#so those Fresh Blood panels ended up. way too far in my head.

[teleportationmagic]

[prfctethereal]

just another horror movie. | james potter

pairing: james potter x reader

chapter: one 

warnings: NSFW, smut, oral (male receiving), exhibitionism, talk of dead bodies, actual dead body, blood, vomiting

word count: 3.7k

read the prologue here or on ao3 here

summary: you and james take a quick detour through the woods, to have a bit of morning fun, but find something gruesome.

Three weeks earlier…

The quiet town of Hogwarts had never been quieter. It was typical though; towns that resided in the countryside of Scotland were often described as “quiet”, unbeknownst to most that it was anything but. Except, Hogwarts lived up to the stereotype. Peaceful, tame, quiet.

Quiet.

God, you needed some quiet.

Exam season was narrowing in, which meant endless nights of caffeine and random studying music that you found on spotify, its main purpose to help you concentrate. It was unfortunate, with the school year coming to a close, but you were determined to leave the year proud and satisfied with your work. Everything was going perfectly so far. Nothing could screw it up.

This is what you told yourself as you began your walk to school this morning. Leaving your house at seven in the morning on the dot had become the regular for you. Now that Summer was finally coming in, the walks were warm, without chilling breezes. You could feel comfortable with the wind in your hair and a light shirt on your back.

Something felt tranquil about this morning in particular. You didn’t feel held up or anxious. You didn’t even feel stressed as you busily organised your school bag this morning. You didn’t even blink an eye when you dropped your chemistry textbook on your foot. You were in a good mood. You were glowing.

Maybe it was because you had been getting some amazing sex from your amazing boyfriend lately.

Maybe.

But today wasn’t for what ifs. Today, you had one thing on your mind. A conversation needed to be had between you and your guidance counsellor, as the prospects of colleges were starting to roll around. Applications were beginning to close and your aspirations for life after high school were beginning to get clearer and clearer. You no longer wanted to be tied down in a small town, where the most important job you could get was at the Mayor’s office, sitting at a desk, listening to the complaints of highly egotistical citizens.

Wasn’t for you.

Your mind drifted off to your could-be life, and before you knew it, your legs had walked to your boyfriend’s house without you even realising. It was something unconscious and natural, something you were completely used to. The sight of the grand, three-story mansion that your lover lived in brought unprecedented comfort.

The spiralling pillars covered in the greenest of vines was something from a fairytale. A pale cerulean was painted across the panelling, giving a dream-like feel. Right above the front door housed a giant window, one that opened up into James’ bedroom.

Right. James.

Walking up the path, you felt comforted by the familiar sound of gravel beneath your feet. It reminded you of all the nights you had snuck up this very path to climb into James’ bedroom via the window. Nostalgic really.

Now you were here in broad daylight, ready to walk hand in hand with your boyfriend to school. Knocking on the front door, you were excited to see a nearly immediate opening of the door, with a very joyous boy standing there. His signature dopey smile glistened even brighter, as his eyes lingered over your clothed body a little longer than expected. His tongue shot out very quickly over the pink cushions of his lips, something you could’ve missed in a blink of an eye, but you didn’t. Laughing, he pushed his glasses up the nose of his bridge, before running his fingers through his unruly hair.

“Should we go then?” It sounded as though it was the first time James had spoken this morning, a fact that you didn’t mind, as your brain thought unholy things when listening to his gravely morning voice.

“Soon.” You mumbled, your voice trailing off slightly, as you stepped towards James, swinging your arms around the back of his neck. Taking a breath of his scent, you leaned forward, placing a delicate kiss upon his lips. They were slightly chapped, but you didn’t care.

It may have been a Summer day, but that wasn’t the only reason you were feeling hot.

Stopping yourself before you went too far, you pulled backwards, not before suggestively running your hands down James’ chest, smirking against his lips. “Come on, let's go.” You remarked playfully, smacking your hand lightly against James’ firm butt, which elicited a short laugh from the bubbly man.

So, hand in hand, you and James darted down his footpath, back into the street. Even more birds had woken up by now, with a choir of chirping serenading your descent into the bustling streets of Hogwarts.

Everything now seemed a little more public than you initially thought. Neighbours were waking up and going to work now too, giving no shorter than five second glances at you and James’ hand intertwined. You know what they would say; old people gossiped too much for your liking. It made you especially nervous, knowing that your parents didn’t know about your illicit relationship. Maybe it should stay that way. Well, before any neighbours get a little too gossipy in the weekly book club meetings.

“Are you listening to me?” James asked, snapping you out of your thoughtful haze. Blinking twice, you returned your attention to James, who’s eyes were laced with concern as he looked you over once again, eyebrows furrowed. “You seem out of it.”

“Oh, sorry.” Your voice came out almost silently as you looked away, flushed and embarrassed. “What were you talking about?”

“How I was going to fuck you so hard later today that you are going to struggle to walk.” James followed his statement with a dash of laughter, something that you mimicked like a pirate’s parrot.

“Well, I hope that’s not a joke, my dear.” You flashed a sly smile, looking James up and down. You both stopped walking, with James now admiring the way you were biting your lip, as if you were a siren trying to entrap him. Surely, you guys wouldn’t quickly dash away into the bush and go for a quickie right now, right?

James thought about it too, eyeing up someone’s poor hydrangea bush. Unfortunately, there would be too many witnesses, and exhibitionism wasn’t something you had both openly discussed before, although it wasn’t completely off the table.

“Lunch period.” James finally said, stopping his momentary halt, and marching forward.

“Lunch period?”

James leaned over, pressing his lips so close to your ear. His hot breath sent shivers down your spine, ones that ended in your core. “Meet me in the hallway between the chemistry and physics lab. I think there’s a new cupboard we could Christen.”

Giggling in excitement, you rubbed your fingers up the length of James’ arm, tugging him down the footpath, continuing your conversation about whatever. You learnt that he had a History test today, all about women earning the right to vote. You sighed as you listened to him talk about what he was passionate about, his stressed vowel sounds turning you on more than you would’ve thought.

Then came a predicament. An actual, real life crossroad. Right in front of you was where the footpath curved to the left, following along the road onto the main road through town. It was the way you went every day, with the road taking you directly to school when you walked along it, arriving perfectly at seven twenty-five every day. It was ideal.

This morning, though, you were feeling cheeky. From this footpath curve was another opportunity. The footpath also opened into a dirt path, something that twisted into the woods, or, as the conspiracy theorists of the town called it, the Forbidden Forest. It was hardly forbidden though; they literally took Scouts classes there, and those have kids as young as seven in them.

Feeling devilish, you paused James for a moment, the cogs turning over in your brain. You might arrive at school a little later than you first thought, but at least you would have some distance between the prying eyes of the Hogwarts neighbourhood. And maybe, you could have a little bit of fun too.

“James,” you smirked, tugging at the edge of his shirt, capturing his attention, something that wasn’t actually that hard to do, “shall we go for a detour this morning?”

Your eyes flashed over the forest and onto the quiet stillness of it. You could feel James’ heart rate speed up, but it wasn’t because he was scared. He was just as excited as you. It was like a switch had flicked on in his brain, although he was still hesitant, his feet still planted firmly on the ground.

“Are you sure?” James questioned. “How late is this going to make us?”

“Not that late at all.” You justified, mocking offence. “Oh, we should get there at maybe, quarter to eight? And besides, it’s fresh air, it’ll be good for us, and our lungs. Think of it as reversing the side effects of being around Sirius and Remus when they smoke all the time. Your lungs will thank us.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.” James laughed.

“How would you be so sure?”

“I’m the one that takes biology out of the two of us.”

You had to try another tactic, so, you jutted your bottom lip out of your mouth, putting on your best doe eyes, hoping you could flutter your eyelashes enough for him to give into temptation. “Please?”

A sigh escaped James lips as he seemed to give in. His reluctant look of worry was quickly replaced by an eager spark. Knitting his fingers in with yours, you two walked hand and hand together down the dirt path. The change of feeling beneath your feet was almost instantly recognisable, the normal, smooth, concrete path replaced by the rough dirt, and slight mud, even though it hadn't rained in days.

As you continued to wander down the path, you were suddenly covered in a canopy of shade, as the trees of the forest soon covered your heads. The route got a tad darker, the path no longer illuminated with the light of the sun, not that you minded though. You could still easily see where you were going.

You felt a little colder without the extra heat from the sun. You didn’t like the way goosebumps rose on your skin or the way you had to rub your hands along your arm to keep yourself warm. You felt out of control, a feeling of which you loathed. You didn’t want your perfect morning to be ruined by a little chill.

When you reached a tall, winding tree, you stopped James from his walk, pulling him off the path. Luckily, you had spotted a small dip in the earth, perfect to stay in, somewhere where regular bystanders wouldn’t find you. Happy with your discovery, you looked back at James, who had a puzzled look across his face.

“What’s going on?”

“Can I kiss you?” You asked breathlessly, your hands already getting fidgety. You wanted to be connected with James again, intertwined if you will. You needed to feel his skin, even if it was barely quarter past seven in the morning.

“Yes, love.” James breathed out, his voice quiet and shallow. WIth the consent, you leaned upwards, connecting your lips at last. It felt right to be pressed up against each other once again, even if it had been only yesterday when you had last felt such passion.

You deepened the kiss, feeling urgent to make the most of the short time you had together. Your mouths melded together almost perfectly, your lips pushing against each other like a playful pillow fight, one which you were determined to win.

Feeling mischievous, you reached to James’ hair, tugging lightly on his roots, an action you knew he liked. This action got the response you wanted from him, a needy moan, in which you took the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth, battling it out with his own, regaining confidence and dominance.

You pulled away, your cheeks flushed from the lack of oxygen. James looked disheveled but pleased, wanting to continue your little make out session, but unfortunately, you had limited time.

“Can I suck you off?” You whispered against his mouth innocently, looking up at his hazel eyes, brushing his hair off of his forehead. You could hear him gulp with nervousness, before nodding quickly, his hands making their way to his slacks.

You knew James was slipping into a mindset clouded by arousal, so you sank to your knees slowly in front of him, still looking up at him through your long lashes. On your journey downwards, you carefully unzipped the zipper on his pants, pulling them down to ankles, until he was clad in only his boxers.

Lifting yourself up slightly onto the balls of your feet, you kissed him lightly on the outside of his boxers, feathering gentle kisses. You knew you were being a tease, but you needed him nice and hard. As you felt his bulge setting like cement under your lips, you lifted your hands up, joining your lips so you could palm him, stroking the material.

When James started moaning, - “oh please, stop teasing, I beg you,” - you released him from the cage of his underwear, dragging the clothing down the apex of his things, watching the muscles twitch in excitement. There, James’ half hard cock laid against his thighs, the tip a gentle rouge colour.

Your fingers grazed over his prick, lightly tracing a prominent vein of the underside of the sex muscle. James groaned in pleasure, the teasing getting too much for him to handle. Feeling benevolent, you dribbled saliva over the tip of the cock, before wrapping your entire hand around it. You started stroking harder and faster, making sure James could feel all of you in a way you hand. He was starting to fall apart above you, but it wasn;t enough.

“So- so good.” James murmured, his eyes gently shutting as he became lost in the feeling. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop. I love your hands, so perfect, so precise. Perfect for me, precise for me.”

“It was like you were made for me.” You agreed with the raven haired boy, before bringing your lips down to the tip of his penis. This action shocked James, but the whimper out of his mouth made you know he was enjoying it. Living from the excitement of the exhibisionist route, you swiveled your tongue across the tip, reaching down the length of the cock, savouring his taste.

“Right there.” James moane, as you brung the rest of your mouth down over his now fully hard cock, reveling in the flavour of the salty precum that was leaking from his angry tip. With a smooth rhythm, you bobbed your head up and down on James’ cock, the sound of his moans itching you on.

You knew you were running out of time, and you still wanted him to cum, so you sped up your movements on James’ cock, stroking the base of his cock, which could not fit in your mouth. Adding to the pleasure, you let your hands move downwards a bit more, so they played gently with James’ hanging balls.

This applied pressure was becoming too much for James, as his breath became laboured and a tingling feeling was nearly bursting at his cock. “I’m gonna cum, please, I’m going to do it.”

You lifted your mouth off of James’ cock, just to murmur, “let go.” James, with your permission, spurted his cum across your hands. Eager to savour him, you opened your mouth, catching as much of the milking substance as possible, not wanting to waste any of it. Jacking James off through the entire thing, you watched as his orgasm crashed over him entirely, the way his face contorted in pleasure almost being the most beautiful portrait to you.

Licking the rest of his cum off of your fingers, you stood up, wiping your knees off, as the dirt sticking to you was becoming slightly uncomfortable. While you stood up, you reached from the top of James’ pants, pulling them upwards as you went.

“Thanks.” James almost laughed, except he still sounded out of breath, which was very reasonable though. You did just suck the life out of him. His fingers worked quickly, rearranging his pants, and cock, so that you both could continue on your way to school.

As you waited for James to finish cleaning himself up, your nose turned upwards. There was a strange smell coming from the area, one you didn’t notice before when you were on your knees in front of James. It was a smell that you were relatively unfamiliar with, but all you knew was that it stank like rotten meat.

“Can you smell that?” You asked James, looking off into the little ditch you were beside. Wherever you were, it seemed that it had been recently disturbed. Broken twigs snapped into pieces laid amongst crunched up leaves. If you squinted, you were sure you could even make out that faintest of footprints on the ground. It was odd, but nothing you haven't seen before in the woods. The smell on the other hand…

“Smells like thrown out vegetables.” James readjusted his glasses before holding out his hand, inviting you to close your fingers in with his. “I bet some old granny thought it would be a good idea to throw out their compost in the woods. If the council found out, they would have a fit. You know all about their weirdly tight rules on littering? It’s not even bad for the environment.”

You had stopped listening a while ago. Something didn’t feel right, but it was nothing you could sort out now. You weren’t satisfied but you turned back towards James anyway, knowing that you needed to head off to school or you would be running a little bit behind schedule. As you turned around, you noticed James’ face morph from a cheeky grin to a concerned frown.

“What is it?” You pondered, stepping towards James, matching his pear-shaped frown with one of your own.

“Did you cut yourself when you were on your knees?”

“Huh?”

“Look.” James bent down to look at your knees and you turned your head down too. What you thought had just been a bit of dirt must’ve been something else. Your knees were covered in a browny-red, maybe a maroon colour. It looked as though your entire knee had been cut open, as blood was still dripping from your skin, but that couldn’t be right. You felt no pain on your knee. You hadn’t cut yourself.

Swiping your fingers across your knee, you gathered some of the drying blood on your fingers. This was the first time you had looked at your hands since you wiped off your knees before and you saw that you had smudged blood stains all across your palm. You nearly barfed on the spot. You felt incredibly uneasy, like a stormy ocean filled your stomach.

You lifted your fingers up to your nose, a theory hypothesising into your head, and you were right. The smell of the blood matched the rotten meat smell you could smell before. As if you were a dog, the odor latched onto your nose and expanded, its putrid smell being the only thing in your senses.

“I'm going to be sick.” You doubled over a rock. Resting your hand against a boulder, you hovered downwards over a patch of leaves, letting your breakfast out. Your head was reeling as you could still smell the retching odor of the old blood. You couldn’t get it out of your mind, so you leaned over again, round two of the hurling intervention.

James rushed over to you, placing his warm hands on your back, rubbing soothing circles. He wished he could say that his main focus was to make you feel better, but it wasn’t. Over in the deepest part of the dish, he noticed something strange. It was almost like a small lump in the ground, something unnatural. It seemed to be covered very messily by old leaves and sticks, and an entire tree branch, as if it would make it any less inconspicuous. It even had that opposite of the desired effect, seemingly sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Darling,” James waited until you lifted your head back up, regaining your breath once again, “what do you think that is?”

James’ hand pointed into the direction of the ditch, in which you followed his eyesight and body movements. You could see it too; just a lump in the ground. Your mind was racing of what it could be. A dead animal? A pile of rotten food? Maybe a…

“Holy shit!” You had only just realised that James had already walked over there, except his body was covering your eye line, and you couldn’t actually see what James had found. Although, he told you immediately. “Quick, call the police. It’s a body.”

A dead body in Hogwarts? Making sure you didn’t lose any more of your stomach through puking, you rushed onto the path in the woods, grabbing your phone out of your pocket, hoping you could get service all the way out here in the woods. Fumbling to turn your phone on, you nearly groaned out in annoyance when you saw that you were getting no bars of service.

Running back to James, you couldn’t stop at the moment. You called out to him, your words a blurred mess, trying to convey to him that you were going to find someone to help. Unsure if he had even heard you, you ran back down the path, your feet carrying you to where you needed to go, unable to bring yourself to a cohesive thought.

When you exited the forest, you flicked your head around, trying to find someone, anyone, that could help in the moment. The first person you saw was your calculus teacher, Mr Slughorn, to which you promptly called out to.

“Mr Slughorn!” You cupped your hands around your mouth to project your words across louder. Mr Slughorn snapped his head around and gave a friendly wave. Annoyed, you shook your head. “Call the police!”

“What?” He called back, walking towards you now. You groaned, trying again.

“There's a dead body in the forest. Call the police!”

***

lmao. anyway this has become a series whoops.

[hopelikethemoon]

Starlight || (Ezra x Reader) || {Moonbeams}

Title: Starlight Rating: PG-13 Length: 4,000 Warnings: Angst, mentions of medical procedures, mentions of pregnancy, brief conversation about abortion, and some more angst.  Notes: Casual reminder that I do not write stories with plans in mind, I simply let the muses guide the story as I write. I’m fortunate that my mind litters in allusions and foreshadowing that I can pick up on later. This is one of those chapters where a lot of foreshadowing comes full circle. I’m super nervous that this chapter will lose my readers, but I’ve simply allowed the story to flow how it wanted to. Also shoutout to anyone who gets the extremely obscure British history reference in here.  Part ten of the Moonbeams series.

Taglist: @princessbatears @djarin-junk @absurdthirst @hdlynn @legally-a-bastard @opheliaelysia @heather-lynn @sabinemorans @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @pedrospunk @maybege @chews-erotically @katlikeme @lose-eels @youmeanmybrain @theindiealto @irishleesh93 @seawhisperer @hdlynn @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @theindiealto @grapemama @roxypeanut @kochamcie @kiwi-the-first @hellomothermoon @soft-fanfics @spacegayofficial @storiesofthefandomloversreblogs @kindablackenedsuperhero @goblinqueen95 @nominalnebula @wheresthewater @letmybabysleep @hayley-the-comet @corrupt-fvcker @i-ship-it-ironically @mrsparknuts @the-feckless-wonder​ Hopefully I got everyone! Please message me to be added, comments to be added get lost in my activity.

Leaving Lykaois hadn’t been nearly as difficult as previous departures with Shiva accompanying you back to the Block. Not to mention having a way to communicate with Ezra when you were off-world really softened the issue of distance. You could go to sleep listening to him read to you, just like he was laying beside you in your bed. 

The only real downside to returning to the Block was Shiva all but forcing you to visit the medic. You felt fine. You really did. But apparently dying, coming back to life, and losing your memory warranted an immediate visit to get poked and prodded by the resident medic on the Block. 

It wasn’t as though you could tell the medic you were visiting because you had mental confusion related to dying. So you made up some excuse about feeling fatigued after being off-world. That wasn’t even a lie, technically. 

The medic tutted quietly as she scanned through the results on her datapad, “Were you aware that your stim was deactivated?” 

“What?” You jerked your head to the left to stare at the woman. “What do you mean it’s deactivated?”

She glanced up at you briefly before looking back at that datapad, “A high voltage of electricity can sometimes cause the system to malfunction. Have you had any incidents during transport repairs?”

You felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over you. The only shock of electricity you had received had been before going to Ay-7 and Quinn—

“Well, this is different.” The medic stepped around the examination table with a perplexed expression. “The stim appears to have reported back to the manufacturer that it was disengaged due to expiration of the client.” 

“Not because of an electrical current?” You questioned, your fingers curling around the edge of the table. 

“It appears the stim registered a time of death just over a month ago.” The medic’s brows furrowed together as they looked up from the chart. “Were you sexually active during this period?”

“Uh, yeah.” You blinked, shaking your head. “I was.” 

“Out of an abundance of caution, I would like to run a few more tests before we reactivate your stim.” She passed the datapad to you, “In the event that you have conceived due to a faulty stim, rest assured the corporation will billed for the termination of your pregnancy. You can just sign right there and we can handle that quite simply following a positive—“

You were quick to cut her off, “That won’t be necessary.” You couldn’t actually think that far ahead and if — and it was a huge if — it had occurred, you weren’t going to jump to that decision before telling Ezra. 

“Alright, then select here.” She scrolled the screen down to a line that declined immediate intervention. “Sit back and relax. The test services AI will be with you shortly.” She offered you a kind smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing to be concerned with.”

What the hell were you going to do if you were pregnant? 

Your hand drifted down to your stomach. Could you be? It wasn’t as though you and Ezra were the least bit careful — you thought your stim was functioning after all. There had never been any reason to be careful. 

Thank the gods it hadn’t started malfunctioning before Ay-7. But you were probably working yourself up over nothing.

What if Ezra didn’t want it? In the past few months with him, children had never come up. Not to mention what you had learned about Sybil and Cora’s situation. 

The door opened and the AI bot rolled into the room. You hated getting tests done at the clinic. Some of the missions you were assigned to would require full health panels before shipping out — you should’ve been used to it by now. 

The bot took a vial of blood from you and started processing it within the hollow of its artificial chest, while commencing with various body scans. 

“The medic will return shortly to provide you with results.” The bot’s grainy voice informed you, before it wheeled out of the room. Leaving you all alone with your thoughts again.

Could you even handle having a baby on your own if Ezra didn’t want any part in it? If things went sour with Ezra, you’d have to work your way back into the program and that wouldn’t be possible while pregnant.

If worse came to worse, you could probably find some kind of work on Ay-7. 

It felt like an eternity before the medic returned to confirm that your anxiety wasn’t entirely misplaced. “Well, it would appear that in the short window of time between the malfunction and now, that you have conceived. Based on your hormone levels, I would safely guess implantation took place within the last two weeks. You’re in the very early stages of pregnancy.”

You weren’t even entirely certain you could understand the medic. She was speaking words, but you couldn’t really hear them. 

“Should you and your partner choose to terminate, you have a few non-invasive options at this stage. I can provide you with a resource file or you and your partner can come back for an appointment together.”

“He’s off world.” You told the medic, resting your hand on your stomach. “Did everything look normal?”

“It’s too early to detect any defects with your fetus. While you do have slightly higher than average iron levels, it isn’t anything to be concerned by.” She assured you. “If you have any questions, you can login through the portal and get answers from one of our aides.”

“Thanks.” You said quietly as you slid off the exam table. When Shiva had convinced you to get checked out at the medic — this was the last thing you had imagined. 

Pregnant. 

You had never imagined yourself as a mother — not really. The program was a dangerous situation to be in, at the best of times. Pregnancy would’ve made you vulnerable and worse, it would’ve meant being vulnerable with someone who would’ve just screwed you over in the end. 

Ezra wasn’t like that. But in reality, his situation didn’t really allow him to be like everyone that came before him. You knew where he was, you could come and go as you pleased, and you were his only connection to the world beyond Lykaois. 

You had all of the control in the relationship. But this — this might’ve been more than he had bargained for. It was more than you had bargained for. 

