#prompt requests

[court-jesterr]

Can I request Crosshair with "sorry, that was my first kiss." "i could tell." "...." "i'm kidding!" I don't imagine any of the Batch have ever kissed someone before. 🤭

Jealous Much?

Pairing: Crosshair x Fem!Reader Warnings: Massive fluff, Crosshair being a cutie pie and not understanding his own emotions because he's silly, light cursing, nothing other than that really Word Count: 2.2K Summary: After running into a "Reg" in the halls of Kamino, Crosshair hears something he doesn't like and it bothers him. A/N: I really liked this prompt for Cross and I've actually not written anything for him yet, so this was fun! Thanks for request precious anon! I hope it was what you were looking for when you sent in the request!

Requests are currently closed until I finish the ones I have in my inbox!

Don't forget you can also support me on ko-fi! If you like my writing, you can always just give me a little tip to help me continue my work!

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"Mesh'la~" A clone trooper called after you with a smile, "Why don't you stop hanging out with those defective boys and come hang out with real men, huh? I know you miss me~" He teased, mirthfully, as he blew you a kiss.

While you found the trooper's antics amusing, evidently none of the other Batchers had. Crosshair hissed a snide "filthy reg" under his breath as he took your arm and positioned himself between you and the other man. Hunter rolled his eyes with an exhausted sigh, Echo shrugging when Tech looked between you and the other clone. "What precisely does he mean when he says 'I know you miss me'?"

You only chuckled and shook your head in reply but flinched a little when you met Crosshair's sharp eyes. "W-What?" Your voice was hushed as it passed through your lips, almost as if you were intimidated by him.

The sniper simply lifted a brow at you, the tattoo over his eye elongating. "You didn't answer Tech." He answered with his coiled voice, toothpick moving over his thin lips. Was he serious? Why did it even bother him? You knew very well he had more contempt for the regs than even the others did, but for him to care so much about why the other trooper mentioned you neglecting him was odd- even for Crosshair.

You shrugged unhurriedly, eyes wide, as if you'd been caught in a speeder's headlights. Glancing toward the others to see if they were as confused as you were, but instead noticed they were also staring at you- waiting for a response. Tech adjusted his goggles on his face while Hunter rested his weight onto one of his hips, arms crossing over his broad chest. Echo blinked at you, and Wrecker tilted his head curiously. "What, seriously?" Was all you could summon as you looked at them all in amazement. "Is it really that big of a deal to you guys?"

"Well," Tech began simply, glancing at Hunter, "yes."

"Seriously?!" You shot back, your voice filled with offense then huffing out loudly at their insanely meddlesome behavior.

"Seriously." Crosshair's whispery tone upset you and the glare you sent him scarcely made him shift. "So, are you going to keep us waiting...or?"

"For kriff sake..." You muttered as a hand ran across your face, bitterness lacing your breath. "Fine! I made out with him once while we were at 79s on shore leave, are you happy now?" Your answer stunned them and they once again shared of look amongst themselves. "Stars. Karking fools, not everything is your business." Breathing out an annoyed sigh, you forced past them and fled into your bunk room.

"It would seem we have upset her," Tech noted after a beat of silence, to which both Hunter and Echo gave him a disapproving glance. "What? I am not incorrect. I am merely stating a factual examination as I have observed the situation."

"Stow it, Tech." Echo growled with a fatigued voice, pushing past him as they all began striding back to their own shared bunk room. Crosshair, however, lingered; eyes still eyeing where you had disappeared further down the hall. Why was it bugging him so badly to know that you had kissed that reg? It felt like gnawing in his chest like a wild nexu was bitting him.

He loathed it.

Why wouldn't it go away?

"Cross?" Hunter's deep voice broke the taller clone out of his thoughts and he looked over at his brother who was standing in the doorway. "You coming?" He questioned, a raise to his brow as he scrutinized him.

Nodding, Crosshair joined the others in the room with a faint 'yeah' and flicked his toothpick aside.

The night went on without much more discourse about your "adventure" with the reg but Crosshair couldn't get the idea out of his head and he was increasingly becoming cranky. Far more cranky than usual. The trooper was practically seething at one point while taking apart his rifle for the fourth time, griping to himself and shoving the pieces together sharply. "Any harder and I think you'll bust it, Cross." Echo comments, stepping over to his bunk to lie down.

"Shut up." The sniper hissed grouchily, driving a piece together especially hard and pinching his finger. He cursed under his breath spitting out his toothpick and placing his finger in his mouth to numb the ache.

Hunter chuckled at the exchange, "Listen, if you're so bothered by her kissing that reg, why don't you go make up for lost time and stop making the air so sticky with your angst." The man lounged in his own bunk, twirling his vibroblade around nimbly.

Crosshair prickled at the remark and turned to look at Hunter with a dangerous glare. "What do you mean by that?" His voice was low and lethal as he spoke, daring his brother to repeat himself.

"I believe you heard him well enough, did you not?" Tech piped up from his workbench, accommodating his goggles to look over at Crosshair. "However, if you were not clear on his meaning, he was proposing that you go and kiss her to make your intentions apparent."

Crosshair's nasty glower slowly landed on his intelligent brother and narrowed even further, his brow now raising in challenge. "What in the galaxy are you idiots going on about?"

"Well, you want to kiss her, don't ya?" Wrecker chimed in with a careful voice, making sure he was following the conversation correctly. Echo suppressed a laugh at Crosshair's dumbfounded expression at his larger brother.

"Of course, he does, Wrecker," Tech replied in Crosshair's stead with a matter-of-fact tone, restarting his work on whatever gadget sat in front of him.

Crosshair growled, stood up from the crate he was sulking on and lurked out of the bunk room into the hallway. Gritting the toothpick between his teeth, he groused to himself again, brown eyes traveling in the direction of your door. Hunter's comments persisted in his mind about going to you and...

But Crosshair barely considered the thought and waved his hand in the air as if he could swat away the notion. There wasn't any way in all the galaxy he was going to show up at your door like some loser with a crush.

The tall sniper rolls his eyes and then blinks in shock as he finds himself in front of a door. Your door. "What the hell?" He murmured to himself in bewilderment, eyes narrowed as if the door could give him an explanation.

He stood there for a surprisingly long time, debating with himself mentally; attempting to figure out what to do. Knocking on the door would require him to follow through with something he could easily make a fool of himself with, or...he could turn away and continue to seeth in jealousy over you being with other men.

Jealousy?

Wait...

That had just struck Crosshair.

It was the first time the idea of him being jealous truly passed his thoughts, though it made sense...the sentiment lingering in his chest corresponding to the word flawlessly.

He was jealous.

Aggravatingly so.

