#ships are always in motion and these two need to stay still for a while

[dearlymrme]

Well-Balanced...? (Black Leg Sanji/Reader)

Part of Schrodinger's Shooting Star series.

Summary: Sanji is used to the morning shift. He's not used to having help from someone waking even earlier than he does. Your stay is obviously stressing you more than you let on and far be it from him to let you feel useless. You have a habit of ruminating on the negatives. So, he reminds you to rely on your crew. Anything on your mind, ask them instead of letting it circle in your head like a shark.

Sanji had woken up like clockwork, always before the sun, having learned day one as the Straw Hat’s chef that Luffy is solar powered and requires the bare minimum to be super charged for the whole day.

He found you in the kitchen nursing a steaming cup of tea. Normally he’d admonish anyone, man or woman, for touching his tools while he’s not present. Even Nami and Robin, two of the most beautiful women in the world, were not spared his scolding if they had to lift a finger in his kitchen.

Then he saw the dark bags under your eyes, and pale parlor had him clicking his mouth shut and taking stock of things.

The only evidence you had made tea in the first place was the wet sheen in the sink and suds in the drain. The counter was also wiped and nothing out of place from how he had left it last night. He supposes he can respect you in his kitchen given that you respect his kitchen.

The one sin he can’t pardon is the overwhelming herbal scent. He can tell a poorly brewed tea just by the smell.

He glances your way and watches as you take a slow sip from your cup and doesn’t know whether to be concerned or impressed by your lack of expression. As though your taste buds have fallen asleep in order to make up for your own lack of sleep.

It’s got to be bitter but given the eye-bags that seem to get heavier and darker every day, he can’t blame you for wanting something to help with the exhaustion.

A good rest would also do it but he’s overheard Nami say you toss and turn with the ship. Either still unused to the sea or it’s the stress of your circumstances. You were scared, though you only showed it through small motions.

Your hands ticked the same way his did when the urge for a smoke was too much to ignore. You chewed your lip like it was made from candy. Even though Luffy’s usual antics seemed to lighten your mood there was still a weight pulling you down.

While you said that this was not a world you would be well suited for, he was at least grateful that your world had manners. Despite what he knows is one of the most bitter teas to have ever been brewed on the ship, you polish it off without wasting a drop. As he gave the counters an extra wipe before prepping for breakfast, you casually soft stepped behind him to wash your cup.

Then, you asked him in a soft but tired voice.

“Anything I can do to help?” He saw the haunting hollowness in your eyes. Someone with the need to just *do*. A distraction of any kind to help your brain process.

You’re still adjusting, Chopper made it clear for them not to press you too much, but there is a big difference between physical health and mental fortitude. You seem self-aware of your own state of mind. Any time you're seen it’s always in the constant company of another crew member, just coexisting in the same room. On the Merry, it would have been near impossible to pull off. The Sunny had more room for privacy if wanted. So, it was intentional that you never let yourself be alone.

He’s realized that something big to help you is to feel included. Small things, busy things. Sometimes, something as mindless as tying rope or counting coins. Sharpening colored sketch pencils for Usopp. Sorting through the recycle pile for Franky and separating the nuts from the bolts. Tidying up the library shelves for Robin. And having a near holy amount of patience by letting Luffy play pretend as he describes their adventures so far.

He didn't even have to tell you to wash your hands. The second he gave the okay, you had already started to lather, even getting under your nails. He let you shower the eggs and hand them over one by one as he scrambled. He corrected your hold on the small knife and showed you how to properly mince the peppers with your knuckles instead of your fingers. He let you set the table, and by the time you were done laying plates, the crew would be up and minutes away from running in for breakfast.

Breakfast, as usual, is hectic. Your first morning with the crew comes teaching the most important lesson of the Straw Hat Pirates.

“Make your plate fast and guard it with your life.” Dawning realization as if you knew the storm approaching by heart. You had managed to stack your plate just before the crew fell through the door. Gangling limbs of rubber and constricting holds as Usopp and Nami try to pull Luffy away from the inevitable.

“Dang it, Luffy! Let us at least get to the table first!”

“But it smells so good! Sanji made bacon! Oh! Oh, and I smell sausage!” Robin made her appearance and, with her multiple arms, managed to wrestle him down.

Both Nami and Usopp collapsed from the effort it took to hold back the straw hat captain.

“Come on now, Luffy. We want our lucky star to have a chance to eat, too, right?” Luffy froze and hummed, pouting as a sign of defeat.

The black haired archaeologist smiled and released him from the grapple. A clone hand sprouted from his shoulder, giving his head a praising pet.

And your eyes had widened with the boy flashing you a trademark smile.

“Sanji’s food is the best in the whole wide sea. You can have first dibs, I guess.” He huffs as he takes his seat with the rest, hands twitchy to grab a plate. He pouts as though forcing himself to eat a spoonful of medicine. “But hurry up, I’m hungry!”

You were allowed that one blessing that one day. Then, you quickly adapted to the hungry greed of Luffy’s stomach like a pro.

Today was no different, your arms wrapped around your plate like a fortress of fortitude and brandishing your fork in your hand like a knife. You leaned over your plate and made to jab Luffy any time he stretched his fingers anywhere near your food.

It was humorous just how futile it was. Their captain tapped on one shoulder to get to you to look and then snatched your bacon off your plate while your head was turned. No one could help you. Every day was an entirely different lesson as Luffy came up with new and inventive ways to snatch scraps.

And at the end, with breakfast finished, you would usually pick who to spend your day with before they left the kitchen, following in their shadow like a lost puppy. Given that you remained seated as the crew thanked Sanji for the meal, you had decided on him.

You carefully tidied up the table, separating the plates from the cutlery to hand him for the sink. He trades you for a clean cloth, and you’d wipe up the mess.

“You know, you don’t have to do any of that, right?” He interrupts the quiet idle clattering of polishing forks and freezes when he feels a tension suddenly creep in the room. He turns to look over his shoulder to see you holding the broom with sudden white knuckles and a look of anxiety.

“Sorry, am I–...? Um, does it bother you?” Lips chapped from constant nibbling, he realizes his bad choice of words and quickly tries to backtrack.

“No, what I meant was…If you want, we can just talk?” You look at him with wide and lost eyes. “You’re always trying to work through it on your own. You’re quiet even though you're suffering. You don’t have to take this whole world on your shoulders, you know. You’ve got a crew now."

He offers his hand for you to take. A smile meant to settle your stomach as well as any meal.

"Lean on us a little.”

You hesitate long enough that a lesser man would have given up and returned to the task at hand, but he can see you mentally arguing and working through the logic of it all.

“Sometimes the best things in life are best doing scared.”

It settles you, grabs you by your shoulders, and shakes the hesitation from you. Like he’s added oil to your joints, and the stiffness works its way out of you as you set aside the broom and take his hand.

He grinned, tugging you over and stepping around you almost as if he led you in a dance before placing you in front of the sink to finish the dishes, and he starts on lunch.

“What’s bothering you so much? What is on your mind right now?”

“How does milk regrow your bones?” He huffs a laugh at how you start on one of the silliest questions.

“Milk regrows your bones. That’s just a common fact.”

“Is it? I mean, is milk the only thing that's literal like that?…What kind of cow do you even milk to get milk that can regrow your bones?”

And he pauses from wiping the counter for prep and glances towards you.

“...Does…milk from your world…not do that?”

“No!” You state solidly and continue washing the dishes.

“Will your carrots actually improve my eyesight? In my world, it's an old wives' tale. A lot of expressions like this are just to get kids to stop being picky and eat their vegetables.”

He stares, prep now set aside for later as he takes a step to you and takes you by the shoulder.

“What?” You blink at him, and a deep pit begins to open in his stomach.

“What else have I been feeding you that’s like that?”

A few minutes later, the dishes are finished, and water boils. You sit on the table with Chopper across from you, listing off vegetables and fruits. Chopper furiously scribbles in on his increasingly thickening pile of notes about your health.

Sanji furiously turns pages in his cookbook and recipe cards. Scouring his memory and cross-referencing every recipe he’s ever cooked up to this point in an attempt to salvage the nutrition he thought he was providing.

“You mean eating spinach doesn’t actually make your muscles grow?”

“I mean, it does, but not to that extreme!”

“What about tomatoes? Can we still use them as sunscreen?” Chopper asks in genuine and fearful concern.

You close your mouth and shock overtakes your own face.

“You can use tomatoes as sunscreen?!”

Sanji's hands shake as he reaches for a cigarette.

“What kind of hellish world do you come from…?!”

How much dietary neglect had he been subjecting you to by accident? On the topic of allergies, he had watched you like a hawk with any foreign ingredients.

But he didn't expect their regular shared foods and ingredients to be so biologically different. They needed to start from the ground up and formulate a new diet plan.

Each and every food-stuff from apples to zucchini has been brought to question.

Chopper starts once again, another page in your ever growing file.

“M-Maybe it’s the way our soil interacts with the Devil Fruit-infused environment?! Or our entire world’s geology? You said that while your world is more salt water than fresh it’s a LOT smaller than ours?”

“That was more of an assumption, really. I figured it had to be smaller because we've mapped the whole thing.”

“WHAT?!”

And then Nami is sitting in the kitchen, also with a notebook furiously scribbling in her pages with wide-eyed shock.

[areyoudoingthis]

ed already had such a strong aversion to the pirate lifestyle before he even met stede, was sick of the drudgery and the violence to the point where he was relieved about getting a "forced" way out via the privateering academy. and then stede left him when he shaved his beard and stopped wearing blackbeard, and izzy pushed him into embodying the kraken for months, and then he died, and then low tortured stede in front of him and he had to watch stede kill him and then do a "how to become a pirate in 10 short steps" speedrun and then he thought the british had killed him during their pirate extermination campaign.

the writers were honestly so galaxy brained for letting him retire to live on land do arts and crafts for a while. that poor guy needs to breathe

[sh4nksslvt]

Y/n is part of the navy, a daughter of Roger's navy, Shirojige wouldn't allow it. He ordered one of his sons to capture her and bring her to him. The one chosen for this mission was his closest son, Marco. He had previously sent other ships. My sons, they all returned badly injured. Oh, he simply evaded them. That young lady had a bad temper. Shirojige laughed while drinking. Y/n was in her office on the ship. Her men had debarked for supplies. She stayed on the ship finishing some paperwork. Her next mission was to go to Mary Georgina. She was supposed to escort some world nobles. She got up and took two jugs, filling them with sake. I thought this time she would send Ace, but she sent her brightest jewel. Hello, I look at him, smiling. Drink and go, please. Tomorrow we'll set sail and I'll be very busy, darling.

turning his folder so he wouldn't see the information for his next mission

got a bit confused with some parts, i apologize if its not accurate, but i hope i delivered ur request well! 💝(˶˃⤙˂˶)

Chasing Embers

A Navy captain and Roger’s daughter, Y/N, faces off against Marco, Whitebeard’s fiercest son — but not every battle is meant to be fought with swords.

Marco the phoenix x fem! reader tags: fluff, slight angst, sfw, forbidden relationship a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sun dipped low, casting an orange glow over the docked ship as the men scurried about, leaving their captain behind to handle "boring work," as they called it. Y/N stayed behind in her quarters, papers spread across her desk — reports, maps, and tomorrow’s orders, neatly organized. Her next mission was… delicate, and one she wasn't looking forward to: escorting some stuck-up World Nobles to Marijoa.

She let out a sigh and pushed the folder a little further from reach. No need for prying eyes.

Outside, the sea was too still. Too quiet.

It didn’t surprise her when a presence flickered at the edge of her Haki — steady, powerful, familiar in a way that made her chest tighten.

Another one of Whitebeard’s sons.

Again.

With an almost lazy motion, she grabbed two jugs, filled them with sake, and stood up, just as a shadow slipped inside through the open window like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Yo," the man greeted smoothly, tilting his head with a slight, teasing smirk.

Marco.

Not one of the reckless ones this time. No — the one. Whitebeard's right-hand man. The one smart enough not to pick a fight first.

Y/N smiled sweetly, offering a jug out toward him. "I thought this time he'd send Ace," she mused, voice light, almost amused, "but no. He sent his brightest jewel instead."

Far across the sea, aboard the Moby Dick, Whitebeard let out a hearty laugh, a massive sake cup in hand, surrounded by his sons. "That young lady has a bad temper," he boomed, slamming the cup down with a grin that stretched wide across his weathered face. "You boys were too soft with her."

Marco chuckled low and warm as if hearing his father’s voice echo in his memory. Stepping closer, he accepted the jug from her with a brush of his fingers against hers. "Ace volunteered," he said simply. "Oyaji said no."

"Smart man," she said, tapping her jug against his before tipping it back for a long sip. "Drink and go, darling. Tomorrow we'll set sail, and I'll be very busy."

She moved casually, spinning her folder closed with a flick, keeping the classified orders out of his sharp blue gaze.

Marco’s eyes flickered briefly to the desk but didn't push it. Instead, he leaned his hip against the table, the wood creaking softly under his weight. His stare was steady, but there was no hostility there — only a quiet patience that made her skin prickle.

"You always this welcoming to people sent to kidnap you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Only to the pretty ones," she said, grinning.

Marco huffed a small laugh through his nose, amused but unconvinced. "Flattery won't save you-yoi."

"Wasn’t trying to save myself," she replied smoothly, leaning back against her chair. "Just trying to enjoy my last few hours of peace before everything goes to hell."

A silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, but heavy — like the weight of everything they both carried. Two people born into impossible legacies.

He swirled the sake in his jug lazily, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "You're Roger's daughter."

"You sound surprised."

He shrugged a broad shoulder. "Not surprised. Just… funny-yoi. You ended up in the Navy, of all places."

Y/N smirked, taking another sip. "Thought it would piss more people off that way."

Marco chuckled again, the sound low and warm. "Definitely pissed off Oyaji," he admitted. "But he's more worried about you getting yourself killed-yoi"

"I can take care of myself."

"I know." His voice was serious now, no teasing in it. "That's the problem."

Their eyes locked, something sparking between them — raw, unspoken.

Y/N set her jug down carefully. "So," she said, her tone light but her fingers tightening around the edge of the desk, "what's the plan, Marco? Tie me up? Drag me kicking and screaming? Gonna knock me out?"

Marco finished his drink in one smooth pull and set the jug aside, pushing off the table to stand tall in front of her. He was close enough now that she had to tilt her head up slightly to meet his gaze.

"No," he said simply.

"No?" she echoed, narrowing her eyes.

He smiled — slow, confident, infuriatingly calm. "I'm gonna ask you nicely-yoi."

She blinked. "You're kidding."

"Come with me. We'll tell Oyaji you put up a good fight. Save you from the idiots who'll try again after me."

Her jaw clenched. Part of her wanted to laugh. Part of her wanted to throw the jug at his head.

"You think I can just walk away from everything? From my duty?"

"You think they'd hesitate if it was you in their way?" he asked softly.

It stung because it was true.

Marco took a step closer, close enough now that she could feel the heat rolling off him. His hand brushed her wrist, not grabbing, just… there. An invitation.

"You're not the enemy-yoi," he murmured. "You never were."

For a long moment, Y/N just stared at him, the weight of the decision pressing down on her chest. Her crew, her mission, her life — or the freedom that whispered at her through Marco’s touch.

"I can't," she whispered finally, voice tight.

Marco didn’t look disappointed. He just nodded, like he already knew.

"Then," he said, giving her a wry little smile, "I guess I'll have to carry you after all."

Before she could react, the window behind him shattered — a warning shot from one of her lieutenants returning with supplies. The crew was back. Reinforcements.

Y/N cursed under her breath, grabbing the hilt of her sword from behind the desk, while Marco just sighed like this was all mildly inconvenient.

"Guess that's my cue-yoi" he said, flashing her a grin.

"You’re not getting off that easy!" she snapped, lunging at him.

He dodged easily, the blue flames of his devil fruit flaring briefly around his arms as he vaulted back out the window, vanishing into the night.

But not before calling out over his shoulder:

"I'll be back for you,-yoi!"

Y/N stood there breathing hard, sword still in hand, heart hammering against her ribs.

Damn him.

Damn him and that stupid smile.

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 21

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

I had such a shitty day but I’m lowkey in love with this part of the series so I decided to post. Also I did some editing so the sewers are now in chapter 24 instead of 23. Let the fun begin!

