#platoon reader insert

[senka-mesecine]

beseech You about fluffy Barnes, It's such a rarity to read something like this, I love you madly, you're the reason I'm opening my phone'

Close Quarters.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

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wonderful gif by @woman-with-no-name

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The patrol culminates in rain and thunder.

At 0200 the drenched, tired reconnaissance team wordlessly halts in the bosom of the overgrown bush fenced off from all sides by colossal tree trunks as a natural borderland, rain coming down hard, pelting and pawing at the foliage, the thumping sounds of a shower downpour dancing pins and dots on the grass leaving a haze of heated mist behind, the greenery, needles of water ricocheting off the meaty surface of Monstera and overgrown, towering Alocasia leaves when the signal is silently given sometime after three hours of continuous movement westwards, through the valley about to be hit with the prelude to the early monsoon season announced by a cacophony of crickets, frogs, the squeaking of Tokay gecko lizards and the repetitive chirping of the Blue Eared Barbet bird, one hand held up to signalize; the Lieutenant and Sergeants raising their arm to the square, palm forward, fingers and thumb extended; you've slept in the wild during the rain before, sure, hauling equipment, backpacks, the fatigues on your own exhausted spine, the air so humid and stifling even at this late hour, almost like the pitch black, cloud-heavy sky overhead was pressing down on the warm oxygen, trapping it between the jungle and the atmosphere not unlike a hydraulic press, that the quiet past-midnight storm was almost welcome in a strange way --- a rare bit of fresh, breathable air in an oven --- washing you down like an overly heated piece of plate gets sprayed down by a hose from somewhere overhead. He never slept. Part of you wondered how that was even humanly possible. Or at least, nobody has ever seen him do it; no doubt, he viewed it like some act of inherent, profound vulnerability he didn't wish to be outright witnessed by human eyes; a soft-belly man with shut off senses with his tender neck bared and exposed to the world, unbecoming, like somebody asking to be jumped --- you wouldn't put it past Robert Barnes to sleep hidden, in the rare off chance he did get shut eye once his usual battle-pumped adrenaline wore off, somewhere up in a tree like a panther or a tiger maintaining watch over perimeters in the night with unblinking eyes as blue and as fluorescent as a hunting tom-cat's gaze, or in some forest cave not unlike a wild hog, emerging only once the break was done, without anyone knowing where he was in the brief second it took for them to turn their heads.

He ain' never sleep, Rhah Vermucci's fervent, impassioned words come to mind.

Does a machine need sleep? Huh!? Yeah, bah, only once its battery is bepelted and once it's depleted, you just replace 'em and the machinery keeps'on runnin' smooth as can be, day in, day out. That's Barnes! Lids open, body upside down, like a nocturnal bat! Yeah.

You were offended by those words then; silently, privately.

Like any and every man's lover undoubtedly would anyhow.

Gaze framed with lashes dripping with the salt of sweat and rainwater searching for Barnes's form in the chaos of wilderness even now as you found some tucked away place, intending to catch your Z's, or at least pretend to and rest your eye lids and your body on the bare, wet soil, your oily green, knee-length rain coat the only thing between you and the elements as your rucksack stayed firmly attached to your shoulders by its belted straps, knowing he was somewhere close by, M16 in tow, inspecting perimeters while everyone else in the infantry settled down in their own respective chosen resting corner, about to lay low until the first crack of dawn. Maybe why you shiver so suddenly when you catch the sound of barely audible movement sashay from behind your back, thinking for a second that you stupidly, carelessly laid down on a snake's hovel, a red ant's nest or a VC hole, tactically covered by shrubberies and branches, ready to bayonet you from underground. No, no. Barnes. It was him. On a hip. Already settled next to you as your heart hammered away fast. His presence as quiet as the air itself. The sleek fabric of his raincoat occasionally flashing with a dim sheen faced with the distant flash of lighting, elbow leaned up against the thick, vein root of a Banyan tree that served as natural roofing against the rain, his firearm wrapped in protective cloth against the moisture propped up beside him like an extended limb, watching you as you instinctively turned your position, facing him; wasn't the first time you lounged in close quarters like this either, under the cover of night, when nobody was likely to see or question why two soldiers were having each other's backs; the schedule of one resting and the other keeping vigil an intended pairing of practicality. The first time he ever did it was startling but you didn't question it --- you assumed it was the nature of things that the strongest in the unit naturally paired up with what was the weakest link, an auxiliary nurse hauling equipment, slow and often overburdened, to avoid the needless casualty of being shot during an unexpected ambush. The second time he's done it? The third? How about the fourth? You came to expect it almost; this knowledge that when you'd halt and put down gear, Barnes would be close by, appearing wordlessly like a shadow in the abyss, halting and putting down gear too, magnets moving and dragging the other along.

You shuffle on your side, suppressing a sigh and a groan.

Underground, soil-covered stones, pebbles and roots digging into your body.

Cheek against the ground still radiating the extinguished anvil of daytime's warmth.

Fetal position intending to make you small on purpose; the less noticeable, the better.

Strategically crawled in between the grass and the foot of the strangler fig, all tangled, hanging, branch-supporting roots and thick curtains of hanging, Spanish moss, face to face with each other, you only barely withhold a gasp when his unfolded sleeping roll slides over you like a wing, shrouding you in total darkness for all but a second, having him cover you in it in one swift movement while his other hand never let go of his firearm, pulling the camping blanket over your head, adjusting it over your hair covered by the hood of your raincoat, tightened and tied into place by an elastic thread, the rain pelting down on the compression straps of the waterproof nylon instead of your body while he lay there as wet as the jungle itself; his head wrapping drenched and darkened along with the whisps of hair peeking through its edges, scattered across his covered forehead, scarred, leathery skin covered in a soaked gleam, the corner of his jaw, starting from his temple, down his cheeks, dripping with the drizzle. Yet he cared, you figured, in his own way, that even though you were already soaked to the bone you don't continue being bolted down by the rain for the rest of the night if he had any say in it, creating a makeshift refuge of relative dryness and shelter; a solitary island in the darkness --- wordless ways he looked out for you.

-"Thank you."-

You mouth without making sounds, the words merely oxygen.

Barely audible.

He knew what you meant; you continuously thanked him the same every time.

And his eyes always followed the movement of your lips, reading signs.

Mutual silences being an ingrained way of communication out in the jungle.

Now laying so very close you practically feel his breath on your face.

A hair's inch between you as he scoots nearer on his side.

The tip of his nose nearly pressing into yours.

No moon outside, no source of light.

Regardless, you nearly see yourself reflected in the center of his stare.

He doesn't kiss you even though his presence is right there, going by the mantra of all business, no pleasure, at least not while in the open bush, ever the consummate professional and disciplinarian, the discoloration of his meaty, full mouth where once upon a time the shrapnel of a bullet hit his face visible, a layer of flesh peeled off from the edge of his lower lip like the skin off a bruised peach, revealing the dark layer of crust that formed the crater of a wound and you watch him and he watches right back, taking in your face, lids hanging low and the blue of his eyes steady on the horizon of his sockets, having you cornered in from all sides by the protective wall of the looming tree, his sleeping roll blanketing you over, effectively hiding you, and his own body, the tips of two noses slowly brushing each other in the mimicry of a caress, not unlike one of those Eskimo kisses, the contact leaving a wet imprint on your face --- not quite an embrace, but close enough, torsos pressed together to the degree you could feel the low rumbling of his insides, the rhythm of his breathing, in and out, in out, heart hitting a steady beat, filling your nostrils with the musk of him, thigh against thigh, hip against hip; the outdoors forged aroma of sweat and tobacco smoked while at base, the freshness of rain, something almost leaf-like, briefly reminiscent of pine even though there wasn't a single one in sight this side of the continent, his closeness calm and steady, yet heavy, like a living rock covering you, keeping you safe as you nestled, using the hollowness of a muscular shoulder you knew was covered in scars underneath layers of fatigue and equipment as a pillow --- a warm, wet place to carefully, tenderly lean the outline of your hooded, sweat soaked scalp, his raincoat crinkling slightly as you set down your head to be able to gaze at him at even closer proximity until two faces were almost one, the side of your cheek smushed against the scarred, left side of his, fitting together like a solved puzzle, feeling every crater, every nook, every cranny, every dent imprinted on your own skin certain to leave faint, pale sleeping marks by you by morning, making you reflections of each other; a closeness held at back only by the presence of the ground your heads were on. Even now, Barnes's lids never flutter shut even in the make belief of sleep while all his other senses were alert; no, his eyes always open. Always scrutinizing. Always searching yours, stern, serious, focused, intense.

The distant sound of thunder rumbles on and you knew he intended to watch.

You knew he intended to wordlessly, quietly watch while you recuperated.

Sleeping bag off of his shoulder and every hour of rest out of his eyes ---

Purely so you could have yours.

In absolute gratitude, your lips touch the mangled scar of his, not kissing, never breaking that protocol bit of contract, not out here anyway where a moment of negligence could come with a high cost, but merely lingering, a parted caresses as you close your weary eyes, feeling instant relief once you do, fully awake, ears on alert, limbs ready to jump at any moment, but your eyes subsiding in their burning sensation on the precipice of being awake and being asleep, halfway rested and halfway aware, even if it was for a minute, ten, half an hour, under the defensive hill of blankets he's made for you, shielding you, not unlike an umbrella, as the relentless rain kept crashing down hard and heavy, beating against his body as rigid and as unmoving as a boulder while you lay there, soundly, the windows of your lids blissfully closed, mouth against his face prickled with the faintest sensation of a fresh shave around his scars, feeling the warm, tender flesh cushioned beside you, laying watch; your own personal guard.

No, Barnes never slept.

At least not when anyone was likely to see.

Observing you do it instead, leaving you with the knowledge that when you wake?

Hit with the earliest cracks of a dawn bedashed with the aftermath of a storm?

He'd still be here watching.

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Chp.6 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 5. Chapter 7.

The Gorge

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DN

Airbase. 

That’s the priority. That's why the 501st had retreated away from the capital. 

A fucking airbase.

You could see it in the distance from where you were. The tall tower was clearly marked by a bright pillar of light that reached towards the clouds.

As Fives, Krell and Rex inspected the area on a cliffside, you and Kix weaved around the men, treating any injuries you saw. Sadly, painkillers were getting to low levels, so you decided to use them for the truly brutal wounds. For those you had to deem were suffering beyond comprehension.

You regretted using them on yourself. 

But, everyone else…well, they were big boys. They just had to handle it. Judging by the uninterested look that Hardcase had while Kix stitched up his shoulder, you were confident that the men weren’t going to complain. 

Your gaze swept over the battalion. The dark, tentacle-like trees had fanned out from the jungle, allowing an easier view of the soldiers. You counted the silhouettes, their white and blue armor stark against the ash colored ground. 

By the end you were right. A majority of the battalion had been injured in some way. Wounds were expected. But this many…It was getting hard to keep up, and judging by the way Kix swayed slightly when he stood, he was feeling the same thing.

“Alright men, we’re splitting the battalion,” Rex called, getting everyone at attention, “Half of you will remain here. The other half, follow me down to the gorge.”

You sighed and watched them go. Your tired steps were about to go to your medical speeder, but Krell halted you, “Doctor, you will be going with them.” He stepped between you and your goal, which was to resupply.

“Respectfully, sir,” you looked up into his small yellow eyes, “I think it would be better if I remained here and-.”

“My orders are for you to go with the platoons down to the gorge.” the besalisk crossed two of his four arms, surprisingly, he wasn’t yelling at you. Instead, his tone was icy and yet uninterested, “I’ve seen how you are during battle, and your expertise is wasted as a backline medic. You will be with the men on the front.”

You blinked and nodded. Was that a compliment? 

“Understood, sir.” you saluted with your uninjured arm and followed the platoon. At this point, arguing with him about your training would only result in a bad outcome.

You found your position next to Kix, who looked very unhappy to see you, “please don’t tell me…” 

“He complimented me,” you gave a sarcastic smile, “Said my expertise was wasted by not being on the front.”

Before Kix could respond, Rex began to speak, getting all the attention onto him, “Alright listen up!” His voice held authority with every word, “We’ll assemble the squads into two divisions. We’ll move straight up this gorge to the airbase on the far side.”

The medic beside you snapped, “The casualties are going to be high!” 

Tup scoffed, “Is Krell trying to get us killed!?”

“You know, I wasn’t sure that Krell was crazy before.” Jesse snarled, helmet in his hand. He practically glared at Rex as he continued, “But now, I’m positive!”

“We had to retreat from the capital because the general pushed a flawed strategy!” It was Fives’ turn to argue, “Now this?”

Hardcase raised his heavy weapon, “I don’t know! Could be fun.”

“Well, I, for one, agree with the general's plan.” Dogma chimed in, seeming much more confident than anyone else. 

“What plan?” You turned to face him, “Blindly rushing into the unknown without a care for the costs isn’t a plan!” Your words might’ve struck Rex, truthfully, you couldn’t look at him to find out. 

You had all the faith in him. You just had no faith in Krell or his tactics. But arguing would seem like you were against your lover and not the temporary General.

“We are running out of time and this is the best option!”

Jesse spoke up again, royally pissed, “No recon? No air support? We don’t know what we’re up against!” He waved his helmet in the air in frustration, “They have weapons we’ve never seen before!” To punctuate his point, he tapped his helmet to his head a couple of times. 

The 501st captain stepped forward, attempting to reason with everyone, “A few of General Skywalker’s plans seemed reckless too, but they worked.”

His words did little to ease the rising tempers, “Yeah, but General Skywalker is usually leading his men up in the front not bringing up the rear like General Krell!” Fives stepped towards Rex, riling up everyone else, “A full frontal assault would leave us too exposed!”

The other men rose up in dissatisfied chatter. They were clearly unhappy with the plan.

“We have to look at other options!”

“It's going to be a meat grinder!”

Rex sighed, frustration clear, “Fives.” He commanded the ARC trooper to follow. The two stepped away, out of earshot. 

“What supplies do we have?” Kix turned to face you, “This…is going to be difficult.”

Wordlessly you took off your pack and knelt to go through the packs you carried. Luckily the both of you stocked up as well as you could from everything on the medical speeder. But it never hurts to check. 

Bandages and bacta were the most needed, and hopefully, you had enough to see this through.

You attempted to get your pack back on by lifting it with your bad arm, only to drop it and hiss in pain. 

“Damnit.” you swallowed, feeling the very bone pulse in agony. It’s only been a few hours since you were shot. Your arm was nowhere near healed. 

Kix put a hand on your uninjured shoulder to hold you steady, “Take it easy.”

“I’m fine,” You mumbled, adjusting your pack, “The men have survived worse than this. How would it look if I burst into tears every time I get hurt?” 

“Nearly getting your arm blasted off isn’t just ‘getting hurt’. If you need a break, the others will understand.” He argued softly.

You shook your head, “And what about you? You’ve been unsteady on your feet from exhaustion for hours and yet you still run around helping those who are wounded.”

“Only because you’ve been taking a majority of them.” Kix responded, though he didn’t argue with your point. 

“Are you two done?” Dogma snapped from his position, “We’re about to start moving.”

“Hey, Dogma, have you considered shutting the fuck up?” An ARF trooper, Jumper, leaned forward on his AT-RT to silence the ground soldier, “How about you don’t pick a fight with the two people keeping all of us alive.”

“Hey-!”

“Everyone, enough.” Jesse finally stepped in to get everyone quiet, “Now is not the time or the place.” A mere minute later instructions were given. 

You’d go with Rex and his half of the platoon. Kix would go with Fives and Hardcase and their half. 

Splitting up…wonderful idea. There’s no way that could ever go wrong. 

You hung back, keeping your position behind a majority of the men. Noct and Nax, however, were walking on either side of you. As if they were intending to guard you from threats. Your nod to them was in appreciation as both platoons marched forward slowly and carefully. 

Three of those flying beasts that attacked on the main road flew overhead. They didn’t make a dive or move towards anyone on the ground. Instead, you’d think they were fleeing something.

A rapidly approaching rumble cut off your thoughts. The ground was shaking, and it was only getting worse. Nax grabbed your wrist to keep you steady as the vibrations got stronger and louder. Even the AT-RT’s were unstable from the sheer power of the sway.

You raised your comm and began to speak, “Kix, what is going-.”

In the distance, you heard the commotion. Shouting. Booms. It sounded like something was…howling? 

Everything around you was shaking violently, and Kix finally responded, “We’re under attack!”

Without wait, Rex diverted off the original path to aid his brothers. You all ran as quickly as you could despite the dark, dense plant life that hindered your movements. Once you made it over the ridge, you paused, taking in the battle.

Chaos. Chaos and mayhem. At the center of it all, was a tank in the shape of a centipede, marked with blue lights. It roared before slamming down, killing all soldiers under its massive body. 

“Get those rocket launchers down there! Move it troopers!” Rex commanded, pistols in hand and immediately running to aid the soldiers.

The blaster guns that ran down the centipede tanks back were firing in all directions, making it difficult to maneuver or navigate. Still, you managed to get close enough while remaining behind the cover of a massive tree and its roots.

One of the green shots hit Jumper’s AT-RT, killing him in a burst of neon flames.

Another name to your list.

“Watch out!” The ARF trooper next to you called as another tank shot up from the ground. He was hit almost instantly, knocking down from his vehicle. immediately your hands were on him and dragging him behind cover. 

“I got you, Dia.” you reassured, pulling off his helmet.

Pupils uneven. Head injury. Concussion. Watch for seizures or signs of stroke. Traumatic brain injuries were difficult to deal with in such a chaotic environment, but you did what you could with the supplies you have. 

One of the tanks swung its massive head, slamming into one of the troopers that had a much needed rocket launcher. He hit the ground, but curled his body to protect the precious weapon. Once the Umbaran tank turned to continue its destruction, Kix leapt out from the black and red foliage. Thank whatever gods decided to keep him alive!

He grabbed the trooper just as Hardcase got the rocket launcher. You rushed out to join him, taking hold of one of the troopers shoulders, “Follow me!” You shouted, leading the medic to your position of cover hidden in the dense trees. When you returned, there were already several more injured that were taking refuge.

Behind you, there was another explosion. The now headless tank roared before it melted into a screech. Its massive silver and blue body twisted and spasmed as every section burst into flames and destruction. You spotted Fives and Hardcase sprinting to avoid getting hit by its thrashing legs.

Rex called out, tone commanding yet anxious, “Everyone regroup, now! Take cover!” 

The platoons scattered, fleeing into the dark and foggy forest. Luckily the thick trunks and roots of the red, glowing trees were condensed enough the tanks couldn’t push through. 

“Move it! Move it!”

“Let's go!”

“Go! Go! Go!”

You swallowed and looked up at Rex. He was breathing heavily, but still standing. However, you didn’t miss the blood on his wrist. 

You reached into a small pack on your thigh and took out clean bandages as you approached. He would always opt for bandages and not bacta. At every battle, if he got hurt, he’d reject the medicine, saying ‘save it for the next soldier you treat.’ So you’ve learned to just accept his selflessness and use standard first-aid supplies if the wounds weren’t so bad.

“We’re safe for the moment, but they’ll be coming around any second,” He continued to lead the men, not stopping even when you grabbed his wrist and began to bandage it up, “Bring up the launchers, spread detonators along that corridor. Trap them in the bottleneck.” The captain nodded in appreciation once you finished your work. He continued, “We’re going to blow those things sky high.”

Fives rushed past you to a soldier, Hana, who carried explosives in a large pack. He grabbed several of the bombs before running with the other to the narrow part of the gorge. Several others followed the ARC trooper. 

You remained with the injured, just like Kix. Your focus was on the trooper, Hek, in your arms working to stem the bleeding on his chest. However, no matter what you tried, he slipped away under your hands.

Hek. One more death to blame on Krell.

Your priority shifted to Silk, who had sat down and waited patiently with a bleeding, smoldering neck and shoulder wound. Either he was the most patient man in existence, or mentally gone. It didn’t matter though, because you began to patch him up, using whatever you could to save him.

After a few moments, the ground shook violently again, causing you to hold him close to your chest to protect. From the direction of where the men placed bombs, you heard the booms and crackles of their explosives detonating. The tanks they destroyed howled and wailed as it sounded like they crashed into one another, ripping each other apart.

Soldiers had run back to your position to take cover from the resulting explosions. Hardcase dove to your right, getting behind the massive root protecting everyone from the fire. Rex, who was thrown from the force of the bombs, landed on his front right next to you and Silk. Fives and Jesse stumbled, also hitting the dirt after getting shoved by the burst of heat and flames. 

It was a few seconds later when your ears were blessed with silence. Seemed everyone was waiting for…something. Another attack? Or just appreciating the brief moment of calm.

The captain got onto one knee, turned his head to you, and his shoulders slumped slightly with relief, “Good job.” he stood, addressing his men, “Be ready to move out in five.”

Five minutes to rest.

Hardly enough time for you and Kix to tend to all those that were sporting injuries, but you could at least handle the more serious cases. And in those five minutes, despite your best efforts….

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Jumper. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo.

You added a few more names to the list of the dead.

[casbooks]

Book 49 of 2024 (★★★★★)

Title: Never Without Heroes: Marine Third Reconnaissance Battalion in Vietnam, 1965-70 Authors: Lawrence C. Vetter Jr.

ISBN: 9780804108072 Rating ★★★★★ Subject: Books.Military.20th-21st Century.Asia.Vietnam War.Specops.Marine Recon, Books.Military.20th-21st Century.SpecOps.US.USMC

Description: FOUR CONGRESSIONAL MEDALS OF HONOR, THIRTEEN NAVAL CROSSES, SEVENTY-TWO SILVER STARS . . . In four and a half years in Vietnam, the Marines of the Third Reconnaissance Battalion repeatedly penetrated North Vietnamese and Vietcong sanctuaries by foot and by helicopter to find enemy forces, learn the enemy's intentions, and, when possible, bring deadly fire down on his head. Heavily armed, well-camouflaged teams of six and eight men daily exposed themselves to overwhelming enemy forces so that other Marines would have the information necessary to fight the war. It's all here: grueling, tense, and deadly recon patrols; insertions directly into NVA basecamps; last-stand defenses in the wreckage of downed helicopters; pursuit by superior North Vietnamese forces; agonizing deaths of men who valiantly put their lives on the line. NEVER WITHOUT HEROES is the first book to recount the story of a Marine reconnaissance battalion in Vietnam from the day of its arrival to its withdrawal. In Vietnam, Larry Vetter served as a platoon leader in Third Recon Battalion. He supplements his own recollections with Marine Corps records, exhaustive interviews with veterans, and correspondence to capture the bravery, and self-sacrifice of war.

My Review: Vetter said it best when he wrote that he wanted to "portray the history of the 3rd Recon Battalion and its men in Vietnam in a historical, factual, and personal way." Well, I have to say Mission Accomplished! Few books are as unflinchingly raw in their criticism as they are in their effusive praise, but Vetter pulls no punches when he describes just how out of touch the chain of command was from the actual situation on the ground that the Recon Marines experienced. Whether it was Gen. Walts refusal to accept reality because he had his own agenda to push, or the lack of support, respect, and belief the teams got from their rear commanders. The criticisms of the Generals alone is well worth reading in this book, especially the excerpts where Vetter looks at the Generals articles in the Marine Corps Gazette and shreds them for how much they lack any credibility to what was actually occurring in Vietnam during those commanders tours. But this book is more than just that aspect, it also tells the story of the history of the unit from the early patrols to the last ones. Telling both the big picture overview of what was happening in I Corps, the fights with Westmoreland vs Walt over how to prosecute the war in I Corps, and the on the ground view of teams in action throughout the Backyard, Charlie Ridge, Leatherneck Square and on the ground at Khe Sanh. The stories from the survivors of missions gone hellaciously bad, to the stories of those who were lost forever, Vetter manages to piece together multiple viewpoints, sources, and stories to give the reader the full picture of 3rd Recon's time in Vietnam. This book jumps from academic facts to incredible story telling with ease, page after page, and it is truly one of the best books on the subject of this incredibly heroic unit in the face of an enemy in the field and an adversary in it's own command structure.

[shadowbunnydragon]

I've Been Reincarnated as a Bunny Girl?! Ch. 11

Hey there, readers! It's been a minute since I last wrote a chapter for Kiana's story, but dangit, I am back at it! I am super happy to have gotten this one out, and really hope that you all enjoy it!

I've Been Reincarnated as a Bunny Girl?! (Chapter 11)

by

ShadowBunnyDragon

"Allow me to understand the situation, Percival," the Grand Bishop said as he stood at the collapsed ruin where the mouth of the tunnel had been. The red-headed elf high priest stood stoically, knowing that the old man was furious despite his calm demeanor. Off a ways away were the old man's bodyguards, eight paladins standing at attention in a semicircle around the two, facing outward, and out of range of hearing. "Our miners and earth mages finished the construction of our tunnel. An advance party of assassins was sent through to scout out the small town of Starlight Rose, and set up the crystallarium jammers. During their mission, a flying mount was spotted, a wyvern no less, and so they were sent forth to slay the beast without drawing attention to themselves, all while you had a platoon march through the tunnel and set up camp on the other side."

Percival said nothing and simply nodded, wringing his hands in the folds of his robes to keep them from shaking.

"And in the process of doing this, not only were they discovered, and the beast not slain, but all but one of the assassins was killed, who in turn led, as she put it, a monster back to camp. Said monster being a rabbit beasta who has been starting to sound quite annoyingly familiar as of late, who then proceeded to wipe out the entire platoon, before hurling the assassin back through the tunnel, and somehow collapsing the mountain to close it off. Have I gotten the gist of what transpired, Percival?" The Grand Bishop's smile was insincere and his calm-sounding voice dripped with a hidden venom. Percival nodded once again.

"Yes, Grand Bishop. We cannot be certain that the rabbit beasta in question was the one who collapsed the tunnel, possibly with explosives; but overall that summarizes the events that took place five days ago."

The Grand Bishop's magenta robes hung loosely on his old, withered frame, fluttering a bit in the light breeze. His amulet twinkled in the sunlight. In his right hand he held his ceremonial scepter. It was five feet long, carved from white oak, with the tip carved to resemble a roaring lion's face, with rubies inserted into its eyes. The old man turned to look upon all of the assembled soldiers, who were standing at attention like the paladins, formed up into their ranks, waiting for the Grand Bishop to bellow out his orders.

"And these are all of the assembled men and women that were present that evening?"

A little caught off guard at the sudden question, Percival nodded yet again. "Y-yes, your holiness. As instructed they have not left, nor have they removed the amulets that you bestowed upon them with our lord's blessing."

"And none of them have spoken with anyone else about what happened?"

"No, your holiness."

At that, the old man nodded. "Despite this major setback, it truly is reassuring to see such faithfulness amongst our soldiers," he said in a gentle voice.

Percival, while still cautious, was beginning to feel a sense of relief. A new plan must have been devised already that would help make up for this inconvenience. The elf opened his mouth to speak... only for it to drop in horror as the Grand Bishop's staff's eyes began to glow with a bright red malevolence. Each of the golden amulets adorning each of the soldiers started to shine with the same light, with the exception of the paladins, who looked on with disinterest. Many soldiers looked confused, before, in rapid succession, they all began to fall to the ground, dead, their corpses withering and becoming mummified. The red lights faded, and the Grand Bishop stood up straighter, his back creaking. He turned to regard Percival, and the elf almost let out a shriek, as he saw the same light shining out from his eyes.

"I am most displeased, Percival. I had many high hopes when you achieved the rank of High Priest."

Percival stammered and tripped over his words, slowly backing up until he lost his footing and tripped over himself. He scrambled to his feet to see the old man standing behind him, his magenta robes flowing.

"Do not fail me again, Percival. I have been most lenient with you as it is. This is your final grace, am I understood?" The Grand Bishop's voice was much deeper and lacking any hint of its usual scratchiness.

"Y-yes, your holiness," Percival said, climbing to his knees and brushing himself off.

"Good. Also," the old man said, striding back towards his carriage, his bodyguards catching up and forming up protectively around him as he walked, "be sure to make sure that the report reads that these men died bravely in a skirmish with a large orc tribe at the border of Kel-Thonna, and that their families are properly compensated." Without another word, he climbed into his pearl-encrusted carriage with his paladins mounting up beside it. And like that, they were off, leaving Percival alone amidst a sea of death, turning to look and stare at the collapsed tunnel entrance once more.

In Starlight Rose...

