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cades-outsider · 3 years

Text

Robby Keene X Reader

Warnings: Little Angst!

Not just a Secret

Let's get one thing straight, keeping a secret from your boyfriend is not that easy. Especially when it's as big as your secret, you see from the time you were young you always admired karate. Other kids thought it was dumb and would rather play video games or whatever.

You felt there was no hope for you seeing as, there were literally no karate dojo's available in your area. Only a car salesman by the name of Daniel LaRusso who won a karate battle with an illegal kick but you get the picture.

It wasn't until someone by the name of Miguel helped spark Johnny your sensei to have his own dojo. You and Miguel were pretty close, you ran into him at the mini mart on your way home where you also met Johnny.

He was sitting on a curve enjoying his pizza when a bunch of teens decided to get into some trouble with a boy smaller than them.

From most of your karate experience which detained of watching old karate moves on YouTube came into handy when they tried to start with you. You immediately caught Johnny's eye as you; someone 10 times younger than him knew about old time karate, though your stance wasn't completely stable.

Johnny decided to help you out seeing as there were more than just two or three kids you were going against and because they hit his car.

What you thought was cool was that You, Miguel, and Johnny all lived in the same apartment complex. You noticed Johnny a lot, but you knew from his personal actions that he didn't like associating with people.

After Miguel had convinced Johnny to open up his own dojo both Johnny and Miguel came straight to you. Well Both you and Miguel happened to run into Johnny who was looking for you both to tell you the good news.

You were eagerly ecstatic, having had wanted this dream to come true for a while. Johnny taught you a lot that you didn't know before, he was almost like a dad figure.

You see when you met Robby you hadn't know that Johnny was his dad and you didn't know the situation. It took a while for Robby to open up to you about his family issues in the relationship.

You guys were together for about 6 months before you knew about Johnny being his dad and how much he 'hated' him.

You knew Johnny for the first 3 months while learning a little bit of karate, and it wasn't until 3 months later you started fully going every day after school.

Yeah you could say whenever Robby told you who his dad was you immediately felt trapped. For the simple fact that is Robby hated his dad so much and knew how close you and his dad were he might not like that... he'd might even feel betrayed.

So you kept it a secret, which probably wasn't the best and definitely not the healthiest for your relationship but you wanted to keep Robby happy... but you knew if it got out he would not be the happiest about it.

Anyways, you were on your way to Cobra Kai... you guest it. As of right now Johnny had a good amount of students, including You, Miguel, Tory, Eli- also known as Hawk now, Chris, A**- Face as they call him, Bert, and a couple extras.

Practice was as normal as any other day, it consisted of sweat, pounding chest, and happiness. Karate brought joy to you, and you absolutely loved the way Johnny taught you karate.

You could tell from the beginning that Johnny was nervous and scared to teach more kids, you didn't quite know why but you thought it had something to do with his childhood maybe?

It was almost like he thought he was going to mess up, which so far he hasn't. Plus he has you and Miguel for reassurance which he didn't ask for but definitely didn't tell either of you to stop.

Johnny had let everyone take a 10 minute break while he worked on something in his office, a loud shout and bang was heard after less than a minute of him being in his office.

You and Miguel share a knowing look as everyone else's eyes stayed wide and scared, because when Johnny's mad he usually is shall I say more present with his actions.

Both you and Miguel get up from your sitting positions and walk into Johnny's office to see him with his head buried in his hands and the phone beat against the desk.

"Sensei?" Miguel questions worried.

"Yes Mr. Diaz? Do you need something?" Johnny asks, quite stressfully.

"Uh- I was just wondering if you were okay?" He questions softly.

"I'm fine Diaz, just stressed that's all" Johnny nods his head as an okay, Miguel nods and walks to the mats, as you stay behind.

"Uh- Sensei you know you can talk to me- to us" You comment, daringly.

"I appreciate that Miss. L/n" He says as he pops open his famous coors beer, leaning back into his chair.

You take a seat in the chair in front of him "what's wrong?" You question.

He takes a swing of beer keeping eye contact as he sits the beer aggressively down on the table "nothing is going my way, you know? I try one good thing and it escalates into two bad things" Johnny states, running a hand through his hair messing it up a little.

"Uh- Sensei, I can see it on your face you're not that hard to read. I know it might sound crazy but I know what you're feeling all I can say is that it will get better you're doing an amazing job at what you do already... so who says you're not already doing that one thing" You say softly.

Johnny smiles a little, but this time a genuine smile "that's very kind of you Y/n" he says as you smile, feeling accomplished.

"Is something going on with you? You said you knew what I felt" Johnny questions.

"Oh uhm actually I'm kind of stuck on something right now- I'm kinda doing one thing that I know would hurt someone I love but only just found out they wouldn't like it when I'm doing it and it's hard because I know how he'll react" You say nervously, as technically you just told on yourself.

Johnny nods his head in understand-meant "is he a lover?" He asks to which you nod yes.

"Well then he should understand right? I mean you're a great kid he would understand" Johnny encourages.

You smile softly "thank you" you blush of embarrassment from the fact that you know you literally just told on yourself.

"No problem kid, now go get into your stance" He says getting up as you follow, walking out of his office and into your follow in stance.

The rest of practice ended with a happier and more relieved Johnny. At the end of class Johnny asked both of you and Miguel to stay behind saying that he needed to give you both something.

He leads you both to the trunk of his red firebird, which holds two black Cobra Kai Gi's "I wanted to give both of you these first" He says handing one to both you and Miguel.

"Sensei this is- incredible" Miguel comments excitedly.

"They're amazing!" You say excitedly.

"Well you guys deserved it, you both worked very hard" Johnny says proudly.

Miguel hugs Johnny until his phone dings causing them to pull away from the hug "sorry sensei that's my mom! Thank you!" He says before running away, over to his bike.

"Thank you sensei" You smile slightly.

"You can call me Johnny, Y/n but only out side of the dojo" He says as you give him a hug.

See this is where it gets complicated, Robby had decided he was going to give his dad a chance and so he thought that he would come to Cobra Kai and speak with his dad.

As he was riding on his board he stopped and picked it up as he arrived at his destination and saw you with his dad.

"Y/n?" Robby questions walking up to the scene.

"Robby-" You gasp internally, slightly freezing. You knew this day would come but not so soon.

"Robby? What are you doing here?" Johnny questions, confused.

"Well I came to talk to you but seeing as my girlfriend made it first it seems I don't need to" Robby spits out bitterly.

"Robby I-" He cuts you off.

"What you can explain? Oh please do, after I just told you too." He walks closer to you.

"I guess now I know I should've never tried with you" Robby says walking away.

"Don't talk to her like that" Johnny stands his ground walking over to Robby as he stops in his tracks.

"Oh like you talk to me?" He asks sarcastically.

"You know what I've had it, I'm done. We're done Y/n" Robby says before continuing to walk away.

You couldn't just let him walk away, so you ran after him once he turned the curve behind the dojo "Robby wait at least let me explain" You plead.

He stops once again before turning back around "what? What do you need to explain" he sighs.

"Look I didn't know that Johnny was your dad until yesterday when you told me! I had no way of knowing but I knew that I didn't want to quit karate" You state.

"Oh so you couldn't have just quit when you knew or at least have told me?" He grits his teeth, walking closer to you.

"Oh come on Robby, just give Johnny a chance he's really trying" You plead.

"Oh so now you're on his side" He says defensively.

"I'm not saying that I just thought that if I kept it a secret that I wouldn't hurt you" You say guiltily.

"That is not just a secret Y/n!" He yells stepping closer causing you to flinch accidentally.

This action didn't go unnoticed to Robby, he immediately goes soft "oh Y/n- I-I'm sorry" He says going to grab your hand but you pull it away.

"Just. Don't. I think we need some time to collect ourselves" You state before walking away from Robby and back to Johnny.

"I'm sorry Johnny- I should've told you earlier" You say guiltily as you didn't want Johnny to feel some type of way towards you now.

He nods his head understandingly "look Y/n. It's okay there's nothing to be sorry for, i actually would spin you two together if he wasn't being such a d*ck" He comments.

You laugh at his choice of words "you mean ship?" You question.

"Oh so that's what they call it" He hums as you nod.

Johnny offered you a ride home, since you both lived at the same apartment complex and of course you agreed.

As you walked through your apartment door you felt bad, bad about keeping a secret from Robby that would hurt him, but also mad because he had just told you Johnny was his dad so you had no way of knowing beforehand.

Robby on the other hand felt terrible, he made you flinch. Worst of all he yelled at you which he would never do if it were a different topic, his dad was always a hard topic for him.

Robby had decided to take action and visit your apartment, he hated being away from you for more than a couple days.

He bought some of your favorite flowers and made his way to your apartment on his skateboard. Moments later you heard a knock at your door, your parents weren't home and you knew they would be here later so that confused you.

None the less you opened the door to reveal Robby awkwardly holding your favorite flowers, a look of regret and sadness written clearly on his face.

"Robby-?" You question confused.

"Y/n hear me out please..." He pleads.

"Okay... come in" You say holding the door opened for him more.

He walks in and sets the flowers down on your counter "look I'm sorry for yelling at you like that, it was wrong of me but I was just upset" He confesses, looking down.

You sigh "Robby it's okay, I know you would never hurt me like that it was just an instinct. I'm sorry to for not telling you" You say guiltily.

Robby walks closer to you and grabs both of your hands interwinding them with his "no it's okay Y/n, I know you didn't know I shouldn't have pushed you like that" Robby admits.

"It's know, I just thought if I kept it a secret it wouldn't hurt you as much...." You mumble honestly.

He smiles a little "I think it hurt more, but now it's okay because I love you to much to lose you" He shyly admits.

You smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders "I love you more" You respond.

"How about we get some food and cuddle?" You question happily.

"That sounds amazing" Robby reply’s.

Even though Robby was desperately hurt at your actions, he knew it wasn’t your fault he knew that you didn’t know I mean how would you have known if he never opened up to you. Anyways life went on and eventually Robby finally spoke and sorted things out with his dad, though that didn’t stop certain people but it did save Johnny’s.

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This was requested from Wattpad!!!

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shimmershae · 3 years

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So. I have some more thoughts. Shocking? Yeah, I know, lol.

Let’s see if I can figure out how to purge what’s inside of my overactive brain and have it make some semblance of sense, shall we?

Hmm.

Where to start, where to start?

Okay. So I think it’s safe to say that the flashbacks pretty quickly establish that Daryl has essentially been set adrift. He’s been cast back, in some ways by his own choosing, into a solitary searching life that speaks to his past. He has no anchor anymore, no touching stone--whether that be Rick, who’s presumed dead, or Carol, who’s chosen by default to leave him behind and try to make a new family in Ezekiel and Henry.

That’s important. Because until this season? Until he really matured and assumed, grudgingly or otherwise, the mantle of leadership of the communities?

Daryl was a follower. He took his cues from other stronger personalities. Other people more quick to voice and own their opinions, right or wrong. Like Rick. And Merle before him.

That’s not to say Daryl hasn’t had anything of value to say or add to the communities or to his relationships. He has and he did. Remember back at the Prison how Carol told him he was going to have to live with the love? Daryl was just beginning to find his voice, so to speak. He was emerging, even if they were only baby steps at first, from other seemingly more formidable shadows, and learning even then how to be more of a leader that people looked up to even if he was still content to be a follower.

Being a follower was what he was comfortable with and I’m making some assumptions here, but I’d wager that in his abusive past with his old man, in that household first with Merle then on his own, being a follower and sticking to the safety of the periphery is probably what kept him alive. Being a follower minimized conflict then, I’m sure. Being a follower when he met up with and eventually connected with Rick and the rest of Team Family was probably the safest way for him to make emotional connections.

I’m rambling. I know it and I’m sorry. It’s what I do. Ramble, lol.

Here. I’m going to place the rest of this underneath a cut because I got more winding words than I have wind and most of ya’ll have patience.

With Rick gone, with Carol off trying her damndest to live a fairy tale, Daryl floundered. For all intents and purposes, he was left without any direction, nobody to take his cues from emotionally or otherwise.

I mean, he literally made ever-widening circles searching for Rick, didn’t he? Circles have no end point. They have no real destination. Not really. Daryl essentially lived in a spin cycle of pain and regret and inability to really and truly connect with anybody during those years spent searching for Rick--especially since the person he arguably felt closest to and most comfortable with, Carol, basically decided those past connections Daryl was so desperate to find again were too painful for her and attempted to move on.

He wasn’t emotionally equipped to or stable enough (perhaps still internally dealing with his anger and angst over his torture and imprisonment by Negan at that point in time) to put in the hard work to reestablish those fraying bonds on his own and the man basically lost the plot. His world narrowed down to this latest search. This search for a body. For closure. For a new purpose perhaps?

And you know, the man had to be tired. In some way or another? He’s probably been searching his entire life. It’s kind of what followers do. They look for meaning outside themselves because they don’t feel like they’re enough.

So then Dog, in the form of this happy, accepting, affectionate puppy appears out of nowhere. He’s a welcome distraction and knowing Daryl’s propensity to try to reunite the lost with those they love, he started a new little search.

That led him to Leah.

Leah, who was alone. Like him. Leah, who knew how to survive. Like him. Leah, who was stuck in a place of grief. Like him.

Leah, who--and I don’t really feel like I’m going out on too far or precarious limb here considering how many parallels they literally slapped us in the face with during this episode--reminded him of someone he felt he couldn’t have, not even her friendship anymore because by her choosing to ‘be there’ for Ezekiel and Henry and the Kingdom she was always leaving Daryl behind and that’s a pattern we’ve all long suspected has really caused hurt for Daryl even if he’s long ‘accepted’ and dealt with it with stoicism.

Boy, they really blew the lid off that issue didn’t they? Oh, it was done rather quietly and in a surprisingly controlled manner, but the hurt it caused? The tears and emotion it elicited was brought about with an almost surgical precision that stunned Carol, but I digress.

My point is? Daryl? Innate follower that he is? Daryl had grown accustomed to the human connection he found with Team Family. He was never 100% comfortable with it but he missed it. He craved it. And Rick? Well, deep down Daryl knew the likelihood of finding his ‘brother’ was minimal. And with Carol pulling away and putting more and more distance between them--how deep and wide was that river, ya’ll, before the episode was done? when it started off looking like a small trickle of a stream? how wide was that chasm these two idiots in painfully unspoken love allowed to be formed between them?--essentially the two closest people to him were lost to him, leaving him lost.

So he stumbles upon this woman who is very reminiscent of people that he’s known. He’s figured out, even though he keeps trying to buck the trend, that you really can’t make it alone in the world anymore. And when she shows him some small measure of trust by letting him go? That part of him that didn’t want to be alone kept drifting back into her sphere.

Now I’m not going to go so far as saying Daryl fell in love with this Leah. Because, shipping biases aside? I really don’t feel like he did.

Daryl found solace with Leah.

Companionship.

Remember another time when Daryl was lost? When he felt he had failed another member of his family? Lost what he thought was the last of his family? How alone he was at a crossroads when Joe’s group of Claimers came along?

I’m not equating Leah with the Claimers in any other way except saying Daryl was in a similar headspace when he met her, okay? Before anybody goes off on me. I’m just saying that Leah? She represented what Daryl felt was his one chance NOT TO BE ALONE.

Daryl’s emotionally stunted, ya’ll. He’s made great strides, but trauma always seems to regress him. Thankfully, it seems to regress him less and less as he really and truly matures, but it still has a habit of reverting him back to the Daryl we first met. The Daryl we can easily see growing up in Merle’s shadow.

When he threw that damn fish at her door, I literally laughed for ten straight minutes because that was funny as hell. But honestly? The more I thought about it, the more it dwelled in my mind? The sadder it actually made me because here’s a grown man essentially trying to connect with another human being on an adolescent level.

So much of what we were shown in this episode really just reinforced what I’d already suspected to be true--Daryl Dixon just doesn’t ‘get’ the basics of interpersonal relationships. At least those that could be perceived as romantic. For all that Carol mused it was like he had become a man back in Atlanta, during Consumed and their search for Beth? That man is still very much trying to fumble his way out of the starting gate so far as pursuing a woman in any form or fashion.

This is just my opinion and we all know what they say about those, lol, but Daryl has longed for an even deeper connection with Carol since the Prison. Maybe even before that. I think at the Farm his eyes were opened to her and he started trying to be a better person to match what he perceived as her goodness. Before he even knew she wanted one, he was trying to be a man of honor. Then stuff and thangs happened and shit, like Daryl once told Abe, just never settled. Carol drifted out of Daryl’s reach because he wasn’t equipped with the emotional tools to really go after what he wanted--her in a deeper, different capacity than he’d ever wanted or asked for before--and shit, ya’ll. If loneliness is a choice then Daryl Dixon was sick and damn tired of it.

Do I think there’s even really a choice between Leah and Carol in Daryl’s mind though? A true choice were he to absolutely, 100% realize and know that Carol’s heart was earmarked for him from the very beginning and that she’s suffering from the same delusions that she’s not good enough or deserving of him?

Absolutely not.

Leah knew that even if Daryl never divulged any specifics about Carol. She knew the answer to her ultimatum before she even made it.

And that ultimatum, ya’ll.

Maybe it’s weird, but it put me in mind of when Merle pressed Daryl to make a choice between him and Team Family.

Merle was blood family but like Carol and others said, he wasn’t good for Daryl.

Leah might have offered Daryl some solace from his loneliness but ultimately staying isolated with her and not reconnecting with those he identifies as family is just as damaging as Daryl choosing to follow in Merle’s wake again. Similarly to that situation, Daryl was clearly torn as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Between loyalty to family and unspoken love.

In case there’s any confusion here, the unspoken love I’m talking about is his love for Carol. He felt something for her back at that Prison. Fight me. He knew she’d be hurt by him going back with Merle, but obligation and family loyalty led him to make the decision all the same.

Still. He knew she’d understand. And she did, even if his choice hurt her.

My thought is that this time? At least initially? Daryl didn’t completely separate his loyalty to family (searching for Rick) and his unspoken love (for Carol) when he made his decision. They’re hopelessly entwined because Carol is a little bit of everything to Daryl--friend, family, the woman he loves and has been halfway in love with for so many years. Initially, he chose the hope that both would come back to him if he just kept searching. Because searching’s what he does. From Sophia to Connie, he’s always searched in the hope of bringing the lost back to those that love them. He’s always searched because nobody searched for him.

Daryl is the ultimate lost boy who grew to be a man and still feels like he hasn’t been found.

But how can he be found if the one person he wants to find him keeps running away?

Daryl didn’t choose Leah.

Not from his heart.

Daryl turned back to Leah because he felt Carol slipping away to where he couldn’t follow her.

If it can even be argued that Daryl chose Leah, it was by default. Of course, he feels guilty. Daryl wouldn’t be Daryl without guilt. He wouldn’t be Carol’s man of honor.

And he is Carol’s man.

She may not be in the place to see it--YET--but she’s getting there. She’s fighting hard against her natural inclination to run. She’s trying. She knows what she wants, even if she doesn’t believe she has the hope of getting it.

Daryl knows what he wants, too. He knows, once and for all, where he belongs. He’s stopped searching. He knows she’s right there. There’s no more circles. There’s just a final destination if he can convince the love of his fucking life to stop running from what they both want.

He may have left that note for Leah, but you can’t convince this viewer that he didn’t write those words for Carol.

And that’s all I got to say about that.

For now anyway.

Omigosh, lovelies.

So sorry for the emotional word vomit but thank you so much for indulging me even if I did lose my original point somewhere up there, lol.

#The Walking Dead #Season 10C spoilers #Caryl #Carol x Daryl #Carol Peletier #Daryl Dixon #Melissa McBride #Norman Reedus #gorgeous people #my precious babies in love #things that make me smile and cry #for reasons #my heart

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 3 years

Text

Contending the Flame XI

Author’s note: This chapter kept going on for a while so I had to cut it off somewhere which means next chapter will have Hvitserk and Ivar in Vestfold. This chapter progresses readers part a lot though and I’m very pleased with how it turned out. I’ve also reached 200 followers so I’m considering making a writing challenge for fun. Thanks to all of you who have made this happen!

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 2716

Warnings: The usual

After many days and nights at the open water, you came to land by notice of a raven. The birds were intelligent creatures and held a deeper context in their religion. You were beginning to feel the early traces of curiosity rearing. When the longboat had slipped into silent spells, you would try to listen to pieces of conversations and make sense of the strange fables and gods. By the time you were passing into the fjord, you were struck with the guilt that a day had passed and you had forgotten to pray to God.

The sight of the foreign city had you leaping up and hanging over the ledge of the boat to catch a better glimpse. The idea of different lands always seemed so fantastical to the point of myth, yet here you were pulling into a dock. It was a dark and cold place, besieged by tall cliffs of iron rock. The sun was already low, and it wasn't even midday yet.

For all of its murky preface, you still couldn't shake your excitement at arriving in Kattegat. It appeared you were the only one wearing a smile. The rest of your shipmates were stricken with sullen faces, and Ubbe was addressing the warriors.

"Lagertha's watch will already know we're here, so be prepared for questioning when we tie-up," He said. "Remember, we aren't here to start a war, or to win back Kattegat. We're looking for answers about the spy sent into our army."

"But Lagertha is your enemy," One of the men piped up. "Aren't you going to fight her regardless of that matter?"