Content Warnings - descriptions of wounds

Finnick and you try to make the best of your last few days together before he has to leave for deployment. You continue to skip your schedule, with the news of Finnick’s impending absence leaving you mentally unstable enough for Dr. Aurelius to give you a pass.

You follow him around like a lost puppy, constantly grasping at his fingers as a reminder that he’s still here. That’s the only touch you will allow, however. Your progress has regressed a bit and the nightmares have returned. You can’t even sleep in the same bed as Finnick, worried that you might hurt him.

The only night this changes is the night before he’s shipped out to the capital.

“You can’t go,” you whine as you grasp onto him, worried he might disappear at any moment.

“We’ve been over this,” he sighs, rolling over in the bed to face you.

“I know but it sucks and I hate it,” you explain.

“Can I hold you tonight?” he asks, suddenly turning the mood even more sad than it already was.

You sigh as you lean in closer to him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you.

“Thank you for loving me,” you tell him, moving your head slightly to look back at him.

“Thank you for letting me.”

Finnick doesn’t let you go to the hangar to see him off as he doesn’t want to say goodbye. You understand where he’s coming from but watching him get out of bed at 6am and leave your cabin nearly broke you.

Dr. Aurelius decided you would stay in the hospital again while Finnick was away. He didn’t think that you living alone was healthy and you agreed. As much as you hated the hospital at least you had Johanna there. She had a bad episode when she encountered water during her training and had to be sent back to the hospital.

You spend your days sitting with Johanna, neither of you having much to say. Mags comes to see you during her reflection time but again you sit in silence. Nobody was worth talking to as long as he was gone.

You stopped seeing Dr. Aurelius after he tried to explain that your dependency on Finnick was not healthy. He may be right but you don’t care. You need Finnick.

“Miss Y/L/N,” President Coin states as she steps into your room. You were not expecting her as a visitor. It had been only a few days since Finnick left. “You and Mr. Mellark have been called upon for a noble mission.”

You look at her confused. What were you and Peeta going to do? Coin sets down a pile of clothes on the edge of your bed.

“Suit up soldier,” she states. Maybe you would be seeing Finnick sooner than you thought.

You and Peeta are loaded into a hovercraft to an unknown location. Well, the people flying the hovercraft know where you are going, but you and Peeta haven’t been told anything.

It’s a long few hours before you finally land in District 2.

“My name is Peeta Melark,” Peeta whispers to himself as he exits the hovercraft.

You struggle to stand up, a headache having accumulated during the flight. A soldier goes to help you but you swat his hand away, not wanting to be touched.

“What are we doing here?” Peeta mumbles as you fight to stay standing, the pulsing headache not helping.

“In the vehicles,” a soldier orders, motioning for you and Peeta to get into two separate armored trucks. Why are they separating you two?

The ride in the truck is long. You fade in and out of a fitful sleep, unable to rid yourself of a repeating nightmare you’ve had since leaving the capital.

In it, Wiress is sitting on the beach in the arena, staring out into the water with her dead eyes and slit throat, repeatedly muttering “tick tock” to herself. It always happens the same way. Her muttering gets louder until she suddenly goes silent and turns to face you.

You watch in horror as her ashy skin begins to flake off, revealing nothing but bones underneath. Black blood flows from her throat.

“Tick tock,” she screams at you.

“You can’t outrun the clock!”

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[elreyesvidal]

After Hours (TFP!WheelRatch)

AN: I always thought Ratchet's reaction to Wheeljack showing up to help defend the base at the end of TFP season 2 was interesting. So here is my fic on my hc that they must've had some kind of conversation after the episode "Hurt".

Ratchet was confused, but he couldn't let his feelings cloud his mind, not when Bulkhead needed his full attention. Still, everyone at the base could tell the doctor's attention was split, despite the fact that he's been planted in front of the monitors all day.

The others had made their disappointment and anger at Wheeljack clear for bringing Miko along on his revenge trip. Ratchet was among them, but with all the commotion none of the others had realized just how affected he actually was.

It was no surprise, it's not as if the others knew about how they bonded during their excursion together. The two cybertronians had grown to respect each other after seeing the other work in their natural environment. They both realized the others capabilities and knew they could trust each other.

Or so Ratchet thought. He wasn't sure if his reaction was fair to Wheeljack. After all, everyone at the base, including the other humans, knew Miko had a knack for following the Autobots on their missions, even when told to stay. No, he shakes his head, still feeling disappointed, the right thing would have been for Wheeljack to inform the others of her whereabouts.

This confusion he was feeling, there was anger mixed in but it was mostly disappointment. He wasn't sure exactly what it is he expected of Wheeljack at this point in time. He couldn't have expected him to change after just one mission together. Maybe the issue was that Ratchet actually thought about Wheeljack being around base more.

Ratchet sighs aloud in frustration then, running a hand down his face before shaking his head slightly, as if that could clear his thoughts away. The motion doesn't go unnoticed by the others.

Arcee and Bumblebee, both concerned for their friends, look to Optimus, hoping to convey their thoughts with looks alone. He gives them a nod of understanding before making his way towards Ratchet.

Normally, he'd let Ratchet do his work undisturbed, however, with Bulkhead now stable, and Miko resting by his side, Optimus felt like he should encourage his friend to take a break. "Ratchet?"

Ratchet, having gone into hyperfocus mode, looks over in surprise before responding, "Yes? Oh, Optimus, I was just continuing to monitor Bulkhead's condition."

Optimus remains silent, allowing Ratchet to speak, "He will definitely need time to recover, but he's stable, there's been no drastic changes to his health."

"Then perhaps you would be willing to let us watch over him for a while?" Optimus gestures to the others spread out around the base.

"There's no need for someone to take over," Ratchet begins to turn back towards the monitors as he says this, hardly even looking to where Optimus had been gesturing.

"Ratchet, Bulkhead is stable, and there are others around who are ready to watch over him until he stirs. You mustn't push yourself. Take some time to rest, if only to clear your mind."

Normally, Ratchet would push to stay, knowing that bringing up his medical knowledge could convince Optimus to respect his wishes; but he did have a lot on his mind. "If you think that is best, Optimus. I will make sure to return with a clearer mind."

Optimus nods before taking over Ratchet's spot at the monitors. Ratchet looks over at Bulkhead and Miko once more before heading topside of the base. He's not one to really go on drives to clear his mind, but he figures looking out at Earth's night sky is better than looking at any more screens.

Once outside, he realizes there's another presence at the edge of the cliff. Wheeljack.

His ship sits on the opposite side of the cliff, answering the question of how he got up here.

Ratchet's mind becomes like static for a brief moment. There is a lot of confusion as he feels some of his earlier anger and disappointment that is mostly, but not entirely dulled. He didn't think he'd see him so soon, especially lingering atop the base. He thought he'd have more time to process the events of the past couple of days before seeing him again.

"Hey, Doc, fancy running into you here." Normally, Ratchet would react to the unwanted nickname, but he could tell Wheeljack's spirit wasn't into it. Whether he said it out of habit or because he wanted to rile him up, he's unsure, the only thing he is sure of is that he sounds just as defeated as he feels.

"What are you doing here, Wheeljack? You seemed uninterested in waiting around for Bulkhead to get up." Ratchet is unsure if perhaps he went too far by bringing up Bulkhead, the lack of reaction from Wheeljack concerning him.

After a pause, he responds, "I'm not sure. I know Bulk will be fine, he's in the best hands he could possibly be." Another pause as Ratchet joins him at the edge, neither look at each other, they just continue to look up at the stars.

"It's something the human said. Miko. She asked me, "Then why don't I feel any different", after we took out Hardshell and I told her, she'd make Bulkhead proud."

At this, Ratchet looks over at Wheeljack as he continues, "I hadn't thought much about her comment until after I took her back to base. The realization that Bulkhead would need time to recover and might not be the same again, brought her words back to my mind."

"Sure, I did feel satisfied taking down the 'con that attempted to snuff Bulkhead; but now what? It didn't help Bulk recover faster." Wheeljack looks down but still not at Ratchet.

"I presume you've never let yourself think on it too long before. Every time you've avenged your fellow Wreckers in the past, you've moved on, looking for the next, until now. Now there's someone who voiced the thought, the feeling, you've been avoiding, and there is no next one to look for to keep you distracted." Ratchet stops for a moment, again expecting some kind of reaction from Wheeljack.

He was now clenching his hands but otherwise no verbal reaction, so Ratchet continues, "Revenge may feel satisfying, but when you realize it doesn't help the person you're avenging, it takes away that satisfaction. What are you left with then?"

Wheeljack's hands relax then, "A lot of thoughts I'm not ready to deal with. I need more time to think, away from here."

"Wheeljack, I know you think working alone is less complicated, but working as a team, with a team, is worth the complications."

He looks over at Ratchet then, thinking of their first mission together. "Don't get soft on me now, sunshine."

Ratchet scoffs, "I would do no such thing. Besides, I doubt there's changing the mind of someone so stubborn and insubordinate. "

"And here I was, just getting used to your understanding side. I suppose there's no changing you either." Wheeljack steps closer into his space, enjoying his reaction.

Ratchet is not sure what it is about Wheeljack that makes him so reactionary. It's as if there was something drawing him to him, despite the irritation he causes him at times.

"It's not the same thing, and you know it," he finally responds while refusing to back away.

"You know, Doc, we could-" Wheeljack's interrupted by Ratchet's comm piece going off.

"Ratchet, Optimus thought you should know, Bulkhead's awake." With their proximity, they both heard the message clearly.

Ratchet responds while maintaining eye contact with Wheeljack, "I'm on my way back, Arcee."

The space between the two begins to grow slowly, neither really sure what to say.

Finally, Wheeljack says, "Bulkhead needs you more than I do right now, you should go. I know he'll be in good hands."

There's a new kind of disappointment emerging in Ratchet's thoughts, but he doesn't have time to process them right now. "You're still adamant on not wanting to see him in this state?"

Wheeljack nods, "See you around, Ratchet." He makes his way to his ship then, not really waiting for Ratchet to give any response.

What could he even say? He can't ask Wheeljack to stay, not if he's not ready. He also knows he wouldn't ask him to go with him, but a part of him wondered, if they weren't at war, if there wasn't a patient that needed tending... what then?

Ratchet watches him leave, not going back down into the base until his ship is no longer visible.

[pallysuune]

Summary: You have been at the Lion's side since he first walked onto Camarth and remembered who he was. Whatever else anyone says about him, you've seen how human he can be, and try to help him in an equally human way.

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Lion El'Jonson

Warnings: spoilers for The Lion: Son of the Forest, I guess. Some good ol' fashioned fluffy smut. No beta we die like fanfic writers.

A/N: I love how different the Lion is in Son of the Forest, how much more mature and respectful he is. I've got a soft spot for the old man. This, uh, may have gotten a little out of hand.

The Protectorate was nearing a state where it would be self sufficient. Where Lion could step away without fear that 'his people' would once more fall to the predation of chaos. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking most of the time, but everyone near him could tell that he was affected by that notion. How he was affected was up to debate, though. His Risen were of the opinion that he was anticipating his return to the Imperium at large, maybe even excited for it in his own way. But you thought there was more to it than that.

Not anxiety, exactly, but something adjacent to it.

While the majority of the Lion Guard would remain in the Protectorate, there was a small number who would be joining him and his sons in their travels. You were one of them. It wasn't much of a surprise, if you were being honest. While you weren't the captain of the Lion Guard, or any other named rank, you served as close to an equerry as he currently had. You'd dare even say you were close to him. Closer than most.

The ship that would carry you all away from the Protectorate wasn't one many would call worthy of a Primarch, but Lion himself had seemed nothing but satisfied with it, thanking the tech priests and engineers who had gotten it in working order with a sincerity that had left them flustered and star struck. It was still, in fact, a little small for someone like him, especially in the private cabins, which was what necessitated him sitting cross-legged on the floor as he currently was.

He'd been sitting there for so long with his eyes closed, you thought he was meditating, or that he'd fallen asleep, when he spoke suddenly.

"You know you don't need to be here all the time."

You fixed him with a flat look, even if he wasn't able to see it currently. "The last time we were on a ship, you took a walk in the middle of the warp and none of us knew what happened to you," you reminded him, in a sharp tone you only dared to use in private.

He opened his eyes and looked up at you. You blushed a little. He didn't intend it, you were pretty sure, but his attention was always so intense that it got to you every time.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a faint smile. "My sons were quite upset with me about that," he conceded.

He motioned toward a chair, offering for you to sit, and, in a way, accepting the fact that you were going to be staying there. Triumphantly, you sat down.

Silence fell between the two of you for a moment, before you cleared your throat softly. "Can I ask you something, Lord Lion?" He looked over at you again. For how calm he could be, he still didn't like to be kept waiting, so you went on quickly. "Why did you bring the Lion Guard with you? Not just now, but when you first brought us with you from Camarth. You... don't really need us. Especially now that more of your sons have joined your side. So why...?"

He didn't answer immediately, glancing away instead, his eyes lowering to the floor as he thought about it. "I do need the Lion Guard. I cannot protect these planets alone, nor can I traverse the stars to rejoin my father's imperium alone. Even a Primarch is nothing without people who are willing to trust and follow them."

He looked meaningfully at you.

"In truth, I need you just as much as you needed me. I am still human."

You knew he meant 'you' in a general sense, but your heart still skipped a beat all the same.

His gaze seemed just a little more focused on you, and you suddenly recalled a rumor you had heard once that he could hear so well he could even hear a person's pulse. Was it true? Could he hear how yours was suddenly fluttering in your chest?

"Don't you ever get tired, sir?"

He arched a brow at you. "I slept for ten thousand years," he said, his voice so dry you couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"That isn't what I meant," you huffed, flustered.

His expression softened ever so slightly. "I do. But there is too much to do to give in to it."

You hesitated again, looking at him. Your heart was beating so fast, you were almost sure it would break out of your rib cage and fly away. "Would you... permit me to help you with that?"

His expression closed off, becoming more guarded, and for a moment, he just looked at you. And then, slowly, he nodded.

You took a deep breath and rose from your seat. After one last second of hesitation - you could stop this before it started, your brain said, pretend it never happened, and go back to serving him as normal - before you slipped into his lap, sitting lightly on his thighs. This close, you could so clearly see the lines at the corner of his eyes, the silver in his blond hair and beard. He didn't move in the slightest, and his eyes never left yours. Slowly, you reached up, fingertips brushing his cheek, before you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

He didn't respond immediately, but after a moment, he wrapped his arms around you. He was gentle, almost achingly, as if he was afraid of hurting you. His broad, warm form enveloped you. He kissed you back, slowly, and you could practically feel the tension release in his shoulders as he let himself let go and accept the affection and comfort you were giving him. His fingers slid into your hair, his hand cradling the back of your head.

You had seen the Lion fight before. To think that the same hands you had seen kill daemons with such ease could be so gentle when touching you made your heart ache.

The kiss grew deeper, his tongue slipping past your lips, sweeping into your mouth and gliding over yours. You moaned softly.

He smoothed one large hand down the curve of your back, letting it settle low, where the edge of your shirt had ridden up ever so slightly. He slid one calloused finger beneath, drawing over your skin. "Do you wish to continue?"

You realized it was a genuine question. He would not stop you or blame you if you didn't wish to go any further. That, just as much as the warmth of his body and the way he had responded to your kiss, urged you on.

"I do."

The Lion kissed you again softly, beginning to pull your shirt up. He's wearing a shirt that buttons down the front, something made for him on Avalus to wear when he's not in his armor. You fumble with the buttons, fingers slipping on them in your eager haste. You felt the quirk of his lips in a smirk of amusement, and felt heat rise to your cheeks. When he pulls away to draw your shirt over your head, you take the opportunity to undo the buttons since you could see them. You pushed his shirt back off his shoulders.

He was a broad man, muscular and strong, his skin pale, with the ghosts of freckles dusting his shoulders, waiting for the kiss of the sun to bring them out. Scars mark his body, a long with the metal ports where his armor interfaced with his body. It was strange how different it was and yet how recognizably human. You ran your hand down his chest, marveling at him.

He said nothing, watching you silently as you looked over his upper body. When you glanced up, you met his his eyes. That intense forest green gaze. You flushed.

He leaned in and kissed you again.

