Hi! After years of having this blog I have decided to change everything and also make an intro post. So if you know me ignore this (formerly this blog was pickleking8).
Anyway I’m Koleo! Pangender, use whatever pronouns you like. I like beetles, space, and woodworking! Blog-relevant, I like whump and also danny phantom, so it’s mostly a mix of those two things on here.
I have a fanfic that I think I am declaring abandoned atp but if you want to read it the masterpost is here.
Nearly every time Mouse had seen her, she'd seemed… generally happy-go-lucky. Not a pushover, by any means, but certainly at ease, with herself, with the crew. Confident. She didn't move like someone who was getting beaten nightly— perhaps she wasn't.
Mouse… wasn't quite as terrified of her as she expected to be.
"Aye, little Mouse!" She slunk over to her, certainly not keeping her waiting.
"Dom said you're on light duty, so I've a project for ya. I think you'll like it."
"Sir?"
"You know anything about birds?"
"Uh, they fly, sir?"
"Aye!" Chase laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. Which… hurt, but clearly wasn't meant to.
"I don't think chickens do, so much, though."
"Chickens, sir?"
"Aye, with me." Chase started walking, and Mouse followed along obediently. She had to take nearly two steps for each of Chase's, but she seemed to notice and slowed a bit.
Cass had flipped a crate over on top of the birds to keep them contained.
"This is Cass, and Jonah. They're building a containment situation for the birds, and you'll be in charge of caring for them."
"I still don't see why we're keeping live chickens," Jonah muttered, and Cass punched him lightly in the shoulder.
"Shut up, dumbass, Captain's orders. Now hold that board."
He ducked his head and did as he was told. Chase looked pleased.
"Sir, I don't mean to disappoint, but I don't really know anything about chickens."
She shrugged. "Someone must. Go ask around, give you a chance to aquaint yourself with the crew. If anyone gives ya a hard time tell 'em I sent you."
So that was how Mouse found herself wandering the ship, asking everyone about chickens.
Most people just told her how they liked their chicken cooked. They were clueless when it came to keeping live birds, other than grabbing eggs as kids or "chuckin scraps in the yard".
Eventually, she managed to cobble together that they ate scraps and grain and maybe dirt, plus any bugs around, and too much fish made the eggs taste bad.
By the time she made it back, Cass and Jonah were nearly done.
Jonah was on top of the pen they'd built, nailing an old piece of sail to the top.
"Shade was Jonah's idea," Cass told Chase, who raised an eyebrow.
"You didn't cut it off the sail, didya?"
He shook his head. "No sir. It was a torn scrap from mending, and we've plenty more canvas in storage."
Chase looked somewhat pleased. Her gaze landed on Mouse and she smiled. "Whatcha got, little Mouse?"
"According to the crew, they eat kitchen scraps, grain, grass, bugs, and possibly dirt?"
"Dirt?"
Mouse shrugged. "Maybe looking for seeds?" She took a deep breath before continuing. "Phoenix said she'll save the scraps for them each day as she cooks, and check grain stores to see what can be spared."
"Aye, well done, lass. I'll bring it up tonight when I meet with Phoenix and Petrel."
Chase was pleased with her efforts!
"You'll be responsible for ensuring they're fed, watered, and clean. You can ask for help, but it's on you to be sure they're cared for, every day. They don't take a break from eatin', you don't take a break from feedin'. Savvy?"
"Uh, aye, sir."
Chase smiled.
——
Perhaps Chase had overestimated how much space the chickens needed. The birds seemed happy, though, which was good. Clucking about, pecking at whatever their little bird eyes saw. Certainly better than in a barrel in the ocean.
The crew was all-too eager to toss the birds their scraps and watch them get devoured. By the end of the night, they had names, and the crew had decided they needed a below-deck home as well in case of a battle.
Petrel seemed amused by the whole ordeal at the evening meeting.
"Mouse'll track how much they eat so we know how much grain to store for 'em," Chase announced, and Phoenix nodded.
"For the chickens. That we could just eat." That was Petrel's skeptical-but-amused voice.
Phoenix looked mildly offended. "I'm not cooking Mouse's chickens unless we've nothing else to eat. The girl lights up."