Ubbe appeared frustrated. "Only when all of the sons of Ragnar have come to an agreement will we fight."

There was more chatter and bickering in hushed whispers as Ubbe tried to reign in the rabble. You watched on, wanting to help the eldest brother, but you knew your powerlessness. Audhild was beside you observing as well, and she made a harsh noise in her throat that resembled a laugh.

"Ubbe doesn't care to avenge his mother," She said offhandedly.

You paused a moment, not knowing if she wanted you to answer or if it was just her way of airing her outrage. "What do you mean?"

"Lagertha was the one who murdered Queen Aslaug. Some say to win back Kattegat, while others would have you believe it was revenge on her luring Ragnar away."

Ivar had spoken briefly about his mother, but you weren't aware of the entire history until this moment. "And what do you believe?"

"I believe Aslaug wanted to die and bewitched Lagertha into being the one to do it. She was a sad woman, made empty by the disappointing King Ragnar. There's no question that Lagertha is the better Queen, but reasoning won't reach slighted loved ones. Ivar will never allow Lagertha peace."

You looked into the healer's eyes and saw the truth of what she spoke. It was tragic. "How will you Northmen ever triumph over the Saxons, when you're too busy killing each other?"

Audhild barked out a brisk chuckle. "Smarter leaders than you or I have said much the same, yet here we are plotting to steal back Kattegat while Harald Finehair plans to launch an assault to win him rule over all of Norway. These are bold choices, and actions worthy of Valhalla. There's much you don't understand, nun."

"I wish I did," You murmured, feeling foolish.

Audhild studied you and seemed to determine you were genuine. "Perhaps you will, now that you're here. I don't think you'll see England again."

The mention of that didn't alarm you as much as it should have. You felt a pang of sadness, but not for the loss of England. That place had never felt like home. Nowhere ever had, and that was the root of your melancholy. You didn't have a place to belong, just a series of unfamiliar destinations had come and gone.

As the ship slowly coasted up to the wharf, there weren't many onlookers, and you chalked that up to being that these people witnessed boats coming and going at all times. One ship wasn't enough to warrant too much attention. If anyone took a second glance, it was because of Ubbe. Those sons of Ragnar drew attention wherever they went, and it must have been unusual for him to be seen without the others present.

When the boat docked, the crew immediately leapt to unloading the few provisions that had been packed aboard. You kept close to Audhild, unsure where your usefulness lied. You wanted to go and have a gander at the city, but you knew you couldn't just spring out on your own.

"Ólaug," Ubbe called, and your head snapped up at attention. "I want you to remain with Audhild for now. I'll likely be called to meet with Lagertha. I can see some of her shieldmaidens have been sent to treat with us."

You stared over his shoulder to the three women approaching. They were dressed in boiled leather and metal and armed with swords and bows, not unlike the maidens you had seen serving in the army.

"Ólaug? Did Ivar tell you to call me that?"

Ubbe flustered as if it had escaped him unnoticed that little slip-up. "He might have mentioned it, and I don't know your real name."

You sighed, but more from contentment than anger. The name had stuck, and it was something else to remind you about Ivar. "It's alright. I will try to keep out of trouble to make things easier for you."

"Good," He nodded in relief.

Ubbe was the first to hoist his way onto the dock, and you followed close behind him with Audhild and a group of warriors. By then the three shieldmaidens had made their way down to the water, and a golden blonde with intense eyes ringed in kohl stepped forward.

"You're missing something, Ubbe," She started, gathering a look at the rest of his party. "Where are your brothers?"

"Not missing, just separated. What I thought was best for the army no longer aligned with where Ivar and Hvitserk wanted to take it."

The warrior woman appeared unconvinced. "So you thought you'd return here, after threatening to overthrow Lagertha with Ivar the last time."

You tried to contain your surprise at that. Apparently, the feud between the sons and this Lagertha ran deeper than you could comprehend.

"I wished to return home, and to my wife. The ones who came with me sought the same," Ubbe explained. "Please, Torvi. I will give my share of the raids to Lagertha if that's what she wants, but I did not come here for title or glory."

The woman, Torvi, pondered over his words. "I would be less inclined to believe you if Ivar were present, but our scouts reported that you were the only ship to cross the fjord. Perhaps I can have Lagertha grant you a private meeting, but just with you, not even Margrethe would attend."

"I accept that," He agreed. "Do we have permission to disembark? My crew are tired and thirsty."

Torvi took another glance at all of you, and you found it difficult to meet her eyes when they fell upon you.

"You may, and have all of your gold brought to the Queen."

That was where the negotiations ended at least for the time being. You didn't know what task had been entrusted to Ubbe by Ivar, and you thought it better if you didn't know. Torvi led her two companions away back through the streets of Kattegat, and all while Ubbe watched her depart.

"I'm sure others are watching," He commented. "Don't mention Ivar or Hvitserk while out in public."

There was a collective agreement that reverberated from the group, and Audhild took a step forward.

"If Torvi is here, does that mean Bjorn is still in Kattegat?"

Ubbe shook his head. "I'm sure he made for the Mediterranean as he wanted to. Besides, even before we made for England, there were whispers of their marriage failing. Torvi serves his mother now."

As more names were idly tossed in the air, you began to grow more confused and out of place. The Northmen had as many struggles in their leadership as the Saxons, and you wondered if there was a place in this world that wasn't rife with betrayal.

"Come, Ólaug," Audhild's voice broke through your internal fretting. "There's something I must tell you, and it shouldn't be done with so many eyes around."

You frowned in confusion, but when you looked to Ubbe he gave Audhild a swift nod of dismissal. Whatever it was regarding, he knew about it.

You departed the dock, leaving the others to unload the heavy boxes of gold and treasures. Some of it you knew was from the ransacked church in York, but it didn't bother you to see it brought back into foreign lands. What Ivar had said before about the church hoarding wealth was true. Better it to be distributed among this trading post than in the hands of old men who preached righteousness but committed avarice.

You had been anticipating with some excitement to walk through the market stalls of Kattegat, but Audhild was not leading you to the city. She was headed in the direction of a path through the woods, and you weren't sure if you should feel nervous. The sounds of the crowd were growing distant, and you wondered if you should be preparing to run. Audhild may have been a healer, but she was thick in the shoulders and could still likely beat you in a fight.

"Where are we going?" You asked, and your voice shook.

Audhild tossed a glance your way and let out a laugh. "Don't look so nervous, Christian. Do you think I'd kill you now when I could have disposed of you all those times we worked alone back in York?"

It sounded silly out loud, and you ran a hand through your growing hair. "Sorry, I guess the forest made me nervous."

"You are paranoid, but I suppose it's better to be cautious. I would hold onto those instincts if I were you," She said while stepping over brush and deadfall. "And we're headed to my home. Ubbe and I agreed it would be better to keep you out of Kattegat until you've adjusted more. Some might not take to another Christian among us, not after Athelstan."

That was Ragnar's monk friend. Ivar had only mentioned him in passing, and it seemed he was not held in high regard. You supposed if the situation were reversed, and it was a heathen among Saxons, they would feel much the same.

Audhild continued to lead you along this long and difficult path, and the more the forest twisted, the less certain you were of your wayfinding skills. If you had to find the docks again, you didn't think you'd be able to. The dense trees provided decent shelter from the winds, however, and you had lost the prickly feeling on your skin that came from the cold.

"It's not much further now. I don't think I'll have much in the way of food, but I can provide drink and get a fire going," said Audhild.

You were used to going long bouts without a meal, but the fire sounded like heaven. Sleeping on a boat in constant motion wasn't the same as a bed or even a solid floor, and your aching back would welcome either.

The trees were beginning to thin until you found yourself in a small clearing in the woods. The ground was sun-dappled and leaf-covered, and a small house sat vacant in the center. You let out a small gasp, unable to describe what you were feeling at the sight of it.

"I know it isn't much, but it's all I've ever needed. I have no children, and I left for raids more than I was here."

"I think it's wonderful," You admitted. "But I've never had my own home before, and I gave up the need for one when I joined the abbey."

"Strange custom. What's a woman without a home?"

Had you not been a nun, it was likely you would not have had your own property anyway. It would have belonged to the man you would have chosen as a husband. You didn't bother to mention that to Audhild though. She was already looking at you as if you were the most peculiar creature.

"Can we go inside?" You asked, a sudden longing to be sheltered.

"In a moment," Audhild replied while holding you back. "I want to finish what I have to tell you now. Ivar wanted me to do this when we reached Kattegat and not a moment earlier."

At the mention of Ivar, your heart fluttered in both anticipation and concern. "What did he want you to do?"

Audhild took your hands, and she let the gruff expression on her face ease. "You are now made a free woman."

You blinked. If it wasn't for her strong grip on your hands, you were certain your arms would have fallen limp at your sides like dead meat on hooks. The words held much meaning, and you were afraid for whatever came next. You would have to fight the fear if you wanted to be seen as anything more than a coward. "I'm no longer a slave?"

"Yes, you stupid girl," Audhild said, letting go of you before you caught on to how soft she could be. "To be free amongst us gives you certain privileges and ensures you should be kept safer."

You didn't know what privileges she was speaking of, but the bit about being safe put you into a state of ease. "Why did he not free me himself before sending me here?"

"Can you not think of the reason?"

Shame perhaps? No, you banished the thought. Ivar was nothing if not prideful and likely would have wanted to free you himself if he could. You forced yourself to think of the circumstances of why he sent you away to be free, and then…

"If he freed me in York, I could have refused to come here," You spoke aloud and Audhild gave a resounding nod. "He thought I would refuse to stay with him."

"I'm not well acquainted with the Prince, but everyone in Kattegat knows of how he has been abandoned and lost those he cares for. I guess he wouldn't risk the same of you."

You felt guilty, but you didn't know why. As for whether or not you would have chosen to come to Kattegat yourself, you knew in your heart your answer. When you met Ivar again, you would have to make him understand how you felt. You wished he was beside you again, but you knew he had something more important to deal with and you refused to be a burden.

"What do I do now?"

"You come inside to warm up," Audhild said as she started for the door of her home. "And afterwards, we'll have to make sure you start to behave like a proper free woman because for the moment you look as lost as a fish on dry land."

You wanted to be insulted, but you knew the healer was right. You were far from home, and with a tenuous grasp of the language. What did it mean to be free, and among such strange folk as these Northmen whose religion you didn't fully understand?

You gathered the skirts of your slave frock and hurried after her. Perhaps to start you could buy new clothes. You also had not a coin to your name, and though you were capable with a needle and thread you couldn't make an entire new wardrobe with such paltry efforts. It seemed you would have to rely on the kindness of strangers for the time being, though the thought of that felt like charity. You would do what you could to assist Audhild in place of proper payment. She was calling for you again, for Ólaug. Only this time you didn’t spurn from the name, you ran towards it and the new freedom that Ivar the Boneless had gifted to you.

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iffeelscouldkill · 3 years

Text

TSCOSI Week Day 3: Sana / Leadership

A/N: ssshhhhhhh yes I know it’s late but ssssshhhhh let’s just pretend I’m posting this 5/6 days ago

Here, finally, is my fic for Day 3 of TSCOSI Week, on the theme of Sana / Leadership! This takes place in an ambiguous point in Late Season 2. It does not have any bearing on the episode that was released today, which I haven’t even listened to yet, because I was busy trying to finish off this fic 😂😭 Energy and motivation have not been on my side lately. But here we are!

I had two ideas I could have gone with for this day’s prompt, and of course I chose the one I knew would lead to a longer fic, but it was worth it. This type of TSCOSI fic is my favourite to write - pure Rumor/Iris crew fluff and shenanigans. So enjoy!

---

The first clue Sana had that something was amiss was when she woke up.

Rather than waking to the vibration of her comm against her ear (yes, her comm had an alarm function and yes, she slept with it in in case of emergencies. She would not be taking questions at this time), she came to naturally, which she hadn’t done in months. Sana smiled to herself, stretching – and then froze.

She never woke up naturally, and the few times that she did wake during the night she didn’t feel this pleasantly well-rested. What time was it?

“Computer?” Sana spoke aloud to ELLA. “Current on-ship time?”

“The current on-ship time – is – nine – forty-three AM,” ELLA’s voice intoned. Sana sat bolt upright in her bed.

That wasn’t right. There was no way she’d slept through her alarm, and she had it set to recur at the same time every morning. Which meant…

“Sana Tripathi to all crew,” Sana said, opening up a comm line to all of her crewmates’ devices. “Hey, guys. Would someone mind telling me why my alarm didn’t go off this morning?”

“It didn’t go off because I deprogrammed it when I poured you into bed last night at some ungodly hour,” came the reply in Arkady’s deadpan tones, and Sana cringed slightly, regretting opening up a line to the whole crew. “Also, I’ve said this before, but sleeping with your comm in your ear? Pretty unhealthy, and that’s coming from me.”

“Thank you for that feedback, Arkady,” said Sana, with all the dry sarcasm she could muster.

“Prolonged comm usage, even when the comm is idle, has also been known to lead to hearing damage in a small percentage of cases,” put in RJ, and Sana’s eyebrows rose. “Something to do with a low level of uh, high-frequency feedback? So as a best practice, you should really take it out before bed.”

“RJ, are you lecturing me right now?” Sana asked, halfway between deeply amused and indignant.

“Uhhhh- n-no Ma’am! I mean, uh- no, Captain.”

“They’re right, you know,” Violet put in next. “I mean, it really is a small percentage of cases, but as your medic I have to advise you not to leave your comm device in for prolonged periods. Also, that sounds – uncomfortable? For sleeping?”

Sana sighed, resigning herself to being ganged up on by her entire crew. “Duly noted, Violet. Getting back to the subject at hand-”

“Wow, human ears are so fragile!” This, of course, was Krejjh. “They can really be damaged by comm feedback?”

“For a prolonged enough period-” RJ began to explain.

“We don’t all have your ‘superior alien senses’, dude,” put in Brian, laughing. Sana put a hand to her head.

“Guys-”

“I deprogrammed your alarm because you need a break, Captain,” Arkady cut in, almost gently. “Don’t think we didn’t notice that you’ve been pulling extra shifts so that the rest of us could take breaks, while not taking any yourself.”

“The human body is at its best when given time to rest and recover,” Violet added, also gently. “And you’re human too, Captain.”

Sana could feel her face flaming, but she was also extremely touched by the concern the crew were showing her – even though they’d apparently ganged up on her in the process.

“All right, I can admit that the lie-in was appreciated,” she said. “Thank you for the thought, everyone. Krejjh, I’m coming to relieve you in-”

“Oh, no need, Cap’n,” Krejjh interrupted cheerfully. “Crewman Park is taking your shift! He’s relieving me in ten minutes, and then Crewman Jeeter and I are going to play cards.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Sana said, beginning to feel slightly alarmed. “Park, I’m coming up to the cockpit in-”

“Sorry, Captain, but I think you’ve been outnumbered,” Park said, as mildly as ever. “Also, Krejjh promised me fruit jerky in exchange for taking the next shift, and I’m not about to give that up.”

Sana stared at the wall, running a hand over her face. “Park, you hate fruit jerky.”

“This is special fruit jerky,” Park replied, deadly serious. “The really good kind. Enjoy your time off.”

“There must be something I can do,” said Sana, realising she sounded slightly desperate.

“Uh, you can join me and Krejjh for a game of cards in ten minutes?” Brian suggested.

“Or you can relax, Captain,” Violet said, still in that gently amused tone. “It’s for one day. We promise you’ll be back to keeping us all in line tomorrow.”

The whole day?! Sana exclaimed internally. And okay, maybe the way that she balked at the idea of a day of enforced rest said something about the habits she’d fallen into.

She could at least give it a try. The crew had obviously put some thought into this – and it didn’t seem like they were backing down any time soon.

“Maybe I could use a breather,” she admitted aloud, and pretended not to hear someone’s sigh of relief over the comms. “But if any of you need anything…”

“We’ll let you know, Captain,” Arkady promised her, sounding not in the slightest bit sincere. Sana sighed.

“Okay. Sana Tripathi out.”

Or maybe by the afternoon her crewmates would let up, and she could go back to doing something useful.

---

Sana spent the next ten minutes or so trying and failing to relax with an audiobook, one of a handful she’d downloaded off the public net for sleepless nights. It just felt wrong to be lying on her bed doing nothing during the day. Normally she cherished her moments of downtime when she could get them (and okay, they’d been few and far between lately), but this felt… too much. Surely she should be somewhere else, maybe off discussing their next destination with Krejjh after they managed to resupply on Hathor, going over the new truck with Arkady to check it was outfitted to their needs, or maybe putting her head together with Park and RJ to get their analysis of the latest information about Regime movements.

And sure, they didn’t have any immediate jobs for Boss Violet that needed doing, and it was far enough to Hathor that planning their next destination could probably wait a day or two. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t needed. Even when Sana was off-shift, she tended to linger around the crew areas, just keeping an eye out; watching for signs of exhaustion among her crewmates, making sure they weren’t hiding injuries or strain. Injecting a cheery comment here or a calming word there, to keep people’s spirits up.

She was the Captain, and it was her job to look out for her crew. It had been a tough past few weeks, and Sana didn’t want to take this current peace for granted.

Sighing, Sana shut off the audiobook recording and went to the mess hall. Krejjh and Brian were sat at one of the tables, playing a rousing game of something that Krejjh dubbed ‘Reverse Snap’, where the object was to call out when you turned over two cards that were ‘spiritual opposites’. Unsurprisingly, Krejjh had been the one to devise the system of ‘spiritual opposites’, and was therefore given the power to decide whether a play was valid or not, a power that they abused liberally. Brian never seemed to mind; Sana suspected the enjoyment for him was in watching his fiancé get caught up in the game, and laughing at their ridiculous justifications for why they should be allowed to win each round.

Sana declined to get involved in the action herself, but it was a nice change of pace to just sit and spend time with two of her crewmates, without any other purpose beyond having fun. It was true that she didn’t get to do this often enough.

Unfortunately, the game came to a halt after Krejjh lost three consecutive rounds and poutingly declared that Brian must be cheating, even though he’d been faithfully citing their own rules each time he won a hand. “This is boring. Let’s go snuggle in our room and listen to RIFT!” they said.

Brian just smiled and gathered up the cards. “Okay,” he agreed easily. “How’re you feeling, Captain? More relaxed?”

Sana smiled wryly. “I do take downtime, you know. Despite what everyone seems to think.”

“Captain, you sleep with your comm in your ear,” Brian pointed out, mild and easy-going, but unerringly right, as always.

“I wish everyone would stop fixating on that,” Sana grumbled. Brian laughed.

“Look, this whole ‘enforced day off’ thing wasn’t my idea, but I am on board with the concept,” he said. Sana thought about asking him whose idea it had been, but she supposed it didn’t matter. “You deserve to have a break from looking after us all the time, you know? It was the least we could give you.”

Sana sat back in her chair, a little taken aback. She hadn’t been thinking about it in that way – that this was a joint effort by the crew to do something nice for her, to gift her with a day to herself. She’d been so caught up in chafing at the enforced idleness. But they’d all obviously pitched in on this, making sure that her shifts were covered and that everything was taken care of.

“Honestly, being Captain of this crew? It’s no hardship,” she told Brian – and Krejjh, who was hovering by the table – honestly. “But… thank you. It’s an incredibly sweet thought, and I do appreciate it.”

Brian smiled again. “It’s really nothing,” he told her. “See you later, Captain.”

Krejjh gave her a parting salute. “Enjoy your morning, Cap’n Tripathi!” they chirped, and then bounded after Brian.

Which left Sana with some food for thought, but still nothing to do. The mess, for now, was deserted, everyone evidently occupied with their own work or rest. Should she go back to her room, or try to find something to do around the ship? She wondered whether fixing things up and doing handiwork around the ship would be classed as ‘working’ in the eyes of the crew. Sadly, it probably would.

Resigned to giving her audiobook another try, Sana got up from the table and made her way along the corridor to her room. Passing by the medbay, she noticed that the light by the door was green, which meant that it was open, and she could movement from inside. She knocked, wondering if Violet would want a hand – or some company.

“Come in,” Violet called, and Sana pressed the button to open the door and stepped inside. Violet was inside, surrounded by rows and groups of orderly supplies - evidently doing that full inventory she’d been planning. She didn’t look surprised to see Sana.

“Can I… help with anything?” Sana asked. Violet gave her a wry smile.

“I don’t have a dictionary on me, but I’m pretty sure this wouldn’t come under the definition of “relaxation”,” she teased. Sana put her hands up.

“All right, granted. I can just keep you company for a while, then? Unless you prefer to work in silence.”

“Company is welcomed, Captain,” Violet told her. “And actually, there is something I could use a hand with.”

Sana was about to ask what it was, when she followed Violet’s gaze up to a high shelf full of supplies that she’d evidently been unable to clear. “Oh! Sure, I can help with that,” she said, trying not to seem too outwardly pleased at the opportunity to do something. Judging by Violet’s expression, she probably hadn’t succeeded. “Do you want them all down?”

“Yes, please, Captain.”

Sana got to work lifting boxes of what appeared to be empty syringes and some basic first aid supplies – bandages, gauze, cooling packs – down off the shelf and handing them to Violet, who made a noise of satisfaction when she saw what they contained. “So, how’s the overall situation with our med supplies?” Sana asked her. “Anything we need to restock?”

Violet gave her a sidelong glance, and Sana huffed. “If you want me to just turn off the part of my brain that’s concerned about the well-being of this ship, I’ve got some bad news for you.”