"Oh wow! I think I can see Lake Phantom from up here," Malay said, leaning back into her big sister's arms. She and Kiana both sat astride Snowflake, who was flying high up in the sky. The young wyvern's white scales glittered in the sunlight as he chirped happily. All around them were crystal clear blue skies, and below was the land stretched out like a colorful tapestry.

"I think you're right, Mal-Mal," Kiana said, a wide grin on her face. Ever since Snowflake had more or less attached himself to the bunny beasta and her traveling group, she hadn't hopped on the saddle to go flying very often. While this wasn't as high up as Kiana had been when she had jumped straight up from the tip of the Spire, it was still quite amazing to be flying. Once she was done giving her brother and sister their turns riding high up with her on Snowflake, Kiana made a mental note to go flying on Snowflake more. Snowflake chirped again and banked to the right, startling a flock of rainbow-colored geese, who honked in agitation at them.

"WHEEEEE!!!" Malay cheered. Kiana giggled at the excitement of the young wolbet beasta, happy she could make her so happy.

"Alright, let's not tire Snowflake out, especially since Valay will wanna fly him next," Kiana said, giving her wyvern a gentle squeeze with her legs. He chirped twice and started a gentle spiral downwards.

"Awww," Malay said, but she understood. Kiana looked down and spotted her little brother in the clearing, jumping up and down in excitement. Kiana giggled and smiled. She loved traveling and being an adventurer, but she still missed her family. She knew that Archibald and Geth, Geth especially, would want to head out soon to investigate the attack from last night. After a morning of scouring the nearby area and finding some crystallarium jammers, and subsequently smashing them, there was little else to find regarding the assassins and the bandits from the previous night.

Meanwhile...

Felixin examined the smashed crystallariums before him, scratching at his chin.

"They're all made by the same manufacturer... but there are no serial numbers or company logos, except for the sujuna stones set into the base, but Grommick-brand stones are all too common across the continent, so that tells me nothing," the wolf said aloud. On his workbench, open, was a leatherbound book. With each word he spoke, the words appeared on the pages, in his curvy handwriting.

"The same goes for all of the weapons and equipment we were able to recover. High quality, dwarven and goblin craftsmanship, but no logos. One oddity that I was able to uncover was the armor of the bandits. What wasn't too warped to tell for certain, was all of the same quality. Most bandit tribes wear a mismatch of armors, often what they've managed to steal or maybe cobble together themselves. It's possible that if these are bandits, that they maybe robbed a mercenary group, or even somehow robbed a manufacturer's warehouse, or possibly a caravan. The assassins that we had to dispatch were indeed of significantly high levels, so managing to pull off such a heist is within the realm of possibility, but something like that would make the news." Felixin rubbed his eyes and shook his head. He dispelled his Magic Gaze and let out a heavy sigh. With a wave of his paw, his book snapped shut.

"I... don't like this." Felixin's ears twitched at the sound of a knock at his front door. Getting up, he stretched and snapped his fingers. His staff appeared in his outstretched paw. Taking a moment to focus himself, he readied himself to cast a spell if need be, and went to answer the door, internally grateful that Pumala was interrogating the prisoners back at the station. Making his most stern face, Felixin opened the door... and raised an eyebrow.

"Can I help you?"

A little while later...

"That was AWESOME!!!" Valay cheered from where he sat perched on Kiana's shoulders. Kiana winced from the loud yell, but smiled nonetheless.

"I'm happy you enjoyed it. Snowflake seemed to enjoy himself too," Kiana said.

"Do you think we can ride him again before you leave?" Malay, who was skipping along next to her big sister, looked up with wide begging eyes.

"Sorry, Mal-mal, Val-val," Kiana said, her ears drooping a little. "After the attack from last night, we're gunna be heading out sooner than we had originally planned. Geth and Archie both agreed with Dad about it being weird, so we're gunna head south to find the other end of the tunnel, and investigate from there."

The two wolbets groaned. "You really have to leave so soon?" Valay asked.

"I know, I hate it too, buddy," Kiana said, reaching up behind her to rub his back. "But hey, I promise I'll be back as soon as I can! And then we can go flying again!"

"Can't you just jump over the mountains?" Malay asked, the light breeze ruffling her lavender sundress dress that was a match for Kiana's. Valay was wearing dark green clothes with a black scarf covering his mouth, claiming it helped him blend in with the surroundings in the woods.

"Yeah, but Geth says I made the government of Tunada angry when they found out I'd hopped over the mountains serving as the border between them and Galios, and so I had to go beat up a giant for them to get them off my back about it. To the south is the Empire of the... well, the Empire of something or other, and they're a lot more serious about their borders. So we've got to go through the 'proper channels'," Kiana said, doing her best impression of Geth's 'serious voice'. "Luckily, he and Archie have themselves some connections via merchants and some nobles that are greasing the wheels a bit to speed up the process."

"It's the Holy Empire of Leoluna," Malay chimed in with a giggle.

"Yeah, those dorks," Kiana said, waving a dismissive paw, vaguely remembering a group of their missionaries she had run into a while ago. She hadn't paid them much attention, as they were pretty loud and annoying, but remembered hearing them saying something about a Grand Unification.

"They're what our teacher, Mrs. Mazzie, calls a military state," Valay said.

"They're a militant theocracy, Val-Val," Malay corrected her brother, who just rolled his eyes.

"Regardless, they sound like loads of fun," Kiana said with an expert roll of her own eyes. Turning another bend, their house soon came into view. Kiana was a little taken aback to see Geth and Archie standing outside the front door. Mirabelle was coiled up next to Archie, who was gently scratching her head with his mechanical arm, making the end of her tail thump. Geth, who was wearing his polished red armor, sans the head piece, was looking to Kiana like he had seen a ghost. The bunny beasta wasn't certain, but he looked like he was several lighter shades of green. Lowering Valay from her shoulders and having her siblings stay behind her, Kiana approached her friends.

"What's going on?"

"Kiana," Geth said, "i-it's... incomprehensible!"

"Huh?"

"Please, Geth," Archibald said with a smile, "there's no need for the hyperbolic. In all honesty, I'm surprised this hasn't happened for the two of you sooner."

"There are proper procedures for a reason!"

"Excuse me," Kiana said, crossing her arms in mild annoyance. "Could one of you please explain to me what the hells is going on?"

"We... our group... is being scouted!" Geth exclaimed.

"Huh? What, by some more assassins? That's not so unusual," Kiana said.

"No! By the top tier adventurer guilds!" Geth said, taking a moment to compose himself. When Kiana had first met him, he had such disregard for anything to do with adventurers. After becoming one at her insistence, he had taken it upon himself to learn as much about the entire system as he could. He had been surprised about how organized it was, with the local guild hall being an example of the base inter-adventurer guild organization, affiliated with all the big name guilds and part of the same network. Not to mention the resources that became more readily available to adventurers affiliated with one of the big guilds.

The baseline guild-halls served to help fledgling adventurers gain reputations, rank up, and make names for themselves, allowing the more advanced guilds to scout promising adventurers who have become more experienced and battle tested. Also, it allowed for aspiring adventurers looking to form their own guild to do just that, with each guild having their own rules and regulations, all agreeing on a set of universal guild rules that they were all expected to enforce within their own ranks. Geth had floated the idea of forming their own guild, with Kiana semi-interested. One thing about all the guilds was universal, though. The guildmasters were easily the strongest adventurers of their ranks. Kiana didn't think there was a single guildmaster who wasn't at least a Midnight Obsidian rank.

"Oh, so they sent a letter or an envoy or something?" Kiana wondered why Geth looked so nervous, figuring that he was concerned Kiana was going to embarrass them or something.

"NO! Th-the guildmasters... they're here to meet with you!"

"Oh," Kiana said, starting to feel excitement bubbling up in her belly. Reflecting on that info, it made sense why Geth would be a little nervous. Being scouted by a couple of high-ranking guildmasters meant they'd probably need to make a good impression. At least, if they wanted to start being allowed to take on the higher-tiered, and even more lucrative, jobs, they'd need to join one. "Okay, understood. So who are they and how many are there? Like two or three?"

"ALL OF THEM!!!" Geth shouted, before clamping a hand over his tusked mouth.

"What?!"

"All the guildmasters from the top nine guilds are here," Archie explained, much more calmly. Kiana caught a twinkle in his eyes betraying his elation.

"Phoenix Phist?"

"Yes!" Geth said; Kiana now noticed he had his polished silver rings decorating his tusks.

"Unicorn Riot?" Kiana asked, starting to feel excited as well.

"Yes!" Archie said.

"Savage Gryphon?"

"All of them, Kiana!" Geth exclaimed in exasperation. "Your father is currently hosting them in the living room. Now that you're here, we can go in and start making a good impression--"

"Wait... my Dad's doing what now?!" Kiana asked, suddenly panicking.

"Uh... hosting them?" Geth and Archie shared a confused look. Malay and Valay both started to giggle as Kiana rushed to the door and wrenched it open, accidentally tearing out a couple of the hinges, warping the handle. Kiana ran into the living room to find a group of oddly-dressed strangers, with Felixin in the center, holding up the family photo album, showing Kiana's baby pictures.

"My little princess just loved playing tea party with her dolls when she was little," the wolf said, having been gushing this whole time about her. Kiana's eyes were wide as she felt a blush forming on her cheeks, praying to whatever entity was listening that he hadn't talked about when she was potty training. "She even kept her little stuffed wolf with her for protection when there was that little scuffle our town had with those bandits some years back."

"Are you perhaps referring to that full-scale siege?" an elven woman asked. She was wearing silver armor that was faintly glowing. Her hair was a platinum blonde, and she had a scar along her right cheekbone. Kiana recognized her as Liama Von Hollow, the guildmaster for the famous White Rose, the only all-female guild. "I had heard reports that the bandits had been single-handedly defeated by a very young rabbit-beasta girl."

"I heard it was more of an outright slaughter," came the whispering voice of a tall and lanky hooded figure sitting in the easy chair. They were wearing black robes that covered all but their mottled gray arms and black clawed hands, with red glowing eyes shining out from the darkness of their hood. Kiana knew that she was looking at Kazim the Revenant, the undead founder and guildmaster of Unicorn Riot. She recognized him from some of the official guild magazines she had collected when younger.

"Regardless, she took on two hundred bandits with just her bare paws," a kindly-looking gnome woman said, sitting on a small stool and puffing a light pink smoke from her pipe. She looked to Kiana and waved. Lim, guildmaster of Savage Gryphon, smiled at the open-mouthed bunny girl.

"Daddy!" Kiana yelled, her cheeks burning from embarrassment.

Felixin's ears perked up and his bushy tail started to wag at the sight of Kiana, with Malay and Valay on either side of her, the two wolbets covering their mouths with their paws, desperately trying not to burst out laughing.

"Ah, there you are, princess," the big wolf said, oblivious to Kiana's mortification. "I was just entertaining our visitors with stories about you as a little kit!"

"They've been most entertaining alright," snickered a goblin in pitch-black armor. He was leaning against the wall, his helmet off and under an arm. He had a shock of purple hair in a mohawk, his large bat-like ears twitching and making the jeweled golden rings piercing them twinkle in the light. His teal skin coloration signified that he was from a tropical tribe from the Miar archipelago. That plus the spider web-like tattoo on the side of his face that kept shifting and changing into other web-like patterns interspersed with runes that would occasionally glow red, confirmed his identity as Fubar, the founder and guildmaster of the perpetual frat party of a guild known as Goblin House.

"Still, the stories and reports not only from that amazing debut, but also from your adventures are very impressive," came the deep rumbling voice of a massive and muscular lioness beasta. She was wearing basic red leather armor, with a gigantic longsword strapped to her back. She looked Kiana over with her golden eyes, nodding in approval. Vashka the Dragon's Roar, the guildmaster of Phoenix Phist, had an eye for strength. "And not just you, miss Kiana, but also the other members of your party. You and Getholon the Mystic, who already had quite the reputation even before he became an official adventurer, slew the rogue necromancer Zrathk, and purged the surrounding land of his vile influence. Truly a grand display of raw power."

"I personally had a good laugh when I heard about Shuta," a dwarf in sapphire blue robes sitting on the couch chuckled, his black beard long enough to reach his waist. Kevin, the leader of Blue Bull, smiled and nodded to Kiana. "Ya showed that stuffy Duke that even he can't protect his bastard nephew, and caused him one heck of a political headache in the process... as well as some collateral damage."

"You would find amusement in that ghastly action," said a human man on the other end of the couch. He was dressed in a purple petticoat with a cream-colored ruffled blouse underneath, and matching trousers. His black boots were polished and shiny, without a speck of dirt from the road on them. Sheathed at his side was a cutlass, his arms folded across his chest, a silver ring with a large ruby in the center on his ring finger. Kiana saw that Lord Phoenix, the current leader of Phantom Cyclops, a guild known for being mostly nobles from various nations, looked just as stuffy as he did in the photos from the magazines. His raven-black shoulder-length hair was swept back and braided in a ponytail. His pale skin, icy blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and pointed chin gave an appearance similar to a vampire. He looked Kiana over with an arched eyebrow.

"However, taking on those dastardly pirates and acquiring someone of young Lord Nunarin's pedigree into your party shows that you are somewhat salvageable, perhaps with a bit of refinement."

"Your aura not only radiates power, but an attunement with the natural world that is just beautiful," came the quiet voice of a halfling woman in a leafy-green dress, with white and red flowers intertwining her long chestnut-brown hair. She was sitting cross-legged on the carpet and bowed to them. Kiana, Geth, and Archibald returned the bow. Hiama, the guildmaster of Ethereal Mantis, while every bit a crunchy granola-hippie stereotype, as Kiana remembered Felixin claimed all druids to be, was still a known force to be reckoned with. Evidenced by their guild hall being located in the dead center of the Kowtow Swamp, an area home to many strange and deadly beasts.

"Tch." Kiana's attention was drawn to a sullen-looking dracofian that was wearing a cloak made from moving shadows with the hood down. His scales were a bright blue with a deeper blue under his eyes, which Kiana suspected was just makeup. He was wearing all black leather with blue trim armor, and had a curved staff that ended in a point with a white glowing crystal in the center. "That's all impressive, I guess, though I must say, taking down that forest troll got you on my radar." Kiana recognized Krito, the guildmaster of Shadow Kraken, a relatively new guild to the scene. Meeting him in person confirmed Kiana's suspicion of him being an edgelord.

"Regardless, we all came here for the same reason," Kazim said, standing from where he was sitting on the dining room chair that had been brought out. He strode forward, the red light of his eyes looking like two red lights in the dark cave of his hood as he looked over Kiana and her friends. Despite her burning embarrassment, Kiana felt the thrill of excitement return in full force. From within the folds of his cloak, Kazim the Revenant produced a black paper envelope and handed it to the bunny girl. "Kiana, Getholon the Mystic, Lord Archibald Nunarin; I, Kazim the Revenant, would like to officially invite your party to join my guild, Unicorn Riot."

"H-hey, I thought we'd agreed that I was going to be the first to ask them!" Krito said, jumping to his feet, looking indignant. He then fake coughed and composed himself, walking up and holding out a scroll with a gold metal clasp keeping it furled up, to Kiana as well. "Well, anyway, you should be overjoyed to get an invitation from me, of all people, to join the great Shadow Kraken."

"I beg your pardon," Lord Phoenix said, rising from his seat and producing an envelope with a red wax seal, "but I believe that you would benefit the most with a bit more refinement around high and proper society." He gave a stiff bow and passed it to the bunny girl, suddenly being shouldered aside by the dwarf.

"Bah! Only another self-important sycophant wants to join your ranks, Mathew," Kevin said, giving Kiana a square of parchment. "Here's my invitation. You'll find that the Blue Bulls are much more to you and your friends' style of rushin' in, gettin' the job done, and asking questions later." Kiana's ears twitched as she heard Geth mumble under his breath. She knew he wouldn't approve of their joining a guild notorious for being so reckless and causing so much collateral damage.

"I think you'll find," Liama said, having pushed all the others to the side and standing tall and proud before the party, "that The White Rose is a much more suitable guild for your talents. We're even breaking our normal custom and extending this offer for your... entire party to join." The elven woman said this, looking at Geth and Archie with a raised eyebrow, before handing Kiana a single white rose with a white stem and thorns. Upon taking it, Kiana realized that the rose was actually some kind of origami one, that immediately unfolded into a sheet with the invitation written on it.

"Here you are, dear," said Lim, looking up at Kina and brushing aside her auburn locks as she handed Kiana a simple envelope. "We at Savage Gryphon would love to have you." Kiana was about to start responding, when a butterfly fluttered and landed on her right ear. With a green POOF, it became a single green leaf that fluttered down. Kiana caught it and saw that there was writing on it, inviting her to join Ethereal Mantis. Kiana looked to the guildmaster, who just bowed again.

"Gah!" Fubar threw his hands up in exasperation. "Who's a guy gotta drink under the table around here to get a word in edgewise!" The goblin chuckled and tossed to Kiana a crumpled piece of parchment. He winked as Kiana unfolded his invitation to Goblin House, noticing that there were some dark stains on the invite that smelled strongly of alcohol.

"I'm only interested in adventurers who are strong, and looking to get stronger," Vashka said with a smirk as she approached, giving Kiana a card. The lioness looked smugly at the other guildmasters. "Well, this was nice, but I need to get back and reign in my knuckleheads before they tear our guild hall apart." With a nod, Vashka saw herself out.

"I too must return at once, lest my guild accidentally sets fire to our hall... again," Kazim said with a bow. He snapped his clawed fingers. The shadows in the room lengthened and enveloped him. The shadows receded, and the guildmaster was gone.

"I also must depart from this... lovely home, please excuse me," Lord Phoenix said with another stiff bow, heading for the door, with Fubar, Vashka, and Kevin following behind.

"Let's head to the pub and have us some drinks!" Kevin shouted, with Fubar letting out a cheer. Liama wordlessly bowed and nodded to Hiama, who stood up and bowed deeply once more to the party and Felixin, taking her offered arm. With the pair leaving, that left Krito, who gave Kiana a smirk.

"I know you'll make the right decision," he said with a wink and a flourish of his cloak. He disappeared in a puff of white smoke, and Kiana just rolled her eyes.

"Well... that was quick," Felixin said with a huff. "I didn't even get to talk about my little princess' dance recital."

"Dance recital?" Geth and Archie both asked in unison, the two looking amused. Kiana groaned internally.

"Dad, no, just... no," she said, looking down and choosing to focus on the invitations in her hands. "Well, guys," she said, hoping to get her friends' minds off her Papa telling any more possible 'cute' stories from her second childhood. "It looks like we've got a decision to make."

"Agreed, though we can't forget about our current objective," Geth said. Straight back to business, something Kiana found she was grateful for.

"Daddy was able to get some pictures of Kiki in her tutu!" Valay said, holding open the photo album to the pages with said pictures in them, making Geth and Archie chuckle while Kiana facepalmed.

And there you have it, folks! Please consider leaving a review or a comment, and you all have a great day!

You can start this story from the very beginning here on these sites!

And I've started posting it to Archive of Our Own!

[mecharlie-fox]

Memoirs of a Summoner: Part 1

Rules are simple my fellow Summoners, the prompt works for anyone and everyone. Feel free to use them but with credits. This works for canon (Kiran, nonbinary/male/female), original characters, and self-inserts/readers. 

Ship intention: Alfonse X Reader / Summoner X Reader? Note: Okay uhh here’s a quick thing, the Summoner can be Kiran, your OC, whatever you’d like because there will be two important ppl in this short fic - YOU, the reader and the Summoner. So yeah, take your pick. And happy reading!

This is a really old fic that I made last year (May) 2021, I never went through with it but it was an interesting thought if we’re gonna you know... take in account of the official art for the Summoner. You see I like me my mystery men but the summoner can be any gender depending on your preference

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PART 1

You’re not the Summoner. You’re only but a faceless member of the Order of Heroes. You grew up reading and listening to stories about the Legendary Great Hero who would one day wield Breidablik to bring peace to the continent, and end this senseless war. You wanted to do your part, much like anyone else.

Commander Anna knows you - of course she does, as commander, she should know the names and faces of every single member who volunteered for this cause. And that alone she’s grateful to you.

But the Askran siblings - you know they were nice, and you know that they have the same goal as you. But you weren’t important and you weren’t a Hero - when you die, no one will remember your name. You’re just one of those nameless soldiers who died for the sake of their kingdom. A sacrifice. Cannon fodder.

You knew this and yet you fought anyway. It was all for your family. It was all for the friends you left in the village. Because someone needs to help.

Training was all left to you and ranking members who weren’t anything special in the order. Your captains did their best to make sure that your training was on par with the Heroes, making sure that none of you were in the way, making sure you all knew what to do. You were a few, couldn’t even call yourselves a platoon. A lot of people tend to forget that the Order had human beings like you, and when they say “Order of Heroes” it was.... well... always the Heroes and their reckless royal siblings.

The heir to the throne and his spare were both putting themselves at risks. Some of the few members understood it to be setting as an example, in hopes that more members would join and that they wouldn’t rely too much on Heroes. But in truth, it had an opposite effect. It was reckless, it was stupid, if both of them died, who would lead Askr to a future? If the King dies and both of them are gone, where is the future?

It wasn’t... royal like. You weren’t even part of the nobility, never even stepped foot into the royal castle. You were a mere commoner trying to make a living while protecting the kingdom in your own way. Even when there’s no recognition to it. The thought of fighting so your family wouldn’t was enough for you.

The Order didn’t make any money. It was mostly being funded by the government, and if the monthly budget didn’t make it - they had to think of ways. You reported the discovery of Aether Keep to the commander, and she commended you and your unit for a job well done. Your fellow members commended you guys for it, because it meant that no more part time jobs to feed those Heroes with your own labor. They weren’t all bad, the Heroes. Even though you were invisible to them, they showed kindness when they saw you.

But one thing did bother you. The royal siblings - Aether Keep was something of the past, to battle in the skies. It provided so much for the Order such as inns, crops, a music hall, everything they needed to relax for once instead of training on an endless basis. Yes, the commander, your comrades and some of the Heroes commended you for a job well done - but not them.

They were above you. You know that. They wouldn’t be talking to a lowly commoner like you, but it just bothered you. Because you and your unit found the Keep and yet... it was the Summoner who was congratulated. The Summoner who was praised.

You didn’t have any ill-will towards the Summoner. They were kind, concerned, innocent, good - they knew nothing about warfare and yet they did their part to help end this war. Just like you did when you first came. You were there to protect not for recognition.

Heroes who died could be revived, thanks to the Summoner’s powers. But your comrades... your comrades who fell did not share the same mercy from the gods. When they die, they die. Cannot be revived. It wasn’t the Summoner’s fault. You keep on telling yourself.

You saw it with your eyes. The Muspell flames.

Your task was simple, you and your unit were to go to a certain place in Askr to see what was going about. A woman who seemed to be like a Hero to you, was fighting by herself while the village was being destroyed, burn down into ashes until there was nothing left. You knew this village, you knew these fields - you used to come with your siblings to play around while your parents were having their own leisure of an alone time. 

Now it’s gone. Nothing but the red sky and ash smoke. You fought. You all fought. But it was no use. None of you had magic, that wasn’t the law of your world. Mages were rare and not all mages wanted to sacrifice their lives for nothing. You watched your captain burning, reaching his hand to you as you felt the painful fuel of the flames of Muspell.

Run. He said with his dying breath. Run. Warn them.

 Miraculously, as if it were the Dragon of Askr’s will - you made it back to the Order of Heroes. Your skin covered in burns and all you could mutter to your Commander was one phrase: The flames... the flames....

 None of them thanked you. Few of the Heroes (mostly the Heroes who healed you) thanked you for your service, and gave their condolences for the loss of your friends. You were in your room, ordered to stay in and rest, Sakura and Wrys would come to you four times a day to tend to your burns - and try to cheer you up. They would bring friends, although you were thankful for their kindness - your heart still felt the loss of your unit... your squad, your family.

The commander came and offered her condolences and had assured you that their families have been well compensated, all Anna hoped for was for you to forgive yourself. 

Even when you’re stuck in your room trying to regain your health, you weren’t important. You knew you weren’t important. Everyone was more focused on this new Hero named Fjorm from the Kingdom of Nifl. And as always, the Summoner was praised for finding her.

The Summoner this.

The Summoner that.

The Summoner wasn’t the one fighting the battles, it was all you and your comrades. The faceless, nameless comrades who died... who were just forgotten because they weren’t Heroes.

You couldn’t help but hate the Summoner. Hate the Prince. Hate the whole Order.

None of you were important. The volunteers from Askr were not important. Even when everyone dines together in the mess hall, you all knew your place. You had your own place at the edge of the hall as the Heroes dine and laugh with the higher members such as the commander, the Summoner, and the royal siblings. There was such a wall between the normal folk and the Heroes - there finally came a time where some volunteers... left during the war with Muspell and Embla.

Because you all didn’t feel welcome in the ranks at all.

"You’re leaving too?!” You could hear Commander Anna’s reaction from across the corridors of the ancient castle. 

“I am so sorry Commander.” Your fellow comrade bowed in apology, behind the pillar you couldn’t help but listen and started thinking for yourself as well. “But even when all our goals are the same, to stop this war and protect the ones we love... I don’t feel welcome at all Ma’am. It’s not your fault or the Heroes. It’s just... I can’t keep it up anymore. I’m tired of trying to keep up with big names and we’re just... us volunteers are just nothing.”

“Are... are you all feeling this way?” The Commander’s tone was sincere. Broken. As if she was starting to question her own leadership.

“We all have... especially since (y/n) came back to us.” Your comrade admitted in complete shame. “She and her unit... her captain brought out the best in us, trained us, took care of us. But seeing their sacrifices meant nothing to the Order - what’s the point of service if we’re just going to be forgotten in the end?”

“I didn’t...” The commander was in utter shock. She couldn’t comprehend on how this was going around the volunteer members. “I wasn’t...”

“We don’t blame you ma’am. And we are grateful for the opportunity to serve Askr. We have... outlived our purpose now, ma’am. With all of these Heroes, you don’t need us anymore.” He bowed, you couldn’t help but feel his full sense of hesitation and even regret. “I’m really sorry ma’am. I wish you the best on the war effort.”

You couldn’t help but wonder if it was right. Did you truly outlive your purpose?

The following morning wasn’t better when you saw your roommate packing up their things. And you said. “You’re leaving too, huh?”

“Yeah,” your roommate casually answered as they continued to pack their belongings. “I gave my resignation to the Commander earlier. I don’t want to leave but… we’re not needed here anymore and the Order made that clear.”

“You’re a captain, what will happen to your unit?”

“My unit is leaving with me.” You looked at your roommate as they just finished packing. Giving you a smile of reassurance was all they could do for you. “It sounds like we’re ganging up on the Commander, doesn’t it?”

You were still in a state of shock. And yet, you didn’t question their decision, it was understandable. “I won’t lie… but it does… but… but why—I don’t understand.”

“Surtr is trying to attack every village he could find that doesn’t have a strong protection from the Order and the Knights. Commander Anna is doing everything in her power, we know that. King Gustav too and I know we have much more Heroes than before, and they’re a more capable bunch that us… they’ll do well.”

“What will you all do?”

Your roommate sighed. “We’re all going home to our respective villages. Muspell is playing with the Knights but they’re only defending the capital, the Order is more focused on gathering intel for the king but… even we were replaced by Heroes in that field. Protecting villages with no fighting force seems to be the most logical option. That’s what the others are doing. How ‘bout you?” Your roommate gave a wary smile. “Are you still going to stay?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged, avoiding eye contact. You didn’t know what to do. A part of you still wanted to be involved with the Order because of your beliefs but, the other part didn’t want you to say because none of you were being valued. “I’ll try to stay for a while, I won’t lie… leaving has also crossed my mind from time to time.”

Closing their suitcase, your roommate nodded. “Alright, I’ll see you in the village if you made up your mind then.”

After giving you a pat on the shoulder, you just watched your roommate leave. Things weren’t progressing as smoothly as everyone hopped for. Some of the Heroes did notice the decline of volunteer folks and you couldn’t help but wonder if this became a problem for the commander. You wondered if the Summoner or the Prince and Princess noticed it themselves. The more people left; the more Heroes were being summoned into the Order.

The mess hall was livelier than before now. With more Heroes meant more friends but, you looked around to only find almost no familiar faces that were in your circle. You realized; you were the only non-hero in the mess hall now. Everyone else left. The music, the laughter, the jokes, they were all noises for you now.

