#Galactic Routine

[lanthart]

Galactic☆Routine Update!! (my webcomic) 5+ episodes Up!! https://tapas.io/episode/3441993

Also you can start reading here. And the Spanish version here.

[mimvaart]

(⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) Un William Chiquito 💜

[jedidragonwarriorqueen]

Expanded Universe AU where Jacen Solo pursues a career in stand-up comedy. Is this anything

[aelirus]

Waking up and hearing your boss' voice over the intercomms and immediately passing out again #justgalacticthings

[pochapal-pokespe]

long time no see, god's least favourite horrors-riddled hivemind

[kxsagi]

Good morning, kxsagi. This is my second request and time for something funny. May I request: Blue Lock boys/men serenading Reader in the middle of the night in front of her apartment after a big argument. Cue Reader's neighbors throwing various household appliances at the boys/men. Characters: Chigiri, Yukimiya, Reo, Sae.

Bonus: Who has the perfect singing voice and who sings to the tune of 'off'?

P.S: Character list also applies to my previous request.

“𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞”

a/n: may this love find me 🧘🏻‍♀️

ft. chigiri hyoma, yukimiya kenyu, mikage reo, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, karasu tabito, shidou ryusei

chigiri hyoma

he shows up in a floor-length black coat, red hair slicked back, carrying a literal violin case like he’s about to perform with the tokyo philharmonic. 

stands under your apartment window like it’s romeo and juliet and dramatically tunes his violin at 2:06 AM. 

begins playing a thousand years with the solemnity of someone who’s lived through two world wars. 

whispers up at your window between phrases: “i’m sorry i called your skincare routine ‘excessive.’ i was lashing out. your serums are divine.” 

you peek through the blinds. your neighbor across the hall opens their window, yells “IT’S NOT EVEN THURSDAY,” and throws a bag of frozen dumplings. he dodges with an elegant twirl, doesn’t miss a beat. 

finishes the song by dramatically dropping to one knee, rain (from someone’s leaky AC unit) pouring down on him like it’s a movie scene. 

“please forgive me… i moisturized for you.” 

yukimiya kenyu

shows up in a turtleneck and a beret, carrying his acoustic guitar and looking like he just stepped out of a french indie film. 

stands under your window and softly croons a love song he wrote himself, called galactic destiny. 

“our energies collided in the constellation of fate...” 

his voice is breathy. emotional. you’re 90% sure he’s crying. your cat is watching with judgment. 

“i still believe in our spiritual link… even if you said my cologne makes your eyes itch.” 

some guy on the third floor screams, “TAKE THAT WEIRD SHAKESPEARE SHIT HOME!” and hurls a half-full bottle of body wash. 

yukimiya catches it, sniffs it, and smiles. “jasmine and mint... they have taste.” 

continues playing while crouching behind a parked moped for cover. ends the song with a whisper: “we were always written in the stars.” 

mikage reo

you hear commotion outside and think it’s a delivery truck. no. it’s reo... with a hired string quartet. 

four men in tuxedos are playing a sweeping instrumental while reo stands center stage, holding a bouquet and dramatically belting just the way you are, but off-key. 

“MY LOVE! i know i said you were being dramatic, but i meant it in a cute way!” 

he steps forward for the chorus and slips on someone’s garden hose. immediately recovers with a jazz hand flourish like nothing happened. 

someone yells “GO TO BED, RICHIE RICH!” and throws a keurig machine. reo ducks. it explodes behind him. 

“STILL RICH ENOUGH TO BUY ANOTHER ONE, LOSER!” 

you scream his name from the window. he looks up, eyes sparkling. “are those tears? did i win?” 

you yell, “NO, THAT’S STEAM FROM MY INSTANT NOODLES.” 

itoshi sae

shows up holding a tiny bluetooth speaker over his head, playing baby come back on repeat. 

dressed like he was pulled out of bed – hoodie, slippers, bedhead, emotionally vacant expression. 

says nothing for the first five minutes. just stands. staring. speaker held like it’s part of a sacred ritual. 

finally mutters: “you were right. i do sleep better when you’re next to me. that’s... annoying.” 

you crack your window open, about to speak. someone from 2F yells “THIS ISN’T THE NOTEBOOK, ITOSHI” and launches a broom. 

it bonks him square in the back. he grunts. doesn’t even flinch. just adjusts his hood and says, “you done?” 

still doesn’t leave. just stands there as the song loops and loops. 

your neighbor tries throwing a slipper. sae finally looks up and mutters, “you throw like my 6-year-old cousin.” 

isagi yoichi

shows up holding an ukulele, googled chords five minutes ago. his phone is literally taped to the neck so he can read lyrics. 

“uh, i know we fought. but this is me saying i’m dumb... in music form.” 

starts strumming can’t help falling in love, and it is... so bad. you’re wondering if he’s dying or if he’s just tone-deaf. 

the guy upstairs opens his window: “YOICHI, I HAVE WORK IN THREE HOURS.” 

a sponge cake hits him in the shoulder. isagi doesn’t even blink. “this is the pain i deserve. i accept it.” 

plays the rest of the song slightly offbeat, his voice cracking like a broken recorder. 

finishes with: “please text me back. i can’t sleep. i tried cuddling my pillow and it insulted me.” 

itoshi rin

shows up with a cheap karaoke mic plugged into his phone. no backup dancers. no theatrics. just deep, painful regret. 

“this is stupid,” he mutters, then starts whisper-singing drivers license like it’s a confession in a crime drama. 

he looks physically ill trying to express emotion. “i miss you. i hate that i miss you. but i do. it sucks.” 

the old man across the street throws a half-eaten melon pan and yells, “GROW A PAIR!” 

rin stares at the pastry, then at you. “do i keep singing or do i fight him.” 

“you’re doing great,” you say, sobbing and laughing at the same time. 

“... shut up,” he mutters, cheeks pink. 

nagi seishiro

shows up in mismatched slides, pajama pants, and the hoodie you left at his place. looks like he rolled out of bed, forgot why he was outside, then remembered mid-yawn. 

brought a tiny keyboard he downloaded a piano app for five minutes ago. sets it down on the curb, squats, and starts plunking the keys like a toddler discovering sound. 

“hey... you up there? i came to… music you back into my life or whatever.” 

begins playing my heart will go on, but he only knows the first five notes. loops them. over. and over. and over. 

pauses to scratch his head. “ugh, this is so tiring. can’t you just forgive me so we can go back to sharing a blanket and eating cereal?” 

your upstairs neighbor opens her window and screams, “PLAY SOMETHING REAL OR GO HOME.” 

someone throws a remote control, which hits him directly in the forehead. he blinks. “ow.” 

lays down on the sidewalk. still pressing random piano keys while flat on his back. “baby, my head hurts. also, my soul. come down?” 

you yell, “YOU’RE NOT EVEN SINGING!” 

“i know. that’s for people who want to live. i just want you.” 

kaiser michael

brings a whole speaker setup with colored LED lights. ness is standing next to him with a mic like this is eurovision. 

kaiser opens with: “i know you’re mad, but i figured you couldn’t resist a man with this much jawline and jazz.” 

begins singing perfect by ed sheeran in german. ness harmonizes. badly. 

“baby, i’m dancing in ze dark– NESS, STAY ON KEY.” 

someone from 4B chucks a rice cooker. ness screams. kaiser DODGES and CATCHES IT ONE-HANDED. “you could’ve cracked my highlight.” 

turns back to your window, still holding the rice cooker. “was that a sign you want me to make dinner?” 

you yell, “NO, IT’S A SIGN TO SHUT UP.” 

“same thing,” he shrugs, then adds, “you still love me.” 

karasu tabito

no shirt. bluetooth speaker in hand. pants look like they were pulled on during a fire drill. is clearly mid-breakdown. 

starts playing a slow jam while doing interpretive body rolls across the sidewalk. 

“babe, i know i messed up when i said your playlist was trash, but i was TALKING OUT OF FEAR.” 

tries to moonwalk. trips over a bike. recovers by body-rolling again. 

someone flings a laundry basket. it hits him and bounces off like he’s made of rubber. “GOOD AIM, BRO,” he calls. 

to you: “please. just come downstairs. i brought strawberry gummies and emotional damage.” 

shidou ryusei

shows up in a fur coat and heart-print boxers, holding a megaphone and a rose between his teeth. 

“BABY, I’M HERE TO MAKE NOISE, BAD DECISIONS, AND WIN YOUR HEART BACK.” 

starts screaming the lyrics to bleeding love at top volume. not singing. SCREAMING. 

someone chucks a blender out the window. he catches it like a football. “DAMN, YOU GOT ARM STRENGTH. WANNA JOIN MY TEAM???” 

you stick your head out the window: “WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING???” 

“PROVING THAT I’D RISK BEING BLUDGEONED FOR YOUR LOVE.” 

“YOU’RE AN IDIOT.” 

“YOUR IDIOT. NOW GET YOUR SEXY ASS DOWN HERE.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

a/n #2: @store-lover made this pic and it's perfect for kaiser's

[the-most-humble-blog]

🛐 THEY WERE JUST TEENAGERS — AND THEY SAVED YOUR SORRY PLANET (A Blacksite Eulogy for the Original Mighty Morphin Power Rangers)

While you were crying over your overpriced Panera sandwich, while your parents were arguing about grass-fed artisanal pork, there were teenagers out there throwing hands with cosmic death witches.

Not grown men. Not Marines. Not government agents.

Teenagers. With SAT prep books in one hand and power coins in the other.

And they didn’t ask for permission. They didn’t file complaints. They didn’t demand safe spaces.

They got summoned to an interdimensional command center — and signed up for war in f*cking color-coded armor.

🛑 NO ONE GIVES THEM ENOUGH RESPECT

They weren’t trained assassins. They weren’t getting hazard pay. Half of them probably still had algebra homework they weren’t going to finish.

And yet —

While you and your emotional support latte were arguing about pronouns, they were out there spin-kicking mud zombies in the throat.

No Kevlar. No congressional backup. No antidepressants.

Just teenage testosterone, spandex, and enough inner rage to crater a moon.

💀 THE ENEMY ROSTER:

Rita Repulsa: Cosmic Witch Aunt with evil goals, a questionable skincare routine, and a vocal fry that could sterilize a goat.

Goldar: A winged ape covered in gold armor who sounded like he gargled motor oil every morning. (Respect. Goldar was a beast.)

Putties (or "Puddies" — who gives a shit): Literal clay zombies who showed up to every fight like crash test dummies with ADHD.

And how did the Rangers treat them?

Like discount punching bags.

Spin kicks. Flying knees. Dropkicks to the throat. They didn’t even need a full morph sometimes — just boots and bad attitudes.

🧠 YOU THINK YOUR FINAL EXAMS WERE HARD?

Try being 16 years old and having:

Zords to pilot

Death beams to dodge

Homework still due by Monday

And if you failed?

You didn’t just get a bad grade. You got vaporized by a space tyrant.

🛡️ NO COMMITTEE HEARINGS. NO PITY PARTIES.

They didn’t sue Rita. They didn’t file grievance reports with Zordon.

They threw hands. They flipped over concrete. They somersaulted over explosions that would liquefy most Instagram influencers.

They woke up, morphed up, and chose violence.

And they did it without adult supervision.

Because guess what? The adults weren’t going to save sh*t.

🧠 TL;DR

They didn’t have backup.

They didn’t get applause.

They didn’t have TikTok therapists dissecting their trauma.

They had helmets, flips, and fists.

