#rendering the hair was extremely painful though

[awakeagainstmywill]

Aziraphale portrait study - I finally finished coloring it!

I loved his posture, the colors and the lighting in this scene. There are some in-progress snapshots over here.

[moominsuki]

12 DAYS and 20 HOURS WITHOUT YOU w/c: 5.1k - ; NAGUMO YOICHI x F!READER

✎ᝰ he’s a nuisance & you should be glad to be rid of him… so why does your heart ache for him so much? OR the part two in which you finally address your feelings for your hanger on ex.

࿄ ! warnings — porn WITH plot, MINORS DNI, piv, very explicit smut, unprotected sex (wrap up ppl), cunnilingus, fingering, female reader, nagumo is sexy and you will fall in love so pls keep that in mind.

/ note. i should be revising for my exams but instead i wrote this for a man who is severely underrated. it’s gonna be a nagumo fall. enjoy this anywho :P (ps. can be read as a standalone fic)!!

13 days. that’s how long it had been since you had seen nagumo. you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t eating you up inside.

after your small spat (if you could even call it that) you wrongfully assumed he’d be somewhere in your bedroom the next day when you hadn’t seen him on your couch. you were just about ready to scold him for having his feet all over your satin pillowcases.

only when you trudged upstairs, your bedroom was exactly how you left it. the door ajar, a small breeze from the window. pillows not askew. your sleepy kitten lounging on the covers.

at first, you considered yourself relieved. “good riddance,” you grumbled to yourself, falling atop the blankets and sighing, hands brushing at your pet. the chirp of the cicadas eats at your eardrums. has your home always been this quiet?

“whatever. knowing that idiot, he’ll be back in a day or two… now what to do…”

unfortunately for you, nagumo’s unprecedented drop ins had become part of your daily routine. you don’t become aware of the fact until it’s been exactly 4 days and he still hasn’t shown his face. it had already struck you as odd on the second day, let alone the fourth.

“why do you even care?” you ask yourself, standing under the hum of a sweltering shower. why do you care that your ex hasn’t come around to lounge in your home and bother you? in fact, isn’t this a good thing? the first few times it happened, you were irritated beyond belief - telling the man to get lost, locking your windows and doors only for nagumo to show up despite your barrage of insults, whether that’d be in your kitchen or on your couch or even in the shower (the image of seeing a naked nagumo after all this time was truly something, though you’d never admit it to his face, instead opting to throw a hard bar of soap at him and to which you then had to tend to his aching back after he so called “wept in pain.”) so why did he now decide to just ghost you?

“typical,” is all you can think, drying your hair off, eyes lingering on the razor he left on top of the toilet.

day five comes around. a good day at work with a cute man asking you out renders nagumo forgettable. you’re glad your brain decides it’s high time to forget about him. day six, seven, eight, nine. it’s extremely bearable. you start to see him in your dreams on the seventh day - exactly a week since he just up and left. “that’s normal,” you muse. you dream about people that aren’t in your life all the time. he’s no different.

the night of day ten falls. you’re incredibly exhausted, and you’re regretting making plans on saturday with that somewhat attractive man who works across the street. “it’s no biggie. it’s just one day till the weekend and i can cancel.”

you’re nodding off into your dinner. the warm smell of char siu and noodles doesn’t do much to keep you awake.

then you see him. dark brown eyes and a goofy smile to match. it makes you jump so hard you spill half the content of your meal down your shirt. nobody’s there. your cat sits at the leg of your chair, licking the sodden mess off of the ground.

the gravity of the situation dawns on you. you really really miss nagumo.

ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ

day eleven comes and goes and the twelfth drags, as do most fridays. that guy who asked you out the other day offers to drop you home when you’re standing outside. it’s warm out and you think a walk would be good for your head. you don’t decline his offer.

the man asks about you and confirms the details of your excursion, and you politely affirm, answering all his questions and asking them back just the same. “he’s not much of a talker,” you think. you’re not used to that.

by the time you’re home, you just want to pass out. you look around your kitchen, living room - heck, even the bathroom for safe measure, just in case you-know-who decided to drop by. the sound of metal clattering has you running to your bedroom, ventricles pumped. not that you cared… you’d act super cool and nonchalant if when nagumo drops by again. it’s all in vain, anyway. it was just your cat jumping onto your vanity. you shoo her away. your heart falls like a crescendo from loony tunes.

who exactly were you kidding? you had long dropped the facade that your heart wasn’t yearning for the idiot, and you wonder how he’s doing when you settle into bed. it would be unlike him to die in an unforeseeable accident, and he would never succumb to a death on the job. another looming realisation dawns on you.

he’s ignoring you.

you groan into your pillow. it’s not like you could really call him (you totally could, and it’s not because you noted down the digits of two of his burner phones, definitely not) without outing yourself. don’t forget the phone works two ways. forget it. you have a date tomorrow.

saturday comes. you get up relatively early. (un)fortunately for you, it’s a miserable day out, contrasting the beautiful weekdays that had passed.

your date texts you in teasing and sweet fashion and the pre-typed out message that consists of grovelling, apologies and more grovelling sits at your fingertips. fuck it. you can’t stay wound up over a man who probably didn’t want you in the first place.

you get ready very early, and you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, all done up in a silk to do and the accessories to match. it’s been a while since you’ve had a proper date. a few flings here and there, sure, but this seemed real. like a sure thing. similar to when…

!creaakkk!

your cat meowing and dropping things around in your bedroom has you standing up right, casting aside your lipgloss and running to shoo her away.

“honestly, ponyo, you’re such a drama queen-”

the words die on your tongue at the sight before you. nagumo sits at the edge of your bed, kitten fidgeting in his arms. he looks you up and down, and then he sends you an earth shattering smile, eyes crinkled.

“hey stranger. long time no see!”

your mouth opens and closes as he gets up, and ponyo leaps up and away when he places her on the ground.

“do you think she missed me? i think so. with the stuff you feed her, it’s inevitable-”

“are you serious?!” is all you can say, exasperated, gasping. nagumo’s eyes widen, and he sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

“don’t tell me you’re still mad at me? don’t make me get down on my knees and beg because-” the man gets cut off again as you all but throw your arms around his frame, face in his shirt, a little shaky. if nagumo feels the wobble of your body, he doesn’t mention it and a hand comes to rest at the small of your back.

“so can i assume that you’re not mad at me anymore?” you shake your head, and nagumo chuckles, nose pressed into your hair.

“i wasn’t mad at you,” you say, muffled into his shirt.

“oh? tell me more,” and you move your face slightly so your cheek is smushed against his shirt, eyes pointed away from him. though, you can already feel the expectant smile on the corner of his lips and you want to slap him. kiss him? both.

“i was mad at myself. and i was going to apologise for what i said but you basically ghosted me… for almost three weeks.”

it’s quiet for a moment until the man laughs, guffaws even and it emanates through his chest. you huff and step away from him, back turned away.

“ok, it’s not that funny. you can stop laughing now!”

“sorry, sorry. i’m done, i promise.” nagumo walks from behind you to step into your line of sight. “and technically, it’s only been… i wanna say 12 days and 20 hours.”

you deadpan. then you roll your eyes. “you were counting?! you’re unbelievable!” and he just pouts at you. eyes wide and shiny. you don’t admit to him that you’ve also been doing the same. that day’ll come.

“i mean, i would’ve come around sooner buttt! contrary to popular belief, i’m not so socially inept to not give you space. although, i was starting to think you were replacing me with that loser at that law firm. i want to say his name is hajime-”

“okay, not even close-”

“and what kind of idiot takes their woman out to a sushi bar on the first date. and he drives a toyota camri. he’s lame.”

“…first of all, i’m not his woman. how did you know i was going on a date tonight? and how do you even know what car he drives?”

“…let’s not sweat the details. that dress is new, right? haven’t seen it before. looks beautiful on you-”

“so not only were you spying on me but you were ignoring me?!” you fist the man by the collar of his coat and you just loll your head onto his chest. “were you always this crazy when we dated?” you hum and he laughs again. like he knows you’re addicted to the sound and how it makes your tummy ignite into something worse than flames. his hands find their way into his pocket and he shrugs.

“probably. but you liked it.” you don’t bother to contend. nagumo grabs you by the wrists, and takes a good look at you. his deep eyes follow the sliver of gold against your collarbones, all the way down to the hemming of your dress. it makes you feel hot under your heart shaped neckline.

“like the dress. like it a lot. wouldn’t waste it on some shitty sushi and cheap sake, though.”

“well it’s not you taking me out tonight though, is it? it’s…” you think for a second. you can feel the laughter blooming in his chest and you try to fight your way out of his grasp, though it’s in vain. nagumo laughs so hard that the pout on your face starts to pop into a smile and it’s infectious enough that you laugh too.

when the laughter inevitably dies down, you and the dark haired man share a look that you encompasses all the thoughts and emotions that have been swimming in your head the past long few days. he’s still holding you by the wrists, your fingers crinkling against the loose material of his shirt.

nagumo says your name, more so to himself as his tattooed hands stay wrapped from the width of your jewellery clad wrists down to your forearms.

“you’re being awfully touchy to a woman who’s supposed to being out on a date in a few hours,” you say, just above a whisper.

he hums at that, pulling you in further by the elbows. “i guess you’re right. you could always tell me to go away, though. wouldn’t be the first time.”

you groan audibly and he shoots you another grin that climbs its way into the wrinkles of your brain. “what do i have to do for you to not bring that up? and don’t make me get on my knees and beg-”

“damn, that was my first choice too!” you roll your eyes. he’s still holding you. your palms are flat against his chest. “i suppose i could call it even if…” nagumo pretends to ponder for a moment. you try to shove him with as much power as you can on the man.

“if you don’t just come out with it-”

“kiss me.”

the speed at which your eyebrows almost shoot into your hairline is unprecedented. you try to read his face for any sign of playful unfairness, but you’ve known him long enough to read the softness of his eyes.

your hands fist at his shirt again and it’s your turn to laugh at him, head thrown back. he pouts in response.

“you’re unbelievable,” and before he can retort, you lean up on your tip toes to do as he asked. he’s exactly how you remember, all those years ago. warm, sweet, slightly intoxicating. the sigh you release is shaky and he swallows it whole. the width of his palms immediately let go of your arms and find purchase on your waist and your hands travel all the same, resting on the planes of his face and neck.

the kiss is over before it started and you don’t even get a chance to breathe before nagumo is back on you, pulling you in by the hips, tongue slipping in comfortably like you’ve always been this way. and you give in, your body adapting to years old muscle memory. it’s like you’re almost a decade younger all over again, and your brain turns to mush when nagumo gropes you, grabbing all the parts he can to get impossibly closer to you.

you almost don’t notice the way he throws off his coat. and the fact that he’s trying to get you onto the bed. almost.

you protest in a breathy whine, breaking apart from locking lips. “we-i can’t. my date-”

“sucks. he sucks. i’ll take you wherever you want. buy you everything you want. just let me have you.”

you’re too out of it to even give a snarky answer, grabbing nagumo by the neck and pressing your lips to his own once more. he grunts, lightly pushing you both down onto the pillows.

he breaks apart from the kiss to lave more around your jaw, with one heavy hand resting on your cheek while he bruises on your neck, clavicle and the top of your breasts, all heavy and imposing. you writhe in his touch, and you can’t help the fact that your thighs start to rub against each other to soothe the heat arising in your core.

as perceptive as ever, nagumo quickly notices and makes fast work of placing his leg between your own, and you can’t help but breathe out a winded “yoichi.”

he groans, smirking against your collarbone. “missed hearing you say that.”

you huff, pushing his hands down the curves of your body. “don’t push your luck, nagumo.”

he chuckles, unfazed, and smooth, deft fingers climb under the hem of your satiny dress. he hikes your dress high enough to see a flash of damp cotton panties.

he presses a digit against your clothed clit and you can’t control the way your head falls against your pillows, mouth falling open as you whine out his name again.

nagumo halts all movement though, pushing himself backwards to lean further onto his knees off the bed. you practically jump up, confused and stupidly horny.

“strip for me.”

you narrow your eyes. he shoots you a saccharine smile, and you don’t bother to banter with him, getting on your haunches and pulling down a thin strap on either arm, and shimmying out of the garment. you can tell by the elated shock in nagumo’s eyes that he hadn’t expected you to comply but you throw the dress in his face, and he shakes it off faster than you can adjust yourself on top of the bed covers. he’s already crowding over you, face mere centimetres away.

“sorry, you can’t be the only one having your fun,” you tease, leaning up to kiss his nose and it’s his turn to not take your bait, but maybe it’s because he’s too enamoured at the sight of your naked body after all this time. a tattooed hand reaches up to grab a handful of your boob, pinching slightly at your nipple and the other makes it descent down to the hemming of your panties. his fingertips dip into the front, pushing the material to the side and he groans when he can see the way your pussy clenches over nothing.

“you’re so pretty,” he sighs, and you watch the way he touches you, featherlight and it has you writhing, inching closer to feel more of his touch.

“patience, baby.” nagumo throws off his shirt, and you take in the expanse of his never ending tattoos. your hand reaches up to touch the one on his stomach and he smirks, albeit warm and slightly teasing.

“got a few new ones a couple months back,” he all but whispers and you hum.

“i like them,” you state, matter of factly and he pushes your hand away to lay on his stomach between your legs.

nagumo’s face presses into your belly, and you push a few fingers into the dense strands of his hair. he kisses you at the belly button, paving a wet path down to your moist underwear.

he noisily smooches on your panty clad clit and you wordlessly protest in embarrassment, groaning and whining while he smiles against you. though, you’re quick to stop complaining when he pushes your panties to the side and breathes you in, kissing your uncovered pubis. now you’re frantically trying to push him away instead.

“you’re so shameless,” you fuss and nagumo doesn’t say anything. he only pushes your legs further apart to accommodate him.

“can i eat you out?” he asks and you raise a brow, face flushing. he shrugs, “i wanna hear you say it.”

you want to insult him for trying to fluster you in his own weird way but you’re also stupidly, ridiculously turned on right now that you can’t be bothered to play this cat and mouse game.

your hands cover your face and you mumble ever so quietly, verbatim: “please eat me out.”

“can’t hear you, sweetheart. come on, you can’t possibly be acting all shy. my face is literally in your-”

“just please eat me out!” you say, exasperated and incensed by the burning desire to have his mouth on you.

nagumo doesn’t mess with you any further but he can’t help the snicker that escapes him. you’re also ready to call him names and berate him, unfortunately being the hot head that you are, but it’s a useless act because nagumo already has your pants down your legs and strewn across the room somewhere, and he’s immediately pressing a sloppy, wet kiss on your love button.

a strangled “yoichi!” escapes from your throat and you’re already helplessly weaving between the strands of his black hair. it only goads him on further, and your head struggles to keep itself up when he thumbs at the hood of your clit, lifting it up to suck at the bundle of nerves. you become one with the plush pillows beneath you once again.

nagumo’s tongue soothes and pokes around, sucking and kissing at all the sensitive parts of your flower. he lifts one leg up higher to allow him more access, and you lock your fingers on top of his hand that grips ardently at the tender skin of your thigh. you have no time to react when you feel two fingers press into your cunt hole, and you chant his name like a mantra, gasping and almost tearful from the way he feels.

you can feel his dark brown eyes on you, and he stops tasting you to bite your inner thigh. you yelp, and he lulls over where he indented you with his teeth.

“you’re close, right? want you to look at me when you cum,” is all he says, and you don’t get to reply when he’s back sucking your pearl into his mouth, pressing his fingers against a certain spot inside you that has your legs trying to close in on themselves around his head.

“f-fuck, ‘ichi, i’m gonna cum,” you moan, and per his request, your eyes stay on his own, and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, the applied pressure stopping you from falling back and losing it.

“say my name like that again,” he groans, and you don’t fail to notice the way he grinds against the bed ever so slightly. “come on, baby, you’re almost there-”

“hnngh, fuck, right there ‘ichi, ‘m cumming-,” you gasp and a flash of white behind your eyes renders you temporarily paralytic, eyebrows furrowed and mouth opened in an ‘o’, and the grip on nagumo’s hair tightens. he keeps a firm hand on your thigh, and your heart would burst at the romantic gesture of him interlocking your fingers together at literally any other time, but he doesn’t stop his assault on the spongey spot inside you until you go limp and you practically have to pry the man off of you.

nagumo’s no sadist (to you, at certain times) so he stops, pulling back and watching the way your chest heaves and the way you glisten between your upper thighs. you don’t register that he’s next to you again until you feel nimble fingers touching on your lower belly. you open your eyes to look at him, and the full blown lust in his eyes makes you choke a little bit.

you grab his hand off your stomach to kiss his fingertips, and then you’re clambering on top of him, palms splayed against his decorated chest. you feel the thickness of his hard cock pressed against your wet core, and you grind against the strained material of his trousers. nagumo grunts, head falling back slightly as he immediately finds purchase on your ass.

“you’re hard,” you assert, and he laughs a little breathlessly and it breaks off into a moan when you press down on him a little harder.

“i guess i am,” he rustles, squeezing your lower curves to push you against his stiffness. “you should let me put it in.”

“oh? is that so?” you say, taunting the man as you slide up and down his neglected cock that’s begging to be released from its confines.

“yeah… wanna fuck you, baby.” nagumo’s all heavy eyelids and suave lips as he gazes up at you, hands all touching all over you. you’re heating up from his languid touches, and you’re cursing yourself for already being so raring to go after he ate you to his heart’s content.

“okay,” is all you say, and you shimmy backwards to undo the man’s bottoms, unbuttoning his pants and helping him kick them off till he’s left in tight gray boxer briefs. your eyes find the damp patch on the front of his shorts, and you softly finger the head of his cock through the cloth. nagumo grunts, sighing your name when you waste no time pulling down his underwear to reveal him in all his glory.

“didn’t that hurt?” you wonder out loud, more to yourself if anything, and nagumo realises you’re referring to the tattoo above his pelvis, only shy of the dark trail that nests above his erection. he places a hand over your wandering one and he chuckles.

“a little. nothing i can’t handle.” you make a noise of something, and you lean down to kiss him very gently and so very close to where he wants. nagumo groans, and he reaches down to pet your hair.

“another time,” you wink, biting your lip. nagumo smiles, raising a brow and he looks like he wants to ask you what you mean but you’re ahead of the curve and you’re settling back up on his lower body, your soaked heat brushing and sliding against his cock. he’s putty after that, head in the clouds as he feels the drench of your lips rub against the hardness of his cock.

“tell me you want it,” you say, and you stop looking down to where you’re almost conjoined to meet nagumo’s eyes; his face contorted to something readable only to you. “or, you know, you could just cum like this.”

nagumo moans at that, and he sets a heavy handed grab on your ass. “don’t remember you being such a tease, baby, sh-shit.”

you croon at his words. you don’t stop the ministrations of your grinding and the raven haired man beneath you barely puts out until the slick of your cunt hole catches the mushroom shaped tip of his cock.

“fuck, i want it, baby, want you to cream on me-” and you don’t let him finish his vulgarity because you grab him at the base of his cock and settle yourself right on top of him, inch by inch.

nagumo hisses, and his iron grip on your hips doesn’t subside until he’s all the way inside you. you both simultaneously moan in relief when he’s by the hilt, and you can practically feel him all the way in your throat.

“fucking missed this so much,” he keens, and you feel him raise his knees to accommodate to you better. you slowly get the rhythm going, grinding and gently bouncing on his dick and you’re delirious at the way his pubic hair brushes against your swollen clit, and how you can feel the slap of his weighted balls against your ass.

nagumo plants his feet on the bed, refusing to loosen his grip on you and you can’t even bring yourself to care about the bruises that’ll stay depressed into your skin. you move one of his number decorated hands to grab at your chest, which he complies with and the other stabilises you against him so that he can thrust into you at a steady pace.

