#all hail the captain of this ship

[what-i-meant-to-say]

Kriff off, Tarkin— Ahsoka's no child

...and Rex's trust is no trifle

Toning down my tags: I do ship rexsoka, but not now - not when people still call her "child". I love to comment when I see signs of closeness developing between these two characters, a bond of trust & mutual respect, something that in my hc can 100% grow into something more - in their future.

#just saw 2/4 of the Umbara arc #and I'm all in my feelings #all hail Captain Rex #rex & ahsoka #captain rex #rex #ahsoka tano #clone wars #the clone wars #tcw #sw cw #s3ep19 #Counterattack #I ship future rexsoka #this is not future rexsoka #why did tumblr half-size my original gif

[alixinwwonderland]

“every step of midge and lenny’s relationship has felt, to me, authentic, and has kind of felt like it’s in the realm of the ‘meant to be’ ... it’s invested in all the things we love about these two people.” 

- luke kirby

#the marvelous mrs. maisel #tmmm #tmmmedit #midgelenny #midge maisel #lenny bruce #midge x lenny #all hail captain of the ship thank you sir #i love that he loves them as much as we do #userbeccaa #phoebeprufrock #ladylillianrose #wonderlandleighleigh #mrsmaiselsource #tv: the marvelous mrs maisel #ship: you're still staring #ch: midge maisel #ch: lenny bruce #mine

[captainswanapproved]

The Queen's Gambit- Chapter 1

A03

Daemon x Rhaenyra Multi Chapter AU: Rhaenyra is now 18 and eager to prove herself. Having never been forced to marry Rhea Royce, Daemon has matured and given up his gallivanting through the Street of Silk. Queen Aemma survives her final birth but the baby does not.

Queen Aemma knows of Daemon's devotion to Rhaenyra. She also knows that this devotion is not unrequited. Aemma goes to Viserys with a proposition: one that will ensure the future and legacy of House Targaryen.

Chapter 1

“Your grace, you must choose. The babe or the mother?”

Viserys winced as his beloved Aemma screamed again.

“Save them both,” Viserys said, “By the order of your king, save them both.”

“Your Grace—”

But Viserys did not remain to argue the point. Instead, he went to the weirwood tree to pray.

***

By the grace of the gods, Queen Aemma Targaryen survived her labors. Alas the gods gave and took away. Prince Baelon Targaryen was stillborn and burned on a pyre the following day.

Aemma watched as her son’s pyre was burned by Syrax. Rhaenyra had barely been able to utter the command. She watched as Rhaenyra, now a woman grown at one and eight, clung to her uncle Daemon as she wept. Daemon held her tightly, running one hand through her hair and idly kissing her brow. It did not seem to matter to him that his actions had an audience.

Aemma knew she would be unable to carry another child. Her body had been irreparably torn and scarred by this final birth. Daemon was the heir, but Aemma suspected that he wanted something else. She would confirm her suspicions in the godswood the next day.

Aemma sent a summons to Daemon’s apartments the following morning. She paced the peaceful godswood as she waited for her brother by law.

When he arrived, he bowed deeply. “I am at your service, my queen.” Aemma was tempted to smile. His formalities always had an heir of mockery with herself and Viserys. Daemon loved them both, she knew, but the games and politicking of court seemed to have little appeal.

“What do you want, Daemon, truly.”

“Your Grace summoned me. I expect you wanted something of me.”

Aemma nodded. “I want your honesty, Brother. Do you want to sit the iron throne, or does your heart and ambition lay elsewhere.”

Daemon did not immediately speak. He appeared wary as he formed his next words. “Viserys would never allow me to have what I truly want. I suppose I must settle for the throne, but I hope it may be many years before I take that mantel.”

It was the answer Aemma wanted to hear. “Does the title King Consort have more appeal? And before you deny it, remember that I, unlike my husband, have yet to deny you anything.”

Daemon swallowed thickly. “Your lord husband would never permit it.”

“That is not an answer to my question. Do you want Rhaenyra? Would you treat her as she deserves? Would you do everything in your power to protect her?”

“Yes,” Daemon said, at last without hesitation.

Aemma smiled and moved to embrace her brother. Daemon seemed tempted to withdraw, wary still. But eventually his forehead was on her shoulder, and arms were around her waist. “I will make my husband see sense, Daemon.”

***

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen had spent the night weeping for her brother, for her parents. For eighteen years, and very likely more, they had been trying to conceive an heir to the throne, and all the gods had granted them was her.

Rhaenyra knew her father loved her, but she would never be a son. She would never be able to sit the iron throne. Uncle Daemon would be the next in line for that dubious honor. Yet, Rhaenyra wondered if she could ever convince her father to allow her to follow her heart.

Rhaenyra had kept her desire for Daemon locked away in the deepest chambers of her heart, knowing that her father was unlikely to approve the match. He would expect her to wed the son of some other highborn lord. Perhaps a Lannister or a Tyrell.

But in the last three years, Rhaenyra had begun to imagine what it would be to wed her uncle, to bind their blood in the tradition of Old Valyria.

Rhaenyra was startled from her reveries when her mother entered her chambers. “Mother, you should be resting.”

Aemma smiled. “Perhaps I should, sweetling, but there is much work to be done. Tell me true, my love, do you wish to become your father’s heir.”

Rhaenyra’s heart leapt, but she schooled her features. “I am only a girl.”

Aemma sighed. “You are as stubborn as Daemon, child. I have been unable to provide a male heir for two decades. Your father must learn to accept that he already has a capable heir. Would you take up the responsibility?”

“I would not wish to supplant my uncle,” Rhaenyra said truthfully.

Apparently this was what her mother wished to hear. She kissed Rhaenyra’s forehead. “Supplanting your uncle is not precisely what I had in mind, my dear. Would you be opposed to him taking a different title one day, that of King Consort?”

Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat. Surely her mother was not serious. “Father would never allow it.”

“All I want for you is happiness, my dear. The crown is a heavy burden. To bear it, you must have the right person at your side. Do you wish to wed Daemon?”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra said, still not believing it would ever come to pass.

***

The council meeting was supposed to end an hour ago. Yet her husband had not returned from the council chambers.

Aemma decided that this was not only a matter of the heart, but a matter of state. So she climbed the stairs that led to the small council chamber. When she entered, she found her husband alone with his Hand, Otto Hightower. “Prince Daemon is not a worthy heir, Your Grace. If he ever sits the iron throne, he would be another Maegor the Cruel. He would ruin the peace you have worked your whole reign to maintain.”

Her lip curled. Already, Otto Hightower was trying to supplant his old rival. The man was a snake, and her husband refused to see it. She cleared her throat, and both men looked up.

Hightower had the good sense to appear embarrassed. “My Queen, you should be resting,” he said. “Allow me to express my sincere condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you, my lord. I need to speak to the king in private. Leave us now.”

Hightower bowed low and left the room.

Viserys watched her with concern. “My love, truly you should be resting. You endured a great ordeal.” He withdrew a chair for her and she sat beside him.

“I am well, husband. But we must think of the future. The gods have denied us a male heir. We have both been guilty of overlooking the greatest hope for the realm. My King, you must make Rhaenyra your heir. She will uphold your legacy and the Targaryen dynasty. She is wise and capable beyond her years. Name her the heir.”

“You would have me supplant Daemon?” Viserys asked.

“As would your Hand, my lord husband, but my motivations are different. I have spoken with Daemon. He has no wish to sit the throne himself. But he would gladly take a different title. Wed Rhaenyra to Daemon, and they will secure our family legacy and rule the realm with grace and honor.”

To her great surprise, Viserys laughed. “My love, that is nonsense. I do not doubt that Rhaenyra would be a capable heir. My Hand has even encouraged me to name her heir, but to wed Rhaenyra to Daemon? That is ridiculous.”

“Why? There is nothing Daemon loves more than our family and its legacy. He would treat Rhaenyra as she deserves, and defend her claim with his last breath.”

“He lusts for my throne, not for our daughter, Aemma. I will name Rhaenyra my heir, but she will marry someone more deserving of her. I love my brother, but he has proven time and time again that he is unworthy of a high position.”

Aemma frowned. “Is this your belief, or that of your Hand?”

“It is the undisputed truth. He is careless, reckless, and brash. In regards to a possible match with Rhaenyra, Daemon is incapable of being a faithful husband. I know of his reputation with the small folk. He has fucked his way up and down the Street of Silk for years.”

“People change, Viserys. Give him a chance. Give him a place on your small council. I believe you have no current Master of Coin.”

Viserys kissed her cheek. “My Queen, your faith in Daemon is admirable, if not questionable. Out of respect for you, I will ponder your advice. But in no uncertain terms will I wed my daughter to my brother. Please, let us speak of this no longer.”

Aemma wanted to argue, but she heard the finality in her husband’s tone. It was enough for now that he had agreed to name Rhaenyra the heir. What was somewhat disturbing though was that Hightower had suggested the very same. Aemma was certain that Hightower’s suggestion was self-serving, but she did not know the details of what the Hand may be planning.

What Aemma did know was that she would have to find a way to convince her husband to see reason. Daemon was the only man in the realm who would serve Rhaenyra with unfailing devotion.

#daemon x rhaenyra #daemyra #I'm actually writing a multi chapter fic #this chapter is a lot of set up #I may post it on a03 as well #Only a tiny bit of mentioned daemyra interaction #but plenty of daemyra vibes #All hail Queen Aemma #captain of the Daemyra ship

[foone]

I'm surprised there's not more supernatural spaceship media. Like, your average little cargo ship is jumping around the outer rim trying to cut some time off their delivery route and they pick up a distress call, so they have to answer it.

(under a readmore cause this got a little longer than I expected)

They warp in to the approximate coordinates and there's a colony ship orbiting a gas giant, stuck in the shadow of it, basically frozen over. It's centuries old, but these sleeper ships from the pre-ftl era were built to last, so it's still broadcasting the SOS. It's not responding to radio, so they need to board it.

Normally this'd just involve turning off the SOS. The ship is clearly dead and not responding to any hails, the crew must be long gone and the reactor is just keeping the SOS going. But this is a sleeper ship, so it's possible there's just no one awake. Stuck in longsleep for god knows how many decades, waiting for someone to stumble on their signal...

So they board it, activate the computer, and it tells them that everyone is dead. The ship launched, and over the 358 years it's been traveling for, every single cryo chamber has been either opened or never had any lifesigns in it in the first place. The last event logged on the computer is 136 years ago, when the acting captain set the ship to orbit this gas giant, and turn on the distress signal. Since then, nothing.

But there's still power on the bridge. There may be something there. So they climb up the decks, passing the grim sight of endless rows of cryochambers lined up like tombstones, all showing red lights of lifesign failure. As they get closer to the bridge, the time of deaths get later. The ones on the first deck were close to the launch date, and the ones near the bridge are nearer to that 136 year ago deadline.

This wasn't a hardware failure. Something killed all these people, one by one, over 220 years.

They get to the bridge. The computers are all powered down, but the power management system is still active. Two of the decks still have their cryochambers powered, but it's the ones that were supposed to be empty. There's no lifesigns in them, so the little computer in the power diagnostic system has been recommending they be turned off to save on energy. Naturally it's been recommending that for three and a half centuries. One of the crew members almost absent-mindedly agrees to the prompt, and those cryochambers deactivate. They were empty anyway, right? The sound of humming from the bridge mostly fades away, as a few hundred cryopods on the deck below power down.

The boarding crew powers off the SOS beacon. They'll alert the authorities to the ship's location when they get to a port, surely someone wants to investigate what went wrong here, or at least do an archeological study. This place is beyond an antique at this point... Wait. What's that?

The power computer says there's still one active power draw, about 1.2 kilowatts, in the captain's quarters. That's too much for a personal computer, but just about right for a single cryo pod. Maybe the captain or someone is still alive? That pod isn't on the network, so they can't see the lifesigns from here.

They head over, and the bulkhead door is still cracked open, with a thick cable running in through the gap in the door. Whoever wired this up clearly didn't have time to correctly reroute the power systems, they just lugged a cryo pod in here and basically ran an extension cord to a nearby terminal.

They pry open the door, and there's a softly glowing cryo pod in the middle of the surprisingly spacious room. It makes some amount of sense, generally on these ships the captain would be the one who has to wake up and deal with any situations that arise, while the rest of the colonists are content to sleep until they reach their new home.

They look in the pod, and there's a man lying there. He's not the captain, though. They saw his photo on the bridge. This is someone else. Some one quite pale and gaunt. Maybe they were suffering malnutrition before they put themselves in the pod?

The pod is softly beeping. It's reactivating, apparently triggered when they opened the door. The pod shows no lifesigns, so it's not worth worrying about, the panel sliding over to reveal merely a well preserved corpse.

And then he smiles. "I'm so glad to see you! When we ran out of food we we're afraid we'd never see another human again. And even through those environment suits, I can tell you're so deliciously human." he licks his lips, and the boarding crew spots his prominent canines.

There's a noise halfway between a howl and a shriek from the floor below. The man in the cryopod leans up his head. "ahh, I see you've woken up my children as well. Marvelous. I hope you brought plenty of friends for us to snack on."

The head of the boarding party lifts her arm to call their ship, tell them to get out of there or drop a torpedo into the colony ship's reactor. Before she can bring it to her face to call, there's a flash of motion. Before she can even realize what's happening, the man(?) in the cryopod is up and holding her wrist away from her face.

As she cries out at the sudden pain, the other members of the boarding party spot movement down the hall. A lot of movement. A wall of thin pale people are running towards the captain's quarters, climbing over each other and pushing each other aside, like a pack of wild wolves who just smelled prey.

The boarding party steps back into the room and slams the emergency close. At least in here they only have to deal with one of those things.

The door hits the cable and bounces off with a loud alarm. It fully opens again, ready to let the hungry mass in.

So... Have you ever noticed how much a cryopod looks like a coffin?

#my writing

[meroif]

A Hundred Years of Sleep

Far, far away from home, you awake to a world changed. Everyone had their time to grief,  with the exception of you. Then I ask, what would you give to fix what is broken?

DEMO ; PATREON

A Hundred Years of Sleep is an interactive fiction novel taking place in a universe of magic and machinery. It aims to guide you through a journey through the stars, one that begins and ends with your very home.

The Story

You come from Vaeravel, a small and peaceful planet orbiting around an even smaller star in a corner of the universe. You live with your aunts in your quaint neighborhood until you're considered a young adult by the standards of your long-lived species.

Then without fanfare, everything ends.

The Collapse is a terrible accident that completely destroys your planet and most of its inhabitants. You manage to survive, taken to one of the few emergency vessels fleeing disaster, but slip away into a deep sleep.

You wake up again, in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar galaxy, alone. Everywhere you look, life has gone on without you.

So when you hear rumors of a ship departing for what is now called The Collapsed you can't help but embark on the journey home, so that maybe by the end of it you'd be granted peace, or at least instructed on what to do with all your loss.

Features

Character customization. Choose name, pronouns, appearance, personality and ambitions of your character.

Moral compass. Be bad, play nice, decide how you want to interact with the world at large and see for yourself where your actions take you.

Romance. Meet and fall in love with four different characters, all gender selectable, or don't, if you prefer to the take the romanceless path.

Flirt options with various NPCs, with future extra side-stories to give them the space they deserve.

Multiple endings, good and bad, once you reach the end of your journey.

Romantic Options

Riel Rosenquartz (he/him, or she/her, or they/them), the heir of the Rosen Crown, lost monarchy of Vaeravel. Elegant, kind and diplomatic, they're overjoyed to meet another survivor of the disaster. Although you're not sure why they'd wait for so long before making the journey back home.

Khael (he/him, or she/her), the Captain of the Chrysa, the ship travelling to reach The Collapsed. Highly perceptive and infuriatingly charming, Khael is undoubtedly the person in charge. But what could they possibly stand to gain in embarking on such a dangerous journey?

Nathaniel (he/him, or she/her), allegedly a researcher hailing from afar, they seem to be unfamiliar with how the entire galaxy works. Mysterious, reserved and stubborn to a fault, it's undeniable they're hiding something big. Yet as complete strangers, you have no idea why they'd be so opposed to your presence onboard.

Aelinor (he/him or she/her), your old neighbor and childhood friend, miraculously found again in the mists of the ship's crew. Although they're just as sweet as you remember them, you can't help but wonder...where were they as you slept?

Portraits (1, 2); Aesthetics (1, 2, 3, 4); Playlists ; ROs Introductions (1, 2)

A Hundred Years of Sleep is currently in development and will be released episodically, the current build includes the Prologue and the entirety of Chapter One.

If you've enjoyed the story so far, please consider supporting me on Patreon, it really does make a difference in the time I'm able to dedicate to the project.

Patrons receive access to the alpha demo, which currently adds the first part of Chapter Two to the public build, as well as side and themed stories, polls, and other exclusive benefits.