You owe your 90s childhood to five high schoolers who said yes to the ugliest job offer in galactic history — and threw hands until the cosmos learned their names.

💣 CALL TO ACTION:

🔁 Reblog if you know the Rangers deserved hazard pay and a pension by 18 🦖 Save this if you ever wanted to Falcon-punch a Putty like it owed you lunch money 🛡️ Send it to the friend who still does roundhouse kicks when no one’s looking 🔥 Bookmark it if you know Zordon’s draft was the last time teenagers were built properly

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER:

This post is Blacksite Literature™, mythological reconstruction, nostalgic rage therapy, and 90s child soldier appreciation protected under literary satire and cosmic battle doctrine.

If you’re offended: Go put on your training wheels and cry about it. The Rangers were out fighting moon demons while you were still asking your mom if you could watch PG-13 movies.

🛡️ BLACKSITE LOYALTY DRILL™

🛐 BLACKSITE CHALLENGE: “WOULD YOU HAVE MORPHED?”

Ask yourself:

When Zordon called, when Rita dropped monsters on your city, when your best defense was a dinosaur robot and a helmet:

Would you have fought? Or would you have begged for safe zones and vegan concessions?

🔥 Reblog if you know you would’ve thrown a backflip into the void ⚡ Save if you would’ve swung fists before filing complaints 📡 DM it to someone who forgot teenagers used to be dangerous

🛐

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (25 - Anger and Bargaining)

Chapter Summary: Wanda’s absence used up all the hurt you could feel, until you were just a husk, observing and unfeeling.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 4.4k+ | Chapter Tags: angst, violence, and more angst Warning: thoughts of self-harm and suicide

A/N: There will be a few chapters without Wanda, but I promise you will get your answers about Y/N // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Forty days had passed since you last felt her heartbeat next to yours.

Time moved differently after that loss.

Forty days had passed, and you still woke up expecting to find Wanda tangled in the sheets beside you, hair splayed on the pillow, her sleepy smile lighting up your whole goddamn universe. And every morning, without fail, you reached over to cold, empty sheets. It was as though some tiny part of you still believed in a world where the Snap was temporary. Where you’d press a kiss to Wanda’s forehead and feel her warm breath against your neck.

Steve Rogers didn’t quit. Not right away. The moment you all returned, he and Carol pored over galactic maps, trying every back-channel cosmic contact she had. If there was a whisper of a rumor that might undo the Snap without the Stones, they chased it. But every lead fizzled eventually.

After some time, Carol got called away to help other worlds pick up the pieces Thanos left behind. Some had missing leaders, others had entire fleets wiped out. She promised to keep looking, but the fact was, the universe still needed her out there. You knew she carried an unspoken guilt—like she was leaving you all short-handed—and maybe she was. But you couldn’t hold it against her.

Tony, on the other hand, took an entirely different route. You remembered the day he stood in front of the compound’s main table, staring at the empty chairs around it, then just... shook his head. He’d gone off to direct a wide-scale humanitarian effort—food drops, medical camps, building shelters for those left behind. 

That left Steve and Natasha, holding down the fort in the old Avengers compound. They answered crisis calls, put out smaller fires. You sometimes forced yourself to be there, but the truth was, you mostly holed up in your room. On a good day, you managed a half-hearted pitch of ideas or opinion. But eventually, the good days ran out. Your absences grew more frequent, until the four walls of your room became your entire world.

Natasha, for her part, never complained. She’d set food in front of you—a sandwich, a salad, sometimes just a handful of nuts—because that was all you could stomach before your throat closed up. She’d give you space when you needed it, which was often. It wasn’t fair, but you couldn’t stop. If the world was going to keep spinning without Wanda, then everyone else might as well feel miserable, too. 

Steve didn’t know how to fix you, either. You caught him trying to say something uplifting once or twice, always cutting off at the last second, like he realized it was useless. And maybe he was right. The bright-eyed captain who believed wholeheartedly in second chances looked haunted now, and it was supposed to hurt you too, seeing him this way, but Wanda’s absence used up all the hurt you could feel, until you were just a husk, observing and unfeeling.

In the end, it all boiled over. It was a Thursday (or was it Wednesday? You couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t care) and you were in your usual state, laying on your side, eyes drifting unfocused over the rumpled sheets and the plain wall beyond them. You barely registered the footsteps in the hallway anymore, the way people whispered outside your door.

You heard the door open and didn’t bother turning to see who it was. You knew it had to be Natasha. She came by at least twice a day to see if you’d eaten or taken a breath that wasn’t soaked in sorrow. You waited for the usual quiet routine: maybe she’d try to hand you a plate, maybe she’d hover for a few seconds before closing the door again. But this time, she stayed put.

“Get up,” she said, voice hard.

You didn’t bother looking. “Not hungry,” you muttered.

Natasha snorted. “I wasn’t asking if you were.”

Something stirred in your chest, but you pushed it down. “I’ll get off this bed when we have a plan to bring them back,” you mumbled.

“Right, because you’re the only one in the entire goddamn universe who’s lost something,” she snapped.  

You clenched your jaw but refused to take the bait. Instead, you stayed wrapped in the thick blanket that was starting to smell faintly, a reminder that it had been too long since you last showered.

Natasha walked further into the room until she was standing by the foot of the bed. “So, what? You’re just gonna lay here while everyone else does the heavy lifting? Maybe we’ll draw straws on who gets to babysit you tomorrow.”

You felt a flash of heat behind your eyes, a protest waiting on your tongue. She didn’t give you the chance.

“You’re pathetic,” she says, her voice cold. “Sulking, while the rest of us try to pick up the pieces.”

You stayed silent, fists clenched, but Natasha wasn’t done.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” she continued, her tone colder than you’d ever heard it. “I see someone who had the nerve to get married in the middle of a war and is now lying down like it’s over. Someone who had Wanda—Wanda, of all people—and still can’t get out of bed to fight for her memory.”

“Natasha, that’s enough,” you growled, jaw aching from how hard you were clenching it.

“She promised you she’d come back, didn’t she? And you’re what she’s supposed to come back to? This?” Natasha gestured toward you, surrounded by the remnants of uneaten meals and discarded clothes. Filth.

Your pulse hammered in your ears, and for a moment you couldn’t believe what you’d just heard come out of Natasha’s mouth. You shoved off the bed and glared at her, the anger spiking hard and fast.

That final jab ignited you. You tossed the blankets aside and stood, eyes burning with a fury that wanted a target, any target. “What the hell do you want?” you snarled. “You come in here, wave her name around—”

She didn’t blink. “I want you to remember we’re a family,” she said, voice dropping a notch,  like that single word ought to mend every wound. “And don’t give me that crap about how Wanda was your only family. I get that she meant everything to you. But that doesn’t mean you get to shut down and isolate yourself while the rest of us are trying to—”

Before she could finish, you turned on your heel and yanked open the closet door. You started rifling through the small stash of clean clothes you hadn’t touched in days. Jeans, sweatshirts—whatever you could grab first, you shoved into a battered backpack without bothering to fold.

Natasha’s stance went rigid. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” you spat, wrestling the zipper. “I need space, and I can’t get it here. I’m done being your charity case. Hell, I’m done being mine.”

“So, you’re just gonna run?” she said, voice dripping with disdain. “You think that fixes anything?”

“I’m not running,” you countered, but it rang hollow even to your own ears. “I’m just… I’m tired. Of disappointing you, of pretending to believe that one day, it’ll get better. Whoever you think we’re still searching for—whoever you want me to be right now—is gone.”

“That’s not true,” she tried, but it came out weak. You slung the backpack over your shoulder and glared at her.

“Sorry,” you said, though you didn’t sound it.

You had no idea that would be the last time you’d speak to her for half a decade.

—

You weren’t sure what you were looking for. Perhaps a distraction? Or maybe confirmation that you’d burned all your bridges or that there was nothing left to lose? Whatever the reason, you found yourself on the road, drifting from state to state in a sedan with a busted radio, living off gas station coffee. The entire country looked exactly how you’d imagine the aftermath of an apocalypse. Everyone was still lost in their own heads, grappling with a new reality that marched on regardless. When night fell, you’d grab a cheap motel or doze off behind the wheel in a rest stop parking lot. 

Eventually, your thoughts circled back to the single question that always seemed to latch on whenever you’re on your own: What happened to her? The woman who gave birth to you, then chose everything else over you. The mother who hated you for a crime you never intended—for being the twin who survived when your brother didn’t. She’d never let you forget it, either, though it was your father who raised you until the day he died. She’d gone on to build a new life with a new family. You’d never bothered to find out how that turned out.

Against your better judgement, you decided to see for yourself.

You tracked down her address, almost expecting to feel a thrill of righteous anger or maybe a sense of closure. But when you parked outside a modest home in a suburban corner of Indiana, the only thing you felt was numb. A battered pickup sat in the driveway. A neat row of hedges trimmed the walkway. There was a “Welcome” sign on the porch that felt like a mockery of everything your relationship wasn’t.

You rang the bell, heart thudding like a judge’s gavel in your ears. When the door opened, you found yourself looking at a teenage boy—gangly, messy hair, a fading bruise on his chin. His eyes flicked over you, wary.

“Uh, hi,” he said, voice cracking a bit.

You didn’t know how to start, so you just said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m looking for—” You almost choked on her name. The woman who’d turned her back on you for most of your life.

His face went still. “She’s gone,” he muttered, stepping back a fraction, hand still on the doorknob.

You stood there dumbly, trying to make sense of why you came here in the first place. You’d come all this way, expecting maybe you’d find some closure or a reason to hate her more. Instead, the universe had already taken her, the same way it had taken Wanda.

Your mother was gone, and so was the chance for any resolution. A pit settled in your stomach, but it wasn’t grief. More like resignation.

“You’re her son, then?” you asked, not sure if you were talking to him or to yourself. 

He nodded, shrinking into the doorway. You blinked, realizing with a jolt that this boy—your half-brother—had lost a mother, and now he was dealing with a stranger on his doorstep.

Some half-formed apology stumbled out of your mouth. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I was just—”

“Who are you?”

You stood there dumbly, trying to make sense of why you came here in the first place. You’d kept tabs on her off and on for years—checking the local high school’s teacher listings, scanning social media posts from former students who mentioned her name. Even if your mother had cut you loose all those years ago, you couldn’t shake the need to make sure she was okay. It was a habit. Or maybe a compulsion. You never confronted her, never tried to mend the rift, but you watched from the wings, hoping she’d change her mind about you one day.

“I— I was one of her students,” you lied, the words scraping out as though they barely belonged to you.

Your half-brother frowned. “Her student?”

You nodded.

“She taught high school English. You look… older than most students.”

You forced a small, self-conscious shrug. “Yeah. I—graduated some years ago,” you improvised. “But, uh, she really helped me. You know, with…” You let the sentence hang, hoping he’d fill in the blanks.

His brow smoothed a little. “So you came all this way just to—what, see her?”

You nodded, trying to act more confident than you felt. “Yeah, I guess. I’d been out of state. I heard about everything that happened…the—I didn’t know if she was—” You paused, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. “I hoped she made it.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as the realization hit—you truly meant it. You were genuinely hoping your mother survived. 

He pressed his lips together, the corners turning down. “She didn’t,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked. You’d imagined confronting her, maybe not violently, but definitely letting some of your pent-up rage loose. But Thanos had gotten to her first, just like Wanda.

“So… that’s it,” you murmured, bitterness coating every word. “She’s gone.”

He nodded, looking as uncomfortable as you felt. 

