#juts enough to get the cosmetic stuff

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idk what class to play on pandaria remix :( lol

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Troy Calypso’s very nice good time

Accidentally wrote a 6.5k comfort fic with actual nice sibling moment mentions because that’s what they deserved.

( Thank you so much @lazulizard and @artisthicc-nikyri for the feedback and motivation on the initial draft that was 2k that pushed it into this nonsense )

The pile of furs and blankets on the huge bed shifted slowly, messy black hair beginning to peak out from underneath, complete silence of the inky Pandoran night broken by a stuttering yawn as the God King shifted his head out from under the covers enough to nuzzle his face into a pillow.

“Mmmm… You’re a damn genius Troy-boy..”, he muffled sleepily as he breathed into it. The heavy fur blankets were still pulled mostly over his head, and the plush down cushions he usually slept with were comfortably pressed along his bare body under the warm weight. Bliss.

Spending the bit of extra time before going to sleep to fully remove his bracer?

Worth every second of effort. 

It was still pitch black out and the middle of the night, but that was fine. He loved the deep night on Pandora, and that was the best few hours sleep he’d had in months. Tyreen should go off world without him more often… He made a mental note to off handedly congratulate her on a job well done when she got back from this merger trip, maybe he could have few more of these in the future.

Reaching up to gently scratch at the uncovered neuro-port at the base of his skull, he inhaled deeply into the cushy warmth of the pillow, enjoying how loose his normally stiff joints felt, feeling a grin creep across his face.

Fresh laundered sheets. He loved that smell, and it was alllll his tonight, unlike the times there would be that nasty lingering odor of whatever faceless COV fanatic he’d slaked his baser urges with beforehand, all sour and grimy.

His ship, Sanctum, was fully tailored to his tastes and needs, and the custom made bed had been a galaxy-brain move he congratulated himself on. Big enough that he could sleep comfortably without having to curl up to fit his massive 6"7 height onto the mattress like he had always had to do with regular beds, and being able to stretch out lengthwise like this? That was the kind of luxurious shit a God deserved, even if the God in question currently had an atrocious case of bed hair and yesterday’s eyeliner smudged down his cheeks.

No Ty meant no live appearances today. No live appearances meant being able to queue today’s Let’s Flays and Sermon uploads last night, automate his outgoing reports and mark himself on “Holy Respite” on the clergy’s internal echo network.

There would be no high priests organising meetings with him, no sacrifices or tithes to attend, no data to compile or reports to work on, it was all taken care of already. The only light in the room was the slow red pulse his arm’s custom built charging dock integrated in the wall opposite the bed gave off, and he let his eyes adjust to it, enjoying the complete quiet of the Pandoran night bar the gentle whirs and thunks of his homemade fleet of service junkbots running their chores outside his bedroom door.

Just him, his pajamas, gross food, and whatever the hell he wanted to do today. Or this morning. Or.. night? Whatever. Didn’t matter.

He turned onto his back and stretched languidly, pushing the furs down his torso and savoring how free his bare right side felt without the grounding weight of the bracer. A pleasant shiver crept up his spine as he ran his palm down the goosebumped skin of his lower ribs and stomach before letting it rest on the jut of his left hip, smiling to himself as he puffed a breath into the thick black hair that had fallen over his eyes.

It was gonna be awesome.

Shimmying his legs to the side of the bed, he swung them over the edge, then slowly sat up, yawning so wide he felt both cheek clips click as the face mods they held together strained to split open, letting his eyes adjust to the additional slight glow of light the red markings running down his left thigh and calf added. The ship’s auto temperature system kept the dark comfort of his bedroom cool during the night the way he liked, but you got cold quick in it. Judging the distance between where he sat and the doorway in the opposite corner of the quarters that led into the washroom, he rubbed at his eyes and lifted the top fur covering of the bed over his back and head like a shroud, wrapping it around his naked body as he stood up out of the warm blankets.

As soon as he rose, the room sensors automatically lit the paper lantern lights that crisscrossed the low ceiling on long trailing ropes, keeping them dimmed to fill the shadowy darkness of the room with pools of cosy multicoloured light.

He was gross right now. No wash before bed last night, no -time- for one considering all the work he’d stayed up doing to make sure today would be prepared for, and his hair was a state. Still full of styling products and pointing haphazardly in every direction, he tried to run a hand through it and felt his fingers catch in the waxy mess.

“..Bleh…” he groaned, rolling his tongue out to emphasise how nasty this was. “OK.. seriously, fucking shower time you nasty little shit, heh.”

Stumbling over to the black felted wall facing the bed, he tapped a hand to the panel that extended his inbuilt dresser from the recess it was hidden within, rooting inside it for some chillout clothes as one of his personal playlists began to play over the ship’s audio system.

How long had he had these things now he wondered, picking up a long dark pair of sweats and matching tank, poking a finger through a hole near one of the ankles as he slowly waddled towards the washroom. Years probably. One of the first things they had done once they had started making donation income on Pandora was buy clothing and get out of their ancient patched up hand-me-downs, like shedding the skin of your former self and emerging a new being… and he tended to hang on to stuff he found comfortable. Not a crime, right? I mean sure he could replace them, he could afford to replace anything, but you couldn’t buy that feeling of well worn, broken in comfort clothing. You had to earn that.

The whole “Trash-punk Deity” aesthetic he’d designed for himself and Tyreen was based around looking effortlessly sexy in its thrown together accidental style, but it was fucking hard work in reality. That shit was uncomfortable most of the time, so wiggling out of 20 belts and piles of chains and into the comfort of indoor clothes like these had almost become a cathartic ritual once he closed the door to the rest of the world behind him and entered his ship quarters.

He let the fur slip to the ground as he rounded the doorway’s corner and stepped into the washroom, feeling a shiver shoot up his back as his feet touched the cool floor. It was exactly how he had requested when detailing the ship, dark and moodlit like the majority of Sanctum’s décor, tiled from top to bottom in deep grey slate with wall integrated storage and commodities, recessed night lighting set to a gentle soft glow skirting around the inner edges of the ceiling, open shower wall set to match his height, and a floor length mirror surrounded by panels that stored his cosmetics and toiletries.

Dropping the balled up clothing to the floor near the mirror, he leaned forward to reach and switch the wall mounted faucet on, and turned towards the mirror as he waited for the high pressured blast of water that roared forth to begin to heat.

Stepping onto the scale panel on the floor in front of the mirror, he blew a deep breath out and stared at his reflection, looking anywhere but the numbers flickering under his feet, taking in his naked form. All long, lean lines of rich brown skin and dark tattoo work, decorated by the Siren markings that ran like filligree up his left leg and arm, ending where they emerged from the mess of his pitch black hair and curled around his left eye.

He looked ok… didn’t he? His ribs were still clear, shifting under thin skin, but there was some meat on his chest and the faintest hint of defined vascularity across his shoulder and bicep now, and that was a good thing, right?

He didn’t look like he had lost any since last time, he mulled, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he pinched the taut skin of his lower stomach between his thumb and fingers, measuring the thickness. He felt ok, he hadn’t been too tired recently, he hadn’t waited longer than he should have between top ups from Tyreen and made sure to eat on schedule, even if he had lost a little it would be fine anyway, right? He always bounced back even if it took a little while, and he’d been feeling ok recently. He’d been ok..

He closed his eyes and shrugged the tension out of his shoulder, inhaling and exhaling deeply before looking down at the scale readout.

“Oh..”

“No wait, whoah!”

2 pounds up from his last goal point? This was the heaviest he had ever been in his life! He gasped out a shocked laugh, looking back up at his reflection in the mirror and grinning as he failed to swipe his rat-nest of waxed hair back into something remotely respectable, blushing furiously under the streaks of black smeared down his cheeks.

“Holy shit, good job man, look at you! All buff n’ shit.” He boasted, puffing out his narrow chest and aiming a toothy grin at himself through the steam now filling the room.

“You only half look like a teenage girl who got dumped last night, fuckin su-perb.”

Barking out a genuine laugh, he turned and stepped into the blast of piping hot water, squinting his eyes shut as it cascaded down his face and over his torso. He’d have to tell Ty as soon as she got back about the weight gain. She’d totally call him a fatass, she was gonna be so happy too.

Shit like this was exactly what made it all worth it, he thought, watching the water swirl down the drain near his feet with a dreamy smile.

Hot water, any time you wanted, not having to bath in tepid river water because “heating it wastes energy, and ya don’t need it do ya kid, this is fine”. Clothes that weren’t threadbare and sewn from rags that constantly felt grimy because the only soap you had was that awful smelling shit Grouse used to make from animal fat. Food whenever you needed it, never being hungry or too sick and tired to be able to forage. All things you had to have not had once, to fully appreciate having whenever you wanted now. He appreciated everything, he thought. Eyes closed and face directly under the water. He didn’t have anyone to tell, but he appreciated everything.

Opening his mouth and gargling the hot water, he laughed as it spurted out over his chest, then wiped it out of his eyes with his forearm and began to scrub at his scalp with a shampoo bar from the small toiletry storage panel he’d slid open next to the wall mounted faucet. Feeling the caked in styling wax begin to give way felt so good. No need to put more of that shit in today and spend an hour styling his hair, or sit and work on a smokey eye, or make any effort at all with his appearance. He could just be a slob. A clean slob who was gonna go eat his weight in junk food after he finished scrubbing the rest of his body with the soapy suds rolling down his shoulders.

Raising his face into the stream for the last time and letting it finish rinsing him off, he enjoyed one more pleasant shiver under the incredible heat, then turned off the faucet and reached for the body sized towel hanging on a wall hook within arms distance, carefully dabbing it over the sensitive puckered scar and thin skin along his right shoulder and ribs, before vigorously drying his body and hair after.

Tossing the towel into the corner (the bots would sort it out later when they changed his bedding and tidied the room), he hopped one leg at a time onto the soft sweatpants and left them low hung over his jutting hips, pulling the drawstring taut. Walking in bare feet towards the doorway, he tossed the tank over his head and maneuvered his arm in, then flipped his jet black wet hair backwards and over the nape of his neck as he rounded the bathroom entrance and padded across the bedroom’s plush carpeting towards the mag-locked door that led into the ship’s main living chamber.

He could still hear the quiet whirring and beeps of his little “projects” through it even over the ship’s music stream, and felt his eyes crinkle at the edges as he smirked in anticipation, eager to see how they were faring with their custom programed household tasks as he raised his palm to the wall mounted reader and the door began to slide open.

Taking in the organised chaos it revealed, he leaned his lithe frame against the doorway, crossing his legs as he rubbed absentmindedly at his empty shoulder joint, smirk splitting into a wide grin.

“Heyyyy boys, how’s it going this fine night, huh? Miss me?”