Thank you for your support, and for playing A Hundred Years of Sleep. 🌙

#ahundredyearsofsleepif #AHYSif #interactive fiction #interactive novel #itch.io #twine game #choice of games #romance #adventure #twine if #if game #if wip #twine wip #interactive game

[abrahamvanhelsings]

"they are russian. he, romanian." on the one hand, a possible attempt at explaining the differences in their reaction to their impending doom, calling on a wealth of cultural and ethnic stereotypes and connotations. on the other hand, leaving behind just a little more information about these three men who will die on the demeter just like the captain, a truth that everyone on the ship can feel as if it were tangible. in the unlikely case someone were to find and read that journal after all is done, they may still be anonymous, but at least it will be known where they hailed from

#idk the way alasdair stuart reads the line it's like. as if the captain is consciously putting this down not simply to say #'this is why they're doing this' #but also very strongly 'this is who they are. it's not much. but it is all i as captain can and want to disclose under these circumstances' #'and it will have to be enough.' #you know. like an epitaph almost. there is more meaning imbued in him noting this down than just the facts themselves. #dracula daily #dracula #re: dracula

[nin-jay-go]

for morrotober i posted a pirate au thing, and like 2 ppl were interested in it, but then i didn't think about it for a while KJSHFKJKJH but uhhh yea i have a full fledged treasure planet au because i can't keep away from funky alien stuff

here's the crew! minus wu bc he didn't fit into the scene but he's here in spirit lol (he's the captain) he can be taking the photo

brief synopsis before i go ramble under the cut: kai, cole, jay, and zane all met when they stole the golden tech-weapons from a museum, then when the weapons called them all to each other again, they formed a crew to take down garmadon and then just do general space pirate stuff. they're only considered pirates bc they do slightly illegal stuff in the name of good, but everyone hails them as heroes (except the actually bad pirate crews they dismantle)

anywayz feel free to send in asks because OH MY GOD IVE PUT SO MUCH EFFORT INTO WORLDBUILDING

vwoop here i go

kai, nya, and cole are humans. well, cole was human but i'll get to him later. this is a universe where humans are space orcs, so they're referred to as deathworlders more often than not. jay's an alien, raised on earth, and lloyd is half alien, raised on a moon colony. zane and pixal are automatons, though built on different planets, so their technology is a bit different. wu is fully alien and the same species lloyd is.

speaking of which, wu and lloyd are the captains. wu is the actual captain, and lloyd is the captain that they show off. he has a cool mech suit that hides the fact that he's a child (bc i didn't age him up). they're a species known as dragoni, ancient beings of creation and destruction that have witnessed the birth of the universe. wu hides his status as a dragoni from the public, and lloyd hasn't quite learned how to shapeshift his dragoni traits away.

nya's the first mate because she makes good decisions and also has a mech suit, and she's absolutely terrifying. people are right to fear her, and most of the time are more afraid of her than they are of the actual captain.

kai's the fighter and crew big brother. he's always the one to make sure everyone's safe and accounted for, and he's the one that takes the longest watches (other than the automatons and cole). he's also, alongside wu, in charge of finances, and can handle weapons in a pinch. he kinda does anything he wants on the ship tbh

zane's the cook and sniper. he likes ranged weapons and is pretty adept with guns, so he likes hanging out in the crow's nest to keep an eye out for things. he's also the only one who can cook, so they trust him to make good food.

jay's the engineer and shipwright. he's a species known as a lectrite, which have an innate sense for when lightnign's about to hit. he also can tell when storms are coming, so he helps pixal with navigation if they see a storm on the horizon.

cole's the muscle and helmsman. he's an infected ghost (because the ghost species pass on the "curse" through infection), used to be human, and the strongest member of the crew. he doesn't really need his legs anymore, so all his strength is in his arms now.

pixal is the navigator and other helmsman, when cole isn't available. she's also one of the best fighters on board, and is unafraid to kick ass. she might as well be the second mate at this point, because she kicks just. so much ass. she's so cool. she also assists with shipwrighting stuff with jay.

#ninjago #ninjago au #jay.error #kai jiang #cole brookstone #jay walker #zane julien #nya jiang #lloyd garmadon #pixal borg #ninjago kai #kai #cole #ninjago cole #zane #ninjago zane #nya #ninjago nya #jay #ninjago jay #lloyd #ninjago lloyd #pixal #ninjago pixal #aus.png #spacepirates.png #jay.png

[cookycherry]

Pirate King: Kim Hongjoong Oneshot

I’ll probably add more parts let’s be honest

How I pictured Hongjoong to look when I wrote this OH CAPTAIN MY CAPTAIN

Pairing- Hongjoong x Reader

Genre- pirate AU, smut,touch of enemies to lovers, fem!reader

Warning-smut, unprotected sex, choking

Word count-4,534

Summary- You have a job to finish. Assassinate Hongjoong, leader of the pirates. However, once you get on board his ship things take a turn. You have met your match in more ways than one.

He was there.

Three feet away from you.

From your hidden spot; between wooden planks you could watch your target, watch as he made his way freely and unaware. Predator hunting predator.

Your grip on your blade tightened. Once you completed the bounty you’d be drowning in riches.

Hongjoong. He was your ticket to freedom.

One of the Atiny pirates and the captain. His bounty made him famous. Infamy suited him. He was as handsome as his wanted poster painted him to be.

Fawn colored shaggy hair, a cropped fringe fell on his forehead while some hung longer along the nape of his neck in a way that worked for him. Kohl was ringed messily around his intense eyes. He was clad in a fur coat and black leathers, weapons attached to him. His crewmates were the same; handsome and deadly.

He stalked around the ship deck similar to a lion on the prowl. His dark eyes shot around, taking in every detail around him; pointing out things his crew mates forgot or needed to fix. Every now and then he and his mates would speak in a tongue that your ears picked up must have been the mother language from where they hailed from.

You just needed the sun to set, for them all to pass out like pirates did, then you could creep into his captain's quarters, drive your blade clean into his chest then disappear into the night.

Being a stowaway for an assassination job was not something you pictured for yourself but you were desperate. You needed this money and needed to make a name for yourself; he was that big ticket.

Nervous sweat beaded along your neck as you pushed yourself back tighter into the storage cabinet you had claimed. You rested against the wooden containers that reeked of wine.

The sun was at its peak, hours it would be before you could taste some victory. You bid your time fantasizing about how you would spend your earnings.

—

You awoke with a jolt. Rubbing your eyes you sat up, it was quiet and dark. You didn’t know how long you had been asleep but could not sense any of the loud voices from earlier in the night air.

You felt the way the ship swayed along the waters. Listening to the lapping of waves.

Now was the time.

He had to have been asleep.

You slowly opened the door from your hidden location and scanned the deck. A faint light from one of the lanterns at the head of the ship; one of his men doing a night watch. Perfect.

You slid out from your spot and pulled yourself up against the wall to a higher perch. Most ships you knew had a similar layout, towards the middle and probably down a small corridor is where you’d find his quarters.

You focused your breathing as you wiggled your toes in your boots, reminding yourself to relax. You'd done this plenty of times before.

—

His room was dark, only some moonlight shown through a small window he had. His bed was massive and in the center of the room. Random items of his hanging on the wooden walls and scattered on the ground similar to a beast den.

The wood of the ship creaked, reminding you where you were. He was in that bed, blissfully unaware.

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling tense. You pulled the blade from your thigh, gripping it with the same intensity each time you had to do this. Silently, you jumped on the bed shoving the blade down but only meeting a feathered mattress. Panic creeped up your spine.

“Wow, you are good.” A playfully evil laugh followed.

You quickly shot your body to flip around. Meeting eyes with the captain himself.

He leaned against the wooden wall. Now shirtless and wearing those same leather pants and worn boots. He grinned and you could see perfect teeth. He cocked his head to the side.

“You really thought I didn’t know someone had snuck their way on my ship?” You were frozen on his bed unable to move.

You watched as he walked his way from the wall, his body moving elegantly as he grew closer, his boots tapping heavily against the floor.

He now was looking down at you, your eyes couldn’t break away from his fiery stare.

He leaned down, letting you in on a secret.

“Next time you have an assassination job, keep the perfume at home. I know Wooyoung doesn’t smell like jasmine.” Your pulse pounded. You felt as he took a strand of your hair and played with it between his fingers.

“I honestly have always dreamt of a woman coming to me at night. Breaking in and climbing in my bed.” You felt your face redden as your eyes met his.

Without much thought you went to jab the blade up and hoped your aim landed him in his side. He was quicker. Grabbing your wrist he disarmed you and swatted the blade into the wayside, out of either of your reach.

“My weakness is a woman who could actually kill me.” He laughed that mesmerizing laugh again.

Your faces were inches from each other. You wouldn’t deny that he was one of the most handsome men you had encountered yourself with.

It went against everything you stood for but you threw all common sense aside as you pushed yourself up and pressed your lips to his. Something about him made you crave his existence.

A surprised groan echoed from his throat as he pressed his lips intensely to yours. You felt as his lips parted, taking control. His tongue playfully swiped against yours, testing the waters. He proceeded to crush you against his body, trapping you in a suffocating hold that stifled the air in your lungs.When you finally earned a respite, you took a gulp of oxygen through swollen lips, the flesh buzzing from his expert kisses. Your eyes met and you traded silent promises of lust and fire that could only be understood in moments like these. You both knew without words what you both needed and wanted.

Your hands moved to his pants, Hongjoong watched and glanced down keeping his eyes fixated on your hands as you worked at unlacing; you were shaking with excitement and adrenaline.

Hongjoong grinned, “I’ll do a better job. You’re going to second guess ever getting on this ship.” He teased as hiked up your blouse, exposing your waist.

“Ruin me.” You retorted.

Revealing your bare waist, Hongjoong took his sweet time, making sure his palms settled on your skin and rubbed lazily. He worked up your blouse higher and higher until he connected with your breasts. Swiftly, Hongjoong pulled the garment over your head and tossed it across the room.

Before you could react, his face was buried between your breasts, kissing and tonguing between the ample cleavage your bust offered. When you feel the warmth of his hands on your back,you bite your tongue.

“Hongjoong,” you panted,revealing you knew his name, showing him how badly you were melting from his touches.

He grabbed your hips and spun you around, forcing you to face the closed door to his quarters as he crowded your back. His rough hands settled on your breasts, kneading them smoothly while his lips found the top of your shoulder. He was animalistic.

You tipped your head back, your nails digging into his clothed thigh as he toyed with your breasts, his hot mouth leaving a burning trail up the side of your neck. Eyes closed, you hummed with euphoria, curving your body into his.

Hongjoong groaned ever so slightly, mimicking your rhythm to rub the bulge trapped in his pants against your body.

When he bared his teeth and bit the side of your neck, sucking on the blemish to soothe the sting, your lips parted in a gasp and you mewled and repeated, “Ruin me.”

Hongjoong tongued the bruise he made and whispered, “You’re going to have me all night. Relax and enjoy it, Stowaway.”

His hands squeezed your breasts and you rutted your hips backwards into him to express your delight at his quiet promise.

“I would relax better… if you took your pants off,” you quipped mischievously, rubbing your body against his crotch for sport.

Hongjoong hissed through clenched teeth and pinched your nipples, earning a yelp from you.

“You… first,” he growled in your ear.

Your hands immediately darted for the fastening on your trousers, but you abruptly stopped as he grabbed your fingers and returned them to the bed. Carefully, his hand dipped into your pants, palming your dripping core.

“You’re so wet,” he said with a shudder, almost in disbelief.

That was a gracious description. You could already hear the dampness as it coated his arching fingers. One swiped over your clit before teasing it and you responded the best way you knew how - by moaning loudly.

“I still can’t believe I make you this wet,” Hongjoong huffed, voice trembling.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you murmured, “I want you.”

“I know,” he sighed, kissing your jaw now tenderly.

Gripping the bed for support, you picked up the slack. Now grinding your lower body on to his fingers and along his bulge as he was pressed against you, holding you. Dripping with your arousal, Hongjoong pressed a pair of his long digits into your entrance and you cried his name, finally getting relief for the ache of desire you had for him.

“Fuck yourself on me,” he ordered softly, thrusting his clothed erection into the curve of your ass with abandon. He sounded like the captain you heard earlier, demands he ordered now directed at you.

Nodding, you gripped the bed, fingers tangling in the sheets, trying to find a tempo that worked for both of you. His thumb rubbed your clit furiously while you did everything you could to get yourself a high from his crooked fingers in your core. You had gone so long without this kind of relief. You hadn’t found anyone in such a long time that softened your edges like this, you didn’t even have the urge to pleasure yourself. You didn’t realize how badly you wanted to climax until you felt the tears prick at your eyes from the racing of your heart and the throbbing of your pulse.

The moment you shivered and swore, Hongjoong withdrew his hand and you reacted borderline violently, mixing up words as you expressed your fury.

“Take your pants off,” he told you calmly.

You obeyed mindlessly, tearing your pants off, once they cleared past your ankles Hongjoong clutched you with a vengeance, flipping you around to face him and smashing you into the bed. You whimpered for mercy, muffled by his mouth on yours as he kissed you hungrily. His hips jerked against you and you spread your legs, inviting him between your thighs like it was the one thing you wanted for the rest of your life.

“Please, please let me come,” you begged between his feverish kisses.

Hongjoong didn’t relent with his tongue teasing and pulled away long enough to threaten, “You will. Over and over and over.”

Something told you there was a catch. You were an unwanted guest on his ship, even more, you were there to end his life. Hongjoong was very much embedded in the world where it was eat or be eaten. He wasn't above punishment; no matter how passionate he was in this moment.

“Stowaway,” Hongjoong hissed, almost menacingly in your ear. “Earlier when I noticed I had a guest, I watched you. I fantasized about the way you would come when I’m inside you. I want you to scream and beg and cry. If you pass out, I might be satisfied. But I’ll wake you up with my face between your thighs to fuck you again.” He smiled wickedly, devilish. It made you want him more. No amount of money in the world could stop you from begging for him. You met your match.

“Hongjoong,” You started, helpless and turned on to the point you wanted to devour this man until nothing was left of him.

“I want you wrecked. I want you shaking. Then, I’ll be okay with the fact you snuck your ass on my ship,” He bit off the final words, smiling smugly.

“That seems… fair,” You choked, blinking at him in reverence.

“I thought so too,” he replied blithely. Then, something else flashed in his eyes and he said, “Now, undress me.”

Breaking from his gaze, you turned your attention to his leather pants, the ones you fumbled with earlier, finally freeing his length from the wretched material. The moment his pants were pooled around his ankles, Hongjoong grabbed your arms, commanding you up to his level.

Arms around his head, you kissed him with all you had, his bed squeaked underneath you and you panted for breath, on your back and gazing up at him in time to watch Hongjoong grab your ankles and pull your hips to the very edge of the bed.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he purred in wonder, licking his lips while reaching across your body to grab and squeeze a breast.

You snatched his hand, bringing it to your mouth and kissing your way along his knuckles, tugging him toward you until you could brand your tongue across his wrist, lingering over the prominent veins. You do your best to hold eye contact, feeling more and more arousal pooling between your thighs , with the fire in his gaze, your attention inevitably shifted to his cock.

Hongjoong noticed where your stare had drifted. He glanced down before returning to you and lifting an eyebrow in amusement.

“Is that what you want?” he asked sheepishly.

Still sucking on his wrist, you nodded excitedly.

Hongjoong freed his hand from you before leaning down to press a quick, affectionate kiss on your lips. You attempted to grab his firm biceps but in a flash, he was standing up again, grabbing your legs and holding them up on opposite sides of his hips.

His teeth sank deeply into his bottom lip as he rocked forward, sliding his length back and forth against your entrance, occasionally rubbing along your clit and sending a jolt through your body.

“Please, please, please,” you begged helplessly, staring up at him in worship.

Hongjoong chuckled darkly, chest heaving up and down with every ragged, hard breath he took. “God, you’re so wet,” he sighed, closing his eyes briefly to etch this in his memory.

“Damn it,” You whimpered, wringing your fists in the blankets as you waited.

Hongjoong grinned from ear to ear, clearly getting off on your suffering. Then, he grabbed your knees and guided them high on his waist. You clamped down on his ribs and reached for him just as he lowered down and propped his elbows along your head.

The tip of his cock pressed to your entrance and you braced yourself, clutching his arms tightly as he slowly moved forward. You threw your head back and cried out, feeling him fill you up so perfectly it was like he alone was meant to be there.

Hongjoong drowned you in kisses, making his way across your jaw and throat. “Easy, Stowaway,” he whispered in your ear, still bringing his hips closer into yours.

He finally bottomed out and you could breathe again, letting a swear word slip at the snug fit of him deep inside you.

“Good,” he coaxed, thrusting slowly and shallowly while studying your reaction. “Cry for me.”

His voice was sinful, low and harsh. The way he could shift between soft and hard in the blink of an eye, it was driving you crazy.

“Fuck me, Captain,” You rasped, lacing your fingers behind his neck and keeping his forehead pressed to yours.

Hongjoong then flashed a devious smile and raked his tongue across his teeth before shaking his head and teasing, “ I don’t want it to end.” Then, he kissed the corner of your mouth and said, “I’m taking my sweet time with you. Maybe you’ll stay here forever. Become mine and wait for me each day.”

You played the one card you had. Smirking back at him, you crossed your ankles behind his lower back and flexed with all your might, forcing the muscles in your core to tighten and massage his cock.