You glanced past him into the living room—torn blankets, battered furniture, the marks of a family living with one less body than before. It made you think of the compound, of Natasha and Steve and the vacant seats around the briefing table. Anger surged again, but this time, it sputtered out almost instantly. You were just too tired.

Your half-brother stared, waiting for you to leave. Eventually, you offered some hollow farewell and dragged yourself back to your car. 

You sat in the driver’s seat for a long time before turning the key. You tried to drum up some of that anger—something to keep you standing. But all that remained was the same lonely ache you’d fled the compound to escape.

That truth was, you hoped your mother would learn to forgive you. That if she didn’t see you long enough, she’d start hating you less, and maybe hating less would make room for love that you craved from her. But she never reached out once, all these years. 

And that piece of fact kept something in you alive.

If your mother could hate you so passionately, refusing to forget, maybe that meant you could hold on to Wanda just as fiercely. Because if forgetting your mother’s cruelty was impossible, then letting go of Wanda’s love was unthinkable.

With a shaky breath, you pulled away from the curb. 

—

The next few months passed in a dull, furious blur. You ended up in a one-room apartment on the edges of Manhattan, taking advantage of the fact that rent had plummeted with half the city’s tenants gone. It was cheap—no argument there—but also claustrophobic: four walls, a tiny bed, and a single lamp that flickered off and on if you leaned on the wall too hard. You told yourself it was temporary, but you’d stopped believing your own excuses weeks ago.

Half the world was locked in grief, and it showed. You couldn’t walk down a block without seeing signs offering counseling or “miracle cures” for heartbreak—some free, some borderline scams. You ignored them all. Some days, you’d get cornered by self-proclaimed grief coaches, waving pamphlets in your face, promising that acceptance started with a single step. It took everything in you not to bark out a bitter laugh. 

Your reflection in the bathroom mirror told a brutal story. You’d lost weight, enough that your cheeks looked sunken, and your hair was a matted disaster. It clung together in greasy clumps that made brushing an impossible task. More than once, you’d tried to work a comb through it, only to end up yanking out knotted clumps. But it was easier to do that than bother with shampoo or conditioner. Sometimes you felt you deserved the pain, just for having the audacity to survive.

You didn’t socialize, rarely ate, spent most of your time in stale sweatpants staring at the peeling wallpaper. At night, you’d lie on the squeaking bed, that infuriating half-broken coil stabbing your back, and think about how easy it would be to check out—just drift off into oblivion. You’d picture Wanda’s face, and for half a second, you could almost convince yourself you’d see her again if you just let go.

But something always pulled you back. 

Wanda’s memory, stronger than the morbid allure of death. She’d never want you to hurt yourself, and you couldn’t betray her like that. You’d close your eyes, mouth twisted with grief, and whisper, “I’m sorry,” to the empty room. Sorry you couldn’t be better at coping, sorry you had no way to bring her back. 

Sometimes you caught yourself imagining the impossible. A miracle. And if, by some freak occurrence, you cut your life short before that miracle arrived? The idea of Wanda coming back and finding you gone—it made your chest tighten so hard you could barely breathe.

No, dying wouldn’t do. You told yourself that every time the thought crept in. You had to be here—just in case. And until that day came, or never came at all, you’d sit in that lonely apartment, hair tangled, knuckles white, battered by regret. And if death knocked on the door one evening… you weren’t sure you’d say no, but you’d at least wait to see if Wanda could somehow be on the other side instead.

—

For the next several months, you drifted in that numbing routine: sleeping too little, eating too little, and caring about even less. You spent your days in your crumbling Manhattan apartment, flipping through channels that couldn’t decide whether to focus on the lost or the survivors. After finding nothing to hold your interest, you muted the TV entirely and let the images pass by like a grim slideshow.

Then you caught a name—Ronin—and froze.

There’d been sightings of a masked vigilante cutting down criminals with lethal precision, first in Indianapolis, then Houston, and now, apparently, San Antonio. The camera panned to shaky phone footage—a black-clad figure, swords flashing, leaving a trail of bodies. Your pulse picked up speed. You recognized the stance, the lethal economy of movement. 

Clint Barton.

No one else came to mind. The man who’d trained you in close-quarters combat, who’d taught you how to hit your targets with almost the same precision. All this time, this is what he’d been up to, dispensing justice on a scale that made you question if you really knew the man.

Suddenly, you weren’t so detached anymore. Ronin might be consumed by vengeance, but a part of you envied what he was getting out of it.

Retribution. 

If the Avengers’ moral code had died with half of the universe—maybe you could join him on that side of the line. Or stop him before he burned out. You didn’t know which impulse guided you harder.

—

The drive to San Antonio took exactly two days and five hours. You had tried to make it faster, but the monotony of the journey wore on you, making the road feel endless. Fatigue set in quicker than usual, a combination of restlessness and the fact that you’d been surviving mostly on energy bars, neglecting to properly fuel your body. It was no surprise your efficiency as a driver had taken a hit.

Clint’s pattern wasn’t hard to figure out, once you knew what to look for: big fish, small pond. You staked out the grimiest part of town, where word on the street said Ronin was likely to strike next. 

But you found the target first.

He was holed up in a dingy suite on the third floor of an abandoned hotel. You broke in through a cracked balcony window. Almost too easy, you thought, adrenaline rushing through you like a drug.

Inside, you found him alone—his guards apparently out—and when he swung around at the sound of your footsteps, his face went pale at the sight of your drawn sidearm.

“Who the—” He didn’t finish. You cracked him across the jaw with a single punch, sending him stumbling back. In your old life, you might have hesitated, let him speak, read him his rights or something. But that compassion was gone.

The old you was gone. It figured.

You bound his wrists with cable ties and dragged him out to the balcony, your heart pounding. You’d never felt so in control. So… alive. Not since—

Something in the air suddenly moved. 

Clint, perched on a ledge a few floors down. You recognized his silhouette, the lean set of his shoulders. His hood concealed half his face, but not the unmistakable shape of his jaw. He sprang up with grace you’d seen a thousand times on the battlefield, landing silently on your balcony.

The moment he recognized you, he pulled back his hood, grimacing but otherwise composed. If you hadn’t known him for so long, you might have thought he wasn’t surprised at all. He started to say something, his mouth opening slightly, but you cut him off, your voice icier than you’d ever heard it.

“What the hell are you doing, Clint?”

His jaw tightened, and he pulled his sword free, pointing it at your captive. “He’s mine,” he growled.

“You’re welcome,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I saved you the trouble.”

You yanked your captive to his feet. He started babbling—pleading with you, with Clint, it didn’t matter. You didn’t really hear him, though, not in any language your mind was willing to process. Without hesitation, you shoved the muzzle of your gun against the side of his skull and—

Wanda, lying in bed one lazy morning. She’d been propped up on her elbows, her hair a mess, the covers bunched around her waist. You had just cracked one of those stupid jokes she always pretended not to understand. The punchline hovered for a few seconds before slowly, like the sun peeking over the horizon—it dawned on her. 

Her entire face had lit up, a blush creeping into her cheeks, her laughter bright yet still sleepy-soft. The joy washed across her expression in deliberate waves, and it was like watching daylight burst through the clouds. You swore you could feel the warmth against your skin, bathing you in light, making you remember for the thousandth time just how deeply you loved her.

—pulled the trigger.

The body crumpled in front of you, a burst of red spraying the concrete, some landing on your neck and cheek. You lowered the gun, arms shaking with the aftermath. 

Clint said nothing at first. He just stared, his sword lowered. He looked like he was ready for you to attack him next, or maybe for him to do the same. 

You didn’t return your pistol back to its holster right away, just in case. You stared right back, tears sliding free and rolling down your cheeks. No shame in it. Your lips curved into a small, defiant smile, one that felt alien but unstoppable. You didn’t bother wiping your tears or the blood. You just smiled.

“You’ve gone nuts,” Clint muttered tightly.

“Take me with you,” you said. “Bring me along, Clint. Whatever you do next… I can help. We can… we can double the body count of all the scum that crawled out of hiding after the—”

He narrowed his eyes. For a moment, you thought he might strike you down right there, disown you for crossing that invisible line. But he only stood in rigid silence, shoulders coiled like a trapped animal. 

“I work alone,” he said at last.

You nodded, tears still falling, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward in a sort of quiet resolve. “Nothing has to change. You keep doing your thing. Just… point me in the right direction. You and me, Clint—we can watch each other’s backs.”

He stared at you like he was seeing a stranger, not the person he once trained. The lines around his eyes deepened. “Does Nat know you’re here?”

The slight narrowing of your eyes was all he needed as an answer. After a beat, he turned away, dismissing you completely. Something in your gut lurched.

You didn’t really think it through—maybe you wanted to scare him, maybe you wanted to force him to acknowledge you. But Clint heard the click, spun around, and dropped low before you could squeeze off a shot.

He spun, dropped low, and let an arrow fly in one smooth motion. It sliced past your temple, drew a thin line of blood on your forehead, then lodged itself in the wall behind you. 

The cut stung, but you were used to much worse pain.

“You’re slipping,” you said coolly, ignoring the warm trickle down your face.

He huffed, a sound with no humor. “I’d say I hit my mark.” He notched another arrow but never loosed it. Instead, he took a step to the balcony’s edge, glanced over his shoulder with a look you couldn’t quite read, then vaulted off.

You rushed to see where he landed, but all you saw was neon glow and dark emptiness. He was gone, swallowed by the city.

—

A week later, you found him again—this time in a dusty backwater city, two states over. Rumors flew about a masked swordsman butchering gangs before they knew what hit them. You traced the stories, interrogated survivors, and stumbled across Clint on a rooftop under a weak moon. He wasted no time trying to lose you, weaving in and out of abandoned warehouses and barely-lit alleys until it felt like a game of cat and mouse. You knew it was a test, maybe even a taunt.

At last, in a crumbling storage building where mold clung to the walls, Clint stopped running. You stepped inside, gun in hand just to show you could. He was leaning against a fractured window, mask tugged above his jaw. He watched you for a beat, then pulled a folded sheet of paper from his belt and tossed it at your feet.

A map—circles, scribbled names, locations. You could almost taste the violence in every ink stroke: gang leaders, arms traffickers, crooked syndicates. You ran a finger over one of the circles, a knot of tension forming in your stomach.

“Deal with them,” Clint said, voice low but clear in the still air. “If you can. Otherwise, stay out of my way.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Pushing off the window frame, he adjusted his hood and left by a half-collapsed doorway before you could ask if he’d changed his mind about teaming up.

Your fingers tightened on the map. A surge of grim satisfaction ran through your veins. This was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? A chance to channel your anger into action? Your grip shook a little, thinking of Wanda, how far you’d drifted from the person she’d known. But you slid the map into your jacket all the same.

[chimeracomicscollective]

Five sci-fi webcomics from the Chimera Collective Catalogue! ⭐🚀

By Mike Stamm / @automansdaughter

An adventure story set in an alternate-historical dieselpunk world, The Automan’s Daughter follows military-school dropout Aisha Osman and her industrialist uncle Siddig as they outwit bikers, spies and kidnappers while gearing up for a tournament showdown with the formidable Widowmaker mecha.

✨ START READING ✨

By @jackarais / @bicycleboyblog

Our protagonist--a cyborg who calls himself 'Poet'--cannot recall anything before the day he woke up in the middle of the desert, surrounded by corpses.

With no memories, no purpose and no idea what the hell is going on, he sets out to find answers.

