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spirkme915 · 1 year

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No Way in Hell

idk what this is, but here it is! @remusmoonshinezine posted a super sad fic a few days ago and i needed a massive dose of fluff, so i ended up writing this. it's pretty much spirk fluff & crack (from bones' pov) and i have so many regrets, but, apparently, not much shame. Edit: Now cross-posted to ao3

Leonard doesn’t have to look up from his padd to understand that the only question he needs to ask is, “Do I want to know?”

Jim is hovering outside his office door - shifting from foot to foot, indecisive - and, really, that’s indication enough that something has gone horribly wrong. Not life-threatening wrong, no - Jim is eerily calm when that particular dam is breached. And if it was something Jim could fix on his own then he would be holed up somewhere licking his wounds. God knows Jim doesn’t willingly visit sickbay unless it’s for a drink and a semi-tolerant ear as the captain moons over his untouchable first officer.

So, whatever happened, it’s somewhere in that mushy middle ground between death and pining.

“You probably should know, but…”

Leonard sighs, looks up. He’s on his feet - hypo in hand - before he’s thought to move. “Good god, man. What did you do? Stick a hornet in your eye?”

“Something like that.”

The hypo hisses as Leonard injects an antihistamine, then he’s poking at prodding at Jim’s eye, making sure that it’s only the lid and surrounding tissue that’s swollen up like a goddamn helium balloon and not the eye itself. Jim doesn’t protest the intrusion and that, more than anything, sets off Leonard’s internal Red Alert.

He steps back and targets Jim with his best time-to-‘fess-up glare. “There’s nothing in your eye and there aren’t any marks.”

“There, uh, wouldn’t be.” Jim blinks as the swelling begins to recede. “Am I good to go?”

“Am I going to get any answers out of you?”

Jim swivels on his heel, heading for door. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“And I’ll take that as a no,” he grumbles under his breath as Jim hightails it out of sickbay. He presses the comm button. “Sickbay to Spock.”

“Spock here.”

“I just gave the captain a heavy dose of antihistamines. He’ll be out for the night and should be good to go for Alpha tomorrow, but here’s your heads up in case you need to take the conn.”

A pause. “Understood, Doctor.”

Leonard rolls his eyes to the heavens. Jim waxing poetic about Vulcan agility and strength he can take; Spock’s brand of pining makes his head hurt.

“He’s fine. If you want to check on him later, though, go for it.”

“I will do so, Doctor.”

Leonard clicks off the comm before he mutters, “Of course you will.”

Goddamn idiots in charge of the ship. He isn’t paid enough for this.

---

He’s battling the computer over requisition forms the next time Jim shows up at his door. This time, his erstwhile captain is looking guiltier than the groom at a shotgun wedding.

Leonard surveys where Jim has his shirt-sleeves hiked up - skin on both arms spotted with hives. He glances at the garbled supply forms on his screen and briefly envies the tech department - their patients aren’t sentient.

He gives in to his fate and shuts off his screen. “Let me guess. Arm-wrestling with a cactus?”

“I haven’t been in the botany lab today.”

“Then you were ritually bathing your arms in Caitian milk.”

“What? I don’t know where I’d even get that -“

“The source is literally in the name, Jim.”

“- and anyway, isn’t that supposed to be beneficial for Human skin?”

“Not yours.” Leonard gets up from his chair, waving at Jim to come closer. “When did it start?”

“My apologies, Doctor,” Spock says as he suddenly appears in the doorway like a damn wraith. “I was notified that you are having difficulties with your terminal.”

“And tech sent you?”

“You are not known for your ‘bedside manner,’ particularly when you are experiencing frustration. To employ one of your colloquialisms, you ‘scare the pants off them’ in such circumstances.”

That’s actually…fair.

Leonard waves in Spock then refocuses on Jim. “You. Talk.”

“It started about thirty minutes ago. It was just one hive on my right hand and I ignored it, then…”

Despite the lingering nature of that sentence, Leonard is well aware Jim ain’t gonna finish it. Especially since his crush is leaned over a desk only footsteps away. Quite frankly, it’s a miracle he has Jim’s attention at all.

He sighs.

“Look, Jimmy boy. You gotta give me something to work with here.”

“Do I?”

Leonard has a hypo to Jim’s neck faster than Jim can rethink his shit-eating grin.

“Ow, Bones!”

“Serves you right. Get out of my sickbay.”

He doesn’t bother to tell Jim not to come back unless he’s willing to talk. It’s a threat with no teeth and Jim knows it. Even though he may question his life choices on an hourly basis - sometimes minute-by-minute - hitching his horse to Jim’s wagon is one of the best decisions he ever made. He’ll never tell Jim that outright, but he supposes that keeping the golden boy of Starfleet alive, despite his shenanigans, is proof enough.

He watches Jim saunter out - rubbing at his neck as he goes - then turns around. “Verdict, Mr. Spock?”

“I believe the captain will recover just as well as he did the last time. However, I have shared with him that it would be prudent to uncover the underlying cause for his reactions. It appears he has…rejected my advice.”

Leonard narrows his eyes. “I was talking about the computer.”

Spock freezes. Blinks. “Ah yes. I have found the error and rectified it.”

“Great. Now, tell me again why the first officer of the flagship is fixing my computer instead of a cadet?”

“My work is now complete, therefore the question is immaterial. Good evening, Doctor.”

As if it weren’t already ratcheted sky-high, the haughtiness factor flies off the charts when Spock stands, hands clasped behind his back. Even the door seems to swish shut more dramatically than usual.

Leonard isn’t fooled.

Spock came here to check up on Jim, and whatever Spock thinks Jim’s doing - or, hell, knows Jim’s doing - it’s something he doesn’t approve of. Add in the fact that Jim must know that Spock knows, because loverboy didn’t give the object of his obsession even a hint of a glance, and it all adds up to trouble. Possibly heartbreak. Definitely cattiness.

“Nope,” Leonard says out loud. He pops open his liquor cabinet, grabs a bottle, then props his feet up on his desk. “There is no way in hell I’m getting involved in that.”

---

God. Fucking. Dammit.

He’s going to have to get involved.

Jim is standing by the replicators, tray in hand, leaning in as he talks with a visiting Vulcan scientist. On the surface it would seem like any of the hundreds of professional encounters Jim has every day, but Jim’s lips are swollen. Which they definitely weren’t an hour ago, when Leonard just happened to catch Jim waltzing into the labs to greet said visiting Vulcan scientist.

It’s possible it’s another allergic reaction - one minor enough that Jim didn’t seek out Leonard’s help - but the cacophonous silence and phaser beam glare of his table mate tell him otherwise.

Spock hasn’t looked away from Jim and the Vulcan scientist since they walked in together.

Has he mentioned that the visiting Vulcan scientist - who spent the last hour alone with Jim in the lab and now Jim has swollen lips - is a Vulcan?

“So,” he says. “How about that Surak guy, huh? He really put that can-do attitude into Vulcan.”

