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tunastime · 4 months ago

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wrapped: 27? it’s my lucky number :D

hi hi!! apologies to all for getting to these so late! let's check out 27 :3

ah... of course. band of all time. my second top band of the year. my beloveds. this song goes incredibly crazy, and I think the vibes are different than what this fic represents, but the softer parts of the song... so very them to me. some very choice lyrics in the tags for them two. oh SEN we're in it now... I hope you enjoy some SEN docsuma! (627 words)

Doc wakes up to Xisuma’s face pressed into the soft of his neck. His first instinct is an easy one: curl closer.

It’s natural for Doc to find his way into X’s side or his arms or across his chest. Xisuma slept heavily, sprawled on his back, dead to everything except the person sleeping next to him. So when Xisuma found him, wormed his way close and into the cavity of his chest, or the pocket of his side, or with one arm over his back, it was Doc’s first thought to lean in with great joy and accept the weighted warmth that his admiral’s body provided. X’s nose was cold against his throat, and the body tucked carefully in the concave space between his prosthetic and his ribcage was curled tight. He spreads his fingers, palm flat on the rise of X’s back, his sleep-addled brain kicking down a few gears as Xisuma sighs into his skin.

“‘Suma,” he mumbles, words muddling. X makes a small noise. “‘S everything okay?”

Because, contrary to popular belief, Xisuma only curled this close in his arms on occasion. And normally (because Doc was clever, and Xisuma came to him when he needed his help, and he took a small morsel of pride in this fact, that he was that trustworthy and reliable and needed), this meant something was wrong.

He drags his synthetic palm down Xisuma’s curved lower back, following the narrow channel of his spine, as Xisuma speaks dryly.

“Jeez,” he mumbles. “Can’t even catch a quick snuggle before I’m called out?”

Doc snorts. He lets his eyes shut.

“Never.”

“Had a bad dream. ‘S all.”

Doc thumbs a notch of his spine. Xisuma physically relaxes into the touch. Real, present touch.

“And you’re alright?”

“Mmh,” Xisuma grumbles, digging his nose into the soft space between his neck and jaw. Doc hums warmly. “Could be better. Just wanted to remember you’re here.”

“Can’t get rid of me,” Doc mumbles tiredly. Xisuma snorts, but the hand cupped around Doc’s hip twists in the corner fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t really catch the murmured set of words X says against his neck, but it sounds a bit like hope not somewhere in there. Doc shifts him just a fraction closer, cupping his free hand over the part of Xisuma’s jaw still exposed, running his thumb over the space between his cheek and ear, all the connecting bones and soft cartilage hidden under the pale-soft, freckled plane of his face. His hold on Xisuma is firm, but not tight, carefully tucked snug against his body, soaking in his body heat and his stable breathing. Xisuma sighs shakily.

“Sweet Xisuma,” Doc hums. His hand finds purchase on the rise of Xisuma’s hip, thumb finding the patch of skin where his sleeveless shirt meets his waistband. X leans a little further, until his shoulder is near-uncomfortably eclipsing Doc’s own. He’s quite literally crushing himself into Doc’s chest, but the sound he makes is soft and seemingly pleased, especially as Doc huffs, and chuckles, and groans dramatically at the added weight. “So cozy!”

“Needless cruelty,” Xisuma huffs, muffled by Doc’s shirt and skin. “Makin’ fun’a me.”

“Calling you sweet is an insult?” Doc retorts.

“‘S the way you said it.”

“Ah, right.”

Xisuma huffs again, but doesn’t say anything else. Doc goes back to soothing over that bare patch of skin until his eyes feel heavy and dry and he shuts them against the dark greys and blacks of their room. X’s muscles go slack bit by bit, sinking into his side as he lets himself drift again. Doc barely misses the small, soft, thanks, mumbled out between long, slow sighs. He smiles, and leans his cheek a little firmer to his head.

(send me an ask with a number 1-10 and I'll write something!)

#hermitshipping #docsuma #docm77 #xisumavoid #SEN au #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #mcyt #mcyt fic #hermitcraft au fic #text #fics #asks #starrysilv3rse #spotify wrapped asks 2024 #ohhh i really like them. i really really liked writing a softer side of this song HEHE #the 'i'm your second nature / never leave your side.' and 'i'm patient when you're in pain / i can keep you close when it's getting late'#those really gripped me this time around #docsuma chokehold NEVER ends #but its just in these damn aus JKHSRKGJHSKDFJGH #i really do love sen docsuma though <333 hehe #they can just be something so soft and healing for each other #despite the mutual intense trauma they went through #and the emotional manipulation. and the grief. and the loss.#sometimes you just need to be held tightly and told that everything is fine #and it will be fine. because you have someone to help you #what if they were so tender with each other! what then!#anyway. behold docsuma

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tunastime · 1 year ago

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A Moment Called Forever

waves my hands about! this is the first chapter (ish) of the docsuma SEN fic for my au I created for Stretching Endless Night!! it is. eventual docsuma! but I wanted to go into detail about who xisuma and his crew were before the Prometheus, before tango met jimmy, and before ethubs had their near fatal mission :3 so here it is! yaay!!

