#I feel like I’m gonna explode into shrapnel

[lesbiansanemi]

The sheer desperation and frenzied manner that I keep telling myself “just one more week just one more week just one more week” to keep from snapping and going fucking insane is honestly getting concerning

[the-californicationist]

he washes your hair

Injured in the line of duty, you can't even manage to wash your own hair. Captain John Price decides to help you out.

MDNI/18+

TW: hurt/comfort, injury

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50663425

The medics did the best they could to patch you up, but the damage was extensive. The terrorist’s pipe bomb had exploded against your back, slamming shrapnel into your arms and shoulders, tearing your flesh and breaking your left collarbone. The doctor had tried to put your arm in a sling, but you couldn’t raise either arm above the midpoint. As you dragged your body back to your quarters, you did your best to get undressed, but you were now stuck, sitting on the floor, crying a bit from the pain and frustration of your injuries. 

There was no one to help you. You were stuck out here with the task force, but Soap and Ghost were still deep in enemy territory on recon. Gaz had gone with Laswell to find the weapons shipment that she’d promised you, and the only one left in the makeshift house-turned-base was Captain Price. 

You told yourself you’d do the same thing for him if the tables were turned, but it didn’t lessen the shame at all. You called his cell, 

“Cap?”

“Sparrow? What’s wrong?”

You never called him like this. Not at this hour. But, knowing you were injured, he picked right up. His voice was full of concern. You could picture his blue eyes shining with his worry. 

“Nothing…” you paused, “Well, I…”

“Gonna die of old age before you tell me, soldier.”

You smiled, biting the bullet,

“Cap, I need your help. I’m stuck in here. Can’t move my arms.”

“On my way,” he hung up. 

You waited, listening for his heavy footsteps. Eventually, you heard him in the hall. He knocked on your door.

“Come in,” you said, turning your eyes to the floor, unable to meet his gaze, full of shame. 

You were sitting there, in nothing but the shirt stuck around your arm and a pair of panties. You’d been successful with the rest of your outfit, proud of yourself for using a coat hanger to take off your bra from the back clip, but now you were trapped, unable to move even a little without being in excruciating pain.

“Poor little bird. Broke your wing, hm?” Price smiled down at you, his tone so different than his usual sarcasm.

“I must look pretty pitiful for you to be so sweet about it,” you rolled your eyes, “Go on, have a laugh. I’m a muppet who trapped herself in her own shirt.”

He didn’t say anything. Price walked over to you carefully, bending down so he could reach you, his hulking body darkening your vision, casting his huge shadow over you, almost protectively. He snaked his hand under the collar of your shirt and guided it up and over your head, careful not to disturb your bandages. 

Shirtless, now, and in just your underwear, you moved to cover your breasts, wincing as you made the attempt, your shoulder angry at the bent angle. 

“It’s alright, birdie. Let’s get you up,” he set your arm back into its neutral position and guided you to your feet. 

“I’m so sorry you had to come,” you whispered, shameful to the point of pain. 

Price guided you to the bathroom, his strength making you feel weightless. You were dizzy from it. His warm body felt like a salve on your wounds. 

He didn’t ask for permission when he stripped off your panties, kneeling to pull them off of your legs, letting you step gingerly out of them, one by one. You steadied yourself on his huge shoulders, the agony too high for you to complain any longer. Your breath caught in your chest when a sharp spike of hot pain shot through your chest. 

“Ah! Christ,” you gritted your teeth. 

Blue eyes looked up at you from below, looking like a man in prayer, looking up for his gods, for a sign. 

“Alright, Spar? Here, sit. Sit down,” he guided you to the side of the shower-tub combo, placing you between the open plexiglass doors. 

“Captain, I…” you tried to make your excuses again. 

“Shh,” he wiped some of your dried blood off of your cheek, and furrowed his brow at you, “No more of that. That’s an order, Corporal.” 

“Yes, sir,” you grimaced, trying to turn on the water. 

“Stop, birdie. Let me help you.” 

You were too tired to fight him. He turned on the water for you, and he started to remove your bandages. Your wounds needed to be cleaned and the bandages replaced. You weren’t sure how the medics expected you to do that by yourself. You thought the captain might be willing to stay, so you tried to be good, tried not to be a burden to him. 

“You know,” he commented as he waited for the water to warm up, reaching for clean towels, “Laswell called. She said you saved those two girls, the ones in the upstairs room.”

There had been a mess of civilians on this last mission, and you had blocked the bomb with your body, trying to shield them from the blast. 

“They made it through?” You wanted to be sure.

He nodded, smiling,

“Sure did, little bird. You did good. Made us proud,” then, he corrected himself, staring at you with fiery intent, “Me. Made me proud.” 

You smiled back, 

“Thanks, Captain.”

“C’mon, let’s get you clean,” he took off his shirt and you gaped in awe. 

His body was huge in the small bathroom, enormous shoulders bulging off of his heavy frame, and his core was thick but the top of his abs were sticking out, suggesting a well-fed but strong man. He was covered in dense hair, laying straight and flat against his skin, unshaven and untrimmed. No one to trim it for, you supposed.

“What are you doing?” You asked, shocked by his undressing.

Price unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking as it dangled, and started to take off his pants, using his toes to pry off his boots from the heel,

“Can’t wash yourself, and I can’t reach you from out here. Gonna jump in and help you,” he paused, looking at you carefully, “That alright, birdie?”

Your nickname was your favorite thing you’d ever gotten from him. When he used it, in his thick accent, it made your heart race. 

You nodded, resigning yourself to be as professional as you could, averting your eyes.

He chuckled, rich and deep,

“Might as well have a butcher’s now, love. Gonna be up close and personal.”

You looked at him then, accepting his challenge. But, as your eyes raked over his nude form, you saw his skin flush pink, a little more self-conscious than he let on. 

“I know, I know. Old dog like me, I’m nothing to look at. I promise, I’ll just wash you and get back out. Sorry about all the…” he made a general motion toward his cock, which was hanging heavy and half-hard at the sight of you, “Can’t help that you’re a pretty bird.” 

“John, you’re plenty to look at,” you grinned, blushing right along with him. 

For once in his life, John Price didn’t have a snappy response. He just checked the water again and helped you stand up, guiding you into the shower and repositioning the head so that it wouldn’t hit you directly. 

You let yourself soak under the stream, eyes closed, hearing him shut the door behind himself. You felt him steady you with a hand on your hip as he used a gentle washcloth to clean blood off of your skin, careful not to touch your wounds. 

“Turn ‘round, love,” his voice was so low, you almost couldn’t hear him. 

You turned toward him, watching him stand before you, breathing heavier, trying his best not to stare at your chest. It was easy at first. As he cleaned your face, his touch soft and platonic, he stole a few glances down. But, as he began to take care of your collarbone and chest, he lost his nerve a bit. At one point, he stopped mid-swipe, trying to clean blood from you and then watching as a long, thin rivulet ran directly over your nipple. 

You smiled, and he saw you, chuckling again.

“Got me. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Captain. Just a natural response.” 

He pulled back his lips from his teeth and ran a wet hand down his face, looking exasperated,

“Do you want…I mean, do you mind if I…” he let out a labored sigh, shaking his head. 

“You can, John. I…” you waited until he could look you in the face again, “I want you to touch me, if you want to.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, not really to you, “Look, I don’t want you to feel - ”

You leaned forward, a bit unsteady, and kissed the skin on his sternum, feeling the hairs on your lips, his wet skin sticking to you as you pulled away. 

“Little bird,” he was warning you. You could hear it in his tone. 

“Kiss me, John. Please?”

“I can’t. I can’t because I won’t stop. I don’t have an abundance of self-control. Not after a mission. Can’t be trusted.”

“I trust you,” you looked up at him, praying back to him, hoping he wanted you like you had wanted him over these last six months. 

Price leaned down, holding you steady, and kissed you very chastely. You kissed him back, not chastely at all. He moaned, pulling away,

“Don’t, Spar. I can’t…You’re injured.”

“Yeah, injured. Not dead.”

He smirked, unable to keep the grin off his face. His cock was as hard as a stone, and it was long enough to rub against your belly as you stood together in the small space. 

“Let me wash your hair. I’ll think about it, birdie…you little minx,” his last comment was said under his breath, full of hungry desperation. 

He turned you around again, and he reached for the shampoo, pouring out a quarter-sized amount into his calloused palm. Rubbing it together in his hands, he ran it through your scalp, massaging it until it foamed, making sure to take care of the ends. Then, he held you while you stood under the spray, letting the warm water soak your tresses, running the suds down the drain. 

As he prepared to wash your body, Price took a deep breath. He stayed away from your wounds, but as he started to wash your trunk, he hesitated to soap your breasts. 

“John, it’s okay.” 

He smiled at you, 

“Just enjoying you, little bird. Might not get another chance.” 

“I’ll make sure you get plenty of chances.” 

He was on you then, gently caressing your breasts and nipples with the soap, rubbing his body on yours, washing himself as he cleaned you. He ran his hands over your ass cheeks, down your legs, making sure to take care of your whole body as if it was his.

“Alright, all done,” he sighed, “Let’s get those dressings replaced, and I’ll take you to bed.”

You raised your eyebrows suggestively. He exhaled, smiling down at you in disbelief, his voice deep and ragged,

“Fuckin’ hell, birdie. Keep teasin’ me and I bloody will take you to bed.”

You smiled, laughing with him, enjoying his warmth as you leaned your body against his, letting the soft spray from the shower protect you both, cocooned together, safe and sound.

[vacate-et-scire]

“Again?!” – Part 1

Tony Stark x Civilian!Reader

Synopsis: You spilled your drink on a stranger. Then you Googled him.

Warnings: [None I hope, pure fluff and kinda awkward situations] [foriegn reader you are not from the states in this <3] [fem reader]

w.c 1.8k

You’re gonna be late.

Not fashionably, not charmingly. Actually late.

You’d planned to be early. You needed to be early. Your first day at your first job since landing in the country—everything about it made your heart pound a little too fast. You’d practiced your introduction three times in the mirror this morning, brushed imaginary lint off your blazer until it pilled. You couldn’t afford to look like a mess. Not today. Not when you’re already nervous that every mistake you make will be noticed harder, judged faster, weighed heavier.

You don’t want to be the immigrant they talk about behind closed doors. You want to be invisible. Or better: impressive.

But no. Your subway stalled, your walking directions turned you in a circle, and now, to top it all off, your English is trying to abandon you under pressure.

You shove into the nearest café, praying the line is short. It’s not.

You order fast. “Matcha, cold, uh—ice. Please. Tall. I mean… medium?”

You’re not even sure what you just said, but the barista takes your card and you move to the pickup counter, clutching your phone with the directions still open. 9:12 a.m. You need to be in the building by 9:30. It's a ten-minute walk. You're cutting it close.

So when your name is called, you grab the cup too fast. Turn too sharply. And crash right into someone waiting behind you.

The drink goes flying.

The ice arcs like shrapnel. Matcha explodes across an expensive grey button-up, dripping down in streaks of soft green horror.

You freeze.

“Oh no,” you blurt, already lunging for napkins. “I didn’t—oh god, I didn’t see, I wasn’t—!”

The man takes a stunned step back, blinking down at himself. The drink has fully committed to soaking him. There's a single cube of ice clinging to his collarbone like a final insult.

You reach out helplessly with a napkin, then freeze halfway, not wanting to actually… touch him. Not now. Not like this.

“I’m sorry,” you say, too quickly. “I am late, I—first day, new job, I was not—my hand slipped, but I pay for shirt, I clean, please don’t—don’t be mad.”

Your words trip and tangle with your accent. You hate how it makes you sound so unsure.

To your shock, the man doesn’t yell. Doesn’t flinch. In fact, his mouth quirks upward like this is funny. Like this—you—are funny.

“Well,” he says, shaking out the front of his shirt like he does this sort of thing on the regular. “That’s one way to make a first impression.”

You flush. “Please don’t be angry. I don’t want to lose my job. I already… it’s already hard.”

His eyebrows tick upward. The grin softens.

“I’m not angry,” he says. “Trust me, I’ve had worse mornings.”

You frown. “You are… very calm.”

“Yeah, well. You look like you might actually cry,” he says, tilting his head. “Didn’t want to risk making you the one who ends up comforting me.”

You let out a helpless, mortified little noise and try to mop a bit of matcha off the counter. “This is so bad. I am so late now. I was trying to be professional.”

“Mm. How’s that going?”

You glare at him, but there’s no heat in it. “I will cry. Don’t test me.”

He laughs at that. It’s warm. Easy. The kind of laugh that makes you feel like you’ve already won something just by making it happen.

You glance at the barista, who’s biting her lip behind the counter, eyes darting between the two of you like she’s watching a scene from a romcom.

“Here,” she says finally, sliding a fresh matcha toward you. “No charge. And… maybe next time don’t drink and drive.”

“That is not funny,” you mutter, cheeks burning.

The man takes the extra napkins she offers and dabs at his shirt without much concern. You watch a splotch of green sink deeper into his lapel.

“I’ll live,” he says. “Though if I turn into the Hulk, I expect a formal apology.”

You furrow your brow. “That’s not how Hulk works.”

He pauses. Grins. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that.”

You don’t have time to ask what that means. Your phone buzzes in your hand: 9:17 a.m.

You curse under your breath and look up at him one last time, guilt gnawing at your stomach.

“I really am sorry,” you say again. “You were just… standing there. I wasn’t watching. It’s my fault.”

He shrugs, stuffing soggy napkins into a nearby trash bin. “You were in a rush. I get it. Maybe I should’ve worn green.”

You smile, despite yourself. “Thank you. For not yelling. Or suing.”

“Maybe I’ll save it for next time.”

“There will not be a next time.”

He just hums. Like he knows something you don’t.

And before you can ask his name—or offer yours—he waves a lazy hand and slips out the door, sunglasses already on, like this was all just another Tuesday.

You're left with your second drink, a ruined timeline, and a weird buzzing in your chest like the day just veered off script.

The second time you see him, your heart doesn’t race.

It stops.

You’re halfway out the same café—new drink clutched in hand, head down, feet steady—when someone steps aside to hold the door for you. You glance up.

It’s him.

No spilled drink this time. No crowd. Just him. Crisp charcoal suit, clean today. Casual expression. That same slightly lazy posture, like he has nowhere urgent to be despite the fact that he’s clearly the kind of man who always has somewhere important to be.

You freeze.

For a second, you consider backing away and pretending you forgot something. Or leaving the drink behind. Or vanishing.

But he speaks first.

“You made it to work alright, then?” he asks.

His voice is calm. Dry, but not mocking. Like it’s a question he genuinely wanted to ask, even if he didn’t expect to get the chance.

You nod once, too quickly. “Yes. I was… not too late.”