Lion lifted you with ease, making quick work of the rest of your clothes before removing his own. Naked, he drew you back into his lap. Your breath hitched at the feeling of skin against skin, his cock resting against your sex. His hands roamed over your body as he held you close and kissed you, in utterly no hurry. He trailed kisses down your neck and over your shoulder. He lavished your body with kisses and touches until you were squirming in his lap, panting softly.

It was only then that he laid you back onto the floor, shifting over you. One large hand guided your leg around his waist. His lips pressed softly to your breast. His beard scratched your skin lightly. His mouth was hot as he took your nipple into it to suck lightly on it. His fingers brushed along your folds. Heat and pleasure rushed through you. You were slick and hot under his hand as he circled your clit and pressed a finger into you.

You whimpered softly, your hips arching up into the movement of his hand.

"Patience," he murmured against your chest.

You wasn't sure how he could expect you to be patient when he was slowly fucking you with one thick finger. But you bit your lip, trying to keep from squirming too much.

"Good girl."

His voice alone was enough to make you whine again.

Lion took his time, patient and thorough, fingering you and playing with your clit until you were practically dripping for him, your arousal slickening your thighs. You were nearly delirious with need when he drew back, slipping his finger from you. He raised it to his mouth, and you watched through lidded eyes as he sucked your essence from his fingers.

"A man could lose himself between your thighs," he rumbled, green eyes locked with yours.

"Lion," you breathed.

He pursed his lips, and you were sure it was to hide a smile, and leaned back down over you. He guided your legs around his waist again. You felt the press of his length against your slit. Slowly, he rolled his hips forward, pressing into you, stretching you, filling you. Your back arched, your hips rocking up to meet his. A long, low moan slipped from your lips.

He groaned softly before his lips met yours. He kissed you deeply. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading in his hair. He was the only thing that existed to you in that moment. You clung to him, grounding yourself in the strength of his body. And you let yourself get lost in the push and pull of your bodies, in the pleasure that seared through your veins. Nothing else mattered.

He began to move faster, chasing the high both of you so desperately needed. His fingers found your clit once more and you keened, pushed over the edge. Your pussy tightened around him, your juices dripping down your thighs as he continued to fuck you through your release. Everything was a haze of sensation, highlighted with the sound of deep, masculine groans in your ear, as your body began to tread that line between pleasure and pain, too much and not enough. You trembled in his arm. He continued fucking you.

He bucked into you and stopped, filling you completely. You could feel the throb of his manhood in you as he pumped you full of his seed.

For a moment, you both remained like that, twined together. You were panting. He was breathing a little hard, too, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. He pressed a kiss there before finally pulling himself up.

You expected him to pull away, get dressed, and return to his meditation. Instead, he drew you close to him again, back into his lap as he shifted to lean back against the wall. He took his shirt and draped it over you. You hadn't anticipated cuddling but, well, you certainly going to turn down the opportunity. You let yourself lay across his chest as his arms came to settle around you again.

Lion didn't speak. But as you began to fall asleep, you could have sworn you felt the touch of his cheek against the top of your head.

[angora48]

Our Flag Means Death - "(Room)Mates"

Inspired by the Hicth prompt for Pride Month. If Our Flag Means Death had gotten a third season, I like to think we would've gotten canon aroace Frenchie. A woman can dream!

When you’re the captain of the sex-positive “love is love” ship, how do you explain to your best mate who fancies you that you’re aroace? It’s not the easiest conversation to have, and an ill-timed case of hiccups isn’t helping. There’s a distinct possibility that Frenchie is nervous about this.

A brilliant sun was beating down over the Caribbean, but a good breeze took the edge off the heat and kept the Revenge in motion. Frenchie was in motion too—he walked briskly across the deck, checking in with the crew and making sure everything was on course.

“Hey, there he is!” Wee John called to him. Frenchie turned and found his roommate holding up a fluttering trail of purple.

“You finished it?” Frenchie asked in delight, skirting past some of the crew playing cards to meet Wee John by the stairs. He held still while Wee John loosely arranged the long knitted scarf around his neck.

“It suits you,” Wee John told him. “Purple’s definitely your color.”

“Yeah?” Frenchie said. “Is it dashing? Do I look, you know, captainy?”

“Very dashing,” Wee John confirmed.

Frenchie turned this way and that, watching the scarf trail behind him. “I love it,” he enthused. “Thanks, mate!”

Wee John grinned at him. “Any time.” He looked down toward the card game. “I’m getting some wash on—anybody need laundry doing?” he asked, then counted the raised hands. “Right, I’ll get that started.” 

Smiling again at Frenchie, he said, “See you round,” then headed below deck.

“See you,” Frenchie replied. 

He was in a good mood. Nice day, smooth sailing, and now, new scarf. Frenchie was still admiring it when Oluwande said, “Er, captain?”

That still threw him a bit, Captain Frenchie. He did the job just fine, but hearing the title felt like wearing somebody else’s coat. Maybe the scarf would help. Sauntering over to the card players, Frenchie said, “Yeah, what’s up?”

Oluwande glanced at the others, who seemed to be urging him on. “You and Wee John…” he started.

“What about us?” Frenchie asked.

They all had some sort of unspoken exchange that Frenchie couldn’t follow. At last, Jim was the one to speak up, asking, “Are you two officially a thing now?”

Frenchie frowned in confusion. “What sort of thing?”

Lucius gave a heavy sigh. “Oh my god—after Stede left, I thought I was done walking clueless captains through romance.”

“What’re you on about?” Frenchie asked. “There’s no romance. We’re mates.”

Archie laughed. “If that’s the case, why do you think he’s always flirting with you?”

Frenchie was proper confused now. “What?”

Lucius scoffed. “You are kidding.”

“Frenchie, mate, he’s always flirting with you,” Oluwande reiterated. 

 “No, he’s not,” Frenchie insisted.

“Oh, so you’re flirting with him just for the fun of it?” Pete prodded.

“I’m definitely not!” Frenchie protested, to a general outcry.

This wasn’t good. On the list of captains’ problems, it fell well below storms and mutinies, but Frenchie could feel his stomach churning as he considered what they’d said. “Don’t be daft,” he said firmly.

“Oh please,” Zheng replied, not looking up as she refilled her pipe. “He called you dashing? Must be love.”

“Oi!” Oluwande muttered to her.

“Who said anything about love??” Frenchie yelped.

Pete stood up and rested his elbow on Frenchie’s shoulder. “Look, speaking as a married man…”

Everyone groaned. Archie threw her cards at Pete, and Lucius said, “Babe, take it down, like, two notches.”

“The point is, Wee John likes you,” Jim told Frenchie. “Like, really likes you. I don’t know if you feel the same way or not, but either way, you’ve gotta tell him.”

“Frenchie likes him too,” Oluwande pitched in. “He must!”

“Oh, must I?” Frenchie retorted. “What, more of this supposed flirting I do?”

“You never moved into the captain’s quarters,” Oluwande pointed out. “You stayed with him.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s my roommate!” Frenchie said. “It’s a room people thing—you wouldn’t understand.”

“Your room used to be our room!” Jim exclaimed, indicating themselves and Oluwande.

“And every day, you regret giving it up, don’t you?” Frenchie replied.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, it doesn’t matter about the room!” Lucius broke in. “It doesn’t change the fact that Wee John fancies you. Anyone can see it.”

“Flirrr. Tingggg,” Archie said, drawing out the word to a painful degree.

“And if you don’t fancy him back, then stop stringing him along,” Lucius finished.

“But I haven’t!” Frenchie cried weakly.

“Don’t break up the band, dude,” Pete warned.

“Talk to Wee John,” Oluwande told him.

Frenchie bit back a groan. “Right. So that’s my day, is it?”  He sighed, grimacing. “Fine. I’m a responsible and tactical captain. I’ll just…fine.”

Filled with a jittery nervous energy, Frenchie turned on his heels and hurried below deck. Wee John couldn’t really have set his cap at him. Could he have? For how long? It couldn't be anything serious. If he was flirting with Frenchie, it was just in a fun, cheeky way, yeah? And there was no way he thought Frenchie was flirting with him, right? Please?

As Frenchie swallowed, he gulped down a feeling of dread. “Oh god.” He tightly gripped the ends of his scarf.

Frenchie attempted to be nonchalant as he moseyed into their room, though he suspected he was overdoing it—the whistling felt like a bit much. “All right?” he asked with trepidation.

“Yeah,” Wee John replied, glancing up from sorting clothes. He flashed Frenchie a smile. “Better now that you’re here.”

Oof. Had the others just put notions in his head, or was Frenchie starting to see it too now? “So listen,” he began, his hands still tugging at his scarf, “I’ve got something to ask you, and it might seem a bit mad, but….” Was this right? It seemed like he’d started all wrong. “Here, should we take it to the nook?”

Wee John raised his eyebrows, and Frenchie wasn’t sure if he was perplexed, intrigued, or skeptical. But he nodded, setting the laundry aside. Together, they walked to the corner and sat down.

“Here’s the thing,” Frenchie began, again. His head jerked back with a hiccup, a quiet “*hup!*” He cleared his throat. “Right. So, well, I mean, *hmmk!* it’s been brought to my atten-*hulp!*-attention….” Frenchie stopped and took a breath, hiccupping again. “Sorry, I—”

Wee John smiled. “Maybe you’d better hold your breath?” he suggested. “And then we can start over.”

“Righ-*herk!*” Frenchie said, trying to sound less anxious than he was. “Just the thi-*hmmp!*-the thing, hold the ol’-*hup!*-breath and nip the h-*hic!*-iccups in the b-- bud.” It’s possible that he was babbling. Frenchie shook himself out like a wet dog, as if he could shake his nerves away. 

As he took a deep breath and held it, Wee John gave him a reassuring nod. But that kind gesture made Frenchie’s heart sink. What if he bungled this and lost Wee John as a friend? He wasn’t sure he could bear that, but he didn’t know how to avoid it. This wasn’t remotely the sort of thing he was good at, talking through messy or delicate feelings—especially when it came to this. Whatever happened to bottling it up like a sensible person?

When he felt he was about ready to burst, Frenchie let all his breath out in a puff. “There, now that that’s taken care of, *huck!*”

Wee John broke into a fond-sounding laugh. “This just isn’t your day, is it?” he asked. “C’mon, we’d better get you some water.”

“Oh, that’s-*hup!*-all right,” Frenchie demurred. “I’m sur-*herk!*-sure they’ll go away a-- any minute now.”

“Nonsense,” Wee John told him. “Help me up—we’ll head down to the galley and get you fixed right up.”

Frenchie didn’t know what he’d envisioned going into this conversation, but this sure wasn’t it. What could he do, though? So he nodded, swallowing a “*hmmk!*”, and popped up to his feet, giving Wee John a hand as he rose.

Probably a good thing they were already below deck. Lord knows what the others would make of this little scene, and Frenchie had already had more than an earful of their opinions. No, better that they could bypass all that and go straight to the galley. Maintain a bit of privacy.

“Here we are,” Wee John announced as they stepped inside. “You sit down, I’ll get your water.”

Frenchie threw himself onto one of the long benches, groaning as he stretched out his lanky hiccupping frame. The more they prolonged getting started, the more the whole thing seemed to be spinning away from him.

At that moment, Roach poked his head out from the food stores. “I said no one’s allowed in here until dinner!” he barked. “It’s a surprise.”

“We’ll be quick,” Wee John told him. “Cap’n has the hiccups.” He returned to Frenchie’s bench with a jug of water and a mug. 

With another “*hup!*”, Frenchie sat up. He gave Roach an apologetic smile. “Out of y-*herk!*-your hair in a-*huck!*-jiff,” he promised, then downed the water. 

“Right,” he said, wiping his mouth as he set down the empty mug. “All better now. Thanks, Wee Joh-*hulp!*” He sighed. “Oh, lord abo-- above….”

Wee John was right. This wasn’t his day.

Hiccups or not, was it better to just get it over with? He’d feel like a right fool, but putting it off like this was just making him more anxious about it. He wished these damn hiccups would go away already.

Roach frowned in thought. “Maybe if you drink from the other side of the glass?”

“What else cures hiccups?” Wee John mused. He turned to Roach. “Where’s the sugar? Or have you got any lemons?”

“That’s all r-*herk!*-all right, really,” Frenchie insisted, rising to his feet. “*hmmp!* We don’t have t-- to fuss with i-*hic!*-it.”

“I could scare you,” Roach offered brightly. “Hold on, let me get a few of my knives.”

“Oh, that could work,” Wee John agreed.

Everything was definitely spinning away from Frenchie now. His fingers were fidgeting, his palms were sweating, and his head was buzzing. All of a sudden, he heard himself blurt out, “Have you b-*huck!*-been flirting wi-*hic!*-with me?”

Well, that stopped things spinning, all right. Both Wee John and Roach went dead quiet. After an excruciatingly long moment, silent except for Frenchie’s “*hmmks!*” and “*hulps!*”, Roach announced, “I’ll give you two a minute,” and hightailed it out of there.

More silence-with-the-exception-of-hiccups—Frenchie stuffed the end of his scarf in his mouth, but it couldn’t quiet them altogether. Then Wee John asked in a soft voice, “What do you mean?”

Frenchie pulled the scarf out and sighed through another hiccup, sinking back down onto the bench. “That’s wh-*hulp!*-what Jim said,” he replied. “*hup!* And Lucius. An-- and Olu. And well, *hmmk!* pretty much every-*hic!*-one, I guess.” He looked down at his hands as he twisted his fingers round each other. “And they said I’ve-*hup!*-been flirting b-*hulp!*-back.”

He stole a glance at Wee John, who frowned as he asked, “You mean you haven’t been?”

“Wasn’t tr-*hmmp!*-trying to,” Frenchie explained quietly, “and-*hulp!*-and didn’t notice if-*hic!*-you were. That sort of-*hup!*-thing, it’s not really m-- my area.” He looked at Wee John again. “Sorr-*hup!*-sorry, if you thought-*hulp!*-I was. Didn’t mean t-*huck!*-to lead you on or-*hmmk!*-anything.” He looked back down. “If you w-*hup!*-you want the scarf-*hic!*-back…”

“No, it’s okay,” Wee John assured him, a bit too quick and a bit too cheery. “It’s fine. You’re not interested. Happens to the best of us. I’ll get over it. Other fish in the sea, right?”

Frenchie grimaced. “*hmmk!* It’s not li-*huck!*-like you think,” he ventured.

“Oh,” Wee John murmured, going quiet again for a moment. His pained expression squeezed Frenchie’s heart. “Is there someone else?”

“No,” Frenchie insisted, “*and-*hup!*-and that’s why it’s n-*huck!*-not like you thi-- think. There’s n-*hulp!*-no one else.” Covering his face with the ends of his scarf, he took a deep breath, or as deep a breath as his hiccups would allow. “*hic!*…*herk!*…*hulp!*” At his side, he could feel Wee John come and sit down next to him—not saying anything, just waiting.

Finally, Frenchie lifted his face out of the scarf. He said, “All the rest o-*hmmp!*-of you, you fancy-*huck!*-other folks. You flirt and k-- and kiss, and dally-*hic!* You, well, *hulp!* you get up t-*hup!*-to what you all-*hmmk!*-do in pri-*hic!*-vate. But I’m-*hup!*-not like that. *herk!* I’ve never b-- been.”

“You mean you’ve never…done anything?” Wee John asked.

“I’ve-*hulp!*-kissed,” Frenchie told him. “At least, o-*hup!*-other folks have kissed-*hmmp!*-me. A few ti-*hic!*-times, before I kn-*hmmk!*-knew they fancied-*herk!*-me. But I’ve not d-*huck!*-done anything-*hup!*-else. More th-*huck!*-than that, I’ve not w-- wanted to. Never-*herk!*-longed for it, *huck!* or for anyo-*hulp!*-one.” He sighed. “I dunno h-*hup!*-how to explain it-*hic!*-right.”

Gently, Wee John set his steady hand over both of Frenchie’s fidgeting ones. “It’s all right, Frenchie,” he said softly. “You don’t want anything like that. I don’t know what that’s like, and I can’t say I’ve fully got my head round it, but there’s nothing the matter with it.” He rubbed the back of Frenchie’s hand with his thumb. “Is there anything you do want?”

“Th-*hulp!*-this!” Frenchie replied. He drew in a hiccuppy breath. “Mates, like-*hic!*-you and me. Or, *herk!* or like I thought we w-*hup!*-were. I guess you may-*huck!*-maybe thought it were somethi-*hic!*-ing different than-*hup!*-that. ‘More than-*hic!*-friends,’ isn’t that what peop-*hulp!*-people say?” Wee John nodded.