✨ START READING ✨

By Krispy and Space / @studiocartridge

Trigger Elliot is a bounty hunter who travels around the galaxy with his not-so-fully-licensed-and-technically-illegal-hunting-partner Vahn Gavotte. They’re lousy at what they do and often resort to petty tactics just to get a bounty, this is their life.

Their home planet, June 7, is a world rebuilding itself from an inexplicable catastrophic phenomenon that destroyed 75% of the planet’s surface. It has been 5 years since the destruction of June 7 and the planet now thrives on the transient and growing population of bounty hunters. Trigger and Vahn’s routine changes when a ambiguous huge bounty surfaces; an alleged bounty hunter killer named the ‘ghost’ with frightening abilities and an unknown motive. When Trigger’s past catches up with him, there begins a strain on his and Vahns hunting dynamic, forcing them to become further involved in chasing the elusive and unpredictable ghost.

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By Lorian Merriman / @longlostlorian

12-year-old Chandra (and her rich jewelry magnate aunt, Ajupris Lerazmine) have accidentally gone back in time. Now, they have one mission: to get their hands on the gigantic cache of the dangerous mineral that got them into this whole mess, chronotite, before it is officially discovered years in the future.

There's only one problem: the small moon where the chronotite is hidden is owned and operated by a corrupt galactic organization, A.I.D.E., and they'll have to pass the scrutiny of local administrator Mr. Demeck to get it. And even with knowledge of the future, there are some twists Chandra and her aunt can't predict.

✨ START READING ✨

By Ally / @varethane

Over twenty years after the world was invaded and then rescued from a terrifying alien force, humanity has begun to master the strange magic their enemy left behind. After spearheading the wartime research efforts, an organization called Wychwood has become the leading authority on magic and is aggressively hunting for new things to study.

This is kind of a bad thing for Tiara, a delinquent who has been using a mysterious power to goof around for years without realizing the kind of attention it could attract.

✨ START READING ✨

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chimera Comics is a creator-led collective that we run and manage out of a desire to share our work, prop each other up and create our own community. We sincerely appreciate people sharing our posts, and if you'd like to browse the rest of our catalogue, we have some really great comics there ❤️

[7-wonders]

All the Debts I Owe

Sith!Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Summary: A routine Rebellion meeting goes horribly wrong when the Empire discovers the coordinates, but the Force has other plans for you besides death and chaos. Enter none other than the Sith Lord who's become a perennial thorn in your side.

Word count: 3.8k

A note from the author: Hello there! It's been a while since I've actually written anything (like, six months), so I hope this is good! This fic is a part of my Rebel-verse, where reader is a Rebel and Anakin is Darth Vader, just without the crispiness and chopped-off limbs.

(Also, there are a couple of little Easter eggs in here that you'll hopefully pick up on if you've read my other works in this AU. Let me know when you find them!)

I sincerely hope you enjoy, and if you do, I'd love to hear from you! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks make my world go round :)

“...and the cost of fighter fuel will be supplemented by our trade alliance with Endor,” General Kessyk finishes reading from the tablet in front of her, and you have to hold in a sigh of relief when you realize that she’s reached the end of her prepared remarks.

The clock ticking loudly on the wall in the meeting room of the Rebel base on Mandalore has been the only thing keeping you from zoning out during the last half hour of the special session called by General Kessyk. When you joined the Rebel Alliance, you pictured your life to be nonstop action, fighting battles and gathering intelligence in the fight against the Galactic Empire. And sure, that’s been a good chunk of your time as a Rebel. But as you’ve climbed the ranks and slowly earned your way into a leadership position, you’ve come to the unfortunate realization that being in charge of the Rebellion involves a lot more administrative duties than you anticipated.

Including sitting through a boring budget meeting, of all things, to discuss how the Rebellion will be funded for the next half rotation.

Oona, your friend and second in command when your crew is out on a mission, nudges your side and slips a piece of paper into your hand. When you open it and look down to read the message, you have to hold in a burst of laughter. “Should I bring up the General’s shiny new robes and ask where the budget for that came from?” it reads.

“I don’t know what would be the worse reaction, her getting upset at your insubordination or her pulling out a detailed expenditure report,” you scribble quickly and hand it back to her.

Oona shoots you a cheeky grin and starts to write her own response, only for you both to be startled out of your merriment by the general calling your name.

“Yes, General?” you ask, pretending like you’ve been listening the entire time and definitely not forcing yourself to count each tick of the clock to keep from dozing off.

“I was inquiring about the status of your requested budget for the Jedi recruitment mission in the Outer Rim, Commander.” Though the Togruta tries to look stern, you can see the way that her lips just barely twitch as she tries to hide the soft spot she has for your antics. Kessyk has a tough exterior, indeed, but she fiercely loves those under her command, and has to often remind herself that she’s in charge.

“Of course.” You begin to pull up your (hastily completed last night) budget request when your heart seizes in your chest. 

The Force screams danger! at you a split second before the unmistakable sounds of TIE fighters overhead ring in your ears. Red sirens alerting the base of adversaries start screeching, and everybody scrambles to well-rehearsed places to try and decipher what’s going on. You unclip your lightsaber and ignite it, as do a couple of other assembled Force users. It’s second nature at this point to assume command of a crisis situation, so you look to your trusted right-hand woman, already at a blaster cannon.

“Oona, set blasters to fire and send out a distress signal to the fleet!” She nods, and you focus on the next order of business: getting out there and fighting whatever it is that’s come to attack.

Unfortunately, bombs drop before you can even take a step, giving way to screaming and smoke and, eventually, silence.

•••

In the years since he eschewed the Jedi Order and turned to the Dark Side, Darth Vader has gotten very good at compartmentalizing. Restoring peace throughout the galaxy and carrying out the Emperor’s wishes could often be brutal and bloody, so he had to make sure that he wouldn’t crack under the strain of the horrors he both witnessed and carried out. It was a little like turning a switch on and off. Before a mission, the humanity that he held within him, that wish for no more death and destruction, was hidden away, instead replaced entirely by Sith values. He was then able to do what must be done without any hesitation. 

(The aftermath of turning that switch back on and being faced with what he had done was horrific, but he secretly felt as though he deserved it—that it was his penance for all of the pain that he caused.)

There were times when compartmentalizing was easier said than done—killing the younglings all those years ago at the Jedi Temple, for example, had truly tested his newfound ability to do so. But there are other times, such as when intelligence points the Galactic Empire to a meeting of the top forces of the Rebel Alliance, that make it easy to shut a more humane part of him down and focus on the victory ahead. And now, as he stands aboard his destroyer and stares down at the smoldering carnage of the Rebellion’s Mandalore base, victory tastes sweet.

“Lord Vader, I have good news.” Admiral Batch, one of the few admirals not petrified of him, sidles up next to him. “The Rebels were caught completely off-guard, and as a result, we can confirm there have been over 20 casualties of high-ranking members of the Rebel Alliance.”

“Good news indeed,” Vader speaks through the modulator of his mask. “Are there any confirmed names that we can take back to the Emperor?”

“None for certain, until we can get down there and see identities for ourselves. We do know that General Kessyk was in the building, as well as a number of Force-sensitive Rebels.”

The moment that last fact actually registers with Darth Vader is the moment that his carefully constructed cruel facade collapses, allowing the Force to finally come screaming at him and tell him of the major mistake he’s made. How could he have not thought of the possibility that you, his Rebel, would be involved in this meeting? Through both Empire intelligence gatherings and the begrudging revelations from you that your responsibilities had been increasing due to your importance in the Rebellion, he should have made the connection that you were now one of those high-ranking members.

Instead, he allowed his anger and his passion to cloud his thinking until the only thing he could focus on was winning. It’s a move that has brought him pain countless times in the past, and now, it seeks to do so again. Vader has to force himself to remain calm, lest he lose control of his emotions and allow his connection to the Force to wreak havoc on his surroundings. 

He takes a couple of deep breaths before feeling like he can speak in a level tone. “Thank you, Admiral Batch.”

The admiral bows his head in respect. “My lord,” he says, turning and heading back to the command center on the destroyer.

There’s not a moment to spare once the panel to the observation deck seals and leaves him alone. He needs to get down to the surface of Mandalore before any Stormtrooper teams can beat him there and start confirming the dead and injured. Darth Vader hurries back to his chambers, where he sheds his bulky uniform and switches into a set of unassuming robes. Clipping his lightsaber to his belt, he pulls his hood up over his head and proceeds to sneak out of the destroyer and into a cruiser—an easy feat when one has the Force on their side.

The Rebel base, once so well hidden in one of the capital’s abandoned industrial districts, is now completely exposed after the barrage of Empire bombs shelled through its defenses. Rubble and detritus are strewn in every direction, making his path to the coordinates of the meeting room that much more difficult to maneuver. Vader takes great care to stay hidden under any outcroppings of the ceiling still standing, hyperaware of the fact that he could be spotted at any moment.

When he finally reaches the room where the Rebellion’s best and brightest were meeting, he pauses as he takes in the carnage in front of him. It’s nowhere near the first time that he’s stood in a room full of bodies, their injuries and deaths partially (sometimes fully) attributed to him. But it is the first time that he’s been so concerned for the welfare of one of the potential bodies. Vader’s frantic eyes scan the faces of the dead and wounded, both hoping and not to see you among them. If he doesn’t see you, it either means that you’re somewhere safe and far away from here or that you’re buried so far under the wreckage that he’ll never be able to find you. Likewise, if he does see you, he’ll have concrete proof that you’re either alive…

…Or dead.

A pit opens up in his stomach at the mental image he’s unconsciously created, and he forces his eyes to work faster, to take in more and more information until there’s no doubt left for his mind to play with. Finally, in the corner of the room, he sees your face peeking out from behind a crumbling column. He has the briefest moment of deliberation, a ghost whispering in his ear that he’s gotten too wrapped up in this whole situation, persuading him to turn back now, cut his losses, and find something else to focus his attention on. Then there’s a pop and a sizzle, a chunk of ceiling breaking off and hitting a pile of embers across the room, and the ghost disappears.

It feels like Vader teleports with how fast he makes it to you, though that is not a skill that the Force grants. Falling to his knees at your side, his hand shakes as he places two fingers on your neck, terrified of the potential outcome when he tries to find a pulse. After a stressful few moments, he’s relieved to feel your pulse beating steadily under your skin. With the knowledge that you’re firmly alive in mind, he takes a moment to actually look you over. 

You’re covered in blood and soot, making it difficult for him to determine where you’re injured. Your right arm is definitely broken, and it looks like your right ankle is, too. The extent of your injuries can be determined later by a medical droid. What matters now is that you’re alive, and that you’re stable. 

Everything else is secondary.

•••

The first thing you realize upon waking up is that you have no memory of how you came to be in a position where you would need to wake up. The last thing you remember, you were trading notes with Oona to pass the time during a budget meeting. Now you’re here…if only you knew where ‘here’ was.

It’s more difficult for you to open your eyes than it normally is, and when you do finally pry them open, your blurry vision prevents you from discerning where you are. Picking a light source in the distance, you focus on that until the room finally comes into focus and you see that you’re surrounded by white. White walls, white floors, white counters. The logical part of your brain says that it could mean you’re in a medbay. But the logical part of your brain feels…fuzzy, almost. Like there’s a blanket of clouds settled over your consciousness and making silly notions like logic and reason fly somewhere far away

“Am I dead?” you ask yourself.

Somebody laughs at you from across the room, and you look to see none other than Darth Vader, sans mask and cape and all other vestments that he wears as a Sith Lord, strolling towards you. “No, thankfully.”

Blinking rapidly doesn’t get him to disappear in a mirage, but it does serve to dry out your already-unreliable eyes. “Well, now I really think that I might be dead.”

