#he feels the weight of the procedures he's been part of personally he has questions but he will fight to the bone for the legal right

[jimmyspades]

"When did you have your last abortion? Until you know everything that goes with it, don't you dare lecture me or anybody about–" "I know what goes with it! Obviously I haven't experienced the physical part, but I know the overwhelming emotion that goes with it. I know the sense of loss, I know the doubt, the guilt, so please, don't–" BOSTON LEGAL 5.08 "Roe"

[ghostaholics]

for soulmate au:

would johnn and reader cross paths again and if they would what would it look likee

would they maybe find a way to love eachother despite johnn's proffesion

𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒖

here’s more on what happens between them

After their long talk, they decide to regrettably, but amicably part ways – neither of them like the circumstances, but they agree it’s for the best. She sends him off with a hug; they hold onto each other for a little bit longer than they should. It tides them over for maybe a week. Cue a whole montage of them in their respective places unable to adjust back to normal life for a while.

Then, as previously mentioned, it starts to hurt. At first, it starts off like a little twinge – a bones-deep sadness that comes and goes every so often but she tries to ignore the feeling. It gets worse not long after, a visceral chest pain that’s so awful it sends her straight to A&E; she thinks she might be having a heart attack. Who’s your emergency contact? they question. Don’t have one, she says, and it sends another stab of pain through her. The entire hospitalization is about a day-long affair. They run every test in the book, they give her clot-busters, vasodilators — hell, they’re contemplating cutting her open for invasive procedures even though the labs don’t say she’s had a myocardial infarction, just an EKG that had some anomalies but everything else was fine. Someone, a cardiologist maybe, has the sense to ask, How’s your soulmate? And she replies in a grim tone, ‘We don’t talk.’ Well, there’s the problem.

Price caves. He caves so fucking bad; calls her up (they’d agreed only to contact each other for emergencies), because to be honest, he wasn’t sure if it was just him or if she’d been feeling it too – emotional pain was never in the books but it seems like now it is. This is new. This is bad. His voice is gruff like usual but the concern is evident behind his words. And the second they hear each other down the line, there’s a weight that’s been lifted – the pain dulls. Relief. Not quite gone altogether, but more manageable. Neither of them feel like they’re on the brink of death anymore. And there are just shaky breaths being exchanged on both ends as they try to come to grips with what’s been happening. So, cutting all contact, going cold-turkey, is clearly not going to work for either of them. They know they can’t be doing this, but the more they talk over the phone, the easier it gets to breathe, to function normally. And so it begins.

Their relationship runs on a schedule; a loophole – every Sunday, 0600 her time. They count it down, too. Exactly one hour. Just enough for them to keep the pain at bay, to go about their lives until the next call. Sometimes longer when he knows he's about to go off-the-grid for a mission and won't make the usual Sunday time. They talk about anything and everything: she usually talks about her personal life, old stories from her past, what she’s making for breakfast, what her plans are for the week, and him – stuff about the 141 (never anything confidential or gory) like what sort of antics they get up to, spends an entire call telling her about Villa Claras and why they’re the superior cigar (kind of a nerd about those, whiskey, and the Reds, which she finds endearing – actually very knowledgeable regarding many things that he can talk her ear off about for hours). She falls in love with his voice first, the rest comes after slowly.

The more times they use this loophole, the weaker it gets. It starts off with him asking for five more minutes; yeah, he hears the alarm go off. Maybe a little bit longer will buy him more time throughout the week until the next call. Nothing they haven’t done before. But five turns into ten the week after, then twenty, and so forth. She says his name softly, interrupts him when they reach 0930 during one of their talks. I know what you're doing John. We can't. And here's the thing: it's a case of 'she fell first, but he fell harder.'

It doesn't last as long anymore; three days now until the longing starts back up again. And he calls her. He fucking calls her in the middle of the week on a Wednesday. John— She feels it too. I had to hear your voice again, he says with urgency. Because he just couldn't fucking help himself.

So they schedule something for Wednesdays. It'll help. It should. And it does, for all of two weeks until the same bloody thing happens again. This isn't sustainable. He knows that he’s not going to retire anytime soon, and even more that that – he knows that she shouldn't be doomed to live this kind of life. Not for for him, but most especially not fair for her. It's like she said, isn't it? She waited an entire lifetime for him. Why keep putting her through that? So he mentions this, kills him to do it: you deserve better; I know there's someone out there who can give you the things that I can't (Sunday mornings face-to-face over tea, to be near one another in a way where they can see the other's okay, where the hurt is non-existent; intimacy and affection and proper romance; marriage, growing old together, something quiet and normal.) She's already taken on his pain. He figures that it's his turn to bear it for the both of them now.

She tells him, without reservation, that it's the stupidest thing he's ever said. And before time's up for this call she uses the last few minutes to admit what's been on her mind lately. I don't want any of that stuff if it's not with you. What would be the point? It took me a while but I've finally figured out what soulmates are for; not for all the things you've said, as nice as they are – or would be; it’s simple, really. I was put on this earth to love you and I think that I've fulfilled my purpose. Nothing else matters.

She waits for his call on Sunday, 0600 on the dot – he's always punctual, she knows; this time is no different. But she doesn't even get a 'hello' out before he speaks into the phone: I'm outside.

[teruel-a-witch]

the show never gave us a high school reunion episode which is a staple of procedurals/crime dramas so I came up with one, that's why the dialogue is in script format(ish)

the body of danny's high school guidance councillor is discovered on the school grounds, all ties lead to a huge pool of potential suspects including former students and teachers and maybe even a janitor with mob ties. too many suspects with skeletons in their closets are likely to lie to the police and the case could easily go unsolved.

luckily, danny's 20 year reunion is coming up, so he is asked by the local pd to go undercover and secretly question his classmates because they are more likely to spill the secrets if they don't know they are being investigated, as people love to gossip at this kind of events.

danny initially didn't want to go to the reunion which bummed steve out because he was hoping to tag along and get some of the high school experience he had missed out on, and maybe find out some more about danny's life before they met.

steve: i don't get why you hate the idea so much.

danny: i know my wicked good looks and charming personality may lead you to believe i was popular in high school, but that was not the case. of course, you wouldn't get it, i bet you had girls fighting to the death for the pleasure of going to prom with you.

steve: *looks down* we didn't have one at the academy.

danny: right, sorry, forgot you came off the conveyor belt at the factory fully formed. most of us regular flesh and blood humans don't wish to revisit the awkward teenage years. but that's a moot point right now, i gotta help my buddie at the newark pd.

and so steve ends up tagging along. for back-up, of course.

(picture steve and danny standing in the ballroom at the reunion as danny explains to him the veritable who and who of his former classmates/suspects)

former prom queen: so where is the lovely mrs. williams?

danny: *looks at steve across the room talking to some people* he's over there. i let him keep his own name, because i'm nice like that. babe?? come over here, don't make me look like a loser who came to his high school reunion by himself.

of course, steve plays along, even tho initially danny rejected the idea of posing as a couple but he understands that being divorced already makes danny feel like a failure on his own, he doesn't want to give the former mean girls material to make fun of him some more. especially because danny has told him he had asked one of them to prom and not only did she laugh she told all of her friends and they all agreed he was punching above his weight.

truth be told steve is all too happy to escape the unwanted attention of soccer mums and some of their bi-curious husbands that were circling him like a bunch of hungry vultures. he would much rather be danny's pretend husband (if it's as close as he gets to the real thing)

everyone cooes over steve and danny, even tho danny knows most of them would not have been this progressive in the 90s, so he privately sneers at what a bunch of hypocrites they are. a part of him, however, enjoys the clear jealous looks of former beauty queens turned soccer mums and bitter divorcées, because yes, he, danny williams, can pull a gorgeous navy seal, whom all of them tried to hit on when they first came on scene, so who's punching about his weight now, brenda?

eventually, they find the information they need, as well as reveal a bunch of other unrelated secrets, and there's even an impressive suspect take-down. danny is grateful that steve helped him get through this unpleasant reunion and vows to somehow make up for one milestone steve had missed out on.

steve: ready to go home?

danny: not quite yet. the principal scheduled a do-over dance after that whole fiasco, and i wondered maybe you would like to go with me? it's not exactly prom but ...

steve: *is touched* i would be lucky to go with you.

danny: who says you are getting lucky after?

steve: *blushes* i didn't mean ...

danny: relax, who knows where the night takes us, i always wanted to make out with the quarterback under the bleachers *he winks*

steve assumed danny was joking (he wasn't) but they still spent a nice evening. they didn't have to maintain the cover anymore but neither felt like ruining the fantasy so they even slow danced to 'i'll stand by you' by the pretenders. if only had steve requested another '95 hit - bon jovi's 'always' danny would have proposed on the spot, but alas, they were still bound by restrictive tv gods.

[broken-hearted-butterfly]

I suppose I'm mortified, in a sense; being so seen puts me in an unwillingly vulnerable position. It also makes me feel as though I haven't done enough of a job to seem as "on top" of everything as everyone else. We've all got our shares of issues, but I also remind myself that most people don't cope with the scale or depth of my personal issues.

What I'd perceived in myself as edgy banter was perceived as a potential cry for help, at the very least as something meant to be brought to attention. I didn't see the scope of my behaviors and, while I had the dim notion of it beginning to get worse, the scale of it wasn't clear until it was actually brought up with me.

I'm reading aggression where there simply isn't any; I fear that if my service relations don't improve, my job may be at risk. It was repeatedly stressed that I wasn't in any trouble, that there was merely concern for me, but that alone left me feeling like I'd made a huge mistake. Masking isn't the right choice, as much as it would be a solution for the immediate issue; it would burn me out very badly.

The customer service persona itself makes me feel like an ass, I can't talk to a grown adult as one would a child; pitching my voice up plays hell with my dysphoria. It's so clearly fake, the enthusiasm fake, the smile fake, and yet people eat it up. I've been overly aggressive on register, playing up the saccharine to an almost frighteningly comedic degree and the actual venom underneath has never been commented on - it's in high favor with everyone I've used it on.

The communication feels like natural autism issues, magnified. Expected to read minds and interpret queries based on singular words or phrases I've never heard in my life, I feel like an anthropologist trying to navigate this job and the clients in it. I don't know if I want technician work, it's a constant flow of customer service and I already know I'm not a good fit for it. No one expresses a need for help, just a mere expectation to be catered to. Incapable, one singular item, needing a person to perform the role of a machine and treated as a machine would be.

After 5 1/2 months, I'm still living paycheck to paycheck. I just learned the days I'd taken off for a medical procedure could have been put in as sick days, meaning I wouldn't be $200 short on my current check. No one had told me. I didn't know, and no one had told me. I have another doctor visit approaching, and still have to schedule with another. I know what I likely need to help my body, I'm just not in a position to fully have access yet.

I could tell it wasn't getting any better when I realized how much I was beginning to detest coming home to roommates. One becomes aggressive when their methodology is questioned or if they're asked to attend to chores, while the other suffers under the weight of her own success - how will she be able to prepare for her 6 month internship when she has to attend a wedding and a cruise in the same month? Everyone is so loud, I just want to be left alone, and that was one of the early signs that something was wrong.

I have been offered three consecutive paid days off. I am considering the offer. I would like to be given at least a week each 3 months, just for my own sake. For my mental health, for my physical health, for my overall wellbeing.

I don't want others to see this and assume that it's the new normal and become unwilling to engage with me because they're expecting friction. They will want to avoid me.

I suppose the fact that it's become visible upsets me in part because I was taught to keep my head down and my mouth shut. I was nearly baker acted in high school once the curtains began to lift on my abuse situation, and it made the abuse escalate. Doctors seeing some conditions and commenting on how they could be due to stress, my father replying sternly that he had no idea what could possibly stress me so badly. I don't feel like I fully know how to cope with my stress - the gentle self care methodology doesn't feel fully in line with the emotions I feel. I didn't even notice my stress, telling myself to try again try again without actually seeing ways to effectively reduce my stress. Being singed out for not being able to manage it is embarrassing, even when it comes with a message of other people being willing to help. I feel as though I don't want the help, I don't want the pity. I want the pity, I want others to see the stress I'm under. I don't want to be pitied, I can manage my own self. Sometimes I wonder about that. I want the recognition until I actually receive it and then it becomes upsetting.

[roybrsblog]

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[siennablackdsm]

Bio

Name: Sienna Lynn Black ™ Race: White Sex: Female Age: 38 Occupation: Cover story is a Historian but she is a hunter works part-time as a bartender or stripper. Weight: 120lbs Height: 5’ 3" Hair color and style: Long blond Eye color: Brown Clothing: Varies Piercings/Tattoos/markings (if any): Clit ring Personality: People person, confident most the time tries to include everyone, aggressive when needed. Habits: Bad habit of becoming overly submissive to males she is with. Likes: Yellow roses, cooking and reading. Dislikes: Vampires see her history for reasons why. Sexual Kinks: Oh boy… dominate dangerous men. The list is long. Bad experiences: Sexual abused developed Stockholm’s Syndrome during her capture. Best memory: Starting her new life with Dean Skills: Research, computers, in depth knowledge of law enforcement procedures etc. Can operate various weaponry and machinery. Very convincing and devious when needed. Things they find difficult: Talking about children and marriage. Backstory: Bio: My name is Sienna Lynn Black ™, born Feb. 23, 1977 in a small town in Le Flore County Oklahoma. My parents Lynn and James Black were loving and caring. My mother died in a car accident when I was five my father raised me from then on. He was a hunter like his father before him. I grew up learning to hunt and we traveled across the United States many times over the years following this case or that. My father was killed in a hunt when I was nineteen. After that I took on exotic dancing to support my hunting ventures. At the age of twenty one I found myself hunting alone. It was late fall, a preschool caring for disabled children the Kitty Petty Institute in Palo Alto California had been flagged. Something wasn’t right, children were becoming horribly sick and nothing could be done. But the one thing they had in common was the school they attended. After some investigation I came across and unusual hand-print left by a couple of the children’s bedrooms. Having no idea I was dealing with a Shtriga I clueless, pursued the case. Ending up nearly being killed, Sam living in Palo Alto at the time with Jessica had seen the recent event’s and recognized what was going on. He killed the Shtriga. For some reason we seemed to hit it becoming very close friends. We remained in contact over the next couple of years, eventually he introduced me to his brother Dean. And that’s where things got complicated. I ended up hunting with Christian Campbell finding out that Sam’s cousin was questionable. After Dean telling me not to. His dislike for Christian very noticeable. On a hunt with Christian for ghouls I found that he didn’t want them dead but wanted them captured. After him nearly being killed by one, I agreed to help him get the one back to Samuel Campbell. As he started up the van though hell broke loose when he commented about Sam being something of a freak himself. I drew down on him in a blink of an eye and came damn close to putting a bullet in his brain over that. Parting ways with Christian that night I took off to hunt on my own again. Meeting up with Dean by accident we began talking and the truth of Christian came out. He wasn’t happy I’d not listened to him. After that I left for awhile, Sam seemed to be doing better and I didn’t feel I was needed around anymore. Admitting though I’d started to like Dean by then, but it didn’t seem it was meant to be. During a freak car accident Sienna was hit and nearly killed. She had severe memory loss, temporary blinded and the internal damage made it so she cannot have children. Having recovered from the blindness she has stayed out of the hunting till now.

[merakiui]

obgyn albedo ;) pop off with this my liege

your previous gynecologist retired, and with a baby on the way, a low paying job, and kaeya(your crazy ex-boyfriend), you quickly choose another clinic close to you in a hurry to make your next appointment.

your new doctor, mr. keideprinz(although he insists you call him by his first name, albedo) is warm and friendly. always ready to answer any question you might have about your pregnancy, always there with a soft smile to ask about your day.

shamefully, you'd admit that the favorite part of your appointments is when he checks your cervix, thrusting his long, lithe fingers deeply into your hole to make sure everything's fine and well. you moaned the first time he did it, and while he laughed it off, saying that it's completely normal for you to feel more sexual desires during your pregnancy, you remained mortified about it to this day.

one day, though, you talk to some of his other patients in the waiting room to gush about him, only to find that their experiences with him are much, much different than yours. apparently, he's ice cold with them, only ever speaking to them when needed, and their appointments are always rushed. it's like a total personality switch, you think.

you brush their words off, because surely albedo couldn't have favorites, right?

-🥕

I am absolutely going to pop off.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, female reader, pregnancy, implied baby-trapping and past toxic relationship with kaeya, stalking, abuse of power/trust)

You're very anxious when you meet with your new ob-gyn for the first time. Your previous doctor was female and she was always very respectful towards you. Not that this new one wouldn't be the same, of course. You’re certain he’s not as bad as your anxiety is making him out to be. It’s been rough trying to find someone you’d feel comfortable around after your previous doctor retired. But you’ve heard from a friend that he’s a great doctor—very intelligent and kind; cares about his patients’ health. He truly listens to his patients and knows just what to say and how to answer their questions. And if your friend is giving him such high praise, why wouldn’t you believe them? So you schedule to meet with him and hope for the best.

And it really is the best. He’s everything your friend said he’d be. He answers all of your questions honestly and is very upfront about everything. He even tells you that he understands your apprehension towards him, considering you may not be used to having a male ob-gyn. It’s completely okay to feel that way. If you’d prefer a female ob-gyn, he can refer you to a few wonderful ones he knows. By the end of the meeting, you’re sold. You felt very comfortable around Dr. Kreideprinz throughout the whole meeting, so you suppose it wouldn’t hurt to schedule an appointment. So you do and he tells you that he looks forward to working with you on your exciting journey.

The first appointment goes by smoothly. Albedo and you run through simple, friendly introductions before he gets right into it. You’re a little awkward at first, but it’s only because you’re not used to interacting with a male ob-gyn. He assures you that your hesitance isn’t misplaced and that this is a procedure he must do with all of his patients. You’re in good hands, so you needn’t worry. He tells you that if you feel uncomfortable at any point during the check-up, just tell him and he’ll stop so that you can take a moment to gather yourself.

He takes your weight, height, and blood pressure. Draws blood and has you do a urine test. Asks you questions related to how you’ve been feeling physically and emotionally. Any issues he should be aware of? Have you been sleeping and eating well? He’ll make sure to go over healthy diets with you so that you can eat foods that are good for both you and your baby. When it comes time for the more invasive exams, like checking your cervix and examining your breasts to make sure everything is healthy, you’re a little embarrassed. He’s so calm about the entire thing, telling you in a gentle voice to relax. Although you’re absolutely mortified when he places one hand on your abdomen and then slips two gloved fingers inside you and you let an accidental, quiet moan out.

Yet even when you apologize profusely and nearly beg him to forget about it, he tells you it’s all normal and that you have nothing to be ashamed of. This sort of thing happens. It’s not embarrassing. Still, you end up leaving his office feeling incredibly embarrassed. It isn’t until a few appointments later that you slowly find yourself getting more and more comfortable around him. You tell him everything that he needs to know and you make sure to shut your mouth when he does any physical exams to prevent yourself from making any embarrassing sounds. At some point he tells you to drop the formalities and call him by his first name. Albedo. It’s a really pretty name. You like saying it because of how easily it rolls off the tongue.