Violet laughed a little. “Okay, fair. We’re pretty well-off for med supplies, though I’d like it if we could get some more heptocaldrin – for injuries, not as a… stealth weapon.”

“Can’t it be both?” Sana joked. “I’ll put some feelers out with contacts who have connections with medical suppliers, see if we can get hold of some. – After today,” she added hastily at Violet’s raised eyebrow.

“Thank you,” Violet said, smiling serenely. “Are you planning to stay and watch me sort these?”

“Well, since I have so much leisure time at my disposal today,” Sana said lightly. “Can I sit here?” She gestured to the recliner that sat in the corner, the spiritual successor to the much-loved beanbag chair.

For the first few minutes, neither of them said anything much. It was quite soothing watching Violet work, although Sana itched to actually get involved and help her. She couldn’t help taking note of the condition of the medical supplies as Violet sorted them and made notes on her checklist, thinking about where they could find better-quality suppliers.

“Can I ask you something, Captain?” Violet said. Sana felt almost like she’d been caught out, though Violet’s tone was casual, almost idle; she hadn’t looked up from her work, still methodically sorting supplies.

“Of course,” Sana said.

“You’re always making sure that the six of us clock off and get enough rest. Why don’t you ever do the same for yourself?”

In hindsight, Sana should have known this question was coming. Before today, she likely would have given it a chipper, joking answer (like she did when Violet asked her, a few weeks after their flight from New Jupiter, how long she had been on shift), but now she made herself give the question some proper consideration.

“It’s different when you’re the one in charge,” she said after a little while. “If something goes wrong, if there’s an eventuality that I’ve overlooked, that’s on me. And given our current – status – the consequences of that could be much worse than me going without a break, or a couple hours of sleep.”

Violet gave her a sad smile. “But those are important things. I know it’s easy for me to say, when I don’t have to feel the weight of that responsibility – I couldn’t do what you do. But you’re at your best when you’re well-rested, too. What happens if you overlook something because you’re underslept and you haven’t had a break in days?”

“Well, that’s what I keep you all well-rested for,” Sana said lightly.

“Captain,” Violet said reprovingly.

“Violet,” Sana replied in the same tone. Jokingly, she said, “Are you going to start singing at me to take a break next?”

Violet blinked confusedly at her before the light of understanding dawned in her eyes. “Was that a ‘Hamilton’ reference?”

“You spend enough time with Arkady, you find yourself making opera and musical theatre references without even knowing it,” Sana replied. “You’ll need to watch out for that.”

“I’ll be on my guard,” Violet said. And then, more seriously, “But if it turned out to be a reliable method, then yes, I would sing at you.”

Sana couldn’t help laughing. “Well, luckily, there’s no need. Here I am, taking a break.”

“Uh huh,” was all Violet said, giving her an appropriately sceptical look.

“I am!”

“And if I asked you for your opinion on the overall quality of our med supplies, I’m sure you wouldn’t have any thoughts at all,” Violet said pointedly.

“Well, you can ask,” Sana replied. “But I’d have to tell you that the Captain will get back to you about that tomorrow, when she’s back on the clock.”

“Oh, good to know.”

---

Spending time with Violet in the medbay took up another hour, but before long Sana found herself back in her room and at a loose end again. And okay, maybe she was going about this wrong; she shouldn’t just be looking for ways to kill time all day. Plus, spending time with the crew was nice, but they were all busy with their own jobs, so that didn’t really equate to relaxation. There had to be something she could do by herself – other than listening to that audiobook.

On the Rumor, Sana had spent a lot of her downtime in her room working on sewing or embroidery projects. But lately, she hadn’t really had a project that she could – wait.

Sana sat up straighter on her bed, thinking. When they’d been putting together the ‘shopping list’ of supplies for Hypatia, she’d joked about adding a hammock to the list. She hadn’t seriously gone looking for one, but when she’d been checking out some of the hardware stores near where they made landing, looking for parts for the engine and the ship’s various systems, she’d discovered that they also sold swathes of fabric, rope, and – crucially – wooden poles.

Sana got up and went to the little closet built into the wall of her room. At the back, right where she’d left it, was a bundle of poles and rope with brightly-coloured fabric wrapped around it. Sana pulled out the bundle, breaking into a grin. She hadn’t really expected to find enough time to work on this when she’d bought the materials, though she’d vaguely intended to do a bit here and there. But now was the perfect time to try and put it together.

Sana unrolled the bundle on her floor and got to work.

---

“Incoming call from… Ignatius Campbell. Incoming call from… Ignatius Campbell. Incoming…”

Sana was in the middle of sewing the wooden poles into either end of her hammock fabric when the call came through to her comm link. “Computer, accept call. Campbell, hi!”

“Captain Tripathi!” Campbell’s voice boomed cheerily. “Is this a bad time?”

“It’s a pretty good time, actually,” Sana said as she worked the needle in and out of the fabric. “I’ve got the day off today, so I’m just doing some sewing in my room.”

There was a fractional pause on Campbell’s end. “The day off, huh?” he said. “How’s that going? Not too bored, I hope?”

Sana smiled to herself as she tied a knot in the sewing thread to secure it and then bit off the thread. She had scissors, but they were buried somewhere in the heap of fabric and she couldn’t be bothered to root around for them. “It was a bit slow to start off with, but I’m getting into it now.”

“Gotta say, I can’t believe they actually managed to persuade you to take a whole day out of your schedule to relax,” Campbell said. “The last time I called, you hadn’t slept in – was it thirty-six hours?”

“Thirty-two,” Sana said quietly, to herself.

“-And you were on your sixth cup of coffee – do you even remember that call?”

Sana sighed, part amusement and part resignation. “Yes, I do remember. Sorry for-”

“No, no, it’s fine, I was just – well, it was a bit worrying,” Campbell said. “Anyway, glad you’re taking a break. You sound… better.”

Who knew that everyone had apparently been so concerned for her wellbeing? Sana thought. Then her hand stilled in the middle of threading her needle. Maybe she should have realised how concerning it was to everyone. But she hadn’t thought – well, she guessed she hadn’t noticed that everyone was looking out for her just as much as she’d been trying to look out for them.

She cleared her throat a little. “Well, what can I do for you, Campbell?”

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Campbell replied. “Just wanted to call to catch up, really. Trade some gossip, funny stories about the crew… It’s been a while since you were able to stop by.”

Sana smiled ruefully, and then a thought occurred to her. “So, you just so happened to call to catch up on the one day when I don’t have anything going on? That’s good timing.”

“Uh—” Campbell’s cornered response was immediately telling. “I might’ve heard that – today would be a good time to call—”

Sana huffed in amusement again, rolling the fabric over the pole at the other end of her hammock and lining up the ends of the material. “Be honest, Campbell. Did the crew ask you to check up on me?”

“I called the ship’s comms last night, and Arkady picked up,” Campbell admitted. “I really was calling just to see how you all were, and well, she filled me in on how things had been lately. How they were all planning to cover your shifts and chores today to give you a break. She said that you might be at a loose end, so I offered to call you back around this time. I would’ve called earlier, but Eloise asked me to watch the boys in the morning.”

“How are they?” Sana asked, smiling.

“Oh, as full of energy as ever, I can barely keep up with them,” Campbell said, a smile in his own voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped-”

“No, it’s – fine, Campbell. Really,” Sana assured him. “I’m touched at how everyone’s been…” She searched for the right phrasing. “I’m touched at how much thought went into this. It really means a lot.”

“What you do means a lot,” Campbell responded, sincere. “To the whole crew. And to… me.”

Sana’s face warmed, and she realised she’d been sitting there, holding the fabric together without doing anything for the past several minutes. She picked up her needle and began on the same neat row of stitches that she’d made at the opposite end. “Thank you, Campbell.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Campbell replied gruffly, and then cleared his throat. “So – any good stories to share?”

“I’ll make you a trade,” Sana offered. “One story about the crew, for every story about your nephews.”

“Oof. You drive a hard bargain, Captain Tripathi, but I accept.”

Sana laughed. “Okay. Well. You might remember how Arkady has an unfortunate habit of leaving some of her weapons holsters in odd places around the ship…”

---

A few hours later, the new hammock – strung up in a corner of the mess where Sana had mounted some sturdy hooks on two adjacent walls – was almost ready. All it needed was a test subject; Sana could of course get in and test it herself, but it would be ideal if she could observe someone else getting into the hammock, so that she could judge how things looked from the outside.

Oddly, the mess hall was deserted, and had been for the past while, which was strange; she would have expected to find at least one or two members of the crew spending time in here. Just then, she spotted RJ, who had entered on the far side of the room and frozen.

“RJ!” she said happily. “You’re the perfect person to test out my new hammock.”

“Uh-” RJ looked around, as if hoping to be rescued by someone, before reluctantly walking over. “You’ve been making a… hammock?”

Sana gestured towards her creation with a flourish. “What do you think?”

RJ’s eyes narrowed as they inspected her handiwork, pulling lightly on the ropes that suspended the hammock. “Is it structurally sound?” they asked doubtfully.

“Why don’t you get in and test it for yourself?” Sana invited them. “Don’t worry about the hooks – they’re the same kind that you find on industrial pulleys. They’ll hold.”

RJ’s eyes flicked towards the doorway. “I’m not really sure if I should be-”

“Oh c’mon, you can take three minutes out of your shift, can’t you?” Sana cajoled them. “Just blame it on me waylaying you.”

RJ laughed a little. “Well – I guess if it’ll only take a minute…” Gingerly, they hoisted themself up onto the hammock, legs dangling over the side, before swivelling round and reclining more fully in the hammock. “Wow, this is actually – really comfortable.”

“Isn’t it? Hammocks are the best,” Sana enthused. “Is the amount of rocking okay?”

“Yeah, it seems fine. It’s not making me seasick, at least,” RJ joked. “You’ve done a pretty good job with the placement of-”

“RJ, there you are,” Park’s voice came from the other side of the mess. “Did you- oh, hi, Captain.”

“Hey, Park,” Sana said easily as Park approached, eyeing the hammock with curiosity. In the hammock, RJ sat back up, a guilty expression on their face. “RJ was being good enough to help me test out this hammock I’ve been making.”

“So I can see,” Park said, neutrally. “Seems like a good use of your time off.”

Sana raised an eyebrow at him, unsure whether the comment was sincere or impeccable sarcasm, but deciding to interpret it as sincere. “Thank you,” she said. “Want to test it out? It would be good to get data from someone taller.”

“I’d love to help, but I really need to borrow RJ,” Park said apologetically. “Sorry, Captain. Maybe after dinner?”

“Of course,” Sana said, as RJ quickly got out of the hammock. She watched Park take their arm and almost steer them away, the two of them conversing in hushed whispers once they were far enough away that they evidently thought she wouldn’t overhear.

Something odd was going on. Sana glanced at the hammock, and then back at the doorway that Park and RJ had just left through. Maybe she should leave it alone – after all, she was off the clock, and she didn’t have to know about everything that was going on on the ship.

Even though Park and RJ were behaving really strangely.

After a few seconds, Sana’s curiosity got the better of her, and she quietly followed.

“Well, I can’t go back through now,” RJ was saying to Park in slightly annoyed tones, as they walked down the corridor. “The Captain will definitely know something’s up. Anyway, I don’t remember seeing a screwdriver in the kitchen.”

A screwdriver? Sana thought, baffled.

“Well, Arkady says there are none in the engine room, and there’s not many other places on the ship left to check,” Park said tiredly. “So, if you’d like to tell her that you weren’t able to look in the kitchen…”

RJ made a reluctant noise. “Fine, what if we-”

Sana, from her vantage point around the corner, saw the two pause in front of the door that led to the medbay. Park raised his hand and knocked on the door in a specific pattern – one long, and three short knocks. After a second, the same knock came back and the door opened.

“Bad news,” Park said as the two entered the medbay. “Sana was in the mess, so RJ wasn’t able to check the kitchen properly.”

Sana moved around the corner until the open door of the medbay was in view, where a baffling sight (and this was coming from someone who’d seen a lot of weird things in her time) greeted her. The medbay observation table had been dragged into the middle of the room, and an array of screwdrivers, knives, and for some reason, spoons cluttered the tabletop. Arkady, looking irritated, was standing on top of the table with a knife in her hand, trying to pry at the cover that enclosed the medbay’s ceiling lamp. Violet, Brian and Krejjh were grouped around the table, looking up at what Arkady was doing; Violet was holding a penknife and shining a small torch in Arkady’s direction, while Krejjh was holding a small hammer, a steel rule and a lightbulb. Brian just looked entertained.

“I think we should check the engine room again,” RJ said. Arkady rolled her eyes.

“I told you, McCabe, I – Captain!”

Instantly, every crew member in the room (except Park, who simply looked resigned) whipped guiltily around, trying in vain to hide what they were doing. Krejjh dropped the steel rule.

“Cap’n Tripathi!” they said cheerily. “You are just in time for our – uh – table performance art routine! We’ve been practicing specially for you!”

“Really?” Sana asked, amused. “Because it looks to me like you were all trying to change a lightbulb. Badly.”

“As it so happens, Act One of our performance-”

“Krejjh, give it a rest,” Arkady said, as Brian laughed behind his hand. “Captain, we’re fine, honestly. We found the replacement bulb, we just need to figure out how to get this damn cover off.”

“And how long have you spent trying to pry it off, so far?” Sana asked.

“It’s been about an hour and a half,” Violet admitted. Arkady’s shoulders slumped.

“I’m almost there, but I think I need a different screwdriver to-”

She stopped as Sana walked over to the table, and held out a hand for Arkady to pull her up. Climbing onto the table, with the help of a steadying hand from Park, Sana took a magnet out of her pocket (she had a lot of things in her pockets) and held it near the rim of the ceiling lamp cover. A tiny screw flew out and clung onto the magnet. Sana held the magnet to the other side of the cover, attracting another screw, and then another, and another. Finally, she twisted the cover, and it popped off the ceiling.

“Lightbulb,” she said.

Krejjh handed her up the lightbulb, and Sana switched the working bulb out for the dead one, before easily replacing the cover and pushing the screws back into place. She dusted her hands and looked around at the crew.

“Well, that was fun. What’s Act Two?”

Violet smiled, and RJ looked impressed, while Brian shook his head. “I told you we should have just asked her.”

Sana looked back at Arkady, who was glowering at the knife she’d been holding like it had personally offended her.

“You could have asked me,” she agreed. “But I get that you were trying not to disturb me after you worked so hard to give me some time off. And, honestly, it’s been one of the best days I can remember for a while. So – thank you all. So much. I know that being the Captain doesn’t make me invincible. Or infallible. And as much as I want to look out for all of you, I need to remember to apply the same thought process to myself as well.” She caught Violet’s eye, and winked.

“In hindsight, it probably shouldn’t have taken a day of forced rest for me to see that, but I’m grateful that you were all willing to go to the trouble of arranging it so that I could. Even to the point of changing lightbulbs.” She smiled.

“And while you’ve all been working hard, I’ve rigged up a pretty awesome hammock in the mess hall, so it would frankly be a crime not to hold a movie night after dinner.”

Krejjh whooped, and Brian and RJ immediately struck up a fierce debate about whether they should watch a historical fantasy drama or a sci-fi epic. Park tiredly followed them out of the room, presumably to act as adult supervision.

“I’d better go make sure that they don’t forget about dinner,” Violet said, and went after them.

Arkady climbed down so that she was sitting on the edge of the table, and after making a space in the collection of cutlery and engineering tools, Sana joined her. For a few moments, neither of them said anything.

“I meant what I said just now,” Sana said, eventually. “I had a really good day, and… it meant a lot that everyone would go to the trouble of doing something like that for me. And of thinking it up and arranging it.”

“Violet did a lot of it,” Arkady said, a little too quickly. “And Park, especially with covering your shifts. And the comm thing was Krejjh’s idea.”

“Really?” asked Sana, amused. “And what about intercepting the call from Campbell that came in last night, making sure it didn’t disturb me, and then arranging for him to call back when you knew I might be going a bit stir-crazy?”

Arkady huffed. “He told you.”

“Of course he did,” Sana said. “Look, I’m sure it was a group effort, but… I couldn’t help thinking that the idea had to have come from someone who knew me pretty well. And maybe someone who’s been more worried about me lately than they wanted to admit.”

Arkady looked away, her shoulders raised in a defensive half-shrug. “I know you’re the Captain. I know you’ve got to look out for us, and – it’s not like I can really talk when it comes to putting in too many hours when I work on something. I don’t think there’s anyone in the crew who hasn’t done that at some point. But you’re always there to kick our asses into taking a break, and-”

“And someone needed to do that for me?” Sana finished for her, wryly.

Arkady looked back at her and snorted. “Pretty much. Thirty-two hours, Sana. With six cups of coffee.”

Sana winced. “In hindsight, that was probably the first red flag.”

“The first?”

“Okay, okay,” Sana said, laughing a little and holding up her hands. “You have my word that I will not let things get to that point again. And if they do, you have my full permission to-”

“-Kick your ass?”

“I was going to say, ‘put me in time-out in my own hammock’, but either works.”

“Speaking of which,” said Arkady, giving Sana a significant look. “Do I need to ask which part of the ship lost its emergency harnesses?”

Sana laughed. “This one is made from actual wood and fabric and rope. Turns out, I had a lot of time on my hands this afternoon…”

“And you used it to build another hammock.”

“It was that, or listen to a really dull audiobook,” Sana said. “I call it an investment in future relaxation! And future movie nights. Good for the whole crew.”

One half of Arkady’s mouth ticked up, and she looked almost wistful. “We haven’t had a movie night since we were on the Rumor.”

“I want to reinstate the tradition,” Sana said. “I think we could all use a bit of a breather every now and again. Today reminded me of that. So – thank you, Kady.”

She was purposely laying it on thick, because winding up your best friend with excessive sentiments that you meant every word of really never got old. She was rewarded when Arkady quickly jumped down from the table. “I think we’ve already done the Feelings Corner for this evening, so if you need me, I’ll just be in the kitchen, helping with dinner.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to hear the latest motivational speech I’ve been working on?” Sana teased her. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it today. It’s a good one.”

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind,” Arkady said. “You’re not allowed to have days off any more.”

---

A/N: This idea came about as a bit of an inversion of the ‘leadership’ prompt - what if Sana couldn’t be in charge for the day? What would it look like if the crew decided she needed to take some time off? I was really taken with the concept (apparently I just have a thing for members of the crew gently but insistently taking care of Sana), and then I came up with the idea that something goes wrong that Sana would normally be able to fix, and the crew is desperately trying to keep it from Sana while she’s “off-duty”. This image popped into my head of like, the entire crew trying and failing to change a lightbulb, and it was so absurdly perfect that I had to write it xD

It also wound up being a spiritual continuation of the theme we’ve had so far in Season 2 of “Sana is bad at clocking off” - hopefully nothing in Episode 3 has come along and contradicted that xD (Guess I’ll find out!)

#Sana Tripathi #Arkady Patel #Violet Liu #Krejjh #Brian Jeeter #Jin Seon Park #RJ McCabe #TSCOSI #TSCOSI Week #ficlet #Starship Iris season 2 #Starship Iris spoilers #man this did not want to end though #5.8k!!! how

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ladyfogg · 3 years

Text

May I? - 26/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she’s truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

Screenshot courtesy of @geekygwen

Faith hadn’t realized how much her duties had weighed on her until Data asked her to take shore leave. She knew that he wouldn’t have broached the subject if he wasn’t concerned. She had tried to throw herself more into her work. Geordi and Captain Picard believed she was capable enough to handle the responsibilities that came with her promotion to lieutenant, and she didn’t want to disappoint them.

Without realizing it, she had thrown herself completely into her work without thinking of anything else. Foolishly, she thought if she could just push through the exhaustion and anxiety, it would all get better. She had been wrong.

It didn’t help that the idea of taking a break and leaving the ship behind sent her into a nervous spiral.

After weeks of this behavior, Data had walked her to sickbay himself, where she was given a full physical by Dr. Crusher. The results were unsurprising: exhaustion. True, literal, physical exhaustion.

She was immediately put on leave and ordered to rest.

It was only then that she agreed to take a vacation. Data put in their official shore leave requests that same day. Commander Riker approved it within the hour, stating, “What took you so damn long?”

Now that the time had come, Faith found herself just as nervous as she was before. But she was determined to work through it, to take the advice from her doctor, counselor, and boyfriend. So, she had to let her anxieties go and prepare for the first vacation she'd had in years.

Data had offered to plan their time away and she let him, not only because she had no clue where to start, but because she knew he enjoyed making plans for them.

“Are you at least feeling some excitement?” Deanna asked during Faith’s therapy.

Given Faith’s current mental state, they had upped their number of sessions to twice a week. She currently sat in Deanna’s office, foot nervously bouncing. Per her request, Deanna had agreed to see her the day of their departure for one final pep talk.

“I’ve been trying really hard. It’s been difficult,” Faith said. “I know Data is looking forward to it and I don’t want to ruin his fun like I ruined his romantic date a few weeks ago.”

“Faith, I don’t believe you ruined anything. Considering that evening led to some very powerful confessions from the both of you.”

Faith smiled softly, remembering the way Data had told her he loved her. They had repeated the words to each other several times since it happened, and each time made her just as warm and elated as the first.

“I still have a hard time believing it myself,” she said.

