Nadaya had provided you with all the weapons you needed. A few good guns, more knives than even you knew what to do with. That and a single-use transportalizer (with a spare) was all you would need. You kissed him before you put your mask on, spent a minute with him before you steeled your nerves. Then you sent a message to Goldwave, the last one for now, saying to ready for your arrival. One zap to that empty cargo bay, and you'd be there.

Time to raise hell.

infiniteproxy The message, when it comes, is a shock to your system; while not dispelling the fear, it galvanizes you. This was the point of no return.

Over the course of the past week, you'd ever so carefully manipulated the schedules of in- and outbound vessels. You wanted this swarming hive of a starbase to be as empty as it would ever get, and now the moment you'd both been preparing for with nerves on a knife's edge had come.

You initiate quarantine protocol, and transmit the coordinates for cargo bay 4.

infiniteProxy: lockdown is in place. you may proceed.

amicicidalgambler There is no pause as you appear in the bay and security feeds of the Starbase Frontier. You already know where the door is, and your mind is already shuffling to the first step of your plan like a stacked deck of cards, so you simply begin a confident stride towards the nearest hall.

First things first, you need your backup. Two low-grade psions, working conveniently close to your point of entry, sticking out like a sore thumb in the herd of scurrying midbloods you could see in your mind's eye. You see them, and you seize them. Every thought they were having halts, and their nerves freeze and scream at them to run, fucking RUN to your location. They'd be here in a moment.

Second, you need your intel. With a single flex against his mind, roughly equivalent to a polite knock, you worm into Goldwave's pan just as forcefully. His pan is nothing like the other two, with all the buzzing energy of stellar class psionics and a riled mind and also the entire goddamn base, but you can handle it. You can handle it fine. You just- need a single expected second, to breathe and settle as a weight behind his eyes.

And after that second, there'd be a thought louder than all his others flashing into his mind: Status? You needed him to focus on what's happening on his own so you can see.

infiniteproxy You have your eyes on the prize the moment they arrive-- though, strictly speaking, you were the prize. But your cameras and attention are trained most immediately on the cargo bay and the corridors just beyond.

The intrusion is disorienting, momentarily distracting you from your surveillance. More than that, it's a jolt of not-quite-familiarity that Vriska will likely notice, which you also push away. The sensation is achingly similar, but the touch of their mind feels quite different-- something you're thankful for.

You need to focus for both your sakes, now.

Swiftly, you dismiss as many irrelevant readouts as you can, concentrate on what's useful: the layout of the starbase's interior, with the path to the helm highlighted, crew stations and movements, camera feeds.

i will keep the ranking officers at bay for as long as possible, but it will not hold forever. they will be attempting to discern the cause for the lockdown. this is your opportunity. make good use of it.

amicicidalgambler ...There was a real thrill in having all that at your fingertips, but you couldn't linger on it.

Instead, you run out into the corridor just as your controlled help arrives. Their powers were an extension of yours now, and your guns flew out from your arms and into theirs. You unstrapped the last one with one arm, and started tossing out Magic 8 Balls from your sylladex with the other. They floated into the air, all being crushed at once in a little psionic flare and exploding into a cloud of knives.

The Starbase Frontier was somewhat wheel shaped, and you were on the outermost ring. The nearest spoke of halls would lead you right to where you needed to be- but every other spoke would lead your enemies to the same thing. The cloud parted with a single push, and swirled around you and your pawns. You would run down the spoke closest to this cargo bay, while you would flank yourself with the other two trolls.

You only had one question worth asking as you started running into the maw: What about the auxiliary helms?

infiniteproxy Oh, you're going to miss being able to multitask like this... Keeping a close eye on Vriska and their newly-conscripted "assistants" (ah, what a show!), while continuing to maintain awareness of the rest of the station and thwart the attempts of those on the bridge to override the lockdown.

The 3D overlay lights up the path and entrance to the lower helmsblock, which, though mechanically connected, does not share an easily accessible entryway with your own. Either could be sealed independently, in case of damage or sabotage, as they now have been with lockdown in place. You're already working on bypassing the security protocols.

You also bring up their statistics-- power rating, neural imprint, vitals, etc.

amicicidalgambler Multitasking is almost your thing too. Almost.

You grab the minds of the auxiliary helms in a move that makes you violently flinch and shudder. If one helmsman is loud, then three is deafening, nothing but a full chorus of buzzing power boiling under your skin. They seize too, as you force them to halt every process that can be halted, until you can steer them towards literally anything else.

Because you can't let it stop you from your other current issue. A starbase on its emptiest night is still a starbase with people. There's stationed security and a few scuttling stragglers from the lockdown in the corridors, and they all need to be out of your goddamn way.

So you and your backup greet each one with a volley of psionic knives. To the neck, the eyes, the hands, gaps in armor, it doesn't matter- they all dance around each victim and stab any available piece of meat until they're a corpse riddled with bleeding holes. But through the feeds, it would be obvious that you weren't using your senses to guide any of it. You were entirely in your head, relying on the network of mind's eyes to plan every move.

infiniteproxy Your awareness of the other two suddenly splits in the strangest way-- you feel them withdraw from all but the most vital core systems, while at the same time experiencing a sort of vague, formless echo of them through Vriska. They're as nothing next to you-- not nearly so powerful, minds far more complacent, far more broken to their work. But altogether, the sensation of all three and everything you encompass at once must be distinctly overwhelming.

