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nyoomerr · 5 months

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A drabble about Bingge realizing his children’s beloved Head Imperial Tutor has the same soul as the ‘nice Shizun’ from that other world he once visited could be fun.

“Local man must compete with his own children for the attention of their very cute teacher!”

ahhh i love scenarios like this!! pitting bingge against his own kids is always so fun lol, hope you enjoy!

---

When Luo Binghe manages to find him, he isn’t even looking properly. He’s still spending his free time trying to find a way back into that weird mirror dimension, not scouring his world for anyone. After all, why would he look here? He already knows exactly where the Shen Qingqiu of his own world is; every bloody, rotten part of that body and soul is accounted for. Luo Binghe wants the other Shen Qingqiu, the one he’d gotten only a taste of, the one that had been so unfairly given to his doppelganger.

Perhaps, Luo Binghe thinks, watching through the doorway into the classroom his younger children use for self-study, he should have bothered to spend a bit more time looking at home before trying to force himself back into the mirror world.

“Ah, what are these tears?” One of the tutors is asking, tutting as if in disapproval even as he so gently wipes the face of one of Luo Binghe’s children. “You’re getting much better with your arithmetic, there’s no need to cry over a mistake now.”

The child hiccups, her little hands coming up to pull on the tutor’s robes, clearly trying to worm her way into his lap so she can wipe her face on his shoulder instead of on the perfectly fine handkerchief the tutor is trying to use.

Luo Binghe doesn’t even know which daughter of his that is. He doesn’t know who this tutor is, either, and yet -

The tutor raises his free hand up to pat soothingly at the child’s hair. He doesn’t try to unhook her hands from his robes, or stop her from shoving herself persistently closer to his person; he only pets her hair and wipes her face and tuts at her.

And yet somehow, Luo Binghe thinks, I’m sure that’s him.

It doesn’t make a great deal of sense to find this soul in a body unrelated to Shen Qingqiu, but at the same time it makes a whole world of sense to think of this kind teacher as someone entirely different from the cruel master Luo Binghe had grown up under.

Luo Binghe steps into the room properly, releasing the hold he’d been keeping on his qi to keep it held close to his body. The tutor looks up at the doorway, and frustratingly, the look of indulgence he’d been wearing just moments ago closes up. He stands and bows in unison with the other tutors in the room, and Luo Binghe flicks his hand dismissively so they know to ignore him and return to his duties.

The tutor - the kind Shizun’s soul - stands from his bow but does not immediately return to helping the girl he’d been working with. He only watches Luo Binghe a bit warily, clearly aware of Luo Binghe’s rapt attention on him, and continues to absently pat the hair of Luo Binghe’s daughter. The girl herself doesn’t seem to mind, as she’s managed to get close enough to the tutor to shove her face in his stomach and nuzzle in there, perfectly content and no longer crying.

Well, no matter; if this man is already aware of Luo Binghe’s attention, no need to hide it further. Luo Binghe approaches without hesitation.

“And what tutor has brought this Lord’s child to tears?” Luo Binghe asks after having reached the table that this tutor and child had been working at. He knows perfectly well that this man was not the cause of his daughter’s tears; he wants to know how he’ll respond anyway.

“This lowly one is Shen Yuan, my Lord,” Shen Yuan dutifully replies, and though he bows deeply he does not raise his hands from Luo Binghe’s daughter. “My most sincere apologies; I will accept punishment.”

Luo Binghe hums, satisfied. Good, he thinks, he’s already loyal to me. Very good.

Before he can say anything else, though, the girl buried in Shen Yuan’s robes shouts, “No!”

When Shen Yuan stands again, Luo Binghe can see his daughter peeking out, her face half turned away from Shen Yuan to glare up at Luo Binghe.

“No?” Luo Binghe asks.

“No!” She shouts again. Her demonic huadian flares, and Luo Binghe raises his brows - this girl really dares issue such a threat to her father, knowing who her father is?

Shen Yuan, seeming to catch the very same thing, quickly moves the hand that had been in her hair to cover up her demonic huadian. This does not stop the girl herself from talking.

“If you try to punish Shen-ge, I’ll stab you!”

“Ah, wait -” Shen Yuan protests, pressing the girl further into him as if that will hide her away. He glances nervously at Luo Binghe, expression a bit pinched, and then -

“Who’s threatening Shen-ge?!” Comes a cry from across the room.

“Someone’s threatening Shen-ge?!”

“Lord Luo is threatening Shen-ge!!”

Suddenly, it seems like half the children in the room are gathered up in Shen Yuan’s robes, clinging to him and glaring at Luo Binghe as Shen Yuan frantically tries to soothe them with head pats and hushed whispers of Ah, don’t yell at him, anyone else is okay, but don’t yell at him!

Luo Binghe watches, amused and irritated and hungry all at once. Clearly, this Shen Yuan is already a treasure of his palace, and he hadn’t even known it - his own children have found this man before he himself did.

Well, Luo Binghe thinks, watching Shen Yuan fluster more and more the longer Luo Binghe stays quietly watching the commotion, they may have him first, but I will be sure to have him last.

#ty for the prompt!#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #binggeyuan #bingyuan #fic drabble

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enbiart · 4 days

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A filled SVSSS Gotcha for Gaza prompt for @aseabell !!! A post-canon YQY meets SJ in the modern world... I was thinking it was like, YQY (and the rest of the CQ cultivators ig) live long enough to see the modern world while still remaining cultivators, so he just stumbles upon SJ's reincarnation... actually thats just an excuse bc i wanted to give YQY ~modern touches~ with him still being in a xianxia outfit LMAO

#ty for the prompt!#svsss gotcha for gaza #my art #svsss #scum villans self saving system #yue qingyuan #shen jiu #qijiu

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birgittesilverbae · 10 months

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avatrice + counter

Beatrice is calm. She is cool. She is collected.

She is absolutely not panicking in the hallway outside the apartment of a girl she'd matched with on a dating app less than two hours before. Definitely not. If anyone were to claim as much, they'd be lying through their teeth.

Nor does she jump almost out of her own skin when the door opens behind her, interrupting her pacing.

Absolutely not. She's very calm.

"Beatrice?"

She turns towards the voice, hands settling at the small of her back, and nods. Continues nodding as her gaze drifts up and down the girl in front of her, catching on the gape of her singlet at the arm holes, the outer curves of her breasts just revealed beneath. "Ava?" she asks finally, mentally shaking herself.