Another thing you like about Albedo, other than his name and the fact that he’s been so knowledgeable and helpful during every appointment, is that he doesn’t pry into your personal life. He only needs to know things related to your health and pregnancy, so you’re relieved when he doesn’t ask about things like work or your ex-boyfriend. Then again, why would he? He has no reason to ask about any of that. Although those are things you’d rather not think about, and you’re certain he’s figured out (or has at least suspected) that something’s amiss in your relationship when you refuse to mention the father. But he never asks you to elaborate; he simply nods and types up another note in his laptop. He does tell you, however, that if there are any problems at home—

And you’ll stop him before he can say it. You don’t want to hear it. It brings back horrible, vivid memories. You simply force a smile and tell him that you’re living alone. There aren’t any problems. Even though you’ve managed to escape the one who created such problems, you’re left with the permanent reminder of what he did. You’re not keeping the baby for his sake. You’re keeping it because you don’t want to feel like a cruel monster, as Kaeya has often told you in the days leading up to your escape when you even implied getting an abortion. You want to prove him wrong. You want to prove that you’re not who he says you are. And it’s because part of you is too soft and has yearned for a moment where you can hold your baby’s tiny hand and look upon their sleeping face with fondness. You could have waited a little longer before getting pregnant, but you didn’t have a choice.

And it really hurts.

Albedo always notices the shift in your behavior when you recall unpleasant memories. He’s always been perceptive. He’ll ask if you’re okay and you’ll always nod in reply. He never presses for anymore confirmation after that. Though maybe he should. He’s curious about what goes on in your head.

- - -

You’re not used to seeing Albedo outside of the doctor’s office. He looks good in casual wear. Then again, he looks good in anything. Even his work clothes are an attractive fit on him. You’re not afraid to admit that he’s good-looking or that he has a way with words that would leave anyone charmed. You only see him as your ob-gyn and therefore have no romantic interest in him. The last thing you want to do is put yourself back out there after all that happened with Kaeya.

It’s a coincidence you and Albedo shop at the same supermarket. You almost don’t recognize him at first because he’s wearing his glasses and only ever has his contacts in when you see him for appointments. He greets you with a small smile and it’s amazing how easily you fall into conversation with him. Granted, it’s mainly you doing most of the talking. But he still listens to everything you say. He’s glad that you seem to be doing well. He asks what you plan on making with the foods in your cart and you tell him all about this new healthy recipe you found. Oh, you’re just too precious. The way your face lights up when you talk about the things you find interesting or the way you smile so brightly at him. He can’t help but wonder if you show other people this same smile…

It’s a brief interaction, but many more are to come. He runs into you a lot. It seems like the both of you are always picking the same days and times to shop, as you’re practically destined to see each other. And each time he engages in friendly conversation with you and you chat about various things. At first it was just useless filler—stuff about the weather or your pregnancy—but now you talk about what you did the other day for fun or how you want to buy a houseplant to brighten up your room. Albedo learns bits and pieces about you through these short exchanges and he files them away for later reference. You probably forgot about that seemingly insignificant detail you mentioned, but he sure hasn’t. And he’ll make good note of it. Always.

After all, he needs to know every little thing about you. Not just as your doctor, but as someone special. Surely you like him. Most of the people he meets are quick to like and enjoy his company. You are no different; he’s sure of that.

- - -

Your appointments usually run later than expected because he’s so thorough with the process. You never notice that he seems to linger on your soft, pudgy breasts or that his fingers sometimes curl experimentally inside you, causing you to grab at anything in your reach—usually his arm—to ground yourself. It’s not your fault that your pregnancy has caused you to feel all sorts of new lustful feelings, which Albedo often tells you are completely normal and healthy. He even brings up the fact that many women often have some of the best sex of their lives when they’re pregnant. He says it with such a straight face that it flusters you a little. You’re perfectly fine on your own; you don’t need anyone to fulfill those types of desires. And when he says something like that with his fingers buried so deeply inside of you… It gives you way too many mental images that you forcibly chase away.

You really haven’t had a bad experience with Albedo. It’s definitely strange when the other patients in the waiting room tell you of their experiences with him after you happily go on and on about how he’s just so caring and informative with the check-up; how he spends time going through certain things with you and how he’ll make sure you’re being healthy. The stares you get from the other patients are truly shocking. You learn that he’s not that thorough with them and that he’s actually quite quick with everything. It’s really just business with him, as he’s always so indifferent and cold. Just a doctor doing his job—that’s all he is.

But that’s not right. He’s not like that with you. You have a hard time believing them because that just doesn’t sound like Albedo. They give you more weird looks. Apparently none of them ever call him by his first name because they either never knew it or he never told them to call him by it… One of the patients jokingly asks if you’re actually his secret lover, to which you can only scoff and say, “It’s not like that at all.”

After that, you start to pay more attention to the things he does during your appointments. You considered asking him to confirm whether or not the words from the patients were true, but you decide not to in the end. The moment never presents itself, so you’re never able to ask.

It’s one particular appointment when he notes that you’ve seemed tense lately. And with such an observation come the questions. Are you all right? Has something been bothering you? Are you still eating and sleeping enough? Have you had any problems eating and sleeping? The whole spiel. You tell him you’ve probably been overthinking some things and that has led to the stress. But it’s nothing too concerning, so he doesn’t need to worry.

Albedo insists. He says that too much stress isn’t good for you while you’re pregnant. He tells you that alleviating the tension and stress will do you a world of good. Not only will you sleep better, you’ll also be able to relax. He’s in the process of examining your breasts after you complained about a sudden soreness, massaging them softly and rubbing slow, gentle circles against your nipples, when a sudden question occurs to you.

Has his touch always been this sensual?

Has it? You really couldn’t tell, but lately it feels like he pays special attention to the areas on your body that are most sensitive to touch. And when he touches you in such a way, you can’t help but recall what he said—something about how sex during pregnancy is some of the best sex a woman can have. It’s embarrassing that you’re thinking of this when he’s only doing his job, and you know that neither of you see each other in that way, but you can’t help it. He’s so close to you and you can see the focused look in his eyes as he stares at your breasts and runs his fingers over your perky nipples.

You can’t take the intensity in his gaze or the vivid fantasies that play out in your mind, so you grab his hand and tell him that everything’s okay. Your breasts don’t feel sore anymore, so he can stop. Albedo blinks at you, seemingly caught off guard, but he retracts his hands and nods.

It’s such a shame he’s only able to touch you like this during appointments. If only you knew of the effect you have on him. You’re truly the most addictive person he’s ever met and he’s found himself ensnared in an overwhelmingly powerful infatuation.

He’s a patient man; however, so he can wait for you to fall for him and his soft touches. And if you don’t? That’s all right. He has so many months to make it happen. And it appears your precious baby is in need of a father. Well, he’ll just have to fill that role himself, won’t he?

[spockfan]

Alright, here is the next part of my scene breakdown for the TOS episode, "This Side of Paradise."

In the previous post, we have one awkward introductory meeting scene where at one point almost no one is looking at the same person and Captain Kirk whose facial expression directed at Leila Kalomi goes from :) to >:( in under 30 seconds. During this, it should be noted that Leila had done nothing except stare at Spock prettily. It should also be pointed out that Spock does not react as he typically would when addressed, with him remaining silent and staring right back at Leila rather intently that Kirk had to be the one to break the moment.

We're not gonna focus on whatever meaning Spock and Leila's interactions have in these posts primarily because, to me, Spock's character arc here is more focused on identity and realizations borne from his experience rather than anything romantic even if it was framed that way (maybe for another post).

Kirk, on the other hand, whether he himself is aware or not, acts and reacts in ways that highlight how different he behaves in situations involving Spock from anyone else. This is evident in the next few scenes.

The landing team proceeds with their inspection of the settlement. Spock gets exposed to the spores and abandons his duties to run off with Leila. Kirk contacts Spock when he realizes that he hasn't heard from him in a while.

During the call, Spock ignores Kirk and makes it clear to him that he's kinda being a bother. While Spock is not exactly the very model of following orders and procedure, he is never seen dismissive of Kirk. It should have been quite obvious, not just to the audience, that he isn't acting like himself. Bones even points this out right after. So one would expect Kirk to ask him if he was ok or something but no. He instead gets mad and snaps at Spock.

It was so uncharacteristic that even Bones looked more shocked at him than at Spock. To be clear, it's not him getting mad that's odd. It's him getting mad without acknowledging that anything was strange at all. That it's Bones who has to bring it up because he doesn't.

This is even stranger because of what he says next in response to Spock's strange behavior being pointed out, "I thought you said you might like him if he mellowed a little." Which implies the following: he and Bones have conversations about Spock being a hardass, and he considers the weird behavior as Spock "mellowing a little" -- uncharacteristic but not necessarily unnatural.

But why would he think that when it's clear that Spock was not acting normally? Does he suspect there's a natural reason why Spock would "mellow a little"?

That it would take Bones suggesting that Spock might be in trouble before he gets contemplative and maybe suspicious about it? Is it because he suspects they were involved romantically and he knows that romantic involvement could drive a person to do things that they don't normally do? Does he feel that whatever suspicions he has about Leila and Spock now had weight? Why does this matter? Does it matter?

He accepts the suggestion that there might be trouble. He then passes on the responsibility for the landing party detail to Bones and goes off to find Spock.

Then we have this scene.... I can't emphasize enough how much I'm obsessed about this. You'll need to hear the audio to truly appreciate it. Since I can't get enough of it anyway, let's do a break down.

Kirk finds Spock's communicator on the ground, abandoned. Before he can make assumptions or look around, Sulu points towards the distance and we hear Spock's laughter. This should be the first time any of them is hearing Spock laugh out loud at least not in any strange circumstance they are aware of.

We see from afar, as the jovial music plays, what appears to be Spock hanging from a tree along with Leila who is standing nearby.

We cut back to the search party. Sulu and the blue shirt look sort of amazed. Kirk's face is harder to describe. He takes a couple of steps forward as they all try to make sense of what they're seeing.

We cut back to Spock and Leila, zoomed in, laughing, being sweet, holding hands, all smiles and playfulness. 

Kirk looks at a lost--that's the closest description I have without assuming anything. His hold on the communicator weakens that the lid closes off. He croaks out Spock's name. Clears his throat. Mentions Spock's name again but formally and with more force.

He is too far though so he couldn't have done that to grab Spock's attention. It was either to regain his composure in front his subordinates or to fortify himself or maybe both.

The way this scene was pieced together... I don't know what the expected take away was. If not Kirk's heart breaking...

This bit is purely supposition on my part but it does seem a bit harder to come up with other reasons without being more contrived. It would seem as though Kirk does believe that Spock is frolicking by choice and he gets angry jealous that unlike the other instances in previous episodes where Spock acts questionably, he gets immediately upset rather than question things.

Still have several scenes to go. Maybe won't be as long as this one if people are still interested and I didn't end up boring you guys. :)

[thefanficmonster]

Phone Call Anxiety

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When wanting to make quality merch, one needs a quality team there to produce and work on quality ideas. Great minds think alike. Great eyes see alike and great hands make alike - the three keys to the formula of creating a clothing line that will be fashionable and up to his brand. Luckily, Corpse knows just who to call.

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your wonderful request, I absolutely loved the idea! Sorry you’ve had to wait for it to be turned into a fic for so long, but I still hope you come across it and give it a read in which case I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

He’s not a fan of phone calls. Anyone who knows him even remotely is very well informed on Corpse’s distaste for phone calls and upholding a conversation over the phone. He’d even go as far as to say talking to a person face to face is less stressful for him than that previous option.

But still, seeing as how the person he’s trying to reach lives in a different state and is rather busy all the time, arranging an IRL meeting is basically impossible at the moment, and sending her a text results in running the risk of having the text overlooked or completely lost in the sea of notifications she probably gets on the daily.

Therefore, a phone call was his only proper way of reaching her. And it’s what’s got him pacing the room with his nervousness peaking.  He doesn’t know anything about this girl, nothing concrete at least. He was referred to her by Jack who brought her up in their passing conversation when Corpse mentioned how paranoid he was regarding his upcoming merch project. He specifically stated he doesn’t want anything basic and he wants the clothes to be fashionable, suitable for anyone no matter the age or gender and to be endurable. With all the love he has for his fans, he doesn’t want to give them anything less than what they deserve - the best.

“My friend’s the person you’re looking for.“ Jack said enthusiastically and confidently, “She helped me design the latest merch line I put out and I’ve never been more satisfied with my own merch. I’m planning on offering her a position in Cloak for her birthday. Make sure not to let that one slip out if you give her a call though.“ He warned half-jokingly. 

Bottom line, with that kind of intro, Corpse couldn’t help but let his interest be piqued. And so, he asked for this girl - Y/N’s contact info from Jack before he went to surf through her social media where she thankfully posted plenty of pictures of her creations, never failing to mention specifications in the caption of each picture so the viewers would get the perfect and most detailed idea of how high the standard for her work is.

And so he’s finally managed to talk himself into dialing her number that’s been sitting in his phone for weeks now. As he paces his living room, his nerves chewing him out like a dog would with a toy, listening to the ear piercing ring of the dial waiting to get picked up by the girl he’s trying to reach. 

Just then, Corpse’s head turns so that his eyes meet the glowing red numbers on his digital clock on his desk and he damn near hangs up the call right away - it’s half an hour past midnight. Fast as lightning, he removes the phone from his ear, his thumb flying over to press the red ‘end call’ button. Just then, a faint ‘hello’ reaches his ears, coming from the phone’s speaker. She’s answered the call.

He hurries to put the phone back up to his ear.

“Hey, sorry for taking so long to pick up, I ought to clean my desk eventually cause my phone was literally BURIED under a pile of papers.“ A cheerful sing-song voice rattles his stale and sleep deprived consciousness, as if awakening him from a half-dream state. “You’re either a wrong number caller or a last minute client, aren’t you? Need something done urgently?“

Corpse is taken the hell aback by her strong and downright awing first impression. Not to mention her energy at an hour unsuitable for calls. Lord knows he wouldn’t have picked up if her were in her spot. With the intention of not wasting any more of her time than necessary, he hurries to explain his situation. “Y/N, right? Um no, I’m neither actually. I was told about you by a friend, he said you were a real miracle-doer with fashion design.” He trails off for a second, not completely sure of how to hold this conversation, “Uh, sorry for the odd timed call, I lost track of time. I’ve been meaning to call you for hours now but I...I was nervous.” He cringes the second the word leaves his lips, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he wants to leave her with a great, better than realistic impression of himself but he does and as of now he deems his attempts as ultimate failures.

He hears her giggle from her end, rifling through what sounds to be papers, “Yeah, I’m her. And boy is it refreshing to get someone who’s calling with an actual purpose.” She sighs as if a weight’s been lifted off her shoulders, “And don’t worry about the phone call anxiety. Makes two of us, to be honest.”

This catches him off-guard. The last thing he’d expect is for this girl to have phone call anxiety. In fact, she appears to be a natural, God-given talent at carrying conversations and upholding chit-chat with people. Maybe he’s a little too quick to judge - probably, considering he’s ‘known’ her for less than five minutes and knows nothing but her occupation, her name and the state she lives in - but that bubbly persona she greeted him with gave off the impression that it’s immune to any and all kinds of social anxiety - or anxiety in general. To hear such an honest and counter-to-assumptions confession on her part rattles him a tiny bit. In a good way though.

“How does that work for you? Isn’t your whole job depending on your phone conversational skills?“ He doesn’t mind that he didn’t phrase that too perfectly or that he straight up blurted it out. He knows he’ll be understood. She’s obviously a person who understands. Not just something specific, but everything. She simply understands. How he drew this conclusion and how accurate it is, he may not know until further notice.

“Well...“ she sighs as if genuinely looking to give him a proper answer, “You see, after doing it for so long and having been caught off guard quite a few times with some absolutely absurd orders, I’ve grown prepared of literally ANYTHING and I have a line prepared for anything the caller has to say. I just no longer let them catch me off guard and it’s fine. Helps avoid any possible awkward silences.“

Corpse’s eyebrows shoot up, her explanation only raising more questions rather than providing answers. But he’s not gonna be the annoying dumbass asking those questions at close to 1AM and bugging her. After all, if she agrees to this partnership, they’ll be hearing and potentially seeing a lot more of each other soon. “Impressive, honestly. You’re gonna need to teach me sometime.“ He’s unaware he’s smiling until he catches his reflection in the window. However, he doesn’t bother hiding it. This conversation is actually making him feel good, serving as a reminder that he’s not the only one who periodically goes through turmoil over small things. 

She giggles again, this time the sound manages to draw a blush out of him, coating his cheeks, “I’d typically stray for revealing my secrets to professional success, but I’m willing to make an exception for you...” she pauses for a second as though she’s just now remembered something, “Oh shoot, I don’t even know your name.”

He wheezes out a nervous laugh, realizing he never introduced him, “Oh yeah, sorry, that’s my bad. My name’s Corpse, nice to meet ya.”

“Nice to meet you too, Corpse.“ Y/N replies, sounding pleased but teasing simultaneously, “Now tell me, you didn’t call me about my phone call secrets, did you? What may be the real purpose of your call?“

Oh shoot, he himself almost forgot what he was calling for. Luckily, the reference designs displayed on his computer screen remind him. “Right, well, I’ve been thinking of launching a new merch line either this month or the next, depending on how long the procedure will take, and I needed someone great on my team to make some merch actually worth the money people are paying for it. And, as I said, I was told you were in that ‘someone great’ category.”

“Told by who, if you don’t mind me asking?“ She briefly cuts him off, her voice now giving away the fact that she’s half-absent-minded in this conversation, added evidence be the ruffling of more papers on her end.

“Jack. I mean, Sean. You know, Jacksepticeye.“ Corpse explains, contemplating whether he should’ve ratted Jack out like that. Hearing the sound of delight Y/N lets out eases his worries ASAP though.

“Oh Gosh, I haven’t seen that cutie in so long! He’s like a brother to me so a friend of Jack’s is a friend of min-“ this time she cuts herself off so abruptly Corpse thought the line was cut or she hung up on him. She doesn’t let him wonder for long though, “Wait, wait, wait....Merch? And you’re friends with Jack?“ She pauses for a second once again, once again not a long enough second for Corpse to speak up. “You’re a famous YouTuber, aren’t you?“

He was completely unaware of the fact Y/N hadn’t realized he was someone famous yet. In fact, he didn’t think of it because he thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to her considering she’s friends with Jack-fucking-septiceye! In his mind, his ranking is far lower than Jack’s - despite that mindset being absurd - so the last thing he expected was for her to have some sort of impressed reaction to have been talking to him on the phone this whole time. Hell, she doesn’t even know his full YouTube name or what kind of content he produces.

“WAIT!“ She shouts urgently, startling him a tiny bit, “You’re Corpse Husband, aren’t you? Oh my God, yes you are, how didn’t I put it together sooner? Ah crap, I really need more coffee for this.“

“No! No, you need more sleep.“ Corpse hurries to correct her but is very clearly ignored or overlapped with the many sounds that are coming from her end, “What are you doing?“

“You’re getting the first rough sketch of a design by tomorrow morning.“ She says, taking a sip of whatever beverage she’s acquired for the purpose of keeping her awake, “You go ahead and get some sleep, I know exactly what I’m doing. Don’t worry about it.“

“I’m not worried about the design.“ He hurries to say before she, God forbid, hangs up on him, “It’s 1AM, woman, you need sleep! I don’t need those designs done by tomorrow. Hell, I don’t even need them this week!“

“You don’t, but I do.“ Y/N says, sounding almost breathless because of what seems to be overwhelming excitement, “You don’t get it - I’m designing merch for Corpse fucking Husband! You have any idea how crazy that is?“

“I personally would say it’s underwhelming. I mean, I’m no Pewdiepie, after all.“ He says, now sat at his desk with his free hand rubbing his temple as he stares at the designs he’s pulled up on his screen, ones he probably won’t need given that he’s now working with a professional.

