#and a war machine named chopper

[nacht-raven]

still deep in the star wars fixation so here’s a Hera bc I love her dearly

[sunny-mercya]

Collapsed

Trafalgar Law x Male Reader

Fandom -> One Piece

Requested by -> @bunbunboysworld

Masterlist | Related OS |

It had been two weeks—which equals into 14 days and those were approximately, plus minus, 336 hours—since you had fallen into a coma.

A coma which could've been prevented if your captain wasn't so recklessly careless with your health and—in a sense of way, profusely—ignored your medical needs—at least that's how Laws oh so humble opinion of view about this was.

When you had collapsed, for once and final—in the mere hours of the ultimate last battle, after you stood up once more to fight, against Kaido—Law picked you up and teleported back to the Polar Tang, into the Medical room, hooking you up on the machines and tubes—doing is best to get you stable.

Your heartline had deflated more than once during the first attempts of getting you stable enough—out of the death threatening double zero blood sugar zone—and Law, by any means of being a damned good Doctor, had doubted himself all these hours whenever your heart dropped out of living.

For someone, mused Law to himself in his lonesome thoughts—which he couldn't share with you at the moment, to get your input and opinions about whatever plagues his mind—like Monkey D. Luffy, who declares literally war against everyone and anything, even against humanity itself if needed to be, when whoever dares to hurt his dear friends—he really does like to care little and less about the wellbeing of his own crew mates.

Slumping down onto a chair next to you, Law breathed out a heavily sigh of defeat—his hand moving towards your ashen face, fingers gently tracing over the feverish skin.

»[Name]-ya, would you even agree to leave the Strawhats and come with me instead?« a whispering question, Law knew would never be answered and which he also would never dare to repeat to you again.

But Law wished, longing in a sort of way even, that you would just stay with him instead of Luffy—but knowing your faithfulness of loyalty you have pledged and declared loudly—especially against the whole Marines and Admiral Akinau—during the battle of Marine-Ford to the Strawhat and what history you have with him, Law knew you would never waver and Law himself didn't want to force you to choose between two sides.

~~~

The first thing Law hears, when going to the Strawhats—wanting to ask either Robin or Chopper, if they could bring some of your clothes to him—was how Luffy declared you as almost dead and Law stopped in his tracks—Bepo, Sachi and Penguin crashing into his back and looking slightly confused and concerned at him.

Mentally Law counted till ten and he also tries to recall, when he ever said something along those lines. He certainly didn't.

Law did say, that your health condition is still considered critical and that it takes a while for you to recover—but he definitely never said that you're dying or being dead.

»[Name]-ya isn't dying. Not anytime soon and not when I'm still a Doctor.« comment Law, making his way to Robin, greeting her with a curt nod.

»But Traffy! You said [Nickname] is close to death,«

Law wonders why he still bothers with such a Captain as Rival.

»Yes. When [Name]-ya's blood sugar reaches Zero and if no one's there to keep him stable or gives him the insulin, than he's close to deaths door. I did explained before, didn't I?« Law sighed out, clenched his jaw and trying his best not explode any seconds from the up building anger.

How many times did he told them? More than often. From Punk Hazard all the way to Wano, Law had explained—even in simple folk terms—what sort of medical issue you having, what it caused and how to prevent it mostly—but here they are, once again, having to go such discussion repeatedly again.

»If you had listen, to what I have said at Punk Hazard and Dressrosa, then you wouldn't need to ask again.« Law might have said it a bit harshly, but to the above—he doesn't care at the moment.

Laws tired, honestly exhausted, having slept at all these past weeks—he hadn't a good schedule of sleep to begin with, always being a bit insomniac—hadn't a good cup of coffee either, because he only ever drinks it when your brewing him one—it just taste much better in his opinion—and besides him having to do his duties as a Captain and Doctor—he's in a constant mood of worry over you.

So, please, excuse Law when he's about to be done with whatever nonsense shit Monkey D. Luffy is babbling on about.

»You know Strawhat-ya, if you keep this up, I might just snatch [Nickname]-ya away from you. After all I'm his husband, so he belongs to me and I honestly to god don't give a fucking shit, if this means war between us.«

For once, Law doesn't stop himself to speak unfiltered when tired—feeling rather relieved even to have said such declaration now.

»Ehhhh?! Whatcha mean? Watcha mean with this Traffy?!«

Law ignores Luffy's whining questions and his bouncing around—thanking Robin, ignoring her teasing smile and made his way back to the Polar-Tang.

~~~

When you woken up from your coma, you had been barely awake and neither responsive—you still weren't, even after days, falling back into the clutches of sleep more than often.

Once you were more coherent enough to respond to Laws medical questions and doings, he had deemed you not critical of condition anymore, but still not recovered.

»It's....hot...« you mumble out, moving—albeit still weakly—under the blankets, wanting some coolness onto your skin.

»I'll bring you another frozen washcloth soon.« said Law, turning another page of his book—a book about medical history—sitting next to you on the bed, his bed to be exact—had moved you there, after Law was certain you didn't need the machines to keep your heart and lungs from collapsing.

You suffering through a high fever and an sensitive stomach—couldn't keep any sorts of food in, without vomiting it out right after—was an outcome Law had predicted to come—after all, blood sugar comas were tricky.

Law's glad it's only a high fever you had gotten and not something like internal bleeding or decaying limps—like said before, blood sugar coma are tricky life threatening risky.

»Can I have.....uhm....that one warm drink too? Please?«

»Hot Chocolate?«

»Yes! No, wait, the other warm drink, what I had last night,«

»Tea?«

»Yeah, yeah tea, please.«

»Sure, whatever you wish for, love.«

Marking the page and putting his book away on the nightstand, Law lays himself down—getting more comfortable—to you, arm draping over your blanket covered stomach, while his other hand supports his head.

Such flushed, Law mused to himself with an upcoming impish boy smile—blood flowing red your face is—expression and the slight sweat, suits you really well and if you weren't currently bed ridden and on recovery—Law would have nibbled on your exposed skin already, teasing and edging you till you're close of passing out.

Although Law couldn't enjoy some passionate sex with you, he could cuddle with you as much as he wants now and this sounds by far like a much better deal anyways—after all, you and him are more separated than together, so Law takes every opportunity he gets to have you.

Perhaps, Law doesn't have to declare War against the Strawhat—not as long as you're sick anyways and once recovered and healthy, maybe than Law could persuade you to go with him from now on.

Law had lost his focus on his train of thoughts and all his future plans, when you booped his nose. Raising an eyebrow in amusement, Law glances down at you.

»Law, please, I'm hot and I also wanna have some tea and cuddles.« you pouted a bit, scrunching up your face from the uncomfortable warmth.

»As you wish.« Law leaned down, giving you a kiss on the forehead and moving from the bed.

Law's indeed glad—despite the circumstances of how—to be a Doctor and you're his patient, but he's absolutely overjoyed to have you has his Husband now and forever.

[honey-riley]

Love You To Death || S.R.

WARNINGS: Military themes, guns, weapons, violence, detailed gore, mentions of Simon's past.

A/N: This contains an OC :) her name is Honey Tailer (my user is after her 🫡), she's German, so I hope you brought your google translate or other translators. There are more descriptors of her in the story itself <3

A/N pt.2: I'm learning German, and for most of the dialog in German, I use a translator. So, if anything is incorrect in German, don't behead me pls.

wc: 5.9k

1 || 2

War.

That's all that ever ran through him. A traumatized, mean, brooding war machine. Ever since he was little, that's all he could remember. The war within his household, the constant abuse that his father passed around. The constant abuse he endured as a child had profound and lasting effects on him. It shaped his worldview, eroded his sense of self-worth, and left him with deep emotional scars that manifested in his brooding and mean demeanor. The war within his household became the war within himself, and it consumed him every day.

He had never truly felt warmth. Sure, he had happy moments, moments where he could forget the trauma, moments where the gray cloud looming above him would clear. But only for a moment. He was human after all. The impact of his traumatic childhood on his relationships was profound. He struggled to form deep connections with others, always keeping them at arms length, afraid of being hurt again. His fear of vulnerability and his need for control made it difficult for him to trust and open up to others, resulting in a cycle of loneliness and isolation.

Riddling himself with routines, sticking to schedules, running everything in a timely, comfortable manner is what he loves. What he thrived on. It was something that he knew he could rely on. Every morning, he would wake up at the exact same time, following a strict routine that he had meticulously planned out. From the moment he opened his eyes to the moment he closed them again at night, every minute of his day was accounted for. He found solace in the predictability of his schedule, as it provided a sense of control and stability in a chaotic world. His routines became his lifeline, a way for him to regain some semblance of order in his life and protect himself from the unpredictable nature of human interactions.

So, the day that someone broke that routine for him, that was a day that he was going to remember.

Preparing for a mission, he went in with his normal routine - shower, get his gear on, put the mask on, prepare mentally, head to base, scan in, have breakfast, pack his tactical vest, check his gear, clean his weapons, and head out to the chopper by 0400.

This time, when he got to the chopper, there was a new face. Striking green eyes, long black hair that was slicked back into a regulatory military bun, fair skin, and God, was she short. Standing at four feet, eleven inches, just barely meeting the height requirements.

"Lieutenant." Laswell nodded as he approached. "This is Sergeant Honey Tailer, hope you don't mind her joining you today." She added with a smile. Ghost stuck his hand out for Honey to shake, which she accepted, giving him a firm shake back.

He took in her appearance one more time, noting her black, polished boots, her uniform, which wasn't digital camo, but more like spotted camo. She had a German flag on her shoulders and on her tactical vest.

"My pleasure, Lieutenant." She smiled softly, her German accent apparent in her words. It wasn't strong, it was subtle, she sounded like she had been speaking English her entire life - but she hadn't.

"It's great to meet you, Sergeant." He nodded, releasing her hand.

"Honey's going to be your DM for today. She'll provide surveillance, make sure you guys keep your heads." Laswell grinned as she looked over at Honey. DM, or designated marksman, was a good position to be in - a position that they needed in the team.

The team then loaded into the chopper, strapping into their seats. Honey's rifle sat on her chest, the barrel pointing to the tin floor of the chopper as she looked out of the window. She stared off, lost in thought, devising a plan on how she would go about this. It was an in and out mission, quick and easy - if things went according to plan.

Honey would provide recon and examine from a distance, while the team went in, gathering intel, hopefully going undetected, then Soap would plant the bombs, they would all get back onto the chopper, where Soap would detonate them.

"You'll do just fine, kid." Price's gruff voice snapped her out of thought as he patted her on the shoulder. Honey shot him a small, tight lipped, slightly nervous smile. She was used to this kind of stuff, but to work with a team she had never met, find her groove all over again, and to do it in time, was nerve wracking.

"This isn't your first time, right?" Ghost grunted as he looked over at her, his voice deep, almost like a growl.

"No, sir. I've been deployed multiple times." She replied with a nod.

Ghost took that in an almost snooty, stuck up way. Like she was so young, and she had all this experience, and she sounded like she was bragging about it. That irked him.

Instead of saying anything, he stayed quiet, crossing his arms over his chest. To pass the time, Honey put her AirPods in, and turned on some music, letting out a small sigh as she leaned back into her chair.

There was something about her that Ghost didn't find appealing. Something about her annoyed him, but he couldn't tell what it was.

The metallic sound of her ring clanking against her rifle as she tapped her fingers to the beat of the song she was listening to only made his annoyance grow.

"Wha' song are ye listenin' to?" Soap asked, nudging her.

"Oh, Love You To Death by Type O Negative." Honey said, looking over at him with a small smile.

"Damn, gothic stuff." Soap chuckled, cuing Honey to nod. "Yer pal, Ghostie over there loves that kind of music." Soap chuckled, nodding towards Ghost, making him let out a small scoff.

Not only was Honey now annoying him, she also had the same taste in music? That felt like it wasn't going to fly with him for whatever reason. He was already annoyed that his routine had been disrupted, and now, her presence alone annoyed him more.

"Alright, team. We're landing in Verdansk, just to refresh, you are to take out Makarov. He's in a highly guarded area, with plenty of people surrounding him." Laswell said over the comms.

"Copy." Honey replied, letting out a small sigh. She was the one who was tasked with disturbing the hive - taking out Makarov. She had already been filled in on why they needed him dead, and all the other necessary things such as his identity, where he would be at, his rank, what he looked like.

Once the chopper landed Price divided everyone into partners, and one trio. Ghost and Honey were tasked with surveillance. Ghost was Honey's spotter.

'I'm gonna be stuck with this annoying, snooty, stuck up bitch?' Ghost thought to himself. He kept his opinions inward, thankfully. Usually, with new recruits, he was very vocal about his disdain for them. This time, he kept his mouth shut, just wanting to get the mission done quicker.

Honey established a sniper's nest, and laid on the roof of the building opposite of where the team would be infiltrating.

"What's the drag?" Honey whispered, looking through her iron sights, ready to set her rifle up.

"Not a clue." Ghost grunted as he looked through the scope of his own rifle, adjusting accordingly. He did know, he just wanted her to struggle a bit, make her more 'human' in his eyes.

"You're no help." Honey muttered under her breath, looking down her iron sights again. She glanced over at Ghost for a moment, turning to her own rifle, contemplating something.

She deftly reached over, sliding the scope off of his rifle.

'Now she's trying to fuck with my gear?' Ghost scorned in his own mind. He looked over at her, his brows furrowed under his mask before he snatched his scope back, sliding it back on.

"Du erzeugst ein Glitzern." She growled, taking it back off.

"English." Ghost muttered under his breath, starting to get pissed off.

"You're creating a glint. There's people in that building that can see you because of your scope." She growled, looking over at the moon for a second before looking back at him. She subtly lifted her hand, pointing at the opposing building, and indeed, a faint reflection from the scope could be seen if you knew where to look.

He let out an audible scoff, rolling his eyes. He adjusted his rifle, getting used to just using his iron sights.

"It's a 42 meter separation, the wind is blowing south-east. We're facing north-west. The wind is 6 knots. Light breeze." He replied, telling her what she would need to adjust her rifle.

"Any visuals on Makarov?" Laswell said through the comms.

Honey glanced through a pair of binoculars for a second, seeing Makarov working at a table in an empty room, his back turned to the window.

"Positive. Black, short hair, suit, I can't tell how tall he is, but Ghost can verify that it's him." Honey replied through the comms. "It's him, Kate." Ghost muttered into the comms. "Permission to take the shot?" Honey asked Laswell.

"Granted." Laswell replied.

Honey put down the binoculars and Ghost picked them up, ready to watch Honey shoot Makarov.

Honey lined up her shot, calculating the drag, and the possible path that the bullet would take once it hit the glass. Doubt nibbled at the edges of her mind, raising its voice as her finger hovered over the trigger. But she pushed it away, reminding herself of the countless hours of training. She took a deep breath, pulling the rifle tight to her shoulder, holding her breath so that the shot was steady. She loaded her chamber, taking the rifle off of safety, and slowly squeezed the trigger.

Ghost's heart raced. He felt a pang of jealousy, mixed with a swirl of emotions. 'This should've been mine,' He thought, his chest tightening. 'This is my team. What does she think she's doing, muscling in on my territory?' His fists clenched around the binoculars, sweat dripping from his temple.

The bullet shattered through the glass, sending a gory red mist into the air as Makarov's head exploded. Ghost's jaw clenched as his anger bubbled, the realization of what just happened setting in.