You’d had only a handful of months together, if you cobbled the days together and now… 

How would Ezra react? You couldn’t picture him as a father. Even if the situation hadn’t been dire — if he wasn’t trapped on the moon, if there weren’t those that wanted to hurt you… Would he want to bring life into the world? 

There was very little good in the galaxy. You knew more than a few people who had made sure that they could never bring life into the world. 

You didn’t even know if you wanted it. It was such a fresh concept. A terrifying one at that.  

Shiva looked up from the engine part they were reconfiguring. “There’s our Lazarus. How’d it go at the medic?”

Your hands went to your hips as you stared down at them, “Well…” You started. “My brain seems to be fine.” 

“But?” They looked up at you, tossing a wrench aside as they got up. “There’s a but in there. What is it? Did you get fleas? Sexually transmitted disease?”

You snorted, “I definitely caught something from Ezra.” 

Shiva’s brows furrowed together, “Caught what? Like the curse or…?”

You grimaced a little as you tried to find the right words to explain your situation. “Apparently my stim malfunctioned after whatever the guardians did to me and… I’m in the very early days of pregnancy.”

“Oh, sweet Yrica’s left tit.” Shiva swore. “Are you serious?” 

“How early are we talking?” Quinn questioned as he strolled around the corner, his brows knit together with concern. 

Your head snapped towards him, “What are you doing here?” You looked back at Shiva. “What is he doing here?”

“He’s in a bit of a rough patch.” Shiva shrugged. 

“I’m avoiding a collector.” Quinn admitted, before his gaze fell to your stomach. “Back to the kid you’re gestating.”

“I wouldn’t be standing here talking about it if there was even a chance that it’s yours.” You snapped. “I’m about a month, I guess. It happened after I died…”

Shiva grimaced, “Not the post-death side effect I was expecting. What are you going to do?”

You rubbed at your forehead, sighing heavily. “I’m going to go back early and tell Ezra.” 

“Can’t you just com him?” Quinn questioned. 

You glared back over your shoulder at him, “I think it’s a face-to-face discussion.” You looked back at Shiva then. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s dangerous.” They admitted. “If what you told me about Proctor’s family is to be believed, then you might be giving birth to a werewolf.”

Quinn crunched loudly as he bit down on a crisp, “Does that mean you fucked the beast or does it just happen regardless?”

“Quinn.” Shiva sighed. 

“What? Her life is a mess and I’m amused.” He hoisted himself up on the side of a fuel barrel, eating another crisp from the bag he had been snaking from. 

“That’s not what happens with the beast.” You corrected him, before continuing. “It’s possible Cora was born a werewolf because her mother is. Maybe it won’t be the same for me?” 

You couldn’t even believe that you were having this conversation. 

Shiva clicked their tongue against their teeth. “I think your best bet is to go back to the medic and have it terminated, get your stim recalibrated, and move on with your life like it didn’t happen.”

“I’m telling Ezra before any of that happens.” You ghosted your hand over your stomach. “He deserves to know. He’s already lost so much, I’m not going to add to it.”

“What if he doesn’t want anything to do with you or it?” Shiva questioned. “Ezra seems like a good man, but we both know they can be shit.”

Quinn cleared his throat, “I would be happy to pretend your kid is mine. Not that I have much to offer.” 

“Thanks.” You rolled your eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m good.” 

“And you’re certain about the timing?” Quinn questioned, tapping the heels of his boots against the metal side of the barrel. 

“One hundred percent.” You assured him. 

“Good. I really didn’t want to add child support to my debts.” Quinn shrugged dramatically. “I mean, it would certainly be a sacrifice I would be willing to make—“

“Why are you still here?” You questioned, picking up Shiva’s wrench and chucking it in his general direction. “Get out of here.” 

“Easy. Easy.” Quinn tsked. “Pregnant women aren’t supposed to be stressed.” 

“My stress would be relieved if you took a quick trip out of an airlock.” You shot back. “Can you make that happen?”

“Such hostility.” He laughed, crunching down on another crisp. 

“When are you leaving?” Shiva questioned. 

“As soon as I can pull my things together.” You rubbed at your temples. “This wasn’t in my plan.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” They reminded you. “You have options.” 

“Trust me, I know.” You sighed, worrying at your bottom lip. “It’s just a lot to think about.” You gestured to your stomach. “I feel like I’m going to wake up any moment.” 

Shiva stared at your stomach, “How do you feel?”

You shrugged, “Like it’s any other day.” 

“And they’re certain?” 

“Unfortunately,” You tugged your satchel off your shoulder, swinging it around to grab your datapad out. “I have everything right here. Blood test confirms it. They can’t do too much more until I’m further along.” 

“Do you think it will be like it’s dear furry father?” Quinn questioned, tapping his heels against the barrel again. “Are you going to have a werewolf fetus wiggling around during the full moon?”

That made your stomach turn. “I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Shiva grabbed your arm. “We’ll figure this all out together.” 

You smiled a little, “Thank you.” 

“Do I get a thanks?” Quinn questioned, a little too jovially. 

“Fuck off, Quinn.” You seethed. “Why are you still here?”

“I enjoy being a thorn in the side of my acquaintances. I’m also broke.” He shrugged. “Shiva’s letting me crash until things smooth over with a few connections.”

You gave Shiva a skeptical look. 

“I like strays.” They walked past you to grab the wrench you had thrown at Quinn. “He’s occasionally useful.”

He grinned and gave you a thumbs up. “All jokes aside, I do recognize our ship has long since left the port.”

“There was never a ship.” You grumbled. “It was an escape pod. A badly banged up escape pod.” 

Quinn wiggled his brows, “Ah, but you took that escape pod frequently.”

You rolled your eyes again, giving him an annoyed expression, before turning your attention back to Shiva. “Why?”

“He’s amusing.” They nudged you in the shoulder. “And you know it’s true.”

“Unfortunately.”

“So how do you think Ezra will react?” Quinn questioned. “I couldn’t really get a vibe from him.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” You admitted, folding your arms across your chest. “We’ve never discussed children. We’ve never discussed what could’ve been situations.” You touched the spot on your arm where your faulty stim was. “We thought we were covered.” 

“The oldest story ever told.” Quinn quipped. 

Shiva finally looked annoyed, “Can you grab the manifold? It’ll be in the engine room somewhere.” 

“Trying to get rid of me?”

You both turned to him with an in unison, “Yes.”

You sank back in the pilot’s seat, stretching your legs out in front of you while you waited for the com to connect. The connection buzzed a handful of times and you wondered if Ezra was dealing with the side effects of the full moon. 

On the last buzz of the connection, he picked up. 

“Sorry, moonbeam. I was in the fresher.” He drawled out, his voice just as warm as it was when you sat right beside him. “And as tempting as it is to use the com panel in the fresher…” 

You laughed softly, chewing on your thumbnail as you tried to keep your tone as casual as possible. The last thing you wanted to do was to blurt out what you had to tell him. 

Not that you could even think about the situation without feeling like you wanted a black hole to open up and swallow you whole. 

“Did you hear me?” Ezra questioned. 

“Sorry, yes.” You exhaled slowly. “Sorry.”

“You alright?” 

“Just tired,” You lied. “And as tempting as it is to hear all about your time in the fresher, I’m not really in the mood tonight.”

“What are you in the mood for, little lamb?” 

You rubbed at the crease between your brows, “I could really go for a quiet evening with some quality cuddling time.” 

Ezra chuckled softly, “My bed feels rather empty without you.” He sighed a little. “What’s got you feeling down?” 

“Nothing in particular,” You answered easily. “It’s just been a really long day. How have you been?”

“Alright.” He sighed a little. “I felt like this month was harder, you know? We managed last month and I had something to focus on. I’m a bit sore.” 

“Sounds like you could use a quiet evening too.” 

Ezra hummed. “It would certainly make things easier.” He was quiet for a moment before he added, “Are you sure you’re alright, moonbeam?” 

“I will be as soon as I’m back on Lykaios with you.” You propped your chin up on the arm of the chair. “Which may actually be sooner than planned.”

“What?”

“I got everything together quicker than I anticipated.” You told him with a slight smile, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’m a few hours out.” 

“That’s certainly a welcome surprise.” Ezra said warmly. “And what do I owe this surprise to?”

“I might miss you.” You teased lightly. “And I…”

You both fell silent for another long moment. 

“And you, what?” Ezra sounded nervous and you didn’t blame him.

“Nothing.” You told him as you flipped on the autopilot and transferred the com connection to your datapad. “I want to wait until I get there.”

Ezra hummed curiously, “And you’re certain all is well?” 

“Well, I managed to track down a book of Herrick’s poems for you.” You told him as you meandered down the corridor to your quarters. “Quinn sent along a book of Byron’s poems he had. I’m not sure what message that sends.”

“I think I know.” You rolled your eyes. “A different little lamb.”

He sighed heavily, “Are we certainly Quinn’s clever enough to make that connection?”

You snorted, “Touché.” 

“I would actually be impressed.”

“It’s not unlikely,” You shrugged, kicking off your boots and sinking back onto your bed. “He used to be really obsessed with British history.” 

“Interesting.” You could practically picture him grinding his teeth. “How long have you known Quinn?”

You thought for a second, “Early into the program. He’s just always been around.”

“And you never—“ 

“He doesn’t belong in the same box as Alia or Mars.” You assured him, “He was just a nice way to scratch the itch. You know?”

“Yeah.” Ezra sighed. “I suppose I can give him credit for owning Byron in the first place.” 

You laughed, snorting a little at how begrudgingly he said it. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too.” He murmured. “Are you in bed?” 

“I just laid down.” You told him, laying the datapad on the bed beside you. “Only one more sleep before I’m there with you.” 

“Why are you coming back early? Don’t get me wrong, I’m elated, but… your hesitation earlier is going to keep me up tonight.” 

“It’s something I’d prefer to discuss when I’m with you.” 

“Wait, does this have to do with your trip to the medic?” Ezra questioned. “Did Shiva make you go?” 

“It’s related to that.” 

“Is something wrong? Fuck.” Ezra hissed out. “Moonbeam, just tell me. I’m going to worry an ulcer into my stomach before you arrive.” 

“I wouldn’t call it wrong.” You sighed a little, trying to resist the urge to cry. You didn’t actually know if he would think it was “wrong”. He might. 

“You can tell me.” His voice wavered. “If the guardians have hurt you, I’ll rip them limb from limb.”

“Ezra, please calm down.” You said lightly. “We’ll talk about it soon. I promise it’s not as bad as you’re thinking. I’m fine and I’ll be fine.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t want to lose you because of something I could’ve prevented.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” You assured him. “This is why I didn’t want to have this conversation over a com-call.” 

“Only a few more hours,” Ezra sighed again. “Right?” 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything at all…” You raked your hands over your face. “All of this is new for me.”

“It’s new for me too.” Ezra drawled out. “I still think I’m going to wake up and discover it was all an elaborate dream.” 

“All of it?”

“Just you.” 

“I feel the same way.” You admitted as you rolled onto your side. “I expect to wake up on the Block, ready to ship out somewhere. It doesn’t feel real most days.”

“I hate when I have to let go of you.” 

“I hope you don’t ever let go.”

Ezra scoffed, “I could never.”

“Are you in bed?”

“Yes, I’ve returned to my dreadfully lonely bed.” 

“Did you get dressed after your shower?”

 He chuckled, “I thought you said you weren’t in the mood, my sweet little lamb.”

“What? I want to picture what I’m missing.” It was a nice distraction at least. You wouldn’t have to worry about questions about anything. 

“What’s the point of putting clothes on when you’re alone?” Ezra questioned, his voice a little raspier. 

“Well, I’m fully dressed.”

He tsked quietly, “How disappointing. Then again, you were fully dressed in my bed when you—“

You groaned dramatically, “It’s not my fault that you smell so good.”

“I could say the same. It drives me crazy, moonbeam.” His breath caught in his throat. “We should sleep.” 

“I’ll be there soon.” You promised him, smiling sadly at the datapad. There was no way you were going to actually sleep, your anxiety wasn’t going to allow that to happen. “Ezra?”

“Mhm?” 

“I love you.”

“Oh moonbeam, I love you too.” He said warmly. “And I plan to count the moments until you are safely in my arms again.” 

You switched screens on the datapad, “I am five hours out.”

“Would you be adverse to me coming upon your arrival?” Ezra questioned.

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t.” You say the datapad back down beside you. “I’ll see you soon, Ezra.” 

“Until the morning.” Ezra whispered. “Sleep well, love.” 

You stared at the datapad, even after the line went dead. There was a part of you that wished that you’d told him what you wanted to tell him, just to pull the bandage off and find out what he thought without being there. 

How were you supposed to guess what his reaction would be to discovering that was going to be a father? 

The man had lived alone for five years, keeping himself away from everyone who was like him. He feared losing the last vestiges of his humanity. He warred with wanting you to stay with him and wanting to cut you loose. He loved you, but did he love you like that? 

And for that matter, was this what you wanted? 

This romance with Ezra had been a whirlwind, but it had been different than any love that came before. You spent hours on end with him, cooped up in your transport or his and you never got bored. There was never a moment where you found yourself ready to leave, you never wanted to. 

When you thought you loved Mars, you loved him in small doses. It was intense and all-consuming, but you always needed to come up for air. Alia… You would have willingly drowned in your love for her, but she always needed her own space. 

You recognized that this might be too much for him. He couldn’t escape from you, not really. You came in and out of his life, but he was fixed in one spot. 

But neither of you seemed ready for your time together to end. If you were at his transport before you left to return to the Block, he would always follow you into yours and spend another hour with you before reluctantly parting ways. 

It was different. 

Maybe he could feel that invisible string connecting the two of you. The one that always felt drawn taut when you weren’t with him. The sensation that always drew you back to Lykaios. 

But would a child change all of that? Shiva may have been right. You could’ve gone back to Lykaios without having to worry about any of this. Though, what would you do if one day Ezra did express his desire to become a father — a possibility that was taken from him by the curse and by you. 

You just had to hope that things would sort themselves out. That he would understand. That his love for you wouldn’t falter. 

[elwenyere]

A Very Small Grease Fire (and Other Human Disasters)

(Thanksgiving ficlet for the Stony and Avengers fam; also on AO3)

The Avengers didn’t have the best track record with Thanksgiving. The first time the dinner had ended in disaster, it had been Steve’s fault. One rainy fall Sunday, just months after the Battle of New York, Steve had been picking at a bowl of mint-chip ice cream, feeling tired of getting looks of sympathy about the holidays and absolutely exhausted by feeling sorry for himself. If Bruce and Clint hadn’t chosen that particular afternoon to ask him whether there was anything special he wanted for Thanksgiving – raising the question with just enough gentleness to make Steve’s jaw tighten – he probably would have said, “I’m a sweet potatoes guy” and left it at that.

Instead, Steve had been seized by a spirit of mischief. Putting on his most morose poker face, he had proceeded to invent a series of Depression-era dishes, from “Hoover Rolls” to “Poor Man’s Potatoes,” the recipes for which he concocted out of the blandest ingredients he could imagine. By the time he was in the process of describing his third Crisco-based dessert, Steve was sure he had gone far enough to reveal the joke; but Bruce and Clint had continued nodding encouragingly and jotting down notes.

The results had been borderline inedible. And even though the sight of Tony doubled over with laughter when Steve finally fessed up had thawed out a part of his heart he hadn’t even known was still on ice, the experience of eating a holiday dinner in which half the dishes tasted like over-starched socks forced even Steve to admit that the prank had been a bit of a Pyrrhic victory.

The second time…well, Steve would have said the second time was his fault too – though he supposed the rest of the team would blame the extremists who tried to kidnap the governor. Clint had just started basting the turkey when the “Assemble” alarm went off, and the team had to pile in the Quinjet to deal with a hostage situation at the capitol. It should have been an easy job – in and out with plenty of time to take the butter for the piecrust out of the freezer – but then one of the extremists had pulled the pin on a grenade just yards away from a state senator’s eight-year-old son, and four hours later Steve was waking up in the burn unit at Walter Reed hospital with the anguished sound of someone shouting his name still ringing in his ears.

“You fucking idiot,” the same voice had greeted him, and Steve looked up to see Tony sitting by his bed, the lines around his eyes drawn tight over a surgical mask. “You’re supposed to be a tactical genius, and you haven’t learned a single new method for containing explosives since basic training in 1943? I’m going to equip your suit with goddamn ballistic plates.”

“Tony,” Steve managed, feeling a halo of pain radiate up his scalp. “Are you okay? Was anyone hurt?”

Steve thought he saw something mist across Tony’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. The more fully he became aware of his body, the more he noticed the pull of his skin cells contracting in uneven loops around the burns on his torso, and it was taking a considerable amount of energy to keep Tony’s face in focus.

“Everybody’s fine but you, Steve,” Tony assured him. “And the doctors said you should be able to move to the general floor in a few hours. So shut those baby blues and let the serum do its job, because there’s a whole team of keyed-up superheroes waiting to see you, and they’re emptying the hospital vending machines fast enough to cause a run on the Frito-Lay factory.”

Steve had drifted in and out of consciousness for a while after that, finally waking up long enough to eat a holiday dinner of contraband take-out, which Natasha had smuggled into the hospital using only Thor’s tendency to knock over delicate instruments and Bruce’s oversized jacket.

“When you sign up to be an Avenger, no one warns you about doing overtime as a falafel mule,” Bruce had mused, leaning back to let Natasha steal a fry off his plate.

“I still think we could have gotten that eighth kebab if you’d been willing to consider pant legs as additional real estate,” she told him.

"You should all be eating stuffing and pumpkin pie,” Steve grimaced. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here on Thanksgiving.”

“Listen, Cap,” Clint replied, waving a dolma at him, “if you’re going to apologize for anything, apologize for the purgatory potatoes you tricked me into making last year. At least this year we have food that doesn’t have the texture of fast-drying cement.”

“Those tubers had truly been abandoned by the gods,” Thor agreed solemnly. “But I maintain that the Big Band Banana Pie was actually quite delicious.”

“Just don’t make the third-degree burns and hypovolemic shock a holiday habit, Rogers,” Tony put in. “Some of us are trying to watch our blood pressure.”

Tony had leaned over to adjust the settings on Steve’s bed as he spoke, and by the time he finished, a dull tugging sensation across Steve’s chest had loosened – the pain subsiding almost before Steve could register that it had been bothering him.

So that was why, after two years of throwing wrenches in the Avengers’ Thanksgiving plans, Steve was determined to make sure that year three went off without a hitch. He’d drawn up an elaborate plan for maximizing the utility of the Tower kitchen’s two ovens and seven burners and for optimizing the team’s various culinary skills. The operatives had been briefed the night before, and by 10:30 AM on Thursday, Steve was fluting a pie crust, Bruce was stripping fresh thyme leaves into an herb blend, Clint was whipping up a roux for the mushroom gravy, Thor was mashing potatoes and parsnips in an industrial-strength metal vat, and Natasha was dicing carrots and celery with a speed and precision that felt vaguely unsettling.

After checking the team’s progress against his itinerary, Steve turned to the next task on his own list: bringing Tony Stark his emergency coffee. Bruce had just made a second pot, and Steve poured some into the largest cup he could find: a purple novelty mug, featuring a drawing of the Hulk and the words “You Wouldn’t Like Me Without My Coffee.” He paused to tuck a few biscuits into a napkin (Tony’s relief at sighting fresh coffee sometimes opened up a narrow window during which Steve could feed him breakfast without being noticed), and headed down to the lab.

He found Tony standing with both arms braced against his worktable, designs for what looked like the paneling of Steve’s uniform projected in front of him. Steve cleared his throat, and Tony whirled around, the slump of his shoulders morphing into a graceful lounge by the time he was facing Steve.

“I was just about to come up,” he said. “I have a few finishing touches left here and then I’m all yours, Cap. Give me everything that can survive being the tiniest bit overcooked.”

Steve walked over to put Tony’s coffee on the table and then felt his breath catch in his throat when Tony reached out and took the mug from his hand instead.

“There’s no need,” Steve responded to cover his reaction, flexing the hand that had brushed Tony’s as he let it fall back to his side. “We’ve got the schedule covered for now. I was actually hoping I could talk you into a snack break.”

He waved the napkin of biscuits experimentally.

“Are you cutting me from the Thanksgiving roster, Rogers?” Tony asked. “Just because one time I set a very small grease fire – which I contained almost immediately, by the way.”

“The vase I broke when I sprinted into the kitchen would beg to differ,” Steve smiled. “But it’s not that. I just wanted to do this for you: a big dinner and sitting down with family.”

“For me?” Tony blinked at him. “Why?”

Steve started to cross his arms across his chest before realizing that he would risk crushing the biscuits. He settled for clasping his wrist with his free hand instead, widening his stance slightly and taking a deep breath. Come on, Rogers. Take it on the chin.

“Because I wanted to tell you that I woke up in this century alone,” he said, “and that you were the first person stubborn enough to make sure I wouldn’t stay that way. Now I wake up to a kitchen full of people who tease me about my lists but who know why I need them – who will eat dinner rolls that taste like soggy chalk just to make me feel at home.” He paused. “People who stay by my side for eight straight hours at the hospital.”

Steve looked up and caught Tony’s eyes, his heart rate picking up speed as memories of those same eyes flashed through his mind in quick succession: tearing up with laughter over a plate of cornstarched bananas, pinched with fear over a surgical mask, narrowed in concentration over the remote control for an adjustable bed.

“Romanov has an awfully big mouth for a spy,” Tony said with a rueful smile.

“I think it was a tactical leak,” Steve acknowledged, “to motivate her mark. She knew I needed a push. Because I’ve messed up the past two years, and I needed to tell you: pretty much everything I’m thankful for in my new life is here because of you.”

Tony was staring at him, his eyes darting quickly across Steve’s face as if JARVIS were scanning it for data. Steve held up under the silent scrutiny as long as he could before letting out an explosive breath.

“Anyway, sorry to interrupt you,” he said quickly. “You’ve got work to do, and I’ve got to go make sure everything’s on track upstairs. I’ll uh – I’ll have Bruce come get you when dinner’s ready.”

He started to make an about face toward the door, but Tony caught his arm and held him in place.

“Give a guy a goddamn minute, Steve,” he said softly. “I’m having to do a major cognitive reboot over here. It takes a while for the operating system to come back online. Just…sit down? Let me show you the new flame retardants I’m adding to your uniform.”

Steve complied. And as he watched Tony run through the specs, gulping coffee and nibbling absently at the biscuits, he realized that he knew what Tony was saying even before Tony finally spoke the words: “I’m thankful every time you wake up.”

[shreddedleopard]

10 Reasons it would make narrative sense for Levi and Historia’s character arcs to conclude together.

I’ve been wanting to do this for ages, but I’ve been nervous of the backlash. Feels like it’s now or never though, and theorising for/analysing stories is one of my favourite things to do - I’m clearly missing those literary analysis essays from university days. So please excuse me if you think I’m deluded - I probably am - but the analyst in me won’t let me be until I’ve got this all out of my system.

Beware, it’s a long one. There's some thoughts on chapter 130 nearest the bottom!

