#if you tag this as a ship I hope you keel over and die

[delimeful]

you cant go back (3)

warnings: panic, miscommunication, trafficking, non-consensual drug use, suicidal thoughts, food, mentions of torture, cliffhanger, these tags make it sound worse than it is tbh  

-

When Virgil first opened his eyes, jerked out of sleep by sharp instinctual alarm, he’d thought for a moment that he was still dreaming.

It was the same face, after all, even with how frighteningly close it was, even with a vastly different expression painted across it. He’d been confused, almost relieved-- had they gotten away after all?-- and then he’d realized just what the Deathworlder had in their arms.

He’d lunged and come up short, forced to watch as the Human kept their arms locked around Patch even as the creature made unhappy little noises he’d never heard from it before. 

It was so small compared to the Human, easily tucked under an arm and managed regardless of protests. Did they have no respect for the deadly grace of the other creatures on this planet?

They’d circled him from a distance, ignoring his warning twitches and outright hisses as thoroughly as they ignored Patch, and all he could do was watch, locked in place, hoping that Human prey drive wasn’t as high as all the rumors said.

And then the Human had left, taking Patch with them, and Virgil had been left to watch their fading heat signature and pray to Seryl that whatever the Human did would be quick. For both of them.

It wasn’t that easy, of course. The Human wanted something from him, badly.

He thought he had a fair idea of what-- or rather, who-- it was.

After all, he’d seen a near-perfect mirror of them, sitting bound and muzzled in their transfer ship’s holding cell where a Human absolutely shouldn’t be. Leond and her Second had been unnaturally gleeful for rotations before Virgil finally found out about the ‘successful pickup’, namely through stumbling across it by doing the routine security and safety checks that he didn’t trust the rest of these idiots to do themselves.

They’d cut him off before he could get to a comm to tell Janus, cornered him in the tight cell block hall, and offered him a deal: his silence for a cut of the immense earnings they would make from renting out a Human to any and all fighting rings.

He remembered the way the Human’s gaze had flickered between him and the others curiously as he argued, the way they’d struggled to bare their teeth derisively at Leond, even through the bars of their muzzle and the haze of whatever they’d been drugged with. It was one of the last things he’d seen before he’d ‘made a fuss’ big enough that his own crew had tranq’d him and ditched him on-planet to die.

“You’re right,” Leond had said, face smooth in the way that meant smug satisfaction for her species. “We haven’t fulfilled our half of the exchange, have we? We took an alien from that planet, so it’s only fair that we leave one behind.”

His limbs had been defensively raised since the beginning of the argument, but Virgil had fought side by side with these people before. They knew how to guard his blind spots, which meant that they knew his blind spots.

The Human had tried to speak through the muzzle, just before he’d heard the discharge sound of a tranq gun too close to dodge. He thought it might have been an attempted warning.

It hadn’t changed anything. He’d been the only one on that ship who’d opposed the Human’s abduction, and as a reward, he was going to be slowly interrogated to death by one of their clutchmates. The level of cruel irony was like something from one of Jan’s stupid operas.

Virgil felt another shudder of exhaustion. Stars, he hoped Janus would get out of there once he realized what they’d brought back. His best friend knew better than to fuck with Humans, and the crew clearly wasn’t going to listen to any interplanetary ethics lectures, so the best thing he could do was skip town. Better to rebuild than fall with the nest.

He hadn’t slept after the Human had left, flipping to his heat sensor vision and watching all night for their return, unable to relax after one of the most unpleasant awakenings of his life. And if it meant he didn’t dream about what could have happened to Patches, all the better.

The next day had come, and the Human returned, wielding that dull stick and asking more angry questions that Virgil couldn’t understand, let alone respond to.

The thing was, given enough time and exposure, he actually would be able to understand the specifics of what was wanted from him.

Like most long-term interstellar travelers, he had a Lator implant, and the more the Human talked at him, the more linguistic patterns and trends would be picked up and catalogued, making it much easier for him to put the pieces together.

Unfortunately, time wasn’t something he had an excess of.

Janus would have figured out at least the basics by now; in addition to being better with words, he’d gotten a more recent, effective upgrade to the implant’s software. Virgil had turned the offer down for himself, knowing that they needed to save money where they could, and figuring that he didn’t really need it. His job was to defend Janus. His First could handle the talking part of their missions on his own with ease, the chatterbox that he was.

It had seemed obvious at the time. A lot of good that logic was doing him now.

The Human said something at him, flashing his bone-white teeth as he spoke. Humans didn’t have guard plates over their mouths at all, and so every time this one turned to him, he felt as though they were either acting sickeningly overfamiliar or that they might lunge forward and try to bite him at any moment. He’d carefully kept his own plates locked, not willing to expose any teeth and have it mistaken for a challenge.

The Human was waiting expectantly. Virgil took a deep breath and replied, the same as he had every time he could, though he doubted Humans had access to translator implants.

“I am not here to harm anyone. I was abandoned here against my will. I can’t understand what you’re saying,” he recited in Guard-tongue, keeping the sentences brief and repetitive for easy translation pattern recognition.

The Human wasn’t extending him the same courtesy, his own sentences long-winded and full of unfamiliar concepts that kept tripping up the Lator programming. References, probably.

There was one Human word that he’d figured out fairly early on: Brother.

Clutchmate, family, the lookalike that was probably long gone by now.

He was almost glad that he couldn’t speak coherently. As it was, he didn’t have to be the one to break the news.

Almost, because the Human was stubbornly finding new and creative ways to freak him the hell out with each visit.

First, they’d figured out fairly quickly that he was slowly starving.

Virgil had flooded his plates right to pitch on their first meeting, and hadn’t been calm enough to stop the defensive reaction since, which had quickly drained what little hydration stores he’d had left. Between the drying out of his plates and the fact that he’d gotten too worked up and blacked out for a moment during an interrogation, his fading health wasn’t exactly subtle.

He’d panicked, because any enemy knowing his weakness was generally pretty fucking bad, let alone an enemy with personal motive and ability to twist that weakness like a knife in the spine.

The Human had verbally freaked out (a regular occurrence) and vanished for a while, before returning to the barn with an entire array of items (not a regular occurrence). They’d set the items out on flat fiber ‘plates’ and then slid them into range with that stupid stick.

Virgil had stabbed a few of them on principle before realizing that this was food, aided by the Human rolling his eyes pointedly-- a derisive gesture, he’d gathered-- and eating something from a plate of their own.

At that point, Virgil had been willing to risk poison. The way he saw it, he either died, or he ate something, and either way it meant stopping the slow, aching pain eating away at the pit of his stomach.

He’d even been willing to tolerate the Human staring at him, since apparently they didn’t have the manners to not watch a stranger eat. Or that wasn’t a thing on this planet. It didn’t really matter.

After a significant amount of time spent using his auxiliary limbs to delicately maneuver Human produce and meats into inspection range, he settled for what smelled the least concerning, avoiding any that smelled or looked too bright to be safe.

(The scrunched-up look the Human had given him after he’d crunched an egg in his throat had been hard to interpret, though.)

Anything he could safely ingest, he’d eaten. After the Human left, he’d even attempted the indignity of trying to lift the bowl of water in range with wobbly limbs, though he’d almost immediately spilled the majority of it all over himself. It didn’t matter, he could pull any and all hydration from what he’d eaten, though he didn’t dare get used to it.

This wasn’t his first time above the nest, and he hadn’t fooled himself into believing that this shocking show of generosity would last. The Human had only done it to make sure that their hostage wouldn’t keel over.

Starvation and dehydration were more-than-effective methods of hands-off torture, after all, and the Human really only needed to give him enough to keep him alive.

The impending mistreatment shouldn’t have shaken him as much as it did. He had the advantage of the Human’s ignorance on how much Chelcerae ate, and his own resilience, developed from years of scraping by on the barest of rations. He was lucky, really, to be one of the species with a water-storing organ.

Still, he spent the night wondering if it was worth it to keep fighting. There was no escape, so wouldn’t it be better to go out on his own terms, before anything truly horrendous could happen to him?

Probably. The real question was: would he have the fortitude to turn down food all the way to a slow and painful death-via-starvation?

He wasn’t sure, and he continued to be resentful of the fact that he even had to make such a choice all the way up until the next day, when the Human walked in with a plate covered in everything he’d eaten yesterday and slid it over to him, simple as anything.

“What?” the Human snapped after a moment of Virgil watching them for any indication of what to do, and he’d hurriedly flickered his heat sensor eyes in hopes of placating any offense. The Human had grumbled indistinctly, but didn’t attempt to remove the plate or even threaten to do so.

The next day was the same. Though the Human continued to try and interrogate and occasionally intimidate him, the food and drink was provided without stipulation or hesitation. It was… strange.

Virgil refused to read into it. Perhaps Humans just had meals so frequently that skipping a single day would be as barbaric as weeks of starvation for Chelcerae. Maybe once the Human had enough of his noncompliance, they were going to feast on his flesh and didn’t want a stringy meal. It was impossible to know.

The generous feeding schedule was nothing, though, compared to some of the other questionable tendencies the Human had.

They traversed the grounds in and around the barn with little wariness, apparently quite confident in their ability to defend themself on the Deathworld they’d grown up on. They brushed insects and plant matter alike off their person with little care for poisons or bites.

Their body language seemed to consist of every threat display in the wayfarer guidebook, and worse, only a quarter of these threat displays seemed intentional. Virgil was constantly tense, attempting to figure out which were intended to cow him, and how to keep his own body language from worsening the damage. Any signal of terrified compliance, even the obvious tremor of his auxiliary limbs, only seemed to prompt wariness and confusion from the Human.

They’d found his helmet and immediately put it on, which had made his fuzz prickle with hope for a moment, before remembering that the reserve battery of the headset was well and truly dead. No emergency translators for the Human, and no upturns in luck for Virgil.

Maybe it was better. Even if the Human could talk to him, he would seem just as guilty for their brother’s disappearance in their eyes. It wasn’t even an accusation he could reasonably defend against; if things had gone differently, if he’d made smarter choices, maybe he could have gotten the captured Human free.

Janus would have managed it. He’d always been a quicker mind than Virgil.

It’d been three days since the Human had found him, and Virgil had barely managed to parse a handful of imperatives and nouns from someone who was basically just yelling the same things at him over and over.

“You can’t ---- the ---- ---------, you ----- --------! I ---- what I ---- and --- ----- to it!” the Human yelled, essentially proving his point. Virgil resisted the urge to let his chin drop down to his collar in exhausted resignation.

It was difficult to focus past the old pains from the fight with Leond, and the new pains from being strapped upright for days on end. Even if he could bring himself to pay closer attention, it wouldn’t make it easier to parse words he had no context for. Lator technology worked best when both parties were exchanging words, or at the very least, when there was more than one native speaker prattling on at you!

The Human inhaled to continue and then froze, prompting Virgil to slink his shoulders up slightly, something that had worked to show his non-aggression once or twice before. The Human wasn’t focused on him, though, whirling around to face the barn doors with their body rigid.

Because he’d never been good at uncertainty, Virgil flicked his heat-sensor eyes open just as another Human-sized mass reached the doors, moving in a predator’s stalk.

Well, he thought as the door creaked open, I’m screwed.

[rainofaugustsith]

Rain Plays SWTOR: Solo Macrobinoculars (most of it), Imperial side, Pt. 2

I'm back with Part II of the Solo Macrobinoculars Run. To reiterate, I knew going in that I would not be able to complete the entire chain, but I'm writing a guide on the parts of the quest that can be soloed. This site does not like links, so to find part 1 please click on the #swtor macrobinoculars tag. 

Where we left off, I'd just finished scanning targets on Belsavis, and we were ready to hit the Rakatan temple.

A Spy's Secret: Belsavis

How to get there: if you scanned the target in the Tomb last, you are actually positioned really well to get to the next part of the mission. If not, take the Rakatan Transport to the Lower Prison Magma Transport stop and then make your way out into the Tomb area.

In the front room, the order for making the grid go away is: 1. Click the third panel. 2. Click the fourth panel. 3. Kill the droids. 4. Click the two things on the sides of the walls above the power generator. 5. Click the fourth panel again. 6. Turn so that you are facing the Rakatan Transporter and look up. There's a clickable near the ceiling. Click it. The grid will go down. At the second grid: 1. Slow down. In my experience, the second (deadly) laser grid did not load right away with the rest of the room, so Viri ran right into it. 2. You have to click the wall panel five times. Once to open it; the rest to input the code. You will see the panels light up with the colors as you add them.  3. The code is Red, Green, Yellow, Green.

In the Cryoban tank area:  1. Click the tanks and manage the pipes ONE AT A TIME. You need to click the tank, follow the white smoke coming out of the pipes on the ceiling and click on the ceiling junctions ONCE each to route the cryoban to the door to break it down. When the door weakens enough you can click on the pipe right above it, and then the door itself.