“That’s good,” he says. “Didn’t want to ruin your first day. That’d be a hell of a reputation to start with. ‘Green-shirt girl who cries and runs.’”

You don’t laugh. You barely even breathe. Not because you’re panicking—more because your body is trying to figure out what the right emotion is. Embarrassment? Suspicion? Wariness?

You settle on something closer to cautious politeness.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you say quietly, shifting your weight.

He reaches for his drink from the counter behind you, then glances back. “Tony.”

You nod. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he says. And that’s it. He gives you a small nod, steps aside, and lets you walk past him like you’re strangers again.

You exit the café like a normal person. Even wave a little, because you’re trying to seem polite. Calm. Unbothered.

It works—until you get halfway down the block, and the name Tony sticks in your head like a splinter.

Tony.

Something about it itches at your memory. Not the name itself. Him. His tone. His face. The way people had been glancing at him inside the café. That weird moment when the barista caught your eye and gave you a look—like how does she not know who that is.

You walk faster.

You wait until you’re inside the breakroom at your new job, alone, your paper cup sweating in your hands, and then you unlock your phone. Open a browser. Type just Tony —then delete it, realizing how stupid that is.

You try again.

Tony suit glasses goatee.

You scroll. Nothing.

You bite your lip.

Then finally, you try what you should’ve started with:

Tony New York.

You were expecting some lawyer. A CEO. Maybe an author. Something mild.

What you get is headlines. Dozens. Articles. Photos. Entire pages of search results that feel like someone just grabbed the edges of your reality and tugged.

"Tony Stark Re-Emerges at Stark Industries Gala""IRON MAN Makes Surprise Statement on Midtown Innovation Project""Billionaire, Philanthropist, Superhero—and Now, Bachelor Again?"

You scroll. Scroll again. Then stop.

There’s a picture.

It’s him.

It’s him.

Wearing a different suit, yes—but the same face, same smirk, same stupidly expensive sunglasses perched in his hair.

Your chest feels tight. Not like fear. More like… the ground moved, and now you’re not sure where your feet are.

You remember holding a crumpled napkin out to him like a child.

You remember telling him you didn’t want to lose your job. That it was already hard.

You remember offering to pay for his shirt which was probably worth more than your years worth salary.

You lock your phone and stare at the wall for a full sixty seconds.

You walked away from Tony Stark like he was just some annoying guy in your way.

You wonder if this is the kind of story people laugh about at parties—"this one time, some foreign girl dumped matcha on Tony Stark and didn’t even recognize him."

You wonder if he's told anyone yet.

And across town—

Tony is lying on a sleek leather couch, changed into a new shirt, and grinning like a man who just had a religious experience.

He has no idea what your name is. No way to find you. And that is, frankly, unacceptable.

“You should’ve seen her, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he says, tossing a balled-up napkin into the trash across the room. “Didn’t know who I was. At all. Looked me dead in the face like I was just another guy.”

“Unthinkable,” the AI deadpans.

“And then the drink!” he says, raising his hands up up like it was a magical moment. “Most people notice me before running into me head on and making a mess.”

“She seemed… distressed.”

“She was honest,” Tony says, pointing. “You know how rare that is? No fawning. No social climbing. Just genuine gult. I haven’t seen that in years.”

“She did say she didn’t want to lose her job. Perhaps you should let her go.”

“Oh no. ” Tony leans back again, fingers steepled.

“What would you like me to do?”

Tony taps his temple. “Find her.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. hums in a way that sounds suspiciously like disapproval. “You don’t even know her name.”

“She bought a matcha. Around 9:15 a.m. from that coffee shop on 43rd. Cross-check her transaction with security footage. Filter for panicked young women with very good hair and poor aim.”

“You’re really doing this?”

“Listen,” he says, folding his hands over his stomach. “You get doused in iced green sludge and walk away with a crush," He says the word mockingly childish "You ignore the universe. I’m not that guy.”

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s thinking it: She didn’t look at me like Iron Man. Or someone to suck up to. She looked at me like a mess...She was kinda right.. very right.

And he wants more of that.

To Be Continued…?

[kamurawaffles5684]

Writing out more Nick and Kal fluff/angst bc I’m figuring out just how her canon story arc is gonna go. Yes this was inspired by Arcane season 2 it’s how I cope. Before u can dive into things, here r the tags and warnings ig:

TW: Hurt/blood/injury/slight gore/wound description/somewhat detailed description of violence; character attempts to better themselves; character worked for the Enclave; Mental Health struggles; Character has Borderline Personality Disorder; character comforting character; late nights at the Valentine Detective Agency; character has chronic insomnia

[Semper et in perpetuum, amica mea.]

Kal would sit on the edge of Nick’s bed with her prosthetic arm and a wrench, fixing the broken joints as Nick worked tirelessly on another missing person’s case. She couldn’t get rid of the memories of her time in the Enclave that had burned into her brain like a hot cast iron. She could feel something behind her eyes…like an energy. A nervous, singing energy that never came to a stop. She couldn’t move. Her ears buzzed with a loud ring. She knew another flashback was imminent. In a moment, she was plunged into a sea of familiar faces as her world spun and melted into a memory. This memory was when she was just in her late teens…just about 17 to be exact…seven years after her father’s death. Seven years after the fall of Raven Rock. This was the day that Kal had witnessed the horrors in battle for the first time. It was a bloody mess of a fight against the Brotherhood.

Gunshots rang out against the battlefield…Kal was in Power Armor…holding a gun the size of her arm. A assault rifle, to be exact. She fired off a round as enemy lines forced her back, two brotherhood soldiers collapsing to the ground in their broken power armor. A grenade exploded just to the right of her…bodies flailing out from every direction…or pieces of bodies, for that matter…all covered in shrapnel and blood. Screams could be heard from every direction. In a desperate attempt to reload, Kal dove behind one of the last places she knew she could be somewhat protected. A downed Chrysalus car. That was until she was pinned against the ground by a Brotherhood soldier, who battered her power armor with gunfire in hopes that one shot would nestle its way inside the suit and kill her. Kal strained against the enemy, desperate to get away. She was able to just reach a downed comrade’s laser pistol, firing it off as her suit began to dent and fold inwards from the gunfire, putting pressure on her chest. The enemy had fallen from the shot, turning into a reddish-black pile of ashes against her suit, the weapon that they were carrying clattering to the ground. In horror, Kal scrambled back, faintly hearing the sound of other soldiers pushing the brotherhood back and forcing them away. Kal couldn’t think as she clambered out of her suit, feeling sick from seeing so much blood and gore.

“Kal!” Nick’s voice rang out in Kal’s ears as he shook her shoulders slightly, trying to get her to come back to reality. Tears were pouring down Kal’s face and her chest was heaving. Flashes of blood and gore faded from her head, making her sick.

Kal covered her mouth, getting up quickly before too much bile tried to force its way up her throat. Kal retched, throwing up in the sink. It was horrible. With her entire body’s energy gone, Kal fell to her knees, sobbing. A flash of rage washed over her as she felt like she could’ve done something…anything to stop the flashback, yelling out in anger, throwing her mechanical arm across the room in a rage. Nick watched from the doorway, a somber look in his eyes as he saw her devolve into anger, knowing that it wouldn’t do him good to try and make physical contact with her until he knew for certain her anger had fizzled out. Kal broke into sobs again, and Nick nearly rushed over to her, his voice cracking slightly as he saw his lover and friend get lost between the lines of pain and anger.

“Hey…Kal…Kal you aren’t going back there…you’re not back there, kid.” Nick tightly embraced her, holding the back of her head with his hand, letting her cry against him, her entire body heaving as she tried to breathe against the sobs that left her.

“Shh…I gotcha, hun…I won’t let you go back there…ya hear me? I won’t let anyone make you go back there…” Nick continued, running his fingers across her back soothingly as she cried, apologizing for her actions.

“Hey…you don’t need to apologize to me…I know you got scared…hey…hey listen to me…Kal…listen to my voice…I’m not mad at you for lashing out…you know this place is always a mess…we can clean everything up. No issues…you just gotta calm down…ok?” Nick could feel Kal’s nails scratch against his coat as she desperately tried to hold herself together, sobs slowly quieting after what felt like eons of time as the memories completely faded from her mind and her fear subsided.

“I’m sorry Nick…I’m sorry I—“

“Kal…it’s ok. You know I won’t get mad at you for being scared and lashing out like that…it’s nothing you can control…” Nick slowly picked her up, Kal instinctively wrapping herself around Nick’s mechanical frame, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

“Why don’t we call it a day, hm? Looks like you need a good dose of rest…and these cases will still be cases by tomorrow…” Kal nodded, wiping her eyes slightly from crying so hard. Nick walked back to his bedroom, where he turned off all the lights but the lamp on his desk, setting Kal down on the bed, clambering in behind her just moments later. Kal nearly latched onto him as soon as his metal body hit the mattress, her head against his chest. Nick idly ran a hand through her hair, soothing her further.

“You know that I won’t leave you cuz of any of these episodes you get…always and forever, remember?” Nick kissed the top of Kal’s head.

“Always and forever…”

[gremoria411]

Gundam Iron Blooded Orphans Urdr Hunt Masterpost - Part 1

Alright, I’ve finally finished watching Gundam Iron Blooded Orphans Urdr Hunt, however when putting together this post I didn’t quite realise the scale of it until I was almost finished. As such I’ll be splitting it into three (ish) main posts - This one will be discussing the Ending, a little bit on Londo Bron, and the Zagan. The second post will be my thoughts on Cyclase Mayer and Gjallarhorn, and the last post will be my thoughts on Wistario and the rest of the cast. I’m also planning to do both a post on the series mechanics (in which I’ll talk about the mobile suits and mobile armours) and a character piece on Londo Bron at some point in the future. It just felt a little too long to be just one post, even for me.

Overall, I enjoyed Gundam Urdr Hunt. That said I’m glad I waited to watch it until now, because I think if I’d watched it without the promise of the movie on the horizon, I would have found the ending disappointing. But we’ll get to that. I’m largely going to be referring to my prior post, but I’ll be covering a lot of the same points. Though some of these I noted down as I was watching, so it might be a little more disjointed than usual.

We’ll get to the ending Immediately, as it happens. As I said, I found it overall a good show. The ending, well, it isn’t really an ending. It’s sort of a “the adventure continues”. Katya is recovered and Wistario goes around and thanks all the other Urdr Hunt Participants (except Cyclase) then returns to Radonitsa Colony on Venus. It feels more like the culmination of an Arc than a conclusion to the series, which I guess it is. But Gundam’s never been a series that has arcs so it’s a little odd. All that said, this is where i feel Urdr Hunt’s nature as a video game works against it, since most of the story prior to this has been “gathering the party”, with the Mobile Armour (Nerimiah) functioning as the final boss. I think the movie’s a way to give it a proper conclusion that isn’t tied down to the needs of a videogame.

But the battle at Ratatoskr I do have one criticism of - Wistario races to reach the shuttle, but it’s struck by lightning and explodes. Agonising moments pass, as Wistario thinks he’s failed, then Katya appears from the explosion. Putting aside the fact that we knew damn well she was gonna survive, fuck those Gjallarhorn Pilots, am I right? Also, she survives an explosion in just a normal suit? No shrapnel or explosive force? It feels more annoying because she could have just been in a casket or escape pod or something, but no, magic explosion. I don’t know, it just seems odd, like there’s so many other ways that it could’ve gone that would’ve made more sense.

I like how we get that view into Gjallarhorn with Mcgillis, Okina Uroka and Isurugi. It’s nice to see an internal view on how that all went down (even though I’m sure Uroka is seething on the inside). It’s also very interesting how Uroka just straight up doesn’t answer Mcgillis’ direct question. Way to tip off you have something to hide, my guy.

In brief, the ending’s just alright, there’s stuff I liked (Gjallarhorn), stuff I didn’t (Magic Explosion) and stuff I’m middling on (Nerimiah). I’m glad that there’s a movie coming so it can have a proper conclusion.

However, I do have plenty of other things to say, so let’s get to those;

Londo Bron is an idiot and I love him

I’ll be doing a proper post on him at some point later, but I’m so very happy for his inclusion in the series. He’s basically one of Carta’s former subordinates, her ex-“knight” if you will and I absolutely love the character dynamic this brings to the table. If I didn’t already love the Zagan, he would have definitely made me look at it fondly.

Speaking of, the Gundam Zagan. I’ve already talked about it just from a design perspective prior, but it’s an absolute juggernaut in this. It carves through three Grazes with ease, and is the only enemy in the series to seriously give Wistario a run for his money. It does all this, with a pilot without Alaya-Vijinana. I don’t doubt that other skilled pilots like Londo Brom exist in post disaster, but the Issues certainly weren’t head of the Seven Stars for nothing. It would have been sufficient as a final boss in my mind, but I really can’t find flaw with it. (I might do a proper post on the series mechanics too)

It’s possible that it’s stored in Ratatoskr as a last resort if Nerimiah was to escape. I’m genuinely unsure as to why anyone would willingly preserve a mobile armour, especially (presumably) Arzona Issue, but at least Zagan’s inclusion as part of the prison shows some foresight.

I really hope it’s able to be salvaged though, mostly because if it appears in something else, we might get a HG kit of it. (Also it bothers me a little that Londo Bron essentially wrecked a relic of the Calamity War in its first sortie in 300 years against Wistario. Kinda feels like I’m watching someone use an antique vase to bludgeon a child to death).

[chocosvt]

Uh yeah one question: WHAT THE FUCK CHOCO??

No, all jokes aside, I really really loved part four of Her. I love how Wonwoo lashed out on Her (because we all know he did it to drive her away so didn’t get hurt but his dumb ass only ended up hurting himself by doing so). I love Princess’ (un?)willingness to talk to Wonwoo and I love how the convo between Wonwoo and Vernon went. How willing Vernon was to listen to Wonwoo rant and confess all of his feelings.

Wonwoo not wanting to look at vernon while talking to him on the roof was a total mood and felt that 100%

I need friends like them tbh. I can’t wait to see what happens in part five, I’m hoping that Wonwoo and Her make up.

I also hope Her dumps Mingyu soon.

