#also when blue got reassigned to red Bad said he would try to fuck over red and then just didnt

[brittie-frog]

Watching Day 7 from soulfire pov (Tubbo, Niki, then Tina's)

- "I'm on national TV!!" But not gonna be there for the actual event

- getting an army of 7 little observer guys and naming 4 of them (Rupert, Bertie, Scoob and Caramel)

- completing a scavenger hunt and then running around trying to find another zombie villager

- switch to Niki constantly dying and then for some reason spawning in global and dying to shit tonnes of mobs but being helped by Luffy back to base

- game crashing and not seeing the cinematic then being thrown into the event with an underequipped Pierre and done Bad

- Pierre logging off and constantly dying to Etoiles and Roier until their egg is half dead

- Tina logging on, being told "it's not worth it", their egg just being removed from the game and being switched to red team

- Cellbit still trying to get to the egg and instead killing Bad before understanding

- switch to Tina POV of just taking the event as a fun time running out red's base and getting to talk to more friends again

- sneaking up on Etoiles just to say 'ca va?' And joke pvp fight during inventory shuffle then get killed

- get the final hit on Etoiles to be the one to kill him and then while having a nice chat with Bagi get attacked by Etoiles as "revenge" and Bagi try to defend her

- having another chat with Bagi and Cellbit run up say "sorry" and throw a bomb blowing up his sister to then be chased by Tina

- Foolish try to attack Bagi and Tina defend her and hit Foolish

- "my dead wife!!" - calm down they haven't been on their date yet

- then the museum, Jaiden and Tina meant to be escorting Bagi home but Jaiden has to leave so Bagi takes Tina home the long way to spend more time together while being third wheeled by Luffy (but they gave teaduo the pretty boat and they're just a baby so it's fine)

I hope that red see that Bad is a valuable ally because he put his anger against them (both teams have every right yo be angry at each other) aside for the most part to actually be helpful - he's just a competitive guard dog. With Tina running Soulfire's PR department and crowdfundraising for Bad's therapy hopefully everything will be okay, at least when they get back home and there won't be too much long lasting contempt for him/Blue team.

Edit: I forgot to add the most hilarious moment - Tina sat in the middle of a group of people but zoomed in on the 4halo convo and reading Bad's bubbles where he's basically calling Tina useless and here just sat there like "wtf??" While laughing at how he just kept going on

[worth-more-than-two-thousand]

Returning from the Dead is Easier Said than Done...

Request: Welcome, Shiny! May I request an x Reader (can be fem or gender neutral) where Echo (post-citadel) comes up to their s/o's doorstep to give them flowers and ask them on a date? A plus if the Bad Batch teases him for dressing up nicely and buying flowers. Thank you! (@handmaidenthesimp)

Author’s Note: Enjoy! If anybody wants me to repost with a gender-neutral reader, just let me know. 

Story Notes: Some swearing, not much else to warn you about. Take place in-between Season 7 of CW and The Bad Batch. No Omega this time, sorry! 

🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑

Being declared dead was uncomplicated. Your Republic file was branded with a "KIA" stamp, everyone stoically mourned, and someone just a bit shinier would step in to fill your shoes. 

Being declared undead, however, was decidedly more complicated. Oh, Echo was reassigned to Clone Force 99 easily enough. But it was the little things that seemed to get mired in red tape. Getting his few personal effects back. Re-opening his modest credit account.

Approving a rental application.

Admittedly, it wasn't that Echo really needed his own place; clones were conditioned to be accustomed to share minimalist, often-cramped quarters. And they were always on the move, so it hardly made any financial or practical sense, in the long run. 

But right now, oh, did Echo dearly wish that he was dressing up in the privacy of his own space...and not the shared cabin area of the Havoc Marauder. 

He kept his face stoic, as though readying for battle, refusing to acknowledge his teammates goggling in the background. They had returned early from their supply run. Echo had meant to be out of here an hour ago, but (somehow) hadn’t counted on just how difficult it would be to get dressed into multiple clothing pieces with a scomp link for a hand. 

So that’s how his comrades found him: trying to wrangle a neck accessory into submission by sheer will. 

Oh, if Fives could see him now. 

“You look funny,” Wrecker had declared decisively after an unbearably long silence. “What’s that thing you’ve got on?” 

“It’s a suit,” he grumbled, refusing to look any of them in the eye. “I’m going to see Y/N.”

Wrecker gasped like a fishwife. He leaned forward, and pitched his voice low. As though the others couldn’t still hear him in the tinny space.  “Your girlfriend? You mean you’re going to see her for the first time....since…” Wrecker made a muted cartoonish sound with his mouth, clenching then expanding his fingers in a gesture for ‘explosion’.

Echo stared at him for a moment disbelievingly, before nodding slowly, forcing the sarcastic response he really wanted to say back down. He couldn’t fault Wrecker for being...well, Wrecker. He had all the tact of a rampaging bantha. 

“An’ what’s that? Around your neck?” 

Echo opened his mouth, but someone cut across his response. “A bowtie,” Crosshair drolled, though his eyes glittered with amusement. Echo tensed, knowing that he wasn’t going to like what was coming next. 

“Fifty credits says he chokes, and he ends up strangling himself with it in shame." 

“No way!” Wrecker exclaimed, always the optimist. He clapped Echo on the back, who was unprepared so his knees buckled. He felt his metal joints strain. “Don’t worry, Echo,” his brother rasped in the loudest whisper known to man. “I bet she’s gonna love it!” 

“You know,” Tech piped up unhelpfully, “Your strategy may backfire. The current deviation from your usual appearance may be so jarring for your beloved that she refuses your offer out of simple self-preservation instincts.” 

Echo gritted his teeth. “Right. You have stats to back that up, I suppose?” 

Tech blinked at him owlishly. “Of course I don’t. This is an obvious possible outcome.”

“I’m trying to look nice,” he snapped, scowling. 

There was a loaded pause. “...’trying’ being the objective word here,” Crosshair smirked.  

Before Echo could wipe the look off his comrade’s face with a well-placed ARC trooper punch that would’ve made Hardcase proud, Hunter wedged his way in between them, hands up in a conciliatory gesture. 

“All right, laugh it up, fellas. Personally, I think you’re all jealous because you don’t have a girl waiting for you like Echo does.” Hunter turned to face their newest member, took the bowtie that was clenched in Echo’s fist, and smoothed it out before proceeding to tie it around his neck with surprisingly deft hands. 

Crosshair ‘hmphed’ while Wrecker verbally agreed, looking slightly put out by the undeniable truth. Tech simply nodded in neutral confirmation. The group lapsed into a somewhat awkward (but not unwelcome) silence as Hunter finished tugging at the folded ends of the bow, then double-checking to ensure it was straight. He stepped back to assess his work.

“You look good,” he said sincerely.

Echo thought he was in the clear. 

Hunter frowned. “But...it looks like you’re missing something.” 

Or not. 

“Like dignity?” Crosshair drawled from a dark corner of the ship that Echo frustratingly couldn’t glare at. 

“A sense of self-confidence,” Tech suggested. He wasn’t joking. 

“FLOWERS!” Wrecker boomed confidently. “All girls like flowers. You gotta get her some before you see her!”   

“I...fine.” Echo relented, anything to get his teammates to shut up. He shoved his way through them towards the bridge. “I’ll get her some flowers. You all stay here until I get back. I mean it, Fives!” he warned.

An uneasy silence followed him, which he didn’t register until he reached the landing ramp. 

He shot an exasperated look back at them. “What?’ 

“...Your former comrade is not here, Echo.” Tech finally spoke. His words were clinical, as always, but there was a touch of understanding underlying his tone. 

Echo froze, just for a moment, then shook off the shock of his faux pas as best as he could. 

It wasn’t the first time that had happened, after all. 

Echo descended the landing ramp, squared his shoulders, and marched into town. 

Y/N lived in a run-down but culturally distinct district of Coruscant, characterized by food stalls from species and ethnicities all over the galaxy. Children often ran through the streets, sellers in colorful robes and attire shouting their wares and art for all to peruse. It was one of the nicer markets, he thought, having come here once. He had been accompanying Y/N on her usual run for specialized ingredients that made the diner she worked at the talk of the galaxy. 

Echo elbowed his way through the crowded street, content to simply blend in with the crowd, to forget about being a soldier for a moment. 

He paused at a flower stand and was mindful not to draw too much attention to his scomp-link hand as he ordered a dozen sunflowers, which he remembered were Y/N’s favorite. When his credit chip was declined, however, he sighed and reached into his pocket to see what spare change he could muster up. Being that he was wearing a never-worn suit, however, meant that there was no change to be found, and the unimpressed florist snatched the bouquet away. 

That’s okay, Echo. Y/N doesn't need flowers. She just wants to see you.

At least, he hoped that was the case. He hadn’t exactly written to her yet, unsure that he could sufficiently explain his sudden non-death in typed words...