The first time I tried this I blithely opened all the tanks and found myself completely unable to figure out which pipes I'd done, which I hadn't, and how the hell to extricate myself from the mess I'd created. I ended up resetting this part of the mission (which meant scanning all three targets on Belsavis again). Learn from me. :(

The final boss here is relatively easy, but it made me sad he was Ortolan. I kind of hated killing him.

Now, it's time to scan more targets. A lot of these are in really obvious places, on top of major landmarks. Alderaan

- QT to Thul Research Camp. - QT to Outpost Talarn. - QT to Thul Supply Camp, and then go south. It's in the heart of the Republic gameplay area but you can avoid pretty much all combat if you are careful about where you walk/speed. - QT to Panteer Hideout. The target is on the Panteer castle, you can scan easily from the bridge while you're still surrounded by friendly NPCs rather than wading into enemy NPC territory.

Balmorra

- The first target is right in the middle of Sobrik, where you come in on the planet. If you didn't do this one first, the closest QT point is the Sunken Sarlacc Cantina. - QT to Bugtown. - QT to Markaran Imperial Outpost. The target is on the Okara Droid Factory building so you can get it from a considerable distance. - QT to Sundari Imperial Outpost. It's on a building of the Balmorran Arms Factory that is against the rocks so it's hard to see the target from a distance, but it's scannable well before you reach the factory.

Voss

- QT to Ghen's Outlook. Your target is actually on the building tower on the base, so you just need to get a little ways away to scan it. - QT to Pilgrim Retreat. The target you're scanning is right on top of the Shrine of Healing, so as soon as you can see the Shrine from the road, you should be able to get your scan. - QT to Outpost Skyline. The target is in the heart of the Gormak Lands, so it's a bit of a schlep. It's on top of the canopy in the area that marks the entrance to the Gormak Lands. - QT to Outpost Overseer, and just hop on the main road. It's on the top of the Gormak arch.

At the end of this scanning mission, IR-77 will pay you another ambush visit, stronger than before.

Nar Shaddaa

- QT to Keeling's Listening Post. If you don't have that one, the Corellian Sector. - QT to the Slippery Slope Cantina, which is the closer of the two QT points on the Promenade. -- QT to the Imperial Data Center, shuttle to Network access or pick up the heroic Hunger of the Vrbithers and use the provided transport. Be aware that even if you are not doing the heroic,  you will likely have to contend with enemy vrbither NPCs as you move to the scanning point.

All the Pieces - Nar Shaddaa

This is the last bit you will be able to do solo, and it's quite a grand finale. To get there, QT to Network Security Access.

The first obstacle is a group of four gold droids. You should be able to beat them, but it's a reminder that the next sections are intended for groups.

To beat the two discs on the floor, stand on them one by one. Put your companion to passive so they are standing with you. The discs will eventually explode and the door will open.

On the dock, every enemy NPC droid is gold, so try not to pull them all at once. Force pushing them off the platform does not work; they will return.

Now your character will get to pretend they're in an action movie and recreate that sequence where Anakin Skywalker jumped out of the speeder into Coruscant traffic! This is a jumping puzzle like no other, and it's long. You will be jumping from speeder to speeder in heavy Nar Shaddaa traffic. What's that you said? Why didn't your character just commandeer a speeder instead of doing this? Shhhh. Jumping puzzle time.

You will likely die at least once while attempting it. Probably far more often. The good news is that there are three save points along the way. As long as you've reached these points, you will not need to do the entire puzzle again. You can hop on the speeder and just speed to the save point. If you die on the last boss, you'll be taken back to the beginning, but again, you can hop on those three speeders, one after the other, to get back to the boss.

With the jumps, if you don’t see a car close to you- wait. A lot of the time the vehicle you need to jump on will pull up along side. Sometimes they will be so close that you don't even have to jump, you can just drop.

Rocket boosts can be useful in a few places but be careful, it's very, very easy to overshoot these jumps and fall to your death.

For a few jumps, you're actually going to use grapples. Mouse around on the larger ships that are too far away to jump and they may have a grappling hook you can click.

Take your time. The traffic is rushing beneath you, but you can take all the time you need to figure out the safe jumps. If the vehicle you need has veered away wait, it will come back. 

At a few points (the save points near the speeders) you will face gold and silver mobs. If you're soloing this with your companion, it will be difficult. I ended up throwing Heroic Moment at the last one.

IR-77 will greet you after you defeat the final mob, and he'll be ready to destroy you. He has a knockback, which really isn't a pleasant prospect when you're on a moving, narrow platform. Be prepared for it and try to dispatch him as quickly as possible.

Once you reach the large skiff, you will face Maki'Voro. It's a challenging fight and he doesn't go down easily. He has a very wicked knockback, so try to make sure you're angled so that he can't knock you over the edge. You will know he's about to throw it when he suddenly flies into the air.

I ignored the adds, with the exception of the nanodroid shield froid that appears over Maki'Voro's head. This droid has a potent heal, so you need to interrupt it and destroy it ASAP.

After Maki'Voro has been destroyed, you have reached the end of the Macrobinoculars quest line that you can solo. The final H4 requires four players because there are four panels you have to stand on simultaneously.

I really hope that SWTOR's devs will consider adjusting this final H4 so it can be soloed, especially since it seems that only one part of it specifically requires multiple players. They pulled an Oricon here, since everything except the last H4 is soloable. I knew going in that I would not be able to finish the quest line, but I'm guessing a lot of people who begin it do not have that knowledge. It's a very well designed questline with interesting gameplay and story, and it's a shame that solo players can't finish it. If Bioware really wants the content to be played and enjoyed, forcing grouping is perhaps not the best way to achieve that goal.

In the meantime, if you're like me and really hate grouping, you can still get a lot of interesting gameplay out of this mission chain. You just can't finish it. If you've played Shroud of Memory you know what happens to the Shroud, so perhaps, like me, you can try to incorporate that into your own headcanon to fill in the blanks of the mission you can't do.

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 57 - The Ambush

Chapter Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexuality, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort

Read on AO3 First chapter on AO3

--

Twenty-seventh day of Firstfall, 9:32 Dragon

They left Rothsbridge early the next morning, in a slim-lined clinker vessel called Windcaller. Swollen with meltwater, the river took them quickly downstream, past eddies of dirty brown foam and dangerous jams of submerged trees that poked up into the middle of the current to shear off the keels of unsuspecting vessels, until by early afternoon the banks yawned and flattened on either side and the rushing, silt-heavy water churned against the rising, iron-grey tide. Rosslyn’s hands gripped white against the open tiller the entire way, her eyes pared on the waves parting before the bows. The ship’s design made it more flexible than the larger, sturdier vessels used to cross the Waking Sea, its keel like the spine of a cat under the stroke of a hand, so that it glided through the water instead of pitching against each wave. It made for less roll along the deck, but it brought the rail closer to the waterline, and every large wave that slapped spray against the hull made her flinch.

That night, when they finally hauled up on a sheltered beach to camp, her legs wobbled with the relief of being on dry land. Their berth until morning lay on the windward side of Barraigh, the southernmost of the island string that sheltered Highever’s northwest coast from the worst of its winter storms, and which would shelter them from the prying eyes of any Amaranthine patrols. The light faded quickly as the weather descended from a fine drizzle to freezing, soupy fog that made the fire hiss, and once all the tasks for setting camp had been completed, Rosslyn sat with the rest of the party huddled under one of the extra blankets with Cuno as they waited for the food to cook. In other circumstances, she would have insisted on a separation between the ranks, but here their resources were finite, and since she and Alistair were the only two with any standing of consequence, turning it into a point of contention would have undermined the formal distance they had agreed on at the inn.

She was content to watch him, in any case. He sat on the other side of the fire between Hobbs and Dan, regaling them all in between mouthfuls of stew with a story from his time as a soldier in Rainesfere. Every so often, his eyes met hers over the flickering light of the fire before darting away again, and every time his mouth curved just a fraction upwards before he moved on, framing his tale with expansive gestures of his hands. It was the same easy camaraderie she had seen in him so many months before, in the guard house when they were cleaning equipment on Teagan’s orders. Back then, she had envied his ability to set others at ease, to draw them in with conversation no matter their station, disguising any of his own discomfort with laughter. Even now, it was a talent she could not seem to cultivate.

“I’m going to turn in,” she announced once the meal was finished and the flames began to die down.  

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay up just a bit longer?”  

He offered a hopeful smile, but it didn’t reach the worry in his eyes, and her answer stalled on her tongue, if only for a moment. Her mind drifted to an image of the two of them alone, sharing the silence as they shared warmth, and she forced it away. Her own desires meant little in the face of what they were about to do.

“We’ll have to be boarded and away with the tide, so we’ll need to rise early,” she said. “And it’s been a long day. Good night.”

His reply followed her into her tent, and it took her a long time to get to sleep.

--

The weather stayed with them over the next few days, and their schedule remained constant. Rising with the dawn, they spent daylight hours sailing, until they found a suitable beach and hauled Windcaller ashore for the night’s camp. For the most part, they saw no other ships daring the contrary winds, and only for a brief moment on the third day were they noticed themselves. A Clayne cutter looming out of the mist turned for them, gained, and only veered away when Rosslyn ordered the crew to raise the string of signal flags that identified them as a hunting vessel. When it finally stopped shadowing them, she felt the sigh of relief ripple through her people and shared it, though seeing the way they all closed together ready for a fight gave her hope for the task that lay ahead. Leliana and Amell in particular had grown close, and in idle moments their shared laughter could be heard across the deck as they joked with the soldiers or cheated each other at cards.

At noon on the fifth day, they finally rounded the coast of Fiolan, the north island, and Castle Cousland came into view, a blurred dot perched on the highest point of the headland, sulking against the threat of lowering cloud. Rosslyn stiffened when she spotted it, the manner of a hawk that sees the movement of a mouse in the grass. The whole crew had been tense and quiet since that morning, knowing that it would be the last day before their assault, but with their goal so clearly in view, nervous energy grew among them like the first creeping spread of a fire in a barn. She steered them closer in to the shadow of the cliffs, where the currents ran stronger but they were less likely to draw suspicion, and the soldiers on deck put away the gear they were polishing and took out nets instead in order to keep up the charade of innocence for any interested eyes passing along the headland.

They had gone over the plan in full the night before, learned the hidden way into the castle through the maze of ancient tunnels carved into the bedrock, discussed how to take the keep level by level, and then the best route to the barbican to send the signal to Cailan’s forces. Her poorly sketched plans, the manifestation of all her family’s secrets, had been burnt once the discussion was over, and now all that remained was the waiting, and the slowly dwindling stretch of water that separated her from her vengeance. She would not let Howe slip the noise again; her duty as a Cousland forbade it.

“So that’s castle Cousland,” Alistair mused next to her.

She blinked and tore her gaze from the horizon. She had been so focussed, his approach had gone unnoticed. Less difficult to miss was the gentle concern in his eyes, a slight downturn of his mouth that for some reason made her bristle.

“Yes, it is,” she answered, turning her attention forward again. And then, when it seemed something else needed to fill the space between them, added, “It’s not as big as Redcliffe.”

His arms folded casually over his chest. “It’s what, four leagues away, five?”

“Seven. It was eight from Fiolan but we’ve a good wind.”

“So it might be a good time to take a break, then?” The suggestion came slowly, carefully, and he turned towards the stern to keep it between themselves.

She rolled her shoulders back and didn’t look at him. “I’m fine. Nobody here knows this stretch of coast as well as I do.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“I don’t need your worry.”

A sigh. “You’ll be no good to anyone if you turn up at Highever exhausted.”

“And what’s the alternative?” she snapped. “Foundering here, where there’s nothing but cliffs and no hope of rescue? If we drown, no one else is going to help Cailan, no one will take the castle, and Howe wins. I’m not going to let that happen.”

For a long moment, he held her glare, a retort working on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back and turned away. “Of course not.”

She almost called out to him as he stalked to the hatch. Regret churned in her stomach. They were all cold, drenched with spray and rain, in garments stiff with salt, flagging after long nights sleeping on coarse sand that itched into every crease of clothing. She was right that they needed to stay focussed, but though every nerve in her body urged towards the end of their voyage, to completing the mission, to being home again, he deserved better from her.

“Hobbs!” she called.

“Aye, Ma’am?”

“Take over here. Keep to the blue, the foam shows where the currents clash – and if you have to change course, make small adjustments.”

“Aye, Ma’am,” Hobbs replied. “And I’ll shout if you’re needed.”

Alistair was turned away from her as she came down the gangway, perched on the stowed bedrolls with his armour laid across his lap. Apart from the glow of a storm lantern, only a dim slant of daylight let him see what he was doing, but he didn’t look up when her shadow fell across the pauldron in his hands.