This was kinda long and ranty, heh sorry

teehehehehehehe,,, sorry girlie 🥵

yeah!! i knew that scene was gonna be overflowing with angst! i was actually rly excited to write it bc i loveee angst 😭 although i went back and edited it a lot,,, it's rly the culmination & boiling point of the all the suppressed anger at himself just exploding through and poor girl got smacked by the emotional shrapnel :(

yes omg i tried to put myself in princess' shoes and think what i would do in that situation 🤔 cuz obviously this guy hurt your best friend badd, but u were relatively aware of how well everything was going beforehand. like he clearly had this healthy & beneficial impact on her life. so if it were me likeeee i'm gonna b kinda curious while still having my guard up. also i'm kinda nosy 🤭

[hoteadepresso]

okay so hear me out

back when I was 14 I was going through my Percy Jackson obsession (how did I think I was straight is beyond me lmao) 

but anyways, if you know the series you probably remember the Cupid scene in House of Hades 

And tonight I had a sudden flashback of that scene and it occured to me how many Byler parallels there are, and the whole scene feels like something that could potentially happen in season 5, and some of the tropes are eerily similar

some things parallel Byler scenes that have already happened in season 4, so I will try to point them all out  

(spoilers for House of Hades by Rick Riordan below!) 

okay, to summarize, in House of Hades Nico and Jason end up on a mission together, and to complete it they must get an artefact they need to defeat Gaea. In the process they must defeat Cupid (more like get him to surrender actually), and Cupid forces Nico to share his deepest secret, and Jason witnesses it all. So before I start, I would like you to keep in mind that this is just a loose interpretation of my Byler infested brain, because I love finding similar motifs in pieces of media and Nico di Angelo was at one point almost as dear to me as Mike Wheeler is now (though in this particular piece the similarities are more so between Nico and Will, but I could definitely pin some parts to Mike as well) 

here goes: 

[“Cupid,” Jason called, “where are you?”

The voice laughed. It definitely didn’t sound like a cute baby angel’s. It sounded deep and rich, but also threatening—like a tremor before a major earthquake.

Where you least expect me, Cupid answered. As Love always is.

Something slammed into Jason and hurled him across the street. He toppled down a set of steps and sprawled on the floor of an excavated Roman basement.]

So this is just an intro, but we already have a sentence thay corresponds with Byler. Maybe it’s a bit cheesy, but still true. 

[I would think you’d know better, Jason Grace. Cupid’s voice whirled around him. You’ve found true love, after all. Or do you still doubt yourself?]

Now while for the most part here Jason parallels Jonathan, this particular line makes me think of Vecna possibly using Mike’s conflicting feelings and guilt about El to torment him. That would work in a scenario where they do not break up at the beginning of season 5 immediately, and prolonging the situation Mike is in at the end of s4 could make an opportunity for Vecna to use it against him like this. 

But that’s only a side comment, I still think it fits Jonathan better, considering the situation with Nancy, and Jonthan’s struggles when it comes to what the future has in store for the two of them.

[Nico scrambled down the steps. “You okay?” Jason accepted his hand and got to his feet. “Yeah. Just sucker punched.”

Oh, did you expect me to play fair? Cupid laughed. I am the god of love. I am never fair.]

again, a bit on the nose, but here I would like to refer to the breakfast scene in season 3, the “I’m not gonna fall in love”, scene. 

To me it’s not even what Will says, because we know he was most likely already in love with Mike at that point, so he probably doesn’t mean it literally. 

The way he says it, however, is what makes me put this reference here. His voice is dejected, like he has given up hope on ever being happy and having someone whom he is in love with, because he thinks he is not allowed to be in love, that there is no happy ending for someone like him (and here, a honorary FUCK LONNIE BYERS is in order I believe). 

So yeah, love isn’t fair, especially to a gay boy in the 80s, in Indiana.

[This time, Jason’s senses were on high alert. He felt the air ripple just as an arrow materialized, racing toward Nico’s chest. Jason intercepted it with his sword and deflected it sideways. The arrow exploded against the nearest wall, peppering them with limestone shrapnel. They ran up the steps. Jason pulled Nico to one side as another gust of wind toppled a column that would have crushed him flat.

“Is this guy Love or Death?” Jason growled.

Ask your friends, Cupid said. Frank, Hazel, and Percy met my counterpart, Thanatos. We are not so different. Except Death is sometimes kinder.]

so, this part here. Now I do not think Will is suicidal or something like that. However, I do believe Vecna might use the “putting you out of your misery” manipulation tactic if he curses/posesess Will. You know, good old tormenting with visions of Mike hating him, being disgusted with him, never reciprocating his feelings etc., and then when he’s broken, this tactic. Idk, maybe I’m reaching, but it’s still a valid line when it comes to their storyline.

[“We just want the scepter!” Nico shouted. “We’re trying to stop Gaea. Are you on the gods’ side or not?” A second arrow hit the ground between Nico’s feet and glowed white-hot. Nico stumbled back as the arrow burst into a geyser of flame. Love is on every side, Cupid said. And no one’s side. Don’t ask what Love can do for you. “Great,” Jason said. “Now he’s spouting greeting card messages.” Movement behind him: Jason spun, slicing his sword through the air. His blade bit into something solid. He heard a grunt and he swung again, but the invisible god was gone. On the paving stones, a trail of golden ichor shimmered—the blood of the gods. Very good, Jason, Cupid said. At least you can sense my presence. Even a glancing hit at true love is more than most heroes manage. “So now I get the scepter?” Jason asked. Cupid laughed. Unfortunately, you could not wield it. Only a child of the Underworld can summon the dead legions. And only an officer of Rome can lead them. “But…” Jason wavered. He was an officer. He was praetor. Then he remembered all his second thoughts about where he belonged. In New Rome, he’d offered to give up his position to Percy Jackson. Did that make him unworthy to lead a legion of Roman ghosts? He decided to face that problem when the time came. “Just leave that to us,” he said. “Nico can summon—” The third arrow zipped by Jason’s shoulder. He couldn’t stop it in time. Nico gasped as it sunk into his sword arm. “Nico!” The son of Hades stumbled. The arrow dissolved, leaving no blood and no visible wound, but Nico’s face was tight with rage and pain. “Enough games!” Nico shouted. “Show yourself!”

It is a costly thing, Cupid said, looking on the true face of Love.]

okay, for this one, I want you to think about the van scene, car talk scene, but also Will’s POV in season 4 in general, but not only Will’s, it applies heavily to Mike as well. 

“Sometimes I thing it’s just scary to open up like that. To say how you really feel. Especially to people you care about the most. Because what if... what if they don’t like the truth?”

To be vulnerable, to face your true feelings, you have to be prepared to pay the price, because you have no guarantee your feelings will be returned, or even accepted. Will is afraid of opening up about his real feelings to Mike, and Mike is not only afraid of his feelings for Will, he is also afraid of facing El and telling her the truth about his feelings, and it reflects both in the scene in the junkyard but also in the scene in the desert, when Mike looks between Will and El and you can clearly see the “how am I going to tell her?” expression on his face. Because I believe at that point he has accepted it, but it didn’t solve anything. 

Also, I strongly believe that Mike is terrified of losing El as a friend. I think he is convinced that if he isn’t “useful” to her as a boyfriend, he has no “use” to her at all, and that he will lose her completely, and that is probably even though he is aware of his real feelings, he is holding on to trying to fix things between them, because he is not fighting for a girlfriend anymore, he is fighting for one of his platonic soulmates, someone with whom he has a profound bond. 

Will pays his price too, lying about the painting. He pays the price of love for Mike, who needs to understand how important he is to people who love him, and he pays the price of the love for his sister. He has their best interests at heart, even if it means his heart will bleed out. 

[Another column toppled. Jason scrambled out of its way. My wife Psyche learned that lesson, Cupid said. She was brought here eons ago, when this was the site of my palace. We met only in the dark. She was warned never to look upon me, and yet she could not stand the mystery. She feared I was a monster. One night, she lit a candle, and beheld my face as I slept. “Were you that ugly?” Jason thought he had zeroed in on Cupid’s voice—at the edge of the amphitheater about twenty yards away—but he wanted to make sure. The god laughed. I was too handsome, I’m afraid. A mortal cannot gaze upon the true appearance of a god without suffering consequences. My mother, Aphrodite, cursed Psyche for her distrust. My poor lover was tormented, forced into exile, given horrible tasks to prove her worth. She was even sent to the Underworld on a quest to show her dedication. She earned her way back to my side, but she suffered greatly. Now I’ve got you, Jason thought. He thrust his sword in the sky and thunder shook the valley. Lightning blasted a crater where the voice had been speaking. Silence. Jason was just thinking, Dang, it actually worked, when an invisible force knocked him to the ground. His sword skittered across the road. A good try, Cupid said, his voice already distant. But Love cannot be pinned down so easily. Next to him, a wall collapsed. Jason barely managed to roll aside.

“Stop it!” Nico yelled. “It’s me you want. Leave him alone!” 

Jason’s ears rang. He was dizzy from getting smacked around. His mouth tasted like limestone dust. He didn’t understand why Nico would think of himself as the main target, but Cupid seemed to agree. ]

Only a small remark here, but I can definitely see Will puting himself between Vecna and the others in season 5, especially since I believe Will in fact, is Vecna’s main focus at the moment. (im a Will has powers truther)

[Poor Nico di Angelo. The god’s voice was tinged with disappointment. Do you know what you want, much less what I want? My beloved Psyche risked everything in the name of Love. It was the only way to atone for her lack of faith. And you—what have you risked in my name?

“I’ve been to Tartarus and back,” Nico snarled. “You don’t scare me.” I scare you very, very much. Face me. Be honest.]

Tartarus = Upside Down, Mind Flayer, etc.

And yet there are other demons Will must face, not only the interdimensional evil. And those demons might prove more difficult to deal with, especially if he’s alone with it.

[Jason pulled himself up. All around Nico, the ground shifted. The grass withered, and the stones cracked as if something was moving in the earth beneath, trying to push its way through. “Give us Diocletian’s scepter,” Nico said. “We don’t have time for games.”

Games? Cupid struck, slapping Nico sideways into a granite pedestal. Love is no game! It is no flowery softness! It is hard work—a quest that never ends. It demands everything from you—especially the truth. Only then does it yield rewards.]

Here let’s think back to the van scene. Will confesses his feelings in a veiled way, lying about the painting and projecting his own thoughts and feelings onto El. 

We can safely assume that resolving this and Will confessing the truth about the painting will be a big part of the Byler arc in season 5. Only after they both know the truth they will have a chance at moving forward and building a relationship.

[Jason retrieved his sword. If this invisible guy was Love, Jason was beginning to think Love was overrated. He liked Piper’s version better—considerate, kind, and beautiful. Aphrodite he could understand. Cupid seemed more like a thug, an enforcer. “Nico,” he called, “what does this guy want from you?”

Tell him, Nico di Angelo, Cupid said. Tell him you are a coward, afraid of yourself and your feelings. Tell him the real reason you ran from Camp Half-Blood, and why you are always alone.

Nico let loose a guttural scream. The ground at his feet split open and skeletons crawled forth—dead Romans with missing hands and caved-in skulls, cracked ribs, and jaws unhinged. Some were dressed in the remnants of togas. Others had glinting pieces of armor hanging off their chests. Will you hide among the dead, as you always do? Cupid taunted.]

 I don’t think this needs any particular analysis from me. This could be many things, but in general, another way for Vecna to torment Will. Maybe he will use that when faced with both Mike and Will, forcing Will to confess and then we see some sort of horrible, heart-wrenching reaction from Mike and we find out it was a vision all along, making Will believe that this is really how Mike reacted, etc.

[Waves of darkness rolled off the son of Hades. When they hit Jason, he almost lost consciousness—overwhelmed by hatred and fear and shame…

Images flashed through his mind. He saw Nico and his sister on a snowy cliff in Maine, Percy Jackson protecting them from a manticore. Percy’s sword gleamed in the dark. He’d been the first demigod Nico had ever seen in action.

Later, at Camp Half-Blood, Percy took Nico by the arm, promising to keep his sister Bianca safe. Nico believed him. Nico looked into his sea-green eyes and thought, How can he possibly fail? This is a real hero. He was Nico’s favorite game, Mythomagic, brought to life.

Jason saw the moment when Percy returned and told Nico that Bianca was dead. Nico had screamed and called him a liar. He’d felt betrayed, but still…when the skeleton warriors attacked, he couldn’t let them harm Percy. Nico had called on the earth to swallow them up, and then he’d run away—terrified of his own powers, and his own emotions.

Jason saw a dozen more scenes like this from Nico’s point of view.… And they left him stunned, unable to move or speak.

Meanwhile, Nico’s Roman skeletons surged forward and grappled with something invisible. The god struggled, flinging the dead aside, breaking off ribs and skulls, but the skeletons kept coming, pinning the god’s arms. Interesting! Cupid said. Do you have the strength, after all?]

Okay, a lot to unpack here, but first let’s notice the way we see this through Jason’s POV, and I think it’s a very direct parallel to Jonathan hearing the van conversation and seeing Will crying, then noticing Will looking at Mike and El flirting, not to mention simply knowing Will all his life and having noticed how Will was around Mike through the years. 

Then we have those particular scenes where we see Percy through Nico’s lens. He is his hero his heart, someone who protected him from harm, someone who made Nico feel safe, someone he trusted completely. 

Then we see that even when Percy hurt him, betrayed his trust in a way, Nico still can’t bring himself to hurt him back, he protects him even then.

Those are all very direct parallels to how Will perceives Mike. 

And while admittedly, Percy is a more “obvious” and “literal” hero than Mike, it doesn’t change anything. 

To Will, Mike is a real hero. He was the one who stood between him and bullies, who offered warmth and shelter when Lonnie still lived with them, who made Will feel good for being different. Mike doesn’t need to yield a literal sword to be Will’s Paladin. His heart and his love are his greatest weapons.

He was Nico’s favorite game, Mythomagic, brought to life.

Ring any bells? 

[“I left Camp Half-Blood because of love,” Nico said. “Annabeth…she—”

Still hiding, Cupid said, smashing another skeleton to pieces. You do not have the strength.]

Here we have the painting, again.

Annabeth is Percy’s girlfriend and love interest all through the series. 

Here we see Nico trying to evade the full truth, trying to make it seem as if it was Annabeth that he had feelings for. 

And we can interpret it in two ways, depending whether we apply this to Will or to Mike. 

This part makes me think of Mike more, of the way that he tries to hold onto El, not ready/too afraid to admit who it is that he truly loves. 

If we look at it considering Will, obviously he doesn’t use El to imply it was her he has feelings for, he does use her however to tell a half-truth to Mike in the van. 

They both seem to be talking in code, seemingly refering to El while actually thinking about each other. 

[“Nico,” Jason managed to say, “it’s okay. I get it.”

Nico glanced over, pain and misery washing across his face. “No, you don’t,” he said. “There’s no way you can understand.” And so you run away again, Cupid chided. From your friends, from yourself.

“I don’t have friends!” Nico yelled. “I left Camp Half-Blood because I don’t belong! I’ll never belong!”