"That's me. Do you want to come in? Or would you rather keep wearing a hole in the carpet?" Ava's grin can only slightly lessen the rush of heat that sweeps up Beatrice's face.

"I was going to knock," she starts, words catching in her throat.

"Of course, of course." Ava nods towards the door. "Come on in, if you'd like."

Beatrice follows hesitantly, bends to unlace her boots at the door and uses the moment to take stock of the apartment. It's as though a glitter bomb has gone off, covering every surface in a dizzying blur of colour and shine. Not for the first time, she considers turning tail and- Well, not fleeing. Beatrice Jones doesn't flee. Making a strategic retreat.

Ava clears her throat, a note of amusement in it, and the heat climbs to Beatrice's ears. "My bedroom is much neater than this, I swear. Chanel and I just got stuck storing the overflow stage pieces from last term's production of The Prom."

"Chanel?"

"Best friend. Partner in crime. Roommate," Ava explains rapidfire, bustling around the open kitchen. Then she looks back at Beatrice with a grin and a bold wink. "And out of town this weekend."

Beatrice's mouth goes dry. "Right," she says, willing her voice to remain even. "Cool."

"Do you want something to drink?" She lifts a glass soda bottle, gestures towards the fridge. "Water, soda, beer? Are you a wine girl? There might be some tucked away in there."

"No, thank you, I'm not thirsty."

Ava's mouth curls into a smirk as she pops the bottle cap off using the lip of the counter for leverage. "You're not? That's a shame. You've certainly come off that way."

"Ah. I- Yes. Well." Beatrice catches her breath finally, enough to find her footing. "You may have gotten the impression that I'm more... experienced at this sort of thing than I actually am." She resists the urge to hide her face in her hands.

"And what sort of thing might that be?" Ava asks, taking a seat on the edge of her kitchen counter. Her lips wrap around the mouth of the bottle as she takes a swig. Beatrice can't tear her gaze away. "Well?" Ava prompts, and Beatrice startles.

"What I came here for."

Ava shakes her head. "You've gotta be able to say it, Beatrice."

"With..." She bites her lip, glances to the side then back to Ava. "With dating apps," she says lamely.

"We're past the dating app, babe. That's not what you came here for."

Beatrice bristles at the arrogance, the assumption, of the pet name. "With one night stands," she says sharply, proof for herself as much as for Ava that she can voice the thought out loud. "With hookups. With-" and she swallows hard, bolsters herself up. "With fucking girls I've only just met."

#ask #anon #ty for the prompt!#warrior nun #ava x beatrice #myfic #mywn #avatrice #sister beatrice #ava silva

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snuffkip · 5 months

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A very scribbly life series designed sheet!

Prompt & link to blank template under cut!

#life series #trafficblr #life series smp #traffic smp #3rd life #last life #secret life #traffic series #double life #limited life #im not a very fast artist but i didnt want to miss the trend so i challenged myself to do each design in a couple of minutes #maybe i will actually render them at some point we'll have to see :]]#i dont love it but it was a fun exercise #ty for the prompt!#snuffkip art

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blackjackkent · 18 days

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Hey there! Hope you're well 💜🙂

I'd love to see this one from the cuddling prompt list for Astarion x Whoever you'd like if that's okay! No worries if not 💜

"The small inkling of panic that the other may leave when they shift positions and then the relief when that’s all it was."

(Cuddling prompt list)

Oooh. Interesting! I haven't done a ton of writing with Astarion. c: New challenge! (Full disclosure, I haven't finished his romance yet so this is a bit experimental. But I hope you like! :) )

Alexis is the Tav I have currently in progress for romancing him.

-----

Back in the Gate, in the gang hideout where Alexis spent most of her life, there were a number of stray cats that always seemed to be hanging around. Not surprising, Jax would always say. Place full of rats like us, ‘course the cats will show up. And everyone would laugh, because Jax was the sort of person who'd kick your teeth in if you didn't appreciate his humor.

Mostly the cats kept to themselves, but there was one, a scraggly little calico, who sometimes came and hung around Alexis's bunk. He'd sometimes curl up next to her side, or sprawl over her legs, but on very rare occasions, he'd climb up on her chest and settle himself in with his paws under him and purr.

It was cute as fuck and about the softest thing that ever tended to happen to her; the downside was it meant no more moving for the rest of the night. Once she stirred - to scratch her nose, to roll over, to take a piss - that cat was off like a shot, usually digging his claws in on the way out.

Cuddling with Astarion feels sort of like that.

“Comfortable?” she murmurs into his hair.

She feels his body shake slightly in her arms as he laughs. “You ask me that here, darling?” His face is muffled against her neck. He likes leaving it there when they end up curled up like this, his lips just brushing over the scars he’s left under her jaw. She hasn’t asked him why, but she suspects it makes him feel a little more in control. A reminder that she doesn’t own him when she holds him like this; that he could roll over, sink his fangs in, if he needed to.

But he never has. When he needs to pull away, she lets him go.

Sometimes she wants to pull away herself, really. This is all just as new to her. He’s not the only one testing out new freedom, “conveniently lost” and never going back, and there are nights when the love (might as well call it what it is, at least to herself) feels a little like panic. It’s the reason she always sleeps with her legs wrapped around one of his, one under and one over. Just like his mouth at her neck, it’s a combat move stripped of its intensity; if he tried to trap her, she could dig the lower boot into the ground for leverage, force him over onto his back, and run.

But she never has. When she needs to pull away, he lets her go, too.

She grins crookedly. “Yeah, I mean other than the, y’know, terrible shadowlands and the impending descent into some weird Sharran bullshit.”

“Ah, I see. Yes, the ambience definitely leaves something to be desired. The company, however…” He hesitates, his fingertips twitching slow circles along her hip. “The company is immaculate.”

“Flatterer.”

“No.” His tone is unusually serious. “I don’t have to do that anymore.”

She grunts. “Weird feeling?”

“Incomprehensibly.” He sighs. His breath is as cool as the rest of his body, a chill breeze over her pulse point. “Lying is easy, you know. You know,” he repeats with a dash of humor, acknowledging her own shadowy past. “It’s the saying things that are true that’s… disconcerting. But that’s what separates this from… all of it.”

She nods. “Keep telling me something true, then,” she says softly.

“Oh, no.” She can hear the smirk in his voice now. “I already told you you were immaculate. I believe it’s your turn.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fair is fair, darling. Can’t let your ego outstrip mine, you know.”