“Hey.”

He paused his work, but otherwise didn’t react, and she realised she had followed him without any idea of what to say. Excuses and explanations rang through her head, but they were nothing new and they rang hollow even as each one lined up on her tongue, unworthy of him.

“It wasn’t fair of me to snap at you,” she said eventually, defeated. “You were only trying to help.”

“And you keep shutting me out.” Sighing, he set aside the pauldron in his hands and raked his fingers through his hair.

She dropped her gaze. “I’m here now.”

“You’re so stubborn.” At last he rose, hunched over to keep from hitting his head on the low beams, the note of fondness in his voice holding her there as he reached for her. “I meant what I said the other morning. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The pitch of the ship brought them closer, the timbers creaking. Alistair kept one hand braced against the beam to steady them, but the other hugged tight around her shoulders. She moulded herself to him with barely a thought beyond a curse for the weather layers that kept his warmth from her.

“It isn’t just you and me here,” she murmured over the slosh of waves against the hull. “As much as I want to just… run away from it all, everyone out there is expecting me to lead them, and if I let my worries slip loose even for a moment, they’ll question, and in battle that instant of hesitation is what gets people killed.”

“I know.” A kiss brushed against her hair. “But working yourself to the bone isn’t a much better idea.”

“There’s no need to sound like it’s obvious.”

His tone turned playful. “But then I wouldn’t get to see that adorable pout.”

“I don’t pout.”

“You do,” he assured her. “You get this cute little line between your eyebrows when something annoys you – there, that’s the one!” He grinned as he winced from an imaginary blow. “Please don’t hurt me.”

A smirk tugged at her mouth. “You still think it’s cute when you’re the one that put it there?” she asked.

“Well, uh…” He blushed and caught her waist, peeking at her through his lashes with a hopeful pout of his own. “I don’t like putting it there, but once it is… it’s a pretty good excuse for me to kiss it better, wouldn’t you say?”

Warmth stirred in her chest. “You need an excuse to kiss me?”

“Never.”

But instead of leaning in, his gaze slid from hers, falling to her shoulder as his brows knotted on some new problem that had yet to fully form in his mind.

“Do you remember that morning?” he asked, when she brushed her thumb over his cheek. “Before we left Deerswall? And… what we did the night before?”

“Of course I do.” Worried, she traced the line of his jaw and tried for a smile. “It was less than a week ago – and it was rather memorable.”

“You do want to do it again, don’t you? I mean – I don’t want to sound, well, lecherous, and I’m not trying to push, but… that’s not the reason why we haven’t done it again, is it? Because you don’t want to? Because I was…”

“Alistair…” Sighing, she brought his forehead down to hers. “If I didn’t want to do it again, it wouldn’t be because of you. You –” She had to find her voice again. “I never thought it would be like that – that if I had to, I’d enjoy it like that. But where would you suggest we go? The nights outside are freezing, and pitch black, and it’s not like we have much privacy anywhere else.”

“I know, but –”

“I’ve missed you every morning,” she told him. “I keep telling myself that when we get to Highever, we won’t have to be apart, we can wake up together and spend as much time in bed as we want. And you are the only person who has ever made me feel anything close to that. I want to be with you because I love you. Although, for the record,” she added, taking his face between her hands, “You are good at it.”

“I am?”

“Did you think I was lying when I said it before?” she asked.

“No, but…” He cleared his throat, as if changing his mind. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

His arm snaked up her back, trapping her against his chest as his confidence returned. “I love you.”

“Good.”

“And… I want to do it again. I want, uh…” Bright colour bloomed across his cheeks as his voice trailed away, the dart of his tongue over his lips betraying the nature of the words left unsaid. With anyone else, even such a vague suggestion would have crawled across her skin, but now it only left her breathless, wishing for time, and space, and privacy enough to coax him out of his bashfulness and explore exactly what was on his mind.

“When we get to Highever,” she murmured, pushing herself onto her toes, closer to him. A wave rocked the ship and overbalanced them, so he ended up with his back pressed against a timber, and her body flush against his chest. The barest sliver of air lingered between them, given power by the knowledge that anyone might walk in on them, until the voice of warning faded completely and all that remained was the pound of her heart and the strength of the fingers at her waist.

“Highever,” he echoed. His eyes squeezed shut as he nodded, eased a long breath between his teeth. “When we reach Highever. Right. But that doesn’t mean I’m not kissing you right now.”

--

The final night of the voyage was spent on the shore of the mainland, a few hours’ ride from the castle. They pulled in at dusk and stayed quiet, posted guards and built the cookfire under the shelter of the cliff to hide it from enemy eyes. For ease, their armour was still stowed, but Rosslyn made sure each of them was armed.

After leaving Alistair in the hold, a knot of tension had quickly replaced the flutter his presence stirred in her stomach, and with each passing hour, it crept through the rest of her body, until her muscles ached from the strain and she forgot to even be afraid of drowning. This was her sand. She planted herself in it, a silent declaration as she kept watch that stoked the hot roar in her chest. She had been forced to run at Harrowhill; Howe would not be given the same opportunity here.

The beach itself was one she knew well. Difficult to access from above except by a narrow track, the sand was good for castles, and the rocks held deep pools at low tide where she and Fergus had once hunted for crabs with her mother. As insistent as her father had been that his children knew the land, the Seawolf had taught them about the water, and how to survive it. They had spent many nights here as a family, building driftwood fires, learning the constellations or hearing stories. Her father had never picked up more than a few words of Clayne, but he had listened as raptly as the rest of them whenever her mother spoke from the sagas of her people, used to hold her in his lap and whisper that she was missing the good bits when she squirmed.

She dashed at the unexpected wetness on her cheeks. Nostalgia had no place so close to a battle, when the only thing on the mind should be strategy, the resolve to achieve victory. And yet…

Making sure everyone was at their posts in sight of each other, she whistled for Cuno and picked her way over the shingle to a scattering of large boulders half hidden by the cliff. The bare rocks channelled the water into swift currents at high tide and made perfect hiding spot for the abundant hoof-mussels that grew all along Ferelden’s northern coast. Broken bits of shell crunched under her feet, her boots slipped on the seaweed, and as she rounded the corner away from the camp, the pervasive odour of rotten salt stung her nose.

“Wait for me!”

She halted and turned at the bright sound of Leliana’s voice. The older woman’s hair shone like a beacon in the last rays of sunlight, waving with her movement as she stepped as delicately as a deer across the most treacherous rocks.

“Have I been missed?” she asked.

Leliana’s blue eyes glinted. “There is someone in the company who always misses you, I think – but no. I merely came to enjoy an evening stroll with a friend.”

“You’re welcome to join me,” Rosslyn answered. “I was just letting Cuno stretch his legs.”

“And to think he had such green gills when we set off this morning.”

She chuckled. “He still does, he’s just forgotten about it because he’s hoping he can find a dead seal to roll in.” At her friend’s small moue of disgust, she waved her hand. “He won’t find one at this time of year, but he can tell something is going on.”

“Everything will change after tomorrow,” Leliana allowed. “One way or the other. It’s not unusual for us to seek the paths not travelled when the one before us is uncertain. We wonder what we could have done differently, and what will come after.”

For an instant, Rosslyn stiffened, but while following her lead, Leliana was only under her command as a technicality, and already knew her foils too well for her to hide them now. She decided to take the prompt for what it was, and scuffed an empty limpet shell into a pool.

“I just want to get through this,” she admitted. “After can come… after. I know there’ll be politics and more battles to fight, but…”

“Ah, I see.”

They had reached a short stretch of sand wide enough to walk two abreast, giving Leliana room to slip out from behind Rosslyn and link their arms together.

“More pleasant topics, then?”

Rosslyn watched a pair of seagulls startled into flight by Cuno’s antics. “If you like.”

“Good.” A dimpled smile turned on her. “I have been most curious to ask, how is His Highness…?”

Heat surged into her cheeks. “What do you mean, ‘how is he’?”

“Oh, you know, Alistair and you… these cold nights… he must be quite delightful. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been glowing so much when we left Deerswall, I think.”

“I – I wasn’t glowing,” she managed.

“As you say.” Leliana tilted her head, unperturbed. “But he’s athletic, that’s always nice. He is also good at following instructions, isn’t he?”

Without any true response, Rosslyn merely gaped at her. There was such casual suggestion in the remark, as if private moments would naturally be unfolded and left open for the whole world to examine at its leisure. It didn’t help that the words sparked a tumble of memories from that night, and from the morning after when waking up to Alistair’s arms around her felt like every morning she ever wanted to have again.  

“Do people always talk about their partners in such candid terms?” she asked at last, once her thoughts managed to scramble themselves back into some semblance of order.

“Sometimes, when asked,” came the easy reply.

A retort formed on her tongue, but she bit it back. After all, she had tried her best to erase the image of her friend and her captain from her mind completely. Leliana, however, seemed to track the line of her thoughts.

“You know, if you want details of Ada and I…”  

“I do not.”

She sighed. “You Fereldans. In any case, I think he must be good. You came up from the hold this afternoon looking much happier than when you went in. And rather… windswept.”

If anything, Rosslyn’s face heated further, a spark of anger seating itself amidst her embarrassment. “You think we –? We were only down there for – that is…”

A growl interrupted her. Cuno trotted stiff-legged from the patch of seaweed he had been investigating to the edge of the sand in the direction they had come, head up and every hair bristling along his back.

“What does he hear?” Leliana whispered.

Rosslyn’s hand went to her sword, taking in the lines of alarm in every inch of her dog’s stance. She was already walking forward when she caught a burst of light that fired against the dusk, and then the noise of shouting and clashing steel.

“The camp!” she cried.  

She barely glanced at Leliana before she was running, fumbling over the rocks as best she could until she reached higher, drier ground and was able to stretch into a full run, Cuno keeping pace beside her. His teeth flashed in the gloom, and as they rounded the headland she drew her sword to match, taking in the battlefield at a glance. Their forces were outnumbered. Somebody had set a tree on fire. Shadowy figures blazing the Bear on their surcoats, and a man wielding a staff. Three had broken loose from the main fight and were trying to push Windcaller back out to sea, to cut off any route of escape.

With a roar she charged them, rage surging through every sinew as she raised her sword. The first went down before he could overcome his shock. The second had his sword half-drawn when Cuno launched bodily at him and tore out his throat. She turned to meet the third, and in the flash of sparks as their blades met, she saw recognition widen in his eyes, saw his jowls pull back in a jagged grin over worn, yellowed teeth. He lunged – but his armour weighed him down, his footwork hampered by the surf, and in the same movement she used to parry his blow, she reversed her blade and stabbed it deep into his armpit. He sank beneath the water with surprise still slack upon his face, and his blood washing red over the image of the snarling Bear.

“What do we do?” Leliana’s bow was drawn. One corpse already lay with an arrow in its neck, and another had been wounded in the thigh.

“Get in the bows,” Rosslyn ordered. “Cover me – we’re getting out of here.”  

She whistled for Cuno and together they leapt up the beach. Individual skirmishes had broken out as her people bunched together to defend themselves, but already the Amaranthine soldiers’ armour and greater numbers were taking a toll. But they weren’t expecting her. She forged a path to Riley first, being beaten back inch by inch as he and two others defended Amell, who had her staff trained on the enemy mage. As the first of her defenders collapsed, screaming, she spoke a word in a harsh tongue and the air in front of her shimmered, seared in a direct arc towards her opponent who was thrown backwards off his feet as the boom of the spell echoed like a thunderclap.

Rosslyn staggered under the shockwave but drove forward nonetheless, teeth bared, and sliced deep into the ranks of the enemy disoriented by the blast, already screaming at Riley and his men to move.

“We can fight –” he started, but she rounded on him.

“We can’t hold them! Look at the enchanter – she can barely stand. No matter what happens, we have to make it to the castle with enough numbers to make it worthwhile. Now follow your orders and get to the ship!”

She had no thoughts to spare after that. She did what she could, darting from one fray to the next to bite deep with Talon and stall the enemy long enough to turn the advantage, but even with Leliana’s arrows thinning the pursuit it wasn’t enough to stop them being ground down. And she couldn’t find Alistair. Every knot of soldiers she pushed through bore no sign of him, no voice or face, even among the dead at her feet. Panic rose. There was nobody left to save, the enemy was retreating, and no matter how her heart screamed at her, she couldn’t justify keeping the rest of them in danger for the sake of one man.

There. Through a spray of blood, she spotted him. She was running, shouting. Cuno streaked ahead of her, through the sudden sea of people slowing her down. Her blade whirled, the only sound was the pulse in her ears, but he heard her, and turned, and in his distraction one of Howe’s soldiers caught him in the back of the head with the edge of a shield and he slumped to the ground.