His lips parted, a choked off breath hanging in his mouth at your tactic. Meanwhile, you kept his head in your possession while you flexed and released again and again, enjoying the way his pupils dilated further before his eyes rolled back.

“That’s it,” Hongjoong sighed, biting his lip and rocking his hips slightly against yours as you continued to pleasure him.

Hongjoong braced his hands on opposite sides of your head and drew his pelvis back before giving you a long, hard thrust that you could feel in the pit of your stomach. He wasn’t kidding when he threatened to be slow.

“Captain,” you whimpered, clinging to him roughly as he did it again. This was torture and you were starting to realize that was his intent.

One drawn out thrust after the other, Hongjoong hovered above you with his eyes closed, letting out quiet, little moans at the warmth and tightness. Your fingers abandoned his neck in favor of his arms, scratching his flesh with your nails as a warning.

“Do you want me to beg?” You suddenly groaned. “I’ll beg all night, if you wish.”

Hongjoong peeked his eyes open and whispered, “I’m listening.”

“Please,Hongjoong. Harder, faster, please,” You mewled, all the while jolting in place when his hips smacked into yours.

The captain’s gaze drifted from your face to your breasts, watching them shudder with each hard thrust, and he grinned with delight. “You call that begging?” he teased.

You grumbled, sinking your nails into his shoulders and listening to him hiss through gritted teeth. “Fuck me, Captain Hongjoong,” you growled at him, reaching up and grabbing his jaw with a shaky hand. “Fuck me. Take me for all I have. You’re good at that, taking from others. You filthy fucking pirate.”

“Am I?” Hongjoong questioned with a raised eyebrow and failing to hide just how aroused and amused he was by your pleas and digs.

“So good,” you moaned, panting for effect.

Hongjoong tilted his head playfully before sliding his arms under your shoulders, all the while still rolling his hips and sinking his cock into you at a glacial speed. His fingers found your hair, tangling and winding with no room for error, and he sharply tugged, making you cry out in surprise. Forcing your head up, Hongjoong pressed your heads together and rumbled, “Watch.”

You gulped, realizing if you glanced past his face, you could see where your bodies connected. “H-Hongjoong,” you started.

“Watch me fucking take you,” he said sternly. “Watch me take what’s mine. Like the pirate you say I am.”

His voice had dropped to an animalistic growl and you shivered in his grasp. You held his biceps, bruising him with your fingertips as he finally sped up to a steady pace of in and out.

Pitiful whimpers fell from your lips while you did as told and kept your eyes on his length sliding in and out of you. His defined abdominal muscles flexed with every shift and your thighs trembled at each impact of his hips.

“Spread your legs more,” Hongjoong ordered, winching his eyes closed again while yours were blown wide open. You obeyed without a thought, holding your legs out at his sides and giving him more room to get even deeper inside.

“Fuck,” You choked, tipping your head back as the air snatched out of your chest.

Hongjoong instantly pinched your hair, yanking you back despite your outcries of protest. As you moaned and watched him rut his length in you, Hongjoong hissed, “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” you answered immediately. You were truly now drawn to him, forget the money.

“Convince me.”

“I belong to you. No one else,” you screamed in desperation, snaking your fingers up and down his back.

The egotistical bastard smiled down at you before dark fire flashed in his eyes and his hand suddenly took hold of your throat, putting subdued pressure on your throat. Out of sheer instinct, you grabbed his wrist with both hands, no sounds making it out of your mouth as they were trapped in my lungs.

“You gonna come, Stowaway?”Hongjoong crooned, tilting his head as held you.

You nodded as best as you could against his iron grasp.

“I feel you clamping on me. You’re so close, aren’t you?” he teased further, stroking you toward a climax that you sorely needed.

He was saying and doing all the right things. Any second, you were going to explode beyond repair. Feeling the tell-tale prickling down your legs, you released his wrist and dropped your hands to your sides, completely submissive.

That triggered him to make his thrusts harsher, but still fluid, working his hips between your legs as you squirmed beneath him. Your hands fisted in the sheets, tearing at them with a vengeance.

“Stay still, little stowaway,” he coaxed, kissing the corner of your gaping mouth. “I got you.”

You tried to shake your head. Your vision was pulsing. Your ears were pounding.

Hongjoong hit the right spot again and the pleasure overflowed into a buzzing orgasm. As your spine arched, Hongjoong released your throat and slowed the movements of his length within your walls as you pulsated around him. Instantly, you gasped for air and your entire body thrummed.

“Oh, fuck,” you managed to cry out, eyes pressed closed while your head tipped backwards into his bed.

Hongjoong merely stared at your bliss and continued to rock into you leisurely, all too pleased with what he could do to you that no one else ever could. Sweat beaded across your faces and your muscles trembled with the effort.

Hongjoong snickered sinfully and teased, “I’m not done with you.”

Nodding, you lifted your head and smiled, breathing rapidly as he leaned down to kiss you sweetly.

“Let me ride you,” you whispered, insistent.

Hongjoong wrinkled his nose and shook his head with a smirk.

“Let me ride you,” you pressed, pushing at his shoulders and giving him the most innocent expression you could muster, he made you want to be fragile.

He melted and grabbed your hips, keeping his length inside you as he switched your positions. Straddling his lap, you braced your hands on his chest and made a few tentative rolls of your hips to gauge his reaction. He pinched his lips together to hide a groan and squeezed your ass with his hands.

“Listen to how wet I am,” you told him smugly, lifting yourself up and down on his length.

Hongjoong finally released the breath he had been holding and hissed a low, “Fucking Stowaway.”

“You do that to me,” you reminded, grabbing his hands and bringing them to your bouncing breasts. He palmed your flesh, kneading and pushing them together with pleasure as you rode him. Having your fill of that, you grabbed his wrists and pinned his hands alongside his head, bringing your mouth to his neck and proceeding to suck an obvious bruise in his skin.

“Subtle,” he quipped shakily, ever so slightly lifting his hips to meet yours on a downward arc.

“Usually is my strong suit except when it comes to you,” you retorted, tonguing at the mark before making it even more defined. Pleased with your handiwork, you sat back up and picked up the pace on his cock, adding, “I want everyone to know you’re spoken for. Your bounty is mine.”

“Is that so?” Hongjoong choked, gritting his teeth as you pushed him closer to his end.

You nodded, arrogantly. He wasn’t the only one who got off on power. You were two of a kind.

“Then stay with me,” Hongjoong suddenly confessed, eyes softening.

You glanced down at him, confused for the moment.

“Stay here with me, each day. Throw whatever dull shit is waiting for you away.” Hongjoong continued, harsher.

That took you aback and sent a lingering pain through your chest. You came to a dead stop, resting your hands on his toned body for balance. Your eyes burned and you realized it was from the threat of tears. You looked weak.

“What does that mean?” you asked timidly.

Hongjoong wasn’t having that and he was quick to snap, “There’s no other reason you came to kill me besides you have nothing else to live for.”

That tone was damaging,but he wasn’t wrong. He wanted you.

Hongjoong sat up and locked his firm arms around your waist, keeping you in his lap while he held tight.

“Hongjoong,” you whimpered, clinging to him while you rested your head on his shoulder, hiding your face in shame against his neck.

Hongjoong leaned his head on to yours, your sweat mingling, before thrusting upward and earning a cry of pleasure. You crossed your legs around him, trapping him inside you as you both moved your hips in a decadent rhythm. Your lips found his flesh and you kissed him with affection. He bruised your waist and hips in his grasp while little grunts and moans fell from his lips.

“Will you stay?” he stammered, a heartbeat away from losing it.

Your cheeks brushing, and said, “I haven’t decided.”

Steering your movements with his hands, you hissed at the pinch of his grasp on your thighs. Your fingers threaded through his messy fawn colored hair and you tugged.

Listening to him pant and whimper was ultimately your undoing. Your legs shook uncontrollably as they clamped on his hips and you roared his name as your voice broke, quickly reaching down to grab the sheets instead of ripping out his hair.

At the height of your pleasure, Hongjoong finished with a gasp and wrapped his arms around your waist, squeezing him hard as his cock swelled within your core. You hit your peak and finally took a labored breath, feeling his hot release inside you.

You relaxed in his hold, resting all of your weight on him and confident that he could support you. Cheek on his shoulder, you closed your eyes and waited for the sensitivity to fade.

It felt like eternity before you finally thought about moving. Hongjoong peppered kisses on your neck and jaw, caressing your sides as he turned, lowering you to the bed on your back. When he pulled his length from you at last, you hissed at the loss of him.

The feathered mattress dipped at your side when Hongjoong curled up next to you, draping an arm across your waist as he pressed his lips to your cheek.

“Made a decision, Stowaway? ” he asked a moment later.

You could hear the sensitivity in his voice despite the dig and thoughtfully replied, “Yes.”

“Tell me,” he pressed, his gaze trying to be nonchalant but failing.

“I’ll be expecting a long list of demands from you.”

#ateez #ateez atiny #ateez scenarios #ateez hongjoong #ateez fanfiction #ateez smut #ateez imagines #kim hongjoong #hongjoong ateez

[imagine-darksiders]

The Lovelorn King.

Bowser X Reader - Chapter 1

Summary: As a royal hailing from lands far removed from the Mushroom Kingdom, you find yourself alighting upon the shores of Princess Peach's city, there to answer her request to enter into an alliance that will unite your realms. But you arrive to a suspiciously empty port-side town and go searching for the inhabitants, much to the ship Captain's chagrin.

It doesn't take you long to stumble upon somebody the likes of whom you've never seen before. He calls himself, 'Bowser Junior.' Upon learning of his failure to procure his beloved 'Papa' the perfect birthday present, you invite the boy back to your galleon, hoping that he might find something among the treasures there to give his father. If only you knew that there was one thing on that ship more valuable to the Koopaling than pretty gems and valuable objects...

Tags: Bowser X Reader, Royal Reader, Female Reader, Bowser Jr, Kidnapping, Fluff, Angst, Unrequited Love, Infatuation at first sight, Lonely Bowser, Protective Bowser, Slow-Burn, Big himbo energy, Friendship, Developing friendships, Bowser is BIG okay? Koopa Troopas.

--------------

As far as welcomes go, you've definitely had warmer.

This, of course, you deign to keep to yourself as nothing more than a closely-guarded thought, never to be voiced aloud, though you can tell from the look on the ship Captain's face that you aren't the only one who has been caught off-guard by the notably empty port.

With a generous spin of her oak-wood wheel, The Bonhomous turns her bow to the east of the port, cutting a path through the placid waters as her crew scuttles about on deck in preparation of a seamless landing. The ship's oaken bowsprit juts out over the sea and seems almost afire, burning orange and gold in the dawn light.

Up on the stern with the Captain, you stand with your hands clasped loosely at your back, drawing in a long, crisp breath that fills your lungs and clears your sleep-fogged brain, blinking salty residue from the corners of your eyes, whilst below you, down on the deck, an authoritative bellow from the Quartermaster booms out across the ship, heard well above the screaming sea birds that soar overhead on updrafts of sun-warmed air.

“DROP ANCHOR!”

Positively music to your ears...

The clattering rattle of a chain stirs the air as the anchor is released from its holdings and goes plunging down into the frigid waters.

It seems a long time coming, the sight of dry land and civilisation after several months spent traversing the vast and oftentimes indomitable ocean. To have finally arrived here in the rich and vibrant Mushroom Kingdom is as much of a relief as spring sunshine after the winter frost, empty port or no...

The last letter you'd received from the monarch of this kingdom – one Princess Peach – had requested your personal presence here in order to solidify and sign into this newfound alliance. She'd also made mention that you'd be received as if you were an old friend, which, you suppose, isn't such an embellishment of the truth. Your kingdom and her own have been corresponding and trading for well over a year now. This is just the first time a member of your Royal Household has made the perilous journey to the Mushroom Kingdom.

You and the Princess had struck up something of an accord through your numerous letters after you took the plunge and reached out, explaining to her how your home is small and secular, but you've been working tirelessly to try and rebuild the connections that your tyrannical father had torn down before his passing.

Her lineage never did have dealings with yours, which may be why she seemed more open than others to extend the hand of friendship back your way.

And now, here you are – as your kingdom's sole surviving ruler with a ship stuffed to the gunnels with supplies and treasures from your homeland, all intended as a show of your good faith and willingness to establish a long-term alliance with the Toad people.

The only thing amiss is that the welcoming committee you'd been anticipating is... nowhere to be found.

There's a sudden and muffled thud as the anchor's flukes collide with the sea bed, followed by a troubled hum from the Captain, shifting on her feet at the helm beside you.

“Not sure what to make of this, Ma'am,” she announces warily, casting her flint-grey eyes out at the bizarre structures lining the port.

Buildings, you venture, fashioned from gigantic toadstools.

Ingenious! When Princess Peach included an illustrated encyclopedia with one of her letters, you'd been enchanted by everything inside it, enough that you felt inadequate as you packaged off the history of your own kingdom, dull and grey and lifeless comparatively.

Even now, your restless fingers begin to fidget with the fabric of your travel dress, eager to begin exploring this unfamiliar world.

The Captain's suspicious grumblings do little to dampen your spirit of adventure.

“It is only dawn, Captain,” you reason, watching the crew hoist the mainsails and drop the wooden gangplank onto the dock, effectively bridging the gap between your vessel and solid ground. “Perhaps their customs differ from ours. They might be a little later to rise, for instance.”

Her weather-beaten brow furrows beneath her hat, forging deep crevices across the dark expanse of skin.

She hardly looks reassured by your words.

Inevitably, her own trepidation only feeds yours like billows to a dying fire, causing an apprehensive bubble to burst in your stomach. It... really is quiet out here...

“Still... you don't suppose....” Trailing off, you turn to hide your lips from a crew that have spent years honing an ability to read their Captain's lips when they can't hear her over a howling storm. “Supposing it's an ambush?” you finish softly.

If the crew is already on edge about sailing into a seemingly abandoned port, you don't want to put their backs up by voicing their concerns out loud and giving them traction.

The Captain sniffs, stepping away from the wheel and circling to face the stern of her ship alongside you. “Not likely,” she huffs, jerking her head towards the enormous mushrooms, “See the chimneys?”

Flicking your gaze up to the line of unconventional 'roofs,' you quirk a brow at the thin trails of smoke drifting out of the aforementioned chimneys, blown inland by a stiff, ocean breeze. “Smoke,” you hum in understanding, “People are at home...”

The Captain's broad hat dips as she nods. “Mm, seen a couple of shapes moving behind the windows too. Nobody'd be daft enough to attack a galleon with her starboard cannons aimed at their settlement. Not when they're hiding out in the buildings. She's armed to the teeth.”

… Sound logic, you muse. There's a reason you restored her title as the Bonhomous's Captain the moment you had the authority to do so. One of the biggest mistakes your father ever made was to give Captain Skip the boot.

Her words serve to ease your nerves a little, and soon you find the trepidation has moved aside to allow a healthy dose of curiosity to settle in your chest.

“Perhaps they're just painfully shy,” you excuse at last as you turn to head for the ornate stairs leading from the stern down onto the deck, “Regardless, we should be concerning ourselves with making our own first impression, not theirs.”

Lifting the hem of your dress up so as to avoid catching splinters in the fine silk, you take the stairs one brisk step at a time, though you only manage to make it halfway down before the Captain's voice halts you in your tracks.

“With respect, ma'am, I hope you're not heading for that gangplank...”

You have to bite down hard on the vulgar word the crew taught you last week, instead plastering on a demure smile and twisting your head to peer innocently up at the Captain over your shoulder, past the ruffles festooning your neck.

“I'm afraid I don't know what a gang plank is, Captain. I'm just going to stretch my legs.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously until they resemble little more than thin, dark slits, shadowed by the brim of her hat.

“Pardon my language, Your Majesty, but you know bloody well what a gangplank is. Don't go near it.” Then, for added measure, she squares her shoulders and adds, “Captain's orders.”

Ever polite, you dip your chin at her out of genuine respect, your voice solemn when you reply, “I am well aware of Maritime Law, and your absolute authority on this ship. Rest assured, Captain, I will not be going near that gang plank.”

From the flare of her nostrils to the tightening of her angular jaw, you know she can see right through you as if you're made of the flimsiest glass. But just as she takes a step in your direction, mouth falling open with a sharp word or two doubtlessly hanging off her tongue, she's interrupted by the familiar call of her Quartermaster.

“Captain!” the short, portly man lumbers across the deck, beckoning her down from her perch on the stern, “A word?”

Her head snaps towards him, crow-like, but you don't stick around to waste this perfect opportunity. Trotting deftly down the rest of the steps, you duck underneath the arm of one sailor who's hauling a bucket of soapy water on his shoulder and turn your shoes towards the ship's bow, where there are lines of rope dangling from the foremast, those that have yet to tie its sail back.

No. You won't go near the gangplank. Your word is solid, and you endeavour to keep it whenever you can. But you never said you wouldn't find an alternative way to leave the ship.

The Captain should have learned by now that you've spent far longer playing the game than she has, having growing up in the company of nobility and the aristocracy, who use their words as weapons, and who honed their language into a powerful tool that could be used to their advantage.

When Captain Skip goes ballistic at you – which she inevitably will once she realises you've disembarked without an escort – you'll remind her that she only told you to stay away from the gangplank, not that you were forbidden from leaving The Bonhomous at all.

