#TENDER FOR SUPPLY OF IT EQUIPMENT

[jobskenyaplace]

TENDER FOR SUPPLY OF IT EQUIPMENT

GIZ TENDER NOVEMBER 2024  INVITATION TO TENDER: TENDER FOR SUPPLY OF IT EQUIPMENT – 91185006 The Deutsche Gesellschaft fiir Internationale Zusammenarbeit [GIZ] GmbH is implementing technical cooperation measures on behalf of the Government of the Federal Republic of Germany. The GIZ Office Nairobi invites bidders to submit, free of charge, and without obligation on part of GIZ, a bid based on…

[yuechihua]

the boy who chases the wind.

summary: After the taste of bitterness, there will come sweetness. Even after everything his master has lied to him about, Harumasa can't help but cling to those words.

notes: 7k, author's notes, spoilers for Harumasa's backstory, character study, one mention of drinking alcohol, depictions/references of panic attacks, depictions of piercing ears

i.

They abandon him to die, the faculty flooded with red lights and screeching sirens that hurt his ears, stampeding feet and panicked voices.  

Or perhaps they don’t abandon him; they forget him, but forgetting is still just a kinder form of death.

Harumasa should feel something, anything, but the panic around him feels like the distant crash of waves against the ocean shores he’s never seen. It’s there, he knows, but it’s not something that belongs to him. If he’s pulled away by the tides, then he was meant to drown.

He waits, hands folded on his lap in his hospital bed, medical supplies glowing scarlet with each pulse of the alarms. The only thing that he has, the only thing that’s truly his, is a yellow headband that he keeps tucked under his hands.

A boy like him is worth nothing more than the people who use him: this is a truth that has been ingrained in Harumasa’s bones, a lesson that’s been taught to him over and over, from the very beginning.

And he would have been okay with being a tool. As long as he is useful, he is in some capacity loved. 

“If you’ve experienced enough bitterness, then other parts of life can be sweeter.”

Isn’t that what his master taught him? But then, his master is gone. Has been gone for the past few days, and now the facility is in disarray. 

His master, who snuck him books and stuck him with needles that left behind purpling bruises, who taught him archery and injected him with clear fluid, who gave him cake on his birthdays and told him to endure during the worst of his flare-ups.

Perhaps Harumasa hasn’t been as useful as he should have been. Or perhaps, he’s no longer useful at all, and his master has left him for better experiments.

The only thing Harumasa has left is this headband. He could throw it away, but every time the itch to do so tremors through his fingers and he picks up the fabric, he can never bring himself to follow through.

Footsteps echo down his hallway, which sound heavier than the footsteps of the staff he’s come to know, and his door is wrenched open. People in suits and equipment and helmets, people he’s never seen before, stare at him with confusion, and then horror.

“There’s a child in here,” someone murmurs in disbelief. “They’ve been… on children… Those sick–”

A man in front raises his hand, and the murmurs fall silent. He strides to Harumasa, and peers down at him, a strange tenderness in his eyes. 

“You’re safe now, kid,” he rumbles, in a rough, low voice. “We’ve got you.” He reaches out a thick, gloved hand. “Do you want to come with us?”

And what else can he do? Harumasa takes the man’s hand. If he is useful, then he is loved. If he is needed, then he can live. And if he’s worth nothing at all, then he should just let go. But is that really all there is for him?

 “Yes,” he whispers. His throat is dry. He swallows, and speaks again, louder. “Yes.” He grips his master’s headband. Is the sweetness promised to him waiting just past this? “Yes.”

ii.

He pierces his ears in the high school academy dorm bathroom, bloody tissues strewn across the counter, catheter needle sliding into the tender flesh of his ear with a laughable slice of pain. 

Harumasa is alone, as he always is. The years ghost by, barely touching him. He grows older. His scars fade, but never completely. He does well in academics, does well with people. They love him, or they think they love him, the slouchy, easy-going genius. Love letters pile in his lockers. People ask to meet him after class, determination sparking in their eyes.

He always turns them down, as gently as he can. They deserve to give their affection to someone who’s capable of loving them back. 

In the bathroom mirror, his own face stares back at him. His uniform is unbuttoned at the top, his hair messy (in an artful way, he likes to think). Dark circles bruise under his eyes, and his ear is bright red as he pushes the needle through to the very tip, placing the earring at the top of the needle until it pops out from the other side and the earring is left in his lobe.

He pushes the earring back in, and admires his handiwork. 

It should hurt more. But the pain is as easy as it always is when it comes to needles.

Here, then, is a body, his own. Marked by his own hand and not others, for once. Will this make him more real?

Harumasa has always had this nagging knowledge, pooling in the back of his mind, a stagnant puddle. He is no person, no life; only the purest form of hunger, a constant, endless roving desire for survival. He does not know what comes after. There is no after, only a desperate clawing for another day. Isn’t that what a tool is reduced to, after years of rusting?

He will die one day. His fate had already been decided the second the doctor gave him his diagnosis. He was expendable once, and he is expendable now. What does living really mean, when every minute is precious and trickles towards a predetermined ending?

In the mirror, his master’s headband stares back at him. A relic of the past that he hasn’t been able to let go. A reminder of things he can’t forget.

Harumasa picks up another sterilized needle, and slides it into his other earlobe, marked by a small yellow dot. The pain, as it always is, is his oldest, most familiar friend.

iii.

Did he survive just for life to pass like a dream?

He graduates with honors, top of his class, with recommendations from the most difficult to please professors.

“He’s a genius,” people marvel when they see him, and he hides his calloused hands behind his back, adjusts the choker over his scars, and smiles. 

Easygoing, playful, an incorrigible slacker: he’s been careful to craft how other people perceive him, but it’s still easier than expected. No one has ever truly looked at him, or maybe they prefer this palatable version of himself. Easy to love, easy to envy, easy to tolerate.

He’s recruited to Hollow Special Operations. He joins Section One, their sterling recruit. No one complains when he walks in with rumpled uniforms and an unbuttoned shirt. No one complains much of anything, in fact. It’s quiet and dull, the pay is nice, and as long as he produces results, no one says anything about his constant leave requests.

At home, Harumasa sits alone at his table, takeout cartons crowding in front of him, watching whatever cheap movie he’s rented for the week. If he never goes into work again, if he ran away into a Hollow or walked into the sea or his heart simply gave out, how long would it take someone to notice, and then to care? 

Life could pass like this forever, but one day, a transfer request is slipped on his desk, and suddenly, he is no longer Asaba Harumasa, Section One Executive Officer, but a member of Hoshimi Miyabi’s elite squad of Section Six, personally recruited and handpicked.

It’s easy enough to find her, the city’s youngest Void Hunter, heir to a family with a lineage so prestigious it makes his head spin, leaving behind a trail of frost in her wake. People fall silent in front of her, respectful or fearful of a genius, though her status has never done much more than stir his curiosity. 

They’re a little similar, Harumasa likes to think, in some ways.

Miyabi is alone, inspecting her new office, every surface polished and shining to the point it hurts his eyes, the room smelling of something empty and clean. It’s ripe with possibility, of newness, of an unsullied ideal that makes his heart ache.

“Hoshimi Miyabi,” he says, voice filled with a careful laziness. “Or is it Chief now? You’re my boss, right?”

She turns, and even that movement is ridiculously elegant, her steps light and poised, not a single wasted gesture. Even death would be rendered beautiful by her hand. “I’m not officially your chief until tomorrow. The paperwork hasn't finished processing.”

“Right, right, but functionally, you’re my boss, aren’t you? Say, Chief, you wouldn’t mind if I took a few days off after orientation, right?” he says. “Or are you going to expect us to go into dangerous Hollows right away? I don’t know if Section One has told you, but I’m a little fragile. Are you sure you want to trust me?”

She tilts her head, another efficient gesture, and her eyes seem to swallow him whole. It’s a little frightening, how she stares directly at him without any hesitation or fear, like there’s nothing he can truly hide from her.

“I chose you,” she says, “not because of what other people say, but because Section Six needs you, Asaba Harumasa. I trust what I see with my own eyes.”

He knows all about what it means to be needed. But somehow, Miyabi’s expectations don’t feel suffocating. 

“All right,” he says, voice as light as possible. Miyabi’s ear twitches, and he knows she isn’t convinced by his lackadaisical demeanor. But it’s enough that she allows him this pretense. “Then I’ll look forward to working with you, Chief.”

She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t need to. It’s enough that she keeps her cool gaze on him, and Harumasa is seen.

iv.

To Harumsa’s surprise, he’s not the only recruit to Section Six. There’s Tsukishiro Yanagi from the New Eridu Defence Force, and you. It only makes sense that Miyabi would recruit people she could trust, and people with such impressive achievements in their careers, though you stand out as an oddity in that respect.

Your resume is impressive, certainly: top academics, honors, prestigious internships, and glowing recommendation letters from professors who can’t stop raving about your skills. But you have virtually no combat experience on the field, so you’re still a risk, one Miyabi has willingly taken, for whatever reason.

Besides, genius is nothing special to him. You remind him of every bright-eyed recruit at the academy with something to prove, and it’s only a question of how your dreams and ideals will survive when faced with the pressure of the numbing work, the relentless threats, the difficult decisions.

You approach him in the very first week, presumably on Miyabi’s orders, with a mission dossier in your hand.

“We’ll be working together, starting from today,” you tell him. Your uniform is ironed to flat perfection, not a single crease in sight. It’s a far cry from his own rumpled clothing and the jacket tied loosely around his waist, which you scan with a critical eye.

“Glad to hear it,” he says. “What are we working on today, partner?” 

You flick through the sheets of paper. “Meetings, as always. Some reports and a joint training session with Section Four. Oh, and a venture into Hollow Zero for a routine check-up.”

“We have to do all of that? I don’t have the stamina to keep up.”

“Well, it’s what’s expected of us,” you say. “We’d only be assigned so many tasks if they trusted us to handle them well.”

Your posture is stiff, your shoulders tense. You don’t like him, Harumasa realizes, or you don’t think he’s taking this seriously. And maybe he isn’t, but your reaction makes him want to poke at you, just to see how you’ll react. He has a feeling you’d react just like a cat, hiss or scratch him and run away, but, unfortunately for you, he has a fondness for cats.

“In that case, do you think you’d be okay handling it by yourself?” he says, voice as innocent as he can make it. “Since I’m technically your senior, you can think of it as me having high expectations for you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tsukishiro is around if you need any help,” he says. “I’d offer, but I’m a little too frail for all of that work, you know? I might have to take a day off tomorrow if I do.”

“I’m not going to push your work off onto someone else, and I’m also not going to do it for you! You’re an Executive Officer!”

“Don’t be so serious. You won’t last long here if you don’t relax a little,” he teases.

You’re silent for a few moments. Has he gone too far? But before Harumasa can say anything, you stride forward until you’re close enough to grab his wrist. Your grasp is tight enough that he can’t slip away, but still gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt. It’s a thoughtful touch.

“I don’t care what excuses you want to make,” you snap, “and you can do whatever you want in your free time, but we are going to fulfill every piece of this agenda together. I’m not letting you go until we do!”

“All right,” he says hastily, because you look like you’re one second away from slapping handcuffs onto him so he can’t escape. “I didn’t take you for someone who cared so much about your job.”

You tilt your head at him. Your hand is as warm as a spring day. “Well, the entire city is counting on us. There are so many people out there who need us to protect them.”

Underneath your cool tone of voice, he can sense it: your genuine desire to be needed. To do something real. That is something, he thinks, he can understand.

“I guess we can’t let down all the good people of New Eridu, partner,” Harumasa says. “I’m all yours, just for today. So, where to?”

v.

The best remedy for work reports, Harumasa finds, is folding them into paper airplanes and sailing across the room, trying to see how many can land in the trash can. As it is, only several have made it in, and the rest have crashed across the office floor at various intervals.

He aims another airplane in a lazy arc and it only makes it halfway through the air before Yanagi strides into the room and plucks it out of the air with expert precision. She unfolds it and shakes her head at him, smoothing it out in her hands before placing it back on his desk. “Asaba, don’t fold your reports into airplanes.”

“I’m finding a good use for them,” he protests.

“They’re already useful as mission reports. I have a few updates for you,” she continues. “I scheduled your doctor’s appointment for next week.”

“Deputy Chief,” he whines, but she ignores him. 

“You get to take a day off work to attend, but it will count towards your monthly leave requests.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t sound so pleased. We have a meeting later today, one which you aren’t allowed to skip. And this is an interpersonal request, but I want you to stop teasing your deskmate so much,” she says. 

“Who on earth are you talking about?” Harumasa says in an oblivious voice.

“You know who I’m talking about. You’re going to drive them half-mad if you keep this up!”

“It’s fun, though.”

“Fun for you, not for them.”

“I think they enjoy it. Do you see how they get all stiff and they wrinkle their nose? They’re like a cat,” he muses. “Maybe they need a mouse toy for their desk.”

“If you do that,” Yanagi says, voice worldworn, “Then I think I’m going to have to clean bits and pieces of you out of the office tomorrow.”