You were just one nameless soldier in a room filled with important figures.

“You haven’t touched your food (y/n), something on your mind?” You looked up to find one of the castle’s servants looking at you with concern. You didn’t realize that everyone in the mess hall was already gone, including the Commander and the Summoner.

“There is, actually.” You couldn’t help but sigh. “I’m also thinking of leaving.”

“You too?”

You smiled at that ironic question. “Yeah… me too. I guess leaving on my own free will is better than being sacked eventually. No one even noticed the decrease of numbers; the Summoner just keeps on replacing us anyway. The more Heroes they summon, who knows when the Commander will tell me to just sleep in a tent outside so they could have a room and a bed.” You joked.

The servant Dahlia sat across you, giving out a small pout. “Now, now… you know Anna wouldn’t do something like that.”

“It… just crossed my mind.” You answered honestly. “With the volunteers leaving, there would be more room in the barracks for the Heroes right? It hasn’t been even the following day and I already have a new neighbor. Maybe my comrades are right… we already outlived our purpose. Everything was simpler when Zacharias was still here.”

Dahlia just nodded. “Things were simpler when the captain was here but, he’s not anymore. Do you think Captain Zacharias would be happy seeing you all like this?”

No one knew what happened to Zacharias. Though he was close to Prince Alfonse and Princess Sharena since they were young, he used to be your unit captain. He took care all of you, trained you, scolded you, gave you wisdom – the Summoner was no replacement for him. Everyone knew that. Zacharias would want you to follow your heart. Not think of yourself a burden.

You shook your head. “Good.” Dahlia smiled. “No one can force you to stay or go, (y/n), that’s your decision to make. And if you’re leaving too well… all I can do is wish you luck on future endeavors.”

Perhaps with a bit of luck you would know what to do. But fortune frowns before you, you didn’t know what to do. For years, all you could think about was joining the Order of Heroes to do your part. To help fight and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. The years were kind and fruitful, filled with laughter and friendship – but now they’re nothing but a shard of a memory as you walked down the cold, empty corridors of the castle.

In your room, you proceeded to write a letter. Describing your thoughts and explaining why your decision to leave the order was made. Neatly folding it, you left for the Commander’s chamber. Knowing Anna, she would still be awake by this time – after all, she was once a volunteer like you before the old man retired and chose her to be his successor.

In your mind, you rehearsed and rehearsed what you were going to say to her. How you made up your mind and will follow the decision of your former comrades. Many good soldiers came and went, and they were gone not because they were killed in the battlefield, but rather they left on their own free will.

You were about to knock, but for a single moment, you hesitated the moment you heard crying from inside.

Anna’s crying. You noted to yourself. Found yourself froze in front of the door, with your hand about to knock the door. You couldn’t do it. You wanted to. You wanted to leave. You were unhappy with what the Order has become and how you were all treated. You wondered if you were an ungrateful soul, wanting recognition for things you have done – things that any Hero would do, but because you had no name, you were nothing, you weren’t recognized.

You knew Anna was grateful, wasn’t that enough for you? Was it too much to ask for the whole Order to know the deeds you have done? The sacrifices that you had to endure? Hearing the commander cry made your heart feel even more pain than the burns on your skin.

“May I help you?” You jumped in fright, turning around to see the Summoner. “You heard the crying too, huh?”

“Yes… Summoner.” You looked down. Not wanting to look into their eyes. Even if you did, you couldn’t see them. The Summoner always wore their hood and no one has ever seen their face. Some did speculate that only members of the royal family and the commander are able to do so, but there was never any proof.

But Kiran already had an idea why you were in front of Anna’s room. “What’s that on your hand?” They asked quietly. It wasn’t stern or serious, but rather calm and worried.

“My… resignation, Summoner.”

Kiran nodded. “You’re leaving too. I see… may I ask why?”

Why?! You wanted to snap. How… how could they? After everything you and your comrades did for this Order, wasn’t it obvious why you chose to follow? But it was late and you didn’t want to cause anymore trouble for Anna. You’d be gone in the morning anyway. So, you answered. “I don’t belong here anymore, Summoner.”

The Summoner was quiet, but continued to listen to what you had to say. “I’m aware of the damages that this war has caused the kingdom. I’m also aware of the selfishness that has come to mind, thinking about myself rather than the benefit of those who need our protection. I won’t speak for my comrades who left before me – but I’m not being valued here. When a soldier leaves, a Hero takes our place right? We’re not important to this Order. Not anymore.”

“I see.” The summoner was calmer than you expected them to be. You were waiting to be scolded with the importance of duty. The Summoner was a tactician, one of the keys to the Order’s victory in so many battles. They were the Legendary Great Hero, who would ever doubt them? Who would put them in the wrong? “Here,” the summoner spoke as they offer their hand. “I’ll give it to her for you. I wish you the best.”

It was all you could hear from anyone at this point. Not all of your burns have been healed up and yet, it feels like your heart too, was also burning from the pain. You bowed in the Summoner’s presence as if they were of high importance. In this castle, you couldn’t help but wonder what the Summoner was really like behind that hood of theirs.

The Summoner never really spends time with normal troops, they were always with the Heroes. People expected Prince Alfonse to take on that role more, since he’s the crown prince but to no avail as well. He too, was also hands on with the Heroes.

You couldn’t even sleep that evening. All you could wonder was the whole impossible idea: would people still be leaving if Captain Zacharias was still in your ranks?

You found yourself packing the following morning, ignoring the rushing footsteps from outside of your room. You jumped in shock the moment the door burst opened to find Anna holding your resignation in her hand, and the Summoner calmly standing behind her. The commander was taking deep breathes, you wondered how long she actually ran. From her face alone, you knew she had a sleepless night too – the bags in her eyes were deep, stains of tears could be seen on her cheek.

But none of that mattered to her anymore, all that mattered was her proposition to you. “(y/n)!” She shouted with determination as your eyes both met. Her gaze was even burning hotter than Muspell flames. “I have a proposition for you!”

In a sense, knowing the commander for so long, a part of you already knew that she didn’t accept your resignation and is about to offer you something you can’t refuse. “Be my steward!” Anna stopped, knowing that she said the wrong words to you.

You blinked. “Forgive me commander,” you answered as you closed your luggage. “But I do not see how that will make me stay.” You were confused. What soldier would want a stewardship? You thought that they were taking you as a servant. The order doesn’t pay well, you were stuck doing side jobs just to send back money to your family back in the village.

“Ack!” Anna couldn’t help but scratch her whole head with both of her hands, letter still in hand. “I’m! I’m sorry! Those words were completely wrong! COMPLETELY WRONG! What I’m trying to say is – PLEASE STAY!” The commander clapper her hands together, bowing in front of you. This sight alone was enough to make you feel worse as it is.

You knew Anna before she became commander. All of the people who left knew her personally before she took on the burden of the Order. Even with the fancy titles and all – she was still Anna, but compared to you, Anna was more important. She had more significance. “I – I know I’m not doing my best to make you all feel welcome. Especially when Kiran had been summoning Heroes left and right increasing our numbers! But I want to make things better for everyone! So please (y/n)! Give me another chance!”

If it was their previous commander, this attitude wouldn’t stand. They respected Anna but respect wasn’t the problem, it was pure negligence.

[ijumpbridges]

Currently writing a scp book on wattpad but im also going to post it here,i have decided to do it in this account, i still have no idea on why i have two accounts were i still write for the same, im just a little cracked in the head for jumping that bridge anyway i will show you a preview of my idea.

Now the description of the book im still debating a little, i can tell you that the main character has ptds from previous battle and also suffers a lot physically and mentally this book is going to hurt, more mentally than physically although you already suffer in the first chapter, but maybe it won’t, im not that experience with writing hurt so you might as well cringe with it. I was going to say that maybe i should make it a insert reader x scps and scp doctors, but maybe what if i made it more realistic and twisted, but I don’t know that’s just me. You also get involved with other Scps mainly with 451 (Mr. Lonely, i also decide to include more scps like 029 or 013 give them more characters and leave some of the famous aside for a second) .

I have once returned and decide that everyone should suffer because i said so.

Its not perfect, but its something that im still currently working on, i also have a wattpad account that i sadly also have three other scp books, my user is [DM for my user] there.

Preview here, this is the Prologo:

[At 1445 Sergeants Oak’s men was packing everything in the car and taking you and your team all on board to drop you all off. After they all finish, you two waited for 1500. The moment the clock hit 1500 you all left the base and started heading to the target.

You all settle at the mountain at 0405, it was a rough travel, your team was tired, you decided to let set up tents and rest. At 0901 you had then standing on their feet all together, you had set up a tent for meetings and plans.

"Good morning everyone, as we all know we have to retreat an anomalous object, this of course could be dangerous if we do a wrong move, that's why we need to plan ahead our next moves. I going to assign you all departure places so you all can gather information in and Outside of the caves, am i clear?" You asked.

"Yes Captain!" They all yelled.

"Okey, so.. im going to need, Agent M.J., Gonzales, Ruzo and Garcia to go into that cave, you guys are going to come up with a plan on how to enter and to go get out as well as on explore any other entrance and exits. Agent Yu, Hernandez, and Ruben, you guys are also going to come up with a plan and explore the surround of the cave, the outsides, in case if there's anyone here or something suspicious going around. Does anyone have any questions of what do they have to do?"

"No Captain!"

“Alright, get together and start planning when you all finish call me over, im going to also call you one by one depending on what group and equipment you will need" You said and started moving to up all the things your men needed while they planned on what do to.

By 1025 everyone was out. Leaving you behind, you check up on your men and made sure they were okey over the radio, every platoon had left for their duties and after 1149 the platoons were back, they rest and ate their food at 1330, everyone gathered and shared information about their findings, everything was gathered and they explained their plans the cave and it's surroundings.

You took a look at their plan, you told them to fix some of their plan on retreating the object. You also took notes on what the others had said, they said they saw abandoned houses in bad states, no people in it, they had a suspicion of it to be that the place was use to do rituals since they had candles, picutes and other religious artifacts.

By 1500 you all went on a mission task, this time you came with them, climbing and getting inside of the cave, you took a different team with you. Agent MJ, Gonzales and Yu, the others monitored the outside, in case something happen.

You four explore more futher, you all four guided each other, you helped them with the map guide and they help you to guide you on where exactly it was each tunnels, at the end you four found the object. The problem of it was to take it out, not only it was stuck, it had an strange entrance too.]

That’s all for now, its still not perfect it also hurts me too to read it, so you are not alone here. My dms are always open if you anyone wants a scp request for a scenario or anything else that you want me to know, just let me know, bye bye.

[mountainsidepossum]

Heyoooo

I see I have a request post so I suggest some platonic thrawn if you'd like to :D

U can do thrawn x reader or if you're not interested maybe some platonic thranto

Have a nice day/night and take care ^^

Hey, thank you so much for the ask! While I’m not big on writing reader insert, I would love to do some platonic thranto for you! Even without those two being romantic they are amazingly chaotic and it’s wonderful. Your writing will be below the line, thanks for the request! 

Note: I did take some creative liberties, but I hope you still enjoy this blurb. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Vanto asked, watching as Thrawn scouted out a small smugglers hideaway, near a hundred yards from where they were both currently positioned. The surrounding tropical undergrowth made for excellent hiding material, allowing them to observe without being detected. The longer Eli stuck around Thrawn, the more he understood the ‘preemptive strike’ portion of his exile. “We go in there guns blazing, and it’s gonna be over for us fast.” 

Thrawn did not answer immediately, seemingly used to the background hum of Eli voicing his concerns. Instead, the Chiss’s intense focus was aimed towards the hide-away. According to the mission log Eli had read, this was the location of some fairly rare material--namely Kyber, which the outlaws had been hoarding. Why they decided to send two officers instead of a platoon of stormtroopers, Eli would never know. Then again, it wasn’t his job to judge orders. 

“Their guard position is poor, several points of entry are completely unprotected.” Thrawn’s cool voice responded, not indicating if he had determined that to be a good nor a bad thing. Though, that was normal with Thrawn. Over time, Eli had learned to rely on physical cues to assess Thrawn’s mood or position on certain things, and right now the Chiss looked like a Loth Cat about to spring on prey. “You trust me, yes Ensign Vanto?” 

“I don’t know what trust has got to do with this, but yeah I trust yo--Thrawn!” Calling after the Chiss, who had immediately pushed out of the brush and into what was sure to be battle as soon as Eli agreed to the asking of trust. He huffed, readying his blaster. “Karkin’ Chiss, lucky I like ya’.” He said under his breath, allowing his accent to flow freely before he surged forward, following his comrade. If Thrawn had a plan, then they would both get out of this alive--and victorious. 

After all, what is friendship if not an exchange in trust? Thrawn seemed to teach him something new with every simple action. Eli followed, and would continue to follow, until he learned everything Thrawn had to teach him. 

[yeahcxrrahee]

𝐒𝐊𝐘'𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 — 𝑱.𝑳𝑰𝑬𝑩𝑮𝑶𝑻𝑻

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 @floydtab —

could I request a Liebgott fluff please? xx much love 💘 . A reader insert, Liebgott fluff fic. Maybe the plot to be with the readers birthday? just because mine is on Friday ❤️

POSSIBLE TRIGGERS — blood, language

THE BITTER CRISP OF BASTONGE was an obscurer of time, an infiltrating poison to the concept of days, weeks, months.

Yet, the day of the week wasn’t much of a thought to ponder upon for Easy Company; minds wrapped around a prayer for survival in the next few seconds, legs stinging with an ache from desperate sprints across slippery snow, throats throbbing from a lack of hydration and an overload of grouses pertaining to the lack of winter clothing, the incompetence of a barely present lieutenant. A majority of them were cramped ass to ankles in foxholes to preserve warmth beneath their scraps of outerwear; the subtle tides of heat that graced their bodies were something that was as fleeting as daylight nowadays.

Y/N departed the squish of cold leather in the Jeep, a conscious miles away at the aid station she had just now returned from, hands twitching to reek a sickly penny odor of blood. All she could hear was the obnoxious banging of her heart, of the memories when the sniper shredded the heads of the young boys in her platoon, of her boyfriend shrieking himself raw from a detainment of distressed soldiers. Their blood stroked over her calloused palms in a haunting reminder now, as she focused on the delicate snowfall rather than the devastating melody of moans and grunts that wandered her memories.

She gazed tiredly at the billows of smoke contrasting the blue sky above, it being a beautifully tragic horizon to encapture her admiration for a final time. Her aching back was cradled subtly in the matted snow — it adopting a sickly red hue from spilled blood, a fine mixture of her own and other wounded soldiers. Her legs throbbed with oozing burns on skin that had been exposed by shrapnel from the explosion that had forced her down in the middle of a farmer’s field. Her legs were what made her a remarkable runner, her bloodied body holding the strength that had distinguished her from being a mere daisy of a woman. It all had seemed to crumble at Y/N’s fingertips when a German soldier — in a move fueled by his few huffs of life — propelled a mortar in the direction of the small group she was escorting across the field. The bodies of those soldiers now were scattered like ragdolls around her withered body, all their eyes glassily staring at her in their afterlives, as if mocking her apparent invincibility. You’re supposed to be better.

Eugene pardoned her hands when they absentmindedly extended to pluck the haggard box of supplies they scrounged up at the station, “It’s quiet for now, go and rest, Y/N, before ‘ya open up those stitches.” Stitches that had been meticulously sewn through her torn flesh by him at the aid station whilst they gathered themselves outside the church, hunched near a scanty fire in a metal can.

“I’ll make it just fine without ‘ya, chérie. I’m sure Liebgott will be looking for ‘ya,” he stifled whatever opposition was accumulating on her tongue, a swaying mouth indicating that she was prepared to leap to silence his concern, “Consider it an early Christmas present.”

Y/N’s glazed eyes impossibly widened as the remark registered for her spotty hearing, “What day is it?”

“It’s December 21st,” a rage of winter blast tousled his impossibly dark hair whilst he nonchalantly answered, scarred fingers working through a maze in the box of supplies. His eyes of an alike shade scoured the flicks of his curious hands until the crunch of snow and hastening footsteps of departure provoked a glimpse forward, the hunched silhouette of the female soldier vanishing beneath the rolling blanket of cloud.

Her boots were scathed with a veneer of icy powder as she trudged through the latest brushing of snow that evening, each step a prayer for the warmth of home. The home she perceived in the wisps of wheat in the fields that huddled around Camp Toccoa, the sooty forest path they run to Currahee's peak, the sporadic bursts of lavender amongst that wheat, hell, even in some of the starry-eyed privates mucking about the camp. A home where she’d be with her family, hands scrubbed of the grot and blood of innocents, a greeting of ‘happy birthdays’ from relatives. In a distant memory, a brief glitch of reality, she was amidst Southern warmth and beneath the leafy shadow of palm trees with a party buzzing around her. Where everyone didn't have to drive themselves mad for the sake of surviving another miserable day on the European Front.

In another reality, she would be at home celebrating her birthday today.

There was no celebrating in the crisp hell of Bastogne, not when so many would never see another birthday again. It was a gnawing guilt in her core, a fiery frustration that juxtaposed the bitter snow that entombed those young men. Teenagers. No matter how good she was embellished to be, medic and soldier, no matter how good the medicine, no matter the strategy, boys died. Died in flashes of a sniper, an ambush, red. Streaming tears cleansed her red cheeks, a salty release congealing on the collar of her frayed jacket whilst watery eyes scoured the snow. A few meters before her blurry vision was a stark crimson splotch of blood, nature scorning her wilting soul by not concealing its presence with the dusting of snow. A scorn for her inability to save a starry-eyed replacement, Julian. Her nails were undoubtedly trenched with his dried blood as they curled against her palm in a meek fist.

Limp extremities groused and shattered under the pressure of her gear whilst she kneeled in a tremble against a cracked tree trunk. Her back constrained against the ridges with her rifle trembling in bloodied hands, the ghostly bodies of her platoon crumpled in the field around her. Y/N’s ringing ears were plagued by memories of Richard Winters screaming himself raw from the tree line, allowing Joseph Liebgott, her boyfriend, to despise her in that seemingly perpetual moment as he screeched above their superior.

She had already fled Death’s tendrils once that week, she couldn’t forever, and it was daft to recklessly evade him in a war. And, now, Y/N was okay with having the tendrils asphyxiate her properly, taking her away from bloodied fields littered with the bodies of those she couldn’t save. It’s okay. Nevertheless, she wanted to whimper for help, for a damn sign that someone was there for her.

And then Y/N peered up with her lungs clenching in her chest almost immediately; Joe was trudging furiously through the wasteland of snow, the Bay Area hotspur a volcano amidst the frigid earth beneath his feet, his cigarette bouncing anxiously between his chapped lips. It was almost disquieting with her ignorance of the dark crimson sheen over her uniform and exposed skin that would greet him once he made his way before her, how an accompanying sickly penny odor would hold stagnant in his nostrils. It was just always there nowadays. Yet, it was the agitated churning in her chest, her soul, reminding her that there was some humanity enduring in her and that she was still very much whole and alive - that the man before her made her such.

“Happy birthday,” he muttered with heed for the sound discipline presiding over their company, extinguishing his wrinkle of cigarette in the snow despite the warmth it flooded his bitter blood with.

She didn’t utter any extent of a retort, solely beholding his gaze that expressed a continuing conversation of contempt, ire, and adoration — spared for her in that moment and always. He was suppressing the wrath that had, undoubtedly, festered like a raging crimson welt in his conscious whilst she was away at the aid station. Joseph Liebgott was a man fused with an aura that distanced himself from others, decreed his content with a lack of company, and bombarded the empty crevices with a fiery temper. It was a ripple in his demeanor to care, love someone so fondly as he did with her. Her, the brash female paratrooper of Easy Company, the girl who had long since made a name for herself since Toccoa, got detested for her existence on this very planet by Sobel himself. Her, who led Easy Company as their first lieutenant. Her that could silence them herself by merely entering the room, authority a dark shadow eclipsing the light of her essence. Such silence is what implied that she had secured what she wanted — deserved — after enduring the constant lapses of confidence, the derision, the catcalling.

When Joe first realized he was in love with Y/N, she was the one leading Easy Company — and him —up the dizzying steepness of Currahee, she not even being the commanding officer of the men, but domineering more than the ill-nature of Sobel. She was adorned in the same outfit any male soldier would have been, hardly sweating due to years in track and field and cross country back home, her lips curled into the most seraphic smile he had seen. He remembers the way she nudged his shoulder whenever the exhaustion slipped him and his robust facade up, how she’d flick away the cigarette pendant on his lips, rambling on about her fret over breathing issues and other health complications such a leisure could bring.

“Thanks,” she mumbled with a puzzling dip of her brow, a numb mind obscuring any response of depth. Not much else would suffice - not much else made sense.

Glancing up, Y/N could see Joe with horror petrified amidst the dirt on his face, a very foreign guise on his chiseled features; there was so much blood and dirt on her baggy uniform and what skin was exposed, one would assume she was dancing with the devil. Her pale face was blemished with a mix of the dirt that had been flung up by the explosion and blood that belonged to her and those that laid not too far now. Her eyes were just as remarkably expanded as his as they steadied eye contact with one another.

“You’re ass will freeze to the ground if ‘ya don’t get up, doll,” he quipped to shatter the anchor of forebode bobbing in his core, extending a pale hand towards her. Dubiously, Y/N set a bloodied, scraped hand onto the chilled crook of his palm, him plucking her from the disturbed dirt as if she was nothing.

“They’re all dead, Joe,” Y/N breathed out, hands trembling and legs cramping painfully. There was no coaxing herself into composure now as the shock of it all was registering once death wasn’t looming over her to seize her away anymore. She had denied it had happened to her - had happened at all - for days now.

“Nobody could’ve expected that to happen,” Joe reasoned, and winced like he was in anguish yet was swarmed with forced composure at the same time. He cracked a smirk her way, even though she stared at him blankly, so lifelessly, slipping ever so slightly right before him, “I wish I could do more for you, doll. I can’t patch up your wounds and sure as hell can’t give you comfort. Hell, it’s your birthday and you’re all glum. You did everything anyone else would have, ‘ya know.”

A hollow feeling bloomed at the center of her chest; she is a categorical victim of war, constantly drowned in tidal waves of guilt, regret, pain, anger. She did everything she could have.

Y/N absentmindedly tread a few fingers through his messy, disheveled hair, his breathing almost instantaneously steadying with the slight yanks at the tufts of his hair brushing his neck, as her havoced mind eased, “Twenty-three.”

His dark brows solidified into a furrow, shifting down his chin to gaze in inquiry towards her.

“I’m twenty-three today,” she clarified, a crooked smile emerged amidst her pallid features.

Joe chuckled wryly; her eyes may have been horribly bloodshot from burst blood vessels, her lips chapped with blood in the crevices, and her entire uniform resembling the aftermath of an animal mauling, yet she was still there with him, smiling fondly from beneath the layers of destruction. Still beautiful.

"Dance with me," he spurted out, surely without much contemplation, eyes traveling along the lines of her face, the bold and free moon haloing her disheveled hair.

“Joseph Liebgott asking me to dance? You’ve certainly lost your senses now,” Y/N rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Crimson rose to the apple of his cheeks, “Shut up.”

His own exasperation challenged hers, not deliberately, but it was fair competition as it sought to bleed from him through gripes and cusses. He was humiliated enough that the words had dared leave a giddy thought.

Joe glowered teasingly at Y/N, who was a chaotic mess of stifled laughs, the fire and gold in her eyes dripping as her mind wandered away from the woe of the day. The moon’s expanding rays entangled with perfect molds in the curves of her hair, a kink of hair brushing her forehead teasingly. His chiseled jaw lifted with a hubristic yet pleasant smile after a few moments of wading in feigned irritation.

“Well, fuck me, I've managed to shut Joseph Liebgott up!" There emerged a meager pout of a smirk on her mouth, shedding a subtle shadow beneath the pinkish swell of lip. Y/N rolled her eyes when Joe bit his tongue, a playful scoff spurting from her parted lips, similar to a wisp of cigarette smoke, “Fine. I’ll dance with you.”

Her hand was tightly encompassed in his own as he hastily yanked her toward the shadow of a tree, more earnestness than the step before, and she kept good pace with his urgency. The second his foot securely adjusted onto the snow, he was facing her with his eyes sparkling with mischief and an almost melodic laugh cascading from his mouth, setting her heart a flutter. There he was, standing in his familiar army green uniform on a contrasting quartz floor of snow, grinning at her like she was the source of his content and life.

And she couldn’t refuse when his hands drew her head into the crook of his neck, embracing her tight to make her cracks remain together, a sway naturally falling between them. A tentative shiver poured over her spine at the warm breath flittering against her skin, it vanishing just as abruptly as it manifested, and a desire blazing beneath indifference for more — more of the closeness.

“Too bad this is just for tonight,” she cracked one of her smiles, pushing off the warmth of his shoulder.

“Too bad,” he agreed in a mutter, eyes traveling along the lines of her face. He dared to think of a life after this war, where blood and grime wouldn’t be a typical concoction for people to have tarnishing their faces, where the two of them would always be physically clean of any remnant of war. This didn’t just have to be for tonight. “Come home with me to San Francisco, or wherever the fuck ‘ya want to go, I don’t care...give you all the best birthday’s I fucking can-”

Her chapped lips were pressed against his before he could continue his nervous bout of rambles, showing just how hastily she could move and shut him up. She could feel his lips form the bow of smirk, it being a rush in the tenderness of the kiss, his hands toying with the hem of her shirt.

“My oh my, Joseph, you’ve gone soft,” Y/N tsked when their lips temporarily wavered in a few inch distance, “But, I’m in. I’ll go home with you, just as long as a ring is put on my finger eventually.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

[senka-mesecine]

What would happen if reader tried escape from hills!Barnes and she thought she had made it out, unknowing that Barnes had been following her the entire time?

That Dog Don't Hunt.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

----

wonderful gif by @woman-with-no-name

----

Meaning; Hound not taking part in a hunt. Apparently originating from the southern United States, the phrase may refer to a hunting dog that refuses to do its job. Something won't fulfil its intended purpose, or a plan or scheme will fail. 

⚫

You take one final look at the mountainous forest perimeters left behind you and you think to yourself 'Thank god. Never again.'

With every step taken closer to civilization, at least faint, ramshackle signs of it in the form of an occasional roadside diner, an old, semi-defunct gas station, a semi-abandoned lonely trailer park or a neglected settlement partially swallowed up by nature you felt one step away further from Barnes, at least in a subjective sense, some lizard part of your brain convinced against all logic, that by the time you'll make it to the nearest city, perhaps Knoxville, Gatlinburg or even going as far as Nashville, the embrace of all those buildings, the bustle of people, the cars, the shops, the traffic, you would've been safe from him, like someone having gone to a place he couldn't follow, repelled and left outside not unlike a vampire that needed an invitation to come inside from the cold and the wilderness; an invitation you wouldn't extend. According to an old Summer proverb, a dog understood 'Take it', but it didn't understand 'Put it down.' Barnes was much like that in a sense; he refused to comprehend letting anyone or anything go, the concept of break ups practically nonexistent in his vocabulary. A man could be only a couple of things in that regard in his opinion that consisted only of polar extremes; widowed, legally hitched or both dead and neither you or him were any of those three respectively.

That's why you needed to run.

Go as far as your legs would take you.

For the time being, that began and ended with hitchhiking.

But, so long as you were on the move, you had some vestige of consolation.

That so long as you moved, you'd be fine.

It would be fine because it beat him or you being buried rather than parted.