Surprise! I’m not dead! Hey, you know that explosion on the citadel? Well, I survived! And out of it, I got an all-expenses paid trip to  the Techno Union research facility! Why didn’t I write? Well, I was in stasis most of the time and that part’s a bit fuzzy. I also was responsible for killing my brothers by using their own battle plans against them. Oh, and you might notice that I’m missing most of my fleshy bits these days… 

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, which were more rapid these days thanks to his enhancements. He was good at compartmentalizing, though. He had to be. He was still a soldier, through and through, and no one wanted a soldier who was about two seconds away from a mental breakdown.

Yeah, a letter to Y/N wouldn’t have cut it. But he still felt like maybe he could have sent ahead some sort of...heads up? A warning? A ‘Please don’t scream when you see me because I don’t think my heart could take it?’ 

His feet finally guided him to the front entrance of the building where he knew she lived on the 14th floor. Glancing around, he spotted some blue flowers sprouting in a planter near the entrance. He yanked a fairly healthy-looking handful from the soil, shaking the roots to get most of the dirt off. He tucked the strangled roots into his fist so that they would be less obvious. 

It was time. He nodded to himself, squared his shoulders, and entered the building. 

A short elevator ride later, Echo could feed the sweat beading at his forehead and neck. At least his fight or flight response seemed to be healthy and alive, and Echo tuned out everything but the door in front of him, adorned with a purple wreath of lavender flowers. 

He stood in front of the door, and raised his hand to knock. 

He stood…

In front of the door…

...and raised his hand…

...to knock, you coward. Just fucking knock. 

His raised knuckles, however, refused to move. Echo caught a glimpse of himself in the curtained window panes on the sides of the door, and at the sight of his bloodless face, suddenly felt a whole lot less sure of himself. 

He looked ridiculous. 

He and Y/N had barely gotten to know each other before his untimely death. 

What if she was with someone new? 

This was a terrible idea. Echo should leave now, before he caused himself any more embarrassment. Crosshair might get his fifty credits, after all. 

Echo had just convinced himself to turn around and admit defeat, when the door suddenly swung open. 

Two Y/C/E eyes met his. 

There were points during Echo’s battle career where time slowed to a crawl. When an explosive grenade was thrown just a bit too close, or the comrade you had just exchanged banter with received blaster fire to the face. 

Echo was experiencing the same sensation now, but he would voluntarily stay in this moment forever, if he could. He fervently hoped his nightmares would be replaced with the sight that was etched before him. 

She was wearing her yellow work uniform, white apron pressed crisply with starch...and was as beautiful as ever. Her hair was up in a messy ‘late-for-work’ up-do, a smudge of blushed color not quite within the lines of her lips smearing her cupids’ bow where she had applied it in a rush.

He couldn’t determine whether her reaction to his sudden appearance was positive or not, and so didn’t dare speak first, breathlessly afraid that if he did, the moment would shatter. 

He saw her swallow hard, glancing at him from head to toe, gaze landing on his right hand. 

He guarded his heart. 

“Ech? Echo, is that you?” she whispered. Her eyes tore away from the scomp link hand, and began searching his face as though just as afraid he would disappear. 

He nodded. “Yeah,” he rasped, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s me.”

The silence stretched out, and the fight or flight response was creeping back. 

“I know I look a bit different.” He tried for a light-hearted joke, but couldn’t quite get his tone to match. “Had some work done. What do you think?” He winced slightly.

She stepped forward and he froze as Y/N lifted her fingers, hesitating briefly before gently touching one of the metal bolts by his left temple. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“...do they hurt?” 

He gasped a little as he remembered to breathe again.

“No,” he reassured her, raising his undamaged hand to steady hers. “No, it doesn’t hurt.” 

“...good.” 

The wind was knocked out of him as Y/N flung her arms around him, burying her face in his neck, tardiness to her job completely forgotten. 

She began sobbing. It wasn’t neat little sobs, like in the scripted holovids, but heaving sobs that wracked her whole body, and he worried slightly that she was going to faint on him. He forgot about his scomp link for the first time as he rubbed it in circles against her back, murmuring nonsense words of comfort in her ear. 

After several minutes, she sniffled, stepping back. She rubbed her nose ungracefully where snot was leaking out, but Echo could have cared less about any of that. He only kept his arms out to steady her, in case she needed support again.

Y/N glanced down suddenly, and flushed.

“Oh. I’ve crushed them.”

Echo followed her gaze and saw that he was still holding the blue flowers from the planter in his good hand, the bouquet having been caught in between their bodies when she had thrown herself at him. They did look a little worse for wear. 

He shrugged unconcernedly. “They were free,” he said, not wanting her to feel guilty. 

She stared at him for a moment before a bubble of laughter burst from her lips. She still looked like she was about to sob at any moment, but she smiled tremulously at him through shining eyes. 

Desperate to make her feel better, he began rambling. 

“I can get you better ones! N-not right now, though,” he stuttered. “Actually, it turns out that I don’t have any credits on me at the moment. Everything’s still kind of backed up at the bank regarding my accounts. Also, this suit is new. Well. Not new. It used to belong to this woman’s father who we rescued during a mission on Bith. Long story.” His brain, which worked faster than usual these days anyways, still couldn’t seem to catch up to his mouth.

He forced himself to get back to the task at hand. “I was actually here to ask you for a date. I mean, assuming there’s no one else at the moment…oh, but you have your job to go do…bantha spit, I forgot about that...” He would have to ask Tech if it was possible for his brain to actually short-circuit.

Echo finally trailed off. Now he was the one blushing. 

The whole of Domino Squad was probably having a good laugh at his expense right about now, wherever they were. 

But Y/N was still smiling at him. And her chin had stopped wobbling. She gently took the flowers from Echo’s hand and placed them on one of the side tables in the hallway before intertwining her fingers with his and grasping his right hand without hesitation. 

“Forget about my job. Let’s go on that date. My treat. Though, if I know Dexter, he’ll give us a free meal, on the house. And the rest of the day off."

For the first time since he had joined Clone Force 99, since he had been rescued on Skako Minor, and even before the Citadel...Echo allowed a true grin of happiness to spread on his face. 

“A free meal,” he echoed. “Sounds like a plan.” 

[ragingpancake]

I Will Try (To Fix You) - Part 2

It’s ten days before Carson deems Rodney “well enough” to return to his quarters. To date, this has been the longest infirmary stay that Rodney’s ever had and truthfully, he should probably stay a bit longer. His kidneys still aren’t functioning as well as they should, which means Carson’s been closely monitoring his water intake and urine output and a whole host of other things that John knows Rodney is embarrassed about. He’s also not entirely steady on his feet, courtesy of the muscle spams that wrack his calves and his thighs, bad enough sometimes to nearly bring him to tears. It’s ten days before John, Carson and Elizabeth have a very real, very difficult conversation about what a prolonged stay in the infirmary will likely do Rodney mentally, left with nothing really to occupy his time except, well, time to think about just how close he’d come to death. Carson is reluctant to release him; they haven’t yet gotten him back to solid foods and of course his kidney function is still a concern, but John knows Rodney, knows that he needs to be anywhere but here and he argues his case: Rodney can come stay in his quarters. His team is grounded for the foreseeable future, courtesy of John who is unwilling to go off-world without his entire team and while he’s offered to temporarily reassign Teyla and Ronon to Lorne, they share his line of thinking. Rodney can come stay with John, but he has his whole team who’ll be watching out for him, who will bring him for twice daily check ins, if needed, who will monitor any time spent in the lab, who just want Rodney to have some semblance of normalcy during his recovery. It must be an impassioned speech, because by the time he’s done, Elizabeth nods her consent and John finds for the first time in ten days, it’s a little easier to breath.

--- Rodney, predictably, complains about the arrangement. He’s not keen on having a babysitter and that hurts John’s stunted feelings more than he’d ever admit out loud. But when Carson makes it clear that the only option is an extended stay in the infirmary, he relents pretty easily and all that’s left is to prepare John’s quarters. Easy peasy. Right? Wrong. It turns out that the room John’s claimed for himself isn’t quite meant for two people. It’s small and while it’s fine for just him, he knows that it’s going to be too cramped, too claustrophobic and so he spends the eleventh day scouting out some of the larger quarters near the East Pier with Teyla, pretending to understand when she makes suggestions based on where the light from the rising sun falls and which room has the best view of the ocean, which she believes will aid in Rodney’s recovery. He’s never been much into new age bullshit that seems to be pretty common across two galaxies, but he’s willing to shove a couple of crystals up his own ass if it means getting Rodney better.