Not even a hint of a disdainful twitch.

Leonard heaves a sigh.

And he thought suffocating, vaporized blood, and death were the worst things that could happen to him in space.

He’s going to have to get involved.

---

Despite being the emotionless one, it’s clear to Leonard what Spock’s thinking. It’s Jim he can’t get a handle on.

He has even less of a grasp when he walks into Jim’s quarters to find that the captain’s lips have morphed into grapefruits. He has his tricorder in one hand and his hypo in the other in two steps. Thankfully, he doesn’t need an additional appendage in order to deploy his righteous indignation.

“Can you breathe?”

Jim nods. “It’s just my lips not my tongue or throat.”

“Good. Then you’re not in immediate danger.”

He unleashes a flurry of hyposprays on Jim’s neck until Jim is swatting him away. “What the hell, Bones?”

“Me?” Leonard yells. “What the hell are you doing?”

Jim blinks. His lips flap. “What?”

Leonard grits his teeth. He’s surrounded by beings with the emotional intelligence of a turnip. “I thought that your lips were swollen from kissing one certain Vulcan, but this…” He reviews the tricorder readings again, frowns. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Wait. You knew?”

He scoffs. “You made it pretty damn obvious.”

“You can’t tell Spock.”

“You think Spock doesn’t know?”

“Shit. That’s why -“ Jim shakes his head. “I was trying to be discreet.”

Discreet my ass, is what he wants to say. But the hangdog expression on Jim’s face tells him that Jim is already chasing his tail. If Jim thinks he’s going to lure Spock in with jealousy, then he’s got another thing coming to him.

“Look. I know you think you know what you’re doing here -“ Jim opens his mouth to protest that and Leonard glares at him until those flappy lips close. “But you have a reputation that you and I both know isn’t accurate or deserved - relationships mean something to you. And as far as I can tell, it’s the same way for Vulcans. Hell, maybe even more so. So you better be damn sure what you’re doing.”

Jim deflates just as fast as his lips. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“So you don’t think this“ - Jim circles a finger around his lips - “is connected to…that.”

“No.” Leonard refrains from rolling his eyes clear out of his sockets and focuses on the tricorder again. Jim’s reactions started days ago and the visiting scientist just came on board - of course they’re not connected. “But we have to figure out what is causing it. Anything else you need to confess to, Don Juan?”

“I really don’t know what it could be, Bones.”

No, he really doesn’t. Leonard sees the frustration in the set of Jim’s jaw.

“I won’t make you take a trip to sickbay, but I’m going to need some of your blood to analyze. And if it happens again then come see me immediately so I can take readings while the reaction is happening.”

“Got it.”

The slump in Jim’s shoulders softens something in Leonard too. He stows away his righteous indignation - for now.

“Get some sleep, Jim. I’ll talk to Spock.”

Jim shakes his head, emphatic. “No. I need to do it myself.”

Not a turnip then. Maybe more like…a potato. At least Jim has eyes on the situation now.

Leonard takes some of Jim’s blood, takes his leave, and - of fucking course - runs right into Spock as soon as Jim’s door closes behind him.

He has half a mind to facetiously ask Spock if he’s taken on maintenance work now and is checking the bulkheads outside of the captain’s quarters for hull breaches, but everything about Spock is…droopy. Oh, he’s still all harsh angles and coiled muscle, but if Spock had whiskers or a tail then they’d be dragging on the ground. Seems fitting since Jim’s gone full wounded puppy and it’s likely the two of them are about to go at it like cats and -

Leonard’s eyes widen, the readings from his tricorder suddenly making sense.

“Wasn’t your last landing party with Jim on that planet with the emerald tigers?”

Spock inclines a brow. “That is...functionally correct. However, the Ji’ial call them klonukto, which in their language means -”

Leonard waves that away with a mumbled close enough and is halfway to the turbolift before Spock calls out, “May I ask if this is significant to the captain’s health, Doctor?”

Leonard stops, sighs, then turns around. Of course Spock is still concerned about Jim despite what he witnessed today - there isn’t anything logical about the way Spock feels about Jim.

“I think I may know what’s causing Jim’s reactions.”

“You believe it was initiated by our interaction with the Ji’ial.”

Sort of.

Maybe.

“It’s the strongest possibility right now,” he hedges. “I need to go run some tests.”

“I am gratified you have a new hypothesis to pursue.”

Instead of drooping, Spock…eases. That it’s a tangible shift says a whole hell of a lot - Spock is desperately relieved for Jim. Leonard’s guilt immediately takes over and, really? Why is he feeling guilty about Jim kissing someone else in order to make a Vulcan jealous? Not his monkeys, not his circus.

Of course, the words are tumbling out of his mouth before his I-don’t-give-a-shit kicks in. “If you’re going to see Jim, I don’t think you’re going to like what he has to say.”

“I am quite sure you are incorrect, Doctor.”

And, with that, Spock enters Jim’s quarters.

Leonard wants to smash his head against the bulkhead, but…whatever. Spock is gonna Spock and Jim is gonna Jim and never the twain shall meet.

“Not your monkeys, not your circus,” he reminds himself.

He has other mammals to think about.

---

Leonard stations his elbows on the lab table, drops his head into his hands, grips his hair in his fists, and pulls. If he’s also internally screaming, then, well, that’s his own business.

It’s not Ji’ial. Not Caitian.

He even requested a ship-wide scan to ensure they didn’t have a warm-blooded stowaway that accidentally got caught up in a transport beam or some ensign brought onboard to make the Enterprise more homey. No such luck.

Absolutely none of Jim’s readings make sense if there isn’t -

“Spock to Dr. McCoy.”

Leonard may just let a bit of that internal scream slip. He doesn’t have the patience for will-they-won’t-they drama right now.

He hits the comm button because, well, he always does. “What’s up, Spock?”

“You are needed in Jim’s quarters immediately.”

Leonard’s relatively sure that if Jim was on death’s doorstep then Spock would have some kind of inflection in his voice. The lack of it tells him Jim’s knee-deep in that mushy middle ground again.

“I’ll be right there.”

His hypos are locked and loaded when he steps into Jim’s room, all of them clattering to the deck when he takes in the plague-reminiscent tableau in front of him.

Spock stands - spine rebar straight - in a black robe, hands clasped behind his back. His hair is disheveled as if he just removed one of those pointy-nosed masks. He hovers next to Jim’s bed where the captain is laying naked, hives covering him head to feet, skin reddening and swelling. Even though Jim has the sheet draped over his delicate bits, Leonard is relatively sure that they continue all the way -

He winces. That’s gotta hurt.

Or, well, itch.

Or maybe both.

Yikes.

Spock tilts his head. “I believe your hypothesis that my biology is not causing Jim’s reactions is incorrect.”

Leonard’s tricorder drops to the deck too.

“Your what?!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jim says. “Whoa. You said you knew. That it was obvious.”