And even so... It's a sight to behold, the way Vriska storms onward like a whirling dervish, slicing, stabbing, cutting down anyone who stood in their way. Yet so detached, every action driven by something far more internal than psi alone. It's fascinating. You're grinning-- or perhaps you're snarling, teeth bared in savage glee even as you attempt to stymie the commander's demands for answers.

"Helmsman! Report."

"Status uncertain. Recommend full system scan."

"Then get on with it. If this is another one of your little games, I'll have you dismantled, do you hear me?"

"I assure you, Commander..."

A commotion-- a burst of static, a frantic voice over personal communicator, an aborted scream--

INTRUDER ALERT. INTRUDER ALERT.

"...this is no game."

Ah, well. Now things would get interesting.

security is en route to the habitation ring. be ready.

amicicidalgambler I can see them.

Or their pans, anyways. Between the glittering of their minds in physical space and the layout in Goldwave's head, it seemed like there'd definitely be some company by time you crossed this last stretch of hallway to the next ring. By time your pawns caught up from the adjacent wings, it'd be a straight up party. Fabulous.

Between now and then you'd almost have everything handled. The trolls you'd caught off guard were easy to pick off and butcher, you had plans for how to handle more of a skirmish. But there was one more thing that needed your attention.

A thought would enter the headspace of the auxiliary helms, loudly. Your primary helmsman is about to get his freedom, you said. I can't give you the same, but I can help you. What do you want?

And it would beat in their heads until you got an answer.

infiniteproxy Both would jerk against the wires at that sudden, insistent demand-- the voice that was not a voice, the thought that was not their own, the will of the one who held them in compulsion and yet-- offering help?

A clamor of disjointed feelings and impulses; fear, confusion, rejection. Hope, pleading, anger.

One cringes away, seeking refuge in the programming-- fearing the punishment sure to follow if they spoke out of line.

From the other, a spark not quite snuffed out, flaring to life-- they'd had friends, quads, a life, all torn away.

The idea of freedom beyond death in the rig feels impossible, yet neither do they wish for it. What kindness could this intruder even have the power to offer them?

But a thought resonates between them; fearful, resentful, yet in this both of one mind, for sweeps of callous treatment and grueling use. They'd helmed the base in tandem for a long while before the third had been brought in, pushed to their limits in the interim between one primary and another, with not a bare word of appreciation, only endless demands.

... make them pay ...

amicicidalgambler There was a laugh as you stabbed the last troll in your path to the habitation ring.

This place is going to be a fucking corpse pile when I'm done with it.

And that was an understatement. The bodies you were leaving now were just the start, the plans you had for the rest of this place were... far more elaborate. Messy. Fun.

But there has to be survivors.

It was a stipulation Goldwave himself gave you. Someone had to be alive to spread the word of the Starbase Frontier. This stupid fucking Empire had to know that a helmsman arranged his own escape and had the crew of his prison slaughtered. Here, this was his triumph to have, his mark to make on the universe. You were just hired help. Very enthusiastic, completely pro-bono hired help.

Your knives and gun were already poised at your next target, and you opened the door to the next sector.

Would you like this place to yourselves?

infiniteproxy Emotions shift to wonder-guilt-vindication-excitement-regret. It's thrilling (it's terrifying). They want to see those preening highbloods  get what's coming to them (they don't want innocents to get hurt).

Survivors, though...

Is it relieving? Yes-no-maybe-sort of. Ripples of uncertainty. What would come next? What would happen to them in the aftermath? (What difference would it make, if nothing ever changed?)

Then a flash of personnel files drawn up, ones you hadn't bothered with-- the low-caste crewmen, the ones tasked with menial jobs, the ones caught in the spokes of the wheel just as they were.

Some, perhaps, soon to be or already dead. There wasn't much room for compromise. But even so...

... show them who deserved to die ...

amicicidalgambler This base didn't have much lowblood crew in the first place. The personnel files you had gotten from Goldwave made that explicitly clear. For some godforsaken reason, this place was fucking crawling with trolls around your hue instead. Teals, ceruleans, blues, all with rather middle of the road qualifications and clean records. It was a fucking trash heap of bureaucratic losers. In the flood of cool-toned pans, anyone with a controllable blood color was practically neon bright to you.

Which also meant it was very easy for you to tell that none of them had gotten roped into this welcome party. Before the door was even fully open, you hurdled through, firing your knives and letting loose a wild spray of bullets. You... weren't the best shot. You were 100% trying to compensate with an automatic rifle. Whatever.

Trolls hit the floor and you sprint for the next hall, your knives flying from corpses to the closest round of new targets. Until you reach the door, at least, at which point they fly back to slip through behind you and form another cloud. That's when your backup lands, blasting through anyone else in much the same way. They'd make their way to the door, and keep anyone from coming in behind you.

Next stop: Your brother.

infiniteproxy The two of them fade into the background, mentally vibrating with tension, able to do nothing but watch-- and wait.

Could one troll alone -- mindcontrolled lackeys aside -- actually bring this station down? Starbase Frontier was far from a prestigious posting, but neither was it some slipshod affair... But it seemed anything could be possible, with a little help from the inside.

Help that watches, too, with bated breath, attention trained on the spray of bullets, on Vriska's forward progress and every fallen body.

spectacular.