She turns her head so her lips just brush his ear, and she’s gratified to feel a soft shiver go through him. “You were the only thing that kept me from bailing on this whole fucking group, right from the beginning. No one else seemed to get it, how getting scooped up by that ship was the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to me, all at the same time. But you got it. You get it.”

“Yes.” His fingertips dig into her side sharply, just for a moment, then release.

“And then I couldn’t just leave you to deal with these lunatics all by yourself.”

“Implying you, of course, happen to be particularly sane.”

She snorts. “Wouldn’t go that far.” A pause. “Your turn. Something true.”

He goes still. Then his weight shifts backwards and for a moment a burst of regret goes through her. Too much, Lex… it felt too easy, for a moment there, and you pushed too much… He’ll clam up now, roll over and go quiet like he does when he feels like he’s losing control of the moment, or of himself. She doesn’t blame him for it, but she doesn’t want him to go…

But to her surprise, this time he doesn’t pull away. He just draws his head back so he can look into her eyes. She can barely see him in the dimness, though she knows he can see her clearly; those deep red eyes see everything, every moment.

“I’m scared, I think,” he admits softly.

“Yeah. Me too,” she answers.

A beat. His lips twitch. “We’re both, of course, talking about the Sharran temple. All that black marble. Terrifying.”

She grins. “Yeah. Of course we are.”

#bardic-inspo #ask meme #drabble #bg3 drabble #bg3 fic #astarion #bg3 astarion #alexis cartwright #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 fanfic #ty for the prompt!

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lobotomize-d · 3 months

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hmm draw jevil baking a cake with a cartoon bomb in it

Clumsy fuq dropped the cake😾

#deltarune #deltarune fanart #jevil deltarune #i wonder who the cake was for....#lobotomysbugaloogaart #splats all over you and you explode... whoever is reading this #anywyas #ty for the prompt!

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stevesbipanic · 2 years

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If you’re after prompts can I suggest Steve being hurt but not showing it when the kids forget they had plans w him because he’s used to being second choice but he thought it would take them longer to realise that he wasn’t worth the effort than it had. That kind of “it’s okay, I know I’m nobody’s first choice” vibe

Ooo a chance for a lil angst and a lil fluff, I love it ty

Since pseudo-adopting seven kids, Steve had had to become a lot more organised with his time. He now had a calendar in the kitchen covered in different colour pens for each kid and their events. There were Lucas' games and Hellfire pickups and dropoffs, taking Erica for ice cream and everyone to the arcade. There were skate park trips with Max and trips up the hill for Dustin and Suzie. Regular movie nights with both the teens and the kids and pool parties to beat the heat. In short, Steve never forgot what they had planned.

The small scribble of words had been on the calendar since the beginning of the year, it was every year. For Steve's birthday, the kids were going to come over and watch movies, that's all Steve had wanted for his birthday was for his family to be safe and happy with him. On the day of Steve's 21st birthday, he woke up, went downstairs, got coffee, and crossed off the day, smiling thinking about the night ahead. He was cooking himself some breakfast when the phone rang.

"Hey, Steve!"

"Hey Dustin, are you kids still able to get here by yourselves tonight, or do you want me to pick you up?"

"About that, Eddie has been sick the last couple of days so we had to postpone Hellfire to tonight, that's ok right, it's just movies we can do that on Friday?"

"Oh, um, yeah sure Dustin, that's ok, do you need me to drop you off or pick you guys up?" Steve said swallowing his disappointment.

"Eddie is picking us up from school but could you take us home?"

"Sure, Dustin, I'll see you guys later."

Steve didn't feel like his eggs after that. He spent the rest of the day cleaning the house and talking to Robin who was visiting her grandmother but promised to make up for it as soon as she was back. At least someone had remembered.

He pulled up to Eddie's trailer a little after 9, the laughter inside made him feel a bit better, at least the kids had fun, that's what was important. He got out and knocked on the door.

"Stevie! Hey kids you're wonderful mother is here!"

Steve giggled, he and Eddie had gotten closer in the couple of months since Vecna.

"Are you ok, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine, was just a long day."

"Tell you what, after you drop the gremlins home, why don't you come back and hang, I've got a joint with your name on it."

"That sounds perfect, thanks Eds."

Steve smiled waving at Eddie as he ushered the kids into his car. The car trip was filled with the kids regaling the tales of their session, no mention of the date.

Steve felt better once the trailer was back in his vision. The two boys laid on Eddie's bed passing a joint between them.

"So Stevie, you gonna tell me what's got my favourite boy all sad-looking?"

"I'm your favourite boy?"

"Of course you are, don't tell Henderson, and don't avoid the question, angel, what's wrong?"

"It's my birthday."

"What? That's today? Fuck! My fever brain must've muddled up the dates."

"It's ok, don't blame you, you were sick."

"Wait why didn't the kids say something? I wouldn't have put Hellfire on your birthday!"

"I think they forgot, they were supposed to come over for movies tonight, Dustin called to reschedule, but only Robin remembered. It's alright, I know Hellfire is more important to them."

"No Stevie, you're more important than some game. Happy birthday, sweetheart."

Steve couldn't help it, he leant forward and kissed Eddie's cheek.

"I thought it was your birthday, not mine, Stevie." Eddie said pulling Steve close into a hug.

"You deserve to be someone's first priority, Stevie. I'm going to punish those kids' characters so bad next session."

Steve laughs at this and thinks if all his birthdays end with him and Eddie together like this then he'd cancel a thousand plans.

Eddie does in fact berate the kids the next day and they're all quite distraught over forgetting Steve's birthday, although Dustin cheers up when he sees Steve and Eddie holding hands.

#steve deserves better #and better is eddie munson's middle name #stranger things #stranger things s4 #st4 #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #ficlet #ty for the prompt!

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daisychainsandbowties · 7 months

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6 and avatrice for the angst prompt please and thank you

davy jones au. cw: blood, gore, extreme gay pining

///

The hilt of the sword tangles briefly on Beatrice’s knuckles as it drops from her fingers. They are slippery, hanging limp with wetness leaking down over metacarpals, dampening her palms and sliding through her fingers until they reach the tips.

drip, drip, drip

In a chorus around her, everywhere. From the torn mast overhead to the ropes swinging limply, casting horrible twisting shadows on the deck of the ship, backlit by the breaking storm.

The clatter of blade onto wood is a damper sound than it ought to be; the whole world is salt-drenched and rank with the hanging, mist-thick scent of iron.