He enlists Ronon, Lorne and a couple of marines to help move their things. John leaves his own quarters to Wallace, Gregory and Barnes despite how uncomfortable the thought of them seeing his own personal effects makes him, and he takes Rodney’s room with Ronon and Lorne. Rodney, for his part, has a lot of stuff. It takes the better part of the afternoon to get everything moved over, including Rodney’s deceptively heavy prescription mattress, his four laptops and the whiteboard that he’d swiped from the labs within the first week of their arrival. John’s stuff, save for his own bed, mostly fits in a couple bags. By the time they’re finished, he’s tired, shoulders and back aching, reminding him just how fucking old he’s getting, but still, he trudges down to the infirmary, plastering a smile on his face for Rodney as he steps in through the paneled doors. “Hey buddy,” he greets. “Got us all set up in some new digs. Wait until you see the tub in this one,” he says, nodding as Carson comes over, Rodney’s chart in hand. “He all good to go, Doc?” “I suppose he’ll have to be, now won’t he?” He asks and there’s a scowl there that John cheerfully ignores. “I expect him back here at 10 and 2, Colonel. A minute late for either appointment and he’s back here, d’you understand?” “10 and 2, just like a steering wheel. Got it, doc. How about the food situation?” “Yeah, what he said,” Rodney frowns and John knows from previous experience just how miserable a clear liquid diet can be. “I’m alright with him startin’ on solids, but take it easy,” Carson warns. “Nothin’ too heavy,” and Rodney waves him off, but despite his lackadaisical nature, John really is taking this seriously, committing everything to memory. “Got it. We good?” Carson pauses for a moment before he sighs. “Aye. But not a moment late, Colonel!” He warns as Marie and Simpson come, pushing a wheelchair that Rodney tries to vehemently refuse. John settles a hand on his shoulder gently. “Hey, hey. C’mon. Easy. It’s a pretty long walk to the pier, alright? Let’s not push it too much on your first day.” “Traitor,” Rodney mutters under his breath and John actually does smile because it feels a little like it used to before those God damned Carneans. John steadies the wheelchair while Marie and Simpson maneuver Rodney into it and after what feels like forever, they’re finally on their way. “You did get my laptops, right?” “Yes, Rodney.” “And what about the Athosian soaps from the bathroom? Those were made specially for me by Gita and, and, and the medicinal properties-- “We got ‘em.” “My mattress?” “Of course.” Rodney harrumphs like maybe he’s expecting John to have forgotten something, as if John would ever. “What about—” “Your favorite red pen that you use to mark up all those damn physics journals? Yep. Got that too. We grabbed everything, buddy. And if there’s somethin’ you need that we don’t have, just say the word and we’ll make it happen.” Rodney falls strangely quiet at that. --- It’s easy to live with Rodney. Lorne had very nearly pissed himself from laughter when John said so after the first few days and honestly, John took a little offense to that on Rodney’s behalf. Sure, he’s messy and he’s loud and the longer he’s out, the more of his biting sarcasm is returning, but John’s all for it, especially when he considers the alternative. (And he does consider it, frequently, usually in the dead of night when he wakes up from nightmares of vomit and grey skin, of an antidote recovered too late). But honestly, save for the fact that John now has to deal with Rodney’s dirty clothes strewn across the room and the stupid whiteboard that takes up the space that John’s surf board should be occupying, not much has changed at all, a testament to just how much time the two of them had spent together even before this. John follows Carson’s instructions to a T, and okay, maybe that’s a little different too because John’s always been the one to avoid the infirmary at all costs when it comes to his own health and

well-being, but he’s not taking a chance with Rodney’s. He takes him to his appointments and at nights, when the muscle spasms seem to be the worst, John sits with him on that stupidly comfortable bed, kneading the tight muscles in his legs as he tries to distract Rodney with shitty 80s movies and random banter about anything and everything that he thinks will goad Rodney into a tirade that’ll take his mind off of the pain. He even lets Rodney have four hours a day in the labs, split into two hour segments with an hour break in between. Normalcy. That’s the goal here and Rodney’s always at his best when he’s in his element, berating scientists and defying all laws of physics. That’s where Rodney is when everything goes to hell. --- It’s been twenty days since the Carneans. Ten days of the two of them cohabitating, ten days of Rodney slowly working his way back to normal. He’s been subsisting entirely of power bars and MREs, which, while not entirely healthy has been cleared by Carson if only for the fact that they provide sustenance without being too taxing on Rodney’s still delicate system and John’s just thinking about whether or not he can try to convince Rodney to try something a little more substantial from the mess later that evening when the call comes in over the radio. “Zelenka to Colonel Sheppard, please respond.” He sounds harried and John closes the latest mission report from Lorne’s team, already on his feet and moving when he taps his comm. “Sheppard here, go ahead Doc.” “I need you in Science Lab 3 please. There is a… situation.” “What do you mean by situation, Radek?” But when Radek keys up his comm again, John can hear the panicked wheezing in the background and he picks it up to a swift jog. “I believe Rodney is having a panic attack,” he says. “I have tried to bring him around but nothing is working and I--.” “I’m on my way. Sheppard out.” He meets Ronon in the corridor and he doesn’t even have to say a word before the Satedan is altering his own course, following after John. They can hear it before they even open the door. Rodney’s on the verge of hyperventilating, the sound of his ragged breaths interspersed with pained moans and Ronon is quick to clear the lab of well meaning scientists who are gaping at the scene while Radek tries to shield Rodney from view as much as possible. “Hey, hey,” John says soothingly, trying to keep his voice calm despite the way his heart is beating against his ribcage. “I’m here, buddy. Rodney, look at me. Hey, hey,” and he reaches out, finger under Rodney’s chin as he tips his head up, wild blue eyes meeting hazel. John wants to take Rodney’s hand, but his arms are wrapped around his middle, clutching his stomach so tightly and John glances over at the toppled plate on the floor, shards of glass now mixed with what looks like not-meatloaf. “Talk to me, Doc,” John calls over his shoulder at Zelenka. “What the hell happened?” “He was out of power bars, but hungry, so Miko thought perhaps he might be enticed to eat by something from the mess, knowing that this,” he gestures, “was Rodney’s favorite. He managed a couple of bites and everything was fine until… until it was not.” “Cramps,” Rodney rasps, reaching out to grip John’s wrist painfully. “Cramps. Poison, I—I can’t--.” “Get Carson down here,” John snarls, voice softening as he turns back to Rodney. “Hey. Listen to me, buddy. Carson told us this could happen, remember? The cramps. That’s why we started light. You’re okay though. I promise, Rodney. You’re okay, I’m right here and I need you to breathe.” It takes a bit of manhandling but John manages to get Rodney up enough that he can slide behind the other, drawing Rodney back against his chest, taking a couple of deep breaths. “C’mon, buddy. Breathe with me. You’re alright. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Rodney.” That’s how Carson finds them a few moments later, Rodney trembling against the other, but thankfully no longer hyperventilating. “He’s alright,” John says, glancing up at Beckett. “Panic attack when

he tried to eat and cramped up.” “I thought—I thought--.” John pets through Rodney’s hair gently. “I know. You thought it happened again, but it didn’t, right? We’re gonna go down to the infirmary with Carson though and let him check you over so you can see for yourself.” “Easy, lad,” Carson says as Ronon comes over to help Rodney to his feet with more care than he’s shown anyone else, guiding him over to the gurney before he tugs John to his feet as well. “John—” Rodney rasps, the name catching his throat as the cramps hit again and he curls on his side, swallowing hard against the panic beginning to rise again. “I’m here,” John reminds him again, moving to take Rodney’s hand. “You’re alright, I promise.” And he is. He will be. John will be sure of that. --- The panic attacks don’t last long. He still cramps painfully when he eats, but the team is always with him at meal time to help him through it, John always, alwayseating a third of his food before switching his tray with Rodney’s for him to finish it, confident that there’s no poison. The effects of what had been done to him still linger, still present often and painfully, and sometimes, John doesn’t think what he’s doing is enough. That he should be doing more, that he should’ve done more back on that fucking planet to have saved Rodney from this entire ordeal. But Rodney’s getting better. John can see that when he goes longer and longer without a muscle spasm, or the first time he pees on his own and calls John in to see how clear it is, proof that his kidneys are finally starting to function normally. “You know,” Rodney says one night after they’ve pushed their beds close enough together that if they each scoot over to the edge, their shoulders are touching, “it probably won’t be too much longer until we can go back to our own quarters.” There’s an uncomfortable knot that twists itself up in John’s stomach at that but he swallows against the lump in his throat and says casually, “oh yeah? That’ll be cool. I guess.” “Yeah,” Rodney says and then he falls silent for a moment, as if waiting for something. Apparently, his impatience has returned full force because he doesn’t even give it a half a second before he’s speaking again. “I mean, unless we just… don’t?” Okay. That’s unexpected. “I just… this has been incredibly difficult, Colonel. Uh, John,” he corrects, “and you’ve… I know that this is probably because of some weird, misplaced guilt you’re harboring, because that’s how you are, Lieutenant Colonel Martyr, but… this has been okay… hasn’t it?” “Rodney, I--.” “I know I’m difficult. I’m messy and I’ll be going back to keeping weird hours soon enough and, and, and I know I can be annoying, but you’ve put up with that remarkably well and so I just thought--.” “I don’t want to go back to being alone,” John blurts out and he can feel the tension leaving Rodney’s body beside him. “Good. Me neither.” They fall into a comfortable silence then for a moment, the only sounds being their quiet breathing and the sound of the ocean waves through the open window. (Teyla was definitely right about picking this room.) “It’s not guilt,” John says after a moment. “I mean, not that I don’t feel guilty, because I should’ve never--.” He clears his throat and stops himself before he goes down that road. “You’re… I dunno. You’re McKay. Rodney. And I… when I found you that day, I thought you were dead,” and he can feel Rodney flinch at that, but he needs to get this out, he thinks. “I thought you’d died and I just… realized that I would’ve gone out of my fucking mind if you had, Rodney. Like, legitimately crazy because you’re… You’re you and I’m--. I’m yours. However you want me. If that means we forget this conversation ever happened and go back to how it was before all of this, I’m okay with that, but I just… I had to tell you because I came really fucking close to never getting another chance to.” Rodney is quiet, doesn’t say anything but after a moment, John can feel the other’s hand brush against his own before he