He hated to admit it. The thought made him feel...vulnerable; as if you have power over him in some way. But if he considered it in more depth, you did. Secretly he had been admiring you for months, amazed at how you took his brazen nature in stride and followed thoroughly alongside his banter. It startled him, pleasantly, when you first quipped back at him so effortlessly- his brothers typically being the only ones able to handle their comebacks well enough to leave him in silence. However, within weeks with the group you had smoothly grinned at him and shot back as if his offensive mood hadn't phased you in the least. He'd found himself gravitating toward you after that, interested in why you were able to tolerate him so well, wondering if he could push you further or cross a line that would make you furious; to which he uncovered nothing. The only thing he'd encountered was your gentle nature, sparked by sass and a smirk that made his heart race.

A whooshing sound startled him back to the present and he was met with your face. "What the hell are you doing out here, Crosshair?" You asked with a bothered expression.

Apparently the decision had been made for him. He was fully aware that if he turned around now he'd never live it down and would seem like a coward. He'd also have to deal with hearing about you kissing other regs which irked him even more than the idea of his brothers teasing him for being a wuss. So he rested his weight on one of his hips and smirked at you, flicking his toothpick past you. "You seemed annoyed back there, sunshine." He chose to go the route of antagonizing you, his more preferred form of communication; especially when breaching a matter he felt out of his depths to manage.

You rolled your eyes, infuriated. "That's because you and your idiot brothers were being assholes. It's none of your business what I do in my free time."

"What if I want it to be?" Crosshair heard himself speak before he could stop it but he chose to remain steadfast in the face of your changing expression.

Your raised brow and slow hand gestures implored him to continue as if what he said was unfinished. "And so what if you did want that? I'm not your-" Then it hit you and a blush rushed over your cheeks.

The clone stood there and he could feel his hands trembling, uncharacteristically. He wasn't predisposed to anxiety, none of his brothers were, but now he felt as if his heart were going to leap out his chest and through his armor directly into your hands. Silence continued to linger between the two of you with only the narrowing of Crosshair's eyes as a reaction.

"You..."

"Don't flatter yourself too much." Crosshair interrupts with a roll of his eyes, trying to fight off the embarrassment that started to creep up his own cheeks.

A smile began to form on your face, much to his dismay. "Crosshair...are you saying you're...jealous of that reg?" You were testing your luck and you knew it, he was never this clumsy in conversation with you but you couldn't help yourself when you caught the reddening of his cheeks.

"Stow it or I'll walk away right now." He hissed hatefully and crossed his arms over his chest, making no effort to move. While Crosshair despised the feeling of floundering he felt in the moment, he also found it...exciting. He was caught desperate and nervous in the sight of someone he cared for and your smile was stunning.

You chuckled at his expression, his face turning away from you to look down the hall where he'd come from. "You are jealous!" The triumph on your face was simultaneously aggravating and charming to the sniper, his trained eye taking in every detail even from his side glance. "I can't believe you're jealous because I kissed some reg, what are you a school girl? Little Crosshair feeling jealous because I kissed someone el-"

Your taunting was cut off quickly by the taller man as he covered your mouth with his; your eyes blowing wide. It was inelegant, awkward, and hurried but filled with an unexpected sweetness. You could feel his hands shaking as they held your face gently, his eyes squeezed shut. Scarcely given the chance to kiss him back before he pulled away, you grumbled in disappointment.

Crosshair stepped back out of your personal space with a dark blush across his cheeks, avoiding your eyes as he cleared his throat. He'd never felt so overwhelmed by emotion in all of his life and for him to act upon them in such a physical way left him tense.

"Crosshair..." You whispered his name with a grin, blinking a few times to make sure you were still in reality, not one of your many dreams. He peeked up at you momentarily and you could tell he would rather be shot by a blaster bolt than acknowledge that he'd just kissed you but you disregarded the look and stepped back up to him. "I'm gonna have to teach you how to kiss properly if you're going to want to keep doing that, ya know?" You teased softly.

Crosshair still denied any eye contact with you, missing the sweet expression on your face. "Th-That was my first kiss, so I don't know what you expected." His voice came out hastily by the end and had a bite to it, but you only chuckled at his shy behavior and kissed his cheek.

"I could tell." You joked lightly, a wise grin on your face.

Crosshair whipped his head to look at you, his glare fierce at your comment; which is what you had anticipated. You smiled up at him warmly and his heart leapt at the sight. Turning away from your captivating expression quickly, you hug him, resting your head against his chest plate.

"Wait! I'm sorry! I was just kidding!" You laughed at his pouting, knowing that you'd never let him live down the shade of red his face had gotten; even if just between the two of you.

[ashyblondwaves]

Prompt? The moment Haymitch realized that Peeta was important to him. Because he could only bring back one tribute, and he chose his best friend’s daughter. So when he realized Peeta meant something too? Meant something for himself not a dead friend or a memory of a lost child? That had to be a big thing for him. Unlike Katniss, I think Peeta meant someone not tainted by his games and memories. Peeta was the first kind person he let into his life after he pushed everyone else away. Katniss too, but Katniss comes with old baggage and her own family to keep her busy. Peeta did not. I just feel no one explores that angle. Always how Katniss and Haymitch are a lot alike, not why those similarities would draw them both to the same boy.

Thank You for this amazing prompt! I knew I could go to sleep until I wrote this, so I hope you enjoy! <3

This Wasn't Supposed to Hurt

I don’t remember his name being called. I was a little preoccupied with being unconscious on the ground to notice the boy nobody would dare volunteer for. 

Could you blame them? Not many would put their own life on the chopping block for another, and after the spectacle that was Katniss volunteering for her sister, nobody was ready to repeat it. 

The first thing I remember about him was when he hoisted me up out of a pool of my own vomit and dragged me off to my shower. Nobody tells you how sobering it is to slip in your own sick and have a pair of kids take care of you. 

After dismissing Katniss, Peeta took the burden of cleaning me up himself, and that’s when I knew he would die. Nobody that gentle or kind, who would take a relative stranger and clean them up like that, would survive in the arena very long. 

But then, the very next day, he surprised me by getting aggressive when I wrote them off. He was pissed, and it surprised me so much, I couldn’t do anything but punch in him in the face. Then Katniss got involved, and I was forced to see them for what they could possibly be to this stagnant rebellion.

The problem was that two of them weren’t designed to be a team. Sure, they could become allies, stick together in the arena and take every one out, but the time would come when one of them would have to die if they both survived to the end. The Capitol is particularly cruel for rigging things this way. 

We even tried the team angle for a while, having them go into things as one, but Peeta got tired of that quickly. He had his own plans. Tactics to give it to the Capitol as good as they gave it. 

He’s a rascal, that one. And not in the way that I pretended to be one. He just is, through and through, without any sort of facade, and I admire that. 

