#they’re a species called chimes

[rotworld]

23: Wetwork

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

you begrudgingly work for a task force that neutralizes breach lifeforms, dangerous interdimensional predators with a habit of fixating on specific prey. the most dangerous thing you have to deal with isn't your targets but your own partner.

->original work. explicit; contains non-con, graphic descriptions of violence, surreal gore, workplace harassment/degrading language, gun violence, tentacles, terato, hard vore/cannibalism.

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The support team didn’t read the briefing. 

Skimmed it, maybe, glanced down for the keywords confirming they’re playing second fiddle to somebody else today and tossed the rest in annoyance. You can tell because the perimeter they’re supposed to be holding has devolved into a gossip circle. They’re at their posts, sure, strategically placed around the cavernous interior of an empty factory complex with a clear view of the gaping abyss taking up most of the concrete floor, pacing the proper patrol routes, but they’re too relaxed. The comms channel is clogged up with useless bullshit and questions they should know the answers to. They’re giving you a hard time because you’re an easy target, the only part of the insertion team left behind to set up a stabilizing field. Obvious egghead in a room of mercenaries. Blood in the water.

They wouldn’t do that if they’d read the briefing. They’d stay as far away as physically possible and try to pretend you weren’t there.

“You must be a pretty big deal,” the guy next to you says. Somebody called him Talbot earlier. You don’t learn names because you don’t want to be here and you hope you never see these people again, but it’s best to keep track of potential problems. Talbot looks the same as everyone else, an imposing silhouette of black tactical gear, featureless and near faceless with just his eyes visible through a balaclava. The patch on his shoulder is a green rectangle with a golden keyhole. Epsilon-Green—colloquially, “Locksmiths.” Being relegated to lookout duty must be frying what little patience he had to begin with. 

You ignore him. The stabilizing field generator is a finicky piece of equipment that needs constant attention if you don’t want the breach opening any wider. Talbot seems to take this personally.

“Don’t think I’ve even heard of you guys before today. Theta-Ultraviolet?” He slaps the patch on your shoulder just a little too hard for the gesture to be friendly. It bears the silhouette of a ship stitched with silver thread on a dark purple background.

“We’re specialists,” you say. 

“So are we,” Talbot says. Utterly disinterested in a dick-measuring contest, you go back to turning knobs on the generator. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around back at base, either. Must be new.”

“Looks nervous,” somebody else says. It’s one of the guys up on the catwalk, arms crossed over the railing. Leering at you. “Probably should be. Your whole team violated protocol and jumped right in before we even got here. They’re in deep shit if they get out alive.” 

Your team did not, in fact, violate protocol, not that they’d know without reading the briefing. “Do you need something?” you ask.

“Just making conversation. Not much else to do.”

The generator lets out a chime and a green light comes on when you’ve got everything configured right. There’s a burst of static on the comms as physics realign and the bottomless darkness in the floor rejoins reality, no longer stranded on the other side of a schism in some impossible un-place. It makes the floor shake and the factory groan all around you. It also brings the insertion team back into comms range. You hear the click of reconnection and then the sounds of a nightmare.

There’s something viscerally upsetting about breach lifeform vocalizations. Before they’ve fully coalesced and mastered the imitation of other species, the noises they produce are something you hear with your whole body rather than just your ears. It’s the stomach-churning chills of nails on a chalkboard without the shrillness, fight-or-flight given a voice. It doesn’t quite sound like shrieking or wailing or laughing, but it feels like all of those things; loud, distressing and mocking. It dances just at the edge of what your ears are capable of detecting but it completely fills your head. 

The operatives of Epsilon-Green visibly recoil. You hear some quiet curses and prayers over the comms. More comprehensible but no less worrisome are the sounds of carnage—the crunch of blunt force pulverization, flesh ripping and tearing. Bone creaks, cracks, snaps loud and ugly. Gunshots are rare—solitary, precise, a muffled bang before the squelch of organic unmaking becomes unbearably loud again. It sounds like mastication; like the abyss is a hungry maw churning everything inside into meaty paste.

“Holy shit,” Talbot says. He leans forward just a bit to peer into the pit. “Your guys alright?” 

You wouldn’t check unless you were required to. “Come in, Theseus,” you say.

Static. More disgusting, sticky noise. A gunshot. Then a deep, gravelly voice. “Still alive. Aw, were you worried?” 

You frown tightly. “Sitrep?” 

“Twelve total, mostly concentrated in the lowest chamber. They’re partially coalesced. A bit hard to kill.” Something scream-cry-snickers, abruptly cut off with a sound like a hammer tenderizing meat. “I’m expecting a reward when I climb out of here.” The words are ambiguous but his tone is oozing innuendo. 

“You’re on shared comms,” you remind him, but the damage is already done. Epsilon-Green’s operatives are eyeing you with a combination of interest and amusement. 

“So that’s how Theta-UV does it, huh?” Talbot asks. “Guess I’d be more efficient, too, if I had something nice waiting for me. How many on your team, Theseus? You feel like sharing?” 

No answer. You listen to something die painfully, a squeal that becomes a squelch. Epsilon-Green adopts something resembling professionalism, alert and attentive. Chatter continues but focused now, the possibility of combat putting all of those strict warnings from their training at the front of their minds. Maintain at least one meter of distance from the edge of the abyss. If something crawls up, hold fire until it’s finished aligning; waste of bullets otherwise. Keep faces concealed—scarf, balaclava, dark glasses, visors, more is better than less but something is always better than nothing. 

“You need a mask?” Talbot asks. He’s your best friend now that he thinks there’s a chance he could get laid. 

You shake your head. “I’m good.”

“No, you’re not. If one of those things sees your face, it imprints.” 

“I know,” you say.

“It gets obsessed,” he insists. “It follows you around until it's fully coalesced. Looks mostly human, sounds mostly human, but the face gives it away.”

“Yeah, I know.” 

“You’ll be the first thing it eats.” Understanding dawns on his face after a moment. He looks you up and down with something close to morbid fascination. “Shit. Are you—?” 

“Yep,” you say, turning your back to him and hoping he’ll get the hint. Cat’s out of the bag now, though, and you hear them wondering aloud in the hopes of baiting a reaction. Wasn’t that a thing not long ago, where Breach Response and Neutralization teams were going around looking for imprint victims? Using them as bait, basically, right? Not a bad strategy, they muse. Why go digging around for weak spots in reality when you can make them come to you? 

“Your team got some skeletons in the closet, Theta-UV?” Talbot asks. “Guess you have to be good if you don’t wanna keep tracking down new bait.” Again, no answer. The death rattles of creatures caught between forms of matter and states of being make your head hurt. He returns his attention to you. “No wonder you look so wet behind the ears, you’re a fucking civvie. How long have they had you?” 

“Don’t see how that’s relevant,” you say. “How many left, Theseus?”

“Hmm. Eight?” You wish he wouldn’t purr in your ear like that. “You sound testy. Promise I’ll pick up the pace if you let me fuck your mouth before we leave.” 

“Just hurry the fuck up,” you hiss, hot in the face and humiliated. Someone whistles over the comms. The sounds coming from the abyss are bloodcurdling. Something shreds and splats. 

“Theta-UV, all good down there?” someone says. “Sounds rough. Should we expect trouble?” 

Of course, Theseus doesn’t respond. You see Talbot scowling in your periphery. “You only talk to your cocksleeve, Theseus?” he snaps. “Or are you using a private channel down there? UV thinks it’s too good for the rest of us?”

“Sorry, who is this?” Theseus asks. He sounds faintly amused. 

“This is Epsilon-Green, your fucking support team. Do you have it under control or not?” 

“Epsilon-Green, that’s…Locksmiths, right? You’re supposed to be pretty good.” There’s a long, considering pause. You can just picture him, standing there with his head cocked, something reckless and dangerous and potentially fatal forming in his mind. 

“Theseus,” you say, your tone warning. 

Too late. You hear a shrill, warbling howl, and the ground quakes beneath your feet. “Oh no,” Theseus says, the smile audible in his voice. “Looks like a couple of them slipped past me, heading your way fast. Real sorry about that. Try to keep it contained and I’ll be there in a second.” 

You abandon the generator and run for cover. Talbot yells at you, demanding to know what the fuck is going on, but he gets his answer soon enough. It’s a skittering sound at first. Swift, spidery movements echoing down a long tunnel. Epsilon-Green has only moments to react before three breach lifeforms come surging out of the chasm in the floor. 

The things are hard to look at. Like the noises they make, your brain can’t parse the information you’re getting. Light bends around them strangely. Their shapes don’t make sense. They move in jerky snapshots, sudden and seemingly nonsensical lurches. They hunt like a pack of wolves, herding and harrying their prey into the proper position to be ambushed from every side. To their credit, Epsilon-Green doesn’t start to panic until someone gets yanked by the ankle into a whirlwind of constantly shifting forms. 

They eat him alive. Pinning him down with sometimes-claws and gnashing almost-teeth, it looks like he’s drawn and quartered in infinite directions, flesh and muscle and sinew unraveling, peeling apart, drawn into the breach creatures who become even more real, tangible and dangerous. One of them grows sharp with protruding human bone. Another has his face and his voice, screaming the way he screamed as he died. The thunderous rattle of gunfire becomes constant, bullets shredding through fresh, growing membranes of human flesh and tufts of hair. 

“Sitrep?” Theseus asks coyly. Epsilon-Green is nothing but chaos. Mindless, primal screams of terror fill the comms. One of the breach lifeforms takes a shot through what was slowly becoming a human head and shifts its body, concentrating its vital organs elsewhere. Another one clamors up the catwalk and soon there’s blood raining down from above. 

“You’re going to get in trouble for this,” you say. Your voice is terse and quiet, your throat constricted in terror, but he hears you anyway. He always does. 

“I’m doing this for you,” he coos. “The coordinator told me we’ll get upgraded to a bigger room if we both prove we’re effective—”

“You’re doing this because you want to.” 

Theseus chuckles. “I’m doing my job. Time for you to do yours.” 

There’s a sharp click; disconnection. Theseus turned off his comms. You watch the fight unfold in front of you with a sinking feeling, waiting for what comes next. Epsilon-Green should be thinking about it, too. They should be watching the chasm more closely. They’ve had plenty of warnings. The breach lifeforms have been reckless, lashing out too eagerly and failing to protect their backs. If anyone but you was paying attention, they’d realize it was because they were fearful. They didn’t rush up here out of hunger but out of the simple instinctual drive to flee a larger, more dangerous predator.

You wonder how many other briefings they haven’t read. That bait experiment wasn’t about neutralization. They wanted to see if they could catch a breach lifeform alive, train it somehow—use imprinting as a means of control. The governing body that oversees the work of all breach response operations would say they succeeded. You would beg to differ.

Theseus emerges from the chasm with a bestial screech. You can tell him apart from the other breach lifeforms easily. He’s much larger. He moves like a wave or a fog bank, an unstoppable force of nature that spills across the factory floor. Epsilon-Green tries to kill him but he’s fully coalesced, his control of his own form so precise that he can decide when and where he is real and physical. He engulfs his prey like an eclipse and everything inside him turns to liquid gore. The other creatures shriek and whimper. One of them tries to run but Theseus is faster, spearing it through the side and dragging it back into his all-encompassing maw. 

It’s over in moments. The last breach lifeform twists itself into knots trying to crawl away but it’s impaled through its nearly flesh form, consumed like all the others. Someone in Epsilon-Green has managed to establish order again and a repeated command to hold fire is finally heeded. 

They watch in mute horror and fascination as the thing in front of them constricts and shrinks and shapes itself into something closer to human. A man in tactical gear. He looks just like they do but is unmistakably taller and larger, black clothes straining around his bulk and bulging muscle. His face is completely covered by a helmet with a mask and reflective visor—an absolute necessity to prevent the thing underneath from appearing in their nightmares. The patch on his shoulder is Theta-Ultraviolet’s symbol.

“Mission complete,” Theseus says. He surveys the crowd with an exaggerated back and forth glance as if he doesn’t know your exact location. “Hm. But where’s my handler? I hope they didn’t just leave me here. Not when I’m still so hungry.” 