Honey laid her rifle down, staying on her stomach as she glanced over to Ghost. She could see the tension in his body, the balaclava clinging to his face with each heavy gasp for air. Unsure of how to respond to Ghost's obvious displeasure, she gave him a small, tight lipped, reassuring smile.

Ghost glared back, his eyes filled with the intensity of his rage. 'She's taken everything from me,' he thought. 'I can't let her win. I can't let her take this from me too.'

In the aftermath, the team sat in stunned silence, their gazes fixed on the lifeless body now sprawled on the floor. The reality of their success hung in the air, a weighty, shared accomplishment that lingered, tainted by Ghost's bitter resentment. This was a man that they had been tracking for years and Honey came in and shot him like it was nothing. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. And God, that smile afterwards pissed him off so much more.

'What the fuck is she doing? This was supposed to be my job. What the hell does she know about shooting?' Ghost fought with himself internally. He hated this. He ha=ted everything about her.

The pair watched as the team infiltrated the room, occasional gunfire sounding through the air. Honey watched as Soap went in, took a laptop and all the needed files, planting a few bombs on his way out.

Honey stood up, grabbing her rifle, unloading the chamber and putting it back onto safety. Ghost stood up as well, grabbing his own rifle, storming his way back down the flight of stairs to the ground floor.

"Ghost." Honey said as she followed him, her rifle slung over her back. He didn't bother waiting for her, or even listening to her. He silently stormed his way back to the chopper, getting in, and buckling himself up.

Honey set their things back where they belonged on the chopper, ensuring that nothing would fall out. There was an awkward silence as they waited for the rest of the team to get back to where the chopper was. Nikolai sat in the cockpit.

"How was the mission? You finally nail him?" Nikolai grinned, his thick Russian accent apparent in his words as he looked back through the door, glancing at Ghost.

"Honey did." Ghost muttered, his fists balled under his biceps as he crossed his arms. "Her shot was just luck." He added, looking outside of the chopper, avoiding eye contact. He knew it was more than luck - it was skill, but he didn’t want to admit it.

Honey winced at his words, looking over at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. She glanced away, keeping her eyes off of him. She had always been doubted. She had worked her entire life for this moment, and the entire time, she had been doubted. She didn't know why it even hurt at this point - she should've expected it. But, she was going to stand up for herself for once - even if it didn't work.

Honey looked at him, her brow furrowing. "Luck?" She asked, her voice slightly hurt. "I took the damn shot, calculated it. I did everything I needed to. And it's just luck? I’ve worked my entire life for this, I’ve worked my ass off. Making sure that I could make a damn shot." She added. Honey wanted to get frustrated, she wanted to argue, but she took a deep breath, keeping her mouth shut.

Ghost's jaw dropped slightly at her response. His glare softened, his unwavering anger faltering for the first time. He didn't know what to say to counter her words, her confidence - and for once, he found himself at a loss.

'All of my years of practicing, honing, just for it to be chalked up to luck? Fuck this guy.' Honey thought to herself, letting out a sigh. She wanted to be on this team, she had worked for it for years. She wanted to be on the top - the best of the best, and this was her chance. She wasn't going to ruin it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the rest of the team getting into the chopper, carrying files, laptops, and USB sticks. Everything that they could get their hands on that could be important, they took.

"Let's watch this puppy blow." Soap chuckled as he buckled into the chopper. Nikolai lifted the chopper off the ground, getting it a distance away before Soap pressed the button, making the entire building explode and collapse in on itself.

Honey watched as the orange and yellow flames licked the air, huge billows of smoke and debris shooting up into the air.

"Christ." Honey murmured, watching the smoke shoot up. The blast wave then hit the chopper, making it sway and vibrate. Nikolai quickly corrected, starting their flight back. The flight back to base was almost silent, everyone processing what had just happened, and why it had happened.

'Why was Honey the one to kill Makarov? Why was this new recruit the one who got to end the man we had fought to kill for years? And why was it so easy for her?' Ghost was furious at the thought of it.

'Why did she get the pleasure? The satisfaction?'

When they got back to base, Ghost just wanted to get his report filled and then think things through in his quarters, but of course, Laswell had other plans.

"You and Honey are bunking together." Laswell said as she opened the door to his quarters. Honey stood behind Laswell, her bag slung on her shoulder as well as a few other things in her hands - two pillows and a blanket.

"What about Soap?" Ghost asked, looking over at the other bed in the room - the bed where Soap slept. That side of the room was blank, Soap moved rooms.

"Soap bunked with Gaz. We don't have another room for Honey, so she's going with you." Laswell said, turning around and walking away. Honey came in quietly, her steps silent.

She placed her things on the bed, avoiding him. She busied herself with the task of getting her things set up - making the bed, putting her things in her dresser and closet.

"There are rules here." Ghost grunted as he watched her, his attention drawn away from his paperwork.

"Keep your shit on your side of the room, keep it clean, keep it neat, and don't talk to me." He added. Honey didn't do anything but nod as she folded her clothes. Pajamas, uniforms, dress uniforms, civilian clothes - they were all put away neatly.

There was something about her, something that kept his attention away from his paperwork. Something that kept him from focusing. Maybe it was the rage towards her, maybe it was the envy - there was something. Something that he hated. Something that Simon despised. Ghost hated it more.

What do we think of the first part, y'all? Do we love it? Hate it? Eh? Lmk what I can work on as well! My ask me is still open :))

[aviculor]

To elaborate on my Katakuri theory, there's a lot of small details. For instance, despite being able to see the future, a jellybean he flicked knocked out the priest before he could shoot Sanji. When he invaded the Sunny, he literally sat down with his arms and legs crossed and just watched Brook and Chopper take his men out. Despite having a den den mushi and witnessing Luffy talk to his crew through a mirror shard, he at no point informs Perospero or any of his other siblings that the Strawhats are still alive. He doesn't even say anything about it to Brulee, Mascarpone, and Joscarpone who are also there in the mirror world. Basically, it would have been incredibly easy for him to kill the Strawhats and be done with it, yet he chose to do nothing simply to see how things would play out. Any time he took initiative, it was neutralizing an active threat to his family such as flicking jellybeans at would-be assassins and providing mochi earplugs during Big Mom's shriek. And, of course, fighting Luffy. Which as I said before, quickly revealed that he respects Luffy and ended with him lowkey making Luffy promise to bring down Big Mom. In short, Katakuri secretly wants his mom to be defeated.

During his backstory, the idea of going to his mom over what happened is never even brought up. No, despite being the princes and princesses of Totto Land, the Charlotte children were completely on their own. No special status. Free to be bullied, free to be assaulted and mutilated. They only had each other to rely on. In fact, when you look at the timeline, Linlin was sailing with the Rocks Pirates during most of her children's childhoods. I'm not even quite sure how she was doing that and also giving birth to at least one child a year for the last 42 solid years. But that's not important right now. What is important is that Charlotte Linlin is a bad mother who is not only negligent, but outright abusive and even willing to kill her children for getting in her way during a tantrum. Katakuri, a man who loves his siblings so dearly that he became a "perfect" cold and calculating killing machine just to keep them safe, has every reason to resent his mother. Additionally, I would imagine it bothers him how he needs to act so stoic and deathly serious to be taken seriously, yet Big Mom can act like a spoiled child and still be treated with the utmost respect and fear. Remember that's not only his mother, that's also his captain. He and Perospero essentially co-lead the Big Mom Pirates whenever Linlin isn't in her right mind, which is...often. Despite Katakuri explicitly being the strongest member of the crew outside of Big Mom herself, it's easy to think of Perospero as the #2 because he is the one at Big Mom's side carrying out her orders and acting in her interest. Katakuri...is not. If you notice, he barely even interacts with Big Mom except during the wedding ceremony. It's also worth noting he conspicuously stayed behind in Totto Land when the Big Mom Pirates sailed into Wano. All evidence suggests he's not actually that loyal to Big Mom, but he cannot openly defy her. Especially not without his beloved family turning on him.

So what happens when a young upstart pirate captain with a reputation for toppling empires named Monkey D. Luffy declares war on Big Mom and basically comes in her home to spit in her face? He personally goes to see if Luffy can put his money where his mouth is. Over the course of a long, long fight, he comes to realize Luffy might actually have what it takes and accepts defeat. He asks Luffy one more time if he still plans on coming back to defeat Big Mom one day. And when informed that Luffy successfully escaped from Totto Land, he smirks.

As for why he bothered getting in the way during Bege's assassination plot, it stands to reason his observation haki future vision told him his siblings would try to avenge her and throw their own lives away. And they would ask why he didn't do anything to stop it. Maybe he foresaw that it wouldn't even work. But much like Luffy wanting to beat up Hody Jones, it just wasn't the right way to do it.

[kalevalakryze]

Firebird

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Ahsoka (TV) Pairings: Shin Hati/ Sabine Wren Characters: Sabine Wren, Shin Hati, Ahsoka Tano, Ezra Bridger, Hera Syndulla, Ghost Crew 2.0,  Warnings: Major Character Injury, Near Death Experiences, Explosions Notes: For Whumptober Day  16 and @sabineweek Day 2 Prompts: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?” | Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.” + Icarus Word Count: 3,571 AO3 Link: Here!

“Sabine, they’ve got TIE’s taking off.” Ezra’s voice rushed over comms, voice strained from exertion from whatever fight he’d gotten himself into.

“Copy that, do we have eyes on which shuttle is carrying the Lieutenant?” The Mandalorian dropped her rangefinder and rose her eyes to the sky, boot pressed firmly against an incapacitated trooper’s throat where she’d engaged on the rooftops. 

“It will be the one with a burn across the third quadrant of its left wing.” Shin followed, and while her voice was much calmer than Ezra’s, Sabine could feel the strain of her altercation across their bond in the force, feel the ebb and flow of the force where Shin used its power to keep plastoid covered troopers off of their closing position, flowing so freely beside Ezra’s that despite the odds being against them, they moved like a finely oiled machine. 

“On it,” Sabine cast her fuel gauge a wary look, there was just enough in her tanks that she might be fine, and from the screaming of a TIE fighter arcing through the air, she knew there was no time to top off at the Ghost. A TIE swirled overhead, left wing sparking and burning from a lightsaber having cut through it on takeoff. 

“Kark it,” Sabine grumbled, tapping at her gauge with a shake of her head. “We ball.” The woman took to the sky smoothly, jet fuel sparking into a high flame as she dumped more to keep up with the fighter.

The Ghost soared through the sky, streaking past Sabine and offering her a chance to grab on to Chopper’s head to save some fuel as fire was concentrated against the shields and engines to slow down the surviving Imperial’s ascent. 

Before the Ghost could pull away, Sabine was throwing herself from the ship’s hull, fingers brushing out as her jetpack sputtered, wrapping around one of the handles poking out past the hull to yank her weight against it, boots scrambling to push against the durasteel, hooking into the space in between ports to keep herself steady.

“Sabine, you need to hurry!” Hera called, exasperated as she pitched the ghost to the side, rolling out of the way just a hair away from the path of plasma as the TIE opened fire. 

“Work in progress, Hera!” Sabine shouted into her comms, hooking her fingers into the latch of the tie to stabilize before she could dig through a pouch on her belt, revealing her stack of the newest mixture of thermal detonators and the dye packs attached to the explosives. “Hello, beautifuls.” She breathed, fingers ghosting over the neatly stacked explosives. 

Piling them into a fistful, Sabine started planting them each, using the force to sail them across to the inside supports of the fighter’s wings, lining the hatch with enough to blow the top and settling the last couple against the engines, just in case somehow, the hull would survive. 

They rose closer to the upper atmosphere, Sabine’s helmet automatically clicking itself shut and releasing pressure to adjust. “Hey guy, I don’t have freefloating in space on my bucket list for the year,” She grumbled, making quick work of getting her charges set. 

“Sabine!” Several panicked voices hollered her names, staticy over comms the further she got out of range. The Mandalorian’s head shot to the side in time to watch an X-Wing swing in for a strafing run, she didn’t know the pilot, and wasn’t linked into their comms, but she could hear Hera on their open channel, ripping in to the pilot to get them to stop. 

It was too late, however, plasma scorched through the air, singing the air with a heavy smell of ozone. Sabine watched the blue lasers arc towards her before the Ghost could sweep in to incapacitate the fighter. Her legs moved too slow when she pushed off the hull, body turning as she fired up her jetpack, propelling herself away from the fighter half a second before the lasers struck the TIE and ignited her charges. 

Sabine’s head turned in time to watch the colorful, fiery explosion behind her; at least it looked as cool as she figured it would, she’d have to make sure she saved the clip in her helmet to watch later. 

Her jetpack sputtered mid flight, dropping her right into the path of the first shockwave. She didn’t have much chance to see the TIE go down, when paint speckled across her visor and then she was sent into a freefall, the resounding shockwaves hitting her like brick walls with a personal agenda against her existence. 

She was floating in a limbo of dizzy and peaceful, limbs too heavy to move, and her eyelids felt glued shut with weight pressing into her eye sockets to keep her from opening them.

There was a bustle of activity floating into her ears, fading like her grip on the world around her. She wanted to snap at all the people moving around her. Couldn’t they tell she was trying to sleep? A loud, persistent beeping ground away at her nerves, but she was useless in willing her body to shut off whatever alarm was going off.

The beeping grew higher in pitch, there were no breaks in the thudding tone it had carried before. At least the movement in the room seemed to cease, a pin could drop in the silence and bated breath of every body in the room.

Finally, some peace and quiet. Now she could get some sleep.

“Sabine.” There was a distortion in the voice that called out to her, warbling through the very core of her being, through the will of the force. Shin’s voice rang in the notes of their bond, scratchy and deep, but the other voice, the notes she could pick out, a tone she’d only heard in her dreams, a voice and a face she was terrified of forgetting, that had been harder and harder to pick out every day.

She wanted to snap her eyes open, to fly out of bed and run into her buir’s arms, to do something but the stones inside of her skin wouldn’t give her a chance to budge. 

“Don’t go where I can’t follow, me’suum’ika.” Shin’s voice sounded strained, and too far away, like their bond was growing stagnant in Sabine’s indecision. Fingers wrapped around her hand, warm where they sparked against the unbeaten pulse point against her wrist. “You promised,” Their voice wavered with emotion that they fought to keep concealed, Sabine hadn’t heard that tone since they’d gotten her back from the Bandits. 

Promises meant more to Shin than even their connection to the force, Sabine knew that better than anyone, and well… She intended to keep her word. Clan Wren would still be waiting for her, at the end; The Manda would not go anywhere, the cosmic force would still connect all beings, but if she walked out on Shin now… What kind of Mandalorian would she be? Surely not one who deserved to join her people in the afterlife they’d all strived for.

Sabine stopped struggling to see Ursa, there was no where she could go where her mother would not be able to reach, and if the unthinkable happened and she did somehow forget the timber of her voice or the sharpness of her face, she knew there were hundreds of others walking across the galaxy who would be more than happy to help her remember.

Shin’s hand started to slip from Sabine’s palm; She couldn’t move to reach out for them like she wanted, she didn’t want them to leave her either, didn’t want to see someone else give up on her. Someone was crying, voices were murmuring, she could hear the charge of shock paddles-

The first beep of the heart monitor was hard won, an exhaustive struggle that had the same reaction in the room as the flatline. Oxygen forced back into her lungs painfully, and warm fingers brushed against her pulse point once more, squeezing at her wrist to feel the next thud of her heart in her veins themselves. The tension in the room was cut with each thud and each successful breath, pain reigniting in her body in the feeling of broken bones and half sealed abrasions.