A half dozen clunky, pieced together droids of various sizes stopped their assigned tasks and swizzled on junky wheels and mismatched clobbered together legs to beep and screech at him in welcome. Grating chorus quietening down as they returned one by one to their cleaning and maintenance chores, while he walked down the couple of steps that led out of his bed chambers and into the eclectic nonsense that was his home.

Pausing for a moment to let a tiny rat-sized box droid covered in charging ports that wobbled past his feet on rickety wheels, he turned into the small open kitchen on his right. Like the other included luxury ship components, he’d not changed it at all since Sanctum was finished 4 years ago, a fully integrated chrome and glossy black iron kitchenette fitted for his height, underlighting glowing softly around the curved shapes of the wall mounted sleeper cabinets above. All he’d done was… accessorised it a bit with extra features.

The left wall was covered in a grid of hanging potted herbs the droids took care of, having them on hand had proven extremely useful in the last few years. Something you could brew or smoke for joint pain relief was pretty useful for someone in his physical condition, and anything that helped him sleep and wasn’t the cocktail of chemicals he usually had to rely on was welcome. Great shit for seasoning food too, not that he’d brag.

The kitchen itself would be sleek as hell if he hadn’t Troy’d it to shit as Ty would say, but hey, what did she know. The scraps of paper print outs of their first big follower count milestones stuck to the front of the smooth black refrigerator door? That was part of the aesthetic. That homemade automated coffee machine made of of scrap metal and visible wiring? That absolutely fit in with the black glass stovetop it sat next to, she just had no eye for style.

Why would be go buy one anyway, he mused as he poured some of the fresh brew that had been triggered when he got out of bed into the chipped mug printed with a faded “Best Bro” he kept on top of the coffee machine, this one worked fine. The shocks you sometimes got when grabbing the pot? That was a feature!

Ty just didn’t get it, he reasoned to himself, nodding sagely as he sipped the smokey black coffee from the mug, eyes closed, savoring the taste. This worked fine, no reason to junk it just because it wasn’t as she would put it, “classy” or “functional” or “safe to be around without risk of explosion”.

Turning and resting his lower back against the edge of the counter top, he slowly looked around the rest of the living quarters as he continued to sip at the drink.

Sanctum had been fully internally tailored to his tastes and needs straight off the factory conveyors. Twinned to Tyreen’s personal ship and only a digit apart in their serials, it was a luxury cruise vessel with jump capabilities and an array of offensive and defensive addons. Money hadn’t been a factor, even years ago when they had originally commissioned their ships, the twins had infinite funding and nothing had been out of the question. Their personal Sanctums were large enough to give them their own private living spaces, while still small enough to be able to dock together on either side of most of their larger basilica’s cloisters. That configuration allowed them to share the cloister’s internal quarters, while still having the option to return to their ships when needed. Loving his twin didn’t mean he could avoid wanting to wring her bratty little neck 3 times a day, so this arrangement had been a life saver… probably quite literally at this point.

While both ships had the exact same internal layout, the twins had customised their own over time to the point where it would be hard to notice the ships matched perfectly originally.

Troy’s decorative tastes were.. jumbled, he’d guess would be a fair description. Life on Nekro had been relentlessly uncomfortable. Nothing was soft, everything was hard, rough. Sleeping on anything there chafed your skin or bruised delicate ribs. It made sense in a way now that he loved comfort so much. If he spotted a really nice piece of textile in a returning war party’s haul, looted antique wall tapestries or lush woven rugs, they had a habit of vanishing from the offerings and -somehow- ending up on this ship. Almost every inch of floor was covered in overlapping thick rugs, some of which he was pretty sure were probably treasures of some lost civilisation, but hey, they were nice on the feet.

Patterend textiles in various colours hung in sheets across the ceiling, giving the illusion of the ship being some kind of huge tent structure, sometimes with the odd resting bot perched in a hanging loop.

He tended to pick shit up too, much to Tyreen’s constant disgust. Pandora just had some really cool skulls laying around, was it really such a big deal to want to hang them around above doorways? Alpha skag skulls were so his vibe! Why waste ‘em by leaving them out in the desert. Same could be said for all his “project” droids. Tyreen gave him the stink eye every time he found a new busted piece of junk he was sure he could fix up, so he’d been sneaking them home for years now. If they were too far gone, no problem, meant spare parts he could use for the others later.

Most of the wall space that wasn’t hanging textile was covered in shelving he’d tacked up across the ship, and he loved to hoard nostalgia. The wall shelves around the living quarters were covered in things he attributed memories to, like plants from different planets they’d sat through hours of boring merger meetings on with the usual designer suit-clad pissants who looked down their noses at the twins while simultaneously trying to kiss their asses, crystal rocks he’d found on the long cross Pandoran trips required for attending various COV districts and bestowing their holy grace upon the rabid swarms of their followers, photos of him and Ty on their very first visits to different regions, all of which were so old now he noted, shrugging off the quick pang of sadness that shot through his throat. Spaces between the shelves were filled with sketches of things he had no captures of, like landscapes they remembered from Nekrotafeyo, Mom, or Eridian architecture he still glanced at times in dreams of a childhood long gone.

Finishing off the coffee, he took in a deep breath through his nose, pressed the mug against his stomach, and leaned his head back against a wall mounted cabinet behind him, letting his eyes flutter shut. The ship smelled of everything that always relaxed him, fresh oil from the workroom on the other side of the herb wall where he focused on his tech projects like his arm rig, bots, and more stupid shit to put around the ship and annoy Tyreen with. Remnants of spray paint fumes from the art station in the corner across from his kitchen where he worked on propaganda wall art pieces on huge canvases, splashes of colour smeared across the walls and floor surrounding it, and the homemade sheet metal shelving next to it that stored his cans and supplies. The warm spicy scent of the herbs currently being watered awkwardly by a Hyperion vacuum droid teetering on shaking, mismatched legs he’d made it when he couldn’t find the right parts to fix its internal rotor, it all merged together into a scent completely unique to where he lived. His home.

Opening his eyes again, he glanced down at the mug and absently ran his thumb along the slightly raised Best Bro print on the side, Tyreen had got him this as a joke on their birthday at least 6 years ago now, and he’d managed to keep it intact since. Without her knowing of course, that would be embarrassing, she’d never let him live it down.

He wondered how she was faring, and lifted his head to take in the huge curved window facing out the front of the ship, the Pandoran night skyline twinkling through it. The ship’s small cockpit and pilot seat was suspended above the recessed recreation area that faced the glass, railless spiraling steel stairs leading to it from just behind the semi circular couch that curved around the piles of blankets and cushions that covered the rec area’s floor. He should check up on her, just to be sure, just to know she was ok. Had to earn that title of Best Bro afterall.

Carefully returning the mug to the top of the coffee machine, he started to slowly walk towards the window, stopping to curl his toes in a particularly plush rug’s pile and consider his sister. Twins, despite total bullshit others had told him his whole life, were -not- psychic. He had no “magical link” to Tyreen’s mind, no super mystical sense that would kick in if something was very wrong, so when they were apart there was always the slight fear in either’s belly. Was he unwell? Was she in danger? Was he hurt? Was she upset? There wasn’t a secret twin power that allowed them to know, even though everyone else seemed to think there was. So, they had come up with more functional ways to reassure each other, and as he resumed walking towards the rec area, he reminded himself he could use one of those systems right now.

Dropping a hand to the edge of the recessed couch, he vaulted over the edge and onto the seat cushions, immediately jolting up straight backed with a wince as he landed on a sharp crumpled up beer can lodged in the recess of one.

“Oh COME ON guys!” He yelled over his shoulder in the vague direction of where he could hear the bots still working behind him, leaning to the side as he rubbed his ass.

“Hhhhhf.. ow. Mannn.. you have to pay more attention on cleanup duty, fuck, that could have cut.”

Pulling the can out from underneath him, he tossed it backwards over his head and into the waiting little clamp hands of his earlier version of C.H.A.7, janky old H.8.N.K. Watching it sputter away on a shaky thruster and float towards the work room behind him to recyc the can brought a flicker of warmth to his chest.

H.8.N.K was nearly 7 years old now, one of the first bots he’d made himself, and still had its uses, even if a bit slow nowadays. That reminded him actually, he’d need to do a bit of work on the prosthetic tonight.

Turning back to face the window, he lifted his arm and gently pressed fingers into the recess of his missing shoulder, hitching in a quick sharp breath as he brushed across a pain point, eyes unfocused and trained on the floor in front of him.

That piston in the bicep’s inner side had been too tight for a while now and had been causing the weight to sit incorrectly, putting extra strain through his bracer and onto the shoulder edge.

Leaning forward slowly, he continued to press into the pain, now dry hair falling past his shoulders and brushing along the right side of his face. The tightness around his eyes loosened as he breathed out, carefully rubbing across the spot in a circle with his thumb, pain beginning to ebb away. He had all of tonight and today, he could get that fixed up fast, nice bit of tinkering to look forward to later!

Now to check on Tyreen, the window control tablet was right next to him but he heeded his.. where were they?

Leaning back into the plush couch pillow behind him, he rooted his hand around in the recesses of the seat cushions, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth in concentration as he swapped his hand from the recess on the right side to the left.

“Where.. are.. those fuckin.. Ah!”

Pulling out his prize, he flicked his wrist forward to open the square glasses’s arms, then fitted them over his ears carefully, straightening the frames on his nose. Not going to get a headache from looking at the screen without these tonight of all nights, not when he had so much relaxing to look forward to.

Reaching down to the control tablet next to his left thigh, he muttered under his breath while tapping command panels that popped into life on the tablet display.

“Okayyy.. showtime.”

The massive curved window he was facing flicked from the inky black view of the Pandoran night outside, to a solidly opaque monitor view of cascading analytical data. A live feed of current viewer numbers on streams, finance reports organised into a sidebar overlay, and on the bottom right next to rows of app thumbnails, a small portrait icon of Tyreen.

Tapping the tablet rapidly to move the selection across to her icon, he smiled at the picture. No makeup, back when her hair was still deep brown and before she started bleaching it her iconic white on top, tongue out and giving the camera the peace sign. He remembered taking that, it had been her reaction to being called a little bitch after she’d asked him for a hand with setting up their stream gear. That same fucking joke she made at least once a week and that had never at any point been remotely funny.

“Bet you aren’t laughing now Ty-die, stuck in a merger meeting with a a shower of assholes while I enjoy myself, hehhhhh”

His momentary gloat was interrupted by the Hyperion Vacuum droid tapping his left knee with its front panel, drawing his immediate attention to the 6 pack of Bandit Brew balanced on its flat top, spindly little scrap legs shaking under the weight.

“Oh! BRO!” he barked out with a laugh, leaning quickly to scoop the cans against his chest with his arm and relieve it of the weight.

“Awww haha, thanks pal. Great timing!”

It made a distorted chirp in response and turned to waddle away, while he dropped the cans to the couch by his side. Tapping the tablet once more and waiting for the app to open on screen, he placed a can between his knees and then popped the tab with his thumb and forefinger, jumping slightly when it sprayed pressurised foam over his hand and arm.