“Obviously it wasn’t!” He stabs a finger at Spock. “What does he mean his biology?”

“You said I was kissing a Vulcan!”

“Yes. The visiting Vulcan science officer!”

“What? Why would I be kissing a Vulcan who’s not Spock?”

“That’s what I wanted to know!”

“Doctor,” Spock cuts in. “I believe you may want to attend to Jim’s breathing before it becomes more labored.”

Shit.

Spock’s right. Jim’s still able to yell but that’s not gonna last long.

He scoops up his supplies and crosses the room. Jim sags into the bed when the first wave of anaphylaxis meds hit his bloodstream, his respiration begins to even out. Leonard grits his teeth and holds his silence until he’s sure that Jim is easing back from the precipice.

It’s in that quiet that it hits him. He groans. “It’s likely that Vulcans evolved from felines.”

“That is the predominate theory, Doctor.”

He glares up at Spock. “And it never occurred to you that Jim is allergic to cats?”

Spock inclines a brow and opens his mouth, but it’s Jim who speaks first. “Go easy on him, Bones - it’s my fault. He thought it was the most likely scenario and wanted me to tell you, but I was trying to be discreet.”

“When have you ever been discreet, Jim?”

Jim shrugs. “It’s Spock.”

Leonard supposes that explains it all.

Relationships mean something to Jim. They may mean even more to Vulcans. And, well, this relationship has all the hallmarks of “legendary” stamped across it.

Goddamn legendary idiots.

He pushes another hypo into Jim’s neck, sighs. “And there’s the cure for your allergy.”

“That’s it?!” Jim’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t you give me that years ago?”

“Not a lot of Terran cats around these parts, so it should’ve been an unnecessary shot. But I suppose this ones hybrid physiology was tailor-made to set you off.”

Jim smirks.

Spock clears his throat.

Leonard wants to die.

Since there’s zero chance of him gracefully exiting this conversation, Leonard decides…fuck it.

“Congratulations on the sex,” he says. Jim turns a magnificent shade of red, but at least this time Leonard knows that reaction doesn’t need a hypo. Spock looks like he’s in physical pain. Leonard is gleeful. “But really? No more of it for at least twenty-four hours.”

Jim’s Yes, Bones comes through the sheet that Jim’s dragged up his chest to hide behind.

Knowing full well that the timer is already ticking down, Leonard looks up at Spock. “If I don’t hear from you twenty-four hours and five minutes from now, then I’m going to assume the shot worked.”

Spock’s lip twitches. “Understood, Doctor.”

---

Twenty-four hours and thirty-seven minutes later, Leonard is just about to close his eyes and crash when his comm beeps.

He swears into the silence of his quarters then hits the button to play the audio message from Jim.

“Uh, Bones? Question that may or may not be related to…yesterday. Spock doesn’t make this sound when he’s in a healing trance, does he?”

Leonard’s adrenaline spikes. A healing trance? What the hell have they been doing that Jim would even think -

Then he hears it.

Spock is purring.

He thinks about Jim’s swollen eye, his hands and arms, his lips, his entire body covered in hives, then how Leonard’s still not entirely sure what actions caused those particular reactions, and…

Nope.

No way in hell.

Leonard flips his comm closed, turns over, and screams into his pillow. Those lovesick fools are just gonna have to figure out their differing biology on their own.

There is no way in hell he’s getting involved in that.

#spirk #spirk fanfiction #k/s #jim kirk #spock #bones mccoy #bones pov #no way in hell #my fic #fluff and crack #idk if i'll post this to ao3 #but yeah #i do prose and this #whatever this is #tos spirk #aos spirk #i'm not really sure which is more applicable #guess it could be either

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lucidloving · 8 months

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Isabel Allende, The House of The Spirits // Anne Carson, Red Doc> // F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Short Stories // Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous // 肉包不吃肉, The Husky and His White Cat Shizun // Bernhard Schlink, The Reader (trans. Carol Brown Janeway) // Heart Like Yours— Willamette Stone

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lizkreates · 1 year

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Black Coffee & Donuts ☕ 🍩

~A Trigun fan comic~

(Image description under cut)

[ID: PAGE 1 Panel 1: Wolfwood and Vash sit at a bar counter just as they’re finishing breakfast. Wolfwood annoyed, is hunched over grasping his coffee mug as he pushes Vash’s face away, who is playfully waving a chocolate sprinkle around. Dialogue: Vash: “Try a donut? Come on, they have sprinkles on the today!” Wolfwood: “Forget it, Spikey!”

Panel 2: Close-up of Vash’s hands breaking the donut into a smaller piece, crumbs flying in the air.

PAGE 2: Panel 1: Vash, drawn in chibi style, reaches over and gently places the donut piece on Wolfwood’s empty plate, utensils resting on the side. Wolfwood, holding his hot black coffee, looks over his glasses annoyed. Dialogue: Vash: “Just a piece?”

Panel 2: Close-up of Vash with pleading eyes and an innocent smile asking “Do it for me?”

Panel 3: Dialogue: Wolfwood: “Okay, but only if you try black coffee.” Vash: “You got yourself a deal!” Wolfwood and Vash toast their coffee mugs in agreement.

PAGE 3 Panel 1: Wolfwood, eyes closed, begrudgingly puts the donut piece in his mouth and eats it. Dialogue: I don’t get what’s so great about this.

Panel 2: Wolfwood looks over to Vash, who is cartoonishly dumping the entire cup of hot coffee in his mouth. He snaps at him “What are you doing?!”

Panel 3: Vash yells, “HOT HOT HOT!!!” Steam rises out of his mouth, and tears stream down his face as he waves his mouth with both hands in an attempt to cool it down. Wolfwood shouts, “You idiot! You’re not supposed to drink it all at once.”

Panel 4: Wolfwood calms down, now concerned if Vash burned himself, and asks “Are you okay?” Vash leans over and chugs a pitcher of water and answers “Mm-mm.” (Which is uh-huh mumbled.)

PAGE 4: Panel 1: Close-up of Wolfwood’s lower face, as he takes off his glasses, no longer concealing part of himself. “Sorry, I should have warned you.”

Panel 2: Wolfwood looks down remorsefully and cradles his coffee mug with both hands. “You need to respect it. Nurse it slowly, let it cool down. Savor the bitter taste.”

Panel 3: Close-up of Wolfwood’s eye in surprise. “It sounds just like you,” Vash observes.

PAGE 5: Panel 1: Wolfwood lights up and laughs, “Ha it sure is!” Panel 2: Vash lightly blushes and smiles softly looking at Wolfwood’s contagious grin. He got him to smile, a win.

PAGE 6: Panel 1: A view from behind, we see Vash and Wolfwood from the back as they continue their banter. Vash sits like a gay, legs everywhere, and Wolfwood straight like a proper Catholic boy. Vash asks “How’s the donut?” Wolfwood responds, “It’s sickeningly sweet…actually it reminds me of you.” Vash blushes, “Aw, Wolfwood! You called me sweet~” Wolfwood denies it, “N-no I didn’t…!” Kuroneko, a black cat, sleeps at the foot of Wolfwood’s bar stool. End ID.]