“so, so good,” you whine, almost falling forward by the jolt of nagumo’s body. you plant both arms on either side of his head, tits bouncing in his face, going back and forth against his open mouth that tries to catch a pebbling nipple.

taunting words leave his mouth as he watches you try to keep up. “feel good, baby? shit. tell me how it feels, y-yeah? you like it when i fuck you like this, huh?”

you clench around him tighter. “hnnngh, so fuc-fucking good, ‘ichi.”

you lean down on your elbows, and while he bucks up into you, his eyes don’t stray, and when your lips follow the sharp lines of his jaw and press on his jugular, nagumo angles his head so you can sloppy kiss him on the mouth.

it’s like that for a few moments until he stops to throw you off of him, and you’re ready to whine and complain, but he’s already on you again, this time on top.

“gotta take my time with you,” he breathes, and he finds a new position, this time pulling your left leg over his shoulder and spreading the right one to fit around his hips.

“is that code for you were gonna cum too fast?” you giggle, and nagumo doesn’t grace your playful ribbing because he slips back into you and your once teasing laughter breaks off into a deep moan of pleasure.

“don’t make fun of me,” he says, feeding his cock into you at an achingly slow rate, “hurts my feelings.” and you want to call him embarrassing and silly, you really do, but your heart is on your tongue and nagumo overcrowds every part of your senses.

nagumo leans over you, and grinds himself inside your compact walls. his face is in the crook of your neck and he teethes at the tender skin. you throw a callous hand in hand to satiate the hunger in your belly.

the unrelenting pace in which he fucks you is downright insane: all you can think about is him, all you can smell and taste is him. when you open your eyes, he’s looking down at you, holding and stretching you open, spitting not-so-sweet nothings at you. you worship him all the same, crying out his name, begging him to take you harder and faster, nails raking across the width of his back.

“you’re s-so, hah, shit, you’re so gorgeous,” he moans, “not gonna last, f-fuck.”

you’re almost there, teetering on the finish line, so nagumo ever so slightly adjusts his position, and he presses his cock head against that point inside you. you’re weightless in his hold, writhing when he reaches down to rub taut circles against your puffy pearl. it’s enough to make you sob, gasp and cry out a throaty “‘ichi!”, back arching, toes curling.

nagumo takes a hardened nipple into his mouth, bruising against the creamy flesh of your tits. his speed and movement becomes sloppy, rushing to the edge, the echoes of skin slapping against each other. your tearful face and your short winded begging (“cum inside me, yoichi” and “want you to fill me up”) in the midst of your intra-climatic hue are enough to get him to empty out hot inside of you, his eyebrows furrowed and an o-shape taking over the soft shine of his mouth.

you pull yourself up by the hand on the back of his scruff to kiss him wetly, tongue and all and he takes it, moaning and cursing out your name while pushing his seed deep inside you.

it’s quiet except for mingling, heavy breaths and the creak of your bed when nagumo falls on top of you. you squeak in protest, trying to push the lug of a man off.

“get off me you big idiot!” you squeal, and you feel his body shaking while he’s closed in on you.

“you’re nice and warm,” he sighs, “think i could stay like this for a good, couple of hours.”

you scoff. your hand reaches up to pet at his damp hair. nagumo smiles against your clavicle.

“do you think i still have time to go on that date?” you say, all forlorn and nagumo’s head shoots up, in which you laugh at the way his face contorts. he grumbles, and he eases out of you slowly. you hiss, but the grin on your face stays all the same.

“you think you’re so funny,” nagumo dryly contends and you sit up, kissing him on the nose.

“what can i say? learnt from the best,” you reply, just to the point where only he can hear you.

you think he’s so ridiculously easy (you won’t ever tell him that) when he returns your grin, and grabs your face to kiss you, all over you cheeks and lips.

“damn right, baby, damn right.”

EXTRA, EXTRA - read all about it:

“by the way, what did you mean when you said i owed you one?���

nagumo pulls his head from your chest, tv blaring and illuminating his puzzled, adorable expression, a piece of popcorn dangling from his mouth. his face turns blank as he ponders. then it’s like a lightbulb switches on above his head.

“oh, i fed ponyo and let her out onto the balcony but that old man saw me and i convinced him that he was seeing things so he wouldn’t call the cops… you’re welcome!”

“you did WHAT?!”

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © MOOMINSUKI 2024. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

[mslanna]

Raphael reacting to waking up to his little mouse tending to his injuries?

(also on AO3) enby Tav without body configuration. comfort, wound tending, too soft for sanity

Hurt. Hope. His.

The last thing Raphael remembered was launching himself at his father as Mephistopheles held Tav between his fingers about to squeeze them in half. The red haze that descended over the cambion blurred everything afterwards.

Pain, he remembered. Shouts. Screams. The smell and taste of blood. And then –

Nothing

Pain remained. In the quiet darkness surrounding him, the pain was still there. But so was a gentle warmth and movements over his skin. Broken? Burning? Something moist touched the side of his face. When he tried to jerk away, pain flared up through his whole body, rendering the attempt futile.

"Ah, look who's coming to!" Haarlep's voice, shrill in the silence and cutting into his skin. "I knew it wouldn't be long once we got to the healing pool."

"Shoo." The sound was soft, gentle and lenient towards the incubus in a way Raphael would not have permitted. But it seemed to work. The ground under him – mattress? – moved and steps receded.

"They were jittery ever since you went down." More soft words falling down on him. Nice. Warm. Safe. Tav?

Raphael tried to pry open his eyes. It hurt. It didn't matter. He had to make certain –

A cool hand settled over his eyes.

"Not yet." There was a decided pause after the last word, as if he had missed a word. "Soon. Let me finish with your face first."

He relaxed. Tav. It had to be. Small hands, deft. Sure. And so gentle on his broken skin. It still hurt. But in a reassuring way. Raphael let them work. The rhythm was soothing, a gentle motion in the ocean of pain that rocked him. He must have dozed off.

A sweet dream piercing through the pain of small hands on his face and soft lips breathing a kiss over his. Raphael tried to reach and hold on but the pain the movement caused woke him. At least he was now able to open his eyes.

Tav knelt at his side. Alive. Whole. Not snapped in half by his father's hand. The relief flooding his system overrode all pain. Raphael reached for their face, and though his hand hung in tatters, Tav didn't flinch back. They accepted the bloody touch, cradled his broken hand and placed it back at his side. Raphael could not look away from the dark red smears on their cheek.

"You need rest." Tav's lips moved but the words reached him only much later. Raphael blinked, aware again of the pains covering his body. "Drink. And sleep."

Tav raised a carafe to his lips. Then she shook their head, amused about something Raphael did not understand. The water disappeared from sigh but that was alright. Tav moved to lay his head in their lap. The repositioning hurt, but it was worth it.

Soft eyes looked down on him. Warm. Safe. His? He tried to reach out again, but Tav wouldn't have it. "Be still," they murmured. "You need to heal. Please."

They looked away at the last word and for the first time, Raphael wondered how badly he was injured. His jaw worked and Tav's fingers alighted on it.

"Please."

Tav reached beside them an raised the carafe again. This time they placed it against his lips and unthinking, Raphael drank. Warm. Cool. Hurt. His? He swallowed the water and pain in one. It earned him a smile. He drank more. Each sip making its way into his stomach felt like pearls of ice and fire.

It probably looked very bad if even this sent his body into a painful healing frenzy.

Tav pushed a strand of his hair back behind his ear. No pain. Good. Welcome. More. He mumbled and water spilled down his throat. Tav shook their head, but not angrily. They put the carafe away and produce a wet cloth with which they carefully wiped down his throat.

Raphael felt his skin prick, move and mend. A short check on his extremities proved that most of them were broken and open in some way. Bandaged badly. Preliminary. Behind Tav's head, he saw the ceiling of the boudoir. Home. Good. Safe. He looked back at Tav who had cleaned out the cloth and worked slowly over his right shoulder.

"You relax now," they said gently. "Leave it to me."

He wanted to, he really did. But a part of his mind wondered where Haarlep had gone and when they'd return and what would happen then. His eyes wandered but didn't get far without turning his head. And the mere attempt hurt.

Cool fingers stroked the side of his neck. "None of that now," Tav murmured. "I promise everything will be well. Just let me work."

Another of those empty pauses reserved for a word that never came. Raphael closed his eyes and let his mind chase the shape of that emptiness. A vain pursuit as the gentle touch of warm water on his chest dragged his thoughts away from anything else. Tav's hands followed the water, caressing healing tissue.

Raphael felt the arms of sleep reach for him and soon they would drag him down into their dark embrace. He fought it. With one thought cropping up in his dazed mind whenever he was about to go under. One thing. Important. Now.

He stirred and once again; gentle hands stilled him.

"I will be here when you wake." A soft smile. Hope.

"Mine?" The word croaked from his lips and splintered.

Tav ran a hand through his hair. Then they placed their cool fingers over his lips again. "Yours."

It was barely a whisper. It was enough.

[tinyidle]

Hi!! Could you do MinnieX MiyeonX Brat!Reader? A harsh punishment with spanking, edging, p1ss!kink, tears!kink and feeding!kink? (Sorry if it is too specific..)

this sounds interesting... ill try

You Like This? - MN x CM x YN

(i dont write "y/n" though)

word goal: 500 words

goal accomplished?: yep; 900 i wished i could've made it longer

WARNING: tw, heavy smut ofc, extremely dirty imo, bdsm in every sense of the acronym, kinks displayed in the ask, anal, exhibitionism, voyeurism, harsh degradation ngl it was tough, aftercare not mentioned but it's still there, fiction

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┊ ✯

★

"look at her, unnie," minnie cooed, laughing menacingly as you were tossed on the bed, mouth gagged and hands tied between your back.

you looked a mess. a beautiful mess, according to your girlfriends, but a mess nonetheless. your hair was frazzled, small strands flying in all parts of your face. your cheeks were hot and stained with tears, as the cloth used to keep you shut was wet from your previous crying. your chest, stomach, and legs were littered with red marks from physical impact. you were holding in your bladder as per instruction. it hurt, but you liked it. they knew you like it.

usually miyeon wouldn't be the one to get into such harsh activities since she hates to see her babies in pain-- but with you begging to be treated as you were right now for months now, along with minnie giving you glimpses of what you wanted-- she broke. hard.

miyeon laughed while she trailed her acrylics along the marks she left on your bottom. "you wanted this, right? why are you crying?" she feigned sympathy as you fell for her comforting trap; beautiful and warm like the venus plant. then you let out a sharp cry as an equally sharp smack landed on a just-healing side of flesh. "cry harder, bitch," she spat out. "i want to see you broken."

as much as you wanted to spit back 'bitch, dont you see me already broken?', but considering that they gagged you, you were rendered helpless. you wailed through the cloth and flailed your legs around. not liking this minnie held your hips down as miyeon continuously smacked your thighs to get you to stay. being the usual brat you were, you didn't.

"look at her, unnie," minnie scoffed at your pathetic form. "she can't seem to stop squirming." miyeon feigned thought for a while before smirking.

"make her leak," she instructed to your horror. you knew it was bad when miyeon wanted to make you piss yourself in front of them. she wanted you to feel humiliated, just like you asked. you tried your best to scream for mercy, but nothing worked. considering that you were going to break, you started crying, again.

minnie wiped the little tears she could reach without pulling down the cloth around your mouth and reached down to your nipples. you squealed in shock before moaning loudly; not only because you liked it, but because you were so close to peeing and had to hold it in. as the woman above you kept her thumbs and forefingers latched to your chest, miyeon face you.

the dirty blonde took off her thin blouse before leaning to you, her nude breasts flush against her face. she chuckled before pulling your mouth gag down, shoving a mound to your dry-ish mouth. "suck, slut," she demanded, and you did. you sucked rather pathetically, your tongue swirling around to the woman's buds while minnie was still nipping your own chest. "ahh, fuck, yes. keep going," miyeon moaned out, her hand stuffed in her shorts, frantically searching for a release.

you whined as you felt yourself releasing on the thai women's lap, tears welling up again at the thought of you being punished for this. yet neither girl cared, as miyeon, upon seeing you break, came with a loud squeal. minnie just moaned while rubbing your nipples as a form of 'congratulations'. miyeon then got up and motioned you to her lap, your back to her still exposed chest. turning you towards your other girlfriend, miyeon brought manicured hand to your mouth, forcing your jaw to open while your tongue rolled out on its own.

minnie, seeing what her girlfriend was getting at, pulled her own sweaty tank over her head and started rolling her own nipples until they started leaking out a milky-white substance. minnie took a birth control which had a lactation side effect, to which she kept taking after you shyly told her that you were turned on by them. once enough of the fluid flowed out of her breast, she started teasing you. "want them, slut?"

you nodded, tears instantly dried up and tongue wagging like a dumb puppy. which, at this point, you honestly were.

"i can't hear you, whore."

"y-yes! please nini! i want mommy nini's milk!!" you were crying again, face darkening dangerously deep. miyeon and minnie both held side of your cheek before whispering 'color?', and after sniffling and composing yourself, you said "green". minnie smiled before leaning towards your eager mouth.

you sucked and sucked until each breast was empty. minnie throughout had her eyes closed and hummed as you had you fill. when you finished. miyeon kissed your cheek and lay you down on the bed. "you did so well," she praised as you calmed yourself down on the bed, your shivering body relaxing with each inhale and exhale. "have some rest while mommy takes care of mommy," she giggled.

as you took some more breaths, miyeon leaned down to take off minnie's shorts, her panties peeling off with it. minnie threw her head back and moaned aloud as she felt her cunt being taken care of. it didn't take long until minnie came all over miyeon's fingers, her legs shaking as she watched you sleeping soundly.

once miyeon cleaned up the mess she made, she looked over at your sleeping figure. the two giggled and cleaned themselves up before tending to you. they could tell that you enjoyed everything, even if it was rougher than normal.

hope you like this and dont mind the rushed endings!

[pleucas]

Would you ever consider doing a colouring tutorial?

Heyooooooo

I've done a coloring post before (a few months prior), but somehow, my coloring/painting process has changed a lot since then lol. I'll give a breakdown of my process (and go into specifics on coloring) here, but please do take it with a grain (or a spoonful) of salt... I'm still very much learning, and though you can use my process as a guide, experiment on your own to find what works for you! This post got a little long I'm ngl so. open at ur own risk. it's really just me rambling and being a bit too pretentious for my own good

using my recent post as an example, my process is basically just:

first i get a clean sketch (after many hours of pain finding detailed references lol), not gonna go into that since you asked abt coloring

then i immediately go to block out shapes over the sketch. For big paintings, I don't do lineart (because i find that it eliminates a lot of depth that can be achieved with shapes and shading) — for smaller sketches and pieces, i'll do lineart tho.

I started darker to lighter in this painting because I knew I wanted harsh light. For me, it's a lot easier to project "additions" onto a surface — ie, if there's a harsh light, that's the addition vs. a shadow in neutral lighting as the addition. dunno if that makes sense, but breaking tones down like that helps me understand how i want to chronologically color smth and choose my bases:

for example, since I knew I was gonna have harsh light here, I felt comfortable with just getting the tones for my shadows down immediately. There won't be many midtones due to how extreme I saw it to be, so there was no point in finding a neutral base tone.

how i choose colors varies from painting to painting, but for this one, I decided to lean purple-blue because skk are just one of many red and blue gays (same reason why most of my other skk works lean red-blue-purple), and also because I knew I wanted my light to be on the warmer side — thus, the shadows and unlit areas will be cooler.

i also wanted it to recede (to emphasize the perspective and for depth), so for the base colors, i made them cooler + darker as they went back. This wasn't as clear in the finished product, but i think it did a good job at reminding me the vibe i wanted as i rendered

By how much I've written for this step, I guess you can assume that it's the step I put the most consideration into — and you'd be right. I think base colors really determine the vibe, and it sets you up for the rest of the painting. Sometimes I have to color adjust my bases over and over (with hue adjustments, color balance, curves) until I'm satisfied. I think that satisfaction is obtained w/ more ease as I've painted more and more. Alongside the sketch, this step takes me quite a while. Sometimes it's fun to mess with really wild color combos, but that's another topic.

Then I block out the lighting, which is probably the most drastic step but also somehow the quickest for me. Once you understand how light affects color (warmth, tone, etc) and you gain confidence with it, blocking out values in relation to base tones isn't too hard. That ofc takes practice and a lot of fundamental understanding of Shapes & Colors but there's a lot of stuff online abt the theory specifically from professionals, so I'm not gonna lecture y'all as a fanartist for glorified literary author rpf

then i just start rendering, layer by layer. above is a screenshot i took mid-rendering; at this point, dazai's clothes were basically done but I later worked on the face + hair more and textured the tie.

I try to do the stuff I want people to focus on first, because at least for me, that's when I have the most energy to make smth detailed — the more detailed an area is, the more naturally drawn you eye is to it (this is because the brain likes areas of high contrast, and details are entirely founded on the placement of contrast).

My art has never been too extremely detailed — I enjoy flatter + bigger shapes, styled texturing and silly patterns, but I find that "detail" still translates into "effort". When I look at paintings, it's very clear where someone put most of their effort — and when I can't tell, then I know I have a very confident + experienced artist who can effectively distribute their workflow (goalz). So yeah, I render in my very silly poly style but still keep that in mind.

eventually, I finish rendering. This part is kinda a blur tbh, and it always varies from artist to artist. I'd say the things I keep in mind are:

shape + form (making sure my rendering doesn't mess up gesture or vibes, and that it keeps things loose)

composition (making sure i don't overdo areas where i don't want people to focus on)

and tone (ensuring that the depth and believability of the scene stays intact so that my non-realistic style can work)

I added the bullet because i wanted a reason for the goofy expressions, just a bit more pizazz so that skk's drama was also believable lol. also visual storytelling or whtv (but that's not something i usually prioritize, it mostly comes with the concept and sketch).

I also added the bullet for some compositional spice. the dark shadow on dazai's arms was there to also emphasize the warped perspective, but it also left a weirdly empty vibe that I didn't enjoy lol. So yeah, bullet! and ofc my favorite, weird flowy line pattern thing that doesn't adhere to the laws of physics

I think a lot of my traditional painting experience leaks into my digital painting practice. I don't like lineart too much, and since I mainly work with acrylic, I rely on opaque color blocks, layering, and "carving out" shapes. probably explains my affinity for solid flat brushes in Procreate,,,,, but yeah. It's a little all over the place, but at its core, it's a lot of technical stuff mixed with habits after finding what works for me.

Dunno if this helps at all, or if it was interesting lolol. Thank you for reading until the end if you're still here! I appreciate it. I'm still learning but I've definitely learned a lot since I started this blog so it's exciting to track my progress. I'm sure I'll see this in a few years and laugh lolol.

[tainted-sweet-meats]

Another Vent Oc that I don't think I have shared here. This is actually a persona of mine. While I do have a main fursona I do have many personas that represent a lot of things in my life that I have outgrown in terms of toxic behaviors towards myself or things I have been through. Mainly jumping into toxic relationships as a form of self harm hence their character habits. N-1 Was created when I had I.Ded as NB at a time in my early 20's not realizing what I was in my transness and still figuring myself out..I had a ton of self-body hate as well. Keep in mind this character has been twisted into extremes I still use them as an Oc to vent with at times now as an oc you can read more about their info under the cut vvvvvvv

Full name: N-1 ( Negative-one) Gender/ sexuality: Nonbinary,??? Pronouns: They/Them Size: 9"1' Species: Demon of Coveting BirthPlace/Birthday: ???/ was never born Zodiac Sign: ???

Voiceclaim: N/A (bolded text is their demonic voice)

Speech quirk "I can never be what you want me to be..so I will love myself in self-injury!!" "Please show me your human love... conquer my heart..devour me entirely in unrestrained covet." "You're not very passionate..your love is clearly false..surely I should render your flesh from your body to show you my true affections." "I love breaking those who are mine... their submission to me is sweet. Oh, how they fluster me in such a way."

personality music

N/A

General info

N-1 is a creature that derives their life force from self pain, be it infliction to self or seeking out human lovers they know will never love them unconditionally. They are supernatural being that couldn't have come into existence without the help of humans. Human suffering through unrequited love created them. 