“I-*hup!*-I’ve never underst-- stood that, ‘more-*huck!*-than friends,’” Frenchie went on. “‘More,’ li-*hic!*-like it’s better-*herk!* ‘Cause what could b-*hmmk!*-be better than ha-*hulp!*-having a mate like you? *huck!* Like th-- the crew. Like Stede-*hmmp!*-and Black-*hic!*-beard, even though-*hulp!*-they left.” He winced. “LIke Iz-- Izzy, even though he’s-*hup!*-gone.”

Frenchie shook his head. “For m-*hulp!*-me, there’s nothing-*huck!*-better than tha-*hup!*-that.”

Wee John smiled. “C’mere, you,” he said, pulling Frenchie into a tight bear hug. “Can’t pretend I’m not disappointed, but your friendship means a lot to me too, and I’d never want to lose that.”

Frenchie hugged back, resting his head on Wee John’s shoulder. “Me neith-*herk!*-neither,” he said, his voice coming out strained as he spoke round the emotion in his throat.

“Aww,” Wee John murmured in a fond tone. He broke the hug and looked Frenchie over. “Friend kiss, all right?” he asked. He gently tapped Frenchie’s temple. “Just here.”

Frenchie nodded through a “*hmmp!*”, and Wee John gave him a soft, affectionate kiss. “And I meant what I said,” Wee John continued, putting an arm over Frenchie’s shoulder. “I will get over it. To be honest, this makes it a little easier, knowing you won’t get snatched up by anybody else.”

With a curious look at Wee John, Frenchie asked, “So you-*hup!*-you were flirtin-*hmmk!*-with me, then?”

Wee John let out a hearty laugh. “Of course I was! You really didn’t know?”

“No i-*hulp!*-dea—I don’t usually c-*huck!*-catch onto that,” Frenchie admitted. “Not unt-*hic!*-until I get kissed, and then it seems t-*hmmp!*-too late to ask.”

“You little heartbreaker,” Wee John teased.

“I don’t m-- mean to be!” Frenchie protested. “And what you said, about some-*hup!*-somebody snatching me up? If you see anybody trying, tell me, all right? ‘Cause I won’t know they’re doing it.”

“It’s a promise,” Wee John told him, smiling. “Thanks for talking to me about this. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.” Frenchie nodded.

Wee John added, “So to cheer you up…I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“What, another one?” Frenchie asked, raising his eyebrows. “Mate, how fast can you knit?”

“This one’s not knitting!” Wee John replied.

“All right, go on then,” Frenchie said.

Wee John grinned at him. “Your hiccups are gone.”

Frenchie’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Hey, yeah!” he realized. “Sure, now they stop.”

Wee John chuckled, giving him a squeeze. “You must’ve been nervous.”

“Yeah,” Frenchie murmured in a low voice. “I think I was a bit.”

A thought occurred to Frenchie, and he turned to Wee John. “Is this all right?” he asked. “Sitting close like this. ‘Cause I’m fine with it, I mean with hugs, or holding hands—I like that well enough. But we don’t have to, if it makes it harder for you.”

“Somehow, I’ll manage to contain myself,” Wee John joked. “But don’t worry. If I start pining and I need some space, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, ‘cause I won’t catch onto that either,” Frenchie admitted. Wee John offered him his hand, and Frenchie took it.

A minute or so later, Roach’s head appeared in the doorway. “Can I come back in?” he asked. “Did you two lovebirds sort everything out?”

“Yeah, we’re sorted,” Wee John replied, glancing at Frenchie. “Only we’re not lovebirds—we’re roommates.”

“Whatever,” Roach said. “I’m happy for you. Now get out of my kitchen.”

Wee John gave Frenchie’s hand one more squeeze as they got up and headed out. “What’ve you got on this afternoon?” Frenchie asked.

“Laundry, remember?” Wee John replied. “What about you?”

“Oh, just captainy stuff,” Frenchie said. “See you later, roomie?”

Wee John nodded, adjusting Frenchie’s scarf. “Later.”

They parted, and as Frenchie strode off, there was an extra spring in his step. Captain Frenchie, and his roommate Wee John—he quite liked that. He felt ready to take on anything, if he was being honest.

More than friends. Did people even hear themselves? They didn’t know what they were talking about.

[yellowocaballero]

please tell me about untitled document gravity falls transcendence au. what?

The minute I saw this from Ami I was like "omfg of course you can have it queen <3" and the minute I saw it from you I was like "wouldn't you like to know, weatherboy."

Anyway, I really loved the Transcendence AU when I was younger and looking back it really was (and still is! people still write for it!) a beautiful thing to exist. The setting itself was so expansive and ripe for worldbuilding. The basic rules of the universe were so simple - 'the near future, with supernatural creatures and demons and magic!' - and opened up so much room for creativity and fun. The timeline was on such an expansive scale literally everybody could have an OC and they didn't even need to rub shoulders. Reincarnation topics meant that everybody got to write their favorite character AND make them an OC. The big creators made such great OCs that they became part of the universe and lore of the series. And for me, specifically, it was SO GEN and very family and worldbuilding oriented with almost NO shipping. I think at least some of the mods were ace and it was just the most ace-friendly fandom I'd ever seen. Haven't found that again lately.

I reread 'Return Rebirth Rewrite' and got nostalgic. I always had a mental image of how Lionel's deal with Alcor went, and then I decided to experience the absolute joy of finally having the skill to put to paper something that's always been in your head.

If you HAVE read RRR it's been a while, so TL;DR in a way that preserves the fun of the story underneath- RRR is about a normal twelve year old kid Dipper living with his reincarnated sister and loving father and discovering that he was actually a demon named Alcor in a past life.

Very short transcendentally self-indulgent fic under the cut. Hey, as it turns out, Alcor is FUCKING HARD to write.

Was it fate?

One class taken to satisfy a college requirement, chosen because it didn’t conflict with his Book-Binding class, spiraled into a certification. A high school ex-boyfriend that bought her cigarettes and induced a lifelong habit. Parents were dead - nobody to talk him out of it. Maybe it was a storm of factors that blew one decision into motion, a decision that would have stayed unmoving and silent if he’d taken the nurse’s advice and gotten some rest. Or maybe Lionel was just the sort of person who would always end up here, crouched in a motel room far from home, summoning a demon. Maybe he was weak.

Maya would have said that the love was too strong. But Maya was gone, and an oak tree grown too large collapsed under its own weight.

Lionel bought the supplies from the occult store in a daze. The past two hours had been a blur - he barely even remembered making the decision. A certification to archive the occult meant that he’d read dozens of books on demon summoning. He could do it in his sleep, and was practically doing so. He chose the best demon for the job with a distant, unaffected logic, and borrowed the motel office printer to print out a reference picture for a summoning circle. 

This was the stupidest possible thing to do, but he wasn’t stupid. It was a good summoning. He chose the best demon. An informed insanity. The only thing he didn’t do was write down his script for the deal. No need. It wasn’t exactly complicated. And writing it down would have made it real, and he couldn’t afford for anything to be real right now, so the resolution would have to stay in the making.

The summoning circle was drawn with a steady hand. The candles were lit with a decisive lighter tab. The summoning invocation was recited in a clear, firm tone. Passive voice. Dr. Gomez would have taken points off this essay. Would have taken points from his brain. Was he insane? Was he going insane? Was this insanity?

Lionel only really snapped back to reality once he was confronted with it. The candles flickered, then extinguished. Shadows bubbled and rose, snapping free of their outlines and leaking forward in pure blackness. Sulfur blew into the room on a gust of cold wind, as if standing by the shores of the sea. Lionel opened a portal and brought a demon into reality, and brought his own mind with it. 

He only properly realized what he had done once Alcor the Dreambender loomed before him. Maybe that was the first cruelty of a demon. Now he was going to bargain away his soul knowing exactly what he was doing.

Alcor was black and gold, a humanoid figure of shadow latticed with blocks of gold thread. Imprints of wings patterned the motel wall behind him, extending his presence in the room until he was almost crowding out Lionel. The top hat floating above his head was, incongruously, a regular top hat. Maybe? Lionel had only read about the top hat. Was that what top hats looked like? Why not a powdered wig? 

“Who dares summon Alcor the Dreambender?”

A desperate man, Lionel thought frantically. But he couldn’t exactly say that. 

Power stances, seem in control, take a stand. But Lionel wasn’t in the mood to pretend he was fooling everybody. His legs gave out from under him, and he slumped to his knees. Alcor angled his head downwards, somehow visibly unimpressed and bored. 

He should have prepared a script, but he would have forgotten it instantly. Lionel ended up speaking from the heart. The books said Alcor liked that sort of thing, but it wasn’t really a calculated move. He didn’t know how to do anything differently.

“Maya’s dead,” Lionel said plainly. “Maya’s - she’s my wife. Dead. Um - the baby.” 

Alcor’s unimpressed air tripled. Lionel couldn’t even muster shame. 

“The baby’s not going to make it. Respiratory distress syndrome and pulmonary hemorrhage. Respiratory failure, soon. I need - I need your help. Alcor. Please save my baby, Alcor.”

Alcor was unmoved. He crossed his arms and sighed, like a particularly exhausted doctor who had seen one too many desperate patients that day and honestly couldn’t give a shit anymore. “Another day, another little sob story. Let me guess, you’ll do anything?” His tone turned a little nasally and mocking. “You’ll even sell your soul, Mister Demon, just save my special little baby?”

The pointless mockery jolted Lionel back down to earth. Every piece of literature warned about demonic games and cruelty. Was this cruelty? It just sounded like somebody who didn’t even care. 

“Yes,” Lionel said. He wasn’t the kind of person who took the bait. Used to drive Maya mad during arguments. “Heal my baby. Make her strong and healthy and never sick. And - let me live the rest of my natural life, then take my soul. That’s my terms.”

Bored, Alcor said, “I can give you ten years of life before taking your soul.”

Lionel’s head snapped up, and he met Alcor’s eyes for the first time. At a certain point, the demon had crossed his legs and began floating in midair, one elbow propped on a folded knee and chin buried in his hand. His shadows had lightened somewhat, and now he appeared only like a man covered in shadow. “I can’t do that. Ten is too young to lose a father.”

“That’s your issue?” Alcor tilted his head, dark eyebrows arching upwards. “Not ‘thirty five is too young to die?’”

“Am I here because I give a shit about myself?” Lionel cried. Wasn’t that obvious? If the worst moment of Lionel’s life was tedious to Alcor, shouldn’t this be obvious? “I can’t leave her without anybody to love her. She won’t have anybody else. Please, come on - I know you don’t - don’t understand, but I can’t leave her alone.”

“Trust me,” Alcor said, flat and bored, “if there’s one thing I understand, it’s parents abandoning their kids. See it all the time. Your little girl would get along fine without a father.”

Demonic negotiations weren’t supposed to go like this. Lionel was too emotional, too confused. And despite Alcor’s boredom and distance, the topic seemed oddly - personal? Could that possibly be correct?

“That’s not what I want for her! I’m giving up my soul for her life, I want - I want it to be perfect. I want to tell her how much we wanted her every day. I want her to grow up with a dog. I want swimming lessons and birthday parties and vacations and - and all of it, Alcor. I have to be there.” Lionel took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Thirty years. That’s the maximum I’ll give. The life I want for her needs me in it. It’s already missing Maya. I won’t take any more from her.”

Alcor was silent for a second, long enough to make Lionel’s heart leap in his chest, before he finally sighed. “You’re one of those people who loves too much, aren’t you? People like you always lead unhappy lives.” He straightened, dropping down onto the floor and walking forward. The shadows slowly receded, and a man’s face began to emerge within Alcor. “Fine. Let me see the baby first before we shake on anything. An angelic act like this takes up a lot of energy. I’m not being hard on the price just to be mean, you know.”

Lionel stepped backwards. He knew that binding circles didn’t work on Alcor, but it was another thing to see him casually step outside of it. He was wearing the same antiquated clothing as in the illustrations, like a mannequin from a museum come to life. Like a haunted piece of the history Lionel loved so much, pulled from its rightful place by his sheer desperation.

He looked like anybody else. A complexion like Lionel’s own, mud brown hair gravity defying and framing a young face. He looked as old as Lionel. It put his exhaustion into sharp perspective - not an ancient demon wearing the form of a human, but just an old man seeming much younger. Or a young man grown too old.

It was even worse to look up at him now, and Lionel scrambled to his feet. He looked around the hotel room, as if the baby was about to roll out from underneath a bed. “She’s not here. She’s in the NICU. Please don’t teleport into the NICU, you’ll cause a panic.” 

“Bossy. Don’t worry, this is perfectly safe.” Alcor held out his hands in front of him, like a child waiting for a treat. “And…tah-dah!”

Lionel’s baby dropped from midair into Alcor’s arms. He almost screamed.

They said she’d die without intubation. Her tiny presence in Alcor’s arms should kill her. But Alcor quickly pressed a blunt finger onto her forehead, and a warm blue glow wrapped itself around her body. She slept soundly, swaddled in thin blankets, so tiny and skinny and red that she could barely be mistaken for a human baby at all. Lionel looked at her and saw a premature animal that would never grow up and become a person - a life form that would never even wake up. Seeing her in Alcor’s arms was stressful, but in a sideways way she seemed to fit.

“Let’s see the damage,��� Alcor muttered to her. Bizarrely, he held her carefully and well. “You’re like a can of beans, you know that? Few hundred years ago you would have been DOA. Now look at you. Wrinkly cutie -”

Alcor halted. The last of his shadows fell away, and his eyes widened.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Alcor whispered.

The only thing worse than a premature baby at death’s door was a premature baby at death’s door that surprised a demon. Lionel stepped forward, hand half-outreached. “What? What’s wrong?”

Alcor didn’t respond. He just stared at the baby, eyes wide and frozen still. His lips mouthed something, but Lionel couldn’t make it out.

“Alcor?” Lionel asked hesitantly. “Is there something wrong with her?”

That jolted Alcor back into awareness. He looked between Lionel and the baby several times, shoulders drawn back, almost with new eyes. Suddenly and strangely, he seemed a lot more human. “Do you believe in fate, Lionel Sterling?”’

There was only one way to answer that question truthfully - with any sort of certainty. “If this is fate, I must have done something horrible in my past life.”

“Not how that works.” Alcor’s eyes were locked on the baby, as if he couldn’t tear himself away. He seemed almost dizzy. “Lionel. You really want her to live a long and healthy life?”

“I - of course.” 

“You’ll be the best father you can?” Alcor held the baby a little closer to his chest. “She’ll be the happiest kid in the world?”

“That’s what I want,” Lionel said helplessly. “I want that more than anything.”

“How nice.” Something heavy and frantic was churning in Alcor, and Lionel began to have the worst possible feeling. “I’ve been bored, you know. So bored. So bored I’ve been pretty depressed. Things just seem meaningless, you know? My last friend died years ago. I’m not really close with anybody right now, not even family. I’ve been wondering what to do about it. When I get bored I get a little weird. Maybe I’m a little weird right now.” Alcor looked up at Lionel for the first time, and Lionel realized with a cold shock that his eyes were just as wild as Lionel’s. “I feel so far beyond weird right now it’s almost funny. But it’s not boring, so it feels like a good idea.”

“Can you give me back my baby?” Lionel asked quietly.

“New deal.” Alcor’s face split into a grin, wild and insane and light. “I’ll heal your baby. Perfect health guaranteed. And! She will have certified, bona-fide Alcor protection her entire life. Nothing lethally unfortunate will ever happen to her or to you. Protection for both of you and good luck for all. Double and! You’ll keep your soul. Hell, you’ll definitely live longer.” 

For a second of complete stupidity, the deal seemed fantastic. The deal sounded amazing. Any deal that didn’t include losing his life or his soul was better than their first arrangement. But Lionel was desperate, not stupid. “What’s the catch?”

Alcor looked down at the baby, rubbing his thumb against her forehead. Quietly, he said, “I’m going to reinvent reality to give her a twin brother. Your end of the deal is to take care of him like you take care of her. Raise him as if he was your own son. That’s it. Easy.” Alcor paused a beat. “Well, not that taking care of kids is easy, and I can guarantee that this one will be a bit of a brat, but probably easier than dying. Dying’s pretty easy too, actually -”

“Like a changeling?” Lionel asked, alarmed. “You’re not taking her away, you’re just - adding a child?”