Blood. She should say it, will have to say it eventually if only to acknowledge the shape slumped in the middle of the deck. A beautiful tangle of limbs, splayed open with the shirtsleeve on her right arm torn away to reveal a blotch of black ink running all over her skin.

But it’s not ink.

Even from clear across the deck Beatrice can see how the marks on Ava’s arm shine, like they are real things freshly dredged up from the ocean floor and not pictures stabbed into her skin. They tangle from her wrist up past her forearm and they resemble tentacles – splotched with suckers, twisting and writhing and almost bumpy beneath the surface of Ava’s skin.

Her chest rises shallowly, stutters on the exhale. The ship lists, and in the corner of her eye Beatrice can spot a familiar shape on the horizon; the others, coming at last to find them, Shannon no doubt standing behind the wheel with her hair plastered against her scalp with saltwater, rainwater.

They’re too late.

Beatrice takes a half-step forward, almost slipping on the – she has to say it, has to – blood that has spread in a weird, wind-wicked halo around Ava. She, too, is red-daubed, strands of hair stuck to her face by clots, chunks, unmentionable things, but Beatrice knows the words for them.

She’s not Camila, but anatomy is a thing held in books as well as in the surgeon’s quarters and so Beatrice knows all the bones of the body and how the word heartstring comes from Latin meaning tendinous chords, but she always misreads it as tenuous chords. Maybe both translations are true.

This, for example, feels tenuous and has to do with her heart.

Limping across the deck, Beatrice moves toward the shape of a girl who is much more than she appears. It is easy to picture her as she was before everything… happened. How she stood on the deck with one hand raised, suddenly fierce as fire when the captain pressed the tip of his blade teasingly into Beatrice’s throat. They wanted her to summon up a lightning storm to set the Cat’s Cradle alight on the horizon where it pursued them.

The men laughed as Ava squirmed free of their hands, tripped over her own boots on the deck and then winning back to her feet, snarling at them to “Let her go!”

“Or what?” the captain had laughed, pressing forward lightly but hard enough to slip the very tip of his blade into Beatrice’s throat. Not deep at all, but enough to send a ribbon of blood sprinting toward her collarbones.

She remembers Ava holding up her hand, then. Menacing. Her face could never be expressionless – there was too much to her for that, but a certain blankness stole her eyes and made them black as the deepest water. Storm clouds split overhead, leaking light down through the sailcloth and the ropes and the bodies swarming overhead in the rigging.

“Let her go,” Ava repeated. Slow, like she had any leverage.

Beatrice did not fear for her life – not these days, with the bite of her tattoos gnawing deeper at the bones in her wrists and her arms with every passing year. Magic has a cost, every weaving sending the ink deeper into her, parting tendon and ligament. Stealing into her calcium, her marrow. Soon, she’d hardly be able to step onto dry land without her debt tearing her to pieces.

But it had been her choice to be leashed to the ocean, but that didn’t mean Beatrice wanted to let go of soft, dry sand. Of solid ground and grass and the feeling of a horse underneath her. The breathlessness of standing atop a cliff with the waves crashing far below.

Most mages died before the price came to that, and were grateful for it. Beatrice was not unlike them. She was ready to pay when the debt came due.

And yet it scared her, this once – the idea of leaving Ava alone with the men who had been sent after her, who had captured her in a net like an animal and hauled them both through the portside streets. Beatrice could see bruises on Ava’s face, her neck. She knew that there would be more underneath her clothes, patched over her stomach and her back where they’d beaten her almost unconscious while their mage trapped Beatrice in a cage of light.

A knife at Ava’s throat had stopped the glow in her mage tattoos and she’d let them strike her to the ground, staring blearily at Ava who lolled against a stranger’s chest with a blade at her throat shaving off the fine hairs that grew over the line of cartilage Beatrice had traced with her eyes again and again and again. She’d always wondered what those fine hairs would feel like against her tongue, her lips.

Maybe it was a flaw they shared. Beatrice trapped between her own power and the knife at Ava’s throat and Ava, driven to some unseen edge by the tip of a blade pressed against Beatrice’s neck.

She’d wanted to cry out, to tell Ava that she wasn’t worth dying over. That she was already half-dead and had been since the day she said her vows and felt whispers of unearthly light flow from the harbour waters and into the fresh-inked skin on her arms.

But then Ava had taken on that deadened aspect, had reached up and ripped away the sleeve over her right arm.

Beatrice had assumed scars, when Ava did everything in her power to keep her arms covered up even when Camila snapped at her about hygiene and set her to cleaning knives instead of helping with wounds.

She was only a little wrong. Instead of scars, she’d watched Ava unearth an arm fully sheathed in strange, grey-black tattoos. They gleamed, and the captain tore his blade from Beatrice’s throat and shouted something.

Too late. Ava stood, grimacing at her bared skin. Beatrice’s hand had risen to the cut on her throat, half-intending to dart forward and try to steal the captain’s blade, but before she could move there was a ripping sound.

Unmistakable. Beatrice had listened to skin tear a thousand times and she knew the song of it, the burst of blood and sinew as bone came to protrude out of pulpy flesh.

This time, however, the sound came from Ava and it was not the sound of something cutting into her. She stood alone on the deck, men arrayed uneasily around her. Wetness rippled along her arm as the not-ink inside her skin undulated and then, with a disturbing lack of fanfare, something long and wet and real burst out of Ava’s skin.

She’d screamed, knees buckling onto the deck, as something massive erupted from her outstretched arm, swallowing it in a mess of reaching tentacles. They crashed across the deck almost too fast for the eye to follow, but Beatrice let a twinge of magic into her body and sharpened her sight. Did it on instinct and regretted it as she watched the tentacle shapes spear through men.

They twisted into bellies and plunged into open mouths, ripping wherever they went. Bulging out as men screamed and trembled and tried to run. Blood showered over the deck and the tentacles writhed up into the rigging, tearing through sailcloth. Ropes snapped and men fell like missiles onto the deck. They broke.

In the middle of it, Ava was almost invisible but Beatrice spotted her as she felt the tentacles move gracefully past her. Cold where they brushed her arms as they plucked men high and ruptured them and sent bits thumping back onto the deck.

Beatrice tried to shut her eyes but she couldn’t. Foolishly, she even took a half-step towards Ava as another scream reached her. She would know Ava’s voice anywhere even in the worst sound it could make.

Her feet didn’t manage to carry her far.

She fell onto the deck as something hit her across the shoulders – something wet – and found her hand slapping down inches from a sword-hilt. She grabbed it, dry-heaved as iron flooded into her mouth. The stench of blood so thick it felt like she was submerged in a soup of it.