The skeletons had Cupid pinned now, but the invisible god laughed so cruelly that Jason wanted to summon another bolt of lightning. Unfortunately, he doubted he had the strength. “Leave him alone, Cupid,” Jason croaked. “This isn’t…” His voice failed. He wanted to say it wasn’t Cupid’s business, but he realized this was exactly Cupid’s business. Something Favonius said kept buzzing in his ears: Are you shocked? The story of Psyche finally made sense to him—why a mortal girl would be so afraid. Why she would risk breaking the rules to look the god of love in the face, because she feared he might be a monster.

Psyche had been right. Cupid was a monster. Love was the most savage monster of all.

Nico’s voice was like broken glass. “I—I wasn’t in love with Annabeth.”

“You were jealous of her,” Jason said. “That’s why you didn’t want to be around her. Especially why you didn’t want to be around…him. It makes total sense.”

All the fight and denial seemed to go out of Nico at once. The darkness subsided. The Roman dead collapsed into bones and crumbled to dust.

“I hated myself,” Nico said. “I hated Percy Jackson.”]

So here we have the pizza place talk between Jon and Will. While not as explicit and upfront as the one between Jason and Nico, it still holds similar weight of understanding, reassurance and support.

And the “not wanting to be around them” part? Will sat in the front as they were driving to Indiana, because he couldn’t handle sitting in the back next to Mike and El, not after Mike’s monologue.

[Cupid became visible—a lean, muscular young man with snowy white wings, straight black hair, a simple white frock and jeans. The bow and quiver slung over his shoulder were no toys—they were weapons of war. His eyes were as red as blood, as if every Valentine in the world had been squeezed dry, distilled into one poisonous mixture. His face was handsome, but also harsh—as difficult to look at as a spotlight. He watched Nico with satisfaction, as if he’d identified the exact spot for his next arrow to make a clean kill.

“I had a crush on Percy,” Nico spat. “That’s the truth. That’s the big secret.”

He glared at Cupid. “Happy now?”

For the first time, Cupid’s gaze seemed sympathetic. “Oh, I wouldn’t say Love always makes you happy.” His voice sounded smaller, much more human. “Sometimes it makes you incredibly sad. But at least you’ve faced it now. That’s the only way to conquer me.”

Cupid dissolved into the wind.]

While obviously Vecna doesn’t want Will or anyone else to conquer him, he does feed on secrets, lonliness, shame and guilt. So of course he is most likely to target people suffering from those things, such as Will naturally but I strongly believe he might target Mike specifically, because he will know it’s the best way to hurt and manipulate Will and El. 

I rest my case. I hope it’s at least somewhat coherent, I’m insane for Byler and sleep deprived. 

Lemme know what you think! 

[adzeisval]

Second Kill

Major Character Death in this one

Ed stood in the dinghy and looked around desperately searching for anyone else on the sea. The remains of the boarded ship were sunk, only a slight scent of burnt wood still on the salt breeze. They were supposed to be meeting up with the Revenge but the ship was nowhere in sight. 

    There was nothing. 

    A cry of pain brought Ed’s attention to the other man in the dinghy with him; Izzy. Neither of them had seen the stowaway merchant, neither of them had seen the pistol in his hand until it was too late. 

    What happened next was a blur. Izzy had jumped between Ed and the pistol and then something exploded and shrapnel had killed the merchant and he and Izzy had made it to a dinghy before the merchant ship sunk.

    Ed sat back down and reached for Izzy’s hand, “No one’s out there.” 

    Izzy grunted in response. 

    They were fucked. They didn’t have an oar, there was no one around, and Izzy was bleeding badly from a gut shot. Izzy was trying to hide it but Ed could tell the man was in horrible pain. His breathing was shallow and labored, his face drawn into a grimace, and he couldn’t help but cry out in pain now and then. 

    There was nothing Ed could do. He needed to get Izzy to Roach, to anyone who could help, and even then he wasn’t sure if the man would make it. 

    “Edward…” 

    “I’m sorry Izzy, I’ll figure something out,” Ed said. 

    Izzy whimpered, “Edward I can’t…” 

    Ed looked at Izzy and didn’t know what to do, there really wasn’t anything he could do. Well, except for one thing. If…if Izzy was dying Ed could…he could…

    Ed hadn’t directly killed anyone since his father. Oh he’d caused the deaths of many but directly? Not since then. He didn’t want to do it again. He couldn’t kill Izzy. 

    Izzy cried out and tried to curl further in on himself. His eyes were shut tight in pain, tears slipped down his cheeks. Izzy was gripping Ed’s hand so tight it hurt.

    “Edward please…help me. Not gonna make it. Please…please make it stop,” Izzy cried. 

    “Iz…” 

    Ed couldn’t stand watching Izzy suffer, and he knew a wound like that could take a long time to kill, and there was no one out on the ocean, and he was the only one there. Ed pulled the knife from his belt. His hand was already shaking. Izzy looked up at the movement and…fuck…looked hopeful. It made Ed feel a little sick. It made his stomach turn to think how he was going to do it. No. He couldn’t. 

    He had to. Izzy was dying a painful death and Ed could help him. Ed positioned himself so he could lift Izzy up with one hand. 

    Hand still shaking he placed the tip of the knife on Izzy’s chest. He positioned it carefully, all he had to do was draw Izzy toward him and slip the knife through the man’s ribs into his heart. Simple. 

    “I’m sorry Izzy,” Ed said. 

    “I want this,” Izzy said, “You’re helping.” 

    Ed nodded, “Ready Iz?” 

    “Do it.” 

    Ed did. He pulled Izzy forward, the knife slipped in. Ed tried to ignore the feel of tearing flesh and clenching muscle. He tried to ignore the pained grunt that escaped Izzy’s lips. Ed pulled the knife out as quickly as he could and let it fall. 

    “I’m sorry Izzy,” Ed whispered as Izzy trembled in his arms.

    “Th…thank you…” Izzy whispered back. Ed pulled back to look at Izzy and found the man smiling, he almost looked content. Ed smiled back as Izzy’s eyes slipped shut. A few moments later Izzy went limp in Ed’s arms.

    Ed was still holding Izzy hours later when the Revenge finally found them.

[stolen-pen-name23]

a mix of 'that's a lot of blood' and 'can you walk?' with anakin and rex for prompts? btw i LOVE your writing on ao3 :)

Awww thank you so much!!! And thank you for the prompt! I had a ton of fun with this one! (From these angst prompts).

Tw: blood/injury

---

Rex would always stand at General Skywalker’s side. Not just because it was his duty, but because he felt an immense sense of loyalty to his General. He would follow him into battle even if he were not a General, even if he were not a Jedi. He’d follow him anywhere.

Or at least he would if only Skywalker would let him.

He must have sensed it. Those Jedi Generals always sensed it before any of the clones ever did. That’s probably how he knew to push Rex away just as the bomb went off. Rex was tossed twenty feet across the battlefield as though the General were simply tossing a stone into still water, but the scene was hardly that peaceful. Debris and mud exploded across the landscape and the 501st’s General was thrown right along with it. He lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, his back turned to Rex so that he couldn’t even see his face.

“General Skywalker!” Rex yelled. He pulled himself together and clambered to his feet. He sprinted down the battlefield. “Cover me! I’ve got the General!” he shouted over the roar of blaster fire and cries of pain coming from his wounded brothers.

He wanted to stop at every single one of them, but he kept his focus. His general needed him.

Rex skidded down next to Skywalker. He was laying on his side, his eyes closed, and for a moment, Rex thought his General gone—lost to the war like so many others. But then he stirred. He coughed and his frame shook slightly. The coughing stopped, but the shaking did not.

“General?” Rex asked.

“Rex?” he coughed. His eyes were glassy

“I’m right here Sir.”

“You alright?” he slurred.

Rex laughed softly. “Yeah, thanks to you.”

Rex took a moment to look over Skywalker’s wounds. A piece of shrapnel was sticking out of his thigh and blood was pooling in the soil beneath it. He had his arms wrapped protectively around his ribs. “Sir,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “That’s a lot of blood.”

The General looked down at himself. “Oh yeah,” he said weakly. “That’s probably not good.”

“No, probably not,” Rex said.

Skywalker groaned. His eyes were squeezed shut.

A blaster bolt whizzed past Rex’s ear. “I thought I told you shinies to cover me!” Rex yelled into his commlink. More men converged around them and protected them. The space still felt too open.

“Sir, we need to get off the battlefield. We’re too exposed here.”

“Not gonna leave my men.”

“You’re going to die out here. We need to get you to Kix.”

“Ugh,” Skywalker groaned. “Don’t want to see him.”

“I won’t tell him that. I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

Skywalker laughed, but it turned into a cough. Rex winced when he saw blood splatter onto his lips.

“Can you get up? Can you walk?”

“Yeah, ‘course I can.”

Skywalker pressed his palms to the ground and tried to get up, but fell back down with a yelp.

“Easy, General,” Rex said. “I’ve got you.” Rex crouched down and looped the General’s arm over his shoulder. More men circled around them, protecting their General and their Captain as they made their way back to a gunship that would take them back to safety.

Rex pulled General Skywalker aboard the ship.

“Rex?”

“Yes, General?” Rex replied as he worked on securing him to a seat aboard the gunship.

“The men? They need me. I can’t leave, I need—”

“It’s alright, General. Just stay down. I’ll take care of the men.”

Skywalker relaxed a little. “You’ll protect them?”

“Of course I’ll protect them, Sir,” Rex said firmly. “It’s what you would do.”

[drabbles-mc]

Stay Put

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Combining 2 Anonymous requests for this: Juice x female reader, where they are in Belfast - and when the barn explodes, reader was one of the ones inside, and got hit a bit in the explosion outside - getting flung a bit, and Juice comes running back because it's her. And she's fighting to get up despite her injury to check he's alright; and there's this small cute moment, before her adrenaline wears off and her injuries prevent her from standing. Maybe a, "well, that was cute", from Happy in his deadpan way & Juice x femreader, possibly a Teller, where, mother like daughter, she insisted going to Belfast with the sons. But, in her case, instead of staying at Ashby's with the girls, she snags a ride to the barn with the boys. She acquires a minor injury in the explosion (maybe pulling Paddy ((Chib's nephew)) of the truck to try and save some folks, and Juice get's really panicky - and it is revealed they're in a relationship

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of blood/injuries

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I didn’t explicitly made the reader a Teller because I didn’t really feel like it would’ve added to the plot of this fic. But pretty much all of this other stuff is in here. Hope you enjoy! xo

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You’d spent most of the morning going tit-for-tat with the guys. It was a minor miracle that you had gotten to Belfast in the first place. It was all a blur at this point—between the chaos and the jetlag everything was starting to blur together. They hadn’t been happy about you managing to come along with them, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

However, insisting to come along with them on their run that day was pushing it, and you were meeting resistance at every turn. Things had already gotten heated between you and Jax and you really weren’t looking to get into another blowout if you could help it. However, none of the guys wanted to disagree with Jax at this point, and truthfully, they all wanted you safe back at the house with everyone else.

You stormed into the room that you were temporarily sharing with Juice, slamming the door behind you as you did. A few moments later you heard the quiet creaking of it slowly opening again. You stopped your pacing, turning to see who it was even though you already had a pretty good idea.

“Hey,” Juice softly shut the door behind him and walked towards you. He wanted to reach out and wrap you in a hug, but he stopped himself, “I’m sorry.”

“Why is it so different?” you shook your head, “You guys could all use the extra fucking backup, to be honest.”

Juice paused for a moment as he tried to carefully construct his answer. He didn’t want to upset you more, but he couldn’t deny that he’d rather have you out of harm’s way, “It’s club business. We…we don’t want you getting hurt in the middle of all this shit.”

“I’m already here, Juan!” you threw your hands up, “It’s a little late for that argument, isn’t it?”

“Hey,” he was so good at keeping his voice soft and gentle, especially with you, “I hear you, alright? I do,” he rested one hand on each of your arms, “But you gotta look at this from the other side of it. We don’t…we don’t trust them. We can’t take you with us when we don’t know how things are gonna go down.”

You shook your head, “I don’t need to be protected,” you waited for Juice to meet your eyes, “I don’t need you to protect me.”

You didn’t say it with the intention of hurting him, but you knew that it did. He tried so hard to keep you safe and happy. And normally he did that with no issue, which was impressive since the two of you were keeping things under wraps. You were surprised that the two of you got roomed together, but you figured that was because they assumed that Juice was the most harmless out of all the guys. In a lot of ways they were right. You saw it in his eyes that he hated the entire situation that you were in.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, “I didn’t…I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”

He pulled you against his chest, “I know.”

You let yourself lean into him a little bit as you took a deep breath, “I know you don’t want me there, but—”

“It’s not that I don’t want—”

“Hear me out,” you ran your hands up and down his back, “I know you don’t want me there, but I can’t just sit back here and feel useless. There’s gotta be something I can do.”

He pressed a kiss to the edge of your forehead, “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

You chuckled, “Does that sound like me at all?”

His chest vibrated with laughter but neither of you said anything else. You could feel him soaking up the contact with you, his hands carefully tracing along your sides and back like he was trying to memorize everything that he could. You reveled in his body heat, wishing that those moments didn’t have to be stolen.

You weren’t sure what exactly Juice said to the guys, but whatever it was must’ve been convincing because next thing you knew, you were going on the run with them. The two of you exchanged a brief look as you all got ready to head out. You mouthed a silent thank you and he nodded in response, but you could tell that he was conflicted about what he had done. There would be another conversation about it later, you were sure of it.

When you got to the barn, you could tell that things felt off. And if you could tell that things felt off, it must’ve been pretty obvious. You could feel the tension radiating off of Jax and the other guys in the MC. No one was saying anything, but they didn’t have to. The longer that you were all standing around waiting, the thicker the tension got.

You saw Juice get assigned to keep an eye on O’Neill and your stomach twisted into a knot. Everything felt wrong but there wasn’t anything that you could do about it at this point. Before you could think about it too much, you heard Juice’s voice cut through the air, “Hap,” he turned to you, “Y/N,” he nodded for the two of you to follow him.

You walked with the two of them, waiting for some kind of instruction as to what to do next. Juice leaned in close to you so no one else could hear, “Keep an eye on SAMBEL, alright? Anything seems off come and get me.”

You nodded and separated yourself from Juice and Happy. You laid low but kept yourself close enough to everyone outside to be able to hear what was being said for the most part. Every now and then you would look around, making sure that you could always see Juice and Happy regardless of where any of you were.

Within what felt like a split second, absolute chaos broke out. The barn doors were slammed shut and locked, guys taking off in every direction. Juice grabbed you roughly by the arm and pulled you along with him and Happy, desperate to make sure that the three of you stuck together. He let you go as he pulled out his gun, shooting at the lock on the door.