“Yup. Like a buy one, get one free sort of thing. I guess it’s like a changeling!”

“That’s it?” That still sounded too good to be true. “Will the child be evil or anything? Will it hurt the baby? What species will it be?”

“Who cares! This is a sweet deal and you know it. You can’t afford to say no and we both know that too.” Alcor shifted the baby into one arm and extended his other hand, wreathing it in blue flames. “So do we have a deal?”

Alcor was right. The extra child situation was bizarre, but two sets of diapers was infinitely better than a ten year lifespan. This was probably the best deal anybody had ever gotten for such a big favor. He couldn’t afford to press it.

“Is this going to fuck me over?”

“Lionel,” Alcor said, and for some reason he seemed dead serious, “I’m trusting you here. More than I’ve trusted anybody in hundreds of years. You’re a good person. I promise you’ll only regret this a little.”

And Lionel knew that was the best he was ever going to get, so he reached out and shook on it.

The blue flames enveloped him, a brief second of white-hot chill, before they extinguished. Lionel shuddered, and he felt something strange deep in his soul - as if something and hooked a chain around it, or bolted it to a surface and let it squirm. 

Alcor unceremoniously tossed the baby in the air, letting her blink out of existence and hopefully back into the NICU. He clapped his sparking hands, grinning maniacally and remarkably human. 

“Time to wrap up my affairs! Better write a goodbye note to Mike, leave a few emergency charms for little Alice - oh, give them Lucy Ann’s contact information for emergencies, let her know where I’m going too. She hovers. The Flock bleat and bitch if I don’t tell them where I am, so I better elect a president or something and let them self-govern. This is going to be fun! And bizarre! Don’t worry about a thing on your end, Lionel. Get some rest, and your reality and memories should be completely rewritten by the time you wake up in the morning.” Alcor reached out and clapped a reassuring hand on Lionel’s shoulder, as if the reassurance would actually make him feel better instead of a lot worse. “Trust me, you don’t want to remember this. It’ll make your life a living hell. Unless you like that sort of thing?”

Inanely, Lionel could only say, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep tonight.” 

“Really? I’m a Dream Demon, I can help! I want to be nice to you.” Nobody who actually wanted to be nice to somebody said that. “Here, close your eyes. I’ll knock you out. You’ll sleep right through the restructuring of the universe, promise!”

“Wait,” Lionel said, “on second thought, I really -”

“Night night!”

A soft index finger pressed against Lionel’s forehead, and all went dark.

[lorellaishc]

A New Journey

(( DWC February 2024 Day 7, Rumour/Discovery, CW: none, @daily-writing-challenge ))

In the weeks and months that followed the blooming of Amirdrassil, much of the dragonscale expedition found itself winding down. The Dragon Isles was secure and mostly safe now, and while there would doubtless be archaeological efforts for years to come, the expedition had accomplished most of its goals, and that meant it was time for many to return home.

Or, in some cases, seek other new experiences.

Lorellai was up like a flash when the captain's call echoed down into the ship where she and her team had been cooped up for weeks. Knowing they were close washed all that travel fatigue away though, as she and the others gathered their things and climbed up on deck. Ghorren was already up there, holding the rigging and wearing the biggest smile she'd ever seen on his face. He turned as they all came topside.

"Well friends, this is it! Welcome, to Zandalar!" Ghorren exclaimed, dramatically motioning to the great city that rose above them to the north.

"Now remember, stay with the group, and do not wander away from the port quarter. War might be over but the laws are still clear about where non-horde citizens are and aren't allowed to be here in Dazar'alor."

"We're still going to get to visit your family restaurant though, right? You said that was in the zocalo?" Lorellai asked, adjusting her pack and all but vibrating with excitement.

"No such luck, but you're getting the next best thing, my sister will be bringing us a whole meal to share tonight." Ghorren replied, eagerly stepping off the ship onto the docks. "Ah, it is good to be home!"

"And yet you are always in such a hurry to leave!" a woman's voice called out, eliciting a bark of laughter from the troll. Pushing through the crowd were three troll women, each distinctively dressed. The eldest of them still had her apron on over a simple dress, and hugged Ghorren even as she scolded him. "Never willing to just stay and work for a living like the rest of us."

"Ah, you know me sister, I like the good things in life, and foreign gold spends well!" he laughed, hugging her back before turning his gaze to the others. "Anwé! Qirra! My beautiful daughters!" he exclaimed, excitedly running over to hug the others.

The younger laughed as her father embraced her, her rainbow colored mohawk standing out next to her very somberly dressed and tattooed older sister. "Welcome home, Papa!"

"Yes, welcome home, Father," the older of the two echoed. She held herself aloof and proper, her robes and skeletal face paint serving to hide her mood. Lorellai couldn't help but note how she smiled as Ghorren pulled her into a hug, nudging Pinapple with a smile of her own.

Ghorren couldn't seem to stop chuckling in joy. "My daughters, please, meet my friends from the dragon isles!

-----------

Hours later, after the introductions, the tour of the docks, and the incredible dinner, the team and Ghorren's family lounged in their rented space. Lorellai looked over at the closed lavatory door. "Think Edmund's gonna be alright?"

Anwé smirked at the dwarf. "I think he has discovered his limit for Zandalari spices. Auntie -did- warn him about it."

"Yeah, but then your dad dared him, so that was a wasted warning."

"Oh come now, he's a big strong man, should be able to handle his spice!" Ghorren laughed, earning a smack from Ulabi.

"Honestly, bringing outsiders here and feeding them the food I make special for you, you'd think you wanted to start a war. And now he's wasting all my hard work."

"Forgive me sister, it was just a joke between friends!" Ghorren smiled. "So friends, I know you're going to be exploring the city tomorrow, but what's next when you leave here?"

"Oh, we got that all planned out, Ghorren." Lorellai replied, beaming. "When we leave here, we'll be on a ship bound for Pandaria. Rumor has it the lorekeepers there have found an untouched vault and need experienced delvers to help them investigate it!"

"Tch, no rest for you youngin's, hm?"

"There's always room for another, Ghorren!" Lorellai replied, all smiles.

Ghorren shook his head, and took a long sip from his drink. "Some other time, I think I've earned some well deserved rest and family time."

"Papa, you know Auntie's not going to let you rest" Qirra said, giggling. "She's going to have you in the kitchen by the end of the week!"

"Tch, we'll see. But that's then, this is now. And for now, I'm going to get some sleep, because I know none of you are going to permit me a moment's rest during tomorrow's trip around the city."

"Until tomorrow!" Lorellai said, and returned to her maps. There was a whole world to explore, and she suspected she'd never be satisfied staying home for long ever again.

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

(...but I am very very lost.) - [7]

Kazuha and GN!Reader

CW: Injury mention, medical treatment, and physical therapy.

A/N: Honestly got inspired from my own physical therapy I did months ago. Would have written this sooner but you know life be like that and I'm currently obsessed with other things :3c

-------

Physical therapy with Kazuha sounds like a dream.

Well a dream where you're injured and in pain and it's all not actually very dream like know that you think about it. But it sounds like a dream anyway.

Everyday for about an hour or so you would have physical therapy.

You'd think it was just your arms that needed the therapy but resting for so long with minimal movement(alongside your rather sedentary lifestyle-) caused your muscles and the like to atrophy so here you are in pain but you're a trooper, Kazuha's gentle praise definitely helps keep self doubt at bay.

You wish you could record it, you know it'd do numbers. Just imagine..."Kazuha Praise Asmr"…you begin to feel a bit guilty over what you may or may not have listened to before you crash landed here. Yeah. Just a little.

Now that you think about it you wish you deleted your search history...let's not think about it and focus therapy with Kazuha!

...That would also do numbers on U-Tube...anyways!

Kazuha's patient, not like he isn't always, and guides your limbs through the motions while adding minor resistance so you regain some strength in your body. You never realized how bad it was to stay sat inside all day not moving until now.

But did it have to hurt so much? Yes, yes it did.

It's not so much pain as it is underused muscles being pushed to their frankly tiny limits. But you pressed on, the softened clay you pinch with your fingers helping you build strength in your hands. As you struggled with the clay a knock was heard. Kazuha leaves your side to answer as you focus.

One...two...threeeee...!

Next finger one...two...threeee!

You sigh finally finished with your therapy for the day and flop onto your back on your bed.

"You've done well for today, I'm sure you won't have trouble holding your tea with one hand soon enough." You grimace remembering how you're so weak you can't hold much of anything without both hands, even then it's a struggle. Kazuha hums plopping himself beside you.

"I just got word that Beidou will be docking this afternoon,-" You sit up with frightening speed nearly startling Kazuha if he weren't already used to your antics. "-if you're feeling up to it we can head to the harbor-" You nod rapidly nearly giving yourself a dizzy spell if Kazuha didn't place a hand on top of your head.

He smiles clearly amused. "Alright we'll go," He stands up helping you stand alongside him. "-it'll be much farther out than what you're used to but it should be a good exercise for you."

He grabs a small satchel and fills it with your medication and another bamboo water bottle you still forget the name of. "We can see Doctor Baizhu while we're there as well." You nod again, giddy to finally get out of the hotel (read: house) for once.

You follow him outside the hotel waving at the owner and employees as you pass them by. You still forget their names but you consider them like family at this point with how often you see them. You're legs are still a little sore from physical therapy but you're excited to finally make it to the harbor itself.

You're slow but you manage to catch a golden leaf yourself this time as you walk past the easy to miss sign of the hotel. Kazuha smiles helping you climb the stone steps and you're stunned by how beautiful everything is from here.

Ships of varying sizes come to and from the harbor, from a distance the hustle and bustle of the people look like hard working ants as they make sure everything runs smoothly. You think you spot a head of blue and almost lose it at the idea of meeting Xingqiu and his friends but shake your head, one thing at a time. Kazuha holds your hand down the steep steps towards the main gate, making sure you don't fall while you try not to squeal at his hand in yours, you're chill you swear.

The guards greet you curiously but let you pass with no trouble. By the time you finish passing over the bridge your legs feel like jelly so you take a break on near by bench for a bit and take some of your medicine with a quick snack Kazuha bought you.

You pick at the bandages around your fingers. Normally you'd be put off by all the loudness and the size of the crowd around you but you've never been happier to be out than now. Now that you know that this isn't a dream you find yourself not minding it too much even if you miss some things of your own world like any friends and family you might've had.

Might've being the key word here you don't quite remember if you did have friends or if you even had a great relationship with your family. This should concern you but you truly find yourself not really caring...too much. Kazuha takes your hand in his own breaking your near spiral. He pats your bandaged hand gently with his own before standing up.

"Are you ready to continue? I can carry you if you still need rest." You shake your head before standing up, you'll let him carry you again later, perhaps on the way back but for now you'll stand on your own feet.

You sorta regret thinking that after walking up to Bubu Pharmacy.

WHY DID IT HAVE SO MANY STAIRS?! THIS IS NOT ADA COMPLIANT- wait what's an ADA?

You don't have time to think about that too deeply before Kazuha is kneeling to let you climb on to his back. Yay! Piggyback ride :D

You have no idea how you thought in emoji-what's an emoji- before you're at the top of the steps and inside Baizhu's shop the smell of herbs filling your nose.

Wow Doctor Baizhu is so pretty- Oh he's smiling!

You feel Kazuha's laughter through his back. Dang it, you must have spoken out loud again.

-------

[ 1 ]  /  [ 2 ]  /  [ 3 ]  /  [ 4 ]  /  [ 5 ]  /  [ 6 ] / [ 7 ] / [ 8 ] / [To be continued...]

[dreamersbcll]

“Slow Motion”- a part two to this post.

————————————————————

Tara knew that this birthday was different. She could feel it the moment she woke up.

As she untangled Amber’s arms from her middle, Tara could feel it. There was something different in the universe. Something had shifted.

She couldn’t quite figure out what it was. As of today, she is sixteen years old. A big milestone. An age she never in a million years thought she would reach.

Each birthday that had passed since Sam’s disappearance was excruciating. Nothing was exciting about a date that reminded her that her big sister had abandoned her. Disappearing like a ship in the night. There was no reason to celebrate when she didn’t have her big sister making her a cake or blowing out the candles with her.

But this birthday, she could feel it there. A million stars had aligned, and all the constellations in the universe glistened. Sam was somewhere close. Tara could practically see that “Baby, I'm right here,” Smile that Sam reserved only for her.

Closing her eyes, she could feel Sam’s warm touch, holding her close to her chest. If she stayed still, she could feel Sam kissing her skin and whispering Happy birthday, my love.

Yet when she opened her eyes, she was still in her room, and though her girlfriend decorated it, it wasn’t Sam’s decorations. Amber put up streamers in pastel colors and had balloons covering the ceiling, and a homemade Happy Birthday! Strung across the door. But it wasn’t Sam.

Sam would decorate Tara's rooms with her drawings and all sorts of pictures pasted onto Tara’s walls. Flowers, animals, stars, moons- anything that Tara loved, Sam would draw and paste to the walls. She would even go as far as to make sure the balloons had silly faces and that the banner would be drawn in her favorite color; lilac.

Her girlfriend was sweet. She was kind. She loved Tara. But it wasn’t Sam.

However, as Amber woke up and kissed Tara on the head, wishing her a happy birthday, Tara could still feel her there.

Her Sam.

——-

Tara hated birthday parties. Amber knew that, but still made it happen anyways. She hated how many people came, how the attention was on her, and how she didn’t have her person beside her.

Sam should’ve been there. It was her sixteenth birthday, for god's sake. It was a momentous occasion. If Sam was there, Tara could feel peace. Her sister promised her that she would never miss a birthday. She said she would be here for every occasion. Every single milestone. She said she would be here.

It was all in slow motion. Tara could feel her body trapped in some time warp. One minute she was in bed with Amber, wishing for Sam; the next, she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror in her best party dress. Nothing felt right. Everything was out of place. There was this sinking feeling in her gut, and each time she took a breath, she could feel herself slipping.

Sam was supposed to be here. She promised. Who breaks promises like that? Who abandons somebody like that? Tara is sixteen now. Sixteen! Where is her sister? She said she would be here. She said she would be here.

Tara must’ve been in the bathroom for a while, as one minute she was alone, and the next she had a concerned Mindy next to her.

That girl could always tell when there was something wrong. It’s as if she had a radar for it. Once Sam left, Mindy stepped up and watched Tara like a hawk. She dragged Tara to movies, to random restaurants and even forced Tara into a pottery class with her. It was nice having someone who forced her to keep living even though she felt like a corpse going through the motions.

“Tara? What’s going on? The party is about to start. Amber will be back soon. What do you need?” she whispered, gently touching Tara’s arm.

Despite every bone in her body screaming at her to stand tall! Don’t let anyone know you’re breaking apart! Tara could feel the tears welling in her eyes. She trained her gaze on the body in the mirror, trying to blink away the sorrow that threatened to ruin her perfect outfit.

She wanted to be alone. She needed to punish herself for being so weak, stupid, and naive. Sam never showed up for her past birthdays; why would she start now?

But the minute Mindy had touched her arm, Tara's defenses had crumbled down.

Hot tears streamed down her face, and Tara could feel her breathing pick up. Mindy immediately hugged Tara, rocking her back and forth, rubbing her back. Tara sobbed, holding the girl tight, hoping that if she had Mindy tight enough, all Tara’s broken pieces would stick back together.

“Shhh. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I miss her too. I do. I’m sorry,” Mindy whispered, kissing the side of Tara's head.

Tara just kept sobbing, choking on her spit. Her makeup was surely ruined. Amber was going to be so mad. But she didn’t care. She couldn’t get any words out. What can you even say when tears are streaming down your face? When you’re gasping and coughing on a friend, who shouldn’t have to comfort you?

What do you say when the one who means the most to you is the one who doesn’t show?

Despite Tara’s hiccups and wheezing, Mindy still held her and whispered sweet nothings into her ears. It was all white noise to Tara, but it was refreshing to be loved by someone who understood. Who could understand why Tara was breaking down over and over again?

Eventually, Tara stopped, her breathing ragged. Mindy held her until she squirmed, in which she looked back at the mirror.

Tara winced at her reflection. “Yikes. Amber’s gonna kill me. I smudged my makeup,”.