He laughs a little at that, but Yanagi’s expression doesn’t change. Though he’s had brief run-ins with Tsukishiro Yanagi when he was still a part of Section One, this is his first time working with her in such close proximity for an extended period of time. Her accomplishments in the New Eridu Defense Force are startlingly impressive, and, in all honesty, she’s the only reason Section Six runs as well as it does. 

You do your fair share of work, sure, but Miyabi, and Soukaku, Yanagi’s ward who joined a little after everyone else, create their own fair share of trouble. And he does, as well, if he’s honest.

Yanagi is overly serious, and yet, so unwilling to admit to her own achievements. She’s the sort of person who he, contrary to what some may think, admires. She’s the type who thinks of others before herself, and it’s hard to truly dislike her when there’s no genuine malice to her actions. Unlike Miyabi, Yanagi’s type is easy to understand.

But there’s also the risk that Yanagi will eventually burn herself out if she assumes that overwork is the only way she can keep up with everyone else.

Ah, well. That only means he has to pick up more of the slack than he intended for Section Six’s hardworking Deputy Chief.

“Tsukishiro,” Harumasa says instead. “Why’d you have to make my appointment?”

She adjusts her glasses, pushing them further up her face. “If I didn’t, you would have put off making it until the last minute. That’s a bad habit, Asaba. You need to take care of your own health.”

“If you think so, then my next leave request—”

“I will not be accepting it for you,” she says immediately. 

“I thought you cared about my health!”

“I do,” she says. There it is again, the seriousness in her voice that makes it hard to look at her sometimes. “I want all of you to stay healthy. Which is why if you skip your next medical appointment, Asaba, then I’m going to reject all of your leave requests for the month.”

“You’re so unfair, Deputy Chief,” he says, fingering the work report she’s placed on his desk. It’s still creased from where he’s folded it.

“Only when I have to be,” she says. “Now, don’t let me hear you’ve skipped this appointment, or I’ll make more follow-ups for you. Do you hear me?”

“Yeah, I do,” he groans.

It’s a strange feeling. None of his coworkers in Section One would have cared for him as much as this. It’s strange, but not bad.

vi.

Harumasa can’t quite put it into words why he can’t leave you alone.

It’s your reaction, sure. You’re serious and straightforward and responsible, and when you snap back at him, it only makes him want to push at your buttons again.

It could also be the novelty of how you never avoid his eyes, and refuse to hide your distaste for his actions, like so many of his coworkers had done in Section One. No one in general talks so openly to him like this, outside of those in Section Six.

“Your weapon makes no sense. You’re going to slice off your fingers pulling your bow one day,” you would tell him. “And I know you’re the one drawing cats on my work reports! Cut it out!”

Or maybe it’s the need in you, the deep, drowning need, familiar to him as if it’s his own. To be loved, or to be needed, or to be useful. If he looks too close, then he’ll sink too far into it, too far into you. 

So as fun as it is to mess with you, Harumasa knows to keep his distance. It’s easier this way, and better for the both of you.

And perhaps everything could have continued like this, a string of warm days and aimless teasing, until a venture into a Hollow with the entire section, one that should not have been different from any other.

There’s a swarm of Ethereals around, more than usual, and it takes all of your respective concentration to cut through their numbers. So perhaps, in the thrum of intense battle, he doesn’t react as quickly as he should before an ink-black monster is on him, roaring, wild strikes aimed at his neck.

Harumasa jerks back, shoots several arrows in rapid succession through its headless core, and then he feels it. A weightlessness around his neck, a strange nakedness.

His choker coils on the floor, a shining black snake.

He tries to suck in a quick breath, but he can’t quite manage it.

His choker. His neck. He can feel the itch of scars, of phantom injections, of the Hollow’s corruption weighing down, and he slaps his hands over his neck, a wild attempt to protect himself.

But there’s no point. Black spots swim in front of his eyes. He’s useless. He needs to move. The sound of metal and corrupted claws are so distant. Is everyone trying to keep them away from him? He has to move. He has to. 

Pick himself. Keep going. It’s what he’s always done, so why can’t he now?

Something warm lands on his head, solid and comforting and real, pressing against the back of his neck. You’re in front of him, white work shirt fluttering as you smooth your jacket down the side of his face. He’s cocooned, and the world shrinks down to just this: you, and him.

“Harumasa, look at me.” A rustle of fabric. Your gloves flutter to the dirt below, stark and black. And then— warm hands. The warmest hands he’s ever felt, cradling his face, bringing his wane face to yours. 

A smear of blood across your cheek. Sweat beading across your forehead. But your eyes are beautiful, steadfast and luminous. Like the moon, lighting his way home.

“You’re okay,” you say, voice so quiet, as if it’s meant for no other ears than his. “You’re okay, I promise.” 

He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything, but stare at you, sweat trickling down his face.

“Look at me. Tell me what you see right now.” 

He swallows, the gesture thick and unnatural. “I see…” 

“Yes?” 

“You.”

“That’s right. And what else?” 

He feels stupid, childish, as his voice comes out in a slow wheeze. “The… sky. The ground.”

“And can you smell anything?”

“Blood. Sweat. Dust.”

You don’t move your hands from his face, and even if you had, he would have chased after your touch without a shred of reticence. But you keep your hands steady, your voice soothing, as you run through questions about what he can sense. He answers you without hesitation, until his breathing steadies and the world is no longer spinning.

You keep your jacket wrapped around him as you bend down and grab his choker, pressing it into his hands.

You must be curious, surely, about his reaction, his sudden uselessness in the Hollow. But you never speak. All you do is take his hand and guide him out somewhere less crowded, less noisy. The others have already moved on, a decision that they seemed to have made with you while he wasn’t focusing.

But your hand is warm. So warm, as warm as it was on the day he first met you. Like this, he would follow you anywhere.

vii.

Harumasa wakes with pain radiating from his chest like a starburst, limbs weak, nausea crowding the back of his throat. Sweat coats his body, a migraine pulverizing his brain into useless mush. 

Harumasa can barely breathe, let alone stand. It’s all he can do to fumble for the pills scattering his nightstand, swallowing them dry out of desperation. It takes the slightest edge off his pain, just enough that he can reach for his phone and construct a blithe message to Yanagi about not coming into work and cashing in one of his sick days, before losing it among his blankets.

He passes the next hour in and out of consciousness, a fitful sleep eluding him before the pain jolts him awake.

In a way, he’s grown used to functioning with a certain amount of pain. His weak lungs, his unstable heart. People can adapt to anything, and even constant pain can become mundane. But other days, his illness flares with an intensity that leaves him immobile.

In moments like this, curled among his blankets, knees pulled up, unable to do more than wait, Harumasa thinks about the life he’s built: the parents who he no longer remembers. The haze of pain of his youth, sterile white hospital walls and perpetual needles. His master, who patted his head gently and then abandoned him. The academy, where he passed aimless days. Graduation, where no one was there to give him flowers. Section One, which was cold as a grave, full of grim orders and blank coworkers. Crowds of pills in his cabinet and on his bedside, several which are for daily use, taken every morning and every night at a consistent time, and the others for managing moments when his pain is unbearable.

But there’s also Section Six, who welcomes him like he’s coming home every time he opens the office doors. The stray cat who hops onto his windowsill everyday, who hisses at him but can be coaxed with bits of canned food to lick at his fingers. You, who has held him with a touch so tender it makes him want to stay by your side forever.

Harumasa is still going to die. He’s long made his peace with this, the knowledge that everything must come to an end. No matter what he does, it only prolongs his inevitable ending. But until then, he is still alive.

It might not have been the best life, or even a very good one, but it’s his, one’s he fought for with every bit of his blood and tears to keep and hold. He’ll survive, swallow every bit of bitterness for even a hint of sweetness in his future.

Every year, the probability of his survival lowers. So every birthday, he thinks, is a miracle. Every moment longer he has is an opportunity he can’t waste.

Like his master’s headband, which he still wears even now. There are things he can’t let go, that he will cling on to no matter what.

This is what living is, a taste so sweet it makes him crave more.

viii.

Moonlight spills into the office by the time Harumasa is ready to go home, several hours past the time he usually clocks out of work. 

He stands, stretches, and does a slow circle around the office. Everyone else has already left, Miyabi and Soukaku dragging Yanagi out before she could pull her third all-nighter at the office. It’s empty—or at least, he thinks it is before he finds you, flung along the couch hiding near the back of the office, head resting on the armrest, cheek pressed into the smooth fabric. 

You must have fallen asleep, and he hadn’t even noticed. It’s funny how that works: he’s perpetually aware of your presence, the most accidental brush of your skin against his making his nerves spark, and at other times, he’s lulled into a gentle peace in your presence, letting his guard dangerously low around you.

He pads over to the office lighting and flips it off, so the room plunges into sudden darkness, lit only by the liquid silver light of the moon puddling on the floor. You must be exhausted, running back and forth all the time, voluntarily working overtime alongside Yanagi.

Dedication to your job, perhaps, a noble profession that serves as a guiding light for the people of New Eridu. Are you aware of the corruption that lurks beneath the surface, the stink of ill intentions? Or is it something that guides you to do better instead?

He drifts back to you, pulled like the tides by the moon. You look peaceful, younger, moonlight softening your face and pooling in the hollow of your throat. If he folds his legs underneath him, there’s enough space on the couch for him to lay his head next to yours, close enough he can see the breath fluttering in your throat, the light exhalation and sign of life.

His hand just barely grazes along your jaw, but he can’t bring himself to touch you, not fully, though he can still feel the heat emanating from your skin. 

It’s obvious what you think of him. He’s irritating, a slacker, someone who only gets in your way–but there’s an edge of fondness in your voice now. The teasing and exaggerated eye rolls has become your new routine. Lately, you’ve started to doodle cats with little pouts on his papers, or bring back an extra cup of bitter black coffee for him when you’re out running errands.

Sometimes, he imagines what it would be like to grow older by your side. He’s always been fascinated by the wrinkles of the elderly, the gray hair, the worn joints, the various markers of a life well-lived and loved.

But he doesn’t have the luxury of aging, and he can’t envy what was never his.

You make him feel afraid of things he’s never been afraid of before. One day, you will only remember him from the yellowing pages of a photo album. He will stay the same forever, in the bloom of youth, while you drift further and further from him. You will always recognize him, but the face he sees now won’t be the one you will always have. You will change, and time will unmoor him from you. 

He can’t pull any closer than this. This is the safest distance, this easy fondness, the meaningless flirtations. Never any step closer, into a space where the two of you could be hurt. 

What is it that you want? A love? A family? A dream? He wants you to have it all, to indulge in every desire, every joy. Your life is a miracle, the greatest miracle he knows.

ix.

“Harumasamasa, you’ve gotten a lot of letters and gifts again! Is there any food in them? Is there?” 

Soukaku bounds up to him, all overeager, enthusiastic excitement and expectant eyes. He tosses several packages at her, wrapped in cheerful colors, which she catches with startingly precision. “Just a few chocolates and cookies,” he says. “They’re all yours, Soukaku.”

“Yay!” She tears into them with abandon. It’s a ritual they’ve developed over the months, where, when he’s flooded with sweets from fans he never knows what to do with, Soukaku is the one to sweep them up. It’s better than letting them go to waste.

Harumasa flips through a few letters as she talks, all personalized notes and careful handwriting on cute stationary, declarations of love and admiration and gratitude. Soukaku and you get your fair share of fan mail, though no one can beat Miyabi when it comes to the mountain of love letters on her desk. 

It’s part of the job, the fanservice, but it doesn’t mean it’s one he enjoys. You’re careful with your letters, and he doesn’t know what Miyabi does with hers, but this simply feels like a repeat of school: confessions he can’t accept, that pile up uncomfortably in the corner of his room until he throws them away because there’s nothing else to do with them.

“You don’t look happy, Harumasa,” Soukaku says, her cheeks stuffed with chocolate.

“Hm? Why wouldn’t I be happy? All these people love us so much,” he says. Soukaku is sweet and earnest in a way that makes him cognizant of how he interacts with her; Yanagi has done her best to protect Soukaku, so it wouldn’t be right for him to ruin those efforts. The world can be cruel and kind in equal measure, and she deserves to believe in that kindness before anything else.

“Because you always tell others to do whatever they want with your letters.”

“But I won’t have any room to nap if I let all my letters pile up! Besides, it’s not good for me to accept letters from people whose feelings I can’t cherish properly, right?”

Soukaku tilts her head like a puppy. “Does that mean you would be happy with a letter from them?” She points at your desk, situated right next to his, with its clean surface and neatly stacked files and supplies.

Harumasa hands her another package of chocolate, which Soukaku tears open. Every once in a while, she has a flash of sharp insight that reminds him why Soukaku has been allowed to join Section Six. 

“I don’t think there’s a reason they need to write me a letter,” he says. “We talk every day.”

Soukaku pops several chocolates in her mouth, swallowing it in one giant gulp. “Nagi says sometimes it’s easier to say things over letters, because there are things you can’t say right when you try to say them out loud. So maybe they would be happy if you sent them a letter, too.”

“Do you think we need to talk, Soukaku? Me and them?”

She brings her fingers together, fidgeting with them over and over, eyes shifting away. “You look sad when you’re talking to them and they can’t see, so I thought maybe there’s something you can’t say. And sometimes you look like you’re going to go somewhere far away, and I get scared you’re really going to leave, Harumasamasa. And I really like you, so I don’t want you to leave us. So…! That’s why you should send each other letters!”