“NO!”

They surrounded her. Alistair’s sword sprang into her left hand as she dodged and came up to put herself between him and them, and didn’t hesitate. They were better armoured than cabbages, sturdier than the slim wooden poles she used for training, but they were nothing more than an Orchard of targets, too slow for the surge in her blood. They couldn’t get near her. If they did, they went down. She felt the impacts dully, sliced tendons and spurting necks and grating bone as her two blades cut through them, all tiredness forgotten, all thought dashed from her mind by terror-driven instinct.  

And then an unseen force slammed into her, knocking her to the ground with the tingle of magic in her mouth. Her lungs wouldn’t work. A sword came down above her. She rolled away just far enough to feel the sting of sand thrown up where the blade impacted the earth and swiped blind with her arm, scrambling to get her feet back underneath her despite the shock creeping into her field of vision. No, not shock, a Sleep. She staggered as it took a firmer hold, robbed her of control of her own limbs, but there were still more to fight. She would fight.

“We’ve got her!” someone called. “Make sure the others don’t escape. His Lordship will be well pleased with –”

The rest of the words faded, the world went dark, the last thing in her awareness was the second impact of her body as it hit the ground.

[lesetoilesfous]

For the DADWC: The taste of salt on the tip of your tongue, for any pairing of your choice!

Ooooh I had an idea for this and ran with it, I hope you enjoy!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Marian Hawke/Isabela

Characters: Marian Hawke, Isabela

Tags: post da2, Siren’s Call 2.0, nudity, explicit reference to sex (but no actual depiction of sex), anti-chantry, mage hawke

Rating: Mature

“CHOIR BOYS TO STARBOARD.”

Isabela is first out of bed. She doesn’t bother grabbing her tunic as the ship’s alarm bell tolls above them on deck, loud enough to send the cured timber shivering. Instead she seizes her cutlass and slams the door open, blade flashing like lightning to accompany the thunder crack of wood on wood.

Dazed, hair mussed, Marian scrambles to her feet at the end of the bed and picks up her staff, feeling magic already beginning to buzz through her veins as she stumbles through the dark belly of the ship towards the stairs leading onto the deck above. Already there’s the dull, almost electric sound of templar magic on the ship itself, accompanied by the distinctive music of steel on steel.

Marian has one foot on the wooden staircase when a sudden explosion rocks the boat, and she’s sent sliding up the wall of the corridor to hit her head hard against the ceiling. The magic she’d been building between her fingers spasms, scorching the wood around her. 

“Maker’s tits!” Marian yelps. Isabela will have her fixing that later. She did not take well to people scarring her ship.

A screaming templar comes falling down the staircase as the ship rocks back onto her belly with a crash of saltwater. Marian presses against the wall to keep from being dragged down with him, and looks up at the doorway to see Isabela: naked as the day she was born, brown skin dusted silver by the moon at her back, long hair loose and wild as the sea. 

The templar tries to get onto his hands and knees. It’s no easy feat in full plate armour in a corridor this narrow. Marian stares at her lover for a moment longer, doing everything she can to tear her eyes away from her heaving breast. Her daze is broken by Isabela herself: “Hawke! Don’t just stand there looking pretty!”

That’s enough. Marian pushes up the loose linen sleeve of the laced shirt she’s barely wearing, and swings her staff. Electricity and plate armour do not mix well. She doesn’t bother to wait for the templar to stop shuddering: the smell of burning flesh tells her she doesn’t need to. 

At the top of the staircase, Isabela has already turned and launched herself back into the fray. Marian takes a moment to appreciate the sheer, stupid courage of her lover before scrambling up the staircase after her and onto the tilting deck. 

Around them, the sea is strangely quiet: in the midst of a battle such as this, Marian wants it to roar, to rage and crash and toss them about as the toys they are to its immensity. But instead, the waves lap gently against the ship’s keel, utterly indifferent to the chaos above them. 

A templar falls overboard as Isabela’s first mate, a qunari woman named Nihay, kicks him in the chest. She leans over the side of the boat to check he’s drowning, and that gives another behind her the opportunity to attempt to push her too.

Marian feels the cold in her fingertips before she’s even thought to cast the spell. She shouts Nihay’s name and freezes the templar solid. Nihay turns, startled, and nods her thanks at Marian across the deck before sinking both of her swords neatly into what had been the templar’s chest. She shatters.

No one seems particular disturbed by Isabela’s nudity. A few of the templars have made the unfortunate assumption that this has rendered her helpless. Marian can hear her lover’s laughter as she jumps nimbly up onto the railing beside the staircase that leads to the upper deck. She watches, heart pounding against her chest, as Isabela ducks a broad sword and slides down the bannister on the balls of her feet, dragging her dagger up the side of the templar’s armour under their arm, slicing through the leather straps there. As Isabela passes him, she turns and grabs the back plate of his armour, pulling it hard and jumping lightly onto the deck. 

The templar stumbles back, armour coming loose, and Isabela leaps forward, murmuring something into his ear just before she stabs him in the back.

Marian thinks, standing there, that if she asked that woman to marry her again right then and there under a full moon over a templar’s bloody body, she’d die a happy woman.

Then someone tries to grab her from behind, and her hands and forearms set themselves on fire as she turns to shove them away, tuning out the screams of the unhappy templar in their now boiling armour as they stumble back. Marian stalks forward, spinning her staff, staring straight into the fire when she snarls. “Don’t touch me again.”

*

It’s an easier battle than it should have been. The templars took them by surprise: Hawke and Isabela had been indisposed, and Bela’s elvhen quartermaster Devenna had only just managed to scramble to the alarm bell in time. But they’re alive, and they’ve lost no one, and the Siren is seaworthy. It’s enough.

Isabela is still naked. She’d refused to leave the deck until she was satisfied that her crew were well, and if not well then able to survive the night. They weren’t far from a little Rivaini island named Sousia, and they could stop if need be.

Satisfied that they didn’t need to, Isabela let out a long breath, ringed fingers clicking against the hilt of her cutlass. Nihay steps forward. The qunari woman easily has two feet on Isabela, but the expression on her face cannot be mistaken for anything other than respect. 

“You should rest, kadan.”

Isabela looks up at her first mate, and offers her a small smile. Her chest and belly are smeared with soot and dried blood that’s nearly black in the starlight. The dip of her spine is kissed with sweat. There are a few red blooming bruises pressed across her thighs and upper arms, but she is miraculously unharmed, and Hawke is fairly certain that doesn’t have much to do with the shield she’d been attempting to raise around her lover for most of the fight. 

“Na’thek. Can you take it from here?”

Nihay grins, broadly, “Captain, I feel it is a little late for you to be doubting my competency now.”

Isabela laughs, and it’s a rough, low thing, a little hoarse with her exhaustion. She claps Nihay’s generous bicep, and squeezes her arm once. “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning, love.”

Nihay’s grin softens, and she ducks her head, silver-gray hair slipping forward over her broad shoulder. “Yes, captain.”

At last, Isabela turns to Marian, and she grins, broadly, stepping forward to catch Marian’s face between her warm, salt-rough, sword-calloused hands and pull her in for a hard, fervent kiss. Marian shuts her eyes, and breathes in through her nose the smell of Isabela, which persists even through the hot metal and chemical lyrium stench of the templars. She still smells of roses and the sea.

When Marian is fairly certain she’s become unmoored from the deck of the ship and is happily drifting into the stars themselves, Isabela pulls back, playfully kissing the tip of her nose. “Now, where were we?”

Isabela’s hand falls to Marian’s, and their fingers entwine as Marian lets herself be pulled back to the captain’s quarters, to recommence where they’d left off. Even after the battle, she still has the taste of salt on her tongue.

[sapphicsylvari]

The Rise of the Dread Fleet Pt. 5 - Rage

ON AO3

I’m participating in Camp NaNo this month!

@tyrias-library Also tagging my readers: @skrittilicious, @omnivoroustree thank you guys for supporting me <3

The room is quiet when Vaixx enters. Heads turn to face him as he strides to the opposite end of the space and takes his seat. He's assembled his new fleet in one of the high-end taverns Quincy owns, and reserved for him. The scent of alcohol and seawater hangs in the air and Vaixx lets his gaze sweep the room. Sylvari. Charr. Norn. Humans. All much bigger, stronger than him, yet he keeps his head held high, steps onto the bar and crosses his arms.

“I have promised you great success, greater than you could ever hope to achieve on your own.” he opens, his voice dominating the silent room. “Today, I make good on my words.” He pauses, to observe the glint in his audience's eyes, then smiles, baring his teeth at them.

“I have received word on an Inquest supply fleet's course, from Rata Sum to their outposts near Mount Maelstrom.” he continues. “We can expect heavy resistance from them, but you all know the kind of cargo they carry.”

“Slaves.” answers the Sylvari closest to him. “They carry test subjects. Do you imply we become traffickers?” “No.” Vaixx hurries to counter. “We will liberate any live cargo they may have. I'm talking about their machinery, and fuel for machinery at their outposts. Expensive, powerful items to barter away, or perhaps... utilize.” “I don't want no magic garbage.” the Norn next to the Sylvari says. “I want... I dunno. Guns.” “Oh, they will have guns, Captain Frostbite.” Vaixx assures her. “Magical guns, even. You'll get your fill, that I can promise.”

Raxxi rolls her eyes. “Look, mates. We can speculate the yield to death if you want to, but the point is: Inquest rich. Us poor. Let's get to the specifics.” “Thanks, Raxxi.” Vaixx says. “I want you all ready to sail by sunrise next morning. They will have three cargo ships, with two smaller escort vessels each. The cargo vessels do not have any weaponry, if we disable the escorts, they will be defenseless.” “And then it's just a matter of squishing a few, tiny little bugs.” growls Captain Frostbite. “Leave that to us, Admiral.” “Excellent. Get some rest and prepare your crews. Until we take out the escorts, this will no be easy.”

–

Raya has been circling the stolen ship ever since it embarked from Lion's Arch, scouting ahead and warning Asha of dangers on her way. In doing so, she had been moving quite far from her, utilizing all of her speed underwater. This isn't anything special for Raya, nor is it in need of thanks or praise. Although only two members of this crew know of her existence, they are her new swarm. And Swarmmates look out for one another.

A disturbance in the tides draws Raya's attention. She loops in on herself to check if Asha's ship had caught up with her, but her keel is far out of sight. Focusing, Raya pinpoints the source ahead of her and dives down, further into the depths to conceal herself as she approaches.

While the waters of the ocean may become black at a certain depth for land-dwelling creatures, Raya's eyes pierce this darkness effortlessly, allowing her to lurk like a predator on those that dare leave dry land and enter her domain.

Ships. Seven of them, and large ones at that. Raya has spent enough time preying on sailors to gauge the level of danger they pose to her. They're moving fast, riding the waves with the wind in their favor, clearly with a destination in mind and Raya listens for their voices, muffled by the water, carefully rising back up, following the slowest of them.

“...Little shit got a point, you know?” she heard a masculine voice speak. “They might be tiny, but they got all sorts of tricks up their sleeves. We really shouldn't take this lightly, Captain Frostbite.” Another voice joins in, feminine, but no less rough. “I hate to admit that Vaixx's right, but he is.” the woman says. “Fine. Double lookout shifts. I wanna know what they got before we reach 'em.”

Vaixx. Raya's fingers curl into claws. She remembers that name. He is the murderer, the villain that attempted to murder Asha. The scum that threw a helpless little girl into the unforgiving, ice-cold depths on the sea. The look of panic on the girl's face flashes before Raya's eyes, and the scars on her wrists burn with a familiar phantom pain, of coarse rope biting into her skin that isn't there anymore.

The burn in her lungs. The rage she felt when the waters swallowed her up, powerful enough to create the creature she is now. Raya knows, at her core, she is just that – a vengeful spirit. But now, it is no longer herself she is avenging, oh no. Her rage has a brand new target.

Her tail whips, propelling her upward further, until her face breaks the surface. She slams her claws into the side of the ship and lets it drag her along, her glare trained upward.

The female Captain has moved away, and Raya heard her issuing order from afar, only the man that had spoken to her before remains, glancing into the distance with a woeful expression on his face. He's large and hairy, his braided beard reaching down to his navel, over his exposed chest, winding markings adorning his body. Raya has seen his kind before. Bigger and stronger than humans, but that does not deter her.

She opens her mouth and produces that dreadful melody in her throat, a wordless hum, only audible to her target, caressing his very soul and drawing his attention to her. His gaze flickers from the horizon to the waters down below. Pupils widen when he sees Raya, this frail, delicate girl clinging to his ship, her skin as white as porcelain, making her look just as fragile. He lifts one hand from the railing, not once breaking eye contact with her, mouth hanging open, entranced by her spell, as Raya reaches upward, toward him.