Chase was always pleased when Phoenix got brave enough to speak up like that. They'd known her so long now.
Petrel raised an eyebrow. "These are Mouse's chickens now?"
"Aye, they are," Chase agreed with a sigh. "And half the crew's attached now too."
"Buncha pirates getting all doe-eyed over a few chickens," Striker muttered.
"More like gettin' doe-eyed over the new girl, I think," Phoenix corrected, and Striker shrugged and waved her off, but smiled despite himself.
Eventually, the other three left Chase and Petrel alone, and they snuggled into bed together as usual.
"Mouse spent hours talking to the crew today," Chase murmured.
"About what? The chickens?"
"Aye. Told her to ask folks what they eat. She seemed to like having a job."
Petrel kissed the top of her head. "That was a good idea."
"Mm. Figured somebody had to know something. Oh, and Jonah was actually useful today."
"Jonah?"
"Mm, that boy I was tellin' you about? Helped Cass build the coop for 'em."
"Cass built the coop?"
"Aye, did a good job, too."
"Mm, maybe these birds won't be so bad after all."
Chase woke the next morning to find that the crew had worked the chickens into their songs.
@mikosflame
Danny/Bruce, Key, “Take your aim, fire away... shoot me down, but I won't fall, I am titanium”
BANG!
A red flag emboldened with the word pops out the end of the gun.
The whole room seems to sag with an exhale of relief. But Bruce doesn’t. He still strains against the goons who are holding him back.
The Joker just shrugs, gun dangling limp from his fingers. “Ah, well, looks like all I have with me is a joke!” His face twisted into an awful sneer. “Problem is, doesn’t seem anyone is laughing!” He turns, a dramatic pivot that leaves his back to Danny.
Please, please, please, let him be done with Danny, Bruce silently pleads.
There’s a moment where he thinks it works.
Then the Joker snaps his fingers. The goons on either side of him raise their pistols. Danny jerks as a bullet hits his chest. The second bullet jerks him the other way. He curls in on himself, body bowed for a moment. But then he sweeps his hair back as he stands up straight. There’s a devil-may-care smirk on his lips. It’s the smile that Bruce fell for.
The Joker twists back with a growl. “Unload, boys!”
Bang-bang-bang—ten more shots ring out.
Danny jerks back with each of the shots, but there’s no blood. No wet red staining the new suit that he had let Bruce buy him. The pistols empty into Danny, but he doesn’t bleed.
The room holds its breath.
Danny shakes out his sleeves. Twelve bullet shells clink against the marble floor. He straightens his tie purposefully, and then in a flash has surged forward and socked the Joker.
He crumples to the floor in a pile of purple and green.
The goons pause and then run for it.
Danny is at Bruce’s side, holding his face as he searches for any damage. “Are you okay?”
“I think that’s my line,” Bruce says, his voice a desperate rasp. He presses his finger through a bullet hole in Danny’s suit. His finger meets flesh, whole and unblemished. “…how?”
Danny shrugs and smiles, a nervous thing that Bruce wants to sooth away with a kiss, so he does.
Contents: allusions to past trauma, whumpee/caretaker power imbalance
Masterlist
---
Reth closed the bathroom door behind him with shaking hands.
Why was he reacting like this? Nothing had even happened! Very specifically, nothing had happened! Tara hadn't done anything.
The two of them shared a pact, and he had given her his name. She had done nothing, when she easily could do almost anything.
She could easily make him do almost anything.
He shook his head, trying to chase away that thought. True as it was, it wouldn't help him. Tara didn't like when he acted scared of her.
That was the wrong thing to focus on. He needed to focus on the positives, like how she had given him this opportunity to get cleaned up by himself. He found the towel and washcloth on the floor just as she'd described.
Reth stared at the tiny shower as they tried to decide their next move. They didn't truly need a shower. Not really. His captors cleaned him up after each one of their "meetings". They liked to make a mess of him all over again the next time, not deal with the sloppy leftovers of their previous round.
(Some of them volunteered for the job, reveling in the opportunity to run their hands over every inch of him with the pretext of cleaning. Those ones disgusted him almost more than the others. If you're going to be a monster, be a monster. Don't hide behind flimsy justifications for your deeds.)