“Oh, shut it.“ She chuckles, “Shut it and get some sleep, ok? I’ll talk to you in the morning.“

“Noooo...“ He leisurely stretches the word, “Tell me, Y/N, do you have Discord?” She clicks her tongue instantly, giving him a signal that the question he’s asked is bordering into the territory of ridiculous. He playfully rolls his eyes, “Alright then, lemme find you. If we’re partnering up on this, we’re both staying up.”

“You know you can just straight up tell me you don’t fully trust me with this? Like, I won’t be offended, I get it.“ She murmurs in-thought, the sound of clicking evident on her end. 

“You know you can just straight up tell me you don’t want me bothering you and want me to leave you alone?“ He mimics her statement, smirking to himself as he pulls up Discord, knowing he’s already won.

She huffs and tells him her Discord info, quickly adding a small comment, “...but only because great minds think alike. I know we’ll be getting along on this design pretty nicely.”

“Yeah, yeah, right, sure, whatever you say.“ He laughs, “Accept my friend request and let’s drop this phone call.“

“Hey! - um, before we do that, I just wanna say a quick thank you.“ Y/N murmurs quietly, as if half-hoping he doesn’t hear her.

“For what?“ Corpse asks, his brows furrowing, unsure if they’re on the same page about this gratitude.

“For never once triggering my phone call anxiety.“ She admits, “I mean, I know I said I have lines prepared for every conversation scenario possible, but you totally caught me off-guard.“ She giggles a tiny bit, now sounding dangerously close to nervous, “But, not in a bad way, if that makes sense. Sorry if it doesn’t, I need more coffee.“

“No, no, it does!“ He hurries to reassure her, “It really does. And thank you too. Thank you for, you know, tolerating my BS at this hour. God knows I would’ve ignored your call if our roles were reversed.“

He hears her scoff and can’t help but laugh, “Huh ok, I see.“ She says, sounding greatly triggered and mock-pissed at his confession, “I’ll make sure to think of that next time you call me after midnight. Or at all, ever.“

Laughing his butt off, the only thing Corpse can think of in this moment is:

Damn, this girl and I are gonna get along

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[dindjarins04]

CHAPTER THREE

I AM NO JEDI MASTERLIST

Still curled up on the small chair in Padme's living area, Anakin paces back and forth. He sighs and stops in the middle of the room while you calmly respond to the onslaught of Qui-Gon's messages.

"It's too quiet,"

"That's a good thing," You reply. "I'd rather not have to deal with blasters," You look and see him looking down at you. "Perhaps if you sat down, you wouldn't be so anxious,"

"Can you at least pay some attention to me rather than your holopad?" He asks with a huff. You roll your eyes and place it down.

"You're such a child,"

"Maybe I just need a distraction,"

"Oh and I'm the perfect fit for your distraction?" You tease as he sits down in the chair opposite you.

"Yes," He says. "So...why do you think we weren't allowed to see each other for 10 years?"

"Well, those 10 years were the most vital part of our training, maybe we were just too busy with training to make friends," You shrug as you stand to pour yourself a glass of water. Anakin stays silent as he thinks of different reasons for the Jedi keeping you separate. "Enough about us...what's your story with Padme?" You cringe at yourself. Smooth, (Y/N), that was real smooth.

"We met on Tatooine, I saved her planet and that's it," You quirk a brow and turn around, leaning against the table you got your water from.

"Really? I thought you two had something more, considering the way you talk to her," You say, sipping your water.

"Heh, jealous?" You choke on the water at the question.

"That's absurd," Anakin chuckles and shakes his head.

"Whatever you say, princess,"

"Quiet, mudscuffer," Then, Obi-Wan strolls in.

"Captain Typho has more than enough men downstairs. No assassin will try that way. Any activity up here?" He asks as you move back to your holopad to send your last couple of messages to your master.

"Quiet as a tomb. I don't like just waiting here for something to happen to her," Anakin complains as Obi-Wan checks a palm-sized view scanner he has pulled out of his utility belt. It shows a shot of R2 by the door, but no sign of Padme on the bed.

"What's going on?" Obi-Wan asks.

"She covered that camera. I don't think she liked us watching her," You roll your eyes.

"What is she thinking?"

"Actually, all of this was (Y/N)'s idea," You look to see the men staring at you.

"I programmed R2 to warn us if there's an intruder,"

"It's not an intruder I'm worried about. There are many other ways to kill a Senator,"

"I know, but we also want to catch this assassin. Don't we, master Jedi?" You respond with a smirk.

"You're using her as bait??"

"It was her idea... No harm will come to her,"

"I can sense everything going on in that room. Trust me," Anakin adds on as you finish your last message and put down your holopad.

"It's too risky... and your senses aren't that attuned, young apprentice,"

"And yours are?"

"Possibly," You roll your eyes at the duo.

"You know, I can sense everything too, Qui-Gon has been teaching me well,"

"I do not disagree, I was his padawan as well," Obi-Wan says as he moves to look out of the window.

"The water is empty, I'll get some more, comm me if anything happens," Obi-Wan nods as Anakin walks beside him.

"You look tired," Obi-Wan states as he examines Anakin.

"I don't sleep well, anymore," He responds truthfully.

"Because of your mother?"

"I don't know why I keep dreaming about her now. I haven't seen her since I was little,"

"Dreams pass in time,"

"I'd rather dream of (Y/N). Just being around her again is...intoxicating," He smiles to himself but Obi-Wan gives him a look of disapproval.

"Mind your thoughts, Anakin, they betray you. You and (Y/N) have made a commitment to the Jedi order... a commitment not easily broken...and remember she is also a Jedi,"

"I understand Master...but there's just something about her. Being around her again...it brings a forgotten but familiar feeling back," Anakin grins, gently touching his chest.

"Anakin, (Y/N) is already on thin ice with the Jedi Council, please don't try and ruin this for her," Anakin looks up at his master.

"I...I won't," You return with a sigh.

"I couldn't get any water!" You exclaim. "Too many procedures to fill up one jug of water," You sigh placing it down. "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?" Anakin and Obi-Wan share a discreet glance.

"No, it's been very quiet," Obi-Wan answers to Anakin's relief. But then, you all stop and look at each other.

"Is it just me?"

"No, I can sense it too," All three of you run and burst into Padme's room. Two creatures stand on their hind legs as Padme lays deadly still. Anakin springs onto the bed and slices the creatures in half with his lightsaber. You see a droid outside and race after it, crashing through the blinds and window. Okay. Bad idea. You did NOT think that through.

You fly through the glass window and fling yourself at the probe droid, grabbing onto the deadly machine before it can flee. The droid sinks under the weight of you but manages to stay afloat and fly away, with you hanging on for dear life, a hundred stories above the city. The droid sends several protective electrical shocks across its surface, causing you to almost lose your grip. As you dart in and out of the speeder traffic, you disconnect a wire on the back of the droid. Its power shuts off. Shit! You and the droid drop like rocks. You realise the error of your ways and quickly puts the wire back. The droid's systems light up again and it takes off.

Sweat begins to build on your forehead. You did not think this through what so ever and you have no idea where Anakin or Obi-Wan is. The last thing you remember is Padme's deadly still body. Is she dead? That sudden thought sends a pang of regret in your gut. Did you allow your best and only friend to die?

The droid bumps against a wall, hoping to knock you loose. It moves behind a speeder afterburner to scorch you. It takes you wildly between buildings and finally skims across a rooftop and you are forced to lift your legs, tenaciously hanging onto the droid.

"Would you stop?!" You growl as the droid heads for a dirty, beat-up speeder hidden in an alcove of a building about twenty stories up. When the pilot of the speeder, a scruffy looking person who is most likely a bounty hunter, sees the droid approach with you hanging on, she pulls a long rifle out of the speeder and starts to fire at you. Explosions burst all around you. "I have a bad feeling about this," You say.

Finally, the droid suffers a direct hit and blows up and you fall fifty stories until a speeder drops down next to you, and you manage to grab onto the back end of the speeder and haul yourself toward the cockpit. You struggle to climb into the seat and you sigh in relief when seeing Anakin driver and Obi-Wan in the passenger seat.

"That was wacky! I almost lost you in the traffic," Anakin said.

"What took you so long?" You ask as you finally sit correctly in the seat you tumbled into.

"Oh, you know, princess, I couldn't find a speeder I really liked, with an open cockpit... and with the right speed capabilities...and then you know I had to get a really gonzo colour..."

"Qui-Gon will not be happy about your recklessness," Obi-Wan chimes in.

"Well, I know who to follow now," Anakin zooms upward in hot pursuit of the bounty hunter as she fires out the open window at you with her laser pistol.

"And Anakin, if you'd spend as much time working on your saber skills as you do on your wit, young Padawan, you would rival Master Yoda as a swordsman," Obi-Wan says, scolding both of you.

"I thought I already did," Anakin replies smugly.

"Only in your mind, my very young apprentice. Careful!! Hey, easy!!" Obi-Wan says as he grips the sides of the speeder as Anakin deftly moves in and out of the oncoming traffic, across lanes, between buildings, and miraculously through a construction site, the bounty hunter still firing at you.

"Sorry, I forgot you don't like flying, Master," You watch with a small smile at the way these two communicate. It reminds you of how you and Lumarina shared a lot of jokes and banter just like these two.

"I don't mind flying... but what you're doing is suicide!" You barely miss a commuter train.

"I agree with Obi-Wan on that account," You say as you duck.

"Master, you know I've been flying since before I could walk. I'm very good at this and (Y/N)...just trust me," You roll your eyes as he laughs and Obi-Wan gasps as Anakin makes another narrow turn.

"Just slow down!" The bounty hunter and Anakin race through a line of cross-traffic made up of giant trucks. The speeders bank sideways as they slide around right-angle turns between buildings. The bounty hunter races into a tram tunnel. "Wait! Don't go in there!" Obi-Wan says but Anakin zooms into the tunnel after the hunter. You see a tram coming at you. Anakin brakes, turns around, and race out, barely ahead of the charging commuter transport."You know I don't like it when you do that!" Obi-Wan growls. "We also have another person with us, try not to kill three Jedi!"

"Sorry, Master. Don't worry, this guy's gonna kill himself any minute now!"

"No, you're going to kill us!" You scold, slapping his head. The hunter turns into oncoming traffic, deliberately trying to throw Anakin off. Oncoming speeders swerve, trying to avoid the hunter and three Jedi. The hunter does a quick, tight loop-over and ends up behind all of you. She is now in a much better position to fire at you all with her laser pistol. To avoid being hit by the laser bolts, Anakin slams on the brakes and moves alongside her. She now fires point-blank at Obi-Wan.

"What are you doing? He's gonna blast me!"

"Right, not a good idea," Anakin quickly turns and swerves away. Suddenly, the hunter throws a bunch of explosives in your direction. You stand and use the force to hold them away from your speeder as they explode. Out of a cloud of smoke and ball of flames Anakin tears after the hunter.

"(Y/N), that didn't do much help!" Obi-Wan slaps out the small fire on the dashboard.

"At least we're not dead!" You exclaim, sitting back down. The hunter goes up and down, through cross-traffic. There is a near miss as a speeder almost hits you. The hunter turns down and left between two buildings. Anakin pulls up and to the right

"Where are you going?! He went down there, the other way,"

"This is a shortcut... I think,"

"What do you mean, 'You think?' What kind of shortcut?! He went completely the other way! You've lost him!" You exclaim from behind him.

"Guys, if we keep this chase going, that creep's gonna end up deep-fried personally, I'd very much like to find out who in the hell he is and who he's working for..."

"Oh, so that's why we're going in the wrong direction," Obi-Wan says sarcastically. Anakin turns up a side street, zooming up several small passageways, then stops, hovering about fifty stories up. Obi-Wan folds his arms. "Well, you lost him,"

"I'm deeply sorry, Master,"

"Great job Anakin, he went completely the other way," You groan, unhappy for losing the bounty hunter. Anakin looks around front and back. He spots something. He seems to start counting to himself as he watches something below approach.

"Excuse me for a moment," Anakin then jumps out of the speeder. You and Obi-Wan watch as he jumps on the hunter's speeder about five stories below you. You quickly jump into the driver's seat and follow after them. You deftly gain on the rogue speeder. The two speeders dive through oncoming traffic and then through cross traffic. You then see Anakin drop something and you quickly catch it. You then notice it's his lightsaber. You sigh and hand it to Obi-Wan.

"I'm going to have to admit, this has been the most fun I've had since Naboo," You say as you follow the speeder as it crashes onto the ground.

"Naboo? You mean with Maul?"

"Well, everything leading up to that," You say as you talently spin around oncoming vehicles.

"Spinning is not flying!" Obi-Wan groans. "This is the first time I've ridden with you and your already matching Anakin's recklessness," You chuckle as you land. You grin as you land and wipe the sweat from your head. Obi-Wan looks at you before chuckling. You also laugh as he gets out and helps you out. "I will have to admit, that was something different,"

"Probably something the council will frown upon," You joke before seeing him. "Anakin!"

"She went into that club," Anakin said, pointing to the bright sign.

"Patience," Obi-Wa reminds as he hands Anakin his lightsaber. "Here. Next time try not to lose it,"

"Sorry, Master," Anakin reaches for the lightsaber, but Obi-Wan holds it back. "A Jedi's saber is his most precious possession,"

"Yes, Master," He reaches for his lightsaber again, but Obi-Wan pulls it back.

"He must keep it with him at all times,"

"I know, Master,"

"This weapon is your life!"

"I've heard this lesson before..." You and Anakin say at the same time. Obi-Wan finally holds out his lightsaber and Anakin grabs it.

"But unlike (Y/N), you haven't learned anything, Anakin,"

"I try, Master,"

"However, you should thank (Y/N) for catching it for you," Obi-Wan says before stepping away.

"Thank you...you've lost your lightsaber?" He teases as you follow Obi-Wan.

"Yeah, but I found it," You defend.

"How long did it take you?"

"3 lectures from my master and one full rotation,"

"Really? Where was it?" You look down. "(Y/N)," He says in a sing-song voice.

"It was under my bed," Anakin laughs loudly and you also chuckle as all three of you enter the nightclub.

[ladykissingfish]

Under the Mistletoe with the Akatsuki // Part Eight // Kakuzu

What is with this group and wasting their free time doing such inane and pointless things? The old guy can think of at least 50 other activities (the majority of which involve making money) that everyone could be doing, rather than lining up to kiss each under a little green plant. When it’s his turn in the spotlight, he tries as hard as he can to back out of his “obligation” ... but Pein (and Kakuzu’s own persistent partner, Hidan) insist that Kakuzu participate. Kakuzu sighs and nods; he’s smart enough to know when he’s been defeated. However, Pein should know that Kakuzu will be adding a little extra money to his paycheck that week, for “hazard pay”.

Pein

Nagato was more interested in Kakuzu joining his group than any of the others. Immortality, money-sense, expertise and wisdom ... this is the man who survived the wars of the past. This is the man who survived the mighty Hashirama, God of all shinobi. Still, Nagato is no fool; he realizes that Kakuzu’s number one priority in life isn’t the Akatsuki, but money. Kakuzu would probably (and had likely thought about) betray them all in exchange for a tidy sum. So Nagato (as Pein) works to keep Kakuzu content enough to remain loyal, including making him the group’s treasurer and giving him complete control over everyone’s finances. And Kakuzu remains highly useful; strategizing, completing missions twice as fast (and ten times as efficient) as his younger teammates. Pein approaches Kakuzu and gives him a light kiss on the forehead, before returning to his room. He reminds himself to speak to Kakuzu later; he has some ideas about weapons he’d like to procure for the group, and needs to see if it would be financially feasible to do so.

Konan

Kakuzu genuinely likes Konan, and appreciates her company. Many men of Kakuzu’s generation were raised on the belief system that women were solely meant to be wives, child-bearers, and home-makers; to call a female a ninja was deemed unthinkable. But Kakuzu was a rarity in that he never saw this as being the case; man or woman, one’s inner strength was all that mattered in regards to being a shinobi. He’s spoken with Konan at length about her childhood, and the trauma she endured, and he knows that this little blue-haired lady is a sight tougher than a LOT of people (and Kakuzu’s met quite a few in his long life). Konan walks up to him and he smiles; it’s rare for Kakuzu to smile, but Konan brings it out of him. “Good evening, Kakuzu-san. I think it’s my turn.” He nods, and slips off his mask so that his lips are exposed. He leans down and very, very gently kisses her cheek. Her blushing skin is soft and her smile is beautiful as she thanks him and steps away, to let the next person go.

Kisame

Nobody knows this about Kakuzu (and he fears he would be mocked if they did), but the old guy puts a lot of emphasis on the idea of exercise. Five hearts is a lot of responsibility, and staying healthy is how Kakuzu intends to keep living forever. So every night, when the others are asleep and after he’s done with his reading, he’ll spend some time in his room exercising. One night Kisame passed by his open door and saw him using a pair of heavy books as make-shift weights. The next evening Kisame came to Kakuzu’s room with a set of real barbells , which he casually gave to Kakuzu with the admonition not to overdo it. Kakuzu greatly appreciated the gesture (and the unspoken support), and the two have been good friends ever since. But ... a kiss between them would just be too strange, so Kisame comes up with a better option: an arm-wrestling match, Kisame grabs the kitchen table and two chairs and sets them up under the mistletoe. Of course the rest of the Akatsuki gathers to watch, hooting and hollering and placing bets on who will win. Kisame and Kakuzu are both fairly evenly matched, so that challenge goes on for a while. Finally, with a final grunt of exertion, Kakuzu is able to slam Kisame’s hand into the table. Everyone claps, and Kisame laughs and tells Kakuzu that he’s “one tough son of a bitch”; high compliment coming from a man who was half-shark.

Itachi

Out of all the members of the Akatsuki, Itachi was by far the least problematic of the younger ones. Quiet, thoughtful, quick and efficient in completing missions. And polite; always forthcoming with “please” and “thank you”, and never failing to use honorifics with the others, even though some of them (ie Deidara and Hidan) don’t show him that same respect back. One time Kakuzu had caught a cold that stubbornly hung on for several days. Itachi came to his room every day with a cup of congestion-easing tea, something that Kakuzu didn’t ask for, but greatly appreciated nonetheless. Itachi comes up to him and nods. “Kakuzu-san.” “Itachi-san.” Itachi leans up and gives him a light kiss to the cheek, and Kakuzu is struck by a particular urge — to hug this kid. Something about him, perhaps everything about him, seems like a cry for parental love and affection. Kakuzu resists this odd impulse, but Itachi seems to sense that it’s something he wanted, because he leans over again and very briefly puts his arms around the older man. “Thank you,” he murmurs, before walking away. Kakuzu watches him go, slightly shaking his head.

Tobi

Tobi gives Kakuzu an uneasy feeling deep within his heart(s). Running around, speaking loudly, eating nothing but candy and sweets, acting like a complete fool — it’s an act. Kakuzu has never been more convinced of anything in his life. The only question is, why is Tobi putting on this act? To deceive them all into a false sense of security, before striking? Kakuzu has hunted bounties a good deal of his life, and a lot of the more difficult ones to catch have acted EXACTLY the way Tobi does, in order to throw off potential bounty hunters. Kakuzu learned to see through them, the same way he sees through Tobi. But to tip one’s hand and give away what you know is unthinkable in the chase and capture game, so Kakuzu never lets on what he actually believes. “Oh boy Kakuzu-san; does Tobi get a kissy now?!” Kakuzu nods, and Tobi slides his mask halfway off (Kakuzu notes the lines on the side of his face; accident, most likely. Possibly a disfiguring one) and the strange glint of his eye. Before Tobi can act, Kakuzu puts a hand on his face and kisses his forehead. “There. Now go.” Tobi slides the mask back on and hurries away with his usual chatter and giggling, and Kakuzu reminds himself to loom through the bingo book later for bounties with visible scarring on the left side of the face.