Xisuma pilots a ship known as the HSS Moonrise. His career begins--and nearly ends--with the crew and missions aboard during the first five years of his captain's career. Doc, the right hand to a captain far too young to be piloting, rebuilds himself from the ground up alongside the crew of a ship that's become family. At the same time, he watches his captain grow and change and root himself firmly into his life. Or: Doc and Xisuma watch their lives change and reflect each other. Or: how the Prometheus station came to be, and how its Admiral, alongside his captains, help it blossom. (2414 words)

Stationed ELMSC-14, stardate 2204.60. Deployed: Cpt. Xisuma V. LtCmd. Doc M., LtCmd. Cleo Z., Lt. Slip G., Lt. Mumbo J., Lt. Tango T. Stationed: Lt. Biffa T.

Conditions: visibility, 50km, clear, winds NW 2km. Communications established. Radar operational. Pinging team leader.

Xisuma shuts the screen on his visor, blocking out the binary suns and washing the world in shade and orange grids. Elm is devoid of surface life, long since uninhabited by the companies that had mined underground. In front of him stretches orange-red sand and large, smooth cliffs. It reminds him a lot of pictures of Earth—deserts and mesas with the sun high ahead of them. Tango’s voice crackles to life, then smoothes out as he speaks.

“So what’re we lookin’ for, X?”

X turns his head, glancing back at Tango a pace behind him. To Tango’s left is Mumbo, with a bag slung across his chest, much like Xisuma. Tango hefts the core sampler further up onto his back—likely less from the weight and more to keep balanced.

“Anything,” Xisuma answers truthfully. “Like you both know, this place was abandoned ages ago. Anything we can find to either prove it’s worth using or prove it’s good to leave is good for HASA.”

Mumbo sighs.

“Wow,” he says. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen soil this orange before.”

“I’ve never seen soil,” Tango jokes, voice dipping as he elbows Mumbo. Mumbo snorts, shoving him sideways.

“We get it, robo-man.”

Tango scoffs—or makes a noise that sounds just like it.

“Android! First of all!” he huffs. Xisuma sees him fold his arms when he glances back. “Anyway—the red comes from enriched iron deposits in the sediment. Partially magnesium as well.”

Below his visor, Xisuma grins.

“Says the man who’s never seen soils,” he pipes up. Mumbo laughs.

“Just because I’ve never seen ‘em doesn’t mean I didn’t learn everything I know from skimming Biff’s books,” Tango says.

“You’ve got a point,” X says. He hears Tango agree with him, something that crackles into obscurity as Cleo’s voice rings clear through the communicator.

“Xisuma,” she says.

“Go ahead,”

“Hey—” Cleo starts. “We’ve not found anything over here yet, and we’re about a kilometer or so from the first dig point. Should we keep going?”

“Affirmative, Cleo,” Xisuma says. “You all can keep going—we’re about 800 meters from ours, so we’ll stop here before we move onto the next one.”

Tango jogs to walk at his side, pulling up his projection of Elm’s surface. Laid out in a flat grid, Xisuma can see their current point, a small blip on the screen, and the location they’re trying to reach, a larger, solid shape behind the next crest. He leans into Tango’s space to glance at the map, and Tango bumps their shoulders together. Leaning back, smile on his face, Xisuma says:

“I want to get at least two done each today before we get back to the ship. That only leaves three total for tomorrow, and it’s more than likely we’ll be able to extrapolate one from orbit.”

“Heard,” Cleo says. “We’ll let you know if we find anything interesting, yeah?”

“Please do!” X chirps. “That’s the whole point of us being out here.”

Doc’s voice breaks through the communicator as he laughs.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” he says. X snorts, shaking his head.

“Be safe out there, you lot—” he laughs. “Cleo, Slip, Doc—”

“Why me?” Doc cuts through.

“Accident prone,” Tango supplies.

Xisuma laughs, waving his hand.

“Okay, okay,” he says, trying to quell the conversation. “Let us know if you find anything of note, or if we can help you at all after our two digs. We’ve got about 3 kilometers total today, so we may have a little less further to go than you.”

“Will do, Captain,” Cleo says. “Thanks, X.”

“Sure thing.”