He shuddered at the memory.
That settled it. He turned the shower on and stripped out of his borrowed clothing. He would have to put it back on, after, but that would be alright. It would be worth it to wash off the worst of the memories.
The lantern Tara had left to illuminate the bathroom cast erratic shadows as he stepped into the shower. It was easier, somehow, when he didn't have to see all the marks left on him. The frigid spray of the shower meant he was more preoccupied with getting done quickly, anyway.
He gave himself a quick and perfunctory cleaning, scrubbing with Tara's pomegranate scented body wash. The chill of the water had sunk into his bones by the time he had scrubbed off the worst of the lingering feeling of unwanted hands on his skin. He shivered as he stepped out and toweled off.
Then, the part that he was most looking forward to: washing his hair. He wrapped himself in the towel as he examined the supplies Tara had left on the counter: not only shampoo, but also conditioner, as well as her hairbrush.
Washing his hair in the sink was not the most pleasant experience. The water was cold, and the awkward pose required for the task pulled at the injuries on his back. Even so, he could have cried from relief.
He was finally able to do this himself. It was his own fingers combing through his hair, his own claws scraping gently against his scalp. Every touch was expected.
Once his hair was clean, he worked the conditioner into it. The smooth texture would be for no one's benefit but his own.
He wrung all the extra moisture out of his hair with the towel and carefully dried around the base of his horns. They were still tender, especially at the base.
His hands shook as he picked up the hairbrush. It was just a tool. He was using it for one purpose, and one purpose only.
(It would be up to Tara if she wanted to use it for his discipline. He somehow doubted she had any of the more typical tools for such purposes, and he knew from experience that a hairbrush left a satisfying mark.)
He brushed his hair until it hung in a smooth, damp curtain. Eventually he couldn't justify stalling any longer. His hands were as steady as they would get, and Tara's emotions had smoothed into something like quiet concentration.
He got dressed, took a deep breath, and left the bathroom.
~Disclaimer for all drabbles- none are considered 100% canon; the more recently made, the closer they are to canon, but these are mostly for fun for me to figure out the characters+plot!~
TW/CW for blood and injury
Author's note: now, I know the undertext of the prompt said things like murder and death, but I took a bit of a (literal) detour, if that's okay; this is put directly following Strike- Lilith
Lilith
Her hands shook as she tended to the gashes on Anna's back. She had to take multiple deep breaths to steady them in between cleaning each cut. The porcelain of the sink was pink and her own hands seemed stained with Anna's blood. Maybe they were.
She didn't even realize she'd stopped breathing entirely until a quiet croak startled her back out of her thoughts, making her suck in a breath, which made her cough as she looked up.
"Lilith."
Anna had turned to look at her. Her eyes were full of pain. Tired. Resigned. But she still reached around to take one of Lilith's hands. Her own blood smeared on her skin, but she didn't seem to care as she met Lilith's eyes.
"Breathe." she said, soft and firm.
Lilith wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. Something to get this feeling out of her lungs. But she did none of that. Just dared to rest her forehead against Anna's for a brief moment before she stepped back again, sharply pulling away her hand out of Anna's warm one.
"Turn around. We need to finish and then we can go to bed." she said, her voice carefully neutral as she tried to remain stern.
Her friend's face had become expressionless again, any feeling dying out of her eyes as she turned back around at Lilith's order.
Lilith went back to her work, her hands no longer trembling as she cleaned and bandaged the wounds she'd made.
'Anna's blood is on your hands.' she reminded herself harshly, making sure to cut that into her memory. 'Now and forever. You can't wash those stains away.'
He jumps headfirst into romantic relationships often, and is quick to return the moment someone he previously dated implied they might be interested in a rerun. He meets a pretty lady that is fully capable of kicking his ass and suddenly his heart beats for her. Just as easily, he will fall for the next man that he finds his empathy reaching a little too far for.
It’s even easier with kids. He holds a baby, waiting for the baby’s parents to return from being checked over by medics, and he’s imagining them growing up, decorating their nursery in his mind, picking out colleges that’ll more suit different interests - if the baby wants to be a lawyer, then this school would be better; if a little artist in the making, then this other school is the best of the best. And it all goes through his head in the ten minutes that the parents are held up for. He saves a toddler from a burning building, and sees himself taking the kid for walks and building Legos with them. He finds a teenager in trouble, and he’s already imagining helping them with their homework.