Zetsu

Five hearts means more blood needed to sustain said hearts. More blood means a stronger scent. A stronger scent means ... Kakuzu smells delicious to someone like Zetsu. Zetsu approaches him and looks around quickly; the two are alone. His brain runs through every possible scenario in which he could successfully kill and eat Kakuzu. He’s victorious in a few ... but most end with him mutilated by the man’s tentacles, and having to face the wrath of Pein on top of everything else. So he simply sighs, flicks out his tongue to taste the saltiness of Kakuzu’s cheek, and walks away again. Just that one taste was almost enough to make zetsu throw restraint to the wind and eat his fill, so he leaves before he can do anything he’ll regret. Kakuzu wipes off his cheek in mild disgust ... in a group full of freaks, Zetsu certainly seemed to take the cake.

Deidara

Kakuzu still remembers the day they brought this kid into the group. And that’s exactly what he was; a kid. Barely 15 years old, with a powerful “gift”, and full of anger at a village he felt betrayed him in not trying to understand his unique sense of ‘art’. Fast forward several years later and Deidara had changed, and most of that change was the better. Kakuzu could only surmise that the kid matured due to the constant council and guidance of his older and wiser partner Sasori; Kakuzu feels mildly jealous that Sasori was able to reign some measure of improvement over HIS young partner, but Kakuzu couldn’t do a thing with Hidan. Still, though, even Sasori hadn’t been able to completely tame the kid, as evidenced by Deidara managing to get BOTH arms blown off in a tussle with some Konoha nin. Kakuzu had been tasked with sewing his new arms back on, but to the kids credit, despite his painful the procedure had been, he didn’t utter a sound. Had even thanked Kakuzu, twice, afterwards. Deidara walks up to him and looks almost shy; 19 years old now and still with the face of a child. Kakuzu leans down and kisses the kid’s forehead, again noting his soft and smooth — and LONG — his hair was. It sways as Deidara walks away, and Kakuzu wonders how much he could get for those luscious locks, from the right buyer.

Sasori

Respect. Out of all the words that Kakuzu could use to describe how he felt about Sasori, Respect was at the top of the list. And the funny thing was, Kakuzu hadn’t even met the REAL Sasori until almost a year of being in the Akatsuki. The two had been sent on a mission, and at night, near the campfire, a soft metal sound made Kakuzu turn his head. It was a small, slender redhead, emerging from the being that Kakuzu had THOUGHT was a real person. The two had looked at each other for a while, and then started a game of cards as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As time went on, the two became closer. They both shared an interest in/knowledge of medical jutsu and procedures, and would often come to one another with questions or with articles on different medicines. Kakuzu nods at him as he walks up, and Sasori does the same. He thinks about it, bends down and kisses Sasori’s left cheek, and Sasori smiles at him, bidding him a quiet Good Evening before going back to his room.

Hidan

“Hey old fuck; you’ve been dying to get your hands on my sexy body all day, haven’t ya, pervert?” Kakuzu would roll his eyes at Hidan’s comment, but at this point, he’s ridiculously used to the things his partner says and does. As he looks at Hidan’s face, he wonders, and not for the first time, whether this is a punishment of sorts. Gaining five hearts and creating a kind of immortality only came for Kakuzu at the end of a long and bloody road, one paved with the unwilling sacrifices of other people. Was it Fate, that the Gods had put THIS man, this loud, overbearing, foul-mouthed heathen, into his path? And as the one person who just might be immortal, too? Hidan often joked about “When all these other assholes bite the big one, me and you might as well get married, bastard.” But what in the world was he saying? Surely he was joking; why would someone as young and attractive as Hidan want to be with Kakuzu? Kakuzu who was heaven knows how many times Hidan’s age, and — “So we gonna slobber each other or what?” “You’ve got a big mouth, brat. Learn to shut up once in a while.” “MAKE me shut up, fuck-face.” So Kakuzu grabs Hidan around the waist, tilts him back, and sinks into his lips. Kakuzu’s mouth is rough and scarred but Hidan’s is smooth and soft, and the contrast creates a dizzying effect for both men. Hidan grasps Kakuzu’s shoulders tighter, leaving slight nail-prints in Kakuzu’s flesh. Their lips are touching but in this moment it feels like everything is touching, even their very souls (if either of them still had one, that is). When Kakuzu finally breaks the kiss and pulls Hidan back up, the white-haired immortal seems fairly disorientated ... but that doesn’t stop his mouth. “You’re an even bigger pervert than I thought, old fuck. Who the hell said you could stick your tongue in my mouth?? And why —” Kakuzu suddenly reaches out and grabs Hidan’s face with both hands, this time pulling him forward into a very soft, closed-mouth kiss. “Better?” Instead of a smartass answer, Hidan simply nods; and now he’s smiling as he walks away. If he were to turn around at any point, he’d surely gasp; because Kakuzu’s smile was even bigger than Hidan’s own. “Stupid kid,” Kakuzu mutters to himself, still smiling as he makes his way back to his room.

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH15

18+ Content: General fluff/angst. Din POV. Word Count: 5138 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it’s up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate. Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist / Playlist

EPILOGUE

Whispers.

Din is subjected to whispers surrounding him and clinging to his beskar like seafoam on his boots; sensitive and hushed tones aimed to show their condolences, their pity, regarding the absence of light beside him. They raise their voice no louder than whispers out of fear, not sympathy—sterile beskar contaminated with the sun’s liquidised crux intimidating them into tight-lipped smiles.

Sorrow radiates off him in potent waves that roll over the settlement to drown them in his grieving. It doesn’t need to be voiced. There’s a plenitude of evidence that stacks up against the presumption; the reclaimed rifle adhered to slippery beskar as opposed to cradling its framework into soft flesh, a tattered cloak that now only stretches across one side of his back, broad shoulders appearing so compact in on themselves, and a heavy-footed stride that simply speaks anguish.

If those factors aren’t indication enough, the blood does it.

Dried blood that coats his tan appendage but not his gloved—funny, how he always seems to dirty his hands—thick streaks that have yet to reach that dry point smeared against his armour, dark patches on his flight suit that adheres to the skin beneath.

A picture is worth a thousand words, but the scene of The Mandalorian—a stoic warrior capable of pulling the tides that’ll swallow their settlement whole—so vanquished and mourning the woman he loved in such dreaded silence is worth a million and then some.

The element of a bare hand no longer pining to envelope itself from intrusive eyes is grisly. Abnormal. Eerie, all most, as if Mando’s resolve will snap before their inspections. Children are guided behind the adults with a subtle hand but it doesn’t pass unnoticed.

Din suspends in the maelstrom of the locals, helmet burdensome on his shoulders, vacantly swaying side-to-side as though struggling to remain awake on his feet; struggling to not let slip of his eyelids and succumb to the mud that’ll pose as his eternal resting grounds. If it weren’t for the slumbering speck of green nestled in the arms of Omera, perhaps he would allow himself to sink to his knees for the second time that night, no—third. Third time.

There’s no communication between them, no are you okay’s or I’m so sorry’s, just a simple exchange of glances that reads she’s gone, my girl is gone when Din recovers the Child from her arms. Familiar weight in the nook of his elbow, the same elbow her head resided as she lay dormant, he reverts back between the compound aisle of onlookers.

It’s all the same expression—that pouted bottom lip and upturned eyebrow, colourful eyes attentive to his exposed hand and gory armour; anything besides the chilling black slit of his visor, the red thumbprint of a much larger hand impression sitting in the corner of his view field—Din’s chin descends to his chest to avert his eyes from the hands on their loved ones, pulling them to a warmth he’ll soon forget the feeling of, the silent declaration of adoration upon seeing such a depleted man without his.

Voices are deteriorating before him, echoing and remote as if they were isolated across a vast canyon—everybody’s tone blending into one heaped bulk he can’t decipher who or where they’re coming from; a procedure his mind conducted to dissociate from the pity timbres.

Caben…

...I know.

Beskar wrenches their route, initiating eye contact with the two farmers his love died to save—died so that they could live fulfilling lives while she’s devoured by parasites—and his fist clenches by his side. Din doesn’t blame them for her demise, not really, she never would’ve inflicted such a gnarly wound if it wasn’t for the fact the Guild was after him; the fact that rescuing a helpless child would lead to a chain of events that brings him such an acquainted feeling of despair.

And he’d do it all over again if the situation arises—that’s what causes his slitted fingers to curl into his palms and draw blood out the gaps between. Din had breached many rules, some of his Creed’s and others his personal pledges; do not fall victim to a girl’s loving touches. They were there for good reason. Din’s not mad at Caben and Stoke nor Omera for informing him of their situation. Din’s mad at himself because, despite knowing the outcome of it all and despite how her name has been carved into his ribs, he would never not rescue the Child.

Even if that statement alone induces a thousand scenarios in which his beloved dies in his arms. Perhaps it’s his private method of torture; a way to inflict damage onto himself that doesn’t bruise skin but the sensitive heart beneath it all.

Caben and Stoke quiver underneath the leer of a visor blemished with vermillion—someone so black and white touched with the coloured essence of a cherished one—he’s never donned so much vibrancy. Not even when he wore his shoddy spraypainted duraplast armour had he been so rich in hues that no eyes should witness.

Din takes mercy on the men and tears his helmet away, feet falling with a burden into the forest haunted with a spirit that’ll never be able to rest.

It takes a day of being in hyperspace to reach overfamiliar craggy rocks and whipping sand granules—a day of being confined within his home, now a duralloy prison, with a fallen star coursing ripples of glacial bursts. The corpse of his sweetheart had been covered with what little material remained of the cloth on his back for the Child’s sake, not his. Din could never want that pretty face cloaked even with the browning plasma cracking on the surface of her cheek, the dark crescents beneath eyes that holds overtones that now only live in his head and windburned lips that once felt warm and smooth against his own roughened.

There’s a steep drop to his death waiting for a mere slip of his boots against the coarse siltstone—internal bleeding upon the impact that would cater his physique with that unaccounted heat one last time—but Din is versatile and makes it down with limited injuries; some grazes into the paddings of fingers and a sore ball of the foot where he’d dug his boots into an uneven surface a little too vigorously.

Soft sand sits beneath his feet in contrast to the grittiness above, a result of the lack of rays that reach between the gorge. It’s darkened down these parts, plagued with skeletons of unfortunate victims to the brittle canyon edgings.

A mote of black pokes upright from the golden ground, the end of a matte-finished cylinder storing pale grains into its blueprint. The ground swallows his knees whole and adheres itself to his flight suit where it’ll reside in the empty space that’s left behind for journeys to come.

Din combs the sand with cupped hands, bare digits burrowing deep and bandaging around the target to wedge free of its tenacious grip. It extracts from the planet’s crust with falling particles from its bore reuniting with its sum beneath his weight—a shattered chamber decays in his clutch. The stock, its untethered support deeper in the terra, withdraws into his idle grip.

It’s a straightforward design—a barrel he’s stared down into more times than he can account for—but there’s sentimental value in its mere existence, despite Din never having any interest in the dark oil encrusted with scratches and weathered patches around a jammed trigger. Such a stocky weapon for arms crafted of supple beams. The tide could easily harness such a defying artifact; digest the barrel whole into the belly of its trenches, the increased pressure simply too great for it to ever leave. Not the beams, though—they should never be required to carry such unstable weight, such compactness.

The amban rifle was perfect for those hands; nimble and delicate, easy to employ.

Salvaged firearm in hand, Din finds himself before the entrance of a shoddy dome shack; a flap of shroud swaying one with the wind eased to the side with the back of his knuckles, helmet dipping as he sets a lagging foot inside. The sparseness, the emptiness, drowns his lungs and constricts his airways—it’d been ransacked, by Jawas presumably, all of the deconstructed mechanics that should be gathering dust pinched from the schism-riddled wooden slab.

Disconnected halves of a rifle are gently laid to rest on the surface, the skeleton of a shattered Creed shortly following. Its critical gaze eats at the delicate man frontwards, toned eyes melting to a bubbling molten transparisteel that scars his assaulted morals. Three tan fingers spin the helmet on its axis to face the duracrete, allowing the pang in his temples to subside.

Din’s calves encased with his duraplast greeves butt against the edge of a mediocre cot, not too contrasting to his own—cramped with little to no support, but it’s stable and it works—he envisions a bandaged figure curled up on the durasteel, nothing but an oversized poncho to supply warmth that wasn’t necessary on such a heated planet. He sinks to the bunk and pursues the comfort of a merciless prod in his waist, a sweat-slicked forehead pressing into the wall.

If he closes his eyes and breathes deep he’s rewarded with a faint whiff of a rich syrup that combats the stale crux on his platings—the point of a pinky muscle stimulated with a fleeting taste of his favourite flavours. Sand particles deposited by the gusts of winds flood his ventilators from the cot beneath him, slicing through the linings of his insides. In lieu of coughing and spluttering Din deeply exhales and laxes his muscles; the overwhelming requirement for rest inevitably forcing his mind to disable and his breathing to even out.

Kuiil and his craftsmanship came up short as expected.

Even with the labour of three lifetimes, I cannot fix this. I have never seen something this shattered be repaired before. Perhaps you are not supposed to restore its properties.

Din respected the Ugnaught too much to vocalise his thoughts—what a load of bantha—and opted to depart from Arvala-7 before its granular claws burrowed into him more than they already had; his boots packed to his ankles with hot grit that converts the soles of his feet to blisters, flight suit drenched in sweat and blood.

Rather than dedicating a whole five minutes of changing attire, rather than finally ridding himself of the constant reminder of his dead lover clinging to his skin and clothes, he punches the navigation and activates the auto-piloting to his next destination.

The Child has developed some independence in the peak of Din’s mourning, often finding himself entertained with a drifting gear knob in the vacancy of the air before him—he almost appeared aware of the situation, aware of the black hole in Din’s chest narrowing his interiors and destabilising his balance—and he no longer needed assistance to vacate from the Crest when the hatch extended.

His guardian, on the other hand, wasn’t so eager to leave his penitentiary. It was quiet and cold in comparison to the hustle and bustle outside the duralloy cell, the loud exclaim of a snappy mechanic, no matter how late into the night it had to be, scolding her droids.

Are ya looking to get shot at? You know the drill, back away from it!

Din straightens himself out from the floor between the cockpit and the hold’s ladder, the one place he didn’t encounter the phantom of waning memories; they plagued these walls beyond belief. Recollections of brief intimate instances strewn throughout the hold, his bunk, the cockpit—it made operating his spacecraft a difficult chore.

He does his utmost not to glimpse at the emptiness atop the crates, the browning streaks that run down the slopes of the cubes and into the grooves of the Razor Crest’s base, but there’s only a limited measure of self-control residing within him and its line has been blurry as of late. Submitting to the gravitational pull of his eyes is inescapable and he risks a peak; a raggedy cloak that concealed gelid mounds now servicing as a blanket for the bare inventory containers.

Shoulders tighten and footwork falters as he maneuvers to the hatch, the idle purring of a preservation machine in the far corner a reminder of what he’d gone and done—guilt and grief goading his esophagus but he swallows it, greets the sting in his walls with a gruff clear of his throat.

What’s the big idea of stationing yourself here? She doesn’t appear in bad shape at all. I ain’t free parking, ya know.

Shiny credits are flung in her direction, the satchel containing the remainder of what was once a reimbursement to the bisected rifle in his leathers, he doesn’t allow him the privilege of feeling sorrow upon parting with them. Din doesn’t deserve to experience such sensitive emotions when he’s the trigger that snapped against a guard—a cherry bolt of a hand jabbing through the wind and tossing delicate goods down a ravine.

Peli eyeballs the exposed spinal plating of the Mandalorian and compiles the fragmented pieces of his physique, slotting in each individual aspect from his impaired posture down to the crust on his steel. Shards of a rusting man relocate, twisting and turning—no, not there...not quite...oh...—until it connects, a brittle sharp-edged outline of a man receding.

But that’s all it is.

An outline. Incomplete. His jam-packed insides—his essence, his life, his love—has been swindled from within leaving a husk of an exhausted bereaved soul ricocheting off the internal boundaries of beskar in search of its partner.

Din deposits himself in a corner of the hangar tucked away where the shadows push and pull his limbs, steering his appendages across the surface of an eroding strongbox showcasing the deconstructed blaster. Phantoms of apprehensive hands ghost overhead, their primary function programmed to destroy and slaughter not replenish and recover.

Reparations are out of the question. It’s beyond demolished; hardly decent for a mantlepiece let alone functional. It’s laid out like a butchered tip-yip primed for roasting, components scattered and misplaced; a muddle not even the greatest gunslinger could capitalise from.

Engravings on the stock of the rifle stabilise him, a gorgeous aluminium that shines beneath all the oil and base of obsidian. Its lines paint a picture of nothing, overlapping and crossing into a mess, but it fires a brisk bolt against his heartplate all the same. Bare fingers spelunk its origins for its quirks, its stories of a stubborn girl entrapped within it; utilising the elongated barrel like a third arm, a trigger snappy as her words, the scenic stock a mirror to the beauty beside it.

Roughened fingers were a by-product of being consistently handsy throughout the decades but when perceiving the sun rays they were reborn entirely. Soft and smooth and careful. Now that the sun no longer responds to his touch, now that he’s left with cool inscribed metal, they’ve reverted to their nature. Sandy. Sharp. Aggressive.

Aggressive fingers that match the stained violence of his Creed—his beskar that simply won’t return to that elegant silver shine no matter how desperately he rubs against the surface. Water sloshes back and forth in the modest trough of a sink, a tainted red-brown colour accumulating at the bottom provoking an ache in the tender organ residing in his centre.

He’d practically been forced into the shoddy refresher by the mechanic—you got the kid all anxious, just look at you, go get that gunk off yourself.

That’s all it can be perceived as by others; nothing more than filthy smears required to be rid of simply for presentation—to preserve the comfort of others no matter how intense the guilt chews against his muscles as her pith dilutes. Gunk.

Din muffles a sob. It’s her.

She’s abandoning him for a second time. What little of her refuses to part from him is so encrusted it’s become a part of his armour, inserting herself into the nicks and grooves of his platings his fingers fail to penetrate.

Mindless hands shift to his lesioned flesh, unsteady digits summarising the hills of rashy bumps visible only through the lens of steamy caf. Phantoms of lingering touches mark tan terrain in the shapes of slender fingers and cottony lips on his chest, his stomach, neck and face; everywhere that’d been blessed with the loveliest of kisses and nips from the Sun now scarred over.

Pendant held firmly in place pulses a scorching burst through the tissue on his sternum, the beskar skull leaving its claim. Its fraying thread drifts to thick fingers and lays loose between them, irritable skin of a palm flaring at its exuding heat and crisp pang; none of its physical but it’s as though he’s brushed with a hand of a million degrees all the same.

Shiny silver occupies the empty space beside him, a lithe barrel glittering in the substandard lighting of a crummy Tatooine refresher; heckling the helmetless man but he could never glance its way in any sort of negative class.