Deanna smiled back. “I don’t. It was obvious that the feelings between you two were progressing. I always felt as though Data had some emotional capabilities long before his first angry outburst. As an outsider, it’s been wonderful to watch your relationship develop and to see the love growing between you two shared out in the open.”

“Thank you, Counselor.”

“Are you still uneasy discussing the intimate nature of your relationship?” Deanna asked. “Not that I want to pry. I just want you to know that should you wish to discuss those particular feelings, I am a professional and ready to listen.”

Faith smirked. “Sure that’s the counselor part of you talking or the friend part of you?”

Deanna giggled. “A little of both.”

Faith could feel her cheeks flush at the thought of her sexual relationship with Data. “All I will say is, his flawless precision and attention to detail translate very well into the bedroom.”

Deanna’s grin widened even though Faith could tell she was trying to keep her composure and demeanor professional. “Well, I am happy to hear that you feel comfortable enough with me to share such information.”

“After our vacation, let’s have a girls' night with Beverly and I’ll share more. Sound good?”

“I’ll hold you to that! So if there’s nothing else you wish to talk about, it is my duty as your counselor and superior officer to order you to enjoy your shore leave. Leave your problems behind. And enjoy much-needed alone time with your love.”

“I’ll try.”

Deanna gave her a big hug before she left. “You’ll do great. Just focus on a certain android’s attention to detail.”

That made Faith laugh and she hugged Deanna back. “Will do.”

On her way back to her quarters, Faith couldn’t help but stop by Engineering. She hadn’t been there in a few days and it was instinct to make sure everything was set before she let. Deep down, what she truly wanted to do was see if Geordi was somehow annoyed with her for not being on duty. The fear of disappointing authority figures in her life was as strong as ever. But she was working on it.

When she arrived, Geordi was as busy as always but paused when he saw her. “Diaz, what are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to stop by and see if you needed anything.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to take your shore leave?”

Faith felt embarrassed for feeling like she needed reassurance from someone who was pretty much the same age as she was. “Well, yeah but, I still have some time. If there’s something you need me to take care of before I go…”

Geordi chuckled. “Everything is under control, Faith,” he assured her before she could continue babbling.

“Oh, okay. Great. Good. Sorry. I know I haven’t been my best lately. I just figured I’d offer my help just in case.”

Geordi studied her for a moment before putting his PADD down and giving her his full attention. “Faith,” he said, his voice in a soft yet serious tone. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m not doing to demote you because you need a break.”

A weight she hadn’t realized she carried lifted slightly and she realized how foolish she was being. “No, I know that. I didn’t think you would. At least, I hoped you wouldn’t.”

“Everyone needs a break from time to time,” Geordi said. “I’m taking my leave when you come back. No one can be ‘on’ all the time. I don’t expect it for myself nor the people I command. You’ve done exceptional work and have earned your title. Please don’t work yourself to death on my or anyone else’s account. You’ve more than earned your time off. Go. Enjoy it.”

Faith hesitated. “Are you sure?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Geordi laughed and placed his hands on her shoulders so he could look at her directly. “Diaz, go on vacation. That’s an order.”

With that, her turned her around and gave her a light shove towards the turbo-lift. Getting the message loud and clear, Faith allowed the movement and followed through. When she returned to her and Data’s quarters, the android was waiting patiently.

“Ah, Faith, there you are. We should be arriving at Tridas 6S in one hour. Are you prepared for our departure?”

“As prepared as I’ll ever be.”

She had already packed and repacked their belongings. Thankfully with replicators available at their destination they didn’t need to pack much. Spot had been fed and Barclay would be looking after her for the length of their vacation. With nothing left to do, she took a seat on the sofa and began her breathing exercises.

Data sat with her. “I believe once we are at the hotel, you will feel much better. I have chosen a location that offers isolation for those who desire, yet still has amenities for us to partake.”

The idea of peace and quiet with Data did make her feel better. “That sounds nice,” she said.

“I hope you will enjoy yourself.”

“I’ll try. I really will.”

“I will be with you the entire time.”

Wrapping her arms around him, she crawled into his lap and rested her head against his shoulder. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“I could list suggestions but I do not believe that is what you desire.”

Faith laughed. “No, no it’s not. I just wanted to let you know how much you’re appreciated.”

“Thank you. Would you like to rest here until it is time to go?”

“I would like that very much.”

They stayed snuggled together on the sofa until they were alerted to the ship’s arrival. Data and Faith weren’t the only ones disembarking. Others were taking shore leave on the planet, though Data and Faith were vacationing on a less busy side.

Before she knew it, she and Data were called to the transporter for their departure. Data took their bag in one hand and held Faith’s hand with the other. She clutched it tightly, giving herself an internal pep talk before they left their quarters.

Along the route, they ran into Captain Picard and Commander Riker.

“Ah, Data, Ms. Diaz,” Picard said. “On your way to Tridas?”

“That is correct,” Data said. “We will be vacationing at the Triple Seashore Cabins, off the coast of Sunterre Isles.”

“A nice quiet romantic spot,” Riker said with a knowing smirk. “Perfect place to be alone.”

Picard raised his eyebrow in amusement but let the comment slide. “I hope you both enjoy your well-deserved shore leave,” he said.

“Thank you, Captain,” Data said. “Is there anything you require before we leave?”

“No, not at all. Have a good time.”

Faith offered a smile and a nod. She didn’t say anything, not trusting herself to speak after her babbling incident in Engineering. Truth be told, she was plagued with nausea from her anxiety, her stomach rolling with each step towards the transporter room.

Chief O’Brien stood at the controls and smiled at them as they entered. “Coordinates have been entered and the transporter pad is ready when you are, Commander.”

“Thank you, Chief.”

O’Brien looked over at Faith. “You alright, Diaz?”

She took a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine.”

“I remember my first time taking shore leave after a promotion. Trust me, a lot of us have felt the way you’re feeling now.”

In the past, she would have felt like he was just trying to be nice. But her work with Counselor Troi had made her come to understand that many people did in fact feel the way she did and she appreciated his attempt to calm her nerves. “Thanks, Chief. It really is hard to tear yourself away from work, isn’t it?”

“Enjoy it,” O’Brien said with a reassuring nod. “Should be a smooth transport. Nothing to worry about. I’ll drop you right in the lobby of the hotel.”

Faith nodded and followed Data onto the transporter. With his strong hand in hers and smile, some of her anxiety wane.

“Energize,” she said.

She felt the tug of the transporter and the next thing she knew, there were standing in the small lobby of a comfortable-looking building. While the architecture was alien, the warm colors reminded her of many of the places she had been to on Earth. The knot of emotion in her stomach was still there but she was able to let out a slow exhale.

“You are doing quite well,” Data assured her, leading her to one of the many kiosks that stood off to the side. “Let us check-in and settle into our cabin. We are here for seven days. We can take our time.”

“Thank you for your patience,” Faith said. “And for planning all this.”

“You are welcome.”

Data checked them in and the two of them followed the floor markers through the hotel and out one of the back doors. When Faith saw the view, it took her breath away.

While she had done her research on the planet and where they would be staying, it hadn’t prepared her for the stunning ocean view. The building they had left sat atop a hill, which overlooked three distinct shores and stretches of white sandy beaches. His program on the holodeck was nothing compared to the real thing. The smell of saltwater invaded her nostrils and a warm breeze ruffled her hair. Her whole body relaxed as the sun, real sun, hit her face. Actually, there were two suns when she managed to glance up with her eyes shielded.

Data noticed the change immediately. “I was hoping a tropical setting would act as a reminder of where your family came from. I know you expressed the desire to return there at some point. As we are far from Earth, I thought this would be a close alternative.”

“Data, it’s perfect.”

She slipped her arm around his waist as he slipped his around her shoulders. Together they walked for some time until they found the cabin that would be their home for the next two weeks.

After spending so much time on the ship, listening to the hum of Engineering and conversations of her fellow crewmates, Faith appreciated the crashing waves.

Their cabin was a small wooden building, surrounded by numerous kinds of vegetation and a deck that jutted out towards the shore. The ocean was only a few feet away and Faith imagined when the tide came in, the water could easily reach the steps.

“Do you like it?” Data asked as they walked up onto the deck.

“I love it.” She leaned on the railing, unable to stop staring at the gorgeous view.

Data placed their suitcase inside before coming to stand with her. He took her hand and they admired the stretch of beach before them.

“What do you wish to do first?” he asked. “Are you hungry? You did not eat much at breakfast.”

“I just want to stand here and watch the waves with you.”

Data smiled softly and remained where he was, holding Faith’s hand as they admired the view. That only lasted a few minutes because then Faith’s stomach rumbled, making her chuckle.

“I guess you were right. I am hungry. Where’s a place to get a meal around here?”

“We do not have to leave the cabin. There is a replicator inside. What would you like?”

“How about a picnic? We can spread a blanket out on the sand.”

“If you wish.”

As he went to gather what they would need, Faith kicked out of her shoes and stepped onto the white sand. It was warm and pliable underneath her feet as she walked towards the water’s edge. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the sensations.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed being near the ocean until that moment. It had been far too many years since she found herself on a real beach.

Behind her, Data’s footsteps approached. She turned to find him carrying a picnic basket with a blanket tucked under his arm. Together they laid out the blanket and Faith made herself comfortable while Data unpacked their food.

She recognized many of her favorites, snacks that she tended to eat when she didn’t want to have a full meal. Berries, cheese, crackers, assorted nuts, and a thermos filled with a smoothie that seemed to be made from the exotic fruits native to the planet. “This is wonderful,” she said with a smile. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this until I was here.”

“I must admit, I too did not realize I needed a change of scenery. Though I do not require rest, a respite from one’s work is important.”

Faith found herself glancing around on more than one occasion. For some reason, she felt like they were never truly alone. Maybe it was just her anxiety, or maybe it was because she was so used to their fellow crewmates. Either way, try as she might, she could never fully relax.

Data noticed. “Faith, I have scanned the area and our nearest neighbors are some distance. We have this stretch of beach to ourselves.”

She exhaled slowly. “Good to know.” As she reached for a piece of fruit, she snuggled up against Data.

He wound his arm around her and held her close while she ate. She didn’t have much, only enough to settle her rumbling stomach. Once she grew accustomed to her surroundings and felt Data’s familiar embrace, more of the tension left her until she was finally comfortable.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and rested her head against Data’s shoulder.

“Faith, what would you like to do once you leave Starfleet?” he asked after they had enjoyed the silence for some time.

“You mean when I retire?”

“Retire or leave for something else.”

Faith considered his question for a moment, opening her eyes so she could watch the waves. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “At least, nothing specific. I think I’d like this. I’d like to be somewhere quiet, watching and listening to the waves.”

“I have always thought I might return to the academy later in my life, possibly to teach. But now…” It was so rare for Data not to finish his thought, at least with her.

When he didn’t continue, she gave him a questioning look. “Is that not something you want anymore?”

“I do not. The academy is not located on the beach.”

Faith smiled and leaned towards him. They shared a kiss before she drew back with a mischievous grin.

“Can you swim?” she asked.

“At first, I was unequipped to tread water but once this flaw was detected, Geordi and I made modifications to protect my circuits. I can also act as a floating device.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” Faith rose to her feet.

After a moment of contemplation, she decided to push the rest of her anxiety aside and started to strip.

At first, Data did not notice as he stood. “I believe the replicator can construct swimwear…” He paused when he realized Faith was getting naked. “Or we can swim nude.”

“You said our neighbors are far, right? And you will know if anyone comes close?”

“That is correct.”

Faith threw her shirt at him and gave him a playful smile. “So, let’s swim, android-boy.”

Data watched with wide eyes as Faith walked towards the water, fully naked. Which each step, any pesky lingering anxieties were gone, and when she finally felt the ocean wash over her feet, it was like her entire being breathed a sigh of relief.

She glanced back over her shoulder to see Data removing his clothes and carefully folding them. With an affectionate smile, Faith waited until he gently placed them on the blanket before he joined her.

Grinning, Faith pulled him with her as she ran into the next wave, allowing herself to get swept up in the water. It was so warm, it was almost like a bath and felt absolutely heavenly. Data remained perfectly still as the waves washed over him, dousing him completely.

Faith laughed at his lack of reaction. He gave her a puzzled look.

“Did I do something humorous?” he asked.

Faith pulled them deeper into the water until it was chest-high. “Only you can be washed up in waves and look completely unperturbed.”

“I was not aware I should be.”

“You don’t have to. Sometimes I forget how strong you are and that things like waves can’t push you over.” She swam in circles around him. “Have you tried splashing around?”

“No.”

Faith smirked and when the next wave came, she splashed it at Data, hitting him in the face. He blinked.

“I see.”

The next thing she knew, a huge wave came at her, sending her crashing backward under the water. When she came up spitting and coughing. Data was there immediately.

“Was that too much?” he asked.

When she could breathe properly, Faith began to laugh. “Just a little bit,” she said, still lightly coughing seawater in between her laugher. “Maybe we should stick to just enjoying each other’s company.”

She wrapped her arms and legs around him in a hug.

“While I do still have much to learn about human behavior, I can report that when it comes to our romantic interactions, I have developed some skill,” Data said, his arms automatically slipping around her waist.

“Data, you’re wonderful. You always say that you’re not human but through our relationship, you’ve helped me realize that I was barely human myself. At least, I didn’t see myself as such. You’ve always seen the best in me and helped me see it too.”

“I only spoke the truth.”

Faith hugged him close, their foreheads touching. “And it means the world to me.”

She kissed him deeply. Surrounded by the warmth of the ocean and the heat of Data’s embrace, she felt as secure as she had on the ship.

They swam for some time until the suns started to set and the air grew colder. Only then did they return to shore, gather the remnants of their picnic, and head inside.

While Faith showered, she found herself smiling, her body already feeling less tense by the minute. Why had she waited so long? Now that she had distance between herself and her duties, she could see why her friends were concerned. Up until the point Beverly examined her, she had been sure her feelings were all in her head. It turned out that was only partially true. The anxiety was in her head, the physical toll it had taken was very real. She had worked herself to the point of literal exhaustion and would have kept going if Data hadn’t intervened.

Speaking of her beautiful android boy, he was dressed in civilian clothing when she emerged, something she rarely witnessed. She was so used to him being in uniform or naked. To see him sitting there in gray pants and a blue shirt felt strange. She realized this was another side of Data she hadn’t seen before, one he himself probably hadn’t partaken in. The relaxed, leisure side was also an important staple of being human.

“We’ve talked about how I’m feeling but how are you doing?” she asked, sinking into the squishy sofa next to him. “Is this your first shore leave?”

“I have taken shore leave before,” Data said. “To attend conferences and symposiums. This is my first recreational shore leave.”

“And? What do you think so far?”

Data cocked his head, contemplating her question. “It certainly is different. When we left the Enterprise, I made it a point to halt all background processes having to do with Starfleet-related functions. I also wrote a vacation subroutine based on research I have done on what one does to ‘relax’.”

Faith picked up one of the glasses of wine that sat on the small round table in front of them. “I wish I could write a subroutine in my brain. It’d make things a heck of a lot easier.”

“I once spoke with Counselor Troi on the subject and she explained that when humans repeat certain behaviors, it is the equivalent of how I construct my programming.”

“Meaning if I want to relax I should try to do it more.”

“Correct.”

Faith chuckled and took a sip of wine, only to realize it was not synthehol. She sputtered and coughed, unprepared for the robust flavors of real alcohol.

“Are you alright?” Data asked. “I was assured this vintage was special.”

“Y-yes. I’m fine, I just wasn’t prepared for real wine. Where did you get it?”

“It was a gift from Captain Picard. He said it was from his family’s vineyard on Earth.”

Faith had no idea Captain Picard’s family owned a vineyard, which wasn’t surprising considering she didn’t spend much time with him. There was very little she knew of the Captain’s personal life.

Now that she was prepared, the next sip was delicious. “That’s so nice of him to share this with you.”

Data smiled. “Shared this with us,” he corrected. “He gave it to me when I informed him of our shore leave.”

She smiled softly. “That makes it even more special.” She held up her glass for a toast. Data followed through, tapping his glass to hers before they took a sip together.

Once they did, Data put his glass down and stood. On the wall panel, he pressed a series of buttons, and then the cabin was filled with soft music. Data offered his hand to Faith.

She graciously accepted.

As they slowly danced, Faith rested her cheek to Data’s, closing her eyes and enjoying the moment. They hadn’t had one such as this since the art show. It made her realize how little time she had set aside for romance. Not that she could blame herself. It had been years since she had been in any kind of long-term relationship and they had never been like what she had with Data.

“Data,” she said in a soft voice. “Will you make me a promise?”

“Certainly.”

“Promise me we’ll always make time for this. For us.”

“I promise. If you promise to do the same.”

She drew back to look him in the eye. “I haven’t been doing so well at that, have I?”

“You have been consumed with work.”

He was right. In her attempt to keep herself going, she had let a lot fall by the wayside, not just in regards to her health.

“That’s no excuse,” she said. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own crap I’ve been neglecting you. And I’m sorry.”

“I do not feel neglected. My words were not meant to guilt you.”

“I know. And they didn’t. They just pointed out how distracted I’ve been.”

Data held her close, his temple resting against hers. “Allow me to provide an alternate distraction.”

Warmth flooded her system and she relaxed in his arms. “You’re doing a marvelous job.”

They danced for hours. At least it felt like hours. There was no one to interrupt them. No duties to get to. No one to tell them there were other more important things to do. Because at that moment, there wasn’t anything more important than the two of them finally having time alone. Time to just be together.

It was like a dream.

The quiet music. The wine. The dim lights. It was like Data had reached into her subconscious and drew out her deepest desire.

When the music finally faded away and the room was silent, Faith let out a content sigh. “I love you. So much. I never thought I could love someone this much.”

“I never believed I could love at all.”

“Oh, Data.” She slipped her arms around his neck and drew back to meet his gaze. “You’ve been loving people this whole time. In your own way.”

He smiled softly, the beautiful smile that she loved so much. She stopped their dance, stroking his cheek as she admired the face she had committed to memory. Data initiated the kiss, leaning in so quickly it was as if he couldn’t help himself.

His increasing impulsiveness when it came to affection always sent a shudder down her spine.

When they withdrew so she could catch her breath, she brushed her nose against his. “Let’s make use of that big bed in the other room.”

“A wise decision, mi alma.”

#lt commander data #Lt. Commander Data #commander data #data tng #Data Soong #may i?

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vampiresuns · 3 years

Text

Portrait Of The Lawyer As A Young Man

3k words. All of Julianus’ life has been about fulfilling social expectations. Not any more.

Note: This fic contains some time changes. They’re all separated but they’re not linear. This pieces art is the cover of the centennial edition of James Joyce’s ‘Portrait of the Artist As A Young Man’.

CW: Superficial discussions of unhealthy family dynamics.

The song for this piece is Expectations by Belle & Sebastian. Saoirse, Meredith and the Crew of The Jagged Ruby belongs to @apprenticealec.

Part 4 of Secrets Of An Ancient Moon series; you can read the rest of it here.

Dusk fell in the sky making the colours of the water change. Meredith whistled at Jules to get their attention, calling them aside. When they reached port again in four days, they’d reach Jules’ original destination, marking the end of their voyages in The Jagged Ruby. Julianus didn’t need Meredith to tell them this, they already knew: they had been counting the days obsessively, watching them slip by as they found a chance to speak to the Captain.

Meredith had found them first. It was now or never.

“Hopefully this,” Meredith said, raising the legal study Julianus had made for her a couple of months ago, “will help us with our Syd problem. I’m not going to pat you in the back, Sanlaurento, so just let me say this: you’ve got it in you, you’re a pain in my ass, I hope whoever opposes you in a court shit themselves. Now, leave.”

When Meredith looked back up, Jules was still there, looking at them with a frown and an intensity which the Captain had seen in them before, but never directed at them. Jules had been travelling with them for months. When they had manifested on the ship to become Meredith’s personal pest and unlikely legal advisor, the Quinquennial meeting was in the long term future still, they had time for it. Now, the meeting would happen in three months.

In all that time, Meredith had had time to watch them, even if they didn’t want to. She hated to admit it, but the asshole had guts. J.C. was clever, a fast learner, and seemed to know themselves well enough to anticipate their shortcomings. Analytical and strong-willed, in other circumstances they’d make an excellent addition to the crew.

They learnt the basics of sailing faster than Meredith had given them credit for, their basic knowledge of sword-fighting was getting honed by the week. They had never taken a shot against an actual person, but their aim had gotten notoriously better. Julianus got treats for the crew if you left them unsupervised, and somehow, always, found someone to help with legal advice, no matter were they were.

So yes, Meredith had seen that intensity before. She’d seen it when they put themselves between a vendor and a guard, suddenly carrying more presence and even a slight high-society touch to the way they conducted themselves. She’d seen it whenever they tried, again and again, to perfect something, never expecting to be handed anything. She’d seen it whenever they talked about Injustice, or the Sea Palace, or Freedom, or People.

It all shone through, even through the many flaws or annoyances Meredith saw in their character — anxious, irritable, high-horsed, mysterious for no damn reason.

“I said leave, why are you still here.”

“Meredith?”

The Captain raised an eyebrow. Sanlaurento never addressed her without an honorary.

“I didn’t remember us being friends— You smooch my quartermaster and…” Meredith stopped, a grimace overtaking her face. “This is about them, isn’t it. No, I’m not having a heart to heart about fucking Saoirse with you. Sanlaurento, I’m still your fucking Captain.”