When she won back to her feet, blinking sweat and saltwater out of her eyes, scrubbing at them with her forearm, Beatrice found the deck empty. Quiet. Still.

Dead.

There was only Ava, slumped on the deck with her arm miraculously intact.

All of this flickers through her mind roughshod as she walks unsteadily toward Ava. Drawn across the deck, ignoring everything but ava, ava, ava. Her knees give out just as she reaches Ava’s side, depositing her down.

With a shaking hand, Beatrice pushes the hair away from Ava’s face and finds muscle shifting under her fingers as Ava grimaces.

Wakes.

“Are you alright?” Beatrice rasps, surprised that she can speak at all with Ava staring at her like that. Like she’s a miracle, or a nightmare.

“Bea?” Her voice breaks around the edges. The rain is already turning the blood fainter and fainter on her skin, from dark red to light, to pinkish. Her eyes roam over Beatrice’s face and – gods, she must look a wreck.

But she doesn’t take her hand away, touches the corner of Ava’s jaw very gently. “Yes, it’s me.”

Coming back to herself, eyes widening, Ava pulls away and Beatrice feels scalded by the absence of her. She draws her tattooed arm against her chest as though there is any point in trying to hide it.

“Don’t touch me!” Her voice is high, faltering, terrified. “It might come back, it might…” She breaks off, crabbing back across the deck. Fruitlessly – her heels slip on the deck, carrying her nowhere but a scant few inches away.

Ava.

She looks pretty even now, with the wet writhing shape of her arm clasped to her chest. Blood in the hollow of her chin, coated thick on her neck. Rainwater sending trickle-trails down over her brow.

There are tears in her eyes as she shakes her head, looking around at the devastation. “Fuck, fuck. I didn’t mean to- it wasn’t my choice. I don’t know what this- how it works or why or, or…”

She trails off, just staring.

Beatrice stares back. She feels beside herself, like she’s riding an adjacent path to shock, to horror. All she can feel is relief. Strange, strained, but so palpable it makes her chest ache.

She doesn’t reach for Ava because she’s seen her flinch from the most casual contact, not knowing how to take it. Beatrice picked her up off the street back when Ava couldn’t read, or write, or add up past twenty or do multiplication or fight with a sword.

All of these things Beatrice has taught her. Snappishly, waspishly, patiently over months of sailing and fighting and trying not to die.

“It’s okay,” she says instead of touching – which she wants, desperately, to do. Sitting back, cross-legged on the blood-soaked deck, Beatrice tries make her face behave. Judging by Ava’s expression, she fails.

“Why are you not freaking out?” She asks, low. The only sound is dripping and the waves rolling under the ship. They’ve tacked oddly into the wind with the sails torn away.

The Cat’s Cradle must be getting close. Did they see what happened?

Beatrice looks at ava, shrugs. “You know me, I’m-”

“Unflappable.” Ava almost smiles – she’d given Beatrice that description of herself offhandedly when Beatrice had failed to react after stepping into the surgery just as Camila started sawing through a man’s leg.

“I didn’t really mean it as a compliment,” Ava adds, rubbing self-consciously at her face and only succeeding in smearing a palmprint of blood across it.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Beatrice deadpans, then makes her expression serious. “I won’t tell the others what happened. They… wouldn’t understand.”

Nor do you, fool.

Ava looks uncertain, “What about you? Do you know what this is?”

“No, but later you’ll tell me everything you know about it. We can figure things out from there.” She makes her voice more certain than she really feels. Power like that is mythical, the sort of thing they keep in books Beatrice doesn’t bother to collect, scowls at self-importantly when she sees them in portside bookshops.

Ava’s lower lip wobbles. She looks very small, hunched on the deck, hair plastered against her scalp. Her shirtsleeve hangs in tatters around her mid-bicep and the tattoo crawls all the way up there. Beatrice finds herself wondering how far it goes, if it crawls across Ava’s chest.

But the others are getting close. She can make out the shape of Shannon’s ship clearly now, racing across the waves toward them. Beatrice stands, careful not to slip, and casts around for an intact piece of fabric only to find her stomach turning again at the devastation around them.

Ava stands, too, but keeps her gaze studiously on her boots.

She looks up at the sound of tearing fabric, “Uh, what are you doing?”

Beatrice rips the hem of her shirt away, leaving a silly-looking bare patch of navel. It is mostly clean, still – shielded by her jacket. She wraps it around her hand, leaving a long piece to dangle, “We should cover up your arm before the others arrive. I’ll tell them that this-”

She looks around at the gore scattered everywhere, “I’ll tell them I did this.”

“Bea…”

“It’s alright,” she says. Not snapping, but firm, stepping forward with her hand extended, “Now, give me your arm. Quickly.”

Ava does, and Beatrice finds herself astonished by how ordinary her skin feels. Not slimy where the tentacle-shapes rest, just warm. She wraps the hem of her shirt around and around, tugging Ava closer so that she can twist it around her elbow and up along her bicep.

“Here,” Beatrice says once she’s finished, shrugging her jacket off her shoulders. When she looks up – no, surely Ava wasn’t staring at the slant of her navel revealed by her torn shirt. Why would she?

Ava looks startled, “No, Bea. I can’t take your jacket. It’s… part of your outfit.”

That almost makes her laugh, “My what?”

“You have, like, an ensemble thing going on. Dark with silver accents.”

“Do I?”

“Oh, don’t act so innocent. I’ve seen you picking through your shirts. No one does that kind of colour co-ordination by mistake.”

It’s good – strange, but good – to be arguing once again about stupid things.

“Anyway,” Ava continues, looking everywhere but at Beatrice. “I can’t take it from you.”

Beatrice forces the jacket into Ava’s hands. “I insist.”

Dark eyes examine her – aghast, almost. Beatrice turns to look at the horizon, pretending to ignore the sight of Ava slipping into her jacket. It is much too big for her, but Ava sighs as she touches the buttons on the front, no longer shivering.

The rain is cold. Beatrice hadn’t noticed.

#davy jones au #avatrice #ava x beatrice #warrior nun #ty for the prompt!#the girls are!!! covered in blood #and sharing clothes. the essentials

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sparklyslug · 2 years

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hi! if you are still looking for prompts, steve/eddie, one of them cooking or otherwise preparing food for the other one. if you are not still looking for prompts, totally ok! either way, hope things are looking up for you.