The highway snakes through the Appalachians like a circuit and the man who picked you up from putting up your thumb on the side of the road was a mercifully elderly one; a typical senior, fishing rods, buckets and nets in the back of his truck --- someone back from a pensioner's fishing trip judging by a quick deduction --- living with Robert made you careful by proxy --- all of his vigilance, long silences, instincts for danger and scrutinizing stares rubbing off on you like a second nature. Made you hellbent on details. You came to profile people and sizing them up without even intending to, neatly classifying them inside of your head into distinct categories. Safe and not safe. Friend or foe. Enemy or ally. You'd chuckle bitterly if you could, seated beside the greying man with a cap on his head combined with faded jeans overalls that seemed like they were exposed to too many days in the sun and rubber boots that were very well loved by the looks of them. Nobody was as unsafe as Barnes, so the point was moot in trying to analyze this situation to the extent you were unwittingly doing so. -"Fancy findin' anyone out here all on their lonesome. I thought you was a ghost when I first saw'ya by the interstate."- The grandpa remarks with some humor, not unkindly, curious eyes travelling between you on the passenger seat and the road, his coincidental usage of the word 'lonesome' immediately causing a shiver to run down your spine. -"You out here all by yourself?"- He asks, voice peppered with worry in the most paternal sense possible; sure, you realized you must've seemed demented walking beside the edges of the forest, stopping vehicles whose drivers could just as easily rape you and dump you in the nearest ditch instead of giving you a ride anywhere, but you supposed desperation caused people to do crazy things; you were like a wild animal in that sense. Felt like it too. Caught in a trap and willing to gnaw your foot off to limp free and bleed out somewhere where you could be left alone so long as it meant you'd have a moment of liberty. You give the old man a tentative look. You don't know why you decide against coming up with a creative lie, but the truth slithers forth before you can stop it.

-"I've left my husband. Ran away."-

You admit.

You find the old man's wrinkle framed eyes immediately widening.

Mouth agape.

What were you gonna say where untruths were concerned anyway?

That you were a lost hiker mysteriously separated of all their equipment and their group against all odds and now taking a ride in the opposite direction for no discernable reason? That you've been abducted by aliens and dropped off in the middle of the mountains? That you had a curious case of total amnesia? Honesty. Honesty was the best policy in the long run. People could feel honesty. They could sympathize with it on a primal level the way they never could with blatant, made up bullshit. You focus on the rearview mirror in front of you and the pine air freshener along with a picture of a woman in a plastic pouch hanging off a colored string, dangling as the old Ford moved --- old timer was a family man. Maybe a widower killing time by fishing. You weren't going faster than seventy miles an hour but that was good enough.

-"I haven't got a cent on me and I need to get as least as far as Gatlinburg. Please."-

You explain, not too proud to plead a little, semi expecting the obvious.

That he tell you to alert the police.

If the police headed back up those hills, thing is, they wouldn't be coming back.

-"He a bad man?"-

You're asked, with some semblance of familial worry on the driver's part, wrinkled, pale fingers having a vice grip on the steering wheel. Yeah, Barnes was a bad man. You felt you didn't even need to answer that one; the fisherman could just about read the truth off your heavy silence, no doubt. There were some good people in this world. Good people who'd understand even without you saying a single thing. -"Been puttin' hands on'ya?"- He eggs on and no, no, you mutely shake your head at that one, staring at your own lap. Problem was, Barnes was always ready to put this hands on everyone else. One time at a nearby bar at the foot of the mountain that also doubled as a hunter's lodge on occasion he held a knife to a man's neck just because he decided to vaguely chat you up and then look at you for longer than Bob liked; in the aftermath, the whole place was trashed and Barnes had the poor sob by the collar of the shirt, sobbing on the floor, pissing leaking through his trousers and you never stopped feeling guilty since, the whole situation leaving you with the ingrained fear that one of these days someone would get killed over a mere nicety of yours and that you'd have to live with that notion for the rest of your days. You weren't one of those girls. Who felt thrilled and titillated by the prospect of their man hurting others for them. If anything, once the knot that's been settled in your stomach for months after the incident started unwinding, you unwinded right along with it and hit the road, believing that with you gone, perhaps Barnes's incentive to bring harm would internalize itself too, his jealousy ceasing to have a reason to exist. -"No. It's more complicated than that."- You manage sincerely, trying for vagueness, feeling your own voice weak and faint, watching the road ahead disappear into dusk of the Great Smokies, the forest behind you seeming dark and distant, like a dream you couldn't place, relief washing over you slowly, like a caressing wave, the tension in your shoulders dissolving, so much so you hardly minded your lack of luggage or things, save for the ID and some small cash you could get your hands on tucked into your bra. You hoped Robert would've found the meal you left in the kitchen for him by now as a last farewell.

This was for his own good too, even if he didn't know it yet.

---

You had a total of twelve dollars to your name.

Now twenty, with the addition of what you were given.

The last money an old man's kindness could give you before he drove away.

Pushed it into the palm of your hand before you could protest, not that you could find it in you to, alone at night in Gatlinburg with just enough for one night at a room on a basic motel. You didn't get far, but it was still far enough. Better than nothing; the comfort almost instant --- the twinkling lights, the pedestrians and the honking of the moving vehicles like a bubble of humanity far away from the fray -"A room for one, please?"- You manage, out of breath at the counter of the first motel you spotted straight off the parking lot; whichever seemed on the cheaper side, aptly called The Roadside. Truth of the matter was, you were no soldier and you were no Barnes. You tended to get tired. Tended to need your rest like any person. You slide the money across the counter with all the hope in the world. The woman with the sharply penciled on eyebrows and the beehive eyes you speculatively. -"We've only doubles."- She retorts, seemingly bored, like she's spent the better part of her shift explaining this very same bit of information to dozens of people before you. Funny how that worked; if Barnes was here with you now, you'd get a room booked. Fact that he wasn't only complicated everything. The minute you detached yourself from him it's like the whole world conspired to keep you at bay and make things difficult for you. -"Can you please find something? Please? I really need this."- You halfway whimper, met with nothing but the cold scrutiny of the counter attendant; a radio playing behind her on a shelf. Sonny and Cher's I Got You, Babe. How ironic considering she didn't in fact, have you. Or your back. Then again, she was only doing her job. -"No singles."- She insists. Man, you really needed to get off the streets and under a roof somewhere. You still weren't out of danger. There wasn't a single information's board displayed anywhere detailing the prices and by the general look of the woman's disposition, you concluded she didn't want to book you on the basis she must've concluded you were a vagrant. You were, in a sense. -"What if I came back later? Would there be free spaces then, do you think?"- You try for pleasantries and she shrugs her shoulders as you grabbed your money from the counter. The nametag pinned to her dress revealing the name to be Debra. Jesus, Debra, help a person out. -"Yeah, maybe in an hour or two or ---"- She cordially blows you off and your legs are on the move. Yeah, you couldn't afford to waste time in a place called The Roadside; if anything, Barnes would look some place just like this first. In any case, you tried. Nobody could say you didn't try. -"Okay, thanks! Thanks a lot!"-

You respond, breathless, rushing out the door before Debra could even retort.

Not swift enough to where you could be suspicious.

But, still fast enough as not to waste time and lollygag, as Barnes would put it.

C'mon, now, Gatlinburg had to have someone to bunk for the night.

Somewhere beneath the bracket of twenty bucks.

Leaving you just enough change to eat literally anything.

Catch a bus or a train afterwards; in any direction but back from whence you came.

The crowded streets are dark, splattered with the light of the orange electrical poles melting into the moist pavement and the footsteps of people huddled around corner stores, the odd bar, drugstore, motor lodge, family diner packed with patrons --- you welcomed the crowd, feeling you could get lost in it. Out in nature there was only ever you and Barnes. Hiding being an impossible task. Always in his crosshairs. Like the prey of a hunter who knew his trade all too well. Even now, you could feel his phantom gaze on you, occasionally throwing careful glances behind you as you walked, checking if he was behind you, undoubtedly seeming unhinged or slightly unstable to whatever outside might've been looking in. A crazy woman rushing down the street, eyes darting around, looking for any place that had a plaque that said rooms on display, bypassing a motel decked out in Confederate memorabilia called The Rebel Corner. Nope. No way in hell. You couldn't do that one. It felt too prophetic; you could almost imagine him finding you there of all places and being so infinitely smug about it you would never live it down, hating yourself for being a choosy beggar like this as you sped up your pace, hope being alive and well once you stumble upon a small establishment, tucked in between two unassuming buildings, a blinking neon sign displaying the Dogwood Motel; working hours from 0-24h. Fair enough. Seemed both seedy enough and yet open and touristy enough to prevent it from being unsafe --- the garish yellow gingham wallpaper of the lobby hitting you like a sobering slap across the face. Yeah. You could stay here. Something about it seemed aggressively cheerful and friendly, right alongside the man attending the counter in a matching yellow wool turtleneck, a well manicured mustache and bushy sideburns. His trousers and the belt buckle it was fastened with tall on his waistline, shirt tucked in around it. You either spent too long in the woods or the world has gone more strangely surreal when you weren't looking. -"Good evening. Are there any vacancies?"- Feeling like an overly eager puppy, you practically prop yourself up your toes asking the question. -"Sure. There's an empty one on the third floor. Let me write'ya up."- He drawls, all fidgety and fingers, looking through his books, something regretful about his gaunt expression; he looked like an infinitely skinnier version of Burt Reynolds from Smokey and the Bandit, minus the hat, of course. -"Problem, though. The particular room has no windows, bit of an architectural fluke, so ---"- He starts and you instantly perk up, like a meerkat.

No windows!?

No place someone could crawl in? Break in!? Ambush you? Watch you!?

-"I'll take it!"-

You interject before the poor man could even finish your sentence.

Heart thumping fast in your chest.

He gives you an almost pitiable, concerned look, like he couldn't believe he actually successfully booked that one to someone.

You, for one, couldn't be happier. Oh, god bless the Dogwood Motel.

You borderline started fantasizing about something straight out of a movie scene; you mysteriously sliding the man a controversially large sum of money to hide the fact anyone by the surname of Barnes was staying here in the off chance anyone inquired, the fantasy remaining nothing but a fantasy. You barely had for food. You were nonetheless momentarily overtaken by the drug called hope, filling you with newfound euphoria.

-"That comes with a discount then. Five bucks a night. ID, please?"-

He explains, vehemently scratching the side of his face.

You slide him the plastic bit of identification of along with the cash for the evening.

Nearly bouncing up and down on your heel anticipating the key he gives you.

It's neon yellow, matching the rest of the interior decoration.

-"Alright, Mrs. Barnes. Room 307. Enjoy your stay."-

All pleasantries aside once he took one look at your ID, and the fact that being called Mrs. Barnes had the hairs standing up on the back of your neck, you don't remember when was the last time you grabbed something so fast in your life, squeezing the key and it's chain in the palm of your hand like someone would steal it from you, practically making a b-line for the nearby staircase, sauntering in wide steps up the third floor until you could practically feel your chest could explode with the pressure, sweat pooling your forehead; when you reach the room intended to be yours, pushing the key into it's allotted keyhole, you're entirely out of breath, huddling into the entirely womb-like, dark room with fingers searching hastily for the light switch and flicking it on to produce a dim, orange light stemming from the overhead chandelier, revealing a bed covered with rust colored Ogee patterned bedsheets and very loud, basketweave brown wallpapers lining the walls, enough to induce some measure of claustrophobia in just about anyone, semi expecting this to be an ambush for Bob to be waiting for you in some corner, deciding to jump out of the bathroom while your back is turned. The air is somewhat stale; the inability to air out and ventilate properly clearly taking its toll overtime. No matter. You wouldn't stay here forever. This was good. This was only temporary and meant to be a cheap shelter to help you recover from the ordeal it took you to get here in the first place. Next stop would be Knoxville via Pigeon Forge and Sevierville and from there, hopefully Nashville and the first plane out of the country, although how you'd get the money for the ticket eluded you. You'd think about that, you figured, when the time comes, in stride, deciding to focus more on moving than the future details. You turn the second interior room lock of your front door and you collapse on the squeaky, colorful bed that smelled like lavender detergent and accumulated dust, partially fearing that the moment you close your eyes, he'll be there, collecting you in his arms like a vice grip, meaty, thick, calloused fingers coiling around your neck.

You dreamlessly sleep without even removing your clothes like a train's just hit you.

'Works on paper', you remember him musing before you heavy eyelids flutter shut.

'You runnin' away. But that dog don't hunt.'

He'd gloat, warning.

Promising.

---

He was a man of immense self control.

So, when he decided to hurt someone, it was never an accident or a mere slip up.

It was a cold, deliberate, well-measured choice.

That's why you couldn't justify him. Robert E. Lee Barnes always knew precisely what he was doing; never his temperament winning out of him or something clouding his judgement, making him behave irrationally. His cruelty was finely oiled and tuned, almost like clockwork, with the punctuality of a Swiss watch; he's been threading the certain route of killing for you and because of you before and you knew it was for you and because of you in equal measure because he told you so. Quietly lorded it over you like a trophy. Held your chin over it, both literally and figuratively, making you witness it. Was only a matter of time, you knew, before he does it again and you'd wake up to something harrowing, like someone's skull on the mantlepiece serving as a reminder and a decoration, him leaning his whole arm over it while he smugly smoked after lunch with his legs up on a stool. You couldn't live like that. That was madness. Worse yet, it was purposefully evil. You loved him and you were assured he loved you too, in some sick, obsessive, dark, rotten, Barnes-ian way of his, but in equal measure getting away from him was the only sane choice that existed on God's green Earth, every other leading further back off the precipice of calculated, machine-like insanity that would sooner eat you alive than let you off the hook.

You ponder the whole idea out on a supply run, crack of dawn.

While the city still more or less slept.

First in line at the grocery counter, first to get out, first to be off the street, needing to start vacating the rented one-night room and return your key by nine in the morning, buying a reusable cheap rucksack, pastries in brown paper bags, some bottled water, more so for the bottle you can fill later rather than the actual fluid inside; another lesson you learned from Robert directly --- sometimes the canteen itself was more valuable than what was inside, because a canteen was always valuable all on its own --- figured there was something bittersweet there. Using the skills he pass on to you to escape him. Bypassing a Smoky Sky Lift billboard, you think about the prospect of catching a train out of here, hopefully the first one, refusing to stall or procrastinate; maybe hit the next town over. Get a job. Any job so long as it was honest and legal. Lay low for a while. Accumulate more money. Move on. Keep moving. Always moving. Disappear in some town, some city, maybe even some other State somewhere. Divorce wasn't what you were after. Just separation. Bringing Barnes to a divorce court feeling inherently absurdist. You could vividly imagine him being served the papers by whatever poor, long suffering postman would be forced to climb up the hill where your and his house stood and Barnes silently showing up to the court date with a sowed off shotgun.

You shiver at the thought.

What if he just got bored, you think in stride, looking both ways crossing the street?

What if his pride got so irrevocably injured by this, he wouldn't follow?

Was that possible?

Would he be capable accepting loss? Losing?

Would he retaliate for retaliation's sake? Would you ever be able to rest easy?

Set down your head on some pillow, god knows how far from here, and be assured that he wouldn't be looming at your front door one night? Would he ever throw in the towel and say, shit, I give up?

No.

Not Robert.

You knew him.

He'd follow you to the ends of the earth.

He never gives up, even at the cost of his own life, it simply wasn't in his nature, you solemnly conclude, settling back into the hallowed safety of your windowless room, plastic grocery bags in tow, re-packed into your backpack in the off chance you needed to get a move on quickly with no time to waste, taking a moment to look at a photo of him you brought with you as a keepsake; a rare sentimentality for sentimentality's sake, a reminder to yourself you could still care for someone, carry them with you and want to get away, locking the door behind you, using the leftover hour or two you had left in here to take a warm shower and wash the stink and sweat off of you.

God only knew when would be the next time you'd have the opportunity.

---

You board the ten thirty train northwest, heading towards Nashville.

With a transfer and a quick stop in Knoxville.

Funny. Part of you expected him to have caught you by now. Expect him to catch you day one, while you were still hitchhiking along the ADHS. The fact you were still out here and free to move about as you pleased, well, filled you with some semblance of unspoken terror and unease, like a calm before the storm or the deep breath taken before a dive. Where was he? Was it oxymoronic to ask that of yourself? This wasn't like him. Wasn't like Barnes to be seen when he hunts either, your subconsciousness tells you. The point you couldn't observe him tracking you was the whole point. A trick, to think you've gotten away. Outsmarted him. Ensure you let you guard down and then when you felt most assured in your safety he ---

The train tracks disappear beneath the rushing train in a blur.

You spent the last of your money on a one-way ticket, with literally fifty cents leftover, sharing a coupe with a mother, her newborn and two men; who they were to each other hard to asses but you welcomed the crowd. You were safer in a crowd. You might just slip away if you continuously surrounded yourself with people even if your situation started resembling a comedy sketch; you were travelling with a group off to protest the unveiling of a Civil War canon or other up in Nashville and judging by their colorful attire, lack of discernable luggage and the long hair, you could only assume they were drop-outs, beatniks and possibly homeless, like yourself. Degenerate scum, as Barnes would call them. You sigh sadly at the moniker. One irony compounds another. He would blow a fuse if he knew who you were bunking with. That or you were focusing way too much on the thoughts and the possible margins of approval to disapproval of a man you were hellbent leaving behind.

He was still your husband, not just some random man, you remind yourself.

He was a killer, another voice reminds icily.

But then again, you always knew that. He never hid it from you.

You knew that about him before you even married.

-"It's a history of oppression, of bloodshed, of violence, and they unveilin' that shit for the whole world to see!"- One of your fellow coupe passengers rants to the other while you gave yourself the brief leeway of closing your eyes, hugging your rucksack around your body, leaning the side of your head against the vibrating glass of the train window, the thinning forest bypassing the cornered edges of your eyesight in a blur. In everything went well, you'd be in Nashville in some three hours give or take. You internally curse yourself for not having a wristwatch on you --- then again, how could you, when he kept everything under lock and key? When he was always watching, like a hawk? You flutter your eyes open briefly, catching sight of the man's faded, ripped jeans vest riddled with badges and pins, turning your head away once you spot one saying Ban the Bomb and another that said Give Piece a Chance. Why did you feel haunted? By everything? -"Now, tell me how we can move on as a society with crap like that goin' on in our own backyard, man!"- The other one, with a long ponytail retorts, impassioned and you feel the sweat pool along the surface of your scalp, anxiety bubbling up in your gut once the baby in the woman's arms seated next to the pair hiccups itself awake, no doubt alerted by all the noise, whimpering in its swaddling cloth; its mother immediately grabbing the hem of her long, flowing blouse embroidered with the odd floral pattern peppered with tassels and frills, giving the child the nipple to suckle on. -"You'll wake the baby, asshole."- She whispers, slapping one of the men across the shoulder in a manner that could be considered playful, softly but with enough force to be considered a reprimand, cooing her crying kid. Her head leaning down in consolation, smooth, long hair falling around her face like a curtain; it must've been below her back, spilling all around her train seat like a veil. -"Shh, shh, Robbie, it's alright."- She mutters and it's like every instinct in your body fires and flares up, on alert. Robbie? As in Robert? Her baby was named Robert? Why wouldn't he be? It was a common name. You don't even remember when you excuse yourself, hastily exiting the coupe to get as much fresh air in the hallway, leaning against the nearest cabin wall to calm yourself down, feeling your own chest heave with tension. Would life always be like this, you wonder, hyperventilating, using your backpack as a comfort, embracing it like a shield around your body, protecting what exceedingly few belongings in the world you had left --- you running away and Robert always chasing you and catching up with you, in some shape, way or form, even if through reminders if nothing else?

The train screeches and you conclude you had to have been paranoid.

These were growing pains, nothing else; you anticipated this when you ran.

There was nothing more natural than being afraid when you were out surviving.

The whole hallway trashes and you feel every movement in your bones.

Causing you to hug your bag even tighter, like a life raft.

The baby's crying intensifies.

A pair of people smoking in the corridor stumble, one nearly falling over.

What the ---

A moment of silence later, the train sluggishly jumps, only to slow down.

Coming a complete halt.

You stop breathing, tears goddamn nearly welling in your eyes once the uniformed, heavy set, red faced Conductor slams the corridor door open, sauntering inside, pushing past the bewildered smoking couple sporting a matching pair of tan sunglasses. -"Get out of the hallway! Out of the hallway! Evacuate the train!"- He orders, pointing outside and you mutely shake your head once he spots you standing alone, grazing you with his finger from afar to signify that included you too, the threesome and their newborn peeking their heads out of the coupe through the sliding door, alerted by the commotion, looking at each other in confusion and then at you; the collective so distraught you figured nobody even noticed your cheeks were wet by now. The wispy, long-haired mousey woman with the baby looks at you square on, appearing like the spitting image of Olivia Hussey under this light; just as wide eyed, fae-like and lost. -"What's goin' on?"- She asks you and then repeats the same question to nobody in particular, staring down her two companions who seemed equally perplexed. -"What's happenin'?"- One of them echoes the inquiry and you stopped. Everything stop. You weren't moving anymore and that was the worst thing that could happen right about now. You needed to keep going. If you started running into obstacles now, all of this would've turned out to be in vein. You're practically soundlessly crying by the time the Conductor arrives to wrangle the four of you forward. You feel yourself grabbed by the elbow and pushed to move; unwillingly, you do. Like someone sleepwalking and having no control over it. No, no, no. This was a temporary setback, is all. Temporary setback. Temporary setback. -"The tracks have been de-railed. We can't get a move on 'till it's fixed."- You hear the Conductor shout and if there was a way for fear to feel painful inside of a human body, it does with you there and then; you sense the dread shooting through you like an electrical current. The forests around the train thick and deep; like someone who moved in a circle you were right where you started. And he could be out there. Waiting. -"Hey, what about a refund for our tickets, man! Shit! We paid our way fair'n'square! Ain' right, man!"- You hear the beatnik argue his case and whatever the surly Conductor responds back fades into background noise, some deeper instinct inside of you rendering you blind and deaf as you walked with the certain knowledge that he did this.

He singlehandedly sabotaged the fucking train.

-"No, we can't go outside."-

You whimper, aggrieved once you feel the Conductor's heavy hand on your back.

Ushering you down the steps in your unwillingness to get out, holding up the line behind you, like an animal led to the slaughter. You weren't being deliberately difficult; you were just...so scared. So scared.

-"Ma'am."-

Are the last words you're cordially give once you're practically shoved down the metal train steps, landing on the grass on your own two feet, right beside the train tracks that stood askew, the footboard, wheel and breaks stuck between what seemed like several planks dislodged from their place on first amateur glance; was honestly a shock the impact of the crash wasn't more severe. That it didn't send you and everyone thumbling headfirst down the floor. You look around, finding the scattered passengers confused, your companions from the coupe already walking down the train tracks on foot, the two men in cowboy boots and flaring bell bottoms still arguing among themselves, no doubt on the subject of the injustices of the railway system this time around, the woman and the baby between them, her long skirt fluttering after her in the breeze. Was nice, some yearning voice inside of you whispers, reproaching. To have a family. You had one too. Until you left it. No. That was just your intrusive irrationality throwing a wedge into your plans --- you could still make it, even though you cursed the fact that the nearest highway had the closest shortcut led through the surrounding woods, but then again, for all of Robert's faults, he was only human too and this fear; it was only skin deep. You'd make it to the road and simply hitchhike, the way you did before. If you could do it once, you could do it twice. This was only over if you believed it to be. Now wasn't the time for despair. Now was the time for action. You turn on your heel, seeing the Interstate from here, through the tree line of pines, making a dash for it, leaving the collective of befuddled, aggrieved passengers behind, practically running, the trees rushing past you in a haze leading you down a steep slope, accelerating your movements, nearly causing you to stumble forward, branches getting caught into your clothes, your hair, scratching against the skin, leaving you under the impression the painful, sudden impact drew blood and you were certain by the time you sprinted out of here you'd look like someone who's just taken a beating. Nobody was chasing you, you think feverishly, gripping your backpacking, you were just spazzing out all on your own. How ridiculous you must've looked. The pines close in around you and you falter, catching your balance of your footing at the last moment, the blur of adrenaline taking over and you barely spotting the untouched campsite in the forest clearing in front of you.

An extended hand holding a match to a piled on stack of woods.

Holding the flame there until the planks lit up under a pillar of thin smoke.

You...no.

It was him.

Crouching on the ground, lighting disemboweled bits of the train tracks on fire.

A metal crowbar, a hammer and a shovel leaned on a nearby tree.

You recognize him by the bush of curly hair.

Robert lifts his head up slowly, blue eyes calm, meeting yours.

Something about his voice infinitely pleased, humming in contentment.

You stand paralyzed, feeling the blood rush into your brain.

-"Mhmm-hmm! You ever get to Nashville?"-

Laced with soft spoken sarcasm, he tilts his head to the side, taking the half smoked cigarette out of his mouth, balancing it between his index finger and thumb, right before chucking it into the newly formed, fledgling campfire, letting it crackle; you take a step back instinctively once he slowly stands up, dusting his knees off with all the casualness in the world while you were here, with your eyesight dotted back in distress, causing you to feel faint and lightheaded. Shortness of breath overtaking all survival instinct as the distant sounds of slamming, shouting and clanking echoed from further back up the hill; repairs on the train no doubt already commencing. You weren't ambushed. You practically ran into a trap. -"Bob, I ---"- You try, desperately glancing between the point of where you came and where you winded up, wondering if you should try your luck and run back or not, finding your own words cracking midway through your pathetic attempt at a sentence. The train tracks were burning and he stood in front of you, rifle slung over one shoulder, fingers gripping the leather belt strap. His words come into mind; That dog don't hunt. And it was just as he said; it didn't. If this ever winded up in the newspapers, which you knew it never would, it would be one of those things where truth was stranger than fiction --- you could already see the article title; Vietnam Veteran involved in brigandry, deliberately causing an accident and highway sabotage to circumvent his wife from dumping him. More on page six! In a second of inappropriate self-indulgence you envision the hippies headed for Nashville getting their hands on a periodical and recognizing you on the front page. The gulp in your throat is heavy, glutaral. You were so embarrassed you could die. You open your mouth to say something to him, perhaps something meaningful, groundbreaking, witty, something of a verbal checkmate, but before you can, you feel yourself grow limp, nostrils filled with the pungent stench of vapor and smoke, all endurance fading once he's entirely too close for comfort, causing you to go collapsing into the familiar prison of his arms where you've been countless times before, the forest closing in around you, like the jaw of a flesh eating plant around an insect.

The campfire crackles on, swallowing the wood, leaving no traces behind.

The whole world goes thumbling on its head and everything goes black.

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Chp.4 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 3. Chapter 5.

Injured

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, Reader gets shot, POV of getting seriously hurt, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI, even if theres no smut

You hated that you were right.

It was a total of 15 hours of marching before the battalion was commanded to stop. A quick survey of your surroundings told you that the platoons had made it to a main road. 

Ah yes, Anakin’s plan. Follow the road after probing the city's defenses. The scouts ahead would tell the rest of the 501st what to expect. From there, Rex and Krell would be able to plan ahead. Knowing what to expect would keep casualties to a minimum. 

“Are you questioning my order!?” 

Nevermind…

You sighed, looking up from where you tended to Jock’s broken leg. You were close enough to listen to Pong Krell tear into poor Rex again. He had a holo up, showing a map of the area, and the proposed plan, “this Battalion will take the main road straight to the capital. you will not stop and you will not turn back regardless of the resistance you meet,” He threw his hands up, shutting down the map, “we will attack them with all our troops. Not some sneak attack with a few men! That is my order and you will follow it explicitly. Do I make myself clear, CT-7567?”

You could tell from Rex’s stance that he wasn’t confident in the new General’s plan, in fact, you could tell he flat out hated it, “Yes, General.” but, Rex was a captain, and Krell a general.

“Now engage!” The Jedi commanded, earning a stiff salute from the captain.

You stood, after treating the ARF trooper’s leg. It was a tad more complicated treatment, as you needed to perform a surgery to put the bone back in place. However, after using about a liter of bacta, and some well placed sutures, Jock’s leg should heal fine after some rest. To be safe, you kept him in a medicine induced sleep for the next few hours. 

Kix dealt with Oz easily. The medic expertly put the kneecap back into place. The soldier gave an experimental kick and stood, “Good as new, Kix. Thank you.” Oz nodded, sounding rather happy to be back to walking. Or it was the painkillers. You watched him drape an arm around Ringo.

Definitely the painkillers.

You cast a glance over to your lover. His helmet was on and he was already informing the men. Even from where you were, you could see Fives and Jesse ready to argue. It was a stupid plan, and they all knew it. 

With a sigh, you got back on the speeder. Since Krell wasn’t going to march at the front, you’d need to stay near him. From what you’ve seen, he’ll probably be at a vantage point overlooking the road. If things went south, which they most likely would with such a careless plan, you’d be a safe distance away to tend to the seriously wounded away from the battlefield.

“Doctor.” The Jedi approached, almost as if your thoughts summoned him. His hands were behind his back, “You will be with the men on the main road.”