“No, it’s not about Saoirse. It’s about me.”

“Right, because that’d make me care.”

J.C. frowned back at Meredith, trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes but failing to do so. “Even if they are a factor in my considerations. I’m well aware that if I talked to them, I could manage to see them anywhere and write to them even, given they write to Jacqui all the time.”

“If you’re going to talk anyway, at least do me the favour of going to the point, Sanlaurento.”

“Captain, I want to stay.”

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

The sky was clear in the island of Sirenia, a cool late winter evening as Sanlaurento walked around a patio in a black, formal attire, with a green jacket with golden buttons.

“You’ll do great, stop worrying. You already did great in your dissertation.”

“But my dissertation was just me talking about International affairs.”

“One last viva, and you’ll be a lawyer.”

Julianus exhaled. “You’re right, one last viva. This ends today.”

“Did someone Come with you?”

“No.”

Their friend snorted. “You didn’t tell anyone about today, didn’t you?”

Feigning disinterest so the conversation could end, they looked over some handwritten diagrams.

Julianus sighed. “Actually, this time I did.”

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

“Do I have to apply to the Sea Palace? I know I said I wanted to, but I don’t know any more.”

“Of course, Cleo,” their mother said, “it’s the best academic institution around, you might have a chance. You lose nothing by trying”

“They were weird though, you know? Off. Like, they give me a bad feeling.”

Their mother no longer sounded patient when she spoke: “You’re going to have to let go of turning down opportunities at every chance you don’t like everyone in front of you, or everyone in front of you doesn’t automatically think you’re brilliant. Besides, you insisted, and this is a matter about your education, your safety and your future. You’re applying.”

Julianus tensed, curling their toes inside their shoes, trying to ball them like they would their hands. They couldn’t ball them into fists right now, that’d give them away. If they gave themselves away, their mother’s reaction would be worse. “It’s not— that’s not—”

They exhaled, giving up. “You’re right, Mama.”

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

In their 27 years, Julianus had been called a lot of things.

Weird by their classmates, dense by their parents. Unnecessarily complicated, dramatic, attention seeking, stupid. All of them also by their parents who said things in annoyance and in anger without measuring any reaction, nor waiting for any explanation. Stupid, perhaps, was the funniest.

They never called them Julianus, only ‘Cleo’, too, to the point their mother often said they made a mistake in choosing their first name.

Their Cleo was a lot of things but never what they themself said they were. ‘Intelligence’ was arrogance, ‘mistakes’ stupidity, or worse, something unforgivable; a lack of consideration for everyone around them and the marking of their mother in their failure to raise a child who wanted to do anything with her.

Too loud, too quiet, too stiff, too needy, too this, too that, too weird, too feminine, too masculine, too much.

Academic settings were different. One of the few places they had some control over themself. Yes, their classmates might’ve thought them closed off, weird and even a bit of a “lunatic” when they were growing up, but their classmates also knew they were passionate about defending what they loved, including their friends. A willing ear to listen, offering food, advice and comfort to whomever asked, without thinking too much about it. Quick to rile up but never one to deny help. Their teachers and professors always knew they tried, that they wanted to learn, that they wanted to go to further, deeper horizons.

Their own self, learning and what they could do with that education was their constant ongoing project. Their poems and stories, a constant conversation with the world. Not self-centredness, not absent-mindedness.

Only twice they had been told in academic settings that they weren’t enough. One was in the Sea Palace. The scholars called them an histrionic, low-pedigree charming but insubstantial kid, with poorly honed magic and more enthusiasm than capacity. Others worked better, others could sit still for longer, others had more steady grades — not the valleys of those subjects which did not interest them, with good but unremarkable grading, versus the stellar records of those subjects which obsessed them needlessly. A nice attempt, but a definitive rejection.

The other was in that last Viva Voce in Firent. It hadn’t gone terribly, they had passed, but with meagre first level honours in comparison to their full honours approved dissertation. They were expecting to do worse, that was true. They weren’t expecting to have three examiners who did not let them finish a single explanation, one even laughing at their face for asking for a question to be clarified.

“If you keep this way, I doubt you will have it in you to be a good jurisconsult,” one of them had said.

Julianus had looked at them with icy, saccharine sweetness, eyes like daggers and making apologies they didn’t mean as they took their diploma. They left the room thinking what did they know? What did any of these people know about Julianus Cleopatra, who wasn’t born with the Surname Sanlaurento, but had chosen it anyway? Nothing. They knew nothing.

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

Julianus had never been in many places they belonged.

The night was clear as The Ruby made its way through the waters in the night.

“What about you?”

“Yeah, Jay, tell us a story. All you do is work, kid. Grab a glass! Cut yourself some slack from those books, lest your vision becomes worse.”

Julianus couldn’t see why not. With a bright smile on their face, they grabbed a glass of beer, before joining the Crew that was lounging around on the deck, enjoying the night.

“Does it have to be something I’ve heard, or does it have to be an original?”

“Right! Saoirse did say you wrote.”

Julianus blinked. “Saoirse mentioned me?”

An echo of warm laughter rang between the crew. Someone patted their back. “You’ve got it bad for the Quartermaster, don’t you? But tell us your story.”

"My story?” They snorted. “Oh, you don’t want to listen to that.”

After taking a drink, they let their own play on words slide, and chose a story to tell. “You know how they say that those who are the most impertinent have the best chance. Well, this cabin boy risked it all for a venture in a ship from the northern seas, whose flag it was under was at war with an Empire. The cabin boy, well, we’ll call them boy, had been searching for a place to fulfil their ambitions, and saw in this ship the right chance. The kind of person who wished to be remarkable, and do what’s right

“So one day, the ship runs into an enemy ship. Goes the Captain and says: ‘If we fight them, this ship might be sunk and we might not live the night’. So goes the cabin boy, who had developed a fondness for this ship; the fondness one does when one loves a place, but the place does not love one back, and yet one clings to the nostalgia of the good things. The cabin boy did not realise this yet, so the cabin boy goes and says: ‘If I time it right, I could sink it.’

“Though often trifled with silencing commands, the cabin boy was intelligent and daring so the cabin boy repeated: ‘If I time it right I could sink it. Was this not why I trained all these years as a cabin boy?’

“The Captain said: ‘No, you are just a cabin boy’, but at the insistence of our protagonist, the Captain said: ‘If you destroy that ship, I will give you silver and likewise gold, here in this very sea, and I will give you my only daughter for you to marry, if you make a renowned Captain out of me—’”

The story was not a happy one. It was a story of betrayal and disappointed hopes. It finished with the cabin boy, who making himself one with the night, went to sink the enemy ship, under the very noses of the unsuspecting crew. Yet, when the cabin boy came back and demanded their acknowledgement, the Captain denied them. Though the cabin boy had no interest in claiming the bounty, the Captain had not expected them to live, but fearing the Cabin Boy would take the credit and disrupt the order of things, the Captain slew them, and the sea took them in.

Someone gasped with indignation. “And no one aided the cabin boy?”

“No.”

“Did the Captain kill them then?”

“That’s for you to decide.”

“So the cabin boy didn’t die? Or did they?”

“In a way. It’s less about physical death, though it can be about it.”

“Isn’t this the Raleigh story?”

“Of the Golden Vanity?” Said Sanlaurento with a smirk. “Perhaps, but everyone tells it differently.

“If you don’t make it as a law person, I say you become a writer.”

Julianus laughed. “Why not both?”

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

The last time Julianus Sanlaurento had seen their parents was when they sailed off to an apprenticeship. There had been no grand goodbyes, no heartfelt words. They had all fought around a week before, and J.C. was not yet forgiven. It was, perhaps, one of the biggest fights they had had with them, and the memory of it, along with the cold shoulder they were given would cling to them for some more time.

Nothing was worse than the hypocrisy, though. Or the pity. Too much to everyone around them, a brilliant child when they weren’t in the room.

Before they left, their father had pulled them aside to tell them they were brilliant, and that they were proud. Jules had wanted to say thank you, and just thank you, from the bottom of his heart, but they couldn’t, not after last week. Instead, they said:

“You always say that, until I’m brilliant in a way which neither of you like even if you still let me do it. You’ll hate this, but I don’t exist comfortably anywhere, and perhaps, I’ll never exist comfortably here.”

“That’s not our fault, Cleo.”

“It’s not about whose fault is it— it’s— you know what, Dad? Nevermind.”

Their only comfort was Maricus, whom they clung to at night when they were alone in their quarters, with only their things, their cat and an acceptance letter as they realised they were completely, and utterly alone. They were alone, that was true, but at least, they were themself and they had had enough.

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

Not wanting to try the Captain further after she dismissed them, Julianus retreated to the crew’s quarters. They sat against the wall nearest to their bed — if one could call a hammock a bed — picked up their notebook and began writing. They wanted to be left alone, so they buried their nose in their writing.

They didn’t expect seeing Saoirse when they looked up, leaning against a column as they watched them write.

“Raleigh again?”

“No, I’m leaving the fictional man rest for a minute or two.”

“Meredith told me you were staying.” At this, Jules stopped writing. “Said you were on permanent crew member probation until you defended your case and your position in Ethari. Then, if she didn’t change her mind, she’ll make you try as a permanent member of the crew, if you also haven’t changed your mind about it.”

Saoirse snorted. “If I was told I’d meet a human like you a year ago, I would’ve thought the person telling me such was drunk.”

Julianus raised an eyebrow at them, wanting to ask what that was supposed to mean, but Saoirse’s eyes were full of tenderness when they met them.

“Meredith also told me you asked. Did you because of me?”

“No,” Jules said as they closed their notebook, standing up to stretch their legs. “I don’t want to part from you, that’s true, I care… a lot about you, and I hope you care about me just the same. I don’t want to stop seeing you everyday, and I don’t want to stop kissing you everyday, and I don’t want to stop learning from and about you. I haven’t mastered the language yet, and there’s more of the Code to study, there’s so many things I haven’t done yet, but it’s not about you, it’s about me.”

Saoirse watched them as silence fell between them, Julianus’ dark eyes looking everywhere but at them. When they did look back at Saoirse's ice-blue ones, their eyes were clouded with tears. “This isn’t quite it, either, but do you know what’s like feeling you’re unwanted everywhere? Because who you are has a big red ‘wrong’ sign attached to it?

“I just don’t want to go. I see, I can see a future here, and I think I’ve been in enough places where I have been unwanted, or wanted wrong, for me to deserve to have a shot at the future I say I want to have. Not the future I was supposed to have by whomever thinks knows me better than I know me.”

Out of all the reactions Saoirse could’ve had, J.C. wasn’t expecting them to stop leaning on their column, and open their arms for them.

Their smile was just as tender as their eyes. “I know you enough to know that if I ask if you want a hug, you’ll say no, but in about five seconds you’ll change your mind.”

Jules’ half laughed, half sobbed. Unable to fight Saoirse’s logic they closed the distance between them, wrapping their arms around their waist, as they felt Saoirse’s arms sling under their arms to hold them close and safe between their arms. Like they were protecting them — from what? Neither of them knew; neither of them asked.

Instead, Jules was happy to bury their face against Saoirse’s chest, taking in the smell of them mixed with linen of their shirt. Saoirse’s cheek rested against the top of their head, only moving to plant a kiss there.

“Julie?” Saoirse said. “I know more about cages than you’d think.”

“I never said anything of—”

“You don’t have to say it for me to know. Before I was what I am now, I was in one, so to speak. Trapped, perhaps, is a better word. Cages all look different, but they all feel the same. There are no cages here, you deserve better than that.”

“I know, I know that now.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Only if you keep calling me ‘Julie’.”

“Were you never told not to make deals with strange Gods?”

As they spoke, Saoirse brushed their lips against theirs, themselves an offering for Julianus to chase. Chase them they did, pressing their lips against Saoirse’s over and over again.

“You’re not a strange God. Or rather, you’re not a stranger to me… You know? You don’t have to tell me what you were before, but I will say this: whomever decided to trap you, is or was a fucking coward.”

Saoirse laughed, the sound ringing around the room on its own accord. Soon enough, Jules found themself laughing too.

No, of course they didn’t want to go.

#the arcana #the arcana oc #my writing #secrets of an ancient moon series #saoirse #jc sanlaurento #the janiverse #joirse #meredith #meredith's crew #yeah raleigh was real but we live in a world were the brits don't exist #dani's ocs

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antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

The Offspring of a Dream

Fandom: Bloodborne

Fic Summary: Why does the Doll call you “good”?

Notes:

Obviously the lore in this game is very hidden and up for interpretation, so this fic in part has to do with my personal interpretation of things, so please keep that in mind! I know there's a theory about the Doll being a Great One/Avatar out there (haven't read up about it much through), but currently I find there's something rather beautiful about the Doll truly just being a doll, who is genuinely kind, and just trying to help us out, because the game has little to no other characters like that. I also know whether or not we are "good" is definitely up for great debate, but I'm the kind of person who likes to see/read redemption into everything, so this is just my rather optimistic interpretation of events.

Also, I don't necessarily ship the Hunter and the Doll, but I do think it's a cute ship and enjoy content for it...So you're free to interpret the internal monologue as platonic or romantic, whichever you prefer.

This is one of the only times I've used second person, so go easy on me...I chose second person because I didn't find third or first nearly as compelling for it.

I'd really really appreciate it if you could leave a comment!! They seriously do make my week, and give me the motivation to keep writing!!

I also have another Bloodborne fic about Vicar Amelia's transformation, I'd love it if you could check that out too!! Links in a reblog!!

The Offspring of a Dream:

“New Hunter”

“Mister Hunter”

“Hunter”

“A Hunter!”

“Moon-Scented Hunter”

“Miss Hunter!”

“Good Hunter of the Church,

"have you seen the thread of light?”

“Welcome home,

Good Hunter.

What is it you desire?”—

No name.

Not a greeting, nor title.

No adjectives or addendums like ‘holy’ or ‘accursed,’ ‘beast,’ or ‘man.’ Not a crow, or a wolf, or an avenger, or a knight. Nor a roar of what you hunted.

A lonely hunter without a name, or a word.

Just a hunter, who may or may not be good.

And it was a doll, a doll who had a dreamer, but was equally lonely—

Is this all in my mind? Did I dream her up?

It was this Doll who said you were good, every time you arrived in the dream, always ready to turn your desires, the echoes of a scourge, into strength.

She said it faithfully, and it was not easy to recognize when she said it, it wasn’t a greeting, or a title.

It was a prayer.

Because she had watched a thousand “good hunters” walk through the dream, and a thousand fall. A thousand keep her company, a thousand ask for her to make them stronger with the echoes of their killing. A thousand become drunk with blood, trapped in a very different dream, that some might call nightmare. And a thousand become something other than a hunter…something other than good.

A thousand graves.

Graves for the ones who woke up.

So with a title she prayed to the moon that this one—this one—would be good.

That’s all she needed. That’s all any of them ever needed; one good man.

The title ‘hunter’ was meant to be synonymous with good. A force of holiness to purge the impurity. …But their name became equivalent with evil. Or maybe it was from the very start.

The spreading corruption burned.

Before the blood parched their lips and ravaged their bones. After. At the end of the day, we’re all human. At the end of the day, we’re all beasts.

Born of the blood… undone by the blood…

So she—inhuman, human—she prayed that one day there would be a hunter who could fight the monsters and not become one. That the blood wouldn’t burn and coil and wrap its tendrils around them, twist them inside out, and make them something more than just a “good hunter”…and so much less. She cast goodness over you, as if reminding you not to give in to the beast. Not to give in to your humanity. Reminding you that though you were a hunter, though you were drenched in blood, with heart full of holes, and brain full of eyes, you could still be good.

She put her hands together and she prayed. She prayed, and she helped you on your journey, she channeled death into strength, she whispered, and she tended to frail, living flowers, and feeble, dying, old men, and she cried.

Any god-fearing man, not burdened with an overabundance of naiveté, would know that dolls don’t whisper. They don’t ask if you love them. They don’t move. They can’t help. They don’t pray. And they definitely don’t cry.

Dolls sit lifeless on the floors of children’s nurseries, and the abandoned workshops of bitter, maniacal, old men.

Is this just a dream? Will I know you when I wake?

What’s waking worth without you?

If the gods don’t love me I still promise to love you.

You watched human hands twist into claws, skin into fur, faces into tentacles, tongues into snakes, and eyes into eyes, and wondered if perhaps this doll, with her porcelain skin and hair, with her tears and prayer, if she was more human than the rest. This doll—who asked about gods and love, who cared for you, who hoped even the worst hunters might be worth something in another, better world—was more human than the offspring of an old, forgotten town. More human than we, who are born and die by the blood.

How was she born, and how would she die? What caused her to breathe, to come alive? Was it just our minds, some ill-gotten, internal eyes? Was something so primitive as hope or love? Or was it the twisted will of some faceless moon without a man in it?

Is it just me?

Is it my mind?

Tell me she’s more than children’s toys, and old men’s dreams.

Tell me she’s real.

Could something made of metal and mechanics, and the puppet strings of our own minds die?

Do dreams die when we wake up?

Or, in the end when men are all either monsters or gods, would she stand in the wreckage, the only real, awake thing left…the only thing left that’s still human?

When men become gods, do our creations become human?

She watched them fall. She watched them reach for bare threads of guiding moonlight with human hands, and howl at the same moon with a wolf’s cry, and she still had enough hope left in her to call you “good hunter.” To believe that you would be different.

Did she say this to everyone? Did she hope every time? Or was it just you? And which meant more? If she hoped despite just how many had failed, or if she saw something different within you alone?

Here you stood, steeped in the blood of beasts. Ugly thing. Killer. Cold and merciless.

And she called you good.

Did that mean she saw the blood, and the murder, and thought it was good? Or that she looked past all that and saw the good still?

How could she, a doll, an echo herself, know what it meant to be good?

Perhaps she was made by someone who had seen a world with good left in it. Or a world which was evil, but in which there was someone like her, who encompassed all the good in the world to him.

Perhaps that’s what she was to you too. The good. The human left. Without her you may never keep fighting. You had no one else, after all. Your friends were either mad, or intoxicated, or destined to die, or destined for…worse.

Is she just a trick of the moonlight?

She was the embodiment of hope.

You tried to be good. For her. For the world. They all did. But most became drunk on blood, or knowledge, and lost themselves along the way.

What is it you desire?

It always starts good. Goals, on paper, always seem so noble. In practice, so bloodthirsty.

Laurence made a church. A force of holiness and healing. And he turned the city into a madhouse, a cage for monsters.

Wilhelm made a school. A place of mindfulness and learning. And he dabbled in rituals to hide the moon.

The old hunters thought stealing a child wouldn’t incite the wrath of its mother.

They all thought the world could be saved, that the plague could end through quarantine or amputation.

When they cut off the diseased heads the blood only spread. When they stayed in their houses they went insane instead.

The world needed more than a simple fix to return to being “good.”

The hunters thought they were fighting for a noble cause. They thought they were all good…and they turned into the very beasts they fought, awaiting another hunter to spill their blood, and start the cycle again.

The hunters only did what they could; keep killing. That was all they knew to do to get rid of the the beasts in this brick forest.

They needed a hunter who would break the cycle. Do more than just kill and give in to the call of the blood. Who would seek the paleblood, and end this dreadful night.

Transcend the hunt.

But how to eclipse the chase when evolution without courage is the name of ruin?

A hunter who would look beyond today’s night, today’s hunt, today’s beasts. Beyond the blood. Resist its seduction. A hunter who could learn where all this started, find it. And do what hunters do best:

Kill it.

—(For sometimes death is freedom, at least when it’s a dream)—

Seek the paleblood. Hunt the great ones.

—(And sometimes waking up is far worse.)

The formless blood wanted to have a child. Perhaps he thought he was giving those he chose a gift of a sort. Only horror followed.

Every great one loses its child.

One particular woman, long ago, held the name of this broken town. Perhaps it was only fitting that the child of blood and name was born in voice alone.

This child’s formless cries echoed through more than the nightmare; through the waking world—(if you had enough eyes, at least)—calling you to comfort it, to silence it.

Could everyone in the town hear it? Is that what drove them mad? Listening to a child’s endless cries, with no hope of comforting it?

Many had tried to contact it. Some tried to become gods…and misplaced their minds in the process. But you found it. Knowing it was not to be exalted, but destroyed.

You were a hunter after all.

So you killed the only thing keeping it alive, the thing desperately trying to play a lullaby and sing it to sleep.

You yourself played a tiny music box for it, from the beginning of it all—that belonged to a family ravaged by the blood, the hunt, which held a song about love and loss—just to hear it laugh, before the nightmare let out it last.

Cords of thirds. Cords of three.

One from the child of voice. One from the child of night. One from the child stolen long ago, sitting in an old, abandoned workshop.

A workshop alive now only in hunters’ dreams.

You could have left your own nightmare long ago. You could have woken from this dream and believed the world was not so dark, not so strange, not so fascinating.

But this wasn’t the only nightmare you had to liberate.

There was another, another for which all not-so-good hunters were destined—(and thus you too if the Doll’s prayers were in vain). They sent you there with a piece of a drunken man before you yourself became, inevitably, intoxicated, in this bloody bar, so that you could, perhaps navigate sleeping minds with your sanity in tact.

We, the offspring of an old, forgotten secret. Destined and bound by the chase.