The nearest operatives scramble to get away from you. Reluctantly, you walk down the path opening in the crowd until you’re right in front of him. You spot Talbot, his eyes wide and his balaclava drenched in sweat. 

It doesn’t matter that Theseus keeps his face covered. He’s not human. His emotions aren’t an arrangement of features but something he radiates, an ambient feeling in the air. He doesn’t just stand up straighter when he sees you. The factory suddenly feels claustrophobic, the air hot and oppressive. “There you are,” he purrs. “Now come here.” You don’t want to, but you’ll be reprimanded for denying him post-mission requests. You might lose some of your privileges at base, just enough to make life unpleasant and difficult. 

“Can’t you wait until we get back?” you ask, glancing pointedly at Epsilon-Green who are still standing there gawking.

You can feel that he would be smiling, if he decided to give himself a mouth. “No. I have to prove a point.”

He unravels in the blink of an eye, his form engulfing you. Your mind goes blank with terror being trapped in this cramped space of shadows and redness, everything soft, squishy and damp. Theseus could kill you if he wanted. He could squeeze until you were nothing but sticky red dust.  He could suffocate you. He could start eating at any moment, pulling you apart like the man from Epsilon-Green, claiming everything you are for himself. You’re still not sure that he won’t someday. They say he’s tame but they’re not here, watching him sabotage missions on a whim. They don’t have to sit in the tight, pulsating chamber of his body reshaped for ensnarement. 

“You’re shaking,” he purrs, delighted. “It doesn’t matter how many times we do this. You’re always so afraid.”

Theseus knows you better than anyone. He imprinted on you. He hunted you for years before the agency stepped in. He knows what you’re afraid of and what you like. He knows exactly how to torment you. You feel him shift and change around you, peeling off parts of himself to form tendrils. Long snaking ones circle around your limbs to hold you still while smaller frilled growths tease you. They dissolve your clothes and start to suckle on your skin. You can’t help the whimper that slips out, a noise of interwoven fear and pleasure. A thick tentacle pushes past your lips.

“Your mouth is so perfect. Just the right size. So warm and wet. You were made for me. Only me. And I’ve made myself for you.” Theseus quivers all around you, babbling like he always does. The things he says are a frightening reminder of exactly what he is and what he’s capable of. He changes the tentacle as he pushes it deeper, making the tip bulbous and the length veined like a cock, desperate to prove that he can be human if he tries. The smaller tendrils become hands—hands that are strange and lopsided with too many fingers or too few, all touching at once, all caressing and fondling. He gropes your chest and flicks your nipples. He traces your spine and strokes your cheek. 

It’s only a matter of time before he gets hungry for more. Disembodied hands hold your hips still as another tentacle nudges inside your entrance. Theseus alters it with almost frustrating frequency, never allowing you to get used to the shape or texture. He keeps it small at first and then expands it in gradual, rhythmic pulses, stretching you between slow, prodding thrusts. He’s teasing you. He doesn’t need to search for the places that will make this truly humiliating. He waits until you’re trembling and whimpering, so frightened you strain and twist in his grasp. Just when you’re on the cusp of sobbing around the girth fucking your throat, the tentacle curves slightly and sinks deep, pounding right into the spot that makes your eyes roll back in your head. 

It feels so good it starts to hurt. This is your other greatest fear: that Theseus will keep you here. He won’t kill you, won’t pluck off your limbs or shred you to gristle, but he’ll never let you leave. He’ll keep teasing you, stroking you, and fucking you forever. Your mind goes blank and you become the perfect thing his instincts crave—his center, his anchor, his first love, his reason for being, his. He can fill you and taste you and hold you close, and nothing can take you away from him. 

Mercifully, it does end. Does someone contact him through Epsilon-Green? Does he simply grow bored, or change his mind? You don’t know why. Theseus savors you as he begrudgingly slows his movements. He whispers about your sweetness and softness, how no one will ever know you like he does. Your throat is raw and your jaw is sore when he pulls the tentacle out of your mouth, your saliva sliding slowly down the length. The other one stays longer. He’s not satisfied until he’s made you cum. It excites him to see how hard you fight against the pleasure and his precise, merciless thrusts until he forces you over the edge. The tentacle withdraws only when your thighs are shaking and you’re limp in his grasp. 

Theseus shifts again, rippling open. His form cradles you and drapes over your body, concealing everything below the shoulders. He shapes the upper half of his human disguise, hunched over you with an arm wrapped tightly and possessively around you. You don’t know how much Epsilon-Green saw or heard but some of them are, thankfully gone. The ones who linger flinch when Theseus’ helmet turns towards them.

“Do you need something?” he says wryly. “I guess I could still eat.” That’s all it takes to clear the factory. Theseus turns his attention back to you and you feel that familiar warm vibration of happiness and desire. 

Being this close to a breach lifeform is inherently dangerous, but there’s no one who knows Theseus better. For now—until the next mission, the next frenzy, the next reward that might be your last—there’s nowhere safer you could be.

[thrawns-babygirl]

Stake Out #3 (Thrawn x AFAB!GN Reader)

two chapters in two days? impressive? yes. Unsustainable? Also yes. so take what you get before i disappear back into the abyss for the next 6 months.

Also, there is like... some plot happening??? Almost??? and some feelings??? How will our pathfinder and our mid captain navigate such uncertain ground? And a cameo from one of our favourite Chiss? its all happening now.

Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Face sitting, dry humping, cock warming, unprotected PiV, Creampie Word Count: 2900+

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Masterlist

The hours melt into days. You and Thrawn spend as much time as his mission allows as a tangled mess of limbs as you explore one another’s bodies, learning each other as well as your limited time and knowledge of each other’s species allows.

So here you sit, Thrawn’s tongue ravaging you, your legs either side of his head as you grind your clit against his nose. His strong hands are wrapped around your thighs as he pulls you further down on top of him, his tongue venturing ever deeper into your cunt as you moan and whine above him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other resting on the cool bulkhead as he sends you tumbling towards another orgasm.

Since exploring this side of himself, you’ve learned that Thrawn absolutely adores going down on you. No session is complete unless he spends an ample amount of time with his head nestled between your thighs. You begin to wonder if perhaps Chiss are an aquatic race given his apparent lack of need for oxygen as he works his tongue against your slick folds.

You’re so close, so so close when suddenly his comm unit chimes with an incoming transmission. He curses in Cheunh and helps you off his face, wiping his mouth so that he can answer the call. You quickly tug your panties up, breathing heavily and trying to calm your body down after your ruined orgasm.

Thrawn adjusts the bulge in his pants and clears his throat before answering. The conversation is quick, and if you didn’t know any better you would say you sense some actual tension between Thrawn and his captain, which strikes you as odd. It could be your lack of understanding of their language, but their tone and intonation definitely seem like they’re arguing. That pit in your stomach opens up again and you hope and pray to whoever may be out there that this isn’t your fault, that you haven’t distracted the mid captain from his duties and gotten him in trouble with his superiors.

You wait patiently, unwilling to even breathe too loudly lest you accidentally get Thrawn in trouble. The transmission cuts off as you hear and exasperated “Mitth’raw’nuruodo…” come from Ziara and he turns back around to face you, his expression is unreadable but his whole body is tense.

“I apologise, it appears our mission has been discontinued and we are expected to rendezvous back with the Parala at your earliest convenience” his voice is terse, short as he throws his shirt back on and helps you up off the bedding.

“Is everything alright?” you ask softly, tugging your jumpsuit on as he moves around the cabin preparing for your departure from your quiet section of space.

“All is well. My presence has been requested on Csilla.” He looks as if he wants to say more but stops himself, going back to whatever he was doing on the navcomputer.

 “Right… yes, I’ll get us back to your ship as soon as possible” You pull your boots on, your ruined orgasm entirely forgotten as you mourn the lost time you could have shared with the mid captain.

You take a sip from the canteen before donning your sensory depravation helmet and preparing to trance. Just as you’re about to slip away and become one with the galaxy, you feel Thrawn tug your helmet up and place a soft kiss to your lips.

“I’m sorry, I promise that I will seek you out again” his voice is a whisper, filled with a level of emotion the Chiss has never shown you before. It makes your chest tight and your breathing hitch before you once again focus on safely navigating the small shuttle back through the Chaos and towards his people. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you slip away, blind to the way that Thrawn is gazing at you from his seat, eyes never leaving your form as the lights of hyperspace fill the cockpit.

The journey back towards the Parala was long and exhausting, the familiar feeling of burnout lingering in your skull as you take shaky steps down the ramp of the shuttle. One foot after the other you say to yourself, determined not to appear weak in front of the Chiss. Warriors bustle about the hangar, quickly stealing Thrawn away from you as he is lead towards the bridge leaving you alone and disoriented.

You hadn’t been assigned quarters yet, so you’re entirely unsure where you’re meant to be going. Looking around to hopefully catch the attention of one of the passing officers, but none barely even glance in your general direction.

“Are you lost?” a feminine voice calls out from behind you in very heavily accented Minnisiat. Turning you’re faced with a woman in the standard black expansionary defence fleet uniform. Struggling to focus your eyes you nod, clinging to the strap of your pack as if it were a lifeline.

She furrows her brow, before a look of understanding crosses her features. “You must be the Pathfinder who accompanied the mid captain correct?” again you nod, not trusting your voice currently.

She wraps her arm around your shoulder and begins leading you through the ship. “You will have to forgive the mid captain’s sudden departure, there has been a situation that requires his immediate attention. Come with me. I’ll lead you to your temporary quarters until we can drop you off at your station.”

“Thank you” you croak out before the telltale feeling of bile rising in your throat causes you to promptly close your mouth and focus again on putting on foot in front of the other as your head spins. Perhaps you did push yourself a little too hard this time.

The woman sends a worried look in your direction as she stops in front of a set of doors. “You gonna be alright?” she asks with no small amount of concern lacing her voice as she helps you over the threshold into a small room with a single bed and a tiny refresher off to one side.

“Yeah… Yeah I’ll be fine, just need some sleep I think” you throw her a weak smile, hoping to assuage her worries.

“I’ll send someone by soon with some food and water. Get some rest yeah?” she returns your smile, her Minnisiat far more informal than Thrawn’s you notice, making you feel slightly more at ease around her.

“Thank you…?” you look at her uniform, totally unable to discern a name or rank or anything of value. The script isn’t something you can read, and you have less than zero idea what the patch on her arm indicates, all you know is that it’s different from the sun style motif on his uniform.

“Junior Captain Kiwu'tro'owmis” she replies with a smile and the look on your face must betray your bewilderment because she just laughs and pats you on the shoulder “Wutroow is fine” she says as she takes your pack off your shoulder for you. “The wardrobe has some loose clothes you can change into and there is a sonic in the refresher. We’ll need to make a slight detour before returning you to your station sorry, but I’ll make sure someone sends you some food and water in a bit.

“Thanks, Wutroow” you smile at her before sitting down on the bed and laying down, passing out the moment that your head hits the pillow.

You wake with a start, feeling your jumpsuit being pulled from your body, immediately in fight or flight you swing your arms wildly hoping to hit the intruder, only to be met with the deep soothing voice of your mid captain Thrawn.

“Shhh, it is only me. I assumed you would be more comfortable not sleeping in such course fabric” he grabs your hands before you can smack him in the face with a slight smile.

“Junior captain Wutroow informed me that you were fatigued from our journey, I apologise if you feel I pushed you too hard in our return voyage” he rubs small circles on the back of your hand as he speaks “I also apologise for our abrupt departure, for obvious reasons I cannot divulge too much information but it appears that I am in trouble with the ruling body of our people” he places a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

“Because of me?” you ask as you sit up fully to face him, spying the tray of food and canteen of water that he has placed on the table beside your bed and taking a long sip.

He shakes his head “No one knows of our… arrangement besides Senior Captain Ziara, and she is a trusted friend who would not divulge that information to anyone. No, my being in trouble with the Aristocra is wholly unrelated and unfortunately quite a common occurrence”.