Do not be fooled by their pretty words, they love nothing more than to hunt humans to eventually grow bored of them and rip them apart. Their entire body is a walking weapon. They are entirely nude, even their faux heels are attached to their flesh. This is a part of themselves they severely hate. While they despise their femininity in every form be it body and more, they covet the femininity in humans. When they are in a state of mania their hair tends to attack itself, ripping away at their own skin to find relief from whatever is distressing them.

Their compacity for love is not human and is linked to extremes. Like most demons, their body and words are their absolute weaponry against mankind. A human should never try to love this creature because it will be their eventual demise.

Human interaction

N-1 is a highly coveting creature, with humans, they become entranced with the idea of a human versus the human themselves. They are enamored by a human's fragility and volatile emotional state of mind. There is something broken and yet complete about a human, that demons like N-1 enjoy. N-1 is entranced by their sense of choice, while they follow basic instincts, humans do not... humans are able to learn beyond it. An N-1 covets this nature of them.

With a human, they don't understand how a demon's body functions..... a human could easily succumb to their form of love. They give pretty words to their human lovers and reward them with bodily lacerations and even death. N-1 claims this is how they show their love for said human and they wish for said human to do the same to them. Though no human can truly conquer N-1, let alone cause a fatal blow to kill them. This angers N-1 to react violently to destroy and render said human, just to search for another who can fulfill their needs. N-1 claims if said human loved them enough said human would inflict the same pain they inflict on them. To show they truly love them unconditionally...

Likes: Human flesh, body worship, submission of others, self-lacerating, devouring lovers, women, coveting humans, collecting lovers Dislikes:  Their femininity, the dominance of a man

Summoning: Negativity in relationships, the sexual obsession with the flesh, coveting another, salt surrounding a bed or resting place Offerings: sexual rituals, gold, goat hearts, self inflictions at their alter

[wisecrackingeric-2]

@serennedyweek Day Five: First Kiss!!!!

Summary:

Leon comes home to his ‘roommate’, Luis, half-drunk with a bottle of whiskey ready to celebrate Luis’ newfound freedom;

Only Luis finds out that Leon can get quite… Honest and handsy when he’s been drinking.

But Luis certainly isn’t objecting to it, either.

Fic under cut!!

The sound of wheels against gravel followed by the the blinding brightness of car headlights shining through the rickety blinds wasn’t enough to wake Luis from his slumber. He ignored the noises from outside the apartment building, assuming it to be somebody else below arriving home from a late-night shift at work and deciding to have no respect for their upstairs neighbors. Shuffling down further into his quilted blanket, Luis signed into the scratchy fabric of his- no, Leon’s- couch before letting his eyes flutter shut once more with a sigh. The lights from outside eventually turned off, and the low rumbling of cars disappeared- At first, Luis just assumed he had fallen asleep again- But he was proven wrong when the distant noises of somebody talking on the phone could be heard through the wall. Muffled, but still noticeable.

Luis groaned and rolled over. Which, much to his dismay; only aided in making his back pain worse.

Roughly around two months ago now, Luis had escaped what could only be described as the hellish landscape that he once called home, Valdelobos. Those days spent trapped and forced to work under Saddlers sadistic, iron fist were some of the worst in his life. Being forced to come face-to-face with his own man-made horrors, watching as the people he once loved, grew up with slowly morph into hideous shells of their former selves.

Life seemed bleak until Leon S. Kennedy showed up.

A handsome, blonde, utterly obvious American on a quest to save the President's daughter. He was cocky, quick-witted, and wore his heart on his sleeve.

What wasn’t there for Luis to fall head-over-heels for?

When Luis first met Leon, he assumed their journey together would end there- Save Ashley, return her back to her family, say goodbye to Leon and slink away into the darkness never to be heard of again. That was Luis’ plan.

Only his plan was foiled by a stab to the back. Literally. But some guy named Jack Krauser he had no idea about.

Luis had accepted his fate right then and there- his hands shaky and his vision blurry after saving Leon one last time, he was resigned to dying a coward.

But Leon somehow had some spare.. Herbs? in his pocket and forced Luis to chew them up. Effectively saving him and returning him back to America.

The months leading up to where Luis was now were…

Rocky. To say the least.

He’d been interrogated by the U.S government for his crimes against Umbrella more times than he cared to remember. Getting a stab to your back doesn’t help much, either; Luis was rendered paralyzed and completely unable to walk, let alone take care of himself. So, ever the gentleman, Leon had offered his home and subsequently his support to the man he should’ve had all right to hate.

The pair of them became close. Extremely close. Luis would oftentimes wake up in the night crying from pain- his back injuries causing consistent, 24/7 Chronic pain- begging for some kind of relief, and Leon would always be there without fail.

If Luis needed help getting dressed, washing his hair, making food for himself- Leon was always by his side without a hint of judgment. It was… Unusual to be looked after.

But, Luis grew to appreciate it.

Things weren’t always perfect, though… For example; a couple weeks ago, Luis had experienced the worst depressive episode of his life and had completely lost his appetite. Snapping at Leon and breaking various plates in the process, which only aided in making his back injuries more painful to the point where he could hardly move at all.

He had felt so, unbelievably, indescribably guilty for all of his actions, that at the time, he felt as though Leon would’ve been better off without him.

Leon disproved this, however. Many, many, many times…

And Luis wasn’t an idiot.

He knew he was in love with that dumb American.

But he was truly in no position to admit that to Leon; especially not when their relationship was so precious, so perfect and domestic that Luis sometimes felt like he was dreaming.

Besides, he still had no idea what the U.S government had in store for his future.

As much as he enjoyed living with Leon- Unexpectedly growing accustomed to having somebody always there in the mornings- Luis’ life had inadvertently become a very long waiting game for something he wasn’t even sure of.

Many-a government officials had already let him know just how thin the ice he was balancing himself on really was with every passing remark. Sometimes it was subtle- a little mention of where other surviving Umbrella employees were living here, a snide comment about how most of them were in prison there- but sometimes it was a lot more obvious.

Rather gutsy agents would gang up on Luis in hallways when he was alone, throwing jabs his way about just how unstable his current living situation was, and how he was only standing there in front of them based off of pure luck alone- But thankfully, Leon was never far behind. Like a terrifying guard dog, he would grab them by their shirt collars and chew them out like there was no tomorrow; practically spitting in their faces as he threatened them with his presence alone. Luis already got the hint that Leon ranked somewhat high on the weird, fucked-up government ladder based purely on the fact that he alone was sent to save Ashley- but it was shocking and weirdly charming to see in-person.

“ Gracias por salvarme, mí caballero blanco” Luis whispered as thanks, throwing his newfound Príncipe a characteristically toothy smile.

“Don’t sweat it,” Leon responded.

“Those assholes aren’t gonna bother you ever again, trust me”

And Leon was more than correct. After that, Luis had never had a bad experience with somebody trying to taunt him in the same vein ever again. To be fair, though; between his fluctuating mental state and Chronic Pain, Luis rarely ever visited the DSO buildings anymore anyways. Only daring to enter to either see the lovely Doctor Rebecca Chambers about his back injuries, or to drop in and say hi to Ashley, making sure she herself was doing well mentally.

That’s why Luis was in the position he was at that current moment; curled up half-asleep on a lazy summer evening, the sun having set earlier than his body was accustomed to, leaving him drowsy and defenseless. If somebody wanted to break into Leon’s apartment, he was basically powerless with just how sleepy he was.

Thankfully, though; the jangling of keys and the rattle of a doorknob was far too familiar for Luis to jump to that conclusion just yet. Before he could even get up to leave his comfortable spot on the couch, the sound of workboots clattering against the wooden tiles filled the air. A sure fire sign that Leon was home.

Luis sat up from his makeshift bed with a groan, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of his palm- hair sticking up in every direction possible.

“ Mmmmmmyour’e home late, Leon…”

“Good morning to you too, sleeping beauty” Leon’s smile was evident in his voice, and Luis could just make out the smell of… Whiskey? Wafting through the door before Leon shut it behind him.

“How long ago did you fall asleep?”

“Uhhhhh…. hace diez minutos ? Why do you ask?” Luis stretched his arms out and yawned, cringing a little at the way his back clicked. Opening one eye, the Spaniard spotted Leon setting.. something down on the table with a weirdly lop-sided smile. How odd.

“Oh, just wonderin’. You seem real tired, that’s all”

“And you seem far too chipper” Luis noted, eyes squinting as he tried to examine Leon’s face further.

The blonde was acting… A little off. Usually, he came home absolutely exhausted and dead on his feet- but here he was, voice slurred and cheery and face flushed bright pink, looking otherwise completely normal. Luis couldn’t help but mentally note the way Leon was swaying his body side-to-side, almost as if he was-

Ooooooohhhhhh.

“Sancho… Have you been drinking?”

“ Whaaaaat? Nooooooo…..” Leon smiled up at him sheepishly through half-lidded eyes, his voice painfully unconvincing. Luis raised an eyebrow,

“Drinking and driving? Rather unusual for a squire like you, don’t you think?”

“I got a Taxi home. I’m not thaaat dumb” Leon pointed out the window, and sure enough when he pulled the blinds back, Luis was surprised to find that there was, in fact, a black Taxi sitting in their driveway.

Still, it was… Unusual to see Leon like this. When was the last time he saw him drunk, if ever? Luis yawned languidly in an attempt to keep his flirty composure,

“Well, what’s the special occasion? Don’t tell me the stress has killed you just yet”

Just as he said that, Leon gave him the biggest, most boyishly excited grin Luis had ever seen on a human being- the blonde pulled out a very expensive-looking bottle of whiskey from his shopping bag, already reaching to retrieve a glass.

Luis smiled back, “ Sanchooo….

“Looooeeeess……”

“Don’t mock me,” If Luis wasn’t so tired (And sore- Chronic pain does that to a guy) he would’ve gone up to give Leon a smack on the shoulder.

“Come on now, you’ve piqued my interest. What’s all this for? It’s rather romantic,” Luis wiggled his eyebrows, “Surely you’re not asking me out on a date already?”

Leon barked a laugh at his comment; already pouring the two of them a glass. Albeit with a wobbly hand and a particularly heavy poor.

But Luis was well-accustomed to handling a few rounds; after all, he didn't spend years in University studying biology just to come out a lightweight. He did have a very particular taste, however- Luis had to keep at least some of his dignity intact.

“Unless you wan’ it to be… But nooo, unfortunately, I’ve just got some good news”

Leon strolled over to Luis’ side languidly, hips swaying as he passed him the glass of chilled whiskey on ice before taking a seat back-first beside the brunette on the couch. Sighing loudly as he almost spilt his own expensive drink all over the leather.

Disastrous behavior aside, though… Luis was intrigued. Neither of them had gotten ‘ news ’ about anything- good or bad- since they first started living together. So by the time they both got situated, Luis was already dying to know.

“Come on, Sancho, don’t leave me hanging like this,” He pouted over the rim of his glass, watching Leon take a heavy sip from his own.

“You’ve got me wrapped around your finger. Now spill”

“ Fiiiiiiine if you insiiiist….” Leon waved his glass around and sighed, looking almost bored- as if to further tease Luis.

“ ‘s nothin’ special, honestly…. Just the fact that I got word today that you’re being granted ‘an official pardon from the President of the United States of America himseeelff for your ‘nvolvmemt with Umbrella on ‘The precedent of assisting in his daughter Ashley Graham’s rescue’ an’ other such fancy words..-“

Leon spilled this all out like he had rehearsed it. Which, judging by the sheepish, boyishly excited smile on his face- he probably had.

Luis’ jaw dropped and his eyes grew as wide as dinner plates the second Leon said those simple words. His heart skipped multiple beats and he had to keep replaying that sentence over and over and over again in his head-

‘Oh Díos mío, this can’t be happening- is this really happening? I must be dreaming. doesn’t feel real. I have GOT to be dreaming’

“Sancho… I- I don’t know what to say-“

Luis’ voice was shaky, excitement and disbelief gripping at his chest as his bottom lip trembled. He physically could not believe was Leon had just said.

Instead of trying to convey his utter relief in words, Luis instead opted to throw his arms around Leon’s neck and crush him in the biggest hug he could muster- almost spilling both of their whiskey glasses in the process.

If Luis could kiss him in that moment, he would have.

He tried to express at least some form of thanks in actual words, but all that came out were relieved babbles and pure laughter from both ends. Hugging each other in a wordless action of gratitude and relief.

Luis- The man who had dedicated the majority of his life to running- running from his mistakes, his actions, himself- never, ever saw a clear future for himself. He convinced himself he was dedicated to an early death; a life defined by the mistakes he would never be able to make up for. Domesticality and love seemed like a faraway dream for the majority of his life, yet here he was.

Being granted an official pardon to be a free man.

All thanks to Leon S. Kennedy.

“Geez, don’t thank me just yet!!” Leon managed to stammer out through his giggles, finally pushing Luis off of him to regain his breath.

“All those stuffy men in suits still mentioned something ‘bout you having to repay one way or another or somethin’. Like, community service, if I had tuh’ guess”

“I don’t care,” Luis smiled, unable to stop. He wanted to grab Leon’s face and kiss every inch of his skin; he was just that grateful and relieved.

“I’m just- Oh Dios mío, Leon, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you-“

“ Naaaaahhhh, don’t worry about me,” Leon smirked back at him, swirling around the whiskey in his glass before passing Luis’ own back to him.

“Let’s just enjoy tonight ‘n celebrate, yeah?”

Luis took his glass and clinked it with Leon’s.

“ Como desées, Mí Príncipe. I couldn’t think of anything better”

**

Luis was an expert at handling alcohol. Or at least, he thought he was an expert at handling alcohol. Years spent at miscellaneous parties he had broken into trying to swoon with handsome women and pretty men had trained him to be able to handle even the strongest whiskey thrown his way-

But when he saw Leon, oh boy did his confidence drop.

As their evening together grew later and later into the night, Luis was shocked to find Leon practically skulled down almost the entire bottle of alcohol- and it wasn’t a little bottle, either. Luis relegated himself to max maybe one or two glasses, wanting at least one of them semi-sober by the end of the night lest they break a plate or get a noise complaint. But Leon? Oh boy did that American know how to drink.

It was even more shocking considering the fact that he’d already come home a little tipsy, too; So by the time the moon was hanging high in the sky, Leon was the textbook definition of being ‘off his rocker’. He was a giggling, bubbling mess sitting next to Luis. Unable to sit still for even a moment and finding every little comment and throwaway line the brunette said- even if unintentional- absolutely hilarious.

Leon’s body swayed as he finished his final glass- not that he knew that yet, though. Neither of them did. They were too wound up in each other's company and the strong stench of alcohol to even notice that they were running low at all.

They laughed the night away and embraced each other's touch; and everytime Leon’s hands drunkenly explored places he would have never otherwise been brave enough to feel, Luis’ heart rate would quicken to a million miles per hour.

He prayed his crush on Leon wasn’t obvious.

And, hell, he thought he was doing a relatively good job- until he finally let one too many compliments slip.

“Cariño, if you keep grabbing my knee like that, I’ll start to think you’re trying to imply something here” Luis said, words slurring ever so slightly. He wasn’t even half as drunk as Leon was- evident by the way the blondes eyes were hooded over and his pupils were blown wide. Luis had to bite his lip to stop himself from sucking in a harsh breath when those pretty blue eyes of his met his own.

“ Luuuiiss… y’know I know what you’re sssayin’ everytime you call me those things, right….?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about” Luis shot him a wolfish grin- a half-hearted attempt at changing the conversation. But much to his dismay, his deflection had no effect.

In fact, it only encouraged Leon to lean in closer- when did he get so close in the first place?- Close enough for Luis to be able to smell the whiskey on his lips, to be able to see every little freckle that adorned his rounded cheeks.

Leon inspected him with a hum. Luis suddenly felt very, very exposed.

“Don’ lie to me. I know ‘nuff Ssssspanish tuh know what you’re sayin’”

“What am I saying then, Guapo?”

Luis’ time grew husky, almost unintentionally. Internally, he knew he shouldn’t be encouraging… whatever this was. Leon was drunk- probably drunk enough to not remember any of this by the morning.

But by God did Luis want to see where this would lead.

His brain told him no, but his aching, desperate heart was screaming for him to continue.

Leon leaned in even closer. His breath ghosting Luis’ lips.

“ Dear. Handsome. Beautiful..”

Leon’s eyes met his. Dark and hooded over from the alcohol.

“ Want me to keep going?”

Luis’ mouth went dry. He wasn’t used to this- this flirtatious, confident, forward side of Leon- it floored him in a way he had never been floored before.

“Leon, I- I don’t-“

“Y’know I’ve had a lil crush on you f’ a while right?”

Leon placed a hand on his knee, his eyes flickering between Luis’ eyes and lips. The man in question's heartbeat sped up and his head felt dizzy, the smell of alcohol making him feel more intoxicated than he already was.

“And I know you do too-“

“You’re drunk, Sancho,” Luis tried to deflect. A last-ditch effort to save his morality.

“And you’re about to say something you’ll regret”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts, doll”

Leon responded, smiling lazily.

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes”

“It is now.”

Before Luis could even open his mouth to say anything-

A pair of warm lips were placed on his own.

Luis froze. His once warm body now growing ice cold at the realization that ‘ santa mierda Leon me esta besando.’

He’d be lying if he said this wasn’t somewhat a dream come true; although not quite in this same scenario, he often dreamed about what it would be like to kiss Leon right on the lips like he meant it. He imagined what they felt like, tasted like…

And despite his better judgment, Luis indulged himself. Slipping his hands up the sides of Leon’s face, he closed his eyes and let himself melt into the kiss; the taste of whiskey on his lips almost overcoming the feeling of just how good it felt to kiss Leon.

The two of them sat there for a while. Kissing each other like they were starved men. Which, at that point, they may as well have been.

Luis almost let himself completely go; fully ready to stay like this for the rest of the night…

Until he felt Leon’s hand slip higher up his thigh.

Luis was quick to break away from the kiss and grab at Leon’s wrist. Although his mind was hazy and euphoric from their shared moment together, he knew he could never live with himself if he had taken advantage of Leon sexually in a moment where he couldn’t fully consent like this.

“You’re drunk, Leon” Luis gently reminded him, feeling like he’d just kicked a lost puppy when a look of dissapoint plastered itself onto the blondes face.

“An’ you taste good”

“You can’t even think straight, let alone fuck straight.”

“But I caaaaannn...”

Leon whined, trying to grasp at Luis’ shoulders to bring him in for another kiss again.

“Just lemme take care of youuuu….”

It took multiple minutes, almost hours of back-and-fourth bantering between the two of them for Luis to finally convince Leon to go to bed goddamnit before joining him not long after.

After tucking Leon in under the sheets and giving his messy, blonde hair a light ruffle in lieu of a kiss goodnight, Luis resigned to sleeping on the couch.

In his half-drunken, sleepy mind, it was far more comfortable than the bed anyways. And besides, his blankets and pillows were already there from earlier. So what was there to loose?

Luis was asleep within seconds.

**

The next morning, Luis woke up not to the usual sound of alarm clocks going off followed by the loud beeping of car horns; but rather, the sound of somebody stomping down the hallway with heavy footsteps.

Luis sat up and immediately regretted it seconds later. His head was pounding and his hair was a wreck, and his usually only semi-aching body felt stiffer than a piece of concrete. He groaned loudly, running his hands through his curly locks before examining the mess in front of him.

A bottle of alcohol. Two glasses. Three suspiciously whiskey-smelling stains on the couch. What happened last night again…?

Oh yeah. That’s right.