You furrowed your brow, “General, my training and rank dictate I always remain behind cover. Usually away from any battle if I can help it. I’m not supposed to be on the front lines.” 

Marching with the men was one thing. Marching with the men directly to a battle was another. Plus, you were supposed to maintain the medical supplies and keep an eye on Jock.

“Plans change, as a soldier you need to be prepared to adapt to the situation.” He shot back, tone indicating that he wasn’t going to argue.

“Sir, Jock and the medical supplies-.”

“Will remain with me. Such supplies are too important to be guarded by anyone but me.” Krell stated coldly. You were getting on his nerves and he wasn’t going to budge.

You looked dumbfounded, but saluted, “Yes, General.” Your words were defeated. Still, you had to suck it up and your steps lead you away to where Fives was seething alongside Jesse and Kix.

Rex wasn’t going to like this. You knew he took comfort in your position away from the front lines. Of course, he trusted you could handle yourself but you were a doctor first before a warrior.

“So…I’m marching with you.” You informed them as you all began to walk to the main road.

The ARC trooper practically exploded, “What!?”

“What about the supplies?” Kix sounded downright stressed. He looked back at Krell, who had gotten Appo to drive the speeder. This General wasn’t doing anything to help his nerves. Good men would die if anything happened to that vehicle and everything on it. 

“Fuck the supplies, what about you? You're our doctor. Kix won’t be able to handle all of us on his own.” Jesse chimed, “especially if this goes as badly as I think it will.”

You rubbed your temple, “Krell thought it better the supplies would be near him. Keep them off the front lines. I am to remain with the battalion.” Your foot met the flat, glasslike road. If it wasn’t so fucking dark on this planet, you assumed it would look pretty, “I’m pretty sure this is him punishing me for earlier.”

“What?” Your lover had overheard and approached, steps hurried to your side, “Why?”

“Enough, what's done is done.” You sighed, crossing your arms, “If things get bad I’ll do my best to slip away and get to safety.”

“Mesh’la, let me talk to him-.” Rex’s emotions got the better of him and he slipped out a term of endearment. He didn’t want to wait, turning to find the General again. You grabbed his arm, halting him. 

“So he can yell at you again?” Your voice was steady, “No, it’ll only piss him off. Besides, I’d risk getting shot if it means spending time away from him.”

Fives snickered, but Rex didn’t seem amused, “I don’t want you getting hurt.” He admitted quietly, “It’s dangerous.”

To be honest, you were nervous. Yes, you’ve seen combat. Yes, you could defend yourself. But you weren't trained for front line combat. You were trained for medical care, potentially even surgery, on the field. You were afraid of becoming a liability. Something for the others to worry about. 

And Rex…clearly feared you getting hurt or killed. 

You looked around before brushing your hand against his. In response, he grabbed it and squeezed before letting go. 

Fives, the ever great friend, stood behind you both, blocking anyone's view of your brief moment of affection.

“Kids, behave.” Kix joked, earning a small laugh from you.

“Oh I absolutely knew something was going on with the both of you,” Jesse snickered.

The clone captain cleared his throat, “I don’t know what you're talking about.” 

“Sure, sure.” Fives joined in on the teasing, “No sleepovers between you two. And if you go out, be home before curfew.”

Oh, his brothers did love to tease. 

Rex let out a deep sigh and shook his head. You knew under that helmet he was blushing. He was most likely flustered, so you did him the favor of shushing your friends, “That's enough you three.”

The slight jovial mood was ended quickly by another voice, “Sir,” Looking back you recognized Tup walking up  next to Hardcase. Hopefully, he hadn’t seen or heard anything between you and the captain. Though, judging by his next question, he most likely didn’t, “why aren't we sticking to the original plan, and probing the city defenses first?”

“We can do this. Let's take them.” The hyperactive trooper raised his weapon slightly. 

Jesse scoffed, “Yeah, leave it to Hardcase to dive in head first.”

Fives let his thoughts be known by speaking up again, “The General's new plan is reckless.”

“I agree.” you nodded, “It seems like he doesn’t care about strategy. Or the lives it’ll cost.”

Another trooper interrupted you all, “You ever think that maybe the General knows what he is doing?” Dogma snapped. 

“Watch the tone.” Kix retorted, silencing the rather obedient soldier. 

“Enough.” Rex stamped out the small quarrel.

Fives turned to him, completely ignoring Dogma’s words, “I know you think this is a bad idea.”

“I raised my objection to General Krell's plan, but he didn't agree.” There was a sigh in the captain's voice, “So, this is it.”

You wanted to hold your lover's hand again. Comfort him. Tell him he was doing as good a job as anyone in this situation. He sounded so…tired. More so than previous battles and planets.

Krell was getting to him.

The ARC trooper argued, “What if he's wrong? Then what?”

You were about to silence him, but Rex spoke again, “This isn't the time for a debate. Right now, we have to stay alert.” He shut down any future objections. 

It worked for a time. The men remained silent, paying close attention to their surroundings. It was only broken by Tup muttering, “Eh, it's too quiet out there.”

He was right. After everything you’ve seen on Umbara so far, you should have been ambushed by now. Your hand drifted to your pistol and you pulled it from your holster. 

You had the worst feeling.

It didn’t go away, so you kept your head down. Your eyes had adjusted to the low light of Umbara, and now you were able to make out certain details of the road. The tiles were hexagonal, and looked glass-like. You guessed the material was this planet's version of marble. Every step you took was slow and deliberate, however, you stopped. 

One of the tiles ahead of you had a very, very minor glow. It was easy to miss if you weren’t looking down. 

“Doc?” Fives stopped next to you, keeping a grip on his rifle.

A cold feeling washed through your blood. The quiet made sense. The fact that you hadn’t been attacked yet made sense, “I think-” your warning was cut off.

The ground shook as two explosions went off behind you. The sky was temporarily lit up by the green fires of the traps that were set off. Two troopers cried out, getting sent flying before hitting the ground. 

“Mines! Nobody move!” As if on cue, everyone hit the ground, keeping low. Rex had his hand on your back as everyone waited for something else to happen. 

Your captain got on one knee beside you and pointed behind him. You stared ahead and listened as two troopers checked on their downed fellows. 

“Oz is down.”

“So’s Ringo.”

“Damnit.” you hissed, looking back. Even from where you were you could tell they had died in pieces. Even if they survived, they wouldn’t have lasted long based on where half of Oz’s body lay and both of Ringo’s legs landed, “Didn’t even get a chance.” 

Such gruesome, violent sights didn’t cause nightmares anymore. Instead, they only fueled your anger at this war. And right now, you were enraged by this careless plan Krell had thrown at the battalion.

“Can you sweep ‘em?” Rex helped you up as he spoke to Fives.

The ARC trooper scanned the road carefully. Within the rays of the scanner, several of the hexagonal tiles reflected the light, “There are more over here,” He informed the soldiers, “Looks like the whole road’s been boobytrapped. Watch your step.”

The march would have continued, but it felt like four steps later when another explosion went off. The ground shook violently and Umbarans burst from the thick, dark foliage. It seemed like they just teleported around you, immediately shooting. Blaster shots came from all sides.

You dove, getting behind Rex. Your back was to his, and your pistol was in your hands. You matched his steps and he matched yours with skill. If he stepped back, you stepped forward. If you turned he turned. It was a small dance the two of you entered, watching each other's blindspots, and shooting any approaching adversaries. 

Above the chaos, you heard Tup cry out, “We’re completely exposed!”

“Hold your ground!” the clone captain ordered the men. He focused, shots firing rapidly all around him.

An explosive shot from one of their cannons landed too close. The shockwave knocked you down, landing next to Hardcase, who was surprisingly upbeat, “You want a piece of this!?” He called out, laughing.

You were too focused on not dying to join in on his chipper attitude. Using the trooper as cover, you managed to get up on your knees and continue shooting.

Another shot rang out, the cannon bolt hitting North directly off his AT-RT. The transport collapsed into pieces, and the ARF trooper remained still on the ground. 

Using the smoldering metal vehicle as cover, you rushed to his side. It didn’t really occur to you that his head was 3 meters away until you knelt by his body, staining the lightweight plastoid armor on your legs with his blood. 

North. Dead.

You mentally checked him off, needing to shut down and work. Someone screamed in agony behind you, so you hurried to them. A shiny was down, gripping his burning side. 

“Come with me.” you grabbed his shoulders and rushed back to the downed AT-RT. The hunk of metal and wires was your only cover in the middle of an ambush. Your training took over, blocking out all the noise and chaos. So you worked. 

Third degree burn. Bacta can fix it. Cover in bandages, but not too tight. It was a quick treatment, less than 2 minutes you had the shiny back up and fighting. 

Another cannon blast, “We’re blown!” someone cried through the loud bang. The ground shook when another boom followed. 

“The Umbarans are advancing!” 

“Make them eat heat!” 

You had to get away. Lay low until the fighting stopped. Maybe Krell would let you get back to the medical speeder…

Looking around quickly, it was clear that wasn’t an option. The Umbarans were closing in, completely surrounding the soldiers. It seemed as though for every enemy that was shot down, two more would take their place.

Dogma skidded down next to you, “They’re coming from all directions!” He shouted, wordlessly giving you his burnt wrist. 

Rude, but OK. This wasn’t the time to correct the soldier on his manners, so silently you treated his wound. Once you were done, he got up again and continued to shoot. You were going to follow him, but the force of a nearby cannon shot knocked you into the downed AT-RT, hitting the air out of your lungs. The hit was hard enough to disorient you for a second. 

However, you got your bearings quickly and spotted an Umbara advancing on your position. 

You attempted to raise your arm, but failed. Your hand wasn’t cooperating, you couldn’t shoot. A different soldier shot the Umbaran down, saving you. Looking down, you noticed blood. Dogma’s most likely, or North’s, but why would their blood stop your arm from working?

Come on, work! You tried aiming your pistol only to drop it. Your hand wasn’t closing properly. You were shaking. 

Why…?

Your brain finally comprehended what happened. The blood was yours. Your arm had been hit. A blaster bolt had knocked you into the AT-RT, not cannon fire. 

Calm down. Breath. Assess later. You were conscious. You were breathing. The shot to your upper arm most likely wasn’t that bad. You quickly wrapped the wound in a bandage, deciding to deal with it later. Or shock prevented you from thinking clearly.

“We don’t have any cover!” Fives cried out, throwing an Umbaran down and slamming his fist through their glass helmet.

Rex, thankfully, was still alive. His aim was impeccable despite the stress. Everywhere he looked, he shot and everywhere he shot, he hit the target. His tone was stressed but steady as he spoke, “We need to pull back! Get them to follow us. If we draw them out, we can see them!” 

“If we can see them, we can hit ‘em!” Jesse stepped backwards, continuously firing at the enemies. He paused to look down at where you were kneeling. He went noticeably rigid, “Doc-!”

“All squads, pull back now!” The captain’s command cut off the trooper. 

Without much thought, you grabbed your gun with your functioning hand and ran. You followed Jesse, as he was the closest to you. Your pace matched his as everyone retreated, following the main road back out of the forest where you entered.

A cannon rang out, hitting one of the trees beside you and Jesse. The glowing plant crackled and fell, slamming to  the ground with a boom. The smoking trunk offered some much needed cover. Fives leapt over it, turning and landing on his feet to continue to shoot, “Get ready, here they come!” 

A soldier close to you, running with the men, was launched back. He cried out in pain, hand going to his neck as he hit the ground.

Neck shot. Graze most likely. Your training kicked in again. You were a doctor. You had a job to do.

You pushed yourself out of the cover and dove to the injured trooper's side. Above you another ARF trooper was firing from his transport, keeping Umbaran blaster shots away from you as you dragged the poor man behind a collapsed AT-RT. 

“I-it’s nothin’ doc,” The trooper kept his hand on the side of his smoldering neck. 

“That's for me to decide.” you responded, carefully taking off his helmet,“What's your name, soldier?” He had a scar over his lip, and a blue left eye. A blaster shot nicked the metal cover and the both of you flinched down.

“Noct.” He responded, moving his head slightly to give you easier access to the wound. 

“I got you Noct.” Your words were calm and collected despite the raging battle around you. Your one hand worked as quickly as you could, getting bacta and bandages on the trooper. A cannon shot again, shaking the ground, but you adapted, being as precise and careful as possible. 

It was hard, since your arm still wasn't listening to you, but you got the job done, earning a “Thank you, doc!” from him.

Once Noct had returned to fighting, you took the chance to run further back. You stopped behind Hardcase, who, respectfully, was fucking insane by standing in the middle of the road and mowing down Umbaras with his minigun, “HAHA! Where are you going!? Get back here!” 

Fuck it. You remained behind him instead of finding cover, aiming your pistol and firing at the now retreating enemies. Through your haze of tunnel vision and adrenaline, you realized that more forces had joined you. Krell must’ve sent in reinforcements.

Fives stood from his location behind the downed tree, “They’re pulling back!” he cheered. As he spoke, the shots died down. Soon, it was only your side that fired their weapons until the enemies were gone, leaving only silence. 

You raised your com to your lips, “Kix, triage,” Immediately, you and the medic got to work. Neither of you had time to rest as you weaved through the soldiers, checking those on the ground. Kix went to the other side of the field, tending to those there. You found a survivor, knocked unconscious with a bleeding shoulder, without pausing, you went through one of your packs and began to bandage him up. 

Star on his chest. This was Pointer. You identified him. Single shot. All the way through.

Despite your focus, the yelling of Krell hit your ears, “CT-7567!” He stomped towards Rex, “Do you have a malfunction in your design!” the besalisk jerked forward, getting an inch away from the captain's face, “you've pulled your forces back from taking the capital city, the enemy now has control of this route!” He shoved one large finger into Rex’s chest, causing the clone to step back, “This entire operation has been compromised because of your failure!”

You wanted to yell at the Jedi. tell him to shut up, but your energy was sapped, your injured arm was starting to hurt and good soldiers were dying because of his fucking plan!

Fives spoke up where you couldn’t, “General Krell in case you haven't noticed Captain Rex just saved this platoon surely you won't fail to recognize that.” He spat, venom and hate dripping from every syllable. 

The Jedi turned slowly, facing the ARC trooper, “ARC-555,” His words became cold and furious, and he raised one large lightsaber, “Stand down.” The glowing weapon rested extremely close to Fives’ neck. So close, in fact, you looked down, expecting Krell to flat out kill him. 

Thankfully, he backed down, “Sir, yes, sir.” The ARC trooper growled, walking away.

Rex finally fought back in his own way, “Sir if I may address your accusation I followed your orders even in the face of a plan that was, in my opinion, severely flawed,” He stepped forward, keeping his eyes on the General, “A plan that cost us men, not clones, men!” Your lover ripped off his helmet to yell, finally snapping under the pressure of an incompetent leader. Even from a distance you could see the fire in his eyes. 

Times like this, you remembered why you loved him. His passion. His determination. 

Still, the captain continued, “As sure as it is my duty to remain loyal to your command, I also have another duty, to protect those men.” He was seething, but kept his anger under control. It was impressive as, if you were in his position, you might’ve just shot Krell and blamed the Umbarans.

His words seemed to quiet the Jedi. So you stopped listening, praying maybe he finally understood. Krell could say whatever he wanted, right now you had to focus on the injured soldiers. And there were a lot of them.

Your arm started to hurt again, so you took the chance to inject some painkillers.However, it wouldn't matter, as you didn’t have time to do anything to treat yourself. The Umbarans regrouped and attacked again. 

You and Kix would have to wait before you could do your jobs and save the men.

[keoghans]

Hey Chuck

Hello and welcome to this Chuck Grant fanfic. I always loved this dude, and I see little to no work about him, so, I took it upon myself to do fic about him. I invented a character, his love interest, because I cant write reader insert, I just, it bothers the fuck out of me to write like that lmao. 

Special mentions for @notmykirk @liebthots @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @alphapockets for proofreading, giving ideas and helping a distressed, nervous writer lol, you lot were brilliant!

This is super angsty, but also filled with fluff and stupid cliches. 

Pairing: Chuck Grant x OC

Warnings: angst, shitloads of angst. Mention of rape. Slight, non-explicit smut. Cursing.  

Word Count: 12k (I know, IM SORRY)

Epilogue 

Three knocks and an anxious wait.

The door was opened by the tall ginger that didn’t seem to ever age. 

“Hannah Davis! What brings you here?” he exclaimed with a broad smile as he hugged her smaller frame. 

“How are you, sir? You look great!” she replied and he furrowed his eyebrows at her answer.

“Hannah, the war is over, it has been for a while, I go by Richard, Rich, or Dick, please,” he said, as he let her in his house. He sounded the same, warm, emphatic, funny. 

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” she replied, checking out his living room. He lived in a beautiful, tall house, very homey. It had a fireplace on and a half finished drink on the nearby table. 

“My wife went to visit her brother, a man that’s never approved of me, so I stayed back,” he explained, serving another drink for her. 

“I remember when you first told me that he wasn’t fond of you and I wondered, how the hell does someone not like Dick Winters?” she replied and they both chuckled. 

“Her parents like me, and so does she, so… it doesn’t really matter”. 

Hannah didn’t marry post war, and it had been only a year, but most of Easy Company was already having children, marrying or at least dating. 

She had her heart set on someone but she had lost all contact with him and the Army didn’t help her trying to get what she needed.

So, after an hour and a half of reminiscing about the war, about Austria and the Eagle’s Nest, Winters caught up to her.

“Hannah, with all due respect… I know this isn’t just a casual visit, or you would’ve brought Luz or someone else with you,” he started, trailing off for her to speak. 

Hannah chuckled cynically, the man had always been prone to read people like a piece of paper. She struggled for a few seconds, her nerves coming back to her, scratching the back of her head absentmindedly.

“I’ve been trying to find someone… Someone from the Company, and I don’t want to ask the rest of the men because… Well, if this fails, I don’t want it to be gossip between them; and the Army couldn’t help me, they cannot give out information about former paratroopers,” she explained. 

“I have all of the men’s information with me, so, who are you looking for? Though—some information can be outdated, I haven’t updated it in a couple of years,” Dick said, looking for an old black book that had ‘Easy’ embroidered in the front.

“Say the name.”

“Uh… Charles Grant—NCO Chuck Grant.” 

Rick smiled softly, looking down as he looked for his name in his book. 

“What?” she asked, slightly embarrassed. He knew.

“Nothing. Sergeant Grant is an exceptional man, I felt deeply for him when he got shot,” he explained and placed a ruler under his name, handing the notebook to Hannah.

“I know he is, that’s why I’m looking for him,” she said, looking down at his name, copying the information of his address and phone number. 

Richard looked at her with his usual witty, warm smile. 

“Thank you, Dick” she said, closing the notebook and giving it back.

“Like my wife would say, ‘go get him’.”

///

Hannah had Chuck’s address and phone for a month and a half. 

Every time she thought about calling him, or showing up at his place, fear shook her body and threw her back to square one. She had taken a cab to her former Major in the Paratroopers for forty five minutes to find a man’s address and she couldn’t actually talk to him. 

Hannah laid in her bed, after a long day at the hospital. She was eating leftover carrot cake she had made a week ago, feeling dreadful, looking at the little paper with Chuck’s name sitting on her bedside table, and remembered the many times they shared. 

Bastogne was the coldest hell Hannah had ever experienced, and she knew it was never leaving her head after everything that transpired.

The trees exploded every now and again. As desperation settled inside each mind, everyone started wondering which was getting killed next. 

Then the casualties came: Joe Toye and Guarnere lost each other one leg to mortars, Don Hoobler accidentally shot himself in the leg and the blood loss took his life. Muck and Penkala got blown to pieces by another mortar. 

She had tried to save as many lives as possible as she had to shoot Germans from afar, fearing death every single second she moved around the snow covered forest.

She had short moments of peace, and most were laying in a foxhole, trying to gather some warmth, next to Chuck. 

Her body shook as she blew into her hands, trying to gain back feeling on her fingertips when Charles looked at her and grabbed her hands without a word, covering them with his calloused fingers, scooting closer to her. 

She was slightly taken aback. 

Chuck wasn’t a man of many words, he communicated more with his eyes and small expressions. He politely smiled at her as he rubbed his hands against her. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, nuzzling her chin deeper into her scarf that was tucked into her jumpsuit. 

Chuck just looked at her and kept rubbing their hands together. She noticed her blue eyes looking bright from the full moon shining down the forest. 

“I always hated the winter time, back in the states… and now more,” Chuck said, breaking the silence between them. 

“I know, I prefer to be burning under the sun rather than freezing my butt off.” 

“Cold beers,” he added.

“The beach.”

“Dipping into a river or the sea.”

Both exchanged small smiles. 

Chuck had always noticed Hannah, and stared silently at her many times, but barely exchanged a few words in the second year of their training, when she arrived in Toccoa. He knew she was Shifty’s friend, and someone who Winters relied on and trusted from what Powers had said to help her get into the Paratroopers. 

And she had proved herself useful, not only as a doctor, but as a sharpshooter, taking down snipers that others didn’t notice at first. She used to compete with Shifty on how many Krauts took down each.

Hannah always knew who he was, she remembered every and each name of the company, by nicknames mostly. He definitely called for her attention; he was polite, shy, only mustered a few jokes here and there, not like Luz, who couldn’t speak without joking. 

But she was never as interested in him until he helped her find warmth in a shattering cold in Belgium. 

Hannah remembered that with a smile—their first and probably closest interaction. It only took snow, people dying around them and a whole war for it to happen.

Friday, she thought, Friday would be a good thing for me to approach his house if, luckily, he didn’t move out before. 

///

Anxiety. Lots of. 

Hannah wasn’t on call at the hospital on Friday. She and her best friend, scheduled everything.

Angelina made sure she couldn’t back out of looking for the former paratrooper. She had helped her pick an outfit, helped with her hair, the whole ordeal. 

“Okay, go, go! It’s barely past noon, it’s a beautiful day, maybe y’all can go for a walk,” angelina said, taking a sip from her lemonade. 

Hannah was barely talking, her hands shook, she felt her pits damp with sweat, with a tight knot in her stomach. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, okay… I’m going, whatever, what could go wrong, what the fuck, he could only think I’m a fucking stalker, whatever right? Fuck—.”

“Oh my god, get out, I’ll take care of Trigger, let him have a stroll, and if by any chance you spend the night there—” she said, with a wink— “call me so I’ll stay and give Trigger his morning walkies,” Angelina commanded as she pushed Hannah through the door. 

“Good luck, honey!” She yelled as Hannah dragged her feet through the hot cement under the July sun. 

Every little thing that could go wrong played in her mind as she walked. Grant lived roughly twenty blocks away from her but she still wanted to walk there, to make it as slow as possible. 

Hannah checked the address in the small, torn piece of paper she had it written on and looked for 1612 for a bit, until she finally saw it.

It was a beautiful, tall white house, with a dark grey roof, a small porch with a couple of rocking chairs. A lot of small pots with flowers and different plants covered most of the front of the porch, which made Hannah think that there was clearly a woman living there. 

That made fear struck her again.

He’s probably married, there are rocking chairs and plants… none of the men of the paratroopers cared about fucking plants, why would Charles be any different? 

Fuck it.

Hannah shook her head, her curls moving along, stomped the ground after pondering for a couple of minutes, away from the house and took a few deep breaths before she walked up the three steps before the door and, with a shaky breath, knocked three times and took a step back, giving the door her back. 

She could sense her muscles completely tense, everywhere, arms, legs, stomach, and wondered why the hell she never got her anxiety completely treated like her PTSD from the war. 

What if a woman opened the door? I’d pretend I got the wrong house and run for the fucking hills. 

“Yes?” a deep voice said from behind her. 

Hannah could’ve swore her heart stopped for a split second.

She turned in her heel with the riddled feeling in her stomach when she met those bright blue eyes and the permanently tanned skin of Sergeant of Second Platoon, Charles Grant. 

His usual disheveled look was intact, she noticed, the droopy eyes and the resting annoyed face that was his trademark was still there, but it did change in a moment when he realized quickly who she was. His eyes widened as his jaw dropped slightly. 

“Hannah? Hannah Davis?!” he exclaimed, opening the door wider, taking a step forward shyly. 

Hannah swore her heart was thumping against her chest like a hammer, and was actually afraid Chuck would notice it. But all he did was try to find the words, stuttering slightly as he took a look at her.

“Hey, Chuck,” she said, trying to find her voice back from somewhere in her throat. 

Charles let a single chuckle out of his mouth before, sort of awkwardly, pulled her for a hug, crossing his left arm around her torso and the other one, around the shoulders.

Hannah was a hundred percent sure her heart could arrest at any moment and die right there. The man was hugging her. And she was hugging him back, the same way, when his perfume surrounded her and she closed her eyes for a moment, lingering her head above his shoulder, every single feeling she had ever felt for him rushing back into her stomach, untying the knot slightly, filling it with butterflies. 

“What a surprise! Come on in,” he said, as they parted, moving aside so she could walk inside first. 

Clean, super clean. The fact that the house was so clean yelled wife! in Hannah’s face. But she shook the thoughts aside, trying to focus on walking and trying not to bump into anything and make a mess of herself in front of Chuck. 

“You like it? I’ve been trying to decorate myself but… I don’t know, looks shitty to me still,” he added, standing next to her as she looked at old signs of tobacco brands, and a couple of paintings up white walls, complemented with an olive couch with three seats, a coffee table and a TV in front. 

And books, everywhere. Different sized, colored, some put in a small library in the corner, near the couch. Some were sprawled over on the coffee table and one on the couch, open and faced down. 

She took the books as the cue to find out and get it over with. 

“You and—and your wife must read a lot,” she said, sniggering internally as she awaited for an answer. 

Chuck let out a hearty chuckle, looking suddenly a bit embarrassed at her. 

“Uh, I’m not married,” he said, forming a thin-lipped, awkward smile on his lips. Hannah felt how her shoulders relaxed at the information.

“Oh—sorry, it’s just… It looks very homey, and you know, women do that work mostly,” she said, trying to sound innocent. 

“I learned a bit from my mom, and I found out that I really enjoy gardening and plants in general, that’s why there’s that many on the outside porch. Luz told me I was becoming a woman, I said, ‘what’s wrong with being a woman’?” Chuck said, scratching the back of his neck. 

“He fought side by side with one, and he still says that crap?” Hannah asked, remembering George Luz, the clown of the company. “Fuck him, I like how it looks, it’s homey and… looks warm, you know?”

Chuck nodded his head proudly, trying to shoot down a smile that tried to creep up, slightly blushing. 

“Listen, I was roasting some chicken, are you hungry? I have beers, too,” he said, pulling her by her wrist softly. This touch sent electricity up Hannah’s arm as she nodded silently, following him. 

She was sort of surprised by his cheerfulness. He was a very lowkey man, never spoke too loud, unless he wanted to mock one of his peers with Luz or Guarnere. He fumbled around the kitchen for a bit, before going through the back door to the backyard, where he had a barbecue against the wall.

And she could see him work, cutting up the chicken while it was still roasting, and noticed how he hadn’t put up any weight since coming back from the war, or losing any from the anxiety and PTSD. He had kept in form, his arms still big, as his shoulders, the black sleeves of the shirt sticking tight against them. 

Jesus, stop that! 

Lost in her thoughts, looking around the kitchen, she didn’t notice Chuck was back with two small sandwiches in hand, leaving them on a couple of plates as he quickly moved to grab two Crystals. 

“My brother taught me this amazing sauce, and it’s like pulled pork, but pulled chicken,” he explained, almost proudly of his handiwork. Hannah smiled and took a bite on it. 

Instantly, she had to suppress a moan that was about to fall out of her full mouth, as she widened her eyes at him. He smiled as he chewed and nodded his head like saying I know, right? 

After downing her bite with a bit of beer, Hannah finally breathed out to compliment his food, making Chuck blush again. 

“So, uh… what brings you here? Did you need anything?” Chuck asked, taking a sip of his beer again. 

I wanted to confess that I had feelings for you since you helped me warm up in a foxhole in Bagstone and you saved my ass when I got shot and you dragged me into a jeep to be taken away for a bit to heal, and I always wanted to kiss you for that but I’m such a fucking wuss, I never even dared to flirt. 