Oh, you imagine she'll spit and hiss and fume like an over-boiled kettle, but she won't have a leg to stand on.

You smile wryly as you hoist yourself up onto the woven shrouds and curl your fingers around a piece of dangling rope, tugging on it to test its give.

She fails to realise, that for as much as she believes you to be under her protection, she is just as much - if not more so – under yours.

They all are - Everyone man and woman on this ship, and those that have remained back home. You're their ruler. Those in charge are supposed to take care of their people.

If there is something untoward going on in this strange, fungi-infested town, then you'd much rather be the one to encounter it first. The Bonhomous and her crew are here at your behest, after all. If you've lead them into a trap, then you must be the one to spring it.

The loose rigging line sits sturdy in your hands, and it's well-affixed to the reef tackles high over your head. Behind you, a sailor clicks their tongue whilst another hesitantly asks what you think you're doing.

You only pause long enough to shoot a fleeting grin over your shoulder at them, catching the eye of a few, weary crewmen, all of whom seem resigned to your imminent departure. And then, in a most unladylike fashion, you hoist your skirts up over your knees with one hand and use the rigging to haul yourself up onto the side of the hull, peering out over the water.

The gap between ship and shore is hardly substantial. With a good run up, you could make it without the rope, but as it is...

You take a flying leap out over the water and feel the rope go tight as it catches your weight and swings you gracefully across to the pale, stone dock, revelling in the blast of cool wind that blows through your hair.

As your shoes touch down on the other side, you release the rope and swallow a giddy whoop to maintain your dignity.

“Oh, at last,” you gush instead, clasping your hands together, “Dry land!”

Sticking out your chest, you allow a tiny ounce of pride to lift your cheeks into a grin.

Already, you've trodden further afield than your father ever went in his life.

“Now then,” you muse to yourself as you swivel your head up and down the port, “To solve the mystery of the missing townsfolk...”

Before the Captain can register your absence, you take off at a brisk stride, stealing away from the docks and heading towards the town proper.

------------

Every corner you turn, you only find more of the same gigantic mushrooms that have been painstakingly fashioned into homes, shops and cafes, dotted along every cobblestone street. And yet for the sheer number of them, all you seem to be able to find are more boarded up doorways, shadowy figures flitting past window panes and the all too familiar prickle at the back of your neck that alerts you to eyes watching your every move.

Letting out a disconcerted hum, you try to recall whether Princess Peach had ever made mention of the Toads being particularly skittish or wary....

Rounding the corner of yet another mushroom, you find yourself venturing out of a narrow street and onto a pretty town plaza with a row of homes surrounding its perimeter and a large, glittering fountain taking centre stage, spurting out torrents of water that sparkles brilliantly in the golden sunrise.

It momentarily causes your step to falter, gazing up at the resplendence in the architecture.

Aside from yourself, the plaza appears just as empty as the rest of the town, much to your dismay.

As you start to consider simply going up to one of the tiny, wooden doors and knocking on it until somebody answers, an altogether new sound catches your ear, vastly different from the brush of leaves across stone, or the ocean waves lapping at a distant shoreline.

All at once, you hone in on the sound, whipping your head around fast enough to leave a twinge in your neck.

It sounded like... a horribly desolate sigh.

Curiosity piqued, you start towards the fountain, casting your gaze about until your shoes come to an abrupt halt on the cobblestone.

There, slumped upon one of the wooden benches set up to face the watery spectacle, you spy a figure, one that sports a startling shock of fiery red hair.

Relieved to have at last stumbled upon another person, you approach the back of the bench, and once you draw close enough to confirm that, yes, that's definitely a person sitting there, you raise a fist and clear your throat, making your presence known.

“Ahem, excuse me-”

Whatever you'd intended to say afterwards is sadly drowned out by a deafening yelp as the person on the bench leaps from their seat, and in their haste to spin around, they end up toppling over backwards and landing on the ground with an audible, bone-crunching 'smack!'

Aghast at yourself, you inhale sharply and dash around the bench, apologies tumbling off your lips in quick succession. “Oh my-! I am so sorry! I can't apologise enough! I-I thought you heard me. Are you all right?!”

As soon as your eyes land upon the stranger, you suck in another, tiny gasp as your jaw falls open, briefly overcome with awe and wonder.

This person is quite unlike anybody you've ever come across in your life, and you unwittingly pause mid-stride, taken aback for a time.

Floundering around on the cobblestone between the bench and the fountain on their back, apparently stuck, is somebody who reminds you at once of some kind of overturned turtle.

They've landed right on top of their shell – a green, spiked dome that covers the expanse of their back. Grunts of frustration fill the air as stocky little legs kick madly in an effort to right themselves, and a disproportionately large head attempts to lift itself off the ground to glare at you.

Within less than a second, you blink away your surprise and drop down onto your knees, grasping a pair of thickset, yellow wrists and hauling the unfortunate person back onto their feet.

'Cripes!' you think to yourself. They're heavy, whoever they are. But after struggling for several, awkward seconds, you manage to heave them up without putting your back out, and as soon as they're upright, you release their arms and flop back to sit on your heels, finally taking proper stock of your unwitting victim.

“HEY! What's the big idea!?” they – he? - shouts at you, balling his pudgy, three-fingered hands into fists and tearing backwards as if he means to get as far away from you as possible before the wall of the fountain obstructs his retreat.

He's squat and round, standing only half as tall as you with tiny eyes as black as pitch and entirely featureless as they glare up at you hotly. Beady, but still expressive.

Frankly, you have no idea what he is, but his voice, stature and the large, white bandana slung around his neck all lend to the impression of someone very young.

And if that's the case, then what in the world is he doing out here alone at this ungodly hour, in the middle of such a suspiciously quiet town?

Shoving speculation aside, you remain there before him, the knees of your dress gathering dirt from the ground as a trickle of shame pools in your stomach.

“Again, I can't apologise enough,” you gush, wringing your hands together in your lap, “This is... not the first impression I was hoping to make... Are you hurt?”

One of his hands has reached behind his head to probe at a spot near his fiery ponytail whilst he grumbles under his breath, pulling a face that exposes the large, gleaming tusk jutting out from beneath his upper lip.

Without thinking too hard on it, you click your tongue and reach a hand out for him again, murmuring, “Here, let me see...”

You feel him flinch underneath your fingers as they alight gently on his chubby, yellow cheek. But rather than wrenching himself away from you, his whole body stiffens in an instant and his eyes bulge out when you turn his head to one side and lean forwards, inspecting the dome of his skull.

To your relief, the only sign of damage is a small patch of grit sticking to his scales, picked up from the dusty, stone ground.

Tutting to yourself, you pull the sleeve of your dress down over a thumb and wet it with your tongue before returning your free hand to the back of his head. “Hold still,” you instruct him, though the request seems redundant in hindsight, given that he's as rigid as the stone underfoot.

Careful as can be, you sweep your thumb over the grit and wipe it away to reveal the tiny, thankfully unbroken scales beneath.

Satisfied, you draw away and return your hands to your lap, offering the stunned stranger your most amicable smile. “There. No scrapes or bumps in sight. I think you'll survive.”

Thick, auburn eyebrows twist up in confusion as he turns to face you again, cocking his head and regarding you as if you've sprouted an extra pair of arms.

Even kneeling, you're still an inch or so taller than he is standing up.

Before you can utter another word, you find a clawed fingertip jabbing at the air just in front of your nose, his little tail held high and alert.

“Just who the heck do you think you are, lady!?” he demands in a shrill, raucous voice, “You can't go around sneaking up on people like that! I could'a blasted you!”

Caught off guard, but pleased that he seems fine, you lean away from his finger and splay your hand across your chest, feigning an impressed look. “Goodness! I suppose I should be counting my lucky stars, then.”

“Yeah! You should!” he readily harrumphs, withdrawing his arm and folding both of them across his chest, turning his snout away from you again.

Apparently snubbed, you muscle down a grin for the sake of his pride. You must have startled him more than he'd care to admit, if the embarrassed pinch of his lips is any indication.

After a few seconds, he shifts his nose towards you once more, his dark eyes flitting up and down as he gives you a quick once-over.

“Who are you anyway?” he demands, “I don't recognise you.”

Amused by his informality, you offer him a patient smile and reply, “I'd be surprised if you did. I'm afraid I'm not a frequenter of the Mushroom Kingdom. This is my first visit, in fact. I've sailed here from across the ocean.”

At that, his brows quirk up in intrigue and he drops his arms to his sides. “Sailed across the ocean?” he asks with the barest hint of awe softening his tone. Then, all at once, his eyes grow exceptionally wide and he excitedly blurts, “Are you a pirate!”

Letting out a good-natured laugh, you say, “Sadly, no. No. Piracy is not in my job description, I'm afraid.”

To your surprise, he looks downcast at the admission, but in the next moment, he perks up again and points at you, his claw once again hovering just inches from your nose. “What's your name!?” he all but barks.

Dimly, you wonder if anyone has told him that it's rude to point...

Clearing your throat, you reply, “My name is Y/n.” Then, after a pause, you offer him a sweep of your hand. “And you are...?”

In response, he sticks out his chest and plants one hand firmly on his hip, jamming the opposite thumb against his sternum, striking a dignified pose.

“Name's Junior!” he declares with all the confidence of a venerated dignitary, “Bowser Junior!”

'Junior... What a charming title,' you muse, 'I wonder if he's named after anybody.'

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Bowser Junior,” you tell him earnestly, tipping your head to him in a gesture of respect.

For reasons unbeknownst to you however, your response seems to knock some of the wind from his sails. Two, thickset shoulders slump dejectedly and he squints up at you, slowly reiterating, “The Bowser Junior...?”

…. You start to wonder if he'd be offended that you haven't, in fact, heard of 'The Bowser Junior...'

When you don't respond, his posture droops even further and he gapes at you, borderline desperate. “You know. After King Bowser? As in, King of the Koopas!?”

Well... That little tidbit of information is quick to grab your attention, though you've never heard of this King either.

“King Bowser?” you echo, drawing your brows together to form a pensive frown, “I... Forgive me but I was under the impression that Princess Peach is the reigning monarch here.”

Blowing a haughty scoff through his fangs, Junior turns his soft, round snout skywards and barks, “Nu-uh! She's just ruler of the Mushroom Kingdom. But someday, my Papa's gonna rule the whole world!”

And just like that, your frown recedes along with your trepidation.

Of course... You ought to have guessed that this child is only doing as children often do.

Gone are the days when you used to whittle away the long, lonely days playing pretend by yourself in the castle grounds.

'King of the world indeed,' you smile to yourself. You're beginning to like this kid.

“And your... 'Papa,” you say aloud, “He and this King Bowser are one in the same, I presume?”

“Sure are!” he exclaims proudly, “He's the best Papa in the entire galaxy! Not every kid can say their dad is a King!”

“Mm, that's quite the accomplishment,” you quip, smiling brightly when he juts his chin high into the air, “But... does your father know you're out here by yourself?”

In a blink, Junior's broad grin vanishes and he lowers his eyes to glower at you. “Hey! I'm no baby! I can take care of myself, lady!”

“I never said you couldn't,” you hastily return, holding your hands up to placate him, “I only wondered if he was nearby.” Swallowing thickly, you turn to cast a searching look over the plaza and murmur, “It'd be nice to know that someone else is around. This town seems rather... vacant, at the moment.”

Bowser Junior's muzzle curls around a snort, his slitted nostrils flaring as he follows your eye and shoots a dark glare at the nearby houses. “You're tellin' me,” he gripes.

Silence sits between the pair of you for several, uncertain moments before he abruptly breaks it by puffing out his cheeks and raising a hand to scratch at the green scales that sit just beneath his ponytail. “Well.. Sorry to disappoint you, but my Papa's not here. He was still asleep when I left.”

“Ugh. Jealous.”

“He always has a lie-in on his birthday.”

“Oh, is it his birthday today?” you ask, carefully adding, “In that case, shouldn't you be at home too, ready to wish him a happy birthday when he wakes up? Won't he be worried when he finds you gone?”

For a few more moments, the boy doesn't offer a reply until, to your dismay, his hard expression promptly crumples like a brittle bone and he heaves another sigh, trudging around you to make for the bench you'd startled him from.

Puzzled at this abrupt shift in his demeanour, you quirk a brow after him and rise to your feet, turning to watch as he hoists himself onto the seat and slouches down in it, letting out a soft, petulant huff.

“That's the problem,” he mutters, glowering at the fountain over his crossed arms, “I wanna be there to wish him happy birthday, but I can't be!”

Stretching your lips into a thin line, you take a tentative seat beside him and ask, “Why not?”

“Cause I haven't found him the perfect present yet!” he barks as if it should be entirely obvious.

Should it? You couldn't rightly say.

“I see...” Regardless, you give a nod of understanding, puckering your forehead thoughtfully. “And so, you're here to look for something in the shops?”

You have to recoil a few inches to avoid his arms when he throws them out wide and exclaims, “Exactly! I've been lookin' all over this stupid island! But I can't find anything good enough! So, I came here! But none of these Toads'll open their doors!” Snatching his hands back, he tucks them securely under his armpits with a grumble. “M'not even tryin' to steal anythin' this time.”

Setting aside the worrying mention of 'this time,' you duck your head and try to catch his gaze, reasoning softly, “Perhaps it's just too early? Their shops might not even be open yet.”

You find yourself cut off by an abrupt scoff.

“Nah, they just hate me,” he pouts, “Even though I brought my allowance and everything, they still won't even let me look for somethin' to get Papa. I wouldn't have come here if it wasn't an emergency! But all those Toads wanna do is hide in their mushrooms and tell me to 'go away!”

Now, that is definitely odd. 'Surely,' you think, jaw set, 'Surely these townsfolk aren't barricading themselves inside their homes because of one, little kid?'

Aloud, you say, “What makes you think they're hiding from you?”

Sparing you an exasperated look, Junior retorts, “I told you, cause they don't like me. And they especially don't like my Papa.”

Deep within the cavern of your ribcage, indignation begins to raise its sleepy head... How often have you been spurned by those around you because of your heritage?

“Why on earth don't they like you?” you blurt, incredulous and frankly irked on his behalf, “You seem perfectly likeable to me!”

Turning to aim a disdainful glance at some of the mushroom houses across the plaza, you miss the bewildered look Junior is sending your way, his lower jaw hanging slightly agape.

It's an absurd idea, if it's true. An entire town wouldn't shun a rambunctious kid like this...

But if it is true....? Well...

“More fool them, I say,” you huff to yourself.

At your side, Junior perks up at your words and his wide mouth stretches into a smirk.

“Hey, yeah!” he bobs his head decisively, leaping to stand up precariously on the bench and thrust an arm into the air, “Yeah! They are fools!”

The wood below you creaks and groans in protest when he stomps his foot on the seat enthusiastically.

Overcome with the urge to disguise your laughter, you cover your mouth with a few fingertips and send him a playful frown. “I don't think that's quite what I said, but I'll let it slide... because I've just had a brainwave.”

Junior stills, tipping his head sideways curiously. “Huh?”

“Well,” you start, “It just so happens that the ship I came here on has quite a few treasures stored in her hold. I'm sure nobody would mind if you picked something out to give to your father.”

Princess Peach won't miss what she doesn't know is missing, after all.

And besides, the sun has risen considerably higher since you set off from the Bonhomous. You should really have returned well before now.

The boy next to you leaps down off the bench before whirling to face you again, his eyes sparkling like a pair of obsidian gemstones. “Woah! Seriously? You're just gonna let me take your pirate treasure!?” he shouts just a little too close to your ear.

Suppressing a wince, you get to your feet and gesture in the direction of the docks. “Again, I'm afraid it isn't pirate treasure. Everything we've brought with us, we came by honestly. But there's all sorts in that hull. Hopefully something is bound to catch your fancy. Come, I'll show you.”

Though his legs are squat and stocky, Junior is surprisingly nimble on his feet as he bounds after you with an eager chirp, keeping up easily with your longer, more languid stride.

--------

As you make your way back towards port, you quickly discover that, like most children, your newfound tagalong has a seemingly bottomless well of questions that never runs the risk of drying up.

“Are there any blasters on your ship!?” he asks, hopping along the cobblestone pavement whilst taking great care to avoid any cracks – a game which you yourself can recall playing during your youth. “What about diamonds!? Giant hammers? Oh! Oh! You got any comic books in there!?”

You're having a tough yet admittedly fun time keeping up with his runaway trains of thought as he jumps from one extreme to another.

Sparing him a knowing glance from the corner of an eye, you drawl, “Oh? Does your father enjoy reading comic books?”

The boy's game is put on pause as he lands on a wide slab ahead of you, balanced on one leg with his shoulders hunched. “Uhhh...” he falters, only briefly. Soon enough though, his confidence comes charging back full-force. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, he loves 'em! But they gotta be really, really cool ones. He's a collector!”

“A collector? I see... It sounds as though your, ah, father has impeccable taste,” you remark, striding past him and pretending not to notice the way his stumpy, little tail begins to wag from side to side. “Well,” you continue, “While there aren't any comics stored in the cargo hold, I do have some from my own, personal collection. You're welcome to peruse those, if you like.”