Over the sounds of everyone screaming, you heard the truck start inside the barn. Happy grabbed both you and Juice and yanked you to the side, out of the main line of fire when the truck came barreling through the side of the barn. You stumbled but managed to catch yourself just in time before completely wiping out.

As everyone was running and shouting and scrambling, all you could think of was when Chibs nearly got blown to pieces at T-M. Fear shot through you as you realized what was going on. You started shouting, telling everyone to get off and away from the truck. Everyone who heard knew exactly what you were thinking and like a hivemind everyone started to book it.

You didn’t know if it was bravery or a complete lapse in judgment, but you ran towards the truck, desperate to save anyone that you could. “Get off the fucking truck,” you jumped and tackled Chibs’ nephew to the ground. In no time at all you were back on your feet, practically dragging him by his kutte to get him as far away from the mess as you could.

You were fast, but not quite fast enough. The explosion was deafening and it propelled both you and Paddy forward, throwing you to the ground. Your head smacked into the ground and all your body could register was the ringing in your ears—you couldn’t even force your eyes open for a moment.

Adrenaline kicked in and you were able to open your eyes and push yourself up slightly, looking around to try and take in the damage. It was too much to process all at once, though. There was blood and bodies everywhere. You looked to your left and saw Paddy sprawled out in much the same position that you were. You reached over, slapping his back aggressively and were rewarded with a grunt. He was alive and that was all that you cared about.

“Y/N,” Juice was running over to you as you stood up, “Jesus fucking Christ.” You stumbled a few steps, eventually having to lean onto Juice for support. You winced and Juice looked you over, eyes getting wide when he saw the shrapnel sticking out of your calf, “Shit, your leg.”

You looked down and groaned, “Fuck me,” you peeled yourself off of him, determined to stand on your own, “It’s not an artery, I’ll be fine. Are our guys alright?”

“Y/N, fucking sit down, please,” Juice never spoke to you like that but you could feel the worry emanating from him.

“Juan,” you never called him that in front of everyone else, it felt too intimate to do in front of the club, “I’m fine. I promise.”

You went to take another step when both of your legs turned to complete jello underneath you. Juice quickly stepped in and caught you, keeping you from smacking your head off the ground a second time. Without thinking better of it he pressed a kiss to the side of your head as he helped you slowly sit down on the ground, being extra mindful of your leg.

“You’ve scared me enough today, alright? Just please do this one thing for me.”

You wanted to argue but you didn’t have the energy. Before you could come up with a half-assed attempt, you heard Happy let out a chuckle. Both you and Juice turned and looked at him, and despite the laugh that had come out of him only moments before, his face was as neutral as it ever was.

His eyes darted back and forth between the two of you, “Cute.”

That was all he said before walking away and continuing triage on the entire situation. Despite the pain, and the exhaustion, and the fear, you let out a laugh, “They blew up the barn and you blew our fucking cover, huh?”

Juice looked at you and shook his head, “Now is not the time for your commentary.”

“It’s always time for my commentary. I just saved that kid’s ass I get to have that much.”

He could see the dazed look in your eyes and he knew that you could be more than content to keep debating the point with him. He let it drop, just wanting you to sit still and not injure yourself further. Despite the fact that your brain felt scrambled, you could see it in his face that he was torn between staying with you, and going to help the rest of the guys.

“Go. I’ll stay put,” you patted his leg, “Promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” he shook his head.

Before the discussion could turn into an argument, Jax interrupted, “Get her to the van, Loverboy. Don’t break her other leg.”

“It’s not broken!” you shouted after him as Juice scooped you up off the ground.

“Why are you trying to start fights right now?” he mumbled as he carried you towards the car.

“She’s gotta balance out the good deeds,” Chibs chimed in with a laugh as he helped his nephew limp away from the wreckage, “We should bring her more often, lad.”

“Absolutely fucking no—”

“Yes!” you patted Juice’s chest, “Yes.”

He shook his head as he climbed into the back of the van with you, “You’re going to be the death of me if we make it back to Charming.”

[marvelyningreen]

Andante

[Peter Maximoff x reader (X-Men: Apocalypse)

Summary: When an injury brings Peter’s superhuman speed to a screeching halt, you figure he could use some company and cheering up.

Warnings: mild language

Notes: could be interpreted as romantic or platonic, if that’s more your speed]

           You hurry in from the rain, pausing just long enough to shake off your umbrella on the doorstep before closing the door behind you. You take a moment to wipe your shoes on the mat in an attempt to keep them from squeaking in the tiled halls of the mansion.

           The floorplan of this rebuilt version is practically identical to the original. The design and decor are much the same, too. Still… You feel a bit like a stranger, or maybe the mansion itself does.

           With everything else that’d happened, you hadn’t really had a chance to process your own experience that day. One second, you were trimming the hedges by the mansion’s front steps. The next, you were a hundred yards away, surrounded by the students and staff, and the mansion was exploding, and suddenly there in your midst was your childhood best friend – Peter Maximoff, all grown up.

           It’s funny how someone you knew for such a short time could’ve made such an impact on you. Really, you and Peter only knew each other for two years. It baffled the teachers how a quiet goody-two-shoes like you could be thick as thieves with resident mischief-maker Peter Maximoff, but you were practically inseparable. Perhaps it was partly due to some truth in the old saying about opposites attracting. But there was more to it than that. You and Peter shared a secret.

           Your sporadic telekinesis had nothing on Peter’s incredible speed, but he never seemed to mind. You were both just so happy to finally have someone who understood, who you didn’t have to hide from. Those two years were some of the best of your life.

           And years passed, and you grew up. You kept your abilities hidden, but you kept the memory of Peter with you. You’d think of him often, hoping that he was doing well, wherever he was. You never expected to see him again.

           Lost in thought, Hank hurries around a corner and nearly bowls you over. You both apologize to each other, laughing, and continue on your respective ways.

           It feels strange being back here after… Well, after everything. Everyone is doing their best to settle back into a routine, but it isn’t quite working yet. Maybe it won’t ever feel the same.

           The students either converse too loudly or are oddly subdued, with very little in between. Scott Summers’ group of close friends is never far from his side, and the faculty likewise seem to hover around the professor. It’s difficult not to dwell on how bad things had gotten, and how much worse everything could’ve been.

           And if it’s difficult for you, you can only imagine how it must be for the person you’re here to see. You pause to knock politely at his door, and the voice that answers sounds oddly terse.

           “You can come in.”

           You slip into the room to find Peter scowling morosely out the window. He’s still laid up in bed, his broken leg in a cast and propped up on a pillow. He’s got a wicked case of bedhead, and there are dark rings under his eyes. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so tired.

           There’s an odd sound you can’t quite place – like the low hum of a fan or the purring of a cat – and you realize that it’s just Peter drumming his fingers restlessly on his nightstand at impossible speeds. He turns his head, and when he sees that it’s you walking through the door, his expression shifts into one of relief.

           “Oh, thank God,” he says, “I thought it was somebody coming to make sure I’m still “resting.” C’mere! Have a seat!”

           You grab a nearby chair and drag it closer to his bedside. You hate to see Peter cooped up and frustrated like this, but it’s good to see him, period. You don’t like to think about what could’ve happened to him in Cairo.

           When you look back up at Peter, his hair is smoothed down neatly. You snort involuntarily. If he's feeling well enough to be vain, it must be a good sign.

           “How are you holding up?” you ask.

           Peter slumps against his stack of pillows and groans dramatically, letting his head fall back.

           “I’m bored out of my mind. Do you know that they’re not letting me walk for a week? A whole week! Something about a risk of my leg not healing right if I move too fast on it. I said I’d walk like a normal person, but they apparently don’t trust me. Can you believe that? Don’t answer that. So I asked them just to drug me, knock me out for the rest of the week so I can get it over with, but they won’t do that either. This blows.”

           It’s hard not to smile, but it’s just so good to hear his voice. And, damn, people say you talk too fast. You’d forgotten that Peter was the true motor-mouth. Maybe he’s where you picked it up from. Though he still looks annoyed, Peter seems a little more relaxed after all that. Apparently he needed someone to vent to.

           He rolls his head to one side to look at you, and his brows furrow. “Hey, are you okay? You look tired.”

           “I look tired?” you say, “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

           “I haven’t, actually, because the mirror’s all the way over there, and I’m stuck in bed. You wouldn’t guess that having to sit alone with your own thoughts would wear you out, but apparently it does.”

           You’d had a feeling that the broken leg isn’t all that’s weighing on his mind. There’s still the whole Magneto business.

           You almost ask him about it, but you think better of it. Peter’s got a lot to mull over on that front. If he wants to talk about it, you’ll be there to listen, but you don’t want to bring it up when he doesn’t have any way to exit the conversation if he needed to. You decide to change the topic slightly.

           “Listen,” you say, “I never got a chance to thank you. You saved my life. You saved so many people. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t turned up at the mansion when you did.”

           Peter ducks his head a bit as he smiles, probably pleased to get a little recognition. There hadn’t been much time for gratitude in the moment. There hadn’t been much time for anything, really. And there certainly hadn’t been time to reconnect.

          You’d chased after Scott and his friends into the wreckage, trying to make sure none of them got hurt, and then things went from bad to worse. Suddenly, you found yourself tagging along with these immensely powerful teenagers on a fly-by-night rescue mission. It’s a good thing you did, too. Who else was gonna fly that getaway plane?

           Your own mutant abilities had never been particularly strong, not in a combat sense. You’d learned to be a pilot in an effort to make yourself useful. You just hadn’t expected it to pay off in a situation like that.

           “What can I say? Right time, right place… Right speed.” Peter’s grin turns rueful as he glances down at his busted leg. “I mean, by all rights, I should be thanking you, too.”

           You’d been trying not to dwell on that whole experience. It makes you feel a little sick to remember seeing that familiar silver streak darting around while Apocalypse was tossed in the air like a ragdoll, and then feeling the hope choked out of you as you heard Peter scream in pain.

           You don’t know how you managed to scramble down out of that second story ruin after Hank and Scott without hurting yourself any worse, but you did. You tried to shake it from your mind – the feeling of shrapnel and energy battering the telekinetic field you’d struggled to maintain around Peter and Mystique.

           You clear your throat, as though that’ll somehow clear out the memory as well. “Yeah… I guess sometimes you don’t know what you’re capable of until it’s literally do-or-die.”

           “I don’t just mean Cairo.” Peter shakes his head. “Well, that, too. But I don’t just mean that. I mean when we were kids. You always had my back.”

           Just before middle school, Peter’s family had moved away. You weren’t quite sure why, but it seemed like something had happened and Peter wouldn’t talk about it. He spent his entire last week in town with you, and on the very last day he hugged you tightly and promised that he’d come back and visit if he could.

           You never heard from him again.

           It was only years later that you’d put the pieces together – the Maximoffs’ sudden move, the well-dressed men turning up at the school and asking strange questions. Peter must’ve gotten caught using his powers, and his mother packed up the whole family and fled to protect him.

          “For weeks, months after we moved away, Mom was so scared. She wouldn’t let me out of the house. She thought that, any second, somebody was gonna show up and… I dunno, take me away, I guess. But I wasn’t worried. I was a cocky little shit, y’know?”

           You snort. “‘Was?’ Pretty sure that part of your personality hasn’t changed.”

           Peter laughs, but it fades quickly.

           “I heard that people came to our old school looking for me. And, hey, they never found me and Mom, so I figured you must’ve covered for me.”

           If there was one thing you were grateful to your younger self for, it was your instinctive distrust of these suspicious strangers.

           “I didn’t tell them anything,” you say, and Peter nods.

           “I knew you wouldn’t. But this one day, something hit me. What if they found out that you were a mutant, too?” Peter shakes his head, biting his lip. “I was terrified. I thought they were gonna find you, and… and I don’t know what I thought they’d do to you.”

           You feel cold all of a sudden. That thought hadn’t occurred to you. You’d been so focused on trying to keep Peter safe that you never once considered that you might be in danger, yourself. All those news articles about what Bolivar Trask had been up to ten years ago come flooding into your mind. You brush them aside and focus on what Peter’s saying now.

           “I wanted to run back there, make sure you were alright; maybe – I don’t know – take you with me and run away so we’d both be safe. I actually bought one of those AM radios, if you can believe it. Every night, I’d use the skip to listen to the news back there. I never heard anything about you, so I had to make myself believe it meant that you were okay. Otherwise I would’ve gone crazy, y’know?”

           He laughs again, but it sounds a little shaky.

           “Yeah, I know,” you say quietly. The air in the room feels sorta heavy now. Damn it, you’d come here to cheer Peter up, and it’s about time you get to it. You change topics with all the grace of a sledgehammer. “Speaking of none of this, I brought you something.”

           Peter immediately perks up. You rummage in your backpack and pull out a box of Nutty Buddy bars.

           “I remember these where your favorite when we were kids. I didn’t know if you still liked them, so I brought some Star Crunch, too. But you don’t have to-”

           Peter seems to blur for a moment, and suddenly both boxes are torn open and several wrappers are arcing their way into the trash can. Peter lets out a satisfied sigh. You might’ve remembered his favorites, but you’d forgotten his habit of absolutely inhaling them.

           “Okay, I guess I shouldn’t have worried,” you say.

           “What else you got in that bag?” Peter asks. “It can’t all be snack cakes. Unless it is…?”

           He’s joking, but you can tell he wouldn’t be disappointed if the answer was yes. You heft your heavily-loaded backpack onto the edge of the bed.

           “I figured you’d be bored, so I brought some books over in case you… What?”

           Peter never had a great poker face. You can tell that he’s definitely trying to smile, but that expression is a pained grimace. He laughs ruefully.

           “I might not be able to walk, but my hands still work. And my eyes. Did you know I can read a whole bookshelf in two hours?”

           “Oh…”

           You hadn’t thought of that. You look down, crestfallen. Of course, if something can be done at speed, that’s how Peter will do it. So that rules out all the other usual time-killers – crosswords or jigsaw puzzles or craft projects.

           But you remember Peter enjoying some things that can’t be sped through – live music being the main one. You start to wonder about the logistics of sneaking Peter out to take him to a concert or a play or something, but that’d be difficult to pull off without the professor catching you. Hmm…

           Peter’s brow furrows for a second, and then his expression brightens.

           “Hey, why don’t you read them to me?”

           You blink in surprise. “What, me?”

           “Yeah, you. Who else?”

           At this prospect, you’re suddenly rethinking everything. For all Peter might call himself a loser, you’d always seen him as infinitely cooler than yourself.

           “I don’t know. These are some of my own books, and I don’t know if you’ll actually like any of them.” You can feel yourself blushing preemptively, certain he’ll judge your taste in literature. “Maybe if I run to the library instead-”

           “No, don’t go!” Peter interrupts. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there, and I’m sick of being alone. Come on, read me your nerd books. Please?”