It hurts to connect with the beskar pendant and perhaps he deserves to hurt, but he can’t sustain it, can’t confront that sting in his throat and eyes each time it shifts against his chest.

Din weaves the lace of his material initiation through the metal perch beneath the shiny stretch of a barrel; dangling and showcased on the paired rifle of his Sun where it’ll reside—operating as a threatening symbol to partner his visor against enemies who dare glance his way.

And it did, far more successful than he could’ve imagined; rumours of his descent traversing parsecs faster than his Crest could vie with.

Did you hear about that Mandalorian—supposedly lost his lover and went rogue. I heard he turned berserk, he’s killed a town’s worth of criminals! Someone ought to lock him up before he turns on us. He’s a threat to us all!

Din didn’t much care for the presumptions. It wasn’t as though he frequented locations to be overwhelmed with the local’s support, though it made discreetly getting around a challenge—no longer were the days he could enter a cantina with a few intrigued eyes devising a way to lay claim to his beskar before returning to their booze.

But now it was people confronting him in false hope he’d be too deep in mourning to fight against their attacks. It never did end well for them.

He’d become a magnet for death, even of his own.

It wasn’t righteous to die in that common house. Not when those disproportionate black eyes observed from the arms of a droid; deep, dark masses that depicted more emotion for his guardian’s condition than perhaps they should. He’d been selfishly greeting his emerging end with an inconsiderate let me have a warrior’s death. It’d be a lie if he was to deny its translation; let me see my beloved.

As is his entire life, Din’s been allocated with responsibilities far out of his expertise but he’s not relinquishing his guardianship to the kid that easily. It’s not as if he could be transferred to any other old sucker either; not everybody has the same compassion for a floppy-eared bounty worth their retirement funds.

No, it wasn’t his time to rest. It’ll come when it’s merited.

That night after the events that’d transpired, Greef Karga bestowed some unusually wise statements underneath the moonless canopy of speckled stars patterning the abyss. Simply reminding Din of its existence; the constant celestials that’ll never desert him no matter what dodgy planet he dwelt.

A new moon is approaching. As a child I had been told stories of a cosmic reset at the commencement of a new cycle; an opportunity to start anew. Perhaps it was all just folklore but it’s fascinating all the same, wouldn’t you agree? I always did like shiny things.

It’d been the vulnerability that encouraged his Guild’s leader to utter those words—that unmistakable change in demeanour since they’d last met, that insecurity swallowing an iron stomach upon hearing a dead name chanted amongst an army of Stormtroopers—Din knew without it being conveyed.

He had been stripped of his privacy and put in the spotlight in front of dozens of lifeforms. A name reserved for a benevolent tone now recognised by the enemy, trespassing on those memories of all the situations it’d been murmured into his bare flesh as if labelling him as a person; a real breathing blood-pumping person and not the Creed he fought for.

Gideon was his name, the man who spoke of his identity as though he crafted it himself. As though he nursed the bruises and traumas of his title and being—not gentle hands that’d remain uncomplaining despite how little Din offered in return.

If Din had inspected his fallen TIE fighter for life, perhaps he could’ve avoided the forthcoming events.

With the naive belief of security, Din encouraged the pursuit of his aspirations rather than the concern of his violations towards his code. His relationship with the Creed had been on thin ice and he’s not quite willing to pardon its strict principles.

An opportunity to start anew.

His brain requests a rebalance—the interest for the Child’s consideration prodding needles into the fleshy mass—demands his sentiments to be torched, cremated until they are stardust particles drifting through the celestials above. They crack and pop in tune to the sizzle of a droughted driftwood pyre bearing the corpse of his lover, profitably filling two needs with one deed; a clear state of mind to focus on his ongoing responsibilities and to allow depleted beams to finally rest across the horizon.

She’d endured suffering enough; receiving punishment from those she trusted, the guilt and onslaught Din presented as a by-product, sustaining wounds until it’d finally become too much.

Even in death, she wasn’t permitted serenity.

Her fucking body is still with me!

It slipped out of his mouth back on Tatooine.

I had to - had to put her in carbonite...she was fuckin’ rotting in my ship. I didn’t know what else to do. What are you supposed to do with the body of your-... I can’t just - just ditch her on some shitty planet all alone like that!

Peli had been of assistance; providing Din somewhere to rest his eyes without breathing in the stench of decaying flesh. She’d even gone ahead and supplied him with a pair of gloves to preserve his corrupted honour though she wouldn’t admit it,—prefer not to recognise you as human, makes it hard to dupe you outta credits if I’m too busy pitying you—she wasn’t repelled by his grieving, the unusual depictions of a man underneath all that shiny steel.

She’d been of more assistance than he could thank her for.

Being on Tatooine facilitated the idea of his Sun’s disposal.

Kote Kyr’am.

It’s the best memorial he could devise. A ceremony he’d attended countless times as a foundling watching his elders fall in battle. The very same elders who’d knock Din upside the head for constructing such an ancient farewell for an aruetii but she’s worthy of nothing less; more, perhaps, but there are no alternatives in the vacancy of his helmet adequate for the burial of a star.

Din’s lips are chapped, his skin is on fire, there’s a rumbling in his stomach. He’s watching his beloved burn to ash underneath the new moon and yet he feels as though he’s the one succumbing to the flames; the heat just as powerful as the dormant embodiment it’s consuming.

Velvety skin he’d allocate his hands, his tongue, and time, never enough time, to now blister and contract, tear and melt, crackle and—

He heaves over, helmet rim caught on a scrunched forehead, and readies his throat for the bite of acid. It doesn’t come. Not even a trickle of saliva disperses. Instead, his lungs impale themselves on his ribcage, contracting and expanding so rapidly he fails to recognise his cheeks are devoured with a downstream.

The salt probes his tastebuds though it’s insufficient to dominate the heavy particles of ablaze flesh. It’s so rich, so potent that it’s evolved to a taste rather than a scent. Din could withstand the odour, his filters stripped the majority, but the taste is intolerable and it just so freely floats in through his agape mouth to nestle among his tongue - as if it belonged there - as if a contrasting sweeter taste didn’t.

Din’s skin reddens from Navarro’s meanspirited terrain but it’s not enough motivation to rise to his feet. He sits there, steel dwelling amongst the molten, and waits because he can’t continue his journeys for two without that flicker of confidence she’s at peace.

He’ll take a crumb of assurance, it’d be plenty for him to muster up the strength and return to the Crest where the Child awaits.

Usually, as is Mandalorian custom, he’d be stripping the shell of armour from her corpse as a keepsake of a life well-lived - to preserve the name of her clan but all Din had of her’s was a shattered rifle that’ll remain in the vacuum of a satchel.

Not to mention the chants—the gruff Mando’a words designed to ensure their warrior’s spirit may join their fallen. Din had his fair share of howling war cries through the years but not this time - it’s not right.

An aruetii wouldn’t be welcomed.

Besides, his Creed had stolen his spirit. It doesn’t qualify to steal hers.

It isn’t until a final blow of wind carries her skywards that Din raises to his feel, latches his helmet back in place, and returns to work.

Din likes the skies, no—loves the skies; the magnificent blues and pinks and oranges that blend as one, the swollen cushiony whites that conceal his naked face from the shell whatever planet he’d roam, but above all else Din loves how the sun blessed him with its astral kisses.

That unmistakable warmth flushed over him; the remnants of his extinguished star’s touches.

There was a peace up there that’d never reach the conflict of the galaxy; serenity that allowed for a moment of buoyancy—floating among the cornflower identical to how one might in the colossal depths of the ocean without the intimidation of anchoring oneself by weighted platings.

It was a real sight to behold up there; unfamiliar without the confines of his Crest.

Din had forgotten the thrill of the sweeping winds through his limbs, the freedom rising in his chest upon cutting through white puffs. But it had been the horizon that lured his attention inwards—the bends and slopes of a shimmering orange star smiling at the returning glint in his visor.

It was the first time he’d genuinely smiled since the loss of His Star. It had something to do with the warmth; the sunbeams managing to penetrate past beskar and into his flesh and organs so intimately, so overfamiliar to delicate fingers stroking the muscles of his chest or the bones beneath his cheeks.

It became sort of a custom in his travels to visit the heavens at least once on each planet. Often times bemused squealing would accompany him. Grogu—Grogu...the kid had a name—had been adamant about participating in his encounters and Din now has no doubt that was his abilities, the Force as Ahsoka mentioned, enabling him to perceive his intentions; his ambition to be touched by someone who no longer lives. It’d be easier to go up against seven Krayt dragons than to convince a power-wielding typhoon to remain on land, thereby he’d hoist Grogu up and above the overcast where the beams kissed the peak of his fuzzy forehead.

Renouncing his guardianship to Grogu had been challenging. Losing another lifeform so that he’d be entirely alone wasn’t a consideration as he journeyed in search of a Jedi, but it was to be expected. The kid was powerful and Din didn’t possess the knowledge to help him wield his abilities. Didn’t make saying goodbye any easier, though.

The situation resurfaced ghoulish remembrances of draining light in his arms; how he never presented his emotions without the guise of his helmet. So, encircled with copious lifeforms, Din removed his Creed before Grogu—introducing that vulnerability and love for a toddler who’d swindled his affection so effortlessly. A claw on his face wasn’t the same as gentle fingers but he didn’t love it any less.

The ordeal was absolving despite the moisture in his eyes.

Din’s ambivalent about what he’ll pursue from here with no mission, no ship, no love, but he doesn’t much care when he’s brushed with the warmth of his lover’s thumbs on his eyelids. It’s his favourite space; lingering above the clouds, head craned backwards with his helmet loosely held in his leathers, savouring how the beams kiss his skin until it’s pink from its spice.

Some days he simply wishes to take a peak, a small little glance to quench him until the desire builds up again. Some days he remains in the skies until his jetpack whines and runs into failures; until it makes its descent and is replaced with a shimmering orb.

He’s envious of the moon; how it so easily recovers its glossy shine and integrity, neglecting to address the events of the eclipse. Its radiance chips away at his armour but the sunshine restores it—realigns the shards and offers a toasty kiss to the steel, commending it for protecting her Mandalorian.

Din suspends in a herd of clouds and sighs into the air. It’s quiet except for the monotonous bursts of thrusters from behind. Sunshine is greeted with lukewarm caf, a partnering smile tugging his lips.

“Beloved Girl,” Din’s voice is raspy from inactivity but so loud, so clear in contrast to everybody else’s he’d consulted.

There’s too much he wants to say but he determines to voice them all. Din expresses his thoughts he’d been too stoic to admit, ranging from whispers to shouts at the sun as if it was a sentient being listening to his passion.

He tells her of how much he longs to see her, to taste her on his lips, to provoke that sparkling smile he loved so dearly. He communicates his guilt and how he loves her more than he can fathom—mentions the successful end of his journeys with Grogu and how he now has zilch but an undesired blade to show for it.

There’s nothing but a sway of wind whipping his eardrums in response and Din hums, accepting it.

Din cherishes the splinters of beams as she comes to rest beneath the horizon and he too sinks from the skies, obscured dimples in his cheeks as he recounts the memories of his beloved wrapped in his arms.

One last thing, Cyare, keep an eye on the kid for me, will you?

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79, @northernpunk, @tanzthompson, @djarrex, @omgreally, @spideysimpossiblegirl

[hopelikethemoon]

Out of Reach (Ezra x Reader) ||{Moonbeam} || [smut]

Title: Out of Reach Rating: Explicit  Length: 5,500 Warnings: Pregnant!Reader, angst, smut (oral sex and regular sex), space drug use.  Notes: Proof that I do love all of you.  Part twenty-two of the Moonbeams series.

As soon as you entered the atmosphere of Lykaios, all of your nausea vanished. There was true bliss in being able to gobble down a handful of dehydrated biscuit snacks for the first time in a few days. No more shots, no more nausea tabs, and no more… leaving for the time being.

Shiva had taken it upon themselves to stock your transport with two months of food, mostly to avoid interacting with Quinn. There was something new to feel guilty about. If Quinn hadn’t had to reveal his true identity — because of you — they would’ve been speaking.

You could only hope, but Quinn was leaving alone to go back to Ay-7 for awhile. Shiva didn’t even give him a send-off. 

You couldn’t blame them for being upset with him. Shiva, like most people, despised anyone affiliated with Fiorta. But he was still Quinn. Even if his name was actually Riordan. Except it wasn’t — he may have been born as Riordan, but he chose Quinn.

They’d get over it, sooner or later.

Your heart did somersaults when you saw that Ezra was waiting in the clearing for you. It flooded you with false hope, before you quickly reminded yourself of the reality. He was just walking through the motions.

“Welcome back, moonbeam,” Ezra drawled out as he stepped aboard the transport. “How are you feeling.”

“Good.” You answered as you sealed the door closed. “I ate.”

He smiled warmly, “I was worried about you. Nutros only do so much.” Ezra took a step towards, his eyes lowering to your stomach. “May I?”

Your hand rested against the not-so-subtle swell there, “Of course.” You mirrored his expression, smiling at him. “It’s a good thing I went back to the Block to pick up a few new shirts.”

Ezra reached out and brushed his fingers over your stomach, before spreading his hand out over the curve. “It’s surreal to think that part of me is safely nestled right here.” 

“I can’t imagine why it’s surreal,” You teased lightly, reaching out to play with the soft hair that fell across his forehead, before running your fingers down his cheek. “How are you?”

“Better now.” He told you lightly as he rubbed his fingertips over your stomach. “Can you feel them yet?” 

“Sometimes I think I can,” You told him, resting your hand over the back of his. “Little flutters, but not anything substantial.” 

Ezra lifted his gaze to meet yours, “I feel like I should kiss you right now.” He told you as he stared at your lips. 

You curled your fingers around the back of his neck, teasing your fingertips through the hair at the nape of his neck there. “Then kiss me.” 

He closed the distance between the two of you, his lips brushing over yours. But that wasn’t enough, Ezra tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip as he sought entrance. 

A soft groan escaped you as you sank into the kiss, grabbing at his shoulder for support. If you could just forget for a few moments, suspend the bitter taste of reality, you could just pretend. Ezra was always so enthusiastic when you came back, always ready to smother you with attention or recite a new line of poetry that captured his interest. 

He broke away from the kiss before you had fully savored the brief brush with your imagination, his breath dancing over your lips as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I’m sorry, I—“

You pressed your fingers to his lips and shook your head. “Not yet.” You whispered, winding your arms around his body and pressing your face into the crook of his neck. He ran his hands down your back, but his touch was awkward — like he wasn’t sure how you needed to be held. There was just enough fumble to pull you back into the bleak moment. 

“So,” You started, twisting yourself out of his embrace and putting space between the two of you. “I apologize for returning so soon. I know I said I anticipated a week.” You had made it four days — not including travel time. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that, moonbeam.” He assured you, shifting his weight from the heels of his feet to his toes and back again. He looked as awkward as you felt. 

“I know, but I told you I would give you space and I’m… Clearly not great at that.” 

The faint smile on Ezra’s lips drew into a tight thin line, “Space. Right.” He clasped his hands together, “You indicated that there was more amiss than what you revealed over the com.” 

You grimaced a little, “Would you like to go sit?” 

“Sure.” Ezra gave a stiff nod, before starting down the corridor towards your quarters, instead of the common area. 

“Ezra?” 

He glanced back at you, “What?” 

“Do you know where you’re going?” 

He stopped, turning towards you then. “Your quarters?” 

“You haven’t been on my transport before… since what happened.” You had spent your last night on Lykaios with him on his transport — before heading back to yours with Shiva the next morning. 

Ezra blinked slowly, “I haven’t.” 

You shook your head. 

“Oh.” He laughed incredulously. “I think I remember…” He looked back down the hallway towards your quarters, brows drawn together. “It’s dark.” 

“It’s alright.” You moved towards him, reaching for his hand. “I don’t expect you to remember anything.” 

Ezra shook his head, “That was weird. It was almost like…” He squeezed your hand. “Like an impression of something I once knew.” 

You brought his hand to your lips, letting it linger. “It’s a start. Another start.” 

He rubbed his thumb over the center of your palm, before guiding you down the corridor to your quarters. 

“You know,” You started. “I would’ve been a lot more nervous to tell you this before.” 

“Bad news?” He arched a brow.

“It relates to Quinn.” 

“Do I want to know?” Ezra eyed you suspiciously and ducked as you swung your hand at him. “I’m joking!”

“Am I laughing?” You protested as the corners of your lips twitched upwards.

He started laughing, “Yes!” 

You put your hands on your hips, “No I’m not.” 

Ezra scooped you up — never ceasing to impress you with his strength — before depositing you unceremoniously onto the bed. “Tell me.” 

You huffed, sinking back onto your bed and propping your legs up on his lap. “It’s not fun news, you know. It’s more like, the Corps might be after our baby.” 

“What?” He stiffened, his eyes locking onto your face. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, at my appointment the medic discovered that the baby and I aren’t entirely compatible with each other. I personally think it only occurs when I’m not on Lykaios — I never feel that bad when I’m here.” 

“But the Corps.”

“I’m getting there. The medic wanted to do some risky procedure, which I vetoed and then… I mentioned that the father wasn’t fully human. Look, you could be Zendovian, Yaelori, or any number of species that have been known to mix with humans, but… my record says the last place I jumped to was Lykaios.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he held your gaze, “And then what?”

“I lied. I said the baby was conceived on Ay-7, just to save face. Timing is off if they pull the logs, but…” You sank back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t think they’ll be a problem.” 

“When has the Corps ever not been a problem?” He seethed. “They’ll come here and ruin everything. That’s what they do.”

“Not always. Especially… considering I discovered that all this time I knew the heir to Fiorta.” 

“Riordan Northcott vanished twenty years ago,” Ezra remarked. “Rumors always suggested he was caught with his pants down with the wrong person.”

You snorted, “That sounds about right.” You tilted your head to look at Ezra, “It’s Quinn.”

“Excuse me?” His jaw dropped. “Our Quinn?” 

You nodded slowly, “Rumors apparently weren’t largely exaggerated. He only told me the need-to-know aspects of his life, but… it makes so much sense now.” 

He was still just staring at you, “And he isn’t involved?” 

“No.” You assured him. “But he’s going to get involved to try to waylay any danger. Given all of their ventures, I can’t imagine that Lykaios or our baby is high on their radar.” 

“And this was what had you so agitated?”

“Well, yeah. Quinn is about to get himself tangled up in a situation he tried to leave because of me, Shiva won’t talk to him, and you’re…”

“Broken?”

“For lack of a better word.” You sighed heavily. “If I hadn’t gone to Arcadia, if I hadn’t made that deal, if I hadn’t… stupidly brought it up with you.” 

Ezra lifted your legs off his lap so he could move up the bed, draping himself over your body carefully. His knees pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your hips, his hands planted beside your head. 

“You have to stop blaming yourself, moonbeam.” He told you, his dark eyes fixed on yours. There was a familiar warmth there, a quiet adoration that warmed you.

“I have a lot of regrets,” You admitted, trying to will the tears you felt welling in your eyes not to fall. 

Ezra’s brows creased together, “Do you regret what we had?” 

“No,” You whispered, before you quietly corrected yourself. “A little. More so now that I know that…” You shook your head slowly. “I didn’t know how serious your condition was, Ezra. You hid it so well.” 

“If I chose not to reveal that to you, perhaps it was because it didn’t matter to me anymore. A person can overlook pain if the alternative is better than they could’ve imagined.” He drawled out, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “I may not truly know you, little lamb, but I know what the ghost of these emotions feel like.” 