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artharakka · 3 months

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Beautiful, But Broken

#bg3 #tiefling #tw blood #c: Viivi #so I redid my bg3 character because I wasn't feeling durge that much. So now my sibling does durge and I regular tav Viivi #(changed her to tiefling for funs)#at least I meant to do regular tav but uhhhhh things have gone very unfortunately very fast #anyway. Viivi is an artist; she does painting sculpting poetry and some prose. Experimenting with this and that #unfortunately she is deaf which made making connections a bit hard in the fine arts world #fortunately she has a patreon with one very generous patron (she's fey warlock)✨ who has bestowed some gifts of charms for her #which have opened doors of many art galleries #She's not a fighter so although she is confident in her own lane she is also very aware of her mortality #so she avoided any fights she could #which might have saved her but also got her into the mess of her lifetime #you see she couldn't fight the entire goblin camp and their leaders. She would've just not survived that. So she convinced them #that she is a True Soul. She is good at convincing people. It worked. They thought she is on their side. Good #Halsin also though Viivi was on their side. Halsin attacked Viivi's party. Now Halsin is dead.#So Viivi and her group were still alone deep within enemy fort. Viivi made new plans. She frees the prisoner who says he will warn the grov #Good thinks Viivi now they know to flee. I will go to Minthara and tell we got the information from prisoner of the grove location #she will trust us and we walk off #when we get back to grove they have not fled and Minthara is at the gates #Minthara wants Viivi to sound the horn. Zevlor wants Viivi to sound the horn. Viivi asks Zevlor to please tell this plan in detail.#Zevlor says just blow the horn already. Viivi does that. Minthara thanks Viivi for leaving the gate open as planned #Zevlor does not thank Viivi for that. Viivi is confused as she did not leave the gate open. (for real the damn gate was left open)#So I did a Massacre.#now Karlach is gone Wyll is dead. Lae'zel is also dead #but apparently Minthara is ready to be very loving and sincere with Viivi. The most helpful person she has met in very long time.#Viivi might love her #so that is how she's doing.

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khairosclerosis · 2 months

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💐 love is in bloom

#clementimes #art #my art #ace attorney #mlp #the bride and the ugly ass groom #my little pony #kristoph gavin #phoenix wright #krisnix #mama y papa 😁#has anyone done this yet #idk my friend sent one of these to me and called it krisnix #but i didn’t know it was a redraw meme until 2 days ago 😭#their names are periwinkle prose and wild card btw :3 if u even care.. ^_^#yes i do have unfinished pony designs for the aj main 6 thank u for aski-

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comicaurora · 7 months

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tldr I committed to a bit too hard

The slow-dawning sunlight dappled down through dense, rich foliage, scattering golden lace across mossy trunks and grassy hillocks. The light caught on the forest floor in a thousand glassy dewdrops and bent, fisheyed, in globed inversions of the canopy above.

No breeze stirred the forest so early in the morning, but a thin mist gathered in the valley under the warming air. Sunbeams lanced through the fog, pale in the dawn but soon to brighten and intensify. For now, the air was damp and cool and still, and the scent of the night lingered.

Pip bent a pawful of grass to the side and sniffed the air suspiciously.

It was too quiet, too still. And with no wind, she couldn't mark the position of the strange beasts and their odd, dusty, acrid scent that had no place in these woods. It hung low and directionless over the peaceful morning, distant but permeating, like a faraway fire.

She adjusted her backslung blade, wrapped her cloak closer around her and dropped onto all fours, nose pointed straight ahead and whiskers standing at attention. Her dusty green-gray wrap would shield her from all but the most attentive prying eyes, and - she quirked an ear, just to be sure of the silence - most of the forest was still asleep, unlikely to mark her passage.

She managed to stifle a flinch as a sound that wasn't a sound bypassed her ears and rang straight into her head.

Pip? Where'd you go?

She exhaled softly through her nose, the barest expression of frustration she allowed herself.

Scouting, Alder. Go back to sleep.

She set off before he could reply, scurrying silently along the mossy forest floor, tracing a sinuous route through the canopy's shadow to stay out of the slow-brightening sunbeams.

Scouting?!

The thought squeaked with disbelief. She didn't answer it.

Alder never had fewer than three thoughts at a time, and the more agitated he became, the harder they became to sort through. A jumble rang in her skull, a snatch of Eldest told us- and moves like thunder and have to hide, that last one echoing in six different ways with the significance it held in his mind. She concentrated on tracing her silent route, one shadow to the next, and came to a stop under a broad-leafed stalk as Alder's distress built to a crescendo.

If she kept moving, eventually she'd slip out of his range. Wasn't that a tempting thought.

I said go back to sleep, she sent, and with an afterthought of inexpert kindness, added I'm being careful. It'll be fine.

The chattering ground to a halt, and she felt the effort it took him to focus his thoughts down to a single thread. Come back, Pip. We have to stay hidden until they're all gone.

We can't hide if we don't know where they are.

Pip caught the beginning of his protest and shook herself violently, breaking off the connection. It was rude, she knew; closing her mind completely was one of her rarer talents, but unlike her other oddities, this one she wasn't particularly respected for. Her skills as a scout were admired precisely because she had such sharp senses, physical and mental both - some days she could even hear the slow, tangled thoughts of the Long Shadows - but when she didn't want to be disturbed, she could wall herself off from the others as thoroughly as if she'd been on the other side of the forest.

And right now, picking her way between treetrunks and sniffing her way towards the bizarre menagerie that had invaded her forest, the last thing she wanted was to be disturbed.

Her right forepaw sank in unexpectedly soft soil, and she recoiled with a stifled gasp. Her eyes darted across the swath of ground, analyzing its shape - and then she widened her scope, scanning the yards beyond that first strange softness. In a low-lying, hollowed track between two thick-rooted trees, the carpet of grass and flowers were flattened and crushed into a felted mat, mud bubbling through it in irregular patches like sickness in a wound. A wide track had been beaten into the soil by dozens - at least dozens, she amended - of flat-pawed creatures. Their dusty, acrid stink lay heavily over it.

She drew back from the unnaturally soft soil. Even with her diminutive size and weight, there was the risk of getting mired in unexpectedly watery ground, and while rescue was never far away in these woods, she certainly didn't want to weather Alder's overconcern or Eldest Luma's quietly smug passivity. Instead she skirted towards a point where the track narrowed, lashed her tail for a momentary burst in balance, then sprang over the mud and latched onto a tree root on the other side, freshly ripped free from the soil and scored with dozens of thin scars from the claws of the marching creatures. She scurried up and settled at the tree's base, where the gnarled roots tangled into a more-than-sturdy foothold overhanging the morass.