Even with all of that, I knew there would still come the moment where I had to choose one of them. They couldn’t both come home, and Peeta made it almost too easy for me to choose Katniss, which he probably intended. 

After teaming with the Careers, the Capitol wasn’t too keen on him, even though it was plain to see why he did it. But Capitol folks aren’t the sharpest tools and during the games everything comes with a price, and it this was going to cost Peeta his life.

I don’t doubt for a second that his feelings for Katniss are genuine. I try to think of going into the arena with Lenore Dove, how I would have done any and everything to protect her and make sure she got to go back home and I know without a second thought that if I had to, I would have done the exact same thing as Peeta.

It’s when Peeta and the Careers have Katniss trapping in a tree that I have to make my decision. It’s relatively easy to negotiate with the sponsors to send Katniss the burn cream, something I could never negotiate for Peeta after allying with the Careers, which means I have my answer. 

Then Katniss drops a Tracker Jacker nest on them all, and there’s something in my gut that lurches when I see Peeta screaming at Katniss to leave as Cato closes in. Something that causes my head to spin that has nothing to do with alcohol, when Cato realizes that Peeta helped Katniss escape. The scuffle, the way Peeta holds his ground. It’s familiar to me. I see myself at that age about to go toe to toe with a Peacekeeper to keep him from harming Lenore Dove, and I wonder for a moment if I’ve made a mistake.

He’s lying in the mud now, covered head to toe in the thick, wet earth, injured and clinging to life. I wonder if I should have done more for Peeta, negotiated something for him, gotten the Capitol sponsors on his side again. It wouldn’t have been too hard with these people, but it’s too late now. 

I spend the hours with a gnawing feeling in my stomach. How quickly this boy showed me kindness, and I couldn’t even do the same for him. How easily I’ve been able to see myself in him, and I ignored it. How once again I was trapped into playing the game. I throw my empty glass at the wall, angry that Snow has forced my hand this way for yet another year, because the truth is, I want them both to come home. 

I wait and wait for the cannon to go off, to signal that Peeta’s gone, but it never comes. 

Then Claudius Templesmith announces the rule change, and everything changes. 

[honey-beann]

Home (you)

rk brothers (Nines, Connor, Sixty) x Reader

Chapter III - Taking Root

Warnings:

Mentions of death

General angst

Mentions of injury (stabbing)

Pending final edits (sorry for any errors!)

Word count: 2,194

Series masterlist

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to accept your insurance card."

"We are literally identical in almost every conceivable way. If you didn't know that he was passed out in the other room right now you would think we were the same person, so just run the damn insurance."

Nines insisted, annoyance evident in his tone as he tried for the fourth time to convince the old receptionist to use his insurance for Sixty's hospital visit.

"Sir, will you please stop trying to commit insurance fraud?"

The woman asked, thoroughly exasperated with the man standing in front of her.

Nines opened his mouth to argue, but Connor spoke up from behind him, sounding almost as tired as the lady who had been forced to deal with his brother for the past twenty minutes.

"Nines, Trouble has his insurance card in her wallet. If the cost is so high that Sixty cannot pay it, I have no doubt that she will have them run the information. Now will you please sit down before you get us all kicked out of the hospital?"

Nines scoffed but did as his brother asked, glaring as he made his way back over to where you sat beside Connor, your six month old held firmly to your chest by his wrap carrier as your five year old slept soundly on his uncle's lap, drooling slightly against his t shirt while Connor continuously rubbed lightly at his back the very same way he had done when he was just a baby.

"If she runs that insurance, she'll have to deal with whatever copayments they ask for, as if it isn't already ridiculous enough that she pays for his insurance out of her own pocket."

Nines muttered to his brother as he sat down beside you, causing Connor to sigh and shake his head,

"She uses the money that Hank left her and you know that, if she were paying for it herself I would have long since put a stop to that."

Nines scoffed,

"The money that Hank left her is supposed to be her money, Connor, not another way for her to keep supporting Sixty's bad habits."

Connor opened his mouth to reply, but you cut him off, more than a little fed up with being talked about as if you weren't there at all.

"Would you two just leave things be? We've only been here for twenty-five minutes and I have a feeling it's going to be a long morning, so I really don't think we should start it off by arguing."

Nines sighed audibly from where he sat beside you, clearly still unhappy with the insurance situation, but Connor simply gave you an apologetic half-smile before he nodded in agreement and changed the subject entirely.

"You know Nines, I didn't realize you were back from your trip already. I thought you were scheduled to be away for another six weeks."

Nines let out a low hum of acknowledgement before he finally spoke, keeping his explanation brief and vague, as per usual when it came to his job.

"I finished early. They gave me the wide time frame assuming I would need longer than I actually did."

Connor nodded, but pressed a bit harder regarding the stipulations of his brother's job.

"Well I'm glad it didn't take as long as projected. Though, I am surprised that they sent you out on a trip they believed would take two entire months to complete. Weren't you placed on a short distance travel list after Finley was born?"

Nines stiffened a bit from where he sat beside you, and you raised a brow at him in response to Connor's words.

"What?"

You asked, hearing Connor let out a quiet "Oh" from your right as he fixed his gaze downward.

"I didn't realize that you hadn't told-."

"I inferred, Connor."

Nines snapped back quietly, causing his older sibling to sigh before he returned his focus to the child on his lap, clearly wishing he were literally anywhere else.

You turned toward Nines,

"You messed with some of your work contracts for me?"

Disbelief and shock were evident in every word you spoke as you tried to make sense of what Connor had said.

Nines was an FBI agent, that much you knew, and because of that he had strict contracts that he resigned every year stipulating where he could go, what he could do, what his pay would be, and what would happen if he were to not come back from a mission.

You knew that because every year he had to call you asking if you were okay with being put down beside Connor as his next of kin, meaning you would be notified if and when something happened to him...

And every year you had to verbally confirm that yes, you were alright with that, no matter how much the idea of ever actually receiving that dreaded call from his superiors terrified you.

But you also knew that the distance that Nines had once been willing to travel greatly bolstered his pay check. When he had been gone for the duration of your pregnancy with Finley, he had made enough money to buy his expensive car in cash and then attempt to fund both of your sons' college accounts.

So why the hell would he change his distance contract for you?

Nines sighed,

"I was unhappy with the circumstances that I had to work with while you were pregnant with Finley. Being unable to support you throughout the process while being forced to get updates through letters addressed to random P.O. boxes is an experience I would rather not repeat, so I told them not to send me so far away that I might be gone for more than a certain amount of time-"

"How much time?"

You asked, voice shaking as you attempted to keep yourself calm. Time and time again you had begged this man not to sacrifice anything else for you and your family, and time and time again he'd ignored you in favor of putting himself last for the one millionth time.