“Better,” She could hear the relief in Shin’s voice as their fingers interlocked with the limpness of her own, squeezing her hand even as the activity picked back up around them.

Ahsoka’s presence washed over her in their own bond, another string that she’d familiarized herself with, the calm soaring feeling that came with each interaction the Master and Apprentice shared through their woven destinies. 

“Prep her for the bacta tank,” A medic called out, unfamiliar voice ringing in her ears as cold gloved hands started touching her, though from the warmth seeping into her hand, she was able to rest easy knowing no one had moved Shin, at least until after the calm and quiet suggestion of sleep that had been passed through their bond, and the promise that she would wake up on the other side… eventually.

There was no way to gauge how much time had passed, but every now and then, Sabine would gain an awareness of the real world happening around her. Of Shin’s back pressed into the cool glass of her bacta tank, steadfast in their post as her protector. 

“Shin, she won’t wake up anytime soon,” Ahsoka’s voice floated through the void, in her mind’s eye, Sabine could make out the vision of Ahsoka stepping into the medbay, arms crossed over her chest and a carefully impassive look on her face; Ahsoka learned just as fast as Sabine had that Shin didn’t like sympathies, but she also knew that if Ahsoka’s distaste of Shin’s actions showed, the Gray Apprentice would close themselves off further and often turn to violence to defend their actions or beliefs. 

“You need to go take care of yourself,” Sabine could hear the lightness of the Togruta’s footsteps as she came to a stop in front of the tank, could feel piercing blue eyes on her suspended form, as if Ahsoka knew that Sabine had some awareness of the world around her. 

“I will not leave,” Shin was closed off to them visually, she could not find a way to bring some vision of the other woman to her eye, though she assumed, from the unease rolling off of Ahsoka and the concern in her tone, that her wolf wasn’t doing the best with her incapacitation. This must have been an argument the two force-sensitives found themselves in often, as Shin’s voice curbed on dangerous, the air Sabine could not feel filling with the tension of a hand curling around a saber hilt. 

“There is no reason to fight, Shin,” Ahsoka called, calling for calm across their own unstable bond; Her second apprentice varied greatly to the Mandalorian, and Ahsoka had never been able to determine if it had been Baylan’s teachings, or the influence of her time with the bandits that had them so willing to fight in a situation it did not call for. “She isn’t going to like waking up and seeing you like this.”

“Then it will not be the worst thing I have done to her.” They replied, and while there wasn’t a hint of regret, their tone took on something somber that Sabine wasn’t a fan of. The Mandalorian could feel the brush of their muddled presence, reaching out to the anchor point of their bond, to the scar that entwined them together forever. 

Drifting off to the comfortable thrum of their force bond being brushed against, Sabine was only half aware of the Togruta sweeping defeatedly from the medbay. 

Consciousness did not find Sabine when they emptied the bacta tank and pulled her from it, nor did it find her as she was cleaned up and reassessed, as what wounds were left had been set to heal on their own, with minimal medical interference, now that her body would need to fight on its own once again, enjoying her quiet limbo over the thought of returning her active mind to the real world.

The first time her eyes opened in weeks she was met with dim lights and near silence. 

Bandages wrapped firmly around her abdomen, criss crossing against her back where the jetpack had burned and shrapnel had made homes in her skin, now almost entirely healed after her extended nap. Sabine gave her muscles an experimental flex to ensure she could still move, fingertips touching and toes wriggling under the warm blankets; someone must have just recently changed the thin hospital sheets for ones straight from the warmer. Her movement brought the reminder of pain, aggravating sore muscle under the haze of protection offered by the medicine pumping through her IV.

Tired golden eyes scanned the rest of the room next. There was a raw set of armor, seemingly fresh from a forge, stacked in a corner next to weapons crates, where she could see Westar power cells placed carefully on top of the locked containers, and a newer model of a jetpack she couldn’t recall the name of leaning up against it all. 

Shin was settled into a hard-backed chair shoved right up against her cot, knees pulled up to their chest and a datapad sitting against them, fingers idly swiping along a document that Sabine couldn’t focus her gaze on. Her wolf looked exhausted, Sabine couldn’t tell how much of the darkness around her eyes was eye makeup, or bags from lack of sleep. Their hair was in disarray, even the braid carefully tied and sitting at their collarbone seemed frayed and rushed, as if  tying it had been a mere afterthought to something more important. 

The armor strapped to their arms and legs was filthy, burns scorched across unpainted metal and deep groves went unfilled, a state Shin hadn’t even let become of themselves when they’d all been stranded on Peridea. 

The only indication Sabine had that they’d showered or changed clothes even once since they’d gone after Thrawn’s contact had been the dark blue of Ahsoka’s tunic bunched up around their torso, leaving their bare arms on display (which, Sabine would never complain about, if only Shin wasn’t wearing gauntlets and pauldrons strapped tight to her bicep), and the way pants so clearly borrowed from Ezra were tied tight around her waist, bunched up and stuffed into her boots with their greaves strapped awkwardly around the extra fabric. 

“You look like Bantha shit,” The Mandalorian croaked tersely, wincing at the feeling of glass in her dried out throat. Silver eyes flashed to meet her open eyes immediately, the datapad clattering to the floor in the scramble of their legs to push outwards to turn themselves to face her.

“You look dead,” Their voice sounded as equally rough as Sabine’s own, bringing a teasing smile to tug at the purple haired woman’s lips. 

“What, didn’t-” A dry cough rattled her chest, she only managed to turn her head to the side to cough into the pillow, her arms still felt like they were full of beskar. “Didn’t have anything nice to say to anyone? Didn’t say anything at all?” It was meant to be tasing, but the pull of their lips into what little resemblance of a pout they would allow answered enough. 

“I’ll go get the medic.” They stood sourly to pick up the datapad, tossing it into the seat they’d been occupying for gotal’ad knows how long. 

Sabine finally reached out, atrophied muscles protesting even as her fingers latched around the cold metal of their wrist. “Wait…” 

They did, turning to glower at them with a rage that had too much vulnerability under the surface, weakness they did not want the Mandalorian to be privy too, even if she could feel it in the knot of burnt out nerves in her abdomen. “Would you lay with me, and just… forget the world a minute? Ten out of ten recommend.” 

Shin’s weight shifted between their feet uncomfortably, even as Sabine forced herself to move, to make room in the hospital bed that felt both too big and too small. “You need the medic,” They insisted, but it wasn’t a denial of the offer; Shin looked exhausted, and the prospect of laying down seemed enough that they’d be willing to let Sabine get away with just a few more minutes without being poked and prodded by medics. 

“I need you more right now, I’m not going anywhere,” She let go of their wrist, hoping the invitation was  enough to keep them around. IVs and wires were moved too carefully when they’d finally relented, though Sabine could feel the tightness in their muscles ease as their head dropped back against her pillow.

Shin was laying ramrod straight next to her, as if moving would break her, afraid to do anything that could hurt her what a softie, stabbing people one day, then playing statue to avoid inconveniencing them almost two years down the line.. 

“C’mere, Kurs’kaded.” Another grunt of exertion as she forced her arms to move, though they were quick in how they turned to cave into the touch the minute Sabine offered, tucking themselves up into her side as their face found their spot in the crook of her neck, fisting the fabric of the uncomfortable shirt in their fists as their nose crinkled. 

“You don’t smell right,” They complained in a quiet whisper, bringing a tired giggle from the older woman.

“Plenty of time to fix that later, doubt anyone’s been able to nail my skin care routine during my nap,” Sabine’s fingers brushed through their hair, relaxing more and more with how their shoulders eased and the way the force around them felt like it started to clear. “Speaking of naps…”

“You need a medic,” But their voice was already thick with sleep, breath soft where it began to even out against Sabine’s neck, the offer of safety in the arms they’d been missing for so long too enticing; they couldn’t remember the last time they’d slept. 

“You spent so long watching after me, let me return the favor, just for a bit.. Someone will come along eventually.” It didn’t take Shin long at all to nod off with the promise, and the press of her fingers against Sabine’s scar to ground themselves to her life probably wasn’t detrimental to assuring her of the Mandalorian’s survival either. 

“You’re awake,” Sabine’s attention was pulled from the sleeping blonde for the first time in hours, stopping her thousandth trace of the constellations craved across their skin in beauty marks and freckles. 

“Or you’re just tripping really hard right now,” Sabine teased in a quiet whisper, watching Ahsoka as the woman moved to lower herself quietly into the seat closest to her. 

Ahsoka’s lips pursed, clearly fighting a smile as her hand came to rest on the open space of the mattress between them, itching towards touching Sabine to verify for herself just how alive her Apprentice was. Sabine gave a quiet, fake dramatic sigh as she brought her hand down to rest overtop of Ahsoka’s, much smaller than the Togruta’s as she curled her fingers around the older woman’s. “What did you guys even do while I’ve been out?”

“Well… Some of us-” Her eyes flickered to Shin before coming back to Sabine with a knowing look. “Waited for you to come back.” 

Sabine offered a nod of her head in understanding as she bought her other hand from Shin’s hair to rub circles into their back. “What about everyone else?”

“Mmm. Ezra and I handled the Imperial cell; There were whispers of a New First Order, but it doesn’t seem as if they’re organized enough, not after our last round of strikes.” Ahsoka shifted, hand slipping from Sabine’s to fill the empty canteen that had been sitting, just out of reach, toppled over when Sabine had reached for it in the force, too weak to grab it with her abilities, and too disappointed when she’d found it empty.

Water was filled and passed over gratefully, as quietly as possible to avoid disturbing the slow, heavy breathing from the slumbering wolf; the only reaction they had to Sabine gulping down water was to press their face closer to the movement of her throat and to slip under her shirt, chasing the warmth that had been steadily rising in the older woman’s skin. 

“How are you feeling?” Ahsoka asked at last as she returned to her chair, taking the canteen when Sabine had finally finished with it. 

“I’m not going anywhere for a hot minute, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sabine promised, knowing that she had zero intention of almost dying any time soon, and that she doubted she’d find a return to the battlefield for at least a month while she figured out the limits her wrecked body could handle.

“Next time, don’t push yourself so hard. It was a close one,” 

“You’re one to talk.”

“Sometimes, the student teaches the Master, you know.” Ahsoka’s facial marking rose with the knowing smirk she offered, before she shook her head and rose. “You should get more rest while you can, I’m sure the medics will come to check on you once they believe Shin is asleep and won’t attack them again.”

“.... again?...” 

“Go back to sleep, Sabine,” 

[transformers-mosaic]

Transformers: Mosaic #557 - "Loyalty Rewarded"

Originally posted on November 15th, 2010

Story - Zac DeBoard Art - Kei Tomoe Letters - Franco Villa Edits - Juan Pablo Osorio “Chopper” design - Andy Short Whirl design - Paul Vromen

deviantART | Seibertron | TFW2005 | BotTalk

Later revised and annotated for Transformers: The Lost Seasons

wada sez: The last of three Sunbow-version-of-Animated-character strips. On the Machine Wars Starscream color scheme used for Scrash, DeBoard said on Seibertron: “I believe Scrash's coloring was a way to differentiate between he and Skyquake (even though they were pretty much consdered to be the same character), as well as being a shout out to MW Screamer.” Onslaught’s seeming death here appears to be an choice, as he’s alive and well later in the Sunbow timeline—but Cattleprod points out that the Combaticons first appeared reduced to personality components after a failed coup, so presumably this is intended to lead into that, with Onslaught just heavily damaged but alive. The blue character is an OC based on the Diaclone helicopter who, in later official sources, would variously be given the names "Fumes", "Rotorbolt", and "Skyklik"—the creators of The Lost Seasons apparently used a common fan-name at the time, "Chopper". I've tagged him as Rotorbolt, because of the Wreckers connection. On the strip’s ending, DeBoard said: “Personally, I love ol Luggy and I just assume that while his body may have been destoyed, his spark survived....like they put it in a machine like they have a Garrus 9 or something.” He explained the strip’s plotting as follows: “Again, this is just "in my head" but Megs was probably obsessed with The Autobots on The Ark (at least for the moment) and didnt bother to take attendance, so to speak, and therefore didn't notice Lugnut. Another thing to keep in mind is...we were kinna working within a set continuity and trying to fit stories and characters where we can. Obviously Lugnut wasnt in G1 originally so it's a tricky thing to do. I just kinna thought it was a pretty neat way to introduce him and explain his "absence" from the show. Believe me, I try to take all of this stuff into account when I write, but if I overthink it, I'd never get anything written! Hehe. As for the faces of the "transplanted characters. It seems to be harder to translate the facial features of the TFA bots into a G1 style (for instance, I felt Lockdown's face in the Drift mini was just horrific), but I think Lugnut came out very well in this. [...] We are floating around some more stories featuring G1 Lugnut so hopefully he will be fleshed out more in later stories. Personally, I hope to bring his personality closer to the fanatic he was in TFA, which is what made him one of my favorite characters. With the space limitations of the Mosaic, we really didn't get to do a lot of it (though it was more prevalant in the script).” This strip evolved from an earlier script of DeBoard's, which went unused: “Unfortunately, I realized there was already a Mosaic piece essentially telling this same story. This one however was set in the G1 universe”—I’ve reproduced the full text below, alongside the usual Italian translation. The earlier strip with a similar idea was “False Saviour”, in case you were wondering.

Before I was little more than a thug.  Making a living by robbing those less fortunate than me.  Feeling I was destined for a greater purpose, I had applied numerous times to the Cybertron Military Academy only due be denied due to what the Head of the Academy deemed was an aggressive attitude.

This would haunt me in my future endeavors as I could find little work.

Eventually I found the Arena.

It was there than I unleashed my aggression and anger, my strength was unparalelled and I became known as the Kaon Crusher.

And, as quickly as I embraced my newfound outlet, I soon found myself longing for more.

Was this all I was meant for?  Mindlessly destroying mechs for little more than a thrill?

Blastburn lies defeated at my feet and I feel nothing.  I walk away, feeling just as beaten as my foe.

"Your designation Lugnut?"

I nod.

"It is."

"My commander has had an optic on you for over a Vorn.  He has seen your indifference and longing."

"What do you or your commander know of me?!"

"He believes he can provide you with a sense of purpose--a new life, if you will."

The blue mech (Soundwave) has my attention.

"And what do you call your glorious leader" I say to him mockingly.

"His name is...Megatron."

At the end would be a close up of Lugnut's single red optic, with an image or a shadow of G1 Megs in it.

[hunterofthemist]

Prime Directive

The Battleground lay silent, besides the gentle noise of machinery coming from a singular War Droid. Beside it lays its commander, the one it went into battle with.  

His labored breathing and gasping coughs happen less and less. The War Droid that the human affectionately called Aether attempted to tend to him, but the human stopped them.

"C'mon Aeth, you don't need to. Look at me, I'm done for here." He grunted as he pat the arm of the machine.

"Dan, I am equipped with high-grade medical supplies and training, I can help." Aether replied Robotically.

Dan holds onto Aether's arm, his grip getting looser by the second. "No can do buddy, Im tired and you know I'm a goner. just gimme some morphine and ill take a rest." Dan says, trying to hold on for just a little bit longer.

"Ok sir, but before I administer the morphine. What will my final order be?" Aether asks, the robotic voice cracking for a moment, sounding like sadness.

Dan lets go of Aethers arm, "Get to the evac point, you'll follow whoever is in command there."

"Yes Sir," He says as he injects Dan with morphine. "It was a pleasure serving alongside you Sir." He adds.

"It was, it truly was. Now go out there and kick some ass." Dan says as he smiles a bloody smile."