With the newfound advantage of height, she surveyed the terrain. The tracks overlapped one another in a mad scramble, pouring up from the lowland forest and curving up and away.

They moved with surprising organization for such motley creatures. She counted at least four very different sizes of print in the track, some barely longer than her own body (nose to the base of her tail) while some were large enough to crush her underfoot without even noticing.

The tracks were only a few hours old. The swarm must have passed in the early pre-dawn. She strained her memory to try and recall if she'd felt any tremors from down in the sleep-halls of the hollow, but if she were honest with herself, they were too far down and too well-insulated by the soft soil walls to have marked their passage.

She turned her attention to where the trail vanished from sight, curving over and up the slope. The land in that direction was treacherous and, to the mind of her people, best avoided. Gravel slips and rain rivulets ran down between the massive plates of rock that jutted out of the soil, and even though trees and flowers overgrew them, their roots could not be trusted to hold the ground together enough for safe passage of one of her size. Fresh rainfall unearthed and dislodged glassy chips of stone, and the soil turned to mud and slipped between the boulders, exposing treacherous chasms that could swallow an unwary traveler. The shattered earth built up and up until it abruptly skewed and slanted down in a gentle curve, like the ground had been struck with a terrible force and the shattering had rippled out from the center. And in the heart of that broken land, glimpsed fearfully from treetops or the shadow of the stones, lay the stronghold of the Long Shadows.

Once, long redmoons ago, Pip had traveled three days and nights to scale the shattered peaks herself, to see the stronghold with her own eyes (mostly due to a burst of rebellious curiosity after a scolding from Eldest Luma). The works of the Long Shadows could always be distinguished from natural formations or nests - they had a love of smooth things, and the stone they shaped stretched cleanly skyward and bore no footholds beyond the straight, geometric fissures that ran up and through them. So Pip already knew that the stronghold was encircled by a massive shadowcrafted cliff, pale and smooth as ice and taller than trees, and it surrounded the entire stronghold just behind the shattered peaks. Beyond the wall, great columns and cliffs jutted skyward, more smooth handicraft of the Long Shadows. At times they were even spotted outside the walls, tending great swaths of land in the same precise straight lines they shaped their stone. Those tracts bore vast quantities of food in unnatural abundance, some that grew nowhere else in the valley, but the Long Shadows guarded them closely and harshly punished intrusion, and the Eldest three generations before Luma had forbade anyone from entering (or even approaching) their strange geometric works, no matter how lean the winters became.

She debated following the trail. It would inexorably lead her towards the stronghold, but if the creatures were focused solely on the Long Shadows, that was valuable information to bring back to the hollow. No doubt Eldest Luma would be pleased to have yet another reason to avoid the Long Shadows and their works.

A sudden awareness prickled in the small of Pip's back, shivering up into her ears and all the way down to the tip of her tail. Her gray fur bristled and she froze, eyes darting wildly, seeking the source. The feeling had no obvious impetus, but she trusted her tail with her life, and something was happening. Something sourceless, something…

At the base of the root she was balanced on, a sprout punctured the trodden soil and curled upwards, splitting into pairs of pale green leaves. She watched as it climbed to twice her height in less than three beats of her racing heart.

Instinct took over. She scampered up the tree like a shot, finding footholds in the bark with a practiced ease that belied her jolting terror. She plunged into the safety of the leafshadow and clung to a branch, breathing fast and shallow and trying very hard to stay quiet.

Below her, a green carpet spread across the mire as grass and flowers bloomed impossibly fast.

The Weeping Shadow was approaching.

Pip strained her ears and caught the hint of a whisper of movement through the grass, distant and soft but certainly coming closer. It was pointless to cast her eyes towards the darkness - The Weeping Shadow was, in the stories, always swathed in gray, near invisible in the shadow of the canopy, and it passed in many tales without a trace, save for its flowering footsteps as its passage drove the forest to frenzy.

But it never came so close to the stronghold. The Weeping Shadow's domain was the deep and tangled woods, much further into the valley than even the hollow. It haunted the river and the wild places, and its realm was thick with plants of impossible vitality and sweetness - but not even the bravest scout dared its domain, even when hunger was rampant. The fruits of the Weeping Shadow's realm were steeped in an absolute sorrow whose depth defied comprehension, and the slow pulse of its thoughts churned in dark and wrenching misery that could be heard across half the valley. It was too much for the mind to take for long, and scouts that had strayed into its influence took moons to recover from the borrowed grief.

That had been the prickling on Pip's neck. The slow approach of the Weeping Shadow was already casting a pallor on her mind - and it was getting closer.

Pip's thoughts scrambled for her next move. If she stayed hidden, the Weeping Shadow would pass nearer to her than anyone had ever dared. She flattened her ears against her head and focused on the walls around her mind. Could she close herself to it strongly enough to hold out?

A wild fear beat against her ribs. She wanted to stay clinging to this branch forever, but she also wanted to bolt, to sprint the length of the branch and fling herself into open space, trusting the soft soil to cushion her fall - or rather, if she were honest with herself in that moment, heedless of what the fall might do to her. The desperate urge to flee was strong in her people, and here, faced with a terror closer than ever before, it was nigh overwhelming.

But Pip had a third instinct that overruled all others when she allowed it, and it had been slowly growing in her mind ever since she'd slipped from the hollow before the dawn. It was a hunger, of a sort, and one that warred always with fear. The hunger was curiosity, a thrumming urge for exploration and understanding that spurred her on through peril and dark for the promise of clarity on the other side.

The beasts in her forest were descending on the stronghold, and their passage had stirred the Weeping Shadow from its domain. Something was happening - something vast, something perhaps unknowable. But it would certainly stay unknowable if she didn't even try to know it.

And perhaps the Weeping Shadow knew.

Pip had more control than most over the openness of her mind. It alarmed her peers, sometimes, that she could pass among them in silence, unreceptive to their soundless speech. It unnerved them more, for those who knew - from a time when she was more open with her secrets and her strangeness - that she could at times hear the deep thoughts of the Long Shadows, and stranger still, sometimes even catch a shred of their meaning. The idea that the minds of the Long Shadows could in any way compare to the bright, clear thoughts of her people was on the surface laughable, and just under that surface, frightening. Still, she knew it was true. Their minds were dark, slow places, but they contained meaning and knowledge, most beyond the reckoning of her kind.

The mind of the Weeping Shadow was an abyss of grief and sorrow, but if she could attune her senses to it - if she could withstand its pressure - she could, perhaps, glean its purpose in the shattered peaks, and what it knew of the creatures that she pursued.

The underbrush cracked. Pip flattened herself against the branch and peered intently at the sound as the rolling wave of green spread under the tree, blanketing in every direction.

A shape moved in the shadow of the trees, ponderous and slow.

Pip felt her eyes grow hot and stinging, the space behind them heavy with unshed tears. A borrowed bottomless grief encroached on the walls of her mind, lapping at it like a swelling river threatening its banks.

The Weeping Shadow broke from the treeline and stepped forward.