Mindy shook her head fondly, a strange look in her eye. “Come here. Let me fix it. We gotta make the birthday girl look pretty,”.

And so they did.

——

Amber eventually showed up two hours late to the party, gifts in hand and a tight smile on her face.

Tara didn’t ask where she had been or why she had her rage face on. It didn’t matter.

It was just a birthday anyway. Not anything important enough for the person she loves to show up.

[enarmor]

“ Sain. ”  The greeting is as it perhaps always is, but there is something slightly different to Kent's mood today. It is a bit embarrassed, a bit more lenient, perhaps a bit more lax, as he announces his reason for looking for him today.  “ Today's the Winter Festival. I hope you are keeping yourself out of trouble lately? ”

Not that he ever needed a reason to see the man. His question is filler, a way to allow himself to figure out the motions of conversing because he trusts Sain to pick up his slack. Some things take time. Some things take experience.

This one takes Sain's kindness, and for as much as Kent might exasperate himself looking over his fellow cavalier, he thinks the other man is just as patient with him in his own way as he always has been.

“ Stay out of trouble, and I might very well keep getting you gifts for seasons like these. ”  A fib, for he would still do it regardless.  “ ...It's been a while since we've last celebrated a holiday together, hasn't it? ”

He hands the man his gift in a bid to cover up his waxing nostalgic, mourning that it was the truth at all.  “ You're free to open it now, if you wish. ”

Underneath wrapping paper is a sleek box and inside is a small pocketwatch, chain and all. Its outer face bears the design of roses.

“ I don't think I need to tell you why I gave you this. ”  It's an exercise in keeping the man on a leash, in trying to train him to be more punctual and responsible as per usual, but...  “ ...However, I suppose I can confess that there's more to it than whatever you're thinking. ”

It's at that point Kent pulls out a similar pocketwatch out of his own outfit, holding it up for his other half to see.

“ You seemed keen to match when you first arrived here. So I also... ”

The pocketwatch Kent holds is not exactly the same. Instead of roses, his bears a design of lilies, but it's undeniable from even just a spare glance that the two were twins made by the same craftsperson.

Just the thought of it makes the Shield grow a bit more crimson in the tips of his ears.

“ ...Nevermind. I need not explain myself! ”

And he puts away his matching item, lest his embarrassment make itself any louder...

"Kent!" answers the Lance, his hand shooting up to the back of his head in tandem with him turning around. Instantly he's on his feet, trying to cover up what he had been fiddling around with before Kent arrived. The man speaks of 'trouble', which seems to make him skittish. Could there have been something sinister brewing?

He isn't the least bit surprised by Kent's gift--and on the contrary, had come to expect it--but the delivery throws him off. His shoulders slump and a frown quivers on his lips. To imagine the two of them, them, missing a holiday together... It's almost pathetic. That they missed a few, that it's been a while, stings worse. Sain finds himself wishing he could shake his younger self before he resigned from Ostia, that he could slap his face in the direction of Kent and show him what he would lose.

But the Shield continues, sort of stumbling his way through conversation as he normally does. He mentions a gift, and Sain sticks out his hand to receive it. The wrapping peels off very slowly, betraying the rip-and-tear one might expect from the roguish cavalier. This was touched by his partner's hand, though, and that makes it special. Special enough to want to keep it intact until it begins to rot.

"Ah, Kent..."

Once the lid pops off and the watch enters his grasp, he is overcome with emotion. Sain, after a moment of quiet, starts drowning in his own tears. They only wet his eyes like a soft and damp rag touching dabbing them down, but they feel like so much more. A torrent against a ship's hull, a storm over garden roses, a tidal wave dragging starfish back to sea. And Sain, too, feels like he's being dragged back. Back into the past, back into memories of Kent. It's almost like he could turn back the hands of his clock and he'd be there, and he'd see Kent too.

He's hardly being realistic.

But maybe that's not the point. Looking at his watch, and then its sister, and then his soul and then Kent's soul, Sain thinks he understands. Their days tick by the same second's hand. They'll never live a moment out of sync. They watch the turn of the same hour's hand, so no more will there be any 'while's where they haven't done this or anything else. And when they call for one another, when one says "I'll meet you in five," those are five ticks of the same minute's hand. They'll know exactly what the other means to say.

Sort of like now, how Sain knows that Kent means to say he wants them operating on this same rhythm. "...You always were kind of awful with words, weren't you?" he laughs, wiping his tears away as his umbrella of a smile opens over his mouth.

"You don't need to explain anything to me."

He reads his partner's intent to swallow the humiliation of this encounter, but dredges it back out of him by pulling him into a tight hug. It constricts his back, presses his chest, and lingers a few seconds longer than it should. There's a slight tremble as he pulls away.

Once he's finished, he gives the other a pat on the shoulder and a damp smile, and focuses back on what he was doing before his Shield arrived.

"Good timing, though! I've got something for you." Scooping one of two bundles off the bar table, he hands it off. "From now on, we're writing to each other! No more losing contact, no matter the distance."

He waits for Kent's gift to be opened first, then tears the wrapping off his and holds their sets together. They are each a stack of calligraphy papers and matching pens: red for Kent, green for Sain. The parchment, in addition to its color, sports a floral scent. This is the gift of space, where Kent had given him time. Now that their hearts beat as one and time won't keep them apart, the space between them will prove to be trivial. No matter where in the world they wind up, their letters will arrive--kept on-schedule by their matching pocket watches.

"Happy Winter Festival, partner... Let's never miss another one again."

[hellhound5925]

Cyare Verd *Beloved Warrior* Bad Batch Edition

Previous Chapter

The Summit

The guys have been busy working on a plan and sifting through data. I plopped myself in a spare seat and have been trying desperately to stay awake - fighting the wave of exhaustion. A hand on my shoulder catches me by surprise. I follow the hand up the arm to the owner and see Hunter with a soft expression on his face, "You don't have to stay up here. I can come get you when we have something." I rub my eyes and yawn "No...I'm good." He shakes his head at me but doesn't argue. Standing up, I start to pace to stay alert. Tech spins around in his chair "Echo and I have scoured through Imperial and Republic files, but intel about the Advanced Science Division is limited." "Do we know where they're detaining Crosshair and the other clones?" I ask. He sighs "Negative. Their base of operations is unknown." Hunter watches me while he talks to Tech "Well, what about their chief scientist?" "There is even less on Dr. Hemlock, and I was very thorough. He is a ghost." Echo rejoins us "Not quite. According to a contact of mine, Hemlock's set to attend a high-level Imperial summit in two rotations." The pit in my stomach returns... Hunter still doesn't take his eyes off me "Where?" Echo pulls up a location in the computer opposite Tech, "Tarkin's compound on Eriadu. If we do a covert infiltration, we can plant a homing beacon on Hemlock's ship and track him to his base." Omega jumps up from her seat "And Crosshair." Hunter seems to be thinking it over "Hmm, it won't be that simple." "When is it ever?" I sigh continuing to pace. For once are Hunter and I really disagreeing? He sighs "We'd be at a tactical disadvantage, and I'm not sure it's worth the risk." "I understated your hesitation. We have not always agreed with Crosshair, but he is still our brother. We do not leave our own behind" Tech tries to talk him into it. I stop pacing and spin around so fast I'm almost dizzy - everyone looks at me. I take a deep breath "If there's a chance to get him back...we should take it. You said it yourself...he's aliit (family/clan). Besides if the Science Division or whatever has him as a prisoner...he might be in trouble..." "Definitely" Wrecker chimes in. Hunter turns to Echo "What about reinforcements?" "Well, Rex is on a separate mission, so it's just us. A small enough team to get in and out without alerting them, but we'll need to move quickly." He turns back to me and looks me up and down, expression softening "Well, then lets get started."

————

We pack up all of our things and get the Marauder loaded. From the ramp I see Omega running to say her goodbye to Phee before racing back to the ship. I look back and motion for Hunter to come here and he gives me a quizzical look. He joins me and peeks his head out the ramp and watches Phee talk to Tech. I snicker and he shushes me before pulling me inside. Tech comes in shortly after and I smile at him. "What is it?" He asks me. "Nothing" I snicker. He just shakes his head and heads for the pilots seat. Hunter goes to follow but I stop him briefly putting both hands on his chest. He presses his forehead to mine. "I'm going to get some rest...just wake me up if you need me." "Goodnight Cyar'ika (darling/sweetheart)" he whispers. Giving him a quick peck on the lips, I head towards the bunks and settle in.

————

Hunter wakes me up just as we are about to leave hyperspace. Everyone is in full armor, so I head to the fresher to do the same. Once I'm done I head to the cockpit with the others, buy'ce (Helmet) under my arm. "I have identified a suitable location to land outside their sensor rage" Tech tells us while we all look down at the planet below. The Imperial cruisers just out of the atmosphere are what make me the most nervous... Hunter as if reading my mind asks, "How are we bypassing those cruisers?" "Using a clearance code Rex and I acquired from one of our contacts" Echo explains. Wrecker leans forward "Good to have you back, Echo. Just like old times." I smile and pat Echo on the shoulder. "Wrecker, man the tail gun. Raven, I want you on the port side. Just in case" Hunter orders. We both nod and head toward our stations before I make it to mine my nerves bubble and I race to the fresher debating whether or not I might puke. After a brief moment I am able to compose myself and head to my station. Maker what is going on with me...I never get this nervous...I slide my buy'ce (helmet) on before hopping in the chair. Just as I do I hear Echo yell "Transmitting clearance codes." I watch as we drift by the cruisers. My stomach is doing flips... I hear the comm link to the ship start to beep and a voice come through "Vessel, 1143 you are clear for approach." I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding and thank Maker.

Once we land we all pile out. Echo turns to the group "Let's make this quick, before they realize we didn't land at the base." Omega seems almost excited "What kind of approach are we making? A side-wind breach?" They stop, but Hunter goes on a head. "It worked on Raxus" Tech agrees with her. "It won't work here. The Empire's protocols have changed since then" Echo explains. I continue after Hunter and he stops to look back. He cocks his head at me "What's bothering you?" I straighten up and try to play it off "Nothing Mmm fine" I hum and try to walk past him. He grabs my bicep, stopping me. I tilt my visor his direction. "I know somethings wrong..." I sigh "Hunter, I'm fine. I'm just feeling a little off but we've been going nonstop lately. I just need to refocus thats all." He tilts his visor at me like he almost doesn't believe me but drops it. The rest of the group catches up and we continue through the woods.

————

After sometime, we come to the edge of a cliff over looking the compound. I'm feeling more focused now and use my HUD to scan the area, "This compound is heavily fortified." Hunter hums his agreement. Echo pulls out binoculars "But there's a weak point in the rail line that we can exploit. We'll sneak past the sensor and hitch a ride under one of the cars." Omega looks at us wide eyed "You mean hang? Over that?" "Well, it's the only way to access the compound unnoticed." "Tech, disable the sensor" Hunter orders. Tech hesitates "That would trigger an alert. I can temporarily disrupt the feed, but I estimate only 30 seconds for us to clear the zone before it reactivates. "We must be precise." The whole group looks at Wrecker in sync "What? I can handle it." I roll my neck and crack my knuckles. Hunter tilts his visor at me. "Let's do this" I say having recollected myself. Echo hands Tech a blaster they modified for repelling purposes. Hunter gives the signal and he races out to the pillar.

Our comms beep "Stand by" Tech tells us. We watch as another rail car makes it way towards him, "Another rail car is approaching" Hunter informs him. "Are we set?" "Not yet." Tech is silent for a bit "The sensor is down. Move in!" We race to the cliff edge and shoot our repelling lines at the car - which takes off with all of us dangling from it. We make our way up the lines, riding the outside of the car. "Half way there" Echo shouts back toward the rest of us. Wrecker grunts behind me "Huh, this isn't so bad." I laugh and take the opportunity to tease him "I'm honestly surprised to hear you say that Wrecker. Just....don't look down." He does exactly what I told him not to and groans "Uhhhh never mind...." Omega and I snicker. I look down - not fearing the height - but a wave of nausea starts to creep up. Osik (shit).... No, not now.... Hunter glances over his shoulder at me but I pretend like nothing happened, all while wracking my brain for why this is happening. I can only imagine the side eye he's giving me right now.

The rail car starts to slow as it reaches its destination. I mentally thank Maker for this trip being over finally. We hop off and Hunter races after the first stormtrooper in our way. I follow after him, as he takes the trooper to the ground, I roll over his back drawing my blaster and shooting the other one. We head to the door with the rest of the batch in tow. I get on one side of the door and Hunter on the other. He nods at me, hits the control panel - opening the door - and he takes care of the trooper that comes out before heading in. I nod at the others and we all head inside.

Entering the large garage area, we scan for Hemlock's ship. Omega is trying to look around me "Which ship is Hemlock's?" "We need to access the hangar manifest from the control room" Echo tells us. Hunter turns to the group "Tech, Echo, with me. You three, plant the homing beacon." I nod and Tech hands the beacon to me. Using my HUD I scan for stormtroopers, making mental note of where they are. "Wrecker, stay here and be a look out. Omega and I can get in close." He nods at me. "Ready?" "Ready." Omega and I sneak around our current cover and head closer to the ships. We duck down behind a stack of crates. Just as I start to look around my comm buzzes, "Found it. Hemlock's shuttle is at docking lane 4." Tech comms us. "Copy that." "Vor'e (thanks) Tech." I scan he area locating the ship. "There, That's Hemlock's ship" I point it out to Omega. Using binoculars she looks where I'm pointing. "It's too exposed. How are we supposed to get to it?" I sigh not loving the plan I've got, but what choice do we have...."There's not enough cover for me, but there is for you. You think you can handle it?" "Not a problem." "Alright, see that hovercart down there? You should be able to use that for cover. I'll back you here but stay out of sight. Here, take the beacon." I hand the beacon to her and she takes it before doing exactly as she is told. Just as she is about to make her move toward the ship, a trooper begins to move the hovercart. Maker please whatever you do, do not let something happen to this girl....my stomach churns and I swallow hard. She'll be fine....she'll be fine... Omega follows it without being spotted - getting her closer to the ship - and I once again praise Maker.

She goes out of sight for a moment and I hold my breath waiting for her to comm us. After a few moments I hear the crackle like someone opened the link, "Okay, the homing beacon is secure." "Oya! Great job. Now you just need to get—" I'm cut off by Wrecker "Wait! There's more heading your way." A string of curses in Mando'a leave my mouth. "Guys, I'm pinned down." "Stay in position Omega." Suddenly Echo's voice fills my ears "I'll divert them." One of the cranes begins moving and picks up one of the smaller shuttles, slamming it into a pile of containers on the other end of the garage. An alarm starts blaring "I really don't like the sound of that" I say to myself. A mouse droid zooms past me and heads for Omega. I grab one of my vibrioblades and throw it just at it reached Omega's feet. She jumps in surprise and spins around, seeing the droid fizzle out. I sigh in relief.

Omega makes her way back to me and then we move back toward Wrecker. "Hunter, we are all set here" I comm him and get no answer. "Hunter? Everything alright?" I wait for a moment hoping he will respond. "I'm here and so is Saw Gerrara. They are going to level the—" he cuts out and I start to worry. "Hunter?" "We've been compromised. Get back to the rail line" he orders. I can hear blaster fire in the background. My stomach drops knowing this is the last thing we needed. "Copy that. Moving." Gesturing for Wrecker and Omega, they follow me out of the facility back towards the rail cars.

————

We get there before the others do and I'm starting to panic. I begin to pace and Wrecker sighs in annoyance. "What if they aren't okay?" "Raven, they'll comms us if they need us" Omega tries to reassure me but it's not working. I'm running worse case scenario over in my head. Quickly removing my buy'ce (helmet), I throw up over the railing before wiping my mouth and replacing it on my head. Suddenly the doors open, Tech, Echo, and Hunter race out shutting it behind them. We enter one of the rail cars and figure out how to get it moving. "We need an access code" Tech tells us looking over a panel. Echo heads over and plugs his scomp link in "I'll override it." The rail car makes a noise like its powering up. The car begins to move just as stormtroopers get the door opens and begin filing through. Omega and I shoot at them, holding them back for now.

A series of explosions can be heard, We all look out the back of the rail car to see the facility going up in flames. "Haar'chak (damn it)" I mutter. The rail car begins to slow down, frantically we all glance around. "We're losing power!" Echo yells. "This is going to be a problem” Tech says looking out the front window. Hunter and I join him to see another railcar not too much further down. Stormtroopers are opening the doors.