Nines sighed.

"I asked them to not send me away for longer than six weeks at most unless absolutely necessary."

He looked down at you, his voice stern and his expression serious as he spoke,

"And I will not be asking them to change that anytime soon."

You groaned, tossing your hands up in the air exasperatedly while being careful not to jostle the baby who was still sleeping soundly against your chest.

"You are impossible."

You muttered, hearing Nines chuckle a bit as he looked down at you in amusement,

"Only when it comes to your profoundly foolish requests for me to stop taking care of you."

You opened your mouth to protest the idea that he had any responsibility to do such a thing at all, but then the doors to the emergency center opened, and out stepped a doctor who called a familiar name into the empty waiting room, which remained devoid of all life save for your small and atypical family.

"Is anyone here for Caiden Anderson?"

He asked, causing all three of you to stand immediately, though Connor took a moment longer than you and Nines did as he adjusted Atlas properly in order to do so.

The doctor regarded the three of you with a nod, not bothering to ask the relationship that Connor and Nines had to Sixty and moving straight on to you and your boys.

"What is your relationship to the patient?"

He asked, and grimacing, you spoke the same lines you had already said so many times since long before you and Sixty had even started dating. He was an accident prone man, and you and the boys had needed a way to make sure you could get inside of hospitals to see him without issue.

"His fiancee."

You said, hoping that the doctor took your nervous body language as worry rather than the discomfort it truly was.

Because as many times as you had said those words, both truthfully and untruthfully, you didn't think it would ever stop hurting to say them now.

The doctor nodded, gesturing toward your children,

"And the kids?"

"Our sons."

You said, tone a bit more confident this time, and despite how displeased he looked to be bringing so many visitors into one room, the doctor motioned for all five of you to follow him into the room they were monitoring Sixty in.

Walking into the space though, you struggled not to wince at the sight of him, taking note of how pale and sickly he looked bathed in the white hospital lighting, his veins obvious beneath his skin, as if he were made of glass.

You shuddered slightly, staring at him for a moment until Connor, who had just set your son down in one of three available chairs, gently took your hands and guided you toward another, offering you a kind and encouraging smile as he and his brother stood behind you in spite of the fact that there was still one other available chair.

They preferred to stand anyhow.

Sixty had always been the one to sit with you.

The doctor sighed as he fully entered the room behind the five of you, closing the door and taking a look at the tablet within his hand to ensure he was looking at the right patient's chart before he spoke.

"So, it appears that Mr. Anderson managed to pop the stitches and re-injure the stab wound he came in for the other day."

He said seriously, and immediately your eyes grew wide and your hands felt clammy.

Stabbed?

Sixty, your Sixty, the too beautiful jokester with the too pretty smile had been stabbed?

You swallowed thickly, trying to stop your eyes from growing teary at the thought as you continued to listen to what the doctor had to say.

"So, the good news is that he hasn't sustained any new injuries, and that this was likely just an issue of him doing too much too soon. The bad news is that the area already seems to be infected, and while we are trying to treat that to the best of our ability, he will likely require at home bed rest for several weeks afterward. As you likely know, this is far from his first run in with infections, and at this point treatment is starting to become a lot less effective than we would like."

You felt your hands shake as you nodded numbly, wishing so hard that you could shake the sleeping man on the other side of the room awake and scream at him until he told you why he was doing this to himself, why he was doing this to you.

He had been a sickly kid, all four of you knew that, and in taking all of these risks with his health he was bringing himself closer and closer to an early death than you hoped he realized.

"To be clear,"

The doctor began solemnly, looking you in the eyes as he removed his glasses,

"If Caiden does not become more serious about his health soon, there may very well come a day when he is brought in here and there will be nothing that we can do but make him comfortable."

You blanched, watching as the doctor sighed,

"Look Ma'am, if I may be so frank, I have no idea what is going on with your fiancee. Hell, I don't even know if you two are actually engaged. But what I will say is that looking at his chart, he is playing a dangerous game. You can't do the type of drugs he's done and live the kind of life he's leading and expect to make it very far. And I think you're fully aware of that."

You nodded again, avoiding eye contact with the man as you did so,

"I am, of course I am."

"Then for your own sake, either get him to stop doing whatever the hell it is that he's been doing, or let him go. I don't like saying this, and I wish that things were different, but in the end if he won't take care of himself, and you can't make him, this can only hurt you and your children."

He sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, and then he stood, his expression still solemn and his eyes sympathetic.

"He should be waking up soon. When he does a nurse will come to inform him of his condition. Whether you stay or go is entirely up to you, just don't disturb any of the other patients please."

And with that he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him as the room filled with a tense kind of silence that you knew all too well.

"Did you guys know?"

You asked quietly, already aware of what the answer to that question was deep down.

"Did you know that he was letting this happen to himself?"

Their responding silence was deafening.

It was all that you needed to hear.

masterlist

AO3

[wordingg]

I thought if I'm going to start filling requests, I'd throw a few of my own out there! Thanks in advance to anyone who feels like fulfilling one! <3

[erisenyo]

Jetko week prompt: Jet gets some new clothes

“Do you know how hard it was to get my hands on one of these?” Zuko snaps as he wrestles out of his teashop uniform, moving fast enough to tangle himself in the still-unfamiliar ties. “Let alone two? Two full ones?”

“Oh, should I care about all the work you put in?” Jet calls back from what passes for the living room in this barely-one-room apartment, tone snide and full of jagged edges. “It's important just because it was hard?”

“Well, you’re the one who wants to sneak into the Upper—” Zuko presses lips flat at the smack of fabric hitting the wall and kicks his own teashop uniform into the bathroom wall, which is much less satisfying. Agni, if Jet wrinkles the uniform Zuko spent two weeks acquiring—as if any administrator under Azula’s purview would dare to—

“I bet you don't even know,” Jet hisses, words dripping venom, “what this position is called.”

“It’s—” Fuck, Zuko can never keep the middle administrative levels straight once they start talking the military-adjacent hierarchies. “It’s the territorial adjunct—” Or is it the secretary? Assistant? “—to the, uh—the city administr—”

Jet lets out a wordless, angry noise and Zuko lets out a growl of his own, frustration tight over his skin as he tries to find the proper underlayer amidst all the shades of black and red and gold.

“I don’t hear any better ideas from you!” he snaps, shoulders tight and fingers buzzing with adrenaline.

“A better—! We can just fucking—”

“Shut up, the walls are—”

“We can just break in!” Jet shouts.

“You agreed!” Zuko yells over top of him as he shrugs into his first layer, fighting through the flounces and volume and this tiny fucking room and if he didn’t need this fucking mirror— “You agreed that undercover would be easier!”