You slide the top half of your jumpsuit off your body and tie the sleeves around your waist as you peck at the tray of food.

“So, the captain is… aware of what happens when she sends us away?” you’re baffled. His captain is fine with this? Why?

“Yes, I believe her words were ‘as long as it keeps you busy and keeps you out of trouble’” he chuckles “Evidently, that has not worked”.

You also chuckle at this, finally feeling your strength returning to you. “I hope you’re not in too much trouble, wouldn’t want you to get kicked out of the fleet” you toe off your boots and stand up, stretching your sore muscles, the fog of burnout finally fully cleared.

“If I were to be expelled from the Expansionary Defence Fleet, I would still find a way to contact you” he says with such an extreme amount of sincerity that it causes your face to warm.

“I would… hope so. I enjoy our time together” you smile over your shoulder towards him as you move to take your jumpsuit off entirely, the stifling fabric falling away and exposing your legs to the cool air of your quarters.

“as do I” You feel his gaze on you as you undress, the heat of his gaze raking over your form as you face away from him, suddenly slightly nervous again. It is always like this afterwards, unaware of where you stand. He’s expressed a great deal of interest in you but what does that even mean? Does he see you as a friend? A lover? A romantic prospect? The Chiss are known throughout the chaos to be so extremely isolationist that you’re not even sure that a Chiss being romantically involved with a human is even allowed.

So lost in your thoughts you don’t notice him approaching until you feel one of his strong arms wrap itself around your waist from behind, his fingers splayed out on your stomach as he pressed himself against you.

“You are… ch'esehn” he whispers, his breath curling around the shell of your ear and sending that familiar head straight to your core.

You push yourself back against him “and what does that mean?” you ask in a breathy voice, the tension in the room is palpable.

“I believe the closest translation would be… Breathtaking” he kisses along your neck, slowly moving his hips against you, softly rutting the hard swell of his cock along your rear.

“I have never been so enchanted by someone as I am with you” He sucks a mark against your collarbone, causing goosebumps to prickle your flesh. “After our first encounter I sought out the company of others, but none ever felt as… taskavcehn”

You spin in his arms and raise a single eyebrow as you rest your hands against his uniformed chest.

“Perfect” he translates before moving his lips over yours in a passionate kiss, his arms tightening around your waist as he pulls your body flush to his. This kiss feels different, the others were fuelled by lust or arousal but this one… this one is filled with emotion that neither of you are willing to fully accept just yet.

So instead of thinking you return his kiss with equal passion, following as he pulls you towards the small bed, lying on his back and moving you to straddle his waist, your lips never leaving one another. You move your hips against his, the two of you rutting together like horny midagers, swallowing each other’s moans, only separating so that he can pull your tank top over your head.

You fiddle with the fastenings and clasps of his tunic while he seemingly remains content to slowly move his hips into you while you struggle. Finally getting the offending fabric out of the way you lean down to kiss along his jaw, moving towards his neck and chest, sucking dark marks into his pristine blue skin.

He gasps, his hips bucking up against you with more force as he holds your hips in a bruising grip, his fingers surely leaving marks in your skin as he uses his strength to grind you along his crotch.

“I do not have much time before I return to duty, but if I am unable to see you again before you return to your station I shall leave you with something to remember” he moves you back, so that he can unfasten his pants, pulling them down just enough to free his cock, in the same motion he pulls your panties to the side exposing your dripping cunt.

Your hands on his chest, you slowly sink down on his length, the stinging stretch of his girth quickly morphing into mind boggling pleasure as he bottoms out, your ass against his thighs. You go to move but he holds you still, his cock twitching and throbbing in your tight walls.

“I wish to stay like this for just a moment” another twitch causes your walls to flutter around him and he groans “to burn the feeling of you into my memory”.

“I thought you said you didn’t have much time” your breathing is ragged, acutely aware of each throb and twitch of his cock as it rests inside you, otherwise unmoving.

“Time spent like this is time well spent” he brings his thumb down to your clit, rubbing slow circles against the engorged bundle of nerves, sending white hot pleasure through your whole body, you dig your nails into his chest, panting and moaning at his pleasurable torture.

“You feel… exquisite around me” he groans, his accent becoming thicker as he continues holding himself still inside you, driving you within an inch of your sanity with each flex of his cock.

“P-please…” you moan, attempting again to move your hips but failing against the strength of his hold on you. His thumb continues moving in tight circles against your clit, driving you ever closer to the edge of oblivion. “Please fuck me… Thrawn”.

The sound of his name coming from your lips in a desperate plea seems to do it. He snaps his hips against you, fucking up into you at a blinding speed, your combined moans and the sound of skin hitting skin bounding off the walls of the room. You attempt to move your hips but find yourself entirely incapable of matching his bruising pace, so you settle for holding yourself up as he pounds into you.

“cseo ravri'ihah bun... cseo cssut'sahn... cseo navsabant... ch'ah cart cseo k'ascah...” he pants, his rhythm faltering as he somehow manages to hit deeper with each stroke. He hits that perfect spot inside of you each time, sending you tumbling over the edge into ecstasy, your walls clamp down around him and draw an almost animalistic growl from his chest as pushes himself as deep as he can, spilling his load, muttering under his breath “csei cart hah... tsan'ah hah sea...”

Thrusting a few more times into you, he lays back on the bed, panting and exhausted, but giving you a small smile.

“I must return to the bridge but if I do not see you before you depart… I will see you again in the future. And may warriors fortune smile upon you” he says as he quickly refastens his uniform, straightening himself out and in a flash, he is back to the perfectly put together, stoic chiss that the rest of the galaxy sees.

“I’ll see you again Thrawn and… good luck with whatever trouble you’re in” you stand up on unstable legs and give him a hug which he returns before giving you a soft kiss and departing your quarters. Once again leaving you alone with your thoughts as you gather your clothes and make your way to the refresher.

You stare out of the viewport at the retreating form of the Parala as you once again stand at your station. You didn’t see Thrawn again before you departed the ship, a fact that sits heavily in your chest as you sling your pack over your shoulder, wondering how long it will be before you see your mid captain again.

Thrawn stands at the rear viewport of the Parala, watching as the Pathfinder station slowly becomes smaller and smaller the more distance is placed between the two of you, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as Ziara approaches him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing Thrawn” she says with an exasperated sigh as she too watches the station get further and further away.

Thrawn turns to face her “I regret to inform you that I… do not” he says before taking his leave of the observation deck to return to his quarters to get some much needed rest before he once again faces the Syndicure.

Cheunh Translations: “cseo ravri'ihah bun... cseo cssut'sahn... cseo navsabant... ch'ah cart cseo k'ascah...” = so fucking good... so tight... so incredible... i am so close...

 "csei cart hah... tsan'ah hah sea..." = that's it... take it all...

@thrawnspetgoose @mysticalgalaxysalad @mitth-eli-vanto @al-astakbar @khapikat222 @novemberblueskyink @ele-millennial-weirdo @69fandom-fanatic69 @blackmonitor

[gentil-minou]

a hop, skip, and a jump to you

Something about Wei Ying feeling safe in a place Lan Zhan regards as his own makes him flush, and his bunny ears turn pink again. But strangely, when Wei Ying gasps at the sight and reaches one of his hands over to run a gentle finger across the edge of one, Lan Zhan doesn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed by his ears at all. He feels something else entirely, something he doesn’t know what to call. Something equal parts terrifying as it is extraordinary, like the warmth from his mama’s hugs or praise from his brother. But more, somehow, and all thanks to Wei Ying. Just two soft magical bunny boys being soft together

Tags:

Alternate Universe - Magic

Witches

Shapeshifting

Rabbit Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī

Rabbit Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Fluff

Childhood Friends

Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Wangxian | Oneshot | 6K | Rated G

Based on this official merch art!

Preview under the cut

The back hills behind Cloud Recesses are a place for tranquility and rest. When cool mountain air kisses the soft blades of bright green grass and the sound of leaves rustling like wind chimes, one can feel at total and absolute peace. With only woodland animals for company, friendly white rabbits hopping around and squirrels darting from one tree to the next with their hauls, it’s Lan Zhan’s favorite place in the world and his most prized secret. A space away from the pressures of being a Gusu Lan heir. Away from all the near-constant staring and placing of expectations on his still small shoulders.

It’s a place for Lan Zhan to let himself rest and think, to be free to fail in the one thing he shouldn’t be failing in. But at least, here, no one will judge him for those failures.

All witches are born with a hybrid form that they must learn to control by age ten. At that time, they’re given their formal witch's name and may join the coven officially as a fully-fledged witch. It’s the goal of every young witch and the Gusu Lan pride themselves in teaching exemplary witches year after year.

But this year, Lan Zhan is afraid he will become the black spot on the otherwise perfectly pristine record.

Because Lan Zhan is nine and a half, his naming ceremony is only a few short months away, and he still can't control his large white bunny ears in his hybrid form. The rest of his bunny traits had been easy to control. He’d learned to suppress his hopping instincts and figured out how to tuck his fluffy cottontail away on the first try. Even his stubborn whiskers had receded after a few hours of diligent practice.

But for some reason, Lan Zhan hasn’t been able to manage his ears, and they continue to torment him with their perpetual floppy nature.

And if he can’t control his ears, then he will disappoint his family and his entire clan. He’ll never be the witch he’s spent his entire life working towards.

Today, his usually outgoing and curious critter friends give him a wide berth, as if they know Lan Zhan is not in the mood for pets and cuddles. Instead, he kneels in the soft grass with only the gentle wind for company, along with his unkind thoughts and his vexing bunny ears that are the root of all this mess.

They're big and unseeming, and Lan Zhan has always been embarrassed by the way his ears give away his feelings no matter how hard he works to keep his emotions regulated and controlled. It doesn’t help that as the only rabbit hybrid in all of Cloud Recesses, he is constantly the victim of teasing by the elders and older witches. Even Ge enjoys tugging on his ears, cooing at how “fluffy and adorable” they are, and taking obvious delight when their tips turn red.  

It makes Lan Zhan puff up with anger and pout. He’s almost ten years old! He’s not a little baby bunny anymore, why won’t the others see that?

He knows it’s in part because of the rarity of his species. Rabbits aren't common hybrids, and he's the only one in the family since his mother passed away. It also means that he has to learn the complexities of shapeshifting and form control on his own, spending hours studying ancient text after ancient text in the library while his peers attend more practical classes.

Even his brother, an elegant snow-white crane, learned how to control his form at only seven years old! The elders were sure that with Lan Zhan’s talent in all other magicks, he would follow in his older brother’s footsteps as a child prodigy worthy of the title of Second Jade of Lan.

Except, clearly their hopes were misplaced, and Lan Zhan is going to be the first Lan heir in over a century to never learn how to control his hybrid form.

But he cannot let himself fail, so every day after his midday meal, he heads to the back hills to practice in quiet seclusion. He goes through a series of meditations designed to allow one to focus on their internal structures and self-regulation. He follows every step perfectly, exactly as the manual states, including envisioning his long fluffy white ears changing form into something more human-like.

He casts the spell, following the instructions he’s gathered exactly and precisely...but for the fifth time that day, nothing happens. He lifts his head and sees his bunny ears flopping mercilessly in his periphery, the same as they ever were and seem to always be.

Water wells up in his eyes and it takes every ounce of self-control he has left to hold them back from falling. Tears not filled with sadness but with immense frustration and anger towards himself. Lan Zhan is at the top of everything! The best in his class, an accomplished musician, and a talented student. He can perform spells older students still struggle with. He’s even been scouted to teach the younger fledgling students once he becomes a proper witch.

But, how can he, when this one spell keeps holding him back? Why is this one spell so impossible for him?

His ears droop down and Lan Zhan uses them along with the curtain of his long hair to block out the rest of the world, focusing on the ground he's sitting on. He wishes desperately that he wasn’t so alone, that he had anyone else to talk to. He takes his emotions out on the grass, heedless of the Gusu Lan precepts to Be kind to all that is living, and starts ripping up the grass in front of him. He’ll punish himself later, but for now, this is all he can do to keep from letting his tears fall.