As you stroll on ahead of a now stationary Junior, his jaw drops open, gawking in disbelief.

“Wait a second!” he blares, “You read comic books!?”

Nonchalant, you swing your hands behind your back and clasp them together, replying, “Of course. Don't you?”

Without missing a beat, he barks, “You bet I do!” only to cut himself off when he seems to remember something, quickly lowering his voice to add, “I-I mean, not as much as my Papa does though. He goes nuts for 'em! Kind of embarrassin' huh?”

“I don't think it's embarrassing at all,” you reply in earnest, “He shouldn't be ashamed to partake in things that make him happy.”

It seems that all too soon, the Bonhomous's towering masts come into view over the roofs of the mushroom houses, drawing the discussion to an end once Junior catches sight of the ship.

“I thought you said it wasn't a pirate ship!?” he demands, pointing an accusing claw down the length of the docks and glaring up at you as if you've somehow betrayed him.

You almost let out an undignified snort, reeling it in just in time before it escapes. For a child, you suppose that a galleon and a pirate ship aren't leagues apart, after all.

“Technically, I said that we aren't pirates,” you correct him gently, gesturing to yourself, “I never said that we didn't sail here on a pirate ship.”

The way his face lights up makes your guilt at calling the noble Bonhomous a mere 'pirate ship' worth it. Such a term hardly encapsulates her splendour.

As you near the ship herself, you cast your gaze to the land beside her and immediately feel your stomach clench when you spy the group of sailors standing dockside by the gangplank, accompanied by their Captain, whose wild hand gestures imply that she's either sending search parties off in different directions to look for their wayward monarch, or she's telling her crew where to bury the pieces of you she's about to tear off. Even from here, you can see that some of the men are paler in the face than usual, evidence that she'd given them a verbal lashing for letting you slip away unnoticed.

You're not especially keen to lead Junior into air that's undoubtedly been turned blue by now, so you cup a hand around your mouth and call, “Captain! Over here!”

The speed at which her head snaps in your direction is frightening and almost dislodges her hat from atop her head. Even dozens of yards away, you can make out her expression fight to settle between unmitigated fury and palpable relief.

Yet there's dangerous rigidity in her jaw as she begins to stalk in your direction, slow and calculated like a predator.

Subconsciously on your part, you draw to a halt and take a subtle, sideways step in front of Junior, who offers up a sound of confusion from the back of his throat, but otherwise remains silent behind your guarding stance, staring up at you in surprise.

“You!” the Captain hollers, lowering her head, wolflike, whereas you raise your chin to meet her glare, undeterred – not because she doesn't scare you, which she absolutely does despite your station - but because you know that your premature disembarking was justified and you're prepared to argue the point.

She slithers to a stop only when the toes of her boots are scant inches away from colliding with yours, glaring down her nose at you and bristling like an alley cat.

For a moment, her jaw remains clenched tighter than a vice as the air around you grows thick with her exasperation until she finally pries her teeth apart to speak. But before she can utter a single word, you beat her to the punch.

“Captain Skip, I'd like to introduce you to someone.”

She hardly even seems to register your words, too incensed in her broiling concern.

“If I may speak freely, ma'am,” she hisses dangerously, “You are as slippery as an eel. I turn my back not five seconds and you're gone!”

“Captain-” you try again.

“Without an escort! You're askin' for trouble, you are! What if somebody nabbed you!? I told you not to leave the ship!”

One corner of your mouth quivers. “If you recall, Captain,” you say coolly, “You asked me not to go near the gangplank. I can assure you, I stayed well clear of it when I left the ship.”

As expected, her cheeks instantly puff out as she only just manages to trap some unpleasant words behind her tongue. Hot air gushes from the fire in her lungs up into her mouth, swirling behind her clenched teeth where it stays for a few more seconds before she releases it all in a noisy sigh that blasts your hair away from your face.

“Semantics...” she grinds out, raising a hand to massage at the bridge of her nose, eyes pressed firmly shut, “Of course... I knew - I knew I should've-...”

Juxtaposed against her fiery outburst, the Captain suddenly trails off and goes still, her eyes drifting down to peer at your side at a glacial pace.

“... Ma'am...?”

“Captain?” you return lightly.

“... Been makin' friends, have you?” She jerks her chin down at the pudgy snout that's poking out from behind your leg.

Plastering on a winning smile, you twist yourself sideways to reveal Junior, who is busy glaring up at the Captain with a mixture of suspicion and awe gleaming in his eyes.

She shoots you a frosty glare and shakes her head. “Why am I not surprised...?”

Junior flinches when your hand comes down delicately on his shoulder, but he stands his ground, flicking his eyes between you and the other human as you fall into introductions.

“Bowser Junior, I'd like you to meet the venerable Captain Skip - the finest captain I've ever sailed with.”

“I'm the only captain you've ever sailed with,” she grunts, rolling her gaze heavenwards.

Flashing her a wink, you add, “And here's hoping you'll be the last.”

“At the rate you're going Ma'am, I likely will be.”

Ignoring her jab at your longevity, you gesture politely down at your new acquaintance. “Captain, this fine young gentleman is Mr Bowser Junior.”

The boy's round chin juts proudly at the introduction whilst the Captain appraises him from beneath hooded eyelids.

“Huh, a Koopa, eh?” she observes, taking you by surprise, “Been a fair old while since I've seen one of your ilk, lad.”

“You're familiar with his species?” you ask.

Still regarding Junior, she hums pensively, “Mm, to a degree. Though never one this young. And we seldom cross paths with 'em on the water. Their kind have mastered travelling by air.”

“How remarkable!”

Your line of inquiry is cut short when a clawed hand curls into the garland of your dress and gives it a few, firm tugs. Blinking, you tip your head down to see Junior's hand clasping the fabric.

“Hey! When m'I gonna get to see the treasure!?” he all but whinges, reminding you that you're dealing with an impatient youngster who has been promised his pick from a boat-load of valuables.

Not only that, you muse, he's more than likely anxious to choose his father's birthday present and return home before the sun has fully risen into the sky.

“Oh, yes! Yes, of course,” you reply, catching an icy sideways glare from the Captain, “Junior here is in a bit of a predicament and I offered to help him out. Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Behind you, Junior huffs disdainfully through his nostrils. “Why d'you need to ask for permission?”

The Captain is still subjecting you to her withering glare, but you expertly ignore it and reply, “Old maritime law, I think... And it's just good manners.”

He pulls a face at that, but doesn't otherwise react beyond sending the Captain an expectant look, one, flaming eyebrow raised high on his head.

Predictably, her stare remains immoveable and hard, boring into you like a mining drill. Child or no, you can't imagine she's happy to have a perfect stranger poking about on her ship. And yet after a long moment, she pushes out a weary sigh and tuts as her posture deflates. “Permission granted, Ma'am,” she offers thinly.

You give her a subtle nod of gratitude before turning to the koopa and sweeping an arm out towards the gangplank. “Well? After you.”

It's as if whatever restraints have been reining him in go slack.

Like a cannonball fired from its barrel, Junior hurtles off for the Bonhomous with a whoop, cackling loudly when he almost bowls over the sailors gathered on the dock.

The wooden platform buckles under his weight as he lumbers up and onto the ship's deck, swiftly disappearing from view.

“... Brazen little bugger, in't he?” The Captain spares you a slow blink when several yelps and shouts of alarm drift down to you from on board.

“He's certainly lively,” you return, “I think he might be growing on me.”

“Mmm, like a fungal infection.”

“Captain!” Your scolding tone is entirely ruined by a preceding laugh. Strutting past her to board the ship yourself, you clear your throat and say, “Actually, I have to say I'm impressed with your restraint. It looks like there are several, far less civil things you'd like to say to me.”

“Nothing your pretty, little ears would find polite,” she grumbles as she moves to follow you up the gangplank. Then comes the inevitable. “Ma'am, are you sure you've thought this through? We don't know this lad. And you're letting him into the trove?”

“It's the least I could do after scaring the poor boy off his bench.” Hopping down onto the deck, you traipse after the trail of overturned buckets and startled crew members until you come to the steps of the cargo hold.

Stuck fast to your side, the Captain sends you a quizzical glance, to which you add, “Long story... He told me he's been trying to find his father a birthday present, but so far he hasn't had much success. And I thought... Well...”

You wave a hand in the vague direction that Junior had disappeared.

“You thought you'd give him pick of the cache,” she finishes with a sigh, “You know, for a monarch, you're not nearly ruthless enough. You'll never be like your father.”

Your smile grows tenfold as you splay a hand across your chest, touched. “Why, Captain, I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me.”

Some of the frost in her expression melts away under the warmth of your sunny grin and she shakes her head at you, doing a terrible job of hiding the fond twitch of her lips.

At the bottom of the steps, down in the belly of the ship, you're not at all surprised to find the Quartermaster standing with his hands fisted into his grey, thinning hair as he gapes at Junior, who appears to be getting quite familiar with the crates and boxes filled to bursting with valuables from your kingdom.

“C-Cap'n!” the man stammers when you both stop beside him, “He – he just! He just started-!”

“It's all right, Mr Cabot,” she interrupts reassuringly, clapping a strong hand down on his shoulder, “He's here by royal invite.”

His sweeping, silver eyebrows launch themselves up his forehead and he splutters something incomprehensible until you address him, coughing softly into your fist as you move to join the young Koopa just as he shoves his nose deep into a sack of rare opals. “Abe, I wonder if you'd be so kind as to fetch a selection of comics from my cabin?”

At once, the Quartermaster's mouth snaps shut and there's a shuffle of feet behind you, followed by a gruff, “A-Aye, Ma'am,” before Abe begins to make for the steps, leaving you with Junior and the Captain.

Turning your attention onto your guest, you call out, “Have a good look around. I hope there's at least something in here that'll suffice.”

Junior's head pops out of the sack and he flashes you an impish grin that shows off his prominent fang. “Uh, all of it?!” he exclaims, “In fact – what's to stop me from makin' off with everything on this ship?”

Leant up against a wooden pillar near the staircase, Captain Skip lifts the brim of her hat and levels a dangerous glare at him, whereas you simply laugh at the absurdity of his notion, seeing nothing before you but an exuberant child with an extraordinary imagination.

“Nothing, I suppose,” you reply amicably, “But I would be very sad if you did. Especially since you're the first friend I've made in this kingdom.”

Just like that, his childish grin falters, shrinking at the corners of his mouth until his smile is altogether lacklustre, eventually dropping off his face entirely. “Huh... Right...” he says, far too softly to suit the young Koopa you've been chatting with all morning.

Lowering the sackful of opals, he gazes down into its depths, his forehead crinkling with a frown as he fiddles idly with the sack's drawstring, tail tucked close around one leg.

The shift is certainly jarring, but just as you open your mouth to ask him if something is wrong, Abe's voice cuts across the dark hold, calling out to you from the entrance. “Here they are, Ma'am.”

You twist yourself about to greet him as he makes his way over to you and places a stack of your treasured novels neatly in your upturned palms, all the while keeping his wary eye trained on Junior.

“Thank you, Mr Cabot. That'll be all,” you hum.

“Ma'am.” He lifts a hand and tips his cap to you politely, though you note he doesn't offer the same platitude to your guest. Then, spinning about on his heel, he meets the Captain's eye, lowering his voice. “Ah, Cap'n... Might I have another word?”

None too subtly, he twists his head over one shoulder to shoot a glance at Junior, and if the young Koopa could see the look he's being subjected to – mistrustful and cold – you'd be inclined to reprimand Abe for his attitude towards your guest. But luckily for Cabot, Junior's eyes are still fixed on the inside of the sack, staring at its contents, but barely seeing them.

With a grunt, Captain Skip pushes herself from the beam, standing upright once more. She raises a circumspect brow, first at you to get your attention, then at Junior - a far more surreptitious method of conveying her own message to you.

Abe, with a mere look, had told you that he's extremely unhappy to have Junior on board. The Captain however, is asking a question in her glance. 'Will you be all right on your own?'

'He's just a boy,' you want to tell her. A boy who only wants to find his father the perfect birthday present. What you wouldn't give to have been able to do the same when you were his age. What you wouldn't give to have had a father you could be proud of too, one who didn't look upon a kind gesture as something to be scoffed at and dismissed... who didn't rebuff your 'childish' attempts at affection.

If you can help Junior find his Papa the perfect birthday present, then you damn well ought to.

“Go ahead, Captain,” you tell her, waving her off with a flick of your wrist, “Junior and I may be occupied down here for some time.”

She grumbles unintelligibly, fixes Junior with a final glare of warning, and then, with a swish of her coat tails, she sweeps away from you, following the Quartermaster up the stairs and out of the cargo hold.

Alone with Junior in the groaning underbelly of the ship, you find yourself clutching the stack of comic books a little more tightly against your chest.

You slowly grow aware of his gleaming eyes that shine out at you under the flickering light of the hold's lanterns. He's watching you closely, at least until you begin traipsing back over to him, flashing the young Koopa a smile, which prompts him to tear his gaze away from you and focus instead on the dusty, wooden floorboards creaking under his feet.

Gone is the levity you'd felt upon your approach to the Bonhomous.

“Junior?” you utter tentatively, wondering as to the cause of his inexplicable change in mood, “Is everything all right?”

The only response you garner lays in the furrow of his fiery brows as he continues to regard the floor with such a look of consternation, you'd think the ship herself had just insulted him.

It's actually unnerving, in a way. He seems older in the dark, more of a stranger than a potential friend.

Of course, as soon as the thought occurs to you, you ruthlessly strike it back into the recesses of your psyche, reminding yourself that he's a child, and you'll not be easily swayed by the suspicion of the Captain and her crew.

Chewing absently on your bottom lip for a second, you glance down at the comics in your hands, eyeing the one right at the top. From the cover, a gallant gentleman cocks his shining grin back at you, dressed in colourful armour and holding an almighty sword aloft in victory.

This one has always been among your favourites. An unreliable narrator, a protagonist turned antagonist, and a lonely monster who ends up saving the world in spite of how it treats him.

Brushing a fond thumb over its spine, you dart your eyes up to Junior for just a moment, taking note of his slouching shoulders and the confusion darkening his downturned face. Then, steeling your resolve, you work your clenched jaw loose and peel the comic from the top of the stack, presenting it to the Koopa and giving it a gentle shake to flutter the pages until he raises his head and blinks owlishly at the proffered gift.

“Here,” you coax, carefully pressing the copy into his chest so that his arms shoot up to catch it, “Consider this my gift to your father. You're still free to take something, I mean. I just... I have a feeling he might enjoy this one.”

Very slowly, Junior lowers his gaze from your face, dropping it to the comic book now clutched between his bruising fingers. “I don't get it,” he murmurs, his brows hanging so low that his eyes are half obscured as he glowers down at the cover.

“Oh? Well, it's quite a simple story, really,” you pipe up, reaching forwards to tap your fingertip on one of the little, illustrated characters, “This man here, he's a traveller from across the stars, and he finds this -”

You find your explanation interrupted as Junior suddenly shifts backwards with a brisk shake of his head, pulling himself away from you and blurting, “No! I mean... I don't get it. I don't get you!”

Bewildered, you find yourself helpless to reply beyond uttering a small, “What?”

“Why're you being so nice to me?”

Your mind judders to a halt. What a bizarre question, especially coming from a child. It's clear he means it to be an accusation, as if you're expected to be unkind. As if you're supposed to be, but you're defying his expectations at every turn.

Holding a palm helplessly towards the ceiling, you ask, “Is there a particular reason I shouldn't be nice to you? Isn't being nice just... part of making friends?”

Something flits rapidly across his expression, surprise in the blink of his wide eyes, confusion in the way his jaw unclenches and flops open and closed a few times before he manages to get his tongue to push out a hesitant question. “You said 'friends,' again?” he echoes softly, pulling a claw from the comic and hesitantly pointing at himself, “You... wanna be friends?”

Then, after a little pause... “With me?”

Why would he think otherwise? Building connections is the whole point of your visit, be those connections with the ruler of the kingdom, or a child you met by a fountain. “Of course I do,” you huff with a tinny laugh, resolute in your words.

It's gradual, but the pinch of his brows begins to ease and he adds, “But.. you're not a Koopa. I didn't think anyone who wasn't a Koopa would want-...”

The youngling trails off, lapsing into a meek silence that you're hesitant to break. But the bewilderment in his face compels you to speak up and quietly tell him, “Junior. I understand that you don't know me at all, really. But if there's one thing I'd like you to remember about me, it's that I would never choose a friend based on species. Nobody should.”

He remains quiet for some time, his eyes averted. But then, to your relief, you start to make out the tiny, hesitant smile that tries to worm its way across his face.

“So.. .so, if we're friends,” he starts slowly, as if he's attempting to make sense of something grand and unknowable, “Then could we... like... hang out together?”

Surprised, yet pleased that you haven't inadvertently driven a wedge between you and the Koopa, you nod. “Naturally.”

“And... you could read me comic books!”

“Sounds like fun,” comes your agreeable laugh.

“And we'd go on cool adventures together.” As he speaks, Junior grows more and more animated, staring off into the distance as if he's concocting an elaborate plan in his head.