squeezes two of John’s fingers. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time in all the time we’ve known each other.” And John laugh out loud at that, an actual laugh, and as he does, he feels that knot inside of him loosen just a bit. “Which is to say,” Rodney continues, “that I… would very much like to notforget this happened. I… suppose that I’m yours too. Maybe I always have been.” John doesn’t know where they’ll go from here. He’s under no delusions that this will be easy, any of it, but when has it ever been? All that matters though is that they have time now to work through it, to figure it out together. Maybe they’ll fix each other.

[winterschild999]

Tie it up

SUMMARY - It’s a story of the events that lead to today ,Bucky and yours marriage . 

WORDS - 2348

A/N - This is another fluff and I enjoyed writing me so much . This is dedicated to the my super talented friendo Justine @justareader​ for her B’day . I’m a little late,but I hope you had an amazing day . I hope you like it dude .

This is based on the song Tie it up by Kelly Clarkson.

 I AM SO HAPPY WITH THIS . THIS IS FLUFFF.I hope you guys like it too.

15th January -First official day as an avenger

Pride filled your body as you walked through the hallway , your head held high , as smile on your lips ,a sense that you were chosen to do greater good and that it exactly what you will do. 

Life hasn’t particularly been very kind to you but you weren’t one to complain.You will take whatever it throws at you and handle it with dignity. You were ready . You were ready to serve the world . You felt like you were reading for everything but you weren’t. You weren’t ready for love.

14th February-First Words 

Awkward. Very awkward.The tower was fill with red roses,decorations all around , lovey dovey people every where. God , what you’d do to not be in this situation.The party wasn’t your scene but you stayed for a while. You couldn’t help but notice a certain someone steal glances at you once in a while. A blush creeping up your neck making you hot. You tried your best not to look back but you utterly failed. The navy blue tux looked amazing on him and the shy smile he gave when saw you looking made you heart swell . You walked out of there and to the balcony . Your dress not really suitable for the weather but the cold air still felt good as you got lost in the beauty of the stars . “Not a party person huh?” You jumped at the sudden intrusion of your thoughts and let out a sigh of relief when your eyes met Bucky .

“Umm ,no .Not really.” You could think of nothing else when you were talking to him . The time just went by . Whole night you spoke about random stuff, a little personal stuff, you got to look at the real Bucky . You felt light , you felt free and happy as you talked to him . No judgement on either side as you spoke about you and he spoke about himself. The conversation just flowed,it wasn’t like you had spoken the first time to each other. It was like you had always been friends.You wake up with your head on his shoulder as he was fast asleep.You smiled thinking about last night . You felt more connected to him .

20 March - First date 

“Y/N , would you do the honours of going on a date with me?” Ahh shit,that sounds horrible. “You wanna go out with me baby?”*wink* What?What?You idiot. He slaps himself. Cool.Cool. You got this. “Y/n , would you like to go out with me?"Yeah , the sounds good. Right? He turns around when he hears laughter erupting and Steve and Wanda were standing at the door frame , laughing at Bucky practicing how he should ask you out . "God,Bucky . Just go and ask already ."Steve pushes Bucky out of the door . "Easy for you to say."Bucky mumbles as he makes his way to your room . "Y/n?"He slowly opens the door looking for you.You were fresh out of the shower in a bathrobe , your hair wet as you lay on bed scrolling through facebook . "Hey Bucky. What’s up"You gesture for him to come in as you sit on the edge of the bed. "I um..I wanted to ask if uhh…you know..if you’d..” “Just spit it out Bucky.” “If you’d like to go out on a date with me?” Bucky looked at the ground unable to meet your eyes. “I would love to ."You say sweetly and he looks at you with sparkle in his eyes and a wide smile. "Really?” “Really."you laugh . "Umm …tonight? 7pm” You nod and he sprints out the room with joy .

27 March - First kiss

A week .A whole fucking week since your date and Bucky still hasn’t made the move to kiss you . You knew he was shy , but so were you!!.You knew he wanted to , but he always hesitated when it came to it and would just find a reason to get away. As you walked to the kitchen you saw Bucky cooking.It wasn’t an uncommon sight . He loved cooking ,especially deserts and you weren’t one to complain.You loveeed eating sweets. “Mmmm , watcha making Buck."You say looking over his shoulder, on your tip toes. "I’m trying to make fudge brownies. The last two batches were horrible.” “Why?” “I don’t know."He says dipping his finger in the batter to taste it. "A little more sugar and chocolate."He says and starts looking for chocolate. "Um..you got something there."You point to his mouth which had a little bit of the brownie batter. "Gone?"He asks after rubbing a spot and you shake your head. "Now?"You shake your head again . "Here , let me."You say bring your finger to his mouth ,,but instead you get on your toes and press your lips to his.His whole body goes rigid , he doesn’t respond. You were scared that he didn’t like it …until his hand wrapped around your waist deepening the kiss . "I have a feeling this batch is gonna come out good.” “I do too."You say licking the brownie batter from your lips and smile at him.

20th June - The First time

"Are you sure?We don’t have to do this.” You pull Bucky closer to you by his shirt, pressing kisses over his shoulders. “I want to.Do you want me Bucky?” He bent down taking your lips in a passionate kiss guiding your legs back to the bed. You wake up with your head on his chest and look up at him .He looks so peaceful .So beautiful.You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. “It’s weird,stop staring."His voice a little hoarse. You giggle and get out of bed."I wasn’t staring.I was appreciating your beauty mister.” His face turned pink as he blushed. “Come here."You put on his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed . "I’m so happy to have you in my life.” You smiled at his sincerity . “I’m so happy to have you ..and this hot body."You winked . He clutched his chest in offence."Ah ,is that all I am to you . A hot body.” You start giggling and he couldn’t stop himself as he started laughing pulling you on top of him kissing you.

12th August - First ‘I love you’

His face was red with all the crying ,eyes puffy and blood shot. He refused to go back to his room to freshen up. He was going to stay here until you woke up. “Is she going to be okay?"He asked as the doctor walked out of the ICU . "Yes, she’ll be fine . Just a couple of days of rest.” He looked at you through the glass . He blamed himself for not being able to protect you. The mission was supposed to be easy . He was angry .Angry at himself.You were hurt. Everyday he sat by your bedside waiting for you to wake up . “Bucky?"your voice barely a whisper and if it weren’t for his advanced hearing he wouldn’t have heard it. "I’m here."Bucky says tears already welling in his eyes , clutching your hand afraid to lose you. "Oh god . I was so scared I was going to lose you .I don’t know what I would have done. I wanted to say so much to you. God , I don’t think I could live without you. I love you so much Y/n.I love you so much."He kissed the back of your hand , his tears falling on your hand . "Hey hey .I’m here. I am with you .Okay?I’m going no where….I love you too Bucky.”

13th October - First fight

“Are you fucking kidding me?"You screamed at the top of your lungs, anger radiating off of you in waves.You were so angry you could punch a hole through the wall if you wanted to. "Y/n at least listen to me."Bucky begged but he also knew that nothing could ease you now . "It.Was.My.Mission.” You push him hard by his chest and he stumbles a few steps back. “I know . It was too dangerous.” “You think I am not capable of doing it? You think I’m not good at it.I’m not strong enough . I may not be a super soldier like you but I can fucking do my shit."Your throat was aching with how loud you were screaming .Did he think of you that little,that you weren’t good enough to take on a mission yourself that he reassigned it to Nat. "Y/n ..Pl–please listen to me.” “I don’t want to .Leave me alone for a while."You say calmly walking to your room and shutting the door as hard as you could. As days went Bucky tried to apologise and reason with you many times. "I love you . And I don’t want you to get hurt. I was scared."He said. "I know you love me but you only belittle me when you do shit like this . I know it wasn’t your intention but that is how I feel. Like I am not capable enough to do it. So please..” “It won’t happen again . I’m sorry.” You nod as he pulls you against his chest hugging you hard.