It towered, even from Pip's high vantage point. It was gray and still and almost shapeless in the dim of the canopy, but twin lights glimmered near its summit, pale green like the sprouts boiling at its feet.

Pip's head pounded. The pressure of its presence was terrible. It was vast, yes, but the power of the sorrow within it seemed vaster still - like all the forest around it was desperate to weep, and the Shadow was the only part of it that could, yet it refused to.

The Shadow tilted its head down, and the lights of its eyes vanished in the gloom. But it was not weeping, Pip knew. It was… looking.

Looking at the tracks under its carpet of grass.

Pip gritted her teeth, gripped the branch, and opened her mind.

It was gentler than she had anticipated. The pressure and power was indescribable, but once she stopped trying to push it back, she found it moved her rather like water would - with force, but without pain. It was almost easy to let the thoughts of this vast creature buffet her where they would.

The words in the Weeping Shadow's mind were unknown to her, but she felt a snatch of them repeating over and over again. The words mattered less than the feeling that drove them, and as she focused, she realized that the Weeping Shadow was, in some way, at war with itself; the thoughts were not all in agreement. The repetition smelled of deep, old terror, but its loop was broken over and over again by a different, newer thought - one that Pip herself was intimately familiar with, strong enough that she needed no translation to parse it:

But I can help.

Dimly, in her faraway body, she felt tears pouring from her, hot and desperate from a grief she couldn't fathom. Her claws gripped the bark of the branch. The Weeping Shadow's thoughts, at the moment, were focused on its inner war, but it did nothing to shield Pip from the substrate of its misery. Still, she was onto something. If she could just push through, she might learn what the Weeping Shadow understood of the intruders to their forest.

Pip dug deeper. The Weeping Shadow knew what these creatures were - knew what they intended - believed it could help in some way - but what did it know of them?

Running below the looping dread and the punctuating bursts of hope, Pip glimpsed a glimmering ribbon of understanding wending its way just below the Weeping Shadow's conscious thought. It snaked under the fear, coiled around the thought of help. This had to be the knowledge that had motivated the Weeping Shadow's unheard-of migration. This was the mystery of the creatures answered.

This, perhaps, was Pip's only mistake. As she caught the thread of that understanding, it abruptly yanked against the current and plunged her down, down, down into the icy depth of the Weeping Shadow's truest misery. Its knowledge of these creatures came from the same bone-deep wellspring as the torrent of tears, and Pip screamed aloud as it battered her mind full-force. Alien thoughts crashed against her, unbearably loud; the grinding of bone, the shifting of stone, the pounding of waves greater than any river, the splintering of mighty trees. A twisting, a breaking - a power like a maddened, wild animal, thrashing and uncontrollable, kept in check only by its own terrible exhaustion and grief. She was so, so small, and somehow in the depths of this vastness she was even further diminished, crushed to a single point of light-

And something was watching her.

With a last mighty burst of willpower she released the thought-thread, flung herself away, and tumbled off the branch. It was something of a mercy that she was too stunned to feel the impact, and the carpet of seedlings cushioned her fall.

The first thing she became aware of was her breathing, high and fast and shallow in time with her racing heartbeat, real panic and borrowed sorrow draining away with shocking rapidity. Second, she felt the pain; her head pounding with spent exhaustion, her paws cramped in every joint, her back and shoulders bruised from where the impact of the fall had driven her scabbarded blade against her spine.

The third thing she became aware of was the shadow stretching towards her, claws stretched as long as her whole body, the deep purple of the skies after dusk.

The Weeping Shadow loomed over her, vaster than mountains. Two points of green pierced out from the dark.

She ran.

#aurora #prose writing #look. I have no explanation #well no I do have an explanation #and I'm curious if this makes literally any sense to anyone but me #but I had fun and that's what counts #pip's fine I have plenty more ideas for her

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burstfoot · 6 months

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Your name is Kristen Wright. You’re barely 10. You’re at the outdoor funeral for your parents, a pair of genius scientists that Terra will never see again. You’ve spent the last two weeks giving false smiles to women and men who pretend to grieve them while spending every moment they think you’re not looking lauding them for their ‘foolishness’ and ‘hubris’. Sitting amongst a crowd of these intellectuals, your feel nothing looking at their crocodile tears, knowing they’re just happy there’s less competition for next year’s grants. Your new guardian grabs onto your hand in an attempt to grant you a modicum of comfort. You stare blankly at the sky above.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Joyce Moore. You can hardly communicate anymore. Your best friend killed herself trying to replicate the experiment that gave you permanent brain damage. Every scientist at Rhine Lab now treats you like a child at best, and an animal at worst. Your parents have not come to see you. None of your colleagues seem to understand that you are still you, with a sense of humour, good taste in TV shows, and fucking feelings, god damn it.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Ferdinand Clooney. You’ve lost everything you’ve ever worked for in a futile grab for power. The department of defense has you by the dick after saving you from a group of Pioneers who (justifiably) nearly beat you half to death. It’s playing fiddle to their whims or the rest of your life in prison - or, most realistically, a tragic accident report. Your aspirations aren’t within your reach anymore, and you know that it’s your fault. You will never be Kristen Wright, and it’s eating you alive.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Parvis Ahrens. You’re not that old. You’re only 58. But you’re losing your mind. Every day, a little more slips away. You rely more and more on encyclopedic entries for information you took immense pride in knowing from your heart. You’ve spent the last few years focused on the pursuit of progress of all else. As part of this, you manipulated your star pupil in an attempt to permanently get her under your wing, outside of the influence of the Defense Director, a weak-hearted woman everyone else seems to think is cold as ice. She has years of life to change Columbian science. You don’t.

You’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away.

Your name is Jara B. Wilson. You feel like you don’t see the girl who lived for you with so long in Kristen anymore. You’re a washed-up movie star, working for her cause above all else. Do you have anything that you’re working for for yourself anymore? She’ll be gone soon. You know that.

She hasn’t even left yet, and you’ve never felt so alone. You don’t think this feeling will ever go away once she leaves.

Your name is Nasti Londrey. Your people have never had a home. They might never have a home.

You’ve always felt alone. You will always be alone. That’s fine.

Your name is Justin Fitzroy Jr. Your dad died a week ago, and the cure has just been found for the hereditary illness that threatens to cut your lifespan in half. It was found by accident.

The sword of Damacles no longer hangs above your neck. Why then, do you still feel so alone?

Your name is Loken Williams. You reach out to a girl you tortured, who you know can’t remember what you did to her, because you’re going to die soon, and you need someone to remember what you did with your life.

Even if she kills you, at least you won’t die alone.

Your name is Trevor Friston. It’s been thousands of years down here. You just want to see your daughter again, and it will be another thousand until you do.

You’re very familiar with the loneliness that wraps around every single nanometer of your circuit board.