Bot must have shaken these up a bit while bringing them over, not that he’d berate it he thought, eyes still on the main screen while he licked the foam off his forearm and fingers.

Not its fault he’d only been able to retrofit legs for it instead of a new rotor.

Wrinkling his nose at the awful taste of the beer, he started reading through the display Ty’s app was now showing on screen, lifing the can from between his legs to chug it in the hopes of not having to let his tongue touch it too long.

Heartrate calm, vitals all fine, no chem spikes, safe and sound off at her merger. Not asleep, so his guess was right, probably bored shitless in a meeting right now. Great, can scratch that little itch from his mind now and focus on him, Best Bro responsibilities met.

Reaching down and dropping the empty can near his feet, he grabbed a couple of the blankets strewn across the floor within reach and pulled them up and to his side, then reached for another brew and popped it open between his knees again.

This shit was vile. Awful stuff, like piss and vinegar, but they had an unlimited supply of it and it got you wasted fast. Some licensing deal he’d organised a couple of years ago, and a pretty decent one he figured considering how successful the sales were, raising the can to give a cheers to the massive split-jawed Skag skull that sat above the window monitor before chugging it and dropping the can next to the first by his feet.

Ok, right, so what was he going to watch.

Tapping the tablet again to cancel out of Ty’s app, he selected the the media streaming icon from the app list and started scrolling through what was up.

Man, there were at least 5 series he was behind on right now that had had updates, and the lengths he’d gone to to avoid spoilers were a joke. Know how hard it is to not see any when your entire existence was based around being on the echonet 24/7? There were followers who had been executed over not correctly spoiler warning before posting on public social media.

Clicking through the updates, he started to queue some into today’s playlist. “Ancient secrets of Eridian science” nice. “Murder he yote” real life serial murderer documentary slash comedy? Perfect.

He paused on the icon for that terrible romcom Ty liked, 2 new episodes unwatched. Glancing down, he clicked the option to bookmark it on the tablet for her. He hated romcom’s, found them intensely cringe, but Tyreen.. well. She had her reasons for enjoying them so much, he knew. He never complained if she wanted to watch one with him. He got it. He got why. He was probably the only person she knew who did.

Just two cans into this crap and he was starting to feel it, he puffed a deep breath out as he leaned back and pressed his hand into the solid line of his lower belly. Time to actually eat something, or his stomach was going to start kicking his ass if he kept drinking. Turning his head to the side, he yelled back in the direction of the kitchen while still watching the monitor and the show descriptions he was scrolling through.

“Yo, guys, any of you, can you reheat that pizza in the fridge from the other night?”

Concerned beeping came in response.

“Nah, n-no it’s fiiiiiine, it’s only a couple days old, just reheat it!”

A single long, resigned beep in reply.

Great. Food on the way he thought, smirking and turning to face the screen again. Time to check the Echonet fan uploads while he waited, tabbing out of the stream app and into the Echonet, quickly searching for anything tagged COV. This stuff was always hilarious.

The very first result broke him into a snorting laugh, a vid titled CALYPSO LOVELIFE UPDATE: NOT SINGLE??, the thumbnail a terrible edit of Ty’s face looking shocked, surrounding by crying bandits. He hovered his finger over the bookmark option again, then thought better of it when he felt a slight pang of remorse for laughing. That would actually just upset her, he realised, making a mental note to run a takedown request on it soon as he was finished with the shows.

It didn’t count as work if it was to make sure Ty didn’t see something that would hurt her, even if she would be furious with him for assuming (correctly) it would, so he’d get it done tonight.

The squeaks of nearby wheels broke the negative mood, and he turned so his left with excitement as good old Janky clunked awkwardly into view, pizza box held in front of it haphazardly on its single kitbashed spindly arm.

“I got it, hold on!” He laughed, reaching to take the box from the droid as it angrily grumbled at him in crackling honks, single red lens eye set into it’s sleek black box body flashing in irritation as the mismatched wheels he’d found for it snagged on the rug underneath.

Rustling in the box on his lap, he pulled out a slice of pizza, some kind of spicy sausage thing, covered in mixed herbs and slices of vegetables he didn’t know the name of. Tasted great, but he wasn’t too sure he wanted to find out what that meat actually was, he decided, shoving the whole slice into his mouth and wiping the grease from his fingers onto his pant legs before realising the angry Vladov bot was still stuck on the rug.

“Hold on, heh, c'mon Jank, it’s not that bad!” Troy reassured as he leaned forward to press a palm against the smooth front of its box body and push it past the snag its front wheel was spinning on, irritated beeping and honking growing louder.

“Ah man, look I’m sorry about the wheels, but at least you can move! Not perfect I know but excuuuuuse me for not having replacement leg parts specifically for a.. freaking… junked ”Prototype Vladov steward-bot “ in stock.” he gestured towards the grumbling bot’s welded on chassis and tripod wheels with the second pizza slice he’d just grabbed.

“I know this ain’t like, what you were made for but fuck it dude, you work right?”. The bot let out a conceding soft honk as it pivoted in place, then trundled away awkwardly on the mismatched set of wheels.

Troy twisted to face the screen again, reaching for the 3rd can of piss-ale and slamming it between his knees with more force than was needed, angrily snapping the tab open as he muttered under his breath.

“.. Fucking ungrateful really. Wish someone had cared half as much about trying to fix me.”

He wasn’t enjoying the gut feeling that interaction had left him with, unpleasant memories stirring in the back of his head as he slowly slid down the back of the couch, legs stretching further out across the floor as he finished the third can and dropped it with the others.

Screw it.

More beer, plenty of pizza to shovel into his face, and trash to watch. Speaking of which…

Tapping the control tablet again, the screen flicked into the start of the latest episode of some semi fictional biographical series on Handsome Jack. It could be completely factual honestly, some of the shit Jack supposedly got up to sounded like it had been written by a complete moron, but had actual real life witnesses to attest. What had happened in the last episode, something about killing a guy with a spoon? He should take notes honestly, Troy thought with a smirk, shaking the lingering feelings of self pity out of his head.

He was slouched low enough for his chin to touch his chest now, alternating between pushing whole slices of pizza into his mouth and sipping on the 4th can of swill he’d just opened, hair having fallen mostly over the right side of his face as he slowly sank down, and too comfortable now to bother fixing it.

The ridiculously over the top actor playing Jack was currently loading a group of.. scientists? Into an airlock while monologuing about the dangers of trusting others in a corporate setting. Bit out of Troy’s lane, but the campy energy the actor was throwing into the scene was enough to keep him snorting out laughter between swallows of pizza.

Rummaging his hand around the box far down his lap for the last slice, he absentmindedly clicked apart his face mods, letting the split maw fall open as he lathed the elongated prehensile tongue out across the bare skin of his chest to mop up the crumbs it was covered in, retracting it and resetting his jaw without even moving his eyes from the screen as his fingers hit the last slice and dragged it out of the box and into his mouth. Complete normalcy, well, for Troy.

It was starting to catch up with him now, he realised as each blink felt like it was starting to take longer and longer. He’d only had a few hours of sleep and the comfortable weight of food and beer in his belly was making it hard to keep his focus on the show. He could just shut them for a bit, this scene was fucking boring now anyway, Jack sure did seem to really get off on talking shit about himself for far too long..

He didn’t open them again, breathing evening out as his head tilted to the side and knees leaned together, glasses slipping off his nose as the show continuing to play on the monitor. Jack singlehandedly massacred his way through camps of filthy bandits while Troy dozed.

The tiny squeaks of Jank’s wheels didn’t wake him as it carefully removed the pizza box from his lap and pulled one of the blankets by his side over his lap, then muted the monitor as it trundled away as quietly as possible.

Let him sleep. He can wake up when he’s ready, the whole day is his.

[robot-unicorn-attack]

CHAPTER 01 – SNOW

(written by @ayzrules)

… CHAPTER 01. 

The Neon Demon was pretty much exactly how she remembered it - the music was too loud, the lights were too annoyingly strobe-y, and the people were just as plastered.

Marivana, Ice, and Sky (whose real name was Seraphina) had all arrived fashionably late, of course, and after the usual barrage of greetings and niceties (which Marviana was usually able to get out of without much fuss after the first ten minutes or so - thank the stars that she was Snow, now, instead of Snow Princess, otherwise she would have been stuck exchanging pleasantries for the entire damn night – Marivana found herself a drink and a comfy chair on the raised dais reserved for the racers, and waved her publicist away to let her get in all the socializing she could want. The security detail that TWILIGHT had assigned to each of their racers were mixed in with the party-goers, preferring, as many Ice Worlders did, to remain discreet

Gods, but she hated these kinds of parties. The Neon Demon marketed itself as some kind of classy, high-end nightclub, but when it came down to it, all of these “luxury” nightclubs were basically the same as the trashy underground clubs she’d snuck into as a high schooler with a fake ID from one of her friends. It was just sweaty people and booze, though the people in the clubs Marivana frequented at the behest of TWILIGHT wore outfits that cost more money than her parents had earned in a lifetime. And the booze was also considerably more expensive.

Speaking of expensive outfits, though; Marivana grimaced, just slightly, as she adjusted her gown, the edges of the jeweled bodice digging into her skin. No matter how many of these diamond-encrusted gowns her agency forced her into, Marivana would never be able to get used to all the jewels. Tolerate or ignore for a short period of time, maybe, but there was no way that she’d wear something like this every day. She felt a good hundred pounds heavier just sitting in one of them. That, plus the heavy diamonds dangling from her ears and the gigantic diamond headdress her stylists insisted was a must, meant that Marivana was considerably weighed down. It wasn’t the end of the world, but it was…annoying. Very much so.

The jeweled bodice in question was laden with more diamonds than Marivana could count, arranged in a way to make them look like artfully jagged shards of ice. Perhaps the most eye-catching part of the gown, however, were the sleeves; diamonds that had been cut and polished to look like icicles jutted out from the wide strip of fabric covering the tops of Marivana’s shoulders. Adding to the effect were the huge earrings bedazzled with crystals and diamonds and arranged to look like snowflakes. It made her pretty hard to miss - though there was also the matter of the headdress, of course. Marivana couldn’t wait to get that monstrosity out of her hair – both literally and figuratively.

Marivana let her gaze flit idly towards the other side of the room, past pyramids of glowing drinks and curved sofas and crystally curtains. Her publicist, Lanie, was chatting it up with one of the department heads at Galaxy Cosmetics. Figures. Marivana had GC to thank for the diamonds in her eyes; they probably wanted to have her come in for a promo event or something. And Marivana spotted a few of the managers from her agency, as well as from RISE and LAZER, scattered around the dais, sipping on drinks and making small talk with other people involved in the business.