Xisuma hums to himself, amused, as Cleo’s transmission ends. The three, Tango, Xisuma, Mumbo, walk in a line along the orange rock and sand, following the path of the map and Tango’s guidance. Tango steps ahead of Xisuma, curled over the map, shoulders hunched as he walks. He walks with the surety of someone who can see nearly everything around him, without interference or blindspots. He follows the bob of Tango’s head, caught in the yellow shimmer of his overlay as they walk. They make it up a rise and partway down into a valley. The sand kicks up behind them, swirling and settling as they go. Their bootprints in the rock and dirt are obscured as soon as they’re made.

The valley sits in a low between two other large faces, though the area itself is raised high above the ground. The rocky plateau dips and curves, creating large holes in the rock, smooth hills, and flat rises. If Xisuma were to walk a kilometer out to the west, he could see where the cliff face drops into the depression below, a sunken crater from mining operations in the years prior.

After a few minutes, Tango slows to pause, turning to look back at the two behind him. Though Xisuma can barely see his bright, neon eyes from behind the visor, he can tell when he meets eyes with both of them, nodding. Xisuma tilts his head.

“Here?” he asks.

Tango nods.

“Looks like it from our map, here,” he says, holding it out for X to look at. The blip of red against the screen is right over their geographical point for their first dig. Xisuma nods, then, unclipping his data pad from his hip and beginning to note down their surroundings.

“I’ll start field conditions while you two start the sample,” he says. “You remember what we’re looking for?”

“How could I forget?” Tango pipes up, patting his helmet with his glove. Xisuma snorts. He’s not sure it picks up through their linked comms, but he’s sure the shake of his head gets his notion across.

“Let Mumbo help you, alright?” he says. Tango shoots him a thumbs up.

Mumbo unhooks the drill machine from Tango’s bag, setting the chunky piece of equipment into the dirt. The two begin the process of setting up the sample drill together, lifting the bulky box to release the feet, straightening it to level. Xisuma turns away from them, staring out across the orange sand and yellow sky, still instinctively shielding his face from the binary suns. He can see across the valley and to another crest, the wide slopes bright orange and gold in the early day light. From behind his visor, Xisuma smiles, laughing to himself.

The conditions are clear, low wind, cold. It’s not a planet that ever housed life on the surface, so the frigid conditions aren’t an issue. X is certain something likely could survive, human, humanoid, or otherwise, but nothing ever did that anyone saw. He was hopeful that it remained that way, though no scan of the surface and ten feet under gave anything away. He marks down what he could classify the soil as by sight, but the soil tests would have to confirm what he knew once they got back to the ship. When he turns back to Mumbo and Tango, Tango is crouched by the core-sampler, watching it dig into the sand and rock, and Mumbo is sitting against a rock, staring at the orange sky. He makes his way back over, setting the data pad back on his hip.

“Workin’ fine?” he asks.

Mumbo nods, giving him a thumbs up.

“Working great,” he says. “Looks like it’ll be about fifteen minutes until we get a complete sample, and we can start analysis while we’re hiking to the next point.”

X nods.

“Tango,” he asks. Tango’s head perks up. “Where is the next data point?”

“Good question,” Tango starts. He unlatches his communicator, pulling up the map projection. “It looks like about a kilometer. To the northeast, so we might meet Cleo, Doc, and Slip on the way, if they haven’t reached their second waypoint. Theirs is due north of ours.”

Xisuma nods.

“About a thirty minute walk?” he asks. Tango nods.

“Just about.”

“Fantastic.”

For a long moment, Xisuma watches the core-sampler rotate slowly. He watches the percentages rise and fall as Tango starts to talk about what he expects the composition of the soil will be. Mumbo pipes up at some point, adding to the bidding, though the two quickly lapse into chatter about the next project they might receive. Where Mumbo specialized in many of the ship’s electronic components, Tango had quickly caught on, in their nearly two and a half, if not three, years together, to how the major functions of the ship worked. He could make repairs quicker than the rest of the team, especially in orbit. There was more EVA time recorded by Tango than any other member of the crew—with no need for oxygen, and with sun exposure being his only real worry, Tango could work quickly outside in minimal conditions. In fact, if Xisuma hadn’t been worried about wind and UV damage, Tango probably wouldn’t have donned a suit for this mission. But he did, and he stood looking small against the orange sand.

As the drill lifts the sample into one of its chambers, Tango begins the shutdown process. He and Mumbo lift the legs into the machine, boxing it together and reattaching the carrying strap. Dusting off the surface, Tango slings it over one shoulder, resettling it on his back.

“Alright,” Xisuma says cheerily. “Are you all ready?”

There’s a beat between when Xisuma finishes speaking and when Tango goes to answer. In that beat, no more than a second, there’s a high-pitched ringing in Xisuma’s ears. He squeezes his eyes shut. And in the less-than-a-second afterward, the air and ground wobbles, and something, not even two kilometers away, explodes.