There are guards stationed outside the entrance to the primary helmsblock, of course. They'd been there before the lockdown, and they'd be damned if they left their posts for anything. The commander, of course, is convinced of your involvement by now-- But have any of them truly realized what Vriska's goal is?

If they did, they'd be massing right there to hold off a potential breach, but -- though there are many rushing to try to intercept -- it doesn't seem as though they've put the pieces together just yet. All the better. You want to relish this.

amicicidalgambler The guards come under fire as soon as you can make the shot, and you laugh as the sound echoes down the hall. This was all too precise for you to let yourself get all orange-eyed and crazy, but the adrenaline was still getting you to loosen up.

That and the sheer anticipation. You were nowhere near finished, but you  moments from seeing Goldwave face to face. Just one more door, a few more steps, a little more time...

These fuckers need a little special attention first, though. Once they fall, you float your rifle up above you, and settle a knife into each hand to replace it. The corpses were lifted to meet you, and you dug the blade deep into their stomachs, carving through the flesh. Their own hands are puppeteered with psionics to plunge into the wounds, pulling out their own entrails before they're left to be a mess on the floor.

As you waltz into the helmsblock, a blood-spattered assassin and a glittering cloud of weapons, you make them paint out eye symbols and a few random ominous words with their blood. You order your help to come into the hall after you, to try and guard this entire side of the helmsblock. But it's all background noise to you. You're so happy to see him.

infiniteproxy You're practically incandescent with vicious delight. No one would be able to hear the ragged cackle of your echoed laugh, behind the helmsblock's soundproofed walls, with your feed to the bridge cut off, but surely Vriska must feel it.

You're straining against the wires, what little you can. You'd be damn near holding your breath if you could. It's practically artful, gory and glorious, blood and viscera strewn about your corridors like a consecration. You almost wish there were more to watch, but the door to the helmsblock has finally, finally slid open.

Anticipation was a heady and terrible drug, indeed.

All these perigees, all this planning, and now the moment you'd hardly allowed yourself to believe in until it had come-- to meet face to face, or as close as could be, with half your face obscured from where you loom above. But you watch their entrance in high definition, from half a dozen angles, and your grin is sharp as knives.

You've seen better days, to be sure. You may be a yellow pushing the half-century mark, but you're less worn with age than rough use. But those rebels were accustomed to rehabilitating helmsmen forcibly ripped from their rigs. Assuming you survived the next few minutes, your recovery, little as you want to spare much thought for the process, would at least be in better hands than you could ever face here.

"Welcome," you rasp, and the weight of everything unsaid within that single word hangs like thunderheads in the air between you, charged with potential. But anything more would have to wait, and for now you spare your wreck of a voice.

once i disconnect, i will not be able to assist in any meaningful way. you are prepared for your next move?

amicicidalgambler The only reason his emotions weren't being dulled down by everything else going on in your head was that they paired so well with yours. The droning buzz of psionic power, the last moments of connection anyone would have to the beating heart of the Starbase Frontier, your rush from the action matched by his rush of near-freedom.

You couldn't take your mask off, you needed your face obscured in here more than anywhere else, but you'd painted the front with a set of gold fangs. Between those and your eyes, you match him perfectly.

I'm prepared, you tell him, and you can't hesitate for a second.

The cloud of weapons float to the ceiling, protectively circling the rig, and you take your final knife off your person. It's a big unwieldy thing, not made for fighting, but that's not what it was for. With somewhere between the delicate touch you'd treat his actual ransacked self with and the firm grip of someone who spent a wrigglerhood with sea-ship rigging, you hoist yourself up by the biowire and find a secure spot to hang behind him. Then, finally, finally, you take the blade to wire and start to carve Goldwave out of his prison.

Meanwhile, you were still ordering your pawns to fend off goons as they came. Meanwhile, you still had to hold control over the auxiliary helms while they waited for everything to unfold. Meanwhile, you were tracking the glittering pans of all the lowblood crew and assessing the best moment to seize them.

But phase 1 of your plan was almost done. Goldwave was about to be free.

infiniteproxy You've never been one who cared anything for being understood. Your kismesis had been the only one to ever strip away all those layers of obfuscation and posturing, to dig down deep and lay bare the truth of you and laugh as she did. You'd loathed her for it even as you'd surrendered to it, and vowed to never allow anyone to know you as surely as she did.

All your dulled edges were of your own doing, but this rang true between you. What Vriska understood, they had no need to take; you were already of the same mind. It came naturally, without effort, without any need to explain, because it was obvious.

It was, upon reflection, a strangely gratifying feeling.

But there was no more time for ruminating on such things.

And no need to tell them to proceed-- they're already in motion, and you're prodding at systems you're not even supposed to have access to, directing the metal sheathing that shields parts of your rig to retract and leave the bare, fleshy wires exposed. Exposed to their knife, that flashes and cuts. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but that almost might have been preferable-- it's still a part of yourself that's slowly being sawed and severed, separating troll from machine with your mind still bridging the two until the very last moment. The sensation is disorienting, sickening, fleshy cables slowly parting one by one and with each your link to the whole of Starbase Frontier grows increasingly more patchy and dim.

Now is the time to make your temporary exit from the group chat in suitably dramatic fashion, before the connection is lost without your input. Now is the time for one last, private exchange, before closing that channel for good.