She hadn’t, however, seen any racers yet (besides Sky and Ice) - not until her eyes landed on Nyx (whose real name was Sol) sauntering over to someone sitting not too far away from Marivana. Marivana took a brief moment to roll her eyes, just out of spite - Nyx’s whole image was just so annoying. It was always so loud and so in-your-face. Marivana was of the opinion that she saw quite enough of Nyx on the race track. She didn’t need to be seeing anything related to her off of it, too.

Nevertheless, Marivana glanced in the direction that Nyx was walking, her diamond-blue eyes following the black spikes that extended out from the sleeve of the other racer’s one-shoulder dress. The sight of one of the RISE racers (Flower, it had to be; neither Supernova nor Sunbeam would have ever been dressed in something so....girly? Holo-butterflies and all) gave Marivana pause. Nyx is going to talk to her? she wondered to herself, briefly. Her agency’s going to be pissed. Though it’s not like Nyx cares all that much about what her agency thinks, anyway. 

Just then, Lanie popped up, almost out of nowhere, positively giddy about....something. She took a moment to flip her glittery golden locks over her shoulder before looking Marivana in the eye.

“Marivana.”

Marivana raised her eyebrows questioningly. “Yes?”

“Guess who just booked you the gig of a lifetime.”

Marivana shook her head, unable to stop herself from letting out an amused huff. “Stars above, Lanie, you say that every damn time. Of course it was you. And I don’t think you can have three hundred `gigs of a lifetime`, for your information.”

Lanie waved her off. “Semantics. Anyway, do you want to know what this thing is or not?”

“If it involves me interacting with people, then no.”

Lanie rolled her eyes but forged on. “Oh, shush.” She lowered her voice, casting a furtive glance at their surroundings, before continuing, her eyes bright. “The marketing department at Galaxy Cosmetics - the Galaxy Cosmetics -”

Marivana snorted. “Lanie, I know what GC is. Or did you forget that I was the one being operated on when they put in the diamonds?”

Lanie rolled her eyes, again. “Stop interrupting me. Anyway, GC wants you over for an ad, sometime in November.”

“And you agreed to it? Lanie, you know how busy November is. The IW Circuit starts in December? You remember that, right?”

“That’s why I arranged for it to be at the beginning of the month. It’ll be your last ad of the year.”

Marivana nodded. “I see. Vanya and the others still trying to earn their money back from the diamonds?”

Lanie flipped her hair over her shoulder again, already typing away at her holo-pad. “You know how expensive that procedure was, Marivana, even with the deal that Vanya cut with the execs over at GC. They want to squeeze all the money they can get out of it. Thank gods for the sponsorship stuff, though.”

“Mm.” Marivana went quiet as Lanie started talking into her earpiece. Her eyes wandered around the room again, just in time to see Nyx walking away from Flower.

“...anyway, it’s all in the process of being booked, and everything will be finalized within the next week or so,” said Lanie, and Marivana brought her attention back to her publicist. “And now I...ooh. And now, I have to go.”

Marivana glanced at the entrance of the club, where the CEO of Equa Industries - AKA one of the premier manufacturers of robot unicorns - had just walked in. Marivana arched an eyebrow, amused, at Lanie’s reaction. “Goodness gracious, Lanie. Most people react that way when they see someone attractive. You react that way to corporate executives.”

Lanie snorted derisively, flipped her hair a final time. “Well, I’m not ‘most people’. You, for that matter, aren’t either.” She winked, and stood up. “I’m about to book you the gig of a lifetime, Snow Queen. And after that’s done, I’ll get you a drink to celebrate.”

“That’s the three hundredth and first ‘gig of a lifetime’ to date,” Marivana called out as Lanie strode away, smiling despite herself.

Marivana found that Lanie always put her in good spirits. Although the others at TWILIGHT certainly didn’t appreciate Lanie’s bluntness (“She’s so Lava World,” one of the other publicists had complained), Marivana liked how honest Lanie was. Her publicist had no patience for superficial artifice, and Marivana was glad. Gods knew that there was already plenty of that in the RUR industry.

And besides, Marivana rather liked Lanie’s dry wit and scathing sarcasm. 

After Lanie drifted off to sweet talk the CEO of Equa Industries, Marivana decided that a change in scenery was in order. She stood up, with more than just a little difficulty, considering how fucking heavy all the diamonds were, and skirted along the edge of the crowd towards the crystally curtains that she'd noted earlier.

Marivana had just arrived when she caught the tail end of the most disgusting "pick-up line" (could it be called a pick-up line if it was more like straight-up harassment?) she had heard in a while. The recipient of the crude remark was none other than Flower herself, RISE's newest addition to their team.

Marivana rolled her eyes and strode purposefully over to the man as he continued to be, quite frankly, a piece of shit. As she closed her hand over his shoulder, she realized that he was Aindrew Clenym, one of the creative directors with GC. She knew almost nothing about him, besides the fact that he was, uh, married.

Marivana pulled him away from Flower, perhaps with more force than strictly necessary, and adopted the icy Snow Queen expression that TWILIGHT had her wear for every promo and photoshoot that they did. She used two fingers to gingerly pinch at the fabric of his collar. "Hey, Aindrew," she said, feeling the sudden absurd urge to laugh out loud - if only Lanie could see how Ice Queen she sounded, right now. Her publicist would want to get the entire thing on tape and make it a new promo video, or something equally dramatic and ridiculous.

"How’s your wife?"

Aindrew rolled his eyes, snorted. Marivana nodded, glanced over at Flower-she seemed surprised, but otherwise unharmed-then turned back to Aindrew and narrowed her eyes. "You want to leave her alone?"

It took Aindrew a moment to meet her steely gaze, and when he did, Marivana almost rolled her eyes in his face. He was so drunk. “Listen, buddy, this diamond headdress weighs something like fifty pounds, and I’m more than capable of knocking you out with it if you want to try me. Leave.”

The man took one look at the massive headdress, decided against testing Marivana’s supposed strength with said headdress, and walked (more like stumbled, he was so drunk. And where the hell were his shoes?) away.

Once Aindrew was gone, Marivana sat down, slowly, beside Flower. She cast another glance at the Sky World racer, arching an eyebrow. “Your bodyguard goes on break and the wolves descend.”

“Thank you for that," said Flower, and Marivana let a faint smile ghost over her lips before laughing softly, adjusting the crystals and diamonds dangling from her ears.

“Of course. Hi there. I’m-”

“Snow- !” the other racer blurted out. “Oh my god, I know. I’m a huge fan of yours.”

Marivana was a bit taken aback by how....frank? the other girl was being, especially to someone she was technically going to be competing against, but she had to admit that it was also quite flattering, when other racers from the Big Three reacted like that to her.

“‘Marivana’, I was going to say- but thank you. Do you know Nyx well?” Marivana asked, letting her gaze float in the direction that Sol had walked off in.

“We’ve spoken before, years ago. Danced, also.”

“I see…" Marivana trailed off, focusing on Flower once again. "I’m sorry, your name has slipped my mind.”

"Flower."

Well, duh, Marivana thought to herself. “No, I-” Marivana paused to laugh, again, this time a bit wryly. “I know your nickname. I meant your actual name.”

“Oh- Aura. Aura Philyra.”

Aura. The name was quite pretty, as far as names went. And much better than a stupid nickname like 'Flower'.

Just then, Lanie came back over, appearing out of thin air to wink, hand her an icy blue drink, and saunter off again, without saying a single word. Huh. I guess she set it up with Equa Industries, then, Marivana mused to herself.

She took a dainty sip of the drink. "And where are you from?"

“Ice World.”

Ice World? Both of Marivana’s eyebrows shot up, an incredulous expression flitting across her face. “Really? You don’t strike me as someone from Ice World.”

“Oh. No?”

Marivana resisted the urge to let out a derisive snort. “No. I buy it as much as I buy the little fairy story your management made up for you.”

“Ah, well. I’m actually embarrassed now.”

Marivana shook her head. “Don’t be. Every racer has a gimmick," she replied, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but mine is...stupider than most. But at least the clothes are pretty.”

Marivana smiled, bemused. “They certainly are.” She paused, appraising the other racer. “So, you’ll be racing this week?”

She watched, intrigued, as Aura almost blurted something out, then settled for something different. “Yes. I can’t stop trembling. Everyone keeps telling me how important this race is- like I need to be told.”

Marivana’s lips twitched upwards into a small, sympathetic smile. She set her drink aside.

“Give me one of your hands?” she asked, and when Aura obliged, Marivana ran her fingers lightly over her palm, before clasping it in her own hand, briefly. “Powdered chalk. For your nerves. You’ll want a light coat of it over your hands, to keep them from getting clammy while holding onto your reins-”

Just then, Aura's tattooed security detail came back. Marivana took that as her cue to go. "I’ll see you soon, Aura. I’m sure,” she said, and strode past the bodyguard without so much as deigning to give him a second glance.

Marivana settled back into her original chair, and not two seconds later, Lanie was there.

"Marivana!" she hissed, glittery hair flashing in the dim lighting. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Marivana answered coolly, taking a sip of her drink.

Lanie scowled. "Don't give me that bullshit, Mari. What the hell were you guys talking about? I haven't seen you smile that much since the time you met my three-year-old niece."

Marivana hummed quietly, took another sip of her drink. "Does it matter?"

Lanie let out a huff. "Uh, yeah? One, I'm like, your only friend. And two, what the fuck am I going to tell the paparazzi when pics of you two being all buddy-buddy get out?"

"My god, Lanie, you're so dramatic. Calm down. All I did was get Aindrew to stop bothering her."

Lanie made a face. "Aindrew from GC? Ew. Just, ew."

Marivana nodded solemnly. "My point exactly."

Lanie crossed her arms and gave Marivana a scathing glare. "You still haven't answered my question, Marivana. Why were you all smiley? You're the Ice Queen, for crying out loud! You can't just randomly smile."

Marivana met her gaze, evenly. "I hope you know how ridiculous that sentence sounds," she said in response. Marivana contemplated Lanie's question - why had she done...that?

"She kind of reminded me of Shimmer," Marivana found herself saying, unsure of what exactly had prompted her to act so un-Snow around Aura.

"Your first unicorn?" Lanie asked, skeptically.

"Yeah. She was always skittish before a big race."

Lanie gave Marivana a look. "You do realize that the unicorns are, uh, robots, right? They don't feel anything."

Marivana bit back an indignant reply. Yes they do, she wanted to say. Marivana grew up riding robot horses; wouldn't she, of all people, know if a horse (or a unicorn, for that matter) could feel anything? But saying something like that was more than just a little bit dangerous, around all these people who profited off the assumption that robot unicorns were just as Lanie said - robots. Machines.

So Marivana sighed, sipped at her drink. "Right." She paused, for a moment, then changed the subject, hoping that Lanie would be willing to start blabbing about her niece, again. "So, you never told me how Ruby has been doing. It's been years since I've seen her. What's she up to?"

Thankfully, Lanie was all too capable of going on and on and on about any subject in the universe. Her baby niece included.