Your name is Dorothy Franks. Your whole family was killed in a Catastrophe. Your name is Elena Urbica. Your whole family, besides your twin sister, has disowned you. Your drive yourself head-first into the sciences to distract yourself from the loneliness.

Your name is Ho’olheyak. Centuries of ancestral memories swarm around your mind. Because of this, your lifespan was cut to a fraction of the life you should be living. You are obsessed with the history of your people, and you resent them from tearing your life away from you. You tear over books and tomes of history to find all means of unspeakable knowledge, hoping that somewhere in there you’ll find something that you can connect to.

You don’t even know you’re lonely.

Your name is Muelsyse.

You saw the writing on the wall. Saria and Kristen just had a massive fight. You’ve been drifting apart since college, but the only two people who you’ve felt a real connection to on all of Terra will hardly speak to each other anymore. Do you try and mend what happened between them? Can you? You don’t know what to do besides take all means to protect yourself in the fallout. You wish you weren’t so paranoid, so self-centered, that all you know how to do is ensure your own safety.

Is there anything on Terra for you besides loneliness?

Your name is Ifrit. It’s cold, and quiet, and you’re pretty sure you’ve killed everyone around you. Your eyes are blurred, you hands are shaky, and shards of black crystal stick out all over your body. Before you pass out, you think one thing:

Hell, you might be alone, but at least those bastard whitecoats got what was coming to them.

Your name is Olivia Silence. You pull yourself out of the rubble in a destroyed laboratory, where you see Saria looming over Ifrit, beaten half-to-death. You beat yourself up for thinking you could trust her - that she was there to protect Ifrit, and you. You can’t trust anyone in Columbia. You run to embrace Ifrit with your entire body, to protect her from the cold eyes of Saria standing above her. You look back at her with nothing but fear in your eyes.

You’ve never felt so alone. You have to get Ifrit out of Rhine.

Your name is Saria. You’re barely 8 years old. You went your father in tears, as a group of bullies came after you and destroyed your toy car. He tells you to stop crying. You’re not accomplishing anything by throwing a fit in front of him. He tells you to fight back - take responsibility for your weakness.

You’ve never felt so alone.

You won’t ever be this weak again.

Staring up at the sky, looking up as Kristen’s ark sends her out through the hole she tore in the false sky, you know that you were foolish to believe you could bypass your own weakness through sheer will.

And you’ll be lonely for the rest of your life without her.

#arknights #fic #(i suppose. this is moreso like. an appreciation post in prose form)#arknights spoilers #lone trail spoilers #lone trail #your name is Mayer Stony. honestly you’re doing completely fine

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orcelito · 1 year

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ok, i cant resist the urge to make a post about it after all, especially since it's related to a post i made prior

one of my favorite moments in trimax is By Far this part in chapter 35

[ID: Two pages from Trigun. The first starts with Wolfwood thinking, "Now that I think 'bout it, it may be one of the major differences between our species." That deep rooted dear I felt on the ship…" He thinks of Vash crying blood and, swearing, wonders, "Is he the one who can save humankind? That monster?" Wolfwood is briefly shown in resolution before someone calls, "Hey, Wolfwood!" and he looks up with surprise.

Vash sits with a smile at the edge of a rooftop, backed by the Fifth Moon and its prominent crater. Vash asks with a smile, "Just coming back now? You're a bit of a night owl, huh?" Wolfwood looks taken aback and wary. End ID]

Right Here. Vash is just sitting there, smiling like normal, but he's got the backdrop of the damage he caused on the moon set Perfectly behind him. it's a glaring reminder to Wolfwood of who exactly he's dealing with here, and that TERRIFIES him.

& the fact that Wolfwood still remembers that moment of crying blood as a moment of true fear. because for all the cheer Vash shows in the average moment, Wolfwood just recently saw him nearly lose control Again (at the Dragon's Nest). the second time he witnessed it, & the third time he would know about.

Vash is a walking atomic bomb with multiple charges. even with how cheerful & kind he is, he's shown Multiple Times that he does not have full control. he is decidedly something different, something Hazardous to humans, and Wolfwood knows this very very painfully.

for all that Wolfwood loves Vash, he is also terrified of him. and at this point in the story, that terror is potent enough to nearly eclipse his affection for Vash.

leading to some of the next most iconic pages:

[ID: The next page starts with Wolfwood standing behind the sitting Vash, his expression hard and the moon bright behind him. Vash seems sad and has one eye open. A close-up focuses on Wolfwood looking down.

Wolfwood thinks, "So easy to pull the trigger. So easy to remove half the problem." Another close-up with bright lighting obscures his face but for one eye. Then Vash turns around curiously and asks, "What's up?" Wolfwood sits behind him and says "Nothin'. Come on. Let's go." Vash seems surprised as Wolfwood scolds, "Don't get yerself tangled up in every little skirmish ya see. It'll be pointless if ya get yerself killed before ya meet him." End ID]

the manga frames it like Vash doesn't know Wolfwood was pointing the gun at him, but I think he did know. he's freakishly perceptive over and over again throughout the story. he HAS to be in order to survive like he has. he'd hear the movement of the gun & sense Wolfwood behind him...

he'd know. i really think he knew.

but he doesn't do anything about it. there is zero fear in his face. he turns to look at Wolfwood curiously, a bit confused, but not afraid. he never once thought that Wolfwood would shoot him. there's full faith and trust there in that moment.

Wolfwood pretends that nothing happened, & Vash lets him. they both move on, not talking about it, because they never talk about Anything of substance like this (not until much, Much later).

overall, it's just such a great example of their relationship's development. Wolfwood's fear & Vash's trust that he won't act on it... it's just. Man.

(EDIT: people have made some good points about how Vash's expression when Wolfwood points the gun at him shows that he probably did know and YEAH that's a good point! & probably why I was so certain he knew lol, I just hadn't realized it myself)

#speculation nation #fanny reads trigun #fanny's trigun analysis #trigun #vashwood #trigun spoilers/#granted a lot of this is personal interpretation. some ppl might assume vash had no clue & like. that'd be a fair assumption #i just think Vash is very very perceptive. and i like to think he knew & just didnt do anything about it #because he never once thought that Wolfwood would actually shoot him #sometimes a friendship can be two buds who sometimes point guns at one another #(read: wolfwood points a gun at vash and Makes vash point a gun at him)#& then they never talk about this Ever <3 very healthy communication between these two for sure #anywyas im still making my way thru the original manga rn in my reread. but here have this moment bc im obsessed with it #might have smth else to talk about too. the geo-plants thing is intriguing me. but i'll make that post later.#EDIT: image descriptions written by princess-of-purple-prose

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thoughtkick · 1 month

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I can’t say hello to you and risk another goodbye.