1. Childhood Parallels - The Abandoned Children

Levi and Historia’s childhoods mirror one another - there are striking similarities, but then also sections that fit together to complete each other, as though they are matching jigsaw pieces. The characters start out in worlds that are opposite - Historia has the comforts of a safe home, food on the table, and fresh air and sunshine. She has all the physical nourishment she needs, but she does not have her mother’s love. On the contrary, his mother’s love is the one thing Levi does have, otherwise living in poverty underground. Both their mothers, however, appear to be using sex and the idea of love as a means to survive or way to try and improve their circumstances, and it is out of this necessity that both end up being born.

Levi is clearly affected when he first hears Historia’s tale of her childhood - Isayama shows this through the fact that Levi’s plate is the only one left untouched at the end of her story. He has been so sucked in by what she’s relayed, and probably saddened, that he hasn’t been able to bring himself to eat as the others have. Historia’s story rings true with some of his own experiences, but also highlights the world he may have found himself in without his mother’s love.

Remember, Isayama consciously thinks about each panel he’s drawing - he wouldn’t include a small detail like that without reason. We see more of these instances of small but significant stylistic choices and minor details as we progress. Isayama stated in an interview that he wants to give fans an ending that fans would never guess, but that when they look back, the clues were there all along.

Continuing on with the theme of their childhoods and Isayama’s stylistic choices, let’s take a look at two significant moments:

Both characters, although experiencing different forms of deprivation initially (Physical vs. Emotional Nourishment) were abandoned at crucial moments in their lives - when they were looking for validation from their primary caregivers and the people who should have been responsible for demonstrating affection. Historia was abandoned when, after reading and taking onboard information she read in books just like her mother, she reached out to hug her, and Levi was abandoned at the moment he demonstrated that he’d absorbed everything Kenny had taught him. The parallel between these images is very powerful.

Kenny is a character that highlights more parallels between Historia and Levi.

Kenny’s words highlight the literal lack of growth in height for both Historia and Levi - both are particularly short, and also look youthful - but we can also take the words to suggest that the characters are still very much defined by what happened to them in their pasts, and have yet to step away from their demons and achieve closure on what has happened to them as children.

At this point, we can definitely say that Isayama has chosen to tie both Historia and Levi’s stories together through their childhoods - their backstories are revealed alongside each other, in the same arc of our story, and in terms of experiences, they are both identical and mirror opposite at different points.

2. Shared Values

Despite being deprived of affection for large portions of their childhoods, both Levi and Historia appear to have experienced glimmers of kindness in their darkness as well, and this has shaped some of their values and behaviours.

Levi experienced his mother's love for a short while until he lost her - we know how deeply she cared for him from her refusal to give him up despite Kenny’s advice to her when she fell pregnant. Historia had Frieda’s kindness instilled in her, even though she's not able to consciously remember her actions until later. 

Both display an affinity for animals, with several manga and even anime-only scenes where we see them being affectionate and kind to their horses. We don’t see this as prominently with any other characters.

But one of the biggest shared values is their desire to protect children. I've posted on this before, but here are a few examples of Levi being driven by this value:

It’s clear Levi has a soft spot for children. And Historia? We know her feelings on children from her first action as Queen - realised with the support of Levi.

3. Kenny’s failure … Levi’s success?

These next scenes we’ll focus on represent the moment that Levi and Historia are set up to undergo that ‘growth’ Kenny was referring to earlier in the uprising arc. Note Isayama’s choice of words here, and the symbolism of the whole scene. Kenny doesn’t tell Levi, ‘I couldn’t be someone you looked up to,’ or ‘I wasn’t fit to act as your father figure,’ he literally says ‘I can’t be some kid’s dad.” What does he do then? He shoves the titan serum at Levi.

Isayama pays great attention to this - dedicating several panels to the weighty moment, and Levi’s expression. It’s very dramatic. Notice how the word ‘Dad’ even has it’s own speech bubble. It’s almost as though Kenny is passing the mantle on to Levi - passing that responsibility on to him. It feels as though the passing of the serum replaces the missing words, ‘but you can.’ Isayama didn’t have to have Levi ask that question in the moment before Kenny passed the serum on to him. He could have positioned it so that the discussion about dreams was the precursor to the serum being passed over - which in my head, for the context of the scene, would make more sense. But he didn’t; he chose to have Kenny say that exact line to Levi - to admit his inadequacy as a father figure, with that focus on the word dad - and then hand the item over to Levi.

By itself, the scene could be seen as highlighting the ways that Levi is already a better father figure than Kenny. He has been somewhat paternal in his role as a Captain. But it’s the very next scene that brings Historia immediately into focus.

Historia looks suddenly so much maturer here, and the way the scenes sit immediately after one another feels too much like foreshadowing.

If you want the full effect of what I mean here, just rewatch this section of the anime!

We are presented with parallels between them once again. The focus of the crown and power of the monarchy being bestowed on Historia parallels the gift of the serum from Kenny to Levi - drawing on the ‘titan science’ element of the Ackerman heritage, perhaps?

Let me take a moment here, while we have these two visual representations of the Ackerman and Royal bloodlines side by side so perfectly, to point out that Isayama chose to answer a question in Bessatsu Shonen Magazine regarding the nature of a child born of both these bloodlines in 2018:

Q: If a child were to be born between two people from the royal family and the Ackerman family, which blood would take precedence? 

A: I think that both [of their bloodlines] would be reflected.

4. Blood Lines, Identity and Destinies - the Acker/Royal connection

We are still missing some information about the Ackermans, and Mikasa’s own Ackerman powers and behaviours have been a focus in recent chapters, prompting more questions. This suggests that the role of the Ackermans will be important in the story’s finale. With that said, lets have a look at what information we have about them so far in relation to the Royal Family:

- They worked closely with the Royal Family at one time, even being described as their sword and shield until they fell out of favour.

- They cannot be controlled by the king’s vow or have their memories tampered with. For this reason, they became enemies of the crown and the two bloodlines became at odds with one another.

Do either of these scenarios sound familiar in a romantic setting? The knight and princess trope has been hugely popular in fiction for as long as stories have been told - Lancelot and Guinevere is a well known classic. And two feuding families finally brought back together through love by the younger generation? Romeo and Juliet, anyone?

Okay, so maybe I’m reaching here. But Isayama has opened the discourse around this connection between the two bloodlines without concluding it, so I am certain it will have a part to play in upcoming chapters. Why create two characters from said bloodlines with such satisfyingly parallel but awful childhoods, if not to use them in some way to conclude this part of the narrative in the future?

5. The Beast Titan.

Another common plot point that Levi and Historia have is Zeke. The Beast Titan is a defining element in both their arcs. Levi is driven forward by his vow to kill Zeke, and this is repeated to the point where we expect this to be realised, or at least to see some satisfying resolution between the two. Historia’s situation is defined by her vulnerability to being turned into a Titan in order to consume Zeke. This threat to Historia’s life as a normal girl is also repeated across the later story arcs, just as Levi’s vow and apparent destiny to face off again with the Beast Titan is. If we link back to the knight princess trope, we could suggest that Historia is the metaphorical princess, Levi is the metaphorical knight, and The Beast Titan is the metaphorical dragon. The dragon must be slain in order to protect the princess, and the one to do this is always the gallant knight, or the hero. We know that Levi has been labelled Humanity’s Strongest, and even a hero, before.

It has been Levi’s destiny from the start. What's more, what is the crux of Zeke’s plan for Eldians? 

Euthanasia by preventing reproduction. Zeke’s ideology basically directly opposes the values of Levi and Historia - who wish to save as many children as possible.

6. The Smile

If there is one scene Levi fans lost their heads over, it’s this one. The Smile. Who was responsible for getting the sullen Captain to smile? None other than Queen Historia. The one time we get to see a genuine smile from him, in all 131 chapters of SNK, is when Historia playfully punches his arm. I think by this point, it is absolutely fair to say that Levi has a soft spot for her, although I’m not suggesting this is anything romantic at this stage due to her still being a child. What else is interesting about this scene? Let’s look at it from Historia’s point of view. She’s still a 15 year old girl. I’m hardly suggesting she’s got deep, meaningful feelings for a Captain so many years her senior. What I am suggesting, is that clearly there is the beginnings of her seeing him in a different light, and feeling some sort of fondness towards him too. This is also the stereotype of innocent, youthful infatuation - how many times have we seen teenagers play-fighting or bantering with the object of their affections? Something might just be stirring in Historia towards the Captain as she begins her transition into adulthood.

7. THAT (deleted) Scene

Okay, so we can’t very well talk about the smile in the context of this topic without addressing this scene:

There were a few scenes cut to make the uprising arc in the anime more streamlined. This is one of them, and again, has been one of the most talked about. People either love or hate this scene. In the manga, it absolutely sets up some major character growth for Historia, when she goes from being scared and allowing Levi to threaten her into taking an action, to standing up to him atop the wall at Orvud district, throwing his own words back at him. In contrast to Historia’s willingness, Levi becomes more receptive to her perspective and backs down, which also shows his growth. (More on that shortly!)

So, if it adds to the narrative around Levi and Historia, and is a key part of their development as characters, why did Isayama let the studio remove it? It must be because their influence on one another’s growth is no longer important to the story, correct?

If you ask me, that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Isayama has stated there were some elements of Uprising that he was unhappy with. Just, for a moment, think how this scene would fit into the bigger picture of a relationship (whether that be deeply platonic or even romantic) between Historia and Levi. Could people get behind that knowing that once, he handled her so roughly? Does keeping this scene as canon for the anime open a can of worms in terms of what is and isn’t acceptable (even more so than the age gap already does) when it comes to a relationship? Could Isayama be seen as glorifying abuse and suggesting that female characters are likely to develop feelings for men who have treated them so poorly in the past? I completely understand Levi’s reasoning for acting this way in this scene, and I loved the set up and pay off later in the arc. However, I do believe that animating this, and then having them become much closer later in the story, could make a backlash likely.

My conclusion to this particular section is - if their influence on one another as characters was unimportant, and the payoff of them reaching a stage where they bring out the best in one another wasn’t relevant to the rest of the story, then The Smile shouldn’t have made it in, right? So much of the set up was removed that it would have been far easier to scrap the scene than to try and figure out another reason for Historia to punch Levi, and make him smile.

That punch was important. It remains for a reason.

8. Levi’s Echo

So, since we discussed the impact of Levi’s words on Historia in the previous point, and how Isayama uses them to illustrate her character growth, let’s jump ahead all the way to chapter 130. We’re now post time skip, where Historia is nineteen. She’s matured now into a young woman - a woman old enough to acceptably conceive a child. This is the chapter which caught everyone’s attention due to Historia’s words to Eren regarding the idea of said child. But first of all, I want to focus on a scene which appears a couple of panels before her question:

‘It’s not as if I’ve just been tending to cattle all this time.’

What does this line mean? The only thing we know in terms of what Historia has been doing in the time skip is that she set up an Orphanage that Levi was also very much invested in and supported her with. So she’s not only been tending to cattle, but ... tending to orphans? With the Captain’s help?

Remember how we said that Isayama doesn’t include subtle details unless there’s a reason. Having Levi support her with the orphanage as a way to show how much he cares about the poorer children wasn’t needed - we already know from several instances discussed earlier that he cares about that topic deeply. So surely this must have been a small detail to set up for a later reveal?

This line alone is interesting, but not necessarily enough to suggest a big influence from Levi. But it’s the next line that grabs attention:

‘There’s no need to fight or run.’

What does this echo?

In my mind, the reason served by this dialogue in 130 is twofold. It works with both the literal events of the deleted scene, and also with the reader’s knowledge that the scene was disregarded later:

1. There is no reason to run or to fight, because Levi is on her side now. When he originally spoke those words to her - run from me or fight me - they were used in reference to what he and the corps were going to make her do - ie, become Queen. Now, they are not forcing her to do anything - they aren’t making her comply with the 50 year plan of producing as many royal children as possible and turning herself into a titan. Instead, she’s empowered by them, and very importantly, him, to make her own decisions while they try to figure out an alternative. (Why do I say him? I’ll cover this in the next point). And yet ... she still chooses to bear a child. A child born of love, not necessity. This is the difference between the birth of her child, and her own birth. And funnily enough, Levi’s birth, too. 

The cycle of history is being broken.

2. Her words serve as a reminder that in the revised version of events, Levi never even forced that choice upon her in the first place. He’s always been her ally and treated her with care and respect. Even more reason for her to value and care for him in return. There really is no need to run or fight - from the military police, because she will bear a child, stopping them from turning her - or from Levi, either. 

9. The Hooded Figure

As promised, let me explain why I say that Levi empowers Historia (yet again) to make her own decisions. My good friend Key made a wonderful discovery regarding the hooded figure panel, and honestly, based on the evidence I’ve seen, I’d be prepared to bet a whole lot on this next claim:

Levi is the hooded figure who warned Historia of the plan to turn her.

I’ve shared Key’s original post previously, but here’s the gist, with some added observations.

Levi from the hallway; Levi from that iconic scene, fits the dimensions of the hooded figure perfectly, without having to adjust the panel sizes. 

The jacket worn is lighter in colour than Eren’s standard black one, but is reminiscent of the jackets worn by the Levi Squad in the uprising arc. The only other clue we’re given to work from is that the figure has their hands in their pockets.

Hmm ... you know who else has a habit of stuffing his hands in his pockets?

So if Levi is the one who warned Historia, is that why she subtly uses his words when talking to Eren?

Let me return to chapter 130 once more, and just invite you to read the following panels from a different angle.

10. Mikasa-Eren/Levi-Historia Parallels

Alright, so this is a bit of a head-mash, but just consider what I’m about to say. In our panels with the Historia-Eren-Zeke conversation, Mikasa is never mentioned by name once. Zeke mentions ‘this Ackerman girl,’ however there is no confirmation that Eren was in fact talking about Mikasa when he asked Zeke about the Ackerman traits ...

Isayama only shows us the conversation with Zeke after Eren has just spoken to Historia about her fate and what the Paradis government want her to do in terms of bearing children. If these are just all memory fragments of Eren’s, why would discussing this with Historia suddenly make Eren think of a conversation about Ackerman traits with Zeke?

In this conversation, Zeke puts two and two together and gathers that Eren is asking these questions because of Mikasa. He then tells him how much Mikasa obviously cares about Eren, regardless of any ‘ingrained behaviour.’ What does Eren then link this with?

The conversation where Historia asks him what he’d think if she was to bear a child. What does ingrained Ackerman behaviour and Mikasa’s true feelings have to do with Historia’s child?

I want to suggest this possibility: this conversation has nothing to do with Mikasa’s feelings for Eren, and everything to do with Levi’s feelings for Historia.

Eren even confirms that Zeke has the wrong end of the stick with asking him how he will respond to Mikasa’s feelings.

What are you even talking about?

Here, he is not considering how he will respond to Mikasa, because he can’t even contemplate that with what he is about to do, and how long he has left to live (although this may have then prompted his later conversation with Mikasa after the market - where he sees Levi save the boy that he will later kill - do you see how this is all linking together?)

Here he means the lives of Historia, her child, and potentially even Levi, as well of course as Armin, Mikasa and the rest of his friends. Want to know why I think that? Isayama hinted it. Again.

We have the image of Historia, suggesting the idea of bearing a child, followed by the image of the child Levi saved, followed by the image of Levi himself.

Isayama draws every detail in every panel for a reason. If part of his conclusion to this manga involves Levi and Historia intertwined and the birth of an Ackerman-Royal child, it won’t be a massively random idea.

It will contribute to an ending where the clues were there all along, but we never really considered them.

(There’s more, so much more, but I have to stop somewhere or I won’t leave my computer. If anyone wants a part two because you’re thirsty for more of this crap, drop me a comment!)

[crimson-dxwn]

AT ODDS 6 (Kal Skirata x F!OC)

Summary: Tea gets spilled at Kyrimorut. Ordo gets involved. Ori makes a choice and a new enemy.

Warnings: Mando profanity, pregnancy, SPOILERS for Republic Commando books (all but the last one), medical shit, surgery, fucking SADS

As always, so many thanks to @detroitbydark who lets me screech about my weird fic and Kal and Ori! Also this is barely edited be kind, I’m on my psych rotation and barely scraping by. 

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

Kal realizes he’s slipped the figurine into the pocket of his bodysuit semi-consciously in his hasty retreat from the apartment. Knotted Jonah wood whittled smooth forms two stylized figures, one large and one small, their hands joined between them. 

He barely registers the ride back home and comming Mij. They need a plan, and they need one fast if they are going to find her. He knows little about how the Empire treats their prisoners compared to the late Republic, but he isn’t about to have any illusions of honor or fair play. After all, he doesn’t play fair himself. But there’s a hydrospanner thrown into the mix. What he doesn’t know is how the Imps treat prisoners with … unique health conditions. Or if they even give half a bantha’s shebs. Odds are they send men and women alike to those osik’la camps he’s gotten word of. Yeah, the Empire was equal opportunity like that. 

If Mereel can’t slice into the system remotely, they were going to have to do an old-fashioned infiltration. He’d ask his ad’ike if they were up to task, there’s no way he could ask to put them in danger, not after the entirety of their lives being war. It hurts him to even think about asking. But he has to do this, even if it’s just his sorry shebs. 

He tries to put on a good Sabaac face when he’s back in the karyai, discreetly gathering up all the surplus weapons they have that he finds might be useful for an infiltration into a heavily armed and fortified position. 

Mereel of course, catches on within minutes. 

“You’re going to find her,” Mereel interrupts. Kal yanks his head up out of the gun locker to look at his son. “And you didn’t even think to ask for backup?”

His son’s tone is accusing, edging on hurt. That he did not expect.

“It’s my fuckup, son,” he replies, “I’m the one who needs to fix it. I can’t ask you to do this.”

“What’s so special about this doctor?” Mereel slams the door of the locker shut. It’s obvious his ad’ika is protective. They all are. 

“She delivered your ba’vodu’ad, Mereel. I’m pretty sure she saved Parja’s life.” Kal says, keeping his eyes on his work, cleaning the weapons, arranging the ammo he needs. Sharpening his father’s three-sided knife. 

“And that’s enough to go up against the Empire? ”

He’s going to have to spit it out. Mereel is looking at him expectantly, sure that he’s going to change his mind, see reason. 

“She’s pregnant, son.” Mereel, who has been away for the events of the last few months, just stares back at him in a puzzled fashion, brows slightly furrowed. Looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Maybe he has. 

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

In comes a second voice, and the accusatory tone startles him enough that, when added to his baseline urgency and anxiety, causes his hand to slip and nick itself as he sharpens his knife. 

“Osik,” he hisses, holding pressure to the cut as blood wells, looking up to the figure in the doorway. Ordo. Mereel stares at his brother, unsure whether he is joking. Kal sighs. He should know better, trying to keep things from them. The last time he was successful at that was when they were four. 

“Does it matter?” 

“Maybe,” Ordo replies, just this edge of indignant, “is she carrying my vod?” 

A strange and protective piece of him flares at Ordo’s tone and Kal stands, still holding the cloth to his cut hand. 

“Most likely.”

“Then we need to get her back.” Ordo meets his eye finally and Kal nods, satisfied, and starts gathering ammo from the safes. This time Mereel moves to help, still in a rare state of stunned silence. 

By the time they’ve gathered what they need and loaded it into aayhan, Mereel has a willing team assembled and what they know of the building schematics up on a datapad in the karyai. Fortunately for them, the team won’t be breaking into any prison blocks, which are bound to be heavily guarded. 

“All we have to do is get into the information security room that houses the main terminal,” Mereel starts confidently. “We can stay far away from the security blocks and the bucketheads.” 

“Though it would be fun to bust some vode out of there,” Scorch adds. 

“Not our mission,” says Mereel, regret plain in his voice, “we’ll have to get them another time.” The realization that they were leaving prisoners at the mercy of the empire sobers the group even more. It was becoming more and more apparent that more planning was needed before they could root out the Empire on Mandalore. Meanwhile, Kal had set Uthan to the task of trying desperately to make their own homebrew vaccine. 

---

It’s been many many years since he’s fastroped. Lately, he has been finding that it’s been years since he’s done many things. Fastroping, underwater diving...fathering kriffing kids. He swallows, hard and regroups himself. Every single one of them needs to be focused if they’re gonna pull this job off. 

Yes, he’s fast roped before. But he’s never liked it. Where his sons get twitchy when confined to tight spaces, he finds himself sweating more than usual under his beskar the more stories they climb. Right now, they’re about ten stories up, far above the sensors of the garrison and way above his tolerance for heights. They have about a minute to pull this off before the Imps realize this transport is lingering too long in their airspace. 

Mereel, Sev, Scorch, and Kal are in Aayhan, hovering silently above the Keldabe imperial garrison in the inky black late summer night. The humidity sticks his tactical garments to his skin, making it itch and crawl in addition to his surging adrenaline. That was one thing that never changed, no matter how old he got, no matter how many missions he’s finished - that nauseating spike of pure fear and bliss. 

He gives the signal to move move move and soon he’s roping down, strong north Mandalorian wind whipping around him, soaking through his underlayer. The four of them land silently on the roof of the compound, and Scorch starts laying a strip charge along the floor to create a hole leading below, straight into the admin offices. Four sets of Mando armor gleam lowly in the moonlight. It’s a perfect night for an op like this, whipping wind obscuring any slight noise they did make and the faint whine of aayhan’s engines. The charges detonate with a controlled bang and flash of bright light that briefly blinds his HUD. Kal switches to night vision.

*His child*. It’s barely a concrete concept in his mind yet, but an instinctual piece of him knows the truth. The timing is too perfect for him to be wrong. The way Orla had looked at him in the med center…

The stakes are too high to fail, and distracting thoughts get men killed. Mereel leads the way through the door, rifle at the ready, and Kal banishes his musings to the back of his mind, pushed away by a fresh rush of adrenaline. It’s a stealth mission, and they navigate by night vision, as silently as their boots will allow. 

They stalk through dark quiet hallways lined with innocuous office doors until they reach the end, what is presumably the CO’s office, with its durasteel double doors and obviously larger size. 

Mereel starts in on slicing the door panel while Sev shoots out the camera in the hallway corner while the rest of them listen for any approaching patrols. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed they were there, whether it was the hole in the roof or the blacked out camera. The double doors open quietly and they head inside. Vau’s boys guard the door while he and Mereel crowd the desk in the middle of the room. 

“I need a few minutes to get into this,” Mereel says, eyes locked onto the screen before him. One of his slicing tools is between his teeth.

“You’ll get it, son. We’ll take care of anything that tries to get in our way.” 

So far it looks like no one has noticed them. The imps must really be confident in the plan to neutralize Mandalore with so few guards and patrols. Sweat drops trickle down the back of his neck and into his bodysuit.

Mereel studies the datapad stripping the system for a few more moments and turns it towards Kal. There’s a concerned look stretched across his handsome face. Together the watch the recorded scene on the screen before them. 

There’s Orla, still in her work clothes, talking with an Imp who’s behind this very desk, flanked by two stormtroopers. He knows those gestures - she’s spitting mad, barely containing the fury that was directed toward the man behind the desk. Without audio he can only guess as to the contents of their conversation. The Imp behind the desk gives a short reply and nods curtly to the right-hand trooper who, without hesitation, raises his blaster rifle and cracks her across the face with the butt end. She doesn’t even see it coming. Even in the shades of blue from the holoprojector the blood is obvious, trickling down the side of her face. 

Kal is livid, trembling so finely it’s barely visible, and he almost forgets where they are for a moment. Deep in enemy territory, with hostiles incoming any minute. 