He cannot reach her hand that she offers to him so invitingly, so he leans in further and further, struggling to close the distance, but Raya makes no efforts to meet him halfway, instead, her song reaches its crescendo, as the Norn inches closer, getting on his toes, forgetting balance, safety, logic. Everything he sees is that pleading hand, reaching for his.

Without halting her deadly song, Raya finally jolts upward to meet the Norn's hand, her claws digging into his palm, but the pain does not phase him, as his blood drips down on that pretty face, painting crimson on her porcelain skin. Then, Raya lets herself fall, pulling the man down into the depths with her.

Once submerged, her song stops, and the Norn comes to, eyes now wide in panic as he realizes the situation he's in, flails and kicks at her, pulling uselessly against her grip, but now he's in Raya's domain.

Raya moves her grip to his shoulders and pushes him further down, making sure the flaming hatred in her eyes in the last thing he sees, before she lunges at him and buries her teeth in his throat.

Blood spills from the wound and Raya's jaw locks on her prey, the pair is clouded in red, descending deeper into the darkness. As he drowns and bleeds out in Raya's arms, the Norn's desperate attempts to free himself die down, his life force flowing into the Siren's being.

As his last heartbeat sounds, Raya lets go and watches his body sink until even she can't see him anymore.

He will be lucky if his corpse washes ashore, as Raya knows that the Sea does not release those her depth has claimed.

A life taken, Raya's rage as simmered down to a small flame, just enough to keep her warm. She decides to follow the fleet.

[raging-violets]

Legacies

Ship: Peter Parker x Brady Nash (brotp: Shadow Spider)

Rating: E for Everyone

Words: 1855

Warning: Posted under a read more and marked because spoilers for Far From Home. There ARE spoilers in all of this ficlet as it’s heavily influenced by a scene int he movie. You’ve been warned.

Tag: @captdnvrs

-

“It’s clear to me that you were not ready for this.”

Peter went up to the roof. That’s where he always went when he needed some time to vent. Not even to vent, venting wasn’t his thing until he was at the end of his rope of emotions. Unable to keep himself from letting everything he kept pent up from exploding. He went to the highest point of the city, the roof of where he just was so that he could put things into perspective.

But what was the perspective telling him now? That Fury was right? That he really wasn’t ready? Wasn’t ready to take on…take on what? Take on the name he could never live up to? Wasn’t ready to be Tony Stark? Wasn’t ready to be the next Iron Man?

Wasn’t ready for anything, really.

“I thought I’d find you up here.” Peter’s eyes shifted to the side, looking at Brady once he finished phasing through the roof and planted himself next to him. Brady stretched out, resting his back against the chimney just behind him, watching the side of Peter’s face. Brady crossed his arms and added, “My mom does the same thing.”

“She likes to brood by herself after being told by one of the scariest men in history everything she already thinks about herself?”

Brady gave a wry smile. “No. When she wants some time to think, she likes to go to the highest point of the city and watch everyone down below.” He motioned with his hand, gesturing to the city of Prague. “It’s a bit different than New York, even different than Central City, but I guess it still works.” He lowered his hand to his lap, “All that other stuff, it never gets easy to hear the things about yourself you already think. Try being a teen mom.”

Peter shook his head. He faced front once more, eyes shifting over Prague. Brady was right, it wasn’t New York, but it was something. Anything that’d give him the chance to stop thinking about what he didn’t want to think about. About what Fury just had to bring up.

Brady took in a quick breath and added, “Anyway, Fury asked me to come up here to see how you were doing. He wanted to apologize for how he snapped at you.”

For a moment, Peter perked up. Hope swelled into his chest. He looked to his friend and, tentatively, asked, “Really?”

Brady lifted an eyebrow. “Dude, we’ve been friends for how long? Do you not get my sarcasm at this point?” He paused when Peter’s shoulders slumped, the force of his weight shifting forward practically knocked him off the roof he hardly had to use any of his strength to hold onto. “How are you feeling?”

Peter shrugged. Silence stretched between them for a long time. It wasn’t something weird between them. They could sit in silence as easily as they could talk a mile a minute about the newest video game that came out, or whatever city event they were going to. It came with the territory of going out into the field together, sometimes something as little as a look would convey an entire plan of attack against whomever they were trying to stop.

This time, however, Peter couldn’t handle the silence any more than he could handle the emotions slowly building up within him. A small volcanic eruption just waiting to go off. He sighed heavily, muscles twitching, waiting for him to bust out any and all ballet moves that would leave him dripping sweat, working to catch his breath, and too exhausted to even think of what was bothering him anymore.

The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I didn’t think I was going to have to save the world this summer,” he finally blurted. “I know it was a possibility, and I know this makes me sound like a jerk, but I had a plan with MJ and…” he spread his hands. “Now it’s all ruined.”

“And?” Brady asked. Peter glanced at him, was startled to find how seriously Brady was looking at him. “You’re not a jerk for wanting that, Pete. What we do is hard, we see things we do things, we make choices. People look up to us and then…” his eyes darkened and shifted aside. As if there was something too painful to talk about. “Even if you win a battle, sometimes they die. You’re my friend, dude, you really do have to think about what you signed up for…” he shrugged. “But at least you got a choice.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked. He watched his friend closely, feeling something between them shift. “You had a choice.”

“No. I had a legacy.”

A legacy? What did that mean? A legacy was something to look forward to. Living up to a name that was bestowed upon someone. To something so great that was almost like you couldn’t deny it or else…you failed everyone. Let everyone down. Peter rubbed his hands together, palms sweating. So he does get it, Peter thought. The burden it took to carry it all on his shoulders, a name he’d never expected to be placed on him.

To The Next Tony Stark.

But it was Brady’s nervous fidgeting that caught his attention. He’d never seen his friend that nervous, then again. They didn’t always talk about things like this. Being that vulnerable with each other. Almost as if, with their partnership, they kept having to be strong for each other. Now they had no choice, not when there was so much at stake.

“Look, dude. My mom got her powers when she was eight. And she worked hard to make sure she was able to balance her life as being normal and to help people with her powers. It was hard, keeping it a secret from everyone. But she never kept it a secret from me.” Peter’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Since I was born, she didn’t hide her powers from me. I don’t know, maybe it made us closer.”

Peter swallowed hard, nodded once. He understood the thought. He remembered how badly he’d wanted to keep his identity away from Aunt May because of…because of everything. Because of what happened with Uncle Ben, because of what happened with his parents, because he didn’t know how she’d react if anything happened to him. And yet, the relief he felt over her finally knowing his identity was so strong he nearly fell to his knees after all the screaming back and forth from Aunt May’s initial discovery. He had no idea how she’d react if he’d told her the truth in the first place.

Especially knowing Tony was involved.

And Peter had seen how close Brady and his mother, Cadence were. They were more like best friends than mother and son. Just as he felt with Aunt May…though there were still some things he kept her an arm’s length away from.

“But she worked hard to make sure everyone who didn’t have the means to protect themselves had someone to advocate for. Then she met my step-dad, Barry. Barry had a rough life, his mother was murdered, his father was framed for her murder and spent years in prison, and yet Barry still worked throughout his life to clear his name before doing the same. Then he became a meta like her, became the fastest man alive who practically lives off of justice and helping those that don’t have a voice. I got my powers the same age my mom did, when I was eight.”

Peter blinked in surprise. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if he had his powers when he was that young. When…when his parents were still alive. Peter closed his eyes, swallowing hard at the hazy memory of his parents. When was the last time I thought of them? Peter asked. He could hardly remember the last time he was to even think of his Uncle without immediately squashing it.

“It was cool at first. ” Brady shifted, crossing his legs the other way, scratched at his neck. “I just wanted to have cool powers, I didn’t think of anything else. But then I had the weight of…the weight of everything on my shoulders. The responsibility. I couldn’t go a day without some sort of anti-meta measures coming up in my school, kids were consistently being pulled out when it was found they were potentially metas, curfews were established, and it became scarier to go to school. But I still wanted to help my friends the way my mom helped other people. So, I tried to make sure they knew safe places to go, being kids that were metas it wasn’t something easily kept a secret. Because all the adults were making decisions for us.

“And I kept that up, along with going out into the field more. Seeing more and more of the fights against other metas my mom and Barry went through.” Brady gestured toward Peter. “Of course, it was nothing like “The Snap” or becoming a war criminal like Captain America. But facing the end of the world just about every year for the past eight years doesn’t help much.” He took in a breath so deep his chest swelled. “I can’t live up to the things they’ve done…but if I don’t try, it’d all be for nothing. All the training, all the expectations and work that’s been put on me since my powers were revealed themselves. I didn’t have a future in anything but being a superhero.” He sat up and poked Peter on the shoulder. “I’ve had that on me since I was a kid, probably since I was born, but you’ve had a choice, Pete. You’ve had a choice since you first got your powers and Tony Stark came to you to start his ‘internship’. You have the choice to be the ‘next tony stark’. I didn’t. I was always destined for this.”

Peter briefly closed his eyes, leaning and rubbing his hands over his face. “But we’re always putting everyone in danger.”

“Us being alive is what puts them in danger,” Brady pointed out, voice turning as dry as the air around them. Peter chuckled to himself. If Brady was making a joke about it, he was already starting to feel more like himself already. “By this point I’m surprised I haven’t keeled over from the stress of it all. It make make things easier for them.”

Peter let out a snort-laugh. “How can you always be sarcastic like this?”

“To mask the trauma I’ve gone through.” Brady said it so quickly, with such a lighthearted air that Peter wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not. “All that therapy does wonders.”

“It’s nice to have someone to talk to about this, you know?” Peter finally said. He looked to Brady. “You never really mentioned any of this before.”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Brady admitted. “I mean, thinking that I saw my mom die in front of me, twice, kind of ruins the mood, y’know? It makes me a hit at parties.” Then he turned serious once more. “They think they don’t put pressure on me but…it really sucks, dude.” Brady rubbed the back of his neck. “Having powers is cool, the responsibility of what I have to live up to definitely isn’t. Fury might think you’re not ready but…honestly, I think you’re more ready than anyone else I’ve met.”

Peter smiled. He didn’t quite believe it but…at least the volcanic eruption had quelled down to a simmer. “Thanks, man.”

“Any time,” Brady said. He let out a quick sigh, relieved to change the subject once more. Silence stretched between them once more. So long that Peter almost jumped—almost—when Brady finally spoke up to add, “And besides, if we survive this you’ve got all summer to kill Brad.”

Peter laughed.

[otomates-a]

🌹/🌺 with Selphy? if we wanna indulge the game or maybe with Sofia if we wanna do the crossover times 👀

LET ME KNOW YOUR SHIP IDEAS, I’LL RAMBLE ABOUT THEM.

↪ accepting / @rcguna.

🌺 — platonic ship &  🌹 — romantic ship inputs !

ah rune factory my one tru love & bias… if anything strikes ur fancy feel free to let me know… time to rant for 983475983475 years ok,

SELPHY & RAGUNA

RAGUNA’S RELATIONSHIP AND INTERACTIONS WITH SELPHY ARE SO PURE AND GOOD. selphy has really low self esteem and sort of (unintentionally) has a super low opinion of herself in general bc she knows she’s really ditzy and spacey… raguna really helps lift her up because he’s such a good person. i can imagine if she’s ever putting herself down too much, he’d be the type of person to either gently call her out on it and remind her she has a lot of good character traits or jokingly meet her in the middle and be like “well ur spacey sure but have u seen how ____ i am.” raguna softly helping her raise her confidence… bless

raguna would probably get stood up a lot by her… i’m sobbing… not in the “she intentionally did not meet me when we planned to meet way” but rather in the “oh my god selphy hasn’t eaten or slept in 3 days and she’s literally passed out in the middle of a forest under a tree again time to go scour the area and make sure she’s okay” way KJNHKJHNM i can imagine she’d actually spook him a lot because she takes such … bad care of herself … can’t even take her on adventures because halfway through the cave she’ll keel over and it’s like “SELPHY WTF” “i’m sorry raguna i just realized i have not had a sip of water in 2 days haha it be like that”

honestly tfw the local librarian’s life is in more danger from herself than urs is from monsters, i can see her probably pushing raguna to the point of having to be quite stern sometimes over her putting reading before taking care of herself

selphy thinks about other people more than herself tho so she’d absolutely be a worry-wart over raguna even from the moment they’ve just newly become friends. catch her occasionally sending him care kits full of herbs or materials he needs, medicine, etc, so he can take care of himself if he gets hurt.

she’d also try to give him a good luck protection charm at some point and it’d probably be handmade and also the ugliest thing he’s ever seen in his life but raguna is a good boy so u know he’d take it anyways jknmKJNM

despite everything selphy is extremely intelligent because of all her reading, though. there are times she reads very serious books & gathers info from them, so any time he needs ??? help ??? learning something new about the area or monsters or whatever he doesn’t even need to ask he can just barge into the library like “HEY,,”

selphy being a runaway princess tho i’m sobbing …. she wouldn’t really… ever bring that up until the two of them are extremely close, about how her country is in an uproar because she YEETED out of there and how she doesn’t trust knights or people who “treat her like a princess” …. and that’s why she likes raguna bc… he always just treated her like a person

selphy is??? super extra??? and loves communicating serious things via very fancy handwritten letters? any time she has something of major importance to tell raguna she’d totally send him a letter… and want him to respond back via letter… her literally just stopping anette each morning like “haha take this to raguna thanks!” game mechanics aside on an expressly #romantic note if feelings were ever confessed, it would mean more to her written on paper and u could bet the moment one of them sent that letter the other would probably come running and bust down their door to then Verbally Discuss It KJHNMKHJNM

she’s tol at 5′9″ she can look u directly in the eyes raguna … if she wears heels that day she’ll end up slightly taller than him so u better be ready to stand on some stairs buddy

the real danger to their relationship would be her passing out while reading in the bath and drowning. inb4 raguna begs melody to keep an eye on her any time she’s at the bathhouse 😂

bonus romance exclusive concept : selphy kissing raguna’s palm and saying it’s a spell to keep him safe during his daily adventures. she knows, she’s an expert.