Your body shudders and writhes as your systems are assaulted by error messages of increasing urgency, of garbled data and sensory malfunctions, life support functions failing. It's almost too much to bear, now, being torn between-- you'll have to let go soon.

amicicidalgambler The whole time you could feel what he was going through, but just as an echo through your control. A little fraction of the agony. So you stay as calm as possible, for him. It was the best through-line you could give- the constant feel of your focused mind gripped around his as you cut through the biomass and all his senses overwhelmed him. Even with the loss of extremities you've been through, you knew you couldn't imagine what this is like for him.

It was very literally like holding someone's hand through a field amputation. A necessary comfort, sure, but at the end of the night it was something only he could come to terms with. He would have to let go.

And so would you, apparently.

Someone lunges, grabbing the few inches of braid above your jacket collar and yanking you down. Immediately, you flip your blade and hack wildly at the offending fingers, doing anything to regain your balance and get some distance before attacking any further. You didn't strictly need it when your arsenal was full of floating knives, but it's what your fighting instincts were screaming at you. Out of close range, out of arm's reach, NOW-

infiniteproxy It is a comfort, to their credit, however feeble it may have been against the experience of being cut loose. To no exaggeration, this is the worst thing you have ever experienced. Even the actual loss of limbs had been far less thoroughly agonizing-- and your left leg had been almost entirely severed without any surgical intervention whatsoever.

One arm, and then the other cut down, leaving you to slump against the wires still holding your twitching frame in place. The left, though bony and frail, was at least otherwise intact, but though the right hand still remained, it was paralyzed and useless, withered by atrophy and nerve damage.

Behind the headgear still awaiting removal, your eyes are wide and staring, blood dripping down your chin from where you've bitten your lips and tongue bloody. It's all you can do to keep from screaming, and it resounds silently in your head, an echo of the cacophony of every system gone haywire.

The sudden jolt, Vriska's alarm and immediate reflex, takes you completely by surprise; once the process had begun, there was no way you could keep your attention on the cameras, the crew, any of it, to anticipate the surprise assault. The disruption of that singleminded focus is all it takes to shatter yours-- sparks coursing up and down the wires as the measures to keep your power contained and properly siphoned fail.

amicicidalgambler The loss of control feels awful, but you have more pressing issues. Your assailant pulls you in by your hair, trying to grapple the rest of you, but you hit your mark that same moment. One strike and your knife digs into their hand, forcing their grip to falter. Another, and it goes clean through into their other arm.

Clean through your braid, that is. You shove your opponent and it falls to the floor, the remainder already unraveling as you scramble for space. Your eyes flush orange, and you give a growling screech as you finally see the motherfucker who dared attack you.

Before you stands the commander of the Starbase Frontier. His face is one you remember quite well from the files; he was the most punchable looking blueblood you'd ever seen, and his record only complimented his looks. Nothing but above average accomplishments in imperial groveling, leading to a dead-end job on the outer rim. He tsks at your state, seemingly unbothered by both you and the blood pouring out of him. The uninjured hand even goes to rest on a holstered pistol.

"I am placing you under imperial arrest," he says, "for tampering with the Starbase Frontier's primary helmsman, amongst several other charges. If you put down your weapon and surrender now, I will take you into custody, and we may still resolve this matter peacefully."

So you shoot him. To the bitch's credit, he's fast, zig-zagging the distance as you fire, but it gets a lot harder for him to dodge bullets when you snake your knives around him and try to block his every move. In return he goes for pot shots with his stupid standard-issue peashooter, and you have to keep on top of his injured aim. The two of you weave in front of Goldwave, him landing a few grazes and you riddling him with holes. He falters first, overwhelmed by the pain. You drive each and every one of your psionic knives into him, and then force them through the flesh, carving the commander to pieces as he screams to his death. His head you cleanly slice off and sylladex. The rest... you have plans for.

infiniteproxy It's an assault from every angle; blaring alarms, overlapping error messages, data streams disintegrating, pain-not-pain and noise within and without. Glitching camera readouts and audio feeds, giving a fractured picture of the struggle that goes on around you. The commander's insufferable posturing, Vriska's feral growl, and your own hoarse voice giving sound to that turmoil-- or is that only in your head, still? You can't tell anymore.

The lines between body and machine, ship and troll, were now not so much blurred as splintering into one another, your awareness spread far too thin one moment, then contracted awfully the next. Bullets whiz past, someone shouting over the staccato bursts of gunfire, and then-- a gruesome, gurgling scream.

One swift slice later, and the commander's headless body crumpling to the blood-slick floor is the last image you manage to capture on your cameras before everything goes dark, your link to the Starbase Frontier -- to everything you've been for the past three sweeps -- finally severed for good while you still had the presence of mind to make the choice yourself.

It's just you, now; a troll caught among the wires, nothing but this ruined flesh, the rising tide of your thoughts and the black hole within your chest. One cage for another.

amicicidalgambler One of your pawns is sent through the helmsblock to the other entrance, to cover the door that the commander had come through. You, meanwhile, wipe his blue blood off the knife you were using on the rig, and go to finish the job you started.

Goldwave's control over his psionics was slipping, but you could take care of the problem at the source. You knew how it was all supposed to be feel normally, so you could forcibly keep his powers at bay with yours. And then, for safety, you float over pieces of the commander's corpse and let the wires shock that bitch instead of you before you go back to hacking through biowire.