Ask Steve a year ago what his favorite food was, he’d probably struggle with the question a little, internally. Say something simple like, a burger. Steak. Pizza. Just because he knows that’s like, what foods people like. Those are the Favorite Food Groups. And he likes them too, likes them plenty. Has just felt kind of food-neutral, honestly, for most of his life. He’s eaten fancy catering at his parents lavish dinner parties, buckets of KFC at modest kitchen tables, and his own simple chicken and broccoli standing up at the counter alone at the house. And felt kind of the same about all of it. Food was food, generally. Favorite didn’t really make sense, as a concept to apply to it.

That was then, though. He gets it. He has a favorite food now.

Eddie has tied his hair back with one of his banadas, shoulders on display and almost irresistible in one of the cutoff tanks he likes in the summer, this one an old Hawkins Basketball shirt of Steve’s that also has a hole right over the nipple (why he had initially stopped wearing it, and why Eddie had quickly claimed it before lopping the arms and a good four inches off the bottom of it, because he thinks shit like that is hilarious). The whole look is pretty well calculated to drive Steve out of his mind, a goal Eddie had made short work of just about an hour ago.

He’d finally pulled himself up off Steve’s chest, face red and glowing, and shook his hair out of his eyes before saying “shit, I could eat. Grilled cheese sound good?”

It did sound good. Sounded fantastic. Sounded like Steve’s favorite food, is what it sounded like.

So shirt’s back on and hair’s tied back, but Steve is keeping his hands to himself, just sitting back and watching Eddie at work. Head mercifully clear and nicely floaty, body feeling heavy and warm and right, and yeah, definitely ready for some food.

He’s watched Eddie make his grilled cheese a hundred times or whatever, and he doesn’t get how it turns out so fucking good. It’s not a complicated process. Getting the pan warmed up, buttering both sides of a couple of creamy-white slices of bread. Four slices of plastic-wrapped cheese per sandwich, always, Eddie carefully tearing some of them in half to create even layers, not too much cheese stacked in the middle or at the ends.

The butter smells amazing at the bottom of the pan. Smells fantastic when the bread hits it with a little pop, a tiny sizzle.

Eddie’s gorgeous doe eyes are narrowed in concentration as he works, pressing the flat of a spatula down on the top of each sandwich. This is the stage at which Steve is least likely to catch an elbow, while Eddie is just watching the pan and waiting for the universe or some kitchen god to send him a signal that it’s time for the Almighty Flip.

“Got a gig tomorrow, mmm?” Steve asks, sliding his arms around Eddie’s waist, and tucking his chin over one shoulder.

“Eddie Munson, unplugged,” Eddie confirms. “Jesus I really have to try and find a band soon.”

“I’ll keep looking in the papers,” Steve promises, with a grin.

“Send me on another synth-pop goose chase and I will absolutely shave you bald in your sleep,” Eddie swears, brandishing the spatula into the empty space in front of him, since he can’t reach Steve to swat him with it. Small victories.

“Never again, I promise,” Steve lies. “Think that one’s ready.”

“It’s not,” Eddie says. “I’m nervous about playing acoustic, man.”

Steve knows he is, he’s been jittery about it ever since he confirmed with the organizer that he’d be playing the open mic. “You’ll kill it,” Steve says. Squeezes him a little tighter, enjoying Eddie’s little bitchy oof of protest. “You don’t need an amp to blow the roof off the place.”

Eddie ducks his head a little, shy and pleased. Steve presses his lips against the top notch of his spine, nosing Eddie’s hair out of the way to get to skin.

Enjoys the way Eddie shivers a little, the skin at the back of his neck maybe extra sensitive because of how it’s covered all the time. It’s a theory Steve is happy to keep exploring for a good, long while.

“Okay,” Eddie says, softly. “Now this one is ready.”

Steve peers over his shoulder. “I have no idea how you can tell that.”

Eddie shrugs, and Steve knows his face has got to be fucking smug as hell without even being able to fully see it. “What can I say,” he says. “I’m a man of many talents.”

Well, that’s just a fact, and Steve starts listing them in an undertone directly into Eddie’s ear, until Eddie is shifting a little in his arms, and laughing, and elbowing him out of the way just when Steve feels his breath catch, the shift in his hips– “sit the fuck down, you animal,” Eddie says, twisting enough to sink a hand in Steve’s hair and reel him in for a quick, sweet kiss. “Food first, seduction later.”

“You’re too good to me,” Steve says. It doesn’t… ah, fuck. It doesn’t come out even remotely like a joke.

Eddie though, Eddie’s eyes just go soft. His full, gorgeous lips twist into a small smile. “Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart. Now. Plates and napkins, please.”

Steve obeys, though they don’t even really need them– Eddie slices the finished sandwiches into neat triangles on the cutting board, and hands one right off to Steve, still loitering and half-draped over him. The cheese is perfectly melted and gooey in the middle, the bread crisped just right and saturated with golden melted butter. The noise he makes at the first bite is genuine bliss, eyes closing to savor the taste. When he opens them again, Eddie’s holding the other half of the sandwich in his hands, eyes on Steve, mouth a little open like he’d lost track of what they were doing here.

The noise Steve makes at the second bite, okay, that’s for show. And Eddie knows it, kicking a bare foot at his shin with a laugh.

They polish off the sandwiches in no time at all. You want to savor something that perfect, Steve thinks, but it’s hard to take it slow when you know how good every bite will be. And when you know there’s a bed waiting for you at the end of it, a bed with Eddie Munson in it, and a whole afternoon stretched blissfully ahead of you both.

Yeah. Favorite food. Grilled Cheese By Eddie Munson. No question.

#thank you darling i'm feeling much better!#a night of halloween faves and fic writing is good for all ills #though now i REALLY AM CRAVING A GRILLED CHEESE FUCK #ty for the prompt!#steddie as she goes boys #stranger things fic #my fic #prompts #asks #that's all for tonight but there are SO MANY FUN ONES STILL TO GET TO and I have time this week so that's my plan YAAAAY #mop

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oddsconvert · 5 hours

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Can you tell us about Aaron's last days? 🥺 Or maybe give us a little fluff moment before it all turned on him?!

In Aaron's last days, he'd completely checked out. Felix thought he was coming down with something because Aaron didn't move from his bed, didn't talk, didn't eat. He just kind of stared off into space 💔 He was just waiting for the moment 😭

BUT ANYWAY!!! kind of fluff - I think I've mentioned before that Aaron and Felix actually dated shortly like normal people before it all went down hill (normal people? Felix??? I know right! as normal as Felix can get rlly.) Here's a lil drabble of them at a fairground together 😌

"What should I call him?"