A/N

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I am putting you all through this again....I promised I would make it worth your while though so please please stick around!

Next Chapter

[unknownogre]

“What?!”

The hero looked to Nuvian with a very puzzled expression, the half-elf bard just smirked a bit and gave him a wink. Up until now he was the model of virtue, always helping the hero make the right choice so the people would love him. Telling the best stories so his path stayed true…so the works coming out of his mouth right now were jarring at best.

“Yes, let me toy with him for a while. I think I can get three or four weeks. Two months if I use this new healing spell I’ve been trying to learn on the side. Oh I think his screams will be wonderful…a symphony for the soul if you will.”

Nuvian smile as he moved the villain over to make sure his heart was still bleeding and offering some stabilization without waking him up. The hero was just dumbfounded at the moment.

“I…I was just going to kill him.”

Nuvian didn’t even look back as he made sure to search the Villain’s pockets and remove everything but enough clothes to leave his modesty intact. He moved like he was an expert at this, like it had been done a hundred times and this was simply business as usual. Even his tone was as light and warm as it ever has been.

“Oh, I know, but that was never the plan my dear friend. This was the plan. This has always been the plan.”

The rest of the party was recovering. They had all been just hurt enough to have to stay behind for the final battle leaving only the hero and his trusty bard to face the boss alone. None of them grievously injured…but just enough so they wouldn’t be at full so they weren’t strong enough to walk through the barrier.

“The Plan? You need to talk to me Nuvian. I want you to explain everything right now!”

The Hero panicked, had he just been manipulated this entire time? Were his motivation his own? Panic…worry…dread. He said he’d never be a puppet again. Not since escaping slavery.

“Oh it was simple. Keep you good, get you strong and get to the villain. Kill him, won’t help you feel better. You know it needs to be done though. If you did this, you’d lose part of yourself. Which is fine. You’ve only killed monsters up to this point, mindless hunks of meat that deal out constant aggression. They have no emotions, no anything. They are easy to kill. Sentient beings on the other hand, well that isn’t you cup of tea. Don’t worry, your quest was yours alone, I didn’t need to make you do anything. I was just along to get to this point.”

At this point the Hero didn’t even notice Nuvian hoist the Villain up on their horse and secure them to the saddle. The bard then turned to his friend and walked over to put a hand on his shoulder. The Hero’s eyes locked with his friend and oddly enough he found comfort in them. This was the man who had saved his life, who sang by the fire at night to quell the restless spirits that banded together to remove the Villain from power. He was there, it couldn’t have all been a lie could it?

“Listen, you aren’t the only one this bastard has hurt. On top of that he knows things, things no one but me knows he knows. So I want some answers. I get to have fun while I rip them from his flesh. I’m a nice person my dear Hero but I’m not a good one. Do you remember the corrupt mayor that we punished last year?”

The Hero nodded and then froze.

“What did you do to him? We left him in a jail cell and moved on. The city was supposed to do what they needed…but then you had business. I…I watched you get on a boat and leave. We met up a month later.”

Nuvian just smile and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. He then motioned for him to sit down in the batter throne they found the villain on while Nuvian sat in the stewards spot.

“Well, I did have business, but I just had the ship drop me down the river and I looped around back. I then hunted down every noble that supported the Mayor, I tortured them to make sure there were no hidden secrets, and then I tortured the mayor till his body gave out. I did some of my best work. A demon actually came up from hell to have me autograph a square of his flesh after his body gave out and his soul hit its final destination. It was really an honor. Shows I’m on the right path. Most polite pit fiend I’ve ever met. Didn’t use my real name of course, not that stupid. We had a laugh over it, all in all a great time.”

The Hero was still stunned but honestly he didn’t feel bad about it. He didn’t give the go ahead for this, but he knew if anyone deserved those fates it was that pedophile mayor and his lackies. Reason was starting to return, and the more Nuvian talked the more the Hero realized that it wasn’t that he didn’t know his friend, he just didn’t know ALL of his friend and that was okay because he was finding out now.

“Alright, if that is what you want to do I’m not going to argue or stop you. Come find me when you are done though okay, I want to take you out to the tavern for a drink.”

Nuvian just chuckled and brought his friend in for a hug. He knew the Hero wasn’t naive and thus why he was chosen as a traveling partner and one to help him get to his goal. Find, capture, break and then murder the Villain. The process took three years, but three years of well spent effort.

“Deal.”

The bard said as they parted ways and he turned to head out of the place before the rest of the party could try and press their morals upon them. Nuvian could only chuckle as he head the Villain groan in pain. Oh it was going to be SO much worse in just a day’s time…he couldn’t wait.

'You can't kill him!' 'Ugh I am so sick of this idea that killing this monster would make me just as bad as he is!' 'What? No I'm saying I can keep him alive for DAYS while I torture him' '…'

[cenviswasteland]

Promise it to me. (Promise me the sea.)

Originally written for FreyVay Week 2024!

June 23rd -- Nature || Picnic || Flowers || Apple || Fantasy

Word Count: 5319

Rated: T.

Content warnings: mild fear, near-death experience (drowning).

Synopsis: Frey, pirate on the ship Lovelass, is tossed overboard during a nasty storm. Someone saves him.

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Alternatively, read me on Wordpress!

– I –

The seas and sky were clear today. Frey had found a comfortable, out of the way corner on the deck and sat down with the sailing log for the Lovelass. The Captain was usually in charge of it, but he’d been below deck for the past week recovering from something that was probably scurvy, and Frey was the only other sailor that could write decently.

20 June 1717

We are going to dock in New Providence. Standard trade and restock. It was supposed to be Port Royal. The last crew we saw got gutted by the British there. It makes for an added three days on the sea, but our crew is all wanted men. No one wants that kind of a brush. Captain is planning his next move.

Something came down on his head, hard and swift. Frey yelped, and his hand flew up to where he’d been hit.

“Show a leg, boy!”

He sighed as he looked up. “I’m awake, Cornie. I’m awake.”

Cornie pulled his hand away and crossed his arms. “Y’ain’t doin’ anything.”

Frey raised an eyebrow at that. Cornie didn’t do much of anything, either. Two ports ago, he’d “gotten his hands on” a scrap of royal purple fabric– which was now tied around his waist, stained by dirt and salt. It still made him look a lot more important than he was.

“Is there anything I can be doing?” Frey questioned, glancing around.

“Could be.”

“But,” Frey continued. “we’re on a straight path, the waves and winds are on our side, and Sawyer’s better with the wheel than I’ll ever be.”

“Aye, but–”

“When did you get pushed up the ranks?” he asked, knowing full well that he was poking a bear.

“You–” Cornie spluttered. “You and your damn sea dog book.”

Frey motioned back to his journal, tilting his head slightly. “It’s important work.”

“Maybe for the people that can read,” he shot back, obviously displeased with how little he was getting under Frey’s skin. “Ain’t nobody out here interested in your parchment shapes. Expectin’ to show off our travels to the fishes?”

“Maybe the Kra–”

Cornie waved his arms around wildly, a frustrated surrender. “Don’t you start. Can’t believe Cap filled up yer head with all his Nelson’s folly nothin’s.”

“You’re cranky today,” Frey chuckled.

“You shoulda stayed on land.”

“If only, huh?”

Someone on the other side of the ship yelled for Cornie– Frey couldn’t make out the voice– and he went scampering off with a final glare and a hiss of “Bilge rat.” 

Frey was, all things considered, a fine addition to the crew. He did as he was told when things needed to be done, and he had enough muscle on him to haul crates and bodies when necessary. It was his mouth that got him in trouble. The crew liked to joke– when they weren’t harassing him for being the Captain’s son– that God put an attorney’s soul in a tar’s body. They said if Frey had stayed on land for just a little longer, he probably would have been ordering everyone on the Lovelass to the gallows.

He turned himself back to the log.

I say again– no one is happy about more time on the sea. Rations have been tight for a while. It has only gotten worse. We live off rum and hardtack now. The Captain is trying to keep everyone in high spirits, but most barely have the ‘spirits’ to withstand him.

The wind whistled past, blowing into the sails. A few men let out cries of joy as the ship rocked forwards. Frey dug his heel between two wooden boards to keep from sliding, shutting his book and clutching it close to his chest. The waves had gotten choppy. He wouldn’t be able to keep writing until things calmed down again.

When the sea got like this, Frey always ended up thinking about the stories that the Captain told him. They were tales of the fantastic, things that he’d picked up traveling to London and Paris and Amsterdam. Apparently, those who stayed on land filled their days with the could-be monsters of the seas– the Kraken with its massive octopus body that could drag sailors to their doom, the mermaids that sang so sweetly that they could seduce any man to his demise, the half-fish half-horse that appeared on beaches and coerced a man into getting on its back to drag him into the depths… 

Frey once told the Captain that it seemed like they would fabricate just about anything to keep their men on land. He told Frey to keep his ears covered when the ship went past large rocks.

He knew that the Captain’s stories didn’t hold any weight, but he was the only one that would stay and listen when he told them. The crew thought they were useless stories to scare children away from the sea.The Captain swore his life on every tale. Frey barely believed in the Lord most days– he wasn’t about to go believing in selkies and sirens. The only things that were certain were the things that could be proven. Even so, it was nice to dream. Sometimes, he would sneak out of the barracks in the middle of the night and hope to see something in the dark waters below.

“Frey!”

The loud voice shook him out of his thoughts, and he turned his head towards the bow of the ship. Sawyer was waving for his attention. Frey scrambled to his feet and waved back.

“The winds are changing!” Sawyer called out. “I think a storm’s coming on. Get some more hands– batten it down!”

“Aye!”

It took him a few minutes to gather up enough men. He sent Cornie down to inform the Captain while Flynn and Kasper went with him to get the sails. In just that time, the skies had already started to darken, dark gray clouds rolling over the light blue skies, blanketing it all in gloom.

The Lovelass was never the perfect ship. The masts were a little too big for most to climb comfortably, and the sails couldn’t come down. They had to come fully off every time. It was Frey’s official job to tie and untie the ropes on the top masts. He was the only one with enough strength and flexibility for it– probably because he was the youngest of the crew, barely eighteen.

Kasper helped Frey get his footing on the netting up, and he started his climb as quickly as he could. The sooner he got down, the better in these conditions. Wind whistled past like a melody, rocking the ship into the waves. Frey had to steady himself before continuing.

At the half-way point of his climb, the crew below erupted into shouting and commotion. Frey glanced down to see that the Captain had emerged from his quarters, leaning against his cutlass for support while he barked orders to the crew. In a risky move, Frey waved down to him. He nodded back, and Frey continued his climb.

It took another half-minute to get up onto the masts, and the sky had gone cold and dangerously gray. Frey swung his leg around to anchor himself in a seated position, immediately working on untying the rope knots. He knew them like the back of his hand.

Flynn called up to him, his voice distant. “Alright, lad?”

“I’ll be fine! Get ready to catch!”

Frey pulled the knot loose and pushed the sail down. It fluttered in the wind for a moment before someone pulled it down onto the deck. The waves were dangerous right now. One crashed into the ship and threw Frey forward. He gasped in pain as his chest connected with the mast– but the blow didn’t do much other than knock the air out of him.

In good weather, the view from up here would be gorgeous. Now, with the seas dark and the wind battering him, Frey just wanted down. He couldn’t stand the way the wind was whistling, like a trick against him. He knocked his boot against a few points of the mast, feeling around for the netting again.

That was when he saw it. Between the seafoam and the waves, something in the water was moving. Glittering, almost, despite the darkness. Bright red, like a ruby. He stared at the shape for a moment, trying to make it out. It had to be some kind of fish, but he’d never seen anything like it. It was barely a fathom away, turning and twisting next to the ship as if it was inviting her to dance with it.

“Frey!”

He pulled himself back to reality and waved down to Kasper. “I’m alright!”

“The Hell are you doing? Get down here!”

“Aye!”

His foot slipped into the netting and he started his climb down on the makeshift ladder. Against his better judgment, he kept letting his eyes drift to the sea. The red shape had disappeared into the ocean, and he knew it was a trick of the light, but for some reason he wanted to see one more second of it.

It was his own folly, really. He thought he’d gotten his foot on another rope rung and let go without thinking. A wave crashed into the ship at the same time. The mast hit him at full force and spun. It sent him flying through the air. He stretched out his hand, trying to grasp onto something. He caught nothing.

That melody was still in the wind. In another situation, Frey would have stopped and listened.

But his ears and eyes filled with water, and it all went dark.

– II –

He was falling. He was floating. All the wind had been knocked out of him. Frey had to be dead– if not from drowning, from the cold. There was an arm around his waist. It pushed him and pulled him. He was still breathing. It didn’t make sense. Was he dreaming? It felt like the sun was shining on his face. Something cold– a hand?– was on his cheek. The same feeling was on the back of his head. Someone was singing. He couldn’t make out the language. It was a beautiful melody. It was a familiar melody.

He’d heard it on the sea.

Frey shot forward, every limb making its own spastic movement. His lungs were burning, and he coughed heavily. His fingers dug into warm sand. His clothing clung to him, still wet. He was staring out into the sea. He was on a beach. He was alive. He nearly laughed at the realization, but his head throbbed and he doubled over again. The pain spread into the rest of his body. It felt awful. Melodramatically, he considered if death would be better than whatever he was feeling.

His memories came back to him in pieces as he pulled himself to his feet. He was flung off of the ship and went into the waves. It was a miracle that he washed up on any kind of shore. He pulled in a sharp breath as he stretched, trying to make his body remember how to be human. The obvious questions swam across his mind– Where’s the ship? Where am I? Where’s the crew?– and he turned in place to survey the area.

Half of whatever beach Frey had washed up on was obscured by large rocks. The sand was clean, the tide was high, and the sun was beating down on him. He glanced right– lots of nothing– then left– more nothing broken up by the wreckage of the ship. Frey turned himself to the right and took a few steps before realizing that the ship was on the beach, at which he promptly turned on his heel and bolted towards it.

He finally arrived in front of the Lovelass properly after a few grueling minutes, clutching at his stomach to ward off the pain still rocking through his body. At first glance, he couldn’t see any of the crew. Hopefully they were all looking for each other, or below deck, or something. He kept walking closer. His foot caught on something and he stumbled, falling back against the sand. Fantastic.

Frey picked himself back up and looked down to see what he’d tripped over– a man face-down in the sand. He quickly knelt down and pushed him onto his side. It was the Captain. Frey breathed out a sigh of relief, and then shook the man to try and wake him up.

He stirred after a few seconds, opening his eyes. His expression turned baffled in an instant. “Frey?”

“Captain,” he greeted with a laugh.

“Saw you go flying into the sea,” the Captain returned with a smile, reaching his hand up to ruffle Frey’s salt-dried hair. “Thought you were dead, boy.”

“So did I. Are you alright? Is anything broken?”

“Not from what I can tell,” he replied.

Frey got to his feet, then helped the Captain up. “I suppose you don’t know where the rest of the crew is.”

“Not an inkling,” the Captain said, slowly stretching. “Where are we?”

“I wish I knew. I was trying to search for you all.”

“How ‘bout I take up the search for the crew? You venture through and see if there’s anything we can eat. Bet all our food’s rot now.”

Frey nodded. “Aye. Yell if you need help– I’ll try to stay close.”

“Atta boy.”

With that, Frey was off. He tracked how long he was searching by the sun in the sky, and within a few hours he’d been able to walk the length of the land. It was a small island, the kind of thing that sailors would talk about like a legend. The coastline circled into something that was barely a forest. Some of the trees bore fruit, and they’d be able to catch up some fish assuming any of their rods survived.

The wind continued to whistle away, making that same melody. It was going to drive him mad at some point. The setting sunlight and circumstances had to be playing tricks on him, that was all, but he swore he kept seeing something red swimming around the island. He almost considered following it a few times, just to see if it led anywhere, but decided against it. 

Something called on the breeze. It almost sounded like a name. Frey tried to ignore it, and despite his effort it continued to call. It just got louder. Eventually–

Alexander…?

–Frey heard who it was calling for.

It froze him in his tracks, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He called out: “Who’s there?”

Alexander?

“How do you know that name?”

Alexander!

It sounded further away that time, like a taunt. Frey fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Before he even realized, he was already running towards the voice, shouting questions the whole way.