           He turns those big, pretty, puppy-dog eyes on you, and it’d be almost impossible to say no, even if you wanted to. Which you don’t. You sigh, smiling at him.

           “Alright, you win,” you say, “But you have to at least pick which one.”

           His face brightens into a full thousand-watt grin. “Done!”

           Peter blurs once more as he shuffles through your selection of books. Then suddenly he’s still again, tilting his head as he studies a stout little paperback.

           “Hey, didn’t they make a movie out of this?”

           He tosses it to you and settles back against the pillows, watching you expectantly. You pull up your legs to sit cross-legged on the chair and take a deep breath. Here goes.

           “‘Carl Conrad Coreander – Old Books.’ This inscription could be seen on the glass door of a small shop…”

           You read on, interrupted only by the odd quip or question from Peter. You hardly mind his commentary. You’re just happy that the story seems to be entertaining him. He’s a far cry from the agitated ball of nerves he’d been when you walked in.

           You glance over at the clock and see that two hours have gone by. You wonder if Peter would mind you taking a quick intermission to give your voice a break. But as you turn to ask him, you fall silent.

           Peter’s head is lolled back on the pillows, his eyes closed, his lips parted slightly. His chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths – sound asleep.

           You smile fondly at him. Poor guy. He really must’ve been exhausted.

Telekinetically, you switch off the lamp. The atmosphere in the room softens to the grey light filtering in from the rainy day outside. There. That’s more conducive to sleeping.

           You make note of the page you’d left off on and close the book, picking up your copy of Howl’s Moving Castle instead. Moving as carefully and quietly as you can to keep from waking Peter, you make your way over to a more comfortable spot on the window seat.

           You’d hate for Peter to think you’d run out on him after he fell asleep. You’ll stick around. And if he needs anything when he wakes up, you’ll be here. That’s what old friends are for.

[lynnpaper]

Hey, do you mind doing “You have to stay awake. Come on, give my hand a squeeze.” with Ahsoka and Anakin? Thank you!

ah, thank you for the ask! 💕

(from these prompts)

That’s a lot of blood.

It’s the only thought searing through his head as he watches Ahsoka fall, his heart in his throat, crumpling onto the ground when a piece of shrapnel from the exploding tank catches her on the side of the head. Two inches to the left and it would have hit her between the eyes.

Head wounds bleed a lot.

The thought is not as reassuring as it should be.

He runs, the distance between him and his padawan far too long. Battle instinct has him reaching for his comm and yelling for a medic, anyone, a stretcher or medical attention or a medpack or a kriffing stim-shot—

She’s so much smaller curled up on the ground. Her lightsabers have slipped out of her grasp and rolled a few feet to her side, still warm from being used mere seconds ago.

Ahsoka rolls onto her back, something warm and wet sliding down the side of her head. She reaches up on instinct and her fingers comes away bloody.

Oh, that’s not good.

She hears her name shouted in a familiar voice, but the sound is muffled. Her montrals ring and throb with each of her pounding heartbeats. With great difficulty, she turns her head to the side, realising too late that she’s pressing her bloody temple further into the ground and trying not to cry out, and there’s Anakin, looking far too worried and yelling something into a comm—

Oh, that’s not good either.

“Master,” she croaks. She tries to push herself up, but her arms give out and she winces as a sharp pain stabs into the side of her head. The discomfort burns into dizziness. She should probably close her eyes, then—Master Kenobi once told her that closing your eyes sometimes makes the dizziness go away—

“Ahsoka,” Anakin says frantically. He kneels by her side and she reaches for him, her fingers bloody. “Ahsoka! No, no—”

In the distance, he can hear combat boots on the ground, can sense the familiar life forms approaching him where he crouches over a small, broken body.

“Hey, Snips,” Anakin says desperately. He takes her hand, not caring that there’s blood smeared all over her palm. “Ahsoka. Hey.”

Ahsoka mumbles something incoherent. Her eyes are beginning to slip shut, but it only takes a glance to see that her pupils are blown.

“Ahsoka, you have to stay awake,” Anakin says, his voice breaking. “Come on, give my hand a squeeze.”

She doesn’t.

“We’re gonna go home now,” Anakin says softly. He doesn’t know if she can hear him. Her eyelids flutter, her brow furrowing in pain, but she gives no indication of whether she can even feel his fingers pressing into her wrist, curling around her fist like he can somehow keep her here, conscious in the present, if he holds her tight enough.

“You’re going to be okay,” He doesn’t recognise his own voice, the way it hurts to get the words out. “Stay awake, Snips. You’re going to be okay.”

If he says it enough, maybe it will come true.

No one has her determination.

“Kix is gonna fix you up, okay?” Anakin says. He’s rambling now, but maybe she can hear him and maybe he’s the only one keeping her from slipping, and if his voice stops her from giving in to her concussion then he will not stop talking until someone drags him away from her by the throat.

“Come on, Snips. Don’t go to sleep yet. Hey.” Her head lolls to the side, blood seeping into the hard ground, and her grip goes slack in his.

Anakin squeezes her hand again. Ahsoka doesn’t squeeze back.

The footsteps grow nearer, until Anakin hears the sound of heavy breaths and rattling armour, blasters knocking against plastisteel.

“General, I need you to move aside,” Kix says firmly, placing himself between Anakin and Ahsoka. He’s holding a medpack in one hand and a stim-shot in the other. He gracelessly nudges Anakin away to clear space for himself and hit equipment, and stabs the hypodermic unceremoniously into Ahsoka’s neck. She doesn’t so much as flinch.

Anakin hopes Kix adjusted the dosage for a child.

“I’m staying with her,” Anakin says, and if the situation wasn’t so dire, Kix would have found that stupidly stubborn edge to his voice endearing, seeing how protective the General is of the young Commander. But this is not the time for sweet reassurance and heroics. There is a child bleeding on the ground and he cannot do his job unless the General moves out of the way—

Rex shakes his head at Anakin. His helmet hides his expression, but Anakin knows it is probably disappointment written all over his usually stoic features.

“As the team medic,” Kix says softly, “When it comes to the health of the men—including you, General—I outrank everyone.”

Anakin gazes down at Ahsoka, at the blood covering the side of her face. The urge to protect screams at him to stay. He needs to be here if—when—she wakes up; needs to be here to offer comfort in the first few seconds of terrifying disorientation.

But a voice that sounds suspiciously like Obi-Wan’s whispers at him to leave. That Kix is of far, far better use than him now, and Kix knows what he’s doing—Anakin doesn’t. That he’s done all that he can, which may not be much, but it’s not his place to decide who goes and stays by her side—not when his padawan is bleeding from her head and the basic first-aid lesson from his days in the creche are of no use here.

Anakin presses his lips to her temple, feels her pulse thrumming fast but steady.

Ahsoka squeezes his hand. His shock is drowned out by his relief.

I heard you, she seems to say, even in her state of semi-consciousness. I will be okay.

“Okay,” Anakin says quietly. He moves away reluctantly, allowing Kix to lift her onto a stretcher.

His stomach twists when Kix wipes at the blood on her face and Ahsoka cries out, a hand lurching out to grasp at nothing—but then Kix takes it, wrapping her fingers in his gloved ones, and she goes silent again.

Anakin wishes it was him instead, there to offer reassurance when she needs him the most. It’s a selfish thought.

Later, when she rests on a bed in the Halls of Healing with a bacta patch over the gash on her temple, Anakin takes her hand again, clasping it between both of his. Her chest rises and falls slowly. He wishes he never had to fear it will stop. How many more times must he see her pushed to the brink and pulled back mere seconds before she can fall?

Ahsoka makes a soft little noise, the sheets rustling as she shifts, the uninjured side of her head pressing into the pillow.

Anakin squeezes her hand.

She squeezes back.

[shyrose57]

Oh damn, Eret's death is so terrifying in cling eternally because it just stops everything. Like, Foolish and Dream are the first to know, and Dream is mostly just waiting, watching, expecting them to get up and prove him right. It's just the slow creeping realization that he might have gotten all this wrong, as Eret goes longer and longer without moving.

Meanwhile, when Foolish feels them die, it's a break point. After everything he's been through on the server, losing Eret is the final straw, and it doesn't just break the camel's back but fucking explodes it. Shrapnel goes flying. The grass around him wilts, storm clouds gather across the server, and Foolish starts emanating this sickly aura of death as he immediately beelines for the prison.

Tubbo probably feels the change and brings Tommy so they can get to Foolish and try and help him and reign him in. Sam notices the several natural disasters breaking down the prison's walls, and he has to call in all the guards to make sure Dream's secure. And all across the rest of the server, life literally freezes. The sun's blocked out and the sea rages; no crops grow, no animals breed. Where death takes command, there can be no life.

But I mean, on the bright side, Eret definitely won't have to spend three months in limbo; I'd be surprised if Dream lasts a full 24 hours against Foolish's rage, even locked (safe? He hopes?) in his cell.

Goddamn, that's one way to describe it, huh? Imagine how everyone else felt, all those of the Smp. All just going about their day, doing whatever, when the world seems to stutter to a halt, holding it's breath-

And then, all around them, a storm rages.

The earth is silent. The skies pour, and crackle, and roar. The seas slam, and snarl, and consume.

The people shake, within their shoddy shelters, and pray whatever brought this does not turn their it's towards them.

As for Eret's revival, not gonna lie, I'm torn. Dream reviving him would be interesting, maybe a frantic attempt to push Foolish's anger off of him for a moment, or something.

But also, like. Foolish. Right there. What if he was the one to revive Eret instead? He's got all those godly powers.

The problem is, either way, I'm not really sure how we'd keep Dream alive, after he fucked up so bad. Either way, Eret's alive, and he's no longer needed, and well, just about nobody is happy with him.

Maybe we could have Quackity come in and grab him, or something? Someone snag him for his knowledge of the revival book?

But, I dunno.

[fuckyeahscienceparty]

Fighter (Lover)

Call me fighter, I'll mop the floor with you

Call me lover, I'll take you for a drink or two

You'll get older, and maybe then you'll feel some control...

-

HOO longest thing i've ever written lads :V hope y'all enjoy! title/description based on fighter by jack stauber bc i thought it was very fitting lol

-

Engie let out a strangled yell as he finally managed to land a solid hit on RED's Spy with his wrench, the familiar sound of crunching bone and the squelches of blood that accompanied it filling the air and splattering his overalls in French flavored crimson.

Not a very pretty way to die, and he almost felt bad for the fella, knowing from.... rather painful experience how excruciating it was to go through respawn after having your skull caved in. But almost was the keyword here, especially considering the fact that the bastard had unfortunately managed to sap both his dispenser and his sentry in the process, leaving him not only vulnerable to his fellow REDs but without the resources to actually get things up and running again.

What was extra unfortunate was that before he could get to either of them, they'd both managed to practically destroy both affected buildings, causing his dispenser to spark and sputter to a halt and his sentry to explode, sending components and pieces of shrapnel flying everywhere and barely giving Engie a chance to shield himself while hanging on to less than half of his health points.

Great. Just great.

He let out an annoyed grumble, anger rising in himself as he began to at least attempt damage control by basically tearing the sapper off of his dispenser with his bare hand. He didn't even care about all the little metal bits in his skin that tore through his shirt and were starting to make blood ooze out, staining his already sullied uniform. What he cared about was making sure that RED didn't take their final point and not having sentry up, even if it was just a level 1, was going to make that exceedingly difficult.

That being said, if he made it out of this alive, he was gonna have a field day getting all these stains out he mused to himself as his pried open the side panel of his dispenser. He reached for his toolbox, rummaging around for his wire cutters, twist on connectors, and a new set of wires to replace the ones the sapper had fried as he heard a chorus of bullets being fired from somewhere around the next point over.

He frowned. Those were much closer than they were 15 minutes ago. Better pick up the pace.

With a deft hand, he pulled out the wires and snipped out all the unsalvageable ones, tossing them in his toolbox to properly dispose of later. Twist on connectors wasn't exactly a Good fix to all the problems he knew that damn shock box had caused, but it would be good enough to last him until the end of the round.

...He hoped, at least.

After making quick work of the internals and closing the panel back up, he flipped the switch back on, waiting a few agonizing moments before the dispenser beeped at him a few times and whirred back to life.

Engie let out a weary sigh of relief as it slowly started healing his wounds, giving it a couple whacks with his wrench to get it into somewhat working order. It may have been knocked back down to level 1, but hey, at least it actually started up again! Finally, he had one thing was working in his favor!...

...But only the one thing. Now was the issue of getting his sentry back up, and with his dispenser back at level 1, just waiting around for metal wasn't exactly going to be an option this time.

After scanning the battlefield a few times, a disgruntled noise escaped him. Pyro was nowhere to be found. Just his luck. He grumbled to himself more as he picked his dispenser up and moved it to where he thought it would be at least a little less visible so he could go search for an ammo kit himself, keeping a hand on his pistol and his wits about him as he ventured into a nearby building.

He hated to leave any of his buildings unattended without Pyro around to cover for him (usually in return for a joyride into town the following weekend along with the sugariest fruit flavored item they could get from the local candy store), but he really didn't have the time to sit around and hope for the Chance that they'd 1). be in his field of view and 2). not be too busy to play guard dog for 5 or so minutes (5 minutes they could very understandably use to set some REDs running for the hills. or a fire extinguisher).

And as much as he would love to just waltz into BLU's resupply and pick up all the things he needed with little to no effort, he was currently stationed at second to last and the time it would take him to get there and back would be more than enough time for the REDs to not only destroy BLU's hopes and dreams but also to give way for his teammates to complain about how he hadn't been there to defend them.

(As if he wasn't doing enough for this damn team already.)

So taking a gamble with getting an ammo box was objectively his best bet at the moment. Was he happy about it in any metric? Absolutely not. Sure, he knew his way around the place and he actually knew that the building he was currently in housed the largest ammo kit you could find out in the field, but he also knew that other people knew that too. And that meant that there was a very real chance of running into one of them and not only failing to defend BLU's points and having to put up with his teammates' negging but also dying and gettin sent through respawn in the process.

But that's as if anything was really going his way today.

He hopped up the wooden stairs two at a time, knowing that the ammo kit was somewhere up on the top floor. He'd actually passed by the Medkit on the first and as tempted as he was to heal himself up a little, he also knew that any more time he wasted in there was time that could be used getting a sentry back up.

When he'd reached the second floor, the ammo box was just where he expected it to be, sitting next to a window that looked out over the battlefield, giving him a front and center view of BLU's second to last point. He could just about see a sliver of his dispenser, silently relieved that it was still there. From what he could see, RED and BLU were still fighting it out over the mid point, both teams having captured and then recaptured it several times already, only for the other to take it back.