There's one more step you need, though. You take an 8 ball out of your sylladex and open it with a clean crack. It produces what could generously be called a knapsack, a hand-sewn thing with one big padded pocket and straps, and you lay it in front of the rig. With that in place, you carve away the last of the wires and, with a quick warning of the imminent manhandling, scoop Goldwave up gently and put him in the bag. There were a few extra straps to keep his atrophied arms in place, and then you'd both be ready for your escape.

The straps go around your shoulders, your gun lowers into your hands, and you lift yourself by your assistant's psionics into the air. There was no way to make this comfortable, but hovering would be a faster and smoother ride for getting the fuck out of here.

infiniteproxy It's a mercy, at least, that now you only feel the wires snapping as a strange, distant sort of twinge. Psi crackles along your skin, along the wires, like blood from an unstaunched wound, until Vriska's presence wrests it under control once more. So long, so long since you'd had any means of exercising it under your own power; that too would be something you'd have to relearn, in time.

You droop when the wires still tethering your headset to the upper column snap free-- then finally, even that is worked off and dropped aside, and you can open your eyes to your surroundings for the first time in perigees.

Making sense of the direct visual input, dazzled and dazed by light and the entire ordeal, is slow to come; sooner, you feel yourself pulled from the last, lingering embrace of biowire, dripping tendrils clinging to the stumps of your legs.

At least you're in no state to remark on the indignity of being stuffed into a bag and carried around like an object, or even a bit of added discomfort; you're really in an appalling amount of pain as it is, labored breath rasping in your throat. But you're not so far gone as to be numb to your imminent triumph, to the vicious satisfaction of seeing the commander strewn in slightly singed chunks across the floor.

There's a bit of a commotion at the far door, Vriska's borrowed help fending off a crewman attempting to force their way through. You pay them no mind, clearing your throat experimentally and making a game attempt at catching your breath. Your voice may be a wreck, but it's yours, and right now that counts for something.

"What... now?"

amicicidalgambler "Now," you answer, "We massacre the rest of these idiots, and get the fuck out of here."

And in the relative peace of the moment, now was your time to handle the lowblooded crew before that happened. You took a deep breath and wormed into all their minds at once, trying to hold yourself steady. The strain was- fine, it was fine, as far as body count this was nothing, but managing to let these fuckers ambush you was not a great sign for your focus. You could do better. You had to.

Each and every one of the sub-teal crewmates would stop dead in their tracks, seized by your puppet strings. They'd start calmly filing away to any little hidden niche you'd seen in the maps, their movements robotic and unnatural. It couldn't look like anyone was fleeing from their posts, it had to be even more undeniably mind control than anything else you were doing.

And you, with Goldwave over your shoulder, would fly. Just a little, a touch faster than you could run, onto the bridge and into the action. A bit of height gave you and your assistant a lot of cover, forcing anyone in the way to choose between two equally swift targets that were not only shooting them down, but shooting dozens of knives to follow up on the kill. Blue blood was being spattered at an alarming pace.

infiniteproxy At least the full weight of the station and all of its systems was gone, now. The other two were still there, firmly rooted in all the most essential functions, but it was a reprieve, at least, if a small one. And you were free. Very soon you would leave this place and never look back.

Yet how strange... That the Starbase Frontier would be a place now and nothing more. No part of yourself remained, nor wished to. It had never been you. But it had been yours, all the same... And this, in a way, was like looking out at your own corpse.

The bridge, when you reach it, is swarming with activity. Someone had managed to push through far enough into the helmsblock to catch a glimpse of the commander's  dismembered body and report back; now his first officer is barking orders, attempting to call in reinforcements, to wrest unresponsive systems back into control, to figure out if there were any other invaders.

And in seconds, it all erupts.

Bullets, blades, and blood-- the tealblood's voice rising in disbelieving fury above it all as she ducks for cover. "Shoot them! Kill them both!"

But trolls fall all around her, consoles exploding in showers of sparks, coolant spraying from ruptured conduits. It would all be over soon.

amicicidalgambler All over soon, but not before you attended to that noisy little tealblood that was causing such a fuss. A fleet of knives go flying across the room and turn sharply around to pin her down in her hiding place. Either by blade placement or by sheer pain, she wouldn't be going anywhere. She'd be forced to stay and scream as every other troll in the room fell. Then, her head would be sliced off, and floated to the centermost console to drip all over the broken controls.

Your other assistant was bringing up the rear of your murder operation, covering the same ground as you from the helmsblocks to the bridge in the central spire. They, however, had a very important job. Their knives would dive hilt-first into the pools of blood that were now littering every other inch of the Starbase Frontier, and draw patterns in a flurry to cover all the blank space. Eyes connecting to condemnations connecting to mouths connecting to damn near every little ominous soundbyte you knew off the top of your head. Up the walls when you could, across the ceiling when you could, with no regard for direction.

The bridge you do yourself, with Goldwave by your side, so to speak. Fractal, spiraling patterns of one shade of blood leading to another, all painted simultaneously, leading to a longer phrase you'd memorized in his home dialect. It'd be scattered here and there all amongst everything else, but writing it out in big spattered letters right in front of the captain's station seemed like a suiting place.

Gelangweilt von der Ewige Wiederkunft des Gleichen, it read. Bored by the eternal return of the same.