But then, another child’s voice calls, "Hey! Don't do that, you're hurting it!"

Read more on Ao3

[angelicalchaoticabyss]

I'm sending two requests in one ask lol:

Subnautica!affogato x shy reader

Subnautica!clotted cream x shy reader

BRING IT!!!

Subnautica!Affogato x Shy!Ghost leviathan!Reader x Subnautica!Clotted cream.

It had been a while since you last met both a certain Crabsnake and Eye jelly, Affogato and Clotted Cream. You were a Ghost leviathan that lived in the void, you were used to traveling thousands of miles just filter feeding and meeting other leviathans. There were two places you frequently traveled back and forth from, The Crater and Sector Zero. In those places is where you met Affogato and Clotted Cream. The two have yet to meet but already are jealous of each other based on what you’ve talked about with them.

You didn’t know why, but both found it their duty to protect you. Maybe it was because of your shy demeanor or the fact that you were more emotional and physically fragile than others of your species. Either way you guess you appreciated it; both were nice company in both areas and truly were a joy to be around. Affogato would show you his way around plants and potions while Clotted cream showed off his magic and charm.

You greatly liked everything they had to offer, you enjoyed Coffee with Affogato and sweet creamy delights with Clotted.

What you weren’t expecting next was Affogato wanting to come with you on your next trip to Sector zero. You let him ride on your head so he wouldn’t fall behind as you made the trip, you were also sure to pack food so he wouldn’t starve. He was slightly shivering in the arctic waters but hauled that fluffy thing he wore closer to his body. A trip down to the Republic as it was called later, and you both soon were met by Clotted cream. He greeted you with his best attempt at a hug for your large form and a more formal greeting for Affogato.

“Greetings, I am Clotted cream, elected Consul of the Crème republic.” He spoke.

“Greetings, I am Affogato as you must know.” He replied, rigidly with Clotted picking up on it.

“I see you’re not use to the cold, come, let’s get a warm drink together.” He said in a coy tone.

The day was…awkward to say the least. The two were struggling to get along but they were trying for your sake. Affogato clinging to you while Clotted cream was fighting off the thoughts to sting him. You caught on fairly quickly to the tension in the water and frowned, it wasn’t supposed to go like this…

“Look you guys, I’m sorry for making you meet this was…clearly a mistake…” You shied away as the smaller beings looked at you wide eyed.

“No no darling don’t say that! I’m in the wrong for acting so uncouth. And I was the one who insisted on coming don’t blame yourself!” Affogato was quick to chime up.

“Yes, he’s right, we’re sorry we didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable my friend” Clotted cream followed up with a look of guilt.

You whimpered a bit as the boys looked at each other. You were a massive leviathan but so soft and gentle. It’s what drew them to you in the first place, they never meant to hurt you… They both sighed, they’re going to have to get along in order to make you happy. They love you so much after all.

[nikofortuna]

JTTW Chapter 27 Thoughts

Chapter 27 for the @journeythroughjourneytothewest Reading Group! CW: Snakes under the cut! I wonder how many more times I’ll be using that disclaimer throughout the story.

I love the use of the title Handsome Monkey King in the title of this chapter since that is the position Sun Wukong returns to.

Awww, Zhenyuan not wanting to let them go just yet is really cute! Though I wonder why they didn’t at least take some rations with them. Sometimes their travel organisation skills leave much to be desired.

“I fear the horse may” sir, that is still a dragon. Why does everyone keep forgetting that? I’m not wondering why Bailong Ma doesn’t say anything though, he’s probably pretty content with not having to exert himself as a dragon.

Animals being listed again? Deer no less?!

The deer in question are our beloved toothy boys! Chinese Waterdeer!

The python mentioned might be a Burmese Python! They’re native to Southern and Southeast Asia, so the location fits and they are one of the largest species of snake!

Look at this adorable little scale puppy!

What a boopable snoot!

Tang Sanzang, dude, the silly monkey obvious made a joke here no need to go off on him like that.

Also you’re not even walking! You just get to sit on the horse and enjoy the scenery. Honestly this monk can be such a brat sometimes.

Sun Wukong paid attention in Biology!

Why didn’t he have the Tudi he even called for aid with taking out the demon attest his claims though? He should at least know of a demon in this mountain and that would already make Sun Wukong far more believable. Also there should be some deities hanging around to watch over Tang Sanzang as well, why don’t they chime in to clear up the situation?

Usually people put their name on their clothes if anything, but this lady put a nametag on her spine instead! Makes me wonder about the story behind that and subsequently her backstory, because I don’t think she necessarily put it there herself given the location.

And there he goes. On the one hand this is kind of a stupid conflict that will hopefully not repeat after it inevitably gets resolved, but on the other hand in the next chapter we’ll see why it was a bit of a good thing this happened.

[all-the-things-2020]

Deeds Not Less Valiant Chapter Seven

Pairing: Din Djarin x OFC (Tala Pavan)

Word Count: 3300

Summary: Din, Tala and Grogu go to a festival. Fluffiness ensues and Din has to really think about his feelings.

Rating: PG

Tala was washing the dishes when her door chimed. Neeli pricked her ears and cautiously stretched, ready to either greet or retreat.

“Well, this is a welcome surprise.” Tala quickly dried her hands on her pant legs before Grogu launched himself into her arms.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Din said. “But we were in town and …”

:Going on a mission: Grogu supplied.

“Grogu says you’re going on a mission.”

“Yes. Captain Teva messaged me a few minutes ago,” Din said. “It’s urgent and I don’t know how long we’ll be gone. I thought, since we were already here, why not tell you in person.”

“So you probably won’t be coming by on Benduday.”

Grogu’s ears drooped. “Na,” he said quietly.

“No,” Din said carefully . “But I thought we could make it up to you. There’s a festival starting next week. We should be back by then, and Greef can get us passes to all the entertainments. We can take Grogu during the day and then maybe get IG to babysit for a couple of hours in the evening.”

:Grown up stuff: Grogu wrinkled his nose.

“It sounds wonderful,” Tala said. “Even the ‘grown up stuff’, as Grogu calls it. I heard there’s going to be a professional Kumaiian opera company.”

Din nodded. “I’ll ask Greef for tickets. So … it’s a date?”

“It’s a date.” She struggled to keep from grinning like a fool.

Din held out his hands. “Come on, kid, we need to get the ship prepped and be on our way. Captain Teva is waiting for us.”

Grogu leaped into Din’s arms. :Important stuff.:

“Be careful and good luck,” Tala said. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

************************************************************************

The mission went wrong from the start. First, Teva was delayed getting to their rendezvous because he had to report to Coruscant to answer some questions from the Council.

“It’s like they’re deliberately tying our hands out here,” he’d said when he finally met up with them. “Senator Organa has filed multiple protests but they keep ‘requesting more information’ before they’ll okay anything.” He sighed. “But you don’t care about all that. Here’s the deal …”

Then the intel turned out to be stale. Their quarry was no longer on the planet they’d been told, but had moved on to another system entirely. Three days of tracking finally led them to Bila, a soggy excuse for a world that technically had a lot of land but in reality was a combination of ocean and marsh and stagnant ponds that hosted a plethora of fish and reptile species with far too many teeth.

Din lost a chunk of his cape, a piece of boot, and a perfectly good vibroblade before they reached the squalid shack where Doomi Chekkoo was hiding. The Rodian was the nexus of a sprawling net of spies who were selling intel to the Shadow Council, according to Captain Teva. What Teva did not know was that Chekkoo had a Wookiee bodyguard named Chuundar who made Krrsantan look like a lightweight.

“I might need your help, kid,” Din said just before Chuundar rushed at him with a deafening roar. Even beskar armor was not full protection against the wrath of a Wookiee armed with an iron cudgel. As Chuundar hammered away, Din focused on simply surviving until he could get a clear shot with his blaster. In the end, Grogu had used his powers to stop a nasty blow that would have certainly shattered Din’s helmet; Chuundar’s confusion at having his power thwarted was the opening Din needed. He took the opportunity to fire right between the Wookiee’s eyes.

“You shouldn’t kill unless you absolutely have to,” Din told Grogu as he recovered his breath. “If the other guy is trying to kill you, he’s asking for it, but otherwise, it’s best to simply disarm them or otherwise take them out of the fight. We are warriors, not murderers.”

Grogu nodded solemnly, but Din caught him blowing a raspberry at Chuundar’s body as they walked away.

Chekkoo had taken the opportunity to escape, so Din and Grogu retreated to the Krayt, trudging through the incoming tide, with only one small detour so Grogu could sample the local frogs. Normally, Din discouraged him from eating the wildlife, but the kid deserved a reward after literally saving his life.

They tracked Doomi Chekkoo through two more systems before finally cornering him in a back alley on Drevy. By then, Din was in no mood to chat, so he shot Chekkoo with a stun ray and dosed him with Pirian poppy for the journey to Adelphi, where he turned him over to Captain Teva.

“You owe me,” Din said, pointing out the bedraggled state of his cape and boots. “I’m still wringing water out of my socks, and I think Grogu picked up a skin fungus.” How tiny feet could produce such a large odor was beyond Din’s comprehension, but he’d picked up some anti-fungal powder that seemed to be helping a bit.

“Wish I could pay you more,” Teva said as he handed over some credits. “Everyone in the squadron is pitching in to supplement the pittance the New Republic is giving us, but we’re stretched to the limit.”

“Just buy the kid some nuggets at the bar and we’ll call it even,” Din said.

*****************************************************

“New boots?”

Din shrugged. “My old ones had a run in with a very toothy fish,” he said.

:Dad killed it! It was big! And very bitey.: Grogu was tucked in the crook of Tala’s arm. He’d insisted she carry him to the festival.

“I’m guessing the cape had the same problem.”

Grogu shook his head. :Snake. Very big ugly snake. Dad’s knife broke in it.:

“More or less,” Din said. “But it still works, unlike the boots.”

“We could mend it,” she said. “I’ve seen similar fabric in the market.” Din shrugged again. “Or, you could leave it. It does give you a rather roguish look.” She winked at him. He stumbled, just a little.

“Um, here,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Greef gave me these badges for us to wear. They’ll let us take Grogu on all the rides and get samples of the food at all the booths. Technically, we’re …” He looked at the brightly colored metal. “‘Quality Control Inspectors’.”

He pinned one onto Grogu’s robe, then stood awkwardly. “Do you want me to take him or …”

“You can pin it on me,” she said. “He’s comfortable.”

Grogu gave her the side eye. :Sneaky.:

:It’s called flirting. You’ll understand someday.:

:Grown up stuff. Dumb.: He made a face.

Din gently pinned the badge onto the collar of her shirt, being very careful to only touch the fabric.

“Should I pin yours on?,” she asked.

“Um, no … I can do it.” Din was flustered, so she let it go. She wouldn’t really know where to attach the badge, anyway, what with all the beskar plates covering him. He attached it to a fold of his cape, near the shoulder.

“All set,” Din said. “Let’s enjoy the festival.”

Grogu was entranced by the colors and lights and sounds and smells. He took his role as a Quality Control Inspector very seriously, and took a sample from almost every booth they passed. Tala made sure to pass his appraisal on to the vendors, and gently discouraged him from asking for seconds.

“It’s not polite to take more than one,” she told him. “We aren’t paying so we can’t ask them to give more than just a taste.”

“But if you find something you really like, I can buy a larger portion,” Din said. “After you’ve sampled everything.”

There were rides for the children, but Grogu was too small for most of them, which made his ears droop. He enjoyed the bouncy house, though, and the bordok ride. Tala took him on a flying swing ride that was large enough for her to squeeze into with him. Din was far too bulky and had to watch from a distance.

:Again!:

“Your dad is getting bored, all by himself,” Tala said. “Let’s spend some time with him before we go on more rides.”

Grogu’s ears drooped a little, but he was always happy to return to Din’s side. :Okay:

They found a puppet show that was just beginning. Grogu perched on Din’s shoulder so he could see over the crowd. He giggled and squealed along with the other children as the Jawas stole things from various beings, before finally being foiled by a young girl and boy who taught them the value of sharing.