You blinked slowly, causing a hot tear to slip down your cheek. “Everyone has had to make sacrifices because of me. How is that fair?” 

“Haven’t you made your own?” Ezra questioned, “You told me that you died and now you’re carrying our baby — something that is to the detriment of your own life. We all make sacrifices for those we love. We give little pieces of ourselves to the people who matter.” 

“Ezra—“

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, “I may not remember, but I do know why I would make certain decisions.”

You curled your fingers around the back of his neck, sliding your fingers over the scar that marred his skin there. “Why?”

“I feel the depths of my love for you, even still.” He murmured, his voice dropping low as he leaned down to kiss you. 

This was a dangerous game — one you ached to play. 

You raked your fingers through his hair as you tilted your chin to close the distance between your lips. Your tongue slid out, trailing across his lips as you sought out his. A needy sound rising up the back of your throat. 

Ezra moved above you, planting a knee between your thighs. 

Once again, he broke the kiss before you were ready for the moment to end, breath dancing over your tender lips. “What about slow?” 

“Fuck slow.” You hissed out, reaching down to tug at the hem of his shirt, drawing the fabric up his back. 

Ezra sank back on his legs, peeling off his shirt and tossing it aside. You sat up, reaching out to run your hands over the warm skin of his chest. 

You pressed your lips to the hollow of his throat, letting your lips linger there, before he helped you pull off your own thin sweater.  His hands roamed over your newly bared skin, sliding along the curve of your waist. 

“You’re sure?” He questioned, brows drawn together with concern as he cupped your cheek. 

“Yes,” You nodded, reaching down to unlatch the buckle of his belt, pulling it from the loops of his pants. “I need this.” 

Ezra kissed the top of your head. “Whatever you want, moonbeam.” He murmured, his voice almost too quiet to even hear. But you did. 

You tugged the zipper down and forced the closure apart so you could shove his pants down his hips and thighs. After they were shed, you laid back and let him do the same with your pants, peeling away every barrier that separated the two of you — except for his memories. That was a barrier you couldn’t breach. Not yet.

Ezra laid you back against the bed once more, draping himself over you as he claimed your mouth again. His rough hands wandered, skimming over the swell of your breast, dragging his thumb over your taut nipple, before trailing downwards to grasp at your hip as he rocked against you. 

His cock was trapped between your bodies, rigid against your thigh. He moved downwards, mouth hot against your throat, lips brushing over that spot at the crook of your neck that always seemed to draw him in. 

You let yourself get lost in the sensation. Ezra’s skilled mouth tasting every inch of you from your lips to the soft flesh of your inner thighs. 

“Look at you,” He drawled out as he parted your slick folds, brushing his thumb over clit. “Fuck, you’re soaked, little lamb.”  

It reminded you of the first time your thighs had framed his face, the first time he coaxed a release from you. Your lips parted with a breathy moan as Ezra sank two fingers into your slick center, his tongue sweeping over that aching bundle of nerves. 

Your hips arched up off the bed and his grip tightened to hold you steady. He curled his fingers within you, seeking out that sweet spot that only he seemed skilled enough to find. 

“Ezra.” You moaned, squirming beneath him as he sucked at your clit lightly. You were right on the brink, inner walls fluttering around his fingers. 

Ezra released his hold on your hip, reaching for your hand instead. It wasn’t fair — the way he slotted his fingers in between yours, the way he held your hand as he pushed you over the edge. 

It felt like bliss and agony rolled into one as you came apart at the seams, your cunt gushing around his fingers as he dragged them in and out of you. 

He took his time with you. You watched him lick his fingers clean, before he worked his tongue between your slick folds, lapping at your arousal. 

You pressed your foot against his shoulder, trying to push him away as you twitched beneath his ministrations, your clit far too sensitive to endure the teasing stroke of his tongue. “Ezra.” 

He turned his head and nipped at the inside of your thigh gently, “Tell me I never took this for granted.” He peppered kisses over your skin. “I could devote my life to making you come — just like this.”

“You took full advantage,” You told him with a lazy smirk as you watched him move back up the length of your body. You ran your thumb over his bottom lip, fresh desire burning through you as he sucked your thumb into his mouth. “As did the beast.” 

“I bet.” He released your thumb with a wet pop, before leaning in to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his lips and his tongue, which only fueled your need. 

You curled your leg around his hip, moaning against his mouth as his cock dragged between your sensitive folds. “Please.” 

He pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” You breathed out as you reached between your bodies to guide his cock to your center. “I need this. You.” 

Ezra gently cradled your jaw in his palm, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he pressed into you. His lashes fluttered, but he kept his gaze trained on you. “Fuck.” He rasped. “You feel good.” 

“So do you.” You leaned up and caught his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging gently at it before trailing kisses along his jaw. “I missed this.” 

Ezra stroked his thumb down the center of your throat, before planting both hands against the bed beside your head for leverage. He rocked forward, snapping his hips into you before drawing back and repeating the motion again and again. 

It was different — good, but different. It lacked the desperation of that first time with Ezra and it lacked the tenderness that came from loving someone. It was still him. He just couldn’t remember what came before. 

A part of you wished you had rolled over beneath him, pressed your face into the pillow and let him drive the length of his cock into you, but it hasn’t felt right. This felt right. 

Looking up at him as he rocked into you, kissing him each time he dipped down to steal another one from you. There was so much there that just was — memories or no memories. 

Tendrils of pleasure burned through you as you clenched around his cock, fingernails digging into the back of his arms as you climbed to him. 

Ezra picked up the pace, his breath coming out in labored pants as he filled you. Your name slipped past his lips as he buried himself within you and came apart. He kept himself there, rocking his hips slowly as he spilled out. 

He slid out of you far sooner than you wanted, rolling onto the bed beside you to keep from putting too much weight on your stomach. You prepared yourself for him to pull away — to put space between the two of you. But he didn’t. 

Ezra pressed his lips to the curve of your shoulder, molding his body into the shape of yours, his hand wandering over your bare skin, before settling at your stomach. “I don’t know the particular cautions around copulation during pregnancy.” He remarked, his words muffled against your shoulder.

You snorted, “Never change.” 

He tilted his head to rest his chin against your arm, flashing you a cheeky grin. “What?” 

“Copulation.” You rolled your eyes. “You’re the only man I know who would use ‘copulation’ immediately after fucking.” 

Ezra shrugged a shoulder, “It sounded right, little lamb.” He smirked a little, his fingers wandering lower. 

Your lips parted with a breathy sigh as he skimmed his fingers between the slick folds of your cunt, gathering up the mess left behind there. “Ezra.” You whispered, curling your fingers around his wrist as you pulled his hand away. 

He arched a brow as he watched you bring his fingers to your mouth, dragging your tongue over them before wrapping your lips around them. He stroked his fingers over your tongue as you let them go with a wet pop. 

“Fuck, that’s…” Instead of finishing his sentence, he kissed you. The kind of kiss that was bound to leave your lips tingling tomorrow. 

You melted into him as he kissed you, meeting his desperation with your own until you were both nose-to-nose and drawing in ragged breaths. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

“Don’t be.” You murmured, kissing his shoulder as you curled your arms around him. “This… you  . You’re all I need right now, Ez.” You didn’t have to pretend. You could just fall in love with him all over again. 

Ezra tossed his satchel onto the bed beside you as he shook a handful of loose lunaxium in his palm, “You wouldn’t happen to have a mortar and pestle, would you?”

“You brought one,” You finished the last bite of fruit, before sliding out of your bed. “How is it?”

“Thought I could ignore it. We had such a good evening last night, but…” He grimaced and shook his head. 

“Would you be willing to tell me more?” You questioned as you stepped out into the corridor to retrieve the device from the fresher. “You were always downplaying it until, well… You were in rough shape.”

“Right now it’s simply just a mind-numbing headache. Everything is darkly tinged at the corners.” He took the mortar and pestle and started grinding it into a thin powder. “I am almost proud of myself for concealing it. That had to have been no easy task.” 

You watched him as he carefully lined up the lunaxium dust, before snorting it. It didn’t look particularly pleasurable at first. His brows knit together and his jaw dropped, but then his features softened. 

“Sorry,” He muttered, rubbing the back of his hand under nose. 

“No, no.” You shook your head. “It doesn’t bother me. You just always hid when you had to use it.” 

“I was probably ashamed,” Ezra admitted. “I get the impression that I didn’t like the reminders of our differences.” He rubbed at his nose again, before scooting back to lean against the wall beside you. “How are you?” 

“I slept well last night.” You told him as you picked up another piece of fruit from the dish beside you, peeling off the peel. “Someone wore me out.”

Ezra chuckled, cocking his head to the side as he looked at you, “It was quite a way to end my five year dry spell a second time.” 

You pried out a segment of the fruit, biting it in half before offering the other bite to him. “I think it was exactly what we both needed.” 

He leaned over and used his mouth to take the fruit from your fingers, licking the nectar off his bottom lip. “It didn’t feel like scratching the itch.” Ezra drawled out, rubbing his thumb over the center of his forehead. 

“Is it helping?” 

“Yeah.” Ezra exhaled slowly. “Takes a few to kick in.” He slumped back against the wall. You could tell it was working it’s magic on him. His movements seemed sluggish and relaxed. All of the tension in his body seemed to ebb away. 

“Do you think I should take lunaxium?” 

Ezra’s eyes slid to meet yours, “For what?”

You gestured to your stomach, “This little spawn of yours.” 

“Pup.” He corrected with a crooked grin. “I don’t know. You said you get sick when you’re off world?”

“Nausea, cramping, headache, general malaise.” You explained as you took another bite of fruit. “It’s getting worse every time I go back to the Block.”

“Then you should stay here,” Ezra ran his fingers down the side of your arm. “You already proved that you can endure the full moon here. That the beast knows you, little lamb.” 

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “And that’s how I know you’re not you.” 

“But I am.” Ezra insisted, leaning to rest his head against your shoulder. “I’m still the man who loves you.” 

Your expression fell, “Ezra, you’re high.” 

“So?” 

“So.” You muttered, grabbing a pillow to present him with instead of your shoulder as you started to move out of his grasp. “You barely know me.” 

Ezra stretched out on your bed, his arms wrapped around the pillow as he rested his face against it. “But I do know you. I feel you.” 

“Sleep it off, champ.” You remarked as you cleaned up the mess you’d made with the fruit, sitting the bowl of discarded peel on the little stand beside your bunk. 

“Are you listening to me?” He questioned, even as his eyes were tightly closed. 

“Yes, I am.” You sighed, dropping his satchel on the ground as you pulled the covers up and over him. “But you’re high and talking nonsense.” 

“I was confused,” Ezra mumbled. “When you brought me back to my transport. My thoughts were so disjointed and I didn’t mean… I care about you, moonbeam.” 

“It’s all been forgiven,” You assured him, brushing your fingers through the hair that fell against his temple. “Just relax. Hopefully you’ll wake up feeling better.”

“Will you stay?” He drowsily rubbed his hand over the bed beside him. 

“I’m going to call Shiva and then I’ll come back to bed.” You promised. “Just rest, Ez.” 

“I like when you call me that.” Ezra whispered, as his breathing finally evened out. 

You quietly moved across your quarters to grab your datapad out of the charging dock, before heading down the corridor to the cockpit. Shiva hadn’t had enough time to set up the comlink like the one you and Ezra used — this one required an additional boost from the nav system to siphon off the satellite grid. 

It took three rings for them to answer, “Yrica’s frosty nips. I was asleep.” 

“Shit.” You checked the time. “I forgot. So much of our time is spent inside I lose track of—“

“It’s fine.” Shiva assured you. “How are you? Did you stop puking your guts up?” 

“As soon as I re-entered the atmosphere, I felt like new again.” You rested your hand on your stomach as you kicked back in your jump seat. “I carb loaded as soon as I could.”

Shiva yawned dramatically, “I hope you hydrated too.”

“I drank plenty.” You laughed softly. “Ezra was insistent this morning… or whatever time it was. We slept for like eight hours.” 

“How’s that situation going?” 

“Well—“

“You had your second first time with him, didn’t you?” 

“Am I that obvious?” 

“No, but he is.” Shiva snickered. “Despite how deceptive the two of you were being while I was there, his interest in you was blatant.” 

“At least I’m not misreading that situation.” You propped your elbow up on the armrest of your jump seat. “It’s a delicate situation.” 

“How were things after?” 

“Great.” You shrugged. “He’s still… It’s still Ezra. He still does what I would expect from him. We cuddled and he fell asleep. I woke up a little later to use the fresher and he was just as clingy when I got back.” 

“Oh, he was ‘clingy,’ huh?” Shiva taunted.

You rolled your eyes, “And then we slept for eight hours.” You felt your cheeks warm, “You’re not going to hear me complain about the wake-up.” 

“Called it.” They laughed softly. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger. Where is he right now?”

“Resting. Headache.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “It kills me to know how much pain he’s been in all along, but he hid it from me.” 

“Yeah, well we all hide things from the people we care about.” 

“Have you heard from Quinn?” 

“Who?”

“Shiva.”

“Fuck Quinn.” 

“He didn’t keep that from us for insidious reasons, Shiva.” You sighed heavily. “I don’t understand why you won’t at least give him a little grace.”

“I’ve given him a lot of grace.” Shiva said flatly. “I’ve hauled his ass around the galaxy and bailed him out when he’s fucked up. He could’ve told me. I wouldn’t have judged him.” 

“You wouldn’t have judged him? Like you’re not judging him right now?” 

“It’s different now. He waited too long.” 

“Shiva, I genuinely think Quinn just repressed his past. The only reason it came up was because of me. I don’t think he kept that from us as a ‘fuck you’ to either of us.” 

“Maybe he’ll prodigal son his way back into their good graces. Then I won’t have to be his emotional support person anymore.” Shiva huffed. 

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s just chomping at the bit to get back in there and have his life controlled by his ultra-conservative family.” You snapped. “Quinn definitely seems like the type to be content with that.” 

“We both know he loves glad-handing.” 

“He also loves being free to do who and what he pleases.” You sank back in your seat. “Give him an inch, Shiva. Don’t make me feel guilty over killing your friendship.”

“Then Riordan shouldn’t have lied to us.” 

“I don’t think Quinn was doing it as a slight.” You shook your head. “Just try, alright?” 

“No, but I’ll say ‘yes’ to help you sleep better at night.” 

“I’m honoured.” You quipped. “I should probably go. I promised Ezra I’d nap with him.” 

“Com me later?” 

“Yeah. Go back to sleep.” 

“I’m up now. I’ve got an AI bot to tinker with.” 

“Have fun with that.” You offered, before killing the com. You had to hold onto the hope that the two of them would fix their friendship. They’d been friends too long to see that torn apart because of you. 

Ezra was still out cold on your bed and snoring softly. He looked so relaxed — he always did when he was asleep and unbothered by the pain. You wished he’d been honest with you about all of that before. It hurt a little more to find out from a version of him that was uninhibited by emotions. 

You leaned down to pick up the contents of his satchel that had spilled out on the floor by your bed. The little pouch of lunaxium had lost a few pieces of the rock. You tucked them back into the pouch — all but one. 

If your baby was like Ezra, wouldn’t they need lunaxium too? 

Sinking down onto the side of the bed you placed the rock on your tongue, it tasted like copper and something oddly tangy. The rough texture felt strange against your tongue, but it softened into a malleable enough texture that you could swallow it.  

At least it seemed safer to try lunaxium with Ezra right beside you. It took awhile to feel anything. You’d done dust on At-7 — you knew what getting high felt like. But this was slower, it weighed down your limbs and made your insides feel… different. 

You drowsily slid under the covers beside Ezra, curling into the crook of his body, seeking his warmth as an unusual chill moved through your body. 

Everything felt a little brighter, a little louder… You could feel the life humming from within you. That star that you had plucked from the sky and swallowed. The life that had taken root within you, that was drawing from you for sustenance. 

Light twisted behind your eyes, causing you to fall upwards into an increasing brightness — like you were ascending into a supernova. Bathed in warm light. Was this what Ezra felt whenever he used lunaxium? 

You seemed more aware of your existence. Every little flutter in your womb felt like you should’ve been able to see the movement beneath your skin. If you could even see your own body. It was just light. 

“Moros holds the keys to all of our fate.” 

“Who’s there?” 

You recognised the voice. Callisto. 

“He tricked us to turn on our own brother.” She told you, her disembodied voice like a whisper against your skin. “Convinced Psophis that freedom was his, only to bind him into the form of a wolf for all eternity.”

“Can I get Ezra’s memories back?”

“They’re not gone… just out of reach.” Callisto told you. “Like your own were.” 

“But I remembered.”

“Ezra was weak. The fight was drained from him before he could cling to his mind.” 

“And I’m supposed to trust you?” 

“An enemy of my enemy is the closest of friends.” Callisto assured you. “Arcadia is out of reach for my siblings, but you…” 

“I’m not going back there,” You protested. “Not while I’m pregnant.” 

“Once the child is born,” Callisto said smoothly. “We will spare both of you, if you help to free us.” 

“And Ezra?” 

“Will be free too.” 

“But his memories.” 

“Are just out of reach.” Callisto repeated. “Promise me you’ll help to free us.” 

“I’m leery of making vows after Moros.” 

She sighed, “We’ll spare you and your child, regardless of your success.” 

“And Ezra?” 

“And Ezra.” 

“Then I’ll help.” You told her, blinking at the dark shape in the bright light that surrounded you. You could see her — the outline of her. “But I can’t make any promises.” 

“Hope is enough for me.” Callisto vanished, swept up in a breeze, taking the light with her. 

Stars cascaded above you, falling across the sky rather than downwards. Green light danced through the night sky, transforming into shimmering blue and pink shapes, before vanishing with the stars. 

You fell backwards, falling and falling until you felt the firm pressure of your mattress at your back. 

You gasped, sitting bolt upright in the bed. The movement was enough to jerk Ezra awake, a sharp growl escaping him like he was primed to attack someone. 

“It’s just me.” You assured him, meeting his wild eyes. “It’s just me. I had a nightmare.” 

Ezra kept staring at you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “I thought…” He blinked, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead. “I think I was still asleep.”

“You growled.” 

Ezra laughed a little as he sank back onto the bed, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Did you think you remembered?” You questioned quietly. 

He nodded stiffly, before admitting, “For just a second.” Ezra pulled you towards him, pressing his face into your hair. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s alright,” You kissed his throat and the underside of his jaw. “It’s just out of reach.” 

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Exactly.”

[anika-ann]

The 5 Times Steve Felt Betrayed - Pt.1

and the 1 Time He Felt Like He Was Betraying You

Type: mini-series to a series (part 1 & part 2 & Part 3),  Avenger!reader AU.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, Matt Murdock & reader         

Word count (ch1): 2400

Summary: After the fiasco in Nigeria, the world is fed up with dealing with the Avengers’ mess. The Sokovia Accords are invented. It’s understandable that the team is divided.

But Steve would never expect that The Accords would wedge a split between the two of you as well. And he sure as hell wouldn’t expect your disagreement not to end there.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, talk about what happened in Lagos during CA:CW, langauge, angst? (I mean, check out the title)

A/N: So, this mini-series is a part of the Melting Hearts ‘verse and follows the events of CA: Civil War, sometimes only referencing and kinda expecting the readers to knwo what’s up ;) obviously some things will be slightly altered.

Will be posted in double chapters (1st &2nd time, 3th & 4th, 5th+1)

────── ·❆· ──────  

1. (Cause & Consequence)

“Our people's blood is spilled on foreign soil. Not only because of the actions of criminals, but by the indifference of those pledged to stop them. Victory at the expense of the innocent… is no victory at all.”