The other half of the middle sectors was next. You laughed as you flew yourself to the next set of corridors.

infiniteproxy Shrieks of rage turn to screams of pain, to choking, gasping, as a dozen knives find purchase through flesh and hold her there amidst the slaughter to bear witness. One by one the remaining bridge crew fall, several turning to try and flee only to be cut down just the same, and then--

A body slumped to the floor, a severed head anointing the controls with her blood.

You watch, rapt, as once-pristine surfaces are defaced with a cool-hued rainbow in streaks and swirls and smears. A huge swatch right across the captain's console gradually coalesces into legible script, the harsh lines of a harsh tongue that still felt more comfortable than Common ever would.

And when you realize, though nearly silent, your laughter echoes their own as the two of you speed down the passageways of a station once bustling with life, now drenched in death.

amicicidalgambler It was a lot harder to miss when you were so close, and it made you damn near fucking glow with love. You could feel a ghost of every emotion that was present in your enemies- their rage, their fear, their grief, their panic- and it always paired so nicely with the adrenaline and sheer sadism that pumped through you while you watched trolls get eviscerated. But all the round warmth of carrying Goldwave through it made you feel practically fucking invincible.

The bulk of the remaining bodies they had to throw at you were arranged in the middle ring. There were still more officers onboard the ship, more lackeys barking orders to try and maintain the last semblance of order this ship would ever see, but with their commander and first officer gone there was only so much they could do. Only so much training they could rely on. Only so many ways they could even pretend to be the superior of the trolls they were sending out to try and stop you.

With one of your pawns at each side, you burst in with electric fanfare. They'd skitter about the ground, you'd flit above, and every motherfucker in your way would fall. You'd brought enough bullets to keep the suppressive spray almost endless, and with the dozens of flocks of knives you were dancing from target to target, the rest of your offense was just as unceasing. More and more try to flee as the dead pile up, their morale failing with their defenses, but you take any potshot you can to stop them. They could be crawling wrecks scraping themselves along the floor for all you care, as long as they die in the end.

And oh, how they die in the end. One by one they drop until there's nothing but dripping, mangled corpses spread across the halls, another landscape of useless bodies with spaces in between to paint with their blood. It would all have that same beautiful horrorshow transformation, and then-

Then you'd be on to the hivestretch.

infiniteproxy You have no skill whatsoever with reading the subtler emotions of others. You're not psychic; you're certainly no empath; and on the surface, they tend to confound you more than anything. What Vriska might be feeling in response to your unfettered delight (beyond the obvious in which you share) is entirely a mystery from your current perspective.

But you're riding a manic adrenaline high that you only hope might carry you until you're home free to suffer the crash, and the gateway to all your wildest dreams is opening right before your eyes with no more than a chasm of hellfire to bridge the expanse, and those little personal touches, well...

Gratitude doesn't come easily, to someone like you, to say nothing of fondness. But it's there all the same, that undercurrent of warmth and fierce pride.

...you might, also, be slightly feverish. Terrors knew your body chemistry was probably in a free-fall, what with being separated unceremoniously from the rig's imposed life support functions. But there are people whose job it is to deal with all that messy business. You just have to make it there in one piece, unlike these poor bastards whose doom has come early, leaving them strewn across the floor, piled against the walls, once-trolls reduced to so much offal.

Likely a few have managed to make it to the shuttles and escape, by now; likely a distress beacon has been sent out. You have no way of knowing for certain any longer, but neither does it matter. No one would be able to respond quickly enough to make a difference. They would only know that Starbase Frontier fell on this day-- and if they did not yet understand why, they would soon enough.

amicicidalgambler You were the one with a link to the ship now, and only indirectly. Through the eyes of the auxiliary helms, you were confirming those same suspicions: A few idiots had slipped out through the escape vessels, a couple others had sent out a general cry for help to the empire. Both of those wouldn't even be obstacles on your joyride out of here.

Only scraps of the crew remained, and few were even trying to hold their ground. They ran to any hiding place they knew of aboard the ship, anywhere that they could wait out your bloodlust- only to find that they were already occupied. Taken by other crew, the lowbloods you'd stashed, who would turn to stare at them with blank eyes and tell them that they did not belong here. That the intruders would only find them faster here. Which was true, even, seeing as those encounters could be followed like flares to hunt down your targets.

You knife down one, then another, then another...

The last crew member of the Starbase Frontier, a cerulean pencil-pusher, had been through your little routine three times now, and she was running out of options. You didn't have time to toy with her, but with the mental map you had, you could send yourself and your pawns down just the right hallways to quietly corner her at an intersection. She sees your pawn, turn and sees another, and then she sees you and screams.

She's a panicked mess within seconds, shaking and sobbing, and the two gunshots she takes to the legs don't help. Her whole body crumples under the pain, and she pleads, pleads for you to spare her, she didn't think there was anyone else, and you sink a blade into her arm. Stammering through the tears, barely comprehensible, she says she'll do anything, anything to keep her life, to stay alive even though everyone around her was dead- And you sink in another. Another below her ribs. A fourth in her stomach. You move them through her flesh like saws, up and down, tortuously slow, until the shrieking and crying finally stops. From your perspective, it's hard to tell if it's the damage that kills her, or the blood loss, or the sheer shock, but you don't even care. All that matters to you is that you have one last corpse to desecrate before you can leave.