Xisuma ducks on instinct, stumbling as the sound and air hits him. He hears Mumbo’s voice through the communicator—what he thinks is Mumbo’s, because he doesn’t hear anything else until the ringing fades and he rights himself. He whips around, trying to find the source of the explosion, searching for anything, really, to make things make sense, to place a face to the sound, sharp and still stinging his ears. He sees a plume of sand and smoke in the distance. The back of his mouth suddenly feels very, very dry.

“Tango—” he shouts. “Mumbo, are you two—”

“Fine!” Mumbo says. “Tango’s fine, too—”

“‘M right here, what—”

“An explosion?” Xisuma manages. “I dunno—”

Xisuma chokes on his next breath as he tries to force the words out. His hand comes to his wrist, fiddling with his communicator.

“That wasn’t that far—” Tango starts.

“Cleo,” Xisuma starts, paging his lieutenant. “Cleo, Doc, Slip, are you three all alright?”

“Xisuma—” Cleo says, words crackling. The crackling never fades, though, like she’s caught in static. Her words come choppy through the haze. “Something just—we hit something—”

“Cleo, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Cleo manages. Her voice is wobbily. “Something we dug up—my vision’s busted, I-I can’t find Slip and Doc—”

Xisuma freezes. Very quickly, all of his joints go cold, down to his wrist and fingertips. He swallows hard, forcing down the heartbeat in his throat and pulling in a breath of oxygen too sharp and too cold.

“Tango,” he starts, voice leveling. Static surfaces and fades in his visor, the remnant of heat and dust washing over them as he tastes the tang of filtered air in his mouth. “Comm Biffa and tell him to bring the ship as close as he can to the second extraction point—” he turns, facing the two of them. “It has a bigger trauma kit on board. If someone’s suit got damaged it’s not gonna last long.”

“Okay,” Tango manages, taking a step back. Xisuma watches him fiddle with the transponder on his wrist before he sees his name blink from his HUD as he switches channels.

“Mumbo how far is their extraction point from here?” Xisuma asks, recalling the projection of the map of their portion of Elm. He can see the faint blip of Cleo’s transponder across the terrain.

“It’s—maybe a few kilometers. It’s not far? I think—I think it’s not far. I—” Mumbo stutters. “Yeah. Why?”

“Biffa won’t make it in time—” Xisuma says, tightening the straps for his bag, the data pad at his side. He brings up the overlay for both the extraction points and the dig locations. “I mean—he can get to you, but I need someone on board who knows how to set up the trauma kit, and that’s you, Mumbo. And I need someone to make sure we don’t damage the sample.”

“Do you think you’ll make it in time?” Mumbo asks.

“I—I have to, don’t I? I need you and Tango to stay here.”

“Woah—” Tango starts. “Captain, I—that’s a huge risk—”

“Tango,” Xisuma starts. “Lieutenant, I need someone with Mumbo, you’re the only one who can co-navigate with Biffa out of the two of you, and I need Mumbo in medical. And someone has to fetch the sample. Can I trust you to do that, Tango?”

“Yes—yessir.”

“Good—what’s Biffa’s ETA?”

“He—with takeoff sequence, he’ll be able to make it here in 35 minutes.”

“That’s good,” Xisuma manages. “That’s all we can ask for—we can work with that, can’t we?”

He laughs. It’s thin and weak, but Mumbo lets out a heh in response that washes over his nerves like a salve. He swallows, trying to get the dry feeling out of his mouth. He turns toward the plume of smoke for a moment, eyes flicking back to the group.

“X,” Tango says. “Be careful.”

Right. Okay. Xisuma shudders out a sigh. It’s more of a whistle, really, through the helmet. He does it because he thinks he can feel bile rising in his throat, and he’d really not like to get sick with no way of cleaning anything out.Something small in his abdomen curls up, tight and heavy. In that same moment, he sets his jaw. His vision is clouded with the heavy orange overlay, cutting through the rise of smoke that’s just started to cloud his vision. Turning back to Tango, he nods firmly.

“Tango—”

“I have comm until you get back,” Tango says, nodding back at him.

“Yes—” Xisuma starts. “Good luck. Good luck.”

Stepping backward, Xisuma feels a cold rush through his body. Then he turns, fully, toward the smoke.

#xisumavoid #xisuma #tangotek #mumbo jumbo #docsuma #hermitshipping #hermitcraft fic #sen au #mcyt #mcyt fic #hermitcraft au #mcyt au #text #fics #YIPPEEEEE #SPINS AROUND SO FAST!!!#same thing with the ranchers fic i'm desperately trying to post these and work on them continuously RAUURRR #so i really hope this helps brbrbbrrbr #we'll find out!! but enjoy <3 eventual docsuma

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