Steve shut the TV down, placing the remote control on the table. His fingers went to massage the bridge of his nose.

It was everywhere – a month after the fiasco in Lagos, they were still talking about it in the news. This time it was the king of Wakanda speaking, questioning the activities of the Avengers team.

And during the past weeks, he had barely been the only one.

Steve was well-aware of their mistakes – of his mistake. The way he had lost it with Rumlow was unforgivable, especially with so many lives lost. Wanda might have been the one to send the exploding man into the building full of civilians, but Steve was watching the source of the tragedy every goddamn day in the mirror.

He had failed to deal with the HYDRA mercenary. Wanda had saved Steve’s life when she removed the burning man out of his reach, accidently blowing up a building. You had tried your best to put out the fire in the building with your powers, but the damage had already been done.

It had been a collective error. But Steve knew that if they hadn’t been in Nigeria in the first place, many more people would die. And it was what he was trying to hold onto, some days handling it better than others.

If the public thought they didn’t feel remorse at what had happened, they were very, oh so very wrong.

He winced when the voice of the reporter he had just shut down evaded his ears again, and frowned.

He knew it couldn’t be you – you weren’t home, which was just another thing to make him feel like crap. You were spending a lot of time away lately – Steve couldn’t help but wondering if it was his fault too, if he had driven you away with his dark thoughts.

And then there were moments when he wasn’t sure if it wasn’t simply you not being able to look at him, not seeing him in the same light as you had used to when you had said yes to his proposal.

Were you gone because you were judging him for freezing at Bucky’s name? For not handling the situation? He couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed. Loving someone… it shouldn’t be about expecting something back, but… after all the support he gave you whenever you were struggling? He thought you would be there for him.

But maybe it was just too much for you, dealing with yourself and comforting him at the same time – it would only confirm his theory about you feeling guilty for some of the victims.

However… why wouldn’t you try to deal with your own feelings with Steve? He was hundred percent sure you thought you could have done more, be there sooner, hell, stop the explosion yourself. He knew you felt like it was your failure as much as his and Wanda’s – or at least he believed so.

But why were you seeking shelter somewhere else? He was your fiancé – a person you had agreed to spend the rest of your life with – so why weren’t you with him in a time like this? Your relationship had been very intimate from the very beginning after all, only blossoming into more with time.

So why had you gone to see another man again? He couldn’t help the nagging pang of betrayal and jealousy. You always said you needed to see Matt Murdock. How could it not get into his very core and wound him there? Especially when after those meetings with Matt, you always seemed restless, jumping at the slightest of sounds, often escaping to the gym, claiming you needed few more moments alone.

“I’m sorry,” you would always say, a regretful smile on your lips, your gaze avoiding his. “I just… I guess I just need to hit something and I don’t want you to see me like that.”

And then you would hug him, kiss his cheek gently, sometimes pressing your lips to his for a split second and you’d be gone. Truth to your words, you would always come back exhausted, but somewhat calmer and offering affection with more urgency than usual to make up for the lost time.

Steve had no idea what to think about that or how to approach the matter.

What he knew he could do, however, was to walk into Wanda’s room and turn off her goddamn TV, because he was sure the voice was coming from there – no one had watched the news with more intensity than her, always coming after any new bits about the incident in Lagos so she could torture herself.

That girl was way too much like you.

“It’s my fault,” she stated when she acknowledged his presence. It was hard not to, since he had turned off the broadcast.

“That’s not true.”

“Turn the TV back on. They’re being very specific.”

“Well, what they say on TV is a load of— stupid things. We both know that I should have handled the situation way before you had to intervene. People died. And unlike what they say on the news – that’s on me,” he said, heavily seating himself next to her on her bed.

She gave him a sorrowful smile. “Well. I guess it’s on both of us.”

And not on the three of us, Steve’s mind supplied helpfully in an instant and he sighed at the intrusive voice in the back of his head.

“She’s out again. I’m sorry. She’s taking it pretty hard, especially considering it wasn’t her fault at all,” Wanda offered gently and Steve mentally cursed at the mind-reader slash empath slash million other things. “She’s afraid too. She worries for you, because of the way the mission affected you. But she’s not blaming you.”  

Steve eyed her, meeting her honest gaze full of compassion.

“Well, she could say that by herself, but she won’t. Instead…”

“You know… she was very fast at learning how to build a wall in her head to shield her thoughts from me. I can’t read her mind… but I can always tell there’s a lot on it when she comes back,” the Sokovian informed him and Steve stiffened.

Yeah, that was exactly the thing he did not want to hear.

“The thing is… she’s terrible at hiding her emotions. I… I’m not gonna pretend I don’t know what crosses your mind from time to time, I don’t need to read thoughts for that, or emotions. But I can tell you that she only has feelings for you, Steve. Her heart – it’s always with you. She’s carrying it on her sleeve, but it’s yours. You got yourself a good woman, Captain. A troubled one, sure,” she chuckled softly, apparently pleased she felt Steve’s relief. And relieved he was; you weren’t cheating on him. You weren’t thinking about cheating on him. You still loved him. You didn’t blame him. It was as if he could breathe again, indescribable weight falling off him. “But a loyal one and good one.”

Steve covered her hand with his, determined to sooth her as well. “Well. I knew from the beginning that you two were too much alike.”

“Thank you, Steve,” she smiled at him softly and Steve wished he wasn’t imagining the slightest relief in her eyes as well.

“No, Wanda. Thank you.”

────── ·❆· ──────  

2. (Empty Promises)

The Sokovia Accords. A miraculous solution to the problem of the uncontrollable bunch of (mostly) superhumans that hold no responsibility for their action.

Go. To. Hell.

Steve wanted to burn the hundreds-pages document to ashes. It was nonsense. The document just shifted the blame to someone else and wanted to put all of them in check; in a way Steve didn’t like at all.

As long as he remembered, all he wanted was to do good – to serve his country, sure, but mainly to serve the people in it, serve a good purpose. And this regulation went straight against it. Hell, it went against the promise he had once made to the man who gave him the power to fight for a good cause, because he had thought Steve could value it. And he did. He heard Doctor Erskine’s voice as clearly as if he was sitting on the opposite bed at the Camp Lehigh, the night before the procedure.

‘Promise me, that you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier – but a good man.’

Being a perfect soldier meant obeying orders and not thinking twice it they meant doing the right thing or not. Being a good man meant standing for what he believed was good with his whole heart.

Signing this peace of— paper would go against everything he believed in.

“We’re not perfect, but the safest hands are still our own,” Steve finished the argumentation and that said it all.

He looked up at Tony with intense glare, his blue eyes gleaming with severity. The air felt too heavy to breathe, the silence itself weighting a ton.

It was your timid voice that cut it in the end and what you said made Steve’s heart ache.

“That’s not something all of us can say about themselves, Steve.”

His attention shifted to you, his lips parting at the well-known expression on your face. His shoulders slumped with a sigh.

Apparently, he had been right about Nigeria – you did feel guilty. And the beginning of your new life with powers had branded you forever as well; this was just another prove of that. A scar for life – the way you saw yourself after killing the scientists on accident, it was affecting you every goddamn minute of your existence and some were just more difficult than others.

“No matter the mistakes we have made, the lives lost on our watch – it doesn’t outweigh the good we’re doing,” he opposed you gently before turning back to Tony to make a point. “The good we might not be able to do if we sign.”

The billionaire huffed. “If we don’t do this now, it will be done to us later. That’s a fact. And it won’t be pretty.”

“You say they’ll come for me,” Wanda stated with scary steadiness to her voice and all eyes snapped to her.

“We would protect you.”

For some reason, Steve’s gut twisted at Vision’s measured voice. A discussion started all over again and Steve was slowly losing the grasp on who was on which side. He glanced your direction as you were observing the fighting team quietly, a troubled expression on your face – the very same he had seen all too often, every time you had come back to the compound.

With sudden urge to comfort you, he rose to his feet and made his way to you. It was when his phone vibrated in his pocket, announcing the worst possible news.

Peggy Carter had just died.

“I gotta go.”

────── ·❆· ──────  

You had gone to London with him, together with Sam. It was… difficult. Soul-crashing. Steve knew that this day would come, possibly very soon, but it hit him like a train, the blow knocking him to the ground.

The blows just kept coming and Steve would love to make a cheeky comment about him being able to do that all day, but this beating was hitting him on places that really, really hurt and he couldn’t bear it. He cried when he carried the casket. He didn’t have the capacity to feel ashamed for it.

God knew you had been there for him as a silent support the whole time; even when he was shamelessly staring at the woman he knew as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and she introduced herself as Sharon Carter. Peggy’s niece.

To be fair, it wasn’t just the revelation of her relation to Peggy or her appearance – it was her, quoting an amazingly strong and inspirational woman, who had, just like Steve, always only wanted to do the right thing. It moved him in a way he wouldn’t be able to put into words if anyone asked him to do so.

You had given him a moment alone only when he had asked for it – you had left the church with everyone else.

It surprised him when he heard the door opening again after what could be a minute; but it wasn’t you. It was Natasha. Bringing up the issue of The Sokovia Accords that Steve had backburned without even realizing it.

His opinion hadn’t changed and he refused to leave to Vienna with Natasha. It was when you replaced her in the otherwise empty church, approaching him slowly and timidly, when he realized that you were about to that though.

“You’re coming with her,” he stated, unable to keep the bitterness off his tone.

Just another punch into his solar plexus. Sure. He could do this all day.

Your smaller hand caught his, for once warmer than his own despite the cold air of the church. Your eyes were on his too, searching in his face. He didn’t have the strength to hide anything from you now.

“Unless you want me to… no, not now. I don’t need to sign publicly – I’m a long way from Black Widow’s popularity and fame.”

“You know that’s not true,” he opposed wryly, too weak to snatch your hand away.

It felt too heavy against his, almost foreign; he hadn’t known if you had made up your mind and decided to sign, not until that moment, not for sure. Now he did. Yet, there was a comfort he was seeking in your touch, because it was something that always helped to calm him down, ground him. He was vainly chasing after the feeling now.

Sensing his struggle, you hesitantly brought your hand up to cup his cheek; on instinct more than anything else, he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. Your thumb skimmed over his skin, affectionate, giving.

“And you know I don’t need an audience,” you whispered. “I… I can’t imagine what you’re going through, Steve. I want to be here for you, if you want as well. Work can wait.”

Your words, your touch, your affection – it should all bring him peace, but it just wasn’t coming. His first true love had left this world, left him, and now it felt like you were leaving him too – leaving him behind and betraying an oath you had premised when you let him slip an engagement ring on your finger.

────── ·❆· ──────  

Part 2 (the third and the fourth time)

────── ·❆· ──────  

Thank you for reading!

I decided to post it here on tumblr in double-chapters, because they would be reatively short otherwise... but posting it as one monster chapter would be a bit much... I think.

Have a good start of your week!

[marjansmarwani]

time can heal, but this won’t

1.7k || ao3

This could have been easily avoided. It never should have happened. But it had and now TK was possibly dying from a gunshot wound and Carlos couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault.  --- Carlos Reyes Week Day 5:  “Just, hold on.” + hurt/comfort

This idea actually came from this post by @trkstrnd and became this but none of my other stuff for Carlos week was really angsty so I guess I was due

Beta’d by my favorite partner in crime @officereyes 

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

Carlos could recite police protocols verbatim. They had been drilled into his head since the academy and every day since he had lived by them. As a patrol officer, making the right choice and following the proper procedure could be the difference between life and death. The rules were there for a reason; they existed to keep people safe.

This incident — this catastrophe, really — was the kind of example they’d be using to scare the new recruits for years to come: make sure you follow procedure, or a firefighter could get shot by a 7-year-old. 

Carlos still wasn’t sure what had happened: there had been so many moving parts. There had been the mistaken burglar, the worried wife, the heart attack victim, the chaos of the scene. There had been other officers on scene who were not responsible for two civilians; someone should have secured the weapon. 

But it slipped through the cracks, as things sometimes did in the face of chaos. Carlos would normally be one of the first to say that it was something to learn from, that now that it had happened they would know to never let it happen again. But this time was different. 

This time it was TK’s life on the line, and no amount of reasoning could make that okay. 

He didn’t even find out about it until they were gone. He had just turned the corner when the alert about a gunshot came over the radio. His heart caught in his throat as he thought of all the awful possibilities: it could be a fellow officer, someone he was friends with. It could be one of the firefighters - he may not know them well but he would never wish harm on any of them. It could be Paul, it could Michelle, or TK. Those last few possibilities were too awful for him to dwell on so he pushed them aside focusing instead on the road in front of him and the job before him. 

It’s not until the Ackermans are safely returned home with a promise to follow up with any updates from the other homeowners (though Carlos doubts they’ll have any desire to press charges, given everything) that he checks his phone. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees a text from Michelle, and another when he sees one from Paul. 

It’s only after he unlocks his phone to read the messages, nearly identical in content, that he starts to feel the world ever so slowly begin to fall apart around him. It’s the confirmation he’s been dreading: TK’s been shot. TK’s in surgery and from what he can extrapolate between the lines...it doesn’t look good. 

He shuts his eyes and takes a moment, leaning against the driver’s side door of the cruiser, to let the fear and dread wash over him. He and TK, well, Carlos isn’t all that sure what they are, to be perfectly honest; but he does know what they could be. He thinks they’re on the way there too. He thinks they could have something wonderful, but that’s not possible if TK is dead. 

Even thinking the word, even considering the possibility brings tears to his eyes but he pushes them back down. He opens his eyes to check on his partner, who is still on the front porch speaking to Mrs. Ackerman. He still has a few moments of solitude before he’ll have to answer any questions. He sags against the car as he lets the weight of this fear crash over him. It feels almost intrusive, to care so much when he has no claim on the other man; when they have no label for this thing they are building. But they were building it, and Carlos doesn’t want to be left with only the memory of the process. 

As much as he doesn’t want that, he’s afraid that might be exactly what he gets and he hates it. 

He straightens up and shoots off quick replies — thanking them both for the information and asking them to keep him posted. Then he glances at the time and takes a deep breath — there are two hours left in his shift. He can last two hours. He doesn’t know how to explain this to anyone else, doesn’t know how he could possibly explain to his boss that he needs to leave early because this guy he might be kind of dating might die. He doesn’t know how to explain it to anyone, so when his partner returns to the car he gives her a tight smile and starts the car so they can head back to the precinct and their paperwork. 

He doesn’t want to dwell on his thoughts of TK hurt, of TK in surgery, of TK possibly dying so instead he focuses on the how. Namely, how was a gun — that they knew about — not secured; how had this happened with a large police presence? 

Why hadn’t he noticed before it was too late?

He tells himself he wasn’t there when the shots were fired, he reminds himself that there were other officers there, that he wasn’t responsible for this fuck up. But no matter many times he repeats it to himself, he doesn’t believe it. He was there, he knew how things should have gone and he hadn’t made sure they were done. And now TK was paying the price. This was his fault. 

He carefully avoids the subject with his partner and upon their return to the station, he buries himself in paperwork, the words in front of him a blur as he checks his phone every other minute and counts down the seconds to the end of his shift. He keeps to himself, carefully avoiding the talk and conjecture of what had happened at the last call. He pretends to not hear those asking for a recount of the events, he only speaks to his Captain when asked to give his version. He tells her the truth: this could have been avoided; it should have never happened. She nods and thanks him, and he returns to his private waiting game. 

Finally, after what seems like a lifetime, his shift is over and he is finally able to go to where his head and his heart have been the whole night. Arriving at the hospital is easy, it’s the going in that’s hard. As much as he wants to know there is a part of his brain that reminds him that these last few moments of not knowing might be the last moments he has in a reality where TK Strand still exists. Walking through those doors could change that, and it’s almost enough to keep him in his car. 

In the end, the need to know wins out. Carlos has never been one to run from things and he is determined to keep it that way. Even if what he is running to is his own heartbreak, he is determined to face it head-on. And so he opens his car door and climbs out, heading towards the door and the possibility of a new reality. 

He finds the correct waiting room quickly; the large group is pretty noticeable, especially at the late hour. He gets curious gazes from most and a sympathetic look from Paul. He nods at them all before his eyes zero in on the room at the center of it all, the door to which their eyes keep gravitating. He takes a deep breath and strides across the room, slowing as he reaches the doorway and the scene within reveals itself. 

It is TK in the bed and, according to the monitors, he is alive, but after having known TK for several months now Carlos scarcely believes it. TK is always moving; a study in perpetual motion. Even when they sit, on the rare nights they settle in for a movie, he is never still. He shifts, he fiddles with his necklace. TK Strand does not hold still and to see him so stationary and lifeless is wrong on levels Carlos doesn’t even want to contemplate. 

He steps inside quietly, not wanting to startle the Captain who is speaking softly, who only has eyes for his son. Owen still turns, despite his efforts, and when their eyes meet Carlos can tell that he isn’t fooling the other man for one moment. Seeing TK like this, in such a foreign state has breached the barriers he has so carefully maintained all night and he can feel the moisture in his eyes. The Captain’s expression filters through several emotions within a moment and he settles on understanding. He knows what they are to each other; or at least what TK is to Carlos. He stands and offers Carlos some time and Carlos means it when he says he doesn’t want to impose. He doesn’t want to pull TK’s father away from his son, he doesn’t want to put anyone else out when this was all his fault anyway. 

But the Captain insists and soon Carlos is left alone with the shell of the man he just might love. He falls into the chair beside the bed and runs a hand through TK’s hair before reaching out and wrapping a hand tenderly around his arm. He knows that in a movie this would be the big romantic speech, the moment the character proclaims his love for the person in the bed. But as much as he does want that, as much as it may be true, proclamations of love are not his highest priority right now. Right now he just needs TK to live. Anything that comes after that, he can handle. Instead, as he leans in, he offers something else. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says thickly, voice low and heavy with tears, “this shouldn’t have happened I...I’m so sorry Ty. Just…” he trailed off, using his free hand to angrily wipe away the tears sliding down his face, “just, hold on. You can’t leave us yet. We need you — I need you.”

He let the silence of the ambient noises fill the room as he stared at the man before him. Soon he is joined by the rest of the crew but not even the firm and comforting hand on his shoulder from Paul can make this any better. 

If TK didn’t make it through this, he didn’t know how he would be able to live with himself.  

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO “Leading the Witness.”

Alright guys, this is going on longer than I thought and way more detailed as well but its been interesting. Also I am sorry for the late update, my boss has me rolling quarters at work so I am trying to do that and write this in between.

Thank you to my discord member Eddi for the testing logs he wrote and that I am using as evidence in this story. He deserves all the credit for the well thought out and executed test logs.

WARNING: Graphic depictions of blood, gore, bodily mutilation and mentions of suicide. The Steel eye project development is very graphic, so if you wish to read, please skip the test logs, which will be bolded. 

The room spun around him, and he took a few long, deep breaths hoping that it would stop.

He wast sure he could survive another few hours of this.

He wasn’t sure at all 

He was sweating, and his body throbbed all over. Clammy hands gripped the sides of his chair as he sat straight backed in his seat. A line of cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Blood had long since drained from his face, and he wondered if he looked as sick as he felt half expecting the bailiff to walk over with a bucket or something. A part of him fancied he could feel every eye in the room staring at him. The prosecution was still talking, but he could barely hear them as his head spun around and around in circles, ears ringing.

The lights pulsed.