His heart aches at her voice, earnest and slightly afraid. Though Yanagi has kept the precise details of her past quiet, he knows enough about what happened to the Onis to guess at what she’s gone through. And she’s young, still so young.

“I’m not going anywhere, Soukaku,” Harumasa begins, placing a hand on her hair and ruffling it. “I promise, okay? I won’t leave you or anyone else behind. So don’t worry.”

She sniffles. “Okay. You’ve promised. So you can’t break it.”

“I won’t break it,” he says. It’s a lie, but what could he say otherwise, when she looks at him with such a hopeful expression? Soukaku’s is one heart he can’t break.

x.

They’re half an hour into the party before Harumasa decides it’s been long enough that Yanagi can’t be mad if he escapes for some air.

The party is some private, stuffy affair with the City’s elite, all elegant crystal and tailored silk and calculated words that make him yawn. He knows what these sorts of people are like, and what they expect, so it makes him laugh under his breath to see them flustered at Soukaku’s cheer, uncaring of their games, and Miyabi’s blunt words, cutting through their pretenses.

You and Yanagi are the ones socializing and trying to keep things professional, but from the tight set of your smile and the way you clutch your wineglass like you’re considering using it like a weapon before you set it down, a break is in order. The person you’re talking to is also leaning far too close, and you keep angling your body away from him, a hint he can’t seem to take.

You look like a dream under the soft, warm lights, in an outfit he knows you agonized for hours before deciding on something tasteful and sleek.

Harumasa materializes right next to your elbow, cat-like grin on his face, hands shoved in his pockets. His tie is slightly askew, his collar popped open, his choker shining. He’s not in the most elegant suit in the room, but it’s his best one.

“I need them for a moment,” he says, smiling. “Pardon us.”

The person you’re talking to blinks. “But–”

“Official HSO business. It’s very urgent. And private,” he emphasizes, hand drifting to settle on your waist, pulling you infinitesimally closer to him.

“It’s true,” you say, jumping on the lifeline he’s offered you. You give a half-apologetic shrug. “I have to go now. The Hollows wait for no one.”

With that, the two of you are gone, striding across the room. He hasn’t lifted his hand from your waist, and you haven’t moved away. Neither of you speak until you’re out in the hall, where a sudden hush descends, lush carpet and imposing artwork muffling the sound of voices and muting the golden light.

“Let’s go there,” you say, pointing to a set of frosted glass doors, draped by lacy curtains.

He obliges, and steps out onto a balcony, a cool breeze sending the curtains swirling behind the two of you. Moonlight gilds everything in silver, and you break from him as you step up to the stone ledge, taking a deep breath. Below, the city lights glow in the distance, spreading out before you like a paradise.

“I needed this,” you say. You rest your elbows on the balcony.

He steps closer to you, until you’re side by side. “I thought so.”

“Thanks.” You smile briefly at him, a look that’s more open and genuine than the one you had given your previous conversational partner. “I know we need to do this for funding and PR, but it gets exhausting.”

“Well,” he says, “You’re part of HSO. People can’t be too mad at you if you take advantage of that. There’s only so much they can say to one of the city’s heroes.”

You laugh. “I know. I’ve seen you do exactly that, you slacker. You’re hardly up to dress code. Did you even iron your suit?”

“I didn’t see the point,” he says.

“I knew it. But like you said, it’s fine. You’re part of HSO. People call you a lazy genius, you know? You have a reputation that precedes you.”

“I didn’t know you talked about me like that to other people.”

You open your mouth as if you’re about to make another joke, before closing it, contemplating him. “No, I’ve just heard what people have said about you. I mean, to be honest, I thought that way at first. But then I noticed you actually work hard. A lot harder than you want other people to notice. Besides, we’re partners. I’ll have your back, and you’ll have mine.”

“You’re unexpectedly open tonight. What was in your drink?” he says. “Isn’t this the part where you tease me or make some jab at my work ethic?”

“I want to be honest with you sometimes,” you declare. “And I’m also a little tipsy. So don’t get too used to any compliments.”

It’s unbearable, sometimes, to see you like this. He wants to hold you like something he cannot have, something he doesn’t deserve.

“If we’re being honest, then I want to show you something,” he says. Harumasa touches your hands, and brings them to his neck, the movement slow and deliberate, until your fingers brush against his choker.

His heart quickens, the familiar bile rising in his throat. You’re close, too close, and he can feel the old wounds flare until his choker, igniting that familiar fear even at your gentle touch. It’s pain and pleasure, mixing together in a way that makes him feel light-headed.

You brush your fingers along the slick material, all the way to the back of his choker, right at the clasp that keeps them together. You hold your fingers there, waiting, staring into his eyes, but he doesn’t look away, and so with a single snap, his choker flutters away. The weight is gone, and his neck is bare.

Harumasa lowers his eyes to the ground, bending his neck like a lamb to slaughter. You brush back the hair on his neck, fingers ghosting along his skin. His breathing is shallow as your fingers explore every tender, sensitive inch of him. 

It’s too much. It’s too much—and then your fingers are gone as you kiss his neck, a ticklish, fluttering feeling that sends his nerves alight with liquid flame. His old scars flare against the brush of your soft lips, wounds aching, ripped open anew.

There’s the faintest edge of teeth as you nip against his skin. He wishes you would sink your teeth in deeper, marking him as yours. You could do anything you wanted to him, anything at all. Your violence would be salvation, your touch a blissful cruelty.

He tries not to make any sound as you place another kiss along his bare, slender neck. It’s too sensitive, and he can feel every inch of your touch. It’s painful, and he wants you to kiss him until he’s numb and afraid and you are all he can remember.

Something familiar clicks around his neck. His choker. The weight of it grounds him, and Harumasa lets out a slow breath. When he looks back up at you, you look uncharacteristically hesitant and nervous.

“Was it too much?” you murmur, fiddling with your fingers.

In response, all he can do is take one of your hands in his own. Hands that have saved him, over and over, in ways he can name and ways he can’t.

You’re quiet as Harumasa brings your fingers to his lips and wets the tip of them with his tongue, gentle as nothing else. He can taste the sweetness of your skin, and feel the slight tremor of your hand. To anyone else, you would be stone, efficient, responsible, impenetrable. 

It’s a beautiful part of you, as every part of you is beautiful. But to Harumasa, who holds any part of yourself that you offer with a greedy intensity, you are love itself, and so he will know you like nothing else.

You let out a little gasp as he laps at your fingers again. He nibbles at your forefinger, a teasing edge of teeth. You’re sweeter than life itself, and he could get drunk off of you, again and again. 

There are things he’s afraid to say, things he can’t give you. He is afraid, always afraid. Afraid of you, afraid of the day this choker will fall from his neck forever and he’ll turn into something you can’t recognize, afraid of the tears he’ll make you shed. 

He has never been someone who could accept love, who could live with an ordinary relationship, with an ordinary happiness. This is as far as he can go, and this is enough for a man who has never had anything before this. To stay by your side, to treasure every moment with you, to be accepted so wholly. 

Life is cruel and life is kind, but this is a life all his own, one he has built and chosen for himself. No matter what happens after, Harumasa will always remember this: the sweetness of this life of his.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Summary: You and Bucky take his niece to the park, but things become tense when another parents confronts Bucky about his past.

Word Count: 4.9k

MASTERLIST

Finding Peace

As the sun beat down mercilessly on the crowded park, you realized with a growing sense of concern that the drinks you and Bucky had brought along were quickly dwindling. The hot, sultry air seemed to sap the moisture right out of your mouth, and you knew that Winnie, Bucky's seven year old niece, would need to stay well-hydrated if she was going to continue frolicking happily on the sweltering playground. Glancing down at the tiny, solitary juice box in your hand, you couldn't help but glance at Bucky, knowing full well that it would do little to quench his or Winnie's thirst in this heat.

“Hey baby, we're out of drinks.”

“We are?” Bucky looked at you in surprise.

“Unless you want to stay hydrated with this tiny juice box?” You smiled playfully, waving a tiny carton of apple juice at him.

Bucky's eyes widened in surprise at your statement, clearly not having anticipated the drinks running out so soon. As the three of you had set out for the park that morning, you had packed what you'd thought would be an ample supply of refreshments, but the combination of Winnie's boundless energy and the sweltering summer temperatures had made short work of your provisions.

“Uncle Bucky! I need a push!” The little girl's excited calls rang out above the din of the playground, her infectious enthusiasm a testament to Bucky's skill in making her feel loved and cherished.

“Duty calls!” He smirked, getting up. “Coming!”

You gave him a quick kiss. “I'll be back in a bit,” you called after him, chuckling at his eagerness to spend time with his niece.

As you watched him go, you couldn't help but feel a warm glow of affection, both for the way Bucky doted on the little girl and for the way his dedication to her well being seemed to radiate from every step he took. Your heart swelled with joy at the sight, knowing that you were truly blessed to be a part of this family.

As Bucky emerged from the cool, shaded area and stepped out into the open, he was immediately struck by the oppressive sunshine that seemed to radiate from every direction on this bright, summer day. The intense warmth enveloped him, causing him to instinctively push up the sleeves of his shirt as he made his way across the grass towards Winnie.

“Hey Munchkin!” Bucky's face broke into a wide, affectionate smile as he gazed down at Winnie, this small child who had managed to melt his heart in a way no one else ever had. He remembered vividly the day they'd first met - the way she had shyly smiled up at him before suddenly throwing herself at his legs, wrapping her tiny arms around him in a fierce, fearless hug. There had been no hesitation, no apprehension in her expression, only pure, unabashed joy and trust, and in that instant Bucky had been completely smitten. Now, as he drew closer, that same adoring smile still plastered across her features, he couldn't help but feel a profound sense of tenderness and protectiveness towards this precious little girl who had so effortlessly won him over.

The pair were a cheerful sight, with Bucky's usually brooding demeanor softened as he watched Winnie dart between the colorful equipment, her laughter ringing out. But unbeknownst to Bucky, the other parents in the park had slowly begun to take notice of him, their eyes narrowing with suspicion and fear. A few had heard the stories of the Winter Soldier's deadly exploits, the trail of bodies and destruction left in his wake. And now, here he was, in their peaceful neighborhood, cavorting with a child as if he were an ordinary man. Surreptitiously, the parents began to herd their own children away, ushering them towards the exits with murmured warnings. Soon, the once-bustling playground had fallen eerily silent, save for Winnie's carefree giggles. Bucky looked up, brow furrowed in confusion as he realized the other families had dispersed, leaving him and Winnie the only two people in a ten yard radius.

“Where did everyone go, Uncle Bucky?” Winnie asked innocently, her bright eyes shining with childlike wonder.

“I don't know, Win,” Bucky replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of bewilderment and growing unease as he scanned the park, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

It was then that a burly, imposing figure stepped towards them, the man's stance radiating a threatening aura as he approached the former Winter Soldier and his unsuspecting young charge.

“Hey, you there! What do you think you're doing with that child?” the man barked, his voice harsh and accusatory.

Bucky's muscles tensed as he instinctively moved to shield Winnie from the stranger's looming presence. “She's my niece. What's it to you?” he replied, his tone slightly defensive.

The man sneered, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “I've heard about you, Winter Soldier. You think you can just waltz into our neighborhood and play happy families? We don't want your kind around here, definitely not around our children.”

Winnie, sensing the tension, clung to Bucky's leg. “Uncle Bucky, who’s that man?” she whispered, her voice quiet.

Bucky knelt down, placing a reassuring hand on Winnie's shoulder. “It's okay, Win. Just stay close to me,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving the man who stood before them.

The man took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “I'm warning you, Winter Soldier. Leave now, or there will be consequences.”

Bucky stood up slowly, his jaw set in determination. “I'm not that man anymore. I'm trying to make amends for my past. Please don’t threaten my family,” he declared, his voice firm and resolute. The words were laced with a protective edge, Bucky unwilling to let this confrontation escalate any further.

Yet the stranger remained unmoved by Bucky's resolute stance. He scoffed at Bucky's words, unconvinced by the former assassin's claims of redemption. And just as the confrontation seemed to reach a boiling point, the fearless young Winnie suddenly launched herself forward, her protective instincts overriding her fear. “Leave my Uncle Bucky alone, you… you big bully!” she cried, her voice shrill with determination.

It was only thanks to Bucky's lightning-fast reflexes that he was able to catch her before she could reach the imposing stranger, his arms wrapping around her small frame to hold her back. Winnie kicked and squirmed for a moment, her frustration evident, but Bucky's soothing whispers soon calmed her down. “Come on, Winnie,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving the unyielding man before them. “Let's leave these Neanderthals to their playground. We can go find Auntie Ace and find somewhere better to play.” With a final, pointed glare, Bucky turned and began to lead the girl away, determined to diffuse the situation before it could escalate any further, his protective instincts shielding his beloved niece from the judgment and hostility of those who refused to see him as anything more than the Winter Soldier.

As they walked, Winnie looked up at Bucky, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Uncle Bucky, why did that man call you the Winter Soldier?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Bucky let out a weary sigh, steeling himself to have a difficult conversation with his young niece about his troubled past - a past that still haunted him, even as he strived to redeem himself and forge a new path forward. His vibranium arm whirred softly as he clenched and unclenched his fist, as though the movement might dispel the stress and anguish he felt about the situation.