Usually, it doesn’t go anywhere. He brings the kid somewhere safe, usually reuniting them with their parents, and then mopes about the loss of that potential future for a few days before it leaves his mind again.
But sometimes, sometimes, a child sticks in his mind. Dick was the first of those children, quickly brought into his custody but not quick enough.
Next was Tim, a bright little child that Bruce noticed before he’d ever adopted Jason. Tim was the first child Bruce had to learn restraint for, telling himself that he couldn’t monitor this little kid who looked at Bruce like he hung the stars in the sky. Still, he couldn’t help but to keep an eye on the little Drake during galas and gatherings. Tim was Bruce’s son before he was ever Robin, no matter what Bruce had said and done in his grief.
Jason was very quickly adopted, Bruce hadn’t even needed to use his hard won restraint for that one. The moment he’d seen those defiant blue eyes glaring at him in the darkness, he’d emotionally adopted the boy. Mentally adopted him shortly after, with the adoption papers filled out and turned in quickly after.
The only child Bruce would find himself counting when doing roll call only to be disappointed had barely been in Bruce’s presence for five minutes. The little boy Bruce found himself thinking often of, wondering how he was growing up, whether he was going to see the stars as an adult like he’d claimed, hoping Bruce might even see the little boy applying for Wayne Enterprise’s Aerospace division. Danny Fenton was a child that crossed Bruce’s mind often despite not being, on paper or by blood, Bruce’s child.
But to Bruce’s heart and mind? Danny should’ve grown up with him.
“Daddy!” Bruce looked down as a small weight hit his leg, stunned to see a small child there. “Look! Shtarsh!” A small lisp, as the child turned a gap-toothed grin up at Bruce. Bruce followed the little boy’s pointing finger, noting that there was indeed a display of stars, the infographics claiming a better way to fuel rockets was such-and-such method over the common-
Wait, had this child called him-?
“It sure is, bud,” Bruce agreed, kneeling down to be closer to even height with this… four-year-old? “But what are you doing over here by yourself?”
“Mommy d’ere,” the little boy pointed towards a woman in a teal… hazmat suit(?), focused intently on the display in front of her. In her hands was a leash that led down to an abandoned backpack.
Bruce’s face twitched at the fact that she hadn’t even noticed, and he didn’t know how long the child had been free of the backpack. Long enough for it to look like it’d been dragged from a different exhibit.
Bruce looked back at the little escape artist, “May I pick you up, chum?” The little boy’s eyes brightened, excited.
“Rocket!” He bounced a little on his toes, hands held up excitedly.
Bruce was disappointed, himself, that he had no clue what this boy was asking for, “Not right now, but maybe later.” Bruce was quick to tack on the last part as the boy deflated. Propping the little boy on his hip, he made his way over to ‘mommy.’ “Excuse me, ma’am- ma’am?” It took several calls, and even waving his hand in her eyesight, to get the woman’s attention - and Bruce’s displeasure with the woman steadily increased the longer it took. “You appear to have misplaced a budding astronaut.”
She barely even glanced at the little boy before negating his statement, “no I didn’t, he’s right-“ finally, she noticed the childless backpack, her head snapping back to Bruce, “Daniel James Fenton! I told you to stop taking your backpack off!”
“But- but shtarsh, mommy!” The little boy indignantly argued back with the woman, and Bruce had to quickly school his face to not smile at Daniel’s attitude.
“That doesn’t mean you can wander off, Danny,” the woman huffed, before reaching out to steal- retrieve her son from Bruce. “Thank you, sir.”
Throughout the rest of the convention, Bruce caught glimpses of the bright-eyed little boy with his mother and father, who was a man that Bruce could feasibly understand the young child confusing Bruce for… if he weren’t wearing an eye-piercing orange hazmat suit, and Bruce a tailored three-piece.
When it became clear that Bruce’s attachment to the little boy didn’t fade with time and distance the way it normally did, he allowed himself just one day in a year where he would indulge, letting himself use the resources available to him to check on the little boy. Last Bruce had seen, little Danny, who had just turned 14, - only a couple years older than Damian now that he thinks about it - was doing well in school and was on his way to becoming an astronaut.