“No Jawa I’ve ever met would swallow that,” Din muttered.

Grogu nodded. :They took Dad’s ship apart. We had to fight the Mudhorn to get it back. It took a long time to fix. They were bad:

“It’s just a puppet show for kids,” Tala reminded them.

Din hoisted Grogu a little higher. “Well, Grogu’s more sophisticated than that, aren’t you, kid?”

“Ya,” Grogu said. :I’m what Dad said. So-fis-i-cat.:

“Then maybe he should be going to the opera tonight with me instead of you,” she teased.

“No way,” Din said firmly. “I had to promise Greef I’d attend another one of his political soirées to get the tickets. I’m going.”

*************************************************************

The opera was being staged in the brand new Community Hall that Greef had convinced all the merchants in town to chip in on. It was owned by the town, and could be used for public events as well as rented out for private affairs (with a share of the rental proceeds coming back to the merchants, after Greef took an appropriate amount for management fees, of course). Din was impressed by the quality of the workmanship, since he knew Greef had cut a few corners here and there in the name of maximizing profit.

He showed their tickets to a harried usher, who immediately became obsequious when he saw that they had front row seats. “Right this way, sir. Honored guests of the High Magistrate are always welcome.”

“I know him,” Tala whispered as they followed the usher down the aisle. “He works at the cantina around the block from my house. Plays the valachord on slow nights when they don’t have a proper band.”

“I didn’t know you frequented the cantina,” Din said as they settled into their seats. It occurred to him that he might not be the only male friend she spent time with and it made him unreasonably upset.

She shrugged. “I stop by with my co-workers for a drink now and then. It’s a little too noisy for my taste. Especially when Tannor is playing the valachord.” She made a face that set Din’s heart at ease.

He glanced at the program that had been placed on the seat. The opera company was from a provincial town on Kumaii but had placed well at the annual festivals. They were touring the Outer Rim to “bring the culture and talents of the Galactic Core to those who could not afford to travel” which he understood as code for “we’re trying to educate you barbarians.”

Tala pointed at her program. “They’re doing Mar Berand’s ‘Queen Biala and the Court Jester’. I’ve never seen it but I’ve heard excerpts. It’s not exactly ‘Finis and Lillia’ but it’s not bad.”

Din simply nodded. He had no knowledge of opera in general, let alone the Kumaiian repertoire. He was just happy to be sitting next to Tala at an event that she could enjoy. And with his helmet on, no one would know if his attention strayed from the stage or if he dozed off for a bit. Being a single parent was tiring.

Soon the lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play a lively overture. The singers were talented, but they sang so fast and ornately that Din had a hard time following the story. There was a queen, obviously, and a court jester who was really the prince of a rival kingdom in disguise, and some dubious courtiers, an ambassador, three cooks who performed juggling tricks, and two assassins who were supposed to be scary but were so inept with their weapons that Din had to stifle a laugh every time they appeared on stage.

Still, the music was good, and even though he couldn’t always understand the words, he felt the emotions of the singers. Tala was rapt, and as the mood of the play turned from light-hearted to tragic, he saw her hands clench and tears well in her eyes. He laid his hand over hers, gently squeezing it. She threaded her fingers through his, the leather of his glove creaking a little. Should have taken the glove off first, he thought. The idea of touching her hand, skin to skin, made something inside him twist. He lost track of the opera and was startled when the music rose to a crescendo and Tala pulled her hand from his to join the rest of the audience in enthusiastic applause.

“Oh, that was wonderful!,” she said once the cast had taken their bows. He could see the tracks of tears on her cheeks.

“You’re crying,” he said.

She nodded, sniffling a little. “Yeah, I didn’t realize their empathic abilities would hit me so strongly. I should have strengthened my shields.”

Of course. The Kumaiians were empaths. That was why he had reacted to their emotions even though he wasn’t sure of the words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it might be too much for you.”

“It was amazing,” she said. “And thank you for letting me hold your hand. It helped me anchor.” She smiled shyly and Din was thankful that his helmet hid the flush he felt in his face. He wasn’t used to being thanked for things like that. Usually it was “Thanks for saving my ass” or “Thanks for the covering fire”. Being thanked for holding hands was nice.

“You’re more than welcome,” he said. The crowd was beginning to thin out. “We should probably go find IG and get Grogu. Kid’s probably exhausted by now.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it. I hope she doesn’t think I’m in a hurry to get away from her. “I mean, I’m having a wonderful time, but …”

“But you’re a father, and your child always comes first,” Tala finished for him. “As he should. You never have to apologize for thinking of Grogu. He’s your priority.” She tucked her hand in his elbow as they threaded their way out of the auditorium, and Din relaxed a bit.

They fetched Grogu, who snuggled into his carry bag, clutching a stuffed bantha that he’d won at one of the game booths. “He says IG had some tokens from Greef,” Tala said. “He promises he didn’t use the Force, but maybe IG helped just a little.”

“I’m sure he did,” Din replied.

They walked slowly across town toward Tala’s home. By the time they reached her door, Grogu was sound asleep. “I had a lovely time,” Tala said. “Tell Grogu I said goodnight.”

“I will,” Din said quietly. He shifted from one foot to the other. “Um, I think this is where I’m supposed to try to kiss you or something, but …” He gestured at his helmet.

Tala smiled and took his hand. She squeezed it tightly and rose on her toes to press her lips briefly against the side of his helmet. “I hope this will do,” she said. “We can take things slowly.”

Din nodded, unable to speak for a moment. “Um, yeah,” he managed eventually. “Next time maybe I’ll take my gloves off.” He laughed weakly.

“I’d like that,” she said, giving his hand another squeeze. His knees felt wobbly. “Good night, Din.” She smiled again before she opened her door. Neeli trilled a greeting as it opened. “I know, I know,” Tala said, “you were all alone for ages and you didn’t get your dinner on time. I’m a terrible tooka-mom.” The door slid shut and Din was alone with Grogu and his thoughts.

It was not the first time he had felt caught between two worlds. As a bounty hunter, he had spent much of his time among non-Mandalorians, set apart by his beliefs and armor. Even within his covert, however, he had been an outsider. Some who had been born Mandalorian showed a subtle bias against Foundlings like himself, and others were wary of him because of his frequent absences.

The covert had been focused on survival. No one had time for frivolous things like romance and courtship. It was not safe to bear children under those conditions, so they relied on Foundlings to grow the tribe, and there were no marriages. Those who were inclined to indulge their sexual desires did so discreetly; it was a natural urge like being hungry or needing the ‘fresher. There was little sentiment among the members of his tribe, except for younglings, and even then it was tempered by stoicism. Life was dangerous. Warriors fell all the time. You mourned briefly and then moved on.

But outside the covert, Din saw people risking their lives not for honor but for love. People taking time to create beautiful things, to show their hearts to the world. He saw devoted couples like the Frog Lady and her husband, traveling treacherous pathways to be reunited, to raise their young. He saw children playing, and simple farmers willing to fight to protect them, even though they had no skill with weapons. He saw beings walking along hand in hand, arm in arm, kissing and hugging, and on a few embarrassing occasions, doing other things out in the open, letting their guard down. It was reckless and potentially fatal, but it was also something Din craved deep down inside.

He had always felt like romance was something that other people did, something that was not for him. He’d never felt the strong urges that some of his comrades in arms did. But now, he felt something stirring inside him. Something he’d never thought he’d be able to feel.

“I want her,” he said out loud, glad that Grogu was asleep and there was no one else on the road to hear him. It felt wrong to voice his feelings, but it also made him lighter. For the first time, he understood why a person would risk it all just to be with another. It was similar to what he felt for Grogu, but different. He would die to protect Grogu, let him go if that was what was best for him (even though it had made him miserable). But what he felt for Tala was more possessive. He wanted her to be happy, of course, and safe, but he also wanted to be near her. He wanted to touch her, to hold her. He wanted … He wanted to kiss her.

And therein lay the problem. He could not kiss her without removing his helmet, and he could not remove his helmet in front of anyone who was not part of his clan. The only way she could become part of his clan was … He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. To make her a member of his clan, he would have to marry her, but how could they get that far if he struggled with the idea of taking off his kriffing glove to hold her hand? Could Tala be patient with him, or would she get tired of waiting and grow frustrated with his strict adherence to his faith?

“Maybe this is all a huge mistake.” He glanced down at Grogu, sleeping soundly in his carry bag. “Or maybe not,” he whispered. Tala had been good for the kid, and she might be good for him, too.

[star-burrow]

hi noah hihihi :] u said u have lots of lore for lizzie n lyn ,, would ulike to share w the class 👉👈 /nf

and if thats too broad of a question , can i ask how the two met ?

also what species is she :0

Hihihi, hello!! So, they’re my babies <3 My dear sweet Lizzie is a long-tailed tit and it’s not very accurate with her ethnicity but shhhhh

Lore ⤵︎

Uhhh she and Louie (Lyn, hello, from “Llewelyn”, she likes his name) met through birthday wish + soulmate shenanigans + divine timing. Essentially there’s this divide that I made up in my head between Duckburg’s Suburbs and the rest of the town (the Metroplex) and the people of the Suburbs have their own little town inside it and they all HATE Scrooge’s guts; Lizzie is from there. Her family’s very traditional, also, their two main things are plants and family so my poor Lizzie starts fearing she’ll never find love (which is important in her little head because she’s thirteen and has a Complex) since she already knows everyone where she lives and so she birthday wishes to meet her soulmate.

Destiny is The Bitch soooo her soulmate ends o being the great-nephew of the man she despises, cheers! 🥂

They meet because Louie falls inside of the abandoned coffee-flower shop she sneaks out to frequent after running away from the cops (who were not after him!), she thinks his uncle sent him and he has no clue who the heck she is. Cops ruin the party, Iris was already gone, Louie is not a snitch. Also Louie has wind chimes playing inside of his head every second of his day and he hates it.

At some point Louie begins to think that he legitimately hallucinated Iris but then he finds her again and “holy shit, you’re real!!! … are you a witch? did you curse me?” She did not. But I’m any way clearly things keep pushing both of them to meet and neither of them want that, but also… hmmm… hmmmmm!!

Essentially! Since Louie is the grand-nephew of Scrooge McDuck, Lizzie goes “hey, like, i could find a way to get us out of this mystical mess and back into our normal lives … buuuuut i want that coffee shop back into working” and Louie’s like “really? you’re not going to ask me for money or anything?” “nope.” “good, cause i’m broke. after that, however, you’re dissapearing from my life.” “deal.” “cool.”

They end up falling in love. Louie extends his goal from getting the coffee shop back into working to reintegrating the Suburbs into society. Iris needs to cope with the fact that maybe her family and her people aren’t perfect and can make mistakes.

(Btw the “Lizzie and Lyn” thing originated with Louie called Iris “Lily” to piss her off since there’s this confusion of whether the Fleur-de-Lys is a lily flower or an iris flower and Iris is very passionate about it being… and Iris. She started calling him Llewelyn to get back at him. Then, boom! Affection blast! The bickering nicknames are now shorter nicknames and code names for each other.)

[jcmarchi]

Brittle Stars Can Learn Just Fine - Even Without a Brain - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/brittle-stars-can-learn-just-fine-even-without-a-brain-technology-org/

Brittle Stars Can Learn Just Fine - Even Without a Brain - Technology Org

We humans are fixated on big brains as a proxy for smarts. But headless animals called brittle stars have no brains at all and still manage to learn through experience, new research reveals.

Brittle star in Kona, Hawaii. Image credit: Brocken Inaglory via wikipedia.org, CC BY-SA 3.0

Relatives of starfish, brittle stars spend most of their time hiding under rocks and crevices in the ocean or burrowing in the sand.

These shy marine creatures have no brain to speak of — just nerve cords running down each of their five wiggly arms, which join to form a nerve ring near their mouth.

“There’s no processing center,” said lead author Julia Notar, who did the research as part of her biology Ph.D. in professor Sönke Johnsen’s lab at Duke University.