“Oh, no, no, I didn’t come to ask any favors, no,” she replied, chuckling nervously, “I—I’m gonna be honest with you; when we came back from Europe, I knew you had to do some recovery from the shot you took, that would need rehabilitation and… I was dealing with so much I couldn’t stay and I felt like shit for a long while for that—Shit, this sounds like I’m doing this to sleep better at night but no, I just want to say: I’m sorry, I should’ve been there like you were when I lost my ear to a kraut bullet, Chuck, I’m really sorry, and I wanted to check on you, see how you were doing…” 

It wasn’t a complete lie, Hannah knew that, but she still felt like what she needed to actually say was heavy in her chest. 

Chuck smiled, and turned his head slightly, pulling his hair up a bit. 

“The scar goes all the way to the back of my head, I—I should’ve died by the extent of my wound, but, it was mostly sup—superficial. My left arm is partially paralyzed,” he explained, lifting both arms at the same time but the left one was left behind as the right kept going up. “And sometimes it’s hard to s—” he closed his eyes as he struggled to say the word, his tongue frozen in the roof of his mouth for a couple of seconds— “speak, like, right now.” 

Hannah looked sorry, like a dog with a tail between its hind legs, feeling ashamed. 

“Don’t feel bad, I had my family and some of the men to help me, and very good doctors too, really, it’s not like you had to take care of me, you know,” Chuck added, grinning warmly at her. “George, Doc Roe and Speirs came almost daily to help, I was set; speaking of wounds, how’s the ear?”

Hannah moved her hair away to show him the scarred and dusty pink skin that reattached to her head after it got blown off in the Battle of the Bulge. 

Bullets and mortars were falling down the territory Easy Company covered. As much as anyone avoids talking about fear, they were all terrorized; the lack of winter gear, clothes, ammo, and food kept them all weak.

Hannah and Chuck were shooting non-stop, both with shaky breaths as they were still covered under a wool blanket, where only the gun and their eyes could be seen. 

“Hannah! Hannah, go help Shifty!” she heard Lip call her as he ran past. She sighed, not wanting to be any closer to the flying gunshots that were showering horizontally on them. 

“Go, it’s okay, go!” Chuck exclaimed, looking at her swiftly as he kept shooting. 

Hannah groaned in annoyance but still climbed up the hole. 

Chuck watched at her go, though her walk got cut short. She froze in her place and he knew something was wrong, and in a split second, she was on the cold ground, yelling her lungs out.

“Shit, shit, shit, hold on, Hannah! Medic!! Medic!!” he yelled as he let his rifle in the hole, crawling to check on the brunette. 

As soon as he turned her body around, his face grimaced in shock. She had blood flowing from her side into her cheek, eyes and mouth, as she gasped for a breath, steam coming from her mouth from the sheering cold. 

He moved her hair slowly, uncovering what was left of her ear, hanging from skin threads, almost completely shredded from her skull. It was an awful view, and the crimson liquid kept flowing and flowing. 

“What is it? Let me see, Grant, move!” Eugene Roe exclaimed, pushing the other soldier aside, checking the wound thoroughly. Hannah had stopped yelling, shock had settled in her body, covering her from the pain. 

“It’s superficial, but you will need someone to cut off the rest. Help me get her to the jeep, Grant,” he said after covering the hole with sulfate and a white bandage that went across her face. 

“Hannah, you’re going to be just fine, stay with us, come on!” Eugene yelled as Chuck lifted her from her back and legs, her face falling into his shoulder, bleeding on his jacket. 

Chuck glanced at her every few moments as he ran to where her ride was stationed, she looked paler by the second that passed, her eyes were closing and he had to keep calling at her to stay awake.

“Hannah, come on, come on, stay with me, stay with me!”

When she was finally strapped down the bed on the front of the sheet, he held her hand for a second before she was pulled away, disappearing into the woods as he had to ran back to his foxhole and keep defending their territory. 

But he kept wondering and wondering about her, until she came back two days after. 

“You came back almost good as new, ear-less, stitched up,” Chuck said, reminiscing.

“And I had to tolerate thousands of ear related jokes for weeks, and got called ‘Earnnah’ too” Hannah said, making them both laugh.

“Fucking Luz and his nicknames,” Charles said, shrugging.

“Anyways, I still don’t have an ear, but the flu I was going through had clogged my eardrum and saved me from being deaf on one side, right?” Hannah added, lifting her beer bottle to cheer for that.

“To the flu, baby!” he said and both drank.

A couple of hours went by and both Chuck and Hannah were already feeling more comfortable in each other’s presence. They laughed about some anecdotes, and updated on their current lifestyles.

“So, a tobacco store?” Hannah said, standing under the sun in the backyard, enjoying the warmth of a summer afternoon, much more relaxed. 

“Yeah, it was my post war dream, and I finally gathered what I needed to open it, it’s in downtown, 5th ave and Charleston. It’s cosy, small, but good enough to sell small things,” Chuck explained, clearly proud of his achievement. “You should come by sometime”. 

“I would, but I quit smoking a few weeks ago,” Hannah replied and Chuck looked surprised. 

“Really?” he asked, propping himself against a column he had set to sustain a small roof he had put up in his yard. 

“Yeah, but I’ll probably hit withdrawal soon and I’ll go back to square one quickly,” she replied, mocking herself and her power of will, making Chuck laugh.

“You still sing?” Chuck asked, and she knew exactly why he asked. “I still remember when we found that piano in the Eagle’s Nest, and you sang a few songs to us,” he said and a very small grin creeped up his lips, looking down at his hands. 

That was one of Hannah’s proudest moments. 

“I do remember that, and I still sing, yeah.”

The war had lightened up, somehow. 

Easy Company was on the works to clear the way into the old Nazi Town of Kehlsteinhaus, where they knew, at the top of the mountain, resides the crown jewel of the Nazi Party. A very glamorous house made only for Hitler and his closests friends. 

Winters dictated for the Easy Company to head straight to the Eagle’s Nest, after raiding the town and finding a place to settle for a bit. 

Hannah heard Speirs yelling the orders and they didn’t even think for a second before they started running up the mountain road towards the House. She ran next to Chuck, Popeye and Malarkey. 

They entered the premises slowly, looking around for Krauts, their guns up in arms. And all of them were surprised by the size of the place from the inside. 

It had grey walls, with bay windows every few meters, the sun shining through, illuminating the whole place. There were a few tables with a few chairs each, some silver plates and vases scattered around the living room, a fireplace, and on the far end, a grand, black and shiny piano. 

Hannah was immediately drawn to it, forgetting about the men popping bottles of champagne they found lying around, remembering instantly the songs her grandfather had once taught her when she was younger. 

The boys weren’t paying attention until they heard the first few notes Hannah pressed on. 

“Davis, you can play?” Spiers asked her as they got closer. 

I waited till I saw the sun, don’t know why I didn’t come

Hannah started singing, as a way to reply Speirs. 

Chuck was certainly taken aback by her singing voice, she had never mentioned before she could do that, that she had even learned or anything she did apart from training for the paratroopers and hang with Shifty. 

When I saw the break of day

I wished that I could fly away

Instead of kneeling in the sand

Catching teardrops in my hand

Her fingers seemed to be dancing around the keys like she had been doing that for a lifetime, as her voice shone through the notes she played. There was a sudden peace brought by the song, which no one could remember having heard before that moment. 

Chuck sensed his body relaxing, as he looked at the brunette who met his eyes not too long after.

My heart is drenched in wine

But you'll be on my mind

Forever

For a fleeting moment, Chuck felt no one was there but him and Hannah, as she kept singing, his breath catching in his chest, leaving him breathless. He knew he had been looking at Hannah with different eyes for a while, but he never actually realized it completely until that moment. 

Something has to make you run

I don't know why I didn't come

I feel as empty as a drum

I don't know why I didn't come

I don't know why I didn't come

“From then on, you guys would ask me to sing every time we found a piano laying somewhere in the abandoned cottages,” Hannah remembered, smiling at the memory. 

“Well, you do have a beautiful voice that puts everyone at ease, you know,” he complimented and Hannah could feel how her pulse accelerated at his compliment, cursing herself internally for being so weak for her former NCO. 

“It's mid-afternoon, care for a tea?” Charles asked, when he noticed her blushing, not answering his compliment, knowing he had hit somewhere inside her with it. 

“I can make a quick cake with anything you have in your kitchen, if you want to…” Hannah said, almost rushedly, trying to cover her tracks. Yeah, that doesn’t sound weird at all, Hannah, you fucking wuss, offering to bake a cake after a couple of hours chatting and trying to cover your stupid feelings, sure, yeah. 

“Kitchen’s all yours,” Chuck said with a grin, looking for his kettle to boil water while Hannah looked for her ingredients for a classic vanilla cake. 

As Hannah whisked the ingredients, Chuck served two mugs with boiling tea, placing one next to her as he watched her focused in his kitchen. 

“I swear, most men of the company don’t have all this stuff laying in their kitchen,” she said, still looking down at the mix.

“I’m not most men,” Chuck replied and both chuckled at his comment. “Oh, look here,” he said suddenly, making Hannah turn around.

A black cat with a small bell in his neck walked in, stretching its legs, and walked up to Chuck, placing its front paws in the dirty blonde legs. 

“This is Roe, I got him a few months ago, he walked in with a broken hind leg and never left this house,” Chuck explained, taking the cat into his arms, which made him start purring loudly. Hannah proceeded to pet him, sliding her fingertips slowly in the soft fur of the head. 

“He’s so handsome!” 

“Thank you,” replied Charles, earning a small slap in his arm by Hannah, who chuckled as she kept petting the kitty. 

“You saying you took care of this kitty reminded me of that nun who changed my bandages in Foye, in that church, remember that? She came straight to me, wondering how a woman is in the Forces, and silently, pulled my face and cleaned me up,” Hannah said, remembering the face of the woman in the black typical suit of a nun. 

“She didn’t treat anyone but you, which was either great or very selfish of her,” Chuck said, jokingly.

“She was in a convent, they take care of women mostly, and I am one, so…” she trailed off, wanting to slap the grin out of his face as she felt her heart melting to the view of Chuck, holding a cat between his arms like a child. My uterus is flipping about. “It’s not like no one took care of you boys.” 

“What are you talking about?” Chuck wondered. 

“Holland. All those women, and food, and drinks, and praising,” Hannah said as she put the mix in the oven. She could hear Charles laughing at her comments.

 “I wasn’t doing anything there, I did accept food though.” 

“Oh, Chuck, come on, I saw you with that blonde that was taller than you, kissing you non-stop,” Hannah exclaimed, way too quickly for her comfort, and turned around, pretending to check on the oven temperature; Could you be any more obvious, Hannah, dear?

“You sound jealous,” Chuck replied, with a smirk and furrowed eyebrows.

“I—okay, yes, I was; everyone was treating you all like goddamn heroes and whatnot, while I got questionable looks and fingers pointing at me for being a woman in a uniform… Hell, they must have thought I was the squad’s whore or something,” she defended herself, trying to not blow her cover that easy in front of his intense eyes looking at her from a few meters. 

Chuck felt bad for a moment. He knew she was proud of being the first woman fighting alongside men in a war, knowing she had earned the respect of many, many people, but there was still a long way to go to be accepted by the population in general. 

“Yeah, I wanted someone to kiss me too and give me drinks, I deserved that too, I didn’t have any physical contact with anyone as much as y’all in that time,” Hannah kept going, the anxiousness to cover herself up from showing feelings almost drowning her. 

“I’m sure you would’ve gotten a kiss if you just asked,” replied Chuck, taking a sip from his tea while still holding Roe. “I would have if you asked me.”

Did my heart just stop? Did it just… really stop? Quick, don’t linger in silence too much!

“You’ve always been such a gentleman, Grant, but that was impossible. First, we were in the Forces together and that was very forbidden. Second, I couldn’t ask people for that, that’s just sad and I didn’t look like any of the women there, my hair wasn’t done, I was wearing our uniform and probably didn’t smell the best there,” Hannah clarified, trying to not sound too rushed again. 

“Okay, yeah, partially true, but you don’t need to be all fixed up to be pretty, though.”

He knows and now he wants to play soccer with my fucking heart. Goodness, I hope he doesn’t know.

“To be honest, it’s not like I came back to the states and started dating and whatnot… I did adopt a dog, his name is Trigger, like the one Tab had back in the day,” Hannah said, trying to clear herself. “Oh, and Tab asked me out like a year ago,” she suddenly remembered. 

“Floyd?! R—really?” Chuck asked, clearly surprised. 

“Yeah, he showed up once, with flowers and everything. It was so sweet but Tab is like my little brother, so I let him down slowly and luckily, he accepted it and we’re still friends,” she explained, remembering how disappointed he looked for a second before she explained herself to him and he took it with humour and saved their friendship from awkwardness. 

All the while, Chuck laughed heartily. 

“What? Oh, don’t laugh at him! He’s so sweet, he was always nice with me, even when most doubted the presence of a woman at war, come on,” Hannah defended Talbert, throwing a paper towel ball straight to his face. 

“Hey! No need to get violent!” Chuck retaliated, throwing it back at her. “I can’t believe little ol’ Tab asked you out,” he added, chuckling. 

“You’re all always making fun of people who ask me out or flirt with me,” Hannah added, a sneer creeping up her lips. “Remember that one British soldier?” 

The Company had saved a hundred and forty brit soldiers, without any casualties. Everyone walked back to camp cheerfully but in silence until they entered the barn. 

Hannah didn’t feel as cheerful as the rest. She had been carrying a small infection under her tongue for a few days and cramps were attacking her every now and again, which she didn’t share with anyone trying to avoid some sexist comment about the nature of women. 

Booze was being passed around the brits and the company as everyone cheered and applauded for their exceptional work. Hannah did enjoy seeing all the grins and wide smiles spread around, while she stood in the side, leaning against a thin wooden column, rubbing her back to ease the pain. 

“Moose Heyliger and the American 101st have done the Red Devils a great service, making it possible for us to return and fight the enemy another day,” the captain of the British soldiers exclaimed to the crowd of paratroopers and the Red Devils. “To Easy Company, victory, and Currahee!”

Everyone cheered, drinking profusely, laughing and all around happy, until the same captain interrupted them for a second.

“Oh, and let us not forget to cheer for one more thing: the first woman in the Forces who was part of this mission, Miss…” 

Hannah wasn’t paying attention, she was completely zoned out on the side, until she heard her name being called a few times. She looked up to the Captain, who had his drink up and looking at her.

“Oh—Oh, Hannah, Hannah Davis!” she replied, a little startled. 

“To Hannah Davis!” The cheers erupted once again, but everyone was now looking at Hannah, who blushed furiously at the attention she was receiving. She just gave them all a tight lipped smile, her eyes drifting from one side to another. 

“So, congratulations are in order, ma’am.” A thick British accent interrupted Hannah’s thoughts a while after she had been cheered on. She turned around to find a tall man with a buzz cut, his red beret and a pointy nose. And a very warm smile. 

“Thank you, private…?”

“Joe Seaward, and it’s Sergeant now,” he clarified, taking his beret off as he took a drink. “How is the Force treating you? Good, I hope?”

“Very good, sir, they feel like family already. At first it was weird for them, but I was vouched for by the Battalion chief, and one of the men, who is an old friend from his hometown,” she replied, feeling slightly intimidated by the brit. 

“I’m glad you’re feeling comfortable. And hometown! Where would that be, if I may ask?” 

“Atlanta, Georgia. Can I ask you where are you from?” she asked, looking up at him. Hannah could feel the eyes of Easy on them, but she didn’t dare to look back at them. 

“Birmingham, born and raised,” Joe replied, looking proud. “Uh, anyone expecting you back home?” he suddenly asked, and Hannah understood what he was referring to. 

“No, apart from family, no one special,” she replied, and just got interrupted by another voice yelling at them.

“Sergeant Seaward! We’re leaving, come on!” Joe looked annoyed all of a sudden. 

“Well, ma’am, if this isn’t too forward, when this war is over, and luckily, we’re both still alive and well, why don’t you stay in England for a while and… maybe we can go to dinner together?” He said, rushing as he took a few steps back. 

Hannah thought for a second and, feeling like she had nothing to lose and after not being flirted by anyone in two years, she replied “Sure, Sergeant, if we both survive…”. 

Joe smirked deeply and quickly found a paper and a battered small pencil, scribbling in it and placed it in her hands, before kissing the back of it. 

“You’ll find me with that. Take care, Hannah Davis! Cheerio!” 

Hannah felt like a child meeting her first crush, blushing, with a dumb smile in her face, until she heard the sniggering paratroopers behind her. 

“What?” she asked, already looking annoyed at them as she turned to find them in a half circle around her.

“What was that ‘bout, Davis?” Bull asked with one lifted eyebrow. 

“Nothing–”

“Not nothing, that brit was flirting with you!” Liebgott exclaimed, his lip curled as his eyes darted between the door of the barn and her. 

“The fuck is the problem with that?” Hannah asked.

“No fraternization with soldiers in the Forces,” Chuck added, looking down at his hands. 

“Oh, fuck all of you. It’s the first time someone comes and tells me I’m pretty in two years, when y’all had women throwing themselves at you back at Eindhoven!” Hannah defended herself, shutting them all up. “It’s not like I’m actually going to do something about it, I might be dead tomorrow anyways”. 

“He looks stupid and he’s a brit, we’re all a better catch than him!” Martin added, inflating his chest. 

“The only decent man here is Doc Roe, and you all know that for a fact. I’m going to sleep for a bit, goodnight” she said, walking away from them, breaking the half circle without looking back. 

“I still have that small, battered piece of paper with me, but I never went to see him,” Hannah added, smirking at the thought. “I should’ve stayed in England and find him, honestly”. 

Chuck frowned, “why? Was he really that interesting?”. 

“He was sweet, he had a very attractive accent and hell, how many men do you know that say ‘cheerio!’ When saying goodbye?” Hannah defended Sergeant Seaward.

“Oh, stop talking talking about him already” Chuck said, dismissing her comments with a frown.

“Who’s jealous now, huh?” Hannah joked, pushing him slightly. Chuck just laughed bitterly.

///

Chuck showed her around the house, apologizing for forgetting to do a tour when she first came in.

He showed him some old pictures he had from high school that his mom had taken of him, some of his own family, and even a photo from a high school girlfriend he still had. Charles told him they were still in contact because her family was close to his, until he went to the war and she moved out of the usual address. 

“It’s like the time I was away, fighting, home became a black hole in my memory, like…It couldn’t possibly exist at the same time I was away.” 

Hannah enjoyed learning more from his past, and suddenly wondered if he had ever known what happened and how Easy reacted when they found out he had gotten shot. 

Charles was looking down at a picture when she popped the question. 

“Chuck, did you uh—did anyone ever tell you what happened with Easy when you… When that replacement shot you?” 

He suddenly took a seat on the couch, looking up at her. There was something on his eyes that she couldn’t decipher, but it was between fear and curiosity; his fingers went to linger over his scar absentmindedly. 

“No, I—the guys never told me anything, and I didn’t dare to ask, honestly.” 

“Do you, uh… Do you want to know?” Hannah asked. Chuck nodded, his lips seeming sewn shut. She took a seat next to him, the air suddenly completely filled with tension. 

“Well, you had patrol and we were relaxing in the house, playing cards, some asleep, most smoking and chatting about the end of the war. Also about the points, but, that’s not important.”

“Then, the door of the living room burst open with a pale, very pale and shook Tab. ‘Grant got shot in the head’ was the first thing he muttered. You know, there wasn’t any music around us, but it seemed like it had stopped. The relaxing atmosphere was cut off like when the lights go out with a switch.” Chuck was staring at her, his attention fully on her. 

“But we didn’t have that much time to like… process. Floyd had received orders to find the shooter, and we practically went around the whole town and the ones nearby looking for him. We had the order to bring him alive but neither wanted to lose the chance to put a bullet in him. We were organized in groups, and we divided in three or four people each.”

“We ended up finding him still in Zell Am See. Malarkey found him with Bull and Lieb, they found him trying—” She took a pause, her stomach turning slightly at the memory— “trying to rape an Austrian girl. She was saved, thankfully, and he was brought back to the house where he took the beating of his lifetime”

By that point, Chuck jaw was opened, but his eyes seemed calmer, somehow.

“Did you beat him too?” he asked. Hannah suddenly broke eye contact, looking down at her fingernails fidgeting together.

“Yes, but I only punched him, the rest did the real beating… I was so angry when I found out he was in the house, I burst through the door and went straight with my knuckles to his jaw. I had my hand bruised for weeks. You were away at that point, Speirs and Roe had found a Kraut brain surgeon and got him to work in you as soon as they could. But we didn’t know if you were alive or not. After the rest took their turn with the replacement, Speirs had come back, saying the surgeon confirmed you were going to be okay; then they dragged the son of a bitch over to the MP’s.”

Hannah felt ashamed, her body seemed to be burning when the memories of that moment revived in her.

“I was so scared you were gonna die, Chuck… I wasn’t there when Speirs confirmed you were going to be okay, and I just—I lost it at that moment,” she added, a knot forming in her throat. “Lieb found me, while I was sitting in a room upstairs, on a bed, in the dark, cursing and crying. It wasn’t only you that made me cry, but… I cared about you, you know. You were my friend, we went through the worst together and I thought I had lost y—,” Hannah’s voice broke, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. 

“Hey, hey, Hannah, I’m here, aren’t I?” Chuck said, scooting closer, placing a hand on her knee and another rubbing her back. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that…”

At that, Hannah snorted while she teared up.

“What are you apologizing for? For getting shot? Jesus, Charles, you didn’t ask for it, did you?” she joked through the tears and broken voice, making both laugh cynically. Hannah lifted her head and looked at him, and noticed how his eyes were watery. He sniffed as he tried to recompose himself, his hands never leaving the brunette.

“No, I know, but… I’m okay, you s—see? I just speak like I’m dumb or something now,” he joked. 

Suddenly, something took over Hannah and she hugged him, with her arms surrounding his shoulders completely. Chuck was taken aback at first, but he then wrapped his arms around her waist and stayed there for a moment, neither muttered a word, only sniffs and breathing could be heard. 

Hannah laughs, then smiles down at the picture of a younger Chuck. Some things change, and some things stay the same forever. Chuck is one of those things that never changes.

After a while, after a hug that helped both recompose and even sort of heal wounds that can’t be seen, they went back to rummage through old photos. 

“Oh, look at this one,” Chuck said, pulling a picture from his teenage years, where he was in just his underwear, surrounded by kids holding different pieces of clothing cheerfully “that was in the middle of summer, we were trying to fight the heat with water balloons and I got so soaked, my brother and my friends convinced me to take them off so they could dry. Me, being stupid and young, did so and they stole them and ran away.” 

Hannah laughed loudly, looking at Charles with apologetic eyes.

“How could you be so naive?” She asked, between laughs. 

“Hey, if I remember correctly, you got your clothes stolen once, in Haguenau! And you know it sucks, doesn’t it?” Chuck replied, jabbing his index on Hannah’s arm. 

Hannah had survived Bastogne, with the scarring of her life and one less ear. Everyone was changed, they had lost many men there, including Toye and Guarnere, Muck and Penkala, and lost Buck to shellshock. 

These days passed with nothing much to do but waiting for orders, some training, and finally, after the snow had passed, winter clothes. 

Second Platoon was stationed in a tall, two-story house, with many rooms, filled with beds and some tables. It was battered, most wallpapers looked torn, and the smell of humidity and gunpowder filling everyone’s nostrils.

On a cold morning, Hannah came back to the second floor, where Malarkey was introducing the new Lieutenant Jones to the men.

“Sir?” her voice, smaller than ever, turned everyone around. Some had to take a second look to be sure what they were looking at. 

“What happened to you?!” Don exclaimed, his jaw dropped. 

Hannah was shirtless. She was holding herself trying to keep the warmth of her body, with only a bra, pants and boots on. She looked red in the face, from the shame. Hannah could sense the eyes on her body, taking notice of every single scar she was sporting, and the bandage that was covering one on the side of her hip. 

“I was changing bandages, I turned for a second to get the sulfate and I heard someone running and laughing. I thought there were just some men playing around but they had taken my clothes, sir…” she explained. Everyone could hear the anger in her voice, her jaw clenching tight. 

“Jesus fuck,” Malarkey muttered, while Chuck proceeded to pull the sweater he used under his jacket and quickly helped Hannah put it on. “Lieb, MccLung, Jackson, go find the fuckers who did this, report to Speirs”. 

“I’m sorry, Malark, I—I didn’t want to make any trouble, really, I—,”

“No, don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault, okay? Here, it probably smells but it’s better than nothing, I’ll have someone find some clothes if they don’t find yours,” Malarkey said, giving her his scarf, and went back to speak with Lt. Jones, who only nodded to her as a salute. 

“Come on, we made some coffee,” said Chuck, pulling her to where the kettle was in a corner. “Are you okay?”.

“Yeah,” was all she said, hiding herself in her copper mug, drinking the awful coffee they have been given. Then Chuck did something that she wasn’t expecting, but calmed her nerves quite quickly: his palm met the top of her head, and ran down her hair slowly. 

Hannah had seen the men do that to each other, when they had panic attacks or after the death of a fellow soldier, they would hold their heads or run their fingers through their hair. It seemed like a paternal way to hold them close and not let them fall into the abyss of desperation war brings in people. 

And now she felt it herself. Chuck’s fingers brought peace into her body, into her mind. She closed her eyes he kept going, enjoying that as well as the steam from the coffee meeting her cold skin. 

///

Not too long after, and from a window, Hannah and Chuck saw MccLung and Lieb dragging two soldiers from their jackets to Speirs and Winters. Joe talked furiously, clearly explaining what the two men did. 

Hannah chuckled cynically, knowing Speirs would have them doing the worst jobs for the Platoon. 

Her happiness didn’t last long, though. After getting new clothes, returning Chuck’s sweater, she found out, alongside the rest, that they had a patrol to get to at one past midnight. 

Everyone dreaded it, mostly because Second Platoon had lost the most people since Bastogne, and they still wanted them to do a senseless mission. They were ordered to cross the river into German territory and take prisoners to get intel. 

They still had hours to kill before heading to enemy territory, so Hannah decided to find some place to nap, after fixing and cleaning her guns and getting more ammo. 

She wandered around Second Platoon’s house until she found a room on the second floor. She opened the door, walking inside, and instantly found a sleeping body on top of the bed. 

“What? What?!” it said startled and looked up. Hannah didn’t notice at first but as soon as some light shone through the bullet holes on the wooden panels in the window, she saw Grant’s face. 

“Oh, sorry Chuck, I was looking for some place to sleep, I’ll leave you to—,”

“No, no, it’s fine… we can share,” he said from the dark, she could hear his hand patting the bed. 

Hannah thought for a second. She was exhausted, her body was still cold and there probably wasn’t a better bed in the whole house to nap in. 

So, she closed the door behind her and left her jacket and rifle on the floor, and climbed under the wool blanket. 

Under it, she was met instantly with Chuck’s warmth, her side wasn’t cold, as she expected it to be. There was calm, so much calm it was a bit unsettling for Hannah; last time she felt it, mortars fell from the sky and took her friends with the blast. 

But there was something about the gentleness of Chuck’s breathing that helped her, which she couldn’t explain, but silently thanked him for it. 

A few minutes passed when Hannah turned to her side, facing Chuck, who was already positioned on his side. She was unable to fall fully asleep, which was normal when someone tries to relax during a war. 

Hannah just stayed there in silence, eyes closed, her hand dropped on the mattress near her face, when she felt Chuck’s hand a few inches from hers. 

For a moment, she wanted to grab it. 

Hannah had noticed for a while that she was closer with Chuck than with the rest of the men. It was an odd friendship; it’s not like they talked for hours and hours on end but mostly in silence or with hushed, short conversations. But when she was with him, she didn’t feel as much fear as with the rest or alone in a foxhole. 

But he had always been there for her, like she was for him. Through every loss, through every problem. There was an implicit deep trust between them that neither acknowledged with words, but with simple actions. 

And to her, he was certainly an attractive man; with dirty blonde hair, an inviting smile, always polite and shy. And Hannah knew she had felt sometimes a bit of a butterfly in her stomach when he smiled at her. 

Suddenly, her thoughts were hushed when she felt his fingers wrap around hers. 

Hannah didn’t open her eyes, afraid they would show how much speed her blood pressure gained in a split second. But she did reciprocate, after a moment, moving her hand so his fingers intertwined with hers. 

Neither moved, neither spoke nor opened their eyes. And finally, both fell asleep until Liebgott woke them up a couple of hours later.

He opened the door loudly, letting in some light. Both Hannah and Chuck sat up quickly, startled and disheveled, looking at Joe like he was crazy. 