Mereel makes a disgusted noise from deep in his chest as they watch her be pushed to the ground. They follow the video feed where she’s led to a cell. His breath catches. There’s a chance she’s still here. His hope is tempered, however, when an alarm starts to sound from within the garrison. A patrol must have finally found their breach point.

“Sarge?” warns a voice from outside the door. It’s Sev, by the gravelly tone. 

“Almost finished,” he shouts, over the screeching din. Mereel continues to work furiously, his bulk hunched over the console. He’s able to parse through incredible amounts of data with immense precision; Kal can practically feel the concentration rolling off him. 

“Wait,” Mereel says. Kal looks over at the screen. They’re centered on a video feed again, this time outside. The sheer amount of prisoners in line for the transport is shocking enough, but the fact that none of them are in armor is even more appalling. The Imps are slowly stripping their culture away, plate by plate. 

“She’s not on the manifest for this transport, even though the records say she leaves.” 

It doesn’t make sense. Unless… Kal knows Mereel must be thinking the same as him. Judging by the brutality of the footage they’ve watched, the stories from around the planet, he wouldn’t put it past the Empire to take care of a pesky problem in the easiest way they knew how. It wasn’t something that supposedly peaceful, orderly governments liked to keep records of. His dread and guilt intensifies, leadening his limbs already weighed down by heavy beskar. 

He chokes the words out. He has to know. “Is there any footage of…” Kal can’t bring himself to say them. It doesn’t need to be said, Mereel knows what he’s looking for. He’s been in a war zone long enough to know that armies aren’t sentimental. 

“No, no footage. Just them leading her away.” The alarm continues to blare. It could be minutes, seconds before they have to blast their way out. 

“Here.”

Kal steels himself to watch. It’s his fault, he reminds himself again. Two more fresh marks in his ledger. His arm reaches automatically to his son’s to steady himself. He feels Mereel’s slump ever so slightly, whether it’s in relief or defeat, he can’t tell. 

“I have what I need,” he says, “time to go. Debrief can wait for later.” Distant footsteps start to echo towards them, modulated shouts following close behind. They were about to be grossly outnumbered, by the sound of it. Kal shoves his helmet back on, heading through the doorway and signaling Sev and Scorch to follow. 

They wind through the garrison, avoiding both patrols and squads of stormtroopers sweeping the building. It’s laughably easy compared some of the other heists they’ve pulled - except he speaks too soon. As they make their way out of the back door of the garrison onto the Keldabe streets, one squad catches up to them. Ordo has aayhan back at Kyrimorut - earlier they had decided it was too risky for the four of them to fly home and possibly expose the homestead. So instead their plan was to run the winding streets and strategically borrow a transport. The problem is that Kal is pushing sixty and the other men are - physiologically at least - still in their early twenties. They’re a lot kriffing faster than him, even with his ankle fixed. 

The streets and alleys twist and turn, switching from ancient cobbles to smooth duracrete without warning. Easy enough to get lost if you’re a local, they are impossible to navigate as aruettiise. Soon the four are panting, ducked into an alcove off a cobbled alley. Finally, it seems they’ve dodged the patrol. Only time will tell if they were recognized. Kal finds he doesn’t much mind if they know his face. In fact, he hopes they do. He wants to meet that garrison officer. 

-------

Imperial Rehabilitation Center

Weeks later

19 BBY

Life isn’t all doom and gloom. They are kept...occupied. Like rats in a maze. Ori shares a bunk with another Mandalorian, the only other there. Taren is a kid really, small and slight except for her distended belly. It’s obvious she’s used to wearing armor by the way she walks, how upright she holds herself, arms swaying slightly away from her body. And how she closes in on herself when she realizes it’s not there, when it’s nighttime in their room and thinks Ori can’t hear her sob breathlessly into her pillow every night. 

It’s almost childish, the way they’re herded from room to room. Chaperoned and on a schedule, like one would handle a naughty child needing extra discipline. It was how she imagines Coruscanti boarding schools some of her medical school classmates attended - polished stone floors and crisp uniforms, all strict routines and synchronized repetition. It’s meant to numb the mind, making days run into weeks. She suspects they’re kept intentionally disoriented. After all, most of them are still political prisoners, and many she’s found have important connections on their respective homeworlds. 

They’re at lunch, scattered around their assigned tables. Generously, they are allowed to converse during meals, though their seats remain assigned. The ‘rehab center’ has proven to be much more expansive than she expected - some rooms are swallowingly large, like the one she is in now, and some are as small as a broom closet, connected by narrow winding hallways. The building itself could have been any number of things in a past life - a school, factory, or prison. She supposes it doesn’t matter much now. Today there’s a newcomer, sitting quiet and sullen at a back table with the Corellians. Time would tell if she was one of them or if she hailed from a different world. 

An arm jostles her, hitting her square in the ribs. It successfully knocks her out of her analysis of the newcomer. 

“-did you hear what I just said?” Taren says, mouth full of tasteless nutritional paste. It’s far from delicious, but you ate what they give out and she is hungry *all the time* nowadays. A fleck lands on Ori’s face and she wipes it away with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, al’verde.” Commander. Her eyes roll automatically. She knows she doesn’t deserve the title. Discreetly, Ori shushes the younger woman - they’re lucky the stormtroopers here don’t understand Mando’a. 

They put together kit for new stormtroopers, morning and night. It’s another endurable humiliation. She stabs at the cubes bitterly with her spoon, scattering crumbs across the table. They’re not allowed forks or knives, not after Taren’s first week. A tiny smile flits across her face as she thinks on the memory. 

 Ori feels like a geriatric compared to the spry warrior, though they’re less than ten years apart in age. She’s seen things in that time, lost people, buried dreams. Though Taren is looking older and older by the day, cooped up in this place. 

“Theera is gone,” Taren says, “she wasn’t at breakfast either.” 

Looking around and finding no sign of the woman, Ori hums an agreement. She’ll be gone for good soon, and her baby as well. Every time someone delivers it sends a sense of unshakeable dread down her spine and into the pit of her stomach. All of them are marching slowly towards that finish line. 

The artificial hierarchy into which they are forced has made the two Mandalorians de facto leaders, despite Ori being one of the newer inmates and to cement her as *alverde*; her medical expertise makes her invaluable. 

The room hushes as Dr. Loesch sweeps down to the cafeteria, all business in crisp grey scrubs, so confident in his admiration. He insists they call him ‘Doctor L’ like he’s a popular lecturer at a university. He’s the worst kind of hut’uun, just as bad as the rest of the Imps she’s met here. Loesch is in charge of their medical care, all 100-some of them, including herself. Loesch towers over most of them, even herself. 

As a physician, Ori is personally insulted at his complacency, the fact that he is perfectly content in his post and cemented in his belief that what he was doing is just, his complicity. She stabs at her cubes some more to try and make herself feel better. 

As a woman, she’s decidedly less surprised. Men like him are everywhere, tall and handsome, handed success on a silver platter, born into families of privilege and power. Taking and taking with no thought of the carnage they leave behind. 

He saunters his way over to their table and sits with a charming smile. 

“Beviin,” he starts, “I heard through the gossip chain that you were an obstetrician before you came here?”

It’s physically painful to keep her retort in hand. She’s been here long enough to see women sent to solitary. And to see them come back, changed indefinitely. 

“Mmm,” she mumbles affirmatively through a mouthful of cubes. She swallows. “Yes.” Keep it simple, that’s easy enough. 

He smiles sardonically. “How ironic,” he adds, obviously pleased with the revelation. Expectantly, he looks around the table to gauge his joke, and they catch on, laughing softly, nervously, afraid of what might happen if they don’t. Even Ori joins in, the butt of the low blow, though her simmering rage ratchets up another level.

They finish the rest of their lunch largely in silence and Loesch pulls her away when she files out with the others. 

“Ms. Beviin,” he says conspiratorially, “I know it must be difficult for you to be here.” 

The man over her, face too close for comfort, his voice deep and low. Alarm fills her as the other people in the room dwindle until it’s just the two of them and the scattered troopers on the upper level. All Ori can think about is where the nearest exit is located when she realizes he’s still speaking to her. 

“...what do you think?” He waits patiently, a benevolent expression in his face. He blinks too little, she thinks, and his eyes are devoid of expression, shining with an amused sort of malevolence. They’re a strange shade of brown...no, green? The little noise he makes in the back of his throat brings her back to their conversation.

“Ah...sure?” she replies weakly, stunned and frozen.

“That’ll be nice for the other inmates,” he says. Incredibly white, straight teeth flash as he smiles down at her. “I think it will give them comfort to have you there. I’ll have the guards collect you when it’s time.” 

——

Three nurses eye her from across the suite. They wear sweet matching hospital uniforms, in the same soft fabric as hers except in a delicate petal pink. With a pang, she misses her fellow nurses and doctors on Mandalore. Who knows how many had fallen ill? Been arrested? The way they clustered in a little group reminded her of her schoolmates, when they found out she didn’t like fighting, whispering rumors from across the room. That she thought she was better than them, that weird girl who was more concerned with grades than winning fights and impressing boys. Now they stand across the room from her like a little bunch of flowers in their coordinated outfits, identical and perfect. She’s an other in their world, someone to be feared and hated, pitied at best. 

Orla stands awkwardly, waiting for the show to start when her stomach flips. The scrub top she has on stretches across her middle awkwardly, pulling at the seams and the soft shoes that cover her feet are obscured by her bump. The strange sensation returns, a little differently this time, just the barest flutter, deeper down than that nervous feeling. Her baby. She lays a gentle palm over the swell, as discreetly as she can, still feeling the scrutinizing looks of the women across the room.

Another nurse wheels a bed into the room, complete with Theera shivering atop it, her hair and gown drenched in sweat. Orla rushes to the head of the bed as she’s prepped for the operation. Theera is dazed, too exhausted to make much sense of anything right now, glassy eyes focused on the ceiling. She smoothes back the sweaty hair from Theera’s forehead. 

“Hey cyar’ika. It’s Ori,” she says softly. The woman’s eyes focus a little, just enough to meet hers. She bumps their foreheads together. It was as much to comfort herself as much as the other woman. Non-mandos typically didn’t understand the meaning behind the gesture. She can’t squeeze her hand like she wants to - it’s being hooked up to IV tubing.

“I’m cold,” she mumbles. Some of it is adrenaline, some from fear, and the rest from the icy operating room temperature to keep the surgeons comfortable. Drenched as she is, it’s no wonder Theera is shivering. 

Ori asks the wary tech for a warm blanket, terrified of overstepping and getting her shebs kicked out of the operating room. She’s promptly ignored in favor of his work. Dr. Loesch enters the room and the nurses titter around him while he ensures everything is prepped to his liking. Ori settles for as much skin to skin contact as she can get with Theera, trying to warm her, mumbling comforting nonsense into her ear as Loesch starts to work. A warming bassinet waits ominously against the wall for its prize. 

A thin cry interrupts their mumbling and Theera’s eyes sharpen at the noise. Loesch holds the little thing over the curtain separating them indulgently, just for a moment. A boy, he says, and she and Theera find themselves mesmerized by the bloody little thing and his tiny squished face and flailing arms, already so angry at the world. He’s held up for a second, allowing Theera a cursory glance and then whisked away by the nurses to the bassinet. His mother is still paralyzed on the table and it makes it all the more unjust that she isn’t even allowed to touch her son, see him up close. The nurses at the bassinet laugh and coo, oblivious to Theera, who starts weeping pitifully. Fat tears slide down the side of her face, wetting the starched white sheet beneath her head.

Ori is in the middle of the absolute emotional chaos around her. Theera crying, Dr. Loesch talking with his assistant about weekend plans, and the nurses with the baby, who have turned back at the sound of crying to glare at them judgementally. She can practically hear them now. Serves her right, their looks say. She deserves it. The rage congeals around Ori, settling itself in her throat. This feeling is exactly what had put her in this place to begin with and she knows she has to control it, use it somehow. She watches them place a little bracelet around the infant’s ankle and scan it into a datapad. They don’t bother with Theera. It dawns on her then that if she’s lucky - incredibly lucky - she can use the Empire’s obsession with order against them. 

She makes her way over to the bassinet under the ruse of joining the indulgent cooing that is going on, trying not to throw elbows before she’s kicked out of the room. The little boy’s leg is caught for a heel stick an she gets her chance. The number on the leg band is just visible, only for a second. She sends a prayer up to the Manda that she gets it right. 

Taglist

@clonewarslover55 @simping-for-fives @808tsuika @jedi-mando @cherry-cokes-world @nelba @fractiouskat @passionofthesith 

[lapis-arts]

The Knife of Amphibia

Chapter 2: Prison Escape

Summary: Months had passed since Anne's arrest. After putting up with mistreatment and retaining her innocence, she finally thinks about breaking out of prison... Little did she know, someone is willing to help her out.

Fandom: Amphibia

Features: Assassin AU, Aged Up Anne and Plantars

Warnings: Violence, blood, interrogation

Word Count: 1,807 Words

--

Anne woke up in her dingy cell that morning. Her body had ached all over from sleeping in the prison’s horrible conditions for the last few months.

Lady Olivia was nowhere to be found to hear her out, having to replace the king's duty to restore order in the city, lest it burned down completely. She had told General Yunan what happened word for word since day one, but it all fell upon deaf ears. All Yunan wanted was for Anne to confess to the murder and she might get life in prison. She wasn't going to, though. She knew what happened, her story stayed consistent throughout the months, so she stood her ground and retained her innocence.

It had felt like today was the final day of her life as guards came to her cell and dragged her to the torture chambers once more, strapped down into the chair for the torturer to do as Yunan ordered. The tall and hulking toad burned Anne repeatedly with a red-hot iron rod, the human crying out in pain, the general trying once again to force a confession. A few burns later, Yunan finally stepped in.

"Ok, ok, that's enough!" She said, motioning for the torturer to leave them alone. Anne growled as the woman got closer and spat in her direction.

"I already told you everything that happened... Why won't you listen to me!?" She hissed. Yunan just gave her a grin as she walked up to Anne and placed a hand on her chin to make her look up at her. "Oh, you foolish human.. It was part of the plan all along." Yunan said, about to reveal her hand to Anne.

"Wh-what?... What are you talking about?" Anne asked, clearly confused by what Yunan was telling her.

"Andrias was bound to be murdered before you and Marcy arrived earlier than noticed.. You just showed up at the wrong place at the right time. Now, I get to hit three flies with one stone." She chuckled, Anne staring wide eyed at the general in disbelief.

"You're insane..." Anne said, her brows furrowed in anger as she tried to struggle through the straps, the thick leather leaving rope burns on her skin the more she struggled to break free to beat up Yunan senseless.

"It's far too late to put up a fight, Anne. The whole kingdom believes you killed Andrias in cold blood and poor Olivia has no time to listen to your pleas. I'm in charge of your fate now.." Yunan smirked, grabbing the iron rod the torturer left in the burning fire, poking at Anne with it to get an official fake confession for the last time.

"Don't make this harder than it already is.." she threatened, burning Anne every time she refused to agree to the confession, the human stifling her cries of pain the best she could, not giving Yunan the satisfaction of hearing her pains.

After enough torment, Yunan knew the human wasn't going to give in. By that account, refusing to admit to the murder, Yunan had sentenced Anne to death by guillotine.

Anne was to be thrown back in her cell and await execution for the next few days, her body completely sore and covered in fresh and painful burns. She can't take on this abuse anymore. Anne had to get the hell out of there. She was clearly innocent based on the evidence, but a conspiracy damned it all...

Something didn't add up.. Why would Yunan kill off Andrias? Did she have something to do with the plague, or does she just want to rule Amphibia for all the glory and power? No matter what the newt's motives were, Anne needed to get out or her head will be rolling from the chopping block this weekend no matter what. For now, all she wanted to do was rest and slumped into a corner of her cell to sleep the afternoon away.

---

Later that evening, Anne woke up from the sound of a guard rattling the bars of her cell, signifying that it's dinner time already.

"You should eat up, Anne. This meal is from a friend." Is all the guard said, leaving rather quickly. A friend, was it? The human made her way over to the food tray, seeing a bowl of soup as usual, but it was actually warm and fresh this time. As she pulled the bowl away, she noticed a folded piece of paper in tact. She nearly tossed meal aside and quickly opened it, a small key falling out on her lap, yet revealed a handwritten note directed to her, and she couldn't be more relieved to recognize it was Lady Olivia's handwriting in particular.

"Hello Anne. I apologize for my absence, but I know for a fact you are innocent. I've pestered Yunan to extend your trial, but she's too over her head for reasoning and I have no time on my hands to continue doing so. Take this key, escape your cell and take refuge into the sewers."

Anne wasted no time at that point. She looked out the bars of her cell to check for no guards doing rounds, and slipped the key into the cell lock and got out. To her convenience, it seems like the guard who gave her the note left a sword on top of one of their tables, Anne gladly took it and fled the area. The human stuck close to the walls, peeking over the corners to make sure no guards were in sight. In some parts of the prison, Anne had to stick to the pipes and vents near the ceiling to avoid the guards scattered across a room. Never had she been more grateful to endure Marcy's stealth training, as it came quite in handy until she reached the exit point.

Just outside of the entrance gate was the river that surrounded the prison. If she could find a way out, she could easily dive and swim to the sewer entrance on the other side. Unfortunately, in order to do that, she had to get through the guards. Anne evaded the guards doing rounds, sticking to the shadows and hiding behind storage containers. She managed to slip through a broken window the entry office hadn't fixed yet, seeing a newt guard yawning while he was writing something down. Anne couldn't take any chances and neutralized him, putting him in a chokehold until he passed out.

"Sorry.." she muttered under her breath, quickly traversing to the next room, taking down whoever was there. Next to the window was a control panel, a lever off to the side labeled "Gate."

Bingo, her one way ticket out of here.

She quickly pulled the lever and waited for the gate to open, slipping out through the back door. All the guards turned their attention towards the gate, puzzled as to why it was opening. Once the moment was right, Anne sprinted as fast as she could towards the exit, shoving guards aside as they got in her way.

"Sound the alarm!!" A guard yelled, a couple of officers running towards the nearest alarm, hastily ringing the series of bells.

"Shit!" Anne growled as she heard the alarms ring out, pushing herself even faster towards the ledge. Near the edge of barbed wire fence were the watch towers by the lifted bridge, the prison guards hearing the alarms and spotted Anne down below. The guards grabbed their crossbows and shot at her, Anne pulled out her sword in response, slashing a few bolts out of the way, save for one that nicked her right on the shoulder, drawing blood. Anne hissed from the sharp pain, but ignored it once she reached the ledge, and finally jumped off.

She dove down a few yards into the water, quickly swimming away. She made her way to the sewer gates just across, swiftly opening and shutting them close as she entered, finding a loose pipe and shoved the metal in between the handles of the gate, making sure no one would enter for a good moment.

Once the adrenaline rush ended, Anne took off deeper into the sewers and stopped as she was met with a locked gate. She took a step back to rest for a moment, collecting her thoughts before continuing on, processing that she actually broke out of prison.

"Oh my fucking frog.. I actually made it out.." she panted, sliding down the wall onto the floor to take a breather. After regaining herself, Anne turned to the locked gate again, trying to figure out a way around it. Off to the side of the wall, was another handwritten note, seemingly from Olivia again.

"Anne, if you made it, then congratulations! Beyond the sewers should be your exit, and familiar friendly faces should see to you after you leave through the storm drain. Good Luck"

Anne looked up the gate and saw a little crawl space, climbing up and crawled through to get to the other side. She soon heard footsteps and officer commands echo through the sewers, knowing it was the Royal Guard trying to find her. The human stuck towards hiding again, trying to avoid much conflict as she could this time around. Anne even had to endure swimming through the sewer water under bridges just avoid detection, thankfully leaving unscathed.

--

After exiting the sewers out of a storm drain, Anne finally reached above ground where she saw a familiar looking family wagon, seeing three young looking frogs keeping watch. It wasn't until she saw that unmistakable aviator hat on one of the pink frogs that she realized who it was.

The said frog with the hat turned towards the drain to see the human climbing out of it, his eyes widened in disbelief as he realized who it was and quickly hopped over to her.

"Anne! You're ok!" He said, jumping into Anne's arms and hugged her.

"Sprig! Hey buddy!" She hugged him back, embracing the moment for a bit before she placed him down as the other frogs came to see her. "Hey Polly, hey Ivy. Damn, it's been a long time." Anne said. While the sentiment was nice, they all understood they didn't have time to waste.

"We gotta get you to Wartwood! It wasn't easy for us to get past the barricade." Ivy explained, Polly brushing off the situation. "Oh please! Those guys are nothing. We can take them on if they're trouble." That statement hinting the young frogs certainly weren't going down without a fight.i

After that, the frogs quickly got Anne into the fwagon, making sure there were various hiding placing for Anne just in case someone inspected them. Sprig took the driving seat and grabbed Ol' Bessie's reigns and finally took off to make the journey to Wartwood.

[pepsi-beat]

chapter 1. the prey

pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

series title: The Way

word count: 2,8K

warnings: angst maybe?, The Mandalorian s2 finale spoilers, canon typical violence, blood and injuries, 3rd person pov, Din Djarin pov, lack of “Y/N”, reader is called “Girl”, amnesia, reader's species is unknown, a little ooc Din Djarin

summary: Greef Karga assured him it was an easy job. Find a woman. Get her to the husband she ran away from. And that's it. But... not exactly.

a/n: Hello there! I’m pretty new when it comes to writing and publishing here. I hope you like what I have for you. I write it so I could get away from my uni responsibilities. I don’t know if I can finish this, but I really liked idea. So we will see.

Chapter 1

THE PREY

Naboo. A sparsely populated planet located in the Mid Rim in the Chommell sector of the Naboo system. Occupied the third position in the system, provides a standard gravity and breathable atmosphere. It had three moons.

Naboo was known for its natural and cultural values. The inhabitants were famous for their beautiful, perfectly refined products that made an impression throughout the galaxy. People did well here, the place has always seemed completely cut off from the rest of the Galaxy. Slow, free, peaceful.

Din wasn’t used to chasing his victims in places like Naboo. Usually he had to wade through the Outer Rim Territories. Through inhospitable and harsh planets, where survival required quite a bit of cunning or a deep pocket stuffed with credits.

He landed a Dragonfly on a meadow covered with lush green grass and colorful flowers. He turned off the engines, put the computer to it hibernate mode, then he turned with a soft sigh to the co-pilot's seat. His heart tightened with fear as he found it empty. But before he could jump up from his seat and start searching, he painfully remembered that it didn't make sense. His throat tightened with regret, and he walked briskly through the cockpit and then through the hull to the stern, where he made his way out.

Two months have passed since the events on the Imperial cruiser. Two extremely long and surprisingly lonely months.

As the Jedi departed, taking Grogu with him, Din had to deal with the issue of the Darksaber. Bo-Katan refused to take it and Din refused to keep it. Finally, they decided to duel. Bo-Katan chose a time and place – some deserted rocky planet. Din knew that if he had given up the fight, the Mandalorian woman would have been offended and wouldn’t have taken that damned saber. On the other hand, he was reluctant to fight the woman, but he quickly realized that all his fears were baseless.

Bo-Katan was highly trained warrior, so the fight was levelised. It took a long time, but in the end the woman fairly won, becoming the new ruler of Mandalore. Before they finally departed, she asked him one more time to join her.