“Not if I had anything to say about it. Which, I did, and it’s why you’re not dead.”

A puff of air leaves your nose—it’s meant to come out as a laugh, but parts of your body seem to not want to cooperate today, so a puff of air is all you manage. The action makes your nose begin to itch fiercely, and as you jerkily lift your hand to alleviate the sensation, you’re stopped at the sight of the blue bacta cast that covers your arm from wrist to elbow.

“Oh.”

“The med droids did it,” he explains sheepishly, as though you might be mad at somebody attempting to heal what must be a significant injury. “Your right ankle is in a cast, too, as are your ribs. The report from the droid earlier said that your injuries are healing at the expected rate, so you should only need to be in them for a few more cycles.”

“What happened?” you mumble.

“What do you remember?” Vader asks.

“There was a meeting, and I was getting called out by Kessyk for not paying attention. Then…” you try to think, but the blanket of clouds presses down on you further and makes everything scatter. “Ugh, I feel funny.”

“Pretty sure you’re on some heavy painkillers right now.” He grabs a tablet from the end of your bed and looks at it. “You’re definitely on some heavy painkillers right now,” he amends.

“How did I get injured enough to need enough drugs to take down a bantha?”

“The Empire received intelligence that some high-ranking members of the Rebellion would be meeting on Mandalore, and the decision was made to carry out a bombing mission. I didn’t even begin to think that you were one of those high-ranking members until after the bombs had been dropped.”

“Wow, you don’t think I’m good enough at my job to be a high-ranking Rebel?” If you had full control over yourself right now, you would be slapping a horrified hand over your mouth and begging yourself to shut up. Instead, you giggle (oh, the horror) at Vader’s panicked expression and bat at his hands with your own uninjured one. “I’m just messing with you. We both know that I’m really good at my job.”

“We do,” he agrees before continuing. “I couldn’t just leave without knowing if you were there, so I commandeered a fighter and went down myself. When I saw you laying there, injured…I wouldn't leave you to whatever your fate might have been if I hadn’t interfered. So I brought you here, to my fortress on Mustafar, to recover.”

A med droid interrupts your conversation when it begins to do a routine round through the medbay and sees that you’re awake. You allow it to poke and prod you, checking your vitals and doing whatever scans it needs, aware the whole time of Vader watching you. His stare is unwavering, closely supervising the droid as though it might rebel against its circuitry and try to harm you instead of heal you. When the droid chirps at him, he glares.

“I am letting you do your job, 21-B,” he huffs.

More chirping, followed by a whistle.

“That’s uncalled for.”

“You can understand it?” you ask, watching the scene in front of you with amusement.

“I’ve been able to understand droids since I was a young boy. For better or for worse.”

When 21-B beeps, even you can tell it's displeased. Vader rolls his eyes and proceeds to argue with the droid a bit longer before turning to you.

“Your temperature is starting to rise a little, and 21-B’s worried it’s an early sign of infection. He wants to give you some medicine to combat that. Is that alright?” You’re a little surprised that Vader is both taking the time to explain the droid’s requests to you and making sure that you consent to the care plan.

You nod, and 21-B begins to fiddle with the IV in your hand before injecting what you assume is the needed medicine into your line. There must be a sedative effect to this medication as well, because your body quickly begins to feel like gravity is no longer going to be able to hold you down anymore. You try to fight the way that your eyes flutter, willing yourself to keep focused on Vader. There are still so many questions you have that need answered!

“Do you know who died?” you ask quietly, using the stores of strength you still have within you to speak.

“Not for certain. There was…a lot of carnage when I came to find you. I couldn’t see who was alive and who wasn’t.”

“Oh.” Although such a revelation certainly warrants a better reaction, one syllable is all that you can muster.

Vader smiles just slightly at your struggle. “Focus on resting, and I’ll see if I can find answers for you, okay?”

You think you mutter an affirmative answer, but unconsciousness pulls at you before you can be sure. 

Though it feels like you merely blink, when you open your eyes once more, the shadows in the medbay are much longer than they were when you last saw them. One glance around the room reveals Darth Vader sitting in a chair at the foot of your bed, watching something on a holocron. When he notices you struggle into a sitting position, he powers it off and tosses it on a counter behind him.

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

“Better,” you respond truthfully. You feel a little stronger than you did earlier; your mind is markedly clearer, too.

“Good. The droid said that your temperature returned to normal about an hour ago.”

“That’s good.” 

Even though you should be focused on yourself, asking more questions about your own prognosis, your mind is with your team and your fellow Rebels—or, you fear, what’s left of them.

“Did you…learn any of the names of the injured and dead?” you ask.

Vader nods and takes a deep breath (Does his face lose a little color? you wonder as you watch his expression for any clues). “I did. General Kessyk is dead.”

You’re almost expecting that answer, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. And in a normal circumstance, you would hide that hurt until you could break down away from anybody. But this isn’t a normal circumstance. You’re hurt and thankful to be alive and probably still a little high on pain meds, which is why you have to stare intensely down at the cast on your arm to keep the stray tears that hit your blanket from turning into full-on crying in Darth Vader’s presence. To his credit, he is incredibly patient with you, remaining silent and giving you the space to feel your feelings. 

You manage to get yourself under control quicker than expected, sniffling a couple of times before you can meet his eyes again.

“My second in command—my best friend—was there with me.” It’s hard to get the words out, as a selfish part of you wants to not ask, but instead live in this gray area where she’s both alive and not. “Did you hear anything about someone named Oona?”

The control that you had been so proud of yourself for exercising crumbles the moment that you hear him say that Oona’s injured, but alive. Tears that were vanquished mere moments ago return in full force until you’re sobbing.

Not just crying, no. Sobbing. Like, gross, heaving sobs. The type of sobbing that will most definitely leave you feeling embarrassed later for having such an emotional reaction. At the moment, though, sobbing seems like the only way to properly express your feelings. Relief, at Oona being alive. Grief, for your general and likely a number of others who have lost their lives. And something bittersweet—some emotion you can’t truly place—for yourself and the position you’ve found yourself in.

After a few moments of indecision, Vader rises awkwardly from his chair and hovers inches away from you, unsure of what to do.

“I’m so sorry, Anakin,” you try to apologize in between sobs. “Really, I’m just—”

“Please don’t apologize,” he insists uncomfortably as your breath gets caught in your throat, causing you to almost hyperventilate as you try to remember how to breathe.

Darth Vader is a Sith Lord, and you’re a Force-sensitive Rebel; enemies, that much is true. But first and foremost, you’re both human beings who possess human traits and tendencies. Vader can’t help but sympathize with you, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder before he’s even fully aware of the action. Likewise, when your body recognizes another human who’s willing to provide you comfort in a time of need, it acts by taking his hand in your own and beginning to pull him down onto the bed before logic can say otherwise. 

“You don’t want me to hold you,” Vader tries to convince you while he’s climbing onto the bed with you and carefully avoiding your various bacta casts to slide his arms around you, somehow unaware that he’s the one taking the comfort further than just the simple hand-holding and proximity that you initiated. “I–I’m the reason for this. You should be sending me away.”

“Shut up,” you mumble into his chest through hiccuping sobs. 

Already, your breath seems to come a little easier, your tears a little lighter. And the Force, which is always humming around you with something to say, has gone contentedly silent. 

When you find yourself calm enough to dry your eyes and lift your head off of Vader’s chest, you have to fight a sudden bout of shyness to be able to actually look at him. “Sorry for crying on you so much,” you mumble bashfully.

“I promise you, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” Vader assures. “If anything, I’m surprised that you aren’t angry at me.”

“How can I be, when I would have done the exact same thing?”

He doesn’t bother to hide his shock. “Really?”

“Yes,” you admit with a laugh. “I absolutely would have bombed a meeting of Empire officials, and then belatedly realized you were probably there and tried to get you out safely against my better judgment.”

“Judgment seems to not be either of our strong suits right now. None of what’s happening to us follows any rationale,” Vader says.

“No,” you agree. “We should be mortal enemies.”

“Absolutely.” Vader tightens his grip around you. “Once we figure out why the Force keeps doing this to us, we’re right back to trying to kill each other without any qualms.”

“So glad we’re on the same page.”

You’re so on the same page, in fact, that neither you nor Vader let go of the other. Better to keep the Force happy, right?

[lanthart]

Maybe I don't talk a lot about my personal project Galactic✩Routine but, I'm actually proud of it 💚🎉

[mimvaart]

(Tora) De la serie webcomic y YouTube: @/galacticroutine y

Ilustrador y gran artista: @/Lanthart.Choripan👀✨

Si algún día, llegan a ver esto; chicos, gracias por eres tan únicos y creativos 🪄🥰 Son los mejores ✨

[stellarbit]

Hi Stellar!! Congratulations again on 1000 followers!! 💜 You deserve it so much! You are one of the reasons why I started writing TBB fan fiction in the first place, so thank you for being one of my first inspirations to start writing.🥰

Kissing as a distraction/“You are my equal in every way.”: Tech kissing fem!reader as a distraction during a mission in a really bad part of town on some Outer Rim planet. He quickly realizes that he doesn’t want to stop and reader feels the same since they’ve both been circling around each other and their feelings for months. Reader is possibly feeling a bit insecure over not feeling like she’s interesting/smart enough to hold Tech’s attention/affection. You can make this SFW or NSFW, however you see fit! 💜

Ilysm and I’m so so excited to read everything you come up with! 💜💜💜

Avoid The Droid

Word Count: 1.5k Pairing: Tech x gn!reader Warnings: Kissing SFW Summary: While delivering intel to a client, you and Tech run into a patrol droid and it's coming you way.

“You’ll need to keep up if we are to get back to Cid’s by nightfall.” Tech nagged you over his shoulder.

Squeezing through two people you got within a hand’s reach of Tech. He led you through the slums of Ord Mantell City. The smell and crowd of the slums already had you on edge, Tech’s nagging only amplified that feeling.

Hunter, and by proxy Cid, sent the two of you to deliver intel to a client. Oddly enough, the intel at hand was a sound clip of a senator coughing. Apparently, there was an encrypted message within the recording, but one you’d failed to understand the meaning.

You ran your hand over the datarod tucked away in your jacket, making sure you’d not just squeezed past a pick pocketer. 

“And there’s seriously some message? Not just a cough?” You called, probably too loudly for the scene, over to Tech.

“I assure you there is. I isolated the signature myself.”

“What was the message?”

Abruptly, Tech stopped to look back at you. His lips were pulled to one side, clearly not impressed by your repetitive questioning. “Would you rather discuss this further in a crowd of unsavory companies or complete the mission and get out of this degenerative sector?”

In attempts to appear impatient rather than embarrassed by the chiding, you waved for him on. Before turning back, Tech gave you a once over, eyes momentarily locking on your hand resting on your chest. 

He took a quick inventory of the busy crowd around you as he urged you forward. Without warning he leaned in and pointed beyond you. 

“The rendezvous is 100 meters down. Lead the way and I’ll see that you don’t lose the objective to a common thief.”

At times it was hard to tell whether he was being caring or condescending. You always leaned towards caring but were never surprised if it was the latter. As easy as it would be to take offense to most things Tech said, you were quick to realize Tech expressed himself rarely and to a select few of which included you.

He humored your questions about his gadgets and took interest in your area of study. Before resorting to doing jobs for Cid, you’d been a Senate Advisor as an expert in Galactic history and civics. As it turned out, the Empire had little use for such a speciality. 