Little Winnie was truly a remarkable child, possessing a level of perceptiveness and empathy that far exceeded her young years. As she gazed up at her Uncle Bucky, her eyes shining with compassion, she instinctively understood the complex and troubled history that lay behind his stoic demeanor. With a gentle touch, she reached up and cradled his face, her small hands conveying a wisdom and tenderness that belied her age. “It's okay, Uncle Bucky,” she murmured, her voice soft yet unwavering. “I will always love you.”

Bucky felt his expression soften as he met Winnie's penetrating stare, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and sorrow. “Well, Winnie,” he began, carefully selecting his words, “the Winter Soldier is a name I was given a long time ago, when I was a different person.” He paused, the weight of his past deeds palpable in the air between them. “I did things that I'm not proud of, things that… hurt a lot of people.” The admission was laced with regret, a heavy burden that Bucky had carried for years, haunting his every step on the path to redemption.

Winnie's eyes widened in surprise, but there was no judgment in her gaze, only a profound understanding that belied her tender years. Reaching out, she reverently traced the contours of his vibranium arm, a physical reminder of the trauma he had endured. “But you're not that person anymore, right Uncle Bucky?” she asked, her voice filled with a hopeful innocence that tugged at Bucky's heartstrings.

Bucky smiled sadly, his love for his niece evident in every line of his face. “No, Winnie, I'm not that person anymore,” he affirmed, his voice tinged with emotion. “I've been trying to make amends for my past, to be a better man.” It was a constant struggle, a journey of self-discovery and atonement, but Bucky was determined to honor the memory of those he had wronged by striving to become the hero he knew he could be.

Winnie nodded, her young mind processing the weight of his words with a maturity that belied her years. “I believe in you, Uncle Bucky,” she declared, her eyes shining with unwavering admiration. “You're my hero, just like Captain America.”

Bucky smiled back, his heart swelling with love for his young niece. “And you're mine, Win,” he said, taking her hand as they walked away, leaving behind the judgmental stares and whispered rumors of the other parents in the park.

Winnie's eyes suddenly sparkled with unbridled excitement as she tugged urgently on her Uncle Bucky's sleeve, her small finger pointing eagerly towards the glistening waters of the lake in Central Park. "Uncle Bucky, look!" she cried out, her voice brimming with the infectious enthusiasm that only a child could muster.

Bucky couldn't help but smile as he followed the direction of her gesture, taking in the serene scene before them - the tranquil surface of the lake, dotted with the toy racing boats currently drifting lazily across its calm expanse. He knew in that moment exactly what had captured Winnie's attention and ignited her boundless energy.

“You wanna go see the lake, Win?” Bucky asked, his tone gentle and indulgent, for he could never resist the allure of Winnie's bright-eyed wonder.

“The boats! I wanna see the boats!” she exclaimed, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, her pigtails bobbing with each eager movement.

Bucky felt a surge of affection for his spirited young niece, her pure delight at the prospect of watching the boats glide across the water a poignant reminder of the simple joys that can be found in the world around us, if only we have the eyes to see them. Without a moment's hesitation, he knew he could never deny Winnie this chance to explore the tranquil lakeside and marvel at the graceful vessels that danced across its surface, for to do so would be to extinguish the very spark that made her so special.

"Of course we can," he reassured, his voice carrying a hint of the gruff, good-natured tone that was so characteristic of him. With a chuckle, he continued, "Just give me a minute, I've gotta let Auntie Ace know where we're headed so she doesn't worry." He dropped you a location pin, not saying much else in the message. He knew you would worry.

Bucky was right, you were worried. As you hurried back to the park, the melting ice pops in your bag dripped down your arm, the sugary liquid leaving sticky trails in their wake. You clutched the bag tightly, determined not to lose a single treat before you could deliver them to Bucky and Winnie. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out your phone, fully expecting to have to call Bucky to get their location - but to your relief, you saw that he had already sent you their coordinates. With a grateful sigh, you followed the map on your screen, weaving through the crowds of people enjoying the beautiful day at the park. The path led you to the edge of a picturesque lake, where you found Bucky and Winnie excitedly cheering and gesturing at the water.

A group of children had gathered around a small makeshift racetrack, where tiny motorized boats were zipping back and forth across the calm surface of the lake. Winnie was leaning forward, her eyes alight with excitement as she shouted encouragement to one of the red boats. "I bet you two ice pops that the red one wins!" she cried to a boy standing next to her, who scoffed in response.

“Nah uh, the blue one is better. Plus, you don't even have any ice pops!” he retorted, sticking out his tongue in a childish display.

Bucky chuckled at their lively banter as they continued to watch the race unfold. Smiling to himself, you hurried over to join them, the cool, refreshing treat of two vibrant ice pops clutched firmly in your hands. With a warm, grateful smile, Winnie accepted the offered popsicle, the bright blue hue a stark contrast against her delicate fingers. Turning to her new companion, she couldn't resist a good-natured tease. “Still think the blue one is better?” she quipped, her eyes dancing with mischief as she took a delighted lick of the sugary confection.

The boy, Sonny, let out a sheepish chuckle, his hand instinctively reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “I don't have any,” he admitted, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. Casting a longing glance towards the pops, he couldn't help but whine to his nearby father, “Daaaad, can we get some ice pops?”

The father, clearly distracted by the attention of a scantily clad woman who seemed to be on her daily jog, waved off his son's request with an annoyed, "Later, Sonny!" His irritation at the interruption was palpable, and you couldn't help but look at him with narrowed eyes, silently pleading with him as you waved the extra ice pops you had purchased, hoping to secure his permission to share them with the disappointed boy.

Sensing your unspoken plea, the father gave a curt nod, and Sonny's face immediately lit up with joy. “Thanks, lady!” he exclaimed, his grin spreading from ear to ear.

Clearly delighted at the prospect that you had given her new friend the cool, refreshing treat, Winnie turned to Sonny and proudly proclaimed, "That's my Auntie Ace. Isn't she cool?" to which Sonny replied with a grateful smile, “Yeah, pretty cool.”

“So, why did you guys leave the playground? Get bored?” you asked casually.

Bucky didn’t look at you, so Winnie removed the popsicle from her mouth, revealing a bright blue tongue, before explaining, “We left because some mean man was yelling at Uncle Bucky.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion and concern at this revelation. “What?” you responded incredulously, turning to Bucky for more details.

Bucky's broad shoulders rose and fell in a weary shrug as he recounted the incident as succinctly as only Bucky would. “Someone recognized me,” he said simply, his gaze downcast as the painful memories resurface. A familiar frown crossed his rugged features, the lines on his forehead deepening as he stared out at the serene lake before him.

Your heart sank as Bucky recounted the unsettling incident at the playground, his typically stoic demeanor betraying a deep well of pain and anguish beneath the surface. You could see the haunted look in his eyes, the way his broad shoulders slumped with the weight of the traumatic memories being dredged up. Winnie's innocent revelation of a ‘mean man yelling at Uncle Bucky’ now took on a much darker, more sinister tone, and you felt your blood boil with righteous indignation on Bucky's behalf. How dare someone accost this gentle, kind-hearted man simply for being who he was? A victim of circumstances beyond his control, forever scarred by the horrors of war and his past as the Winter Soldier.

A thousand scathing retorts and furious tirades bubbled up within you, a fierce protectiveness surging forth as you yearned to confront this callous individual and give them a piece of your mind. But one glance at Bucky's downcast gaze, the furrowed brow and pained frown etched into his rugged features, and you knew that your anger would only serve to further upset him. This was his burden to bear, the cross he had been forced to carry, and you sensed that he had long since resigned himself to the cruel judgment and unwarranted scorn of the ignorant masses.

So instead, you bit your tongue, swallowing your righteous fury, and focused on offering Bucky the comfort and support he so desperately needed in that moment. Your heart ached to see him so visibly shaken, the trauma of his past still haunting him even as he strived to build a new life filled with love and happiness. With a gentle hand on his arm, you conveyed your unwavering solidarity, silently letting him know that he was not alone, that you would always be there to shield him from the cruelty of the world and help him find the peace he so deserved.

Winnie’s new friend, Sonny, called out enthusiastically, inviting Winnie to come join him and his friends in exploring the nearby statues, an adventure that no doubt promised to be thrilling and captivating for a curious child such as herself. Winnie's eyes lit up at the prospect, and she immediately turned to Bucky, silently seeking his permission to venture off and partake in the outing.

You could see the clear internal conflict on Bucky's face as he wrestled with the instinct to keep his beloved niece glued to his side versus allowing her the freedom to explore and make new friends. As Winnie gazed up at him with those wide, pleading eyes, you subtly nudged Bucky, silently conveying your confidence that she would be perfectly safe in the company of the other children. Yet, Bucky remained uncharacteristically silent, his protective nature clearly at war with his desire to grant Winnie's request.

“Go ahead, Winnie.” You gave her permission.

Sensing his hesitation, Winnie wrapped her small hand around Bucky's waist and looked up at him imploringly, once again asking if she could go join the others. Torn between his love for Winnie and his overarching need to shield her from any potential harm, Bucky found himself at an impasse, his heart and his head at odds as he struggled to make the difficult decision of whether to let his precious niece venture forth on her own or to keep her firmly by his side, where he could ensure her absolute safety. Eventually he nodded and a delighted Winnie skipped off to explore with her new friends.

As Bucky tugged self-consciously at his sleeve, trying to conceal the gleaming vibranium of his prosthetic arm, you couldn't help but notice the subtle gesture. When you suggested finding some shade to sit in, you hoped the change of scenery might help him relax, but as you reached for his right hand, he pulled away, mumbling something about feeling too warm to hold hands. You knew that wasn't the real reason. Undeterred, you shifted closer to his left side, tentatively taking his metal hand in yours. You knew he couldn't feel temperature or pain on that side, but the simple contact seemed to bring him some comfort. He sighed heavily, refusing to meet your gaze, but you could see the tension slowly leaving his shoulders. For so long, he had kept people at a distance, terrified that they would be repulsed by the very thing that made him different. But with you, he was learning to let his guard down, he trusted that your acceptance of him went deeper than surface appearances. It was a gradual process, filled with small victories, and you were determined to be there for him every step of the way.

Though he had worked tirelessly to redeem himself, to become a force for good, the specter of his violent history continued to haunt him, casting a shroud of unworthiness over even the most tender moments. As he sat on the sidelines, observing the carefree laughter of the children, Bucky couldn't help but wonder if he would ever truly be accepted by society, if he could ever be seen as anything more than the brainwashed assassin he had once been. The vulnerability he felt in that moment was almost crippling, a raw, gaping wound that threatened to swallow him whole. He wondered if he deserved the unconditional love and acceptance that his niece had shown him. Bucky knew, deep down, that this wouldn't be the last time he would be made to feel unworthy, undeserving of the warmth and connection he so desperately craved.

“Bucky?” you called him gently, your voice a soft, soothing balm. “Can we talk about what happened?”

“What's to talk about?” He answered gruffly, the defensive edge to his words belying the vulnerability that lurked just beneath the surface. “People still think I'm a dangerous man. It's all I'll ever be.”

But you knew, deep in your heart, that this was not true. You had seen the gentle way he interacted with Winnie, the pure, unadulterated love that shone in his eyes whenever he looked at the little girl. Not because of who he had been, the Winter Soldier, the merciless assassin, but because of who he was now - a man struggling to atone, to find redemption, to reclaim the humanity that had been so cruelly stripped away.

“But why do they matter?” you asked, your gaze steady and unwavering. “Look at how much that little girl loves you,” you pointed at Winnie, the pure, innocent adoration in her expression as she waved at you from the statues, a testament to the man Bucky had become. “Not because of who you were. All she knows and sees is the wonderful uncle who loves her unconditionally. That's who you are.”

You gently reminded Bucky that this behavior was not unique to him. Even the revered Avengers, heroes who had risked everything to save countless lives, faced similar backlash and rejection from some quarters.

“Look at Zemo!” You used the man as an example of someone who had harbored a bitter hatred towards Steve and the other Avengers due to the destruction in Sokovia. Yet the world at large still celebrated the Avengers as champions, symbols of hope in the face of darkness. “The reality is, in this imperfect world, no one - no matter how good their intentions or noble their actions - can please everyone. There’ll always be those who judge, who refuse to understand, who cling to their own narrow-minded views. But Bucky, you can’t let the hurtful words of a few define your worth or your place in society. You’ve overcome so much, fought so hard to redeem yourself, and you deserve to walk tall and proud, even if not everyone is willing to see it.”

Bucky's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as he grappled with the weight of the situation. Your words of reason had struck a chord within him, their logic undeniable, yet the venomous words uttered by the stranger continued to linger, casting a heavy shadow over his soul. He could not escape the sting of those cruel barbs, their poisonous tendrils sinking deep into his psyche. You watched his internal struggle with a mix of empathy and concern, unwilling to pressure him to process these turbulent feelings before he was ready. But you knew there was something you had yet to share with him, a revelation that you hoped would shift the course of his thoughts, though the trepidation of revealing this news held you back.