So our forefathers sinned?

Ludwig thought he was holy, fighting for a noble cause, and he stood, accursed, in a bath of the blood he spilled, trampling the ghosts of those he killed.

Is it possible there exist moonlight in even the darkest nights?

When we reach for the thread of light, none of us ever want to know what it truly is. Hope can be so vicious that way.

The church turned their eyes from their hands.

All too often, when men try to become gods—or something akin—they become monsters. There's a reason the moon is out of our reach.

Laurence thought the blood would heal. That the gods wouldn’t mind a little thievery. He thought they could keep their humanity in tact, as long as they prayed hard enough.

And he watched the world burn. Watched his hope turn his universe into a waking, walking nightmare. And he burned in his own broken Neverland, ever searching for his own lost, rotted humanity.

Maria, beloved apprentice Maria—

…Is that you, my dear Doll?

Who was there from the beginning. Who vowed to forsake the blood—including her own. Maria, so sickened by her actions, who threw the hunt down a well. Who vowed to in death to be the hunt’s secret keeper, and sat, alone, a lonely princess at the top of the clock tower, alive by the puppet strings of a nightmare—

She sacrificed herself, her values, to purge you from the plague of wild curiosity.

A corpse should be left well enough alone.

And at last, behind time, was a quaint, sad, little village, that lay dripping with secrets, ransacked for its eyes.

A quaint little village where it all started. Where the sky wept, and sun collapsed in on itself, and the great lake held too soft and depraved a secret.

Every great one loses its child…but this one lost his mother.

A quaint little village where a sympathetic mother fell from the stars. Where her child was ripped from her, dissected for parts, by the very people you once thought were good.

The wrath of an angry god is to be feared. But the wrath of a sympathetic god is far worse.

And the wrath of a mother is a lasting curse.

Death is freedom, at least in a dream. But when waking up is far worse, we rewrite the past within our dreams.

This was an orphans dream, pulling the hunt into a nightmare, as he waited to be freed from reality, as he waited for a hunter to rewrite the sins of their ancestors.

As he waited for a good man.

And the spirit thanked you. And the hunt thanked you.

And the Doll thanked you, for a shackle she never even knew was there had been lifted. She thanked you on behalf of the first hunter, for he slept a little sounder.

But there was one last dream that needed slaying:

Your own.

You could have woken long ago. You could have forsaken it all for the sunrise, and left someone else to find the answers, left someone else to be good.

It would have been nice to believe the world made sense.

It would have been nice to believe the dark side of the moon wasn’t made of blood and bones, haunting a poor, old man.

Few dreams offer you the choice to die before the bad part starts—(or perhaps simply to put an end to all the ‘bad parts’ you’ve gone through, to negate the possibility of more). But you would not bow to a happy, false reality.

Neither would you allow yourself to be taken captive by the nameless presence of the moon, made to perpetuate this hunt endlessly.

You understood the word “hunter” was never synonymous with good. They lost that title before the hunt even started. They lost that title when a little orphan was stolen from his mother.

You understood at last. It was her. Maria. The one who threw her weapon down the well in protest. She—(or at least, a version of her)—stood by your side, trying to guide you back all this time. Trying to guide you back to the beginning, where perhaps her sins could be atoned for. Where perhaps there could be good still.

So in a lonely field full of flowers, it was not you who were released from the dream.

You had enough eyes to see and slay the presence of the moon, who had orchestrated this all.

We’re all just puppets of the moon.

…But a cord of three strands is not so easily broken.

So in the end you neither woke nor dreamed, but saw the world as it was—though through newborn eyes. A child of the hunt. A child of the dream. Not destined to create a nightmare…but perhaps a better reality.

When the Doll picked up your small body, she smiled at last. She knew you’d succeeded, for this was unlike any hunter’s death, or transformation, she knew. She knew you’d atoned for the sins of your predecessors. She knew you’d freed the children, the nightmares, and the men.

And she called you “good hunter” still. For she knew the gods listened to her prayers after all. She knew that though you were a hunter no more—

You were certainly good.

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lightbows · 3 years

Text

scrap of somethiiiing i’m working on again finally

idk if anybody cares at this point buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut it’s post rise of skywalker bc every time i think about that movie (which i did like) i am more frustrated about how it isn’t even about rey

so our space gal is looking for meaning Out There Somewhere...

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

“I sense you are trying to do the impossible.”

“How so?” She sat back, regarding the monk with enough suspicion that he’d need no Whills’ instinct to detect it.

“It’s a heavy burden, a legacy.”

Rey nodded, unsure which of the loads she was presently trying to shoulder would drag her down first. “But not an impossibility. Everyone does it, in some way.”

“Everyone carries their own.” Abban flopped back on the sandstone behind him. It couldn’t be comfortable but he reclined with a stretch as contently as if hitting a feather bed. “You attempt to drag around two or three and none of them reach their destination.”

A deep breath pressed out a quick white-hot flame of anger, and the smirk on the monk’s face made it threaten to rise again. “You presume quite a lot,” she said in a clipped tone. “My legacy and theirs are one.”

“You tell me I presume,” he chuckled, kicking one leg over the other. “And then tell me I’m entirely correct. Master Skywalker, even far, far out here, your name preceeds you. Your story crosses that one you’re tangled up in, make no mistake. But the roots are far away and they’re getting all--” He made a wiggly gesture with his fingers that made Rey rather want to lop them off. “All dried up. Lucky you’re a desert plant, from what I’ve heard.”

Another person might have been speechless, while Rey was, not exactly to her credit, merely thoughtless. Words came easily enough as she shot to her feet. “You knew who I was this whole time!” Noble the words were not, a cracking edge to her voice that more recalled a complaining youth than a Jedi master. “And you play these games!”

“I like games,” he said in lieu of a defense, pulling himself upright again and scratching at his bristly shaved head. “Besides, you came here for wisdom you should be looking for in yourself. I offered what I could, which isn’t much.”

“That is a massive understatement.”

“Again, you pick out the self-serving parts of--” He interrupted himself with a short laugh and a shake of his head. “Let me tell you a story, Master Skywalker.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Oh, because you’re already here, because your ship will take a day and a half to get its wings back, because I am just a little bit charming,” he spoke with his hands though the gestures did not seem connected to any words in particular. “Take your pick.”

Rey narrowed her eyes a moment, then sat. “It’s the second one,” she said firmly.

Abban carried on—showing some wisdom after all. “I had a teacher, who had a teacher, who had a teacher--”

“I’ve only a day and a half, please remember.”

“--who came from the old traditions. The really old ones, back from the days the Jedi all but erased from their history once politics got into it. So, this teacher’s-teacher’s-teacher—let’s call him Master Anyu. He was from the homeworld. He lived and worked and taught at the temples, just like generations before him as far back as anyone could remember. When he was a child, they always told him he didn’t have the gift.”

“The Force?”

“The Force, the Whills’ instincts, the ability to walk and talk at the same time. You name it. He was a clumsy kid who had a hard time learning, from a time and place that didn’t have either the means or the desire or either to give him a boost.”

“But he became a Master.”

“He became a Master.”

Rey rubbed her eyes, patience dwindling yet again. “Am I meant to be inspired?”

“Not really,” Abban said with a sigh. “He rose through the stages slowly and got there by sheer endurance, and was one of hundreds. Then he raised a generation that watched their home and spiritual centers stolen from beneath them and destroyed.” He smiled at Rey’s bewildered expression, which only made her more confused. “And I’m two generations removed from that.”

“But you know his name.”

“And now you do too.” He shrugged. “Is that a legacy? I don’t know. It’s a story. He wasn’t the first or the last or the greatest. He’s a man who lived a long time so his name was said a lot, and now I’m saying it again. Longevity isn’t worthiness though, you know? Not to speak ill of the man, but there’s next to nothing we know about the Guardians who came after him, who fought and died defending what he simply carried from one wing of the world to the other.”

“But his legacy is that those Guardians existed,” Rey murmured, eyes gazing past Abban down the long hallway of those who came before him. “They come from him, and your teachers come from them, and--”

“Master Skywalker, we respect our ancestors here, those in our blood and those in our memory. You do not need to preach to me about where I come from.” His tone was lighthearted, amused even, despite--or maybe because of--Rey’s immediate look of chagrin. “We remember where we came from but we do not try to use that path as a map. It only goes one way. You cannot finish someone else’s story. It is already finished, whether you liked the ending or not.”

The words struck her with a great force and she looked away, off to the horizon where a moon she hadn’t noticed before was beginning to poke its greenish-silver head over the hills. “What about our story?” She asked haltingly, at long last deferring to the wisdom she had, at least in name, come here to find. “The universal story—all of us creatures, together in the Force.”

“Asking the right questions is a good first step, Master Skywalker.” He drummed his fingers on his knee a moment, thinking. “So, what about it indeed? Surely you don’t think you have to write that story yourself.” Rey’s hesitation was heavy enough to compell the monk to simply step over it. “Or is it that you’re upset you can’t?”

The question itself wasn’t so bad, but Abban’s amused tone was enough to set Rey’s teeth on edge once more. “I am—I am simply looking for my place in all of this.”

“To give it to you straight,” he said, one eyebrow lifting. “It would be easier to believe that if you weren’t wearing two or three cloaks’ worth of borrowed identities...Master Skywalker.”

With that she was on her feet again, this time whirling around and storming towards her speeder without hesitation. The presumptuous fool, she fumed, thoughts loud enough that she wasn’t sure how much was internal and how much aloud. Luckily the rickety engine drowned out whatever uncharitable goodbye she may have had for Abban as she sped away once more, the grind of old gears and the miniature sandstorm in her wake a familiar lullaby for her anger.

The notion of circling back to the city, where Abban’s fellow monks would be waiting with further wisdom was unbearable, so she found herself reverting to certain old habits, turning the vehicle toward the emptiest expanse of sand imaginable and driving as far as she dared. It was the kind of thing that used to have the dual purpose of clearing her head and possibly leading to a profit, some abandoned craft deep in the wasteland of an entirely different desert that might have paid for a meal or two. Now it was to avoid the food and warmth and company that waited in the other direction—still a meditation of sorts.

Settling into a glide around a dune, with the knowledge she’d soon need to circle back, it would have been easy for another person to miss: the mostly constant, fuzzy sound of sand whipping beneath repulsorlifts gradually grew less steady, the sound of stone pinging off the lower hull breaking through Rey’s thoughts. No—not stone. Rey slowed, lowering one boot to the ground, and was immediately greeted with another crunch. Glass—real glass, not transparisteel. More and more of it, as if she’d suddenly driven over only the narrowest edge of an enormous shattered mirror, stretching to the horizon and beyond. And then, hitting even harder than the sound, the feeling up ahead, the sense of enormous tragedy sealed inside a horrible glittering cage.

#star wars #fanfic #Fic

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dindooku · 3 years

Text

ao3 - loulou1810

with xi’an locked away, you find yourself back with your prison pal. one thing leads to another and now you’re admitting your deepest, darkest secret

tw - minimal violence, suggestive themes

word count: 3,174

———————

Following your gut, you end up meeting back up with your prison pal. The red light saturating the hallway in some sort of pathetic fallacy, the mood lighting fit the situation you both found yourselves in perfectly. Exchanging a silent acknowledgement to one another, you walk to him. His gaze commanding you without words.

You walked side by side, following his lead on when to turn. He occasionally brushed your shoulder when prompting you to take a right or left down a new corridor. The alarm was drilling your mind into a rhythm, one that only deepened your focus with each note. He strode to his end destination with you at his side, dominance drumming each time his boots hit the floor.

You follow him as he steps right into the corridor. Halfway up a ladder is the other Twi’lek you saw on the security cameras in the control room. A picture glances your mind, the body of the human guard strewn on the floor, a shadow of crimson red surrounding their neck. You assumed that the female Twi had caused this injury due to the sharp cut that lacerated his neck. The thought that that could have been you didn’t go amiss.

Turning to face both of you they stepped off the ladder, letting out a low tonal remark, “You killed the others” His eyes glowered at the Beskar helmet next to you. Not getting any reaction, their eyes drift to you, piercing. You knew then that he’d already sized you up, eyes undressing your body with obvious intent, it was shameless. You’d seen those eyes hundreds of times…you hated being a woman sometimes, you’d grown to know through experience that many people only ever wanted one thing, and they’d never even try to hide it. When working you’d always tried to make the best of that situation. This meant that occasionally if the moment was right, you’d ensure that they never looked upon you the same way again, or anyone else for that matter.

“They got what they deserved” the vocoder returned. You glance up, there was no sentiment or anger laced in this return; it was stern, assertive. Had he killed them? The tonality of it had you silently reeling in the depths of your stomach. You didn’t realise you were staring into the Beskar side profile until a snarl left the Twi’lek’s lips, deadpanning your accomplice, “You kill me, you don’t get your money”. The tension is palpable, unnerving. You feel like the walking armoury next to you is buzzing, the contemplation simmering like blind fury.

“Whatever Ran promised, I'll make sure you get it, and more. Come on, Mando.”

Mando, so that's his name…

“Be reasonable. Hm? You were hired to do a job, right? So do it. Isn't that your code? Aren't you a man of honour?”

That obviously seemed to hit a nerve with Mando, his stance shifting slightly. You could sense the trepidation in his aura. This man has some serious relaxing to do…

______

With the Twi’lek cuffed and what you assumed to be the remnants of a piloting droid which Mando had dealt with earlier (rather harshly but you could understand from what you’d pieced together), Mando piloted the ship away from the Transporter, booting into hyperspace.

You sat facing the Twi’lek in the cargo hold of the ship. His head was donned to the ground, hands cuffed in front of him. Your stare didn’t leave his body, partly due to the obvious risk of mutiny, and the other in detached thought over what had just happened in the last 30 minutes.

‘Do it’ replays in your head like an old Holotape. Considering you were completely unarmed, famished from not eating in what seemed like days and noticeably stiff from the meditative position you’d strained yourself in before the break-in, you’d fought pretty well. You’d made a stupid mistake, allowing the female Twi’ to get a hook to your left cheek, the bruise now starting to throb a little. But that's not why you’re simmering, brooding. No, it's that voice that told you to do it, the temptation to finish her, like that. To quench that thirst you hadn’t faced for over a year now. The fact that you even let that side come out, to even grace you during that moment, that's what you’re fretting over. You’d done it before, countless times. But that was different, it was your job. You don’t have any duty now…This you’d have to fix, you’re not letting yourself go back, not after the pain it took to get out.

“Did you kill her?” The Twi’ is now looking at you, breaking your meditative stare.

“No” You reply with resignation, not wanting him to pry.

“She must’ve put up a fight, held you to your money” He cuts back, eyes shifting to the yellowing bruise forming on your face. You’d had enough of this guy already and it’d barely been 5 minutes. You could assume from the similar nature of their anatomy and his obvious concern that they were related, maybe brother and sister? Hmm, ok, if he’s going to be like that…

“If she put her money where her mouth is she might’ve given me a run for mine” The venom in your words hitting exactly where you wanted them to - obviously angering the Twi, who then lurched towards you, hands wrenching for your throat.

A hand caught his.

You peered up, gazing at the Beskar side profile again, projecting his domineering ambience through the empty space surrounding all of you. Before you could react, Mando has brought the Twi’s hands back into their own face with force, hard enough to cut the lip and draw blood. You blush a little at the gesture. You didn’t know if Mando was doing that for you or out of retaliation at his own complicated situation, but either way, it was appreciated. The Twi is swiftly bound to the hull with a metal rope, wincing as Mando tightens it a bit too much past comfort. A chuckle barely dissipates from Mando as he yanks the knot, He obviously found the fun in this too…

Once done, he stands and turns to face you, the Beskar helm studying the bruise which had started to mottle your cheek, or at least you think that's why he’s looking… you can’t tell with his face hidden behind that visor. Yes, you could normally read peoples energies pretty well, so reading faces wasn’t something you depended on solely for judging situations, but something about him just made it impossible to know what they were truly thinking, feeling. This intrigued you, more than it should have and soon the stare becomes awkward as you exit that reverie. He broads his shoulders again, almost squaring up to you until his head is nodding to the ladder of the cockpit. You get the hint. You follow behind him up to the cockpit.

He gestures to the co-pilot seat in the right-hand corner as he sits in the pilot seat at the front, his back to you. You take the seat as asked, admiring the little streaks of light reflecting off the Durasteel. Hyperspace. You’d missed this, the stars and planets manipulating into sharp daggers that fly past the Transparasteel in-front of you. The beautiful score of ocean blue and dappling purple slicing the endless black abyss of space. It was mesmerising to watch, hypnotising you into deep thought. You’d never really been free, always under someone's tether or command, but you’d travelled, by-maker you’d travelled; the nature of your past job demanded you to. But that was different, you were held in what felt like a cage, no windows or external life, keeping you focused, but torturing you with your own cruel mind. That version of you was controlled, unwilled, contained. This though, the feeling of now escaping with no plan or contract, the free will to use your mind with no hidden duty… it fills your chest; choking you on the freedom of space which you could now call your own.

A shuffle catches your dream and pulls you back from wherever you were, and a little green ear pokes out from the rummaging. Wait, a what?! Is that a… and to answer your question, Mando turns in his chair to you, now completely revealing the creature sat in his lap.

“He’s the Child”.

Oh right, yeah, a child…sure. The confusion in your face was obvious despite you trying to be as polite as possible, so Mando interjects, “He’s not my Child, but, well….” He stutters on his own words, trying to think of the best way to explain this odd situation, “I rescued him, and he rescued me. I look after him now, as my own”

“Oh, well… nice to meet you, Child” you retort back, a genuine smile breaking onto your face as the big, chocolate brown eyes don yours. He was a cute little thing, green and slightly wrinkly on the top of his head, which sprouted a few grey hairs. By Maker he had big ears, they protruded from his head like pyramids, definitely a bit much for his little stature. You’d never seen anything like it, and yet he was adorable. You already loved this kid, and now you know why Mando was so set on getting back here. You reach out a finger to say introduce yourself in a sort of handshake, the Child reciprocating.

The touch was short, sweet. You felt a sense of calmness wave over you, understanding. It was soothing, this little gremlin of sorts was wise beyond your years, you could feel it. Then you feel a burning heat glaring into you. You know what it is. He’s staring at you. He's not even bothering to hide it, it was shameless.

The stare holds you in place. You know he’s summing something up, trying to justify something. What though? You can’t read him, no matter how hard you try, his emotions in-penetrable. The stare gets you a bit flustered, you’re now fidgeting in your seat, still trying to pretend that your mind is on the child and not him. The words of the Twi female flash your mind “…did he charm you?” No, no he didn’t…did he? Is he distracting you…? ‘Don’t be stupid’ you internally hiss to yourself. You’ve barely known this person, you’ve exchanged like 5 words and you’re already preening for him? Don't be so foolish! Gods, it's been years since anything but control yourself, damn.

“You can look after him” Wait, what?

“Uhhh, what do you mean 'look after him'? I’ve got places to go, I’m not a mother by your demand!” You punch back. How dare he? Who does he think he is, demanding you look after his child? Yes, you helped each other out back there but this is taking his expectations a bit too far.

“A life huh? What kind of life where you living to get you locked up on that transporter? Sounds great”. The added sarcasm wasn’t filtered… the audacity. He’s just taking this to a whole new level. You’d kept things respectful, damn it, you almost thought that you’d gained an ally, a possible friend, but now you know you definitely judged that book wrong.

“Yeah, thought so. Look after the kid while I take care of Quin” He got up and left without hesitation, the Child now sat on the pilot's seat oogling at your dropped jaw.

___

The ship eased into the spaceport, dropping once it was completely inside.

“Stay here with the kid, don’t come out. I’ll be back in a minute”

You stayed silent. You didn’t even look at the man as he left, stepping down the ladder. You were angry, so angry. You’d been brooding for hours in hyperspace, even after he’d returned and put the Child to sleep in his makeshift cot. You knew he knew you were angry, and you could sense his silent frustration too - he wreaked of it, this he couldn’t filter from you. You were angry for different reasons though. His probably from his minor prison stint, but yours because of the fact he was right, and you hated to admit it. You really had no life to go to, no home, nowhere, no one. You were alone, completely and utterly. Heck, you’d go back to Lori if it wasn’t for the fact that he admonished you from ever returning. That stung, the wound still fresh after all this time. You’d only done what he’d taught you, to the T.

Lori took you in from a young age. You know he wasn’t your dad, you couldn’t remember your Dad actually, or your Mother. They were just ghosts to you, empty shadows of something that should’ve been, or at least thats what you’d been told. They’d been murdered, this was all you could make out from Lori’s hints over time; for what though? You’d never know. But Lori never let you dwell on this, he always said, “Holding onto feelings of beings that were never yours will get you nowhere. Focus on the now, what you feel in the present. Your emotions are your greatest weakness” He was right. You were too emotional for your own good. You’d always indulge in your feelings. You thought that listening to them was the right thing to do, but how wrong you were. Lori took special care to demonstrate how emotion was your enemy, how you’d only end up hurt. He tried to take away your ability to feel and you used to hate him for that. Now though… you kinda wished he had taken it and that you’d listened.

You’re snapped back into the present by the sounds of the ramp motors whirring, closing the ship up, accompanied by light, hurried footsteps in the hull towards the ladder.

“Take the child, we need to go, now” He ordered, sternness lacing his voice even through the vocoder. He hands you the child and swivels the chair as he sits, punching a few buttons then launching out of the hanger.