“Each of the nerve cords can act independently,” Notar said. “It’s like instead of a boss, there’s a committee.”

In the case of brittle stars, that seems to be enough to learn by association, Notar, Johnsen and former Duke undergraduate Madeline Go report in the journal Behavioral Ecology and Sociobiology.

This type of learning involves associating different stimuli via a process called classical conditioning. A famous example is Pavlov’s dog experiments, which showed that dogs repeatedly fed at the ringing of a bell would eventually start drooling at the mere sound of a bell, even when no food was around.

Humans do this all the time. If you hear the “ding” of a smartphone over and over again with each new alert, eventually the sound starts to have a special meaning. Just hearing someone’s phone ping or buzz with the same chime as yours is enough to make you reflexively reach for your own phone in anticipation of the next text, email, or Instagram post.

Classical conditioning has been demonstrated in a handful of previous studies in starfish.  But most echinoderms — a group of some 7,000 species that includes brittle stars and similarly brainless starfish, sea urchins and sea cucumbers — have not been tested.

To find out if brittle stars are capable of learning, the researchers put 16 black brittle stars (Ophiocoma echinata) in individual water tanks and used a video camera to record their behavior.

Half the brittle stars were trained by dimming the lights for 30 minutes whenever the animals were fed. Every time the lights went out, the researchers would put a morsel of shrimp — “which they love” — in the tanks, placed just out of reach.

The other half got just as much shrimp and also experienced a 30-minute dark period, but never at the same time — the animals were fed under lit conditions.

Whether it was light or dark, the animals spent most of their time hiding behind the filters in their tanks; only coming out at mealtime. But only the trained brittle stars learned to associate darkness with food.

Early in the 10-month-long experiment, the animals stayed hidden when the lights went out. But over time, the animals made such a connection between the darkness and mealtime that they reacted as if food was on its way and crept out of hiding whenever the lights went out, even before any food was put in the tanks.

These brittle stars had learned a new association: lights out meant that food was likely to show up. They didn’t need to smell or taste the shrimp to react. Just sensing the lights go dim was enough to make them come when called for dinner.

They still remembered the lesson even after a 13-day ‘break’ without training, i.e., dimming the lights over and over again without feeding them.

Notar said the results are “exciting” because “classical conditioning hasn’t really been shown definitively in this group of animals before.”

“Knowing that brittle stars can learn means they’re not just robotic scavengers like little Roombas cleaning up the ocean floor,” Notar said. “They’re potentially able to expect and avoid predators or anticipate food because they’re learning about their environment.”

As a next step, Notar hopes to start to tease apart how they manage to learn and remember using a nervous system that is so different from our own.

“People ask me all the time, ‘how do they do it?’” Notar said. “We don’t know yet. But I hope to have more answers in a few years.”

This work was supported by the U.S. Department of Department of Defense through the National Defense Science & Engineering Graduate Fellowship Program, the Duke Nicholas School Rachel Carson Scholars program and the Duke Biology Department.

CITATION:  “Learning Without a Brain: Classical Conditioning in the Ophiuroid Ophiocoma echinata,” Julia C. Notar, Madeline C. Go, and Sönke Johnsen. Behavioral Ecology and Sociobiology, Nov. 21, 2023. DOI: 10.1007/s00265-023-03402-x

Source: Duke University

You can offer your link to a page which is relevant to the topic of this post.

[blazewatergem]

I gotta chime in here :D

Mostly that A - I absolutely agree. Indulgent fiction is exactly that, indulgent. Do whatever you want, it’s there to make you happy.

B - My fam and I literally watched The Meg 2: The Trench :’D absolute blast, I have come up with some theories on how the lizard dogs could do it. It’s a stretch, but, let’s be real. I’m known for those XD

SO my excuse why they can do it(outside of, as dear Pidge said, Rule of Cool/Fun) is they’re potentially a different subspecies.

Reasoning being the ones we see in the start are, obviously, in the tropics. They’re on an island, and when we see them dive - they stick reasonable close to shore. Look, that T-Rex was still on the sandbar when it got one. That’s close to land, and therefore we’ll call these the Land Lizards.

I think the ones in the Trench may have adapted to deep water, yes, but kept land features do to being closely related. Pressure adaptation can be written as being part of a diving species, and legs can even be claimed to cling to the ocean floor. Like moon walking! Keeping them from drifting up and into waiting predators mouths :’D

Obviously, everything I’ve written is also just in fun. I personally enjoy playing mad scientist with monster movies. It’s my way of fun y’know? 🥰

10/10 movie, and 10/10 a believer of Rule of Cool/Fun. Thanks for coming to my TED talk

Very firm believer and defender of "indulgent fiction doesn't have to be realistic or acknowledge any of the downsides of what would happen if this played out in real life because this isn't real life, it's an imaginary world"

[0utf0xed]

Full body of an oc I made a headshot for a while back

[sparklecryptid]

NICE face claim!

Also that bit about all of Elrond inherited Feanorians suddenly remembering her when they see her again is EMOTIONAL.

Imagining them all just going about their day, hearing that Erestor brought in a wandering elleth that saved Elrond's children, okay, neat, whoever she is she's earned points on that alone, she'll be at dinner and most of them have that shift off this week-

Small, dark braids, travelers clothing clean and well mended, and that quick bright grin-

Oh.

They know her.

They know her but they forgot her somehow, HOW DID THEY FORGET HER?!?!?

Anordil probably gets discreetly followed by at least two of them at all times for a while. If they let her out of their sight they might forget again, which is probably a special kind of terrifying for a species that does NOT forget such things as a general rule.

“Did you hear?” Aranion says idly as he finishes warping a loom, “The Lord’s sons were found, Erestor has brought them and the woman who delivered them safely to him back to the valley.”

Melehte makes a noise of interest in the back of her throat as she takes her weaving off a loom. “Not many Men would care for the fate of two elf children.”

“That’s the interesting part, she’s one of the Eldar. A Noldo if the descriptions of her are to be believed.”

Melehte pauses.

“A wandering Noldo? How odd. Not many of us wander in this day and age.”

“You’re curious,” Aranion says fondly as he shakes his head, “Why don’t you go and see her for yourself?”

“I have things to do, Aranion,” she says, “I don’t have time to dig into the lives of others.”

“Come to dinner in the hall then, Elrond has invited her to dinner.”

Melehte makes a considering noise in the back of her throat.

“I’ll think about it.”

-

The Hall is loud with life and laughter - as it always is - and yet everyone has one eye on the door as they wait for this mysterious elf to appear with Elrond. It is unlike Elrond or his family to be late for evening meals which makes it easy to conclude that he and Celebrian plan on making an appearance with their children and the woman who had saved them.

Melehte wonders if the woman’s motivations were truly pure, if she hadn’t saved the twins in an effort to curry favour with Elrond. An unkind thought to be sure, but Melehte has lived through the horrors of the First Age, she is suspicious of everything.

The twins laughter echoes as they approach the Hall, an unfamiliar voice follows them, gentle in it’s tone and amused. Celebrian says something that none of them quite catch and the unfamiliar voice laughs.

The voice digs at something in Melehte’s gut, it’s unfamiliar, she has never heard it before but it reminds her of something that was lost. Something that Melehte feels she should remember.

She doesn’t.

It’s annoying.

The twins enter the Halls first, tugging on the hands of their parents before they realize they’re being looked at and become shy. Elrohir attempts to hide behind his fathers legs while Elladan clings to his mothers hand more tightly.

It is a relief to see them safe, to see them alive and well and unharmed and a tension that had been lingering in the room eases as someone laughs and calls out to the twins.

The twins brighten in response, and after a quick nod from their parents they rush off toward a golden haired elf that had been stuck in the infirmary for the past week.

A smile makes it way onto Melehte’s face as she watches how Glorfindel easily raises the twin’s spirits. The twins laughter rings through the Hall again and the Hall erupts into laughter and chatter and cheers.

Melehte’s eyes are still on the door, still on the door where Elrond and Celebrian wait for someone.

Erestor appears first, dressed plainly in the dark colors he favours and he raises an eyebrow at the scene in the Hall before turning and speaking to someone behind him.

Laughter echoes through the Hall - soft and chime like yet causing everyone to pause and listen - and a woman steps out from behind Erestor to say something and-

Oh.

Oh.

Melehte knows her.

Small hands following her movement as she teaches Vinyáre how to warp a loom. Wide eyes looking at Melehte as she is handed a child’s first attempt at weaving to pass judgment on. Those same eyes - dark brown and odd for an elf - growing bright with happiness as Melehte praises her.

Vinyáre had been precious to them. Maglor’s child had been a source of joy for those who followed the remaining sons of Feanor. It had been a welcome distraction to teach, to nurture and love a child who loved them back even with the blood on their hands.

(Melehte had been a soldier, hands strong and callused and with so much blood on her hands she doubts they will ever be clean. Vinyáre knew this. She had been told what her family and it’s followers had done.

She never flinched away from them, not once.)

A strangled sobs rips itself from someone’s throat and Melehte knows she is not the only one who remembers. She knows she is not the only one who forgot.

From across the room Vinyáre blinks, shock painting itself across her face as she recognizes them. Why did they forget her? How could they forget her? She loved them. They loved her. How could they forget her-

Elrond turns to her and asks her a question about the reactions of those in the Hall.

Vinyáre smiles.

(Melehte remembers those smiles. The awkward ones that Vinyáre would make when she wasn’t sure if she would be in trouble or not.)

“Oh,” she says, “I didn’t think they’re would be anyone who would remember me, that’s all.”

[honourablejester]

On the topic of ‘fantasy settings you’d like to see more of’:

Subterranean settings. Very specifically, non-dystopian subterranean settings. So many times in fantasy, underground is for dead or evil things, and in science fiction it’s for grim, post-apocalyptic survival stories. And I get it, I do. There’s no light underground, or very little and mostly artificial, and the list of natural hazards in RL mining/caving/drilling is stupendous. For anyone with claustrophobia, fear of the dark, fear of drowning, fear of being unable to breathe, etc, etc, etc, below ground is basically fear central. I have several of those fears myself, so I absolutely get this. There’s a reason the land of the dead in a lot of mythologies was underground.

But. Fantasy. As in magic. As in wonder. And Jules Verne’s ‘Journey to the Centre of the Earth’ was one of the first books I ever read out of the library. The idea of vast caverns and hollow earths, of great subterranean seas and cities and civilisations, really caught me.

There’s a lot you can do with a subterranean setting that is not darkness, slavery, death, blighted monsters crawling towards the surface, gateways into hell, etc. I know there are reasons for the associations. Underground is the realm of darkness, greed, suffocation. A lot of the big fantasy stories have tended towards a post-apocalyptic underground at best. Moria fell to the Balrog. The Deep Roads are where the Blight lives. The Underdark is aberration-and-slaver central. Dwarves, in particular, often seem to be a mid-apocalyptic race, clinging to their bastions of civilisation against the darkness, on the verge of being driven onto the surface. Below the surface, on any fantasy map, is where ‘Here Be Monsters’ tends to be written in huge, jagged letters. Because it’s hostile underground, RL or Fantasy. It always has been.

But. But the imagery you can have. Travelling down into the darkness to find wonders. Vast crystal caverns. Vertical civilisations, great cities built tier on tier around huge caves and shafts. Artificial suns. Bioluminescence. Giant fungal forests. Underground oceans. If you’ve ever watched those nature documentaries on extremophiles, the blind ghost fish with the lovely fins climbing lightless waterfalls. Pale, ethereal, sightless beings.

I have to say, even though it is post-apocalyptic, and the pale sightless beings were actually monsters in it, Blackreach in Skyrim at least had the awe and wonder down. This vast cavern full of majestic ruins, vast ghostly bioluminescent mushrooms, the golden glow of an artificial sun, the crystal chiming of nirnroot plants …

Underground can be a place of discovery. Wonder. Awe. Exploration. Community. Civilisation. I just would like to see some fantasy settings where that’s the bit that’s emphasised. Not the danger, not that everything down here is trying to kill you, not that living in darkness inherently makes you evil, not that the hell-portal is just down the incline there, but …

That there are wonders down here. There are living, thriving civilisations. There are beautiful, alien beings like nothing you’ve seen before. There are benign powers. There are ways to view things that are different: three-dimensional, sightless, lightless, but no less benign or valid.