25th December - First Christmas together

“Y/n come out."Bucky was banging on the door , begging you to open up . "No. I am never coming out wearing this."You hear him try to stifle his laughter. "It’s not that bad . I want to see it . Just come out.” It was probably the most ugliest sweater you have ever laid your eyes on and its not even those cute ugly ones , this was actually fucking ugly. With a groan you lift your body off the bed and walk to the door and open it . What you  don’t know is that the whole team is waiting to see you . “Wow , Fucking great ."You go to close the door on their faces but Bucky stops it with his hand and enters your room engulfing you in a hug while the others were still laughing . "I hate you."You say against his ear. "I love you too baby.” You were so happy to see everyone so happy.It was the only family you have . And you were so very grateful to every single one of them. You couldn’t have asked for more.

12th January - The proposal

“I’m scared."Bucky looks to Steve for help ."It’s going to be fine . You love her and she loves you . There’s nothing to worry.”

“I don’t know.Will she say yes?” Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulder trying to relax him . “Look at me . Just go , she’s waiting for you . Don’t let the nerves get you.” The view from your dinner table was so beautiful. But the view in front of you was even more beautiful. Bucky looked so good in the all black tux .Even after so many months you were swooning over him .You gave him a questioning look when a band came to play a romantic music near your table as he got down on his knee.OH MY GOD. “Bucky..” you couldn’t believe this was happening .Your eyes were already wet. “Y/n . I love you so very much . Would you make me the happiest man in the world by marrying me?” Most of the words were a haze to you , you were already blushing, your hands clasped to your mouth as you nodded and bent down to hug me . “Yes..Oh my god. Yes Bucky.”

14th February - Marriage 

“I never thought some one would care for me . I never thought someone would touch me with such kindness and so gently. I never thought someone would look at me the way you do .I never thought someone would accept me for who and how I am . I never thought someone would look past my damage and choose to be kind to me . I never thought someone would love me ,until you . You not only made me happy but gave me hope to live. You made me feel like I deserve love. You made me realise that I am capable of loving someone . You made me a better man .But more importantly you made me human .You made me realise that I am not the monster I thought I was. You picked up broken pieces and pieced me back to life. A life that I thought I had to live alone and in loneliness. You have given me so much more that I could have ever asked for.And I will live my entire life making you happy .I can never repay you for what you did.But I can try . I will be by your side every step of the way.I never thought this day would come.I never..I never will hurt you . I will stay with you through thick and thin and give you strength . I hope to be yours for the rest of my life. I love you Y/n . I love you so much .” “Oh god.That was..My vows are nowhere close to that but here goes……When I look at you I see a man who loves me. When I look at you I see a man who deserves to be loved. I see a man so selfless . When I look at you all my fears are gone . I found a safe space in you.It’s been almost year but I still get butterflies when I look at you.You make me happy ,you make me feel loved .I want to wake up next to you ,in your arms for the rest of my life. I want to spend late nights crying at romcoms while you lend me tissues. I want to be there for you at your lowest.I want to…I just want to be with you forever. I know that life will throw hardships at us but I promise that it will never decrease my love for you . I love you and will always love you for who you are,that is James Buchanan Barnes the most wonderful man I have ever known.After Steve of course. I love you so much.” “Do you take James Buchanan Barnes to be your lawfully wedded husband?” “I do.” “Do you take Y/n Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?” “I do.” “Now you may kissed the bride.”

IF YOU WANT ON OR OFF OF IT LET ME KNOW. Thanks for reading.

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[anneapocalypse]

Line of Sight

Red vs. Blue. Carolina and Wash, gen. 2000 words. Rated M. Also on AO3.

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15 THROUGH EPISODE 10.

Written for the RvB Angst War. Prompted by @tuckerfuckingdidit​:

agent illinois is actually camped out in a sniper’s nest when wash and carolina find his place. he knows he’s being hunted, and he intends to strike first.

Warnings: Violence and injury, hostage situation, implied/referenced minor character death, implied background relationship. See the endnotes on AO3 if you need to know specifics. 

The shot comes out of nowhere.

Carolina feels a sickening sense of deja vu, adrenaline kicking in like it hasn’t since Chorus. In an instant the beach becomes a battlefield, every wall and tree and scrub brush becoming cover for the sniper who’s just dropped Wash in the sand beside her.

They just walked out in plain view, didn’t sweep the area, didn’t establish a perimeter, she was so stupid—

A choked sound comes from Wash’s throat, over the radio, harsh in her ears.

She has her sidearm drawn, scanning frantically for hostiles as she drops to one knee, ready to spring up at the first sight of her enemy but she has to help Wash—

Straight through the breastplate. Hell. Must’ve been armor-piercing. Wash doesn’t have an overshield wouldn’t have had it up if he did—

she’s so stupid.

There’s the perch. Should’ve seen it from a mile away. An old lifeguard stand, most of the paint worn off revealing gray-weathered wood, and someone crouched at the top with her in their sights—

The shooter is marked as friendly on her HUD. Not unknown, friendly. And the color—

Carolina swallows down the sick panic in her throat and opens the old TEAMCOM channel.

“Friendlies! Cease fire, repeat, cease fire. This is Agent Carolina of the former Project Freelancer, my partner is Agent Washington, stand down.”

The voice that comes over TEAMCOM is familiar.

“I know who the fuck you are. Toss your weapons out of reach. His too. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“You shot Wash—”

“I said drop your fucking weapons!”

“Okay, okay.” Carolina hucks her pistol into the sand, wincing. Rifle too. Wash’s rifle is on his back. She grabs his sidearm off his hip instead, throws that, reaches for the biofoam slot.

“His rifle too.”

“I can’t get to it without moving him, and I have to treat the gunshot wound or he'll bleed out. Let me do that, and then you shoot me if you want to.”

There’s no reply, which Carolina takes as an affirmative.

She yanks the canister out of its slot and pops the emergency release on his breastplate. The undersuit is soaked with blood around the entry wound, and it’s gotta be a lot worse around back. Red is seeping quickly through the sand underneath him and from the vitals warnings flashing on her HUD, she knows he’s losing blood fast.

Carolina jams the nozzle unceremoniously into the wound and sprays and Wash screams, twitching in agony as the foam fills up the cavity. It’ll burn real bad for the first minute, then go numb. You learn to appreciate the pain response, tells you your buddy’s still with you, but that doesn’t make it any easier to hear.

“Hang in there, Wash,” she says quietly over their private channel. “I’m gonna get us out of here.”

“S’okay, boss,” Wash wheezes back, and fuck, the relief that comes over her at hearing him say words nearly collapses her in the sand beside him. “A’ready got my straw.”

“That’s the spirit,” she says, trying not to choke up.

With the wound closed and the blood loss stanched, at least for now, she pulls Wash’s battle rifle out from under him, tosses it in the pile with the rest of the weapons. Wonders if she can gamble on old Illinois having forgotten about their standard-issue combat knives.

“I said all your weapons!”

Probably not.

Carolina sighs, chucks her M11 and Wash’s into the pile. “Anything else?”

“Now I want you to stand up and step away from the weapons. Go stand by the shack over there and—”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“I can start shooting again anytime, Agent.”

“You have the high ground,” Carolina snaps. “If you wanted us both dead, you could’ve killed me already. You want to know why we’re here. I want to know what has you shooting ex-Freelancers on sight. You can take our weapons. You can restrain me. You can interrogate me. I don’t care. But I am not leaving Wash behind.”

There’s a long silence, in which Carolina can hear only the crashing of the waves, the pounding of her own heart, and the rasp of Wash’s breath.

“Okay,” the sniper says. “I’m coming down. But if you so much as move, I swear to god, the next one goes between your eyes.”

“Got it,” Carolina says.

She flips quickly to the shared Red and Blue TEAMCOM. “Captain Tucker, come in Captain Tucker, this is Carolina, please respond.”

Nothing but static returns.

She knows this one. Not well. One of York’s drinking buddies from back in the day. York stayed friendly with a lot of people on the lower squads after the rankings started. Wash and Connie too. She didn’t. Wasn’t interested in people who weren’t on her level. Illinois wasn’t the competitive type, York pretended not to be. Figures they got along.

“Can you walk?” she mutters to Wash over their private COM.

“Maybe,” Wash wheezes. Coughs once, and it’s enough to make terror coil in her stomach. “Not far.”

Illinois is striding toward them across the sand, rifle holstered now, pistol drawn. He keeps it trained on them, kneels by the pile of weapons, grabs Carolina’s pistol and ejects the magazine, taking it. His pistol arm is steady, but Carolina notices his other hand is shaking. He stares at them for a long moment. Carolina stares back, waiting.

She’s startled when Illinois lowers the weapon, comes around the other side of Wash, and shoves an arm under his shoulders. “Help me get him inside. Hurry. It’s not safe out here.”

“Tucker, come in,” Carolina hisses again over TEAMCOM. “Sarge, anyone, if you are within range, please respond.”