So why…?
Why was his little boy standing before Batman in dirty, ripped up, bloody clothes and an unnatural green light in his otherwise dull eyes?
Jazz: Danny.....did you steal our brother from mom and dad?
Danny: No! It was a different basement lab! I would never steal from Mom and Dad!
Jazz: What about all those ghost weapons you take?
Danny: It's not stealing if I put them back when I'm done. It's borrowing. I'm not putting this little guy back, though.
Jazz: So you stole a baby from someone else?
Danny: Yeah, I fell through a natural portal and found myself in a lab. There were a lot of test pods with cloning attempts, and this little guy was marked as a failure and was to be disposed of, but I was able to put some of my core into him and stabilize him. Took him before anyone noticed he wasn't a failure anymore.
Jazz: oh. Who was the person attempting to clone?
Danny: No clue. Half of the DNA was human, but the other half wasn't. The second one was messing with the baby's body, so I took that out and put my own in. The Phantom side at least.
Jazz: Wait, this means this is....your baby?
Danny: Yes.
Jazz: I'm a aunt!
Danny: Correct.
Jazz: How old is he? Whats his name? Is he healthy now?
Danny: He seems to be about five months old. His name is Tommy. And according to Frostbite, he's a perfectly healthy boy.
Jazz: That's wonderful! Can I hold Tommy?
Danny: Of course! He's a really calm baby and rarely gets fussy.
Jazz: Great! *cooes at Tommy* Hi sweetie. Hello. Its auntie Jazzy.
Danny: You're a natural.
Jazz: Thanks! By the way, is there going to be a issue with the other parent?
Danny: Nah. They likely thought he was disposed of. I'm sure they already forgot about it.
He didn't really know what the cause of his brokenness was, just that he clearly and obviously was. Even before he died, he couldn't see color.
Unlike Jazz, whose soulmates began with their parents and continued to appear into her life and then stay in her life, Danny appeared to be soulmateless if it weren't for the fact that he still couldn't see color. Jazz, and everyone else in Amity, had the full rainbow and then some available to her before she even made it to middle school.
Jazz's soulmates were an easy and short list. Mom, Dad, her friend Kyle Weston, and her friend Spike. She had met Kyle in kindergarten, and Spike in third grade. All of her soulmates were platonic and familial, though there was still a chance that she was seeing darker shades of colors than they're supposed to be - it was more common than not for a romantic soulmate to brighten up the world that someone could already see.
Danny was in high school. And all he saw was grey, grey, and more grey. Occasionally, he could even tell that he was looking at black. It was unusual. He was broken. What else was he supposed to understand from that?
"Maybe your soulmates are somewhere else? Like, your soulmates are all French or something," Tucker suggested, offhand.
"Maybe," Danny pretended to agree. Frankly, though, he wasn't holding out hope.
He was already dead, after all.
If someone's soulmate passed, they just lost the ability to see whatever colors their soulmate had given them. Danny doubted that him being dead before meeting his soulmates would affect that specific phenomenon in any meaningful way. He would just never know.
So why the hell could he suddenly see this- this- this beautiful color after meeting some dude? He didn't seem to have noticed the change of colors, rushing off with a bright apology for running into Danny, as Danny's whole world flipped on its side. He- he had no clue how to find that person again. What was he supposed to do now?
Maybe... maybe start with googling what this color is.
Blue. Blue was the color of the sky, of oceans, of brightly colored birds and butterflies. It was so beautiful. Danny's eyes were blue! Danny decided just then that blue was his favorite color.
Who knew he'd finally find a soulmate after moving to Gotham? Maybe, just maybe, he'd find his other soulmates here too.
He shook his head; Danny knew better than to hope. Danny was dead. He can't have soulmates, now. Even if Danny could now see colors- or, well, one color, that didn't mean whoever was connected to him could also see their missing color(s). So even if Danny was connected to them, they... probably weren't connected to him.
...
"Sorry, Jay, I got held up at wor-" Dick trailed off, looking at his little brother's eyes.