SOFIA & RAGUNA

OH GOD FIRST IMPRESSIONS WITH SOFIA ARE ALWAYS…. they’re special. i feel like raguna would probably catch on a lot quicker than most, though. he seems like one of the few people who wouldn’t need it explained to him, he’d just pick up on it early on?? bc sofia’s expressions and actions never match how cruel her words are and raguna generally sees the best in people, so he’d likely be perceptive enough to notice that and be like “????????? are you speaking in opposites wtf weird but okay!”

that being said WOW SOFIA WOULD NOT KNOW HOW TO REACT TO RAGUNA AT FIRST because people “getting her” and being kind towards her (or, at least, accepting her as she is without making it weird, rather) is something she’s never really experienced. she would think he’s super weird and just messing with her… which would foster the doubt in the back of her mind that he actually hates her and is just being nice bc he’s nice to everyone, which is something he’d have to convince her she’s wrong about

after she adjusts to him though she’d love tagging along with him on adventures and would always be up for helping him out any time he leaves town, whether it be to just gather materials or battle monsters.

sofia doesn’t have many friends in the sense that she feels she annoys most people, so raguna being as sweet & outgoing as he is would catch her off guard most times … even small gestures of friendship fluster her because she doesn’t know what to make of it. hanging out with her would definitely feel special even if they’re doing something stupid, because just seeing him ??? would brighten her day ??? like she can’t believe someone as great as him would want to spend time with a liar like her

she will gift him garbage. it will be the worst gifts he ever gets, but she will hope he likes it… if he actually keeps any of it and she visits his house or anything and sees it, she will absolutely get teary eyed.

she will also absolutely keep anything he gifts her and display it in her room bc “raguna is (not special at all) and she (will always immediately throw away any useless give he gives her)”

she would have some insecurities ofc… she already thinks that the way she speaks causes people to dislike her, so even after convincing her that he doesn’t hate her, whether it be a strong friendship or romance that blossomed between them, he’d have to let her know that he’s okay with who she is. she’d undoubtedly go through a period of time where she tries to change herself to speak normally, then psyche herself out doing it. that scene where she says “i love you!” normally and the protag thinks she’s saying she hates him is canon no matter the relationship, #growingpains KJNHMKHJNM

but also eventually if raguna ever told her he loves her (either platonically or romantically, she’s struck through the kokoro by both) she’ll cry. a lot. but like happy cry. bonus points she’d cling to him if he threw in a point that he likes her BECAUSE of who she is

she’s literally never even held a hand before tbh so if their hands even accidentally brushed against each other she’d get so flustered raguna might have to worry she’s going to die

she’s only 5′0″, if raguna wants to kiss or hug or whatever, he’s either got to lean all the way hecking down or lift her up and that’s aesthetic

bonus romance exclusive concept : raguna having to slowly work his way up to showing his affection bc she’s so shy. first he has to just link pinkies with her. then eventually he can hold her hand. then lace their fingers. then link their arms. then he can kiss her knuckles. then her hand, then her cheek, etc, etc… he has to take Smol Steps and it’s cute.

WILL SMITH POSES. THERE U GO I #TRIEDMYBEST.

[vonseal]

what im weak for this week

so it’s been two weeks AND I APOLOGIZE FOR THAT!!! next week, i probably won’t actually deliver anything either, as next week is when school starts back up and i need to prep for that!

for now tho, pls enjoy this! its long. 

edit halfway through: ITS VERY LONG. READER BEWARE.

clumsy touch by sarangway

i like fake boyfriends. i really like fake boyfriends. it’s a cliche that i am proud to embrace (tho, tbh, i embrace all the cliches). and who better to write socky fake boyfriend than @revetoile!!! it’s a nice, quick oneshot that i was so happy to read! <3

his ray of sunshine by SummerSnowflake

yet another really short drabble, but OH MY GOSH if it isnt just the cutest fluff you’ll probably ever read in your entire life! i loved reading it, and even if it’s short, it really made my heart all fluttery and warm!

sugar and fluff and all that good stuff by jimblejams

whats not to love about this fic??? it’s got the holy trinity of ships, binu and myungjin and socky, all wrapped up in one deliciously sweet oneshot that i’ve read at least three times since it’s been released. @jakganim came into the fanfic community with a bang, and i hope they never ever ever leave <3

where soil lies, a new beginning blooms by parkjinwoes

i’ve probably already recommended this fic before, but im going to do it again because it is the true love of my life! it’s based off of witchcraft, and i’m honestly still so so happy that @vocalpmh decided to write this for me! the myungjin is adorable, and minhyuk’s deadpan delivery is golden! thank you once again!!!

to kiss a rock by jinwoosmile

i, too, stand by the belief that myungjun would be the best kisser, bc have you seen those lips. this fic, tho, is really really fun. i like the creative ways in which minhyuk has kissed every member, and i like the CUTE SOCKY I LOVE CUTE SOCKY. @jinwoosmile blesses us with her fanfics. (go send her love and encouragement to get through these coming school days!)

im a mom by heybinnie

BOY IF YOU CANT SEE THIS HAPPENING THO. it was such cute fluff!!! i always love the creative ways in which @heybinnie writes; it leaves me melting into a pile of goo and happiness. this one’s a little shorter and features moonbin as the title character and it’s worth every single second of reading.

not an ikea story by Maye_C

@maye-c has always been able to capture myungjun’s dorkiness, childness, and yet maturity (sexiness, too, hOLLA) in her fics and this one just swung right into my heart very very very very quickly. it’s adorable and funny (I LAUGH SO MUCH) and every single bit as perfect as all of mayec’s other works, i love her and her writing!

ferris wheels series by aloharoha

i think i’ve recommended the first one in this series; if not, i definitely should have at this point! binu and ferris wheels and absolute precious fluff and it’s one of my favorite things??? also my sweet anon child wrote it, whom i adore, pls go love on all this writing <3

because it’s you by marojehca

did i like the myungjin at the end??? yes. i did. myungjin trash CONFIRMED. but all in all, this WAS a really fun story, and i’ve definitely been keeping up with it since it first came out. good job, sanha, good job.

take a picture (click, click) by floatingquietly

i believe the tumblr page is @floatingquietlyfic, but correct me if im wrong and just tagged someone random lol. THIS WAS REALLY CUTE! it was soft and nice and i loved reading it ;A; let jinwoo live, he has nasal inflammation 

mahogany by yehetno

@yehetno strikes again! she comes when i least expect it and when i most need it, it’s uncanny. this was really PAINFUL TO READ ACTUALLY it made my heart ache, but we have been gifted with the Happy Ending, and i couldn’t be more excited over that! great binu by a great human being!

the cat’s out of the bag by aloharoha

some more from my sweet anon! she’s such an amazing writer and im always in awe of the works! this socky was definitely no exception; i felt really giddy, and i was cheering BOTH sanha and minhyuk on the entire time. bless the cat for causing our two boys to confess ;D (when will my cats get me a cute boy)

hit me up by lee_dongminhyuk

my star anon has arrived! @lee-dongminhyuk wrote some amazing bullet fics (i’ll recommend those a little further down, getting A03 fics out of the way first!) and then this one is just SO GOOD. also it reads like an actual chat convo, with the topic at hand escaping once or twice before it’s reeled back in. also jinidiot. 

insomnia by parkjinchu

i can relate, dongmin! this is written so well and just so nice and pleasant to read??? but then again ,every single fic from @parkjinchu is my new favorite fic, i swear. it’s like god’s gift to earth lies in mary’s fics. bless u <333

the slushie disaster by Lunapie

i need to keep writing sad socky so luna can keep writing happy socky, AMIRITE, LUNA??? nah fam @moonbinpie SRSLY does have some really cute socky up in this here joint; just two teens being teens in the summer, and i loved reading a nice snapshot into their lives!

i want to keep these feelings forever by junhoonie

i like the socky we have recently. i mean, dont get me wrong, im always myungjin trash, but socky is soft and pure and i need this purity to cleanse my soul. THESE LITTLE CHAPTERS ARE THE MOST PURE OF ALL and i love love reading them <3 @donghyucklees is the incredible driving force behind these fics! 

out of the closet by jimblejams

i requested this. i am so happy i requested this bc i cried when it was published haha im weak. BUT SERIOUSLY, MYUNGJIN WEARING EACH OTHERS’ CLOTHES??? WHAT MORE DO U WANT. jordan strikes again with their amazing writing im going to die.

socky coffee shop au by @jakganim

tagging ur main blog BECAUSE I CAN AND NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE (but linking your fic blog so ppl can request, go go go request!). i loved this fic. i would give my life for this fic. it was perfect, from minhyuk’s infatuation to my fave part, jinwoo’s ring (keels over) and i need everyone to read this pronto.

puppy love by @jinwoostro

i love me some domestic astro adopting puppies because of sanha. also hiding puppies bc they’re weak for dogs. come on, it’s the purest premise in the world, written by lanna-kokobanna. 

bowling blues by @maye-c

i think i state every day (and multiple times in here) that im myungjin trash, but i REALLY LOVE just astro familial fics. just fics when they’re ASTRO, when they’re friends, when they’re just enjoying life together! and mayec delivers, once more, something pure and gorgeous! also bowling is hard.

college myungjin by @jakganim

i ghost-requested this. i was ghost-gifted this. tbh i was gifted this, along with the rest of the aroha community. I LOVED IT. I LOVE THIS WRITING SO MUCH AND I HOPE WHEN IM ON MY DEATHBED, JORDAN COMES AND JUST BURIES ME WITH ALL THIS WRITING

kid!myungjin bullet fic by @lee-dongminhyuk (part 2, part 3)

to be honest, i actually teared up at this one. especially part 2. gosh i loved it all but it was so rough sometimes, but it had such a nice, sweet, happy ending and i just wanted to clap and yell really loudly because i loved it so much! thank you for sharing it with me, my sweet star anon!

fashion designer binu by @astrofireworks

this was just complete perfection! it was cute and fun and short and also i am 100%$ behind the myungjin at the end. dO YOU HEAR ME, IM HERE FOR THIS SORT OF QUALITY CONTENT

Updated:

dream come true by TheOrgasmicSeke

THIS LAST CHAPTER HAD ME REELING HOLY COW MYUNGJUN GAVE HIM A HEART

stray romance by Alette

tbh if you havent heard or seen this fic, idk where you’ve been living, but there is GOOD REASON why it’s so popular, i cry

hot-line bin by peachybean

i laughed a lot. dongmin is all cool and composed to bin but he’s a literal mess to jinwoo, perfection!

full bloom by peachybean

I JUST NOW REALIZED ITS THE SAME FANFIC AUTHOR, NO WONDER BOTH FICS ARE SUCH AMAZING FICS

centaurus a by astrobinu

reading this always makes me feel like im floating around in space and clenching my teeth in excitement!

and if you ever have anything you think i need to check out, hit me up with that fic, fams. i dont even care if it’s your own. i check a03 regularly, so if it’s something posted elsewhere, pls let me know!

[toosicktoocare]

Voltron AU

Hey, this is the anon of the asks about sick Lance with his doggo. I couldn’t sleep and then I decided to type this out and it’s past 2am now and since I don’t have a sickfic blog I decided to submit it to you! I hope you like it, I’ve never written a sickfic for Voltron before so dont be too hard on me haha

—-

Lance wakes up to the rays of sunshine peeking through a gap in the curtains. He winces as he opens his eyes - it feels like he’s been hit by a truck. He turns around and finds himself almost nose to nose with his dog Cherry. He smiles despite himself as she wags her tail. He should really take her for a walk, judging by the way the sun hits his window it’s a bit later than normal.