Once the governmental tides shifted you were faced with two options: stop spreading what the Empire deemed as propaganda or face unspecified ramifications. In the shadow of the Jedi Purge, you accepted the death of your career rather than the threat of literal one.

When you opened up about your past with the Batch, Tech’s interest was sparked and a cycle of info dumping began. It quickly became routine for you to perch next to him as he worked on the Marauder, prattling on about political intricacies from centuries past or your theories on current happenings. Similarly, Tech commonly regaled you with stories about past missions, space travel, or the detailed mechanics of his work.

Quietly, the two of you enjoyed your symbiosis. It was so nice yet you worried about its longevity. How long could an obsolete subject matter expert like you hold the attention of a man who was simultaneously a soldier, engineer, and living database?

Having fallen into that familiar anxiety, you were blind to the traffic around you. A speeder came up on your right side and nearly ran you over. It would have had Tech not pushed you forward and out of its way.

The technician kept his hand at your elbows, sternly guiding you through the crowd. He was silent, grip firm, until casually slipping you both into a narrow, grimy alley just off the street. He backed against the wall, pulling a datapad from his belt, fingers flying across the screen. 

He’s annoyed. 

"Why are we—"

"Don’t speak," he snapped quietly, eyes flicking upward. You followed his line of sight and caught a glimpse of a patrol drone hovering overhead, slowly sweeping the street. A quiet curse slipped under his breath when the screen flashed red.

“I am attempting to jam the drone’s biometric scanner—” he cut himself off with a sharp inhale. You didn’t fully understand what that meant, but the edge in his voice told you enough.

“Do something,” you hissed.

“I’m trying,” he bit back. “It’s scanning every exposed face and cross-referencing with archived Republic data. Possibly clone-associated personnel.”

“Are you on that list?”

“More than likely.”

Your stomach dropped. You stepped back to look.

“Don’t—” he hissed, reaching for you with one hand while the other kept working. “Just stay still—no, don’t talk—”

“I’m trying to understand what’s going on, Tech—”

“I said—”

You took another breath, ready to argue, but your voice, your movement, the crowd noise, the proximity—all of it was pressing down on him. His fingers stumbled on the datapad. His brain scrambled for solutions, prioritizing probabilities.

The drone beeped.

Too loud amongst the bustling crowd. Too close.

You turned toward it again.

And Tech snapped.

He shoved you back against the wall with one hand, braced the datapad with the other—and smashed his mouth against yours.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t sweet. It was messy, rushed, and driven entirely by necessity and panic and you not shutting up.

Your gasp was swallowed instantly, lips crushed under his. His nose bumped yours awkwardly. His goggles pressed against your forehead. His free hand tangled in your jacket as he leaned into you like you were part of the wall.

And then—

Stillness.

The drone hovered a second longer. Then passed.

Tech didn’t move away, but some tension slipped away. You felt his breathing even out against your cheek, warm and fast. The pressure he pressed softened as he leaned away ever so slightly. It was just enough to look at you—eyes wide, lips parted, clearly realizing what he’d just done.

“I—” he started, then stopped, swallowed, and couldn’t speak before you closed the distance again.

You kept your eyes open to watch him a moment longer. His not moving was enough encouragement for you to move your lips against his. In turn, Tech softened and followed your motions. 

The sound of the crowd faded away, the worry of discovery drowned by the thrill of weeks of built tension breaking away. The discomfort of his goggles against your face and your back into the wall behind you turned electric—exciting.

When oxygen became a necessity you finally split. Both of your lips were red, swollen, and dampened with the taste of the other. There was a long beat of silence and Tech gradually disentangled himself from you.

Tech stared at you a moment longer, then said in a hoarse rush, “I couldn’t focus. You wouldn’t stop talking.”

You blinked, a brow arching. “Is that all there was?” Leaning your head against the wall you cleared your throat, asking, “Even after the droid was gone.”

Tech’s eyes darted beyond the threshold of your dark nook. The droid was indeed long gone. Tech raised his datapad, examining it but thinking of anything other than the data presented. He adjusted his goggles and avoided your eye.

“It wasn’t unpleasant.” He mumbled. “For some reason I feel relieved.”

Your heart jumped. It was a coded and vague way of saying it but it sounded like, “Like finally figuring something out?” You asked, blatant hope in your voice.

Tech stiffened at the suggestion, eyebrows breaching his goggles. “I wouldn’t disagree.” His eyes met yours, fell to your lips, and found your eyes again. “Enjoying intimacy with you was not my epiphany, contrary to what you are implying. Our time together made that obvious to me a long time ago.” He tucked his datapad away as his air of confident casualness returned.

The crimping of your brows told him you weren’t following his own implication. Uncomfortable with his prolonged vulnerability, Tech brought his datapad back to his face, the glow of the screen doing little to hide the slight upward turn of his lips.

“Perhaps your reciprocation just now made me realize it but…” On an inhale Tech glanced up over his screen, keeping your gaze as he firmly said. “You are my equal in every way.”

He gave you no time to respond as he abruptly turned back into the crowded street. “We need to deliver this intel before we run into another patrol droid.” He didn’t spare another glance backwards, still rambling about the droid’s presence as if you were at his heels.

All the weeks of worry were suddenly gone. You gently touched your still tingling lips as you stepped back into the crowd. His equal… Proud warmth rooted itself in your chest. You ran to catch up with him, shamefully hoping another droid would come along…

tags: @bruh-myguy-what @cyaretra @jetii @hshfsjzjsgj @zahmaddog @heidnspeak

[kirbyofthestars]

a fairly detailed kirby oc ask meme

🪐 (Saturn) - What planet are they from? Is it in Gamble Galaxy, Another Dimension, the Mirror World, the New World, or somewhere else? Where do they live now?

🧃 (Juicebox) - What species are they? What’s their biology and physiology like? Do they differ in any way from a ‘typical’ member of their species?

⚔️ (Crossed Swords) - What weapon(s) do they wield or specialize in, if any in particular? Any special properties? Do their weapons have names or epithets? [e.g. MK’s Galaxia, Morpho’s Doomblade]

🪄 (Magic Wand) - Are they capable of wielding magic? Is it a learned skill, or is it innate? What sorts of spells can they cast? Do they possess any magical items or artifacts? [e.g. the Dimensional Mantle]

💫 (Shooting Star) - If they were to wish on a clockwork star, like Galactic Nova or Star Dream, what would they wish for?

🪽 (Wing) - Can they fly, hover, or levitate? Is it through natural means or artificial means? If they have wings, what do they look and feel like?

🥘 (Stew) - Do they have any favourite foods or comfort foods? What are their eating habits like? If absorbed by the Cook ability, what healing item would they summon?

🧋 (Boba Tea) - Come up with a Kirby Café item themed around your OC! It can be a savoury dish, a drink, a dessert, or something else entirely.

☀️ (Sun) - What’s their morning routine like? Do they take a lot of time getting ready in the morning? How do they groom themselves? What are they having for breakfast?

🌙 (Moon) - Is your OC a particularly light or heavy sleeper? Somewhere in-between? Do they take naps?

🍅 (Tomato) - If Kirby absorbed them or their attacks, what Copy Ability [or Abilities] would he get? Alternatively, if they themselves are capable of using the Copy Ability, do they have a favourite?

⚡️ (Lightning Bolt) - Which Power Effects [Blizzard, Bluster, Sizzle, Splash, Zap] would their attacks grant? Do they have any particular weaknesses or resistances, elemental or otherwise?

🎶 (Music Notes) - Do they play any instruments? What kind of leitmotif and/or battle theme would they have? Are there any songs you associate with them?

💌 (Love Letter) - How easy are they to befriend? Are they more of a social butterfly or a lone wolf?

💥 (Collision) - What’s your OC’s combat style like? Do they adhere to any particular code of honour or ethics in a fight, or are they totally unfettered by that sort of thing?

⚙️ (Gear) - Do they have any knowledge of, or connections to, the Ancients? What do they think of them?

⚖️ (Scales) - On the subject of a certain someone’s lengthy rant; is your OC moreso on the side of magic or science? Somewhere in-between? Do they incorporate the two together in some way?

🍨 (Ice Cream) - The Invader Armour undergoes a drastic transformation depending on its pilot. If they were to wield it, what appearance would their mech take on? What abilities would it have?

🪞 (Mirror) - What would their Mirror World counterpart be like? If they are a Mirror World counterpart, what traits of theirs are reflected? Do the two of them get along?

🐛 (Caterpillar) - What are your OC’s greatest fears, and why? How do they act or react when they’re afraid?

💼 (Bag) - Inventory check! What items does your OC typically carry around with them? What do they carry them in?

🔮 (Crystal Ball) - Out of all the treasures in the Great Cave Offensive, Kirby is letting your OC pick one from his stash to keep! Which one do they pick, and why?

♟️ (Pawn) - Does your OC get possessed easily, or do they have the willpower to fight back against any possible attempts? Have they been possessed before?

🕸️ (Spiderweb) - Create a bouquet inspired by your OC! It can be based on their colour palette, flower language and symbolism, whatever they like best, or any combination of the three.

💜 (Purple Heart) - If they were corrupted by the Jamba Heart, which negative traits of theirs would be amplified?

🩷 (Pink Heart) - If they were a Dream Friend, what would their moveset be like? How much HP do they have? Would they be a strong attacker, or would they take on more of a support role?

🦁 (Lion) - If they were an animal — that is, of the Earth / Shiver Star / New World variety — which animal would they be? If they already are an animal, what real-life species or subspecies are they most similar to?

🕰️ (Clock) - What would a Dreamy Gear version of them look like? What sort of accessories would they have? What kind of role do they play?

🛡️ (Shield) - Which Clash role would your OC pick - Sword Hero, Hammer Lord, Beam Mage, or Doctor Healmore?

🦋 (Butterfly) - Does your OC ‘fear the reaper’, so to speak? If they fused with Morpho Knight, what sort of form would they take on?

🍒 (Cherry) - Out of all of the Dream Friends [Kirby included], which ones would they get along with the most? The least?

🥀 (Wilted Rose) - Do they have a Soul form? What would it look and act like? How much control over themselves do they have? Is it still possible to save them, or are they too far gone?

[komsomolka]

Former US President Donald Trump, on the advice of Henry Kissinger, sought to adjust to the new international distribution of power by “getting along with Russia” and instead focus US resources towards countering the rise of China. Trump was for several years presented as a Russian agent, a suspicion that lingers on even after the allegations and evidence were proven to be fraudulent. During the US Presidential election in 2020 Russia was blamed for placing bounties on the life of US troops in Afghanistan, another evidence-free allegation that was retracted after the election. The Hunter Biden laptop scandal proving Joe Biden’s corruption in Ukraine and China was then denounced as another Russian disinformation campaign before it was proven that the emails were authentic and Moscow had no involvement. Russia was accused of hacking the French election system until the French authorities disclosed there were no traces of a Russian hack. Moscow’s manipulation purportedly has a crucial impact on almost all elections and referendums across the West, although the accusations tend to either lack evidence or are proven to be wrong. The Russians allegedly hacked into the Vermont electric grid, which was revealed to be another false story that had to be retracted. Russia purportedly used a secret energy weapon against US troops in Syria and the US Embassy in Havana, although it was exposed to have been food poisoning and crickets. Sweden routinely discovers threatening Russian submarines when there are debates about increasing defence spending or joining NATO, which has been proven to be minks, vessels, broken buoys, and even the detection of farts from various animals. [...]