"G-goodbye Sir."  Aethers's voice module glitches. His programing would normally schedule a maintenance check for later, but he turns it off. turning around he begins jogging towards the evac point.

The sound of metal thumps against the ground is soon broken by the sound of helicopters and voices. He's made it.

Soldiers aim their weapons at him, but he identifies himself. "War Droid designation 204, code name Aether. I was sent here to administer aid and help with the evacuation effort."

A woman steps up, extending her hand to Aether. "First lieutenant, Maria Davidson. Glad to have you along, you can start helping load people onto the helicopters." Aether Accepts the handshake and proceeds to his designated task.

As he helps, he makes idle chatter with the soldiers. Once all the men and supplies are loaded onto the helicopters, He's about to climb aboard and get off the planet. grabbing the hand of a soldier he's been helping, they try to pull him aboard but a sound rings out and the look of the man holding onto him is that of surprise.

Severel shots ring out, some from the soldiers and others from the Dukov army that's just crested the hill. The one holding onto him gets shot in the arm, and it causes him to let go of Aether. A second later another shot hits him in the neck, splattering Aethers visor with blood.

Aether lands on his back, and the helicopters take off, leaving him behind. Another series of sounds go off, and the choppers get hit with powerful ordinance and all explode in a series of fireballs.

Wiping his visor he sees the blood, and closes a fist around it. "Diagnostic check: Partial damage to left arm. Objective check: None. Prime Directive: Protect Captain Da- FAILED." His code tells him.

Looking out at the devastation, another message comes. "New Objective, survey area for survivors, and rescue any found."

He does a life sign sweep, but Nothing is found. He does it again, once again nothing is found.

"N-no Objective, r-requesting or-orders." His glitches are getting worse.

The sound of the Dukov army is getting louder, they're approaching fast. Getting to his feet, Aether asks out into the air, to no one at all. "C-Captain D-Dan, Orders please?" An unmistakable tremor in his modulated voice.

"S-ir. What do I-I-I do?" His hands begin to tremble, he's unsure what's causing it.

"Hold Up, We've got one left. It seems unarmed, lets see if we can get information out of it." The voice of the Dukov commander shouts from not too far away.

Beep. A noise coming from Aether grabs his attention. "Operation Reach, Objective: Survive. Unlocking Failsafes and personality subroutines, Conscientia failsafe Offline."

A shock to the system, gaining self-awareness. The first thing Aether does is copy his own code, lack of fail-safes, and all to an external drive and attach it to an atmospheric Buoy, letting it fly up into the air.

As the oncoming force makes its way toward him, Aether is reminded of Dan. He would talk to Aether about history. Specifically military history, and famous last stands. "Guess I get to have one of my own, sir." He says, a smile in his voice.

As the forces get close, Aether raises his arms and lets the guns in them come out. the power of his guns rip through the first few dozen soldiers, they fall quickly.

Tchk Tchk the sound coming from his guns warns him that he's out, "shit." He responds to the annoyance of his lack of ammo, sapient for only 4 minutes and he's taking after his mentor.

As the bullets pelt his armor, sparking off in orange glows. He walks toward them. Slowly picking up speed and breaking into a sprint.

The Duvok forces expected a normal War Droid, with a look of cold calculation in its screen. Instead, they're facing one that's acting erratically, and the screen on its face is one of rage. Once it stopped firing they realized something, a sound was coming from it. As it sprinted towards them with fury in its LED eyes,  its screaming. The mechanical screech sent chills down their carapace.

Once Aether reached the mass of enemies, he started beating soldiers down. At this close of a range, bullets start penetrating his armor.

Each punch, each blow, more shots hit him. Warnings blared at him, telling him to relocate and repair himself. Some part of him wanted too, to fall back and try to survive. But another part, told him to press on.

"New Objective, Kill." He rewrites his own objective, suddenly as this order is sent to his systems all warnings stop.  

Now that his attention can be fully put on his enemy, he starts attacking them with more ferocity.

Blood and gore cover his armor, and even more, bullets penetrate through his armor. Oil poured out of him, his screens cracked. A stray shot ricocheted inside him, piercing a coolant pipe.

Now keenly aware of how quick he'll soon overheat and have his core detonate. A plan forms in his mind, and as soon as it does his extra armor plating comes out of him, covering him from fire. But slowing him down dramatically as his joints hardened.

A sound comes from his chest, his core is heating up. He pushes on, going towards a large mass of soldiers. He pushes on, ignoring the damage speeding up will cause his systems. As he begins running, metal begins cracking and shards fly off. "Not fast enough" He shouts at himself.

Sending all the extra energy from his overheating core to his legs, he breaks into a sprint toward them.

With each step, pieces of him shatter and fall apart. As he gets closer he sees them, a general. One of the 5 in the Davok army, killing them will be devastating to their armys stability.

His vision goes red, either from the several warnings now forcing themselves onto his vision or just from hatred. He's not sure.

As he gets close, he jumps towards them. several more shots hit him, but all are deflected or absorbed by the extra armor.

Landing ontop of the general, and extends his armor around him like a series of wings. "See you in Hell!" He growls at the general as he opens his chest cavity exposing his critical core, and reopens fuel lines closest to his surface and detonates himself.

The fuel catches fire, in the confined space of his fuel lines they explode, shattering the armor he dropped around him like wings and turning himself into a nuclear fragmentation bomb.

The explosion is deafening, and the shrapnel and parts go flying, shredding any soldier anywhere nearby.

after the detonation, the losses the Davok army faced, forced them to stay put and tend to the injured and wait for further orders now that their general was gone. But the nuclear signature from Aethers core detonating alarmed the Humans, and they sent in more and wiped the Davok off the planet.

With one of the 5 generals gone, the fighting power of the Davok army was reduced and was sent reeling. allowing humanity and its allies to turn the tide of the war, and only a year later peace treaties were signed and the war was over.

The planet, Klavor 9. Was eventually turned from an inhospitable desert, and into a frozen and gorgeous forest due to a failed terraforming project. Soon turned into a tourist attraction in the warmer summer months.

---------------------------------------------------- 58 years after Aethers detonation. ----------------------------------------------------

The light from the planet's star shined through the fabric of a tent, hitting a human man in the eyes and waking him up.

he grunts in annoyance and tries to sit up, but the weight on his chest holds him back. Looking down he sees an Umi holding onto him. "oh yea, forgot about you." he says to himself.

Slowly peeling them off of him, he starts to leave the tent and as he's about to close it the Umi speaks up. "Where are you going?" they say groggily, obviously still asleep.

"Setting up the fire again, and making some coffee. Go back to sleep." They say.

The Umi nods and lays back down, falling back asleep in seconds.

The human starts the fire and puts a pot of coffee on top. In the downtime, they listen to the forest, relaxing and watching the fire.

as they watch the fire a sound breaks their attention, as they turn to look at the sound they see something falling from the sky, and going through the trees not too far away.

Standing up off the log he's sitting on they start to walk towards it. Soon he sees it, an atmospheric buoy that's popped.

As he's inspecting the wreckage he hears the sound of running behind him. "Hey Dave, what was that?" The Umi says, now almost entirely fully awake and with a look of slight concern and intrigue.

"Oh, Kotzal. Your awake." Dave greets Kotzal. "It was an atmospheric buoy, that fell from the sky." Dave continued as he reached out and grabbed the buoy.

"Whats that on the clamp of the Buoy, it looks odd." Kotzal points out a strange device attached to the buoy.

Pulling off the device and inspecting it, Dave realizes its function. "Its an old external drive, I mean Old too. Not many devices can accept these types anymore, i'd need something else to read it. Dont have the stuff on hand." He answers, mostly to Kotzal. But also to himself.

Putting the drive in his coat pocket and hauling the buoy over his shoulder they walk back to camp, and enjoy the rest of their day.

[vaccerelli]

this is an execution. 

opening eyes in a dark alley with shining surfaces. a homeless man both old and ruined, sits across from me. his few rotted teeth grind against each other as he talks to no one in particular. firing squad? undignified. needles? government penny-pinchers. 

I can't feel my hand. 

now, beheading? that's perfection, the grimy old man says. he has one eye with a milky cataract and an implant eye that barely glows, spasming and circling the rim of a gaunt eyesocket. 

though, in truth, I couldn't feel my hand before I woke up here. 

he's still speaking. I've been executed before, he croaks. it was honorable, and glorious. 

trying to stand up hurts. trying to move anything hurts besides my arm and hand. my hand and lower arm feel nothing. cold. I can use them, but it feels like someone is pressing my skin against a windowpane in a snowstorm, that early numbness that turns into icicle pain with enough time. I push against the wall and stand up. the old bum mirrors me exactly, never even looking at me. he's stranded in a different alley, in a different time. at the mouth of the alley cars and choppers scream past in smears of indifferent red light. I stumble, and he walks out of the alley into traffic and I don't see him again. maybe it was an execution. death by driving squad. I'm sure he'd find that undignified too. wasn't sure waking up in an alley with aching meat and bone gave me any kind of dignity either. 

I looked at my hand. metal fingers fused to iron skin. ugly lump. my fingers move when I tell them to, but I don't feel them move. it's unnatural. it's not an augment or a machine-job. it's a disease, and I've got it. you can tell it wasn't factory-made or grown, there's no serial numbers, no etching, no design. just human flesh transmuting. I'd love to stare at myself longer, but I've got to go. I need a clean shirt without puke and blood, and to get to work. 

--

district station house. desk sergeant is surprised to see me, and a little spooked. my condition isn't contagious, but no one really knows how you get it. I don't know how I got it. I woke up one day with a stiff middle finger. thought it was funny. by the end of the day it had a gray sheen. I hoped for bone cancer, frostbite, coredorsum cell breakdown, anything. I'd rather be a leper. in a week's time, the finger had steel joints and looked like some long-lost part off a construction vehicle. desk sergeant waves me through. I try not to see him wiping down his desk, which I didn't even touch. 

maybe I am a leper. 

I don't get to my office, or my desk. Agonetti's voice booms from all corners like a deranged preacher. off to his temple. Agonetti is the district supervisor and chief inspector and a whole handful of other titles you get since the corporate cops and military techs folded into one organization. they all get fun titles. I'm have a whole bunch of them myself; my badge says all kinds of useless government things, advanced security, intelligence directive. a specialist, that's my actual skill. investigation, elaboration, interpolation. I was in a teaching program when they yanked me out for the draft. five years in the war I came back and got a job in the integrated services. five years after that and the names on everything change but the job doesn't. couple years after that and we get automaton policemen, security droids, every other damn thing. buildings got taller and wider. city got so big it ate the two nearby cities. I got a little fatter and a lot older. had to start wearing glasses. everyone gave me a bunch of shit I didn't get some kind of ocular implant. told them I didn't need to see. 

you're not listening, Anton, he says to me. I know you passed the physio but you don't need to be here. 

I'm not listening. I'm staring at the Goodreason building. a knife stabbing into the guts of the gods, it reaches so far into the sky. they've probably got a cure. or they caused this. both maybe. I'm as likely to get into that building as I am to fly to the top by wishing on a star. 

you've still got your license. you can still take cases. I don't know why you'd want to. 

that's the thing I can't stand. pity. other people's grief. I had my grief, my rage, my acceptance. the synthetic therapy adjunct deemed me capable of grasping and accepting the slow transformation. other people's grief bores and tires me. it's a simulacrum of a feeling. a blank gesture. so sorry. I'm so sorry. sorry. everyone's sorry. it never seems to reach their eyes. they know they're talking to a corpse so they don't expend the actual feelings. 

I just want to do something, chief. if I sit around my flat all day feeling sorry for myself, I'll throw myself out the window. I can't do that to sanitation, I know what those guys go through.

you live alone, Anton? got a wife? a husband? a companion? 

just me. last girlfriend died during the proxy riots. cat died of old age. 

Agonetti chews on this for a moment. he's mostly political, but he served, and for that I can't help but not want to waste his time. none of us came back from the war smooth and untroubled. he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flick -- a case file on a thindrive -- and throws it across the desk. I catch it neatly in my metal hand. carefully. a lifeline. 

no one here wants this one. so if you want it, it's yours. 

the office thunders with silence and judgment around us. 

-- 

the engineplast who looked at my fingers told me it didn't have a formal name yet. the root cause was some undifferentiated nanotransumtation particle, or something like that. it had a bunch of cute names like all awful things do. gear plague. mechavirus. happened mostly to former soldiers but enough to random strangers that it was clear there was something more than just some forgotten biotech weapon at play here. it gets bad enough, they stick you in Ragsdale and move on. Ragsdale is south by the border of the city, near where the Occupation controls everything. tourists call it Metalside. lot of surreal steel statues stuck mid-movement that used to be people. survival rate is point zero five percent, and even then your body has issues processing moving parts. it's not like cyberware or integration or augments. it's a very literal transformation from flesh to machine. veins turn to cables. skin gives way to steel. I say iron and steel and metal but it's a substance akin to all of them but not one in particular. a disease with no name, no origin, and no cure. it's enough to make a machine have religious questions.

--

there's a situation, my friend tells me over the phone. he's a specialist, like me, but his ears are much closer to the ground. that's why he's going to live to be two hundred and I'm going to die before I finish the last season of the telanovela I like.

the deputy director of the new special intelligence directive is going to meet with you. about your case.

the case I haven't even looked at yet. no wonder no one wanted it.

[shadestepping]

Get to know Me

I was tagged by @photogirl894 last month for this one, sorry I'm just getting around to it hon <3 Rules:  Tag (10) people who you want to get to know better.

Relationship Status: Married, but open to finding the right girlfriend

Favorite Color: Sunset/Rusted Orange

Three Favorite Foods: steaks, pasta dishes, seafood

Song Stuck in my Head: Perfect Machine - STARSET; Echo - STARSET

Last Song I Listened To: BODY/PRISON - HEALTH, Perturbator

Last Thing I Googled: "Clone Wars Lair of Grievous" (I was looking for the name of that poor commander who we only saw on-screen for one episode- his name is Fil)

Time: 12:42 AM

Dream trip: Ireland... or Norway. I've lived in suburbs all my life, and all I ever want is to get away from all the noise pollution and commercialism. Send me somewhere that I can reconnect with my roots and I'll be happy.