Din refused, but promised that if she needed his help, he would come back. Then Boba Fett left him and Cara on Nevarro, where the marshal kept her word. She called for New Republic, who took Moff Gideon and Din received his prize. Credits. Lots of credits. Suddenly, he became so rich that he could easilly to buy a ship, weapons, and substitute the equipment he had lost with the Razor Crest. And he still has some left.

The Dragonfly was a good ship. Pre-Empire, but was still newer than Razor Crest. After many modifications and modernizations, it could easily compete with newer models. Unlike the Crest, it was much more slender and more agile. The Dragonfly was oblong with a tiny but comfortable kitchenette, refresher, workshop, small armory, several bunks, couches, and a lot of space. The Dragonfly had so much space that Din was uncomfortable. However, he bought this ship, because of all the trouble Cara had gone to find it.

Then, he went back to work as a bounty hunter. He felt that he had to fill the void in his heart with something and returning to hunting seemed to be the best solution in his situation.

Of course, Din visited his tribe's old hideout, but found only useless equipment. The Armorer had left Nevarro some time ago and Din had no idea where she might have gone. So he promised to himself, he would find another Mandalorian’s hideout, but it was easier said than done. Especially after the long time he spent on the run with Grogu.

Din put the beskar spear in its place and returned to the hull. He reached for the control panel, the durasteel door swung open and the platform touched the ground.

Naboo was… different. Brighter, happier, more vivid than any other planet he had ever seen. The colors were more intense, the sun was warmer, the wind was kinder and gentler and the animals were fearless as if they never met a human before and never been hurt by their hands. Naboo was so different that he wanted to take off his helmet and take a deep breath. Get some fresh air, not the air he was breathing through the filters.

Din checked the tracker, the last coordinates of his target and compared it with his current position.

It didn't take long. An hour, maybe two. During this time, he managed to find the X-Wing with which his target had undoubtedly arrived. It was good news. The bad news was that there was another ship in the meadow besides the X-Wing. Din didn't recognize it, but he knew who it belongs anyway. To another bounty hunter. And that was bad news.

He analyzed the footprints. Those belonging to the target were a bit older, unlike those belonging to the bounty hunter.

Blaster shots. Female screams. Din's body reacted instinctively. In one quick move he pulled the blaster from his belt, then ran where the sounds were coming from. The direction coincided with the footprints.

He ran between the trees. The shots stopped, but the closer he got, the better he could hear the conversation. He distinguished between the frightened woman speaking in the basic and the squawk of a Rodian. Finally Din ran into a small clearing. He froze with a blaster aimed at the Rodian when the bounty hunter spotted him and shouted in Rodese.

"Calm down" said Din. ”I'm in the Guild.”

Suca Chodasso, the target by which Din had ventured as far as Naboo, knelt weeping among flowers. She was holding another woman's body in her arms, pressing her face against the hollow of her own neck. The target threaded herfingers into the deceased's disheveled hair. After each sentence she spoke, her mouth touched the top of the girl’s head.

The Rodian said something in Rodese again, but this time he was addressing Suca Chodasso. But he was so nervous that Din found it hard to understand him.

"I have nothing! I didn't steal anything! " Suca called back. Her voice was trembling and her hands were shaking.

It was uncomfortable situation. He tracked down his target, used a lot of fuel to reach Naboo and yet he wasn't the first. There were such situations, but he was still upset that someone else had received the puck.

As the Rodian addressed him urgently, Din sighed so softly that the vocoder couldn’t register it. He nodded, but his eyes went to the crying Suca. She must have felt his gaze as she tore her eyes away from her companion's face and turned her head toward him. Her eyes seemed to be begging him to do something, but Din's hands were tied.

He turned on his heel as there was a soft moan. Din stopped and looked over his shoulder. The girl he had considered to be dead before, moved slightly. She slowly raised one of her limp hands and touched her temples with her fingers. Suca Chodasso looked at her in horror. She leaned in slightly, possibly saying something in her companion's ear, but Din's attention was absorbed by the Radian's next words.

"Leave her! She has nothing to do with it! " Suca sobbed. She bent over the girl, covering her with her body as the Rodian was about to shoot.

Din's blaster smoked slightly as the Rodian's body fell onto the grass. The Mandalorian turned to the huddled women, but he already knew he was late.

Due to Suca's position, when she shielded her companion, the laser pierced the top of her head, passed through her neck and spine. Her body lay pitifully with a smoky, nasty wound that made even Din grimace.

Quick, shallow breaths, which the Mandalorian recognized as signs of an impending panic attack, brought him back. He walked over to Suca Chodasso's body and pushed her unceremoniously aside.

"Easy now," he said. "Take it easy, girl."

The girl didn't even look at him. Her wide eyes stared at the sky. She was gasping for air through her mouth in gusts like someone who was choking. Her face and chest were stained with red blood stains.

Din frowned at the large gash on the girl's temple and the bullet hole on her arm. Right above the heart. The blood that flowed from the wounds was very thick, silver and pearly.

"You’re safe now."

The girl stopped breathing. She froze in an unnatural stillness that worried Din, but as soon as his hand touched her shoulder, she moved again. The girl closed her mouth and eyes and began to breathe calmly. Very calmly. Way too slow.

"Girl?"

"Who are you?"

She looked at him… weirdly. Din couldn't tell what it was, but something was clearly wrong with her. She had pretty eyes, but at the same time they were cold, as if they belonged to a dead man.

The Mandalorian stepped back a bit. He helped the girl get to a sitting position, but he didn't say a word as she looked around. Din flexed all his muscles in preparation for what was to come. He expected screams, crying, and accusations. He had expected the girl to panic, attack him, but she… was calm.

She looked at the dead Suca Chodasso for a long time. She touched her face, then ran her fingers over her own temple as if looking for something there. But she found nothing. Even her wound was on the other side of her face.

"Girl?"

She looked reluctantly at Din. The bounty hunter held out three fingers.

"How many fingers do you see?"

"Three."

He repeated the test two more times and the girl answered well each time.

"What's your name?"

Girl opened her mouth, but said nothing. Only then did panic spread across her face.

She looked at something over Din's shoulder, but before the Mandalorian could say anything, he was thrown to the ground. He heard the sound of a blaster laser hitting a durasteel, so he rolled over, picked up his gun and aimed it. He aimed blindly at first, but as another shot bounced off his chestplate, he knew where to shoot. After a moment, he heard a heavy body fall to the ground, so he rose to his feet.

The girl groaned in pain or surprise. Din looked at her and saw her hand tighten on her arm, more of this weird thick silver blood leaking from between her fingers.

"Wait here," he said. Before the girl could reply, Din was already on his way to the shooting direction.

It was another bounty hunter. Din found the tracker in his pocket. Useless because the target was already dead. But still. The tracker.

The Mandalorian frowned. It was also suspicious. Greef Karga assured him it was an easy job. Find a woman. Get her to the husband she ran away from. And that's it. Even the prize offered for her screamed an easy going.

Din wasn’t interested in why Suca Chodasso was escaping at all, and he never thought about it. Only looking at his target holding this girl in her arms made begin to wonder if it was some kind of scandalous romance. He was willing to believe it.

If it werent for the Rodian's allegations or for the third bounty hunter. Another puck. Another tracker.

He had seen it once before. When he had pledged to track down Grog some time ago and then had bounty hunters on his tail. When he got involved in the affairs of the Jedi and the Empire. He was done. He didn't want to play it again, so a part of him was even glad that the target was no longer alive.

He trow the tracker away, then returned to the girl. She sat curled up where he had left her. Her face in her hands. She sobbed, shook. Hearing his footsteps, she sobbed a little softer, as if she was holding back. Then she wiped the tears with her hands, but that only smeared her silver blood over her skin. She watched as Din knelt beside her and reached a hand to her injured arm.

She must have been hit when she threw Din to the ground. She saved him even though she didn't have to.

"You're hurt…”

"I don't know who I am," she whispered at the same moment. There were even more tears in her eyes. Wide with fear. "I-I don't know. I don’t know. Who am I? My mind is blank.”

She gasped like a wounded animal and hid her face in her hands again. Din could only watch her silently and wonder.

Was she lying to protect herself? Did she know something about the Rodian's allegations, even though Suca Chodasso had clearly stated in her last words that it had nothing to do with her? So why was she protecting him from the shot, then? Wouldn't it have been better for her if Din had died?

Or maybe she really didn't remember? She had been hurt in the head, but it was just a scratch. Not life threatening and certainly not the cause of memory loss. On the other hand, Din knew that people fell ill. He was aware that some of the weak psyche displace more painful events from their memories. But…

He could only watch, bewildered, until he painfully realized the gravity of the situation he was in.

If there were three trackers, there could be more. More bounty hunters might be on the way.

He sighed heavily. He reached for the cape and touched with it the wound on the girl’s head. She jumped back and Din held his hands out in front of him as a sign of peace.

"You're hurt. I want to wipe your blood and see if it's serious.”

But the girl wouldn't let him. She grabbed his hands and squeezed tight. Din wouldn't expect such strength from her.

"Tell me ... W-Who am I? Who is she? Why is she d-dead? Who are you? A-Are you okay? Does anything hurt you? You were shot! Stars! Why were you being shot at?”

Din blinked quickly. He knew his face showed shock and disbelief, which was why he was so grateful for the helmet he had to wear.

"They didn't shoot at me," he said finally, when the girl's insistent gaze became unbearable. "You were.”

"M-Me?” She whispered, her voice breaking.

She released Din's hands and began to back away until she found Suca Chodasso's body. She started to breathe spasmodically, but Din didn't have time for that. He got up. He glanced at Suca Chodasso, thought for a moment what he should do and then walked toward his ship.

"Wait!" The panicked girl exclaimed. "Don’t leave me! Please!”

"I'm done with babysitting.”

"Please!”

Something in her voice made Din suddenly believe her. He stopped. Turned slowly until he came face her. She seemed lost, scared… As if she really didn't know what was going on.

Maybe she was just a victim? Maybe she was an ordinary inhabitant of Naboo and Suca Chodasso met her by chance? Maybe she asked for help and this poor girl agreed to help, not knowing what she write on? Maybe she really didn't know who she was? She was shocked. Suddenly she found herself in the middle of a shootout between three bounty hunters. Din could believe it was too much for her.

He made a decision.

He walked over to the girl and held out his hand. She stared at him with terrified eyes, but didn't hesitate. Din helped her up from the grass, then walked over to Suca Chodasso's body, which he slung over his shoulder. Then he began to head towards the ship again.

"Why… Why are you taking her?” The girl asked with panic in her voice.

Din suppressed a sigh.

"She's wanted. Alive or dead, you will receive a reward for her head.”

"Me?”

This time Din sighed loudly. He wasn't happy with the fact that he had to explain himself.

"I don't know what you remember about what happened. But I didn't get her. The bounty hunter who tracked her down is dead. You probably know her, so you will get money as compensation.”

It was cruel. Din knew this, but he had no idea what else to do. So far, this seemed to be the best solution.

He really couldn't take the money for Suca Chodasso. It wouldn't be fair, so he might as well give it to the girl who was definitely the first to deal with the target. And if she ever remembers that she knew her… well. Din hoped to be very far away from the girl then.

The girl fell silent. She really didn't make any sounds. She moved noiselessly, causing Din to keep checking to see if she was following him. But she was there. She walked, wrapping her arms around herself, staring at the toes of her shoes. She was dirty, beaten, wounded. She looked pathetic.

And to think that he should have learned long time ago to not take seemingly easy jobs. They are the most problematic ones.

[simplicity1511]

Yashahime EPISODE 1 Review

I just finished the first episode of Yashahime and OMFG!!!!!!!

There are so many emotions running through me right now as someone who watched the original series on YTV Bionix. I remember being like 5 and 6 and staying up late to watch it, sometimes even falling asleep before it aired. It’s original air time was 11pm but by the time I was around 8-9 years old, the show started airing at 9pm. 

I remember asking my aunt to wait up until I finished my favorite show before I went to bed because we were going to the airport that night to visit my cousin who had recently given birth to her second kid and I was tagging along. I remember it being the episode Kohoku regains his memories. Good thing I didn’t miss it but I sure do remember being disappointed that I wasn’t seeing InuYasha and the gang that episode.

Speaking of our boy Kohoku, it looks like he has a new weapon (that is correct, ladies and gents, our boy appears in the first episode!!) However, not adult Kohaku, our itty bitty boy from the original series.

For those that didn’t get a chance to read the manga, there's an epilogue chapter that deals with the root demon that our gang ends up fighting in the first episode and it appears to have maybe merged with the Tree of Ages. I suspect this because it shows a hole in the tree in the same location as Kikyo’s arrow had been when she shot InuYasha to it. I’m curious to see what shit this root ends up stirring.

However, the most interesting thing I discovered was not from the episode itself but  from the opening sequence as well as the next episode preview. From the looks of it, it appears as if all three girls have a pearl, Towa’s is Silver, Setsuna’s is Gold and Moroha is Red. Now given the fact that in the original series pearls played a role not once but twice in the series, both in the beginning and end, and they appear multiple times in the opening and ending sequences of the show, we know they're going to play an important role. 

The first time they appear in the original series is when our sexy Sesshomaru was trying to look for Tessaiga. In this case, the pearl was located in InuYasha’s eye and led to the land of the dead which is where we come across the bones of Inu-Pops.

The second time is when they looked for one of the last shards of the jewel which just happened to have been in the possession of the demon who created the pearl who was also located at the grave of our beloved Inu-Pops.

We also know that this demon had a son who was continuing his work at creating pearls as this is how we learn that his father, who had created InuYasha’s pearl, had already died. The most logical conclusion is the son most likely created the pearls for our three ladies. 

Another thing to keep in mind is that in the opening song, you will notice that at some point Towa’s eye starts glowing, and it has a similar appearance as InuYasha’s did when we see the pearl first appear. We know these pearls have strange abilities and for whatever reason each girl was given one. Given the fact that the girls have no knowledge of their parents, it appears that this was most likely hatched by our boys to help their daughters in whatever way possible. Much in the same way Inu-Pops gave his two swords, Tessaiga and Tenseiga to his two sons to protect them and teach them something even if he wasn’t around to do it.

Now speaking of our boys, Sesshomaru is still as sexy as ever and it appears as if he tries to stay close to the village in order to reach Rin as swiftly as possible. That or he has some teleportation ability we don’t know about but with how fast he moves, he might as well have it.

For those of us who grew up with InuYasha being torn between Kagome and Kikyo and the constant conflict that it caused throughout the series, it was kinda refreshing to see it again and see how they both behaved as adults regarding those emotions

I found Kagome’s handling of it really fascinating because by this point she’s already sorted out her feelings for Kikyo, yet InuYasha still thinks that Kikyo causes Kagome pain which in the beginning she did but Kagome has moved past that pain and she knows who she is as a person beyond just being her reincarnation. 

I think it’s further indicated when we first see Kagome and she shows the twins a kikyo root which is supposed to be good for coughs and fevers. When it panels to Sango we can see the surprise on her face as to hearing Kagome mention Kikyo’s name (you know it was an intentional  reference especially if you’ve read the manga and know what kind of demon Miroku and InuYasha  are fighting). Knowing this, still didn’t keep me from being surprised. I feel like just like the plant, Kagome has come to admire Kikyo’s strength as a priestess, something she’s trying to achieve herself as a Priestess in Training.

The original series dealt with a lot of Kagome’s identity being referenced as Kikyo and other characters trying to erase her individuality as just another copy of Kikyo. Something that Naruku did pretty frequently especially using the feelings Kagome had towards InuYasha against them on multiple occasions using Kikyo.

Just like how in the first episode of the original series where InuYasha kept calling Kagome, Kikyo when they first met, Kagome has to tell off the root demon and clarify that she is Ka-go-me, NOT Kikyo. 

I really liked all the symbolism this episode had and the references to the original series especially given that Towa ends up encountering a broken seat from a bike in the Feudal Era and as we know Kagome has had her bike destroyed and replaced, many a times throughout the series. 

The fact that Towa is someone whose been raised in the future by the brother of the woman who travels to the past is very interesting given the fact that she is the daughter of Seshomaru whose InuYasha’s older brother who besides Kagome was the only other person to be able to travel in time.

I’m wondering what makes InuYasha/Sesshomaru’s blood special as it appears as if all three girls were able to travel to the future so if Seshomaru himself had tried going through the bone eaters well, could he too have travelled to the future like InuYasha? 

Kagome was able to travel due to the Jewel of Four Souls and once that was destroyed her connection to the past was severed so I’m curious to see how the past and future end up connecting the three girls together because it was Kagome and InuYasha’s love in the end that reopened the well three years later. However, we know in the current timeline that the well is closed which makes me wonder what kind of fate these three girls share as the Half Demon Princesses (also Princesses of what may I ask?)

On a final note, in both series there are demon birds, the first a carrion crow demon who likes shiny things like the jewel, another an owl who is wise and has knowledge of the past. I suspect that this demon will play a key role in how this story ends up progressing, much in the same way the crow did.

Being a long time fan of the show, I remember being really sad when the series ended and frustrated when they didn’t defeat Naraku by the end of the original anime run. My head would constantly have ideas of what their future would have been like once the pesky fellow was dead and once I had gotten a computer (at age 11) and I discovered manga sites, I finally got an answer to my question.

Then a few years later, teenage me finally got those last chapters animated. I was finally blessed with my ending so I’ll be real frank with you when I say I was not happy this show was coming. While everyone else was freaking out that Seshomaru fucked someone, I was wondering, what could have caused Kagome and InuYasha to abandon their daughter which would be totally out of character for the both of them especially given InuYasha’s childhood. I doubt he would have abandoned his daughter given having lost his mother at such a young age himself and never knowing who his dad was until much later in his life. He would never want his own daughter to experience the loneliness and struggle he did before he met Kagome, Sango and Miroku.

Now having watched the first episode I can’t say my fears are dissipated for this unwanted sequel series as we have yet to know what happened so the possibility that its a shitty reason for why Moroha is alone is still high meaning the possibly my favorite characters are shit on is still there.

This series means a lot given the time I watched InuYasha my family had recently immigrated to Canada and while most people were into Pokemon at my age, which don’t get me wrong, I was too. 

I was far more fascinated by a girl who travelled through time in a fantasy world where she meets a cute dog demon boy and develops strong friendships, a budding romance and never loses herself. To a little girl who was also in a strange new country of her own, she was my role model. 

She’s the reason I wanna learn archery at some point in my life and helped me to grow to be the strong independent woman I am today.

Even at 24 years of age, this is still my favorite series and I love all the symbolism and references to the old series while also having its own fresh perspective that Yashahime provides. It doesn’t mean that my skepticism has been cured.

When I watched InuYasha, I got Kagome, Sango, Kikyo, Kaede and Kagura (her death is still so beautifully tragic) and now a whole new generation of girls are going to get Towa our leader, the calm and cool collected Setsuna and our charge first and ask questions later Moroha (just like her dad :’). I can’t wait to see how they grow and hopefully how their beloved parents grew.

InuYasha for me was my first conceptual understanding of anime and where my love for it came from. I’m looking forward to seeing how this story progresses. But I won’t be afraid of criticizing it regardless of the good first impression I got.

Also, does anyone else get reminded of Miroku’s wind tunnel when they see InuYasha’s Meido Zangetsuha? Just me?

Now time to listen to that opening and ending on repeat.

See You Next Week!

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

I’ve mangled the start of this draft

116

Levi felt like shit. Eren had wanted to talk to him, but after spending the morning jogging with Erwin, he’d had enough free therapy. Erwin felt that they should go away. That he and Eren should lie low until this new mess could be investigated fully. Packing up their lives to live in some shit box wasn’t Levi’s idea of a smart plan. Who knew how long they’d be gone if they went? Or where they’d end up. With Hanji and Erwin they were likely to wind up back in Stohess in some equally shitty little house in the shitty suburbs where they’d have to hide their true identities even when it was time for Eren to give birth.

“Are you sure you’re okay with him going out with Armin?”

Crossing his arms, Levi didn’t want to hear it from Mike. His boyfriend had made him a fresh cup of tea and he’d been forced to ignore it thanks to his pissy alpha. He knew doing so would upset Eren, but his bloody stupid alpha had still had its nose out of joint because just that had happened

“Tch. He’s fine with Armin. Eren’s missed him, so leave them be. Our bigger problem is if Kenny is involved and the lengths he’d go to to keep his job”

Honestly he absolutely dreaded the idea of Kenny meeting Eren. Kenny wasn’t exactly normal, nor would he have an issue with ending Eren’s life should the need come up. Should he and Eren leave, it was possible they both be murdered before anyone else had an inkling something was wrong

“Is Kenny really that bad?”

“He’s bad enough. He’d slit a throat and think nothing of it. That little fucker certainly got himself caught up in one hell of a shit show”

Erwin cleared his throat

“Yes, well, I did hope to discuss things with Eren given Floch wasn’t forthcoming last night on his own accord. Has he spoken to you at length?”

No. He’d wanted to… His omega practically begged him with those big shitty eyes to sit down and talk things out

“No. If Floch isn’t going to cooperate I’d rather not put more pressure on Eren”

“Then what do you think we should do about Floch?”

Raising an eyebrow at his friend, Levi wasn’t sure he should be asked about that to do with that lump of walking shit. He’d found himself unable to do anything other than think rationally about the situation due to Eren. Swallowing hard, his alpha growled at his thought, not wanting to admit he wasn’t capable of handling things

“Honestly… Eren and I should be removed from these decisions. We both want Floch to face some form of formal punishment for his actions, but if you ask me what I’d like to do… well… there’s a whole lot of forest out there”

And a whole lot of ways to make sure Floch could never be identified… No. His idiot alpha was far too keen for Floch’s blood to be spilt for all he’d done

“I’ll keep that in mind as a last resort. For now we need to pick the path of least resistance. Ideally that’d mean having Eren have another go at Floch…”

“You can’t sit them down together”

Well… fuck. He’d gone and said it now. Erwin waiting for Levi to continue, though they all knew the outburst was his true feeling on the matter he still appreciated Erwin giving him a chance to cover himself

“I mean… Eren is strong enough for the interview, but… shit…”

He felt like he was betraying Eren. He knew how strong his brat was, yet couldn’t help but definitely not want Eren in front of Floch

“…”

He didn’t have a continuation. Erwin giving up on letting him dig his way out when he’d just gone and dug that hole deeper instead

“Are you telling me Eren isn’t in the right mental space to be questioning Floch?”

“It’s not that. What I would like is for Floch to take any commands off that may be in place, formally and recorded, but as for questioning Floch, I don’t feel Floch would be forthcoming if it was Eren. He’s half insane with his feelings about Eren, to the point he feels no remorse for hitting Eren in the stomach nor trying to bite him. Should Floch threaten Eren, he may not be able to keep his temper. Ideally we lay low until we can get in touch with the panel, then present both Floch and the taped conversations with him”

“Isn’t that going to anger Kenny?”