“Well maybe I changed my mind. Or," Jet adds, voice saccharine sweet, "are only you allowed to do that?”

Zuko nearly tears the silk of his collar in reflexive anger. “This isn’t about—”

“Oh, isn’t it?”

“You said you wanted—”

“Maybe I change my mind about that too!”

"And you said you'd tell me if you did!"

"Maybe I lied! That's a thing we do, right?"

"You can't keep bringing that up! You said you forgave me!" Zuko slams out of the bathroom feeling like his fire is trying to claw its way out of his skin. "Why are you—I don’t see why this is a big deal for you!”

“You wouldn’t,” Jet hisses at him, bare-chested and pacing with restless energy and so clearly furious, so clearly spoiling for a fight that they don't have time to have, that Zuko can’t even fucking enjoy it. "I'd like to see you try."

“You’ve worn disguises plenty before,” Zuko scowls, ignoring the stung feeling in his chest as he ducks back into the bathroom. “I’ve seen you.”

“Oh, so what? I have to like it now since I did it once?"

"That's not—"

"Like you didn’t bitch about your hair? Every day, 'oh, my honor', 'oh, the shame', 'oh, my family'—”

“And I did it, didn’t I?” Zuko snarls, barely stopping himself from turning to hurl his newly-acquired hairpin right into Jet's face. He forces himself to face the mirror instead and his hair growing out in its new Earth Kingdom style, shoving away the sharp feeling in his chest at the sight and about the act of dragging it up into a Fire Nation topknot because he doesn’t have time for that. "I listened to you, didn't I?"

"Oh, is that what you call—"

"And I did it!"

Jet lets out a savage noise. “Well you can do this too, then!”

“We don’t split up!” Zuko shouts, his frustration threading through with a tangled confusion because— “After Jin and—we agreed! We don’t—”

“Don’t tell me my own orders!”

“Then don’t act like they don’t apply to you!”

“Don’t act like you know anything!”

“And don't get mad at me for not—you said you’d tell me—”

Another furious noise. Then the crash of their one chair being kicked over and the thunk-snarl of Jet punching the wall and Zuko squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his hands flat to the narrow walls on either side of him and pushing, arms too-cramped and straining and frustration and anger and confusion boiling up in him, his fire practically choking him with the need to—

Zuko exhales a long, purposefully controlled breath. Then he forces himself to shove his fire back down, to relax his arms. To let his hands drop back to his sides, to lift his head, to open his eyes, moving step by step until he can focus on how the fuck this middle layer of robes is supposed to tuck and Agni, how masquerading as a palace majordomo was easier than this...

“Look,” Zuko says into the tight silence, carefully not thinking about the memory of Jet's hands smoothing his disguise into place or the reality of Azula looking for a single thread out of place, “I know it—it probably feels like a risk,” he says, the peace offering sitting awkwardly on his lips, the even-indirect admission of uncertainty and discomfort and the fact that Zuko knows how much Jet loathes feeling out of control, “But just—trust me, okay? I know how we’re supposed to look.”

He holds his breath a moment, sighing when there’s no answer and just feeling…tired as grabs his sash and ducks back out of the bathroom. “And look, I can show you what to do, okay? I can make sure…that…we...”

For a moment Zuko thinks he must be dreaming as he takes in the utterly incongruous sight of Jet fully dressed in front of him, every inch of his adjunct to the territorial overseer uniform—that’s the name—perfectly put together. Sash tied with the correct knot, sleeves adjusted to the correct angle, not a wrinkle in sight or strand of hair loose as if he smooths his shaggy hair back into a Fire Nation topknot every day.

“I do not,” Jet bites out, tone nearly vibrating with barely-contained fury, “Need your help.” His gaze scrapes over Zuko. “And your overlayeer is tucked wrong,” he growls, slamming out into the hallway and leaving Zuko staring numbly after him.

[faejilly]

Tangential 2.0

Or something like that? In the interests of beginning as one would like to go on, I am trying to get back into writing and fandom and remembering to talk to my friends online rather than doomscrolling, so!

#Tangential Tuesday: Semi-organized prompt requests a la @alexanderlightweight's "Writing Wednesday", with the caveat that whatever I come up with may bear very little resemblance to whatever you thought you had in mind, and/or I may refuse a prompt if I don't think I can do it justice. (I will let you know if that happens.)

I am accepting:

Writing Prompts: You may cruise my #prompt requests tag for ideas if you'd like, just be sure to tell me which meme if applicable.

Meta Questions: Unfortunately I do not have a specific tag for anything except Shadowhunters, but I am delighted to flail about lore/worldbuilding questions/headcanons for just about anything you've ever seen me mention. I have lots of thoughts about all sorts of nonsense, promise.

Podfic requests! (one-shots/short!fic please)

Would you like a fanmix? Companion to a specific fic or character/fandom feels are fine; I'll absolutely include a terrible cheesy canva cover and track-list to go with it🎵

If you would like a podfic/fanmix/sequel-fic/etc. for someone else as a surprise/present, I can only do that if they've got a blanket/fanworks permission statement. If you don't care about the surprise part, I will ask and let you know. (For an example, my permission statement is on my AO3 profile.)

Primary Fandoms:

Shadowhunters (TV): I tend to write Malec, but I enjoy the entire extended cast so anything goes.

BioWare: Mass Effect, Dragon Age, Jade Empire

Dimension20: Especially The Unsleeping City & Ricky/Esther

I have done the occasional meta/fic/podfic/fanmix for everything from Heyer Regency Novels to Stranger Things to 7kpp... so if you've got an idea for something else, especially if you've seen me reblog a gifset or ten, feel free to ask!

That is honestly the real goal here, to remind people they can ask, and I'm absolutely including myself in that, I have gotten terrible at it, for which I am very sorry and maybe we can all work on that together?

Reference Links Because I Am A Nerd:

Writing: AO3 / #jilly writes / #not on AO3 / #wip posting Other: Spotify / AO3 pseud / #jilly is bad at music / #jilly talks

[pie-of-flames]

Hi, if you're still taking requests from the January OTP prompt lists, I would love to request "Shooting Star" for McLennon! :-)

Thanks for the request, @crepesuzette2023! I hope you like this. Early days McLennon.

Previous fills here on AO3.

Most of the time Paul swam through life taking the easy path, just a normal bloke who liked to please his elders and make people laugh. But when it came to music, well, that was a different story. He wasn’t normal at all about that. Inside him was something so big and all-consuming, it was hard to keep his mind on anything else. HIs skin itched with the need to express himself in chords and rhythms, as if his very thoughts were musical and he had to translate them back into English to get along in the world. 