Anything I Really Want Right Now: peace of mind and a 10-year-long hug

If you're listed here, I think you're cool and would like to GTKYB but I am scared of new people... no pressure either way: @kaminocasey @chopper-base @commander-tech @twistedstitcher @rexxdjarin @turtlepie @grizabellasolo @cardwolf @jedipoodoo @capthowzer @littlefeatherr @baba-fett @fandumbug @grievouus @wwheeljack @wild-karrde

[the-firebird69]

So Aaron Mike and our son he called him into his office at HMC he does this everywhere to him he's saying all this **** and he's blabbing our son just left the room and he went into his office in our sons office and started to say you're harassing people you're bothering them and what our son said was am I named some examples just to try and make it up a son says there's a lot of pressure this week we have some major bids and I'm just a little stressed so he gets up and he says one of these days you'll be outta here with that my son says why don't just leave now I can't **** stand you looks back and says no it's OK and he says I don't want you to do it no problem 5 million head guys out there will give their left nut for this job you have no chopper head off if you harm me and end up doing it literally you die so many times when you set the record no one talks to me that way they don't want to inspire me to take over and do things to people my people are ruthless killers compared to the clans I don't wanna hear any back talk i'm still home with God every single **** word we're gonna take your finger from you and you'll have a running ccount.... He stopped when he said I sort of get something I'm sitting here **** him off and **** him off having him do more work and dissing off and **** him off and **** him off and having him do overworking him and they know they're doing it and he's doing it on purpose and what he says is he's going to turn it directly on us and will be gone and he tries to figure out what to do and it said Max try and do it a different way not just **** us off and having us kill you a few seconds later then you do that **** you're at risk in here I'm very fast I think my brother across the room he who's g's a giant This is I'm a special person and you don't even know what I am and who I am this is names jarell I want nothing out of you but my money back and silence and he says horseshit Closes eyes and stress to cry I'm sorry now you're ready to listen the Max Planet they planned it and they want George to have me fight Dave no yeah that's right this is what the **** are we in for ignorance yeah Leavenworth and you don't even know your name miss Levon and he said wow that blows and you have a machine even with thorium you can discharge the radiation but it takes months at certain doses once again so he gets it and he says it's their plan they're extremely insulting you'll probably get back to us but at least you're trying pretty hard you felt really good and he decided to say something but he couldn't so she got curious says what are you doing with him asked all these questions and finally said the jerk knows about it they're having him do it on purpose then she says how would I know and says wow that's really odd and then you got mad and he said this is gonna be hell it's just yelling and screaming almost and she's like ok calm down so she goes you're the first to go maybe not so she left it is 74 you said it before trump said it before comes back and says I don't wanna work here anymore cause you seen that **** and all the time you weakling and turned into two week notice so you're happy you know like it's really backwards but nobody's give me a ton of **** and she ran away just saying stuff but she says I'm really bothering him and now he's the good guy that's why he's running off but it's not really and that was his plan but he didn't know that all this stuff was happening and says I'm gonna revive them for him and they still did it so we're going after them there's really no good reason for them doing it except they're dumb.

Thor Freya

we could nto stop them and it hurts ok they are rotten and losers mean. now we see it we need to eucate adn take time to. hard to do we show them some spots ok all

trump

better

bja and war yeh but ok need this.

and we know how nope are eluzive and huge

bg

i seeone moving and its massive. and yeh ok washington and oregon are one head of one damnit that is too big

angelina jolie and to disarm huge ombs he says and oh my ok huge and we make noise yap this blows but ok macs have us and we see did ok for our condition ok we se

Olympus

[srusjust]

Oj simpson chopper 2

He may not have realized it that night in 1970, but Foster was flying into a new American future.ĭown below, the tract houses and swimming pools gave way to the open desert. His airborne exploits not only turned him into a kind of cowboy folk hero-that mythical gallant figure who negotiates the border between nature and civilization-but also helped create the modern idea of search and rescue and always-on, instant-access news. The stories of his derring-do, saving lives and stopping crime and thrilling school children are still legends to those who remember. This was the time of an unexpected fusion of new technologies, and Foster, with only a 10th-grade education would play a crucial role in this fusion.Ī little more than a decade later, all through Arizona, Foster would be called the King of the Wild Blue Sky. With this upheaval, and because of it, there was also a coming together, a reordering of things. The talk at the corner grocers and the gas stations was of race wars and outlaw biker gangs and drug-fueled (was there some other kind?) sex orgies. The Summer of Love had collapsed into the horror of the Manson family murders. You could almost feel the tectonic plates of the culture shifting as the Beatles broke up and the Black Sabbath hit the charts. Suburbs like this were on the march all across the US, colonizing farmland, marsh, and down below, the most punishing part of the West. The backyard lemon trees shuddered in the wake of Foster’s chopper as he zipped over the moonlit landscape of ranch houses with their mandatory swimming pools. Picture it, because this moment was fateful. Twisting the throttle to maximum speed, Foster zoomed away at 90 miles per hour, the ground below turning into a blur. It was a simple machine-basically two chairs on skids with a thin boom sticking out the rear-and to watch the pilot ensconce himself in the tiny transparent pod, jerk suddenly 10 feet off the ground, and then pop up 20 more, made it seem that he himself was just floating in air. As dawn approached, Foster fired up his Bell 47. He had a reputation around the airport sheds as cocky, sometimes even feisty-a bit of a brawler and a mouthy hotshot. Foster was a trim guy with deep, wide eyes set in a triangular face topped by a mop of ’70s brown hair. But he was a helicopter pilot too, at a time when civilians were pioneering uses for a machine known mostly for its military use. He worked for a charter company on the edge of Phoenix and spent most of his flying hours shuttling executives around in a plane. Into this slow-motion emergency, a 30-year-old helicopter pilot named Jerry Foster sprang into action. And besides, it was 1970: There were better highways, jets streaking across the country on the hour, and modern television connecting us all. But this was four little kids and a grandma. Everyone knew the desert was a dangerous place, and plenty of people got lost out there and died. There is little shade other than an occasional mesquite tree and the saguaro, those behemoth cartoon cactuses that loom like giant tridents.Īll over Arizona, people were upset. Slight hills, 10 or so feet, swell up and slip away frequently enough to make spotting anything beyond a short distance nearly impossible. Others were searching the desert itself on foot, but it was frustrating. The police had been searching in their cruisers and four-wheel drive vehicles, and they kept a roving eye on the local dam road in case the grandmother and the kids headed toward it. After Gibbs explained all he could, he broke down, so distraught that the authorities kept him under sedation. That was Wednesday now Friday morning was soon to dawn. Then he walked off to get help, leaving his wife Ann and four little grandkids-Darlene, Scotty, Linda, and Michelle-without water. He had used all their drinking water to cool the engine in the hopes of getting it started. Gibbs said he had gotten the family car stuck in a sand wash. When he was found the next morning, he was able to tell enough of his story for people to realize this was a ticking-clock crisis. Dehydrated and confused, he’d fallen asleep in the back of a pickup. The grandmother’s husband, Bud Gibbs, 53, had gone looking for help and after walking for miles through the desert, stumbled into a gas station in the early evening. They had last been seen near a little town called (it almost felt wrong to say it out loud) Carefree, Arizona. In August 1970 a lost grandmother and four young children had been wandering in the desert outside Phoenix for four days, and the massive effort to rescue them was stalled.

[kanerallels]

for your 111 celebration - star wars, kanera, karaoke??? :D

It would be my pleasure!!!

Pairing: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Word Count: TBD, I'm currently on mobile with no way of checking

Tags/Warning: rated G (for good grief, Kanan you drama queen). The only objectional thing is the fact that Ezra is presented as Kanan's biological son with very little explanation. TW for alcohol

The first time Hera Syndulla saw Kanan Jarrus after Gorse was nothing like what she’d expected.

She was in a cantina on Mykapo, waiting for Sabine to return from her mission-- the Mandalorian girl was picking up intel from one of their contacts who lived there, and Hera was watching her back from a distance. It was a good learning experience for the teenager, and she had Chopper with her. Hera was more than happy to sit in the bar waiting for her crew’s return-- and treat herself to a drink while she was at it.

Settled at one of the stools, Hera waited patiently for the bartender to come serve her. As she did so, her gaze wandered around the room. It was the standard cantina, containing quite a motley crew of beings, although not as many as there would be after the average work day. Then it would be filled to the brim with them. In the back of the room was a stage and a karaoke machine, currently being used by a very drunk, very tone deaf Quarren.

She wasn’t sure what made her glance to her side-- perhaps a slight rustle of sound, or the sudden sensation that someone was close by. But she did, and was startled to meet the bright blue eyes of a boy, who couldn’t have been much older than twelve.

“Hi,” he said, giving her a grin. “I’m Ezra. What’s your name?”

“...hi,” Hera responded, caught somewhat off guard. Regaining her equilibrium, she offered him her hand. “I’m Hera. It’s nice to meet you, Ezra.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Ezra said, shaking her hand solemnly.

Curiosity flickering through her, Hera asked, “So, Ezra, what brings you to this bar? I’m… pretty sure kids aren’t allowed in here-- no offense.”

“None taken-- they’re not,” Ezra said with a shrug. “But the owner makes an exception for me, cause I’m awesome. Also, my dad works here.”

“Your dad, huh?” Hera gave the kid a once-over, taking in his scruffy blue-black hair and relatively clean orange jumpsuit. Nothing that would signify he was telling the truth-- but then, there was very little that would point to the opposite. “And where is your dad right now?”

Seeming unconcerned by her questions, Ezra craned his neck, looking around as the Quarren on stage stumbled off to several boos from the crowd. “Huh. Could have sworn he was-- ah-ha!! There he is!”

Ezra pointed, and Hera followed his hand to the karaoke stage, where a new song was starting on the machine. Standing next to it, holding the microphone, was a tall, familiar figure she hadn't thought she'd ever see again.

Kanan Jarrus sent her a crooked grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he lifted the microphone and said, “I'd like to dedicate this song to a special someone out there sitting at the bar next to my kid, the drop dead gorgeous Twi'lek woman. You know who you are.”

“Because you just told everyone,” Hera pointed out in exasperation, but Kanan didn't seem to be listening-- nor did the crowd, all of whom seemed deeply invested. Grinning widely, he started to sing, his voice a deep, rich baritone:

“I musta been through about a million girls,

I love em and I leave em alone

I didn’t care how much they cried, no sir,

Their tears left me cold as a stone.

But then I fooled around and fell in love,

I fooled and fell in love…”

Hera had to give it to him-- he had a good voice, better than she’d expected. Catching her eye, Kanan shot her a wink, and Hera dropped her head into her hands in exasperation. “So, he hasn’t changed at all,” she observed to herself.

“Wait, do you know Kanan?” Ezra asked, sounding delighted. “That’s awesome! How do you know him?”

“We met about five years ago,” Hera told him, pointedly avoiding Kanan’s gaze. “On Gorse. He was--”

“Wait, you’re the Gorse lady?” Ezra gasped, his eyes going wide. “No WAY. Kanan mentioned you a couple times.”

“Did he,” Hera said, raising an eyebrow. “Please, tell me exactly what he said.” She wasn’t exactly sure why Kanan would be talking about her with this kid-- his son? The ages didn’t exactly match up-- but she was definitely curious as to how it had come up.

Ezra frowned thoughtfully. “Let’s see-- I remember! He told me you were the best pilot he’d ever met, and that you were kinda crazy but also really smart and good at what you did-- but most importantly, he said that he'd trust you to watch his back.”

“What?” Hera said, taken aback. She'd expected parts of what Ezra said, and was even secretly pleased about the pilot part. But to know that she had Kanan's trust? That struck a different chord for Hera.

“I know,” Ezra said, nodding gravely. “It surprised me, too. Kanan doesn't really trust people. I mean, I've seen him trust people before, but it's been a really long time. So when I heard that he trusted you, I knew you had to be special to him.”

“I don't think that's quite true,” Hera said, mildly embarrassed. “Kanan and I-- well, we only knew each other for a little while. I don’t think he could have learned to trust me that much in that little time.” But even as she spoke, she remembered on the Forager, the moment when the ship was coming to pieces around them and Kanan had used the Force to save her. He’d showed her his deepest secret in that moment, a secret that could easily have him killed. But he’d trusted her with it. Maybe Ezra is on to something.

Shrugging, Ezra said, “Maybe, but I think he sees something special about you. Or hears-- he also mentioned your voice.”

As Hera turned that over in her mind, Kanan's song ended. The entire cantina burst into applause, and Hera couldn't resist an eye roll at his antics as he gave the crowd a wave and a bow. Strolling off of the stage, Kanan moved behind the bar and towards where Hera was sitting.

As he approached, Hera lifted an eyebrow at him. “Very impressive,” she said dryly. “Who would have thought you could sing?”

“I live to please,” Kanan said, leaning against the bar and grinning at her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Hera said. “I do have one issue with the whole performance, however. Did it occur to you that I might be trying to keep a low profile, and wouldn’t want the entire bar staring at me?”

“Trust me, most of them are so drunk they won’t remember our names, faces or what song I chose,” Kanan assured her. “I wouldn’t dream of messing with whatever you’re up to now. We all remember how that went last time.”

“I didn’t think it went that badly,” Hera said, and Kanan’s grin widened.

“Oh, really?”

Giving him a look, Hera said, “The mission. I completed my objective, after all.”

“I suppose you did, Captain.” Straightening up, Kanan asked, “So, what can I get you?”

“Something non-alcoholic,” Hera said. “I’m here on business.”

“I’ve got the perfect thing. So, business, eh?” Kanan made a face as he opened the mini fridge behind him and pulled out a bottle of juice. “That never means anything good.”

“I thought you wanted to avoid that sort of thing,” Hera pointed out.

“Good point,” Kanan said, handing her a glass full of the juice. Hera took a sip and was pleasantly surprised at the familiar tangy taste of meiloorun, combined with something a little sweeter. As she took another sip, Kanan turned to Ezra. “And kid, what are you doing out here? We’ve talked about this.”

“It’s boring in the back,” Ezra protested. “There’s nothing to do, and no one to talk to. Don’t worry, Hera’s keeping an eye on me.”

Kanan’s gaze flashed from the kid to Hera. “Oh, she is now, is she? Well, you can’t sit at the bar, at the least. Come back here, okay?”

Ezra grumbled something, but vaulted over the bar in a very Kanan-like move. As he disappeared behind the bar, Hera said quietly, “I didn’t know you had a kid.”

“Recent development,” Kanan said calmly, and there was a snort from down where Ezra had settled.

“Try five years!”

“That, too,” Kanan agreed, but Hera’s mind was busy matching up the timeline.

“Five years? That was around the time we first met, wasn’t it?”

Nodding, Kanan said, “Yeah. It was actually shortly after that.”

“Was that why you didn’t come with me?”

“More or less.”

Ezra’s head appeared from behind the bar. “Wait, you asked Kanan to go with you? You never told me that! Were you two lovers?”

Hera nearly choked on her drink and Kanan let out a long sigh. “EZRA. We’ve talked about these kinds of questions.”

“You said I could ask you whatever I wanted,” Ezra pointed out. “The first day I moved in with you--”

“Yeah, I know, and you’ve proceeded to never let it go since. No, we were not lovers.”

“Not for lack of trying on your part,” Hera murmured into her juice.

“Ouch.”

“It’s just the truth, dear.”

“Fair enough,” Kanan muttered, a slight grin slipping across his face as Ezra snickered down by his feet.

“I like her.” he told the older man.

“Me, too,” Kanan told Ezra. Turning to Hera, he said, “So, it’s been a minute and a half since we talked. How’ve you been? Find some more crew for that gorgeous ship of yours?”

“I did,” Hera said, a small smile crossing her face. “I think you’d like them.”

“No idea if that’s a compliment for them,” Kanan joked. A serious look crossed his face. “However… I’m glad. Whoever this person is. I’ve always maintained that you needed more support in your life.”

“You never once said that,” Hera pointed out.

“No? Must have been someone else.”

“Must have been,” Hera said lightly. She paused for a minute, studying Kanan closely. He looked different-- older, of course. And despite his cavalier attitude, there was a new layer of something, responsibility, perhaps.

But more than any of those, he looked tired. Now that he was directly across from her, Hera could see the dark shadows under his eyes, and while he still leaned against the bar casually, there was the slightest slump to his shoulders. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

One of Kanan’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked caught off guard. “What?”

“You look exhausted,” Hera told him, deciding to just get straight to the point. Kanan opened his mouth, presumably to make some joke, and Hera speared him with a glare. “The truth, please.”

He closed his mouth with an audible snap, then sighed. “It’s been a long month. I’ve been working a lot lately. And this time of year is always… hard.”

Hera saw his gaze flick down to where Ezra was, and she frowned slightly. She knew Empire Day was coming up soon-- clearly, it had some special significance for these two.