Leon had kissed him. Drunk.

“ Goodmorning…..”

‘Speak of the devil..’

“Buenos días, Cariño..” Luis shot the blonde a smile as he entered the living room, looking like he felt a lot worse than the brunette. Leon was wrapped in his blanket, dragging his feet along the floor like they were made of stone and rubbing his eyebag-heavy eyes sleepily.

Leon looked as though he was having one of the worst hangovers of his life. Which was to be expected, but judging by just how much he managed to skull in a single evening..

Maybe this wasn’t such an irregular occurrence for Leon.

“How did you sleep?”

“ Bad.” Leon’s response was curt, and straight to the point as he sat down next to Luis with a loud sigh.

A best of silence fell over them before he began to speak,

“Hey, listen, ‘m sorry about last night.. I shouldn’t have come home already drunk like that-“

“It’s fine, Leon,” Luis smiled at him, a wave of relief washing over his body as he successfully avoided talking about their kiss. He prayed Leon didn’t remember it had ever happened at all.

“I don’t mind”

“No, it’s- it’s not fine” Leon frowned, curling in on himself a little.

“I haven’t… I haven’t mentioned it to you yet, cuz I figured, it’s not your job to worry, but.. I’ve been struggling with, y’know, alcohol issues ‘n stuff for a while, and I guess I’m just sorry that came through last night..”

“ Oh”

Was all Luis could respond with. His heart was stabbed with sympathy at the sight of Leon looking so down, and dejected.

“ Lo siento-“

“Don’t be sorry,” Leon gave him a soft smile, eyes a little droopy. “It’s not your fault. You had no idea”

“Still…”

“Don’t worry about it. It could’ve been a lot worse”

Leon laughed; but Luis felt his blood run cold.

Leon didn’t remember their kiss from last night.

“Hey, I didn’t do anything bad last night, did I? Like, I didn’t throw something expensive across the room or something?”

A lump formed in Luis’ throat. He could be honest; he could tell him that they kissed and Luis had been desperate to kiss Leon since they first met and it was one of the best kisses he had ever had in his entire life.

But…

His gut was telling him no. Especially after Leon had just opened up to him about his issues with alcohol; it just felt wrong.

“Nope”

Luis smiled, a little forcefully.

“Nothing that I can remember, at least.

Leon gave him a relieved sigh.

“Good. That’s good. I was worried for a second there, y’know”

“Yeah… Worried…”

**

“Do you think the walls will look alright if we keep them white? Or is that too basic?”

“Hmmmmm…” Luis leaned up from his hunched-over spot in front of the buckets of paint; turning to plant a kiss on the corner of Leon’s lips.

“I mean, it’s only a guest room, sí? Doesn’t need to be fancy, in my humble opinion”

“Yeah I guess you’re right..”

“I’m always right”

Luis smiled, flashing his teeth at Leon who just rolled his eyes and grabbed the sides of his face to pull him down for a proper kiss- the both of them choosing to conveniently ignore the paint left on Leon’s fingertips.

Refurbishing a brand-new house for the first time in a four-year relationship was bound to be a little messy, after all.

But Luis couldn’t think of anyone better to spend those four years with than Leon.

“Cariño, do you remember our first kiss?”

“Hmmmmm…” Leon cocked his head, thinking for a moment as Luis chewed his lip in anticipation.

“I don’t think so, why do you ask?”

“Wait, you seriously don’t?”

“No, why?? Should I???”

Luis barked a laugh; throwing his head back as he wrapped an arm around the blonde's waist pulling him closer to his body.

“Oh, Mí Guapo, I have something to admit to you…”

“Oh god, what is it?”

“Our first kiss was when you were blackout drunk. You didn’t even remember it in the morning”

“Shut up”

“I’m telling the truth!!”

“No you’re not!! I would have definitely remembered that!”

The two of them spent the next hour bantering and arguing as they continued to paint the walls of their new home- trying to win a nonexistent argument of who got the first kiss

“You can argue all you want, hermoso, but I remember it clear as day”

“Y’know what? Fine, whatever,” Leon pulled Luis down by the collar to plant a firm kiss on his lips before pulling away, smirking.

“You win.”

[velveteenshadow]

Adribat October '24: Day 1 - Mirror(s)

Hello everyone! I'm back with another MLP version of an MLB x DC character. This time...

We have Adrien! This is in honor of Adribat and hopefully giving it more content.

Below are the backstories (under the cut) of my MLP Adrien and Jason to show off how they mirror each other. There are also drawings to illustrate them at different points of their lives.

Adrien’s Backstory:

Gabriel fell in love with Emelie not knowing that her family were descendants of hippogriffs who had to become sea-ponies then evolved into “regular” ponies.

Gabriel is a white unicorn with high status in the fashion world.

Emelie, who has gone missing, is a pure black “earth” pony with feathered hooves and hair.

When Adrien is born, Gabriel is taken aback and filled with hatred toward the foal.

How can I high fashion unicorn such as himself have a “pegasus” as a child? It would ruin his reputation (as if marrying an “earth” pony doesn’t already…)

In his frustration, Gabriel lets out a huge burst of magic that hits the young foal. His wings disappear and a horn appears featuring a purple ring as well as a cutie brands the foal. (First image)

He knew he screwed up when Emelie disappears just hours after his magic goes awry.

Despite being a tyrant at that point, Gabriel does start to feel bits of remorse on top of his pain of his wife leaving him disappearing.

Adrien grows up believing that he is a “unicorn” even though his magic is nonexistent.

It takes until his father passes late in Adrien’s young adult/teen years that the truth is revealed (aka the second image).

This causes Adrien extreme identity problems. He knew something had been off all these years, but he could never place it.

His wings prove to be useless at first. The years of not knowing they were there surprisingly did not stunt their growth, but it renders Adrien flightless (for a while)

Adrien learns of why he was living in a false image, and it drives him to find his talent…

Helping others find who they are under the masquerade (third image)

His cutie mark is a deer hoof under a magnifying glass (the hoof changes to match the print of whichever type of creature he is helping)

Adrien gains strength in his wings and starts dying the white of his mane and feathers to cover his ties to his father

Jason’s Backstory:

Jason has a rather similar background as his canon counterpart.

He gains a cutie mark of a playing card with a crowbar. (First image)

He thinks nothing of it.

Eventually, he sneaks himself under the wing of a mysterious figure helping out those in need.

Seeing the old sidekick, Jason was excited to join as the position made him feel as though he had magic despite being an earth pony.

This joy does not last long as a sinister creature takes on the teen Jason while he is alone.

In an act of strength, Jason does end up defeating the creature but not at cost of his own life as well.

In the place of the creature’s body, a toxic and hazardous green pool starts to form. No pony dares to find out what it is.

Jason’s body is found by a zebra before the pool could spread (as far as the zebra could tell) to him.

Using all the medicine the zebra knew, a miracle happens and Jason is reborn. (Second image)

His cutie mark changes to a bat (aka his canonical symbol) with three small tears of color (aka the red, yellow, and green of his old cm).

After his new cm surfaces, the zebra leaves him to rest.

When the zebra returns, a huge whitened spot of Jason’s backside is revealed. It seems that the pool had reached part of Jason after all.

The zebra keeps an eye on Jason for any other developments.

Jason tries to put the life of helping fight in the shadows behind.

However, one day a young Pegasus starts falling out of the sky.

Jason runs to catch the foal but is too far away. Yet…

A horn sharing the color of his eyes appears and his cutie mark loses the tears in favor of flames. (Third image)

He catches the foal with the magic, carefully placing him on the ground.

Jason had indeed gotten magic from helping others, he just needed to die first to get it. (Note: The horn/magic is supposed to be his version of his all blades)

[flameandindifference]

Lucius Morningstar Statsheet [ Hazbin Hotel Verse ]

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

HP: 75

MP: 100

LV: 10

AC: 12

Stats

Strength: 7

Dexterity: 11

Constitution: 8

Intelligence: 15 (High for his age)

Wisdom: 13

Charisma: 10

Skills:

Short flight: Lucius is capable of short bursts of flight with his wings, allowing him to cross wide distances relatively quickly. Due to being young and lacking practice, he cannot sustain flight and will have to ground himself before he can use his wings again.

Demonic skills

Telekinesis: Lucius is capable of moving objects, breaking things and turning on electronics and vehicles simply with a thought.

Demon form: Can summon a strong demon form in order to better handle himself in a fight

Mind Control: Capable of taking over weaker minds. Can only keep control for short periods of time, usually a couple minutes. (varies depending on how weak the mind is)

Combustion: Able to summon Hellfire at a whim, can also breathe fire in a pinch. His snake tail is also capable of breathing fire.

Mind Erase: Is capable of erasing short term memories, usually used to aid in his sneaking endeavors.

Raven Form: Lucius is capable of taking the form of a raven upon devouring the heart of said bird. Used for quick travel and spying.

Vision Theft: Able to blind others; used only in extreme circumstances as it takes a ton of his energy to do.

Pocket Dimension: Can use small pocket dimensions to keep items in.

Budding Powers (Need Practice):

Conjuration: Technically possesses this ability but it is VERY under-developed and is not reliable. Can only conjure very small items or intangible wisps; He's practicing though!

Venom use: His snake tail is technically venomous but controlling the tail is a little hard, as it has a mind of its own.

Weaknesses:

Physicality: For all that he is powerful for his age, Lucius still possesses the body of a child and so he can be easily overpowered and pinned down by adults and creatures bigger than him.

Insecurity: Feels a level of insecurity in being the second born Morningstar child, which can be needled at in order to make him angry and more reckless.

Blood 'Disease' (Royal Flames verse only): Lucius' human and demonic bloods are in conflict with one another, which causes him full body pain whenever the issue flares up and renders him fully incapacitated and unable to do anything to defend himself.

Items:

Golden Harmonica emblazoned with the Morningstar name and a raven ( given by Lucifer ) Prized possession.

Scrungus the bear: Lucius' faithful teddy bear companion. Is scary looking compared to your usual teddy bears. Prized possession.

Lucifer's feather: Plucked from the floor from one of the rare times his father had his wings out. Prized possession.

Comb: Kept in the inner pocket of his vest. Just a simple metal hair comb.

Affiliation:

Hell

( Credit to @hells-greatestdad for inspiring the idea )

[terrence-silver]

I was watching one of those chiropractic cracks videos and couldn't stop thinking about how Terry would react if his beloved went on one of these chiropractic sessions.

Would he be jealous watching the chiropractor adjust her back and neck? Since obviously he would have to use his hands to crack the joints of his beloved's body and sometimes he even uses his body weight to crack the back of the person lying sideways on the stretcher. All of this while beloved sighs with relief at every crack because she finds it so pleasurable.

Lots of love from Brasil! 💚 Me and my brazillian friends are obsessed with your blog! We have a WhatsApp group where we talk about everything that you post 😂 We love your work so much 🥰

---

Went.

Beloved went.

Went in the past tense. Because it is never, ever happening again.

Outside of being a master martial artist, I figure Terry Silver is extremely knowledgeable when it comes to chiropractic arts, that is he is knowledgeable with acupuncture, message, stretches, warm up routines, Yoga, most any Eastern ritual of wellness under the sun and literally whatever is connected to bringing the body into top shape for further training, elasticity, agility, strength, stamina and pushing one's limits, even though, when faced with an enemy, he might just declare none of these things matter in the slightest --- like when he outright lied to Daniel Larusso that Kata is unimportant. Thing is, it is very, very important, and the importance of such self-care and practices are manifested in full force if beloved ever by mere chance visited anyone and any professional explicitly tasked with tending to any part of their body because it is simply their job. A Chiropractic? Don't even have to take it that far because I figure Terry would be jealous of a mere manicurist. A hair-dresser. Any act where something his is touched. Tended to with extreme attention. Felt. He can't help but see red. Why not come to him? His chosen, selected people so he can onlook and dictate the process? Why not come to him for everything? He knows the human body? He wants to, quite literally, crack, knead and draw out those moans of pleasure and pain from beloved, knot after knot. That pertains to him and him alone. Nobody else. He does it better. He does it best.

This Chiropractic salon in question?

Will just mysteriously be closed next time beloved goes there, thinking they're doing nothing wrong, not realizing how much they're stepping on Terry's heart and his ego. The windows are covered with paper and the venue is being renovated by a team of workers. Something else opening in its stead. A...postcard and souvenirs shop? What? Huh. How strange. Things close and open so quickly around LA nowadays, it is dizzying. Someone can't even get attached to their favourite spot anymore without it being shut down and you know...promptly taken away. Outside of being knowledgeable in some types of body training he picked up anywhere from Japan, Korea and China, you know what else Terry Silver is really, really good at? Acting like he has nothing to do with a misdeed even though he very much did. Beloved will come home, entirely clueless and somewhat disappointed and they'll encounter him, ready and available, and hey, even insistent, just as willing and ready to crack them and do it much better than anyone anywhere ever could. Naturally, the experience is orgasmic. Just the right amount of pain, because beloved has to be punished somehow for daring go elsewhere. Not that they realize they're being punished. They think this is just part of the routine. Terry could unhinge their spinal cord with a couple of well placed finger movements and the power, it gets to him. He could render beloved invalid and the control is delicious.

And then there's just the right amount of pleasure.

So good in fact they'll never, ever dream of going elsewhere.

Terry Silver's won.

[indeedcaptain]

Regulatory Relations, chapter 14: The Admirals

Hello everyone!! :) <3

Some notes on this chapter:

I am accepting as fact that Christopher Pike was disabled in a warp core accident and shooting the rest of that canon, the menagerie included, out the airlock. 

I’m using the actor for April from Strange New Worlds to describe April in this fic even though this is not an SNW fic. 

This chapter had me googling shit like “wheat bacteria. Wheat fungal infection. Causes of wheat fungal infection.” I was five citations deep into the National Library of Medicine. I learned what mycotoxicosis was. If the science is wrong, please forgive me. My mother (me) was an English major and my father (also me) did poorly in freshman chem in college. 

Ty ripley for fact-checking me. I got lied to by the hollywood reporter

Also posted on my AO3 here :)

Enjoy! Smooches ahead!!

☆☆☆

When Kirk awoke, mind rising from a deep, dreamless sleep as swiftly as a bubble through water, his face was pressed into something warm and firm, something that rose and fell rhythmically under his cheek. His hand rested over Spock’s stomach, the beat of his heart fluttering beneath his palm, and Spock’s hand rested on his hip, his arm curled around Kirk’s back, keeping him close.

Kirk relaxed against him, comfortable, warm, and safe. Even after reliving the worst period of his life, after the rollercoaster of a day that their honeymoon had been, no nightmare had disturbed him. So much had changed over just twenty-four hours: he had gone from mourning the loss of his friendships to showing his first officer (his husband, his mind reminded him) everything that he had promised never to share. 

And somewhere in between those two extremes, Spock had taken him out on the best date he’d ever had. The natural history museum, the Best of the Midwest, and Spock bussing his tray for him swam in his brain with the abandoned treehouse on Tarsus, the night they spent in the governor’s house, and Mr. Park’s boots emerging from behind his desk. But rather than Tarsus tainting his recollections of Starbase 27, the memory of their shared time leached away some of the pain of remembrance.

He had removed the boundary between them, and let Spock in. He had shown Spock what he had seen and done on Tarsus. Spock had held his hand, and held him close, and stayed the night. And through all that, their connection had not changed: not Spock’s surety, not their gentle banter and Spock’s quick wit, not how he looked for Spock first in any room he entered. For better and for worse did not come with caveats, he thought, and he opened his eyes.

He lifted his head to the semi-darkness, the red glare of his alarm clock, and Spock, already awake, turning his head to look down at him. His hair clung to the pillowcase as he moved. Kirk’s breath caught in his throat: the familiar angles of Spock’s face had been rendered unfamiliar by proximity, and all the more beautiful for it. Spock’s eyes shone liquid in the dim light, only the sharpest lines of him visible, the rest of him cast in shadow. The silence of the room was viscous in the air. 

Kirk knew that they weren’t done with Tarsus. But Tarsus could wait.

“Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, and his voice was still rough with sleep. “Can I have a do-over?” He pushed himself up further onto his elbow. Spock blinked at him, his arm adjusting to Kirk’s movement without relinquishing his grip. There were only inches between their faces, but Spock did not shift away.

“Of what, captain?” Kirk could feel the rumble of Spock’s voice in his chest through their contact.

“Two mornings ago,” Kirk said. He swallowed. “When you said…” Ashamed, despite Spock’s assurances, of how he had behaved, he pressed his palm down where it rested on Spock’s ribs and hoped that he would understand. He heard Spock exhale through his nose. Spock’s eyes searched his face, and Kirk held his gaze. He would let Spock see him. He was done hiding. 

“I have learned this week that you like when I touch you,” Spock said, quiet in the still of the morning. His hand was a solid pressure against Kirk’s hip, fingers flexing as he spoke. “I have learned that I do too.” 

“I do like it,” Kirk said, almost in a whisper. “At first I was afraid that you would realize how much I liked it, and I would make you uncomfortable. But then…” He lifted his hand and ran one gentle fingertip down the column of Spock’s neck, the exposed line of his collarbone. He was a little shocked at his own daring, but Spock did not flinch away. 

“After I understood my… sentiment towards you, and we crossed more lines, I was afraid that, if you learned what I had been hiding, that you would think less of me. This starship runs as it does because of how we work together.” The words were spilling out of him now, and he needed Spock to understand. “I couldn’t risk losing your trust, if you thought that I was unfit to lead. And I wanted to spare you from seeing what I had seen, if you ever wanted to...” Kirk gestured next to his head, along his psi-points. Spock’s hand came up and circled Kirk’s wrist, pulling it back to rest on his chest. 

“Captain,” Spock said. “Jim. Knowing how your experiences affect you changes nothing about my opinions on your actions, or my trust in your leadership.” He half-raised one eyebrow as he considered Kirk’s hand in his grasp. “You may find that I understand better than most what it is to feel, and feel deeply, and yet still act as though nothing is felt at all.” Kirk closed his eyes, pressing his hand down against Spock’s chest, feeling his heartbeat under his palm.

“I thought that I was protecting you,” Kirk admitted. “I thought that by keeping the truth from you, I could prevent you from being hurt by it.” He flipped his hand around in Spock’s grip to take his hand in his, and opened his eyes. “And instead I hurt you. I’m sorry for that.”

“As I had surmised, captain, and it is forgiven,” Spock said. “But for future reference, I would prefer the truth, no matter how painful, to a comfortable lie.”

“Duly noted, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, and looked from their intertwined hands to Spock’s face. He couldn’t discern what Spock was thinking in the half-light; he could only admire the lines of his face, the deep color of his eyes and hair contrasted against Kirk’s pillow. 

When Spock spoke again, his voice was reserved. “Now that I know the truth, how would you like to proceed?” And there it was: his opening. Kirk shifted forward, putting more of his weight against Spock’s chest, bringing their faces closer together. Spock turned to look fully at him. 

“You want me to touch you?” Kirk pulled his hand out of Spock’s grasp to bring it up to his face, running his thumb reverently against Spock’s cheekbone, feeling the delicate architecture of his pointed ear under his fingers. Spock’s hand tightened over his waist, and he nodded. 

When he met Spock’s eyes, something warm and electric sparked between them. “I’ve been thinking about this for days,” Kirk breathed, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Spock’s. No audience, no pressure of separation or performance, no secrets: the whole galaxy narrowed to him, and his first officer, and the years of history and trust between them. Their bodies pressed together from lips to chests to legs. Spock was deliciously warm. For a few seconds they lay unmoving, but Kirk remembered Spock’s hesitation during their first kiss, and he waited. 