As Bucky contemplated the implications, a troubling realization took hold. “Maybe I shouldn't be bringing Winnie out alone anymore,” he murmured, the weight of responsibility bearing down upon him.

You understood his hesitation, yet you also knew that avoiding the issue would only prolong the pain. Gently, you broached the subject, acknowledging your own reluctance to push him, but emphasizing the importance of not letting this incident affect his actions. “Bucky? I'm sorry, you know I'm not normally one to pressure you with this sort of thing, but I'm going to need you to not let it affect your actions.”

His hackles raised at your words, and he shot back, "You think it's ok to just let my niece be exposed to this kind of thing."

The raw emotion in his voice was palpable, but you refused to back down, reminding him, “She's my niece too, Bucky.” Your quiet, slightly upset tone caused him to pause, the shame evident on his face as he recognized the impact of his words. And then, the gravity of the situation truly sank in, as you asked, “And what happens when it's our kid?”

Bucky's expression crumpled, the weight of that unspoken reality settling upon him like a lead cloak. “I don't know, Ace,” he admitted, his voice laced with sorrow.

You sighed, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill forth, your heart aching at the thought of having to have this difficult conversation in such a charged emotional context. You didn't want to tell him you were pregnant, not like this - but now, more than ever, you knew you had to. “I'm going to need you to figure it out,” you implored, your tone tinged with a quiet desperation.

“Give me some time,” he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion.

You knew in that moment that he was grappling with the enormity of the situation, the implications of which would reverberate far beyond just the two of you.

“You have eight months, Bucky,” you told him, your words laced with a quiet urgency. The clock was ticking, and the decisions he made in the coming days and weeks would shape the future you would share together - a future that now held the promise of new life, and all the joy and anticipation that came with it.

As the gravity of your words sank in, Bucky's expression shifted from one of confusion to dawning comprehension. The realization that you were carrying his child seemed to wash over him in waves, his vibrant blue eyes widening with a mix of shock and wonder. You found yourself unable to meet his gaze, anxiety gripping you as you waited for his reaction. Your hands clenched into tight fists, knuckles turning white as you fought to maintain your composure, unwilling to break down in the middle of the park where your young niece was blissfully unaware, playing just a short distance away.

The weighted silence between you felt thick and palpable, the tension nearly suffocating. But then, ever so gently, you felt Bucky's vibranium arm encircle your shoulders, providing a comforting, grounding presence. With his flesh hand, he tenderly cupped your face, guiding it to turn towards his own. His touch was feather-light, almost reverent, as he searched your features, seeking confirmation of the life-altering news you had delivered. “Ace, are you…are you saying that you're… we're… are you pregnant?” The words tumbled from his lips in a hushed, almost disbelieving whisper, a myriad of emotions playing across his rugged countenance.

The tears streamed down your cheeks as you finally confessed your pregnancy to Bucky, your frayed nerves and mounting anxiety causing you to break down in his arms. But Bucky's reaction was nothing like what you had feared - instead of recoiling in shock or disapproval, he immediately scooped you into a warm, loving embrace, whispering soft words of reassurance and comfort into your ear. His voice was low and soothing, radiating pure happiness and excitement at the news, and you could feel the tension and worry melting away as he held you close. In that moment, all your anxieties about how he would respond seemed utterly unfounded, replaced by a profound sense of relief and joy.

As you clung to Bucky, Winnie suddenly came running over, her young eyes filled with concern as she noticed your tears. “Auntie Ace, what's wrong? Why’re you crying?” she asked innocently.

Bucky's face broke into a wide smile as he quickly reassured the little girl, telling her that you were actually crying tears of happiness about something special. When Winnie pressed further, wanting to know what the secret was, Bucky gently told her that she would be the first to know when the time was right, eliciting an excited nod and a sparkle in her eyes.

“I promise that you’ll be the first person we tell when it’s time. Is that a deal?” Bucky held his pinky finger out to the girl, who wrapped her tiny digit around his in a solemn promise.

Bucky then playfully shooed his niece back to her friends, wanting a moment alone with you to bask in this momentous news. Gazing into your eyes tenderly, he pressed his forehead against yours and uttered the words you had been longing to hear.

“I've never been happier, Ace.”

[her-devils-advocate]

Year 850, then; Year 854, now

pairings: Levi Ackerman x (GN!) reader

genre: Hurt/comfort, fluff, fluff and comfort, angst, angst and fluff

summary: Two tender moments between you and Levi after being injured in battle, leaving him to worry and look after you in his own ways.

Warning for the ending of aot spoilers

word count: 3,765

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54818275

Year 850, then:

It had been a gruelling expedition, one that had resulted in a multitude of casualties, including your own. It was a routine mission, you and your squad had been tasked with surveying the land, finding the safest route to one of the scout bases and supplying it ahead of time. You only needed to bring simple necessities like spare food and medical equipment that the upcoming squad would require during their stay there, as well as clearing out any titans that had happened to be found along the way. A small risk, all things considered.

On paper, it was one of the safest missions that the scouts had taken in a while. After the previous expedition had resulted in many deaths, the scouts had put a small pause on activity outside the walls while everyone recovered and re-evaluated future missions.

Levi had scoffed at the mention of Erwin sending you as the squad leader, mumbling under his breath that such a mission was beneath you and your team. You had reassured him that you were the best choice; that it would be a simple in-and-out mission. You and your team would be back before he knew it.

“I still don’t see why we are bothering to send you of all people on a supply run to that dusty old base. What a waste of time and resources when you should be focusing on training your team. How are you supposed to prepare your team for the upcoming missions while wasting energy supplying another?”

“Levi, it’s alright.” You remember the smile that lights up your face when you see him roll his eyes, his lips pursed in what was definitely not a pout. The captain would never do such a thing, of course. That's what he told you when you gleefully pointed it out, at least.

“Having me lead the squad is probably just a precaution, in case anything happens. I highly doubt that we will encounter many titans, if any. You know the route is usually empty each time we send out supplies. I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.”

“Tch, sure. If anything, it will give me the peace I need to finish that paperwork.”

You mentally cursed yourself for tempting the universe to put you in your place, forcing you to eat your words.

On paper, it was a simple task. 

In actuality, the pouring rain obscured your vision, making it almost impossible to see more than a few feet in front of you as the dark clouds dimmed the world around you. The heavy rain mixed with the steady march of the horses along the ground. Their hooves drummed against the wet earth, vibrating through your cold and tense body, splashing through the slowly growing puddles. The howling wind echoed in your ears, taking the words of your squad and drifting them up to the dark clouds above. 

It was a perfect recipe for disaster, especially when neither you nor your team could spot the two abnormal titans rapidly approaching your position. 

The last thing you remember is the shooting pain as one of the titans reached its elongated limb to swipe at your horse, sending you flying through the air and crashing into the ground.

That's how you find yourself lying in a lumpy bed, the scratchy material rubbing against the sections of tender skin not currently covered in bandages. You sit up with a small wince, pain rolling over you in long waves at the motion. You carefully wiggle your arms and legs, happy to feel them move at your command despite the hot flush of pain. 

Hange and Commander Erwin arrive shortly after you wake, sitting beside you and keeping you company as you give your report of the mission. They don't miss the way your eyes flicker with shame, guilt reflecting in your eyes for not noticing the danger until it was too late, despite battling the elements. 

You are usually careful once you and your squad are in Titan territory, always on high alert and on the watch for the slightest hint of danger. While it’s not the first time you’ve found yourself on the bad side of luck, the guilt and feelings of failure never seem to lessen. 

“You will be happy to know that everyone survived. They are a bit battered here and there, but your squad will be alright in time. You are the most injured out of everyone, in fact, congrats!” Hange says, amusement and relief shining in their eyes as they watch you sigh, sinking deeper into the frustratingly stiff pillows.

“That is good news, thank you Hange. Not that I don't appreciate you both visiting me, seeing both of your faces certainly helps to brighten my day, when I’m not in trouble or receiving bad news, that is.” 

You hear the two chuckle, despite being friends with Erwin, you have forced his hand enough to be given a few small slaps on the wrist in the past. 

“But where's Levi? I figured he would be here to lecture me on getting injured at the very least.”

Erwin gives you a knowing smile, sitting up in his chair a little straighter, “Don't worry, I’m positive that you won't get away from that lecture. I've already gotten my version from him at least twice now.”

You raise your eyebrow quizzically, you knew of Levi’s frustrations with the mission yet you never figured he would chew Erwin out over it.

Before he has a chance to continue, Hange lets out a loud laugh, desperate to share a fact they know Levi would happily keep to himself.

“Shorty refused to leave your side when you were brought in, even with the medics stating that he was getting in their way. He only left just before you woke up to fetch you some food, claiming you're ‘a damn brat when hungry’.” 

They lower their voice to mimic him while crossing their arms and glaring as they speak. You let out a small, surprised giggle, the action causing you to wince as your ribs protest.

“You know, if anything, he’s probably going to be even more pissed that you decided to wake up after he left,” Hange says with a small wink.

As if on cue, Levi opens the door with one hand, carefully balancing a plate of unusual food on the other.

“I got held up by the damn brats. Braus and Springer found me in the kitchen and decided to take over, wanting to show me a secret they had when it came to making the most out of our shitty reserves or something. I figured there was no harm, those kiddos have been vibrating with nerves ever since they got the news.”

He pauses once he takes in the sight before him, his eyes widen when he finally spots you awake. You give him a warm smile as you see the relief that washes over him. His eyes linger on you briefly before he clears his throat, trying to push down the visible urge to rush over to you despite the small audience. 

“Apparently they have found a way to make eating potatoes for the hundredth time in a row more exciting for them. Didn't bother to share that with the rest of us. They also told me not to share this information with Erwin since they don't want to be lectured on using our reserves for their little experiment.” 

Levi turns to the man in question, ignoring the amusement glinting in Erwin's eyes as Levi’s glare hardens. “I told the kids that the day they get to tell me what to do will be the day all the titans are finally killed, once and for all.”

You can’t help the giggles that erupt from you despite trying to hold back, rapidly dissolving into loud laughter that only grows even more frantic when Hange joins in. Their laughter is even louder as they grasp at their sides, rapidly running out of breath themselves. Tears roll down your cheeks as you try to catch your own breath, bringing a hand to clutch at your tender ribs as each gasp causes the pain to flare angrily. 

“Oi, what’s so funny, you two?” Levi’s displeased voice cuts through the growing chaos, only betrayed by the subtle redness of his ears and the softness of his eyes as he watches you struggle to compose yourself. Hange waves their hand in his direction, yet each time they try to speak, more giggles slip from their lips. 

He scoffs before shoving the plate onto your lap, mindful to avoid your injuries before pulling Hange out of the chair beside your bed and settling down into it, ignoring their cries of protest.

“Hey! I was sat there first, shorty. Erwin!” “Yeah, well I’m sat here now, four-eyes. Don’t you have a titan to go poke? And you,” Levi turns to glare at Erwin, who was simply content to watch his soldiers bicker despite their positions, “don’t you have some paperwork to fill out or something?”

The tall blonde slowly stands from his chair, ushering Hange out of the room alongside him before turning towards you with a kind expression.

“We know when we have overstayed our welcome, we wish you a speedy recovery.”

You give Erwin a small nod before looking down at the food placed on your lap. You notice the thin slices of potato that had been cooked until they were crisped. You glance up at Levi, raising a single eyebrow.

“Don’t ask me, the cadets wanted to make something nice for you. They were worried.”

Once Erwin and Hange can be heard moving further down the medical wing while Hange happily chats the other’s ear off, Levi moves from the chair he had rudely claimed. He nudges you, silently requesting you to shuffle over to give him room on the uncomfortable bed. Once he is settled, you rest your head on his shoulder as he carefully brings his arm around you, protectively pulling you close to his side.

“Just them?”

“Tch, shut up and eat your meal.”

Year 854, now:

Thick clouds of dust begin to settle over the ruined ground, it sticks to your hot skin as you breathe heavily. Silence uncomfortably blankets everyone as they let the moment sink in. You had done it, you had all succeeded. Not that it feels like a success.

Your whole body screams out with each movement you make, you had stopped keeping up with your injuries hours ago, simply having more important things to focus on. The stakes were too high to risk caring for every injury. The adrenalin and fear had kept the pain manageable as you pushed your body to its limits, but now, nothing can help as you try to stifle your whimpers.

You don’t know how to feel, already emotionally and physically past your breaking point. You can hear Armin wail somewhere behind you, the sound is haunting as each scream stabs deep into your heart. You don’t want to turn around; you can’t will yourself to do so. You know you should be there to help comfort everyone, but your body is frozen. You’ve always been good at lending a comforting shoulder to the 104th cadets in the past, but now you doubt that anything you do could bring any peace to them.

With Armin's sobs breaking the tense silence, sound reluctantly returns to the world. The bitter victory has no celebration, only relieved sighs and mourning.

You spot Levi from a distance, perched against a fallen rock. Dark blood slowly oozes out from his extended leg, having been broken multiple times and further injured during the final battle. 

You allow yourself to feel happy, knowing that he will be alright and that you are both alive. 