His feet carried him to the other side of the island, away from the Lovelass and the crew. The coastline wrapped around the island, as it turned out, but this side was more rocks than sand. Frey caught his breath for just a moment before saying again: “Who’s there?”

“Who’s there?” the voice echoed, as if it wasn’t comfortable with its own words.

“My– my name is Frey,” he explained. “I sail on the galleon Lovelass. We got caught in the storm and crashed on the beach. I’m just looking for my crew–”

It was then that a man lifted himself up on the rock, stopping before he showed his waist. His hair was long and blonde– it was wet and it clung to his pale cheeks. He had no tunic on, and for a moment Frey wondered if he didn’t have any clothing at all. His gray eyes were wide, practically boring into Frey with how hard he was staring. He was beautiful.

Frey balked, stumbling over his thoughts. “Who… Who are you?”

He let out a noise, a single note without any word behind it. Frey must have looked surprised, because the man made the same noise and then frowned.

“Are you trapped? Do you need help?” Frey pressed.

The man tilted his head, still staring.

“Can you… not speak English?” Frey asked tentatively.

The man held out his hand as if waiting for something. His fingers were long and slender, and his nails were sharp. Carefully, Frey approached.

“Alexander?” the man asked, his voice almost sounding clumsy.

“That’s my father’s name,” Frey said. “How do you know it?”

There was a splashing sound against the water, and the man grimaced. He extended his hand again, more forcefully this time. Frey knelt down in front of him, and put out his hand in return. The man grabbed it and pulled, as if he was trying to drag Frey into the sea.

Frey yelped and wrenched his hand away. “What was that for?”

The man just kept staring, tilting his head the other way. It was like he was trying to drink in Frey’s image, or like he wasn’t quite sure how to quantify him. Frey started to match his movements, much to the other man’s delight.

After a few seconds, Frey spoke again. “Alright, we’re getting nowhere with this.”

The man frowned at that.

“Do you know what ‘yes’ and ‘no’ mean?” Frey asked, making the appropriate head motions alongside his words.

His face lit up, and he nodded. Yes. 

Frey sat properly on the rock, crossing his legs to hold the man’s stare. “Great, now we can talk.”

It started with normal questions: Do you live here? was answered with a Yes. So were Did you see our ship crash?, Do you know where the crew is?, and Are they safe?

“You can understand English,” Frey started, and that was met with a Yes. “But you can’t speak a lot of it?”

Another yes.

“Well, what do they call you in your language?”

The man made that same little noise again, looking expectantly at the sailor. Frey tried to make the same noise. The man looked disgusted for a moment, then repeated the noise. He, again, tried to repeat it. The response was an immediate shake of his head, the disgust on his face almost turning to horror.

“I guess I didn’t get it right?” Frey chuckled. “Did I say something bad?”

He nodded, then gave Frey another up-and-down glance. He put out his hand again.

“Last time I took your hand, you tried to pull me into the ocean.”

There wasn’t a yes or no answer to that, but he let out another series of vocalizations– a melody in its own right– and it would have been beautiful if not for how angry the man looked. Frey turned his head, trying to understand what was being sung to him.

Frey apologized before continuing his questions. The man wasn’t trying to hurt him or the crew– so he claimed– but there were others that might. He refused to come out of the water. Frey got him to point to where the sun was in the sky when the Lovelass crashed– crawling upwards in the East– and if it had been more than a day. It hadn’t. 

“Have you seen anything red in the water?” he eventually asked.

The man tilted his head, like he didn’t understand.

“The– the color of rubies, and blood, and apples,” Frey clarified after a moment.

His face lit up for a moment in understanding, then fell into a frown. He shook his head.

Frey sighed. “It might have been a trick, but I swear I saw something swimming next to the ship. Brilliant red, fast as an arrow. Could you keep a lookout for it, maybe?”

He tilted his head to each side like he was considering it, then nodded.

“Frey?” called a voice– he recognized it instantly as Sawyer.

The man pulled in a breath, and he hid behind the rock. 

“Wait, wait–” Frey begged. The man peeked out again.

Frey’s voice fell to a whisper. “Will you be here at dawn?”

He nodded.

“Then I’ll be back. I swear it.”

He smiled, and Frey matched it before pulling himself to his feet. He glanced back down to the water, but the man was already gone.

“I’m over here!” he called.

“Frey!”

Sawyer came tumbling out of the foliage, and they both froze for a moment.

“Sweet Jesus, you look like Hell,” Sawyer said, a smile spreading across his face.

“Well, I did get thrown out of the ship from the crow’s nest,” he laughed, stepping forwards to meet him.

Sawyer pulled him into a tight hug, then pulled back. He kept his hands on Frey’s shoulders. “I’m glad you’re alive, mate. The Captain gathered us all up– Flynn got himself a broken arm, but other than that we’ll all be fine by the morning. Come on, let’s get you back.”

“Aye.”

– III –

23 June 1717

The repairs are going well. We finally got enough wood to fix up the rudder before turning in for the night yesterday, and we should have the ship back on the sea in two days. Everyone’s finding his own way through it, as expected, but nobody is complaining about the fresh food. We plan to take some of it with us, maybe fill a barrel with it if we can. The Captain is sending Cornie and Sawyer out foraging when it gets light enough.

That meant that Frey didn’t have much time today. The repairs had been exhausting him physically and mentally, and he’d slept in later than he meant to.

He’d been taking campfire duty every night, claiming The rest of the crew needs more sleep than I do and the like, and he’d been making sure to sleep without covering his eyes, just in service of sneaking away from the group. 

He still hadn’t been able to get the man’s name. It was the worst part of the language barrier. Frey had taken to calling him songbird because of the way his native tongue sounded– the clicks and trills reminded him of a bird. Frey had been showing him the Captain’s log and helping him speak English, but it was still a mess most days. Even so, it was the most fun he’d had in ages. 

This morning, he filled his leather pack with a simple breakfast– he’d pick a few apples on the way– and set off, book in hand. The path to their spot was practically muscle memory at this point.

Frey sat down on the same rock, setting his pack and the book next to him, before knocking on the stone a few times. “Songbird?”

Like clockwork, the man peeked his head out, unsure at first. His eyes lit up for just a moment before his expression settled back into that inquisitive, neutral gaze that Frey had grown so used to.

“…Frey.”

It was his turn to light up, a giddy smile spreading across his face. “You remembered!”

He looked away, but nodded.

Frey turned back to his pack for a moment, then pulled an apple from it. “Are you hungry?”

He eyed the fruit for a moment, and when Frey held it out to him, he took it. Frey watched as he turned it in his hand, inspecting it, before biting into it. His eyes went wide for a moment, and then a slight smile spread over his face.

“Have you never had an apple before?” he teased. His question was met with a shake of the head.

It was when he opened his mouth to take another bite that Frey caught just how sharp his teeth were– each one was a point, as if he was a shark, not a human. He let the other man finish the apple before he asked the question that had been eating away at him for days.

“You’re… not human, are you?”

His eyes widened, and he stared back at Frey. He flushed red like a human, and then shook his head.

“What are you, then?”

He held out his palm again, as if that was an answer.

Frey glanced down, then chuckled. “Fine. Don’t drag me to my death, alright? I like you.”

He took the other man’s hand.

In the next moment, he was pulled back into the cold sea. Instinctively, Frey panicked, but something caught him by his wrist, and the weight stayed even as the man’s hand slipped out of his. Frey pulled in a breath.

And then he paused, floating in the ocean, and realized he’d just breathed. He took another breath as if he was trying to prove it to himself. It felt strange– awful, really– but he was breathing.

“Open your eyes,” said a voice from behind him, beautiful and sweet.

Slowly, he let his eyes flutter open, and the man was in front of him. His hair floated around his head like a halo, and his pale skin blended into scales at his hips– a tail, brilliantly red and shimmering in the water. He was smiling, marveling in the way Frey reacted.

“Can you speak?” he asked.

“I–” Frey tested, every sensation in his body foreign and impossible. “How…?”

“The sea is more fantastic than you realized, Frey of the Lovelass.”

He twisted in the water, swimming a circle around him, before taking him by the wrist. Frey looked down to see a band of shells adorning his tanned skin. He reached for it, and the other man pulled his hand away. “Don’t take that off, you’ll drown in an instant.”

“What– What is it?”

“I think your kind call it magic.” He laughed, and it sounded like the waves.

Frey had to look down at his legs, just to make sure he still had them. He did.

“What’s your name?” Frey asked again.

“Valence,” was the response. “I’ve been trying to tell you for days.”

“Valence,” Frey repeated, testing the word. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know.”

Valence turned again in the water, graceful and fantastic, and appeared again in front of Frey. He took a hold of Frey’s face, turning his head to each side. 

“What are you doing?” Frey asked, almost laughing.

“Observing.”

“And what have you observed?”

“You don’t look all that different from us,” he said. “but your eyes aren’t as bright.”

“Are you the same red thing that was brushing up against the Lovelass before she crashed?” Frey asked.

“What do you think?” Valence asked back, a smile playing at his lips.

“Then why’d you lie?”

“I couldn’t explain it properly.”

Frey couldn’t argue with that.

“I was also the one to drag you out of the ocean,” Valence continued. “In case you wanted to thank me for that.”

He laughed. “Thank you very much for saving my life, songbird.”

Valence gave him a look of exasperation. “Don’t call me that. You know my name now.”

“But it fits you so well!”

He glared, and the fin of his tail flicked in a way that seemed just as angry. Frey took something close to a bow– it was hard when floating in the ocean. “Yes, your Highness.”

“Better,” he said.

“How do you know my father’s name?” Frey pushed.

“I don’t.”

“But you said it a hundred times.”

“I can’t control the songs I sing,” Valence explained. “They’re not meant for my ears.”

“You were trying to pull me to my doom!”

“Maybe, maybe not.” There was a smile playing at his lips. “Either way, you’re far too interesting to drown you now. Consider yourself lucky.”

Frey raised an eyebrow at that. Valence took another half-circle around him, then wrapped his arm around Frey’s waist, pulling him against his bare chest. His free hand went back to Frey’s face, gently turning his head towards him. His fingers traced along Frey’s jawline.

“You’re touchy,” Frey whispered, as if anyone else would be able to hear them.

“When am I going to get a chance like this again?” he asked, just as quietly. His tail bumped against the back of Frey’s knees, and lifted up his legs. Valence leaned over Frey’s shoulder, his eyes fixed on the difference in their anatomies.

“You could have a million of them if you keep following the Lovelass.”

“Are you propositioning me?”

“That’s a big word for a mermaid,” Frey deflected.

“Well, perhaps I will join your little crew,” Valence said. Frey could hear him smile.

He let his fingers drag across Frey’s cheek. Frey leaned into his palm and planted a kiss there. Valence’s skin was soft against his lips, and he let out a tiny gasp.

Frey chuckled, a little sheepish. “Sorry, that was habit.”

“Noted.” His voice was a little quieter, as if he’d gotten bashful too. His grip on Frey’s waist loosened, and he floated backwards. Frey twisted in the water to see him blushing, trying to hide his face with his hair.

“Did I embarrass you?”

“No,” Valence replied, still looking away.

Frey looked up. The sky had changed from a pale pink to a light blue. He sighed. “I bet the crew is starting to wonder where I went.”

“You won’t stay?”

“I do get a choice, right?” Frey asked, a little more seriously than he meant to.

Valence looked like he was considering for a few moments. “I suppose.”

“Then I have to go.”

“You have to promise to come back,” he said, grabbing Frey’s wrist.

Frey leaned in to press their foreheads together. “I swear it.”

Valence guided Frey’s hand up to his cheek, holding it there for a moment.

“How do you say farewell?” Valence said quietly, his gray eyes glittering.

Frey smiled, and then tilted his head to catch Valence’s lips with his. Valence leaned into it immediately, instinctively, and his tail flicked before wrapping itself around Frey’s legs to anchor him against the sailor. Frey moved his other hand up, cupping Valence’s cheeks. It tasted like salt and sea but it was perfect and it was theirs.

Valence was the one to pull away. Frey opened his eyes to see Valence staring down at him with an uncharacteristically giddy smile on his face. “You’ve given me more questions.”

“I’m sure,” Frey replied.

“What was that called?”

“A kiss.”

“Why do you close your eyes during it?”

“To focus on the feeling.”

“Do humans only do it to say farewell?”

“No. They do it for all kinds of reasons.”

“Do they do it to everyone?”

“Only to the people they like.”

“Then why did you do it to me?”

Frey chuckled. “Because I really like you, songbird.”

Valence stammered, then pulled away from Frey. His tail flicked back and forth in the water, like he wasn’t quite sure how to wrap his head around all the information he was just given.

“You will come back,” he demanded. “I’ll drag you back if I have to.”

“I couldn’t just leave you forever,” Frey laughed. “I’m interested in you too.”

He nodded in understanding. “Alright, fine.”

Frey held out his hand. Valence took it, then laced his fingers with Frey’s. “Make sure to breathe out as much as you can. It’ll be easier that way.”

The advice didn’t make returning to the air any less difficult. Frey was sputtering and coughing the moment he inhaled again, his head above the surface. His lungs were burning again, readjusting to the feel of it all. Valence helped him back to land, making those little vocalizations the whole time.

“I can’t understand you anymore,” Frey lamented once he was back on the rock, still soaking wet. “That’s hardly fair.”

Valence grimaced, said something, then motioned to Frey’s wrist. The bracelet was still there.

“Don’t worry, I promise not to take it off,” he said, turning his wrist so he could see it from all angles. “And I promise to come back.”

He nodded, smiling.

“Farewell, Valence,” Frey offered.

Valence chirped back. Farewell.

[lovingpromise]

"i want the k" / for any of our ships!

Hiccup ( @fatescattered ) rolled the dice and got... 🎲42. A Clumsy Kiss !! / still accepting

alice was fully aware of her inexperience in matters of love. while other girls her age prepared for their coming of age and plotted for future matches, she had been focused on her adventures. it was not that she had felt herself above such things,—though her mother would claim that to be the case—she simply found that it hardly ever crossed her mind.

or at least... that was before hiccup.

when she first met him he was a friendly face in an unfamiliar realm. she had been a stranger, odd in both her attire and speech, but he showed her kindness all the same. his smile had enchanted her then, but she would not realize the extent to which it would have a hold over her until much later.

now when alice looked at hiccup, she found herself understanding the giddy squeals and giggles that happened at tea parties about young ladies and their most recent crushes. she could not help but smile when he looked at her, she wanted nothing more than to be close to him, and the rare occasions that their skin had touched had sent her face ablaze.

she wondered—hoped, really—that he felt even a fraction of what she did. surely he must have felt something. she'd caught him staring a few times when he thought she wasn't looking... and when their eyes met his gaze all but melted her. she knew there was a chance that he didn't feel the same and that she was reading signs that weren't there. after all, she had always had an active imagination...

❛ it is impossible to know the outcome when you hide from the solution,❜ she told herself as she took a deep breath and planted feet in front of him. she saw the questioning expression he gave her and met it with a serious one of her own. ❝ hiccup... ❞ she began, her mouth running a bit dry. it was rare for her to struggle with her words, but such a thing was yet another side effect of his presence.

she opened her mouth and then closed it, repeating the motion a few times before visibly becoming frustrated with herself. she huffed, embarrassment signaled by the redding of her cheeks. her mind went blank in her fumbling but her eyes stayed locked with his.

❛ when words fail, perhaps action is needed. ❜

before she could fully consider the consequences, alice muttered a ❝ pardon me ❞ as she rushed forward and placed her lips upon hiccup's. she connected with him harder than she meant to, practically headbutting him in the process. it was a kiss that could hardly be considered a kiss at all, more like a punch that would leave both of them bruised.

she gasped, pulling back as her mind caught up with the action. ❝ i-i apologize. that was very improper of me— ❞ continuing to reverse, she tripped on her own two feet and fell backward. unable to catch herself, she closed her eyes, anticipating the fall.—instead, she felt two arms wrap securely around her and when she opened her eyes she found herself chest-to-chest with hiccup.

her heart picked up in speed as her blue eyes stared into his green, and her only saving grace at that moment was that she could feel his heartbeat too, which moved in sync with hers.

prehaps it was merely because he was startled... but she hoped...

❝ may i? ❞ alice asked this time, moving to kiss him again more gently if he would let her.