Then Spock opened his mouth to Kirk, rolled towards him, and slid his hand beneath Kirk’s shirt. Kirk looped his arm over his shoulders and pulled Spock in closer, licking into his mouth. Spock’s hand roamed higher, pressing flat against his spine, fingertips digging into the muscle of his back. He pushed Kirk backwards as he braced himself on one arm, his tongue sliding into his mouth as his other hand came up to caress Kirk’s hair. He shivered as Spock’s thumb traced the curved edge of his ear. Kirk slid both hands under the hem of Spock’s sleep shirt, feeling the movement of his hips telegraphed through his spine, and the expanse of his back was warm. Kirk could feel the shifting of the muscles under his skin as he pressed Kirk down into the bed, and the weight of his thigh falling between Kirk’s lit a fire in his stomach. Kirk ground up against him and pulled Spock’s bottom lip between his teeth, and he heard Spock’s exhale catch in a groan in the back of his throat. God, he wanted to eat that sound. He wanted to hear it again immediately. He wanted to be the one to pull that noise out of Spock for the rest of both of their natural lives.

Next to the bed, his alarm clock blared. They both flinched. Kirk dropped his head down against the mattress, and Spock bowed his, pressing his forehead into Kirk’s shoulder with what might have been a sigh. Then he sat up, tapped the alarm off, and rolled back to face Kirk.

“Good morning,” Kirk said, and he grinned. Spock’s eyes softened. The shoulder of his shirt was slipping down, and his hair was mussed from its contact with the pillow and Kirk’s hands. He looked gentle, sleep-soft, lovely. 

“Good morning,” Spock said. He leaned back on one hand, looking down at Kirk where he still sprawled across the bed. “How are you?” 

“Better than last night, that’s certain,” Kirk said. He couldn’t get over the vision of Spock, sitting on his bed in his pajamas, lips gently swollen from kissing. His whole body buzzed. 

“I was concerned for you,” Spock said, and he studied Kirk. “And my concern remains. Captain, have you studied with any level of detail Starfleet’s official record of what occurred on Tarsus IV?” Well, he had hoped for more of a reprieve, but at least Spock let him sleep through the night and kiss him before he returned to the elephant in the room.

“No,” Kirk admitted. “I’ve avoided it entirely. My… Elise said it would only make things worse.”

“It remains highly redacted,” Spock said. “I was not able to use any of the privileged information in my regulation revision, as it would have nullified my efforts, but I had become curious. I acquired an unredacted version and read it.”

“Oh, you acquired one? Achieved that through entirely legal means too, I’m sure?” 

“It would have been illogical and unscientific to draw conclusions from incomplete information,” Spock said delicately. “But, regardless…” Then he hesitated, and Kirk pushed himself up. 

“I’m starting to think that my memories and the Starfleet record might have some inconsistencies,” Kirk said softly. 

“Inconsistencies is not the term I would use,” Spock said. His fingers clenched against the bed, crumpling the sheets, and he looked down.

“What would you call the difference, then?” Spock’s reticence was setting Kirk’s skin crawling. He crossed his legs so he could sit upright, and braced himself. 

“Treason,” Spock said softly. Kirk’s heart seized up. “You were the only witness to a crime against the Federation, but without the context necessary to understand it, and someone has exerted great effort to keep you from gaining that context.” 

“But there were other witnesses,” Kirk said. “There were five--- four other kids with me. At least one of them is in Starfleet now.” 

“I am not referring to the massacre, or the famine,” Spock said, and somehow his gaze grew heavier. “In your memories, you were alone when you saw the shuttle that took Kodos off of Tarsus IV.” 

“I was,” Kirk said. “I mean, he did terrible things, and he should have been brought to justice. But was all of this really just because I saw him escape?” There was something in Spock’s expression that made Kirk uneasy.

“Jim,” Spock said, and he wrapped his hand around Kirk’s wrist, and that more than anything solidified that something was wrong. “Kodos did not escape on his own. The individuals who took Kodos off-planet were not his guards.” 

“What do you mean?” Spock broke eye contact again, glancing briefly over his shoulder. Kirk’s palm grew cold and clammy. He felt his heartbeat tick up.

“I recognized their uniforms,” Spock said. “Kodos was extracted from Tarsus IV by operatives from Section 31.” 

White noise roared in Kirk’s ears. His vision blurred. “No,” he heard himself say, from very far away. Spock redoubled his grip on his wrist. It was his only anchor to the rest of the world. His awareness collapsed into a needle-thin tunnel, with only the vague bright dot of his quarters visible at the end of it. He thought Spock was saying something, but it was hard to hear him from all the way at the end of the tunnel and over the rushing in his ears. 

“Section 31 is a Starfleet office,” he said hollowly, when he could speak again. 

“Yes,” Spock said. 

“You’re saying that Starfleet pulled Kodos off Tarsus. And left us to die.” His preliminary shock was fading away. The crystal-clarity of the cold, unfeeling part of his brain slid down over him like a mask, and he let it take over with a vague sense of relief. 

“A branch of it, yes,” Spock said, and he watched Kirk closely. A detached part of Kirk wondered what Spock’s telepathy felt when he shut everything away like this.

“What else was missing or wrong from the report?” 

“The official cause for the crop failure and famine was a fungal infection--- Fusarium graminearum. But what you showed me did not look like Fusarium, and Fusarium typically grows in dampness and humidity, which is inconsistent with your memories of drought. That Kodos chose who would live and who would die in the massacre in the auditorium was known. But the causes of death for his chosen survivors were all listed as starvation or immolation, and some of the bodies that you saw in the town before the fire had not starved. And though it was not in the report, the medical treatment you experienced after your rescue did not follow standard protocol for starvation or malnutrition, nor the treatment for mycotoxicosis.”

“What do you mean?” Kirk extricated himself from Spock’s grip on his wrist, as gently as he could manage, and crossed to the closet. He needed something to do with himself; he could no longer sit still and absorb just how deeply things had been warped. He grabbed his trousers and tunic from the closet. 

“In your memories, you underwent dialysis as part of your treatment for an extensive duration,” Spock said, and he turned to watch Kirk. “Though it may have been necessary if you had ingested significant quantities of Fusarium and experienced alimentary toxic aleukia, neither the level of sustenance you were able to obtain on Tarsus nor the symptoms you demonstrated after rescue imply that this should have been the case.” 

“It sounds as though you have a hypothesis, Mr. Spock.” Kirk crossed back to the bathroom door, holding his uniform like a security blanket. 

“I do,” Spock allowed. “Is Doctor McCoy aware that you were on Tarsus IV?” 

“He is,” Kirk said. “Unfortunately. He has unredacted access to my medical records.” 

“Would you permit me to view them as well?” 

Kirk froze. “One second,” he said, and ducked into the bathroom as soon as the turbodoor slid open. It slid shut behind him, and he braced his hands on the counter. His medical records wouldn’t show Spock anything more graphic than he had already seen in Kirk’s memories. But his records included holos of himself immediately after, as well as the notes from both Dr. Johns and Elise about his behavior during recovery. He didn’t want Spock to have to see the evidence.

He bent down over the sink to wash his face, and the cold water helped to pull himself back into his body. Although his knee-jerk emotional response to Spock’s question had been a harsh and immediate ‘no,’ he could see the logic in the request. Because Spock had seen all his memories, he wouldn’t have to endure the panic and nausea that came with trying to actually talk about Tarsus. Though his relief at the idea made him feel somewhat like a coward, because Spock now knew as much as he did, Spock could be the one to answer Bones’s questions. Kirk pressed his hand to his chest and realized, as his numbness slowly melted away, that having a path forward--- seeking an answer to a question that wasn’t about his own misery--- gave him a momentum that kept him from drowning in panic. He wasn’t thrilled about the new information or about Spock seeing his records, but the anxiety was manageable. His head was above water. 

He pulled his uniform on, gave his hair a quick brush, and walked back into their quarters. Spock had also changed for the day in his absence, and stood at the bookshelves, adjusting something. When Kirk was halfway across the room, the object of Spock’s attention came into focus: he had unboxed the little crinoid machine and placed it delicately on an empty bit of shelf, next to a padd that Kirk thought he recognized as their wedding gift from Janice. Spock adjusted the tiny piece of machinery so gently in his large hands that Kirk’s heart skipped a beat, and seeing a gift he had given Spock next to their padd of holos made him feel distinctly domestic. It felt nice; a safe reprieve from the disturbing revelations of the morning.

“Are you moving in for good, Mr. Spock?” 

Spock spun, clasping his hands behind his back so quickly that the motion was a blur. He looked suddenly unsure of himself. “Captain, I---” 

“I think I would like it if you do,” Kirk said, and he came to stand next to the Vulcan, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “If that was something you wanted.” They both considered the undulation and writhing of the crinoid, the feathers flicking out into the air in a graceful, solitary dance.

“If you would have me, captain, I would like to stay.” 

“Good.” The answer settled his mind a little further. Kirk nodded decisively, and before he could lose his nerve, he said, “You can see my records, and then I need to hear your hypothesis.” Spock turned to look at him. “After we meet with the admirals. And I have a question for you first.” 

“Certainly, captain,” Spock said. 

“How did you recognize the uniforms?” 

Spock watched the movement of the crinoid for another few seconds before he said, “Have you ever heard the name Michael Burnham?” 

Kirk raised his eyebrows. “The mutineer? Of course. What the hell does she have to do with this?” 

“Did you know she was raised on Vulcan?” 

“Yes,” Kirk said slowly. “Did you… did you know her?” 

“She was my foster sister,” Spock said. Kirk’s mouth dropped open involuntarily.

“You’re joking.”

“I am not, captain,” Spock said. “I became unfortunately acquainted with Section 31 during one of her classified exploits.” 

Kirk gaped at him, mind reeling. He tried to reorient himself around this enormous piece of information. Spock had kept a Federation-sized secret from him for years, one that had Federation-wide repercussions, and likely had more, if he had been involved with any of Burnham’s other activities during her time on the Discovery. 

His first instinct was to be angry that Spock had kept this from him. But then something lighter, a little happier, a little truer, bubbled up from inside him. It was easy to forget sometimes that he was not the only person in the universe carrying ugly secrets. The reminder chipped away another piece of his mask, set him more firmly on his own two feet, in his body, on his ship. 

Spock watched him, shoulders pulled back tightly, hands clasped behind him. “Jim, I am sorry that I did not---” 

Kirk shoved him playfully sideways, and Spock, shocked, had the grace to pretend to be moved. “Don’t apologize. You keeping that secret makes us even. You were raised with Starfleet’s only mutineer?” 

“She was not a mutineer at the time,” Spock said, and the line of his shoulders loosened. “We ought to depart if we are to have breakfast before the start of alpha shift. The admirals will arrive in three point five hours.” 

“When it rains, it pours,” Kirk said, and smiled at the offended eyebrow raise that the expression earned. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to see April have a meltdown in the ready room.”

“Do you intend to provoke him, captain?” They crossed to the door to the hallway, and as Kirk lifted his hand to open the door he suddenly remembered how he had felt yesterday morning, to enter the hallway and find no Spock waiting for him. It had only been twenty-four hours. Everything had changed. 

Instead of opening the door, he reached for Spock. He pulled him around in front of him, and pushed him backwards. His back hit the door with a gentle thud. 

“Maybe I do,” Kirk said, leaning forward into his space, and without hesitating Spock bent his head to meet him in a kiss. Spock’s arms came around him, pulling him tightly against him, as Kirk slid one hand behind his head to anchor them together. The feeling of Spock’s hair between his fingers, his hands against his back, his lips against his own--- he was never going to get used to it.

When they broke apart, Spock’s hair was in disarray, and Kirk smoothed it back down. “I do not recommend that we do that in front of the admiralty,” Spock said, but there was a flush high on his cheeks that betrayed his composure. 

“No?” Kirk made his voice as innocent as he could. “I thought that April could perhaps use a little more convincing.” 

“I am certain that the crew will vouch for the truth for us,” Spock said, before he gently smoothed the shoulders of Kirk’s tunic down. Kirk tapped the door pad and Spock stepped neatly backwards as the door opened. 

“I, for one, am curious to hear what they’ll share with April,” Kirk said. “I know about the hypotheses, and the betting pools, and the nurses’ log. Oh, and the Spock rule. But I bet there are others.”

“The human desire to turn everything into a competition or a gambling opportunity is fascinating, captain.” They walked down the hall, side by side, perfectly synchronized, and the cold that had seized him earlier released another piece of his heart. The back of Spock’s hand brushed his as they walked, and he leaned down to listen more closely when Kirk talked. Kirk let himself touch the small of Spock’s back for emphasis, and he couldn’t stop the comfortable warmth in his chest from shining out of his face. He grinned at his crew as they passed and saluted or smiled at him and Spock. When they saw him and Spock together, he knew they were just seeing an affectionate newlywed couple, fresh off of shore leave together. 

And wouldn’t you know it? For the first time since Kirk had proposed marriage, it was even true. 

☆☆☆

They entered the officers’ mess to find Bones and Uhura already eating breakfast. They both looked up as the doors slid open to admit them, and as they registered Kirk and Spock entering together, Kirk could see their pleased surprise. He lifted a hand in greeting, his own smile growing in response, before replicating breakfast and moving to join them. He had just sat down and set his plate on the table when he realized he’d forgotten coffee. “One second,” he said, and made to stand again, when a mug landed on the table in front of him, delivered by an elegant and long-fingered hand. 

He looked up as Spock sat next to him, setting his own plate and mug down. “Thank you,” he said, and Spock nodded before picking up his fork. Kirk looked across the table to see Uhura stifle a smile behind one hand and Bones roll his eyes before picking up a jam-soggy piece of toast. 

“How was your time on the starbase?” Uhura asked. 

“Wonderful,” Kirk said, at the same time that Spock said, “Adequate.” Bones snorted, but he had an evaluative look on his face, and his eyes were locked onto Kirk. With a slight wince, Kirk remembered the unfortunate context in which he had last seen him. He had the feeling he was going to owe Bones an emergency bottle of bourbon by the time the day was over.

“We saw a number of fascinating creatures that inhabit the planets of nearby systems,” Spock said, and Kirk dug into his breakfast as Uhura picked up the conversation. On his other side, he felt Bones nudge his calf with his shoe. Kirk looked at him. 

In the silent language of their long friendship, Bones asked with his eyebrows: You okay? 

A slight, begrudging frown and a short nod: Yes, actually. 

Narrowed eyes: Really? 

And then, before Kirk could stop himself, he glanced at Spock. Facing burning, he immediately forced his eyes back to the table. When he dared look back at Bones, he was trying and failing to suppress a told-you-so smile. 

“Cohabiting going well?” Bones asked innocently, and Kirk kicked him under the table.

☆☆☆

Kirk’s first full shift since the day of the wedding started off quietly. They orbited gently around Starbase 27, depositing old supplies that needed replacing and restocking on the things they wouldn’t be able to replicate as they headed deeper into unclaimed space. Only one requisition request took him by surprise: First Officer S’chn T’gai Spock requested additional unreplicated foodstuffs “to test the validity of the hypothesis of the potential forthcoming revision to Regulation 6245-B.” Warmth bloomed in his chest as he signed his approval and shipped it back to Janice for implementation. 

He looked around at his crew during one of the lulls: Chekov and Sulu arguing over the fastest way through a nearby asteroid belt that wouldn’t earn them an explosive decompression; Uhura sorting through messages, translating incoming intel and keeping an eye on local transmissions; Scotty and one of his engineers on their backs beneath a misbehaving console panel. Spock scanned through sensor readings, occasionally glancing out the viewscreen or back at Kirk, and his fingers twitched against his thighs in a way that Kirk recognized as boredom, though Spock would never admit to it. He stood up and stretched hugely before wandering up behind Spock, peering over his shoulder at the completely average readings. 

“Captain,” Spock said, and he sat back in his chair. His shoulder blades brushed Kirk’s stomach, and the back of his head leaned slightly against Kirk’s sternum. The position gave him deja vu to just a few days previously, when they had been in the same position, when Spock had been reading through the nurses’ report on their movements through Medbay.

Before Kirk allowed himself to think through whether or not it was wise, he rested his hands on Spock’s shoulders in front of him, his thumbs brushing the warm skin of his neck, just above the collar of his uniform. So quietly that Kirk almost missed it, Spock sighed through his nose, and he leaned further back against him, eyes closing in a slow blink. 

“Anything interesting going on out there?” 

“Clarify the parameters of ‘interesting,’ sir.” 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Kirk said, laughing, and he gave himself one more second to appreciate Spock leaning against him, the warmth under his hands, before he reminded himself that he was on duty and would have significant supervision for the next ten days. He was looking forward to having something to do, even if that something was ferrying around stuffy admirals like an oversized tourist ship. At least he would get to spend some time with Chris again. He owed the man at least one drink--- it had been his idea, after all, that had started everything.

An hour later, after Kirk had gotten to the bottom of his paperwork pile, his mind wandered to what Spock had told him that morning, worrying at the thought like he was pressing on a bruise. The unmarked black shuttle that haunted his dreams belonged to a branch of Starfleet. It was an esoteric, virtually invisible branch (one that was mostly mentioned as a scary story to threaten misbehaving ensigns with), but it was a subsection of the organization to which he had pledged his entire life. Why had Section 31 come to Tarsus, and only saved Kodos? 

They had seen him. He had killed one of them. One of them had seriously considered killing him in return. And yet they had disappeared with Kodos and left him alive on the cursed colony, assuming that he would starve to death; they must not have known that the Valiant was only a day behind. Lieutenant Commander Ashton Park’s message had been sent out on public relay for anyone to hear. Was there so little communication between Section 31 and the rest of Starfleet?

But that wasn’t the only unpleasant shock of the morning. Kirk had spent very little time reflecting on the months he spent in and out of hospitals; Dr. Johns had murmured soft words about his ‘ordeal’ and then explained virtually nothing about what was being done to him. But Spock thought that his treatment didn’t line up with what Starfleet said had happened. 

Kirk pulled out his padd and tried to force his hands to stop shaking. He had told Spock that he could see his records, and he would keep his word. Even if it physically hurt him to do it. He tapped on his message thread with Bones, and smiled wryly at their last, ironic exchange.

> TheRealMcCoy: have you talked to spock?

In a manner of speaking, he had. And bringing Spock into his confidences, against all of the instruction that Elise had drilled into him, had broken the pattern he had been stuck in and set him moving forward again. 

> JTK: hi 

> TheRealMcCoy: Hi yourself 

> JTK: I have a request

> TheRealMcCoy: What is it? 

> JTK: I need to see my medical records 

A pause.

> TheRealMcCoy: Are you sick? 

> JTK: No 

> JTK: I want Spock to see them

> TheRealMcCoy: See what, exactly?

> JTK: All of it

> TheRealMcCoy: Are you serious?

> JTK: As a heart attack

> TheRealMcCoy: Not funny 

Kirk could see Bones typing and then stopping, as if he were writing and rewriting his message. In the end, all he sent was: 

> TheRealMcCoy: Really?

> JTK: yes 

> TheRealMcCoy: That’s good

> TheRealMcCoy: That’s great

> TheRealMcCoy: Come by whenever

He couldn’t say he was looking forward to the conversation, or to showing Spock the awful holos of himself. But after years of Tarsus-related stagnation, having a question to answer and something to work towards felt good. It felt like healing. He glanced over at Spock, bending over his sensor, and could not stop himself from admiring the long lines of his body.

Scotty’s voice came over the comm. “Captain, stationmaster reports the admirals are ready to beam aboard.” 

“Thank you, Scotty,” Kirk said. “I’ll be down in just a moment. Kirk out.” He released the comm button and stood. “Spock, with me. Chris will want to see you first, and April too, probably. Sulu, you have the conn.” 

“Yes, captain,” Sulu said, standing to take his seat, and Kirk and Spock went down to the turbolift. “Transporter,” Spock said, and the doors closed between them and the bridge. 