Your stubborn body unfreezes, despite the pain and exhaustion, allowing you to slowly stumble your way towards him. Your eyes are glued to the destroyed ground as you approach your captain. You take the time to rack your brain of things to say, what can you even say after everything you have both been through? Everything feels too casual, too insignificant compared to the lifelong trauma, both the physical and mental kind, that has been thrust upon you both in the past couple of weeks. You feel selfish for your happiness at his survival, having said too many goodbyes in such a short period. Too many good people have been lost in the twisted war.

“Well, look who showed up…”

Levi’s tired voice stops you in your tracks and your question dies in your throat with a quiet choke when you look up to the crowd now surrounding you. 

They are all there: Erwin, Hange and their squad, Levi’s squad, and the dozens of scouts that had risked everything to get you both where you are now. Your eyes blur with thick tears as you catch Hange’s eye, gazing at you in sadness. You want to scream, to run away, to run up and embrace them. You try to compose yourself, but the tears pour down your cheeks when you see the spirits of your squad smiling at you in pride. 

“Hey boss, you’re looking pretty banged up” The tall redhead of your group approaches, you remember the day he first joined your squad, all smiles and false confidence. Next to him stands his closest friend, you had chosen both of them at the same time, not wishing to split them apart. Next to them is your second in command, a quiet girl with a strong heart.

“Hi Leon, you can say that again. It’s good to see you again… It’s really good to see you all.” Your voice wavers as you take in the sight of them all, you gradually lost them one by one. Some before Eren’s little stunt, some after. Yet each loss hit hard.

“We’re proud of you, we knew you could do it.”

Your team salute you and the captain one last time before joining the others, fading away with a mixture of emotions on their faces. Some are sad to leave you both behind, some are happy to have gotten a final goodbye at last and some are relieved to see you still alive.

You take in a deep breath, willing your bruised heart to slow down before it bursts out of your chest. Your hands feel numb and you feel your body begin to shake as your mind tries to catch up.

“Oi, sit down before you hurt yourself even more. You look like you're about to pass out.” Levi’s voice is void of emotion as his damp eye looks up at you in concern. You sigh before waddling over to him, your body feels like stone as you collapse against the hard rock, being careful to keep a gap between your bodies, not wanting to possibly hurt him.

“I feel like I might, I also feel like I’m about to be sick.” In any other situation, you would laugh at the way his face scrunches up in disgust at the thought.

“If you do that, you better lean the other way. I don’t want to be covered in it.”

You allow yourself to let out an amused scoff, it feels unnatural to laugh as you scoot closer to him to lean your pounding head against his shoulder.

“Aye aye, captain.” You weakly raise your fist to your heart, giving him a lighthearted salute. You hear a small scoff of his own in return. 

“How…how are you doing?” Your whispered words crack as they fall past your lips and you feel him stiffen beside you.

“Good question, you?”

“...Good question, I’m going to go with tired for now.” You can feel your energy quickly fade as black splotches begin to take over your vision, and your body feels light and heavy at the same time.

Levi’s hand brushes your own. He gingerly takes your hand, softly rubbing circles into the back of your hand. “I’m going to need you to control your breathing, you’ve already lost a lot of blood with your current injuries. I need you to stay awake until we can get you sorted. Alright?” 

You give him a non-committal hum in response as you try to keep your eyes open. They feel like lead and you want nothing more than to fade into the warm embrace that sleep would bring. 

Even besides Levi, the panic continues to swirl around you, dancing maliciously with the pain and nausea. A part of you knows that there is no reason to be scared, you won, yet everything is still unknown. Where do you go from here? Can either of you last for much longer in your sorry states?

Before you can get too lost in your mind, a sharp wave of pain rushes through you when Levi gives you a gentle jab with his elbow, his eyebrows are furrowed with worry as you let out a deep grunt.

“I’m serious, don’t you dare fall asleep until we know you’re in the clear. Do you hear me?”

His words are harsh and yet you can hear the frantic worry that's hidden just below the surface. You want to reply, to tease him for his worry, just like old times, but when you go to open your mouth, you feel as if you are miles away. The world grows darker and the part of you that's not overwhelmed with panic feels guilty for the added stress now thrown onto Levi.

Light chatter surrounds you when you open your eyes, you squint as the harsh sunlight invades your vision. You can feel a thin blanket covering your body and a stiff pillow supporting your head; you feel groggy as you try to take in your surroundings and you mumble incoherently. The chatter dies instantly, a blurry head popping up in your light of sight, blocking the sunlight peaking through the medical tent flap.

“Captain Levi, they’re awake!” Connie’s voice booms through the small, cramped tent. You wince as his voice pierces through your skull, causing it to pound angrily. You had hoped you could sleep through the worst of your injuries, but you have never had the best luck.

“We can see that, quiet down.” Levi’s voice causes your heart to lighten. You groan as you bring yourself to sit up within the medical cot, Levi’s hands holding onto you tightly as he helps guide your stubborn self into a comfortable sitting position.

Connie is hovering nervously by the side of your bed, while Jean and Armin are sitting on the floor nearby. Levi has claimed the singular chair within the tent, placing it as close to the cot as possible. His leg has been wrapped up in bandages once more while his old ones have been replaced with clean ones. You scan his body for any more serious injuries, relaxing when nothing new stands out.

“Hey, I’m alright. We’re all okay.” Levi gives you a knowing look as the rest of the group nods in reassurance.

“Mikasa has already left…She wanted to leave with Eren before…They wouldn’t have given him a decent burial here.” Jean says awkwardly, unsure of what to say or how to say it.

“Way to make things depressing, Jean.”

“Alright, how would you have told them, Connie? I would love to know.”

“Enough, don’t start, you two.” The pair stiffen as Levi’s gruff voice cuts their bickering short.

“Sorry, captain.”

You watch the shenanigans in amusement, your eyes shining with more tears as you take the moment in. They are all okay, they will be okay. The gloom that surrounds you all begins to vanish as a new form of normalcy tries to settle in. 

Levi gives them a stern look before slowly standing from his chair. You watch as he grits his teeth, doing his best to keep his mask of nonchalance firmly in place despite the agony he feels. 

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think? I’m going to find you something to eat. You’ve been asleep for hours and I know you haven’t managed to eat much during all the bullshit.” “Levi…” “What? You’re a damn brat when hungry, it’s more for our sake than yours.” You can’t help the smile that finds its way onto your face despite your concern. You can hear the others snicker, trying to stifle their amusement before he turns on them as well. 

“Oh, captain. It’s alright, please sit down.” Armin rushes up to Levi, his hands hovering before him as if he’s scared to try and place them upon Levi. After a moment of uncertainty, Armin proceeds to gently help Levi sit back down. Your heart warms as you watch Levi reluctantly accept their help without any pushback.

“Connie has already sorted out the snacks,” Armin explains in response to Levi’s questioning glare.

“Yeah, I found a basket of fruit and sandwiches that everyone had put together when we made the camp. Before anyone says anything, I know it’s bad considering…yeah…but I managed to swipe a few for us.”

You thank Connie as he tosses a slightly squashed sandwich in your direction, not realising just how hungry you are as you bite into it. You feel Levi’s hand grasp yours as he slowly eats his own. A peaceful silence falls over the tent, only to be quickly broken.

“Hey, Armin. That was pretty brave of you, y’know.” Connie’s loud whispering catches the attention of everyone as you all slowly turn to watch the pair. Armin raises his eyebrows, confusion plastered clearly on his face.

“Telling the captain what to do like that. I’d have fainted if I were in your shoes.” “Well…” Armin takes a moment to consider his words, a playful gleam in his eyes.

“Remember 4 years ago? He did say we could tell him what to do when all the titans were dead.”

Your eyes widen as your shoulders begin to shake with restrained laughter. Jean and Connie are frozen in shock as Levi lets out a loud groan.

“I was hoping you kids had forgotten that, don’t get cocky.”

You don’t miss the way his voice softens as the group's playful behaviour sinks in. You squeeze his hand, receiving a light squeeze in return when you shuffle to lean closer to him.

His voice is low, just loud enough for you to make out his whispered words. 

“I think we’re going to be alright.”

“Yeah, I think we will be.”

[the-fiction-witch]

Maiden Of The Court

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 12 Word Count - 992

Elrond meticulously orchestrated all the necessary preparations for his horse, ensuring it was well-equipped with supplies for the journey back to Lindon. As those arrangements were underway, he made his way to bid farewell to Celebrimbor. Navigating the ornate halls, he found Celebrimbor in his elegant office, the soft glow of afternoon light pouring through the tall windows. The room was adorned with intricate carvings and glowing gemstones. Celebrimbor sat with a delicate porcelain cup in hand, savouring a moment of quietude as he enjoyed his afternoon tea, the fragrant steam curling upward.

“Ahh, Herald Elrond. You are to leave Eregion?” Lord Celebrimbor spoke up, setting down his tea.

“I am, we make haste as the high king no doubt will become impatient the longer this news is delayed,”

“Yes, of course.” he agreed, “If I may, ask a humble favour.”

“Of course My lord Celebrimbor.”

“…My granddaughter, Y/n. I would like you to take her with you when you go,”

“To what end my Lord Celebrimbor?”

“She has lived her life here under my care, and I fear now… I have done all I can for her. And I wish her to see beyond the borders of Eregion. Even if… it does fear me, for her to leave this place.” He explained, “I have made arrangements for her to join the high court, alongside Gil-galad’s daughters, as hope she may begin her own flight from this homely nest.”

“Understandable,” Elrond agreed, “I will have to leave tonight,”

“It will be no issue, she can be ready.” he said, “I will have her horse prepared to join yours?”

“Yes, of course.” Elrond nodded,

The two said their goodbyes and Elrond turned to leave but, Celebrimbor called out once more.

“Elrond?”

“Yes?”

“…As you stand as the High King’s Herald, in my absence… look after Y/n.”

“I will, Lord Celebrimbor. It will be my duty and I will take great honour in it.”

“Thank you, Elrond.” He nodded,

Elrond stood at the edge of the city, the warm sun casting a gentle glow on his horse, which shifted restlessly beneath him. With meticulous care, he conducted the final checks on their harnesses and saddlebags, ensuring every strap was secure and every piece of gear was in place. As he surveyed the stone walls of Ost-in-Edhil, their beauty bathed in golden light, he caught sight of another horse approaching from the winding path.

The newcomer was a magnificent silver stallion, its coat gleaming like polished metal in the sunlight. It was ridden by a figure draped in a flowing cloak of soft green velvet that whispered against the horse's sides with each step. Lord Celebrimbor, his expression a mixture of pride and melancholy, held the hand of the ethereal rider, gently guiding her and the noble steed to stand beside Elrond’s own horse.

With a tender intimacy, Celebrimbor pressed a soft kiss to her hand, his touch lingering as if to convey unspoken words. He held her gaze for a moment, before reluctantly releasing her fingers. With a respectful nod to Elrond, Celebrimbor watched as the great gates of the city creaked open, revealing the path that lay beyond.

Elrond nodded in return, his heart heavy with the weight of parting, and carefully led the horses through the threshold of the city,

As they ventured forth, Celebrimbor stood motionless, he cast one final, lingering look over his shoulder, his jaw tightening as he fought back the welling tears that threatened to spill over. Only after they had vanished from sight did he summon the strength to turn away, redirecting his focus back to the intricate tasks that awaited him,

Elrond leads both horses alongside the river Sirannon, without speaking a single word to Lady Y/n. He had opened his mouth to begin a conversation with his travelling companion, but no words arrived on his lips. Until suddenly without warning she kicked her horse and rode off at speed.

“M- My Lady!” He gasped, quickly giving chase.

But she rode fast and hard, her horse leaping over rock and stream like they had taken this path a hundred times before, before finally taking a moment to stop atop the peak of a tall hill. There she pulled down the hood of her cloak, revealing herself to him. She wore a dark green dress with intricate decorative chains and metalwork, a silver locket hung around her neck, her hair braided in long strands that billowed in the breeze with crotched ivy and flowers woven into the braids. She looked out across the horizon not even turning to Elrond.

The sight of her caused Elrond to pull his horse to stop as he froze up at the sight of her. His heart raced, his breath left him, his eyes widened and his jaw almost fell open. “M-my lady, you- You should not have run off like that,”

“You need not mother me Herald Elrond,” she said,

“Lord Ce-”

“I am well aware, of what my grandfather has asked of you.” she said, turning to him, “But I assure you, I am far more akin to one of my Grandfather’s battle axes than his decorative teacups.”

“I have no doubts you are, my lady.” he nodded, “But still, You are under my protection for our journey to Mithlond, and even then, as you take your place in the court of the high king, I will watch over you while I act as the High King’s Herald.”

“You needn’t be so vigilant, I assure you I can take care of myself.”

“I am sure you can,” he chuckled, “But, that will not mean I will take any less care of you, Y/n.”

“Very well, Elrond,” She smiled slightly and pulled her hood up once more but this time not concealing her face, “Do keep up,” she nodded before once more kicking her horse and bolting off across the Moores,

“I most certainly will, My lady.” he smirked happily keeping pace with her.