Taglist: @ayzrules @bebemoon @jay-swagsby @filthysoulls @shiftyprincess@kzombi3 @now-on-elissastillstands @interluxetumbra

[anthropologicalhands]

ceg fic: impressionism (what completes this picture of me and you)

title: impressionism (what completes the picture of me and you) characters: heather & valencia, beth/valencia, heather/hector summary: Valencia admits that she once had a crush on Heather notes: not totally sure how happy i am with this fic, but at this point it has been sitting in my drafts for literal months now, so out it goes. Ao3 Link

~

In Heather’s opinion, one of Valencia’s best qualities is her willingness to throw herself wholeheartedly into her ventures.

Granted, Heather usually prefers to observe the hurricane from a comfortable distance, rather than letting herself get swept up in it all. But, on occasion, she doesn’t mind braving her way into the eye of the storm.

Like right now, when she is seven months pregnant and less chill than she has ever been in her life, Valencia showing up unannounced and armed with rose, apple juice, and her cosmetics bag is unequivocally a good thing. It’s been a while since they’ve been able to hang out, just the two of them. Hector is nice and Heather loves him and she’s happy he’s been here for her during the pregnancy, but sometimes his niceness is just too much, and almost as annoying as Rebecca’s casual thoughtlessness. In contrast, Valencia’s straight-shooting, take-no-prisoners determination is a gift.

Even better: unlike the people Heather is living with, Valencia is observant, and notices changes around her without Heather having to point them out.

 “What’s going on with Estrella?” Valencia pauses in front the aquarium on her way back to the sofa, bending down to get a closer look. “She looks different.”

 “That’s ‘cause she is different,” says Heather as she reclines on the sofa with her feet propped up, doesn’t bother to look up from her phone.

“What do you mean?” Valencia asks, perching on the ottoman to resume painting Heather’s nails. She’s been looking more relaxed recently, Heather finds herself thinking idly. Probably the result of a series of fortunate events—the small but tangible successes so necessary to building a business. Heather bets that taking on Beth as a partner has probably helped ease the stress.

And, well, also the fact that Valencia is now definitely getting some on the regular. There is no way that there isn’t a net positive effect of some kind.

“I mean that she’s a whole new starfish,” Heather explains, wincing as the Rebyl spawn punctuates her statement with a two-beat kick.

Valencia’s concentration doesn’t waver, but her eyebrows arch up high on her forehead in surprise, followed by a deep sigh of resignation. “Again? Seriously?”

“Yeah. At least this one looks more like the original Estrella, so I didn’t know it happened until this week, because last week was Rebecca’s turn to take care of her.”

Valencia purses her lips, shaking her head in disappointment at Rebecca’s carelessness. “Wow. I’m surprised you’re not more upset.”

Heather shrugs. “I probably should be, but I already got angry at the shower this morning for the wrong droplet-to-skin-volume ratio, so it’s not worth working up the extra energy.”

“That sucks,” says Valencia sympathetically, looking down at her handiwork, forehead wrinkling in concentration.

“It really does. These pregnancy hormones are sending my reactions totally out of whack. I am noticing, like, everything is too much, like this dress is super itchy and you still smell like Beth’s perfume from yesterday. I know that sounds creepy, sorry, but I can’t help it,” she adds, responding to Valencia’s weirded-out expression. “And to make things worse, now I’m missing other things. Like, stuff I actually care about.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I used to be able to tell things about people before they even know it. Like a wolf. I learned a lot about wolves before I dropped my wildlife biology class. Did you know that they can tell if a person is pregnant even before they know it themselves?”

“That must get awkward.”

“Right?” Heather asks, letting her head fall against the back of the sofa so that she is staring right up at the ceiling.  “But I’m not like that anymore – I used to be a wolf, and I knew things, but now I’m a pregnant wolf and I know nothing. Which doesn’t make any sense.”

Valencia’s eyes have gotten almost comically round as she follows this train of logic to its conclusion. “Oo-kay,” she says after a brief pause, setting down the bottle of violet nail polish and taking up the setting. “Speaking of Rebecca, you’re channeling her pretty hard right now.”

Heather rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s because she keeps texting me about the gestational periods for different mammals and it’s like, getting really annoying. I don’t care that elephant pregnancies last for two years, I’m human and I want it out now.”

Valencia’s head jerks up and she stares at Heather. “Two years?”

Heather gives a slow nod. “Yep.”

Valencia wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Ew.”

“Right? But it’s true.”

“Weird. Does Rebecca just know these things off the top of her head or is she Googling random animals every few days?”

“Who knows? But I’ll admit that she does follow up with cute videos of the respective baby animals, so that kind of helps, but only because my baby brain is really dumb and easy to please.”

“I mean, cute animal videos will do that,” agrees Valencia seriously.

Heather hums her assent.  “But seriously, my powers of observation are gone. I’m missing out on the subtle social cues that tell me about drama. And you know I love drama.”

Valencia hums her agreement, and they lapse into a comfortable silence. Heather texts Hector a non-negotiable request to pick up non-dairy milk and any bath products that might possibly have lavender in them.

“You’ll be back to normal and picking up drama in no time,” says Valencia soothingly. “It doesn’t matter if you miss a couple of things in the meantime.”

“It kind of does,” says Heather, looking up from her phone, peering over the swell of her abdomen down to Valencia. “It’s like missing an episode of The Nanny. It might not matter in the long run, but it’s still totally possible that a massive change happened while you weren’t looking and everyone is making references to an event that you don’t get and you have to piece it together without context, because streaming is not an option.”

“You’ve missed things before. No one is going to judge you for it.”

“No, I don’t miss things.”

Valencia’s responding hm is just judgmental enough to compel Heather to straighten up in her seat.

“I don’t,” she says, a hint of challenge entering her voice. “It was basically my superpower, before this parasite took it.”

“I’m not saying you don’t pick up stuff,” says Valencia, setting down the bottle of polish. “I’m just saying, that you can’t notice everything. It’s not possible.”

Heather’s eyebrows shoot high up her forehead; pregnancy might be messing with her senses, but Valencia’s carefully blank expression is radiating I have something on my mind loud and clear. “Okay, enough generalities – what did I miss?”

Valencia hesitates, but when she looks up to meet Heather’s eyes, she juts out her chin a little bit, firming up. “It’s nothing. And I’m going to tell you.”

“Good.”

“It might be weird.”

“Valencia, I am currently pregnant with Rebecca and Darryl’s baby. Is it that level of weird?”

“No, it’s not that weird,” says Valencia after a pause. “Right. Let me finish the varnish first.”

“Cool.” Heather opens up her phone and adds egg salad to the list. It’s not something she would normally eat, but whatever the Darryl baby wants, it’s gonna get. Maybe it will get bored by all the luxury and try to strike out faster.

Valencia screws the cap back on the bottle and travels back up to sit on the couch cushion besides Heather. “You’re going to love it –they have little white flowers on them.”

“Cool. I’d offer more specific compliments, except there is no way that I will be able to see them over my distended stomach and swollen ankles.”

“Which is why I uploaded the pictures on Instagram,” says Valencia breezily, waving her phone. “You can leave your comments there.”

“Right, exactly. Because that’s what Instagram is for, looking at things you can’t look at in your normal, day-to-day life.”

Valencia makes another noncommittal hum. Heather watches as Valencia continues to mess around with the bottles in her makeup bag, waiting patiently for her question.

“Well?” Heather prompts, when nothing juicy is forthcoming.

“Oh! Right.” Valencia startles a moment before composing herself, tucking her hair behind her ears. Interesting.

“Do you think you ever noticed anything about me that you don’t think that I was aware of?”

Sounds like Valencia is on another self-awareness kick. Well, Heather’s down to help. She tilts her head to one side, considering the question. “I doubt it. I mean, once you broke up with Josh, you’ve been pretty upfront about what you were thinking. Maybe when you and Beth were becoming a thing, but you figured that out pretty quickly, so it doesn’t count.”

“Okay but…”

“But what?”

“But what about me liking girls, specifically?”

“Specifically?” asks Heather, raising her eyebrows slightly.

Valencia takes a deep breath, setting her shoulders straight. “Yeah.”

Huh, interesting.

“Nothing specific,” says Heather thoughtfully, mentally flicking through their past hangouts for signs of Valencia’s interest in anyone beyond their direct social circle. “I mean, there was a distinct lack of interest in guys going on with you, like, even on our girls’ nights out, but when I saw you and Beth together I, like, knew that you had a vibe going on. I didn’t see that before with you and anyone else.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay, then you didn’t notice,” says Valencia, sounding vaguely offended.

“Notice what?”

Valencia takes a deep breath. “Beth might be the first girl I’ve dated, but she isn’t the first girl I liked.”

“That makes sense. Who were the others? Denise Martinez from high school? You’ve always complained about her. No, wait, it was Rebecca, right? I know she kissed you once—”

“She mentioned that?” demands Valencia, sitting up, spine ramrod straight, before she pauses and reconsiders. “Wait, no, I shouldn’t be surprised. But no. That was…something else. Which, in retrospect, might have helped me reconsider a couple of things, but that’s so not what I’m talking about right now.”

“Okay, so it’s not Rebecca. Cool. Then would it have—” she stops suddenly. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“So—”

Valencia nods. “Yep. I think I liked you.”

Valencia says it casually, but it’s a bombshell all the same. Heather blinks as she considers this new information, comparing this new context to all the things she knows about Valencia, like pulling away a curtain for a clear view. Their ease with one another, how quickly Valencia started seeking out Heather’s advice and was willing to let her slouch on her couch when she needed time to refill her chill bar during the most hectic days of Rebecca’s hasty wedding planning storm. Valencia had been remarkably lax about Heather setting very close boundaries.

“Oh, huh. Okay, didn’t see that at the time, but okay. That tracks.”

Valencia stares, incredulous. “That’s it? That’s your reaction?”

Heather considers the facts, how she had only known Valencia tangentially as Josh’s girlfriend, with a general idea that they were unsuited, but not understanding just how much until Rebecca brought her to Sugar Face for the first time, beaming and declaring that, if it was all right with her, Valencia might hang out with them a few times while she got over her own post-break-up blues. And she was kind of basic, but also acidic, and very fun and a little clueless and then she just stuck around.

“I mean, I don’t think I totally missed it,” clarifies Heather. “I thought I got a vibe on you for a little while there when I met you, but like, I was trying to figure out if you knew that or if it was just getting into the groove of having a girl group, but there was also the stuff where we were both trying to figure out what to do with our lives and then everything went down with Josh and Rebecca and it just, like, kept going down.”

Valencia nods, grimacing at the memory. “Yeah, it was a lot to process.”

“So much processing,” says Heather with feeling, eyes rolling heavenwards. After a beat, intrigue overtakes her surprise and she sits back up again. “So: how long did you carry a torch for me?”

Valencia gives a dismissive wave. “Not that long. After you started dating Hector I had an epiphany.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I realized that our tastes were way too different to ever work out.”