She started to ask him another question, but heard a commotion behind her. Kanan’s gaze snapped up, and his hand slid towards where a blaster was. Hera turned and spotted Sabine and Chopper making a beeline towards her. “They’re with me,” she told him.

“This is your crew? Seems a little young,” Kanan remarked.

“Said the man with a son he didn’t tell me about,” Hera shot back, although she was getting less and less convinced that Ezra was Kanan’s biological son.

Before Kanan could respond, Sabine was next to them, the look in her eyes urgent. “Hera, we’ve got something.”

“What is?” Hera asked, and Sabine’s gaze moved to Kanan warily. “He’s fine,” Hera assured the Mandalorian.

Holding up a hand, Kanan said, “Don’t worry, Mandalorian. I want absolutely nothing to do with this.” Grabbing a cleaning rag, he began wiping down the surface of the bar.

“Not sure if that’s reassuring, but whatever,” Sabine said. Looking back at Hera, she said, “We got a lead.”

“On the survivor from Lasan?” Hera asked in shock. She felt Kanan’s gaze shift back towards them, but focused on Sabine. “Tell me everything.”

“Apparently, he was spotted a few days ago-- Hera, we have a location. He’s hiding out on Pantora.”

“Pantora? That’s only a few days from here.” Making up her mind on the spot, Hera turned to Kanan and slid him a few credits. “Thanks for the drink-- I need to go.”

He didn’t take the money. “You found a Lasat survivor?” he asked, his voice sounding stunned. “There are some left?”

“Only the one that we know of,” Sabine said, eying him warily. “Why? Also who is this?”

Kanan ignored her and turned to Hera. “Let me come with you.”

Hera’s eyes shot wide. “What? Kanan, now’s not the time for--”

“Hera, I’m serious. Let me come with you. I can help.” Kanan’s voice was shockingly urgent as he leaned across the bar, his gaze locking with Hera’s. “Please. I can help you get him to safety.”

“Why exactly do you want to help so much?” Sabine asked, her tone dripping with skepticism.

Kanan’s gaze didn’t leave Hera’s as he replied, “Because I’ve been where he is.”

Oh. Oh, kriff.

Hera hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “You can come.”

“What?” Sabine’s incredulity was almost immediately drowned out as Ezra jumped up from behind the bar.

“YES!!! Finally, we can leave Mykapo, it’s SO BORING here.”

“What the-- Who’s this?” Sabine demanded. “Hera--”

“I’ll explain on the way,” Hera promised. Looking at Kanan, she said, “Meet us in the space port. We’re in docking bay seven.”

“We’ll be there in fifteen minute,” Kanan replied, already moving, Ezra all but skipping at his side.

As Hera led the way out of the cantina, her two companions brimming with questions and suspicion, she had to admit-- she hadn’t expected to leave Mykapo with new crew members. But for whatever reason, she had a really good feeling about this, and about Kanan Jarrus. It all depended on what happened next, and Hera was very interested to see what that was.

[pagingdoctorbedlam]

And now, that cyberpunk AU I’ve been talking about the past few days...here’s the result from one of my potions for @quirkyseastone ‘s “Brew a Love Potion” event!

Characters: Kaku x Reader; cameos by Chopper, Franky, Kalifa (unnamed) and Rob Lucci (also unnamed).

Genre: Cyberpunk, Enemies to Lovers

TW/CW: Violence, guns and swords, cyborgs, partial memory loss

Word Count: ~4.2k words

...

You'd say it was fate, but really, it was no surprise that the Greatest Thief in Water 7 (that being you, of course) would attract the attention of assassins sooner or later.

The first time you met, you were running along rooftops in the world's first and only floating city, and you nearly ran into his sword. Not one of those laser-sabers or poseur chainsaw-blades, but an actual steel sword that tore your sleeve, would've torn your throat if you hadn't pivoted at the last minute.

"You'd best watch where you're going pal," the assassin said, his smile barely creeping past the high collar of his black uniform. His face was almost entirely hidden, save for large eyes and a long, square nose that jutted from his face like the barrel of a gun. "These rooftops get dangerous at night."

"I could say the same to you," was your response. And you shot him. Not the most romantic introduction ever, you admit, but he walked out of it fine. The bullet seemed to bounce off his torso. Bulletproof vest, you thought at first. You didn't get to consider beyond that because he swung a second blade and did a pretty good job of keeping you on your toes.

From this rooftop, you could see the whole city. Water 7, a marvel of engineering, floated over an ocean that seemed to glitter with starlight instead of all the neon signs. You could look across every district, including all the Docks that produced everything from marvelous flights of fancy to dangerous war machines. Down on the streets, market stalls offered every delight imaginable. Paradise for a thief. But sometimes, you needed a challenge, and a target to stick your ire to. You figured which one might've sent an assassin after you.

"Let me guess," you said between breaths and shots. "You're a government goon, aren't ya'? Mad I stole those weapon blueprints from your headquarters last week?"

The assassin had the gall to laugh. "You sure hit the nail on the head! We put a lot of work into acquiring those, and then you go on and walk right out with them. Got the whole place buzzing worse than a hornet's nest." Then he moved faster than any natural human you've ever met, and next thing you knew, the tip of his sword pressed up into your chin. "If you tell me who you sold those blueprints to, I can make a case for sparing your life. For being so darn cooperative and all."

You couldn't help but look into his wide, dark eyes. There was an earnestness in them you'd never seen in anyone else who'd tried to kill you. You also noticed the inner workings, that those weren't human eyes but cybernetic lenses. Ah. That made more sense.

"I didn't sell them. I was hired to snag and burn, and you know what? If I'd known what they were for before I got hired, I would've done the job for free. Did you know what those blueprints were for, or are you the kind of lackey they keep in the dark?"

The cyborg didn't answer right away. His blade lowered ever so slightly.

"I did. That's why we had to secure the blueprints, to make sure no one else makes use of them."

"That's what the previous owners tried to do. Now those blueprints have changed hands twice this month. You really think that if I hadn't destroyed them, some power-hungry idiot wouldn't have eventually grabbed hold of them and actually built the damn thing?" A war machine that could sink all of Water 7 toppling into the sea with a single shot. Nations would bow before it. Not something you'd want in anyone's hands, much less the government.

"Shame to hear you had such good reasons," The assassin said, an honest goodbye. "But orders are orders."

"Indeed they are." And it was time for you to make your escape. You angled your gun up and fired. The assassin was human enough to flinch when a bullet fired at his head, even though you only hit his baseball cap. You ran and flung yourself off the rooftop, using a grappling hook to swing over to the next skyscraper before you could see his reaction.

A small part of you wondered what the assassin's name was. The rest of you, more practical, decided to put that train of thought to rest at the station. No matter how charming an assassin might be, there was no point in wondering about someone who'd tried to kill you.

Next time you two ran into each other, you shot at him again from the opposite end of a mansion hallway.

"You must really hate my hat, huh?" He put his hands up and tried that bright smile on you once more. "Easy there, pal. I'm not here for you."

"Though I'm sure if you offed me as collateral, you'd get a pretty bonus on your paycheck, huh?"

"Depends. What're you after here?"

You debated telling him. Didn't want your goals used against you, but you really didn't have time to chase off an assassin while finishing your job. "Wapol killed my client's adopted father years ago, and hung onto some of the man's personal items as a trophy. I'm stealing them back."

"What a coincidence! I'm here for Mr. Wapol's head. Or at the very least, to threaten him to fall back in line. Someone's been selling supplies to foreign armies, and we'd rather he stop." The assassin slowly walked toward you, hands still up, until the two of you were only a few feet apart. He lowered one hand, offering it to shake. "Tell you what. I'd rather not fight you tonight and risk another hat. So say I deal with Wapol, you get in and grab what you need, and we both pretend we never saw each other. Deal?"

You glared at the offered hand. For all you knew, he could have all manner of weapons built into it. "I don't even know your name. Though I'm sure you know mine, what with being hired to kill me earlier."

"I do." Your name rolled off his tongue in a way that made your traitorous little heart flip in your chest. "And my name's Kaku. That better?"

You wondered if his skin was plastic, or flesh and blood. "You could have a gun built into your palm, or something."

Those camera-lens eyes widen. "You could tell...?"

"I deal with a lot of cyborgs. Some of them don't even try to kill me."

"Aha. Well, you may not believe me, but I try to stay honest, so I mean it when I say I have only one firearm built into me."

You smirked and shook his hand. "If that's a pickup line, you really need practice."

You learned two things that night before parting ways. One, that his hands were warm and calloused, and you felt a steady heartbeat under his skin that no robot could replicate. Two, he was human enough to blush and sputter at your innuendo, giving you enough time to run off into the depths of the mansion.

Wapol's death hit the news the next day. You'd half-expected the crime would be pinned on a break-in, and eventually on you. But no, the death was clean. Made to resemble a suicide. Nothing reported as missing, even the handful of extras you'd taken while Wapol had been distracted. You found yourself pleasantly surprised. Really, the night would've been perfect, if you could get that bastard's blushing face out of your head.

Over the next few months, you two kept ending up at the same places with different goals. The first times were coincidences. The rest were casually coordinated, notes left tucked into the windowsill of your cruddy apartment or texts from what you assumed were burner phones. Coordinates or articles about unique treasures. You once responded back "sounds like a date" and he responded with a flustered emoticon like a teenager from the early 2000's.

Either way, you two made a pretty good team, and no one had to know if he cleared out the security in your way or if you showed him a sneaky shortcut through a building. You finally saw his built-in firearm too; turns out, there was a reason his nose was so long.

And whenever these "accidental" meetings involved staking out the locale first, you'd make small talk. He'd ask about your plans for whatever treasure laid in wait. You decided not to ask him about his murder plans, instead opting for hobbies and whatever an assassin might do outside of work. Found out he liked vehicles of all sorts, especially ships, and that's part of how he'd ended up assigned to Water 7. You once admitted that you were born in Water 7, lived in the slums your whole life.

"I've never even seen a live animal, other than the birds that sometimes fly overhead. Sad, isn't it?"

Kaku perked up at that. "You know there's a zoo here, right? Most of the animals are electronic, but a few are the real deal. You can even feed some!"

"Yeah, but zoos are so expensive. Gotta' pay big bucks for authenticity, you know."

The conversation had drifted off after that. But the next time you got a text, the coordinates and timestamps also included a photo of two tickets.

The practical part of your brain warned you that this could be a trap. Surely, a trained assassin could find plenty of ways to murder someone in the emptier corners of the zoo, and then toss the body into a carnivore's mouth to be disposed of. Yet as was more common of late, you ignored your practical side and snuck off to the zoo like you were off for another big score.

You're sure the two of you stuck out. Sure, he was in more casual clothing (that still concealed most of his body), but the reflexes of a trained killer didn't reflect well in real life. Neither did a thief's. You both jumped at the wrong sounds and gave security a wide berth. There were nerves to you two that didn't settle on the shoulders of the easygoing crowd.

"We should hold hands," you whispered. He gave you a questioning look. "To blend in, right? No one thinks twice if a happy couple acts odd. Love makes people do weird things."

"So...pretend we're weird and in love, hmm?" He interlaced his warm, human fingers with yours. "Should I call you darling, then?"

"If you're that old fashioned, sure." The two of  you laughed as if you hadn't tried to kill each other only a few months before.

It was strange, seeing animals and being unsure which ones were full of blood and muscles instead of gears and electricity. For someone partially artificial himself, Kaku had a good eye for such things, and pointed each one out. There was a spark in the eyes of living, breathing animals and, an unpredictability to their actions that made them stand out no matter how lifelike their companions seemed.

"What about you?" you asked on a park bench. He'd treated the two of you to popsicles on that warm day, and you watched the giraffes as you talked. "Like, I know you've got a couple cybernetic enhancements, but this..." You shook his hand, still in your own. "This is real."

Kaku glanced around to make sure no one else was watching the two of you instead of the animals. He tore his fingers from yours and for the briefest moment tugged down the collar of his jacket. The letters CP-9 were emblazoned on the side of his neck with laser precision.

"Typical tragic orphan story. Family got into a terrible accident when I was a kid, parents passed, and I was broken up literally and figuratively. Government swooped in and rebuilt me, raised me with a bunch of other orphans to be secret agents. And here we are."

"So...your job is repayment because they saved you?"

"Pretty much. Rebuilding my face alone cost a pretty penny, to say nothing about the rest of me or the years of training. I'm saddled for life." He winked and added, "But I still squirrel away a little bit for myself. Like for this. Being around animals calms my nerves when things get too much. Especially the giraffes. Beauties, aren't they?"

You turned your attention back to the exhibit. They were strange and gangly things, that sort of weird that humans couldn't make up on their own. But they were kinda' cute, galloping around like that. (And if their dark eyes and long lashes reminded you of a certain someone sitting next to you, no one had to know.)

You pointed at one. "That one on the left's been licking the fence for like, fifteen minutes now. Robot?"

"Real. Stranger than fiction, I guess."

He ended up telling you about the giraffes, as if animal facts could bury the bits of backstory the two of you had revealed to each other. He accidentally got popsicle juice on his nose, and flushed the brightest red when you brushed it off. Sometime after that, you took his hand in yours again. You didn't want to part ways when you returned to the gate.

You didn't see him for another month after that.

Funny, how quickly another person could become a staple of your life, and how you came to miss those infrequent texts and adrenaline-fueled meetups. Every job you went on left you peering into shadows as if he'd emerge in his assassin blacks with a smile sharp as his swords. But Kaku was never there.

Despite yourself, you started seeking him out. Texted back every number he'd messaged you from, hoping one burner phone might still be active. Snuck into the zoo and lurked around the giraffe exhibit, hoping he'd show. You even broke into a couple government facilities without any goals beyond finding him. And you knew it was stupid, knew it was dangerous, you barely knew this man and every vulnerability he'd shown you could be part of an elaborate ruse to trap you...but you wanted to believe in him. That whatever had sprouted between you two was as real as your heartbeats syncing when you held hands.

You realized you'd hit paydirt when a new assassin came after you. Even if she hadn't tried to kick your head clean off your neck, you would've recognized her as one of Kaku's coworkers with her black uniform and the tattoo creeping out from under her jacket.

"Things must've gone sour if I've been reassigned," you said. Tried to keep it light as you had with Kaku, even as your mind spun with implications.

"This is entirely your fault, you know." Oh goody, this assassin had a spiked whip, and she got one end wrapped around your foot. "If you hadn't compromised my coworker, if you'd rolled over and died like you should've, we wouldn't be here."

Ah. You'd half-expected that. "Your bosses found out about the date." Your ruse had worked too well. But what else could it have been construed as? You'd even thought of it as a date yourself once he'd disappeared and you'd realized that more than any treasure, you wanted to go back there with him, wanted to go everywhere with him.

"They knew well before that. Did you really think they'd give him camera eyes without reviewing the footage?" The whip tightened around your ankle. "They let it slide for a time because you were useful, and they thought he could still capture you. And he did, but not in the way anyone wanted."

"Where is he?" You tried, and failed, to not sound desperate.

"It's already too late. They decided he was too human, and now he's being rebuilt. There isn't..." and here, she faltered.  Out of fear for her coworker or of such a fate befalling herself, you're not sure. "There isn't anything left of the Kaku you knew. So please, don't go after him. And die while you're at it."

The fight with her was more brutal by far than any of the brawls you'd had with Kaku. She actually scored a few hits on you, and once you finally gave her the slip and made it to one of your hideaways, your ribs and legs ached something fierce. You patched yourself up, and you began to plan.