They stood in silence for half a second before Kirk turned to Spock. He inhaled, but the daring glint in Spock’s eyes answered his question. He was across the turbolift and pressed against Spock in the space of a heartbeat. Even as his lips met Kirk’s, Spock twisted the handle that stopped the turbolift and wrapped both arms around his waist, pulling him flush against him. Kirk brought his hands up to frame Spock’s face, feeling the silk of his hair and the points of his ears. Spock had lost his hesitation, and he licked possessively into Kirk’s mouth, and the warm wet heat of it drove him to distraction. He worried Spock’s lip between his teeth like he had before, and Spock’s response came from somewhere deep in his chest and went straight to Kirk’s groin. 

He summoned all of his willpower to pull his mouth from Spock’s before he lost all possibility of discretion. “We’ve got places to be,” he said, looking up at Spock. Spock’s gaze flicked down to his mouth before meeting his eyes, and he pressed his lips into a thin pink line before restarting the turbolift.

“Indeed,” Spock said, and Kirk grinned at the barely disguised disappointment in his tone as they descended further through the ship.

Scotty was waiting by the transporter console when they arrived, the flashing lights indicating that two were ready for transport. He was polite enough to ignore when they both straightened their tunics in guilty symmetry, smothering a knowing smirk.

“Energize when ready, Scotty,” Kirk said. 

“Energizing, captain.” 

Two golden pillars of light materialized on the transporter pad, shimmering and humming until they coalesced into two figures: Admiral April, tall and broad in his uniform, and Admiral Pike in his turbochair. Spock lifted the ta’al as Kirk strode forward to shake hands. April, unsmiling, shook his hand firmly, once, before stepping off the pad to approach Spock. Though Chris’s hands were encased in the body of the hoverchair, his upper torso was visible above the top, and his eyes twinkled merrily as Kirk squeezed his shoulder. 

“Admiral Pike,” Kirk said, and Chris’s voice--- familiar, realistic, just like he had remembered--- came from a speaker on the front of the chair. 

“You calling me admiral makes me feel like an old man,” he complained. 

Kirk grinned broadly. “You have your own voice again!” The last time he and Spock had seen Chris, he had still been in the early days of recovering from the accident, and his voice had still been the robotic standard of all vocal replacements. His skin had not yet healed then, either; now that it had scarred and settled, the ridged pattern of the radiation burns reminded Kirk of beaches and wind-blown sand dunes.

“It was a gift from Number One,” Chris said. “She and that scary lawyer friend of hers convinced the regulatory board to declassify my logs early so we could use them to train the voicebox. And she said talking so much would never be good for anything!” Kirk laughed, and Chris’s warm laughter came through the voicebox.

“Admiral Pike,” Spock said, stepping up to them, April trailing him with a deepening frown, eyes glancing between him and Kirk. 

“Not you too,” Chris said, and Spock raised his eyebrows at Kirk as if to say, What did you do? “It’s good to see you, Spock!” 

Spock walked next to Chris’s turbochair, his head bent down to listen, occasionally offering an observation that made Chris’s deep belly laugh ring out from his voicebox. With one tap to Spock’s shoulder as he passed, Kirk dropped back to walk next to April. The lights of the corridor glinted off the dark skin of his bald head, and the surety of his stride reminded Kirk that before the Enterprise had been his, or Pike’s, she had been April’s. 

“Your secret put me in a difficult position, Kirk,” April said. He rubbed one hand over his beard as he considered Kirk, and his dark eyes were shrewd. 

“I’m sorry, Admiral,” Kirk said, though he wasn’t. “We had decided long ago that discretion was the best option. We didn’t mean to cause any inconvenience.”

“He should be leading that science vessel and you know it.” So they were going to argue about where Spock should spend his career, not whether or not they were married. Kirk couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed.

“Maybe, but he didn’t want it. The crew of a ship takes their cues from their captain, and having a captain who doesn’t want to be there is a surefire way to ruin a mission.” 

They took the turbolift in pained silence, and as Chris and Spock led the way down the hallway April continued quietly to Kirk, “He would have gotten used to it. It would have been good for him. By the time he retires, he’ll have been a first officer for, what? Forty years? Sixty? And he could be so much more.” April’s tone, his insinuations, set Kirk’s teeth on edge, and anger spiked in his stomach. 

“With all due respect, Admiral, I care more about what he wants than what you think is good for him.” 

“Right,” April said. “Because you are his husband.” There it was. Ahead of them, Kirk saw Spock’s head turn slightly--- that Vulcan hearing didn’t miss anything. 

“I am,” Kirk said, and claiming that title aloud made something glow inside him, even as he noted April’s unreadable glance at him. “The ready room, gentlemen.” He tapped the door open and stood back to let the admirals enter before gesturing Spock in as well. Spock passed so closely by him that he could feel the heat of him, and Spock’s quick darting glance at him confirmed that he knew what he was doing. Kirk pressed his lips together to suppress a smile and shut the door behind them. When he looked up at the officers around his conference table, April’s acute focus was on Spock, and there was that same unreadable expression on his face. Kirk had expected frustration, or indignation at Spock’s decision; he had not expected this somber consideration.

“We await your orders, sir,” he said, to break the silence, and April cleared his throat. 

“We’ll need to stay in orbit around SB27 for three more days,” April said. “I need access to the high-speed relay to send a few reports. Then we’ll depart for Kindinos VI, because they’ve been radio-silent for a few weeks. I don’t think anything has gone wrong, necessarily, but the dilithium mine there is an important resource and I’d rather be safe than sorry. Then, assuming they’re fine and don’t need more assistance, we will drop in on any other colonies out that way that need a wellness check, and then rendezvous with the U.S.S. Maddox in twelve days.” 

“Yes, sir,” Kirk said, but the name of the ship they were meeting unsettled him. He knew he had heard of the ship before, but he couldn’t remember the context at the moment. Spock’s eyes met his, and he knew that Spock had recognized the name as well. 

Kirk pulled a datapadd off the charging port on the table and tapped it open, and started working through the logistics of April’s orders. For the better part of two hours they arranged travel, lodging, fueling, and the rendezvous, until Chris let out the sound of a huge fake yawn. Spock raised one eyebrow at him.

“As fun as this is, I would love to see how the rest of the ship has changed since my time, if you can be spared for a tour.” 

Kirk grinned and pushed his chair back. “Our day is yours, Admiral,” he said, and they departed to the dulcet tones of Chris grumbling about his promotion again. 

☆☆☆

Spock led them deeper into the ship and halted at a closed lab door.

“One of the scientists has been analyzing patterns of decay in shield panels at warp speed. Would you like to see her research?” 

“Hell yeah,” Pike said, and though his face did not move, curiosity shone in his eyes. Spock opened the lab door, revealing Dr. Khan and a bank of computers. She turned as the door opened, standing up out of her chair as she saw the guests. 

“Admiral April, Admiral Pike, this is Dr. Priyal Khan.”

“Admirals. Captain. Mr. Spock,” she said, looking at them in turn. “I was just applying historical data to the most recent iteration of my algorithm. Would you care to see?” April, whether out of politeness or to get away from Kirk to save his last nerve, stepped forward to listen. 

“How’s married life?” Chris asked quietly, and Kirk marveled at the control that the new voicebox allowed him.

“It’s good. It’s really good,” Kirk said. He crouched down next to Chris’s chair so he could lower his voice. “We owe you big-time.” 

“I’m glad it worked out,” Chris said, and his eyes flicked to Spock before meeting Kirk’s again. “But you should know that April is still hesitant about all this.” 

“I had noticed,” Spock said. “I do not think, however, that…” Then his head snapped towards April, where he stood talking to Dr. Khan. Chris and Kirk both turned to listen in as well. 

“We were aware, sir,” she said. She stuck one hand in the pocket of her lab coat and pushed her glasses up her nose with the others. “It was hard not to be. The captain started showing up down here about six weeks in, and then he never left.” 

April asked something so quietly that Kirk couldn’t hear it, but he heard Dr. Khan’s derisive snort. “No, sir. Quite the opposite. It was…” Then she stopped and turned abruptly to the eavesdroppers. “If I’m going to give an unbiased review of my supervisor, he and his hearing need to leave.” 

Spock straightened, affronted, as Kirk smothered a smile and turned for the door. 

“There’s no need for that,” April said, and he shook Dr. Khan’s hand. “I appreciate your candor.” 

“Anytime,” she said, and she turned her back on him to resume her work. Spock, hands behind his back, led them deeper into the labs, pointing out various changes and experiments to Chris. Kirk walked alongside Spock, watching him work, and seeing the furrows in April’s brow get deeper and deeper as he watched them in kind.

Spock led them through more of the labs, where April asked each of Spock’s scientists the same questions he had asked Dr. Khan. Had they been aware that the captain and the commander were in a relationship? Had that relationship caused any distraction or any other problems while Kirk had been in command? 

Kirk had learned, first from Uhura and then from the general response to the wedding, that a significant faction of the crew had believed that he and Spock were either already in a relationship or were going to be in one shortly. This knowledge did nothing to blunt the shock of hearing over and over again: 

“Yeah, we knew.” 

“It was the ship’s worst-kept secret.” 

“No captain spends that much time in the labs unless they’ve got a reason to be there. A good reason.” 

One biologist whispered “sorry!” in Spock’s direction before she said to April, “We all noticed when they started spending more time together because there was a shift in Mr. Spock’s management style.” Chris, who had started out laughing at each answer before he fell into a thoughtful silence, rotated his entire chair to stare Spock down after that one. 

And to the second question: 

“No.” 

“No, sir.” 

“Not at all.” 

“I think it was good for both of them. And good for us.”

From labs, to engineering, to Giotto’s office, to the bridge, the response was the same: the crew had known. It had made both of them better, and it made the crew better. As they walked through the ship, Spock brushed his fingers against Kirk’s wrist, placing his hand on his lower back as he passed, and Kirk took every opportunity he could to bump their shoulders together. When he had envisioned April’s arrival on their ship, he had thought that they would be performing as a couple. He had never thought that he would be reaching out to touch Spock because he wanted to. April watched them move around each other, and interrogated the crew, and with each testimony about their long-standing and poorly disguised relationship his expression passed from solemn to downright defeated.

As the ship’s clock counted down the minutes to the end of alpha shift, Kirk and Spock walked April and Pike to the guest quarters. 

“Thank you for the tour, captain. Commander. Good night,” April said abruptly. He glanced between Kirk and Spock, seemingly measuring the distance between them, before vanishing into one of the quarters. The door slid shut behind him, leaving the three other men in shocked silence. Kirk glanced down at Chris for an explanation, but Chris just lifted one shoulder stiffly in the universal gesture of “hell if I know.” Spock broke the tension.

“Captain, we are due in the gymnasium soon for another suus mahna lesson shortly. Admiral Pike, would you care to join us?” 

“If you call me admiral one more time, Spock, I’ll run you over with this chair. See if I won’t.” But he joined them in the turbolift and met them in the gym after they had changed, and they found Giotto and Spock’s little class of six waiting for them. Kirk sat on the bench on the outskirts of the room next to Chris while Spock warmed up the attendees and started drilling them. They must have been practicing with each other in between lessons, Kirk thought, because their movements were less jerky and unsure than they had been before. One and Two moved in eerie symmetry, Crovath and Laila following behind, but they progressed more quickly through the beginning moves and moved onto more advanced combinations shortly.

Kirk chatted quietly with Chris, getting updates on old shipmates, on Number One, and on Chris’s life since the accident, until Spock paused and turned, looking over his shoulder for Kirk. “I think this is my cue,” he said to Chris, and joined Spock on the mat. 

“I will demonstrate how you can use your opponent’s momentum against them, which is useful when you stand against one either larger or with a longer reach than you.” 

Kirk put his hands on his hips. “Neither of those things are true here,” he pointed out, and Spock sighed quietly through his nose. 

“Please participate regardless for the purpose of the demonstration, captain,” Spock said. 

“Yes, dear,” Kirk said, and the watching security officers grinned. Spock cocked his head, eyes alight, and he shifted forward into a waiting, predatory stance. Kirk shook his arms out, suddenly wishing he had warmed up instead of chatting with Chris. But it was too late for that now. He bounced a couple of times, Spock’s eyes tracking his movement, before swinging cautiously at Spock. 

Spock batted his hands away like he was offended by the effort, but something was different. Kirk lashed out again, aiming for his ribs, stepping forward with the motion, and Spock directed his arm off to the side, sending him wide, clearing room for Spock to step around him neatly. Kirk spun to protect his back, his skin tingling pleasantly. He dodged to the side to attack again, and time slowed as his mind woke up and got out of his way. 

When they had fought before, Spock had blocked him with the tightest economy of movement; he would tap Kirk’s limbs out of the way with short, sure bursts of contact from the blade of his hand or a closed fist. But now he blocked Kirk’s moves with an open palm. He wrapped his hand around Kirk’s wrist to redirect him, and dragged his fingertips along his forearm when he parried Kirk’s lazy opening swings. 

It was a soft, almost unnoticeable change, and distractingly erotic. Kirk stepped into Spock’s space, removing the advantage of his superior reach, but Spock circled him, the active heat of him radiating against Kirk’s back, and he fought a shiver. They circled each other, Spock pushing him to move faster, his hands warm against Kirk’s shoulder, elbow, wrist, hips as he forced Kirk off balance. The places where his palms had been felt warm long after the contact had ended. They traded blows. Kirk pushed Spock backwards, but Spock circled him again, forcing him into another tight spin. 

He twisted over his shoulder to keep his eyes on Spock, and Spock moved. He planted one foot behind Kirk, in the middle of his stance, pushed him neatly backwards with one long hand against his sternum, and sent him crashing to the floor.

Or, he would have crashed to the floor, if Spock hadn’t lunged over him and caught him with one arm behind his back, inches from the mat. The air wheezed from Kirk’s lungs as Spock straightened back upright, pulling Kirk up with him. 

“Thank you for your assistance,” Spock said, and bowed slightly to him. 

“Anytime,” Kirk wheezed, and clapped Spock on the shoulder. Winded, humbled, and buzzing from the overload of physical contact, he returned to his seat next to Chris as he lifted his water bottle to his mouth. Chris’s eyes remained fixed on Spock until he returned his attention to the security students, and then he rotated his chair to face Kirk directly.

“Jim,” Chris said quietly. “I didn’t know. When I suggested the regs, I didn’t…” He trailed off, uncertain. 

“There was nothing to know then,” Kirk murmured back. He watched the grace of Spock’s movements distractedly before meeting Chris’s eyes again. “But since then...”

“This morning, I thought: wow. These two are better actors than I ever could have guessed. But after the rest of today, the way he touches you--- I’ve known him a long time, Jim, and this is a side of him that I have never seen before.” 

Something pleased and possessive lit up in him. “It’s new,” he admitted. “We haven’t really talked about it yet. But I think we might owe you a very nice case of pretty much whatever you want.” 

“Ask Una what she wants,” Chris said. “Most things taste the same to me now.”

“Damn you,” groaned Kirk. “She always had more expensive opinions.” But he leaned his shoulder over to bump Chris’s, and they watched Spock work in companionable silence until he dismissed the students and Giotto with a bow and joined them.

“Hand to hand,” Chris said approvingly. “It’s a useful skill, and not one enough people have a mastery of. Your idea?” 

“Giotto’s, actually,” Kirk said, and they changed back into their uniforms and made their way to the guest quarters. 

“These bones need a rest, and I’ve got more work to do anyway,” Chris said, and the ridges of his scars shone beneath the hallway lights. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow. Try not to get into any more trouble, will you?” 

“I make no promises,” Kirk said, and with a fond scoff Chris vanished into his room. His departure left them alone in the hallway, facing each other, Spock’s hands clasped loosely behind his back. 

“I told Bones we would come by,” Kirk said.

“Then we should not keep the doctor waiting,” Spock said, and they turned for the turbolift. “Do you require dinner first?” Kirk shook his head. 

“After,” he said, and though they walked in silence through the quiet hallways, Spock brushed his hand gently with his.

☆☆☆

Sickbay was quiet and dim when they arrived, the lights lowered for the comfort of the patients that were there overnight. There were not many; with no recent dangerous away missions, most of Sickbay’s work was routine, scheduled health maintenance for the people who lived on the ship. Chapel sat at a computer, tapping her chin with one finger as she scanned something on the screen. She looked up at their entrance and smiled. 

“What can I do for you, sir? Mr. Spock?” 

“Just here to see Bones, Christine. At ease.” 

She nodded at Bones’s office door as they passed, and they lost her attention to her work soon after that. Kirk knocked once on the door, and from within the gruff Southern voice said, “Come on in.” 

Kirk opened the door and stepped through, Spock at his shoulder like a shadow. Bones sat at his desk, steaming mug of some tea at hand, illuminated by the dim light of the console. 

“Hey there, Bones,” Kirk said, and tried unsuccessfully to keep his brain from replaying their argument from the last time he had been in this room.

“Welcome back, Jimmy,” Bones said, and the tenor of his voice was gentle enough that Kirk knew that he had been forgiven. “I’m given to understand that you want to see your records.” 

Though his hands were still clasped behind his back, Spock’s shoulder pressed into Kirk’s from behind, solid, warm, and comforting. Kirk straightened his spine and nodded.

“I’ve been looking over them since we talked the other day,” Bones said, and he stood to come closer, sitting himself halfway onto his desk. “About security officers.” He glanced at Spock before looking back at Kirk, shrewd blue eyes measuring their proximity. “Can I speak freely, Jim?” 

“Please,” Kirk said. “He, ah. He knows everything.” 

“He does?” Bones raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, considering Spock with his head tilted. “Would you mind terribly elaborating on just what you mean by everything?” 

“I showed him,” Kirk said, and those eyes turned back to him. “Last night. After we got back from the starbase. I asked for his help with finding out more about that officer, and from there…” He blinked as his body recalled the panic, the nausea, the stoppage of his throat, and behind his back Spock’s hand came up to press comfortingly against his spine. He cleared his throat. “Talking about it doesn’t work for me, I’m afraid. So…” He looked at Spock, who looked steadily at Bones. 

“The captain allowed me to perform a mindmeld between us so that I might witness his experiences without his having to discuss them.” 

Bones looked between them, calculating, before he cleared his throat. “How do you feel, Jimmy?” 

“Better,” Kirk said immediately, surprised at his own sureness, and Bones nodded, and Kirk saw the beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He gestured back to his console. 

“I read back through the reports of your treatment after the Valiant showed up,” Bones said. “There are about a million entries. The CMO from the Valiant had some interesting things to say, but after that? A whole lot of nothing.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that the reports are bullshit--- your temperature, height and weight, blood panels, notes on your mood, but in every one it says that testing was performed and results analyzed. But the tests are never named, and the results never discussed.” Bones quirked his mouth to one side and tapped his shoe against his desk. “There’s also something a little odd. There’s a misspelling in every single entry after your Dr. Johns took over, and always the same five or six words. There was one in your blood tests too. I’ll be damned if I could find a pattern, but I was actually hoping that one of you boys could work some computer magic and make it spit out more information.” 

“Understanding software architecture is not magic, doctor---”

“You know damn well what I meant, what with being a computer yourself---”

Kirk grinned broadly as his two favorite people in the universe bitched at each other, and when Bones turned to him with a this is the man you married? face, he nodded. Bones stepped back to his console before turning to meet Spock’s eyes. When he spoke, it was for Spock only. 

“Jim wants you to see everything, so you’ll see everything. But I’ll tell you now, Spock, it’s heavy stuff.” Bones crossed his arms and stared Spock down, and his unsaid words hung between them: so if you can’t handle that, then get out now. 

Spock held Bones’s gaze unflinchingly as he said evenly, “I can assure you, doctor, that my strength is more than equal to its weight.” Spock’s statement hung in the air, the two men holding the other’s gaze, until Bones nodded decisively and stepped aside, allowing Spock entry. Spock pressed his hand once more against Kirk’s back before dropping it and following Bones to his computer.

Bones claimed his desk chair and Kirk and Spock hovered over his shoulders as he pulled up Kirk’s medical file.