“Fuck.” He rasps as he sits up. The room starts to swirl in a sickening pace, and he needs to close his eyes to ensure he doesn’t fall over. His joints start to protest with the simple movement, and his throat feels like he swallowed sandpaper after uttering that one word his momma can’t hear.

Okay, so he might be coming down with something. It’s not an ideal way to spend one of his rare days off, but he figures it’s the best to sleep whatever this is off and wake up fresh tomorrow. And as much as he likes that idea, he has a fellow roomie to take care of, one that’s staring at him with puppy eyes as soon as he opens his eyes again.

“I know sweetie.” Lance croaks as he swings his legs slowly out of bed. He’s shivering as soon as he leaves the comfort of his blanket and it starts to look like it’ll be a mission impossible to actually stand up. Lance wasn’t raised as a quitter though, so he places a hand on the wall to steady himself and stands up.

Slowly but surely he makes his way through the apartment, occasionally stretching out his arm to steady himself. Cherry follows him closely. He throws on his comfy boots, takes his jacket and beanie and takes the dog leash from the table. He tries to crouch to secure the leash, but his body is stiff and sore and he all but crashes on the tiles. Lance notices his hands tremble as he grips onto the leash, but he dismisses it almost immediately. He can go to sleep once he’s taken care of his pet.

As soon as Lance is outside, however, he starts to wonder if this was really a good idea. He’s panting and his vision wavers with every step he takes. Luckily there’s quite some grass growing outside the building, so he doesn’t need to go far. All he can do is wait for Cherry to do what she has to do and then he can go back to bed. He keeps repeating this train of thought, and he finds himself longing more and more for it.

—

Keith sighs as he steps out of the bus. It’s so useless for his uni to schedule tests at 8.30am in the morning - now it’s 11am and he’s sleep deprived, cranky and already done with this day. The only slightly positive thing about it is that he doesn’t have any more classes today, which means he is free to do whatever he wants.

He cranks up the volume of his music some more and starts to walk to his apartment. He’s lost in thoughts and he’s almost near the entrance of the building when he sees something strange. It’s a boy, swaying near the grass field and looking like he can fall over any moment.

Keith hesistates for a moment. He’s not that good with other people - he just likes to keep to himself and he doesn’t pry on others. There seems to be something off, however, and he sighs as he starts to walk towards the boy, whom appears to have his eyes closed now. He doesn’t want to be the one responsible for leaving this dude alone when he blacks out and cracks his head open on the concrete.

As he walks closer he recognises the boy. It’s his neighbour, Lance. When Keith moved in Lance enthusiastically introduced himself, but as Keith tries to avoid human contanct it’s been the most they’ve said to each other in all those months. They used to nod when they crossed paths - nowadays they’ve improved to mutter a quick “hi”, something that Keith thinks is more than enough.

“Lance?” He tries when he’s just a few feet away. The other boy opens his eyes blearily at the call of his name, and smiles at Keith. Well, Keith assumes it’s a smile, but it comes more across as a grimace. “Dude, no offence, but should you even be outside right now?”

“None taken.” Lance rasps and then he coughs - deep, congested coughs that make Keith wince. “’M just feeling a bit under the weather.”

That’s an understatement, Keith thinks as he studies the tan boy. He appears to be shivering, despite standing in the sun with a heavy coat and a beanie, and he pales even more as a particular heavy sway almost makes him keel over.

“Wow, dude.” Keith quickly grabs Lance’s shoulders. “Maybe you should go inside.”

“’M taking the dog out.” Lance protests feebly.

Keith studies the small, black dog, who looks up to it’s owner with questioning eyes. It does not appear to be in need of anything, so Keith assumes it’s done it’s thing when Lance was busy not faceplanting. “I think that ship has already sailed.”

He bites his lip. He’s not that good at taking care of people, but it would be the highest form of optimism if he thinks that Lance would make it back to his apartment on his own. And since Keith is anything but optimistic, he sighs and drapes Lance’s arm over his shoulder. “Come. I’ll bring you home.”

“Thank you.” Lance croaks as they step in the building. He coughs again as Keith presses the button for the elevator, and Keith can feel a tiny pang of worry settling in his chest. It’s quickly taken over by exasperation though.

“I’m just trying to make sure you don’t faceplant in the elevator or anything.”

Lance shrugs as they step inside. The silence is more than welcome to Keith, who tries to steer his thoughts away from the fact that he’s probably getting overloaded with germs at this very moment.

They stagger quite unceremoniously through the hallway, and Keith thinks sourly that Lance owes him quite some after this adventure. He should’ve just called someone to take the dog out, honestly, and let someone else take care of him and his stupid bug.

Lance fumbles with the key but they finally step inside his apartment. He immediately slides his jacket off, dropping it on the ground.

Keith sighs as he eyes the dog. It’s probably too much to ask from Lance to crouch in his unstable condition, so he bends and takes the leash of the dog. It wags it’s tail before walking towards the living room.

“Will you be okay?” He asks to Lance.

“Sure.” Lance pants. The trip seems to have taken all of his remaining energy out as he leans against the wall. “Just need to sleep this off.”

Keith eyes him critically but then shrughs. “Sure. Just call someone to take care of that dog though. You might not survive another trip.”

Lance nods and staggers towards what Keith assumes is his bedroom. “Thanks again.”

“No problem.” Keith mutters as he closes the door. He’s in serious need of desinfecting his hands and clothes right now.

—

Keith closes his door with a frown. He’s cleaned his apartment for a while now and he forgot he didn’t do any groceries the last few days - he has a nasty habit of living off energy drinks and bread when he studies for a tests. He figured he needs something to fill the kitchen cabinets, though, so he sets off to the store.

As he passes Lance door, he pauses. He hears a funny sound. Keith furrows his brows as he takes one of his earbuds out and then he hears it clearly - it’s the sound of a dog whining.

His heart starts to beat faster as he approaches Lance’s door. It’s unlocked, just as Keith left it this morning. He opens it to find the black dog scratching at the door, whining softly.

Keith sighs. He knew Lance would probably fall asleep before he would call someone for his dog, and even though he tries to be mad that he’s the one to do it now, he somehow can’t find it in him to get irritated at Lance.

He sighs again and takes the leash from the table. The dog barks happily and wags it tail, and Keith smiles despite himself. He crouches and reads the name tag - Cherry.

“Only Lance would call his dog Cherry.” He mutters and then, louder: “Lance, I’m going to take your dog out!”

No answer. Keith raises his eyebrows. Lance must be a heavy sleeper if he slept through the barks and Keith’s yell. He has more pressing matters on his mind though, as Cherry all but drags him out of the door.

—

Keith rolls his eyes as he shuts the door of Lance’s apartment behind him. So it seems like Cherry is quite an energetic boy, and it took longer than expected to take the dog out. He has honestly done enough for his fellow humans today, and he can’t wait to go home and take a well deserved nap.

“Lance, I’m back, your dog dragged me with her for ages!” There’s still no answer. Keith can’t deny the tiniest feeling of worry settling into his chest. “Lance?”

Silence. He takes off the leash of Cherry and the dog skips straight to the bedroom. Keith hears some shuffling noises and then a dog’s whine.

His heart starts to beat faster as he walks towards the bedroom. As he hesitates on the doorstep, he seems Lance lying in bed, and Cherry next to him, nudging his arm and whining as her master doesn’t respond.

“Lance?” Oh god, please don’t let him die, Keith thinks desperately. He walks into the bedroom. His movements seem to do the trick, however, as Lance jolts awake.

“Dude, oh my god, you scared the hell outta me!” Keith says in a relieved tone as he stands still. Lance does not appear to hear him, however. His eyes dart around the room.

“Lance?” This time, Lance’s eyes focus on Keith - or better, on the spot where Keith stands. Keith gets a funny feeling. It looks as if Lance looks right through him.

“H-hey.” He stutters out as he walks up to the bed. Cherry whines again. “It’s me, Keith.”

Lance’s eyes seem to be able to focus a bit better now and he glances up at Keith. “Keith?” He rasps out and Keith winces as he hears the sad excuse for a voice. Lance’s eyes slip close again. “’M sorry… Don’t feel so good.”

“I can see.” Keith responds. Up close he can see how bad Lance looks. He’s deathly pale, save for two crimson spots on his cheeks, and his hair is plastered to his forehead. Keith reacts instinctively and pushes some of the bangs away, only to drop his hand in panic when he meets the sheer heat radiating from Lance.

“Shit. Oh shit.” Keith’s heart jumps in his throat. How this has changed from “just need to sleep it off” to “almost dying” in a few hours is beyond him, but this is not the time to think about that. He just needs to make sure that Lance is alright.

“Uhm, okay.” Keith rakes a hand through his hair, feeling lost and very panicked. He looks around for some help, but there’s nothing useful in the bedroom. No pills, no water, which probably means Lance’s dehydrated and didn’t have medicine for hours. Fuck, why did Keith leave him alone?

“Okay, Lance, stay here.” Lance can only nod as moving is out of the option anyway, but Keith is already gone, running out of the bedroom. Cherry quickly follows him. He opens the nearest door and sighs in relief as it seems to be the bedroom. He knows the way better in his own apartment, but all he has stocked is some cheap expired cough medicine, and he knows he’s way past that stage right now. He needs some proper medicine.

The cabinets are packed with razors, cream, facewashes and other rubbish, and Keith panicks more with every second he hasn’t find a medicine. His mind blanks - he can’t do this, he can’t take care of people, and now Lance will die of a heat stroke just because he can’t do this.

He takes his phone out in a whip and prays for his friend to pick up. “Keith?”

“Shiro, oh my god.” Keith has never been the emotional one, but he feels like he can cry from relief right now. “Listen, my neighbour is sick and I need your help.”

“Did you find him like this?” Shiro’s voice is laced with worry right now.

“Well, sort of, he almost faceplanted outside while he was walking his dog and I took him inside and he said he only needed to sleep it off but now his dog was whining and he’s burning up and -”

Shiro interrupts him. “God, Keith, did you never learn anything from the past years? How could you leave him like that? I know you do that when you’re sick yourself, but he’s obviously got way sicker now -”

Keith interrupts him back. “Shiro, for fuck’s sake, you can guilt trip me later. Please, I don’t know what to do, what if he’s dying and I won’t be able to help!”

That one seemed to do the trick. Shiro’s voice was businesslike and focused when he answered, and it made Keith feel less panicked too. “Did you find any medicine?”

“No, his bathroom cabinet hasn’t got anything!”

“Okay, take a breath Keith. It’s possible he stocks it in his kitchen cabinet. Can you walk there for me? Above anything, you need a thermometer and fever reducers.”

“Yes, yes.” Keith answers breathlessly as he runs towards the kitchen, Cherry still trailing behind him. He rakes cabinet for cabinet. Tea, coffee, food, mugs… and then, finally, a kitchen cabinet with medicine.

“Oh my god, he has some.” Keith blabbers as he shifts his phone between his shoulder and ear, so he has two hands to shift through the stuff until he finds what he’s been looking for. “Yes, god, I’ve found it, who leaves their medicine in a kitchen cabinet, who names his dog Cherry, what kind of person is he, oh my god.”

“Keith, focus.” Shiro’s still calm and focused. “Can you look in the refrigerator for a bottle of water?”

Keith drops the medicine and skips a halt in front of the refrigerator. His heart sinks as he opens it. “Shiro, he doesn’t have any bottles of water.”

“That’s okay. Just fill a random mug or glass with water.”

Keith’s hand shake as he fills a glass with water. “And now?”

“Now you need to take all of that to Lance and take his temperature. Then you give him the fever reducers. Okay?”

“Yes, okay. I can do that.” Keith tries to reassure himself as he walks towards the bedroom. Lance’s eyes open slowly as he enters the room, and Keith feels weak with relief that the boy is atleast conscious.

“Lance, I need you to open your mouth.” Lance doesn’t even question it, just opens his mouth tiredly as Keith shoves in the thermometer. Keith waits anxiously for the beep. “Shiro, oh my god, it says 103.5, that’s why too high! I need a doctor!”

“Keith, focus.” Shiro answers sharply. “It’s high, but it’s nothing you can’t take care of, alright? I trust you.”

“Okay.” Keith stammers as he places the thermometer on the nightstand. He feels so out of place, so scared and so lost. The only thing that guides him right now is Shiro’s calm voice.

“Just give him the fever reducers and the water. Place some cool rags on his forehead and wrists. If it’s not better in a few hours call me again yeah? I can’t leave right now, but if his temperature raises above 104 Fahrenheit you should probably call the doctor.”