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 4

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Reader is Mando's bounty, second-person POV, Din Djarin POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, starship mechanics, unresolved sexual tension, light angst

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

By the time Din Djarin returned to the Mos Eisley spaceport and hangar three-five, almost three full days had passed, and he came laden with sacks of supplies for his next foray into deep space. Ration packs, nutrition supplements, medical supplies, a broad selection of ammunition for his many weapons, and – the crown jewel – a selection of fresh produce he had been promised would last at least another two weeks if properly stored. He had even managed to pick up some short-term contract work as a body guard for a visiting trade syndicate representative in Mos Eisley on business; the pay from that had easily covered the cost of his restock. He hoped it would cover Peli Motto’s bill, as well.

A ship repair hadn’t exactly been part of his plans for this run, but although it had delayed him by a few days, he stood by the choice. For all of its charms, the Razor Crest had never been properly equipped to handle prisoners without the aftermarket mobile carbonite freezer unit he had had installed a few years back. It had been his first big purchase after he finally started making enough money to pay for fuel, contribute to the covert, and also manage to feed himself, and its addition to the ship had made his life infinitely easier. Especially now with Grogu to look after, he couldn’t afford to have bounties loose in his ship, even if they were in binders. It wasn’t safe. Truthfully, he knew he had gotten lucky that his first quarry on this trip hadn’t been more dangerous.

As they often had over the last few days, Din’s thoughts turned toward the woman he had left in Peli’s care alongside his foundling. You were… Well, to say that you puzzled him would be an understatement. In all his travels, he was certain that he had never met anyone quite like you.

He could tell that you were not a skilled fighter, and yet you had attempted to evade capture, to outrun him. It had been unsuccessful, of course, but he couldn’t help but admire the effort.

You possessed a strong spirit, unwavering and stubborn, and he also knew that you were deeply frightened to have landed in his captivity.

You had a sharp, biting wit, but even from your first encounter, you had handled Grogu with a softness, a tenderness that Din had rarely experienced.

You were beautiful. Distractingly so.

Altogether, it left him…unsettled. He could not help but feel eager to be rid of you, if only to save himself from the disquieting thought that perhaps there was more for him to discover about you.

That, of course, was preposterous. There was nothing more. You were a quarry. There was a bounty on your head. He had accepted the task of tracking you down and turning you in, and he would be paid well for the effort. That was that. Bounty hunters didn’t ask questions.

Until recently, Din had actually been quite good at that part of the job. He felt a brief surge of thankfulness for the anonymity of his helmet as he rolled his eyes at himself. He was growing soft.

As the Mandalorian crossed the threshold into hangar three-five, he was met with the familiar sight of Peli leaning heavily against the exterior wall of her office, thumbing at a datapad as her pit droids milled about the place, tittering and whirring at each other.

“Ah! Mando!” she called out, flagging him down with a grin the moment she spotted him. “Welcome back! Successful trip?”

“Successful enough,” he replied tersely. His eyes hadn’t stopped scanning the hangar for evidence of his foundling as he approached, but the little green child was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s the kid?”

Peli waved him off dismissively. “Don’t worry, he’s just with the girl. You know, she came up with this slick design for a carrier for him? He’s been happy as a Nabooian clam riding around in that thing! She’ll be out in a minute, I expect.” She nodded in the direction of the Razor Crest, glinting brightly in the afternoon sun in the center of the hangar. “Just putting the finishing touches on the hyperdrive.”

Din felt his eyebrows raise inside his helmet. “The hyperdrive?” he echoed flatly. The beginnings of aggravation itched in his chest. “I asked you fix the carbonite unit.”

“Cool your jetpack, Mando – I fixed your carbonite unit,” the engineer assured him, extending her palms placatingly. “It’s good as new! Well, pretty sure it’s good as new – guess you’ll have to find out when you try to seal a bounty in there! I wasn’t about to test it myself. I’m thorough, but I’m not that thorough. You understand.”

Drawing a centering breath deep into his lungs, he repeated, “Peli. The hyperdrive?”

“Listen. The list of systems on the Razor Crest that needed a tune-up was a mile long. I had time, I had help, and I knew you wouldn’t mind a bit of extra output! What self-respecting starship pilot is going to say no to a bit more efficiency, eh?”

“What do you mean, you had help?” Din gave up on attempting to reign in his irritation. His words were clipped, his tone gruff. Peli was a friend – she was good to Grogu, and she was a damn fine mechanic – but dank farrik, what he wouldn’t give for her to get to the point. Something about this situation wasn’t sitting quite right with him. Where was the child? “What exactly is going on here?”

A metallic thud, like the sound of someone dropping from a height onto deck plating, reverberated from inside the Razor Crest. His gaze snapped to the ship immediately, his senses on high alert.

Peli, however, seemed less than concerned. “Why don’t you see for yourself?” she suggested with a shrug, gesturing in the direction of the Crest.

Almost as if on cue, you stepped into the light of the afternoon sun from the belly of his ship, and Din’s breath seemed to seize in his chest.

It was as though you had transformed into a different woman than you had been when he left you here three days ago. Your long, braided hair had been wound up at the nape of your neck and partially covered with a scarf that you had tied around your head, and a welder’s helmet perched precariously on top of that, the tinted shield flipped up so you could see clearly. You had stripped the top half of your olive-green boilersuit down your body and tied the sleeves together low on your waist, leaving your chest covered in nothing but a sweat-soaked black band around your breasts. Your skin gleamed with exertion in the sunlight, highlighting the smoothness of your forehead, the hollow of your neck, the soft angle of your shoulders, and you were painted with the grime of engine oil and durasteel dust. You had a fusion cutter in your gloved hand, your grip practiced and strong.

And, as if all of that were not enough, there, strapped in a padded leather harness across your back, peaking up over your shoulder, was Grogu.

After a beat too long of silence, you seemed to spot him in the shade of the hangar, and you smiled softly. “Mando!” you called out, pointing to him. “Grogu, look – he’s back!”

Din watched as the child blinked in the direction that you had pointed, and then his little face split in a broad, toothy grin. He let out a joyful screech and immediately began squirming in his carrier, suddenly desperate to be let down.

You laughed – laughed – at this and began to descend the ramp, reaching back to lift Grogu from his post on your back and up over your shoulder. “Your little guy missed you,” you said fondly. You passed the child into the bounty hunter’s arms, that same softness he had noticed before dancing in the corners of your eyes. Din felt an inexplicable heat rising up his neck under his cowl.

Thankfully, both you and Grogu seemed oblivious to his body’s baffling response; you simply continued across the hangar, returning your fusion cutter to one of Peli’s many equipment racks, while Grogu babbled happy nonsense and gently patted the cheeks of Din’s helmet as though to say, “Welcome back.”

“Peli,” Din said, his voice strained and hoarse, “I’m only going to ask one more time. What. Is. Going. On.”

Peli rolled her eyes dramatically . “Your bounty here has skills, Mando!” she declared, gesturing emphatically at you with both her free hand and the one holding the datapad. “You had to know that! Took her less than a day to start pointing out all the stuff I was doing wrong. Figured I’d have her put her money where her mouth is.”

A bright flush made itself known on your cheeks, and you shook your head. “Excuse me – no, no. If you recall, I saved your life. And then you asked me to help you.”

“Details, details,” the older woman scoffed dismissively. “Look, Mando, she’s a starship engineer. And a damn good one, I’d say. She’s the one who figured out how to fix your carbonite freezer, not me.”

Din’s gaze snapped to you at that revelation, and he watched as you raised a hand to rub at the back of your neck in clear discomfort. You had fixed it?

Mentally, he quickly ran through all of the data in your bounty puck. Nowhere in your files had your profession been mentioned. How did you have the skills needed to repair something so sophisticated?

“I couldn’t just let her sit around on her hands the whole time you were gone,” Peli continued, completely unaware of Din’s distraction. “I mean, take a look at everything we’ve been able to get done with both of us on the job.” She passed him the datapad, pointing to the line items on the work order she had pulled up.

Din took a moment to study the list, both wary and reluctantly impressed. Peli wasn’t wrong – the amount of work the two of you had accomplished in just three days was staggering. In addition to the carbonite unit and a much-needed tune-up on the hyperdrive (which had apparently resulted in an efficiency gain of 25 percent), you and Peli had managed to replace about half of the Crest’s leaking powerlines, update the navigation to the latest operating system, recalibrate the deflector shield projectors around both engines, and scrub the carbon scoring from the Crest’s last fire fight from the hull. At the bottom of the list, a perfunctory five-credit charge had been added for something Peli had labeled as a “privacy screen.”

“This is…impressive,” he admitted. Grogu squealed happily in agreement from the cradle of Din’s arms.

The older engineer nodded, smirking in self-satisfaction. “Try it all out. You’ll see, it’s good work,” she said, gesturing toward the Crest. Din nodded once and strode up the gangplank, finding himself almost eager to see the improvements for himself.

He spent the next several minutes surveying the changes, noting that the repair of the carbonite freezer had apparently necessitated the complete disassembly of most of the starboard wall. He could also see where panels of the bulkheads and deck plating had been displaced to access other tubes and powerlines, though if this were not his ship, if he didn’t know it better than his own reflection, he wasn’t certain that he would have noticed. Everything had been re-assembled flawlessly, the only evidence of tampering being the slightly shiny look of freshly-welded solder along the panels’ joints.

However, he nearly burst into laughter when his eyes landed on the change that clearly had to be the “privacy screen” Peli had referred to in the work order. In the space between his bunk alcove and the port wall, a steel rod had been mounted, and a thick, black tarp had been hung from it, attached with a series of matching metal rings.

You had installed a makeshift curtain in front of the ship head.

Trusting that he would be able to test the improvements to the hyperdrive once he was out of the atmosphere, Din returned to the hangar, still chuckling under his breath.

“Well?” Peli prompted, crossing her arms across her chest in a confident pose.

“This is more than I could have asked for, especially given the time,” he replied honestly. He glanced back and forth between the two of you, noting the way Peli’s smirk expanded into a grin and the way your posture seemed to loosen as if in relief. “Thank you.”

“Aw, shucks, Mando! No need to thank me,” the older woman insisted. In spite of the dismissal, her voice couldn’t hide her pleasure at the praise. “Just sign at the bottom of that work order and hand over the credits! That’s always thanks enough!”

Din sighed, hearing it as a gruff hissing sound as his vocoder transmitted it. Why was he not surprised? “Yes. Of course,” he agreed, pulling the work order back up on the datapad. The price quoted at the bottom was significantly more than he had planned on spending (which, he knew, was very much intentional on Peli’s part), but the work was already done, and the security job he had just been paid for made it so he wouldn’t have to dip into his profits from this trip too much. He signed the work order with the tip of his finger. “This should do it, I think.” Reaching into a pouch on his utility belt, he pulled out a sizeable cloth drawstring bag, half-full with New Republic credits, and dropped it into Peli’s waiting hands.

Peli yanked the bag open immediately, assessing its contents with a keen eye. “That it will, my friend. That it will.”

Now that the hangar operator had been satisfied, Din turned his attention to you. At some point during this exchange, you had removed the welder’s helmet and your gloves, and you were in the process of untying the dusty scarf from around your head, revealing your hair. You had been sweating, and tendrils of it clung damply to your forehead, ears, and neck.

Shoving each of these inappropriate observations to the back of his mind, he cleared his throat and said, “So. You’re a starship engineer. I didn’t know.”

You seemed taken aback by that statement, your eyes narrowing and your brow crinkling in puzzlement. “Huh. Well. Like I told Peli. I’m not…exactly a starship engineer. But I suppose I might as well be.” You paused for a moment as you tugged your lower lip between your teeth. You seemed to debate something for a beat, and then you added, “I worked in the Chardaan Shipyards for almost a decade. I guess I thought you already knew that?” You phrased that statement like a question, confusion evident in your tone. “Didn’t you get a bunch of background information on me when you accepted my bounty puck?”

The Mandalorian shrugged. “Every bounty is different. Yours was…sparse. Planet of origin, last known location, your name. Some biometric data that allowed me to find you with your tracking fob. Nothing else.”

You seemed to digest that for a moment, your expression thoughtful, but before you could comment further, Peli interrupted.

“Hang on, honey – did you say the Chardaan Shipyards? The one where the New Republic has their fighters built?”

You nodded, a tight, closed-mouth smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Of course, Din had heard of the Chardaan Shipyards. Anyone who knew anything about starships knew about them – the conglomerate of pressurized hangar spheres orbiting the planet Chardaan in the Inner Rim, the home of some of the most well-known custom starship and engine producers in the galaxy and the shipyard of choice for the New Republic since the days of the Galactic Civil War. He knew your bounty originated on Chardaan, though it hadn’t occurred to him that that might have been a clue as to your personal history. You had been easy enough to find, even easier to capture. He hadn’t bothered to dig any deeper than that. For some reason, that ignited a pang of guilt in his gut. He typically made it his business to know everything there was to know about his quarries. If he knew their history, if he understood them, he could walk in their shoes – predict their next move.

“That explains a lot,” Peli quipped, putting words to Din’s disorganized thoughts.

You didn’t respond, but regardless, an idea occurred to him then, and he couldn’t stop himself from taking a step toward you.

“You could have repaired the Razor Crest on your own. The carbonite freezer, the hyperdrive, the powerlines, all of it,” he said, trying to keep the accusation out of his voice and only partially succeeding.