Show me a dwarven city at the height of its power and prosperity, the roof of its cavern glowing in the light of its tiered suns. Show me ghostly spider people that act as the benign sages and weavers and oracles. Show me a subterranean Venice on the shores of a ghostly, lightless ocean, where bioluminescent mermaids come to trade. Show me a vast crystal cavern and the earth spirits that call it home. Show me the breath-takingly huge cavern sprawling outwards down an incline, an impossibly huge city carved tier on tier into its walls.

Show me the trade networks, gems and ores, yes, but also luminescent spider silks, strange crops grown under artificial suns, the million and one strange uses for fungus, two hundred different types of street food. Witch glass, magic, fertiliser (anyone who’s ever watched the David Attenborough cave documentary will remember the humungous mound of bat guano). Bioluminescent inks. Plant matter, bone, fossilised coal. A thriving trade in ornamental fungus for home decoration. Street stalls selling incredibly eldritch subterranean crustaceans onna stick. Street stalls offering the most delectable silicates for rock-eating species.

Show me life. Twenty six different species coming to trade hubs arranged at certain depths. Haggling. Universities. Water breathers. Methane breathers. Forty different variations on commercially available breathing charms and/or bubble helmets. A trade pidgin evolving using primarily sign languages, because the range of available vocal chords is a bit on the extreme side. Communication via light, or touch, or heat, or telepathy. There’s so many things you can do.

I’m not saying it can’t be dark and dangerous. It is still underground. I’m not even saying it can’t be horrifying. I adore Sunless Sea, after all, a game where the entire premise is an underground victorian ocean full of eldritch everything. Just … maybe don’t make it unrelentingly grim? Have some life down there. Some wonder. Some intrigue. Some cheer.

So much of fantasy underground is apocalyptic, dystopian or evil. Maybe just throw something a bit more, you know, interesting down there once in a while? Something that is not a long endless grind for survival against unrelenting horror. Make it so that people live down here, and are happy, and not because they’re torturing people for funsies, but because this is where they live and they’re fond of it, proud of it, have made a good life from it. Have it be a place people might want to visit. Put some wonders down there. Some joys.

… Possibly I just want less grimdark, post-apocalyptic fantasy in general, really. But yeah.

More wondrous fantasy undergrounds, please!

[shurisneakers]

harmless (iv)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, guns, mention of war, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: good evening i’ve never been to any of the places i mention in this series so dont come @ me

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He spends the weekend doing nothing. It’s supposed to be relaxing. He finds it nauseatingly boring.

“No mini mission this week?” Steve asks him from across the couch. 

They’re supposed to be catching up on Star Wars but two prequels in and Bucky could feel himself lose his sanity. Anyone could present him with a random assortment of alphabets, call it a Star Wars species and he would have no reason not to believe them.

It’s not like he doesn’t like space. It’s just that he’s had enough of it and everything and everyone who came from it for the foreseeable future.

“No. Someone else is taking care of it.”

“Didn’t you volunteer for this?”

“I pulled myself out of the case.”

“I thought you were having fun.” 

Bucky’s head slowly turns to look at him. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. “Looked like you were.”

Well, he wasn’t. He likes it here at home, glued to the TV. Popcorn beside him, sweatpants on. Refreshing, calming, slow, mundane, and Jesus Christ, so fucking boring-

His spiralling is interrupted by the dinging of the elevator to the common floor. No one was allowed up there unless it was extremely urgent. Guests were barely allowed into the Tower as it was. 

It reveals the receptionist from downstairs, Marie. She’s always a little reserved, a little shy. But Bucky had seen her chew and spit out trespassers or anyone who dared to get on her nerve. He adores her.

“Hey, Marie,” Steve says while Bucky sends her a friendly wave in greeting. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a hostage situation downtown,” she informs them. 

“Okay...” Steve drawls, waiting for a reason why this was an Avengers level threat.

“They’ve asked for Mr. Barnes by name.” She makes a mention towards him.

Bucky sits up straight. Bits of popcorn fall off his chest. 

“What?”

“They said, and I quote-” she looks down at her notepad. “‘Tell that grumpy motherfucker that I’m waiting for him and that he’s not getting out of this so easily because we have come too far.’ End quote. They’ve also told me to include a kissing emoji. And a skull.”

Steve and he look at each other.

“Well?” Steve prods. 

Bucky sighs and gets up to go get ready.

The entrance of Chuck E. Cheese is more crowded than he’d ever seen. He wasn’t even sure he’d seen people in the store before. If there were, they probably only came up till his waist. 

There are a few journalists, a few policemen standing together outside. Whispers of confusion and curiosity reigned free. 

Bucky gently pushes his way to the front. He gets a nod from a police officer who opens the door for him after a quick briefing. 

The place is darker than it usually would be. A trademark, it seemed. The blinds are drawn shut and most of the light is coming through whatever sneaks in through the crack. 

“Hey, Barnes.” Your voice is muffled by a mask that looks suspiciously like it was made out of classroom craft supplies.

There’s a person in a loose chokehold in your hand with a gun pressed against his head. Once again it looks straight out of a cartoon, purple with round disks lining its barrel. 

“What’s all this now?” He gestures around monotonously. 

“A hostage situation. Didn’t you get the memo?”

“Got that part down, genius,” he bites back. “But why?”

“Fucker kept harassing me when I was walkin’ down the street.” 

The guy’s helpless gaze met Bucky. 

“Catcalling me, stalking me.” You tighten the grip you have on him. “Call me darlin’ one more time, you son of a bitch. I dare you.”

He wasn’t impressed with his pleading eyes. He kinda felt like he deserved it. 

“Why’d you do it here?” The bright colours were starting to give him a heading. “And where are the staff?”

“It’s symbolic, Bucky,” you emphasise, “He deserves to be among other rat bastards.”

Of course.

“The staff?” he asks again. 

“Gave them thirty bucks and told them to leave. I’m not a monster.”

“Right.” He doesn’t bother refuting you. “Why’d you call me here?”

“Dunno.” You shrug. “Thought it’d be fun. You having fun yet?”

You shake the guy you’re holding. He gives a small whimper. 

Bucky doesn’t want to stop you. He had chugged enough Respect Juice in his lifetime to know that this guy probably deserved a threat or two.

Hell, he’d even help but you were more than capable of handling this on your own.

“Listen,” he sighed. “As much as I’m sure he deserves it, this is technically illegal and I’m required to stop you.”

“Sorry sarge, I thought you weren’t interested in playing this stupid game with me,” you mock, voice dropping to imitate him.

“I’m not.” It wasn’t entirely true. One Saturday with Jar Jar Binks had convinced him otherwise.

“Okay, so before you leave, do me a favour and call Hawkeye. I hear he looks mighty fine when he’s annoyed.”

His face involuntarily scrunched up. You were going to replace him with Clint? Clint?

He probably took it more as an insult than he should have.

“I’m not doing that.” Bless his foul mouthed friend, but he was a little shit who was too sarcastic for his own good. At least twice a week he’d say something stupid to Bucky and then take out his hearing aids when he tried to argue back. 

“You’re leavin’ me with no options here,” you groaned, using your thumb to flip a switch. The gun looks like it powered up, lights along the side turning red.

If he let you have this, it’d be a bad look for the Avengers.

New York man dies in Chuck E. Cheese lone hostage situation, unable to be saved by same superhero who tried to fight Thanos with a machine gun.

“Tell ya what,” he says instead, “If you kill him, there won’t even be a slight chance that you’ll see me again.”

Your grip on the gun falters.

“If I let him go...”

“I might consider coming back next week.” He’s trying to spin it, make it look like he’s the one with the upper hand here. “But you gotta let him go.”

You search his face for any signs of dishonesty.

“Let him go or you’ll never see me again.” It sounds too much like Clint’s arguments with his dog who brought a live squirrel into the house. 

“Fine,” you relent, a glint in your eye. “but say goodbye to this fuckface.”

Before Bucky can open his mouth to shout in protest, you pull the trigger. The man clenches his eyes shut, face red.

He expects blood to be splatter across his face.

Nothing happens.

A barrage of bubbles floats into the room.

“I meant it literally,” you say, pushing him off you. “Say goodbye. He’s leaving.”

The man stumbles to the ground and Bucky doesn’t make any attempt to catch him. He scrambles to his knees, picking himself up and scurrying out the door to a hoard of reporters.

The door shuts behind him with the chime of a bell.

“You’re annoying,” Bucky states, giving a small sigh.

“I’m well aware of that.” You pull off the mask, wiping the sweat off your brow.

“Where is the agent assigned to your case?” 

“Dunno. Last I saw he was crying on the driveway of my lair. I just figured he’d pick himself up later so I left him there.”

Bucky’s nose twitches. 

“You weren’t actually going to kill him, were you.” He shrugs with his shoulder towards the door. It wasn’t a question, more a statement. He knew you wouldn’t. 

“I could have.”

“But you weren’t going to,” he repeats. 

“No,” you admit. “I wasn’t. But I’m glad to see you showed up.”

“You held someone hostage as leverage.”

“No, no. I held someone hostage and then asked to see you. They were completely unrelated.”

“You’re evil.”

“You jumped to conclusions,” you point out. “Would you like a trampoline next time? Maybe a pogo stick, you clown?”

He has a very real gun in his holster. His very real metal death arm aches to use it. 

“No one else agreed to come,” he deflects. 

“We both know that’s a lie. You were going to come back anyway.” You stuff the bubble gun back into the bag. “I’m deliciously irresistible.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.” You give him a smirk and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, you win this round, sarge.”

He doesn’t say anything. He watches you remove your heist gear, revealing normal civilian clothes underneath.

You walk casually to the kitchen, intending to leave through the back door.

“But I can’t say I lost either.” You send him a wink before swiftly pushing open the door and leaving him behind.

He only watches you leave.

It doesn’t hit him until a few seconds later that he let a criminal out of his hands when there were several policemen and journalists outside.

He entertains the idea of chasing you down and handing you over. 

It takes him only a few seconds to decide that if they wanted you, they’d have to try themselves.

Next part 

[katatonicimpression]

“They have TWELVE PENISES and they will insert them into your orifices. Someone out there is definitely going to try to fuck that."

A stunned silence rang out across the council table. You could hear a pin drop.

Eventually, it was broken by a quiet sigh from Ororo - appalled, but ultimately not surprised.

"What? We were all thinking it!" Shaw exclaimed.

"I wasn't." Scott muttered.

"Well, you're all thinking it now..." Jean added, unhelpfully.

"Oh, I certainly was!" Essex chimed in, gleefully.

“The less time spent dwelling on your thoughts, the better, Nathaniel,” Exodus said. He looked uncomfortable, somehow blushing an even more vibrant red.

“I’m sure you don’t mean that my dea-”

“Gentlemen, please!” Xavier interrupted, a little shrill. He continued, more calmly. “My fellow mutants, we are sending a Krakoan diplomatic team to meet this Xhen-tai species tomo-”

“They’re not seriously called that, are they?” Kate asked incredulously.

“Mein Gott…” Kurt groaned.

“Are we sure this isn’t an elaborate prank?” Emma asked.

“If I may continue-” Xavier started.

“If I may continue-” Shaw butted in. “- seeing as I was the one who was originally speaking after all.”

Magneto rolled his eyes.

“Now, I may be the only mutant here trying to maintain some sense of decorum in this council…”

Ororo made a strange, muffled noise, as if stifling a laugh.

“... The appeal of this kind of creature and its parts is undeniable. Whoever we put on this ambassadorial team is quite likely to take advantage. What I’m saying is that we should anticipate demand. People will be volunteering for this mission. I say we should charge them for the privilege.”

“And there it is,” said Kate, unsurprised.

“No, I hate to say it but I think I agree,” Emma mused. “We could make a fortune.”

“I don’t see why you’re so certain of the appeal of these creatures.” Exodus insisted.