Valencia pulls a face to punctuate her statement, startling a laugh out of Heather.

“That kinda sounds like an excuse,” teases Heather, a little relieved. Valencia’s shoulders ease, and it’s obvious from the way she’s speaking that there isn’t jealousy or some sort of anguished feeling behind her declaration, and that’s soothing in a very Valencia way. She doesn’t want to stir up drama – she just wants to make things clear and straightforward.

“It really isn’t,” says Valencia, in the same tone she uses when critiquing Josh’s taste in formalwear.

“Okay, it isn’t.”

“I genuinely believe that your interest in Hector cleaved our chances as a couple completely.”

“Sure,” concedes Heather with a smile, “I know you don’t like Hector. Is it because he knows all of the embarrassing stories about you from when you guys were kids?”

“No. Why?” Valencia’s eyes narrow and her body goes rigid. “Why do you mention it? Did he tell you something? Was it about the Sleeping Beauty thing, because he really should know better than that—”

“No, he hasn’t,” says Heather immediately, because it’s true and if the way that Valencia’s perfectly sharp eyebrows are starting to furrow in the middle, if Heather doesn’t clear up that point immediately, there is a nonzero chance that Hector’s demise will be imminent upon walking through the door.

“Good.” Valencia leans back on the sofa, her face still thunderous. “At least his sense of self-preservation is intact.”

“I’ll get that story out of you, then,” says Heather, amused. “You really have nothing good to say about him, do you?”

“Hector is very symmetrical,” says Valencia primly. “And I am willing to admit that he’s been handling your pregnancy very well despite not actually knocking you up.”

“Thank you, I know that cost you something.”

Valencia nods, looking faintly martyred before she shifts position on the sofa, leaning against the cushions, her chin propped up in her palm. “So, you didn’t know I had a crush on you at all?”

“No, I missed that. Which is unfortunate, because it really is flattering.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, totally. You’re definitely a catch. So,” she drags out the word, starting to grin, her long-starved desire for gossip sniffing the air. “When did you know that you liked me?”

She’s pleased to see that Valencia relaxes completely at her teasing, whatever fears she has reassured by Heather’s reaction.

“I didn’t at the time,” admits Valencia. “It didn’t take that long to understand that I liked Beth, really, but I’ve been kind of unpacking stuff with her since we’ve started dating. You know what a good listener she is.”

“Right.”

“And I would keep talking, right, about times when I might have been attracted to other women, what I might have thought of them, and I would think about you and about how, when we first started hanging out, I was so giddy about having female friends for the first time in a long time, and you really helped me figure out what’s normal girl stuff and what wasn’t. And I was so excited to have such smart and attractive friends and I wanted to see you guys every day and your opinions really mattered to me—and I realized that there had been, like, two layers to how I was thinking about you, specifically.”

“Two layers, huh?”

“Yeah, both the core that, you were a cool person, but also like a filter on top of it that make things especially nice. Like the Amaro filter on Instagram. Which, incidentally, is the one I used when I posted your pedicure.”

“Got it.”

“Like, I wanted to be friends,” Valencia continues, insistent. “I absolutely wanted to hang out with you as a friend. But I also kind of wanted to impress you and…have you look at me in a certain way. Though, to be clear, that feeling isn’t really a part of our relationship now, that I was attracted to you. That is in the past. It’s important, but not, like, the defining thing about us. But it in our history and it was weird that you didn’t know about it.” Valencia deflates. “I’m sorry, is this making any sense? This isn’t meant to be a love declaration, or anything, and I’m worried it sounds like one, but it’s just—”

“Part of the history of our dynamic,” Heather finishes. “No, I get it. Human attraction is interesting and doesn’t really care about fitting neatly into romantic-platonic categories.”

“Exactly,” says Valencia, smiling. “Like, I just feel that it’s weird that you didn’t know that’s how I felt about you. You know everything.”

“Apparently not,” says Heather wryly. “But I’m glad you think so.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Thanks for telling me. For the record, though, we totally would have been a hot couple in a parallel universe,” Heather adds. “Totally objectively speaking.”

Valencia laughs, her shoulders loosening. “I’ll drink to that.”

 “Yeah. And while you might not think the same about me, I do think you have good taste – I’m glad you met Beth. She’s very cool.”

“Aw, thank you.” Valencia beams, pressing her hand over her heart. “That means a lot.”

Heather smiles, a rush of affection for her friend coursing through her, sweeping aside the discomforts of the day. “Come on, let’s have a toast to your good taste and behaving like mature adults. Now gimme my apple juice.”

Laughing, Valencia does as she asks.

[chopper-witch]

AWOMOD: I’m Impressed (Ch 7)

Characters: Loki x OC (Ashira)

Warnings: blood, stabbing, boredom induced fighting 

Locations: Her ship

Word Count: 3000+

Summary: Loki figures things out; Ashira is restless.

A/N: There are probably still like a thousand mistakes in this ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Also, all the fighting is like super, super quick and only within the span of a few minutes. Also, as fanfic writer I’m entitled to do whatever the fuck I want and you can’t stop me.

AWOMD master

Previous

__

The following morning, they leave again with a new set of respect and trust. Instead of messing around with weapons, Ashira decided to stay in the pilot’s seat, mindlessly fidgeting with a dagger as she stared out to the stars. This gave Loki time to rack his brain for everything he knew of Greek mythology. 

“Athena,” Loki declares after five hours. 

Loki’s voice causes Ashira to jump from her seat. The pure white dagger clatters to the ground, droplets of blood with it after knocking her thumb. Her right hand flies to grasp her chest, her left lifting to her lips to stop the bleeding.

“Do not scare me like that, oh my god.” Ashira exhales loudly. “I could have just sent us anywhere, fuck.” 

“Athena,” Loki claims again, coming to stand in front of Ashira. “If she is Selene and translations are messy, Athena. Or Artemis.” 

Ashira laughs at his far too focused face. “Surprised? Athena is not a tall, glorious warrior yet instead is a short, kind of chubby runaway.” 

“I mean Norse mythology claims I gave birth to Odin’s horse... so I know things get sloppy.” 

Ashira blinks a few times to try and adjust her reality, ensuring what he just said is real. Rumors and stories always have a drop of truth to them and thinking he gave birth to a horse is not something you just make up out of thin air. 

“I don’t even want to know why they would think that.” 

Loki shrugs with a smile before it fades just as quickly as it happened, a suddenly confused twist to his features. “Then why are you so weary of magic? Wasn’t Hecate like the Goddess of Magic."

“Her name is Helene, Selene’s younger sister.” Ashira leans her head back. “And no, not really. She was just a major drama queen, like her sister.”

“So then why is Greek mythology so full of mysticism and magic?”

Ashira raises a brow as if it is so obvious. “It’s called high tech science that humans weren’t able to make sense of.” 

“I have a hard time believing that.” Loki slips into the co-pilot seat. “There is amazing technology on Asgard and we still use and practice magic.” 

“That’s fine with me.” Her head tilts back upright. “You’ll see.” A mildly evil grin appears on her face. “You’ll see.”

— 

And he does see, three days later.

They landed on a planet Loki has already forgotten the name of about four miles outside of the closest village (forget city) yesterday. Today Loki is sitting beneath one of the trees in the prairie while Ashira sorts through her weapons. While he much rather be inside where it is cooler, after he witnessed her grabbing a a live bomb seconds before it touched the ground and detonated, he decided to hang outside. 

Surprisingly enough, he isn’t in the mood to die, especially by the hands of stupidity on her part.

So he doesn’t think of anything of the sounds of her walking around the opening in the field as she has already done so several times to layout various equipment. 

Ashira then towers in front of him, the bit of sun he was using to read blocked by the secondary shadow. 

“Here.” A pure black dagger falls on top of Loki’s book. 

It’s entirely matte and unbelievably smooth everywhere but a few spots along the handle where there is clearly texture added to help the grip. 

“What’s this?” He asks. 

“A dagger,” she replies slowly. “I assumed you knew.” 

Loki scowls. “Of course I did. Why did you give it to me?” 

She shrugs. “I’m bored.” 

“So you’d like me to kill you?” Loki questions, mildly concerned about her phrasing. 

“I want you to fight me.” 

Loki finally looks up from his novel to the person blocking his sunlight. Ashira is standing above him, right arm across her body so both hands can rest on her jutted left hip, yet another different outfit donning her body. This one is unusual however: it is simply very short shorts and a tight half-length top without sleeves, both in the same deep royal blue as the items he has identified were likely either standard issue or part of a uniform from her home world. Her hair is braided back into a ponytail for once instead of its normal partly down or entirely braided state. 

And gosh, it’s long even when tied up.  

How fast does her hair grow? 

“You want me to fight you?” 

“I’m bored and haven’t gotten in any real fights recently and you’ve done sparring before so why not?” 

Loki shrugs. “I must ask before we begin: the outfit, standard training wear from your home?” 

Ashira looks down at her clothes, even picking up her right foot to observe her specialized ankle height shoes. 

“Only worn for running and weightlifting, not for this kind of training but it’s hot and my armor is buried deep among other stuff.” 

“You still have your armor?” 

“Of course. I still have everything. It was my ship I took to get off Hala.” 

Loki’s brows furrow. “Wait you escaped Hala? I thought you escaped your home?”

Ashira’s eyes narrow as her face twists at his stupidity. “Has all the chatter on the radio talking about also trying to attack the Kree been erased from your mind or are you just stupid?”

“I just don’t get why you would be there.”

“They have bodies to spare to test powers and also it was decided I would be better suited in their facilities while things were figured out.” Ashira shrugs, ignoring the annoying tiny nagging voice in the back of her mind reminding her that they promised to be honest with each other. “Until of course it was no longer about testing and more about training. Their little experiment program, Inhumans, was then a good source of bodies. Powered enough to face off, not powered enough to actually hurt me.”

Loki nods. “So they kept you there.”

“So they kept me there.”

Loki looks down at the dagger, twisting it between his hands. “Alright, I’ll fight.” 

“But no magic and I won’t accidentally disintegrate myself, deal?”

“Can I at least have more than one dagger?”

“Summon it now.” 

Loki summons a second dagger, changing it to match the one Ashira gave him. He admits this all black look is nice. He stands and carefully leaves the book by the tree. 

“And exactly what will you be fighting with?”

“If I need anything, I can grab it,” Ashira smiles. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright. But I have to ask you something that has been bothering me now that you are basically baring yourself to me, what’s with all the scars? Do you normally hide them with cosmetics or something?” Loki asks, twirling around the daggers. 

“Cosmetics?” Ashira chuckles. “No, a biomorphic nanomask that I just stick to my skin and it smooths it over.” 

Loki has never seen anything like that before. “Alright, then why are there so many deep ones with such hacked edges? That’s not torture or surgery.” 