“Take it easy!” You counter. Still mad, you mimic his sternness in an attempt to unnerve him; it was futile.

Then, just as he swings the hyperdrive arm forward, three x-wings jump out of hyperspace and dart past, almost taking the ships right side with them. And with that, you’re gone, the mosaic of hyperspace filling the cockpit once again. A few silent minutes pass. Mando is busy pressing buttons to things you wouldn’t have the faintest clue about. The swiftness obvious through hours of muscle memory. He knew this ship well, that was obvious in his composed manner as he set what you presumed were co-ordinates to his next destination.

“What was that about?” You probe, trying to cut the suffocating silence. Surely he must know something? X-wings don’t just pop up out of nowhere, especially three of them. It was blatantly something urgent… and then the thought hits you.

Were they tracking you?

Almost as if he could read your mind, he intercepted, head still facing forward, “When the crew reached the ship to get Quin we found the control terminal so we could open his cell. In there was a human guard. He stalled us… he was panicking. Xian killed him, in the process activating a tracking fob to alert the Republic of a break-in. I put it in Quin’s pocket before we left, hence the haste”

“Sly fox” you uttered back, slight playfulness interwoven in appreciation of his handling. That was good, a canny move. It even made you giggle a bit inside, Karma.

His head turned to yours from behind the pilot's seat, the ship now in autopilot.

“They got what they deserved” The words repeated from a few hours ago returning the shrewd nature of your earlier reply.

“True” You giggled your reply, the irony of it all a bit weird, but funny nonetheless. “So what’s the deal with you? Why’d they turn on you?” The question jumped from your mouth, a little too curious for his liking.

“Why’d you ask?” His reply short, cutting. Jeez, why’s he got to be so curt?

“Well… if I’m going to be looking after your child I spose' I should know why they decided to run on you, it was obviously for a reason?” That seemed fair enough you thought, a simple question, and honest too. You didn’t want to say yes to looking after this rando’s child if he was some crazy psycho… not that you had a choice.

“I put Quin in there, so they used me to get him out.”

“Ah” Is all you could muster. Not really much else you could say back to that, he’d obviously closed that channel of conversation. You weren’t usually much of a talker either, but that's because those that surrounded you would take advantage of what you said, who you were. If you opened up a conversation it was an easy gateway to your emotions, to manipulation. Lori had taught you it’s always best to keep your mouth shut. You learnt this the hard way, being a young woman in your line of work meant you met your fair share of remarks and snides. The discipline it took to not reply, to pipe up and retaliate was a skill hard-earned. You didn’t waste time thinking of the things people have done to you without your permission, your control. You wanted to hurt them, the temptation to do so was palpable, but you knew if you did, you’d be just as bad as them, maybe even worse. That’s what always confused you about your training at first, surely training to be a walking Grim-Reaper gave you a free pass to handing out death notes, but as your training progressed you quickly realised that murdering through retaliation would only drag you further down, scratching the itch but forming a new one in a place continually more difficult to reach.

“What's your story then?” The question cuts the fuzzy tether holding you to your memory, startling you.

“What?” You were so deep in thought you didn’t quite catch what he’d said.

“Why were you in there… what did you do?” The scepticism in his voice was only barely noticeable. You reasoned that it was because he’d stumbled across you locked up in a max security transporter, he must’ve pondered and thought you were a crazy psychopath…you’re not, right?

You hesitated, knowing there was no other way around this. He could just look you up on the Holocomputer, your name would be top of the list. And hell, you were in a max prison unit, so using petty crime wouldn’t cut it either. You’d have to tell him, be honest. That's the honourable thing to do, right? You just hoped that they’d understand and not retaliate too much…

“ I… I umm… I went Rogue” The words burnt as they slipped from your mouth, the stale truth bitter in the air.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #star wars #angry din #din needs a hug #fanfic #mandalorian x you #mando.exe has stopped working #mando x reader #the mandolarian #din djaren #din fanfic #smut

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thatlittledandere · 3 years

Note

idk enough about your fandoms so

fandom: uhhhh let's start with super mario franchise

ship: characters with +-5cm height difference (just so you gotta google the heights of your favs)

character: a character that definitely shops at hot topic

(idk if these had to be from the same fandom but for the sake of my mental health please pick different fandoms I've seen enough people lewding bowser)

meme

Literally never played a single Mario game but I know some characters so I’ll try

001 | Send me a fandom and I will tell you my:

Favorite character:

Luigi

Least Favorite character:

not a big fan of Wario

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon):

bro this is super mario

Character I find most attractive:

Princess Peach I guess

Character I would marry:

Luigi

Character I would be best friends with:

Daisy looks cool to hang out with

A random thought:

Incredible what an impact Waluigi has had on the internet. Godspeed.

An unpopular opinion:

My canon OTP:

Non-canon OTP:

Most badass character:

Very cool of Bowser to be both a villain and a single father

Pairing I am not a fan of:

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another):

Favourite friendship:

As said I don’t know shit but I like thinking Mario and Bowser are friends and the whole shebang is kinda just a game.

002 | send me a ship and I will tell you:

bold of you to assume I haven’t looked up the heights of all my faves at some point Exactly 5cm, eh? Good news! That’s Souyo! OTP time!

when or if I started shipping it.

When I’d been into P4 for a few months. Originally branched off of yukichie but then surpassed them pretty quickly sddgsdd

my thoughts:

I can’t fucking do this I think about nothing but them these days. And thinking about souyo, ioryuu, some of my other past or present ships and my OCs... I only know one dynamic sdfssdfg

What makes me happy about them:

Best friends to lovers. They can both get exasperated with the other, but at the end of the day, their mutual trust is deep and they think highly of each other, and even if it doesn’t always look like it, I like to think their relationship really is mutual. GOD.

What makes me sad about them:

Why were those lines left out of the finished game. WHY. Just give us a REASON, ATLUS. Also Yosuke’s low self-esteem my BRO

Things done in fanfic that annoys me:

Mmmm sure there are fics that don’t strike my personal fancy but I can’t come u with anything they’d have in common? I don’t think there’s a particularly souyo trope that annoys me.

Things I look for in fanfic:

Always a slut for character study and introspection and some sort of inner conflict. I WILL read and love every single one with Yosuke’s internalized homophobia saffsfsfd

My kinks:

*sweats* daddy kink... yosuke having daddy kink.... Can you believe there are NO fics of it on ao3? Tagged at least?? CRIMINAL. I can’t write smut somebody please fix this

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

Yu is extremely shippable ngl. My second choice for him is Adachi but I only like that ship in very specific circumstances and would NOT wish for Yu to “end up with” him lmao. I guess Rise? They look like they’d be a saccharine sweet lovey-dovey couple and I love that shit.

I can ship Yosuke around too but... the thought of him having an endgame that ISN’T Yu... Makes me sad. Like legit. Maybe in an AU where they never met? Idk. Sorry but Yu is Yosuke’s destined partner, they’re meant to be.

My happily ever after for them:

I like to think they get together in high school, the details of when and how it happens vary. They keep in touch for the third year of high school, calling and or texting almost if not daily, both make it to college in the same city (different schools though), rent an apartment and become roommates, after that it’s kinda just a vague pink cloud of domestic bliss. They meet up with Naoto and Rise who also live in the city as often as they can. Still go to Inaba for holidays. If Yu’s parents are assholes he cuts ties with them the second he’s legally an adult. The Dojimas are his family now and they keep in touch regularly. Teddie stays with the Hanamuras and he and Yosuke start treating each other as brothers. It’s all good and conflict free and they both make new friends at their universities and they’re as supportive as the friends they already had and you know what I didn’t realize how detailed my headcanon universe has gotten. This is just a fracture of it. Jesus Christ. Um they get married as soon as it becomes legal.

003 | Give me a character & I will tell you

let’s go with Ako Bandori (Udagawa)

How I feel about this character:

Goals. I hope she’ll keep that spirit and confidence even if she ever grows out of the goth thing.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Rinko ig. Not passionate about it or anything but it does fel like an obvious choice. I like their relationship as it is so I guess I really prefer them as friends but... can’t stop making gamer gf jokes sdsdf

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

like a brotp? Tomoe, absolutely. Supportive big sis 🥺

My unpopular opinion about this character:

I don’t have enough opinions to have an unpopular one lmao

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

Even more NFO events, we stan a gamer girl.

My OTP:

only got that one half-baked ship :/

My OT3:

idk add Sayo to the mix. The only thing better than a gamer gf is TWO gamer gfs. (aka I haven’t thought about it) ((what? characters outside roselia exist?? nonsense...))

#ya know you didn't have to send something from all three categories #i like answering these so it's a win for me you did but like it wasn't NECESSARY #(i think. that's how i interpreted it sdsf)#about me #lakanakana #asks #souyo #ako udagawa

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theres-no-protocol-for-this · 4 years

Text

Raiders

Part I

In space, shitty things still happen, even to otherwise nice SecUnits. Part II of the strange idea that’s been wandering around in my head.

According to Transport, we exited a wormhole into one of the lesser-used shipping lanes and were scheduled to jump again within a matter of hours. Six cycles into the trip, I was getting used to dealing with the somewhat hyperactive ship and its significantly calmer captain.

Right then, I was sitting on the floor in the ship's control room while it happily described what the instrument panels around me were used for. The Traveler liked teaching, and it especially liked that I was completely unfamiliar with how wormhole jumps functioned. I think it appreciated having a lot of ground to cover and a captive audience at its disposal.

Security constructs don't get much in the way of education. I know several ways of rendering a human unconscious but have never seen any marine-based lifeforms. Also, listening to Transport and Skye explain the details behind wormhole jumps helped to pass the time.

Right then, the ship was demonstrating how its external shields worked to keep stray debris from puncturing holes in its exterior hull. The resulting light show looked absolutely stunning. I might've stood there for a few seconds, just marveling at the view, when our proximity alarms went off.

I tapped into the feed just in time to overhear as the ship updated the captain in real-time about the nature of the alarm. Transport had given me near-unlimited access to its resources at some point after leaving the station, so I could see its own diagnostics.

Results: we'd been shot.

According to the ship's piecemeal timeline, an unknown vessel had entered real space moments after us. Wile Transport was still ascertaining the identity of the newcomer, the smaller vessel had fired on us. Several large, projectile missiles were incoming; according to Transport's calculations, at least some of the damage would likely penetrate through its deflective shielding.

Owens sprinted up to the bridge and dropped unceremoniously into the pilot's seat. "Strap yourself in," she told me, pointing at one of the other chairs in the room. "This is gonna get bumpy."

I got up and took a couple of steps toward the nearest seat, and then the ship around me shook and seemed to twist. Like someone had flickered the gravity off and then back on again. The captain swore under her breath while Transport explained, "We've been grabbed by a tractor beam. Unidentified vessel on approach. Vector analysis places its approach near our cargo bay airlock."

"Is that... common?"

"It's probably raiders. Probably looking to board and see what they can grab." The captain's hands flowed across the controls with insane speeds, for a human at least. "That's the most common tactic. They stage hit-and-runs in sectors where corporate security's low and there are no rescue stations nearby."

Transport added, "ETA three minutes."

I went straight for the bridge door. "I'm going down there." Up there, technically, since the cargo bay sat on the periphery of the habitable sections of the ship. I might be of absolutely no use in a space-based fight, but if anyone stepped foot onto the Traveler...

Well, that I could do something about.

"SecUnit, wait." Skye twisted in her seat. "You need a weapon." She gestured toward a locker that popped open at her command. "We'll do what we can to buy you time. Don't get killed out there."

My insides melted, figuratively speaking. I wasn't sure what the fuck to do with this feeling; it's not a common occurrence for humans to care about the survival of their SecUnits.

"Yes, ma'am," said my buffer -- presumably to the bit about needing a weapon.

I grabbed a projectile weapon from the armory locker and sprinted down the hall to the cargo area. Transport rode shotgun inside my head. It was also helping Owens outmaneuver, or at least stall, the raiders. And it was sending out distress messages to nearby beacons. Helpfully, it sent me a video feed out of the outside of the cargo airlock.

The raiders' smaller but much faster ship looked like a dark blob in a sea of darkness. I could only identify the vessel because Transport was marking its position and trajectory for me. The cylindrical shell was coming directly at us, flattened nose facing toward us.

"ETA, 45 seconds," Transport informed me when I reached the cargo bay.

The inside of the cargo space looked like a giant, open warehouse. It was filled with boxes of various shapes and sizes, all started somewhat haphazardly in uneven rows. The layout had something to do with how the freight would be dropped off at the Transport's many destinations. As far as a firefight went, I had plenty of cover.

I chose a hiding spot on top of a metal box that was almost twice my height. Tossing a gun on top, I clambered up after it and lay prone, watching the airlock door. The ship lent me a couple of its drones, and I stationed them around the room, giving me a bird's-eye view of the incoming assholes.

Five hostiles tried to board the Traveler.

Their ship spat out a long, flexible tube, which attached itself to the outside of our airlock. Someone inside the tube manually released the seals holding the airlock shut and then pushed open the heavy metal door with a mining tool. Ugly but effective.

Transport slammed down its atmosphere-sealing barriers to keep air from escaping into the vacuum of space, but the momentary depressurization felt sickening. I might be made of synthetic parts, but my internals sent off a flurry of error messages.

The raiders stepped into the cargo space in a huddled bundle of bodies and projectile weapons. They wore heavily-shielded space suits, almost as though those suits provided armor. Hint: they mostly don't. Even in the room's dim lighting, I could see them moving through the drone's cameras. I could also hear their stops echoing through the open space. Beyond sticking together, they didn't appear to have any kind of formation.

Outside of the dangerous weapons, these were amateurs. Huh.

The captain pinged me that she was in the safe room just down the hall. She was ready to provide backup, but honestly, I didn't want her anywhere near the fighting. Too many well-meaning humans had shot me before -- all while trying to be helpful. Also, humans can't take nearly as much damage as constructs. Maybe that last reason was the most pressing one.

The targets looked around and started banging on a few of the closest boxes. One of them produced a hand scanner and waved it around. I was pretty sure they were communicating with each other via a private comm system, which meant that Transport probably couldn't shut it down. It was checking anyway because it had the processing power to spare.

Meanwhile, I lined up a shot from where I was hidden on top of a container. Once the firefight started, I would have a limited amount of time to take out the intruders. I had a plan—sort of.

I took out the target on the left, now dubbed Hostile One. They were the most daring of the bunch and had put some distance between themselves and the rest of their group. It made them an easy target. They were also the one with the scanner, so taking them out would slow the rest of the group.

The shot tore through the raider's shoulder, piercing the suit. The bullet must've lodged inside the human because there was no exit hole, so far as I could tell. Hostile One dropped their gun and yelped in obvious pain. The rest of the group gaped at their now-bleeding friend and then started waving their own weapons around menacingly. As though it would somehow help them locate the shooter.

Hint: it wouldn't.

Unfortunately for me, the recoil on my weapon hurt like help. It probably shouldn't have, if I could hold the large gun correctly, but with only one arm, that wasn't going to happen. Given the circumstances, I turned down my pain receptor and aimed again.

I managed to get a second shot at one of the other hostiles before the group collectively figured out where I was and started shooting. Hostile Two wasn't as lucky as his friend. My hit took his arm clean off. Most of the enemy fire went wide -- I have no idea where they were aiming -- but when I tried to take out asshole number three, one of their bullets hit me in the chest.

I dropped my weapon and backed away, out of their line of fire. I still had my in-built arm cannon, but I would need to get closer to use it effectively. It wasn't meant for long-distance fighting.

Memory fragment: there's a human on the ground. They look exhausted. I can see bruises on their bare arms. A different human gestures toward me and tells me to shoot. I do.

In the feed, Transport had shared the video from my eyes and the drones with the captain. So, she knew I'd gotten shot. Owens should have stayed put; if I was in charge of security, I would have advised her not to engage. But the Traveler wasn't my responsibility, and this wasn't a contract. Also, I didn't have time to verbalize any of that before the captain left the perfectly safe room and came through the door behind me.

The two remaining raiders reacted to the sudden noise by shooting anything and everything. Transport thought they might be scared; I told it that I didn't care what they were, other than hostile and annoying. I scooted forward, angled my arm, and shot the fourth hostile in the face. That took out the raider's suit, and he crumpled to the floor.

Meanwhile, the last asshole caught sight of the captain -- she was trying to keep a low profile, but the suits probably had some amount of targeting support built-in. In the split second while the one remaining raider set up her shot, I calculated my odds and then rolled off my hiding platform and landed between her and Owens.

Oh, for fuck's sake, I thought as the raider shot me. Pretty much point-blank. I shoved my arm cannon in her face and fired. And fuck, being shot hurts! Then, I looked down at myself.

I was leaking and didn't feel good.

The whole thing might've gone way better if I had two working arms, but more importantly, if the human had let me just do my job. Still, I was moving, and the hostiles weren't. That had to count for something.

Owens ran up to me and took stock. Her expression went from concerned to horrified. She had the gun holstered with the safety on, so that was one less thing to worry about.

Transport burst into my feed. "Are you all right?"

Fucking stupid question. "Performance reliability rating at 50% and dropping."

"Report to the medical bay immediately."

That was the logical course of action, and I knew it. But the moment the medical suit got its hands on me, it would know about my short circuited governor. Odds were good that it would fix that along with everything else. So, I didn't want to go anywhere near it.

I probably should've said that. Instead, what came out was: "Fuck you."

Skye, who was privy to the exchange, shook her head. "Whatever you're worried about, we'll take care of you. I promise. Just do that thing I asked and don't die on us."

"I don't want to go back."

"You don't have to," the captain reiterated.

"If MedSystem fixes me, I might."

"Not on my watch. SecUnit, Medical, now. Or I will drag you there, kicking and screaming."

I made it to the medical platform on my own. MedSystem scanned me while I leaked onto its pristine and sterile surface and then informed me that I had a terminal case of being a construct. It didn't phrase it quite like that, but I got the gist.

Performance rating dropping.

Thanks, useless diagnostic tool, for stating the obvious. I turned off the notification and backburned the data coming from my body. MedSystem would have to sort out what was and wasn't working because I was getting little more than garbage data by then. And everything hurt. And I was freezing. And there was a shutdown threatening, postponed only by the medical system's attempts to stabilize me.

Transport spoke up. "It'll be all right."

"No, it won't," I told it.

"Want to watch something together?"

"I don't think I could concentrate on anything." I doubted I had enough awareness for much of anything.

"I downloaded a standard construct template, and I've customized it a little. You'll like it."

Consciousness was fading fast. I think I said something about not wanting to be human. I don't know for sure what, if anything, came out.

#fanfic #the murderbot diaries #SecUnit #memories #into the unknown

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banshee-v44 · 3 years

Text

The Banshee, The Faker, The Exomind Maker

/*******************CBoC 44 pseudocode for Status Register write***************/ void BNRAM_EXO_1_Status_Reg_Write ( uint44 data_byte ) { BNRAM_EXO_1_CC_Reg_Write(0); // Enable the EXO slave by toggling clarity control LOW BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_ClearTxBuffer(); //Clear EXO transmit buffer before sending command BNRAM_SPI_1_CBIM_WriteTxData(BNRAM_CR8T); // Set the write enable (CB0) bit //prior to write//Wait until EXO_DONE flag is cleared while((BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_ReadTxStatus() & BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_STS_EXO_DONE) != BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_STS_EXO_DONE); BNRAM_EXO_1_CB_Reg_Write(1); //CB0 is set high when CC is switched high BNRAM_EXO_1_CC_Reg_Write(0); //Re-enable the EXO slave BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_ClearTxBuffer(); BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_WriteTxData(BNRAM_WRSR_CMD); //Send Write Status Register instruction BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_WriteTxData(data_byte); //Send data //Wait until EXO_DONE flag is cleared while((BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_ReadTxStatus() & BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_STS_EXO_DONE) != BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_STS_EXO_DONE); BNRAM_EXO_1_CC_Reg_Write(1); //Terminate the write operation by toggling //clarity control HIGH }

________________________________________

Okay. That was annoying.

Banshee-44 didn't know who in the hell Clovis Bray thought he was, but he would be damned if the asshole executed a recall order on him.

The Vanguard Gunsmith paused a moment, literally, and set the auto-rifle he'd been at work on down on the counter before him. He cupped his metal alloy chin in a brilliantly designed and articulated hand and thought.

Well. He supposed that Clovis Bray thought he was...Clovis Bray. By all accounts he did what he wanted, when he wanted to. So that pretty much summed it up.

Banshee made a noise that sounded like a snort and focused his attention on the small gaggle of Guardians before him.

Would a group of Guardians be called a gaggle? Never thought of it before. Never? Maybe. He couldn't remember.

"Yeah, here ya go," the Exo mumbled, as he twisted to reach one of the Guardians' orders.

It took roughly thirty minutes for Banshee to make his way through the line of Guardians that had stacked up in front of his station. Where in the hell did they all come from? That was the problem in having his workstation right off the primary landing pad. He looked forward to the return to the old Tower.

The white and blue optics stared out across the Courtyard and upwards, to where the glow of acetylene torches and the sparks of welders lit up the early evening.

Holy hell, was it evening already?

Wait. Or was it early morning.

Banshee-44 consulted a datapad to check the time. It was indeed 1843 hours. He sighed, a mechanical sound. It wasn't that he didn't trust his chronometer's programming enough to rely on it for the time; it was that he didn't trust his fried RAM enough to remember the damn time.