Nothing. They’re on their own.

The shack is small but surprisingly clean, sparsely furnished with a hammock slung from the rafters, and a colorful woven rug spread on the floor. Nothing would reveal this rustic beach getaway for the hideout of a former special operative, save for the two footlockers shoved in the corners on opposite ends of the hammock. Repainted. No names on them that Carolina can see.

“Illinois,” she begins.

He shakes his head sharply. “Don’t use those names. They could be listening.”

“We’re on an encrypted channel.”

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter, they can find you anywhere—”

“Okay,” Carolina says quickly. “Okay. Just tell me—what should I call you?”

Illinois sighs, and his shoulders sag a little. “Just Samir is fine.”

Carolina takes a deep breath. “Okay. Samir. Wash—David—he needs medical attention. The biofoam can only stabilize him temporarily, you know that.”

Samir sighs, moving restlessly from one foot to the other. “I know. I’m sorry. If you’re for real, I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Samir,” Carolina says carefully. Wash’s respiration is labored. His blood pressure is lower than normal, but stable for the moment. He’s alive, but whatever she says next, it has to be with the goal of getting them out of what looks a whole lot like a hostage situation, and getting him medical attention.

Never was good at negotiation. She thinks of Sharkface, gunned down in the streets of Armonia.

Not the time, Carolina. Lock that down.

“Samir,” she says. “Who did you think we were?”

Samir’s fingers are fidgety on his pistol. “You. Not you. I don’t know. Bad either way. You were supposed to be dead. You show up on the news years later with a bunch of sim troopers. You—” he gestures at Wash with the pistol hand, his trigger discipline a lot less rigorous than Carolina would prefer, “were Recovery.”

Wash manages a weak facsimile of a chuckle. “Been a long time since I was called that.”

“Well, I was too. I know what that means.”

“What are you talking about?” Carolina says, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice.

But Wash groans softly.

“I didn’t kill them, Samir.”

“Wash, what—”

“Your squad, I didn’t… I didn’t kill them.”

“His squad…” Carolina says, baffled.

“Beta squad. We were all reassigned to Recovery after the Alpha mutiny, and…” Illinois laughs bitterly. “Wash knows.”

Wash gives a weak nod. “Most of them them were the on the first response team at Valhalla.”

Carolina takes a minute to process that. “So they’re…”

“Dead,” Wash says hoarsely. His BP is actually still dropping, Carolina notes with dismay—very slowly, but it’s still dropping. “I recovered their bodies.” He swallows, coughs again. “I didn’t kill them, Samir. I swear. Others, yes, but not them. It was the Meta.”

Samir lets out a long breath. “Okay.”

“Why would you think Wash—”

Samir laughs harshly. “I was Recovery, remember? Level Zero, full recovery of the incident, all that happy horseshit. Li and I just wanted to get away from all that. Start a new life. That’s why we ran. Why we came here.”

“Li.”

Samir hesitates, then kneels. Draws two letters in the sand. RI. Rhode Island. Rho.

“We came out here together.” Samir’s voice chokes up, and he tenses all at once, looking from one of them to other. Swinging in the wind, Carolina thinks. Panicked and lost. Alone.

She knows the feeling intimately.

“You thought we were coming for you,” Carolina says in a low voice.

“I didn’t know,” Samir says heavily. “I couldn’t be sure. I don’t know you anymore. You’re wild cards, both of you. Alpha Squad. Recovery. Dead, then alive. I didn’t know.”

“What,” Carolina says slow, deliberately, “happened, to Li?”

Samir’s shoulders sag. His arms drop to his sides. Finger off the trigger. Good.

“I went for one of my walks around the island, and when I came back, he was gone. His armor was gone. He’d suited up, taken the boat. I found it drifting… It doesn’t make sense, we never wore our armor anymore... and he went alone. Like something lured him out there. I know it sounds crazy, I…” He sags back against the wall, slides to the floor, head in one hand, the pistol still gripped in the other, his voice breaking. “I looked everywhere for him. Everywhere. He’s just gone. And now they’ll be coming for me, too. Maybe it is you. Maybe you’re just saying all this to get me to let my guard down, and then you take me, too.” He shudders, makes a sound like a sob. “At least tell me if Li’s dead, okay? That’s all I want to know. Just tell me if he’s dead.”

Carolina has been slowly, slowly, moving her hand across the floor.

She’s close enough to grab that pistol. It would take nothing, a fraction of a second. Get the jump on him, regain control.

She takes a deep breath, reaches out and touches his shoulder, gently.

“We didn’t take Li. We didn’t come to take you. But you’re right, someone did. Someone is hunting us. You’re not crazy.”

Illinois looks up.

“We came to warn you,” Carolina says quietly. “See if you knew anything. I’m sorry we were too late for Li, Samir. I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at her.

“Samir, Wash needs a medic. He will die, if we don’t get him help. I know you don’t want that. I know you don’t want anyone else to die.”

The pause is agonizing. Wash’s breath is so loud in her ears.

“I can get up to the radio tower and call for help,” Samir says, finally.

I can go, Carolina doesn’t say. I can get there faster. That would mean leaving Wash behind with Illinois. She believes his story, but she cannot trust that he won’t panic again.

She cannot let Wash out of her sight. Starting to regret letting any of them out of her sight, but she won’t make that mistake now.

“Okay,” she says. “We’ll stay right here. And Samir… I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah,” Samir says heavily, getting to his feet. “Me too.” He holsters his pistol. “I never did get your name.”

Carolina swallows. “MJ. Friends call me MJ.”

“MJ. Thanks.” Samir nods. “I’ll be back soon. It’s twenty minutes to the tower, fifteen back ‘cause it’s downhill. If I’m not…” He pauses in the doorway, looks over his shoulder at both of them in turn. “If I don’t make it back, you should run. I mean it.”

Carolina doesn’t answer that. Instead she finds Wash’s hand, gives it a squeeze. He returns it, weakly, but still there.

“Hurry back,” she says, and watches Illinois go.

[ellebeebee]

2.537

Part Six

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five

Phrixus Jaril, 13, moves to the Citadel at a delicate age: namely, the peak of his teenage angst. He doesn’t expect much from these rich Citadel kids. But then he meets the Ryder twins, and all their friends, and realizes that he may have been a wee bit wrong about things. His relationship with Mira Ryder evolves over the years, and he never expected things to end up the way they did.

4220 words, Female Ryder|Sara Ryder/Original Male Turian Character, teen rating

AO3

-

Four brigades call Fort Caelax home, with a rotating population of about thirty thousand teens each year. The proximity to Trebia System’s star had burned Caelax’s surface hot and uninhabitable. A carefully gridded system of biodomes over red-streaked gray crags housed the fort, with guard outposts ranged around its perimeter. Satellites and stations orbited the planet as well, some non-military, but several also used in various training exercises for boot camp.

After a week of processing (learning every basic down to the procedure for wiping his ass), Phrixus was assigned to a company with only a dozen or so people also from the Citadel, and a squad with only one other than him. No one, of course, was from Niiet, because he had been the only kid his age from the colony. Everyone else had been a year or two ahead or behind him.

In his squad, the girl from the Citadel was from some lower ward he’d never been to, three people were from Palaven itself, one guy was actually a station hopper, and the rest were colony kids.

Boot camp felt like waking up.

There weren’t people talking about dropping thousands of credits on Illium during the last vacation; Licinius Ruq, the station hopper, told him about living with a dad in and out of incarceration all his life. Had to go for a long time wearing someone else’s clan markings. There weren’t people talking about second homes on the Citadel that they could mess up in a party and a maid would take care of it; Sixil Tarqtus, from a tiny colony just like Niiet, traded stories with him about stealing utility vehicles for joyrides and breathing the noxious fumes of mineral mines.

And his days changed so much. He didn’t get up, maybe take the early tram to school, maybe take the late one. Hang out before class, go to classes, and then maybe do homework in the afternoon, maybe go to Silversun, maybe (and most likely) have plans with Mira. He woke up every day at 0430, had physical training at 0500, had classes and training throughout the day and did not get any free time until 2000. Day in, day out. Every moment was planned, every one of his moves had to be accountable.

The year would be divided in two: the first six months belonged to basic combat, with constant fitness training, basic gun handling, Hierarchy values and law, etc. And then six months of advanced training, with reassignment according to his chosen field. Which he had to start thinking about. Soon.

But, all in all, things were manageable. Some sergeant somehow knew he’d gone to the fancy Citadel school, and liked to dog him for being a prissy rich kid, expecting special treatment. Which was hilarious and also kind of infuriating. But it was boot camp; you took it and that was that. He realized that his agonizing about leaving home was not something he alone had a monopoly on; especially early on, you could sometimes hear sniffing after lights out.