Currently, it was still BLU's but something told him that if he didn't hurry, that was going to change soon.

He quickly scooped up the ammo box, eyebrows furrowing when the top of it came off with relative ease. Odd. You usually need to do at least a little prying with these suckers to get the tops to pop off. He then rummaged around in it to make sure it had what he needed, confusion deepening when he realized that there weren't any syringe cartridges in the box.

And that's when he heard a slight rustling from somewhere just out of his peripheral vision.

He immediately dropped the box, bullets and miscellaneous parts spilling everywhere as he turned around and reached for his pistol.

However, he ended up getting a spray of syringes to the arm, letting out a strained cry as he instead grabbed his pistol with his other hand and randomly fired it in the direction of where the syringes had come from.

His guesswork was pleasantly met with a very loud "FUCK", his eyes finally focusing on a very irritated looking RED Medic who now sported a bullet wound in his non dominant shoulder.

"You wanna dance? Let's fuckin' tango, buddy," Engie muttered mainly to himself, only just about bearing the pain as he tore anywhere from 4-7 syringes out of his arm and dropped them to the floor.

He tried to shoot his newfound opponent again but his bullets made splinters rather than punctured flesh, Engie fully aware that his normally serviceable aim was probably off thanks to the searing pain in his... well, everything, cursing under his breath regardless.

However, before he could even process what to do next, the enemy Medic made a dive for him, the two of them tussling to the floor and struggling with each other for the right to end someone's life.

Engie was able to momentarily able to wiggle his arm out of the other's grasp, managing a solid hit on RED Medic's face that he was pretty sure ended up breaking his nose.

That really only seemed to make him angrier though, the two of them continuing to wrestle it out until Medic finally managed to come out on top, having practically straddled Engie's chest as he pinned down both of his arms to the ground. The both of them struggled to take in air, Engie still making feeble attempts to escape his captivity with little success.

If this weren't a life or death situation, he probably would've told RED Medic that he was rather handsome, even with a broken nose and blood dripping out his mouth and onto Engie's shirt. Truth be told, Engie had always thought him attractive and if the two of them weren't enemies by uniform color, he probably would've asked him if he wanted to go out for a drink some time.

But even if life or death prevented him from attempting to woo the man who he'd just shot, Engie couldn't help but be immensely frustrated with himself, eventually just letting out a wheeze of defeat as he gave out from exhaustion.

"Just- just fucking do it please, I'm really not goddamn having it right now," He growled out, causing RED Medic to squint and tilt his head at him. After all, it wasn't every day that your enemy practically begged you to off them after they (quite understandably) just tried to strangle you.

"Hey, Stitches, you hear me? Just cut my head off or steal my organs or whatever, make my godawful day into an even more godawful one," He reiterated, Medic unable to suppress a chuckle despite how tired he was.

"Sorry- steal your organs? Do you really think I'm going to do that?" He grinned incredulously.

"Dunno. You just seem like the type," Engie said dryly, Medic letting out a cackle.

"Well just because you made me laugh, I'll make this quick. You don't seem particularly happy right now," Medic vocalized, shifting so that he could pin both of Engie's arms down with one hand and reach for Engie's pistol that had gotten knocked out of his grasp in their scuffle with the other.

Stronger than he looks. Engie couldn't tell if his heart beating faster because he was literally about to die or because an item was added to the list of "reasons why I want to take my enemy out to dinner."

...Might be both.

"Golly gee, what gave that away?" Engie deadpanned, feeling the muzzle of his own pistol pushing against his forehead. RED Medic chuckled again.

"No hard feelings, right my friend?" he smiled at him, almost apologetically. At least Engie thinks it's apologetically. Kinda hard to tell with all the blood that wasn't in his body.

He closed his eyes, bracing himself.

"Nah. None at all."

...

BANG!

...And not even 20 seconds later, he suddenly materialized in BLU's main respawn room, immediately grimacing from the skull splitting headache he was saddled with; the unfortunate side effects of being shot in the head. Respawn could only do so much, after all.

He moved to open the resupply cabinet to just get what he needed and get the hell out of there before he was startled by the intercom crackling to life, Engie's stomach sinking when he heard the very familiar "YOU FAILED" accompanied by almost comically sad music.

Had he really been gone that long? He didn't even hear the Admin announcing that mid had been capped, let alone second to last, and surely he would've heard it even if he was being held up by RED's local handsome devil.

But his teammates slowly filing in with various injuries seemed to confirm their defeat, Engie sighing as he reached into the cabinet for a bottle of aspirin instead of a case of bullets.

"Hrr Mrnrph!" Pyro mumbled out as they made their way in, Scout with his arm around their shoulders for support as he hobbled in as well.

"Yo, Engie, where the hell were you?" Scout frowned, clearly peeved about losing that day's round.

"Yeah, maggot, we thought you were on second to last! Their damn Scout somehow slipped by us and ended up capping both of ours after RED capped mid again," Soldier added, Engie sighing. Of course this was going to be blamed on him.

"Sorry, fellas. Spy managed to sap both my sentry and my dispenser and their Medic got me when I was tryin' to get supplies. I was hoping y'all would be able to hold mid long enough for me to get back but that. Obviously did not happen."

"Oh, so it's our fault now?"

"Hey, I'm not sayin' it's anyone's fault, I'm just sayin' that they got the best of us today. We'll give it another go tomorrow, like we always do."

Scout obviously seemed unhappy by the notion but decided it best to shut his trap when Demo gave him A Look because even Scout knew that Demo was not one to fuck with. Engie knew he didn't actually intend real harm, he just tended to run his mouth with things he didn't necessarily mean. Didn't make his life any easier, though.

"Listen, I think we've all had a long day. Let's just get patched up an' relax before tomorrow," Demo interjected, the rest of the team making various sounds of agreement as the final members of their menagerie made their way in.

As he walked past, Medic gave him a conciliatory look that Engie could only give him a knowing smile in return for. They both knew what it was like for the entire team's failure to be blamed on their shoulders alone. Usually it was Medic who received the brunt of it, especially when he'd just been transferred in, but Engie was no stranger to complaints on his off days about how he should've been better or how could've done more.

It made him want to tear his own ears off. Not only because it was annoying as all hell because you didn't see him out here blaming the entire team's loss on one damn person's slip up, but because it was the kind of shit that he told himself when he was younger and it brought him back to times he didn't necessarily want to remember.

He was suddenly brought out of his brooding by Pyro walking up to him, Scout seemingly having limped his way back into base on his own.

"Mrr rrhrrh hrrph phr nrr rphmm hrr rr phrrhrrk phr rrr," They mumbled out sadly, holding their arms out to offer an apology hug and very much looking like a kicked puppy. Engie let off a soft "aw."

"Shucks, Firefly, it ain't your fault. Can't expect ya to baby me all the time, can I?" He joked, pulling them in anyways. Only a monster could refuse Pyro hugs, after all.

Pyro squeezed him tightly, nearly lifting him off the ground despite the fact that they were only a couple inches taller than he was as Engie was momentarily overwhelmed with the familiar scent of kerosene and singed rubber.

When they finally let go, Engie gave them a gentle pat on the head.l

"You go inside now, hey? I gotta check if my dispenser's still out there and you probably got your own injuries you should have Doc look at," He told them, Pyro nodding at him and giving him an affirmatory wheeze. They then gave him another quick squeeze before waddling their way inside, boots squeaking every so often.

Engie sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Oh well. Nothing he could do now but prep for tomorrow.

He sat in respawn for a little while waiting for the aspirin to kick in and only decide it was time to get going when he finally felt like his brain wasn't trying to squeeze itself down his spinal cord.

After making the trek to second to last, he was pleasantly surprised to see that his dispenser was still on. And also there at all.

(To be fair, RED and BLU had been fighting over mid for so long that RED's Scout probably hadn't bothered to destroy what wasn't shooting at him in a desperate attempt to end the godforsaken match already. He couldn't say that he'd blame him.)

He was also surprised, though not as pleasantly, to see someone waiting for him. Specifically, someone in glasses and a tie that, even though it was covered in blood, had a face that was both painfully smug and oddly endearing.

Though they were technically now in ceasefire until battle tomorrow, he still instinctively reached for his pistol, blinking and looking down when he realized his holster was empty.

"I believe you're looking for this?" RED Medic asked as he picked said pistol up off of his dispenser, Engie nodding cautiously.

"Relax, dummkopf, I'm not going to shoot you. The bullet that was in your head was actually the last one in the magazine anyways," Medic snorted, demonstrating by pulling the trigger while pointing the weapon to the ground and coming up with nothing but empty clicks.

Regardless, he still offered it to Engie butt first, Engie himself still wary but a little less hesitant as he took a few more steps forward and took it in his hand.

"Apologies. I actually meant to put it back into your holster before you went through respawn but I didn't have adequate time. You pack quite a punch," Medic smirked lightly, Engie's attention suddenly being drawn to his still broken nose.

He grinned sheepishly.

"Heheh, yeah, mama taught me well... No hard feelin's though, yeah?" Engie sticking his pistol in its place and his hand out to the doctor, Medic letting out an amused huff at his own words being used against him.

"No hard feelings," He assured, shaking Engie's hand.

"I should probably be off now, I can practically hear my gaggle of idiots begging me to heal their boo boos from all the way out here," He then snorted, Engie letting out a chuckle.

"All good. I should prolly get the ol' girl back to the workshop. Damn sappers always do a number on the internals," He grimaced, thinking about all proper rewiring and circuit board replacement he was going to have to do, not to mention normal maintenance and cleanup.

"As I've heard. Our own Engineer has some particularly... colorful words on what he thinks of your Spy."

"Bit of a wily bastard, that one. Can't say I blame him," Engie shrugged, leaning against his dispenser for support and suddenly feeling face flush as Medic did the same, the two of them now so close that their elbows touched in the middle.

If Medic noticed, he didn't immediately let on, merely smiling at him.

"That we can all agree on, I think. What is it with Spies and deciding to be bastards? Is it a profession thing, does it just come naturally to them?" He said mirthfully, leaning in close enough that their noses were close to touching.

...Never mind, he absolutely noticed.

"'s gotta be, right? I mean, it's the only explanation for why they're all so dickish. That or the ones we've been in contact with just happen to be persnickety lil fucks," Engie grinned, Medic laughing loudly in response.

It only made him grin even wider. Medic's laugh had to be in a class of its own. Borderline obnoxious in nature but somehow brash and unapologetic while still being absolutely ridiculous.

Man, was it just something to die for (which he.. technically supposed he did).

"Ah, look at me, babbling about. I really should get going before I waste any more of your time," he said when giggles finally stoped threatening to rise out of his throat, Engie feeling a sudden pang of disappointment in his chest. He merely waved him off with a soft "shucks, weren't nothin'" as he tipped his hat, Medic giving him a firm pat on the shoulder.

"It was nice talking with you, Herr Engineer. Perhaps we can meet again some time," He smiled before turning to make his leave.

Engie closed his eyes. This was a bad idea, this was a bad idea, don't do it, don't do it Dell, don't FUCKING do it-

"Hey, uh. Stitches."

Medic paused before turning around again.

"Are you... free this weekend?"

An amused glint suddenly appeared in Medic's eyes.

"Well seeing as we all have weekends off, yes, I should be. Why do you ask?"

"You, uh. You wanna grab a drink with me, this Saturday, maybe? I know this pretty good place not too far out and uh. I dunno, 'd be fun to uh. See ya again outside of work, I guess," Engie stumbled out, putting a hand on the back of his neck.

"...I'd like that. I'd like that a lot," Medic smiled, Engie's face lighting up.

"Great! Uhm. I uh, I guess. Meet me on y'all's second to last at about 6? I know how to avoid all the cameras, so," Engie offered, Medic raising an eyebrow at him.

"...Hey, when you live out your days fighting people to the death for an old dinosaur who would skin you alive and turn you into the coat given the chance, finding out where her cameras and all their blindspots are isn't that much of a hassle. We're actually in one right now. Wouldn't've asked you out otherwise," He shrugged, Medic holding his hands up in response.

"I'm not one to judge. Whatever gets me out of playing team mama for the night. I'll just tell them I joined a book club or whatever. And if they don't believe me... well I think a saw to the skull might convince them," Medic said, suddenly pulling out his Ubersaw with a malicious grin.

Engie had to physically restrain himself from saying "hot" in response.

"Heheh, yeah, I bet it might. I'll uh. See you later then," He coughed out, moving to put his dispenser into compact mode and pack it back into his toolbox.

When he stood up with it resting on his shoulder, however, Medic was standing right in front of him, nearly causing it to slip out of his hands.

Medic barely stifled a laugh at his shock, gently removing his hardhat and leaning down to give him a kiss on the forehead.

"It's a date then," He hummed cheerily before putting Engie's hardhat back on his head and making his return to RED, leaving Engie with his hat slightly askew and his face moderately flushed.

And that's when if hit him. A date. He had just asked his actual, literal enemy who had shot him in the head about 30 minutes ago, on a date. And he said yes.

He didn't know if he wanted to scream, punch something, or throw himself off a bridge. Probably all three, if he was honest.

Despite all that, he practically forced himself to turn around and begin making his way back to BLU, readjusting his tool box every so often so it wouldn't slip out of his hands. What the hell was he doing, breaking contract like this? He means sure, he wasn't particularly one for rules anyhow, he's pretty sure he's committed more than a few atrocities against the heavens in his lifetime, and the Admin wasn't always on his case for every little infraction he'd ever made anyways. But between her and God, it was the Admin he feared more and he knew that if there was one rule that the she enforced, it was that cross faction relations were NOT tolerated and were more than a warrant for termination.

Termination of contract or termination of your life? Depended on how nice she was feeling that day.

Needless to say, he was very frustrated with himself.

But then he remembered how drop dead (haha) gorgeous Medic was even when he was bleeding all over Engie's shirt and the way hearing his laugh had made him felt and the way that glint made it look like he had stars in his eyes and...

...Aw hell, if he was going to get fired (or die! both was very possible) for this he might as well go down after having had a good time.

Now all he had to do was make it to Saturday. While also not giving anything away.

Piece of fucking cake.

[nebraska-is-a-myth]

innocence never lasts - crime au

I’m back boys with another part, were getting closer to war time now dudes. This takes place before part 3 just if you wanted to get a better understanding of the timeline. 

part 1 & 2 & 5

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

Wilbur came to town on an invitation from the masked man himself

Dream had enticed the brit with promises of riches and power, and he already had connections within the city so really what had he to lose

Wilbur was supplied with a small team, he was in charge of one of the larger drug trades and production companies on the east side of the city. His job was to eliminate any competition and regain complete control of the eastern drug exchange, how he did that was completely up to him. 