John was the same. When they were together, Paul could relax and be himself, speak his native language. It sounded ridiculous, but sometimes he thought the only time he felt truly alive was with John. Time became a meaningless concept. They’d joke and laugh, constantly ribbing each other. But it always came back to playing and singing, trying out new song ideas, listening to records and figuring out the chords. Back and forth they’d go, like a game, passing the ball between them trying to make a goal. But each time the ball changed slightly, one lending his ideas to the other, so it came out as something they’d both created.

And all along they both had this hunger to get to the top. It would sound daft if he put it in words. And for sure he’d never say anything to his dad about it. But it thrummed and vibrated deep in his core. When his dad went on about staying in school, becoming a teacher, Paul would nod and stay quiet, pretending to himself, at least for the moment, that it was something he might do. But then that fervent need would re-assert itself and he knew there was no other option. The desire to be something more, do something more, was an itchy craving to throw the doors open and announce to the world, “I’m here.” In John he recognized the same desire. Together the real world fell away and they could immerse themselves in limitless possibility. The next Elvis! The next Buddy Holly! 

One night after a gig, they shed the others and spent hours walking around the city, wrapped up in their own little world. Suddenly the sky opened up and they discovered they were at the docks. It was a different universe from the densely packed clubs and shops of the city center. Like sentries on guard, immense port buildings lined up facing the water. On the water, black silhouettes of ships and boats of all sizes massed around the docks, lights here and there puncturing the dark. They paused for a smoke break, leaning against a wall and surveying the scene. Paul unslung his guitar from his back, grateful for the rest.

“Did you ever see it so clear?” John mused. He gestured with his ciggie. “Look at the moon.”

“Yeah,” Paul agreed. Its pocked surface was clearly visible, grey features like flecked paint on canvas. “It’s bright.” Moon…loon…spoon..baboon… His mind spun out possible lyrics as they smoked in silence.

“Let’s stow away on one of them ships tonight. What d’you say?” John said.

Paul laughed. “Wish we could. Kind of sick of this place. We could go to India or maybe Egypt.”

“Naw, America’s where I’d like to go.”

“Oh yeah, we could say hi to Elvis,” Paul said. “Think he’d let us play for him?” He snorted.

“Go to Hollywood,” John added. “Wouldn’t mind seeing Elizabeth Taylor.”

The silence of night took over again, just the clang and clink of boat sounds ringing across the water, both contemplating the far-away nirvana of the US.

“You know, we might go to American some day,” Paul said. “It’s where it’s at. If we get good enough.”

“If? If?,” John said with mock dismay. “There’s no if about it, son. The world’s gonna hear about Lennon and McCartney, no doubt about it.”

Paul grinned at John’s confidence. A little flame burned low in his belly. “Hope so.” He wanted it more than anything. He could barely stand to say anything about it out loud. “Lennon and McCartney. Has a ring to it.”

“Sure does, mate.” John looked up at the sky. “Like those stars, yeah? We’ll be like them. Up so high no one can reach us.”

“We just gotta get there,” Paul said. “Think we can do it?”

“I will broach no more disagreement on this point, my young man,” John said in a posh accent. “The Beatles shall go as high as,” he pointed up, moving his hand around. “That star right there. See the really bright one?”

“Yeah, think so.” He tried to look where John was pointing. 

Suddenly, a star shot across the sky. Adrenaline shot through Paul’s body and they gaped at each other in wonder.

“Did you see that?” Paul asked at the same time that John said, “Did I just see what I think I saw?”

“It’s a sign,” John said, turning to Paul excitedly. “I know it. Has to be.”

Paul bit his lip, wanting it so badly he could burst. “You think?” 

“We’re gonna make it. Don’t you feel it?”

“Sometimes. When I’m with you,” Paul said. He looked up at the sky again, yearning to see the shooting star again, but it was gone. He tried to find the brighter star that John had pointed to. “I wanna believe it.”

John took Paul’s shoulders in his hands so they were facing each other. His eyes were bright in the moonlight. “Never doubt it. I can feel it in my bones.”

Paul nodded. He was abruptly aware of a crackling current rising between them, as if channeled through John’s touch. The energy fizzed through him. He thought of all the songs they’d already written, the gigs they’d played, the girls who watched them adoringly. How the four of them playing together was a high like no other. “We’ve got it. It’s gonna happen.”

“That’s right, son.” John clapped his hands on Paul’s shoulders then put an arm around him as they ambled away. “The world doesn’t know what’s coming.”

“Sounds about right to me.”

[incorrectagathaallalongquotes]

Prompt Requests?

Any fun domestic/kidfic modern Agatha/Rio with Nicky prompts? I'll be adding to the world of this fic. I have a few ideas but none of them are calling to me atm.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64167289

[etclouie-navigation]

𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒

navigation | main masterlist | pinned post

i wanted to add this to my navigation/pinned because there’s been a couple people that send prompt reqs in after events and i feel bad, but my rules and deadlines are there :/

when can you request prompts? — i only ever accept prompt related requests when i’m hosting an event, i.e. 600 followers or 1000 followers — there’s deadlines posted on every events information page, please check it out if you’re unsure or even send in an ask before submitting a request (example of what i mean can be found here) — on the contrary, and i know this isn’t helpful nor useful to anyone outwith the SOA fandom. but i take requests from the lovely @secretlysamcro ‘s soa prompt list whenever, these prompts can be sent in whenever you’d like!!!

more on why i only accept requests during events — i’m severely backlogged on requests as is, so if i was to continuously accept prompt requests after the deadline, then there would be no point in a deadline — it would be unfair to accept a request well after the deadline when ignoring ones that got sent in a couple of days after the deadline. i try keep it fair, and only write requests submitted during the events timefram — i do also have my own ideas i want to work through, which is no one else’s fault but my own

please understand that i do not want to be a dick and just ignore any requests sent in, they’re all greatly appreciated, but if you’re sending in a prompt request after an events deadline it will be ignored

[dumplingsjinson]

Send me one of your favourite songs...

...and I might write a prompt list for it if I vibe with the song (I might not do some of them if I don't understand what the song's about or if I simply can't think of any prompts that would fit such a song).

Please also specify the artist!

If you want, you can also include a line from the song so I can use it as the title, otherwise I'll pick a line I like and use that instead.

Example: Song: Want You Back - 5SOS Favourite line: "I know, you know, I will never get over you"

[itserinwritenow]

“they’re going to surround us. we need to get ready” + distrust + a skeevy motel just off the highway, any ship with sasha in it

May I present, the most underrated Sasha ship (to me, anyway). This prompt combo gave me major dystopian vibes. Also some past Sashnetra, as a treat.

"They're going to surround us, we need to get ready," Sasha said as she sat on the open windowsill, taking a long drag of her hand-rolled cigarette.

Marcia looked at the other woman in the reflection of the full-length mirror, her hands mending her torn Elites jacket. "Which they? Your's or mine?"