He called his moms at least once a week. Forta and Aela and others he emailed fairly frequently. Mira– she messaged a lot, but he wasn’t able to access his private omnitool until free time.  Local time in Trebia System didn’t align with the Citadel’s, and his free time coincided with class times over there. Coordinating a vid call was difficult, and every day he ended up with a backlog of little snippets of her days and questions about his. But the fact that she kept up the messages was a relief. At least this wouldn’t change. Even if he couldn’t return the same amount of attention; because even his free time sometimes got taken over by cleaning duties or homework.

All in all, it was manageable.

-

Which was what he’d thought, until the weeks came and went and Phrixus found himself increasingly prone to wandering thoughts and remembering afternoons spent in close little bedrooms.

And that clutter of thoughts and memories got so crowded in his head-- standing room only among the half-corporeal warmths and touches-- that he made the morning runs very difficult for himself. Made the black hours in the barracks, surrounded by the soft breathing of others, difficult for himself. Privacy, and the spare time in which to enjoy it, was at a premium. The bathrooms were communal, the barracks housed them in six to a room.

It wore down his temper to a sort of permanent installation of one of his prickly moods. He had to watch himself when the sergeants started in on him and his precious Citadel education, called him fancy shit and whatever. And any bull thrown at him by his squad got thrown back. He was, yet again, resident salt master of the group.

And he was trying very hard to keep from chucking his scrub brush at Licinius Ruq’s stupid fucking head, right in his whistling mouth.

On his knees and scrubbing jauntily, Ruq whistled “Die For The Cause.” Sometimes people on fire watch– the rotating duty where two troops kept watch or cleaned or whatever for an hour during the night and went and woke up the next pair up for duty– sometimes, the loss of sleep caused an obscene cheerfulness. Ruq was bad for this. Unfortunately, they got paired up a lot for shit like this. Fire watch, latrine cleaning. Even latrine cleaning during fire watch! On hands and knees, scrubbing bleach into overbleached tiles to the tune of the national anthem. Wonderful.

“Ruq, if you don’t shut your ugly fucking face–”

“You’ll what?” Ruq shot at him, ducking his brush into his bucket. “Get angry? That’s your default state of being, Jaril. Kick my ass in the wrestling ring? You already got that down pat. Nope, all the same, I’ll keep whistling.”

Phrixus dropped his brush, ignoring the splatter of harsh-smelling droplets on his t-shirt. He stared across the length of tiles between them, and seriously considered kicking Ruq’s ass. He didn’t do meelee, but not because he was bad at it.

Luckily for Ruq, his omnitool buzzed before he could decide to take a swing. Phrixus met Ruq’s glance. Ruq looked back down at his scrubbing. Having his personal omnitool on fire watch wasn’t really allowed. Well, no ‘really’ about it. It absolutely wasn’t allowed.

Phrixus wiped his hands on his shirt, and flipped open his omnitool.

Music blasted over the tool’s speakers. He jumped and flew to adjust the settings to filter out background noise.

“Hiiii!”

He stared down at the little holo of a wildly waving Mira. “Hey.”

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you answered,” she told him. She was drunk, her words coming loose and slow. “It’s hard to get you these days.”

“Yeah, well,” Phrixus said, glancing at Ruq sneaking a look up at him. “Kind of hard to get time to myself, you know?”

“I knooow,” she said.

He stood and walked to a corner, away from Ruq’s curiosity. For all the good it would do; the bathroom tile bounced her voice around, amplified it.

“Where’re you at?” he asked her.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. The feed swiveled and spun as she stood. She moved to let the camera pan out to include a couch; on the ratty side, but decent and affordable looking. “Guess!”

Phrixus’s head whipped to look at Ruq; likewise, Ruq whipped to look back down at the floor. But he had somehow gotten a meter or two closer. He looked back at his omnitool. He remembered. They’d sat on that couch. Made out on it. He remembered the way her fingers, so tentative and light, had held his jaw and slid underneath his mandible, to the soft tissue there.

“N’kae’s?” he said. N’tessa’s older sister.

“Correct!” she said, sounding entirely too pleased with herself. She dropped onto the couch and laughed.

And the unsteady whirl of her tool’s camera on her, the dizzying blur of her features recalled misplaced glimpses from his memories. Her lips and nose, out of context. The feel of his clipped talon pressing on her cheek.

“Mira? Are you talking to someone?”

And she was looking up out of the camera’s view pane. “It’s Phrixus.”

Forta appeared at her shoulder. “Oh! Hey, Phri!”

“Hey,” he said.

“You know you’re not supposed to call him out of the blue, right?” Forta asked her.

“He’s my boyfriend,” she told him.

“I know, but–”

Phrixus shook his head. “It’s okay, but–”

“Hi!” Ruq had crept behind him, and now was looking down into his omnitoool.

“Hi!” Mira said, smiling up at them. “Who’re you?”

Phrixus tried to shove Ruq away from him, but he just planted his feet and grabbed onto his sleeve.

“Licinius Ruq. We’re in the same squad.”

“Oh! That’s fun.”

“It is fun,” Ruq agreed.

Phrixus violently shook his arm, dislodging Ruq and side-stepping him.

“Listen, I gotta go,” he told them. “Get home safe, okay guys?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Forta told him.

“Hey,” Mira said. “Wait–

Phrixus paused.

“I miss you.”

He froze. And there was no way in hell he was going to look up to see Ruq’s expression. Or look up to invite whatever comment the jerkoff had in store. He just looked down at the little blue-tinged holo projection of her, looking up at him.

“I– yeah. I’ll message you,” was all he managed. “I gotta go.”

She blinked. “Okay.”

Phrixus shut down his omnitool. Not just his comm, but the whole thing. He ignored Ruq, picked up his brush, and went back to scrubbing on his hands and knees. After a long stretch of silence filled with the scratching sweeps of his brush, Ruq walked around him and went back to work, too.

“I knooow,” Ruq finally said, pitching his voice high and undulating down and up. Affected a particularly silly version of a Citadel accent.

Phrixus glanced at him. “She doesn’t sound like that.”

“C’mon. A little bit.”

Phrixus ignored him. Put a slightly furious push into his scrubbing motion. The tile dug up into his knees.

“Why didn’t you just tell her you miss her too?” Ruq continued. “Just me here.”

Yeah, no witnesses when I strangle you, Phrixus mulled to himself. He dunked his brush for more watery, soapy bleach.

“You know,” Ruq said. “When I was, what, eight? Eight or so, we were on Omega for a while. There was this one dancer that my dad ran around with. Shula. Always bought me candy or little toys and stuff. They broke up when Dad got caught in his next robbery, but when he got out and we moved, he would get drunk and call Shula. Always Shula. Never my mom, or his current girlfriend. Just Shula.”

“What are you saying, Ruq?” Phrixus all but snapped.

He shrugged, resting his hands on the tile and looking at him. “I dunno. Just maybe you should’ve told her you missed her too.”

What the hell was the point of this, anyway? The grout between these tiles was so old, it was starting to crumble when you ran a brush over it. No way would anyone ever be able to get out that ancient yellowing.

“Mind your own business,” he told him.

-

There was a particular sergeant, Icthus, that had it out for him.

Yeah, yeah. Everyone had a damn ‘this one asshole trainer had it out for me’ story, but, seriously, by the time he puked for the thirteenth time (yeah, he counted) after receiving the gift of extra laps during physical training from her– he was pretty sure she wanted him to die from a burst heart.

And it’s not like it got easier. Yeah, he wasn’t unfit or anything when he got here; the Arena had at least helped some with that. But as he got more and more accustomed to the running and the weights and the courses, the more and more laps Icthus lobbed on him.

On that thirteenth gift of laps, after which he puked, he was running for so long he missed breakfast. He couldn’t miss classes, of course, so Sergeant Icthus just spat and told him he had more due to her during free time. He dragged through the day, and in the evening ran until he puked up dinner (fourteen!). By the time he got back to the barracks, it was lights out. He couldn’t even crawl his way to the showers to wash the smell of sweat and vomit off of him, not after curfew.

And so, it had to be understandable that he just slapped the blinking light on his omnitool off.

At least he didn’t have fire watch tonight. Of course, if he had fire watch, he’d have a chance to sneak out his omnitool and check his messages. But then he’d– well, honestly, there was a good possibility he’d leave his tool wedged into his footlocker.

Lately, he’d started to dread the sight of that blinking notification light. Because he didn’t want to think about this growing rise of irritation in his stomach with each message telling him about some new high score at the Arena, some incident where Forta used biotics to tamper with an arcade game and broke the damn thing. Here he was, puking up bits of liver and lung, and everyone back home was having fun.

He didn’t want to deal with the way he was having a hard time telling Mira how he felt about the separation, the way he was having a hard time hearing her tell him how upset she was with him gone. He didn’t tell her this, though. Didn’t tell her how he was struggling and feeling bogged. Didn’t tell her any of that. And, fucking spirits, add to that the fact that he was frustrated, almost 24/7, by thoughts of her, of others in the company, and the guilt that added to the damn mess. Guilt that he thought of other people, guilt that he was wanted her and yet didn’t much want to talk to her.