“Kirk, James Tiberius,” Bones drawled. “Born on Earth, outrageously young to be a captain, aptitude test scores too high to be good for anyone. Yadda yadda yadda.” He scrolled down past Kirk’s current medical standing and, with only one second’s hesitation, clicked on something. A subfile opened, and the bolded heading at the top read “SURVIVOR RECORD, TARSUS IV - MINOR.” 

“Ready, Jim?” Bones’s voice was quiet. Kirk nodded, but turned around, crossing his arms as he leaned against the edge of the desk. He knew that the first thing in the file would be the set of holos that the staff of the Valiant had taken. Some things didn’t need to be re-witnessed. He felt the comforting weight, muscle, fat, and bone of his healthy body under his hands and kept the console screen out of his field of vision. 

The console controller clicked gently as Bones scrolled. Spock leaned over his shoulder, one hand planted on Bones’s desk, the other on the back of Bones’s chair, peering intently at the screen. The blue-white light of the console washed out his features, leaving only his dark eyes. Spock absorbed the information in silence as Bones scrolled on, from the pictures of Jimmy’s emaciation to the results of the barrage of tests that the Valiant had done, to his return to Earth, and then to the period of time he spent under Dr. Johns’s care. 

“Enough,” Spock eventually said, his voice gravelly. He straightened, gaze fixed on the screen, before he broke away from it to look at Kirk. He clasped his hands together before immediately releasing them. He took two quick steps towards Kirk and compulsively ran his hand from Kirk’s neck, over his shoulder, and down his arm before he clasped his hands behind him. The path that his hand had taken burned pleasantly. “The records from Dr. Johns do not reflect the reality of Jim’s treatment. And while it seems as though the Valiant was treating the children--- or at least the captain--- for mycotoxicosis as well as the burns and starvation, I do not believe that the survivors were able to ingest enough of what killed the harvest to have suffered the effects of it.” 

“The official cause of the famine was Fusarium graminearum,” Bones said. “If ingested through consumption of post-corruption, pre-rot food, it could---” 

“Tarsus was in drought, doctor,” Spock said quietly, and Bones rocked back in his chair. “And there was no carrier stage in whatever killed the plants. It was rapid.” He paused, and cocked his head. “And blue. I also believe that you ought to know that Johns was not only testing Jim on a weekly basis, but sending him for dialysis.” 

“Hemodialysis? Weekly? For a teenager without any symptoms of kidney failure?” Bones looked at Kirk, eyebrows pulling together. “Jim, is that right?” Kirk nodded once. 

“And what exactly do you mean, that it was blue?” 

Spock glanced at Kirk, and Kirk nodded again. Spock said, “His school had been growing crops before the famine. He witnessed them as they decayed, and it was unlike any fungal infection I have ever seen. The resultant matter was a metallic blue.” 

Bones worried his lip between his teeth, frowning at the records on the screen. “Okay,” he said finally. “Okay. So we know that the records have been falsified, and the psychologist was a security officer. Based on what Jim’s said, I would guess that her role was to keep him from sharing anything about Tarsus. But what in the devil does that mean?” 

Spock glanced at Kirk with a question on his face, and Kirk nodded again, closing his eyes. He heard Spock shift, and one long, familiar hand wrapped around his wrist, a loose cuff that anchored him more firmly into his skin. He opened his eyes and covered Spock’s hand with his own. 

“One more datum, doctor, that I believe is central to your question. Something that I was only able to learn because Jim showed me what he saw, rather than expressing it verbally. Jim was the only witness to Section 31’s extraction of Kodos from Tarsus.”

“You were the only witness to what.” Bones’s voice went flat. He stood up, his chair scraping back against the floor, hands flat on the desk. Kirk met his eyes, grinned crookedly, and shrugged. 

“Wrong place, wrong time,” he said wryly, and Bones’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know if I should be even more impressed that you survived or just angry that you had to survive this at all, Jim.” 

“I recommend both, doctor,” Spock said, and Kirk and Bones both turned to him in surprise. “Tomorrow, perhaps, after the Alpha shift, I would like to study Jim’s records more closely and cross-reference them both with his memories and Kevin Riley’s records, with his permission. The misspellings you mentioned may be a code, or a way to hide information.”

Bones looked to Kirk for his assent, and Kirk nodded. He said, “You said you had a hypothesis, Spock. Care to share it now?” 

Spock straightened, and with one more squeeze of Kirk’s wrist he released it to cross his arms across his chest. “My previous interactions with Section 31 have always been in relation to Starfleet research and development. While that is not all that they do, I believe it to be a significant aspect of their role.” He took a deep breath and glanced between Kirk and Bones. 

“I believe that there was some sort of biological experiment occurring on Tarsus IV. Based on your memories, I hypothesize that it escaped containment during development and contaminated the water supply, infecting both crops and settlers. Section 31 arrived after receiving Lieutenant Commander Parks’s message in order to protect the research investment and salvage any remaining data from the experiment. Finding Kodos alive was almost certainly an accident, but the knowledge he held made him a valuable resource. You and the other survivors required experimental medical care from doctors affiliated with Section 31 so that no one else learned of the true nature of the infection.” 

Spock’s voice was almost apologetic as he said, “Section 31 may have exerted such effort to keep you silent and isolated in order to hide the fact that it saved Kodos after the genocide, an action that would have opened them to investigation and prosecution if discovered. If you never identified the shuttle, and never told anyone that you had seen Kodos leave the planet, then they could allow you to live.”

“Holy shit,” Bones said, sinking down to sit on his desk. “Holy shit.”

Kirk bent over. He planted his hands on his thighs and hung his head. He stared at his black work boots and his uniform trousers and the familiar tiled floor of Medbay. So many details, so many secrets, and all of it hiding the truth. So many moving pieces, so much specialized knowledge, had to align for him to hold this information in his head, in his hands. Elise had weaponized his love for his crew, his sense of duty, against himself to cover up a Starfleet failure of the highest order. 

Kirk gave himself five breaths to pull himself together. On the first three, he felt nothing. On four, he connected his mind back to his body. On five, he stood up straight and planted his fists on his waist. His best friend paced across his office, arms crossed severely over his chest, blue eyes filled with worry. His husband, whose beautiful mind had picked through all the broken shards of information and given him the shape of the whole, stood across from him. And though he felt like he was full of wounds, he was still on his own two feet. 

“Jim?” Bones’s voice was gentle, and he realized they were both looking at him. His heart thundered in his chest, and it was a painful, welcome reminder that he was alive. 

“Do you want God’s honest truth, Bones?” 

“Sure, Jim,” Bones said cautiously.

“I’m almost glad.” Spock’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline. “After all this time, all these years…” Kirk inhaled again until his lungs stretched uncomfortably, and it was beautiful to him. “It feels better to know that it might mean something.” 

“How do you mean?” Bones watched him carefully.

“I do believe in luck,” Jimmy Kirk said. “I believe in miracles. And for years I’ve been unable to reconcile those beliefs with what happened on the colony. That I was there, and that it happened at all. I couldn’t rationalize it to myself. But now…” He paused, and tilted his head back, closing his eyes. He had seen and survived horrible things, and now he had the chance to make it matter. Despite everything, a smile grew across his face. “I saw what I saw. I survived what I survived. And now I have the chance to make sure Elise and Kodos, and all of Section 31 if I have to, are brought to justice. I don’t care if it takes me the rest of my life. Because I’m still alive, I can do this for everyone who died on the colony. For the kids that I protected.” He swallowed thickly, his throat dry, and looked at his friends. “And for me.” 

Without hesitation Bones crossed back towards him in three huge steps, face hard, and threw his arms around Kirk. “Jesus, Jim,” he said. “You’re gonna be the death of me someday, you know that, right?” 

Kirk hugged him back. “Probably. But at least it won’t be today.” Bones released him and stepped back, turning back to his console to look at something on the screen. Spock reached across to him again, running his hand from Kirk’s neck down his arm and back up again, before coming to stand next to him. Their shoulders pressed together, and Kirk leaned against him. Spock adjusted himself, pulling Kirk to rest against his chest, his hand coming to circle Kirk’s waist and secure him against him.

Bones shut down his console and turned to Spock. “Tomorrow, when you go through the records, I’d like to be there. I need to know what they did.”

“Certainly, doctor. I propose that we---” 

The wall unit buzzed three times, and all three of them turned to look at it. It buzzed once more before an officer said, “Captain to the bridge. Captain Kirk to the bridge, please.” 

“What the hell?” Bones asked, turning to him. Kirk frowned and shrugged, but he brushed his tunic down and straightened himself up. 

“Thank you, Bones,” he said. “For everything.” Bones nodded at him. “Spock, with me.” 

☆☆☆

He and Spock arrived on the bridge to a hushed and nervous crew. The beta shift comms officer, one Lieutenant Ortiz, looked to Kirk as soon as he stepped out of the transporter. 

“We got an emergency message over subspace, captain. From outside of Federation space,” Ortiz said. 

“Put it on the main viewer, please,” he said, and Ortiz tapped her console. The viewscreen flashed. Then the video message opened. For a few seconds, there was only static, cresting and falling in volume like a wave. There was a shrill, piercing sound that might have been a scream, and the booming echo of an explosion. Then the picture resolved into something recognizable.

“Please,” a haggard face begged. Both his voice and the camera were shaking. “This is Overman Dima Marcus, of Kindinos IV. If there’s anyone out there---” There was another explosion, and the image juddered. “If anyone gets this message, please. Help us.” 

[hick4hire]

Striker has appeared ! What to do . . .

☆ @questionablemuses — Angel's gonna take his chances & pet. Cautiously.

The Sinner is extremely lucky: Striker is holed up in the Hazbin Hotel this month. It was a reliable place to stay, somewhat lowkey, isolated from the rest of the Pentagram, non-hostile, with good booze... and most of all? Free. Save convincing that bleeding heart of princess that he was really interested in bettering himself and that even if he had no soul to redeem— he just really needed a place to stay.

She'd agreed, and a couple days in, all Hell had broken loose for the imp hybrid. He's fucking shedding. Patches of scales that flicked off his back, upper arms, and thighs. They were tan, dry, sepia-toned scales that blended in pretty well with the rest of his body— but not well enough for him. He hated them. From being called scale-slug in middle school, to feeling like a freak whenever he showered, Striker really did his wholehearted best to keep the scales from view. So when Niffty commented on the loose scale grit that dropped occasionally, like dandruff, he kept his damn mouth shut. Hopefully they'd blame it on the other snake.

Long sleeves and long pants were a good solution... until his scales lifted and itched against the fabric. He knew better than to pick them off. He'd learned that painful lesson fairly young. No, the agonizingly best route was just to wait for those slow, awful days. It came in stages: separation— his eyes had a thin cloudy film, rendering him completely fucking useless. He had to rely entirely on his heat vision, and that only went so far. His scales paled. Then, the whitening: his scales cracked, prickled, and started to lift. Next, the worst of the worst in terms of the irritating tickling sensations: he'd need to rub himself against any scratchy surface, especially his back. He had a carpet in most of his bases specifically for it. But those weren't here and no way was he risking going outside right now. A loofah sponge would have to do. Maybe he could attach one to a stick.

The worst part? The usually mostly dormant reptilian instincts. He was a heat seeking, drowsy creature. The lethargy soaked him to the bone. He couldn't work out. He couldn't eat. He couldn't even sleep in peace. He wished it would come off all at once, instead of this wishy-washy bullshit where the segments of his scales across his body let loose individually. It made it all the more excruciating. The ONLY positive trait of this unfortunate biological reaction? It meant he'd gotten bigger. Stronger. His scales were adjusting to fit a body one step closer to what was required.

Still. He'd substituted the warmth of another person for the warmth at the bottom of a bottle, and now here he was, wasted, at the hotel's bar. The bartender was missing, but he didn't let that stop him. Striker didn't notice though, a clawed hand loosely holding a bottle of absinthe, his head laid on the counter, eyes closed. He wasn't asleep. He wishes he was. He was in some groggy half-state, too apathetic to move and too intoxicated to try.

Then... his half awake state recognizes it. Warmth. Touch. Gentle fingers through his hair, his hat long fallen to the floor. The serpent hybrid's tail had flicked, the tip shivering as if it meant to rattle, but no such sound emerged. Was he too weak for even that much? Striker inhales deeply, testing, trying to tense himself up. His pride twinges. What did this guy think he was? A pet snake? Tch. He manages to tense his shoulders, but . . .

It felt nice. Damn it, it felt nice. Striker sighs, muscles relaxing slowly. He manages to turn his head, opening one ringed, dimly glowing eye. "Mmmm . . ?" A hum of confusion, looking at Angel Dust. What did Striker do to deserve this? Why was he being touched with something that wasn't hostility? Did the Sinner want something from him? Was he trying to soften him up? Was he making fun of him? He couldn't produce answers, so he tries to produce the questions: " . . . Heeeyy," Is what comes out, breath reeking of alcohol so harshly it almost stings the very air, tone quiet and gruff, a bit hoarse. ". . . Keep. . . doin' that."

[ashlynniis-bracketeers]

ENIGMATIC ALCHEMIST {Guilty Gear OC}

MERRY CRISIS.

HAVE SOMETHING THAT TOOK ME FOREVER. MIMICKING THE STRIVE PORTRAIT STYLE IS A PAIN IN THE ASS. I DON'T HAVE ANY 3D RENDERS TO TRACE JERRY.

I actually got this done last night, but it was too damn late to be doing anything other than going to bed afterwards lmao.

The Guilty Gear brainrot has gotten strong enough for me to make an OC for it, so meet Desdinova. With how much GG likes rock music, I decided to base them off a song by Blue Öyster Cult song/album that I like: Astronomy (I prefer the Secret Treaties version, admittedly, but I still like the Imaginos version) and Imaginos in general. I mean, Imaginos/Desdinova (two names for the same character) is a gender bending shapeshifter with powers derived from aliens and the stars, all while being involved in an ancient conspiracy that eventually involves multiple interdimensional obsidian mirrors, they're basically already a GG character lmao.

Extra notes:

- Genderfluid. Pronouns are a mixture of he/him, he/they, she/her, she/they, they/them, and it/its.

- Their braid acts more like a prehensile tail.

- The white pupils are not a stylistic choice.

- They're older than they look. How much? Just guess, they won't confirm anything.

- Their height and weight are extremely variable, though they often will default to 6'3" (190.5 cm). They will mess with you if asked for their weight.

- They're not actually that flexible or athletic. They could shapeshift to be more flexible or athletic... it just doesn't cross their mind. They just want to run their bar for void's sake.

- They have a... complicated relationship with Goldlewis. Probably.

I hope you like it!

I'm going to be posting the sketches the eventually led up to this UNDER A CUT. Because it's not like this damn thing isn't big enough already lmao.

The FIRST Desdinova sketch

Yep, just the first concrete sketch I ever did of Desdinova's concept lmao.

Second Desdinova sketch

The second go-around of their design, featuring color. Even earlier versions were actually quite green lmao.

Third Desdinova sketch

The third sketch, featuring a bunch of extra fancy details I ended up adding. Also some concepts for their bag, shaker, and thrown bottles.

Desdinova sketch revision

A revised version derived from the previous, mostly revising the back vest details.

Desdinova shoulders and cape sketch

Just their shoulder straps and cape. A cleaner version of the cape will appear later.

Desdinova clean bag sketch

Technically a cleaned-up version of a previous sketch page. Their fancy hammerspace bag.

Desdinova fullbody finalized sketch

Basically the design I settled on. Done in the style of a lot of shown GG Strive concept art.

Desdinova alternateforms sketch

Genderfluid shapeshifter is gonna genderfluid shapeshift.

Desdinova cleaner sketch 01

A cleaner sketch of their face and hair clip done in the style of some shown-off GG Strive concept art, along with their irises/pupils

Desdinova cleaner sketch 02

Similar to the previous, but with their vest, tie, spangles, and various buttons.

Desdinova cleaner sketch gloves

Their weird gloves and little obsidian thingies.

Desdinova cleaner sketch cape and belt

A cleaner version of their cape + fancy belt buckle.

Desdinova cleaner sketch shoes

Decided to give them some fancy shoe treads/soles like Gio and Faust.

Desdinova normals and taunt 01

You FOOL. We've got MOVES IN THIS BITCH.

Yeah, their braid can glow lmao.

Desdinova normals 02

MORE MOVES.

The doggy's name is Sirius 83

Desdinova normals air

AIR MOVES 83

Desdinova misc and throw

Burst, RC, regular throw, air throw, regular throw whiff + air, command throw + command throw whiff. I gave 'em a bouncer throw lmao.

Desdinova shakerandtonic concept 01

The finalized shaker design + thrown potions/tonics.

Desdinova tonic specials

Now for their specials! They've got one hell of a throwing arm.

Desdinova overdrives

OVERDRIIIIIVES.

The name of their first Overdrive is a reference to Blueshift (wavelength change as something comes closer) and the term "86" (to abandon/discard/throw away). The name of their second Overdrive is derived from the term "Hair of the dog that bit you" (as in, drinking more alcohol to fight the effects of a hangover) and referencing Sirius the "dog star".

[indiana-jonas]

The Unclear Inspiration Syndrome

Once upon a time one of my best friends had their period and a lot of pain. I decided I would make a soup to soothe the evil menstruation demons. Menstruation is strongly associated with red, so I decided to only use red ingredients. I felt extremely inspired to put my idea to the test and help my friend.

I grabbed anything red I could get my hands on. Three packs of crushed tomatoes, a couple of actual tomatoes, a dash of red bell pepper, and some chili powder. This stew didn’t soothe the demons, or our appetites (it made for a good laugh though).

This was a case of Unclear Inspiration Syndrome. Too much of the same. Yet, not quite the same.

Inspiration comes in two forms

One of the core skills of a creator is to take inspirations and combine them in unexpected ways. Kinda like a chef.

When you combine inspirations, you form an idea.

Inspiration + Inspiration = An idea.

But just as with cooking, you can’t toss any mix of ingredients into the pot and expect something yummy.

As I see it there are two types of inspiration.

Contextual inspiration is the way something looks, where it takes place, and who or what the characters are.

Fundamental inspiration is the underlying reason(s) for the idea to exist. It could be an emotion, to solve a problem, or to communicate an idea.

Look at this pot I prepared, I put some context inspiration in it.

Big dragon + Vampires + Fantasy land like Tolkien + A hero = A world.

That’s a world simmering! We could keep chucking more contextual inspiration in there. But looks like it could go on forever. It’s because worlds can grow infinitely big.

Let’s add a pinch of fundamental inspiration now.

Previous ingredients + Put yourself in other people’s shoes = Now you can see what might happen.

It’s starting to smell good! And it’s more nutritious.

Contextual Inspiration + Fundamental Inspiration = A nutritious idea.

You get more oomph with at least one of each inspiration type.

Only having context is kinda like having a pot full of spices. It’s just powder. It gets stuck in your nose hairs if you try to smell it. But at the same time, few dishes can go without any spices at all. It’s what makes food edible.

You need both types of inspiration to make a nutritious meal. Otherwise, you might end up with a menstruation soup that doesn’t even do its job.

Unclear Inspiration Syndrome is when you only have contextual inspiration.

Why we choose ideas that don’t blend

Hayao Miyazaki once asked one of his new apprentices to draw him a person who’s eating. The apprentice proudly handed over a beautifully rendered drawing of a man eating by a table.

“Do you have no idea how people eat!?” Miyazaki erupted. “You must have seen this every day of your life. Do you never look?”

The man in the drawing was sitting tightly pressed between the table and the chair. It was an unnatural position for eating that nobody would go into willingly. Despite the artist’s skills, the drawing didn’t feel believable.

Let’s look at what happened.

Table + Man + Chair + Food + Fork + Eating = A scene.