“Well I couldn’t just walk out of there.” Ashira walks closer to him as he stays against the tree. “Had to rid of stuff implanted in me since a few days after my birth. Right wrist tracker, left wrist biomonitor, and near my tailbone was what we called a carousel. Needed any medication? It was fed through there.” She steps closer yet again. Loki presses himself further against the tree to the point where he feels the bark pressing into his skin. “Left upper arm is where they put this disk thing that confined me to the facility I was being held at before I escaped and oh, my neck.” She forces him to stay against the tree, tilting her head to the left to exposing the jagged scar. “Here on my neck is the lovely place where I started my hack job. Whatever bar implant thing they put here was keeping me mostly subdued and basically enslaved.” 

“That does sound like a pain,” Loki replies. He’s grinning. 

Ashira doesn’t reply. She knows he is going to attempt to attack her, likely by her arms. So while he thinks she is still focused on the scars littering her body, she really is thinking of the best spots to hit him.

His right leg swings between her legs and hooks around her right knee. While he expects her to fall, she instead throws herself backwards into a handstand, Loki losing his balance as she does so. She stays upside down and turns herself to face him. 

He’s growling now, body bent over awkwardly from falling. Without a though he flings the dagger in his left hand directly towards her. 

It’s flying towards her right side so she lifts her right arm up and tilts her whole body to the right. Just as the dagger tip flies past her she reaches out and grabs the handle. 

Now upright, Loki is not any happier with her. 

He lunges towards her. She doges by twisting her upper body away. Her hand switches the grip of the dagger and moves it so that the blunt end lands between the tendons in his right wrist. 

He involuntarily releases the dagger and she grasps it in her left hand.

And as he pulls away she knees his stomach yet again. The prince falls back into the tree with each dagger crossed over his neck.

“I’m impressed.” He throws his arms up in defeat. 

Ashira smirks. She tosses the daggers to the side, standing and walking from Loki. As she walks away, Loki takes a moment to stand, honestly impressed with fighting style and technique. And he cannot help but watch her walk away. He catches sight of white along her spine and looks closer. A tattoo, it appears, of some form. A combination of swirling organic shapes and perfectly geometric cubes from what he can tell, even though he can only see half. 

“Wait, you have a tattoo?” 

Ashira looks back over her shoulder to him. “You never noticed?” 

“No…” Loki huffs. “No I haven’t.” 

“Besides when we go out I don’t try to cover… though I guess my hair does a pretty good job at that.” She glances down her spine where only the bottom half of it is visible. 

“So your tattoo, what does it symbolize?” 

“Well do they symbolize things back home on Asgard?” 

“Not typically. Decoration only sort of thing, though sometimes people will get family crests.” 

Ashira nods once before moving her hair from her neck. “Well the spinal tattoo is basically the history of a person on Ares. It begins on the neck with their birth rank which is why I have such a bizarre pattern near my hairline and then goes down from there: battles, kill count, awards, discoveries. Those weird swirls? Got those for making new technology.” 

“And all those tiny little dots?”

“Kill count.“

While he cannot count every single one (mostly due to the nature of her shirt) there are easily thousands of little white dots totaling somewhere near 6,000 that he can see, forget the ones he can’t.

Ashira chuckles at his slightly agape mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re frightened.” 

He looks back to her face. “Curious.” 

“Good.” Ashira turns back to face him. “Again?”

“I’ll beat you this time.”

“No you won’t.”

He summons the daggers into his hands again. 

They both go charging at each other, this time Ashira jumping over him and grabbing a branch easily. Loki spins to slash at her but she just lifts her legs up with the rest of her body as he goes charging back towards the tree. 

He spins around again. Before he can get far, however, Ashira drops her legs down, thighs wrapping tightly around his neck, ankles crossing. She releases the branch and throws her torso towards the ground. Her hands touch the grass just as Loki grips her calves with the knives tucked in his thumbs. His fingers press into the underside of her knees to attempt to force her legs to move, but she just yanks him forward as her hands finally touch the ground. 

Loki skids forward and catching himself right before he lands face first. He looks up to see Ashira coming down from a handstand perfectly. 

She grins at his nearly fallen form. 

Then he charges at her with his daggers ready. His right hand swings out to swipe at her but she simply ducks, grabbing his left arm and pinching between the tendons on his forearm and he involuntarily drops the dagger. 

Now they stand opposite to their previous stances, his left dagger now in Ashira’s left hand. 

“Ready?” Ashira teases. 

“For what?” 

No words are said as she charges at him. He ducks to avoid her and possibly catch her with his dagger only for her to jump up again suddenly. Before Loki even knows what’s happening the dagger lands in his shoulder and Ashira perfectly rolls upright. 

“Ah!” He screeches, hand flying to grab his left shoulder with his right hand.

“Sorry.” Ashira shrugs. “Not really though.” 

“By Valhalla and Hel you couldn’t just tap me instead?”

Ashira shakes her head as she attempts to hide her smile. “Nah. And I know you heal quick enough for it to not be a problem. I’ll grab something if you’d like to seal it entirely right now.” 

“That’d be lovely.” He grunts as he yanks the dagger out. 

She comes back a minute later with a tube no larger than her pinky finger in her hands. Loki has fallen back against the tree. His seidr isn’t working as well as he hopes it would for healing - in fact, it is doing absolutely nothing. 

“Here.” 

Loki grabs the bottle from her. While he fumbles with opening something so small, she leans against the tree as well, internally laughing at how ungraceful he is at the moment. 

The second the gel hits his skin he hisses. It stings; it stings worse than that time Thor thought it would be funny to pour wine mixed with salt in one of his worse cuts from a training incident gone wrong. But then it seals over like he was never cut in the first place. He watches as his skin and muscles and nerves stitch themselves back together, miniature tendrils attaching back to one another. 

“Huh.” Loki touches his skin gently. No pain, no blood. 

“Yeah, huh.” She pushes away from the tree and turns on her toes to face him. “Now, go ahead and use your magic. But try to keep up.”

She reaches her left hand out towards the ship. A pair of white batons goes flying through the between them, landing in each of her hands. 

Loki’s brows furrow. “You know magic?”

“It’s called science, like I said.” She twirls the batons around. “Let’s do some science versus magic fighting. Show you why the humans were wrong.” 

So he goes for his magic instantly. Any form of memory reading or even an attempt to usually puts people down for a moment or two.

He presses his palm to her forehead. 

Instead of memories, it’s blank, fuzziness. Static, just like before. No, not like before. Even worse. It’s pure blackness in her mind. 

Loki, the stubborn asshole he is, keeps trying to push into her mind.

While he is distracted trying to pick her mind, Ashira grabs his left hand and pins the wrists together. Loki pulls back at this. Ashira knees his stomach, pulling herself back to extend his arms behind him as he falls to his face. Her grip causes both of his arms to pull uncomfortably behind his back. Then she steps onto his back with her right foot, wedging it between the shoulders and pulls up.

Loki yelps at the twist in his upper back as she forces his muscles to separate in ways that are most definitely not natural.

“Science,” Ashira gloats, releasing his arms and stepping away from him. She calls her batons back to her hands. 

Loki stands slowly. “I’m impressed, I’ll admit. But how do I know you aren’t using magic as well?”

“Truce, for now, so I can show you.” Loki nods once. “Alright, here.” She switches both of her batons to her right hand and extends her left. “Feel.” 

Loki takes her hand tentatively. She could flip him over even if she is cupping her hand and she has no legitimate traction.

“Feel it. There’s a bit in there like a magnet.” 

His thumbs run over the crevices in her hand. He uses his magic to feel for different particles in her hands, finding an entire circuitry of electronics within her. There is a device in the center of her left palm, little tendrils of metal reaching up her wrist, deeply embedded in her arm’s nerves, extending as far as her brain stem. 

“My right hand only has the magnet. I’m left handed so this was installed to go through my left arm to align with any of my weaponry.”

“So you can call anything to you?” 

“Not anything, but things aligned with it. Batons, my sword, most of guns and grenades... Important things.” 

Loki drops her hand. “What if you need to improvise?” 

“You did just see me beat your ass like a bunch of times, right? And stab you?” Loki rolls his eyes. “Plus near anything makes a weapon.”

“Suppose you aren’t wrong about that. I must say, I’m impressed.” 

“That’s why I am weary of magic. If it can be done through mystical means, it can be done with science.” She rests her hands on her left hip again. “Science is proven, nearly infallible once everything is factored in. Magic is messy.” 

Loki cocks an eyebrow. “Science is still messy.”

“Yes but it makes sense.” She motions with her batons still pressed against her hip. “Magic doesn’t.” She points at him with the baton in her left hand

“Alright, another question. Why is all your stuff white? Why white?”

“Every planet has its colors, right?”

“Right.”

“Well Ares’ colors are that blue color and silver and white,” she taps the left toe of her shoe on the grass and leaves it there, weight moving almost entirely to her right leg. “As you get higher in rank, people can change their weaponry from the blue and silver to another color or a custom pattern. Most people go to all blue or all silver or something simple like that, but I wanted something different. So all of it is a pure white.”

“Interesting. But doesn’t white get dirty easily?”

A very terrifying grin pulls at her lips. “The blood falls right off.”

Loki opens his mouth to ask how that is possible, but closes it. He doesn’t want to know. Sort of scared to ask in the event she just tries to swipe at him to show him. 

“Now come on, we should move soon. This planet actually has a Kree and Aresian outpost on it and capture or death is not in my plan for today.” 

He gapes at that. 

“How stupid can you get?” 

“Oh, it can get a lot worse.” Ashira tosses both batons to flip them around. “For real, we need to leave. The radars degrade the cloaking over time and there is approximately two hours before it will be entirely uncloaked.” 

“It’s like you want to be captured.”

The ex-princess simply shrugs and sighs. “I know the limits of the technology because I either built it myself or with Er -” She stops herself suddenly. 

No, she reminds herself, don’t bring it up. 

“Some others.” 

The prince knows she cut herself off to avoid telling him something. A name, most likely. 

Something too personal to her. Something she won’t share. 

Or maybe something she can’t. 

___

Next

___

Taglist: 

@illogicalfangirl @tarynkauai

[trade-baby-blues]

I Told You So

Pairing: Bones x Reader

Word Count: 2383

Warnings: injury, swearing, minor angst 

A/N: Based on anon request: What if reader gets injured or sick in some way and Bones has to treat them but he's mad that they're hurt (because he hates to see them hurt) and he's kind of rude about it? And reader is anxious and doesn't like doctors/being yelled at and he goes to apologize after but reader isn't ready to accept and says they need some time to think about it?? Surprisingly not as angsty as I originally intended, but I hope you still enjoy it!!

“Told you so,” Bones gloated, running a dermal regenerator over the burns of your hand.

“I wouldn't’ve gotten hurt if Keenser could've held his sneeze two more goddamn minutes,” you grumbled. “‘It's the last time you’ll see me for a week. Promise.”