You put a hand at the top of one of your bag's straps, not touching Goldwave at all, but miming it. "Anything you want for this one?"

infiniteproxy So much you can't see, now. So empty. So small. Blind. Deaf.

You're keeping it at bay for now, but later-- Well. Later would come later, if it came at all.

For now, there is only the thrill of the slaughter, that primal triumph, as chase is given to fleeing prey, those who attempt to hide flushed out into the open once more only to be mercilessly cut down. You only wish you could be taking part right alongside them, with psi blazing or knife in hand as they tear a whirlwind of death through the straggling survivors, but this... Ah, this is almost as good. A deadly performance, all for you.

It's almost a shame, when finally one alone is left. Some nobody in administration, whose only real fault was being assigned to the wrong base at the wrong time. To her credit, she's kept herself alive this long, scurrying from one corner to the next in a desperate bid to escape the inevitable. But now there would be no more running.

Poor thing. You could almost feel sorry for her, if you had ever really been capable of feeling any such thing. And her pleading was so very satisfying.

Something like a shrug, a slight tightening of your arms, is about all you can manage right now, but there are teeth behind your labored words.

"Flay her open... Stake her out to-- greet those who come to see."

amicicidalgambler "Can do."

The knives buried in the flesh of your victim dislodge themselves, and you orchestrate them all in a careful dissection. Lines are cut all over her body, panels of skin and muscle are carved and pulled back, all her organs are toyed with into a perfect desecration. With the blood, you surround her with a pattern of eyes, a set of feathered wings, and in big mocking letters, "Welcome to the Starbase Frontier!"

And just like that... it's over. Goldwave has been retrieved, every target has been killed, and you tick to the final step of your plan like clockwork. You drag yourself and your pawns to the nearest cargo bay, and sylladex your weapons in exchange for the last few things you needed. First, two bottles of unopened psionic strain medication, which are tossed to the trolls you've been controlling before you shoo them out of the room. Your control over them, and also everyone else alive on the ship, would release the moment you left the timeline, and they could either choose to accept your gesture or not.

Second, you had a single use transportalizer pad, which would explode upon your departure. It was actually the same kind that Karkat had used to take you to the base sweeps ago, an irony that you found completely obnoxious. But it was the only thing that could get you to... The quietest spot on Nadaya's ship, of course, where you let several Magic 8 Balls worth of weapons crash unceremoniously onto the floor, causing a small flood of knives and guns and ammo to clatter and bounce and generally go all over the fucking place. You were not about to have someone get on your ass for contraband after everything you've just been through.

The single-use junk couldn't have the correct permissions anyways. From here, you could you warp both of you to the spot Sparks always arrived at after his raids. If time was on your side, he'd have just hauled in his quota of rescued psionics minus exactly one, a helm in terrible disrepair that you currently had in your backpack. But it was all up to luck at this point, so the only way to find out was to press the button on the transportalizer and see.

centaurstechnician Ah home. The lovely scent of slightly different recycled air, cultured with mold spores and dandruff from different sources than Goldwave is used to. Subtle but distinct, the same way their specific laundry deturgent and cleaners soaked into every surface and clung to the clothes and skin of those who lived there.

Vriska and Goldwave weren't sppotted right off the bat, there was the usual chaos, psions rescued (the scent of blood was mostly from them) in a state of disrepair from their capture by the people Sparks had gone after today, there were nurses- and Equius, all out there doing triage and sorting people into who needed the most attention immediately and who was going to be a problem- none of these were volenteers into the program so they weren't expecting any issues with them.

Sparks and Salinx had already dissappeared to debrief  and get a shower, leaving Equius 'Engineer' Zahhak to handle this chaos, as they did every time.

He was frowning, tapping his tablet, issuing orders, trying to figure out why their numbers weren't adding up with furrowed brows, Perhaps a typo, or they were mistaken? The intellegence was usually very good for these missions.

He wore a very dramatic mediculler's coat, sleeves stained with yellow  red and brown where he'd already helped get the worst into stable condition and off to the bowels of the ship and its medical unit. - Not all of those were fresh, he had one specifically for the hell that were mission nights, that had already seen far too many stains.

infiniteproxy Ah... Now that was true artistry.

You grin, lick cracked lips, and breathe out, "Perfect." And now there's nothing but to leave it all behind, forever, a wreckage of blood and vengeance in your wake and those few seen fit to spare.

You're somewhat wary of the unfamiliar device Vriska reveals, but you're far more amenable to trusting technology than anyone who would rely on "magical" means to get around. They know what they're doing; you trust that much. And perhaps one night you might have the opportunity to get at the workings of these transportalizers...

A disorienting moment leaves you blinking around an unfamiliar corner of an unfamiliar ship, but the stop is brief enough to only allow Vriska to unload their cache before you're moving on once more, to emerge into a scene of chaotic activity that surges around you in a fairly overwhelming whirl. Light, voices, the heavy metallic scent of blood overlaying the rest. Ugh... You were going to have to get used to existing like this again.

amicicidalgambler The moment the two of you go unnoticed is just long enough for you to slip your backpack off your shoulders and hold Goldwave against your side with your robot arm- almost as if he was leaning against you for support and not a torso with arms in a bag. Then, you pull your mask off your face and make yourself noticed.

"Missing something?"