Gradual as the sunrise, his jaw lifts into a hopeful grin and he stares up at you, standing on his toes. “And.. Would you wanna be friends with my Papa too?”

“I don't see why not,” you shrug.

At first, he seems a little skeptical, squinting up at you through narrowed eyelids, but when you only continue to hold his stare with unflinching sincerity, he finally blinks, drawing his head back and giving you a hum from the base of his throat, sounding pleased, of all things.

“My Papa's got all kinds treasure like these,” Junior murmurs softly as he gazes about at the cargo hold, eventually letting his eyes drift back over to you where they sharpen with sudden, alarming focus, “But I don't think he's ever had a real friend before. Not one as nice as you!”

Little flatterer, you smirk to yourself, raising a hand and covering your cheek with a palm. “Well, I don't know about-”

You aren't given the chance to finish your sentence.

Without a whiff of warning, Junior moves faster than you can blink, dropping down onto all-fours and sweeping his tail beneath your legs.

A bleat of alarm jumps from your throat as you topple over sideways and instinctively drop your armful of comic books, clenching your eyes shut as the ground rushes up to meet you. The impact however, is far more gentle than you'd expected. With a startled 'ooph!' your back hits a soft, warm appendage that snakes around you and effectively pins your arms to your sides. In seamless tandem, a second hand catches you under the knees and prevents your backside from colliding painfully with the floor boards.

“Wha-! Junior!” you yelp indignantly, shocked that a boy half your height has the strength to hold you aloft just enough that your kicking feet can't gain purchase on the ground. “What are you doing!?”

The Koopa's grin has returned full-force, wide and mischievous. Try as you might to struggle from his grasp, you're immensely disconcerted by Junior's unexpected show of strength. You can feel the muscles in his arms bulging underneath you as he hoists you higher into his hold, leaving the skirts of your dress to drag across the floor boards.

For the first time since you met the young Koopa, you feel your stomach twist itself nearly inside out when tendrils of cold, dawning horror begin to coil and writhe in your gut.

Perhaps he deserved the crew's suspicion after all...

He turns towards the hull and steps over your comic books that now lay scattered across the floor.

“Junior!” you raise your voice to something like a yelp, “This is absolutely unacceptable! Put me down at once!”

Dust rains on top of your heads and into your hair as heavy footsteps start to pound in the direction of the hold, igniting a hot spark of hope in your chest.

“Don't worry!” Junior chirps brightly, stepping right up to the ship's wooden wall, “I'm gonna take you home! Papa's real nice, once you get to know him. Me n'him'll take good care of you - you'll see!”

Your quivering heart lurches, the horror of the sudden development shifting across the scales and entering into the realm of terror.

He can't be serious! This is no longer a child playing pretend, this is a child who is evidently prepared to commit a serious offence to get what he wants.

Boots thunder down the steps behind you and you almost weep with relief when the familiar voice of your loyal Captain hollers, “Release her, boy! 'Fore I blast that shell right off your back!”

“Skip!?” you cry out, still trying to wrench your arms from his iron-clad grasp when you hear a sound that fills you simultaneously with equal parts fear and hope.

.. The cocking of the Captain's trusty pistol.

Junior hears it as well, instinctively rounding on the Captain and letting out a vicious snarl, allowing you to catch the briefest glimpse of Skip standing at the head of a group of sailors, her stance wide and her lips peeled back over her teeth of match Junior's warning growl with unparalleled ferocity.

The Koopa's eyes alight on the gun and he suddenly gasps, whipping about and curling himself over you, putting his sturdy shell between you and the weapon.

A burning heat ignites in his chest – you can feel it searing against your side, travelling up the Koopa's sternum and into his throat.

The crew are shouting at the top of their lungs.

Your eyes fling open wide and fix themselves upon the fiery glow emanating between Junior's fangs.

“Leave us alone!” he bellows, letting tendrils of red-hot flames spill from his maw.

Mouth agape, you cringe away from the heat, squeezing your eyes shut again as the fire grows bright enough to sear right through your eyelids.

Junior's jaws open wide and he aims his snout at the wall of the ship whilst a molten ball of fire builds at the back of his throat.

“NO!” the Captain cries hoarsely.

But the time to act has already passed her by, and she hasn't even realised it.

Anything else she might have wanted to shout is suddenly drowned out by a deafening explosion that rocks the ship on her moorings. Junior's entire body gives a sudden jolt as a boiling ball of fire erupts out of his mouth like a bullet fired from a gun, hitting the Bonhomous's hull with a resounding and devastating 'BOOM!'

Strong, solid oak is blasted from its fixtures. Nails fly in every direction like shrapnel, and a plume of smoke engulfs the cargo hold, wrenching the air from your lungs.

The sailors begin to cough and splutter, picking themselves up off the ground from where they'd tossed themselves behind barrels and crates for cover.

Dim sunlight pours into the ship and when you dare to pry your eyelids apart to look, your jaw drops open, leaving you gaping at an enormous, jagged hole that's been blown right out of the Bonhomous's side.

“.... Wh... What have you done?” you breathe, balling your hands into fists and dragging your eyes up to stare at the underside of Junior's yellow chin.

Ignoring the chaos and confusion of the crew at his back, the Koopa cocks a grin at the hole, satisfied with his work as he hops up into the gap, balancing on the splintered edge of a half-destroyed hull.

Urgency pushes you through the shock that stalls your systems and you find yourself struggling anew, choking out, “Junior, please, you don't have to do this!”

The boy's smile gives no indication that he's even heard you.

For a fleeting moment, he twists his head over a shoulder to peer back at the smoke.

There, silhouetted against he indigo haze, the Captain emerges like a vengeful phantom, striding towards you both with murderous fire burning in her dark, grey eyes. In one bloodied hand, she raises her pistol, the shining barrel glinting dangerously in the sunlight that filters through her ship's new cavity.

“Stop,” she croaks hoarsely, her throat burning from the smoke, “Or I'll put you down. Child or no.”

But Junior, although he may be young, is certainly no fool.

He knows a bluff when he sees one. He can all but smell the reluctance rolling off the Captain in waves.

She won't risk firing at him, not while you're being held so closely to his chest.

His mouth twitches and he flashes her a triumphant grin, revelling in the defeat that flickers momentarily behind her eyelids.

The Koopaling is wholly aware of his new friend fighting to get out of his all-encompassing grasp, but he's far stronger than his size suggests, and merely keeps his arms locked tight around your shoulders and legs like a pair of bear traps.

Though you might not be the most conventional birthday present, Junior can't deny that you were the best option on the whole ship, a rare gem hidden amongst the pearls and rubies and, yes, even the comic books. Taking a moment to lament the latter's loss, he leaps from the ship and lands heavily on the dock, taking care not to jostle you too greatly as he scampers between a pair of buildings, leaving the Bonhomous and her crew behind in the dust.

Jewels and riches are nice enough, but Junior isn't blind to the plight that's been afflicting his father for some time now - a plight that can't be fixed by shiny things, sadly.

As brave and strong as his Papa has been in the face of never-ending rebuttal from Princess Peach, Junior can tell that his almighty resolve has at last been chipped down to the bone.

Bowser has been... quieter lately. And every breath that heaves out of his massive lungs seems more and more like an affected sigh.

Junior had overheard Kamek speaking to the King only a few short nights ago, when the youngling was expected to be sound asleep in bed, not sneaking into the kitchens for a midnight snack.

“I think this loneliness is heavier than even your mighty shoulders can bear, my King, “the old Magikoopa had bravely pointed out, though what he might have said before that is unknown to Junior.

Naturally, Bowser had promptly lost his temper and roared Kamek from the throne room. But the seed of suspicion had already been planted in Junior's brain.

His Papa... lonely?

He supposes if anyone would be able to tell, it would be their brainy advisor, Kamek.

As Junior bounds away from the Toads' Capital with a new friend tucked safely in his arms, he allows himself a moment to feel triumphant in his capture.

You may not be a princess, like Peach, but his Papa is still sure to like you. He's often watched the King get tongue-tied around ladies in dresses.

You're afraid now, yes, struggling fruitlessly against him and demanding that he let you go, but he's sure you'll change your tune once you see how well his Papa will treat you.

Friends of the Koopa Troop are friends for life, and you've already said you wanted to be friends with he and the King.

Junior's stubby tail waggles back and forth as he dashes through the outskirts of town, heading for the mushroom forest where he's stashed his clown car.

All he has to do now is get back before his Papa wakes up to find him missing...

--------------

To say that the Bowser Castle is in a state of disarray would be the understatement of the century.

If one were to look at it from outside the towering, stone walls, one might assume that the trembling spires and quivering parapets are afflicted by a localised earthquake.

But on the inside, vulnerable to the wrath of their King, the Koopas on duty find themselves wishing they only had an earthquake to deal with.

“WHERE IS HE!?”

Kamek's thick, round glasses rattle on the edge of his beak as he plasters himself to the door of Junior's bedroom, helpless to do anything other than play silent witness to the young Koopa's father – King Bowser himself – tearing open the boy's closet and sticking his immense bulk into the dark, cramped space, bellowing, “JUNIOR!?” at the top of his lungs.

If Kamek didn't know the king as well as he does, he'd mistake this behaviour for outrage and aggression. But as it is, he's spent too long as Bowser's advisor to be fooled.

Suffice it to say, Junior's inexplicable absence has worried the living daylights out of his father. It's just a shame that the king's worry is almost an exact mimic of his anger, and so often the two are lumped together by his critics.

And yet, for all the ferocity with which Bowser appears to be ripping his son's bedroom asunder in his mad search, it doesn't escape Kamek's notice that not a single thing inside has actually sustained any damage.

With a snarl of frustration, Bowser wrenches his nose from the closet and lumbers across the room to his son's bed, pinching the soft blankets and covers between his claws and peeling them back as if Junior might have managed to sneak back into the room when his father's back was turned.

Every attempt to calm the worked-up king down has thus far been met with belligerence and aggravated growls. Still, Kamek Koopa is nothing if not persistent.

“Sire, please, remember your blood pressure,” he calls chidingly, “I'm sure the young master will turn up soon!”

Bowser's tremendous jaws snap together with the force of a thunderclap and he shoots Kamek a molten glare. “Junior ALWAYS wakes me up on my birthday!” he seethes, his powerful fists compressing a pillow until it threatens to explode and spray feathers all over the room, “Not only did he not wake me this morning, now, I can't find him ANYWHERE!”

The last word is bellowed loudly enough to be heard from the deepest dungeon to the tallest spire.

Kamek's eyes squeeze shut behind his glasses, wincing in discomfort until his ears stop ringing and the quivering chandelier overhead falls still.

“Sire,” he sighs, pushing his spectacles further up on his beak, “The boy is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. You raised him, after all! Besides, he has his communicator with him, no? He'll call if he runs into any trouble.”

All at once, Bowser peels his lips back and lets out a low, guttural rumble that spills from his chest, dropping the pillow and instead snatching something up from the corner of Junior's bed. “Oh really,” he utters dangerously, holding a small, rectangular object between his thumb and forefinger and raising it into the air for the Magikoopa to see, “Then tell me, Kamek, how Junior is supposed to contact me when he left his communicator UNDER HIS PILLOW!?”

“... Ah...” Kamek is starting to get the sense that his King's threadbare patience is reaching its end. It's unusual for the boy to go anywhere without his communicator, but it's possible that he simply forgot it.

He's just about to concede and suggest that they send a troop out to search for Junior, if only to keep the King from spiralling into an all-out tantrum when all of a sudden, from somewhere beyond the bedroom door, the rapid approach of footsteps catches their attention, followed by a familiar voice calling out, “PAPA!”

'Oh thank goodness,' Kamek sighs to himself.

At once, Bowser's colossal frame sags like a balloon losing air, leaving him immeasurably smaller somehow, without all that agitation swelling his chest.

“Junior!” he shouts back, trying very hard to sound stern, but incapable of hiding every ounce of his relief.

Kamek only just manages to shuffle away from the doors before they suddenly burst open so violently that their brass knobs smash into the walls and their hinges give an almighty squeal, and there behind them stands the previously mislaid Bowser Junior, sporting a grin so wide that his cheeks are doubled in size.

“PAPA!” he cries again, barrelling towards Bowser like a tiny, green and yellow torpedo. Immediately, the King thumps down onto one knee, though whether from instinct or habit, Kamek is hard-pressed to say.

A pair of tremendous arms spread open to catch Junior mid-leap, sweeping the boy up into his father's grasp and all but crushing him against a broad, scaly chest.

“Happy birthday!” The Koopaling's shout is muffled by the thick wall of of flesh he's being squashed into.

Kamek politely averts his gaze to the floor of Junior's room, falling into the familiar routine of visually categorising all the things he'll need to clean up off the boy's messy floor, giving the pair of them a moment to themselves as father and son.

Hunched over his child, Bowser permits himself just a few seconds to let an intoxicating relief roll over his shoulders and cool the fire raging in his belly.

“Son,” he rumbles, peeling Junior off his chest and holding the Koopaling up in front of his snout, drawing his brows together until they almost meet in the centre of his forehead. “Where have you been!?”

Junior at least has the decency to cower slightly into his shell, peeking out at his father with a hesitant grin pulling on the edges of his mouth. “I'm sorry. But you won't believe what I-!”

“You didn't wake me up!” Bowser simply bulldozes over his son's explanation, puffing out a stream of smoke through his flaring nostrils, “You always wake me up! And then I come in here, and I find you gone!”

“I-I know, but I had to-”

“You didn't even leave a note! You left your communicator! I've been tearing this castle apart trying to find you! What if something happened!?”

Uncomfortable with being the focus his father's unwavering glare, Junior begins to wriggle, embarrassed. “M'sorry, Papa,” he mutters, “I was just tryin' to find you the perfect birthday present...”

Slowly, something in Bowser's fearsome expression turns soft – Well... as soft as a ruthless, oversized Koopa's expression can turn.

For all that Bowser is as gruff and ornery as a dragon with a headache, when it comes to Junior, he's a total pushover.

The King grumbles something quietly under his breath and he pulls a face, squinting sharply at his son for several, gruelling moments before at last, his maw twists up into a grin.

“The perfect present... Haha!” A low chuckle rolls out of his throat, deep and resonant like faraway brontide, “Tryn'a impress your old man, eh? Well, guess I can't stay mad at you for bein' thoughtful.”

He gently lowers the Koopaling to the floor and ruffles his hair with one, meaty paw. Junior makes an indignant noise of complaint at the back of his throat and ducks out from under his father's palm, reaching up to fix his tousled ponytail.

“Yeah, yeah. Quit bein' embarrassin' and come see what I got you!” he huffs, snagging one of Bowser's immense fingers and tugging him urgently towards the bedroom door, “C'mon, c'mon!”

The King's heavy footsteps plod steadily down the long corridor in the wake of his son, who continues to try and drag the colossal Koopa along faster. Exhaling warmly through his nostrils, Bowser allows himself to be lead to the throne room doors, whereupon Junior finally lets go of his hand and bounds towards them, calling over his shoulder, “She's in here!”

It takes Bowser a moment to register what his son had said, but once he does, his smile wavers and he blunders, “Wait. She?!”

The boy disregards his father in favour of grabbing the doorknobs and wrenching them open, scampering inside. As soon as the towering doors swing aside, Bowser's sensitive nose is hit with a gentle aroma, far lighter and fresher than the musty, old throne room.

'Perfume?' he muses, incredulous.

And then, he raises his head, tearing his eyes off Junior and fixing his gaze upon a gaggle of Koopa Troopa guards who have gathered together in a circle at the centre of the room, their spears raised and trained on the same target.

'What in the world did Junior bring home this time?'

“OW! Hey! Would you mind watching where you point those spears?” a voice cries out sharply, unfamiliar to Bowser's well-trained ears, “This dress took my seamstress months to make! If you tear it, she'll tan my sorry hide!”

Beyond curious now, Bowser raises his snout higher into the air to peer over the Koopas as he stomps towards them with enough force to shake the guards in their boots.

“Hey!” Junior barks, “I told you guys not to hurt her!”

His father, meanwhile, has lost what little he has of patience. Swinging his meaty fist out, he grabs the shoulder of the closest guard and shoves him aside with a curt grunt, at last revealing what they'd been obscuring from sight.

The King blinks once, then twice, and then suddenly, his mighty heart skips a couple of beats and his jaw promptly drops.

------

The moment you feel the heat of a warm, wet breath sliding over the nape of your neck, you freeze, your mouth stuck halfway open in the middle of demanding that these guards tell you where in the world you are.

There's a presence behind you, a shadow utterly dwarfing your own that's been cast by overhead chandeliers.

You don't whirl around right away, somehow sensing that you're in the company of someone much, much bigger than you, stronger than you, and you'd rather avoid provoking it with any unexpected movements.

The Koopas around you have lifted their eyes to stare agog at a spot right above your head, slowly lowering their weapons as they begin edging backwards. Though whether that's out of deference or terror, you have no idea.

In spite of your own fear, you attempt to remain poised as you continue to turn until you gradually come face to face with a massive expanse of flaxen skin.

'That's a chest!' your brain helpfully supplies. 'Broad as a barn and twice as sturdy...' You swallow, reluctantly dragging your eyes up the length of that mammoth chest until your gaze inevitably comes to a stop on a gruesome face.