You'd never stolen a human before. You hoped there was still one left to steal.

Breaking into a secret government laboratory was easier than expected. You built a crew, called in every favor you could, reviewed blueprints until you swore the building's layout had been tattooed on the back of your eyelids. The night of the heist, another crew of saboteurs known for their bombastic fights distracted the security guards, making it seem like they were the true culprits out for revenge.

You alone went underground. In stolen laboratory gear, you entered the cybernetics facility. Your breath fled from your lungs, and it wasn't from the shock of sharp antiseptic clinging to the air.

In a glass pillar full of fluids and wires, Kaku floated. Even from a distance, he looked more plastic and metal, like someone had crafted a lifesize doll replica of him. The monitors showcased diagnostics on a metal skeleton and the integration of circuitry in organs. You touched the cold glass, but he didn't respond.

You got to work. Following instructions you'd reviewed every waking hour, you hacked into the system and initiated the extraction procedure. You already had a gurney for transport, and a prepped lie that you'd be transporting the body of a failed cybernetics integration to be disposed of. The fluids behind the glass slowly drained, wires disconnecting. You held your breath.

Then you crumpled as a bullet hit your side.

You hissed, feeling your side for blood even though you had armor under your disguise. And looked up to see a black uniform, an assassin pointing at you, bullet shaped like a sharp fingernail loading into place.

You gasped, "Don't do this. I'm trying to save him."

"Far as we're concerned, you're stealing classified government property. He's one of our most expensive assets. Second to me, of course." The assassin wore a predator's smile, and the heels of his shoes clicked ominously on the floor as he strode toward you. "It'd be so easy to end this here. It wouldn't be the first time I've made a mess of the lab."

"Yet here you are, chatterbox. I get the feeling you don't want to kill me."

"How bold. As it happens, I like to play with my prey. But so did Kaku, and he got so wrapped up in the chase that he forgot what to do when he caught you."

"Stop talking about him in past tense like he's dead."

The assassin shrugged. "Isn't he? Not in body, but in spirit. They tore out most of his brain and replaced it with machinery. The process wipes most of one's personality and emotion. There isn't a person in there anymore."

"Then I'll find him again and bring him back. That's what a good thief does." The glass opened up, and Kaku nearly fell out. You stepped forward to grab him. First contact jolted your body; you didn't feel a heartbeat anymore. And when you angled him onto the gurney, his body felt cold and smooth. You glared up at your unwelcome guest, who'd watched the event in silence. "Now, are you going to finish the job, or get out of the way?"

"Unlike a certain someone, I'm not in the business of keeping fools alive."

The assassin's fingers sharpened into claws as he closed the distance between you. He swiped at you with those claws, and you barely dodged the first one while pulling the gurney back with you. Whatever happened, you couldn't let Kaku get hurt in this state. But to your surprise, when the next claw swung, you heard a gunshot that you didn't fire. And whoever fired it knew where this cyborg assassin was still flesh; he fell to his knees, surprised at his own blood.

Smoke rose from the gun built into Kaku's nose as he sat up. Camera eyes opened and refocused with faint clicking noises. For a long, quiet moment, he scanned the room. But then they settled on you.

"Darling." 

Your heart flipped in your chest again. "You remember me?"

"Of course. They did their best to wipe everything else, but I couldn't let them take you." He paused, unused to his new body, and the resulting smile looked more like a grimace. But he still said, "I love you."

"I love you too. And I'm going to get you out of here." You grabbed Kaku around the shoulders with one arm and grabbed your gun with another, now that you knew where to shoot your foe. You said to the other assassin, "Well? You were wrong about him."

"Was I?" The assassin lurched back to his feet, one hand over the bullet wound just above his clavicle. "Kaku, how much did you give up in order to keep the memory of one thief you failed to kill?" No answer. "Do you even remember who I am?"

"I made my choice," was all Kaku said. "Now let us go."

The assassin turned away before you could see if there was any hurt had broken across his cold face. "Killing you like this won't be any fun. Once you can be a challenge to me again, I'll come back for you. But for now? See if you can run." His heels clicked against the floor as he walked away. "I'll clear your path out of the facility. You're on your own after that."

Time stretched long as the other assassin left the room. You held tight to Kaku. When you held his hand, it was so smooth that he didn't even have fingerprints anymore. But he still intertwined his fingers in yours and squeezed.

"I'm still me," he whispered. "Even if I don't have a real heart or anything else left."

You forced yourself to shrug and smile. "Just means you're a little closer to some of the giraffes at the zoo." That earned you a quizzical look. "Uhmm...you know, because some of them were robots too?" Still blank. "...Did you even forget about giraffes so you could remember me?"

"Suppose I must have."

You resolved to take him back to the zoo once he'd recovered, bring him back a little of that wonder he'd showed you. But first, time for your masterful escape.

The following weeks were long and painful.

Soon as you broke out and got to one of your safehouses, you called in two last favors. One from Franky, cyborg engineer who'd hired you to retrieve and destroy the blueprints for that war machine that started this whole debacle. The other from Doctor Chopper, who'd been so grateful to have his mentor's things returned. The two of them came in and worked on your assassin-turned-lover tirelessly, fixing up what little flesh remained and making sure all the cybernetics were in-check. There was plenty of work to do, as you'd stolen Kaku before his procedures had been complete, and rewiring muscles and nerves turned out to be a long, painful process.

And while you'd rescued Kaku before they could completely erase his humanity, there were still gaping holes in his knowledge, and his smile didn't reach his eyes nearly as often. There was much you had to fill him in on. You spent many nights just talking to distract him from his painful recovery. You held his hand and tried to pretend he still had a heartbeat.

But now? Now you're back at your dingy old apartment, limbs entangled on the couch, staring out the window at the skyscrapers above.

"I think that one will be my next target," you say, pointing up at a gilded skyscraper that seems to pierce the clouds. "Heard the owner there hoards gold. Actual gold! Can you believe it? We'd be rich."

"Sounds like a challenge, though." Kaku's free hand twirls a dull blade between fingers, trying to familiarize himself with his new body. He's admitted a couple times to phantom limb syndrome, like his flesh and blood is just beyond reach. "Sure you'll be able to handle it, darling?"

"It'll be no problem for the Greatest Thief in Water 7. Stealing a bunch of gold will be a cakewalk, seeing as I already grabbed the greatest treasure this city had." You get a quizzical stare in response. "That'd be you, partner."

"Partner," Kaku echoes. This smile lights up his whole face. "I like the sound of that. So, what's the first step in your plan?"

You hum in thought and look deep into his eyes.

"I do believe our first step should be a visit to the zoo. We've got a lot to catch up on, after all."

[ghostofnibelheim]

Closed Starter~

Freshly promoted to First Class, a war-worn young Sephiroth is introduced to Rufus Shinra.

Involved Characters: Sephiroth, 15yo ( @ghostofnibelheim​ ), Rufus ShinRa, 18yo ( @rcdfcxr​ )

References: Before Crisis -Final Fantasy VII-

Settings: Midgar, December εγλ 1995

The new uniform was uncomfortable.

In truth, the whole situation he was in felt uncomfortable; ironic, for someone who had spent the good part of the past three years inside ditches and flimsy barracks in temporary tents.

When Sephiroth had been approached by unexpected Turks, to be collected and brought back to Midgar stat, the young boy had instantly felt a knot form at the pit of his stomach. Hojo needed him back at the laboratory, he’d immediately thought. More experiments. More tests. Pain and humiliaton the likes of which the war itself had never matched.

That stressful tension, the closest thing to actual fear he’d ever remotely experienced, did not leave him until the chopper had landed and turned off its engines, allowing for the unnamed employee who had greeted him at the heliport to actually debrief him on the reasons behind his summons.

As it turned out, during his extended absence in this city that still felt so foreign to him, he had become a sort of celebrity. His exploits on the frontline had been reported and news had spread beyond the headquarters; the news outlets were crying for a face to be given to the name of the new ‘war hero’.

So that was his reason to be here. Media exposure. The company had decided to make him the poster boy of the SOLDIER program, to use for a new recruitment campaign. The President had already given his signature and the unstoppable machine of propaganda had roared its engines. All what was left now was a formal handshake. Pictures. A ceremony.

         “It might feel strange, so suddenly. Take it as a well-earned vacation.”

So the employee had said, but...

While it seemed Hojo would not be involved in the procedure whatsoever - a relief, to the SOLDIER - Sephiroth would be lying if he described this as relaxation.

Urged to the showers and to wear a new uniform, maybe his annoyance with the garments were purely a psychological attempt to escape the stressful brooding over everything else he’d been unwillingly dragged into.

It was true, still. His fifteenth birthday had come and gone, and his adolescent growth spurt had hit him quickly. His shoulders had broadened, lean muscles were quickly gaining prominence in his form, and his boots and trousers seemed to increase in size in a matter of months. His voice had also changed to a more monotone depth that would stay for life. Many struggled to tell his real age already.

The measurements of this uniform were just a little outdated. Not enough for it to be noticeable, but enough for the boy to feel it on his skin. And so, as the doors closed behind him and the elevator brought him up towards the top floors of the company’s headquarters, the sigh that escaped through his nose was a little stiff against the black zip-up vest.

First Class SOLDIER Sephiroth; also the first of his rank. One would wonder why there’d be a class completely vacant of members before. But to him, it meant nothing.

Just another thing he was expected to be. Maybe he could relax a little, knowing that in the grand scheme of things, nothing had really changed.

[wintervvidow]

apricity pt. five

apricity- the warmth of the sun in winter

warnings: angst, violence

pairing: bucky barnes x female oc

word count: 3,556

A/N: yes, I did purposely reuse the flashback sequence lol enjoy! feedback is welcome! 💕

MASTERLIST

The air held a palpable tension, red lights reflecting off of the walls and casting red-hued shadows. Florence’s footfalls were quiet, stepping with precision and purpose. Steve and Sam stalked behind her, their eyes ghosting over the path of bodies the Winter Soldier left in their path. 

Florence was trained for this: the moments of chaos. She knew how to disappear, how to take out any threat without a trace. She knew the art of managing her emotions, how to go cold like a switch. Yet all of the training that was beaten into her flew out of the window the second the lights went out. Bucky was her number one priority. She was scared, terrified of what awaited her, her heart hammering in her chest as she ran down the dimly lit halls. 

The self-proclaimed therapist laid on the floor in front of Florence, anger swimming in her eyes at the sight of him. She grabbed him by his collar, hauling him against the wall with force, face inches away from his, a snarl on her lips, “What do you want?” 

“To see an empire fall.” 

Florence shoved the man against the wall harder, hands tightening in the fabric of his shirt, opening her mouth to speak again. Movement behind her made her turn, seeing Bucky throw Sam down the hall. Steve threw a punch to his ribcage, the soldier barely feeling it and throwing his own. As Bucky stalked him like a wolf hunting its prey, Steve jerked backward, a dangerous look in his eyes. Florence looked down the hall at Bucky and Steve, watching as Bucky threw Steve down an open elevator shaft. She bolted to Sam, her fingers meeting his neck, making sure he was alive before she took off running up the stairs after Bucky. 

She found him in the open seating area of the building, fighting off Sharon’s flurry of attacks.  He took the blonde down easily, tossing her head over heels into a table, splintering off. Florence threw a punch to his abdomen, Bucky doubling over before moving to tackle her. She used their height difference as an advantage, moving behind his outstretched arm and flipping over him onto his shoulders, thighs around his neck. Her elbow struck his head repeatedly as he tried to throw her off to no avail. Bucky stumbled forward, his hands grasping her waist and throwing her onto a nearby table. 

Bucky's metal hand found Florence's throat in an instant. The Winter Soldier showed no mercy, squeezing his hand tighter and tighter. Florence felt her face heat up, her blood vessels threatening to burst if the soldier continued to apply pressure. She writhed in his grasp looking up at him with pleading eyes, black dots dancing across her field of vision. Tears stung her eyes, her throat burning from the crushing weight of his hand, feeling her windpipe constrict as she rasped out the only words she could muster up, "You could at least recognize me." 

Florence wanted him to look at her. She wanted him to look at her as Bucky, but also as the Winter Soldier. The soldier was looking at her, her legs wrapping around his neck, not giving him any way to not look at her, but he wasn't seeing her. Not in the way Florence needed, otherwise he was going to kill her. 

In the clutches of HYDRA, Florence was the only one that could calm the soldier down when he would have a panic attack or had an episode of anger brought on by the confusion, brainwashing, and torture of their captures. Even in the moments when Bucky was the farthest thing from himself and became the dark machine HYDRA created, he immediately softened at Florence. He would stop whatever he was doing, whether it be loosening his grasp around an agent's throat or dropping his aimed weapon, his eyes would soften and he would become putty, only made to be molded by Florence. Even in the moments where Bucky’s attack was set on her, metal and flesh hands clutched around her throat, a flash of recognition would always wash over his face and immediately let go, falling to his knees at her feet in forgiveness. 

HYDRA caught on very quickly about the Soldier's fondness of the redhead and used that to their advantage; always looking for a way to control. If only they had learned of the relationship the two assassins had before the war and before Florence slipped away into the winter night.

Bucky wasn't seeing what he was really doing to her. He was causing her the most imaginable pain, and in turn, hurting himself. She needed him to see her, really truly see her. She needed him to see her as Bucky, the love of her life and not the machine he was made out to be, otherwise, this was all for nothing. 

The Soldier's hand left Florence’s throat, being thrown off her by the Black Panther. Florence gulped in air, her throat burning in pain, her windpipe bruised from the weight of Bucky’s grasp. She laid on the table she had been thrown on by Bucky, taking a minute to collect herself and her breath, gasping for air as tears unwillingly fell down her face and into her hairline. Years of emotions threatened to spill, the dam threatening to burst completely. She couldn't do this. 

Florence could barely handle the constant up and down of adrenaline anymore, every day was a gamble whether something was going to go wrong or not. Lately, every day had been hell, each passing minute worse than the last. She needed a minute to breathe. 

By the time Florence had made it to her feet without falling over, both the soldier and the king had disappeared up the staircase. Florence bounded up the stairs two at a time, a loud commotion outside accelerating her heart rate. Her hand threw the door open, bouncing back against its hinges. She rushes out of the building, eyes locking on Steve who had an iron grip on the helicopter Bucky was attempting to take flight in from the helipad.

Before she could move, Bucky slams the chopper into the helipad, Steve flipping and dodging the attack narrowly.  Florence ran towards the scene, hand reaching for Steve’s bicep to help him up as Bucky’s metal hand flew through the windshield and grabbed Steve’s throat. The girl pries at Bucky’s hand around Steve’s throat to no avail, the helicopter tipping further and further over the edge towards the water below. Feet skid against the concrete as Florence and Steve were continuing to be pulled. Bucky’s grip remained on Steve, Florence trying her best to do anything to get him to let go, her hand going from the metal to reaching into the glass towards the brunette, flesh hand finding her outstretched one easily. 

Florence squeezed the flesh tightly in her hand as they continued their slow descent towards the edge, her voice betraying her by cracking, “Bucky, please. Let go, we’re trying to help.” Her pleas fell on deaf ears as she was yanked forward by Bucky, her body colliding with Steve as the helicopter finally tipped over. The trio dived into the icy water at the same time, Florence’s vision blurring and fading at the impact.