There are A LOT of ways this assembly of contextual ingredients could blend. The man could lie on the table and eat the food from the chair, technically it would still be “someone eating.” The artist’s rendition wasn’t that bananas. But something was amiss in the recipe.

Previous ingredients + A memory of someone eating = A real moment.

By recalling how a friend would sit by the lunch table in school, the artist added that touch of reality that was missing. This artist had focused so much on perfecting his understanding of anatomy and rendering that he didn’t consider the thing that are less visible. Human behavior.

Let me tell you about someone who got confused about his ingredients.

George Lucas had many sources of inspiration when he set out to make Star Wars. Like James Bond, Lawrence of Arabia, Kurosawa’s Hidden Fortress, Flash Gordon, 2001 A Space Odyssey, and more. He had a massive vision.

It took a long time for the script to click. He said the story didn’t fall into place until he noticed something within the project that was also true by looking at his inspirations. They were all following the journey of a hero leaving home, going on an adventure, and coming back changed.

When he realized this he compared Star Wars’ story to the steps of Joseph Campbell’s “Hero’s Journey. Which gave him the clarity to fill in the missing gaps.

Among all his inspirations George Lucas had managed to find a common denominator. Perhaps his instinct had led him to pick contextual inspiration that shared the same fundamental idea.

Star Wars recipe:

Ingredients

James Bond

Lawrence of Arabia

Kurosawa’s Hidden Fortress

Flash Gordon

2001 A Space Odyssey

Instructions

Mix all your inspirations in a pot

Crank up the heat

Let boil until you have reduced to a fine blend of contextual and fundamental inspiration

Give it a good stir until it starts to look like an idea

That’s Unclear Inspiration Syndrome and my home remedy against it.

What something fundamental really is

The Heroes’ Journey is a great example of something fundamental. The reason it helped save the story of Star Wars, was because The Heroes’ Journey is a cycle that represents the way of life. That’s why stories that make good use of it work so well.

Every type of project needs something fundamental. Different types of projects require different types of fundamental inspiration though.

A product needs to fix a problem that actually exists.

A video game needs to evoke a sensation that you can relate to.

Art needs to evoke the way things feel.

Fundamental inspiration always has its roots in reality.

Our instincts lead us to pick fundamental inspirations, even if they appear to be contextual at first. When we first experienced the sources of those contextual inspirations we were probably touched deeply. But with time we forget. The contextual traits become shortcuts in our brains to convey the real idea they were originally attached to. We associate the context with brilliance and we forget what’s fundamental.

I have been through this in reverse.

Before ever reading my favorite comic as a kid I thought it looked a bit ugly, and not very cool, maybe because I hadn’t seen anything like it before. My impression of it didn’t excite me at all. But in another comic series that I read, there was a snippet of my to-be favorite comic.

I ended up buying every volume I could afford. I got obsessed with it and started imitating the art.

The context didn’t mean anything to me until I got a taste of its fundamental qualities. The art in itself wasn’t enough to make me feel inspired until I had experienced it in its fundamental context (pirates and a specific type of romance).

Cook with love.

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[supersaiyanjedi14]

RWBY COMBAT ANALYSIS: AMBER

“The previous Fall Maiden, Amber, had been attacked. She was young, inexperienced. And her assailant, who we now know is Cinder, somehow managed to steal some of her power, but not all of it. We were afraid that if we didn't do something, the rest would go to her as well.”

PHYSICAL

A human female who appeared to be in her early to mid twenties, Amber was the latest in a long line of women who carried the mantle of the Fall Maiden.  While little is known of her personal life or the circumstances of how she obtained her powers, she had clearly been affiliated with Ozpin and his inner circle for quite some time prior to the Fall of Beacon, as the secret society made it their business to keep track of the various magical forces in the world of Remnant.  Due to the Maidenhood placing a massive target on the back of whoever possessed them, Amber’s true nature was kept secret from the larger world.  Despite this, she maintained an active career as a Huntress, traveling regularly in the service of others and honing herself as a combatant.  The sad irony is that it was this very altruism that Cinder Fall would exploit in order to hunt her down.

A conventional specimen standing at 5'8", Amber was primarily distinguished by her brown hair and eyes, dark complexion, and athletic build.  During her battle with Cinder Fall and her party, Amber demonstrated extremely well-honed athleticism, keeping up with three high-caliber physical combatants at once.  Easily her most developed trait was dexterity, demonstrated through her skillful handling of her staff and precise use of hand to hand combat techniques.  Regarding speed and agility, she demonstrated quick reflexes when Emerald’s cover was blown, and she immediately jumped into a combat stance and responded to Emerald and Mercury’s attacks.  Furthermore, all three of her assailants are renowned for their evasive speed, yet none of them were able to conclusively outpace Amber, who in fact was able to evade and outflank them with some difficulty but little strain.  While her physical strength was sufficient to block a flying kick from Mercury Black and stagger her opponents with multiple kicks, she was not particularly overbearing, clearly relying more on technique and skill rather than raw output.

Amber also demonstrated a respectable tolerance for pain and injury, fighting through Cinder’s ambush with only moderate detriment to her performance.  When first attacked by Emerald and Mercury, she suffered one kick that staggered her and a feet-first landing that cracked the ground beneath her, yet she recovered quickly and continued the fight unimpeded.  Amber ultimately had to be brought down through overwhelming force when Cinder shot three charged arrows into the ground, triggering an explosion that broke her Aura.  Even then, Amber marshaled her power and regained her feet, and though visibly limping, she was perfectly willing to continue the fight until Cinder shot her in the back.  However, while tough and capable, Amber was decidedly not well suited to slugging matches, resorting to unleashing her power when put under significant pressure by Mercury and Emerald.  Her greatest asset in battle was her Maiden powers, and she was at her best when keeping her distance and leveraging this power.

As a regular traveler and Huntress, Amber dressed for practicality, operating with the expectation of an upcoming fight.  When attacked by Cinder and her disciples, she wore a white blouse and brown leather vest and corset with thigh-high boots and black leggings.  She supplemented this unobtrusive garb with light armor, specifically a pauldron on her right shoulder, a bracer on her left wrist, and plated greaves on her legs.  This outfit was topped off with a green hooded cloak, rendering her inconspicuous while still announcing her status as a warrior.

RANKING: Tier 3, Advanced Human Fitness

While Amber has showcased excellent physical ability, she is not a very overbearing combatant and has never overcome anyone on the back of pure physicality.  Instead, her success is based around coping with and negating the opponent’s advantages with a balanced application of her own, using her body as a vehicle for her skill and power.  Despite this, she still held off the combined might of three high-level athletes for a considerable period and ultimately had to be beaten into submission, even if her armor only provides a margin for error instead of substantially bolstering her resiliency.  She may not be a heavyweight, but she’s not even remotely frail.

MARTIAL

Amber’s weapon of choice was a collapsible wooden staff, its ends fitted with a fire and wind Dust crystal.  Scaled to her height, Amber’s staff appeared to be approximately six feet long, providing a reach advantage while still being short enough to wield effectively.  Ornately carved wood wrapped around each Dust crystal, themselves being sharpened enough to function as spearheads.  The weapon itself was quite durable, remaining completely intact after being used to block and repel a flying double kick from Mercury Black.

Due to being a very lightly featured character, Amber is decidedly sparce on combat feats, her only recorded demonstration to date being her final confrontation with Cinder’s party.  However, there is just enough information available that I feel I can draft a set of statistics around her.  As both a Huntress and the latest holder of the Fall Maiden powers, Amber was obviously provided with extensive combat training, as the nature of her role made her a massive target for Salem and her agents.  Despite Qrow Branwen’s assessment of her being inexperienced, Amber was clearly a talented and skilled martial artist, demonstrated when she acquitted herself well against Cinder Fall, Emerald Sustrai, and Mercury Black outside Vale.  Her core staff-fighting technique was simplistic yet refined, favoring the use of windmill deflection parries to deflect aside attacks while using the sharpened Dust crystals to deliver lethal finishers, performing the occasional static block against direct aggressors.  Though fairly conventional, this general simplicity made her style easy to execute when under duress, providing her with a great deal of flexibility against a variety of fighter types.  She reinforced this conservative yet dynamic technique with skill in hand to hand combat, fighting evenly with Cinder Fall despite the other being fully armed and knocking back Emerald and Mercury immediately afterwards. But more often than not, Amber’s most direct tool in combat was her heavy integration of her magical powers, turning nature itself into a weapon.

Appropriately for someone who relies so heavily on spellcasting, Amber’s strategic outlook was based around keeping her opponents at bay and off balance.  She preferred utilizing her weapon for tactical support, using it as a vehicle to leverage her special abilities and for close quarters defense.  She would hold her ground and open defensively to test the waters, gaining her opponent’s measure and adjusting her approach.  Once she had a good understanding of what she was up against, she would counter immediately, working her way inside their guard and hitting them with everything she had.  Though a kind soul, Amber did not pull her punches and would decisively end the conflict whenever she had a chance, perfectly willing to execute Emerald in order to neutralize her as a threat.  When Emerald and Mercury ambushed her in the countryside, Amber was initially tricked by Emerald’s illusion of a small child, but as soon as she realized it was a trick, she jumped into action, deflecting Emerald’s shots and knocking her back with gusts of wind.  Though she took hits from Mercury and Cinder that brought her to the ground, Amber recovered quickly and continued to work around her assailants’ defenses, evading their attacks and blindsiding them with unarmed combat.  In her close quarters exchange with Cinder, she blocked her deft movements with her own, rendering her technique ineffective and opening her up to a devastating follow-up strike. Subvert and overpower.

However, this exchange also highlighted Amber’s weaknesses against treacherous aggressors who could bully through her interference and blindside her.  Mercury Black was able to work through her fire blast and kick her in the face, and Cinder turned her own distraction tactic against her by solidifying heated dirt with her Semblance and launching the shards at her, forcing her to the ground.  And despite overbearing Emerald and Mercury in a fist fight, she was left completely exposed to Cinder’s flaming arrows, catching her in a trap and breaking her Aura.  Amber’s inexperience displayed itself most prominently in her focus on what her opponents are doing rather than controlling the action.  While her defensive opening allowed her to take Cinder and co.’s measure, she still allowed her opponents to dictate the terms of the battle.  Despite Amber’s well-developed skill, she had little to no experience tussling with opponents who avoided the head-to-head engagements she was clearly prepared for, and her primary recourse against opponents she couldn’t outfight was to simply spam her Maiden powers.  Though her full and powerful use of all of her abilities allowed her to keep fighting after her Aura broke, the fact remained that she was definitively outfought.

RANKING: Tier 3, Standard Mastery

For all her foibles, Amber is clearly a well-trained and talented martial artist and knows how to handle herself comfortably in combat.  Though we lack a great number of feats, her one concrete showing has her taking on three highly capable and skilled opponents at the same time and matching or surpassing all of them individually.  However, her approach to combat lacks ingenuity on her part, wielding her weapon as a simple stick with which to simply contend with what the opponent is bringing to bear.  Amber is a classical cleric-type fighter, mastering martial arts out of necessity rather than dedication.  Her combat skills are secondary to her special abilities, though this does not make her inept or incompetent, as anyone who could take on Cinder Fall and her cronies all at once would be a true force to be reckoned with regardless.

SPECIAL

As the Fall Maiden, one of a line of four extraordinarily powerful women blessed by an incarnation of the wizard Ozma, Amber possessed incredibly potent elemental powers, powers she had clearly trained with extensively despite her limited time as a Maiden.  Compared to her contemporaries, Amber appeard to favor the use of area-effect storm abilities, saturating the battlefield with devastating weather.  However, rather than specialize in any one form of power, Amber balanced herself out among a variety of natural abilities that she used to unload on her opponents with awe-inspiring force.  She could call down lightning storms to saturate the area with bursts of electricity, notably using one such storm to force Emerald and Mercury into evasive maneuvers to avoid being struck.  When focusing more on control than brute strength, Amber could precisely aim her lightning, incapacitating Mercury at the end of the battle with a calculated burst despite starting to succumb to fatigue.  With fire, she could create devastating blasts of flame to sow destruction, using such bursts to halt Cinder’s advance and later to bring Emerald to her knees.  Wind manipulation was arguably her most developed power, regularly levitating herself into the air while unleashing powerful gales in all directions.  During her final battle Amber made heavy use of powerful torrents to knock back her adversaries, tripping them up and off-balancing them.  Easily her greatest display of precision and control came when she manipulated wind currents to control a swarm of leaves before freezing them in ice, using them as a warm of razor-sharp projectiles that briefly subdued Emerald and Mercury.

Aside from her status as a Maiden, Amber also incorporated a wind and fire Dust crystal into each end of her staff.  In keeping with her use of her powers, the white wind crystal was typically used to create focused whirlwinds and gusts to off balance her opponents, seen when she brought Emerald’s initial charge to a halt and blew her backwards.  With the red fire crystal, she was more grounded and focused, using the gem to form concentrated streams of flame to halt incoming attacks.  She utilized this against Mercury Black, creating a burst hot enough to damage his clothing, but his prosthetic legs were unaffected, allowing him to power through and land a heavy kick.  Together, the two Dust crystals further elevated Amber’s ability to make full and devastating use of her powers, balancing refined precision with brute force.  Additionally, Amber was capable of outwardly projecting her Aura for use as active defense. She initially relied on active deflections of Emerald’s gunfire with hand gestures, but upon unleashing her power, Amber simply needed to concentrate her energies and ignored Emerald and Mercury’s shots as though they were bothersome flies.

In her applications, Amber relied heavily on the extreme nature of her special abilities, bringing down the hammer with overwhelming power in all areas that most simply couldn’t contend with.  Despite this, she retained skill and precision, cycling through her various powers over the course of a fight to keep her opponents guessing and to control the engagement on a grand scale.  However, Amber came up short when faced with opponents who could deal with her power, rendering her primary advantage moot.  Cinder understood the stupidity of trying to attack Amber directly, so she instead coordinated her underlings to stay out of Amber’s crosshairs, preventing her from bringing her full power to bear. As one of the most powerful beings in the setting, Amber likely never considered the possibility of encountering someone who could deal with her powers, and thus had little to fall back on if overwhelming force failed her.

RANKING: Tier 1, Dominating Combat

As I have stated several times before, the nature of the Maiden powers places those who carry them essentially into a league of their own, wielding god-like power that is far and beyond what any Semblance or combative Dust application could accomplish.  Amber’s power is astronomical and devastating, and despite her inexperience has clearly taken the time to develop her talents with these powers.  However, while she does wield her abilities fluidly and creatively, her raw power is something of a crutch, and if she runs into someone who can negate the sheer output of her powers, she can get into trouble very quickly.  Simply put, Amber used the Fall Maiden like a tactical nuke; overwhelming to all, but limited in other areas.

OVERALL RANKING: TIER 1.5, ENHANCED HUNTRESS

Much like her illegitimate successor, Amber has all the tools to make herself a Tier 1 combatant, but she is held back by a collection of practical and tactical weaknesses.  While her status as the Fall Maiden makes her an overwhelming powerhouse, she is held back by her underdeveloped martial skills, wielding her weapon as a simple shield rather than developing herself as a proper warrior.  Amber’s approach to battle is too reactive, and she has little experience in taking the initiative and controlling the fight in a broad sense.  Like Cinder, Amber’s powers have become a crutch, and she has come to lean on overwhelming force to get the job done rather than think strategically.  That said, I do regard Amber as better off than Cinder overall, as her limitations are a result of youth and inexperience rather than arrogance and wrath.  Similarly to Pyrrha Nikos, Amber was still learning the ropes of her profession and was obviously not fully into her own as a combatant.  Had that ambush not happened, she would have certainly continued to train and address her shortcomings.  As it stands, she is yet another life cut too short by Cinder Fall’s greed, a tragedy of squandered potential just as much as loss of life.

Despite all her weaknesses, Amber’s threat level cannot be understated, and the circumstances of her defeat speak to just how much it takes to combat a trained Maiden.  Do remember that it took the combined might of Cinder, Emerald, and Mercury, funneled through a carefully laid ambush designed to dissect a stronger opponent’s defenses, to bring Amber down.  And while her martial and tactical abilities leave something to be desired, they do feed into Amber’s overall strategy of feeling out the opponent, creating situations where she can bring her abilities to bear.  Even if she can’t outfight you, she can still take your measure and figure out the best way to bring you to your knees.  The problem is that she still willingly surrenders the initiative, and the horrifically scarred face Qrow Branwen rescued served as a tragic reminder of how much potential was callously squandered.

*originally posted on RoosterTeeth Community page on 03-13-21*

* images taken from RWBY Wiki, @rwbyweap, and @what-the-heck-is-rwby*

RWBY Combat Analysis

[mallowmaenad]

im unemployed and smell bad. im slightly addicted to thc, i couldn't get passed undead burg in dark souls 1, I have manic depression, bpd, ptsd, autism and something like schizophrenia, i suck ass at most physical activities, I make microwave quesadillas at 3am, i eat pepperonies straight out of the bag, I can easily be pushed into a spiral of panic and sadness if you use a harsh enough tone with me, I drink to get drunk, all of my previous friend groups have abandoned me for my rancid vibes and mental illness, I have opinions on hentai, ny favorite streaming service is tubi, when i was a kid i would always get into the flash in the pan comeptitor to pokemon that would inevitably fail, i have completely silent orgasms, i sometimes go two or three days without changing clothes and sometimes don't shower for several days. I am still touch starved even though I have a girlfriend (im polyamorous but i dont think anyone else wants to hit at this point) I can't drive, I dropped out of community college, I have a fear of rain, I have given up on leaving my house to socialize, my favorite video game series of all time is Borderlands, I liked the live action super mario brothers movie, I go too far when it comes to kinning fictional characters, doing the dishes makes me really sad, I have such a specific hair color that it is hard to accurately render it in a piccrew. ive been on tumblr since 2013. I think homestuck is good. im a lesbian but id fuck big the cat. i feel bad about exerting authority in any of the like three discord servers I administrate. I kind of like the newest limp bizkit album and playsation 1 y2k liquid dnb jungle compilation playlists on youtube. I have just the right cocktail of adhd, memory loss, DID and chronic pain to make me seem like a lazy inconsiderate asshole. I dont care that the designs in dragon's crown are sexist. I have not listened to any presently relevant music other than Kendrick Lamar's diss tracks and struggle to recognize artists and celebrities by name, most of my skirts are so short that they're slightly inappropriate to wear in public and im not conventionally sexy enough to pull it off, my tits are small but are just large enough that they dont appeal to people who like small tits, I unintentionally put random affects on my voice, I want to learn japanese one day for nerd reasons but probably wont. I liked Rogue One, I suck at reading books, I hate going to places with a lot of people that play loud music, I hate 21st century pop a lot, I feel disconnected from the lgbt community despite being a transgender lesbian, I crave intimacy and pleasure but hate sex, im extremely easy to misunderstand in drastic ways, i think i might be a demon no i cant do any cool demon magic, i havent made music in several months and what i have made isnt very good and is technically incompetent because i dont have any actual training in any instruments, I think Pinkerton was a mediocre at best album, I like taco bell and don't care how much it fucks up my stomach, im a germaphobe with a piss fetish and yeah that makes it just about as conflicting and complicated as you may think it is, ive been kicked from age regressor discords, when I was early into my transition i modeled my fashion after vriska serket, i used to live off of shoplifted protein bars, ive barely ever paid rent on time when i was still paying rent, at multiple jobs ive worked at management has made it clear that everyone working there hates me. i play weird and obscure races in dnd. I do not like most of the final fantasy games released after final fantasy 9, I get sniffly and congested embarrassingly often, my dick is too short to be attractive to people that like long girldick and too long to be attractive to people that like short girldick, I like that cheap hot sauce is 70% vinegar. im like if tomoko kuroki was too large, too masculine and just old enough to no longer be moe anymore. anyway my dms are open

there is literally nothing in this world more endearing than a girl who is an absolute loser