Both of them knew both groups would come with trouble. The guards from the Elites would storm into the motel room and arrest them.

Marica would be arrested for treason, and Sasha would go to prison for her past leadership with the rebel group, the Exiles.

"I think it's the Exiles, I saw red smoke from the west," Sasha responded with a tired sigh. "I knew we should have looked for a better hideout than this shithole,"

Marcia rolled her eyes, "You were fine with this place when you were bleeding out two days ago."

She pointed to the wrapped gunshot wound above Sasha's left hip. It wasn't deep enough to worry about internal damage, but it did cause enough blood loss for Sasha to pass out for the night until the wound was finally closed.

Marcia had many regrets about her upbringing with the Elites, but her medical training did come in handy.

"Yes, but now we need to be on the move again," Sasha said as she scrambled to find her bag. She looked out the window, seeing in the distance a few terrain vehicles come closer. "I can't face them again, especially if she's there,"

"You mean your little ex?" Marcia asked in mock innocence as she packed her medical kit into her backpack.

Sasha looked at her with a pointed look, "She was the one who was behind breaking into the Higher Elite's family's homes. The Elite's are horrendous people that just want power and control." She paused, looking away, "But you don't get their families involved in this, especially their kids"

Marcia slowly nodded in agreement. The Elites that mentored her to eventually take over as one of the highest-ranking Elites, were truly evil and corrupt. But she knew the spouses and children were innocent, they didn't know the horrible plans the Elite members had for the working class.

After a few minutes of stiff silence, Marcia stood by the door. "I'm ready, what direction are you thinking?"

"North, there's a refugee camp in the foothills. They'll have enough supplies for us to restock." Sasha said as she zipped her backpack.

Marcia hated going to the camps, the refugees and volunteers looked at her with disdain and never spoke to her with kindness. They likely recognized her from her numerous interviews and media releases.

Just because she was once a highly public Elite member, that's what Sasha always reminded her. But Marcia agreed, having no other options.

"Okay, let's get going-" Marcia said as she opened the door. Instead of the old and beat-down parking lot, she came face to face with a woman with flaming red hair and a scar over her left eye.

"Glad we made it on time," the woman smirked, before the group of masked Exiles appeared behind her, charging into the dim motel room.

[pastelsandpining]

taking reqs!!

hi guys! i haven’t been super active lately because life’s got hands, but i wanted to refresh my writing before this upcoming break with some little sprints, so i’m taking drabble requests! ^-^

[unboundprompts]

One-Word Prompt Requests

Hey everyone!! I'm deciding to open my inbox for one-word prompt requests!

Send an ask with one word or one subject and I'll make a prompt out of it! (Inspired by @deepwaterwritingprompts 's vague themed writing prompts)

They'll be posted as one of my #Random Prompts

(Reblogs appreciated to spread the word)

[wisteriagoesvroom]

might be taking… landoscar prompts… for drabbling? words, vibes, set-ups, one liners, music, moodboards, anything. feel free to send one through on asks

[erisenyo]

*furiously googling sentence prompts*

maybe something with “I said it was going to be fun, not that it was gonna be smart.”? i can really see Zhu saying it. or either one of the jetko boyz haha

For @radiantemperorweek Day 1, Devotion!

Zhu flashes one of those smiles that’s just this side of baring his teeth, like he can radiate happiness into Ouyang through sheer effort. “I said it was going to be fun, not that it was gonna be smart.”

Ouyang gives Zhu a sour look and refuses to let his face twitch into any direction that could be construed as a smile. “Your ideas of fun are debatable.”

Zhu arches his eyebrow, knowing. “So are yours,” he says, and Ouyang glares, and then ever harder as he feels the hot flush of embarrassment rushing through him.

“Oh yeah?” Xu Da grins, dropping the latest round of drinks onto the table and slinging an arm over Ouyang’s shoulder in the same move. “What’s our favorite grumpy wet cat think is fun, then?”

Ouyang flushes even hotter, barely stopping himself from hissing as he squirms away from the solid press of Xu Da’s body—and Xu Da laughs like he knows it, too, Ouyang clenching his fingers into fists and feeling the dull-sharp ache of the bite mark on his forearm shivering to life beneath his sleeve.

“Oh!” Esen leans in with that earnest drunkenness of his, the faint frown on his face disappearing into a sunshine-bright, loose smile as his eyes move from Xu Da to Ouyang. “Ouyang likes horses, and history!”

“Oh?” Ma says, half-polite and half-skeptical, and Ouyang purposefully ignores her and the look he can feelWang giving the side of his face, which just leaves Esen’s enthusiasm to focus on.  

“Oh, and also going out dancing!”

Ouyang loathes dancing. And watching Esen dancing. And watching women attempting to dance with Esen.

Ma makes another half-skeptical noise.

“Basketball!”

Ouyang endures the humiliation of being bodied to the concrete whenever Esen drives, as if Ouyang can’t put Esen on his knees in the dojo without even breaking a sweat, if he ever cared to.

“Watching football!”

Ma gives him a confused look, and Ouyang wishes to the depths of his being that she had never seen the ordeal of an Esen boisterous on beer and victory.

“And really big, fluffy robes, like the kind that come with matching slipper—"

“I think they get the picture,” Ouyang cuts in, the tips of his ears burning at the way Zhu and Xu Da are staring at him and Ma is studiously not.

Esen shrugs, smiling, pleased with himself and bright with it and Ouyang presses his forearm against the edge of the tacky table and feels the bite mark burn.

“What was it dear Zhu just said?” Wang says into the silence, droll, “’Fun, not smart?’”

Ouyang glares, burning. “Go fuck yourself, Bao Bun.”

“I don’t think I’m the one here needing a fucking,” Wang says, venomous-sweet.

“Huh?” Esen blinks, leaning in again with hopeful eagerness. “Are we going out tonight? Ouyang, are you coming?”

Wang pats his brother’s arm in mock-assurance as Ma chokes on a noise. “He just wishes.”

“I will put this fork right through your—”

“It’s nothing, big guy,” Xu Da says over top of them, apparently taking pity on him as he shifts to the other side of the booth to sling his arm over Esen’s shoulder now and grab his attention, which is worse.

Ouyang can barely look at them except if he doesn’t, he has to meet Zhu’s knowing, flaying gaze instead.

“So,” Zhu prompts, holding Ouyang’s eyes in open challenge, playing idly with Ma’s fingers, “Shall we be fun, not smart?”

“Hell yeah!” Esen says, draining his pint in a few deep swallows—

“Do you think he has a gag reflex?” Wang murmurs, his hand already covering the fork.