You're not quite fast enough to stop a gasp from slipping in between your parted lips.

Before you looms a veritable mountain of a creature – a Goliath in every sense of the word. Dragon-scale skin stretches taut over bulging muscles and just one of his limbs looks as though it would weigh the same as a full-grown man.

His head alone dwarfs yours. He boasts a robust and square jaw from which protrude the largest fangs you've ever seen outside of a prehistoric museum...

The spiked shell sitting on his back is equally as massive as its wearer, and heavy-bodied too. You don't doubt that bearing its weight for so long must have contributed to this giant's powerful physique.

In rather striking contrast to his body's colouration, a mane of thick, crimson hair sweeps back from the top of his skull, right between a pair of upturned horns that jut from either side of his head.

It's by that hair and the bushy, red brows that you draw a logical conclusion – This can only be Junior's father.

'This is Papa!?'

You're suddenly left feeling very helpless under his smouldering stare.

However, unbeknownst to you, Bowser's mind is running along a very similar track.

Of all the 'gifts' he'd been expecting his son to get him, the very last thing he would have guessed was to come face to face with a tiny, human woman.

His almighty heart gives a pulsing throb when you tip your head back and he sees your eyes for the first time, blinking up at him in what he'd like to imagine must be awe and wonder.

He can smell the subtle traces of your perfume lingering on your soft, delicate skin, tantalisingly sweet and decadent. Expensive too, he'd wager. The silk of your dress is exquisite and shines prettily in the light of the candelabras – a fine material typically only afforded by nobility. Within seconds, he deduces that wherever you've come from, it's a place of opulence and refinement.

You're certainly a pretty package, all wrapped up in finery... The perfect birthday present indeed...

Just like that, Bowser finds himself rendered very helpless, even jelly-limbed under your scrutiny.

“Isn't she pretty, Papa?” Junior pipes up, breaking the spell that had fallen over the King and the stranger in their midst.

Bowser blinks, and, realising that his lower jaw is hanging slack, he snaps it shut with a click of his fangs.

Right.. Right, yes. First impressions... Stars, he hasn't even waxed his shell today! Is his hair still sticking out at odd angles from where he'd slept on it?

Feeling oddly light in the chest, Bowser clears his throat – a resonant sound that makes you recoil a step – and he extends one colossal paw, deftly catching your dainty, little hand between his thumb and forefinger, and applying just the barest amount of pressure to keep you from reclaiming your appendage.

He expertly ignores how your expression screws up tightly with trepidation as he begins to lower his head, bending at his sizeable waist and swinging an arm backwards to rest on his shell in a perfectly controlled bow.

“Enchanté,” he rumbles smoothly, raising your hand to his mouth. You turn rigid in his grip, but he's quick to alleviate a modicum of your fear by giving your knuckles the gentlest brush of his rubbery lips, hardly pressing down enough to be felt. Never once does he break eye contact.

Your eyelids spring open wide in shock, staring hard at the gleaming fangs that protrude from his maw, all too mindful of the fact that they could bite your appendage clean off with just a sniff of effort.

“And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking, hm?” His voice alone is powerful enough to thrum deeply inside your chest like a second heartbeat. It terrifies you, the unrestrained brawn that shifts below the surface of his scales.

He wants to know your name? The first question he asks, and it's to inquire after your name?

In hindsight, you suppose it isn't such an outlandish query after all.

More to the point though, how is such a brutish behemoth speaking so eloquently?

Almost at once, a stab of rancid shame demands a spot inside your chest. Who are you to assume how he should and shouldn't be able to speak?

Blinking absently, you flit your gaze from the colossal snout smiling in front of your face to the clawed thumb resting delicately against the back of your hand.

It hits you like a sack of bricks.

He's bowing to you.

'… Well,' you suppose, 'he may look the part of the Dragon who kidnapped the Princess, but his demeanour is that of a polished patrician... at least thus far.'

Throat bobbing as you swallow thickly, you dare to hope that he, unlike his son, can be reasoned with. Hell, for all you know, this is all just a big misunderstanding. He'll reprimand Junior for kidnapping you, and you'll be allowed to go on your merry way. If anything, he deserves the benefit of your doubt. Just once.

It takes a tremendous effort to gulp your heart back down into its proper place behind your ribs.

Clearing your throat, you almost tell him precisely who you are, status and all. But a tiny inkling of doubt stays your tongue.

Is it really so sensible to be telling him your regal status? Especially given that you're utterly alone here, a stranger in a strange land, treading unknown territory without any sort of phalanx...

“My name,” you start to croak, almost losing your nerve when his face lights up with a hopeful grin, “You may call me, Y/n...”

The breath he exhales over your face is slow and gentle, barely strong enough to disturb the hairs on your head.

“Y/n,” he murmurs, rolling the name off his tongue as if he were tasting a fine wine.

Hesitant, you give your captured hand a testing pull, and this time, he allows you to withdraw it and tuck it protectively against your chest as you back away from him. “A-and, you must be Junior's father,” you say falteringly, shooting the boy a withering look as you do.

In much the same manner as his son did when you asked for his name, Bowser swells with unabashed pride, pushing out his prodigious chest and pointing his nose at the ceiling. If you didn't know he was Junior's father before, you'd certainly be able to tell now.

“Name's Bowser!” he announces, flicking his gleaming, red eyes down to flash you, of all things, a wink, “King Bowser.”

And 'oh good lord,' you realise as your stomach bottoms out, 'Junior wasn't playing pretend at all.'

#super mario bros movie #mario bros movie #bowser #bowser x reader #bowser junior #bowser jr #kidnapping #infatuation #Bowser likes pretty things #Jr is a good son #Bowser is a good dad #possessive behaviour #slow burn

[worflesbian]

i need to start photographing these better but anyway. sketch of Riker from an AU where the standoff in s2e8 a matter of honour went just a wee bit worse and he ended up accidentally kind of defecting to the empire

so i think about this episode frequently cause it's great fun and the ending is WILD. for those of you who haven't seen next gen basically Riker is serving as first officer on a Klingon ship for like a week or two as part of an exchange programme, it's going great, the Klingons love him, except they've picked up some kind of technobabble sci fi problem that's eaten a hole through the hull and the captain thinks it's a federation plot so when the enterprise shows up (to warn them about the techno babble problem) he's like right! we're gonna fuck these guys up! the way this is prevented is 1 Worf had given Riker a transport beacon to get him off that ship quickly if things went south but 2 the Klingon captain has taken this device off him thinking it's a weapon or something so 3 when things go south, it's the captain of the Klingon vessel they beam aboard the enterprise and Riker, as serving first officer, becomes acting captain of the Klingon ship. so when the enterprise hails the IKS Pagh it's literally their own dude who answers. and they deescalate the situation obviously but still the image of them hailing this Klingon ship and getting their friend and colleague will riker on the line is fuckin. I love it!

so this AU is one without the transport beacon where the situation escalated a lot more drastically and riker had to choose between either letting this guy fire on the enterprise or killing him and taking over as captain (as is the done thing on a Klingon ship when the captain fucks up). I think given how much the crew liked him he could definitely have their support in challenging the captain and yk I feel like he's got a decent chance of winning that fight, so say he kills him. the problem then is what happens once he successfully takes control of the ship and stops them firing on the enterprise. cause technically he has just killed a Klingon in defense of federation interests which diplomatically looks Bad, but! any officer serving on a Klingon ship can kill their superior if they have good reason! so it's a catch-22: if he was acting as a federation officer, it was murder, and is really gonna cause problems diplomatically. if he was acting as a klingon officer, its all fine, but this relies on him persuading everyone his loyalties in that moment lay with the crew of the pagh over the federation.

so yeah basically to prevent any further escalation of tensions Riker's gotta take one for the team and just. defect to the empire. on one hand he misses everyone, especially Deanna, and he's often having to narrowly avoid getting killed. on the other hand, the crew of the pagh would lay down their lives for him and in spite of the horrors he actually kind of makes it work.

#riker #jIlaStaH #ghitlhpu'wij

[thevelaryons]

The theme of 'family' is at the core of Corlys' storyline. It's the reason behind so many of his actions. He even left the sea behind for the sake of family.

At seven-and-thirty, the Sea Snake was already hailed as the greatest seafarer Westeros had ever known, but with his nine great voyages behind him, he had come home to marry and make a family. “Only you could have won me away from the sea,” he told the princess. “I came back from the ends of the earth for you.”

— Fire & Blood, The Long Reign

It is also, I believe, the reason he had an affair. The perfect family he had envisioned for himself was unraveling before his eyes at the onset of his son's marriage to the crown princess, and at the same time, his daughter was trapped in a betrothal to a man that proved a wastrel.

This might seem an odd statement but I don't believe Corlys loved Rhaenys any less even though he cheated on her. His problem was never with her, but all to do with the family succession. The truth would of course hurt his wife if she ever knew of her husband's actions. But again, the issue is centered on the children of their family.

Lord Corlys did not share Ser Laenor’s erotic predispositions, he points out, and the Hull shipyards were like unto a second home to him, whereas his son visited them less frequently.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

Personally I don't think the affair was happening exactly at the shipyards. That would have been too risky. It's far more likely that Corlys would visit the shipyards of Hull to go out sailing and that's when he would meet up with Marilda. Corlys came home from the sea for the sake of family and it's at sea that he creates his new family. Not the healthiest of coping mechanisms but that seems to be what's happening here.

Between his dragon wife and his mistress of the sea, Corlys has two children each. As I mentioned before, these children parallel each other: Laena to Alyn and Laenor to Addam. While the wife and mistress seem at opposite ends of a fire/water dichotomy, it's worth pointing out that they were both around the same age at the onset of their relationship with Corlys. It's also possible that they might have shared a slight resemblance (especially if the theory of Marilda being a Targaryen dragonseed is true and that being where her sons get their dragonriding potential). When it comes to his children, I do wonder what Corlys thought about the younger two becoming part of his life in relation to the ones that he had lost. He must have been feeling quite haunted.

Though in the end, Corlys ends up loosing most of his immediate family. His wife dies in a war for the iron throne when incidentally she was herself denied the same throne. His daughter, who he managed to secure a better marriage for, dies in childbirth. His eldest son, for whom he was willing to bend the rules to allow him his freedom at Driftmark, is killed by a knight of his own household. His other son was the perfect heir that Corlys had always wanted but he is unable to truly save him (he was doomed the moment he became Corlys' heir) and they are both condemned as traitors together. By the time the fighting is done, Corlys has only one child left to him: Alyn aka his mirror.

Alyn remains behind but for the remainder of his life, Corlys does not return back to Driftmark or to the burnt ruins of his castle. When Corlys himself dies at last, after having lost so much of his family, it is his mistress who returns him back to the sea.

Afterward his remains were carried back to Driftmark aboard the Mermaid’s Kiss, captained by Marilda of Hull with her son Alyn. There the battered hull of the ancient Sea Snake was floated once again and towed out into the deep waters east of Dragonstone, where Corlys Velaryon was buried at sea aboard the very ship that had given him his name.

— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #corlys velaryon #rhaenys targaryen #marilda of hull #laena velaryon #laenor velaryon #addam velaryon #alyn velaryon #house velaryon #meta

[captainswanapproved]

The Queen's Gambit-Chapter 11

A03, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

A/N: We've reached the end. Thank you for reading this story!

Daemon x Rhaenyra Multi Chapter AU: Rhaenyra is now 18 and eager to prove herself. Having never been forced to marry Rhea Royce, Daemon has matured and given up his gallivanting through the Street of Silk. Queen Aemma survives her final birth but the baby does not.

Queen Aemma knows of Daemon’s devotion to Rhaenyra. She also knows that this devotion is not unrequited. Aemma goes to Viserys with a proposition: one that will ensure the future and legacy of House Targaryen.

The execution of Otto Hightower was the first in a succession of significant changes in the Red Keep. Daemon took his position as Hand of the King, and Rhaenyra was welcomed into an official position on the Small Council.

Both Daemon and Rhaenyra showed an aptitude for playing politics that ranged from the strategic maintenance of their hold over the Stepstones, improvements to the city, and strengthening ties between the Crown and the Lords Paramount of Westeros.

After two moons, Viserys confessed to his queen that he was surprised by them both in equal measure. Aemma said, with no small amount of triumph, “I always knew they were capable of greatness. I only wish you had allowed them the chance sooner.”

“As do I,” Viserys admitted. “I allowed Otto Hightower to poison me for too long. I am surprised that they forgave me so quickly. It speaks to their great love and loyalty to our House. I only wish I could have given them the same.”

“We are none of us perfect, Your Grace,” Aemma soothed. “All you can do now is make amends for past wrongs and celebrate their successes.”

Viserys nodded. “Tell me true, Aemma, do you think Rhaenyra is truly happy? New love is fleeting. Their joy may not last forever.”

“Their love is not new. It has survived many trials and months of separation at a time. They will have their quarrels to be sure. They are dragons, made of fire, and this will surely result in nasty conflagrations once in a while. But they are devoted, and our beloved Rhaenyra is glowing. Have you not noticed?”

He had. Viserys did not like to dwell upon what went on in his daughter’s private chambers, but he was certain he would be a grandsire before too long.

***

“It is true, Princess,” the maester confirmed. “You are with child. Three months along, I wager.”

Three months. That would mean she had conceived a child in her early couplings with Daemon. The thought only made those nights on Dragonstone more dear.

“Thank you, Maester,” Rhaenyra said, clasping his gnarled hand.

“We will summon the very best midwives from Essos and Westeros for your delivery, Princess. I fear our holy order may have been ill equipped for royal births. We will take more care in future.”

Rhaenyra appreciated the sentiment. It was not often that a maester owned their shortcomings.

She sent the maester away, only to wander to the balcony. Daemon was touring the city today, meeting with the merchants and innkeepers to assess their needs. King Jaehaerys believed that it was best for the smallfolk to see their current and future rulers often. Viserys had not often followed the old king’s example. But Daemon declared it would solidify the crown’s influence. The love of the smallfolk would be important when Rhaenyra eventually took the crown.

He truly was a Prince of the People, though Rhaenyra knew that the brothels had lost her husband’s patronage, for which she was grateful.

***

It was not until late afternoon that Daemon returned to their chambers to find Rhaenyra sleeping peacefully. It was unusual for Rhaenyra to nap at such an hour, though she had started the habit nearly three weeks ago, indulging herself almost daily.

Perhaps he was imagining it, but Rhaenyra’s breasts seemed a bit larger, and her abdomen was rounding as well, ever so slightly. The thought of fatherhood had once been detestable, but now Daemon was eager for the arrival of his first babe, and hoped that Rhaenyra would become pregnant by year’s end.

Daemon was unaware that the gods had heard his silent prayers. He sat beside his wife and kissed her forehead. She stirred. Gods she was beautiful. Daemon had been longing for her touch all day, having left at first light. At last she opened her eyes, her lips curving into a smile at the sight of him.

“I am glad you are home, love,” she said. “We missed you.”

For a moment, Daemon did not understand her strange greeting. “We?”

Rhaenyra took his hand and pressed it to her abdomen. “Yes, my love. We missed you. The maester confirmed it this morning. Soon we shall have a little prince or princess.”

Daemon took Rhaenyra in his arms and kissed her deeply. He felt tears threaten to spill, but knew his beloved would not think him weak for such a showing of emotion.

When they pulled apart, Rhaenyra was crying as well. “Am I to expect such a reaction whenever I am with child? If so, I will happily follow the example of Queen Alysanne and birth thirteen little dragons.”

In answer, Daemon kissed her, and spent the next two hours worshipping every inch of her body. Privately, he hoped to outdo his grandmother. Fourteen or fifteen children with Rhaenyra seemed a worthy goal.

***

Rhaenyra experienced the first signs of labor in the middle of a stormy night. The veritable army of nurses and midwives were summoned to her chambers, as well as Queen Aemma, who had long ago vowed to be at her daughter’s side for every moment of labor.

Unbeknownst to the queen, Daemon had made a similar vow, though it flew in the face of tradition.

So it was that Daemon sat to her right, while Aemma sat Rhaenyra’s left.

Rhaenyra faced the perils of the birthing bed with unflinching strength and courage. Sweat beaded upon her pale brow. Her screams rivalled the booming thunder, and at one point, she called one of the midwives a cunt.

Daemon kissed her hand after the insult, while Aemma merely shook her head in mock disapproval.

After nearly twenty four hours, Rhaenyra gave birth to a lusty, pink, baby boy. The little prince uttered his first cry as one of the midwives cleaned him off before presenting him to his proud parents.

“He is beautiful,” Aemma declared, “just as you were, my love.”

The babe had wisps of silver hair and large, lovely, lilac eyes. He was a true Targaryen.

“What will you name him?”

Daemon and Rhaenyra exchanged a look, before saying at the same time, “Aemon.”

Tears gathered in Aemma’s eyes.

Rhaenyra presented her son to his namesake. “We wanted to honor you, Mother, for without your help, Daemon and I may have never married.”

Daemon smiled at his good-sister. “Thank you for your faith, My Queen.”

Aemma’s heart was like to burst with the love she felt for her daughter, good-brother, and grandson.

Her gambit had proved to be a masterful success.