I Almost Do, Taylor Swift

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royalarchivist · 3 months

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I say this in the kindest way possible, but I think this style of prose is more appropriate for a personal account rather than an update account. I have no idea who's being talked about half the time. 🥲

[ Tumblr meme via @mikaikaika ]

#QSMP #Philza #Edited #Phil #Let me know if this needs an additional tag #I don't think this necessitates a discourse or neg tag or whatever because I'm being silly but I'm happy to add one if folks need it #I won't post this one on Twitter I don't think because I genuinely don't want to hurt anyone's feelings #but. I feel very strongly about this. It's not helpful #I say this as a fan and as a professional writer (who also worked in the Marketing and Communications field for far too long)#The prose is nice! It's very whimsical and they're having fun! But I don't think it's appropriate for an updates account #I recently turned off notifications for QsmpEN and I'm considering muting them because half the updates just aren't helpful to me #I want to be able to speed read through the update thread I don't want to spend an additional 30 seconds trying to decipher who's who #I don't like posting complaints so I tried to make it a funny complaint #because I do think feedback is good! And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way #but at the same time: these update writers ARE volunteers #(As a side note -- I personally think anyone running a large social media account should be paid)#(I did that for a few years and it was hell. I can't imagine doing that and NOT getting paid for it)#But anyways #They're all volunteers so I don't actually wanna go all pitchforks and torches on them (which I wouldn't do anyways even if they WERE paid)#I'm just venting my frustrations in what is (hopefully) a funny way #but you're welcome to disagree! That's ok too #Portfolio

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poemsonmars · 4 months

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you could swallow me whole

and i would still apologize

for putting up too much

of a fight on the way down.

watch how i curl into myself,

trying to keep my sharp parts

away from the inside of your throat.

i'm sorry if i make you bleed.

i've never been very good

at just letting things happen.

i've never been a natural

when it comes to being soft.

-mars

#12/29/23 #the other ones #mars.poetry #my poetry #lgbt poetry #original poetry #sad poetry #poets on tumblr #original poem #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled poetry #poets corner #button poetry #prose poetry #poetscommunity #is this blorbo coded or do i just have really sad blorbos

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starflungwaddledee · 3 months

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Bandee and Starstruck 🎀💖

starting off my february starstruck dee ship-a-ganza with the big one. they do seem like... the obvious answer, huh...?

they have far and away the most development together and the strongest personal relationship, both in what i've posted, and in her story overall! would kill or die for each other in a heartbeat. i would be absolutely lying if i said i'd never thought about it, but i'm not 100% convinced my thoughts lead me to romance specifically...

they're already pretty insane about each other! starstruck in particular is madly in love with bandee in every way it's possible to be. loves him the way he loves kirby, i think (pretty sure he does not know this. might be shocked to learn it.)

however she's daft as bricks, so he'd have to initiate, and i can't really imagine anything in their relationship would change.... so he'd have to mostly want The Title or the Performance one way or another, and i'm not super sure he would!

#so... this comic is canon to her storyline and is meant to be read as platonic friendship for now!#but i'd be v interested to hear anyone else's thoughts on this pairing in particular!! COULD it be romo??? like.. sure! but how?#i think it would be super cute. but HOW?? i'm just kinda stuck. they're already nuts about each other. what else is there? qpp maybe.#loves him the way he loves kirby. devoutly. viscerally.#the spot carved out of your heart that's just the right size. pulse beating someone else's tune. it's not your palm you know best.#do you get what i'm saying. someone please read these tags and respond i gotta know i'm not the only one #'starflung is all your prose like /that/' yeah sorry. and this is why i don't share my writing lmao. pretentious loser #starstruck dee #bandana waddle dee #my art #my comics #🎀💖

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perfectfeelings · 5 months

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I can’t say hello to you and risk another goodbye.

I Almost Do, Taylor Swift

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babytoothbrain · 1 year

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I Have Never Been Forgiven for not Understanding

You Shall Know our Velocity!, Dave Eggers// @heartmush // "Outbreaks", Kitchen McKeown// "Cures for Shame", Rookiemag// The Allure of Shame, John Dalton// "Outbound", Hieu Minh Nguyen// Visual Overdose//

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rebouks · 7 months

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Wyatt couldn’t sleep. He’d tried his best to play it cool with Brynn and failed spectacularly, the past week having been a rare highlight in his otherwise deplorable life.

But happiness was a foreign and elusive concept, one that caused uneasiness instead of contentment. It didn’t feel right, like he hadn’t earned it, like he didn’t deserve it. How could such a wonderful feeling create such a twisted knot in the pit of your stomach?

Usually, when Wyatt slept with a woman, he didn’t feel much of anything; he’d make himself scarce the next morning, or drive them away on purpose for his own entertainment-.. and yet, with his nose nestled in her hair as she slept, he realised he didn’t want Brynn to go home.

He actually enjoyed spending time with her. She wasn’t annoying or high-maintenance, boring or stupid, and she didn’t expect anything from him, nor he her. It was terrifyingly easy.

Wyatt had never been in love before; hadn’t even come close. Not once could he remember having loved anyone or anything, familial, platonic, nor romantic-.. not properly, anyway. Not without condition, doubt, or backlash; but for some inexplicable reason, Brynn had captivated him completely.

She was soft and compassionate yet rugged and unruly, so tenacious – albeit somewhat assumedly – that he couldn’t help but admire her. She was beautiful too, and Wyatt didn’t throw that word around lightly. Hot? Sure. Gorgeous, pretty, sexy? Sure. But never beautiful. That was reserved for more; someone unique, someone he didn’t want to let go, someone he didn’t want anyone else to touch…

No, he definitely didn’t want Brynn to leave at all.

But leaving she was, and Wyatt had no choice in the matter. If she wanted to stay, she would. If not, he could only hope that she’d return one day… He’d thought about asking her not to go, but he didn’t want to beg. His father had always instilled in him not to beg for anything in life, it was demeaning and pathetic.

He’d also said you ought to take what you want by force, but Wyatt was choosing to ignore that part. It wouldn’t feel the same unless she chose for herself.

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Wyatt was a little worried. He’d tried to ask Brynn about her life back in San Myshuno more than a few times, but she clearly didn’t want to talk about it, expertly shrugging him off every time he broached the subject. He couldn’t tell if she was nervous, ashamed, or if she truly believed it wasn’t worth talking about.

She was so good at hiding certain things that it was damned near driving him insane, and despite their rapidly growing intimacy, he wasn’t much closer to figuring out what was going on.

He couldn’t exactly keep an eye on her either, not from here-.. besides, he’d told himself that following people probably wasn’t the best idea, even if he didn’t necessarily think it was a big deal.

Wyatt sighed deeply; his head pounding. Why had he let her get under his skin? Why didn’t she want to stay? What the hell did she have in San My that she wouldn’t have here? Who the fuck did Gael even think he was? The pathetic fuckwad. She clearly didn’t like the guy all that much, why would she rather leave with him?

Unless-.. what if Brynn meant more to Wyatt than he to her? He doubted she was that good an actor, but he’d found it rather difficult to think straight recently.

Sweating at the thought, Wyatt realised he might have to be a little more honest if he wanted some answers…

Shit.

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