No shit. It wasn’t even a question worth discussing. Perhaps if he had been more open in the past with his team about his past then Eld wouldn’t be interrupting to ask something so stupid

“At this stage anything we do is going to cause a shitty fucking chain reaction. The only path Eren and I can take is the path that will leave us with the least regrets”

Erwin gave a slight nod. His friend had tried to understand what he was going through with Eren, but not having a mate of his own or having felt the pull of a compatible partner, Erwin couldn’t come close to imagining the way all the shitty “what if’s” had set in. The biggest thing hanging over them was the “what if” of Eren having another possible drop from the stress they were all under

“I’ve already suggested perhaps they’d be best leaving early. If you were to take Eren to Nedlay and work there with Pixis until we’ve contacted the panel…”

Bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, Levi felt a headache coming on. Erwin was supposed to be the brains of their operation. He should have been putting some form of strategy into place from the moment they’d gotten their hands on Floch. Stating the obvious, the alpha loathed their current situation when doing the right thing could bring Kenny to his doorstep, but if they backed off… If they backed off, then everything would have been for nothing. Everything Eren had worked so hard for had been turned into a joke by Floch. The shit had disrespected his omega, and had proved himself as slimy as turd. Without evidence Floch would find a way to slip through the hands of the panel, especially given they’d kidnapped him

“Even if we drop them in their laps, there’s no guarantee Floch will cooperate or that they will listen. What we need is more data on the Reiss and Reeves families that backs up Floch’s allegations”

Casting a glance towards the cabin window, Erwin felt his pockets for his keys as he did

“I’ve got a copy of the information our team’s pulled up on Floch in the back of my car. Eld, swap out with Gunther. See if you can get a dose of suppressants down Floch’s throat. We don’t need him going feral from his alpha. Levi, you’ll help me run through what we know, I want you to try and think back to when you were with Eren undercover and anything at all that might be related, no matter how small. Mike, I want you to go check on Eren and Armin. I’ll get those files. If we can’t use Eren to take a run at Floch, maybe there something there that’ll rattle him?”

The way Erwin spoke felt as if Levi had labelled Eren as useless. He felt like he’d betrayed his boyfriend, despite promising to always be on his side. This having a boyfriend thing was hard when both of them couldn’t act the way they wanted, harder still when Levi wasn’t sure he was prepared to ask Eren to go into hiding with him if they should need to. Armin and Mikasa were Eren’s real family, and the family he’d need of something went wrong with the pregnancy, as well as being the first two Eren would want to tell if everything went smoothly and they welcomed their little girl into the world without a hiccup. No longer could he make the kind of threats he’d used to, at least not in person while Eren was pregnant

“Use his family. Eren said that piece of shit was a Mumma’s boy… and on top of the shame of having a son like him, I doubt his father would appreciate this going to the press”

“Let’s save the press for now. If Historia is in danger we could tighten the noose around her neck. We’re better off trying to get her on our side, once we’ve analysed everything all over again”

Unless Erwin had a magical shitty fucking teleporter in that shit sedan of his, that would mean holding onto Floch for an indefinite amount of time…

“Tch. How the shit are we supposed to do that given where we fucking are?”

“I’ll do a run out tonight and call through to Petra. She’ll be able to discuss things further with Mikasa”

“Eren won’t be happy about dragging her in, even if she wants to help”

“Whether they like it or not, both she and Jean are already involved”

It was easy enough to imagine Mikasa had the remainder of their team already under her thumb

“That doesn’t mean we need to make shit worse for them. If you’re going out to call anyone, you should alert the panel and get the first available fucking audience with them. The whole point of bringing our families in is so they don’t wind up as collateral damage. Here we are, caught with our shitty thumbs up our arses thanks to fuck-knuckle wank stain. We’re all too personally involved now”

Shaking his head at him, Erwin knew he was right. This filthy cabin was no place for any of them. The longer they spent inside the less dirty the outside world seemed in comparison

“You know, typically people getting sex regularly aren’t as stressed as you are”

Levi could have hit him. Mike and Eld snorting as the alpha glared at his friend. Eren dropping again was nothing to joke about

“Right. Because now’s time to be fucking joking around. Eren’s already had one fucking drop, this could push him into a second, but by all means go ahead and talk about our sex life, just don’t blame me when you’re a dickless wonder and Mike’s feeding you through a tube for the rest of your life”

Erwin chuckled at his grumping giving Levi the feeling he would have reached out and ruffled his hair if the shit stain thought he could get away with it

“At least your sense of humour’s still intact”

“You’re the one who started it. Pop the trunk already, I want to be done with this cabin as soon as possible”

He’d told Erwin that both he and Eren were in agreement. That if something were to happen, then they’d leave without question seeing how intimately involved they were and knowing that as supportive as they were there was no way their friends could truly understand what it’d been like for both of them. Most of their shitty fucking jog had been Erwin prying into his relationship with Eren and how Eren was coping with this. Levi was loathe to admit that Eren really did seem to be coping better with this than he’d thought he would be. He was just as unhappy to admit that quietly part of him was jealous that Floch would always remain a festering wound for the both of them. For Levi it wasn’t enough to play Floch saying he was taking any commands off of Eren. He wanted the arsehole to sit there and to admit that he’d knowingly and vindictively fucked Eren over with what he’d done, and he wanted Eren to have that piece of mind knowing that Floch had absolutely no input into any of Eren’s actions or decisions.

[thebipolarbisexualnerd]

Tk finding Carlos sitting on the shower floor after a really bad shift, Tk takes care of him(and he doesn't get to hide his curls)

This took a darker turn than you were probably expecting.  My brain goes to dark places way too often.  Features Carlos whump and inspired by a post by @comablog2 and they let me write a similiar idea so thanks for that!!  Hope you guys enjoy 

It’s always the last call of the day that ends in disaster. 

Carlos could have ignored the call over the radio since he was off shift in another twenty minutes, but he decided to go help with the call after a gunshot was reported at a residential place.  TK was with his dad for a while anyways so he wasn’t in a hurry to get home to an empty house.  He got in his cruiser and followed instructions to what looked like a perfectly innocent house.  He was out of his cruiser and to the front door in seconds, pounding loudly and announcing police presence.  The door was unlocked so Carlos pulled his gun and slowly walked into the shadows of the house.  Adrenaline rushed through him as nothing but silence met his ears as he gazed around the open concept living room and kitchen.  Nothing at all seemed out of place, but Carlos knew something sinister had happened here tonight.  His heart pounded as he called out again his position with the Austin Police.  He took a slow, careful step down the wood paneled hallway when an image from his nightmares stepped out of the master bedroom on the left hand side.  

The moon was the only light in the house and the man was covered in shadows as he stumbled into the wall.  Carlos could smell the whiskey from here as it seemed to fill the air like an awful cologne. Green eyes caught his and instantly Carlos knew who it was he had caught tonight.  Those eyes haunted him even years after he had last seen them, especially in combination with that maniacal grin.  

“My little Latino doll came to join me,” Nathan Cadbury drawled lazily as he leaned against the wall.  Carlos could see he was covered in blood despite the poor lighting, but that wasn’t what made his blood turn to ice  and a band tighten around his chest.  “I heard you became an upholder of the law after all.  How nice of you to drop in.”

Carlos knew he should ignore the way blood rushed in his ears.  He should arrest this man and have him on the ground already.  He was dangerous yes, but also heavily intoxicated and he could have him on the ground in seconds if only his body would cooperate and stop being frozen to the spot.  His gun slowly lowered to his side as he stood there taking in the man that he’d thought had ruined his life when he’d been only barely eighteen years old.  He was the only monster Carlos had ever known, and he was the motivation to join up with the police academy.  He had wanted to protect the world from people like him, and he’d horrendously failed.  

The door bursts open while the two of them stand there and Carlos tries to breathe through the panic response his body would always have in the presence of Nathan.  The other man begins to laugh as other officers swarm in to arrest him and Carlos can’t look at any of them.  He was the first officer here, but he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing.  He slipped into the bedroom to get away from Nathan and felt himself sinking to the floor when his eyes rested on the body of a young latino boy sprawled lifeless on the mattress.  He had been stabbed multiple times before being shot in the head.  The gruesome murder isn’t what makes his stomach roll and his breathing quicken.  The bruises on his skin were all too familiar, and the marks around his wrists in the shape of fingers were like looking into a mirror from ten years ago.  Carlos had always thought he had deserved the way Nathan treated him.  He had thought he had done something to earn his bruises and marks.  He had told himself Nathan would never do things like this to someone else.  

He had been woefully so wrong.

He wasn’t alone long and somehow it felt like he was invisible as crime scene investigators came in to examine the body and the scene Nathan had created.  

“Carlos,” Michelle’s smooth voice reached him as he struggled to breathe. The paramedic team had likely been called to transport the body and pronounce the death.   “I thought you were off shift.”

“It’s Nathan,” Carlos said to her, knowing she could understand the horror filling him and would be the only one to understand the reason he couldn’t move or even breathe.  “They arrested Nathan for-for-”

“We need to get you out of here,” Michelle said without hesitation as she ran a hand over his hair and the touch helped to ground him.  “You don’t need to be here.  You can’t be here.”

“I c-can’t-” He felt his flimsy walls collapsing with his best friend here.  Michelle was the only person who knew the true story between himself and Cadbury.  He hadn’t been able to tell his mom even though they were close as could be.  He hadn’t been able to tell anyone about that relationship.  

“Hey, you’re okay,” Michelle told him softly with a squeeze to his arm.  “He’s being taken away for good, Carlos.  He can’t hurt you.”

Carlos was using everything in his power to avoid a full blown panic attack as Michelle tugged him to his feet and they made it out into some cool fresh air.  He unlocked his cruiser on autopilot, only wanting to get away from here.  

“You don’t really think you’re up to driving, do you?” Michelle asked as she cut in front of him to stand between him and the open door.  

“I want to go home,” Carlos couldn’t break down here in front of most of his colleagues.  He would never live that down.  His eyes were burning fiercely and all he wanted was a way to let these emotions out someplace safe.  “Please, ‘chelle, I just need to go home and away from...all this.”

“Let me drive-” Michelle started but they both knew that wasn’t even a possible option.  

“You have a job to do,” Carlos told her as he nudged her out of the way so he could get into his car.  “I can drive home just fine.  TK is coming over tonight.”  If he didn’t cancel which he was tempted to do in this kind of headspace.

“Text me when you get home,” Michelle ordered as she slowly stepped back from the car.  “I mean it Carlos, text me.  I’m coming over if you don’t, shift or no shift.  I’ll call you later on.”

“I’ll text,” Carlos promised before closing the door and taking a shaky breath in before blowing it out slowly.  He had to keep it together long enough to get home.  Nathan didn’t matter anymore.  He had grown so far past his abuser.  He had put this all behind him long ago.  Nathan was in jail now, or he would be once morning came at the very least.  

But that boy’s death was purely his fault.

Carlos had no idea how he got home safely since he couldn’t remember the drive home at all.  He probably hadn’t been safe to drive, but being alone with something to do is the only way he was holding himself together.  He was fooling himself to think he could hold this together.  He didn’t need to break down.  It wasn’t going to do anyone any good now.  The past was the past and there was nothing he could do to change it.  He made it until he stepped into the quiet shower with hot water pounding down on his back.  Nobody was here to witness this and he had nothing to distract his mind from the whirling thoughts of seeing his abusive ex-boyfriend again.  Nothing to take his mind off of the image of that bruised boy sprawled on the bed, beaten and shot.  There had been so many nights Carlos had thought Nathan was going to kill him back when he was young.  The man had an awful temper when he was drunk, and completely unpredictable.  Carlos had let himself fall in love with a man he barely knew and it had led to bruises being hidden by long sleeves and clever lies.  

The first sob shook his frame harshly as he braced one hand on the shower wall and it felt like he was twenty years old all over again and trying to gather the courage to leave the toxic relationship he was in.  Leaving Nathan had been the hardest thing he had ever done, and even back then he hadn’t had the courage to report him.   He had simply begged any God that would listen for Nathan to leave him in peace.  He had gotten his wish at the expense of someone else and that was unforgivable.  

His knees gave out as his body shook and he curled up helplessly sobbing on the floor of his shower where nobody could hear him or judge him for feeling the gaping would reopen once more.  The steam wasn’t helping when he felt like he couldn’t breathe already due to the band around his chest tightening like a noose.  It felt like he was going to suffocate with how hard he was sobbing and unable to catch a breath in between.  If he died here he would deserve it for letting that young boy die.  He was a coward and someone had paid the price for that.  He had been too weak to speak up so someone had gotten hurt.  He wasn’t the man everyone thought he was.  He was thought of as a man to be looked up to and respected.  He was thought of as brave and unshakable. 

Those things couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Carlos!” TK’s voice broke through as the water shut off hastily and Carlos had probably forgotten to even lock his door when he had gotten home.   “Oh baby, it’ll be okay.”  TK made to reach out to hold him, but Carlos flinched back without thinking.  He didn’t deserve hands on him in comfort.  He didn’t deserve to feel better.   “Carlos, you need to take a deep breath before you pass out.  You’re safe and it’s only the two of us here.  Breathe with me, baby.”

“I-It’s my f-f-fault,” Carlos stuttered out in between gasping breaths.  

“Shh, Carlos take a deep breath, okay?” TK soothed him quietly as he knelt next to the shower patiently.  “It’s going to be okay.”

“N-no!” Carlos protested.  Things wouldn’t ever be okay again.  How could they be when he was responsible for the death of another human being?  He was sworn to protect others and uphold the law.  What kind of officer broke half of that oath?  He didn’t protect that boy from being murdered by a man that should have been in prison long ago.  “I-It’s not okay.  He’s dead and it’s not okay.”

“Look at me, honey,” TK said softly, rubbing him gently with a soft towel and it was helping ground him to the moment a little more instead of being caught up in being in that house.  “Show me those beautiful brown eyes, okay?”

Carlos forced himself to focus on TK and saw how worried his boyfriend was about him.  His green eyes showed concern and compassion as he knelt next to him.  TK affectionately brushed his curls off his forehead with a towel as he gave him a small smile.  Carlos started to realize how cold he was now that his sobs were slowing down at last even if his breathing still hitched time and again.  

“Let’s try to get up and dry off, okay?” TK offered as he held out a hand and stood.  Carlos wasn’t really ready to leave the sanctuary of the shower, but his knees were cramping up and aching by now, not to mention he truly was freezing enough to start to shiver.  The moment his hand touched TK’s the tears came full force again and he found himself wrapped around his boyfriend in an instant.  TK didn’t even bat an eye at the fact that he was soaking wet and naked, but simply wrapped him in his arms tightly and murmured assurances in his ear.  Carlos tucked his face into TK’s neck and sobbed openly like his entire world was ending in this moment.  

It took a few minutes, but eventually his cries faded to soft whimpers and TK had wrapped the towel around him to help keep him warm.  Carlos felt embarrassed to have cried like that in front of TK, but he also felt a sense of relief that the horror and grief of the day had been released.  

“I’m sorry,” Carlos’s voice was absolutely wrecked and he winced at only the sound of it.  

“No need to apologize,” TK told him with a small, sincere smile and a kiss to his forehead.  “I’ll get you some clothes and you can climb into bed.  Then I’ll get you a cool glass of water, okay?”

Carlos nodded and gazed at his feet in embarrassment.  He hadn’t lost it in front of someone in a long, long time.  TK shouldn’t have had to see that.  The man had enough problems to deal with of his own.  He didn’t need a boyfriend falling apart over something that had happened years ago as it was.  

“Arms up, love,’ TK held out his favorite yellow hoodie for Carlos to slip on and he felt his heart melt in gratitude.  The smell indicated home and it made him feel safe, warding off the chill he felt as soon as Nathan’s silhouette shone in the moonlight.  He felt hands come up to gently cup his face.  “Are you alright?  Michelle was worried when she called me.”

“She called?” Carlos sighed and knew his best friend had the best of intentions.  “What did she tell you?”

“She said I needed to hurry home.  She said you needed me because of a bad call you went on at the end of your shift.  I… I’ve never seen you like that.”  TK’s sweet face was tight with worry, but Carlos couldn’t force himself to hold his gaze.  He knew TK had questions and that it might help to tell someone else about what was going on.  He doubted this case was one that would fade with the night.  He would likely be having nightmares from his past and this wasn’t something he could hide when TK practically lived with him.  

“You aren’t the only one that’s been through a nuclear bad break up,” Carlos tried to smile a bit to show TK he wasn’t completely broken.  “I ran into an ex today on my last call.”

He saw the flashes of insecurity on TK’s face and for a minute his tears were interpreted as something entirely different.  TK was never said to be anything but brave as he kept his gaze and fought past the insecurities.  “Yeah?  How did that happen?”

“Well,” Carlos ran a hand over his curls and had to get under the covers to pull them up to his chin.  “He was the murderer we were arresting.”

“Oh fuck,” TK said immediately as his eyes widened and he slowly came around to sit next to him on the bed.  Carlos could have laughed if he didn’t feel torn apart and raw.  He didn’t know how to hold the rest of this conversation.  He didn’t know how to tell the man who thought he hung the stars and the moon that he hadn’t always been so strong and sure.  He had seen something in TK when he had first come to Austin that had reminded him of himself ten years ago.   He knew Alex hadn’t been as bad as Nathan, but he also knew the more he got to know TK that Alex had been far from nice.  “Carlos I’m so sorry.”

“When I met Nathan,” Carlos had his hands clenched in the blankets and his voice was barely loud enough to be heard even in the quiet of their bedroom.  “I never thought he was nice.  He was jaded and drank too much and hated pretty much everyone.  He was selfish all the time and took exactly what he wanted without regard to anyone else.  I was young and he was incredibly attractive so I forgave the first dozen times he grabbed my wrist a little too hard.” 

“Baby…” TK said softly and reached to take his hand.  Carlos squeezed his fingers in return, but he couldn’t look at his boyfriend or else he would never get through this.

“Eventually I was one of the only people he was civil to most of the time,” He squeezed his eyes shut as tears leaked from the corners.  “I thought I was the one that was going to change him.  The one that would soften the bad boy and all of that.  He was my first boyfriend and I was desperate not to go back to being alone again.”

“I’m right here Carlos,” TK assured him softly and Carlos was nearly finished.  The story was relatively short to tell, even if living it had been the longest two years of his life.  

“He waited until about eight months in before he started hitting me,” Carlos felt TK grip his hand tighter and heard his slight intake of breath.  “By that time I was in love with him, or I thought I was.  I was more or less living with him so my family had no idea he hurt me.  Anyways, I convinced myself for another year that somehow I deserved it when he would punish me for not doing the dishes or for not having dinner ready when he got home.  I thought I wasn’t good enough.  I told myself it had everything to do with me and nothing to do with him.”  Carlos wiped the tears off his cheeks and was thankful the hardest part to tell was over.  “I eventually left him with Michelle’s support and help.  She was the only person I told what was going on and she tried to convince me to go to the cops and tell them what had happened.  She wanted me to report the entire thing and press charges.  I was scared of him and told myself he would never hurt anyone else the way he did to me. “

“You were a kid still,” TK said with his voice shaking a bit and Carlos knew this was a lot to unload on another person.  He had no doubt TK could handle his darkness, but it still made him feel insecure.  “You were young and of course you weren’t ready to do all of that.”

“Someone is dead because I chose not to say anything.”  He felt the shaking start again even as he said the words.  “He found someone else to beat up for his amusement and eventually he killed someone.  If I had said something then he -- he would…  It’s all my fault.”

“Shh, no baby it isn’t,” TK was crying with him now and was done with having any space between them at all as he climbed into Carlos’s lap to wrap his legs around his waist as he hugged him tightly.  Carlos tried to stop his sobs as they came back to the surface.  He hadn’t told that story for ten years and it was one of the biggest regrets of his life.  

“I feel so awful,” Carlos told him amidst soft sobs.  “That kid is dead because of me.”

“He’s dead because of the man who pulled the trigger,” TK told him firmly with a kiss to his forehead.  “You were a kid and he hurt you.  I’m just glad you got out of there when you did.  Baby, I promise that you aren’t to blame in this.”

“I need to sleep,” Carlos knew the crying would never end until he had some rest and his brain had some time to process.  

"Can you sleep?" TK asked him softly. "I can make you some tea if you want."  

"Just want you to hold me. " Carlos felt a blush rising on his face at the simple and earnest request.  

"That I can do. " TK smiled at him gently and opened his arms for Carlos to crawl back into and cuddle close until his head was on TK's chest.  "I love you baby, and I'm always going to be right here. I'm never going to hurt you. If that bastard wasn't already going to jail I'd be tempted to hunt him down. I'm sorry anyone ever hurt you that way. "

"Glad I have you now, " Carlos whispered sleepily as he felt TK rub circles on his back gently.  The crying made him exhausted and it wasn't long before he could fall asleep in his lover's arms safe in the knowledge he would never be hurt again and he would always be loved.

[alitheamateur]

Fantasy Flight

A/N: YOU GUYS. I’M ALIVE. MY CREATIVITY IS HANGING BY A WEAK THREAD, BUT I’M ALIVE. I managed this little oneshot, in a much, much lengthier amount of time than I would have liked, but here we are after months of a dry spell. I’m hoping this will kick-start some more content, and kill my writers block!!!!! Cross your fingers for me, loves.

You meet Steve Rogers on what seems to be a never-ending flight. But, the man has ways to occupy your time...

WARNINGS: NSFW. Smut, oral sex, language, mile-high action.

Steve Rogers x Reader

The mediocre clearance rack novel you picked up before you boarded wasn’t holding your attention nearly as much as you’d hoped, and the free movie playing was one you didn’t care to partake in again. Sure, the window-seat sunset was beautiful. Neon and pink, with fading blues and clouds like fresh linens and cotton. But, you’d never been in the air this long, and your worrisome tendencies were worming their way to the surface with unmerited warning.

Somehow, thank your lucky stars, you’d scored an empty row all to yourself, so the undisturbed nap you’d just stirred from helped shoo the passing of another hour or so on your journey. You concluded with the aid of a couple more stiff cocktails, you’d doze off and be kissing ground before you knew it.

Just as you were about to click on your light for assistance from the attendant, a man across the aisle stretched into your peripheral.

“No use. I’ve been trying to get a bag of peanuts from her for the last half hour. Seems the eligible doctor on the first row is keeping her busy.”

You combed your matted, once-styled hair from your eyes so you could see clearly if his exterior matched his friendly, congenial voice. Your lips stole a smile before your self-control could protest, and the one on his face grew tenfold in return.

His hair was a muddy blonde, cut clean and proper to match his smooth face, revealing a flexed, dominant jaw. You couldn’t tell what the material of his threaded black shirt was made of, but it had to have been something with flexing give the way it pulled over rugged cuts of bicep. His lashes were long, fluttering and youthful, but they didn’t hide the slight simmer of mischievous delight in his storm-ridden eyes.

“Well, if she doesn’t get here soon, I may have to make my way to the liquor stash on this rig.”

He was cockeyed in the aisle seat across the way, hands folded over the armrest before he offered one your way.

“I’m Steve Rogers, by the way.”

You fumbled with a decision on whether to engage furthermore. Travelling alone to another country had its potential dangerous without conversing with a lone man on an uncrowded flight. But, his clean smile, and bright skin told a harmless story, and you figured maybe a bit of friendly banter would pass the time and distract you welcomingly.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you, Steve the peanut guy.” You played cheekily as your thumb brushed over his hand and closed in a shake.

“Peanut guy, huh? Well, I have certainly been called much worse, by a much less beautiful mouth.”

He had captured your hand, and long overdue held its embrace, and you hoped the whispers inside your head weren’t falling into his palms. The plump veins sheathed under his skin pulsed as you watched them, and suddenly your carnal curiosity settled at the gap of your thighs.

“Ah, a smooth talker, I see. Do you make it a habit of picking up lonely women on flights then, Steve?”