He jerked out of it as a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He looked up, confused for a moment as he tried to figure out where he was, the room was partially tilted and it took him a moment to realise that he was slumped slightly to the side. Waffles had her head in his lap whimpering very softly.

“Adam, adam are you ok, do you need to step out.” 

He lifted his head and turned to look at Admiral Kelly, who now sat beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

His ears were still ringing but not enough to realise that the court had stopped.

The lead judge had held up a hand to the prosecution and was looking directly at him. 

Well… at least now the blood was rushing back to his head, and he could feel his ears burning, “Is everything alright, council?” The judge asked, “Does your witness need to step out.”

The lawyers turned to look at him, hints of both concern and concealed annoyance on their faces.

They looked at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, “No your honor. My apologies.”

His voice was surprisingly strong for someone who felt like he was about to pass out. The judge didn’t seem too annoyed at him, and looked on with some measure of concern. They whispered something to the nearby bailiff and then motioned the council to continue.

Admiral Kelly didn’t move seats keeping one hand on his shoulder. The bailiff walked over after things had started up again and sat next to them for a moment, “If you need to step out.” He whispered, “Take the side door to your right and someone will let you back in.”

He nodded, “Ill be alright, but…. Thank you.”

The man nodded and stood returning to the front of the room.

“As you can see, their first attempts at creating a proper drug cocktail to dull the pain of direct neural interface, was a complete disaster. Dr. Gladstone, assuming you were forced to use drugs instead of subdermal implants, how would you have gone about this? What is the proper procedure dictated by ethical state law.”

“Drug trials can take months to years, we test them on animals, rats monkeys and even inject them into synthetically grown human tissues and tube grown organs before we even test on animals. Each phase of testing can take up to eighteen months in clinical trials, and if the drug proves to be wrong we start over again.”

“Have you ever done phased drug testing on human subjects.”

“No, certainly not.”

“But of course they continued. May the prosecution present Experimental log 32 for For consideration by the court.”

Experimental log #32:

Over the past experiments we have been testing multiple drug mixtures to try and reduce the pain induced by the Direct neural interface our most recent tests have involved morphine much to our resident doctors discouragement it is one of the few drugs we have found capable of suppressing the pain induced by the direct neural interface. This test involves the use of an automatic dispenser controlled by the pain sensors in the arm.

The subject, as before has been sedated for the implantation of the test augmetic. This time however the drug reservoir has a direct link to the bloodstream. 

-recording break-

The subject seems to be stable and moving around without much interference, although slightly lethargic and a little dopy due to the drugs.

We made sure to remove the augmetic well before the drug reservoir ran out. This seems to be successful and stable Several more tests are to be made to confirm this before moving on to the next stage. 

“Dr, do you happen to know the laws in relation to the regulation and use of morphine during testing?”

The doctor nodded, “Morphine is heavily regulated even on the research level owing to its additive properties. Only doctors are allowed to prescribe it, and even then, the morphine dosages are regulated and reviewed by an internal board of directors. There is a cutoff point for the amount of morphine allowed for personal use,and the amount of morphine allowed for medical use. This cap can be broken if the board of directors determines the patient is terminal and in extreme pain.”

“How about for research purposes.”

“You can’t research with morphine, and you certainly cannot give it to a patient with no prior history of injury, or other medical conditions.”

“Thank you doctor, the prosecution wishes to present experimental log 34 to consideration.” 

Experiential log #34:

Our continued experimentation has lead to the conclusion that stronger chemicals may be required to reduce the pain, one subjects auto-dispensary caused an overdose When the subject spent some time prodding and poking at the implant site it caused excruciating pain that was responded to by the auto dispensary by flooding the body with over 500milligrams of morphine. A stronger painkiller would mean lower doses are required thus avoiding an overdose. Despite our team's medical advisors continuing protests. 

Prosecution turned to the judges, “You see here your honor that instead of considering the ethical questionability of their actions, they determined to use more morphine despite the overdose and even extend the use to even more potent drugs. These are not the actions of scientists who were considering ethics, or even the value of human life.”

“Objection your honor on conjecture about the thoughts of my client.”

The judge waved a hand, “It may pass.”

The defence took a seat.

The prosecution adjusted her tie, “Three people died as a result of these tests your honor. Marvin Dess, William Moseratt and Angela Vilgrin. Not once were the tests paused or delayed. Instead, they moved onto the next phase of testing.”

Adam was starting to feel a little better now. He wasn’t sweating so much and he had finally managed to even out his breathing.

“The prosecution would like to present experimental log 28.”

Experimental log #28

Calibration of the arm mounted augmetic seemed to proceed without error or difficulty, The drugs delivered through the internal reservoir developed by Dr. Nkosi renders the subject inured against the supposed pain induced by the augmetic. The primary tests we will be administering are of the use of high strength servo motors to power the augmeitc, reducing its weight and increasing the power behind the subjects rapid motions. 

-Recording break-

The Reaction of the servo motors and torsion cables was far too extreme delivering significant damage and trauma to the subject, Further testing will have to be done and fine tuning of the suits will be needed. 

Adam knew what was coming and tried to close his eyes and block out the sounds as the next visual log was projected before him. 

Audio-visual log transcript:

The subject appears bleary and unresponsive. The augmentic is mounted on their right arm, supposedly their dominant one according to the research notes. The subject is drawn to attention by the scientist administering light taping on their cheek. Upon raising their arm the subject appears a little shocked at the size of the augmetic and the fact it is connected directly to an external power source, questioning the scientist on this who confirms it is just an experimental version. The augmetic appears to only be active on the elbow joint. The scientist appears to be requesting the subject extend his arm in an attempt to punch an invisible foe. Upon doing so the augmetic appears to cause an extreme reaction of force, resulting in not only damage to the subjects musculature, but outright stripping the subjects muscle tissues away from the bones, the pins seem to be functioning as anchor points as the subjects skin and muscles are removed from the skeletal structure. Functionally stripping the flesh away from the skeleton in a manner that can only be described as ‘glove like’. It appears that this area also contained the drug delivery interface as part way through the emergency removal of the upper section of the augmetic, the subject seemed to come out of the semi stupor and begin to register the damage done to themselves, screaming and becoming violent. It was only after the subject was re-drugged with the remaining contents of the drug reservoir that they calmed down.

His attempts to block out the sound do not stop him from hearing the hydraulic hiss, the tight whirr, and the horrific cracking popping noise as flesh is torn from bone. The screaming echoed around in his head. His heart was beating at a million miles an hour. Sweat poured down his back and neck and in between his shoulder blades. Flashes of red sky cut before his vision, the sound of gunfire and the smell of ash.

Admiral kelly squeezed his shoulder hard bringing him back. The dog was halfway in his lap her head pressed against him, and the Bailiff from earlier was on his other side steadying him as his body seemed prone to leaning to one side.

He took a few very deep breaths.

A few of the judges were watching him, but they didn’t stop the proceedings this time. Most of them just looked like they wanted an excuse to look away.

“Your honors, this is not the last log in the series. Even after the catastrophic failure, they continue to implant the steel ee pieces onto test subjects without prior testing in a controlled environment. I believe we have been making realistic ballistic dummies for the past thousand years. I am sure there is something that could have been done.”

Adam was fading.

The lights were growing up in his vision, turning everything around him white.

The defence stood, “THe defence calls for recess, your honors.”

There was a pause, “Recess granted. You have thirty minutes.” 

The room burst into a flurry of murmurs and movement. Admiral Kelly leaned forward hands on his arms, “Adam, you should get up, walk around a bit.”

He nodded and stood feeling the world tip around him as he did. With one hand he gripped heavily onto the back of the pews and staggered forward out of the room. Waffles followed after him whining and whimpering. He waved admiral Kelly off him as he wobbled his way down the hall and burst through the outside door and into open air. He took a deep long breath and leaned against the wall trying to choke down the bile that welled into his throat.

“You alright here buddy.”

Blinking owlishly, he turned to the side to see a man leaning against the wall on the other side of the door.

“You don’t look so good, Cigarette?” He asked offering a pack of the things towards him.

Adam waved a hand, “I don’t smoke but, thanks anyway.”

The man shrugged and lit up puffing a billow of smoke into the air, “You know breathing exercises.”

Adam blinked and nodded, “Yeah.”

“Don't forget to do them. It will help.”

Adam rubbed a hand across his forehead breathing slowly.

“You seem to know a lot about this. Am i that easy to see through?”

The man shook his head “I was a soldier during the panasian war, I know what PTSD looks like.”

“My father fought in the Panasian war.”

The man nodded, “Better get back inside while you still have some color, boy.”

He did as told. He didn’t know the man  but something about his calm demeanor and understanding was nice, and he stepped back inside patting waffles on the head as he walked back towards the courtroom.

He sat down before anyone else was there just yet and rested his head in his hands breathing slowly and evenly. The room slowly filled up again, and before he really knew it, things were back in session.

“The prosecution would like to present Experimental log 31” 

He closed his eyes and began to count slowly breathing in and out, in and out.” 

Experimental log #31

This test is the first among the replacement for servo motors for hydraulics The system was far slower and makes use of a combination of fast extension pistons and slower extension ones for combination. The test is the same as before a simple arm extension in the guise of  a punch. However the augmetic will also include the shoulder. We have increased the dosage of the painkiller as so to prevent the increased implantation volume from inducing a negative reaction in the subject. -Recording break-

The reaction from the hydraulics was stronger than expected, and the delay and stack up of orders has caused significant issues. A halt override taken directly from the nerve system needs to be implemented. 

He squeezed his eyes tight shut 

Audio-visual log transcript:

 The subject appears to be only semi responsive, appearing to function at a 12 on the GCS, Only held there by the active responsiveness of their motor function. This appears to fade somewhat when the subject is given physical stimuli by the scientist in the form of a light slap on the cheek. Bringing the subject back to consciousness. The subject is then encouraged to make the punching action as prior experiments. The subject does so, the fast reaction of the piston seems to achieve the scientist's goal, However the long extension piston appeared to continue extending. This continued, dragging the subjects arm outwards, dislocating the subjects shoulder, then elbow as well as wrist. The subject appeared to be distressed at this, however not unduly in pain. The scientist having stepped back to observe the outcome of events. The extension of the piston continued beyond tolerable human limits. The piston continues to extend despite the protests of the subject and attempts at removing it. The extension continued forcefully separating the subjects limbs at both the elbow and shoulder joint, ripping tendon and muscle as well as ligament structures, fully separating the limb in to two parts and away from the body. It is at this point the subject began to scream in terror and panic till the researcher sedated the subject. 

A door opened at the back of the courtroom as a few more people stepped out. Adam sat there on the bench, his head tilted back and staring at the ceiling breathing even and slowly as light and color swirled around them. He could what speaking, but didn’t really hear what was being said.

He just had to keep himself together.

“....Log 35 to the court.” 

Experimental log #35

Continued experimentation indicates that a combination of servo motors, torsion cables and hydraulics are likely to result in the desired effect. Since the previous experiments a stop override has been implemented in to the systems. This prevents the hydraulics from continuing to extend despite the users body having ceased movement. This should result in the desired movement structures. We are moving on from the single arm testing considering the current functionality and strength amplification satisfactory. The current test is simply to get the two lower limb implants to function in tandem with walking. We have had to once again increase the level of drugs in the users system to prevent the reaction to the pain induced by the interfacing devices. 

-Recording break- 

While the system is capable of walking, the addition of hydraulics have caused the system to be heavier and more cumbersome than intended. Additional servo motors and possible leaf springs for artificial support tendons will have to be added to prevent the augmetics from lagging behind their users.

“Objection your honor…. The court has seen enough….. This is simply…”

“Objection denied council. The evidence stands. If you must you may leave the room.”

“But members of the audience…”

“Can step out if they need to.”

Audio-visual Log transcript:

The subject once again appears to be somewhat unresponsive. This ceases when the scientist provides a physical interaction with the subject, tapping them on the shoulder. The subject appears to be somewhat disoriented. Upon being prompted to walk the subject beings to walk without much in the way of impediment, though seeming to tug at the augments as if they are holding the subject back. The subject is then prompted to move at a might higher speed. Running if possible. The subject manages this for two steps before the continued pulling against the augmetic and movement against the interface needles appears to pull the subject’s leg free, removing large sections of the subjects muscle tissues and nerves along with it. The subject seems to be disturbed, if not in pain. Likely due to the drug reservoir and input mounted on the subjects arm. The subject however seems to be announcing that they can no longer move their legs as the researcher requested. The subject is then sedated and recording ends. 

Adam is being held up again by Admiral kelly his body tilting widely sideways and he is having trouble finding the orientation of the room.” 

“.... experimental log 38 as a demonstration of the scientists moving development far too quickly.” 

Experimental Log #38

Increased response time in the legs combined with the introduction of support springs within the armour have reduced that movement restrictions of the armour and made it much harder for the user to ‘pull away’ from the armor, this combined with several additional straps and metal binding to keep the users legs attached directly to the augmetics have solved several of the most recent problems. The newest set of experiments are moving on to vertical movement, focusing on the subjects ability to jump and move around obstacle strewn environments. 

-Recording break- 

It appears the engineers did not calibrate the hydraulics and other systems to function as shock absorbers, but rather only as force amplification devices. Meaning that impact shock is taken fully by the users body, This would normally not be an issue, however with the additional force and weight provided by the augmetic seems to cause issues upon landing. 

Audio-visual Log transcript:

The subject is suffering the same symptoms as prior subjects, low levels of function and unresponsiveness. Once the subject is roused from the stupor via an open handed impact to the cheek, delivered by the researcher,  they are directed to attempt an obstacle course. The subject seems to have little trouble with the primary obstacles, clearing them with little effort, however their recovery from each obstacle appears to be ungainly and improper. The subject is then presented with a  three meter high wall and instructed to go over it. Rather than scaling it as expected the subject simply jumped over the wall, exhibiting far more mobility and control than prior subjects in experiments. However upon landing the subjects legs appear to buckle and collapse under them, folding at several points that do not have joints. Indicating shattering of the bones. The subject seems unphased by the injury, Pointing it out to the researcher and asking if that is normal. This indicates that the drugs being used are of a high enough dosage and strength to suppress not only extreme pain but the shock reaction of the body. 

He can feel another person holding him up from the other side, but mutters that he is ok when anyone asks. E just keeps counting and breathing counting and breathing knowing that it has to be over soon. He just needs to hold himself together 

Experimental log #42

The final tests regarding midriff functionality have been completed, with shockingly low failure or complications compared to prior testing phases, we are putting this down to our own excellent ongoing improvements of the system. This final text is a sequential system test where a single subject will be required to use each individual part in sequence to ensure that no errors are likely to occur during the whole body testing or further complications are likely to occur.

-break in recording-

The subject suffered no ill effects due to the armour itself. However the subject seemed to become agitated and seemed to be suffering ill effects until they were returned to the augmetics. So long as prolonged exposure to the augmetics is not an ongoing factor we do not see an issue with this. 

“These testings had immense costs and horrific side effects to those who participated. Many of these men and women seen here are not functional or alive to testify in court as to what happened, however, the prosecution would like to call Admiral Vir to the stand as a representative of those who could not be here today, and s a member of the steel eye operation himself to ive the court a little idea about what this experiment did to people even when fully operational.”

Adam was still feeling light headed but even then he still knew what this was. This is what he was here for. Thi was the moment he had come to be a part of, the moment that he was here to help all those soldiers and test subjects used by steel eye.

Admiral Kelly stood with him as he made it to his feet, but he brushed off her hand and walked towards the witness stand. The judge stopped him on his way up.

“Are you well enough to testify Admiral?”

“This is why I came, your honor. Even if I had to crawl through a field of glass to get here.”

The courtroom murmured as he was sworn in, and he sat down feeling the eyes of the entire room on him.

He was still sweating and light headed.

“State your name for the record.”

“Adam Allen Vir.”

“And what is your position in the UNSC.”

“I am Fleet admiral of the UNSC space armada on loan to the GA.”

“And what branch?”

“Originally the air division. I trained at the Aerial combat academy as a fighter and shuttle pilot before being a member of the crew on the enterprise.”

“And how did you end up on Anin.”

“The Enterprise was being decommissioned for some wok, so I offered to go to Anin and be part of the war effort against the Drev.”

“And as a fighter pilot, you didn’t see much time on the ground.”

“No ma’am, I was primarily air support at that time.”

His voice was strong and hard, and the longer he talked the straighter he sat. he had to do this for them. He would NOT fall apart now.

“How did you end up on the ground forces then, Admiral.”

“Volcanic activity, ma’am, they call it the dark season when ash chokes the ai miles into the sky. It isn’t safe to land a ship or fly a jet in such conditions, so my vehicle was grounded. By that time the war was going badly and they needed every man they could get.”

“Were you trained for ground combat, Admiral.”

“Yes at the academy we were trained in ground combat though not as extensively.”

“And you lost your leg to a Drev.”

He reached down hand to his leg remembering the screaming of a red sky above, “Yes, I did.”

“What happened after that?”

“I ended up in a triage tent in out forward operating base. There was no medicine because all our supplies had been used up.”

“Would you say that you were delirious during that time.”

The defence stood quickly “Objection your honor. Leading the witness.”

“Dismissed, council.” The judge said, waving a hand.

“There were no painkillers, ma’am, so maybe. If not delirious than I was at least not in a right state of mind. I remember floating halfway in between being conscious and unconscious. I was in so much pain its…. Had to describe.” His voice wavered before he had it back on track shoring it up and strengthening it with memories of the men and women waiting back at the rehabilitation center.

“And at this time you were approached by Admiral Ablemen about the steel eye project?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And did he detail any specifics.”

He paused thought for a moment trying to remember back into memories that he really didn’t want to foster, “Not…. really. It's hard to remember but I…. I remember him saying that we could help him win the war. I remember him saying that when I woke up I would be a new man. He gave us the choice to go home or serve the UNSC one last time.”

“In your opinion, would you have said yes had you been more conscious.”

“Objection based on conjecture your honor.”

“Objection accepted.”

Adam paused and the mn let him continue, “Wat DO you remember about what happened to you.”

“I…. remember pain and….. Anger. I was never really all there during the steel eye project. I remember feeling invincible, like I could do anything but at the same time, hazy. I remember getting orders and going out, and then nothing after that.”

“Did they tell you there would be rugs involved.”

“No ma’am.”

“And after the war was over, what happened. How did all of this affect you?”

He paused and struggled to speak for a moment, opening his mouth and then closing, “I…. have never been so hopeless in my entire life. I tried to get help with the Veterans association but my claim was denied. I…. went through withdrawals…. Horrible horrible drug withdrawals where I. I was in so much pain, I just….”He paused then lifted his head to look up at th courtroom making eye contact with them. His voice was as strong as ever “I wanted to die, and I would have done it if I hadn’t had a good support system in my family. After a few months my brother got me in contact with a group of people who got ahold of my service dog, and I was able to heal.”

“Does what happened still affect you”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“In what ways.”

“I still have long term PTSD, and while it is controlled and I am no longer on medication, I still have bad days. Days where I can’t move or think, days where the quietest nosies send me into a panic.”

“Were you ever compensated for your injuries, Admiral.”

He paused again and shook his head, “No ma’am, I never received help.”

“Thank you admiral, you may be seated.”

He stood, his head was clear and his hands were dry. He stepped down from the podium with his chin raised and his back straight returning to his seat. He had done it. He had done what he needed to do and the only thing that was lft was to survive the rest of the trail.

He could do that.

He survived operation steel eye didn’t he?

So he could certainly survive this.