However, when dream sent a duo of teenage criminals to his door, Wilbur was less than impressed

“Dream, how do you expect me to run a drug cartel when two thirds of the cartel are fucking children”

“You'll figure it out dude, I believe in you.”

“No this isn't an ‘I believe in you’ situation dream, they aren't even allowed to drink in this country let alone kill a bunch of drug lords that by the way, are probably predators!”

“Admittedly, yes, they are a little young. But Tommy is one of the best kids I know, everything he knows he either learnt from me or the blood god himself.”

“Wait?” Wilbur moves his eye in front of the peep hole in his front door to inspect the blond on the right. “This Kid is technos?” He watches him pull a face at the shorter boy before punching him in the arm.

“Yup.”

“And you're okay with that?”

“It's a long story but yes.”

Wilbur looks back through the peephole at the smaller of the two and distantly hears “What if we just stab him” through the thin wood of his door. The older brit shakes his head and turns back into his living room

“And who's the kid threatening to stab me”

“Friend of Tommy's, I think. And don't worry about the stabbing, it's probably his way of saying he likes you or something.”

“If any of these kids die it's on you green man.”

“I can live with that.”

When Wilbur opens the door again, Tommy has his head in his hands and sighs as Tubbo puts a knife to his throat.

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

It's a week in and Wilbur has considered shooting the both of them more than he would like to admit.

He's not really one for killing children, but he's not a fan of being outnumbered by the little fuckers. So to make it even he calls up some of his contacts in the city.

He almost regrets it immediately when Tommy asks who the furry is

Wilbur tries to hide his laugh when the blond boy says this, but in the child's defense, Who the fuck wears a fox mask

Fundy and Eret get along fine after their first meeting and Wilbur is just happy he doesn't have to sit around and listen to Tommy and Tubbo argue over who can fit more breadsticks in their mouth without breaking any on his own anymore.

The drug business continues under Wilbur's power and surprisingly, no one dies. They take down competitors and pump out more and more supplies to companies that are willing to pay higher prices than ever. He hates to say it, but maybe he's glad he took this job from Dream

That is until Tommy almost punches his front door down at 1am covered in smoke and blood, Tubbo barely breathing on the porch next to him.

Wilbur panics and shoves the both of them in the back seats of his car, instructing a shaken Tommy to put pressure on Tubbos wounds as he floors it to the nearest hospital. He can deal with the repercussions of running red lights after he comes up with a plan to get through the hospital without being noticed. Sure maybe Wilbur wasn't on anyone's radar yet, but Tommy definitely was, and who knows how many people Tubbo has actually stabbed.

Dream has to have some sort of protocol for something like this, a secret entrance or a codeword or something. He reaches to grab his phone from his jean pocket and swears as he realizes he left it on charge on his night stand, looks like he's on his own for this one. He can do this, just focus and fucking drive Wilbur

When he gets to the hospital he parks right out front in a place where he definitely isn't supposed to be and helps Tommy and Tubbo out of the car and practically has to carry the brunet through the front doors. As soon as he walks in he knows people know, they've been on the news more than once and it's not difficult to keep up with the city's most wanted list these days, but Tommy's limping now and he knows the adrenaline is wearing off so he drags tubbos bleeding body up to the front desk and swallows his pride.

“Help them, please.”

The woman at the front desk looks Wilbur directly in the eyes, sees the way tears are building there and switches her gaze between the two younger boys.

“Please.”

The woman takes a breath and nods. “We need help here.”

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

A few hours later when both boys are patched up and on the mend the doctor lets him in the room. Tubbo is out and hopped up on pain meds, recovering from smoke inhalation and a shrapnel wound on his left side. Doc said it looked worse than it is, he was only out to let his chest ease up a little. Tommy's wounds on the other hand were a little more permanent.

He’s sat on the bed next to Tuboos watching his chest rise and fall. There were bandages wrapping around his left leg, a mix of shrapnel and soft burn marks underneath, and his right arm is in a sling meaning he wouldn't be able walk on his own for a while. Wilbur sits next to him but Tommy doesn't stop watching Tubbos breathing.

“They almost put him on a ventilator.”

Tommy says it so softly, Wilbur almost doesn't recognize it was him at first. He's got a few stitches on his forehead where a purpling bruise blooms underneath, he almost doesn't want to know what happened. Almost.

“What happened Tommy.”

“What, not even gonna compliment my wheels.” He gestures to the right where Wilbur sees a small black wheelchair next to Tommy's bed and he tries not to choke on his breath. He hates being right sometimes.

Tommy sighs and closes his eyes, his head droops and Wilbur rests a comforting hand on the young boy's shoulder.

“It was one of the warehouses on the outer perimeter of the east side, Tubbo had asked me to help him take stock, it was already late and he thought if we both did it we could catch the last bus home together.”

He imagines the two of them dancing to stupid music and running around the warehouse playing tag or something stupid, it wouldn't be the first time.

“We weren't even halfway done before one of the alarms went off, didn't think much of it, smoke alarms go off all the time for stupid shit right. Didn't even reach the office before the first blast. Was a Molotov I think, probably what set the alarms off, no idea what turned the warehouse into a fucking bomb though.”

“Something exploded, don't know what but it got both of us. Landed on my shoulder real good. We ran to the back entrance, or as close as we could get before another blast went off, fucking ceiling came down on me. Hurt like a bitch but at least it's nothing permanent. Think I was out for a bit, not for long but long enough for Tubbo to hurt himself trying to get shit off me. ‘Rest is a bit of a blur to be honest, don't remember much between getting hit and ending up at your door.”

Wilbur takes a deep breath and shakes his head, it's not gunna help anyone if he starts getting emotional right now.

“Who would have done this.”

“That's the thing, I got a call about two minit's before the alarm went off from the master arsonist himself asking where I was. He never calls me will, not once. I didn't even know he had my fucking phone number.”

“Wait, why would sapnap want to blow up one of our warehouses.”

“I don't know, but Will, I lied. He asked if were were out on any jobs and I fucking lied I don't know why but I told him me and Tubbo were playing fucking video games at home, and not two minits later the place where I told him we weren't goes up in fucking flames.”

Wilbur sits in silence and looks between the two injured boys. He can't help but feel fury building in his chest, he doesn't care about the thousands of dollars lost in the fire, couldn't give less of a shit about Dreams fucking money. He’s angry that two teenage boys had been ambushed in an attack at a warehouse that his employer had promised were protected. God only knows what would have happened if Wilbur hadn't been home. He tries not to think about what would have happened if Tommy hadn't been there either, he stands and tries to get the image of Tubbo being trapped in that warehouse out of his head.

 He grinds his teeth together in confusion and anger hopes to god Tommy's wrong.

“Where are you going.”

Tommy looks up and meets Wilbur's eyes, the young boy sees the fury burning in them, he knows the older brit is mad and to be honest, he doesn't blame him. He watches Wilbur walk round to Tubbos bedside and picks up his cracked phone, he doesn't mention the way he’s sees Wilbur's hands shake.

“Ill be back okay, I've got a phone call to make.”

[alderaani]

All The Things You Say

Pairing: ARC Trooper Fives x Reader

Warnings: suggestive themes, swearing, almost smut. Not quite NSFW but trying its best.

Rating: NC-17 prob? To be on the safe side.

A/N: Shout out to my boyfriend for inspiring this because he would not stop laughing at the scientific inaccuracies in The Avengers while we were trying to watch it the other day. I didn’t even mean to write this, it just kinda happened. This is the second time I’ve posted this!!! Actually getting quite stressed with the way the tags just will not work for me - I’m finding the first time I try to post something it will show up in the tags for about an hour, and then just disappear and never come back?? Pls lemme know if you have any hacks for this.

There is a bark of laughter next to your ear, the chest you are using as a pillow shaking with poorly suppressed mirth.

“Come on, there’s no way he’s still alive!” Fives exclaims. You drag your eyes away from the holofilm you’re watching in time to see him throw his head back and laugh again, as on screen the hero dives out of a roll and comes up shooting. “That’s not even how you hold a blaster!”

“Fives,” you whine, pushing your elbow into his stomach. You may as well not have bothered, for all the good it does; the solid muscles of his abdomen don’t budge even slightly. “You’re talking over the good bit!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Fives says, shifting to press a warm kiss to your cheek. He is absolutely not sorry – he’s been doing this the entire holo. You’re so comfortable and warm curled up against him, though, that it’s hard to mind all the interruptions too much. One of his large, calloused hands is resting firmly on your hip, the heat of his palm burning through the thin shorts you’re wearing. Kriff, you’ve missed this. Your apartment is tiny, but somehow it always feels so empty when he’s gone. 

“I take it back, his marksmanship is unparalleled.”

“I don’t care what you think about his shooting as long as you hold it in until the credits,” you grouse. 

You feel him shake with silent laughter again, then he presses his lips to your forehead, the scrape of his beard making you shiver. He is soft and pliant in the sleep clothes you’d delighted in buying him, because they are something comfortable and non-regulation, his in the way few things are. The steady weight of him at your back, the gentle rhythm of his breathing…it feels like coming home.

You only have three days this time, before he will be gone again. He doesn’t offer any details of his next mission, and you don’t ask. It is already hard enough to let him go when you don’t know the exact horrors that you are sending him into. He fights for his life, fights for every citizen of the Republic, while you sit pretty in an office filing data all day. It hurts you to think about, so while he’s with you, you don’t. Instead you desperately fold him into your life on Coruscant in the time you have, trying to give him everything that the Senate won’t. Some things, though, he is evidently less appreciative of than others.

He only makes it ten minutes before he just can’t help himself. The final straw is when two Jedi appear mid-scene and start swinging a pair of lightsabers that even you can tell are badly animated.

“What are they doing? They’re not even trying to go on the offensive! No – you idiot – aim for the –“  

You turn your head and narrow your eyes at him. You’d never dream of admitting it, but the genuine indignation on his face is actually very cute. Fives meets your unimpressed gaze and cuts himself off.

“Right, sorry, no talking.”

You nudge him with your elbow again and squawk when he digs his hand into your hip as retaliation.

“Maybe this was a bad idea, this is clearly reminding you too much of work,” You say. “We should have gone for another romance.”

Fives shudders dramatically. “No, please, I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut this time.”

You snicker into the arm Fives has curled around you. The last time he’d been on leave, you’d made Fives pick a holo at random. He’d landed on, in his words, perhaps the worst, most melodramatic soap-opera ever made. He doesn’t have any others to compare it to, but he’s sure nonetheless. The memory of his absolute disgust at the way the love interests had draped over each other still brings you unreasonable joy.

Abruptly you flop backwards in Fives’ arms, draping your body over the arm of the sofa. He peers down at you, his brown eyes sparkling, his expression amused and open. His hair is soft and rumpled and you want nothing more than to run your fingers through it.

“But Fives…I want you to draw me like one of your Corellian girls,” you say melodramatically, flinging one arm back. 

He groans loudly, and before you can blink one hand has come up to pin down your chest, the other darting out to jab the most ticklish part of your ribs. You jerk and shriek, your hands scrabbling against his thick forearm but it’s no use; you’re not moving an inch until he lets you.

“The long necks never taught me how to draw,” he says loudly over the sounds of your choking laughs. “So I think I should get to be the Corellian girl.”

There are genuine tears in your eyes when he lets you go. You sag down in a limp heap, clutching your stomach.

“You definitely have the tits for it,” you wheeze out, relishing the indignant noise he makes when you reach up and squeeze one for emphasis.

“I still say there was room for two people in that fucking escape pod,” Fives mutters, making you muffle another cackle.

“I know you do,” you say, because it was all Fives talked about for two days after the holo ended. Then you turn your head when there’s a particularly loud explosion on the neglected film you’re supposed to currently be watching. “Oh, shush, this bit’s the best part!”

“I should shush? Who was just talking?” Fives grumbles, but settles down obediently to watch as the film reaches its crescendo, a huge space battle unfolding on the frontier of Wild Space. As it builds, he slides a hand into your hair, stroking your head gently. He even finally sounds like he might be getting into it – you hear his breath hitch when a starfighter explodes on screen and his grip tightens briefly on your hip.

The holo draws to a close with the hero dragging the broken body of their friend from a downed fighter, leaning over them while the rest of their forces look sad at a respectful distance.

“I love you, brother,” They say tearfully. You clutch tight to Fives’ forearm, a little teary yourself as the music swells and the shot pulls out to a beautiful sunrise over the wilderness of an unknown planet.

Fives tenses behind you; it’s the only warning you get before he’s opening his big mouth again.

“If they loved him, they’d be calling for a medic, honestly,” he scoffs. “All the love in the galaxy isn’t gonna remove that shrapnel.”

You roll your eyes heavenward, the moment ruined. It’s your own fault and you know it; you picked this idiot up at 79’s and brought him home and never let him go again, like he was a sad stray tooka you found on the sidewalk. You have nobody to blame for this but yourself.

It’s a good thing he’s pretty.

In a moment you have twisted in Fives’ grip, shoved him down and straddled his waist. Before he can move, you grasp both of his wrists and pull them up to rest by his head. If you’re not going to get to enjoy your holofilm, you’re only going to settle for something better.

“Don’t you ever fucking shut up?” You ask, laughing your way through the words.

Fives smirks lazily beneath you, utterly unbothered by the change in position. He flexes his hands a little, but deigns to let you keep them trapped. The knowledge of how easily he could break free if he wanted to makes your mouth go dry. 

“Only if there’s something to occupy me.”

This is accompanied by an eyebrow waggle that makes you groan in disgust, but you’re grinning like an idiot all the same.

“The holo was supposed to occupy you!”

Fives shrugs a shoulder. His eyes sweep over you slowly, meaningfully. “Can think of much better things.”

“Oh really?” You ask, settling firmly into his lap. “What did you have in mind?”

Instead of answering Fives leans up, his nose sliding along your own. His breath sweeps over your lips and your eyes flutter shut, anticipation curling in your stomach. You give up the pretence and melt into him, meeting his eager mouth with a sigh. He is hot and wet and wonderful. Fives groans deep in his chest, the sound rumbling through you where your bodies join and shooting straight to your core. You feel him work his hands free and then they are on you, sliding firmly over the dips and curves of your body.

When you break apart, it feels like your whole body is on fire.

“So how about it, cyar’ika?” He breathes, his face flushed. He leans up again to mouth at your throat, a quick flash of teeth that makes you gasp. “You gonna shut me up?”

You grind your hips down sharp and sudden, and smirk in satisfaction as Fives chokes and throws his head back. You can feel his interest literally growing beneath you; it’s your turn to lean in and bite your way up his neck, to the spot by his ear that always makes him shudder.

“I think I’ve got a better idea,” you whisper, nipping the shell of his ear and savouring his yelp. “I’m going to make you beg.”