He fluttered a requesting gaze at the empty seat next to you, gentlemanly asking for an invitation. You weren’t even sure how he fit through the threshold of the cramped walkway, much less how his broad shoulders rested comfortably in the less than accommodating seats.

“Actually, I’m probably the farthest thing from a man as such, sweetheart. But, the longer I watched you across the way, the more I just had to hear the sound that came out of those lips.”

What you would have classified as trash coming from most men you meet, sounded only like genuine truth from a guy like Steve and his pearly, symmetrical smile.

“And was it everything you hoped it would be, Mr. Rogers?”

He only had eyes for your mouth. And you, for the sudden peculiar growth behind his zipper.

“Beyond it. But, if I’m being honest, there were more than words that I needed to hear…”  

Radiant, obvious flushes of pink pooled at your cheekbones, and something in Steve’s unapologetic face spoke to your every attraction.

“I do have a pretty mean Chewbaca impersonation, if that’s what you’re into.” You remarked, seeing how far you could take him.

There was a glint of a smile, but nothing could break the resolute hunger for Steve to have you in the filthiest of ways.

He cleared his throat. “I haven’t quite figured out exactly what I’m into. But, something tells me it’s whatever is sitting pretty beneath those long delicious legs.”

You’re certain he shocked your heart to a stop, and if it was possible to come by words alone, it may have just happened inside your panties.

Fearful of what you may say, or of leaving a puddle in the cloth of your seat, you fled like a heaving, hot mess.

Very rarely had any man made you blush, or even anything close to such. But, whether it be the way he somehow made his unsubtle innuendos seem uncharacteristically dopey and polite, or simply his God-forsaken, flawless, womb-shattering face, you needed a solo moment to seek out your composure.

The vacant sign on the stuffy bathroom called to you, and you slid in sideways through the cramped door. The peachy lines of your lips were gathering a mist of sweat, and using your even swampier palms to dab the wetness away was useless. It was as if your pheromones had pitched a humid aura around you, and even your hair had frizzed with the static of your arousal.

As you unleashed the cool flow from the faucet to settle your sweltering fever, you heard a double tap in the panel of the door.

“Just a minute.” You chirped, confused as to why the individual couldn’t clearly read that the room was occupied.

You heard a raspy throat clear, the ruins of a chuckle present.

“It’s me, darlin’. You okay in there?”

“I uh, I’ll be out in a minute, Steve. I’m fine, really.” But, the truth was anything but. Your hand quaked against the handle, threatening to open the door just for a quick glance at him. Maybe a hefty enough dose of the slithery sneer to help you tend to the pressure swimming in the lower of your belly.

“You looked a little shaky, Y/N. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t check in on you.”

You were quite rickety on your feet, but it had nothing to do with illness. Unless being irrepressibly turned on was a medical concern.

Before your reflexes consulted your brain, you were unlatching the metal of the door, to see Steve leaned cross-armed in the rectangle entry. There was a crease between his smiling eyes, and in the fluorescent light of the bathroom bulbs, you could see a scuffed scar beneath his prominent chin. He stepped inside abruptly forcing your back to stumble against the wall, probably sharing the fear that you’d suddenly discover some shred of better judgment and dignity and kick him out.

Both of you froze, blood hardened with anxious suspense, and budding expectancy. After only stillness, Steve’s strong, yet concerned hand trapped the side of your cheek, then found your forehead.

“My God, you’re burning up, doll.” He fiddled with a stray hair clinging to your face, the flowing tempo of his breathing thick and struggled. “We should probably do something about that.”

His able fist snaked to your back, gathering up the length of your hair, then he craned his neck to unleash whispering gusts of cool air down the nape of your heat-rashed neck. Steve breathed over your cheeks, over the hills of your collarbones, then aimed his pouted lips down the slit of your v-neck shirt between the canyon of your weighted breasts.

Gulp.

“That… Yeah, that helps a lot, Steve. Th-thank you.” He had you. Your drowsy eyes were lidded with sex, much like the refection in his very own eyes.

“I’m just getting started, gorgeous. I’ll have you feeling all better in no time.”

Somewhere in the beginnings of his performance, you had been too hypnotized to notice he had pulled free the elastic tie of your waistband, and ably situated you to sit on the sink. The head of the water nozzle prodded the flesh of your back, but your suspicions assured you some forthcoming ecstasy would distract the discomfort.

“Let’s give you a good look over, shall we?”

With a faded glance, Steve pushed himself to your lips, paced licks of his tongue swabbing the stains of liquor on your mouth. You moved to dangle your suddenly feeble arms around his neck, but after a playful nip of his teeth, he pulled away.

“Seems your lips are in perfect condition. But, we may give them another look at in a bit. But first, there’s a few other crucial locations I should see have my full attention.”

Veiled in thin cotton, and even thinner lace, your budding nipples felt the very real tugs, and gripped fondles of his seemingly always magical hands.

You squealed. Pitches of ear-shattering octaves broke the barrier of sound as your skirt began bunching at your waist.

“Wow.” You mustered.

His eager, doe-like eyes admired the teasingly dainty pink bow stitched at the center of your angelic white panties.

“What a sweet little doll you are. So ready for me, Y/N.”

With two measly fingers, Steve ripped your cheeky underwear at the seams, and his entire face crashed into your aching center like some sort of erotic magnet. When he inhaled your scent, a masculine cut nose splitting your lips, you heard the crackle and pops of the sink’s vanity cracking beneath you. The very aroma of your desire for him drove Steve so beyond the brink of control, his grip on the edge of the counter had given way to his strength.

“And this. This sweet, sweet cunt seems to be… Mhmm, seems to be as perfect as can be.”

His explicit admirations sounded like murmuring babbles as his lapping tongue was deeply preoccupied, but the smile lines of his dark-sparked eyes told his tale. You tousled his schoolboy combover, the prowess in you guiltily indulging in roughing him up a little, and he hardly nicked at your puffy entrance.

“Mind those teeth, Mr. Rogers,” you brazenly remarked. But secretly, his cheeky bites were only spurring you on from every corner.

Suddenly, twined with slurps of starvation, and swirls of a mindful tongue, came a burst of your most erotic orgasm. There was a rueful knock on the door, no doubt a polite passenger concerned with the wails reddening your throat, but you both snubbed the intrusion. Steve giggled, fucking giggled, as he attempted to catch every glistening drop of your sugar-sweet release, like he was a silly boy feasting at a candy dispenser.

“Mmmm, like syrup, I’m tellin’ ya’. Better give it all, baby.”

Your mascara had smeared, and your missing earring must’ve been somewhere lonely on the sticky floor, but you were rancid with the high of an almost frighteningly rewarding orgasm, and needed more.

“If you don’t bend me over this sink in two seconds, Steve, I may regret this decision all together.” You plopped to the ground, skirt bundled in your fist, and angled your bottom end indiscreetly over his suitable bulge.

Steve pulled his shirt over his head with one capable hand, while the other made headway on his suddenly cumbersome belt.

“Don’t you worry. You just bend over like a good girl, and I’ll make for certain you get off this plane with everything but regrets. Now, bite on this before those lovely little screams get us into trouble, hm?”

He plugged your mouth with the warmth of his t-shirt, his thumb playing at your lips. You could see the blurs of his reflection in the mirror, and you felt a convulse quake over your body at the sight of mountainous canyons of muscle. When you heard his zipper fall, a knot settled in your windpipe. His heat reached your core before his actual flesh, and your orgasmic, weepy eyes fell closed for a moment when he worked his way inside you.

“My. God. What a tight, tight little beauty you are, Y/N,” Steve cried into your ear as he bent over your back.  

The flexes of his abs laying across your spine, dewy slickness parading at your neck where his scalding exhales landed. The whole scene was one for the most blushing of erotica. His rhythm was unsteady. Quick, then lethargic and dirty, with matter of fact grunts punctuating his every move. The unpredictable thrusts kept your entrance hyperaware with luscious anticipation.

You kept your eyes on the mirror, hopeful to catch the clear vision of an emotion on his painfully hot face. Your eyes wanted to give away, surrender to closing at his sexual mercy, but you held watch, nonetheless.

His deep pounds into your slicked center clouded your focus, but quickly you felt the weight of Steve’s head leave your shouder, and you caught eye contact. It was obvious, by the sheepish quirk of a smile, the blown pupils, and impossible thickness of his neck, Steve Rogers was designed to please a woman past the point of return.

A hand like a sneaky snake crawled down the crevice between your pelvis, and shivering thigh, discovering the pleasantly painful swell of your clit. The mirror in front of you, now cloudy with steam from your erratic breaths, caught your handprint as you stretched and clawed for something to take the blunt force of your excitement. A storm of thunderous come brewed inside you, and before you knew it, Steve’s eyes pooled with the onslaught of his own hurricane.

“Round two when we land says I can time this one just right, sweetheart…” He winked, referring to what would be your first unison release with a partner.

Oh, the smugness. The crude, pompous…. Salaciously sexy smugness.

His hips bucked, digging and rooting to the bottom of your belly, while his fingers almost tickled your blossom like the strings of a harp, becoming well acquainted. You matched his showing off, swirling circles around his unfathomably sized cock, doing everything in your power to simply prove his sure ego wrong.

But, with the last push of your pert bum back at him, he flicked at the heart of your sweet spot. Your sight went spotted and white, every hair on your flesh straight as a cats’ back.

“S-S-Steve!”

The pulses of your eruption pulled the red-stricken head of his length, and before your legs even began to fully twitch with satisfaction, Steve howled, and you felt a tickle spewing inside of you.

“Perfect. Fucking. Timing.” He cursed, a puddle of meeting juices pooling at both of your feet.

He kissed the blade of your shoulder, tasting the salt of your sweat, his palms massaging into the cheeks that had left reddening marks on his sculpted thighs. He caressed you, helping you to stand straight, tracing the lines of your body with fervor.

“Looks like we have a date when this plane lands, gorgeous.”  

TAGS: @miidailyinspiration​ @eap1935​ @mollybegger-blog​ @spideypxgirl​ @fanfictionaffair​ @firstangeldragonranch​

(If I missed your tag, PLEASE send me a message. It’s my best way of keeping up with taglists. xo)

[messagefromtheveins]

Numb

A/N: Turns out I only needed that tiny little clip of the Super Bowl teaser to get inspired to write. So here’s my take on what happens post-Endgame ☺

Words: 1.8k

Pairing: (platonic) Bucky/Reader, Sam/Reader

Warning: lots of angst. Brief and very vague mention of self harm!

Arms crossed in front of your chest, you felt a small smile tug at the corners of your lips as you watched Sam throw his head back in annoyance as the shield once again went into the wrong direction. You hesitated for a long moment, your forehead resting against the cold window before you moved through the room, grabbing a cardigan on your way out.

Your bare feet barely made a sound on the wooden panels, the stairs only creaking once, so quietly that you barely heard it. But Bucky did, his icy blue eyes immediately on yours as you reached the last step. He didn't say a word, simply gave you a soft smile that you returned, though you knew that he could see how forced it was. You knew that Bucky was also struggling with the loss of Steve, but you hadn't gotten yourself to talk to him yet, to ask him how he was doing- the wound Steve had left when he had gone off to be with Peggy was still too fresh. It still felt like someone was ripping your chest open if they just mentioned his name.

You didn't care that the grass was wet with morning dew below your bare feet- in fact, it was welcomed, in a strange way. For the last month you had mostly stayed in your room, hiding from Sam's empathetic eyes and gentle words. You knew he only wanted to help, but it usually made you feel worse. But Sam and Bucky had been kind enough to take you with them to the house they had gotten, both of them needing time and space to deal with everything that had happened, and yet not wanting to be on their own. They hadn't even given you the chance to protest or the chance to find a place for yourself. They knew that you would break at some point and that you'd need someone to catch you when it happened.

"Hey, Sammy," you spoke up, tightening the cardigan around you as his head lifted from where he had glared at the shield in his hands. You knew he hated the nickname, but he had never managed to convince you to call him something else.

His eyes widened just a bit, but you noticed it, before a gentle smile spread over his lips. It made you want to run back inside and crawl back into the safety of your bed, but you forced yourself to keep walking over to him. "Good morning," he responded, his voice nothing but a low murmur. You could see that he wanted to say more, but you spoke up before he could.

"I hate to be a know-it-all, but you're not putting enough force into the way you throw the shield," you told him, his gentle smile turning into a wide grin along with one of his eyebrows raising.

"Is that so?" he chuckled. For a brief moment you felt like everything was back to normal when he looked at you with the kind of amusement in his eyes that you remembered so vividly from all the times you had decided to join him on his morning run, both of you knowing that you could never keep up with him, but he had always humored you.

Nodding, you hesitated before you reached for the shield, seeing the surprise in his eyes as he handed it to you. "Yeah. You're thinking of the way Ste-" you broke off before you even finished the name. You didn't notice how Sam's eyebrows furrowed in worry as he watched you, how your hands tightened on the shield and your jaw clenched while you fought against the tears that blurred your vision. He didn't say a word as he reached a hand out to you, though before he could curl it around your upper arm you moved out of reach. Shaking your head, you didn't meet his gaze as you continued, your voice weak before you gained composure again. "-how he threw it, but you have to remember that you don't have that freaky serum in your blood. So you have to compensate for that with more strength."

Behind you Bucky stepped out of the house, holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. A little frown rested on his features as he watched the two of you. He could clearly remember the day Steve had tried to teach you how to throw the shield. It had been a beautiful sunny day and the three of you had used the moment of peace that had lingered in the air to enjoy the nice weather, lounging outside of the compound in the grass. He could remember how you had struggled to throw it, failing several times before you had finally put more force into it. A smile spread over his lips as he remembered how you had managed to dislocate your shoulder, how you had laughed your way through the pain. Steve had never given you that shield ever again.

Sam stayed silent as you showed him how he should try throwing it without you actually throwing it, barely listening to a word you said. He could see how much the world was weighing on your shoulders and he desperately wanted to take some of that weight, but he knew better than to push you- he knew that you wanted to deal with it on your own terms. He and Bucky had accepted that those terms meant locking yourself up in your room and only briefly showing your face when you went to get something to eat.

When you gave him the shield again he got into the same pose you had showed him, taking a deep breath and meeting Bucky's gaze from where he was watching the scene unfold from the front porch before Sam twisted and threw the shield. It didn't hit the target- which was a tree- but his aim was much better than before, close enough that the shield left a deep cut at the side of the trunk before it landed on the ground with a dull thump.

An elated grin rested on his features as you turned to look at Sam, excitement written all over his face as he released a victorious "Whooo!" before he wrapped his arms around you and hugged you close to his chest.

The second his arms engulfed you in a tight hug you slowly felt yourself crumbling, the wall you had put up slowly falling apart until you were trembling in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks. He was whispering calming words into your ear and caressed your back with gentle hands, keeping you upright even when it felt like your knees were giving out.

The last time you had received any kind of physical contact had been when Steve had told you about his plan- the plan that had included leaving you and reuniting with the real love of his life. He hadn't worded it like that, but that was how you had taken it. Ever since then you had rejected any kind of physical contact, no matter if it was a hug or someone reaching for your hand. And it wasn't until now that you realized how much you had tortured yourself with that, how freeing it was to finally let go of everything you had been bottling up all this time and to find comfort in someone's arms.

As much as it hurt Bucky to see you like this, it also relieved him. He and Sam had gotten quite worried lately, wondering how much longer you would shut them out and what would happen when you finally broke. Bucky had been so worried that you'd end up hurting yourself in ways he didn't even want to imagine. His coffee cup was left abandoned at the front door as he stepped over to you and Sam, his hand instinctively coming to rest on your back as you cried into Sam's chest.

Bucky hadn't expected that you would immediately turn to him, your arms tightly wrapping around his neck and seeking the comforting embrace you had received so many times. Whenever Steve had been away on a mission and you had been worried about his safety you had searched for a sense of comfort in Bucky's arms.

His metal arm locked around your waist while his other hand came to rest on the back of your head, cradling you close to his shoulder and leaning his cheek against the side of your head. He completely blocked Sam out, only concentrating on you- on the way you tightly grasped at his shoulders, clinging onto the soft fabric of his blue sweater while you quietly cried in his arms. "It's okay, hon'," he murmured, his fingers lightly playing with your hair, "it's okay. Sam and I are here for you, yeah?" He didn't even know if you listened to him.

It took a long time before your grip on him slowly loosened and you started to pull back, though he didn't let you go far. "Buck..." you whimpered, his head nodding as his hands reached up to cup your face in them. Both his metal and his flesh hand felt cold against your flushed cheeks.

"I know," he cooed and gently brushed the tears from your cheeks, but new ones immediately followed, "it hurts like hell, I know." He brushed your hair out of your face, tucking a few strands behind your ear while he studied your features. He could see the pain written in your bloodshot eyes, a new wave of anger towards Steve building in his chest. "God, I hate him. I hate him for hurting you like this. You didn't deserve any of this," he whispered, more to himself.

He knew he should be grateful, considering that Steve had been the one who had gotten him away from Hydra. But ever since Steve had left- and especially now that he got to see just how much Steve had hurt you- he couldn't be grateful. Especially when the next words left your lips. "I'm not even sure if he ever loved me."

Tears burned in the back of his eyes at the way you sounded so broken, his hand once again landing on the back of your head as he pulled you in. His lips trembled against your skin as he left a lingering kiss on your forehead. "He did, hon'. He really did. He just wasn't able to let go of the past," he told you, his fingers slowly caressing your head as he let a moment pass in silence before he spoke up once more. "We're going to get you through this, I promise."

Forever and Ever Taglist: @waitonmedarling​ @hugefangirl-22 @evansweaters​ @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @ultradreamologistblog @justanotherfangurl272 @my-elevenoutof10 @disaster-rose @kellymat @anncutamarica​

[natrogersfics]

PREVIEW: All I Ask - Chapter 2

NEW CHAPTER: JUNE 20, 2020 

There’s a crackle as Steve’s body collides with the ground, but whether it’s from the gravel he’s landed on or his bones cracking from the force, he’s uncertain. Between the pain radiating from the gash on his leg and the deafening ring in his ears, he’s unable to focus on anything other than how heavy his body feels. The desire to stay down and succumb to the darkness that’s lurking in his periphery washes over him suddenly, becoming far too tempting as he struggles for breath, and as his eyes begin to fall shut, it’s almost irresistible.    

But staying down isn’t an option. He knows it’s not, even when it feels like he has nothing left to give. It takes a Herculean effort, so much so that he can’t stop the wince from breaking out across his face, but he wills himself to roll ungracefully to his side.

“In all my years of conquest… violence… slaughter,” he hears Thanos say from yards away. “It was never personal.” The Titan takes a pause, and when Steve looks up, the smile on the monster’s face is nearly audible as he continues, “But I’ll tell you now… what I’m about to do to your stubborn, annoying little planet… I’m gonna enjoy it very, very much.”

The ground rumbles with the force of thousands of footsteps approaching, of ships landing, and weapons being drawn. His gaze sweeps across Thanos’ army filling the other side of the terrain, and he swallows hard at the sight. On his flanks, Tony and Thor are still out cold, and he can’t bring himself to think about what else has happened to everyone else. Whoever else they’ve lost.

He lets out a groan, loud and guttural, as he forces himself to his feet. He huffs out a breath, gritting his teeth as he fastens the strap on what’s left of his shield and begins to limp towards the fight. He’s all alone, all that’s left. One man with nothing more than half his weapon and his will to fight.

And it’s going to have to be enough.  

“Steve,” he hears a voice whisper, soft and saccharine. “Can you hear me?”

He pauses, letting out a tired chuckle. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth must only be the tip of the iceberg as far as his injuries go. His mind must have gone long before, because there it goes, the one voice he wants to hear, drowning out the ruckus of the battalion before him. Perhaps this is a kindness - a gift from the world he had given his life to save once before, and, as it stands, again in this moment. If its demise is here, then so be it. But at least let this voice be the last sound he hears before he perishes along with it.

“Steve, it’s me. Can you hear me?”

A smile grazes his lips. You’re all I hear.

“Turn around, Steve.”

A spark cuts through the gloom of the battlefield when he looks back, growing bigger and glowing brighter by the second as he stares in astonishment. A figure emerges from the light, slowly and torturously so, and vaguely, he’s aware that the portals have multiplied, lighting up the field as if the sun has shone over them. But as he focuses on the shadow coming towards him, his heart stammers in his chest. Neither pain nor delirium could keep him from recognizing the poise and confidence in its gait. And as it moves forward, revealing itself, he’s filled with something he thought he’d never feel again – relief.

In the midst of the ruins of what was once their home, Natasha’s onyx suit gleams, and the light of her batons is as fiery as the one illuminating her emerald eyes. She turns to him, her smile as sweet and mesmerizing as the one she had sent his way before this nightmare had begun. “Hey, soldier.”

Steve bolts up in bed, his chest heaving as cold sweat drips down his temple. He feels around him, and when his hands land on nothing but the softness of the sheets, he inhales deeply in an attempt to get his breathing in order. It was just a dream. He repeats the words in his head, mouthing them silently. It was just a dream.

When his breathing slows, he takes in his surroundings. Even in the dark, he makes out the fading yellow of the walls, and the pictures in the frames littering the shelves before him with the faces of three young children remind him that he isn’t on the battlefield, but in the guest bedroom of Clint’s home. With a sigh, he rises to look out the window. The light of dawn lingers low in the Missouri sky, painting the landscape of the Barton family farm in tones of rich purples and oranges. But in spite of the impending sign of a new day, he feels his hands clench into fists at his sides, and before he can let his emotions get the better of him, he finds himself dressing and swiftly making his way out the back door.

The barn is empty, and he searches frantically for something – anything – to do, as if what’s left of his sanity might just slip if he keeps still, and he doesn’t even think twice when he sees the axe on the workstation. He picks it up, heading towards the pile of firewood on the side of the room, and as he strikes the blade against the wood, he can no longer keep his thoughts from running amuck. Now more than ever, he feels like there is a heartless irony to his existence. When they’ve come as close as they have to not witnessing another day, the opportunity to live a new one shouldn’t bother him and make his heart feel like a weight in his chest, but they do. And it’s without a scintilla of a doubt that he knows that it’s all to do with the costly price they’ve had to pay to forge this reality.

The end was supposed to justify their means. And in many ways, it does. Families are reunited. The Earth remains in orbit. Half of the galaxy’s life has been restored. But even so, their losses haven’t felt minimized to any degree. The world could sympathize with the fact that Tony would never see Morgan grow up or that Natasha would never get to live the life she fought arduously to deserve, but they won’t hear Pepper’s sobs at night. They won’t hear the anguish in Clint’s voice when he reminisces with Nathaniel about his namesake. And they most definitely won’t hear his screams when he dreams of the life he and Natasha could have had, only to have it ripped away time and again by morning.

The last thought causes him to grip the axe more tightly. It’s been days since their time heist and since they’d defeated Thanos and his army for good, and though sleep has been difficult to find, on the off chance that he did, he’s been haunted by this recurring dream and the subsequent affliction of waking up to find that it was indeed just that. The sacrifice hadn’t been undone. Natasha hadn’t come back to them, to him. And in a world where stealing time has become a possibility, it’s a cruel, twisted joke that just having another minute with her, is not.

Tell me after. When we get our family and friends back. When we’ve restored half the universe. When we’ve won.