Spirits. And he thought the time before they started dating was bad. That the pressed down feeling he’d gotten before shipping out had been bad.

None of that had shit on this.

He slept pretty badly that night. One, he stank. Two, he was so sore it made any position, any form of existence at all, excruciating. In the morning, he powered his way through physical training by just giving in to the dead inside feeling. He skipped most of breakfast for a shower, grabbed a protein drink, and survived training and classes. Lunch and dinner. He actually made it to free time, lungs still pumping and neurons probably still firing.

Then he remembered last night, slapping off his omnitool.

With the now familiar rise of guilt, he dug it out of his footlocker. Ruq and the four others he shared the room with were out in the rec room, working on homework or goofing off more likely. The tidy little barracks room, sterile metal walls and ceramic tile floors, held three bunk beds, six footlockers, and a set of stand-up lockers for uniforms. That was about it.

Phrixus toed the door closed and sat on his bunk.

He had an enormous number of messages from Mira and Forta. And Aela. Most asking him to call. That guilt in his stomach turned to something else. He vid called Mira.

“Hey, sorry–”

He stopped. The little holo version of her sat in her room. He’d recognize all of those frilly pillows and those peach-pink walls any day. Even with the room only lit by the glow of her omnitool. She was in pajamas, sitting up in bed. It was her face that stopped him.

“Hey,” she said, voice quiet and hoarse.

He stared for a moment. “Hey. Sorry I didn’t get back last night.”

“It’s okay.”

He was quiet, and she was too. The guilt that had become something else churned. Her eyes, turning to the side, burned with bloodshot.

“I need to–” she started, and then her voice hitched. She swallowed. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay,” he said.

She shifted, straightening. “So. Um. It’s actually… My mom is sick.”

“What?”

“They told us yesterday.  She’s been going to the hospital for weeks now and just got a diagnosis.  It was all her early eezo research. We– humans– didn’t really know what we were doing back then– AEND. That’s what it’s called. Neurodegenerative. Terminal–”

She cut herself off. Like a path falling off into a great bottomless crater.

Ellen Ryder. He could see her as she’d laughed at some joke one of his moms made at that dinner party, pouring wine and slipping, spilling a large purplish blot onto her table. The way it made her laugh harder, wheeze as she mopped it up with a napkin. Filling out a chemistry lab with Mira in their living room, trying to keep their voices low because Ellen’s over at the table and Mira’s just copying. And Ellen probably indulging them by ‘not hearing.’

He would wonder later if this was the point. If this was the moment. If it all fell out of this occurrence. Out of his failure to say all the things he should have said. But that wasn’t true. Well, it was true there were things he should have said. But things don’t happen in a vacuum. Lives are the product of all the things that come before, all the things that were and weren’t said. This wasn’t the one moment, because there wasn’t one singular moment.

In the meantime, he wasn’t saying anything, because he did not know what to say.

“Dad and Mom are going back to Earth to continue treatment. Selling the apartment. Mom doesn’t want our lives to be disrupted, so we’re moving to the school dorms…”

She trailed off, looking at some point in the far off darkness of her room. She didn’t cry, or even express much of anything in the slack set of her eyes and mouth.

“What,” Phrixus said. “How… how long does she…?”

“Years. That’s what they said. Maybe a few years.”

She reached up and tucked a stray lock behind her ear.

“Dad keeps saying we can’t give up. That he’s going to do everything…” she frowned, shook her head.

And then she finally looked at him.

“Phrixus? Are you okay?”

He didn’t mean to sound angry, but he did. “Why are you asking me that? What–”

He stopped, and made himself slow down. “Are you okay?”

That stray lock slid free again, swinging forward. She just shrugged.

“No,” she stated.

And she kept looking at him, up out of that display of projected light points. Not even her, just some version of her lacking her presence and the nearness for him to reach out and say something to– to what? Fix it? What could he possibly do? The barracks room he sat in rang with a cold clarity. He needed to say something, do something, anything. She needed something from him.

But all Phrixus could think of was to say, “I’m sorry.”

Mira just nodded. “Yeah.”

The unfamiliar pause and the unfamiliar thing in it stretched.

“Look,” she said. “It’s late. I’ll message you tomorrow, okay?”

“…Okay,” he said. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yeah. Talk to you later?”

“Right.”

As the connection cut, and his omnitool went dark, and he sat in the cold clarity of the barracks, he realized neither of them had said a real goodbye. No ‘I miss you.’ Or… There were still words sitting on the back of his tongue like bile.

-

After six months of basic combat, even with Sergeant Icthus breathing down his carapace, Phrixus graduated to advanced training. And he chose to continue military training. Some of his squad went for infrastructure, a couple wanted to further their education in sciences, three went for engineering, Haetil Markius (the big outside, little inside type) checked off liberal arts on her forms, and the remaining two chose military like Phrixus. Licinius Ruq (unfortunately) and Jyra Kraetoq (the one other in the squad from the Citadel, from the lower wards).

They were reassigned to a new company, and a new squad. But they were placed together: him, Ruq, and Kraetoq.

It’s not like military had been his lifelong dream or anything. He didn’t grow up with his eyes glued to the military drama reruns that played every weekend, or demand little soldier toys from his moms. Of course, turians would always have an admiration for the military and those who devoted themselves to the front lines. It was in their blood. Or their cultural blood anyway.

But Phrixus really just chose it because he was good at it. He had good gun sense, was physically fit and growing taller by the minute, and took orders well. The last part was the most important as far his trainers were concerned. You served the Hierarchy to your best ability, and the best ability that the military wanted was obedience. And Phrixus was good at that, so that’s how his life started to take shape before him.

“Well,” Calix had said, during a vid call before he signed off on the forms. “Honey, it’s your choice, and we’ll support you no matter what you choose. But are you sure?”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine really being… I dunno, a politician or teacher or something. And it’s what they’re recommending for me.”

“Recommendations are just recommendations,” Domera stated, sitting beside Calix at their table at home. That wasn’t exactly true; yeah, recommendations made by trainers after all your evaluations were meant to help guide choices, but it was considered pretty irregular to deviate from that.

“And politicians and teachers don’t get shot at,” Domera added

“Mom–”

“I know, I know. I’m worrying too much. But that’s my job. To worry about you. And maybe you should worry a little bit more.”

“Look,” Phrixus said. “I get it. It’s scary. But that’s what the training is for. So we react to every situation before we have to think about it. I understand the risks. And I think I can handle it.”

Calix and Domera had sat for a long moment, their mandibles pulled in.

Calix sighed, subvocals low and vibrating. “Okay, Phrixus. If that’s what you want. We understand.”

“We’re proud of you, honey,” Domera said, her eyes overbright. “You know that? And you can do it, I know. Just remember us and be careful, okay?”

“Thanks, guys,” he said, eyes darting down and his chest warm.

Calix cleared her throat. “By the way– we saw Ellen the other day.”

He shifted. “Oh… yeah? How is she?”

The two of them sighed, glanced at each other. “She looked good. But I guess you can’t always tell with these things. The twins are already moved into their dorms, and their place got sold. They’re leaving day after tomorrow. I think the real estate agency is taking care of their furniture.”

“We promised we’d check in on Mira and Forta every now and then,” Domera added. “Have you talked to them recently?”

“Yeah. But I mean… I dunno. It’s just tough, I guess.”

Domera shook her head. “Those poor dears. I know you’re busy, but just keep in touch, okay hun?”

“Yeah.”

And Phrixus had talked to them. Forta had vented at length to him, and Mira as well, if not with the same vehemence and extent. But he still didn’t feel as if he’d done anything to help them. Anything he said felt trite and and cliche. I’m sorry. That’s terrible. And worst of all: things will be okay. Because, no, things were not going to be okay. Terminal. That horrible, terrifying word. Even just imagining himself in their place, if it was Calix or Domera and not Ellen, had him break out in a sweat, his head swimming with vertigo.

It did not make sense. You could logically think, you know, at some point of time this person will no longer exist. But it did not make sense. It was like your whole being, from your mind down to your spirit, just wanted to reject that thought wholly and totally. He could not imagine, did not want to imagine, being in their place.

And because of his discomfort, (and because she could probably sense his discomfort), his messages with Mira got increasingly stilted. She seemed… withdrawn. She’d stopped going out as much, and was not as open and effervescent about the little details of her days.

He didn’t know what to say to her.

Also, he was still feeling pressed and consumed by the training, all the protocol they had to memorize, the physical demands of boot camp. The absolute control of his time, down to the last moments of the day. In one way, yes, the structure was easy to fall into and let take over. But that could also just as easily turn into a horrific numbness. That pressed down feeling sometimes bloomed into an emptiness.

But he hadn’t ever said any of this to Mira, or anyone. And then with what she and Forta were going through, it didn’t feel right to mention it.

In the end, he fell into the structure and rigor of prepping for military service like slipping into a warm ocean, and swimming without pause to the end of the world.