Joe looked at both with a deep, playful smirk before saying, “We have the meeting at CP in ten minutes, let’s go, come on.”

Thankfully, Joe didn’t notice that Hannah and Chuck were still holding hands under the sheet; but when they caught it, as Lieb left, they quickly unwrapped them and rushed to get their things, without saying another word to each other.

///

Night came around nicely. 

Both Hannah and Chuck were enjoying their time. Hannah had clearly relaxed, mostly after they had talked about what happened to the NCO, feeling like she had let go of a heavy weight she carried on her shoulders. 

Charles offered for her to stay for dinner when the brunette said she still had to walk her dog, even though she knew Angelina had probably done that already. He insisted, saying the leftovers taste even better reheated on the grill. 

Hannah laughed and agreed to stay, as long as she could help with it. Her day has been better than expected, way better. But she still had that small pebble in her shoe about her feelings towards Chuck. A part of her yelled that she should come clean to him, and be done with it, no matter the result. The other part also yelled that his friendship was more valuable than risking it for something more.

But the tiny voice in her head still insisted with No, no! He doesn’t feel that way. He hasn’t flirted with you, or showed some clear sign of attraction, Hannah! Have dinner and pretend it’s all good. 

“Hey, can I ask you something? This might sound a bit weird,” Hannah said, with a sneaky smile while Chuck revamped the grill. The former NCO just nodded in response. “Why aren’t you married?” 

Chuck snorted, looking surprised and slightly offended. “Aren’t you the one that used to complain that women are always pressured to get married, and maybe they shouldn’t if they don't want to?” He asked, almost complaining. 

Hannah laughed and put her hands up in her defense.

“I don’t mean it like that, Charles Grant! I just… I’m surprised a man like you, who does all this, isn’t at least dating someone,” she clarified. 

“I didn’t say I wasn’t dating someone,” he replied, without looking at her.

There it is! So, that’s what it's like to get your heart punched, huh? 

“Oh, yeah, I mean—Of course, sorry–,” Hannah added, suddenly stumbling upon her words as she felt her hands shake slightly. 

Chuck snorted again, this time a hearty laugh escaping his lips. 

“I’m not Hannah, I’m not seeing anybody at the moment,” he added, smiling as he moved the charcoal around the grill. 

Hannah had a rush of anger suddenly, wanting to throw something at him and yell you fucking asshole, I’m in love with you, do not do that to me!!!

But she held herself in, looking rather unphased, and just nodded disapprovingly. 

“I, well… I haven’t met the right woman, you know? I’ve seen some people, yeah. Babe set me up once with this redhead who could’ve been Malarkey’s sister for all I knew and it was going good at first but… Fuck, I was so bored!” he said, showing the annoyance in his face at the memory. “She was nice and all, but she was just… so fucking boring. She talked about her hair and stuff she does with her lady friends and she hated when I told stories about the war.”

Now it was Hannah’s turn to laugh. “She hated it? Why?”. 

“Who the fuck knows, maybe it was too g—ory for her, or she didn’t want to hear that one of the men was being called ‘Gonorrhea’. Hell, she didn’t even want to hear how I got the scar in my head or rather, the explanation of my slurring when I speak and my lack of strength on my left side,” Chuck said and sounded rather offended. 

“Someone has to either appreciate your scar and the sequels, or get the fuck out of your way,” Hannah said, approaching him with a beer in hand. “Don’t ever feel ashamed for that, Chuck, I’m not ashamed of having one ear, honestly. I think it’s pretty nice. Who can say that is different when their bodies are complete and in perfect state?”. 

“It’s boring, isn’t it?” he added.

“You and me, Chuck, are different. And that’s good. Toye and Guarnere have one less leg each, they’re fucking awesome too.” 

Hannah’s heart leaped at the sight of Chuck looking suddenly proud of himself, and when he looked at her to clink their bottles, she could’ve sworn that, if she had the ovaries, she would’ve kissed him right there and then.

///

After dinner and a few more laughs, Hannah called it a night. 

Her heart felt slightly heavy for not having dared to confess what she was there to do in the first place. 

“Well, my dear Grant, I have to head home,” she said, as she put plates down the water in sink. 

“Already?” Chuck replied, looking surprised.

“It’s almost ten in the night!” she exclaimed, drying her hands on a towel that hung from the oven door handle. 

“Want me to call you a cab? Lieb is probably still around working with his.” 

“No, don’t worry, I’ll walk. It’s fine,” Hannah replied, and started walking towards the door with Chuck on tow. 

Both stood on the porch, looking around the calm neighborhood. Hannah was feeling so ashamed of herself, slapping herself mentally every second that passed. 

“Well, Hannah, this was a great surprise,” Chuck started, breaking her thoughts for a moment, “we should do this more often, maybe with the guys, sometime, before winter leaves us secluded in our homes.” 

“Of course, but let’s not wait two years this time,” she replied, with a smile creeping up her lips, looking at him. God, how can someone dare be this good looking?

Chuck proceeded to hug her like when he opened the door past noon, when she showed up at his doorstep. Hannah reciprocated, and drowned herself once again in his cologne, not wanting to let go or stop feeling his hands around her body.

“See ya, Davis,” Chuck said as she walked down the steps and she took one last look at him before heading home. 

You fucking wuss, you fucking wuss, you fucking wuss, you fucking, pathetic     w—

“Hannah! Wait!” 

Chuck’s voice startled her as she was reaching the crossroad, when she turned around to find him running towards her. 

Her heart raced, wondering why the hell was he yelling at her for. Maybe she had forgotten something. Yeah, that’s all, I might have forgotten my… keys? 

“Hannah, wait, I… I have to tell you something and this can’t wait…” Chuck started as soon as he caught up to her. “Listen, this might sound weird but… a while ago I—you appeared in a dream of mine. You were talking to me after I got shot and you were begging me to not forget you.”

“Hannah, I took it upon myself to find you but I was meeting only dead ends, the Army wouldn’t help me so I had to… fuck, I had to find Winters and ask him for your information. God, that was embarrassing, but you know Winters, he didn’t hesitate to help. I had your address and phone numbers for months, but I never had the guts to go knock on your door… I thought you might have forgotten me, but… I never forgot about you,”

“I never forgot how we shared a foxhole during our hardest time. I never forgot how we slept in that bed and held hands in the dark. I never forgot how you took care of me when I had that one panic attack in Bastogne, and everything else,”

“What I mean, Hannah, is… I love you. I can’t date other women because they’re not you, and all I want is you. So… please, don’t leave. Not now. I couldn’t believe my eyes when you showed up at my door, fuck, I thought I was dreaming or dead. You had found me and I—,”

Before Chuck could follow through with his speech, Hannah took him by the face and kissed him. 

It was bruising, it was desperate and filled with love. Chuck wrapped his arms around her body, bringing her impossibly close to his body as her fingers found his hair. 

The anticipation was their favorite feeling. They both sensed how long they waited for that to happen, so they sank deeper into it. 

It went on for a few minutes, the night time seemed to have stopped for both, like everything had disappeared except for them. 

After they parted, both panting, their foreheads connected, Hannah opened her eyes and found Chuck’s cheeks stained with tear trails and that explained the salty taste in his lips. That made her smile widely as she still held his hand between hers. 

“Can you—do you want to s–spend the night with me?” Chuck asked, opening his eyes finally. 

Hannah just smiled widely, pecking his lips as she pulled him by the wrist towards his house.

///

Making love to someone you have craved for years makes the hours longer.

Both Hannah and Chuck were sure of that while the latter moaned loudly as Hannah rode him; his hands were bruising against her hips as she moved, holding herself in his shoulders, kissing him every now and again. 

Hannah never thought she would see Chuck like this. With sweat rolling down his forehead, his lips swollen and his eyes squeezed shut; to see his naked torso and his chest heaving up and down, which was covered in different scars that only made him even better looking in her opinion.

The man was almost ethereal in the dim light of his bedroom.

She enjoyed every bit of him as much as she could, like that could’ve been a fleeting figment of her imagination that she had to hold tight between her fingers before it could slip away. 

But reality brought her back when she felt the pain of his fingers digging into her hips. Hannah didn’t mind one bit.

She just loved to see how overwhelmed with pleasure he was, how he propped himself into his elbows, wrapping a hand around her bottom to carry both into the bed frame so he could sit and find her lips with his as he rode into his climax. 

Of course, Chuck being the gentleman he was, caring, he helped Hannah ride into hers, enjoying how she cried out his name loudly like it was the best song he had ever heard. 

///

Chuck’s fingers ran down Hannah’s bare shoulders, enjoying the dampness. It was soft, it was warm and it also a tad bit freckled. His fingertips followed down her arm until they met her face, that laid upon the back of her hands as she laid in her stomach. 

 Her eyes were closed but she was still awake. Hannah was just soaking on everything that happened through the day, and now, through the night, as the clock ticked into two in the morning. 

Chuck sat parallel to her, and his fingertips went all the way back to walk down her shoulder blades, into the deep line of her spine, meeting a few moles spread out here and there, which sent very slight tickles to the brunette. 

“I kind of can’t believe this just happened” he muttered, turning to lay his head on the small of her back. He could feel the vibration of the small laugh she let go at his comment.

“Me neither, Chuck… but I, uh… I have a confession, which I think will make you laugh,” Hannah replied.

“Do go on…” he replied.

“You told me you looked for my information with Winters, right?” Hannah asked.

“Right”.

“Well, when I looked for you too… I did the same,” she said and felt his head suddenly turn to her at her words, “and when I said your name, he gave me a weird look, but now I know it was a ‘I know something important about this that you don’t know’ look”. 

“So, wait, we l—ooked for each other in the past few months, and we did exactly the same shit?” he said, struggling slightly. 

Hannah heard the clicker of the lighter and looked back at him, lightning a cigarette with a shit eating grin sprawled upon his lips. 

“Exactly what I’m saying,” she replied, laying her head back down. 

“Another reason why I would like to marry you, then,” he added, like it was nothing.

What he didn’t notice was the speed in which Hannah’s eyes widened and her heart started thumping inside her rib cage. 

“I’m sorry?!” she asked, sounding a tad bit anxious. Chuck was never one to say rushed things like that. 

“The first reason is how powerful and relentless you were and still clearly are. You know how I know that?” he asked, and she could feel his smile still in his lips.

“No, how?”

“When you confronted Sobel before we went to Holland. Of course, I didn’t know at the moment the amount of feelings I had for you, but… I think I did have some of them roaming inside me,” Chuck said, like he was the one who stood up to Herbert Sobel, “but that was just plain hot,” he finalized, and turned to look at her; Hannah was just looking at him like he was crazy. 

The night before, everyone was cheering for their job. They were done, they were bound to the States and all the Easy Company wanted to do was drink and laugh. 

For everyone’s demise, Lipton announced how they were heading back into war, to Holland, killing the mood instantly. 

As the replacements were getting helped and guided by Bull, rather than Cobb, who could only brag about stuff he never ever did; Chuck was packing her stuff near Malarkey, Bill and Hannah. 

“I swear I thought by this time I was gonna be home, with a hundred in my pocket, flowers for my mama and nearing Christmas with my nieces and nephews” Malarkey said, fixing his bayonet. The rest scoffed, still bitter by the news.

“I miss the coffee from hometown, there’s this beautiful place in Hamstown Square, it’s very small and cozy, and the pastries are the most delicious I’ve ever had” Hannah said, looking like she was talking about the love of her life. 

“Guys, look!” Bull said, interrupting them, pointing to their right.

On a jeep, carrying some stuff behind it, sat Herbert Sobel, their former CO, the nightmare that trained them back in Toccoa. Hannah knew she didn’t train with him as much as the rest, but a year with that man was more than enough. 

“Fuck, no…” Hannah whispered so just the boys around her heard her “No, not him”.

“Don’t—Pretend he’s not here,” Malarkey said to her, tying the loose ends of her parachute to her shoulders as Skip came to them scowling like the rest. “Y’all too, do not look at him”. 

Neither obliged, all of them stared at the man passing by. 

“The hell is he doing here?” Skip wondered, without getting an answer.

Sobel walked in a straight line near the men as the truck behind his jeep unloaded, looking between the men with his usual air of superiority untouched. 

Unlucky for Hannah, he had met her eyes not too long after, and the man approached her, before the rest could make themselves scarce. 

“Still alive, uh… Davis?” Sobel asked, scowling at the brunette.

“Pretty much, sir. Still teaching at that school… somewhere?” she answered, provoking a few small gasps around her. Sobel scowl just deepened.

“Do not disrespect me with that tone, private” the taller man threatened, his jaw clenching tight. 

“Earn the respect, like you once taught us, and I won’t,” Hannah replied, her tone dripping with bitterness and irony. She felt a hand in her shoulder and knew one of the men was probably trying to calm her down. “You came here and act surprised that I’m still alive? No, I deserve more than that, sir”. 

“You shut your mouth right now, private! This—this is the reason why women shouldn’t be allowed in the army; they’re too emotional!” Sobel exclaimed, almost yelling to get attention, which only made Hannah even more furious.

“If you were in our command, if you were our leader, we would all be dead right now. Don’t you remember that drill we did back in England? Why do you think you were ‘promoted’? And no, I’m not scared of you, go write me up if you want to; Winters is south of the camp, third tent on the right. Colonel Sink is in the next tent to his, the fourth one,” Hannah felt like she couldn’t stop, her anger overcoming her; mountains of words and feelings that were accumulating, finally leaving her chest. 

Chuck couldn’t believe the words that came out of her. 

Everyone awaited without breathing for an answer, a yell from Sobel, something. But nothing came, he just scowled, breathed hard, and before anyone took a breath again, he turned around tight in his heel and left to the back of the truck. 

Hannah took a breath and turned around to finish prepping, when she found many of her fellow paratroopers smiling at her, some nodding in approval even. Johnny Martin crossed by her side, squeezing her arm, as he whispered a small “good one” for her. 

“I fucking hate him, that felt really good”, she said to Chuck, turning to adjust his jumpsuit. 

Chuck just stared at her, feeling hard to believe what just went through. Their former NCO was just bashed in front of everyone, and no one, not even one paratrooper came in his defense. 

His eyes roamed through her face as she fixed his suit and talked about something he wasn’t paying attention to. Suddenly, he was looking at her in a different way, one that would grow over time during the war.

///

The night caught up to Chuck and Hannah, both deep asleep on his bed. The brunette laid her head in his shoulder, on her side, while he was laid in his back, with his cheek against her forehead. 

Though around dawn, Chuck’s body started to shook. It came softly at first, just a few twitches, until it became a whole storm inside him. 

Hannah stirred up and saw how every muscle in his arms and chest were clenched, and he muttering something she couldn’t comprehend. Clearly, he was having a nightmares. The nightmares that seemed to never end, which felt like a punishment that everyone had to endure post war. 

The brunette placed her hands around his head as she whispered, “Chuck, Chuck, it’s okay, it’s just a dream, wake up, love, wake up.” 

His eyes shot open, looking terrified as he gasped for air, his hands fumbling to find her. 

“Hannah, Hannah!” He exclaimed, as he finally met her eyes. His body was shaking until he realized she was there, looking down at him, with a tired, disheveled smile. 

“It’s okay, love, I’m here, I’m here,” she replied, running her fingers through his hair, kissing his cheek before looking down at him again. 

The first light of the sun shining through the white curtains, illuminating both with such warmth it made Hannah’s heart swell. 

“I’m sorry, I’m s—sorry, Hannah, this still happens…” he explains, his hand tight on her side. 

But Hannah just smiles sweetly at him, “it still happens to me too, Chuck, it’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” she explains, admiring his deep blue eyes. 

“Can you… can you sing to me?” He asked, sounding almost embarrassed to ask for it. 

The touch of your lips upon my face

Your lips that are cool and sweet

Such tenderness lies in their soft caress

My heart forgets to beat

The touch of your hands upon my head

The love in your eyes, ashine

And now at last, the moment divine

The touch of your lips, the love in your eyes

The touch of your lips on mine

Chuck closed his eyes as her singing filled his ears. He haven’t felt peace like at that moment, not since the war. Hugging his mother, playing cards with his brothers or the men from the Company brought joy, but peace; peace came from Hannah, wearing his shirt, at dawn, singing to him. 

And it was the same for Hannah. 

Both knew the nightmares will continue to haunt them, and that their lives will go on, but at least, they were going to go through it together. 

And that was more than enough for them. ///

[sherrybaby14]

Take A Bite

This is for Honey-Bee-Holly’s challenge, congrats Doll!

Prompt: “Watch it doll, I just might have ta bite ya.”

Warnings: Smutty,smutty,smut,smut.  Very slim plot.  All consensual.

Pairings:  Alright….I make no apologies. This is MCU/MCU.

A/N:  This is a reader insert. Normally I try my hardest to leave the reader’s features vague, but in this you are blue.  For all intents and purposes, you have the exact same power as X-Men’s Mystique. Your gender is arguably open for interpretation but heavily leans to you being a female!reader. (The smut is all M/F)

Inspiration:  This gif

  Shoulders back, head up, blank look, and powerful walk. If you displayed enough confidence nobody ever asked anything in this building.  

               The pantsuits this chick liked to wear weren’t your favorite, but they were part of the SHIELD getup all the female agents were inclined towards.  

               You rolled your eyes as you stepped in the elevator. Maybe next time you would pose as someone who could enjoy a little femininity in their outfits.  

               The elevator came to a stop at the specified floor and you walked out into the SHIELD branch office inside Stark Tower. The receptionist glanced up at you but didn’t stop as you walked back towards Sharon Carter’s office.  

               You sat down in her chair and flipped her blond hair behind your shoulder.  Of course, her computer was of no use.  You weren’t a tech genius and didn’t have a clue how to hack it.  But one of the great things about organization’s like SHIELD was they were so terrified of being hacked they almost always kept paper copies of the most important documents.  

               After studying the association, the last few years, you began to suspect Carter was higher ranking than she let on.  

               When you pulled open the desk drawer you felt around the hitch at the top and took out the key to the file cabinet.

               You wondered if Director Fury would discipline her if he knew she stashed a spare key in such an obvious spot.  

               You spun around in the chair towards the massive file cabinets. It took a second to pop the key in place and voila, they all opened for you.  

               A smile spread on your face, wishing you had all day to go through every inch of paperwork, but for now you needed to focus. Did they have anything on you? Did they know you existed?

               “Knock knock.” The words were accompanied by two taps on the door.

               You spun and looked up to see Steve Rogers standing in the doorway.  

               “Good morning Sharon, you’re here early.” He crossed his arms as he leaned against the doorframe.

               “It’s going to be a busy day.” You sat up in the chair. “Can I help you with something Captain?”

               You’d surveyed all of them enough to know Steve Rogers was direct and had a packed schedule himself.  

               “No.” He pushed off the door and walked into the office. “Thought I would check in on you, keep some tabs, see what you’re up to.”

               It seemed like his chest was puffed out.

               “And what are you up to Sharon? Cleaning out files?” He walked towards your open drawer. “Is it spring cleaning already Sharon?”

               You didn’t like how he kept using the name of the person you were pretending to be.

               “No sense in maintaining old records.” You smiled and kept your posture perfect, confidence went a long way with everyone. “When I make a big enough pile would you help me carry them to the shredder?”

               You stood up and grabbed Steve’s bicep, well aware the two of them had some pseudo-relationship at some point.  This was far from your first trip inside SHIELD and these people kept tabs on everything.  

               “Sharon you flatter me.” He brushed his fingers to yours. “But I want to help you with more than brawn tasks.  Why don’t you tell me how you’re pulling the files, Sharon, then I can help you sort Sharon?”

               You bit the inside of your mouth and moved your jaw, a tick of your own, not of Sharon Carter’s.  The man was making you nervous.  Were you on their radar? What were they going to do to you when they found out?  You didn’t want to display a crack in your confidence.

               “Perfect.” You nodded. “I could really use the help, but I realized I forgot to grab a coffee.  I think I’m going to head back to the lobby.  Can I bring you back something?”

               “Nonsense.” Steve reached over you, as if he were about to give you a hug, the action almost made you topple back into the chair.

               “What are you…” Before you could get the question out you heard the click of a receiver.  

               Steve stood back up again and handed you the phone.

               “Why don’t you order some? Have it delivered?” He was inches from your face with a huge grin.  “You remember how to do that, don’t you Sharon?”

               You were found out.  There was no doubt.  You were strong but strong enough to take out Captain America?  Your best bet was to find a way out of his line of sight.

               You tried to back out, but your knees hit the chair and you stumbled again.  Steve reached out and grabbed you, supporting you and you steadied yourself.

               “Watch it doll, I just might have ta bite ya.” He tiled his head to the side, his face still displaying the mischievous grin.  

               “Wait…” Your adrenaline started to drop.  This wasn’t right. You weren’t found out.  

               “Who are you?”  You blew a puff of air and put your hands on your hips.

               “What do you mean?” The person wearing Steve Rogers took a step back, losing the grin. “I’m Captain America of course.”

               “Watch it doll? I just might have ta bite ya?” You shook your head. “I’ve interacted with him a few times, he would never talk like that at work.”

               “He uses the name doll all the time.” A corner of Steve’s mouth turned up as he leaned back against the desk. “And who are you? Because Sharon Carter would never wear those heels.”

               “This outfit is an exact copy of one she wore two months ago.” You knew it was silly to get into this debate and had to keep focused. “Obviously you’re not with SHIELD or you would’ve busted me already, so can I get back to work so I can get out of here?”

               “What is it you’re looking for? Maybe I can be of some assistance.” Steve raised his eyebrows and you realized how stupid it was to even think this was the real Captain America.  None of the mannerisms were down.  

               “I work alone.” You tilted your head towards the door. “Either you leave or I will.”

               Someone walked by the outside of the office.

               “Oh hey, you two are here early.” General Rhodes stopped in the doorway. “Did you go to the gym already?”

               “Umm, yes.” Fake Steve nodded.

               Whoever this guy was, he was an amateur and you decided to have some fun with him.

               “Captain Rogers was telling about the time he saved an entire platoon during the war.  It is a fantastic story, the detail he remembers is astounding.”  Now it was your turn to give a mischievous grin.

               “Oh yeah?” Rhodes walked in.

               “It’s a long one though.” You touched Rhodes’ shoulder. “I already heard the first ten minutes and I forgot my coffee.  Captain start over for the General, would you? You’re going to laugh so hard when he gets to the part about the kitten.”  

               “I’ll bite.”  Rhodes leaned against Sharon’s desk. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a story with a war kitten.”

               “Oh, um it’s not really that great of a story.” Fake Steve started scratching his head.

               You used the opportunity to strut out of the office.  Shoulders back, head up and into the elevator.  

               While intrigued that there was another shifter out there you were more annoyed this morning was a bust.  Plus you didn’t get the chance to close the files cabinet and put away the key, mixing that with Rhodes seeing Sharon could end up problematic if he felt like mentioning seeing her this morning.

               Odds of that were slim, but the open file cabinet would mean moving the key. It wasn’t like you didn’t know where the master one was, but that was going to be a pain in the ass to get.

               You weighed your options while the door to the elevator closed.  Sharon hadn’t done you that well today so as you let out a sigh you changed your form to another powerful blond who wouldn’t raise any flags in Stark Tower.

               Before the elevator moved a bell dinged at the door opened again.  A familiar face stepped on with you. He even had on the signature duster and eye-patch.

               “Ms. Potts.” He nodded his head.

               “Director Fury.” You smoothed out the dress Pepper was wearing, much prefer this to the pantsuit.  

               The door shut and you road down in silence for a few floors.  

               “War kittens?” He folded his arms and looked over at you. “Really?”

               “You ruined my morning, figured it was the least I could do.”

               “Come now Darling, these people don’t even know you exist.  No need to behave so paranoid and search their files.” Fake Fury turned to you. “I, on the other hand, am far too aware of your existence, but I have yet to determine your true identity.”

               “Good.” You tried to fight the smile, but it crept forward. “I plan on keeping it that way.”

               “Who are you?” Fury wasn’t even trying to sound like him. “Tell me. Please.”

               “Someone who is smarter than you.” You let out a little laugh.

               The gruff face looked offended.  

               “Sharon Carter is out of the office today and Pepper Potts is fast asleep from hosting a gala late last night.  Nobody is expecting to see them but it wouldn’t raise any questions if they were spotted.  Steve Rogers and Director Fury are both in the building, so all you’re doing is attracting attention.” You reached out and cupped fake Fury’s face as his mouth hung open.  “There’s an art in impersonation.  One you don’t understand.”  

               The elevator came to a stop on the bottom floor. You walked out, sliding your hand down their cheek in the process.  The morning was starting to pick up as the lobby filled.  You glanced over your shoulder expecting to see a dumbstruck Fury.