Aaron wrestles the enormous ginger teddy bear into a hug. It's way too big for him, but he doesn't care. It's his cuddly hostage he refuses to surrender. No-one has ever won a bear at the fairground for him before - his heart won't stop fluttering in his chest.

He was sure the stall was rigged. Those coconuts were not budging. After the fourth round, Aaron was convinced they were glued down. When Felix finally knocked them off by round five, albeit with a now empty wallet, Aaron felt his jaw hit the grass.

"I am not doing the winning AND the naming," Felix chuckles with a mouthful of candy floss, "you gotta pick up some of the slack here, baby."

Felix tosses his rubbish on the floor, much to Aaron's disapproval and a sharp side-eye, but all is forgiven as soon as Felix's arm slinks around his waist and reels him in, hip to hip. He presses his lips into a soft kiss to Aaron's temple, and now his stomach flutters with butterflies too.

Sometimes it all feels too good to be true. But Aaron shoves that voice deep down and buries it where it belongs. It's his self-saboteur trying to ruin something finally good.

"I think 'Calypso'..." Aaron contemplates," like the music they were playing at the stall."

"I think it's perfect, angel. Just like you," Felix purrs.

#not five sentences but #when the inspo strikes #it strikes!#ty for the prompt!#play pretend #aaron oc #felix conner oc #yandere whumper #whump #whump writing #answered asks #whump community #whumpblr #whump blog #whumpee #whumper #captivity

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fischotterkunst · 5 months

Note

For the expression template, how about H4 for Norton?

[from this expression meme] CUUUUUTE

#ty for the prompt!#my art #norton campbell #idv prospector #idv #identity v

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nyoomerr · 2 months

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SY as a disciple on another peak? It's just very amusing to imagine LBH desperately scrabbling to get onto THAT peak, clearly there's been some sort of MISTAKE, he's supposed to be over there!!

lbh would just keep showing up like a stray dog, lmao. here's some qian cao peak disciple!sy taking care of little binghe!

---

As a reader, Shen Yuan had been under the impression that everyone knew about Luo Binghe nearly immediately. Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge fought over him at the disciple selection, only for Shen Qingqiu to treat the poor bun like shit, thereby causing a whole separate fuss as Yue Qingyuan unjustly defended the abusive actions of his scum shidi. That sort of thing was basically begging to be treated like hot gossip - surely, in a sect full of teenagers, news of Luo Binghe would travel nearly as quickly as he arrived on the peak!

So why is it, exactly, that the first Shen Yuan hears about Luo Binghe is the demon invasion that takes place years after Luo Binghe’s arrival?!

Was there no gossip after all? Are Qian Cao disciples really that busy that they don’t hear the gossip?! No, no - Qian Cao would obviously get the most gossip; every other peak visits Qian Cao regularly, and half of them end up high on pain meds while here, unable to filter most of their thoughts! If there had been gossip about Luo Binghe, Shen Yuan would have heard it first! He had been listening the hardest!!

In front of him, Luo Binghe shifts awkwardly. “Um, Shixiong…”

Shen Yuan feels like he’s been struck by an arrow.

Ah! Shixiong!! He called me ‘Shixiong’!! Luo Binghe’s Shixiong!! I could be Luo Binghe’s Shixiong!!!!! …Wait, no, the seniority of the peaks -

“Shixiong, is something wrong?” Luo Binghe asks hesitantly.

A second arrow!!! Shen Yuan is going to keel over and die, right here in the middle of the medicinal peak, because Luo Binghe keeps calling him ‘Shixiong’!!!

“Of course not,” Shen Yuan says, before gathering all his strength to tack on: “Shidi.”

Fuck the seniority of the peaks, to be this golden bun’s Shixiong is to ascend early!!

“Oh,” Luo Binghe says. He shifts again, looking around the small triage room they’re in.

The triage room he’d been directed to because he’d just finished fighting an unfair battle against a demon elder. Right. That triage room.

Shen Yuan clears his throat, smiles awkwardly, clears his throat again, and promptly begins treatment. The best pain medicine Qian Cao offers, the most expensive healing ointments, a tincture for general strength and wellness, a tea for good sleep - so what if Shen Yuan has to pull some of these things out of his personal stores? That’s Luo Binghe, and he’s bearing far more injuries than those that came from his battle with the demon!

He does his best to keep up friendly chatter the whole time, too - asking after Luo Binghe’s studies, backpedaling immediately and telling him what a good patient he is, asking after Luo Binghe’s friends, backpedaling again and telling him what a sweet boy he is -

Normal bedside manner. Shen Yuan is very good at that sort of thing, as a senior disciple of Qian Cao.

Unfortunately, Shen Yuan eventually runs out of injuries to treat. He very badly wishes there was some sort of medical sanctions he could pull out of his ass to keep Luo Binghe on Qian Cao - something about the injuries on his back looking more like whip lashes than normal training injuries or wounds from the demonic invasion, something about the injuries looking like abuse - but Shen Yuan already knows there isn’t.

Only the peak lord could pull that sort of authority over Luo Binghe’s own Shizun; if Shen Yuan tried to do anything himself he’d end up in a diplomatic battle over it.

In the end, all he can do is pat Luo Binghe’s head a few times (and then a few times more, his hair is so soft now that Shen Yuan has carefully washed it out under the pretense of medical necessity for cleanliness!) and send him on his way.

Still, Shen Yuan cannot tolerate letting Luo Binghe suffer on Qing Jing, now that he knows Luo Binghe is there. He’ll have to find some excuses to run errands over there, or -

“Shixiong,” Luo Binghe calls from outside the disciple halls, looking shyly over at Shen Yuan.

Or, Shen Yuan thinks, more than a bit surprised, Luo Binghe will just show up for treatment on his own…?

Shen Yuan scrambles over to Luo Binghe, gently patting his head and turning his face this way and that and carefully running his hands over his shoulders, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

“Ah, Binghe, did I miss something yesterday? Shit - I mean, uh, shoot, you’re too young and cute to be cursing just yet, you hear me?”

Luo Binghe nods obediently, then shakes his head. “Shixiong didn’t miss anything,” he clarifies.

“Oh, good,” Shen Yuan says, letting go of some of the tension in his shoulders.

Shen Yuan of course put his best foot forward when treating Luo Binghe the other day, but he isn’t the peak’s best healer - he’d chosen Qian Cao to study poisons and rare flora and spiritual plants, not actual healing. He’d only been helping treat patients the day of the demonic invasion because half their best healers were missing!