“Okay.” Keith answers as he runs his hand through his hair. He can do this. Medicine, water, rags, temperature. Lance follows his movements with glassy, unfocused eyes, one hand resting on top of Cherry’s black curls.

“Keith, I know you can do this okay? I trust you.”

“Thank you.” He manages to get out. “Bye.”

—

Shiro paces around the room. He just came out of a meeting and he hasn’t been able to sit still since, so he takes out his phone to look for notifications again. Still no messages. He bites back a curse. Keith should’ve called by now. It’s probably good that he didn’t call, because that means his neighbour - Lance, as Shiro recalls - is probably doing a bit better now. However, he can’t shake the feeling of worry off.

He whips his phone out again and dials Keith’s number. He doesn’t pick up, and Shiro’s heart speeds up. What if something went wrong? What if Lance had complications and Keith panicked? Shiro actually can’t stand that thought, so he all but runs from the room, towards his car. It’s time to assist Keith.

Luckily it’s just a short ride. Shiro’s been in Keith’s apartment before, he actually helped him move in all those months ago, so he knows which level Keith lives on.

He jumps in the elevator and impatiently taps his foot. He’s anxious to see Keith, to scold him for not picking up his phone and assisting him where needed. He quickly walks towards Keith’s door, and then stands still in front of it. He actually doesn’t know if Lance lives left or right from Keith’s apartment, so he just tries the door closest to him, which is the right one.

He’s lucky, because the door opens without a struggle. He steps in and closes the door. He can see Keith’s jacket, so he knows he’s in the right place. “Keith?” He calls out. No answer. He hears some movements, though, and after a moment or two he sees a small black dog toddle out of a room.

“Hi there, buddy.” Shiro murmurs as he crouches to pet the dog. This must be the Cherry dog Keith mentioned. Funnily enough she doesn’t bark - she just stares at him as if she knows he’s come to help. “Is your master a bit sick, huh? I’ve come to help him.”

He stands up and walks towards the room where Cherry came from. Sure enough, it’s the bedroom. Shiro’s eyes quickly take in his surroundings, and his shoulders sag with relief.

First of all he can see a very pale boy sleeping fitfully in his bed. He’s twitching a bit, but he doesn’t wake up. Keith sits next to him, on a chair, his arms resting on a pillow and his head sitting on top of his arms. He too is fast asleep.

Shiro releases a breath he didn’t knew he was holding. He could’ve figured out this would happen - he knows Keith had a test this morning, and he figures out the poor boy was already pretty tired to begin with, let alone taking care of a dog and a very sick boy as well.

He watches them for a while, and then starts to work on the pair of sleeping boys. First of all he places the thermometer between Lance’s parted lips. He waits impatiently, quickly snatching the device away when it beeps. None of the boys rouse, and he releases another breath as he reads 102.2 degrees. It’s not ideal, and it’ll probably rise again in the evening, but it’s a start, and his heart swells with pride for Keith. He knows how hard this must’ve been for him, but he did the best he could. Shiro will save his rant for another time.

He wets the rags on Lance’s body with fresh water and places them back. He refills the glass of water, too, but he figures the boy needs the rest more than the medicine at the moment, so he lets him sleep for the moment being.

Then he moves on to Keith. The boy is still fast asleep, which makes Shiro realise just how tired he must’ve been. He places a very light hand on Keith’s exposed neck, and when the boy doesn’t react, he moves it slowly towards Keith’s cheek. He doesn’t feel unhealthy warm to the touch, but Shiro doesn’t take any risks now. He wets a new rag for Keith too and lies it on Keith’s neck. He hesistates, but then he shrugs his jacket of and places it around Keith’s shoulders. He should be comfortable enough that way to not wake up from the cold rag.

Then, all Shiro can do is pull up another chair and wait for the two boys to heal.

[blackwatch-cowboy]

Father and Son

 Made with the help of: adeadlyspider

 And alternate path in Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 2 between Yondu and Peter Quill

 "Yondu? Yondu wake up you idiot!" Peter begged, shaking the older man the moment they made it to the ship. Thank God for Rocket. Sonofabitch located them in record time. He could still make it. Yondu couldn't die here. Not after one Father's death. "Please....wake up."

He'd done a lot of bad things in his life. Broken a lot of rules and promises, but Yondu would have been happy to die with the fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe he'd done something right for once. Peter had grown up fine. He'd grown up with his mind in the right place, and his heart too. He'd seen it in the fleeting moments before his vision had fled. Power like no other. So, floating in that dark place he thought maybe was death, the ravager found peace with his final choices. There were regrets, but Peter Quill was not one of them.

It did seem a little odd that he felt a burning sensation in his fingers though, or the desperate need to draw air. A shallow breath filled his lungs.

Oh, thank whatever God dared to show him mercy. The moment he saw the frost evaporating around blue sharp cheekbones, he let hope overwhelm him. But hearing the soft wheeze of air? Peter had no problems breaking down right then and there. Tears once again started to build in his watery blue gaze. Gently, like the boy he once uses to be...he tugged on Yondu's jacket, a silent desperation just to see his eyes open.

"Y-Yondu?" His voice was breaking, it sounded like a child, pleading for his Father. In many ways...he was. "C'mon you sonofabitch...y-you can't say that crap and die." Quill begged in a hitched whisper. "Wake up. C'mon."

 The hushed whisper of voices echoed in the far reaches of his mind. Words that reverberated and bounced off the inside of his skull were almost enough to give him a headache. Another slightly bigger breath filtered between his filed teeth. He could almost make it out. Yondu could almost hear the words clearly. A small groan left him and his fingers twitched in displeasure. The feeling coming back to cold digits was far from pleasant. " Quit yer whining..." he mumbled weakly, eyes rolling behind his lids as they fluttered.

And just like that, Peter Quill felt utter and complete relief. With a shaky sigh, he dropped his head some, ignoring the relief filled tears starting to drop from his lashes. Goddamn Yondu.

"Pr-Prick." He grumbled out in a quiet voice. His hands never unclutched from the jacket he still held tightly to. Nothing had ever made him so terrified in all his years than this moment now. He didn't know if he wanted to slap the old man upside the head or hug him. "...God, I hate you so hard right now man." There was no real venom in his voice.

As consciousness came back, he realized that he wasn't dead. " Always have been, " he grumbled at the name Peter called him. When his eyes finally opened though he was graced with the sight of the man he'd raised like his own. A good man. better than Yondu ever had been. " And that wouldn't be the first time..." Oh Peter had said he hated him many times over. It had been something he'd accepted.

"Isn't that the truth." Finally, the younger looked up, his eyes still bright with emotion but filled with silent relief. That had been too close. Too close to a goodbye he wasn't ready for. Carefully he pulled away some to help the older man to sit up right, checking him over with concern.

"Are y-you.... you alright?" Quill asked cautiously, still a bit shocked they were able to save him in time. "You idiot!" He suddenly snapped once he was sure the Captain wasn't gonna die on him again.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Peter was mad. Very VERY pissed. "I could have lost-....I could've lost you dammit. Why would you do something so damn stupid?!"

Yondu winced as Peter helped him sit upright. Everything ached. He supposed he was lucky he wasn't suffering decompression sickness. Or something like it. Maybe it was something that would come up later. He let the younger man rage at him, head still a little fuzzy.

" Stop acting like you don't know why I did it," Yondu grunted.  "You know damn well why. "

After a long moment, he glanced up at Peter. " I've done a lot of wrong, but out of all of it you're the one thing I can say I've done right. Besides. Your Rat would have had my hide..."

Yeah...Yeah he knew why. He just couldn't believe it still. The man he had been searching for all his life. His /dad/ had been right there this whole time. All he had to do was turn around. And Peter felt ashamed. Quill felt ashamed for the thought that it took Yondu to almost die to figure that out. The younger dropped his head like a shamed pup, his gaze staring down at where his hand still clutched the blue skinned Captain's jacket. Finally, he let it go.

"M'sorry." Was all Peter could murmur in return. "And...thank you." He confessed quietly, his eyes still downcast in shame.

" Don't be sorry," he stated quietly, working the stiffness out of his hand. "You didn't do anythin'." Yondu couldn't blame Peter for the choices he'd made. He had never actually told him why he kept him around. He didn't say that he didn't want Ego to kill him like he had the others. He didn't say that he'd become attached to the orphaned boy from Earth. None of those things had ever come out of his mouth. But through and through, Peter was family, and Yondu had been prepared to protect him with his life. Like any good father would. Because no matter where Quill went, or who he became, there would always be the wayward little boy playing havoc on his ship.

" It's not like they can do anything worse to me for goin soft on yah again..."

"I almost got you killed. " His voice wavered again, the flash of all his friends dying going through his head...the image of a freezing over Yondu still there in his head. He flinched and looked away, swallowing hard.

"I was an idiot. And you were a bigger one for caring about me." Without hesitation the younger grabbed his adoptive Father and pulled him in close, giving him the first hug he's ever given the grumpy ass old man since he was kid. He didn't care if any of his friends walked in on it. Peter was still horrified, still afraid...and he honestly needed to make sure this was reality.

"Sh-Shut up and take the goddamn hug just this once." The blond muttered against Yondu's shoulder.

Yondu grunted a bit when peter grabbed him and pulled him in. Affection had never really been his strong suit. He'd been hard on the kid. He'd wanted to make him stronger. He wanted to prepare him for staying alive in a place that wanted to do nothing but chew you up and spit you out. Still, He was reminded of a moment when Peter had been much smaller.

Still troubled by his mother’s death and he'd taken a quiet moment to try and bring some sort of comfort to the boy. After a moment, he returned the embrace, eyes a little glossy though he refused to cry. " You're family boy... We do what we can. "

Peter tried to hide the small sniffle that came after his Father's words. Knowing silently, they were family was one thing but hearing him admit it out loud made him realize just how much his rag-tag family slash team really meant to him...how close he came to losing them all.

He gripped the back of Yondu's jacket tighter, clinging to it like he had all those years ago when this grumpy hard ass had knelt beside his sobbing form and scooped him into a gentle hug. "Y-You will always be my dad." He whispered back firmly. Because Yondu had been right. Ego had been his Father but he was never his dad. And that was what made Yondu his family. Not that freak of a god.

He'd been sure that his chance at redemption had been given up as he'd gone numb and his vision had fled. That was changed now. He had all the chances he could hope for to make right the wrongs he'd done. The Ravagers were done with him. But that didn't mean he was going to just run off. He still had a ship. And the little team of misfits seemed good enough to him. " You've always been my Boy. Don't need no big shot asshole tellin’ yeh what matters. You follow your heart Peter. It'll point yah right. "

The younger chuckled softly as he pulled away enough to rub at his eyes. He'd blame this ship for being to damn dusty or whatever. He nodded though, giving a faint smile at words of wisdom. Youndu could be a prick sometimes but he always spoke with his heart when it came to his boy. "Yeah...I will. I promise. The only asshole I want around here? Is you." The younger confirmed with a smirk. He sighed some, looking back over his shoulder to the control room where he was sure all their friends were waiting for them. He stood, offering his hand to his Father with a reassuring wink. "C'mon you old fart. M'pretty sure Krag and Rocket will be happy to see you're alright. Haven't seen Rocket get along with someone so easily. He really likes you."

The smile that flashed across his face was brief, mostly because it made his skin feel too tight and it hurt still. Even so he grunted out, " That rat of yours might argue that..." Rocket, at least that's what he thought his name was, could be a right dick. Yondu was a hard ass yeah, but Rocket just seemed spiteful sometimes. Course, he wouldn't have blamed him.

Taking the offered hand, he heaved himself upright, incredibly stiff and achy but otherwise okay enough to walk.

"Raccoon." Peter corrected with a roll of his eyes. "He's like that with people he cares about. Trust me it's just a safety mechanism. Here I thought you of all people would get that." The younger jabbed, keeping an arm close around his adopted fathers side just in case he needed the help. Being the stubborn ass he was, Yondu would rather keel over than ask for help. He grabbed the elder by the arm some, hoping to grab his attention. "And hey...about what I said earlier. I mean it. Thank you...for everything."

Yondu was obviously being a jerk calling him a rat. He'd called the tree a twig. Whatever that thing was. Still. It was his way of showing affection. When he felt Peter grab at his arm he stopped, turning his head to look at him. " I've protected you as best I could all this time. I wasn't about to let him take you away from me after all of it. Not a chance in hell." He patted Quill on the back and shuffled forwards a bit.

That made his cheeks feel warmer than they should. He smiled fondly, his gaze warm and proud to have just a cool dad. Heh...he was lucky. ".... Thanks dad." Peter murmured quietly with a shy smile. With that he walked forwards too, a hand clapping his adoptive Father on the back gently.

Yeah...this family was alright. It was great.