They weren't that green before. He knows they weren't; after meeting Damian, Dick could see green. They could all see green after meeting Damian. Jason and Damian's eyes were both an olive green, only a slight shade difference between them, everyone in the family agreed. Not... not this neon bright green.
Jason's gaze snapped to Dick from where he'd been glaring at someone across the diner, and the brightness dulled. It didn't go away, but calmed down. No longer seemed like it was lighting Jason's face up. "What?"
"I..." Dick paused, mind racing. If Jason didn't know why Dick was staring at him, then nothing new has happened on his end. That means... "I think I ran into another soulmate."
Jazz: That's good. We want rich customers. Just smile and get them to the back room for thier session. That's all you have to do.
Danny: Fine.
Dick: *Ringing counter bell* Hello?
Danny walking out with a fake smile: Hello! Welcome to Fenton Escape Rooms. Are you ready for a challenging fun filled hour of mystery?
Damian: This is idiotic. We will solve everything in five minutes.
Dick: Thats why we are each going in alone and going to beat each other's time.
Danny's eye twitching: The rooms are quite challenging
Tim pitying: I'm sure you worked hard on them. We just tend to breeze through escape rooms.
Danny uses his ghost powers to make the rooms and grows deeply offended: Really? If you're so sure, how about we make things interesting?
Jason: Oh that is interesting. What are we betting?
Danny: You take on our most difficult room as a group. If you can't solve it in an hour, I win, and you have to promote my business on your social media.
Damian: And when we win what do we gain?
Danny: Well what do you want?
Cass: A date
Danny: Pardon?
Cass smiling: You go on a date with one of us.
Danny: Who is the date with?
Cass looking around her group: I'm sure there are a few interested here.
Danny: Deal. Good luck to you all. The Ghost Zone is not a easy room to escape from
Damian threatening: This will be easy. Get ready to waste your time being treated like a King by my overly emotional siblings. They will romance you so well, we'll be planning a wedding.
Danny equal as threatening: I look forward to it brat.
Chase grinned when they came aboard. "Ahoy, doctor!"
Dominick smiled. "Ahoy, sir." Chase raised an eyebrow as Dominick caught Mouse before she could kneel.
"Mouse's on light duty for a month and double rations. And no kneeling."
Chase nodded. "Aye. I'll see to it. Anything else?"
He shook his head. "I'll need to do a more thorough exam in a few weeks, once she's in better shape."
She nodded again. "Aye. Thank you, Doctor."
She dismissed him. "Phoenix, thanks for accompanying her. See to it she's fed, then send her back up to me."
Light duty, no kneeling, double rations. Petrel would be pleased.
She looked around. "Where's Cass?"
A nearby crewman shrugged and continued mopping the same spot on the floor he'd been working on for the last five minutes.
"And what are you doing that's so important ya can't go and get her?"
He looked up, startled, and scurried off. She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
He returned a few minutes later with Cass, who looked annoyed.
"You can build, right?"
"Obviously, I'm a cooper, ain't I?"
"Great. You know anything about fowl?"
"Like, chickens? I know they're tasty."
"We hauled three up overnight. Unless we want the deck covered in chickenshit, I need you to build em somewhere to live."
"That's why there's five people swabbing the deck?"
"Apparently chickens shit a lot."
Cass groaned and rolled her eyes. Chase had always liked her attitude.
"How much space?"
"How much do they need?"
"How should I know!"
Chase snorted. "Okay, okay. Uh. Birds like perches, right? So give em a perch to sleep on, and, hell I dunno, enough space that it takes them a full minute to walk the perimeter?"
"You want me to watch these damn birds walk for a full minute, figure out how far that is, and build a fence round it?"
"And a perch. Oh, and somewhere they can lay eggs."
"Why don't we just eat 'em?"
"Thank you!" Striker called, and Chase rolled her eyes.
"I'm putting Mouse in charge of 'em, I just need somewhere for 'em to live. Can you do it or not?"
Cass huffed. "Yeah, I'll do it. I'm taking Jonah."
"Wh-what?" The crew member who'd gone to get her looked distressed about being conscripted into coop-building service, but looked more afraid of Cass.
Good.
Jonah had offered his services a couple ports back, but hadn't proved to be useful in… literally any way. He couldn't even tie a half-decent knot, despite Striker's best efforts.