Bones snorted. “You’ll be back in two days tops.”

For a solid 24 hours you were determined to prove Bones wrong, taking every precaution you could. You even wore the damn safetysuit during your shifts in engineering. Day two was coming to a close without a hitch, and you were ecstatic to finally be able to brag to Bones. Maybe that's why you didn't notice the water puddle in your bathroom. You clipped your head on the edge of the sink before hitting the floor ass first. You thought about ignoring the stinging in your head, but a wave of dizziness hit you when you stood and you resigned yourself to another night of gloating.

Bones barely glanced up from his paperwork when you walked into his office, still wet from your shower. He smirked, “Told you so.”

“Fuck off. I slipped on a puddle of water. It doesn't count.”

“Or maybe you just find me irresistible.”

“Or annoying,” you corrected.

You wanted more than anything to say the next few days passed without incident, but you'd have to ignore the electrical burns, the sprained ankle, broken finger, concussion, second concussion, and broken nose.

“This one’s not even my fault,” you were quick to tell Bones, still pinching your nose to keep it from bleeding. “One of the botanists accidentally opened a supply door onto me.”

Bones only glared at you before jabbing a hypo spray into your neck. Despite the sting of the injection, the rest of your pain melted away. “Doors slide open, so you and I both know that’s horseshit.”

You stared at your hands like a child in trouble, trying desperately to think of another excuse. Your head was still a little fuzzy from impact, though, so, with a sigh, you braced yourself for Leonard’s rage. “Jim and I were having a sock race.”

Leonard was dead silent. “Beg your pardon?”

“It was Jim’s idea,” you said, throwing your hands up. “Okay it was my idea,” you added quickly, noticing Leonard’s deepening scowl. “It's slow in engineering. Not even a damn replicator broke in the past three days and I was losing my mind. Jim was the only one brave enough to challenge me in a sock race.”

“More like stupid enough,” Leonard mumbled, turning on the osteoregenerator.

“It wasn't stupid,” you cut in quickly, “it was fun, which I can understand might be a foreign concept to you.”

“Sorry my idea of fun isn't busting my ass every other day. Some people prefer a nice glass of whiskey or a good book.”

“Boring people.”

“You wanna do this yourself.” You shook your head begrudgingly and Bones continued, “I’m not doing this because I don't want you to have fun, Y/N. I just want you to stop being such a damn idiot about it. You're in here more than Jim.”

“Guess I don't know how to stay away from those big brown eyes.”

“Learn to,” Bones snapped back. You sat through the rest of the procedure in silence, and Bones packed away his instruments. “If you’re here again before two weeks pass, I’m strapping you to a biobed and sedating you.”

“Two weeks, scouts honor.”

Bones snorted again and you wanted to smack that smirk off his face. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You were determined this time. After explaining the situation to Scotty, he agreed to let you take soft jobs as they came in, even though you could fix a replicator in your sleep. Your two weeks were going by safely, if painfully slow. You honestly thought you’d finally prove Leonard wrong for once when the whole ship went dark.

Your comm went off almost immediately. “We need you down here, lass. Biochem had some kind of accident - an explosion. Knocked the power systems offline.”

“On my way, Scotty.” You took off at a run, knowing the twists and turns of this ship like no one else. You breezed down the stairs, ducking off at the Biochem floor and sucking in a sharp breath in the stairwell. You could already smell the smoke.

It was chaos. People were running everywhere, dragging others to safety. You dove into action, setting off the decontamination sprinklers. Then, you started pulling people out, transporting them to Medbay as quickly as you could. You went back one last time to make sure all the personnel were out and the fire was under control before assessing the damage.

“How's it looking up there, Y/N.” Scotty’s voice crackled through the comm.

“Like my daddy’s barbecue,” you quipped. “Isn't much left to look at here. Sprinklers are done, so I’m about to pull off the main panel and check the circuits.”

You fumbled in the dim half light of the backup generators, feeling your way through the debris to the back wall. Your lungs burned, and you realized you probably should've grabbed your oxygen mask before traipsing around in a biohazard, but that was a problem for another day.

Your leg snagged on a piece of warped metal jutting out from a desk. You felt the sting immediately, dropping to your knees and cursing loudly into your comm.

“Aye, you all right, Y/N?”

“Yeah, yeah, it's just a little cut.”

“I’ll send Dobson down to get you up to Medbay.”

“No,” you snapped, “I’m fine.” You stood carefully, shuffling your feet while you made your way to the back panel.

“Don't be daft, lass. We’ve no idea what's running around in there. That cut could get infected.”

“I’m not going to Medbay.”

“Is this about your fight with McCoy?”

“Absolutely, now let me do my job.”

Thankfully, most of the damage had been superficial, contained to a small section of the biochemistry lab. There were some wires that were burned through and needed to be replaced, but overall, repairs were a breeze. You couldn't fix the cosmetic stuff until you landed on a Starfleet base anyway. Your main focus was closing off the air vents and quarantining this section of the ship. When you’d finished that up, you made your way down to engineering, hoping the limp in your right leg wasn't as noticeable as it felt.

Jim was in Scotty’s office going over damage reports, but he perked up when he saw you come in. “There's the crew member of the hour. Jesus, you look like shit. Have you been to Medbay, yet?”

“I’m fine,” you snapped more loudly than you meant to. You sighed, composing yourself. “I’m fine, Captain just a little tired.”

“I think Bones would have a better say in that.”

“Over my dead body.” With that, you dropped your PADD onto Scotty’s desk and made your way back to your quarters for some much deserved rest.

You started thinking the whole “dead body” thing was going to come sooner than later when you woke up the next morning. Your lungs hurt every time you breathed, and by the time you were done with breakfast you had a nasty cough. The cut on your leg was looking a little green around the edges, but you hoped the supplies in your personal first aid kit would be enough to stave off infection. By dinner, the cut was looking better and you considered it a win for over the counter medicine.

You woke with a start that night, heart racing. Sweat soaked your shirt and you had to blink a few times to clear your vision. When you coughed, it felt like your chest was tearing in half. You walked to your bathroom, hugging the wall as dizziness hit you, and tried to cool yourself down. You sat on the cold tile with a glass of water, pressing your cheek to the rim of the toilet before drifting back to sleep. The coughs woke you again within a few hours, though, so you resigned yourself to showering and getting dressed before making your way to Engineering to get a start on the rest of the repairs.

“You look like you’ve died, Y/N.” You cringed. Of course Scotty was already in his office. He basically lived there. “Tell me you’re not still avoiding Medbay.”

“I’m fine,” you said. Your sentence was punctuated with a deep coughing fit that left you doubled over, gasping for breath. You cursed your traitorous body, standing as slowly as you could to avoid another dizzy spell.

“You're not fine. I’m taking you off duty until Medbay clears you.”

You tried to argue with Scotty but you were stopped by another coughing fit. You made your way back to your quarters angrily. “All Leonard’s fault,” you muttered to yourself. “So damn condescending.” You kicked your boots off and planted yourself face first into your pillows.

The next two days were a haze of coughing and sleeping. You kept waiting for your fever to break, but it just kept getting worse. Your throat felt like you swallowed glass, and your breathing sounded more like wheezing now. You were willing to suffer through until another wave of coughs hit you and you pulled the tissue back bloody.

Cursing, you finally caved, set on calling Scotty to transport you to Medbay. You groaned when you realized your comm was on the kitchen table. Slowly, you pushed yourself up, not wanting to get dizzy again. You shuffled carefully to the kitchen, making sure to hold onto whatever furniture you could. The gap between the couch and barstool seemed like a mile, but you were determined to try. You focused on the barstool, doing your best to ignore the blur that was creeping into your vision. You could feel your hands shaking, and you didn't even dare to breathe in case another coughing fit hit you. Then, the unthinkable happened. You sneezed. The room started spinning and you were on the ground before you could figure out which way was down. You tried to push yourself up, but every movement made your stomach churn. The cold floors of your quarter made your skin feel like fire, and your heart hammered in your chest. As your vision faded, you began to wonder how long it would take them to find you.

A few minutes, as it turned out. Jim had finally nagged Leonard into checking on you. Truth be told, he missed you coming in so often, though he’d never admit it to anyone. It was hard enough to admit to himself. If you asked what brought him to your door, warm tomato soup in hand, he’d say Jim ordered him to give you a physical.

Bones raised a hand to knock when he realized he’d forgotten his tricorder. He cursed quietly to himself, trying to think of why he would have a bowl of soup but no tricorder. He couldn't very well take the soup with him or it would get cold, but he’d be damned if he admitted just how much he wanted to see you. A loud thud inside caught his attention.

“Y/N,” Bones said, knocking softly on the door. “Jim asked me to bring some soup.” Bones waited for you to respond. When you didn’t, he punched in his override code, figuring you were still pissed at him. Leonard’s heart leapt to his throat when he found you on the floor. The bowl clattered to the ground as Leonard dropped to the floor next to you. He checked your pulse, thanking the stars you were still breathing, before hoisting you in his arms and sprinting you back to Medbay.

The coughing woke you again, and you braced yourself for the pain in your throat but it never came. In fact, you couldn’t feel anything. It felt like you were floating. You raised your hands in front of your face to inspect them, amazed at how soft they felt. “Is this what death feels like,” you whispered. A book snapped shut to your right, making you jump, and Bones stalked towards your bed angrier than you’d ever seen him.

“Yes it is because you damn near died, Y/N,” he yelled. “You’ve been unconscious for days fighting off the nastiest infection I’ve seen in my entire goddamn career. Why the hell didn’t you come in?”

“Maybe because you yell at me every time I do.”

“I wouldn’t have to yell if you’d stop being such an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you yelled back, fighting off a cough as you raised your voice. “I graduated top of my class. I had a full ride through Starfleet, and Scotty’s put me up for commendation already. I’m phenomenal at what I do but every time I come in here you make me feel like a goddamn moron, so I’m sorry I didn’t want to come in here to listen to the man I’m in love with telling me how stupid he thinks I am.”

You almost couldn’t hear Leonard’s response over the beeping of the biobed: “You’re in love with me.”

“Well, we’ve already established I’m an idiot.”

“Sweetheart, I never meant to make you feel bad about yourself. I get so worried every time you come up here. It’s not that I don’t want to see you. I just don’t want to see you hurt. I’m sorry, Y/N,” Leonard said, putting a hand on your knee.

You glared at the hand, not willing to back down yet. “Please allow seven to ten business days to process your apology and I’ll get back to you.”

Leonard swallowed hard. There was no mistaking the sorrow in his eyes. He didn’t know how he could’ve messed this up too before it even started. “I’ll get Geoff to check you out, then.” He squeezed your knee, offering a sad smile before he turned to leave. The door slid open and closed with a click, leaving you alone with the calming hum of the climate control and the beep of the biobed. You grappled with your thoughts, wondering if it made you an idiot to love him so much, or if you’d be an idiot to let him go.

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