—and slamming the empty glass onto the table. “Let’s do it!” he grins, chivvying Xu Da up and out of the booth. “It’s just like riding a horse, right? I can show you how to do it, it’s all in the thighs and hips, you know.”

And because Zhu is awful, “Maybe you and Xu Da can ride tandem, to start,” he suggests, triumphant and terrible because he knows that if he and Esen are going to do it, then Ouyang will follow whether he wants to or not.

“Oh, yeah?” Esen says curiously as Ouyang tries to work up the willpower to stand, or to stay seated. “Hey, do you and Ma want to go first, or—"

“Are you waiting to be called?” Wang whispers into his ear, poisonous, because Wang knows that Ouyang will always follow, too. “Like a favored, devoted hound dog.”

Ouyang flexes his fist again, and then shoves to his feet. “Or like an eagle,” he says, enjoying a moment of Wang’s nonplussed expression before striding toward the fucking mechanical bull, already feeling the burn of humiliation in his gut.  

[chewbokachoi]

You said we could ask for TOS so I HAVE BEEN SUMMONED

"What else is there to do?" from the angry line prompts

100% no pressure <3

Yesss - and you can ALWAYS ask for TOS!!!!

I am so sorry for how long this took! It has been a while since I have watched TOS, so I hope they feel/sound at least a bit like they're supposed to.

McCoy's head swam as he darted from one patient to the next.

The mask he wore gave him the oxygen he needed, but as other systems began to fail, it was the "skipping" gravity that was doing the worst. The attempt to keep gravity stable was, instead, resulting in a fluctuation of G's that he could have done without. He winced–his patients could do without it far more than him. He knew how to do everything with a concussion and one arm.

And he definitely had a concussion.

But he wasn't leaving until everyone who had arrived was stable and retrieved by the rescue team. Then and only then would McCoy consider letting somebody take a look at him. 

"Doctor, I insist–"

"Chapel, if you so much as stand in your current state, that osteo-implant will snap and we'll have more problems." He growled. "You need to be the one to direct the rescue team the moment they arrive, understood?"

Her poker face emerged. "Of course, sir," she said. Then she held out her hand. "But I need a PADD to prepare for that." McCoy handed her the one he had and resumed his rounds. The aids that could still walk had done their job to secure the masks and patients to their beds. The nurses had administered the medications. There was little else to do except re-triage the patients–and wait to be rescued. He snarled behind his mask. The Romulans were going to pay for what they had done–intentionally destroy the escape pods–had they no shame?

"Doctor."

"What?" He snapped. Didn't Spock have something better to do–such as Everything Else?

Of course, Spock was unphased by McCoy's unprofessional response. "Lt. Uhura is turning off comms within the ship in order to prioritize contact with the rescue ship."

McCoy Grunted. "How's her sternum and left lung holding up?" He asked, checking his patients as Spock followed him like an obnoxious shadow.

"Well enough to ensure her orders are heard throughout the bridge."

McCoy shook his head. She was going to need a whole new lung at this rate. He tapped an order for that and made a private note to Chapel: I trust you to make sure it happens. He could already imagine Uhura talking her way out of a procedure that would have her bedridden for weeks.

"Doctor. I am here–"

"What's the ETA on the rescue? Which ship is it, by the way?"

"We are still uncertain–when I left to inform you, Lt. Uhura was quite diplomatic in reminding them of our urgency. As for the ship, it is the USS Bradburry."

"The one ship named after the man who had it right all along and it might not get here," McCoy muttered. Nobody along the port-side row needed reclassification. He turned and began on the next row. 

"Doctor. We must–"

"If internal comms are down, how are we going to know if something goes wrong in Engineering? Especially if Scotty's got a broken arm?"

"Lt. Cmndr Scott has set up a way to flicker the lights in morse code for the bridge." Spock replied. There was a subtle change in his town. "Doctor, I must insist we speak in private–I sense you are avoiding me."

McCoy glared at him. "I can't imagine why I'd be avoiding the man who is distracting me and thus preventing me from re-triaging my patients."

Spock's brow rose in that way it always did. He looked around. "Your staff has done a remarkable job in stabilizing everyone." Then he looked back at McCoy. "I must speak with you and a specific patient," he said, his voice dropping into an uncharacteristic whisper.

McCoy wanted to pretend it was the dip in gravity that made his stomach plunge. There was no avoiding Spock's reason for coming down. He kept his shoulders stiff as he turned and promptly walked to the back where a black curtain had been drawn.

James T. Kirk was on a cot and hooked up to a deceptively simple monitor. McCoy felt the man had more medication than blood running through his system. He felt his mouth go dry as he pointlessly checked the well-secured oxygen mask.

"Has his status changed?" Spock asked.

McCoy felt a spike of anger rise and fall along his spine. "What do you think?" He snapped. "He lost too much blood too quickly–hit his head…" McCoy felt his fingers fumble with the stylus as he updated the captain's notes.

Spock looked over the PADD. McCoy wanted to snap something about patient confidentiality but knew it was useless. Spock was the acting captain now. Which meant he could see that Kirk's status had only declined with each update, only to stabilize to where it currently was in the last hour.

"What do you estimate his chances of survival to be?" Spock asked.

McCoy spun around and stared Spock down. "Isn't that your thing?" He snarled. "I don't reduce people to numbers. You wanted to come all the way down here to just have me spit some numbers at you?"

Spock remained nonplussed. "You are the Chief Medical Officer, doctor," he said. But there was that ever-so-subtle hint of frustration in his voice. McCoy had gotten good at not only picking up on that tone but being the cause of it more times than he should have been proud to admit to.

"I would say his chances of survival are far from ideal and will continue in that direction the longer it takes for that damned Bradburry to get here." McCoy hissed and turned to check on Kirk once more.

It was silent aside from the beeping of not just Kirk's monitor, but all the other monitors out in the medbay. Too many monitors–yet the alternative was far worse.

"What else is there to do, doctor?"

McCoy felt the stylus slip from his hand. He fumbled to catch it–and was only able to as gravity dropped dangerously low, slowing its fall. His back twinged as gravity stabilized while he straightened up. Too many things were going wrong. He turned to snap but the anger died as he noticed how different Spock looked. It was that damned doctor sense of his. He could see the slightest of green in Spock's features–even the blue of his lids had taken on a greener tint. The Vulcan was still standing straight, but McCoy could see his nostrils flare faster than usual. It was the closest to panic he had ever seen in a Vulcan.

He looked back at Kirk and then Spock. "He might still be able to hear you. I would prepare for him not making it onto the Bradburry," McCoy said. "I would recommend saying goodbye sooner rather than later."

Spock gave a nod.

"I'll be resuming my rounds–and I'll send an aid to inform the bridge." McCoy continued. 

"Thank you, doctor," Spock said.

McCoy said nothing and slipped through the curtain.