               Instead, there was a robust security guard with the same look, his eyes glued to you.  You couldn’t help yourself and gave a wink before turning around, putting on Pepper’s sunglasses and strutting out into the busy New York city streets.

~~~

               Wearing another’s form was like wearing clothes for you, some were more comfortable than others.  When you were alone you preferred your own self.  Since your image could transform with outfits you assumed your true form was as close to being naked as it got, but to you, clothing was just an extension of oneself and you did that often enough.

               So you stayed naked and blue, sitting cross-legged on your couch channel surfing.  It was the stereotypical New York apartment, tiny and expensive, but it was actually yours. That never stopped you from taking vacations as the rich and famous, but here in your loft, you had no problem being yourself.

Besides, if any peeping Tom looked in on you they would probably be more frightened by the blue scales than the nudity.  

               You wondered if fake Steve/Fury was blue too. If you had met under different circumstances you might have asked, but interfering with your business was no way to introduce themselves.  You sighed, giving yourself a mental kick for not closing that file cabinet.  

               The other shifter said SHIELD knew nothing about you though.  You would like to believe the shifter but they were so sloppy.  There was zero chance they gathered any real intel with their method.  You bit the inside of your cheek, confused how they found you out though.  

               A knock on the door broke your thoughts.  You popped up and in a second your scales flipped to make your appearance mimic the extra on the background of the television show you were watching.  She was tall, curvy, dark-skinned with dark brown eyes.  The outfit she wore showcased her breasts and that was exactly what you wanted.

               “Coming.” Your voice changed to mimic hers as well.

               Sometimes when you transformed into a person this beautiful you wondered what you would look like if you were just a person.  Of course, you had your preferred form that felt natural, but there was no way to tell if that was really you or not.  

               You gave up obsessing over that long ago though. You realized you were wearing the heels too and wondered if you were overdoing it for the pizza delivery guy. Then you glanced down and got another look at your breasts. You gave them a squeeze through the gold dress and decided it was worth it.  

               Plastering a fake smile on your face you flipped the black hair behind your shoulders and pushed your tits out further.  This form was hot enough you were going to get that free pizza before you even had to scam the guy.  

               “Well, you got here quick.” You yanked open the door to see a gun pointed between your eyes.  

                The form didn’t matter, you grabbed the wrist and twisted it away.  The assailant walked into your apartment and tried to smash their other arm down on your shoulder.  You stepped out of the way and let them go as you lifted your foot and kicked them in the chest, heel and all.  

                They slammed into your refrigerator with a clink. You readied yourself in a defensive stance and noticed the sound came from metal hitting metal.  

                He lunged at you, but you ducked down while the silver arm missed and through his body forward.  His brown hair swinging as he turned around and lifted his leg to kick you.  There was a black mask across his mouth and smudged liner around his eyes.  

               Your adrenaline flared when you realized you recognized him from your recon work.  It was the Winter Soldier.  The worlds deadliest assassin.  

               The two-second pause cost you as his leg swung down to your ankles, knocking you to the floor with a sweeping motion.  

               His human hand grabbed your throat and he raised his metal had to punch you, but your reflexes kicked in.  You did a kip and found yourself on your feet, then brought your foot down on the back on his neck, slamming him to the ground.

               You ran for the door, knowing escape was your only chance, but before you got it cool metal grabbed the back of your neck and pushed you forward, closing the wooden panel and slamming you against it.  

               His other hand came forward and twisted the lock, keeping you inside your apartment.  You wouldn’t give up though.  Heel and all you curled your leg up and bent the knee before slamming it back into his gut.

               “Ugh.”  He tumbled and grabbed his stomach, maybe heels were a good choice after all.

               You lifted your leg, ready to slam it down on his neck, but his hand jutted out and grabbed your ankle.  He ran forward and pushed your back against the door, effectively making you do a split while standing, one leg on the floor.  

               All this time you were so nervous about the Avengers figuring out who you were you turned a blind eye to Hydra.  No way would you be taken alive by them.  You tried to head butt the Winter Soldier, but he veered left.  

               Your hands were still free and you chopped at his side, knowing the side of your hand could be as powerful as a punch.  

               “Ouch.” He dropped your leg and put pressure on his side.

               Now you had the chance to use your forehead and didn’t hesitate to knock him down.  He stumbled and you brought your foot to his neck, pressing him into the fall so he landed flat on his back.  

               You stood above him with your heel pressed down on his neck, your fists ready for attack.  

               The man looked up at you with a huge grin and started slow clapping.

               “Well done darling.” The assassin pulled his mouth cover down. “You truly are a treasure, but I doubt someone who looks the way you do is interested in a pizza night in.  Why don’t you show me who you really are?”

               Your chest was huffing in and out.  It had been years since you had a fight like this and your endorphins were through the roof. Besides, you had some questions for the other shapeshifter.

               “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” You pressed your heel down harder on his neck.

               “I’m impressed you manage to keep your panties on as part of your change.” The fake Winter Soldier tilted his head to look up your gold dress.  

               He was no longer a threat, so you lifted your foot off of him and rolled your eyes as you stood straight.  

               “Of course, if you’re wearing gold maybe you prefer the company of royalty.” King T’Challa popped up from the floor.  

               He walked towards you and you fell back against the door, cursing yourself for not watching the transformation.

               “Would you like to kneel for your king?” The Black Panther leaned forward and put his arms on either side of his head as he looked over you.

               The man was beautiful, and his lips were centimeters from your face. It was your fault you missed his transformation and were intrigued, so you let your image change.

               “I prefer brains and beauty over status and fancy suits.” Your image flipped to the petite Wakandan whose brains barely fit inside her small statute.

               “Wow.” T’Challa moved his face back. “I’m not sure how I feel about a brother-sister combo.”

               You tilted your head to the side and smiled up in your Shuri imitation.

               “Well, what did you have in mind? Outside of breaking into my apartment and attacking me after ruining my workday?” You over exaggerated your blinking.

               In the midst of trying to be cute his form switched and you pressed your head against the door, shocked you missed the change again. He was much faster than you.

               “Maybe the two smartest people in the universe belong together.” Pale eyes looked straight at you since he shrunk with the latest change. “Think of the scientific discoveries.”

               Bruce Banner was never one that you paid too much attention to, but being this close to him, whether it was real or not, made you pause to study. The face was perfect.  

               The imposter used your lapse of judgment to lean forward and press his lips to yours. When was the last time anyone kissed you? Images of being on your own personal missions and using intimate exchanges to gather knowledge excluded.  Someone was actually kissing you.  

               You opened your mouth and invited his tongue to play with yours.  The way he moved into you felt better than expected and you brought your hands around his neck and pulled him in closer while you brought your leg around his waist.  

                His leg came behind you and knocked out one of your knees, causing you to slide down, but his hand was on your back and he lowered you to the floor without making your head smack.  There was no way that was possible given the properties of physics.

               The idea jarred you to reality.  This wasn’t someone kissing you.  This was Bruce Banner kissing Shuri. If he was capable of bending the laws of time and space, he was more powerful than you.  You were intrigued, and wanted to keep this going.

               Your skin flipped again. Now you were much taller, your hair had a grey streak and you made sure your outfit choice came with the signature cloak.

               The change made your partner pull away, but still Dr. Banner looked down at you.

               “Are you a wizard?” You expected him to stop the romantic entanglement now that you were male.  

               Instead, Bruce’s smile grew as he pushed back your fluffy hair.  

               “The way you change is beautiful.” His lips went back to yours.  

               Even in Dr. Strange’s body you found excitement in his touch and let his tongue slide into your mouth.  

               Wearing the suit of a man was too heavy for you. Their extra parts always felt awkward, so your skin flipped again.  This time you let your cheeks turn Scarlett.  

               Fake Bruce pulled away just in time to watch you switch.  

               “I’m not a wizard or a witch either.” Bruce placed a light kiss on your lips.  When he pulled away your eyes widened. Now Hawkeye was above you. “And as much fun as this is, I want to see the real you.”

               His change was too quick.  He wasn’t like you.  Wizard or witch this was coming to another place.  Before you could think of a way to respond his lips were back on yours. This time your interest was too peaked and you rolled over with no resistance.

               You sat up to see Clint Barton underneath you still. You tilted your head to the side and examined him, looking for anything out of the normal.  

               Anytime you took a break it was used against you and Clint’s hands were on Wanda’s shirt.  You rose your arms as he lifted the fabric from your body.  The Scarlet Witch did have fantastic breasts and you had no problem showing them off.  

               Instead of it being a show fake Clint ran his hands up them and they had real feeling.  You tilted your head back as one of his arms went behind you and pulled you forward, bringing his nipple into your mouth.

               Had anyone touched you in this way ever?  Did it matter it wasn’t you?  

               “As beautiful as you are right now, I’m certain the real you is even more charming.” Hawkeye sat up and flipped you over so he was on top of his back. “Put me out of my misery.  Show me.”  

               “I’m nobody.” You were at such odds with your identity it was almost a real answer.

               His eyes danced over you before he moved down and started kissing your neck. You moved your head to give him easier access and wished you hadn’t bothered to transform into anyone wearing clothing.

               You tried to thrust your hips against his, but he pulled away.  Now the face of Sam Wilson looked down at you.  

               “Why be someone when you can be everyone?” He grinned at you with the million-dollar smile only Falcon had.  

               “You’re not playing fair.” You grabbed the bottom of Sam’s shirt and yanked it over his head.  

               The moment gave you the opportunity to change figures again. This time while his shirt shielded his face.  

               “Agent Hill.” Sam bit a lip and glanced down your body. “I’m glad you kept the shirt off, but still not the real you.”

               His hand went to your stomach and snaked down until it got to the top of your pants.  He gripped the waistband and pulled, sending the buttons flying and breaking the zipper in the process.  Your hips picked up from the floor with the movement and he slipped them off.  

               “Regardless of the form, you feel, don’t you?” Falcon ran his hand up one of your bare legs. “This is real, not an illusion?”

               His hands got to the top of your thigh and you let out a gasp when his fingers kept moving. It had been so long since anyone touched you like this.  

               “Even though I’m touching Maria, it is still you who gets the pleasure?”  Sam ran his finger up your slit.

               You moaned, not needing the foreplay.

               “I’d like to meet the person I’m actually touching though.” He pushed his hand back down and a finger circled your entrance.  “Figure out what they really like.”

                “What about you?” You shot up from the floor and put your hand on his shoulder. Rolling so that he was on his back and you were straddling him. “Are you real? Or is this just you messing with my mind?”

                “Oh, I’m real.” A dark haired blue eyed man looked up at you. “They say ladies always go for a guy who can make them laugh.”

               “Thanks for keeping the shirt off.” You dropped your hands to his waist and started to undo the pants. “I hear Scott Lang likes to play with ants.”

                You pushed yourself up and yanked down his pants as your image flipped again.  This time you grinned down at him now in the form of Aunt May.

               “Oh, you are cheeky.” Scott looked up at you with a huge smile. “And as much as I love an older woman and this fantastic body, I’m willing to bet yours is even better.”

                Scott’s hands went to your hips and he pulled you down on top of him.  You reached behind yourself and fisted his cock.  Playing this little game was making you extra horny, regardless of form. It appeared he was enjoying himself as well since he was rock hard.  

               “Tell me, when you change shapes will the size change as well.” You squeezed his dick and licked your lips at the same time.  

               “That piece of anatomy is all mine.” Steve Rogers was now the one you were straddling.  

               He pushed you back a little and pulled his cock forward so that you were right above him.  

               “Maybe we could give these two the love story they never got.” As you lowered yourself onto him you image flipped into Peggy Carter.

               “Ahhh,” you both moaned at the same time as he pushed inside of you and you lowered yourself down at the same time.  

               Steve kept his hands on your hips, but he didn’t take the lead as you started to ride him, rocking and rolling your hips.  

               “I think Cap is a little too gentle for a girl like you.”  An arm wrapped around your waist as Tony Stark sat up, pulling your chest against his. “I’m willing to be you like it when someone else takes control.”

               Tony started flexing underneath you, using his hand to pull your body back and forth at a fast rate.  

               You draped your hands over his shoulder as your clit brushed against him with each movement, the position giving you the ability to grind down on him.  

               “Maybe you deserve someone whose out of this world.” You skin flipped again and this time you pushed Gamora’s forehead against Tony’s.

               “I’m not familiar with this one.” Tony looked surprised, but he didn’t stop moving rocking you up and down while you ground on top of him.

               The pressure was starting to build and you let out a moan.  

               “Then let’s stick to everyone’s favorite.” Again your skin flipped and the bright red curls were in front of your face.

               Tony buried his head in Nat’s chest and started licking your nipples.  It made you pick up the pace as your mouth hung open, the need in your belly growing stronger.

               Woosh! You weren’t sure how he did it, but you found yourself on your back with him buried deep inside of you.

               “I see everything, but I can’t see you.” Vision’s maroon skin was too tempting and you let out a gasp as you pulled him down for a kiss.  

               Vision kept slamming into you and your orgasm was coming.  You tried your hardest to roll your body with his, chasing after the need while you moaned and panted.  

               The movement was enough and the coil in your belly sprung free.  You cried out and through your head back. The pleasure making you lose any sense of focus. You couldn’t hold onto the image of the black widow and your skin fluttered away.

               Your partner grunted and gave a final deep thrust. You felt his cock convulse as your eyes rolled back into your head.  He collapsed on top of you and it took a moment to form any coherent thought.  

               “Beautiful.” The weight above you moved. “The most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”  

               Your eyes opened and you looked down at your blue skin. It was too late to try and hide, but you didn’t know whether to believe what was in front of you.

               “And you?” If this were his true form it made sense.

               “In the flesh.” The demigod pulled his cock out of you making a reminder of pleasure shoot to your core.  “Oh, we are going to have such fun together love.”

               You didn’t know how to respond, especially when his fingers started tracing your curves.

               “I’ve changed my mind.” Loki leaned over and looked you in the eyes.  “ Why should you be anyone when you can be you?”      

[writingisawarzone]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Undertale (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Underfell)/Reader, Sans (Horrortale)/Reader, Sans (Underswap)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Sans (Undertale), Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Reader-Insert, One-Sided Attraction, Animalistic Sans (Undertale), Badass Reader, Knotting, Male Masturbation, Primal Sans (Undertale), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), beasttale, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Undertale Skeletons in Heat, Dry Humping, Strong Female Characters, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Trapped on an island, reader gives the skeles nicknames, reader was in the military, reader has ptsd, Reader curses, weird shit happens, Porn With Plot, Possibly Unrequited Love, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, My Horrortale Sans is inspired by Aggre(g/v)ation, Reader is not easily flustered, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, Angst and Drama, get ready for this shit show, Bara Sans (Undertale), smol sans - Freeform, Tall Reader, POV Multiple, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale) Summary: 
(Y/n), a high ranking Platoon Commander in the Military, was on a mission with her squad when her plane was shot down by an enemy ship, leaving her stranded on an unknown island, with none of her comrades in sight.
It would have been all fine an’ dandy… if she wasn’t surrounded by three Alpha Skeletons and one Omega Skeleton. All of which want to fuck or be fucked by her.
So now here she is, having to assess her dominance as an “Alpha” to get by with her limbs still attached and her clothes still in one piece. Even if one of them looks like he came straight from Satan’s asshole.

[shadowandblack]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Undertale (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Underfell)/Reader, Sans (Horrortale)/Reader, Sans (Underswap)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Sans (Undertale), Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Reader-Insert, One-Sided Attraction, Animalistic Sans (Undertale), Badass Reader, Knotting, Male Masturbation, Primal Sans (Undertale), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), beasttale, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Undertale Skeletons in Heat, Dry Humping, Strong Female Characters, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Trapped on an island, reader gives the skeles nicknames, reader was in the military, reader has ptsd, Reader curses, weird shit happens, Porn With Plot, Possibly Unrequited Love, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, My Horrortale Sans is inspired by Aggre(g/v)ation, Reader is not easily flustered, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, Angst and Drama, get ready for this shit show, Bara Sans (Undertale), smol sans - Freeform, Tall Reader, POV Multiple, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale) Summary:

(Y/n), a high ranking Platoon Commander in the Military, was on a mission with her squad when her plane was shot down by an enemy ship, leaving her stranded on an unknown island, with none of her comrades in sight.

It would have been all fine an' dandy... if she wasn't surrounded by three Alpha Skeletons and one Omega Skeleton. All of which want to fuck or be fucked by her.

So now here she is, having to assess her dominance as an “Alpha” to get by with her limbs still attached and her clothes still in one piece. Even if one of them looks like he came straight from Satan's asshole.

[ilcaeryx]

Limelight: Chapter 2 [Bakugou Katsuki/Reader]

SUMMARY: In their ingenuity, villains spurred the competence and excellence of heroes with unexpected consequences. Before, most heroes could focus solely on combating villany and make a living out of it. Today, a well-established hero is multifunctional: a protector, entertainer and idol in one person. Engaging the public the way a celebrity would is a common strategy, leaving the tabloid industry flourishing and eager to make a killing.

Number 2 hero Bakugou "Ground Zero" Katsuki refuses to indulge others' fantasties... though he'll make an exception for you.

TAGS: Reader-Insert, Idol-like Heroes, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Vacation, Long-Distance Relationship, Hero Dating Civilian, Influences from K-pop, Comedy, Aged-Up Character(s), Idol Variety

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Clickbait

Okay, the last sentence in the prologue was definitely hyperbolic; a 'device' (if you can even call it that) utilized by the 'author' (read: barely sentient being) to introduce a spark of curiosity in the readers. In the fast-paced modern world there's little time to waste in reading about one singular event when these interconnected societies over the globe cause hundreds, if not thousands of events. More often than not, the reader will stop mid-scrolling and raise an eyebrow over a particularly bizarre occurrence. If you want the entire 0,5% of a person's daily attention-span, an ounce of deception will do the trick.

  In my case, if I've played my cards right, that last sentence interested you and hopefully you'll remember it some fifteen chapters from now. I guarantee you it'll happen.

We're all in agreement that clickbait and hyperbole are trashy ways of spreading news and that many events undeservingly receive more attention than they should. After all, at times those titles prove to be downright false.

  However, it wouldn't be completely untrue to state that clickbait and hyperbole forced Bakugou Katsuki out of his residence into a bullet train speeding southwards late at night. Knowing Katsuki, there's no way he'd ever admit to it either. He never had cared much in keeping appearances, admittedly, yet there was something intimately disturbing in acknowledging that the constant pursuing of the tabloid writers bothered him. It was not a confession he would bring up to anyone. Not Kirishima, not his parents nor coworkers.

  Much like any other young adult in this era, Katsuki repeatedly turned the screen of his phone on and off with such compulsion and fervor that would impress professional Guitar Hero players. His phone was new and barely customized, which is why he constantly had to swipe away the existence of every NEWSFLASH: HERO X DID Y announcement that popped up on his home-screen. Earlier today a severe flood had forced a platoon of heroes into action and his phone had gone absolutely batshit. Honestly, who gave a fuck? Unless you lived there, it wasn't necessary. Once he had settled into his vacation house, he would uninstall whichever app was responsible.

  Until then, he'd just keep it off. No one would call him this early.

  Those motherfuckers. How'd they find me?

  If it hadn't been for the weak dawnlight catching the lenses of the cameras, Katsuki would have dismissed the shantily clad trio as tourists. Bathing in sunlight by the train-station exit, the human leeches held their big-ass cameras like they were their first-born child. Quite literally cradling their ticket to a paycheck.

  Question was if he originally was their target or if they were snooping around for another celebrity.

  Katsuki slowly pulled up his dark hoodie over his hair and re-adjusted his plain mouth mask, making sure it reached half-way up his nose. He wouldn't see shit with sunglasses on, so he didn't bother picking them out of his jacket pocket. It was fucking annoying to walk around clad like a rapist or a robber, but rough clothes together with an aggressive stride usually kept people away. The last thing he needed was any exposure at all - he wanted to lay low. A gathering of paparazzi around his vacation house together with fans or curious people would be an unfortunate test of patience.

  Fuck, that would probably destroy his career at this point.

  Walking through the open-air train-station while staying undercover felt contradictory, like a gazelle hiding in plain sight. As he passed by the unmentionables, he repeatedly convinced himself that it wasn't him they were after. He walked too fast to hear anything properly, though he didn't hear any camera shutters, which pleased him. By the time he had boarded the small bus to the village, the nitroglycerine that coated his palms had soaked through his bus ticket.

 Shirahagi village was fine, he guessed.

  In reality, it was an overgrown, chaotic mess exposed to the weather; blooming vegetation and simple houses were clustered in an irregular fashion, creating a labyrinth of low visibility and shadows. The main road that led from the lackluster bus-station downhill ended in a smaller plaza, he could see. Part of the village was completely submerged under the dense tree-crowns, from his view on top of the hill. Wherever his place was, he couldn't tell.

  A succinct summary: it was an utter clusterfuck.

  Katsuki knew that somewhere in these tangled roads there was a mom-and-pops-style grocery store. Hell, it was possibly small enough that he would devour their entire sortiment in the two weeks he was to spend here.

  Other than that, he didn't know shit. Prior to yesterday afternoon, he had never heard of Shirahagi. Through a game of telephone, one of his old ex-classmates (that he didn't remember at all, coincidentally) spoke to another and so on until Alien Girl messaged him to check it out yesterday. She had written that it was a pretty cool place but he suspected that she either had ties to the old lady that offered to rent out a house in an extremely short notice or that she had misheard the name.

  It seemed like a calm and desolate place, so he had struck a deal.

  For now, this was all he needed.

   Obscured behind a crescent-shaped road was the old lady's house. In contrast to the untamed flora towering above it, the residence was a well-polished gemstone; the hedges were neatly cut, the facade in decent shape and it seemed like the walls wouldn't cave in from a slight breeze. Frankly, it'd be worth the money if his house was similar.

  Not that appearance particularly mattered, but he didn't want to freeze to death in case of broken walls or windows or whatever.

  A back curved by age was hovering above a flowerbed, knees digging into the ground. Mrs Takahashi. Katsuki let go of his luggage and held onto the metal fence, inclining himself over it.

  "Lady!" he said, voice loud and clear. "I'm Katsuki, the guy that called yesterday. I'm here for the vacation house."

  Mrs Takahashi struggled to stand up, using her hands to push herself back on two feet. Her legs shook enough that Katsuki tensed his shoulders.

  "I was wondering when you would drop around," Mrs Takahashi shuffled around, removing her gardening gloves by the fingertips. The old lady had a weathered face, like a granite wall cracking up, and she didn't look too impressed as she eyed him. Perhaps she didn't recognize him.

  Katsuki shrugged lightly, not knowing what to say.

  "My hearing isn't what it used to be anymore; I could barely hear you over the phone. New technology these days, they don't make anything like they oughtta." Mrs Takahashi walked up to him, reaching out her palm towards him. Oddy enough, Katsuki impression of her was beetle-like. With her back bent over, the purple wool jacket was kind of like her carapace. Her head and neck were sunken towards her chest and her limbs were slim, like those of an insect.

  In fact, he was calling it now. Her Quirk definitely had something to do with beetles, or at least insects in general.

  She harkled her throat and wriggled her fingers. Katsuki pressed his lips and reluctantly reached out to shake her hand. When he grasped her hand it simply remained limpless, a sloppy, unenthusiastic welcome to Shirahagi.

"I don't want your hand, son, I want your identification. My niece and nephew have told me all about these scammers that are going around nowadays."

  His eyes narrowed very slightly.

  I see how it's gonna be.

  This could turn out nasty, he thought as he retrieved his ID out of his wallet, handling it to her. Everyone had a short description of their Quirks along with the usual information on their ID-cards. Even if she didn't know about his profession, the Quirk description 'secretes nitroglycerine through perspiration and ignites it into explosions' was uncommon. It wasn't hard to find out the name of a hero just by searching for a Quirk description.

  Mrs Takahashi seemed at peace, at least. A mild humm erupted from her and she gave him the ID back.

  He quickly put it away in his wallet.

  "Be mindful of the attic," she said and dangled a key in front of him. "If I hear you've harassed my ghosts you'll end up regretting it."

  After this poor display of social interaction, he could finally move into his vacation house.

  Thus began Bakugou Katsuki's two day barricade against all of Shirahagi and the only objectively safe and correct choice he made the next 6 months.

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[the-hunters-rebel-heart]

Ideas

Right, so i have oodles of ideas... can picture some of them... Need to figure out the sequence. Need to get the outlines and mindmaps together.

Crud lol.

Idea 1 (already written but could do muuuch better - story Five in my Sam’s Love Story Series) - Jessica Moore Returns and Sam Winchester is in a Relationship with another woman. Yeah... nice and angsty... could be much angstier than what I have written.

Idea 2: Demon!Dean :-D Dean has adopted a hell hound (oh my god the angst) and Demon!Dean fathers a child. Ohhh this could be such a treasure trove of angst and plot. Maybe part of my aforementioned series

Idea 3: Dean has a twin... who turns out to be related to Garth Fitzgerald IV through adoption! OMG, and this twin is a frigging FED! I mean, what the hell could go wrong? Bahahahaha. Okay, so he’s a former FED who is wanted by the government... might have the NSA pick him up, pardon him, and make him an Agent there... but Bahahahaha... so much sweet, sweet angst. Another one of the aforementioned series.

Idea 4: Sam and Dean have been hiding some pretty massive secrets... *cough kids cough* who aren’t exactly human... and the Men of Letters go after their families and just... Mary ends up in the middle, her maternal instincts finally kick in and it’s like... WTF. This could get fluffy and angsty at the same time. This would NOT be related to my other writings.

Idea 5: Two young hunters come busting into the present from the future and they turn out to be Sam adn Dean’s sons... or a son and a daughter... or something ... and this could prove hilarious. Not related to anything else

Idea 6: Sam and Dean have to, with the help of some others, gather some Weapons that were made by Chuck or Amara or whatever, before they fall into the wrong hands, and end up imbibed with the powers of those weapons... like angelic or demonic powers or something. Yeah - still thinking about this one. May do something where they have to gather these objects and become angels in the end. Not sure yet. Unrelated

Idea 7: Castiel has a girlfriend? Or he has a kid he’s been hiding for a long, long time... or both? I’m not sure yet... been turning the gears on this one in my brain for a few months - haven’t decided where I want to go with it. unrelated

Idea 8: Amara created an angel of her own before being locked away, and Chuck hid from him that he was her creation instead... but something has been suspected since the Angels fell that he was different... and maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t need a vessel... like... she was trying to appease Chuck to get him to pay attention to and love her again by creating this angel and he locked her away anyway before discovering her creation? Unrelated (maybe)

Idea 9: Right, so I did an unrelated fic where Crowley was Sam and Dean’s birth father. What if, and this could prove hilarious, but what if Cass turned up as Sam and Dean’s father which is why they were chosen as Michael and Lucifer’s vessels? Like John was Cass’s vessel at one time and Mary didn’t know it. I don’t think the ones who are all for Destiel will like this... but I see them more as family than lovers (I don’t ship destiel). When I say family, I mean like brothers. unrelated

Idea 10: Right, so what if the whole thing with the MoC didn’t happen, and after the Garth incident, Sam and Dean went their own ways... and Dean ended up falling hard for a werewolf and having a kid with her... and then somehow Mary was brought back and ended up working with the MoL... and yeah... or even Mary AND John were revived somehow... and don’t realize the woman they tried to kill was Dean’s wife... nor that they placed their grandkid in danger? unrelated

Idea 11: Sam and Dean have long lost kids? Like, the darkness had totaled the Impala or something, Sam and Dean got separated, and Dean and Sam were having problems finding each other... and maybe Dean was injured enough to need medical attention... only to be found by his daughter... unrelated (of course)

Idea 12: Sam and Dean are reincarnations of the original Men of Letters - two men who started the entire thing... actually, i started this one a long time ago in another form and it ran out of steam - just am not sure where I want to go with it. unrelated

Idea 13: Dean manages to shut the Gates of Hell after a fight with Sam - ends up reviving a year and a half later... and... I’m not quite sure where I want to go with that either... Like, I’m really not. unrelated

Idea 14: Sam and Dean have hidden that they are Government Agents from each other for almost forever but find out about it. unrelated

Idea 15: Mmmm... there’s just something about Dean having been a Marine that I kinda like, and Sam doesn’t know about it... like hunting is actually a Marine Black Op, and Dean is the head of the operation and stuff... and go through and explain his severe, severe, severe fear of flying... like while he was on tour or something, his plane went down or something, and his ... unit? Platoon? I don’t know which one to go with, is being murdered for their connection to him from something that happened during one of his tours while Sam was in college? Alright, so I’m a sucker for an NCIS crossover story - from the days of Ziva and Tony. unrelated

Idea 16: So I’m a sucker for a Dukes of Hazzard crossover too - and the show is NOT racist (if you think that, you’re a bigot because some of the most beloved characters were black! The flag was not used in the racial context, it was used to represent rebellion against a corrupt legal system which is WHY Robert E Lee fought for the South is he thought the US legal system was corrupt and although he did own slaves, he was considering releasing them before the war broke out. Lee was first choice for the Union Army General before Grant... well that and Lee was from Virginia and was loyal to his state as was common in that day). *clears throat* anyway, now that that is out of the way - Sam and Dean time travel back to the 1980′s to save a Nephilim or something, and said Nephilim eventually ends up transported to the present time or sometime within the Supernatural timeline... yeah, still thinking this one out :-) unrelated

Idea 17: So Bobby hired help, and is unaware she is a bad ass hunter, and she ends up saving their asses when something gets loose on Bobby’s property. Still formulating this one. unrelated - could be come another series like the other series?

Idea 18: Purgatory ends up spewing its guts, and Benny Lafitte returns... yeah, still trying to figure this one out too. unrelated

Idea 19: Sam or Dean is suffering mental illness... just because... like addiction or something. unrelated

Idea 20: Right, so this dates back to the Human!Impala phase that went around Tumblr... but... what if the Impala had the soul of a woman trapped within due to a witch’s curse? Nothing romantic... more a maternal thing toward Sam and Dean. unrelated

Idea 21: Criminal Minds crossover :-D Goes back to the whole secret agent idea where Sam or Dean is an FBI agent and the other doesn’t know about it. unrelated

Idea 22: alright, so this is a Lifetime Movie Ripoff, and I think someone else hinted at this idea too but - Jessica Moore was having an affair with another man, Sam had a very large life insurance policy, and Jess wanted it, and maybe she framed Sam as someoen who he wasn’t and after her death, the guy thinks Sam murdered her due to all the lies, and goes a hunting for Winchester? unrelated

Idea 23: Okay, so, uh, Twin!Dean idea with my Twin!Dean OC where Cole Trent knows Dean’s Twin and something happened to Trent’s wife and son or something and Trent starts hunting and teams up with his old USMC buddy? My OC btw, is exMarine and FBI or NSA depending on the fic. unrelated. Still trying to figure this one out.

Idea 24: Right, so I’ve written stories like this Twice already, but there’s just something that doesn’t get old about Dean Winchester having a siamese twin and finding out about it lol. Like... maybe make a series of fics about Dean Winchester having a Twin brother?

Idea 25: Mary ends up finding out a friend was tossed from the 80′s to present day... like a girl she was mentoring... and said girl is involved with her youngest son... with a nice angsty hunt mixed in for good measure.

Like... God I’m awful lol.

And some of these are pretty damned unique ideas that I have YET to see in this fandom.

This is why I let my characters guide me in writing and coming up with ideas.

But this is faaaar too many ideas and I will probably never write them all. Some of these ideas, I’ve had on the drawling board for a few years. Some of them I started writing with a friend but never finished.

Like... Honest... and this isn’t even all the ideas I have!!!!

So what are everyone’s favorite ideas listed here??? (reminder: I do NOT write smut or Reader Inserts or for real living people or Destiel or Wincest or Sam as Gay or Dean as Gay even if I do poke fun in some of my unfinished stuff that I abandoned... well, you get the idea... and I do write Charlie as a Lesbian if and when I try to write her).

If you use any of these ideas... I WANT CREDIT.