You were, quite frankly, a mess. A mess holding another mess. Nobody had landed a hit on you worse than a bad graze, but you were covered in blood and viscera specks in every shade of blue, your eyes were still blazing orange, your hair was chopped off at the shoulders, your nose was bleeding badly. The way you walk towards Equius has a distinctive sway to it, the way you hid the trembling that came with exhaustion that hadn't quite caught up to you yet.

And you had a face-splitting, wild grin. You always did, when you went to find him after one of your schemes.

centaurstechnician Equius looked up, ears perking at the sound a familiar and beloved voice- and he did a double take, briskly walking to meet them halfway. "Vriska, what in the name of the gods,,"  He whistled and gestured some nurses over to help, pausing a moment just to touch her cheek and wipe a stray streak of blood of of it with his thumb.

amicicidalgambler "I fucked with the numbers on the raid intel so I could pick up Goldwave," you admit, bluntly, leaning into your moirail's touch. And though you'd be happy to let the nurses take him for whatever it is they needed to do, the glance you gave them was full of protective instinct. Logically you knew this was their job, but emotionally, one wrong move and- That reminded you, though.

"I'm controlling his psi regulation right now. I don't know what that'll do on its own, so tell me when to let go."

infiniteproxy You're still in a bag, still so much dead weight, but at least like this you can almost pretend you just need a little help staying on your feet... Ha. You'll be needing a lot more than that, in the long run. But for now, the gesture is appreciated, though like this there's no hiding your own trembling, the appalling weakness that leaves it a struggle just to breathe.

For just a moment, you allow yourself to close your eyes against that weakness, teeth grit, before fixing your gaze on the Engineer as Vriska approaches.

You're quite a mess in your own right. Thanks to Vriska's deft positioning, you'd remained unscathed throughout the slaughter, though you're splattered with more than a small amount of teal and blue blood yourself. But you're scarred and gaunt, one horn a jagged break that never grew back properly, hair shorn short and jaw patchy. There's half-dried blood of your own streaking your chin and your eyes are like burning coals glaring out of ashen pits.

The nurses are spared a flat, distrustful stare, a hoarse cough bringing up fresher flecks of yellow.

"We could al-- always... fuck around and-- find out."

centaurstechnician "-I'd rather not." He said "May I touch you? I w001d like to do an examination, and get you into the medihall as quickly as possible. -Are you..?" He glanced at Vriska then her friend. "Goldwave, at a guess?" The big blue hazarded, a little uncertain.

"I see that you have both been full of mischief today- Are there any complications I need to know about? Vriska are you hail? Most of this blood looks like someone elses.." He frowned, examining her visually for a moment for anything deep. "If you are hiding a gut wound or anything I will be very put out with you"

infiniteproxy "If you must," is your grudging response, though you don't bother to hide the distasteful curl of your lip that accompanies it.

"Goldwave. Yes. You-- are the medical professional... are you not? ... You tell me."

Most of it would be self-evident: the usual array of old scars and ports still bearing traces of torn biowire, severe emaciation and atrophy, a body struggling to function on its own after a good few decades in the rig. A cursory examination would reveal the missing legs, long-since amputated just above the knee, the paralyzed right hand, though it may take a closer study in the medibay to determine badly-healed damage to vocal cords and trachea, compromised by scar tissue.

amicicidalgambler "He's had it pretty rough, but they only got scratches on me. Promise."

There was the psychic strain that would knock you clean on your ass the moment the huge rush from the violence stopped, but that one was a lot harder for you to judge in the moment. You honestly hadn't even registered the nosebleed yet.

"As far as I know there shouldn't be anything weird going on in there, but I have a bunch of the ship's files on my husktop if I'm wrong on that one."

centaurstechnician "You may stay with him if it will put you both at ease- " He crouched down and began careful physical examination- including breathing, examining skin elasticity, and pulse. "- we are taking you immediately and hooking you back up to life support before your body shuts down."

infiniteproxy "Wouldn't... want that-- would we?"

A dry, sneering cackle is broken by ragged wheezing, several moments passing before you can muster the strength or air to say anything more.

"... better... get on with it."

amicicidalgambler ...You were going to let him say if he wanted you to stay around or not, but the moment you hear that you can really only make one choice.

"I'm staying with him," you say, firmly.

centaurstechnician He gently reached out and took Goldwave and picked him up in the crook of an arm like he weighed nothing. "This way-" He gestured for an assistant to follow and hurried off to start the very many medical procedures Goldwave was going to need.

At least Goldwave didnt bite him.

infiniteproxy Ohhhh, you're thinking about it.

"Tell me-- do you.... treat all of your patients... as though-- they were... sacks of vegetables?"

centaurstechnician "When I must"

amicicidalgambler You trail behind closely, trying to find the best way to take off your jacket without splattering blood everywhere, and you hear that thought.

"No biting my moirail until you're stable."

centaurstechnician "I w001d appreciate that" He said mildly. "it makes it more difficolt to work when I've been injured. "

infiniteproxy You indulge yourself in a faint, irritable hiss instead.

centaurstechnician "You do not need to endure this for long" He promised him. turning down corridors and activating doors remotely ahead of them with his glasses to swing open. Goldwave was soon going to be laid gently down on a cot while they got him hooked up life support again, and scanners were fetched to get a more thorough understanding of what was going on inside him.

amicicidalgambler And you'd pull a chair to a spot close but out of the way, to watch, and support him until you absolutely had to go drag yourself elsewhere.

...You love both of these jackasses so much.