“I’ll show you later,” Essex replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

“No. The Black King is correct.” The deep voice of Apocalypse rang out for the first time in this entire discussion. He stood, solemn and sombre. “These creatures are new to our people but their anatomy is… universal. I speak as a mutant, as the oldest mutant, when I say this. Someone is definitely going to try to fuck those tentadicks. We ought to be prepared.”

“I…” Xavier began. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“Oh, can it, Charles.” Magneto piped up. “You’re one to talk on alien-fucking.”

----------------------------------------------

[mybullshitsensesaretingling]

More or Less

Request: Love your blog and your fics!!! Could you do something with Star Trek where the reader's a species of alien that has healing abilities that work almost instantly but it's not known about by people not from their planet, so on a mission they get shot and they're dead for a minute and everyone is upset, but then the reader heals and sits up and is like "why's everyone crying, what happened??" Doesn't have to be a romance but if you want, could you do it with Bones? Thank you!! - @lady-of-the-spirit

A/N: I decided to name the reader’s species Tholae. It’s a 100% made up 

“When we get out of here, I’m gonna-” the end of your sentence didn’t make its way out of your mouth. 

“You’re gonna what?” Bones asked, focused on the rest of the away party hiding behind another barricade on the other side of the clearling. 

When you still didn’t finish your sentence, he looked over at where you were aiming a phaser rifle. But you weren’t aiming. You were slumped over the top of the weapon, completely motionless. He called your name. You didn’t move. 

Crawling the length of the barricade, he called your name again. Desperation clung to his voice. His eyes grew wide as he pulled you to the ground, your body limp in his arms. He carefully laid you on your back, continuing to talk to you though he knew you couldn’t hear him anymore. 

Distantly he recognized that the battle was coming to an end on the other side of the barricade but every ounce of his conscious attention was devoted to you and the readings on his tricorder. He shook his head as he got the final readings and dropped to the ground.

His communitator chimed and he picked it up and answered. 

Jim’s voice came over the line but Leonard only half listened. 

“They’re dead, Jim.” He couldn’t look away from your dirt smeared face. 

“Who?” 

“(Y/N).” 

Silence fell. The rest of the party needed time to digest this information. They didn’t get the time they needed before Jim had to respond. 

“Stay where you are. We’re on our way.” His voice was hard, professionalism taking over where he no longer allowed emotion to be. 

Bones stared at your lifeless form. He had pronounced many people dead over the years, but he hadn’t grown used to it. He prayed he never would. Death wasn’t something he wanted to get used to. But more than that he prayed that this was a dream and he would wake up soon to a universe that you still lived in. He would go down to the commissary to find you laughing and joking with your coworkers. He could still hear your laugh, preserved perfectly in his memory. Taunting him for not being able to save you. 

“What happened?” Jim was standing above the two of you, his expression unreadable. It was a mask. Something he had developed in his captaincy. He hid his emotions so he could be an impartial leader. 

Bones gestured at the wound in your chest. “They were shot. It happened quickly. They probably weren’t even aware it had happened.” 

“So they didn’t feel any pain?” Nyota asked, desperate for something to put their minds at ease. Tears fell from her eyes but her voice held steady. Scotty put a hand on her shoulder, comforting her through his own grief. 

“I don’t-'' Bones started, but the rest of his sentence died on his lips as he looked back at what he thought to be a fatal wound. He scrambled for his tricorder. 

“What is it, Bones?” 

“I’m not sure, but I think…” He focused on the reading. “They aren’t registering as dead anymore.” 

“What do ye mean they aren’t registering as dead?” Scotty struggled to keep his voice free of emotion. Confusion briefly interrupted his tears. 

“I mean, they were dead, but now-” 

You inhaled sharply.

All eyes went to your face. Nobody spoke. They barely dared to breathe. 

You grimaced, a hand going to the wound in your chest. Then your face relaxed. Your breathing leveled out and your hand dropped back to your side. The wound was gone. The singed hole in your uniform was the only memory of it. 

Jim’s mask fell. 

You stirred and slowly opened your eyes. 

The first thing you noticed was that you were on the ground. The next thing was that everyone was staring at you. The final thing that you registered before speaking was that all of them were either in tears or close to it. 

“Why is everyone crying?” Quickly, you sat up. Bones reached out like he wanted to stop you but his hands hesitated. You couldn’t remember them ever hesitating. You looked at his face and found grief and confusion and relief. “What happened?” 

“You died,” Bones told you. 

“I did not.” 

“I pronounced it myself.” He held his tricord out to you. 

You moved your attention to the rest of the away party, looking for a different answer. You didn’t find one. 

Jim pointed at your chest and you followed his gesture to the hole in your uniform. Looking at it, you began to realize what must have happened. 

“Are you sure I was dead dead?” You asked looking back at Leonard. “Sometimes it seems like I’ve died but really I'm just taking a quick recovery nap.” 

“You were shot in the chest. You weren’t breathing. Your heart stopped beating. You had no brain function” the doctor explained. 

You sighed. “It was a self induced coma.” 

He blinked at you. 

“To speed up the regeneration process.” 

“Healing a phaser rifle wound through your lung isn’t regeneration. It’s a damned miracle.” 

“It’s very rare for Tholae to die from a phaser wound,” you told him. “We often appear dead due to the effort involved in healing from the wound and field gear isn’t sensitive enough to pick up the low life signs, but I promise you I was still alive.” 

Slowly, everyone’s attention moved from you to the doctor.

“Leonard,” Jim's face scrunched up as he tried to process this, “how is it that my CMO wasn’t aware of the regeneration process of one of the members of the crew?” 

“The Tholae haven’t given Starfleet access to any of their records, including medical.” Leonard gave you a pointed look. “I was informed that their biology was more or less the same as humans’.” 

“Well,” you started awkwardly, “this is the less.” 

“But you’re okay?” Nyota asked. 

“Completely. I could use a new shirt, but otherwise-” before you could finish your thought, she and Scotty had pulled you to your feet and into their arms.

[yamag00ps]

safekeeping

pairing: akaashi x reader

genre: friends to lovers, love triangle

contains: fluff

word count: 1.1k

summary:  bokuto and akaashi talk about you on the car ride home.

note: here is part 2 of first names! I decided to continue. enjoy :-)

part 1, part 3, part 4

The rest of the car ride consisted of you speaking a majority of the time while the other two listened, though you just assumed it was due to the long day of shopping. As the car stopped in front of your apartment, you reached over your seat to hug Bokuto goodbye and ruffled a hand in his hair. You and Akaashi stepped out of the car as you gathered your shopping bags.

“Do you need any help?” Akaashi asked.

“Nah they’re actually really light, but thank you!” You hugged him too. Akaashi took his seat and shut the door as Bokuto rolled down Akaashi’s window.

“Bye Bo!” Bokuto smiled at the nickname you gave him.

“Bye Keiji,” your gaze lingered a second longer on Akaashi as you put a knuckle out, waiting for him to return the punch. It was your subtle, yet innocent way of acknowledging the newfound closeness between the two of you.

Akaashi slightly winced at his first name, choosing not to look at Bokuto’s expression this time. The two of them waved as they waited for you to get into the building before driving off.

Thankfully, Bokuto spoke up before an awkward silence could take over. Bokuto has always been very open about his emotions, which Akaashi was particularly thankful for at this moment.

“So… Keiji, huh?”

“Yeah, about that.” Akaashi was ready to tell his best friend everything until Bokuto continued talking.

“I’m not gonna lie, it felt like a slap in the face,” he nervously laughed, “It came out of nowhere! I don’t even call you that!” Bokuto’s seemingly lighthearted demeanor put Akaashi on edge because for once, he couldn’t tell if it was a front or not. But Akaashi genuinely chuckled anyway, remembering how it began in the first place. All he had to do was be honest.

“It started out as a joke. We were arguing —well, she was arguing— about whether or not the chicken or the egg came fir—“

“The chicken.” Bokuto stated matter-of-factly. Akaashi laughed at this.

“..Yup. She made that very clear.”

“The theory of evolution, right?” Bokuto grinned at this memory while Akaashi’s smile faltered.

Oh.  

“Uh, yeah,” a nervous chuckle escaped Akaashi’s lips. It was his turn to feel a slap in the face.

Bokuto didn’t mean to hurt Akaashi by revealing that he already had a similar conversation with you. And it shouldn’t be that surprising, Bokuto knew you first.

So, why did Akaashi feel a bit hollow all of a sudden? It was a feeling similar to growing attached to a stray puppy, only to find out that its owners were looking for it. Or also kind of like when someone sends you a Spotify playlist titled, “for you” only to find that it already has 7 followers. Whatever it was, it was unpleasant.

He also couldn’t settle on an emotion. Was he sad? Jealous? Did he somehow feel played, even though he’s sure that wasn’t your intention? If Bokuto noticed the change in his expression, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“We learned about that in our bio class last year. The chicken or egg debate got her pretty heated and for some reason, I found that so attractive,” Bokuto shook his head and laughed. “I then learned that she wasn’t even a science major! That was probably the best part.”

This memory was enough to convert Bokuto back to his normal self, temporarily forgetting about the use of first names. Akaashi, on the other hand, felt the tension thicken internally.

He stayed silent, only politely chuckling here and there, wanting nothing more than for Bokuto to stop elaborating on his feelings for you.

“I don’t think I ever told you, but she used to scare me! She was so smart— is so smart. And, don’t get me wrong, she’s beautiful, but after hearing the way she spoke? That’s what really got me, dude.” He shook his head in disbelief at how smitten he was. “I was actually annoyed that the professor made us change the subject because I could’ve listened to her all day.”

At this point, Bokuto was too caught up in the memory of you to notice Akaashi’s discomfort. This was the most he has heard of his best friend’s feelings.  Before today, all he knew was that Bokuto had taken an interest in you and enjoyed your company. Yes, Bokuto talked about you occasionally, but Bokuto also had a lot of crushes, so Akaashi rarely took his friend’s pining seriously.

He continued, “You know, I think I’d pay to listen to her talk about the different species of.. I don’t know.. Grass.” Akaashi snickered at this. “I don’t know, I’ve never met anyone like her man.”

This time Akaashi sighed and responded honestly, “I can say the same. She’s funny.” Bokuto laughed and agreed.

Hearing Bokuto confess that all he wanted to do was listen to someone speak was new, seeing as he was usually the most talkative one in any room.

“Why haven’t you confessed to her?” Akaashi finally asked, not entirely sure if he wanted to know the answer. Bokuto thought about this for a bit. His best friend had a point, he normally had no issue going after whoever he took interest in.

Bokuto thought back to the memory of hearing you speak in class -- the way your voice refused to waver and the way you stood your ground over something so silly. He remembered you glancing at him, waiting for him to chime in like he normally would. Any other day, he would’ve joined the conversation, but for the first time, he found himself incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

“Because for the first time I’m actually scared to be rejected,” Bokuto admitted.

This sheer honesty only made Akaashi feel worse -- the two of them growing more fond of you by the minute. Relief washed through him as Bokuto answered a phone call, not giving Akaashi the chance to respond.

Well.. shit.

What was Akaashi supposed to tell him now? He didn’t even know if he, himself, genuinely liked you yet, did he? Though it wouldn't be that shocking if it turned out that he did, he decided he needed more time to sort through his own feelings. Maybe he simply felt comfortable with you and it was nothing more. Maybe.

He closed his eyes and ignored the sweet aftertaste of your first name lingering in his mouth, and the way that nothing has felt more natural than your hand in his. He shook the memory of his fingers tracing his name onto your back and the way you tried not to melt into his touch. He attempted to shut down the desire to hold you in any way you would let him and mentally discarded the image of you glowing in the sun the first time you used his given name. He especially tried to forget how he was so sure that whatever higher power designed the sun probably used you for reference.

Akaashi shoved all of this information far away into an imaginary filing cabinet in his head.

You know, just for safekeeping.

----------------------------------------

a/n: I decided to continue this! yay! I am planning on adding more, but I can't promise how soon I'll get to writing it. please be patient with me <3 (find me on ao3!)