Chase was considering strongly suggesting he find other means of employment, given that he didn't need the protection of the crew.
But hell, maybe he'd be useful to Cass.
—
"May I ask questions?" The way Mouse looked up at Phoenix made her heart ache.
"Go ahead, dear."
"Why am I getting double rations?"
The two were sitting in the galley, Phoenix watching to make sure she ate and drank enough.
"You're a waif, dear. Any thinner and the breeze would carry you off."
"I've always looked like this."
"Don't mean it's healthy. You need meat on your bones."
"Isn't it a waste of resources? For me to eat more?"
"It's a waste of resources to let you starve, dear. You have to eat."
"But I'm not even working to make up for it."
"Because you ain't healthy enough to do so. Part of gettin' healthy is gainin' weight." She grabbed her own belly to make a point. "Eating is not negotiable."
Mouse nodded and finished the rest of her plate. Save for one thing.
"Miss Phoenix?"
"Just Phoenix, hun."
"Okay. Um, I'm not trying to get out of eating, and I know I'm supposed to be grateful for what I get, and I am, but I, uh. I can't have apples."
"What'dya mean, 'can't have' them?"
"They just. I dunno, they make me sick and I know that's bad, but I don't want to get sick and waste the food."
She was trembling. Poor thing.
"That's fine. Is there anything else?"
She shook her head.
"Okay. No apples for Mouse. Got it."
She looked shocked, like she couldn't believe it was that simple. Maybe she couldn't.
"My job is to make sure people have the food they need. If you're heavin' up your guts, you ain't well-fed, and I've not done my job."
She nodded slowly, like she was trying to roll it around in her mind.
"Okay. I know Striker went over the big rules with you. There's some other rules you need to know."
Fear flashed in her eyes and she whimpered softly.
"Easy, dear. You're okay. No whip."
She relaxed at that, just slightly.
"I'm in charge of feeding and maintainin' resources for the crew. Dom's in charge of health and cleanliness, Striker's security and maintenance. Chase is over us— she's the go between for the Captain and everyone else. She's also the only person who's allowed to punish anyone on the ship, according to the agreement she and the Captain made when they mutinied the last Captain. Chase agreed to be punished for the mistakes of the crew, and to handle discipline herself."
She paused, to let that sink in, before continuing.
"The Captain's brutal and fierce. She's terrifying in battle, frankly. But under her, we prosper, and she's never led us astray. Chase reports to her nightly."
"To be punished?"
Phoenix shrugged. "Only Striker's privy to that knowledge. The point is, Chase and at least two of the three of us must agree that something warrents punishment for her to deliver it. Unless someone hurts another crew-member without cause. Then, they're turned over to the Captain herself."
Mouse seemed to be thinking hard about all of this.
"What I'm trying to tell ya, Mouse, is that you're not in danger of punishment unless Chase says so. And if anyone harms you otherwise, no matter what they say, tell Chase. Or tell me, or Dominick, or Striker. Savvy?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Now. Let's go see what Chase's gotcha doing."
i love an unresponsive whumpee... and you should throw a fresher prisoner into their cell and strike new terror into their heart seeing what's in store for them and have them do all they can to coax original!whumpee back into awareness, talking to them gently, trickling water down their throat, holding their hand and stroking the back of it even as they lose hope, they don't know if they're doing it for their cellmate any more or if they just need to convince themself they're not alone. and then give me original!whumpee weakly squeezing their hand. and the rush of relief and hope and you're ok, you'll be ok and i'm not alone and if you survived this we both can
do you think grace asked if rocky could come hug him if his state deteriorated past the point of no return on the way to erid?
do you think he asked rocky to be the one to kill him, flooding the hail mary with his atmosphere, so he could hug his best friend before dying? so the last time he’ll be touched by someone, it would be someone he loved and not people forcing him into a mission he didn’t want to participate in? so his last breath would be taken knowing he is loved, and so he is not alone as his body stops working?
do you think he would have wanted such a painful death, despite there being so many other ways of going that would be more pleasant, simply so that, in his last moments, there wouldn’t be a barrier between them?
Hey watch this @koleopteros - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