Caught up in the Russiagate hysteria, several British newspapers reported that “half of the Russians in London are spies”. Out of 150,000 Russians living in London, approximately 75,000 of them are Russian spies according to a report by the Henry Jackson Society, a think tank with an anti-Russian bent, which was then repeated as an “expert report” by various British media outlets (Hope, 2018). The British Daily Star reported that experts claim “Vladimir Putin’s war threats are why aliens haven’t made first contact”, as the barbarism and “primitive behaviour��� of Russia reflect poorly on the ability of human beings to join any advanced Galactic Federation (Jameson, 2022). [...]

The success of propaganda does not depend primarily on selling specific accusations, but on selling the binary stereotypes through constant repetition. Once allegations against Russia are exposed as fraudulent it does not appear to vindicate Moscow, it does not result in the removal of sanctions imposed based on false information, and it does not alter the overall narrative about Russia. Instead, the stereotype of a meddling and intrusive Russia seeking to undermine democracy remains after the accusations and evidence have collapsed. While the debunking of these stories should give way to a rational debate that reconsiders and recalibrates the threat perception from Russia, the narratives about Russia remain convincing as they do not merely appeal to reason. A Pavlovian reflex of contempt for Russia informs and strengthens the overarching narrative. There is little accountability for false stories about Russia, rather journalists and politicians are often propelled up the hierarchy of their profession. Instead of serving as a caution for future accusations, the false stories open the door for more accusations as the false stories are cited as a “pattern of behaviour” that strengthens the narrative of a belligerent Russia.

Russophobia: Propaganda in International Politics by Glenn Diesen.

[m-jelly]

Tame Me - Chapter 1

Levi x fem reader

Wolf Levi, fox reader, hybrids, romance, mates, soulmates, future fic, space travel, angst, mystery, possessive Levi, sexual tension.

Fic info: Levi is a wolf man, used like others to fight in wars, but now they're over. The government doesn't know what to do with them and doesn't want to lose their prized fighters. Levi attacks everyone, so he's chained up in a cell. When you accidentally end up there, he doesn't attack but shows a strong attraction. You're tasked with healing Levi's body and soul and helping him come back to society but also learning the planet you're from isn't so beautiful. The two of you uncover the truth and lies behind your illness, the wars and the experiments.

Ao3

Part 2

The ship's hum always made you sleep peacefully, and the lighting was dark neons, adding to the comforting feel within your quarters. Travelling space had always been your dream, so having a father who was the General of a special team carrying out the cleanup for the galactic union allowed you to travel. He let you join him on some missions as soon as you were an adult. You’d been with him for years, and this mission was important, collecting the most dangerous soldiers ever created.

For a long time, Earthlings and other beings in the Milky Way struggled to keep peace and allow people to be safe. No matter what weapons or defence systems were formed, it was all useless. The government on Earth decided to take the torch and sacrifice many of their people for testing. As a result, Fang was created, an elite team of bloodthirsty and unstoppable soldiers. The best of their kind was a wolf, Captain Levi Ackerman.

As soon as Fang was released, order was slowly brought to the Milky Way, but at the cost of those in Fang. Their sanity suffered, and scars covered their bodies. They were so damaged that when everything came to an end, when the members of Fang were collected, they were like animals. Your father had collected almost all of them, and all had slowly turned back to functioning people, but Levi was one of the last in his small special ops team.

You jolted awake from your slumber when you heard a deep growl and shouting echo through the ship. The AI recognised you were awake and began your morning routine, giving you updates, opening the shutter to reveal space and getting your clothes out. You washed up in your bathroom, cleaned your teeth and dressed for the day. You dried off your ears and tail, causing them to fluff up; it was often the downside of being a fox.

You checked your orange ears and tail to ensure they were okay before leaving your room next to your father’s. The ship was rather large, meaning it had to have a few lifts, one special one for your father, which you had access to. There were multiple floors to it, each with its own team. The top deck, which was below you and your father’s rooms, was the flight deck. It had the cockpit where a skilled pilot was and behind filling many rooms were intel providers and a large galaxy map, a separate room in the back was for meetings. The second deck had the med-bay, commanding officers and the mess hall. The third deck was weapons, main crew, quarters and research centre. The fourth deck hand training rooms, on planet vehicles and the cells to hold prisoners. Lower were the engines, main power core and a few other tech things.

You went down to the med-bay first to see your father chatting to the doctor, who always held your father in her heart, but your father was besotted by your mother. The metal floors clanged under your boots as you walked to the door; they slid open, causing the scent of antiseptic to wash over you. You gently smiled when you saw your bulky father with a very fluffy tail, It appeared he hadn’t slept much and didn’t look after his tail and ears.

“Father?”

The General perked up at hearing your voice. He pulled away from the doctor, making her scowl at you. “Hello, sweetpea, it’s not like you to be awake at this time.”

“I was awoken by growls and shouts.”

He frowned. “You did? You must have good hearing.”

You looked up at the wall to see scans of the most beautiful and divine body you’d ever seen. Your whole body flushes as you feel a strong attraction. “What is this?”

The doctor moved closer. “Scans of Levi Ackerman. We managed to get some, but people got hurt in the process.”

You studied them closely. “Woah.” There were so many signs of experiments and him being knitted back together after being taken apart, it broke your heart.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

You lightly touched a scan. “It’s so sad.”

“Sad!? He’s a beast!”

You looked over at her. “He’s a wolf who believed in our people and was abused and used.”

Your father placed his hand on your shoulder. “You have a good heart.”

The doctor snarled. “If she’s so good, she should see that beast herself.”

You held your head high. “Maybe I should.”

Your father pulled you along. “Come on.”

As soon as you were away from the doctor, you spoke. “I don’t like her.”

“I don’t either. I’ll request a transfer. I don’t want people like her on my ship.” He released a long sigh. “I need to go visit the Captain.”

You perked up a little. “May I go with you?”

“He’s incredibly dangerous.”

You tilted your head a little, causing your ear to flop a little. “I’ll keep my distance, I promise. I just want to see. I’ve studied the others and created a guide to help them. I can do it for him.”

He folded his arms and hummed. “I’m not sure. The Captain is the most feral of them all.” He leaned against the wall of the lift. “I trust you, and I know you’re strong, but I don’t want you to get hurt.” He lowered his head. “I know you don’t like it when your mother or I bring it up, but you were a very sick baby and kid. You’ve only recently gotten well in the past few years.”

You leaned against your dad. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to watch your kid grow up sick and you feel so powerless.” You watched the lift go to the floor where Levi was on. “I promise I’ll leave if things get dangerous, but you know I’m the best person to see him.”

“You’re right.” He walked out of the lift and turned to you. “Come on. Make sure you stay close to me.”

“I will.”

As the two of you walked towards the cells, darkness began to wrap around you, the air was thick, and the heat increased. A deep growl emitted from the cell at the end. Two guards sprinted out of the cell, blood on both of them. Your father stopped both and began talking to them, leaving you alone. The three of them pulled away from you and started talking about what happened and giving updates.

You did what you promised your father at first, but then there was something pulling you towards the cell. This pull wasn’t curiosity but deep within you, calling you to the person inside; it was like you were connected on a deep level, an unbreakable bond. Your instinct took over, and you walked inside the cell right as the door closed behind you. As soon as the door closed, it dawned on you what you’d done.

You jumped and faced the closed door. “Oh no…” You gasped when you heard a deep growling behind you and chains clinking. “Aah…” A hot body pressed against your back, strong arms wrapped around your body and gripped you tightly. You shivered as his scent washed over you. Instead of being scared, you moaned. “Mm.”

Levi nuzzled the crook of your neck and inhaled deeply. He stuck his tongue out and slowly dragged his tongue along your scent spot. “Mate.”

The light came on in the cell, and the door slid open as your father stood there with four guards. He held his arm up. “Don’t go in until I say.” He softly called your name as worry etched his face. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You nodded and hummed in reply. “I’m fine, he hasn’t hurt me.”

Your father moved closer. “Captain Levi Ackerman, you’re holding my daughter. Please release her.”

Levi hugged you tighter and dragged you deeper into his cell as he growled. “Mine.”

“She’s my daughter! Let her go!”

The Lieutenant pulled your father back. “General, I think it’s best if we leave her with him.”

Your father snarled at the handsome Lieutenant. “How dare you! She’s my daughter!”

“He’s not hurt her, he’s claiming and protecting her. Other women have been around him, and he’s never reacted like this before.” He placed his hand on the General’s chest. “Maybe she can get him to do as she says. Let’s step back and leave it to her.”

He gulped hard as he considered his Lieutenant’s words. He nodded and looked over at you before calling your name. “Do you feel safe with him? Are you okay to stay with him?”

You placed your hand on Levi’s arm. “Yes. I’ll be okay.”

“I trust you.” He released a long sigh, and for a small moment, you saw his exhaustion. “If you need help, you scream as loud as you can for me, okay?”

“I promise.”

He gulped hard. “Captain Levi Ackerman? Listen to me. That woman you are holding is my daughter, and she’s sick. You need to be careful with her.” His voice cracked. “Please.”

Levi squeezed you and grunted. “Safe.”

“Thank you.” He bowed his head and left you alone with Levi.

You shifted in Levi’s arms, but he yanked you closer and growled. “A-Ah, sorry. I uh…I’m rather sick and weak…so…I need to rest.” You squeaked when Levi lifted you, moved you and then sat you on his bed. “Um.” You flinched a bit when he dropped to his knees with a loud thud. He sniffed around you a bit before flopping onto your lap. “Oh.” You reached over and fussed his head and ears. “Good boy.”

Levi’s tail wagged fast. “Mm.”

You noticed his hair was a little long, his body was covered in scars, bruises and cuts. The only thing Levi was wearing was ripped-up trousers. “I bet you’d like a nice hot shower and some decent clothes, huh?”

He gripped your thighs, lifted his head and gazed at you with wide pupils. “Yes.”

You held his chin and looked at his pretty blueish-grey eyes. “I’ll see if I can arrange something.”

He leaned up and went for your neck. He felt you instantly tense up as he nuzzled and sniffed your scent. “Mate.”

You placed your hands on his chest and pushed a little when he licked and kissed your skin. “W- Wait.”

He paused. “Levi.”

You hummed. “Y-yes, Levi. Please wait.”

He pulled back and gazed at you with a softness in his eyes. “Yes.”

You placed your hand on your chest and sighed. “Thank you.” You coughed a little. “Sorry.”

He leaned closer and placed his ear against your chest. “Hm.” He put his hands on your back and held you against his ear. “Sick.”

“I am. I have medicine, though. I need it, so I’ll leave here to get it at some point.”

His ears went down as he looked upset. “Leave me?”

“I’ll come back to you.”

His tail wagged. “Promise.”

You fussed his ear. “Promise.”

You released a long sigh as you sat on the medical bed, waiting for your injection. You smiled softly when the nurse approached you with your medicine. He cleaned a spot on your thigh and injected the medicine, making you wince slightly. “Mm, thanks.”

“Sorry if it hurt.”

You released a long sigh. “I’m used to it.”

He smiled and placed a patch on the wound. “You’re an incredible person.”

“Thanks. I appreciate you helping me with the injections, sometimes I just can’t bring myself to do it.”

He offered you a drink. “Anytime.”

You sipped the sweet drink and hummed when you heard the dull vibrations of slightly raised voices go through the ship. “What’s going on?”

“I think that Captain is having a medical check.”