“If Binghe’s alright, what can this -” Shen Yuan breathes deep, savors the feeling, “- this Shixiong do for you?”

Luo Binghe glances up at him shyly, big wet eyes peeking out from long lashes. Ah, the pinnacle of perfection, for a cute little boy!!

“I… tripped,” Luo Binghe says hesitantly.

Shen Yuan blinks down at Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe swallows thickly.

“On my back,” he adds. “And bruised it like - like the bruises Shixiong treated yesterday.”

“Bruises,” Shen Yuan echoes incredulously, which he thinks is a rather restrained response to hearing the sweet baby protagonist talk about lash marks as if they were mere bruises.

Luo Binghe nods, still looking up at Shen Yuan pleadingly. Shen Yuan sighs; it’s better to be able to treat Luo Binghe’s injuries than not to, even if Luo Binghe himself is going to downplay them even as he asks for help.

The Luo Binghe of Proud Immortal Demon Way had never asked for help from Qian Cao, now that Shen Yuan thinks about it.

…After he’s taken care of Luo Binghe, he’s going to figure out which disciple would’ve treated Luo Binghe in the original, and he’s going to put chili powder in all his tea, ah!!

---

Luo Binghe keeps coming back. Small injuries, larger ones, keening whines about how Shixiong, I’m scared of qi deviations, please help me cultivate safely!!

Shen Yuan is torn between feeling relieved that Luo Binghe has found a Shixiong (Shixiong!!) that he feels he can trust, and feeling absolutely terrified of Luo Binghe’s general health. The original Luo Binghe of PIDW had never felt this worried, he was never in so much pain over simple scrapes! Had Shen Yuan’s doting somehow turned the protagonist’s bones to glass??

Regardless, Luo Binghe spends more and more time on Qian Cao. He even shows up to some of the lessons Shen Yuan teaches, which - protagonist, you don’t need to know healing!! Your blood will do it for you, eventually! When that fails, a large-bosomed woman will take care of you!!

“I can’t help but feel bad for how often I bother Shixiong,” Luo Binghe whines when Shen Yuan tries to shoo him out of the Qian Cao beginner lessons. “Isn’t it better for me to learn how to take care of myself?”

It’s better for this Shixiong to take care of you, ah! Shen Yuan very much does not say, but he does begrudgingly let Luo Binghe stay.

Except the lessons go too late, and it’s dangerous for Luo Binghe to be wandering between the peaks after dark, so he ends up having to bunk with Shen Yuan for the night, and Shen Yuan offers him some of his old Qian Cao disciple robes to sleep in, and Luo Binghe never takes them off -

Shen Yuan stares at Luo Binghe, happily calling him ‘Shixiong’ and dressed in Qian Cao robes and without even the smallest of bruises or scrapes on his person, and -

Well, this is probably a good a way as any to rescue Luo Binghe, ah!

#ty for the prompt!#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #bingqiu #fic drabble

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ellekathryns · 1 year

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“Just look at me. Forget everything else.” For J7 👀

she’s had so many stern talks with the doctor about his poor bedside manner that they’ve merged into one, absurdly drawn-out exchange. still, his improvement has been minimal at best.

when she enters sickbay, blood still drying on her uniform, it’s tom who accosts her with a tricorder, tries to assess the damage. she waves him off.

seven is sitting on the biobed with her back to the door. even from a distance, janeway can see the angry red burns marring the right side of her body. she can see where her suit has almost melted away, revealing the charred skin underneath.

she is certain, just for a moment, that she’s going to be sick. she takes two deep breaths, does her best to quell the nausea.

seven is hunched over, head bowed. janeway hears the doctor chiding her as she approaches the pair of them.

“...invincible. you are human now, seven. it is imperative that you remember…”

“doctor,” she cuts him off sharply, and he turns to her, looking startled.

“captain,” he offers her a brief nod and resumes the job of healing seven with the dermal regenerator, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

“can i help?” she asks.

“dermal regeneration requires a precision and technical skill not taught in compulsory medical courses at the academy, captain.”

on any other day, she would bristle at his condescension, give him a good telling-off. but she can see a muscle jumping in seven’s jaw from how hard she’s biting down to keep from making any noise. she pays him little mind.

in the following silence, she can hear the shallowness of seven’s breathing. she doesn’t think about protocol, doesn’t think about her role as a captain. she climbs up onto the biobed so that they’re sitting side by side.

seven has always hated sickbay. which is understandable, in janeway’s opinion. when she puts a hand on seven's upper back, between her shoulder blades, she can feel the tension there. she thinks maybe distraction is her best available course of action.

“seven, just look at me, okay? forget everything else.”

seven obliges, turning to her, and kathryn can’t help but flinch at the sight of seven’s face, flecked with blood and patchy with exposed burns.

“how about a trip to the holodeck tomorrow morning? i hear tom’s been working on another earth program, a more modern one.”

seven shakes her head.

“i’m on duty,” she chokes out, and were it not for the whole situation, janeway would laugh.

“not anymore you’re not. captain’s orders. report to the holodeck first thing in the morning.”

this time seven nods, but she’s looking at something above janeway, or behind her, and the captain turns, looking over her shoulder.

“what is it?” she asks after a beat and seven reaches out her uninjured hand to touch the top of janeway’s head gingerly.

“there is blood in your hair. are you damaged?”

this time janeway does laugh. laughs and takes seven’s hand and holds it between both of hers.

“let’s worry about you first, okay.”

seven nods again, looks straight ahead at the doctor as he moves the device from her bicep to her neck.

“captain, please do not feel an obligation to stay if you are needed on the bridge,” seven says eventually. peripherally, she can see this elicit one of the captain’s crooked grins.

“seven, i’m not going anywhere.” she’s still holding seven’s hand. she wonders, briefly, what this looks like from the doctor’s point of view. the captain rushing straight down from the bridge, minutes after an attack, when she’s notified that a member of her crew has been injured.

she wonders what they look like now, her and seven, legs dangling off the table. wonders if the doctor can really understand comfort, can grasp the fact that having seven close—warm and alive, having her hand—is just as much a comfort for her as it is for seven.

there’s no way to know. and it doesn’t matter anyway.

“do you know where tom’s program is set?” seven asks, bringing her back to the present.

“no, i’m not sure. but it’s tom, so you know it’ll be somewhere fun.”

#ty for the prompt!#j/7 #janeway x seven #st: voy #my writing

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