#daemon x rhaenyra #daemyra #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd the queen's gambit #my writing #all hail queen aemma #captain of the daemyra ship #yay I actually finished a multichapter story

[foone]

So the second and third in command of the USS Medina, the first faster than light colony ship, wake up after 20 years in cryonic hibernation, ready to land on New Earth. Two minor problems present themselves:

1. The captain, who was supposed to wake up shortly before them, isn't there. His chamber is empty. All the landing vehicles are still accounted for. Where did he go?

2. New Earth looks too much like Old Earth. Like, the probes said it was much like earth, but we didn't expect it'd be so similar that it has a South America. And we're getting a hail from Houston... This is just Earth.

We went in a big circle, somehow losing the captain along the way. And why is Houston so happy to see us? We clearly failed.

#my writing #Project v #This is a story I plotted out in 2006 and did nothing with #So why not ramble about it now?

[n-clue]

first story!

the federation has never organized joint training exercises in its 56 millennia history, which makes the following invitation quite an interesting prospect, especially when you realize the humans are considered the least militarized fed member

from: John K. Fendrik of the UTN to: All species in the Federation

I, John K. Fendrik, the representative of the UTN(united terran nations)' military would like to formally invite all species in the federation for a joint military exercise, the specifics of which will be sent along with this message as an attachment

jointtrainingdetails.txt

due to the lack of activity by neighboring galactic bodies, 12 out of the 18 members attended, however when they arrived...

subject: captain za'kuli species: klu'azin

"well, were nearing terran space, as captain I guess I should check up on the bri-"

"SIR, WEVE BEEN LOOKIN FOR YOU! MILLIONS OF TERRAN SHIPS ARE HEADING TOWARDS US!"

damnit, what the hell is happening, i thought this was a joint military training exercise!? still, I cant risk an unwarranted war.

"hail them!"

"they're already hailing us!"

[incoming hail from "USSS Thanatos"]

[hail accepted]

[encryption procedures completed]

[connecting...]

"hello, this is David K. Fendrik of the terran union"

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!"

"we were about to ask the same question, i though the klu'azin would bring 90% of their forces? where are the rest?"

"THIS IS THE ENTIRE FLEET, NOW EXPLAIN WHY THE HELL YOU HAVE MILLIONS OF SHIPS, I THOUGHT THIS WOULD BE A TRAINING EXERCISE!?!?!?"

"eh??? this is your entire fleet??? the fleet of the klu'azin, a war mongering race, consists of only about 10 carriers, 100 destroyers and 1000 fighters???"

in the middle of the conversation, a small fleet exited warp space and immediately hailed us and the terrans

[incoming hail from "USSS Deadlock"]

[hail accepted]

[encryption procedures completed]

[connecting...]

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS TERRANS, KLU'AZINS, HOW ARE YOU INVOLVED WITH THIS!?!?!?!"

"I DON'T KNOW EITHER!" i said still confused

"THE HELL TERRANS! ARE YOU PREPING AN ENTIRE DAMN INVASION FLEET"

a confused look came from the terran

"what do you mean? this is just the scouting party for one of our fleets?"

at that very moment, i became utterly terrified; not of klu'azin high command, but of the terrans, if they found out they were EASILY the most powerful military force in the galaxy- no the universe, I fear what they will do...

who knows maybe this will turn out good, maybe itll turn out bad! anyways, thats my first story, i couldve probably done a bit more in the worldbuilding department and leaned in a bit more towards narration and a bit less speech, but id say its pretty good. might remake this when i got more exp

#HFY #humans are space orcs #scifi #I don't know why people on tumblr keep hiding stuff in the tags

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Just another red alert

SUMMARY: The enterprise is under attack and you seem to take the fall… literally.

TW: Broken bones, child abandonment, head injury, passing out, secrets

PLATONIC R

ENSIGN / NURSE R

A/n idk why 2/3 chapters so far include head injures haha. I’ll find something interesting and hopefully a little different for the next chapter lol.

Life on the enterprise was never boring that was for sure. You were getting ready to go to sleep when the red alert sounded. Dammit, i guess you wouldn’t be sleeping then. 

You sighed sitting up in bed and swinging your legs over the edge. Well if you’re not going to sleep, might as well do your job and head to the bridge. You stood and got changed into your uniform. As you began to head over to the door, a huge jolt rocked the ship. 

Catching you completely off guard you found yourself being thrown forward, hard, and directly into a wall. Putting you hand out to stop yourself you felt and heard the crunch of bone before your arm slipped and you went head first into the wall, knocking you out on impact. 

The red alert sounded in the background while you laid half against the wall your broken wrist hanging limply by your side. 

On the bridge things were looking slightly better. The Romulan war bird had caught the captain by surprise and worf was a second too slow on the shield. The ship rocked and Picard signalled to open communications. 

“This is Captain Picard of the USS enterprise, romulan warbird you have fired on a federation vessel. This has been seen as an act of war. If you do not disarm your phaser banks we will retaliate with force.” He said gruffly and worf shook his head.

“No response captain.” The Klingon said.

“Alright Mr worf, power to the phasers and ready a full spread of photon torpedoes. Mr crusher bring us about 20 degrees star board. I want them in our sights.” He ordered. 

“Aye Captain. Phaser banks charged, on your order sir.” He said.

“Not yet.” Picard said holding up a hand to gesture his sentiment. 

“Sir a second vessel has decloaked aft starboard!” Worf said. “Sir it’s firing on the other vessel. The vessel had been destroyed.” He said. “Sir, they are hailing us.” 

“On screen Mr Worf.” Picard said and the view screen flashed on. 

“Captain. I apologise on behalf of the empire, a band of … rogues have been attempting to start war with the federation. They had commandeered a ship and paid with their lives. I trust this misplaced and misguided act of aggression is forgivable?” The romulan captain said. 

Picard held up a hand and Worf turned off audio. 

“Deanna?” The captain asked. 

“He’s telling the truth sir. I sense no guilt or lies in his words. More like … apprehension for your answer.” She said and Picard nodded to worf again. 

“Captain, i trust as this remains an isolated incident the federation is willing to … overlook this act as a sign of trust which will hopefully reinforce the treaty. However,” he said straightening his uniform, “It must remain as such; isolated.” He said.

“Thank you Captain. And once more, my apologies.” The romulan said and cut communications. 

“Mr crusher lay in a course for our previous heading.” Riker order and Wesley tapped his console.

“Course laid in sir.” He said.

“Engage.” Riker commanded. 

With that matter settled red alert was cancelled and riker combadge chirped. 

“Dr crusher to Riker.”

“Riker here doc, go ahead.”

“Could you please send ensign L/n to sickbay. I have more patients than hands on deck currently and i need all my nurses here.” She said and Riker looked at Picard and frowned. 

“She’s not here doc, i assumed she reported to you when she didn’t show on the bridge.”

“Well she’s certainly not here.” The doctor responded. 

“I’ll go find her.” Deanna volunteered and will gave her a nod. 

You were one of the few members of the crew with a duel posting. You took the com in alternating shifts to work in sickbay. With a degree in nursing and the skills of pilot from where you grew up on a colony, Starfleet had granted you a duel posting on the enterprise after you had managed to defend you colony at seventeen and then helped provide valuable aid to its citizens after the attack. 

It was only a small colony, but you had been fast tracked in your entry process and it was barely a year later you had found yourself on the federation flagship. 

Deanna was in the turbolift on the way to deck 17. 

“Computer, locate ensign L/n.” She said.

“Ensign L/n is in her quarters.” The robotic voice responded.

“Strange.” Deanna muttered to herself. “Computer, what is the ensigns current status.” She said. 

“Insufficient data.” The computer chirped.

“What is ensign L/n’s bio-readings?” She asked again. 

“Insufficient data, ensign L/n has restricted access to that data to Dr crusher only.” The computer said.

“What?!”

“Ensign L/n has restricted access to-“

“Understood.” She said frustrated. “Why?”

“Unknown.” 

At that moment the doors to the turbolift hissed open and Deanna strode out and towards your quarters. She tapped the consul on the wall and heard it chime, but there was no response. 

“Manual override, command code Troi delta 2-1-0” she said and the door opened. 

She glanced around before moving into your bedroom and hurried to your side. 

“Troi to sickbay, medical emergency. Two to beam directly to sickbay.” 

“Acknowledged Counsellor.” A voice said.

A moment later the two of you were in sickbay. Dr crusher was just finishing up with the last of the patients when she saw you beam in. 

“God. She never does things by half.” Beverley said, rushing to kneel next to you and scanning your full body with the tricorder. 

“But thats what you love about her.” Deanna said and smiled. 

“Yes” the doctor responded, “help me get her up.” She said and the two of them gently lifted you onto a biobed. 

“she has a nasty break in her wrist. Surprisingly her head seems more or less fine. Probably due to her strong betazed brain healing fast.” Beverly said and Deanna looked up.

“Her what?!” She said standing up and Beverly winced. 

“Sorry, i wasn’t supposed to say that.” She said and turned away to grab a regenerator for your arm. 

“Is that why her scans are restricted? Because she doesn’t want people to know?” Deanna asked sitting back down by your bed.

“Yes. More like she’s afraid of it getting out. She was adopted on her colony after her parents abandoned her on an outpost in the same system. She does like to remember, she refuses to tell people. I think shes afraid of what people will think.” Beverly explained as she moved your wrist slightly and scanned it to check the bone was in place properly. 

“Nobody has an issue with me?” Deanna said questionably and frowning. 

“Yes. But your the Counsellor, you have to keep their emotions to yourself. Doctor patient confidentiality, something I just fail dismally in.” The doctor said as she switched on the device as it let off a low blue light and deep hum. 

“I suppose the idea of someone who could spill all your secrets does pose issues socially.” Deanna said. “My mother certainly does.” She said with a laugh. “Is she fully betazoid?” Deanna asked. 

“Three quarters.” 

“How?”

“Her mother was betazoid and her father was half. Based off her genetics.” The redhead explained removing the device and scanning your wrist again to see how it healed. 

“So what does that look like?” Deanna asked “is she telepathic?”

“To an extent.” You said and they both looked at you sheepishly. “I guess the cats out of the bag then. But i trust you’ll keep this between the three of us Counsellor Troi?” You sighed. 

“Of course, i wouldn’t want you to steal my job.” She joked. 

“I wouldn’t. And for what it’s worth I’m glad it was you, generally medical professionals are better at keeping secrets.”

“And I’m glad to have another of my kind on board.”

“I suppose so.” You said with a sigh and she frowned. 

“You don’t like that?”

“More i don’t like to remember. And doc?”

“Yes?” Beverly said avoiding eye contact. 

“Thanks for fixing my arm.” 

“No problem, hows the head feeling?”

“Not bad, i think it was partly the rush of emotion.” You said and sat up rubbing your wrist with your other hand.

“You can’t block it out? Nobody taught you?” Deanna said sounding surprised. 

“Nobody to teach me.” You said with a shrug. 

“I can.” Deanna offered with a smile. 

“I’d like that.” You said telepathically and Deanna looked shocked for a second before smiling broadly. 

“Oh god. Now theres two of you. You know not all of us can join your mental conversation. Us normal people would like to know whats going on sometimes.” The doctor huffed and you grinned. 

“Sorry doc. Confidential.” You said with an evil grin and she rolled her eyes. 

“So what are the extent of your abilities Y/n?” Deanna asked and you smiled at her wistfully. 

“Well I’m empathic, like yourself.” You said waving your hands as you talked. “I can communicate telepathically. I can catch some people’s thoughts but only if they are really focused on them and i try hard enough. But thats about it. Your mother sure posed a problem.” You said with a laugh.

“My mother?” Deanna said pulling a face. “I wasn’t aware you knew her.”

“Yep. Sensed me my first day here. Wanted to tell you but i begged her. A very out of character experience i must say.” You said. 

“Im sorry.” Deanna said.

“Not a problem. I rather liked some of our conversations. I’ve never been to betazed. Not that i can recall. She was a good source of information.” You said with a smile. 

“You’ve never been?!” Deanna exclaimed. 

“Nope.” You said popping the p. 

“I’ll have to take you on your next shore leave then.” She offered and you nodded. 

“I’d like that very much.” You said with a big grin after a moment you swung your legs over the edge of the biobed intending to leave. 

“Not so fast Miss L/n.” Doctor crusher said and you slumped your shoulders and sighed. 

“Didn’t think so.” You muttered under your breath and Deanna chuckled. 

“I want to do a more intense brain scan to check for any residual damage and your not to put any strain on your wrist for a few days. Next shift I’ll scan it again to be sure you haven’t been.” She said with a motherly look. 

“Yes doc.” You said and she smiled, coming over and scanning your head with a diagnostic tool. 

“This wont take a moment.” She said.

“Doctors? Am i right?” You said telepathically to Troi and smirked. 

“You’re not wrong.” Troi said the same way. And Beverly raised an eyebrow. 

“Why do i feel like you’re talking about me.” She said with an authoritative tone. 

“Because we are.” You said with a grin. 

“A grand error on my part.” She said with a sigh and turned off the device. “You’re good to go ensign. But your shift in sickbay starts in twenty minutes.” 

“Aye aye captain.” You said with a mock salute, you winked at Deanna and offered her your arm. “Shall we make our great escape.” You said and Beverly sighed. 

“always the dramatist, aren’t you Y/n.” She smiled. 

“Whats life without drama my dear doctor.”

“I wouldn’t know.” She responded. 

“And don’t ever try and find out.” You said pulling a face and hopping off the bed. “Let’s leave my dear Deanna.” You said. 

The two of you said goodbye to Beverly and left to go find out the extent of your abilities and maybe learn a thing or two. But one thing was for sure, there was going to be chocolate involved. 

#sicfic #whump #fluff #comfort #fanfic #star trek #Star Trek tng #Deanna troi #beverly crusher #hurt/comfort #self insert #hurt reader #injured reader #nurse reader #sickbay #star trek the next generation #platonic #doctor crusher #counsellor troi

[shybunny]

18+ ONLY 💗 MINORS DNI

weird furry scifi shit, spacefaring dragon searches the galaxy for a warm willing spaceship to lay her eggs inside 🛸

Stelmander was a type of dragon who could travel between the stars. Like most of her kind, she spent most of her time circling star systems, soaking up solar rays through the cells in her outstretched wings, and visiting planets to perform benevolent deeds. During her travels she met many beings, mostly smaller folk, but she occasionally came across another dragon too, and she wasn’t above a little daliance when she did.

Soon after one of these encounters, Stelmander felt that her egg-laying time was drawing near. She began to fly through the galaxy at top speeds, searching for a spaceship to lay her eggs inside. The living spaceships that small folk used to travel between the stars all came equipped with a warm, moist chamber designed to incubate dragon eggs. Stelmander used her psychic perception to follow a trail of warped space left in the wake of such a ship, and soon she was hailing the crew via microwave radio.

The ship was called Ahajas. Its sailors all greeted Stelmander excitedly, because it was considered good luck to encounter a dragon in deep space. The spaceship also signaled its own interest to her on a specialized subspace channel. But when she asked the captain for permission to dock, he was forced to deny her.

“I beg your pardon, madame,” he said. “It would have been an honor to accept you, but we’re carrying a cargo of life-saving medicines and cannot be delayed.”

Stelmander accepted this answer, and thanked the captain and went on her way, even though she could feel herself swelling with eggs. She would have to find another spaceship fast. She picked up another fresh warptrail and hurried after it, following it like a scent, and as she flew she could feel her ovipositor beginning to swell, to push through the swollen lips of the opening between her legs.

The second ship was called Perelandra, and it was even more voluptuous than the last. Stelmander was desperate to mount the soft warm hull, to insert herself into the soft wet heat of the incubation chamber, to lay egg after egg deep inside…

She was so distracted by her fantasies that she almost ignored the warnings that both the spaceship and its crew were urgently sending her. It turned out that Perelandra was temporarily infected with the Lormot virus—harmless to spaceships, but deadly to spacefaring dragons. Stelmander was forced to leave the voluptuous spaceship behind and look for another.

By now her ovipositor was fully extended and aching. She was getting really desperate—she had to find somewhere to lay her eggs. She followed another trail and met a third ship called Mima. She urgently asked the captain for permission to dock, but again she was refused.

“I’m afraid it’s not possible,” said the captain, “it’s simply not possible. The Mima is a pedigree ship, madame, we’re due to accept another dragon’s clutch in less than a week. Simply not possible.”

But Stelmander was barely listening. The spaceship was already in heat—its incubation chamber was in peak condition to accept a clutch of eggs—and it was signaling to her pathetically on its subspace channel, desperately begging for her eggs. The invitation was impossible to resist. Stelmander felt the pulsing contractions inside her, squeezing the eggs into her ovipositor. It was out of the hands of the small folk now. Mima needed her eggs, and she had to lay them right now.

Stelmander ignored the captain’s spluttered protests as she mounted the spaceship. She gripped the hull in her enormous talons to hold it in place, pressed her aching ovipositor deep into the moist heat of Mima’s incubation chamber, and laid egg after egg into the grateful spaceship’s pulsing inner cavities.

#nsft text #nsft #smut #heat/rut #mating cycles #egg laying #ovipositor #denial kink