You gripped your cup as the noises got louder. Levi was not happy about his treatment and didn’t want to be touched. You placed your cup down and slipped out the small room before looking over to the main medbay. Inside the room, through the glass, you saw Levi had a muzzle on, collar and other chains to control him, but he was ripping out of them. The team managed to get Levi on the bed and strap him down, but he started yanking at his restraints, causing everyone to rush out of the medbay just as he broke out. The medbay was now on full lockdown.

You hurried over to your father with the doctor you didn’t like. “Father?”

He looked down at you and smiled. “Hello, sweetpea. Did you have your injection?”

“I did.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah.” You gazed inside the medbay at Levi. “May I go in to him?”

Your father released a long sigh. “I don’t want to give you over to him again, but you seem to be the only one who can get close to him.”

You smiled at your father. “I’ll help him. I have some medical training, so I’ll carry out the tests to see if he’s okay. I’ll heal his wounds too.”

He wrapped his arms around you, allowing him to hold you close. “Be safe.”

“I will.” You pulled away from him and stood by the doors. As soon as the lockdown went, you entered the room and waited for the doors to lock. Your heart raced in your chest when you heard Levi growl and huff. “Levi?”

He growled and glared at you. In a blink of an eye, he was in front of you, but his rage was quickly replaced with deep adoration and care. His tail wagged as he admired you. He softly said your name. “My mate.”

“I’m here to help.” You reached over towards his muzzle. “I came back like promised.”

He hummed and leaned his head closer. “Yes.”

You released the mechanisms on the muzzle and pulled it off. “There, that’s better.”

He nuzzled your neck. “Yes.”

You petted his head. “Let me take everything else off, okay?”

“Okay.”

You took his hand and sat him on the medical bed before taking all the broken restraints. “You’ve got a lot of wounds on you.”

“Hmm.” He reached over and lightly touched you all over while his eyes never left you.

“I need to patch your wounds.”

He huffed. “No.”

You cupped his face and lifted his head. “Don’t you want me to dote on you?”

His eyes lit up. “Okay.” He watched you move around him and slowly patch up his wounds. Any medicine you gave him, he happily accepted because it was you. The scent rolling off you was divine to him, but there was something mixed in that he recognised from all the battles he’d been in. He grabbed your wrist and sniffed. “Blood.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Oh, I had an injection right before coming to see you. So, the blood you’re smelling is on my thigh where the injection spot is.”

He looked down at your thighs. “You…okay?”

You hummed as you thought it over. “I am today.” You fussed his ears. “I need to carry out some tests.” You giggled when he growled. “I know, I don’t like the tests I have for my sickness, but I’ll do the tests, and it’s just to see your healthy. You need to be healthy, Levi, to be around me.” You cupped the side of his face, his eyes sparkling as you spoke. “I’m a sick fox, so I need a strong person around me.”

“I’m strong.”

“You are?”

He nodded. “Yes.” He shifted on the bed and lay back on the bed. “Test me.”

You picked up an injector and approached him. You tried not to look at his heaving chest with plump pecs and abs covered in scars, but it was hard not to. You gulped hard and smiled softly at him. “I need to take some blood. Where do you want me to do that?”

He tapped his arm. “Here.”

You pressed the injector gun against him and pressed. You saw he didn’t flinch one bit and just accepted it. “You must have been through many experiments when you were younger. I can’t imagine this is nice for you.”

“It’s fine.”

You pulled the injector back when it was full. “Fine? How is this fine?”

He reached over to you. “Fine with you.” He took your hand and brought it to cup his face. “You’re good.”

You pulled from Levi and walked away. “What if I’m not? I could be horrible for all you know.” You pulled out the blood container and put it in the analysing slot. “I mean, I am helping the people you don’t like on this ship.” You turned around and saw Levi’s chest right in front of you. You slowly looked up at Levi. “Um.”

He placed his hand on the wall behind you and leaned closer, his lips almost touching yours. “You’re my mate.” He tilted his head and sniffed your neck. “You’re good.”

“Levi.”

He took your hand and placed it on his chest. He growled and moaned a little. “Touch more.” He started panting when he moved your hands down a little. “Mate.”

“But I.”

He dragged his lips up to your ear. “I trust you.”

You pushed him back a bit. “That’s…you…” You sighed and fussed his ear. “Good boy.”

Levi growled and picked you up, making you squeal and panic those watching you both. He sat you on the desk and nuzzled you. “Again.”

You shivered as your whole body tingled. “G-Good boy.”

He leaned up and chomped on your ear. He growled when you moaned in response. “More.”

“Le-Levi, le-let go.”

He released your ear. “Okay.”

You whined a bit as you gazed at him. “I need to carry on the tests.” You mewled as he kept touching you and squeezing all the right places. “Levi.”

He turned to face the door as guards came in with the doctor. He growled at them as he shielded you. “Mine.”

The room became filled with growls, shouting of demands and threats of violence. You knew you had to step in otherwise, someone would get hurt. You didn’t want anyone to get hurt, especially Levi, because he was misunderstood. You slipped off the desk and stood in front of Levi with your back to him. As soon as you stood in the way, the guards put their guns down.

You lowered your hands. “Please, he means no harm. He’s just a very hurt man. He thinks I’m his mate. Please, please don’t hurt him.”

A guard raised his gun a little, he was new and terrified of Levi. As soon as he raised his gun, it was pointed at you, not Levi. Levi growled with rage at seeing you being threatened. He slipped from behind you and charged at the guard. The guard was on the floor before anyone could react, with Levi pinning him down, ready to rip his throat out.

“Levi!” He stopped as soon as he heard your voice. Your heart raced as he looked over at you. “Don’t hurt him, he was just doing his job. Please.” You coughed a bit as your heart raced more. “A-Ah.” Dizziness hits you. “Father.” Before you knew it, you were on the floor with blood trickling down your nose. “Dad.” Tears ran down your face as you watched Levi and your father rush over. “Dad.”

Your father skidded to his knees and picked you up in his arms. He called your name as Levi sniffed you over. “Stop sniffing her!”

Levi hummed in thought before racing over to the medicine storage and rummaging through it. He shot over to you and pulled a cap off the end of an injector. “Arm.” He looked up at your father as he stared. “Arm!”

Your father flinched. “Y-Yes.” He pushed your sleeve up and watched Levi inject you. “What are you doing?”

“Helping.” He pressed the button. “Smells match.” He cupped the side of your face as you panted. “You’ll be okay.”

You reached over with a weak hand and held his. “Be good.”

Your father released a long sigh when you passed out. “Captain, I know you’re incredibly hostile to my people, but you saved my daughter because you can sense how to help her through a mating bond.” He looked up at Levi. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but could you stay with her in her room until she’s better? If you do this for me, I’ll let her be assigned to you when we reach the space station and planet where you will be rehabilitated. Do we have a deal? You help her, and I’ll let you keep her around.”

Levi’s eyes lit up in pure delight; keeping you was all he ever wanted. “Deal.”

You rolled over in bed as your body began waking up. Something was next to you and producing such an alluring heat that all you wanted to do was get closer to it. You slipped your arms around whatever it was and felt it move. You opened your eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing you to smell something delicious, like freshly baked food with a hint of lemon.

Heat filled your cheeks when you saw a pec with scars on in front of you. You sat up quickly and gazed down at Levi, who was sleeping peacefully. “How…”

Levi opened his eyes and stretched, causing his ears to shudder, his fangs in view. He rolled onto you, nuzzled your belly and sniffed. He smelt up your body to your chest. “Mm, healthy.”

“I am? I guess I have you to thank for that, huh?”

“Say it.”

You fussed his head. “Good boy.”

He growled and kept nuzzling. “Yes.”

You looked around your room. “We’re in my room.” You looked back down at Levi. “Have you been assigned to me?”

“Yes.”

You fiddled with your shirt. “I guess we’re stuck together, hmm?”

“Yes.” He slid closer and nipped your neck. “My mate.”

You moaned a little. “Levi.” You slowly lay back on the bed as he licked and bit your neck. “Ah.”

“Pretty, soft and cute.” He kissed down your neck to your chest. “Mate.” He nuzzled his face between your breasts before huffing a little as his tail wagged. “Mine.”

You gulped hard. “Am I really your mate?”

“Yes.”

You welled up a little. “That sounds lovely. I feel something, like a tingle and a connection to you, but I think this sickness I have is messing with the connection a little.”

“I’ll fix it.” He kissed right where your heart was. “Make you healthy.”

“I wish I knew what was wrong with me.”

Levi leaned up and wiped your tears away. He softly said your name. “You…”

You shifted under his and got off the bed. “I’m okay now. I’m going to go shower.” You walked to your bathroom and turned to talk, but Levi was right there. “Ah, you, uh can’t come with me.”

His ears went flat as he gave you his sad, puppy look. “Why?”

“I’m going for a shower. I’ll be naked.” You backed up, but he followed. “Just wait for me on my bed. You can sniff my clothes if you want.”

He whined a bit. “I want you.”

You reached over and fussed his ears. “I won’t be long.”

He reached over and grabbed your shirt. “Stay.”

You pointed to the bathroom. “I’ll just be in there.” You walked into the bathroom. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

He whined as soon as you closed the door. “Okay…”

You released a sigh and started stripping. You slipped into the hot shower and enjoyed how it felt on your skin. The heat from the shower on you caused your scent to fill your bedroom. Levi was in pure heaven being able to spell you so strongly and in such an alluring way. All he wanted to do was be with you, hold you, bite you and love every inch of you. You were also thinking about Levi in the shower, how big he was and how one minute he was a strong beast, but the next, he was so gentle with you. You wanted to get healthier so you could feel the mate bond more.

You dried off and pulled on new clothes from the dispenser before opening the door to see Levi sitting on the floor. “Levi?”

He looked up at you, his tail instantly wagging. “You’re back.”

“I am.”

He shot up to his feet and hugged you. “Mm.” He nuzzled the crook of your neck. “You smell different.”

You shivered at his touch. “I used body wash.”

He growled a bit. “Not nature, but still nice.” He huffed. “You’re nice.”

“Thank you. I need to dry off.”

He whined when you pulled from his touch and walked over to your dresser. “Don’t leave.”

You sat and got your hairdryer ready. “I’m not leaving. I just need to dry my hair, tail and ears.”

Levi watched you for a while before approaching you. “Give.”

You turned the dryer off. “Sorry, what did you say? It was loud.”

He reached over. “Give.”

You stared a moment before realising what he meant. “Oh!” You handed over the hairdryer. “Here you go.”

He turned it on and began drying your hair, ears and tail for you. He loved touching you and doting on you, he could also see you were enjoying the attention as well. He turned off the dryer and put it on your table. “Comb.”

You handed over your brush. “Be gentle, I do get knots in my hair and tail.”

He nodded at your instructions and began brushing away. “Soft.”

“Thank you.” You glanced down at your comms and sighed, it was time for medicine. “Um, I need my meds.” You moved to your little office area and grabbed an injector from your special container, which was about the size of a small fridge. “This should last me a while. Sometimes I get the nurse to do it for me, but I’m a bit tired, so I will do it myself.” You pushed your trouser leg down and injected your thigh. As soon as you did, Levi let out a deep growl. You looked up at him. “It’s okay, it’s only a bit of blood.”

He huffed. “Don’t like it.”

“I don’t either.” You disposed of the injector and placed a patch on the wound. “All done.” You walked over to your bed and lay on it. “I need to rest.”

Levi pounced onto the bed and wrapped his arms around you. “Mm. Sleep.”

You felt your cheeks heat up from him holding you so closely. “Y-Yes.” Your heart raced a little. You had no idea how you were going to cope with him being around you so much. He was a dream, but he set your body on fire with passion and feelings. You liked being with him.