Her words from that night echo in his mind, her voice as sweet as it is in his dreams. But it only fortifies the bitterness coursing through his veins, intensifying the effort he exerts as he brings the axe to the wood over and over again. They were foolish to think they could leave the words they wanted to tell each other for a better time – as if they knew for certain that they had more than what they had at that very moment. And now here he was, back in his own fresh hell, alive if only to relive the vicious cycle of losing the person he loves. Though this time, he’d lost much more than the promise of one dance.  

A pained groan slips from his lips as his restraint crumbles, and he sends the axe flying towards the wall, the blade embedding into the wooden panel. He brings a hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck.”

“Might just be me,” he hears someone say, “but that’s looking a little too fine for the fireplace now.”

He looks down at his feet, and he has to blink away the tears he hadn’t realized had filled his eyes to see that he had turned the log into mulch. With the back of his hand, he wipes his tears away before turning to find Clint lingering by the work bench, his sweat-drenched shirt a reassurance that he’s not the only one that sleep has alluded. He sighs. “You can’t sleep,” he says, watching as Clint stares at him for a second, unsure if he should be surprised or impressed that his words had come out as a statement of fact instead of a trite question, but he only shrugs. Preamble meant little to him now.

“Every time I close my eyes…” Clint says, “I see her falling.”

He looks back down at the ground. He knows better than anyone what that’s like, to have a horror movie play in your head repeatedly without the power to shut it off. The image of Bucky falling from the train haunted him for years, and some nights, even when he knew his best friend had survived, it still did. But he doesn’t dare offer Clint any advice - damn if he knew how to make it stop.

“I think I’d be better off with nightmares,” he says, his voice steady even when his gut feels anything but. “Because at least they wouldn't be a lie. But all I keep getting are dreams that she’s not really gone.” He does not even look up to see Clint’s reaction as he adds, “I can deal with the pain of reality. I think it’s all I’ve ever really known since I came out of the ice. But this… hope? This feeling like there’s got to be some way to bring her back and I’m just missing it?” He shakes his head. “It’s a demon I don’t know how to slay.”  

“It can’t be undone,” Clint says softly. “You know it can’t, Steve.”

“Do I?” he says heatedly. “God, what do I know? What do any of us really know? Every goddamn thing we thought was impossible turned out to be possible!” He steps forward. “So, tell me, Clint, after everything we’ve been through, everything that’s happened, what do we really know anymore?”

“I know she’s not here,” Clint says, throwing his hands up in frustration. “My best friend isn't here!” He scoffs. “She didn't choose to become what they made her, didn't get a say in any of it… But she atoned for those sins all the same.” His voice falls to a tormented whisper. “She deserved this win more than anyone I know."

His expression softens at the agony that pains Clint's face. "She fought to own her choices,” he says. “You couldn't have stopped her. Even I know that."

"Yeah, she fought for it,” Clint says, his chuckle devoid of any humor as he looks back at him. “You're right, maybe we don't know a fucking thing anymore, but what I do know is that she is not here."

“It had to be her.”

His head whips in the direction of the barn’s door, as does Clint’s, and they both share a look when they find Stephen Strange leaning against the frame.

“But I have reason to believe there is more to her sacrifice than previously thought,” Strange says.

Click here to read Chapter 1 on AO3. 

[sixteencrows]

Duct Tape and a Wish

There are a lot of benefits to using power armor in a fight, but you don’t really need me to tell you that. Take one look at any raider or gunner who’s managed to get one up and running and you know you’re going to be in for a bad time. Even the Brotherhood, with all their pomp and self righteousness, make a pretty intimidating image charging into battle. I guess you could say that they aren’t that good for stealth but I’ve certainly never had any trouble sneaking around while Wilhelm drew fire with his creaking tin can.

The only fault I can really, honestly give them is that they’re pretty slow.

Especially when they have a dead fusion core.

Like right now.

“You alright back there, Tin Man?” I called back to Wilhelm, waiting for him at the top of a small hill that, to him, probably felt like a mountain. His fusioncore gave out half a mile back, not long after we had a run in with some Super Mutants. We were so close to one of his settlements where we could ditch the hunk of metal in safety but with how hard he was breathing even that seemed impossible.

He finally trudged up next to me, the frame of the armor kept him pretty upright but I could still sense the way he slumped inside while he tried to regain some strength. Eventually he responded, glancing down at the Pip-Boy on his arm that he could barely lift. “Not much … farther.” A rattling cough seemed to echo around his helmet. “I can do it.”

“You sure?” I mean what other options are there? We can’t just leave the thing out in the open. Who knows who would find it, and with how powerful it was we couldn’t exactly risk some guy with a spare fusion core making off with it.

Wilhelm took some slow, shaking breaths before responding, “Yeah, let’s go,” and continued on his route. I followed along behind him, rifle in hand, his own strapped to my back (not that the absence of fifteen pounds would really make that much of a difference to him), keeping an eye out for whatever the Commonwealth decided to spring on us next.

It took another forty-five minutes or so for us to arrive at the Abernathy Farm and when we did I volunteered to do most of the talking for him. The guy we spoke to, I think his name was Blake, directed us to a shed where we could store the suit temporarily and handed us some cold-ish purified water before getting back to his family. By this point I was getting a bit antsy to get Wilhelm out of that thing, his heavy breathing never really let up and his coughing had become more persistent even if he tried to hide it around the settlers.

“Alright, man, get outta there before we have to crack you open like an egg,” I said, jokingly rapping my knuckles on the back panel of his armor. Before I had the chance to step back the panel opened with a loud hiss. Wilhelm more fell than stepped out of the back, stumbling on unsteady feet and nearly crushing me to the ground when I tried to catch him.

He’s a big guy, I know this but there are still times when it catches me off guard. He’s already a good head taller than me and when I tried to wrap my arms around his chest from the back it was like hugging a barrel. I knew it wasn’t feasible to help him to his feet so instead I awkwardly hauled him, or at least controlled his falling, to sit with his back to the wall of the shed. Even out of his armor and in the (slightly) fresh air his breathing sounded terrible and I noticed immediately that he is drenched in sweat. His hands were shaking as he tried to remove his glasses, fumbling with them as he leaned his head back.

Something’s wrong.

I’ve been around people when they are out of breath. Heck, most of the commonwealth, including myself, smoke and that definitely doesn’t help when you have to book it away from an angry Deathclaw. This sounds different though.

“Hey uh,” I crouch down in front of him, giving him maybe a foot or so of breathing space, “You holding up okay?” No MacCready, obviously not. With every cough I half expect him to spit out a lung, and his breathing sounds more like a wheeze than anything else. I see the way he’s trying to keep his knees up (well one knee anyway, the other never really seems to bend properly) to support his posture so I scoot forward a little to try and hold them in place. Eventually he’s able to look at me, his eyes have always looked pale and bloodshot but they somehow look worse in this moment. More watery and hazy.

He pats a shaky hand to his chest. “My lungs,” he mumbles hoarsley before reworking his words to something more efficient, “Asthma.”

Okay, asthma, that makes sense, I can work with that. Yeah, totally.

Crap what am I saying, I don’t know anything about asthma. Sure I know the basic gist of it but what am I supposed to do? Are his lungs collapsing? Does he need to see a doctor? I’ve heard that people used to treat it with something that kind of looked like Jet but I don’t see how that would help in this situation.

He must have noticed my moment of panic because I felt him patting my hand on his knee. I look at him again, still holding his chest, and I can hear him trying to steady his breathing. It starts off as the same shallow wheezes but gradually, almost imperceptibly, they try to get a bit longer. Not knowing what else to do I breathe with him, in through the nose, as deep as you can, then back out again. It feels a little bit like the breathing exercises people do to calm their nerves, the kind you do to steady your rifle before taking a long distance shot.

I don’t know how long we sat there for. We were still out of sight of the Abernathys so none of them seemed to notice what was happening. At some point it hard started to get dark, and I reached over to turn on the light on Wilhelm’s Pip-Boy. His breathing was more or less settled though it still seemed to rattle around his lungs on every inhale. Had it always been like that?

His eyes were closed as his head rested against the metal wall behind him. I took this moment of quiet lucidity to just watch him… which sounds creepy but I promise it’s not.

We’ve been travelling together for a couple months now, he’s even set up a bed for me in The Castle (which is a name far grander than three and a half walls really deserved). I kind of treat it like a little vacation whenever he drops me off there, and while Garvey never really seems to enjoy my presence he does at least tolerate me, and I have come to enjoy getting under his skin a little whenever the opportunity presents itself. Still, we don’t have a ton of downtime together when we’re not travelling or sleeping.

His colour looks a lot better. Even in the yellow light of his Pip-Boy his face looks a lot less red than it did and his hand, still resting on my own, feels less clammy than when he’d first staggered out of the power armor. With his glasses still discarded next to him I can see some scarring around his face. I’ve always known that he had a couple scuffs and dings but behind the wire frames and all the hair I never really noticed how bad it really was. I can count maybe three separate scars, all on his left side. One near the eyebrow, another below his eye, and a third, less linear one on his temple mostly covered by black hair and beard.

God I wish I could grow a beard like that. Might not let it get as bushy but I would kill to be able to grow anything on my cheeks that wasn’t patchy peach fuzz.

My mouth opens before I can think, a common problem for me.

“So when you left the army, did you swear off barber shops too?”

He chuckles, at least. It’s the first noise I’ve heard him voluntarily make in what feels like hours. There’s silence for a moment, though this time it’s a more familiar kind. “We had to be clean shaven when I served, even our hair was regulated,” he said, voice still hoarse. “I remember shaving twice a day sometimes, it would grow so quickly that I would have stubble before dinner. Got in trouble for it a few times too.” He chuckled again, head lolling forward like a man who just woke up. “Swear I spent so much time shaving that the last thing I wanted to do after leaving was so much as look at a razor - not that Nora seemed to mind.”

“Hm, can’t relate,” I said, self deprecatingly rubbing my goatee. This seemed to draw another chuckle from him that ended in a small cough. I prickled at the sound but Wilhelm settled just as quickly as it had come on.

“I’m uh, sorry if I worried you with all that,” he looks down to the ground, patting a hand in the dirt until he found his glasses again. Instead of putting them on right away he fiddled with the arms as though checking to make sure they weren’t damaged.

“I mean I doubt you did all that on purpose,” I joked, leaning back on my hands after finally releasing the grip I’d had on his leg.

He was silent for a moment again.

“Have you always had asthma?” I asked, maybe foolishly but what else is new. “I always heard that the Pre-War military was pretty stingy when it came to who joined. Even heard a few stories of guys who would cut off a toe to get out of deployment.”

“Well that is even older than I am,” he responded, thankfully lighthearted. “Military didn’t really care how many toes you had when I joined, you’d have to get more creative than that.” His tone seemed to shift a little. “Still, they wouldn’t have let me join if I had asthma, it developed later. Just another souvenir, I guess.”

Well that casual chat didn’t last long, don’t know what I expected really. “Along with those scars I’m betting?” I tapped a finger against the side of my face. “Shrapnel?”

“You got it,” he rubbed his beard like a cartoon of an old man waxing nostalgic. “Also got a bad knee, some back problems, astigmatism... Had some problems with my blood pressure for a while too. Got some medals out of the deal at least.”

I wanted to give a nervous laugh but it never really came. “Christ.”

“Sorry,” he sobered, returning his glasses to his nose, “Guess that was a lot to drop on you all at once.”

“Nah, it’s uh. It’s all good.” I gave him a friendly pat on the (good) knee while I got ready to stand. “Just didn’t realize you were held together by duct tape and a wish, is all.” He laughed.

Wilhelm made an effort to stand up, but even with the help of the wall he seemed unsteady so I reached down to give him a hand. The sounds of his joints cracking and popping as he got to his feet echoed in my head but I tried to ignore them. “God I’m tired, hope the Abernathys won’t mind if we crash here for the night.”

“They better fricking not,” I replied, situating myself under his arm as we walked back to the farmhouse. “Otherwise we can take those turrets of yours somewhere else.”

[capricornus-rex]

Two Sides of the Coin (6)

Chapter 6: Occupational Complications | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 | Previous: Part 5 | Next: Part 7 | Masterlist

6 of ?

Jidné tilted her head back, sighing, she turned around to answer Cal right in the face.

“Yeah,” said Jidné, plainly.

She wrapped her cowl around her shoulders after clearing off the dust and leaves that clumped onto it during their skirmish with the Bashiji cats. They exchanged looks, but she kept her distance from him. Cal’s eyes wandered to the girl’s hilt, the two strands of turquoise beads attached to the ring of the pommel’s base stood out from the black and silver color scheme.

A robotic chittering came within their earshot, ID-3 appeared from the branches where he was hiding the whole time. Alarmed by the sight of a probe droid, Cal reignited his saber and pointed it at the black hovering disc of a droid.

“No, no, no—wait! He’s mine!” Jidné put herself between ID-3 and Cal who had his saber at the ready, who only looked at the Imperial probe droid by face value.

“He’s mine,” she repeated, more calmly this time.

Cal stopped at Jidné’s behest, he looked over her shoulder and saw the droid was hiding behind her back, its single red lens for an eye peeked over her hair.

Confused, Cal pulled his eyebrows together, “That Imperial probe droid is yours?”

“I reprogrammed him, and he’s with me,” she explained. She turned to the shuddering black disc hiding behind her shoulders. “It’s okay, ID-3, they won’t hurt us.”

Now standing much closer, she got a good long look at him. The sunlight that pored through the jungle canopy highlighted of his features for Jidné to see: the freckles that riddled his cheeks like stars to a night sky, the clear emerald shine of his eyes and the soft gaze that he makes with it.

Cal ticked the boxes of the job detail—red hair, a Jedi, and as much as she was too prideful to admit it he is handsome—but there’s no sign of the Holocron on his person. Jidné presumed that he wouldn’t carry it around with him, as people might mistake it for some heftily-priced relic.

He switched his saber off after believing that the probe droid was indeed harmless. ID-3 was still frightened from the sudden stance but quickly warmed up to Cal after spotting little BD-1, to prove that he was good, ID-3 raised one tentacle and waved it as if saying “Hello” both to Cal and BD-1.

“Booo-wooo…” BD-1 cautiously beeped in response. For good measure, he lit up his scanners at ID-3 and his lens panned up and down to get the full picture of the droid. The abrupt change of tone in BD-1 verified that ID-3 wasn’t the Imperial droid he used to be.

“See, he’s harmless!” Jidné insisted.

“Sorry we doubted you, ID,” Cal apologized for both himself and BD-1.

ID-3 accepted the apology, his raspy and monotonous tone somewhat had a cheery chirp in it.

“Oh! You’re hurt,” Cal uttered, spotting blood staining on Jidné’s jacket through the tears of her cowl.

Jidné searched for the injury, the adrenaline practically made her numb from feeling the sting, she only felt it when she slightly flexed her shoulder.

“Oh, crud…” she mumbled.

Cal snapped his fingers and out comes a healing stim from BD-1’s little compartment.

“Here,”

Jidné’s slender fingers picked up the green vial from Cal’s palm. She brought it closer to examine it.

“A healing stim,” she identified. “You have one impressive little droid.”

BD-1 took the compliment and chirped happily. Jidné sucked in some air before injecting herself of the green, soothing substance on the flesh of her upper arm. The substance relieved her of the pain, but she still has to treat the wound.

“Thank you, both of you,”

“You’re welcome, again,” Cal cooed bashfully, hanging his head low so Jidné doesn’t find him blushing.

And then the same awkward silence immediately followed them back.

“So, uh, what are you doing in the middle of the jungle?”

Okay, that was bad enough! Cal scolded himself in his subconscious.

“I should I ask you the same,” chuckled Jidné.

“W-Well, I was about to take a look around the town there until…”

Jidné bobbed her head, prompting him to continue.

“Until I heard you.” He finished.

“Oh… Well, my hero,” she giggled at her lighthearted yet dry joke. Cal received it as a compliment and awkwardly chuckled along with her.

The silence was getting old between the two of them now—that much they’re certain of. Both youngsters just don’t know how to interact with one another for their own various reasons.

“Listen, Jidné… um…”

“Yes?”

Cal had his tongue tied, he didn’t realize that he was saying things to her out on a whim, he didn’t exactly plan ahead with the conversations that he starts with her. He gulped the lump that’s been stuck in the middle of his throat so he could say the words right.

“You should treat that wound soon,”

Jidné examined her wound again, “Yeah, I suppose I should.”

“Right, err… so… I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Sure,” she shrugged her shoulder; in a deadpan tone, she added, “Maybe.”

Jidné watched this endearing, bumbling, ginger Jedi slowly back away into his original path. She remained where she stood until he was out of sight, out of the forest and back into the open—where he planned to be in the first place.

“Good gods, that boy… is a threat? To Darth Vader?”

“Trill, beeeee-eeep!” ID-3 chirped teasingly.

The bounty hunter translated the droidspeak, her own droid was teasing her that she must have found him cute.

“Oh shut up, you flying saucer,” she chuckled in great denial.

She began walking in the opposite path, where the wood gradually cleared out; along the way, she found her rifle that the Bashiji had chewed on. She picked the weapon and studied the damage, bite marks have dented the paneling; she flicked the safety and cocked it to see if it would still work.

“Well, so much for that mint condition earlier,” groaned the girl. “Come on, ID. I need to wash off this blood.”

The droid hovered as he followed her along, continuing to tease her in an upbeat string of notes and chirps—which Jidné constantly defended herself from.

“Beee-beeep!”

“You can’t prove I was blushing—you were behind me!”

Eventually, ID-3 finally toned down on the teasing, much to Jidné’s relief. Her trek ended when she spotted the bank of a river that leads to a waterfall on the far right, the crashing was within hearing range and so she decided to go to the main basin.

Stripping off her cowl and jacket, leaving only her black tank top, the claws of the Bashiji have sickled through the fabric and nicked at the corner of her shoulder; had that cat buried its nails into her then it would’ve reached the bone. Jidné soaked her clothes into the shallower part of the water, then scooped up handfuls of water to wash away the dried blood; when the wound had lessened the bleeding, she decided that it would be impractical if she hiked back to her ship to patch herself up.

“Never thought I’d be doing this again,” she mumbled under her breath.

She resorted to using Force healing, albeit was a skill that she’s still learning; in her level, it required her to meditate—compared to her late mentor who did it as simply as breathing, it was one of the things she strived to imitate in terms of mastery. Nonetheless, she sat herself up—back straight, legs crossed together, and her mentality clear. Jidné allowed herself to relax on her grassy seat, her fingers loosened around her kneecaps and took slow, calm breaths—feeling the warmth of the midday sun pinching her cheeks with its rays.

Her surroundings in her consciousness were beginning to blur as she puts her mind into focus. Her senses have softened and keened at the same time—a phenomenon that was instinctive as it was complicated to comprehend to those who are less sensitive, it was something she can’t put into words yet there was a familiarity to it. At first, she managed to reconnect with the Force and gently willed it to the wound—bit by bit, new skin began to seal the damaged flesh; when she sensed that she was succeeding, she strained out of impatience which she mistook for eagerness.

“Come on…!” muttered Jidné almost voicelessly, but the demand in her tone was apparent.

Jidné sensed that the new skin had slowed down in closing the wound, she forced herself just a little bit and she snapped back involuntarily; as consequence, the injury didn’t fully close, a significant portion of it remained fresh and unhealed—perhaps half in size. At least the bleeding stopped.

She examined her wound, patting on the new skin that concealed the rest of the injury. Accepting that she had lost control with her grasp on the Force, she resolved to letting what remains heal naturally; her mind shifted to the thought of Cal. The fact that he’s already met her and identified her as a Jedi—and not a bounty hunter—a strategy came up onto the top of her mind.

“This complicates things, though,” she thought out loud.

She continued to clean the grime, dust, and blood off of herself by the riverbank. Seeing that the forest was devoid of other humans or sentient life forms, she decided to take a dip into the cool water of the waterfall’s basin. The coldness blanketed and soothed every inch of her body, her dark hair swirling underwater; as she swam around, her mind constantly reminded her of Cal—the way he behaved, the way he spoke, but most importantly, his touch.

She brought her hand up from the water to examine it and try to reenact how she took his hand, how he held it, and how they shook each other’s hands. His palm was coarse, no doubt from his line of work, but if Jidné thinks about it—his grasp was so gentle. Water plopped when she jerked it back down, but she can’t stop rubbing her fingers in that hand.

“Definitely complicates things,” she groaned and submerged her face into the water, bubbles boiled as she exhaled her frustration underwater.

On the other hand, Jidné relished her time alone, bathing in the waterfall—it was a badly-needed cleanse. In the very center of the basin, she attempted to meditate—burying her toes into the silt floor of the stream to anchor herself, her body submerged from the chin down, and letting the coolness blanket her.

“Find it, Jidné,” she coaxes herself. “Latch onto it.”

She repeated this mantra until the sound of the waterfall have hollowed out in her hearing, until the only thing she could feel was her entire body subtly floating within the weak current of the water.

Nothing.

She growled, smacking and pounding the water with her fist, creating fountain-like splashes that rained down on her head. She brought her hands back out of the water again, gazing at her empty hands riddled with water droplets like transparent pearls.

“It’s always like this. I couldn’t be that damaged with the Force, could I?”

ID-3—who was hovering above the water, staying close to her as she swam—answered her question, even though it wasn’t exactly directed to him. He sounded affirming towards his owner, chirping high-pitched, raspy tones at Jidné.

“Thanks, ID, I appreciate that,” she hummed and continued to swim.

After her bath, she put on her clothes and collected her things before proceeding to hike through the jungle, avoiding the denser patches of greenery where Bashiji cats or other predators might jump on her again.

She decided to climb the waterfall’s wall, curious to see where it would lead her. Her little droid clamped itself on the harness’s strap on her back as she climbed. Using the skills she’s gained from her Padawan training back in the day, she scaled the rock wall with little to no equipment—just her iron grip.

“Just don’t look down, ID!”

“Booo-wooooo!!” the droid chirped in a nauseated tone.

The climb led the duo to the mesa, in the same level where she originally came from before landing into the surface of the jungle. From there, she stalked the ridge in search of the Mantis—relying on the homing beacon as she goes. The farther she went, the device’s beeping rhythm became faster until slow beating transitioned into a quick flickering with the noise barely keeping up with the pace.

She places herself on a vantage point, quite higher than her original spot where she first found the ship—atop a boulder’s throw. Zooming in through her binoculars, she scanned the treelines again, hoping to spot that same silver twinkle that she saw prior to this unprecedented predicament. The Mantis stuck out more from her current perspective, she patiently sat there, examining Cal’s companions.

Jidné eventually spotted that particular Lateron that Sorc was talking about. She watched the four-armed gray creature flail his arms while inaudibly conversing with a much older lady wearing beige clothes while a second lady in red and black garments—whom Jidné assumed to be Dathomirian—stood idly to survey the nature around them.

“Completely harmless, I wager,” Jidné commented to herself. “Kinda cranky for his size, though.”

She thumbed the knob on the underside of her binoculars to zoom in some more, she got a closer look of the Mantis and it was clear enough for her to see their faces.

“They’re obviously hiding it inside that ship,”

That fact led to Jidné remembering that her initial plan had been slightly ruined, hence the necessary alterations. With Cal thinking that she was friend not foe, the bounty hunter concocted her Plan B on the spot.

“I guess I have to keep up an act now, huh?”

“Beee. Trill, beep,”

“Figures…” she sighed. “One hell of a contract, eh, ID?”