A chime, something like a chime, definitely musical, but a kind of pretty sort of noise tickled his audio receptors. It was vaguely familiar somehow.

Oh. The recall order. That.

"Ain't like I wasn't gonna see you eventually anyways," the Gunsmith muttered.

He closed up his workstation and made his way through the maintenance walkways to the Hangar. Banshee took the back ways whenever he could. Being out among people...it was easier for him to forget where he was going. And why.

He was okay with being alone anyways.

He thought he was okay with it, at least.

The Gunsmith popped out into the Daito room. It was thankfully empty. Weird that they had a branded lounge in the space.

He ducked down into the airway and cast a glance at the journal lying on some nearby shelving. Oh. That. He wondered where he'd left it. He'd have to grab it on his way back through. If he remembered.

A few steps more and he was in the pit of the Hangar. He strode over to the Vanguard's Lead Shipwright, Amanda Holliday, and simply stood before her. He saw that she was elbow deep into a Sparrow, so he said nothing. Only stood with his arms folded.

It took Holliday several minutes before she realized that the Exo who stood before her was Banshee-44 and not some Titan. She'd spoken to him as if he were a Guardian, as she had assumed that's who it was. Being all still and stoic and non-responsive.

"Hey there, Ban," she called out as she straightened her back. Holliday worked her shoulders up and down, stiff from the repairs. "Need somethin'?"

It was unusual to see the Gunsmith in her domain, though not out of the ordinary.

If he had the plating to do so, Banshee would have blinked at her. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Wasn't urgent. Just wanted to ask a favor."

Holliday's eyes widened in curiosity and one eyebrow arched at the words. Him asking a favor was not typical. Whatever it was, it was going to be a good one. "Uh, sure, Ban. Whatcha need?"

The Exo nodded toward the rear of the hangar bay. "A ride."

"A what?" At that, Holliday stood up, and somehow avoided the boom that held up the Sparrow. "You need a ride?" She sounded incredulous.

"Hmm-mmm," he grunted.

An awkward pause followed.

"I can fly myself," he added, his arms held open in something between a shrug and a friendly surrender. "You don't have to worry about ferrying me around."

Holliday's mouth worked open and closed a few times before she managed speech. "No...I mean...it's okay, I don't mind...it's been a while is all." It had been, what, months? since Banshee had borrowed a ship. He hadn't needed to borrow one back at the old Tower since he had a transport vessel. It was destroyed in the Red War, unfortunately. Holliday thought it was a shame. He kept it in decent nick seeing as how he generally forgot he had it. "You going international or domestic?" she joked. Her initial surprise had faded to nothing.

"International," he responded. It was a long running joke that indicated he needed to a ship capable of leaving the atmosphere. "Gotta errand that requires it."

Banshee thought it best he leave the details to himself. Commander Zavala wouldn't take kindly to his excursion and neither would Holliday, come to think of it.

"That's been a while. Not since before the war," the Shipwright commented. She stretched both arms over her head and stepped out from her workshop. Banshee followed her around to the other side, where she stood with hands on hips. "Got a Hawk you can borrow. She's over yonder." Holliday motioned across the deck to a Hawk bearing Vanguard colors. It was without offensive armament, however.

"Sold." Banshee tilted his head at Holliday and nodded. "Thanks."

"Sure." She turned to go back to her project, hand in the air as way of goodbye. "Don't forget to top off the tank when you bring her back."

Banshee made a short, sharp noise that was a laugh and made his way to the ship.

________________________________________

He'd taken liberties with his flight plan, as his destination was strictly forbidden under current Vanguard policy. Banshee doubted that any claim of not his having forgotten Commander Zavala's explicit order would be believed. A little of what they once called jiggery-pokery was necessary.

Banshee had told the Vanguard's favorite Guardian that he would visit the Clovis Bray AI at some point. Said Guardian had helped to rebuild what had turned out to be his own weapon. It was one hell of a sword. Huge. Stupidly overpowered.

Felt comfortable in his hands. Good, even. Like it belonged.

Still, the Guardian had been the one to piece it together. It was theirs by rights.

He knew from the scouting reports that the giant Exo head that housed the AI was deep in the ruins of Bray Exoscience. The only safe LZ was at a communications array in Charon's Crossing. He'd have to be inconspicuous.

There was some EVA gear in the Hawk. And a tarp that he could use as a makeshift cloak. He'd seen how some of the Guardians dressed, even the ones that weren't New Light. It could get pretty rough by his eye, but he wasn’t big on fashion as a rule.

Banshee pulled a RJSV-99-40 Sparrow out of the Hawk's vehicle stores and mounted up. The ride from Charon's Crossing to Cadmus Ridge was brief, but the journey through Cadmus Ridge into Bray Exoscience was choppy due to the Fallen.

He ignored the arc bolts that chained past his helmet and kept the throttle floored. He deftly maneuvered past Dregs and Vandals, bumped a very angry Captain out of the way, and sped into the jagged entrance to Bray Exoscience.

One magazine and a few dead Fallen later, Banshee had a spacious office and lab area to himself.

On the main desk he spied a figure that looked a little too much like himself and scattered papers. The topmost paper was a drawing, like an artist's render...

He found himself with one hand on the desk, head bowed, the other hand on the back of the chair, his A/R still clutched between fingers which trembled.

"The hell is that," Banshee hissed to the empty room. He turned his head away from the dark, shrouded figure sketched onto the yellowed paper.

He stepped into the private lab and took note of the open hatch to his right. It seemed like he should go that route, so he did.

The inert, deactivated Exominds slumped across equipment, crumpled onto the floor, and in pieces scattered throughout marked the journey. Banshee moved slowly, wide, bright eyes taking in everything and nothing. It was surreal. It was goddamn surreal. But it was his past. Or so he was led to understand.

He stepped into an antechamber of sorts. Sealed hatch to his right and ahead. Couldn't go through those. He glanced to his left.

And nearly jumped.

"I'll be damned," he breathed. It was an enormous head, an Exo's head, unlit eyes dispassionate and lifeless. So it was true. The AI really was inside of a giant Exo. The head of one, at least.

A squad of BrayTech security frames kept watch, some armed with RPGs, some with A/Rs. Standard BrayTech fare. They appeared oblivious to his approach.

Banshee-44 took a few cautious steps closer to the construct and stopped at the threshold. He pulled off his helmet and stared at it. If he'd been built to have pseudo-eyelids, he would have blinked long and hard at the head. As he didn't, his optics merely glowed. It made his gaze seem hard and intense.

After a moment, he stuck his free hand in the air in a half-hearted wave at the giant Exo. "Uh." He cocked his head to one side. "Yo."

#clovisbraythefirst #itsourdestiny #«?mem//EXO.frame/ban$hee_v44?»#«?mem//EXO.BNRAM_SPI_1_CB_Reg_Write(1);/cl0v1$_v0?»#destiny rp

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starman-john-tracy · 4 years

Text

Radiation Poisoning | Chapter Two

by @starman-john-tracy and @asteria-star

In which John Tracy gets exposed to uranium and nearly dies, The Hood is evil, and Star generally freaks out a lot.

[Chapter One] [Chapter Three]

Star nods at him, bringing up her own scanner, just to prove it’s there. The readings are well and truly in the green. She sighs.

“Well then, we’d better get a move on.”

She’s not even embarrassed about the fact she clings to him on the way over anymore, thin fingers hooked into the gaps between his sash and his body. It’s quiet out there, just the sound of her breathing and John’s own, transmitting through the speaker by her ear with a slight crackle of interference.

The other ship is big, bigger than Thunderbird Five, looming out of the darkness like the titanic through fog, destined to sink. Star tries peering around, looking to see if the explosion is evident from the outside, but to her it just looks… abandoned. But John knows where he’s going, John leads the way.

As they arrive John gently peels her fingers from his sash and takes them in his own, leading her by the hand around the hull. A dark maw of broken, twisted metal, with jagged teeth and a black insides, greets them - evidently where the ship has been blown open by the explosion. Debris floats in a solemn cloud around the opening, bits and pieces of anything that wasn’t strapped down have been sucked out into space, along with ripped, mangled pieces of the ship’s hull. A big shard of metal bumps against John’s hip and he twists to kick it away from them before it can do any damage. The radiation scanner bleeps at his wrist. Dark green, rising.

There’s no sign of any occupants.

“Broadcasting all frequencies, this is International Rescue.” There’s a beat of a pause as John anticipates a response. There is none. “This facility appears to be leaking dangerous nuclear radiation, the two people onboard are strongly advised to abandon ship while we seal up the leak.”

The creak of the metal hull is the only kind of response he gets. It reminds him, eerily, of the Eden. The ghost ship. The fine hairs at the back of his neck prickle. He squeezes Star’s hand, just a little, though it’s not clear if he realises he’s doing it.

“This is International Rescue.” He tries again, “Are you receiving us?”

Still nothing. Odd. His shoulders roll through a shrug, and he turns a smile toward Star to reassure her, very aware that she’s far out of her comfort zone. He’s yet to let go of her hand for this reason.

“Perhaps their radio’s are damaged.” He suggests, optimistically, unaware that the occupants are far too busy to be checking something as trivial as the radio. “Let’s head inside and see if we can do something about all this leaking radiation, ok?”

‘If I end up getting haunted by some space ghost going in here, I’m going to be very upset,’ Star tells him, hand still squeezing his bony fingers. Every now and again they squeeze back, wrangling her nerves into something resembling okay. The hulking great mass of metal and charred edges looks dangerous, the very fact it was used as something other than a war machine seemed impossible. Damaged radio. Yeah, like hell, whoever is over there knows there’ll be consequences once they’re found.

Star’s gloved hand comes away black when she hooks her fingers around the wounded metal to drag herself inside. It’s somehow colder than being out in the dark expanse of nothingness outside, and Star tells herself that’s why she shivers, that it’s not the feeling of being watched. John is going to owe her at least three screenings of dumb war movies when we’re done here, she thinks, and he’s not allowed to complain about my country music on the speakers any more.

Regardless of John’s hand her own, Star almost turns tail and runs at what they find inside.... She’d have taken him with her. There’s been an explosion, yes, but there was no way to even pretend that it had been an accident now that she’s seeing it with her own two eyes. The actual fuel compartment is relatively empty, a sodding great hole blasted through the reinforced steel, but the storage vault that must have held back up canisters is hanging ominously open, a localised blast in the centre of the locking mechanism, canisters of radioactive poison spread far and wide. It looks like someone had been rummaging through the stock, and it looks like more than a handful are leaking.

“I’m starting to think the crowbar might have been a good idea,” Star murmurs, looking to John for what to do next, because she has no idea how to even begin to fix this.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.” John murmurs, offhand, distracted. His eyes comb over damaged machinery and twisted metal - searching amongst the drifting detritus for signs of life or the source of the radiation, as he glides in alongside her. “And if there were,” He adds, “no ghost caused this.” There’s a shake of his head as he checks the instruments at his wrist, “No heat signatures on short range either. They must be further in.”

It’d be nice to have gravity, but like most of the stations systems, the artificial reproduction of it seems to be offline. There're no lights or door sensors or, as John gathers from his scans, there's no breathable air being pumped around the space station.

“You alright?” He looks across to Star to check, releasing her hand from the safety of his grip so that he can comb his fingers over the panelling, caught up in the crudity of the historical 2040s design. There’s a partially open door out to their left, leading deeper into the Xz197.

Star nods absently at his question, not taking her eyes off the ruined lock. She knows a break in when she sees one. Looking up at her, John finds himself following her eyeline with interest.

The broken-into cabin off to the opposite side of the door is clearly some kind of old storage vault, with a few rows of refueling canisters still there, all sinisterly labelled with big, black radiation symbols.

“Right, you stay here and keep an eye out for anyone for me,” John says, already ducking under the open bulkhead for a closer look inside. The little gauge at his wrist ticks up a level, moving to a pale greenish orange. “The metal around the breach was all twisted inwards, like it was pushed from the outside in,” Even as he gets further away, his voice remains clear over the radio, as if he were still floating right next to her, “I think someone caused the explosion specifically to get in here,” He’s evidently caught onto what she’s thinking, “People who are allowed aboard these things usually use an access hatch, which means these guys are either thieves or very, very lost.” That could almost be a joke from John Tracy, though it’s delivered so deadpan it’s hard to tell. “I’m just gonna seal up these tanks as best I can. I’ve got plenty of solder, it won’t take me long. Hang tight Star.”

The radiation bumps up to a light orange, warning. John sets to work, head down, tracing cracks in thick, old metal containers. Green smudges on the blue of his fingers, and he tracks where the solder needs to go. It’s lucky his spacesuit is made of some pretty strong stuff.

Suddenly, Star hears what could only be the scrape of moving metal somewhere aboard the station, reverberating into their conjoined rooms. Somewhere, someone has moved something heavy, and it wasn’t John, who's still diligently working away. The slightly open doorway to her left is a strong candidate for where the sound came from.

“John,” Star says in a low, even voice, not needing to shout for the radio to pick up her words. The sound has come from the door across the room, left ajar by someone; perhaps in a hasty retreat, or absently, carrying stolen radioactive material, unaware they’d just been walked in on. “I can hear someone moving around out here.’

She drifts to the broken door John is behind and peers in the gap. She can see him working away, see the radiation scanner flickering orange while her own stays a nearly-safe green. The grating shriek rattles the ship's skeleton again, and when Star’s head snaps around to look, she has no doubt it has come from behind the other door.

“Finish what you’re doing,” Star tells John, reaching for a length of ruined pipe that’s almost as thick and long as her arm, plucking it out of the air. “I’m going to see who this is, don’t stay in there any longer than you have to, alright?”

Hooking her fingers into the seams of the wall, Star starts dragging herself to investigate the sound.

"You can what?" He sounds worried about the fact she’s heard something he hasn’t, "I… Alright," He agrees reluctantly. It makes sense for her to check it out while he himself continues working. The radiation leak is the priority. John's already got a long strip of solder out and has flipped down the sun visor on his helmet so that he can start welding up the splits in the metal, with the intention of making the canisters safe to move out for proper disposal. "The mess out there looks like it was a pretty big explosion. There could be someone injured who needs our help."

Because of course he's worried about who they might need to rescue, instead of thinking that anyone could possibly want to harm a couple of miscellaneous astronauts, who are most definitely barging in on their plans. It’s probably lucky that John hasn’t spotted the length of pipe Star’s grabbed. A well-placed, or misplaced, blow from that thing to a spacesuit, helmet or oxygen tank could not just incapacitate but kill the wearer.

And IR happens to be very against killing the people they’re here to save, even if they are up to no good.

“Be careful.” John does take a second to warn her, not completely complacent, as she’s ducking through the door - though he doesn’t look up from his task as he says it, the first thin silver line of solder stopping up the leak. “Be quick and quiet and let me know what you find. I’ll keep the radio channel open.” He’d never leave her completely alone out here, after all. She can hear the reassuring, soft in and out of his breathing in her ear as a silence falls between them.

The corridor is long and dark, tubes and wires lining its walls and plenty of hook rungs over head to hold onto while the station is without gravity. It’s quite different from the spaces of Five, but the weightless, floating feeling does remain the same wherever out here.

Bulkheads open and close creakily at her touch and there’s a whole number of little rooms off the main corridor. A dark little lab, a room of cramped, ugly bunk beds, a galley with a small kitchenette. This station must have been a grand thing in its heyday. Grand, but with a sinister purpose. Instead of the scientific curiosity and wonder that should have come with humanity breaching the edge of space and actually living there, the Xz197 and a small number crafts like it, were built instead for lording over the lesser people far, far below. Designed to carry a payload of deadly chemicals and waiting for an excuse to use them. The war itself was apparently excuse enough.

Just what kind of people had lived up here? Could people willing to deploy such weapons even really be called people at all?

The savagery of the wars of the 2040s had, at the time, been a sticking point for moon-locked Astronaut Jeff Tracy, for sure. It’s easy to imagine John’s father young and fierce and furious with the whole madness and pointless cruelty of it. The era of peace and the formation of the United Nations and the GDF and later the Thunderbirds that had followed all seem, in the light of it, almost like a rebellion against the savage ideas of their forefathers.

There’s not a single weapon aboard any of the Thunderbirds, despite that being exactly what some people who want to get their hands on them would use them for. The image of Two decked out with machine guns would be utterly horrifying to all of them.

At the end of the corridor, the space opens out into a shuttle bay and… There! There’s a slim, shadowed figure with a black spacesuit and a dark, silver striped helmet that cleverly obscures his face. He’s busy loading small black canisters into crates, evidently to be put aboard a smaller, much newer ship that’s docked here. He doesn’t seem to notice Star’s silent, floating presence behind him.

Suddenly, there’s a cut off: “What the…?” and a sharp, startled gasp of John’s breathing, loud enough over Star’s speakers to be heard outside of her helmet. It means this section of the ship must have an oxygen supply, but it also means she has bigger problems.

It’s not that Star's brain doesn’t predict the consequences of her actions, it’s just that she doesn’t care. John gasps, and Star forgoes any thought of her own danger, head snappy around to look back in his direction, calling out his name.

“John?”

Of course, if the masked man had, by some miracle, not heard John, he’d definitely heard her.

“Oi! You!” The man’s head has snapped up, and he’s staring right at her, “What d’you think you’re doin’ on ‘ere!” The canisters get discarded and the man -whoever he is- lunges at the intruder. John hasn’t immediately responded, sending a sick spike of worry through her chest that leaves no patience or concern for the man coming for her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she tells him, bracing herself feet under the lip of a peeling sheet of flooring. He keeps advancing on her. She tries the John Tracy method of de-escalation again. “Who are you?”

Old Mirror-Helmet doesn’t offer up an answer. He’s reaching for a weapon at his hip, and Star doesn’t know enough about space-pirates to tell if it's an earth gun the idiot is hoping will fire, or something that will actually do some damage. ‘Okay, fine,’ Star tells him. With her feet braced against the floor, Star manages to swing her length of pipe with enough momentum to land the blow with a sickening crunch against the man's outstretched arm.

Judging by the way he shrieks, Star assumes he wishes he’d listened to her. The man's suit doesn’t seem damaged, the weapon floating outside of arms reached, released by damaged fingers, and Star works quickly. She’s got John's space-repair version of cable ties in the pocket of her sash and uses them to tie the still shocked man to a pipe against the wall. She snarled at the man. “What have you done?”

John still hasn’t responded. “John? John, answer me! Are you okay?”

"What the hell?!? I'm jus' doin' my job!" The man she's zip-tied, howling, to a radioactive space station protests at her. "What have you done?" She can hear the scowl in his voice. "I think you've broke me bloody arm! Boss said there wasn't goin’ t'be anyone aboard, said this old wreck was abandoned, nngh, years ago." He twists in place, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his definitely-broken arm. "Are yew pirates?" He demands, "And who the hell is John?" He adds; an afterthought ground out through audibly gritted teeth. He swears again explosively, evidently preoccupied with the pain. "The boss'll get you for this."

“I’m going to go ahead and advise that you get a new job,” Star snarls, tightening the cord around his wrist until there isn’t a breath of wriggle room. “If you behave I might even send someone up here to collect you, before your oxygen runs out.”

In her defence, the knock she gives the man to the head is only enough to knock him out. No permanent damage, she doesn’t think…

There's nothing but crackling feedback inside Star's helmet. John doesn't respond to her calling his name, but she can still hear him breathing, short and sharp. There’s a step of what could be feet kicking a solid surface and John groans, low, in her ear.

John still hasn’t said a word, but for the minute, Star can hear him breathing, hear him moving around, hear him moaning. Star can hear her own panting, slightly panicked breathing over it all, but before she can go pelting after him, her eyes catch the trolley of uranium canisters loaded into the shuttle. We’re International rescue, we’re here to help, echoes in the back of her mind, and Star curses John's contagious conscience.

‘Goddammit John,’ she growls, turning away from the direction to save him, hoping he can hold his own for a moment longer, and gets to work.

Back over in the canister storage room John is trying to work out just what had hit him. Or more accurately, who. A shadowy figure had dropped from a hatch above him with enough force to slam the unsuspecting Tracy down hard against the floor, his head ricocheting inside his helmet with concussive force and the half-sealed canister he was working on tumbling from his grip in the process. It rolls, weightless and leaking, in the air between them.

There's a heavy whirring somewhere as something deep within the bowels of the ship grinds online and the thick, heady weight of old, artificial gravity drags all the occupants down toward the floor. The oxygen reserves seem to have kicked in onboard as well, but they do little good where John is, with the huge whole in the hull leaking the precious O2 right out into space, with no door between him and the void.

Star’s sensors would pick it up though.

"Ah, finally." Says a horribly familiar voice, somewhere above John - who’s finding the sudden gravity less helpful for orienting himself than expected. "I was beginning to think that it would never finish warming up.” They comment and the toe of a dark boot jams under John’s helmet, rotating his head upward, forcing his neck over at an odd angle, “Well now, what do we have here?"

Ginger lashes flutter open only to be faced with a helmet-shadowed face that he sees in bad dreams more often than he’d like to admit. Only the man is not looming and holographic, but flesh-and-blood real: watching him intently, calculatingly with sharp yellow eyes.

The Hood takes in the orange sash and shocked face and grins.

#RadiationRPwithStar #<3333333 #man the formatting between sites is terrible

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