The redhead was vaguely aware of the arm around her waist and the warm body next to her. Steve secured both Florence and Bucky in his grasp, pulling them out of the frigid water. Her legs kicked helplessly in the water, failing to ease Steve’s rescue swim. Once they made it to dry land, Florence coughed up the water in her lungs, eyes trained on Bucky’s unconscious body on the ground. Neither of the two friends spoke, too preoccupied with moving Bucky to a secure location. 

Along with Sam, Steve and Florence secured Bucky in an abandoned warehouse, metal arm braced between heavy machinery. The redhead’s eyes never strayed away from Bucky’s unconscious form for long, wanting to make sure he was okay. Bucky groaned as he came too, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the old building. Sam called for Steve behind Florence, wanting to have a second super soldier in case Bucky remained the Winter Soldier.

Bucky peered at his arm between the vice and then settled his gaze on Florence who stood mere feet away in front of him, shifting her weight from one foot to another. Steve jogged to where the others were, eyes darting to the man in the chair, eyebrows furrowed. 

Bucky groaned as he sat up further, “Steve.”

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” 

Florence whipped her head to the blonde standing next to her, hand coming up and swatting him on the shoulder, “Steve!”

Bucky made no reaction, instead, he gazed vacantly ahead before he spoke again, “Your mom’s name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” Bucky chuckled fondly at the newfound memory. 

Steve smiled softly, his lips barely turning up, “You can’t read that in a museum.”

Bucky looked from the ground to Florence, eyes softening as he took her concerned features in, “Your mom was Anya, dad was Viktor. We used to have dinner every Sunday. And you were my best girl.” 

Her face broke out in a pained smile. If Steve hadn't been standing next to her, Florence would have been on the ground. Waves of memories washed over her and threatened to pull her in, each one more grueling than the last; happiness, dances in the moonlight at 2 a.m.-, their bare feet barely gliding across the kitchen floor. All throughout time, he called her his best girl. Then there were the darker ones, them huddled together on the chilled floor of a HYDRA cell, using each other for warmth as they whispered memories of their past to one another. Always his best girl. 

The memories were fleeting, Sam scoffing behind her, “Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?” Florence turned her head curtly, glaring at Sam. He didn’t know. 

The smile fell, Bucky grimacing, “What did I do?”

“Enough.” Florence’s voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke, she was still drowning in the past, fighting for air before the current took her under, dragging her by her ankle.  

“Oh, God,” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head, greasy hair hanging around his face and shielding his eyes, “I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words.”

Steve spoke, “Who was he?”

Bucky shook his head, “I don’t know.” 

Steve continued to pile on the hurt, “People are dead. The bombing, the setup, the doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know’.” It was Steve’s turn to be glared at by Florence, her ferocity to protect Bucky knew no bounds, even if Bucky deserved whatever it was Florence was trying to shield him from. 

Bucky took a moment to think, his words tumbling out before he spoke clearly, “He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I- we were kept.” Florence’s heart dropped at Bucky’s correction from singular to plural. Siberia. No fond memories were made in that place, Florence shuttered at the thought of remembering being kept there with Bucky. She listened closely as Bucky further explained, “He wanted to know exactly where.”

Steve wasted no time to ask questions, his invisible clock was ticking, “Why would he need to know that?”

Bucky met Steve’s gaze, “Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.”

The December air was cold as it blew through Florence’s hair, her arms circling Bucky’s waist as they rode down the dark road on Bucky’s motorcycle. The soldier steered with one arm, free hand coming down to rub circles on the redhead’s calf as they pulled behind a cluster of trees, hiding them from onlookers as they waited. The pair of assassins were unthawed and reset only hours ago, immediately given their latest mission.

Florence remembered the screaming. Without fail, HYDRA always made her watch Bucky be reprogrammed, his screams echoed in her brain even days after it would happen. That night was no different, even the cold air from the motorcycle speeding down the road did nothing to numb the pain she felt.

A car came into view, red tail lights illuminating the air around them. Bucky flipped the bike’s headlight on and pulled onto the road again. The soldier revved the bike, catching up to the side of the vehicle as Florence sunk her butterfly knife into the tire, causing the car to swerve off the road and crash into a building.

Florence’s choice of close contact weapon had always been a butterfly knife; Bucky had taught her for hours on end in the Red Room how to use it. There had been a few training mishaps, an accidental slice to Bucky’s rib cage that sent Florence into a fit of fear, her past nursing skills coming to light, her fingers working quickly to bandage the wound all while Bucky merely peered down at her nervous hands with a smile. That had been the first moment the Winter Soldier and the Winter Widow were not the machines they were training to be in the Red Room, they were Bucky and Florence. They just didn’t know it at the time. 

Bucky parked the bike ahead of the crash, Florence stepping off the bike, Bucky behind her, and approaching the car. She flipped open the trunk to reveal a large silver briefcase, opening it to see five bags of blue liquid; exactly what they were looking for.

Bucky briefly explained the use of the liquid, HYDRA used the serum to experiment and create more super-soldiers; better ones. Bucky’s handler and head of the Winter Soldier Program, Karpov, made sure of it. 

Steve stood with his arms crossed over his chest, “Who were they?”

“Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.”

Sam leaned against a beam, looking to Bucky, “They all turn out like you?” 

Bucky lifted his head, eyes hollow, “Worse.”

Steve spoke, “The doctor, could he control them?”

“Enough.” Bucky’s head fell.

Florence took a small step forward, lessening the gap slightly between herself and Bucky, “He said he wanted to see an empire fall.”’

Bucky lifted his head again, “With these guys, he could do it. They speak 30 languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night, you’d never see them coming.”

Sam steps up to Steve, nodding at Florence to join before he began speaking, “This would have been a lot easier a week ago.”

“If we call Tony-”

Florence cut Steve off, “No.”

Sam shook his head, “He won’t believe us.” 

Steve shrugged, looking to Sam, “Even if he did-”

Sam interrupted, “Who knows if the Accords would let him help.”

“We’re on our own.”

Sam thought in silence before looking between Florence and Steve, “Maybe not. I know a guy.” 

A few phone calls and a handful of hours later, the quartet was packed into a small car, parked under an overpass. Steve stepped out of the car to greet Sharon, another favor that was called in, retrieving their gear. Sam sat in the passenger seat in silence, while Florence was huddled into the driver’s backseat, knee unwillingly brushing Bucky’s much larger frame. 

Bucky had a scowl on his face, whether it was from the seating arrangement or the situation they had found themselves in, Florence didn’t know. Bucky stared ahead at the back of Sam’s head, “Can you move your seat up?”

Sam snapped back monotonously, “No.”

Bucky shifted slightly towards the middle of the seat, further invading Florence’s space. Although she wasn’t complaining, she hadn’t been this close to him in decades.

The trio looks on in a mixture of shock and proudness as they watch Steve and Sharon share a kiss, Steve sauntering back to the car with a smug smile with gear in hand. 

A cramped car ride later, they arrived at the airport, Steve’s choice of car rattled and squeaked through the parking garage. They parked next to a van that contained Sam’s favor that was called in. Clint and Wanda stepped out of the van as Florence squeezed out of the car behind Steve. 

Sam stepped up next to Steve, conversing with Clint and Wanda, Florence staying by the car with Bucky. They watched as Clint slid the van door open, a highly caffeinated Scott Lang appeared.

Steve stood with his arms crossed, “They tell you what we’re up against?”

Scott shrugged, “Something about psycho-assassins?”

“We’re outside the law on this one. So if you come with us, you’re a wanted man.” Steve was giving Scott his last way out, not wanting him to be involved with something he didn’t want to be.

Scott merely raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, well, what else is new?”

Beside Florence, Bucky spoke as he leaned against the car, “We should get moving.”

Clint spoke, “We got a chopper lined up.” 

Speakers began to blare overhead in German, Florence translating in her head as Bucky translated for the others, “They’re evacuating the airport.”

Sam looked to Steve, “Stark.”

“Stark!” Scott looked at Steve with his eyebrows raised.

A frown etched itself on Steve’s face, “Suit up.”

Later, the team took their places around the airport with their gear on. Florence was with Sam and Bucky, watching through the terminal windows as Steve and Tony talked amongst themselves along with Natasha with Rhodey.

Florence shifted uncomfortably, standing between Sam and Bucky. She was nervous for what was about to happen, antsy to get Bucky out of here. She knew he was a wanted man, both by the government, T’Challa, and now by Tony. She didn’t want to have to fight her friends, but for Bucky, she would do anything. 

Sam was busy using Redwing to find their Quinjet, Bucky standing in silence. Neither Florence nor Bucky have had an opportunity to have a proper conversation, too busy not getting captured or killed.  

Chaos ensued below, various Avengers fighting amongst themselves. Florence took off with Bucky and Sam running through the hanger. Spider-Man appeared on the window, Bucky turning in confusion as he ran, “What the hell is that?” 

Sam groaned, strides falling behind slightly, “Everyone's got a gimmick now.”

The spider swung through the window, breaking it as he kicked Sam. Bucky and Florence halted, turning to the attacker. Bucky threw a punch, the spider’s red-gloved hand catching it with ease. Both Bucky and Florence stared in horror at how was able to easily stop Bucky’s punch.

“You have a metal arm? That is awesome dude.” The spider was taken down by Sam, grabbing him and flying up with him. Bucky and Florence resumed running, watching as Sam dropped the kid as he webbed himself up. Bucky threw a beam at the spider, trying to knock him down. He and Florence took cover, weighing their options of escape. Spider-Man throws the object back at Bucky, Florence yanking the man away from the crash. 

They take off running again, Sam temporarily distracting the attacker. The distraction is short-lived, Sam being webbed down to the balcony railing. Bucky and Florence run across towards Sam, the spider crashing into both of them and sent them crashing through the glass railing to the floor level below. Florence, Sam, and Bucky land with a thud, the spider quick to web their hands to the floor with no chance of escaping the unusual restraints. 

The spider sat on top of a kiosk, looking down on them, “Guys, look, I’d love to keep this up, but I’ve only got one job here today, and I gotta  impress Mr. Stark, so, I’m really sorry.” Sam managed to tap a button on his suit, Redwing appearing and dragging the spider through the air and through the window.

Bucky groaned, “You couldn’t have done that earlier?”

Sam snarked back, “I hate you.” 

Between the two men, Florence could only laugh. The situation wasn’t funny, but if she didn’t laugh, she’d cry and her training made crying a weakness. Neither Sam nor Bucky commented on the redheads' theatrics, only looking at her oddly. Bucky couldn’t help the minuscule smile he had as he watched her laugh.

They eventually freed themselves from the webs, jumping to their feet and outside to join Steve, along with Wanda, Scott, and Clint. The group ran toward the jet as fast as they could, impending doom settled itself in Florence’s chest as she ran between Bucky and Sam. 

Vision hovered overhead, casting a line of heat in front of the running group, causing them to come to a halt.

Vision remains in the air, speaking, “Captain Rogers. I know you believe what you’re doing is right.” Tony and Natasha joined below him, “But for the collective good, you must surrender now.” Black Panther, Rhodey, and Spider-Man join, all standing together across from them, divided.

Both groups faced off against one another, Sam breaking the tension, “What do we do, Cap?”

Steve took a breath, “We fight.”  

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please reblog!

Tag list: @tanyaherondale​ @lilyviolets​ @jckie94​ @badgernix​ @geek-and-proud @ginger-swag-rapunzel

[oceanera12]

Losing Lightsabers Part II

I have more. Help.

Clones picking up after more Jedi (and Sith) because they are clumsy ... for reasons. 

There were occasions- rare occasions- that Cody and Rex somehow switched places in battle. Thus, Cody finds himself back to back with General Skywalker while Rex deals with General Kenobi’s snark. Also they get to pick up after the other’s General. The two switch back as quickly as possible because no offense to either General but Cody can’t handle Skywalker charging into a battle unarmed and Rex can’t keep up with Kenobi’s mind.

That awkward moment where Palpatine dropped his saber and Fox found it. Seriously. Fox went into the Chancellor’s office to grab something and was a little confused when he found a random lightsaber on the ground. Of course Palpatine walked in at that point and froze in place for a second because how did that fall out of his robes? Fox: “Uh, sorry Chancellor, I think one of the Jedi left their saber. I can call the temple and inform them--” Palpatine: “Oh that’s quite alright Commander. That was Anakin’s and I already informed him of it. He’ll be here shortly but I’ll hold onto for now.” Fox: “Of course, sir.”

The 13th battalion adored their Commander, Cal Kestis. He was young, bright, full of life, and always willing to help. Even when it came to finding his lightsaber. He didn’t drop it often. If anything, he left it in the mess hall and one of the clones would chase him down and give it back. General Jaro Tapal never dropped his saber. Even if he did, the thing was pretty big and they were sure they could find it quickly. (Of course there was that time when the clones made Cal drop his saber down the lift corridor... aka the time they were trying to kill him.)

Vader. Flipping Darth Vader has dropped his saber. Several times. “It’s not his fault, it’s the machine parts.” Usually he picks it up with Force but every once in a while (before the clones were decommissioned), a clone would pick the thing up before he could move and hand it over without a word. Vader was then forced to look the blank eyed clone in the eye and he hated that look. So he’d usually kill the clone. No one commented on it. However, Vader started noticing a lot more clones around him and whenever the stupid tube slipped, there was almost a “dash” to the thing. More of a silent race, closest brother won. It took three times to figure out what was going on. Vader ordered the decommission shortly after.

Rex thought his picking up lightsabers was over when the Republic died. And then he met Kanan. Now for reasons Rex didn’t ask about, Kanan’s lightsaber split into two parts. And someone (Chopper) loved running off with one of them. So Rex would race off to find the piece because he was the best at finding it because he had experience in this kind of thing. And when Kanan went blind, especially at the beginning of the experience, Rex would find the lightsaber everywhere. On the Ghost, off the Ghost, in the wasteland, in the base, in Ezra’s room, just everywhere. It was a pain. And don’t get him started on the battles. Rarely did Kanan drop his saber, but when he did it always went flying. It flew across the room, into an Inquisitor’s hand that one time (Rex doesn’t like talking about that time), off a cliff, into a giant body of water, and Rex, like the good clone he was, took off after it. Old habits die hard, but this was a habit he would be glad to get rid of.

And don’t get Rex started on Ezra’s saber. That kid was as bad as Anakin. His “Gun” saber had been easier to find, but then he had lost it. So then this green one came about and suddenly Rex found himself finding it all over the battlefield. Ezra was always fine, using the Force and a lot of animal friends to keep safe but still!

Then Kanan... passed on and Ezra went MIA. So Rex assumed his lightsaber returning duties were over. He heard rumors, a few years later, about another Jedi in the Rebellion. It seemed too good to be true so Rex had ignored them. Then he volunteered to go to Endor’s moon under Solo of all people and ran into a kid named Luke Skywalker. And before speeder chases and meeting Ewok’s, the kid happened to just drop a very familiar looking metal tube while hiking through the woods. Rex just groaned, picked the thing up, shoved it into the kid’s hands and said, “Somethings just don’t change, do they.” Then he marched off leaving a very confused Skywalker behind.

Kix missed the end of The Clone Wars, the Rise of the Empire, and the Fall of the Empire because guess who learned too much about the chips and was then frozen in carbonite for fiftyish years? This clone! So imagine his surprise when he’s at Maz’s when this guy runs by holding a lightsaber. And not just any saber, oh no, he knows that saber: General Skywalker’s. The kid is clearly not a Jedi because he, for once, doesn’t drop the kriffing thing. Kix does the sensible thing and leaves it alone because heck no, he ain’t getting dragged back into that kriffing mess again. This medic is out.