A blush burned high on your cheeks, and you stepped back, bringing your bare arms to wrap around your midriff defensively. A heavy silence descended on the hangar, and you looked away. You were chewing on your lip again, digging your teeth into the rosy flesh, and Din allowed the quiet to linger, allowed you to come to your response on your own.

“Yes,” you eventually whispered. “I could have.”

“You never said.” Din recalled the way you had known the carbonite unit was broken before he did, the way you sat in the Razor Crest’s cargo hold, cradling Grogu, and watched him futilely attempt to repair it, the way you had sat back and allowed Peli to take the lead on the ship repair in his absence. Had he even needed to come to Tatooine? If you could have done it on your own…

You sighed then, your expression shifting from guilt to something like annoyance. “Mando… Come on. Why would I help my captor fix something he has already promised he will use against me?” You reached down to the tied sleeves of your boilersuit then and began tugging the garment back up your torso and over your arms. “That’s why we’re here, right?” you continued, your voice picking up speed and intensity as you spoke. “Peli and I did a bunch of other work, but it was the carbonite unit you were after. Why would I make it easier for you to put me in stasis? I’ve seen what that thing can do to people with just…the smallest miscalculation. Why would I volunteer for that?”

If you are able to fix it…are you going to freeze me?

Are you going to try to run again?

Three days, you had been here. No restraints, no locked doors, just a few meters away from potential freedom. You hadn’t run. Instead, you had repaired the means of your continued captivity. Why?

“Then why help fix it at all?” Din asked incredulously. “Why not just let Peli – ”

“Because her life was in danger,” you cut in. You seemed almost offended at the suggestion that you ought to have done something different. “Carbonite technology is dangerous, and not just for the people imprisoned in it. I wasn’t going to let her die just for the chance of keeping myself out of stasis.”

Peli chose that moment to weigh in. “It’s true, Mando. It was almost ‘time’s up’ for old Peli – if your girl hadn’t caught a gas leak, I’d have blown myself and your ship sky high.”

“And…” you shrugged, less defensive now, “It was better than doing nothing at all. It’s been a while since I got the chance to get my hands on a pre-Empire vessel. It was…nice.”

Din frowned. He had underestimated you. Not just your technical capabilities, but your character. He hadn’t met many bounties who would sacrifice their own freedom for someone they hardly knew. Unbidden, the memory of what you had said when you learned about the threats to Grogu’s life echoed through his mind. How could I ever hurt him?

There was no way he was going to be able to sleep at night if he froze you. The guilt would eat him alive.

“Well.” He paused, considering his next words carefully. “You’ve done fine work. Both of you.”

Peli grinned toothily and offered Grogu a tiny high-five. “Damn right, we did!”

“Unfortunately, I’m not able to compensate you for your work,” he continued, addressing you directly. “However, I would be willing to consider allowing you to remain out of stasis for the remainder of this run. In exchange for some additional maintenance work on the Crest as we travel. As a thank you.”

All of the breath seemed to leave you at once – your shoulders sagged, your mouth dropped open, and you allowed yourself to drop back to lean against the sandstone wall of the hangar. “You’re serious?” you asked softly, bewildered.

Din nodded once. “You’ve demonstrated that you can be trusted without restraints. You’ve been kind to my foundling. And you’re a talented engineer.” He paused for a moment, then added, “You have to understand, I will need to turn you in once I’ve collected the other quarries. I accepted your bounty puck – my Guild agent is owed a return of the asset. I can’t go back on my word. It’s against the Guild code, and against mine. But…I see no reason for you to suffer in the meantime.”

You broke his gaze, staring down at your hands. After a few seconds of contemplation, you murmured, “I understand.” With a nod seemingly to yourself, you pushed away from the wall, closed the distance between you, and extended a hand to shake on it. “It’s a deal.”

Din accepted your hand, finding it to be small in comparison to his own, but your grip was strong, and he felt his lips curl into a small smile behind his helmet.

With an affable grin, Peli patted each of you on the back bracingly. “See, Mando? Everything works out!” she crowed.

And Din thought that perhaps she was right.

___

With the matter of payment already settled, it took only a handful of minutes for the Mandalorian to load his many sacks of supply purchases into the Razor Crest and begin his pre-flight checks. With Peli’s blessing, you took those sacred few minutes to duck into her ‘fresher and take a break-neck sonic shower, eager to get the sweat, engine grime, and Tatooine desert dust off your skin before you settled in for another indeterminate period of time in deep space.

As the sonic waves vibrated and lifted away specks of oil and dirt faster than your eyes could follow, you felt as though your thoughts were moving just as quickly. You had known the risks when you stepped in to assist with the carbonite freezer repair. You had fully anticipated that the moment Mando returned and confirmed that it was once again operational, his first action would be to seal you away in frigid, half-life stasis between two sheets of carbonite. Regardless, you had done what you needed to do to keep Peli safe and to keep the Razor Crest intact. You had never expected compensation for that choice.

To know that the bounty hunter recognized this, to know that he acknowledged not only your technical skills but your sacrifice, and saw fit to offer you what he could in exchange was both validating and deeply unsettling.

Resentment and bitterness still clung to your sentiments toward the Mandalorian. You could appreciate that he was just doing his job, that he had been given a task and he was executing on that task for payment, just like anyone else trying to make a living in the galaxy. He ensured you were well fed, he offered you medicine when you were injured, he left you in the care of a kind woman when he had to leave, and now, he was giving you the opportunity to remain both out of stasis and out of your restraints for the next several weeks while he finished his hunt. There was man of honor buried under all that stoicism and beskar. You couldn’t deny it.

But before he had come into your life, before he had stood across from you on the other side of your bar with your bounty puck glowing in the dim cantina lighting, you had finally gotten a taste of freedom. You had gotten to choose the clothes you wore, the food you ate, how long you slept. You had been paid a fair wage, and you had gotten to choose how you spent it. You had even started to make friends, which wasn’t something you had experienced since childhood. It was a life unlike any you had known before, and you had relished it.

Every time you caught yourself thinking somewhat fondly of the Mandalorian and the respectful, almost gentle way he treated you, you were immediately reminded that if it were not for him, that freedom would still be yours.

What he was offering you was far better than the carbonite alternative, and you would be a fool to turn it down. But it was not true freedom. It was temporary, false. You were grateful, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t leave a touch of sourness in your stomach.

Your mind was still cloudy when you emerged from the ‘fresher, your long hair clean and soft against your neck as you braided it back away from your face once more. You spotted Mando immediately, hovering near the ramp up into the Razor Crest, Grogu balanced contentedly on his hip. You smiled involuntarily. In spite of your complicated feelings toward his caretaker, you couldn’t seem to muster any negative sentiments toward the child. He was easily the best part of your current situation, with his toothy smiles and his sweet babbles and his giant, bug-like eyes. After the life you had lived, he brought a softness out in you that you hadn’t been certain you still possessed, and you adored him for it.

“Ah, there she is!” Peli called out, shading her eyes and spotting you in the shadow of the overhang.

Mando turned to face you, his impenetrable black visor reflecting a mirror image of the surrounding hangar. “Come,” he said, beckoning to you with orange-tipped fingers. “It’s time to leave.”

You nodded once and crossed quickly into the beaming sunlight.

Peli smiled at you, offering you a firm handshake. “Well, missy, not often do I get to work with someone like you around here,” she said brightly. “It was fun. Maybe we’ll get to do it again sometime.”

You swallowed hard and fought to muster up a smile in return. You wondered if that was just a platitude, something people said to one another when parting ways, or if she meant it. You weren’t sure which one you would prefer.  

“Yeah, maybe we will.” You hoped your voice didn’t sound as shaky to her as it did to you. The Guild is sending me back to Chardaan. We’ll never see each other again, you thought.

“And you take good care of the little guy, Mando, you hear?” The older woman stepped forward and offered Grogu an affectionate rub of one large ear. “See you later, bright eyes.”

Mando nodded in her direction. “Thank you again,” he said. With a gesture that told you to follow him, he strode up the ramp and disappeared into the cargo hold, you close on his heels.

As the gangplank retracted and the blast doors closed, the bounty hunter passed Grogu into your arms.

“I’m going to get us out of the atmosphere,” he rasped through his helmet modulator. “There’s fresh fruit in the chiller locker if you’re hungry.”

The child cooed at that, and you felt the corners of your mouth turn up in spite of yourself. “Sure, thanks,” you said. Mando quickly ascended the ladder up into the cockpit then, leaving you and his foundling to your own devices.

Grabbing a meiloorun from storage, you settled yourself on top of one of the anonymous gray cargo bins, Grogu watching your every move with interest as you peeled back the skin and exposed the sweet flesh inside. You took a bite as you heard the Razor Crest’s engines turn over, and you passed the fruit to the child as you felt the landing gear retract beneath you. He dug in with gusto, his ears wiggling in approval as juice dripped down his chin and onto his brown robes, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the deck above drew your gaze away from the spectacle, and a moment later, the Mandalorian dropped down the ladder into the cargo hold.

“We’ll get out of the system then jump to hyperspace,” he said somewhat absently as he examined a datapad that he had brought with him from the cockpit. He grabbed one of the several packs he had loaded onto the Crest from his supply run and began pulling various items out, appearing to record them on the datapad in some kind of inventory. He said nothing more, and it left you feeling a bit out of place just sitting and watching him while he worked.  

After what felt like several minutes of this, you cleared your throat. “So…what happens now?” you asked, your hands twisting hesitantly in your lap.

Mando did not look up at you, ostensibly fully absorbed in his task. “Now, I move on to the next bounty,” he said. “And you do what you did with Peli. Identify systems on the Razor Crest that need your attention and repair them accordingly.”

You frowned slightly at that. “I’m sure you know that some work I won’t be able to do while we’re in hyperspace. Some things will have to wait until we’ve landed somewhere.” You were already mentally running through the list of systems in need of repairs based on the diagnostics you and Peli had run before you left Tatooine. There were more powerlines to replace, the air recycler was well past due for a cleaning, not to mention you were certain that given enough time, you could get more out of the Razor Crest’s hyperdrive than it was currently giving you…

“I’m aware,” the bounty hunter agreed. “Those are things you can work on while I’m away on a hunt.”

“You want me to stay on the ship by myself while you hunt?” You did nothing to hide the discomfort in your voice. In spite of your complex emotions surrounding the Mandalorian, you felt as though you would be safer with him than you would be on your own. You didn’t know the first thing about bounty hunting, but surely it would be taking you to some…unsavory places? Did he really want you to stay behind?

That was finally enough to get him to look at you. Dropping the datapad into the supply bag, he turned in your direction, crossing his arms over his broad, armored chest. “Do you know how to handle a blaster?” he asked impatiently.

You shook your head. “No.”

“What about a vibroblade?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head again. “…no.”

“Then yes, I want you to stay on the ship while I hunt. It’s too dangerous to take someone with no combat training into the field. You’ll be safer here with the ground defense systems activated.” His tone carried a note of finality you knew better than to argue against. You supposed you could understand his stance, and though you didn’t relish the idea of being cooped up in the narrow walls of the Razor Crest for days on end, you knew yourself well enough to acknowledge that you didn’t have the skills you would need to be of any help against another bounty.

“And, if you’re up for it,” he added after a moment, “Grogu will stay here with you.”

You felt your eyebrows raise at that, but you didn’t protest. “Sure. I don’t mind keeping an eye on him,” you said. The little guy had a streak of mischief in him a mile wide, but he was also incredibly sweet, and he seemed fond of you. You knew that if he ever got out of hand, you could simply strap him to your body in the carrier you had fashioned for him, and he would be content.

Mando nodded at that. “Then it’s settled.” Turning back to his inventory task, he continued, “You’re welcome to any of the food or hygiene products we have on board. You don’t need to ask permission before you use something. The only thing off limits is that cabinet.” He pointed at the mysterious silver cabinet you had noticed days ago when you had been surveying the ship. A flickering control panel was mounted to the wall next it, which you knew meant it was locked. “Don’t attempt to open it,” he cautioned, his voice firm and dark. “If you do, I’ll know.”

Inexplicably, the harshness of the command sent a flash of heat through you, and you knew a blush had to be burning in your cheeks. “Understood,” you said, your throat suddenly dry. You looked away from him immediately, desperate to find somewhere else to rest your gaze.

As you did so, another thought occurred to you. “Um…one last thing?”

“Yes?” His reply was curt but not cold as he continued his work.

“Sleeping,” you said hesitantly. “Where should I sleep? If you have a few spare blankets, I can make do with the deck, it’s not a problem. I just don’t want to be somewhere where I’m going to get in your way.”

That seemed to give him pause, and he turned his head to you once more. After a brief silence, he answered, “There’s a bunk in the corner.” He said it as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, as though he was confused as to why this was even a question.

You fought not to roll your eyes at him as your blush burned hotter. “No, I know, it’s just that…that’s your bunk,” you said.

The Mandalorian appeared to consider that for a moment before shrugging dismissively. “I’m accustomed to going long periods of time without sleep. It won’t be difficult for us to take turns.”

“Are you sure? I really wouldn’t mind sleeping somewhere else,” you insisted.

Rather than replying, he simply stared at you. It was clear that he wasn’t understanding your hesitance, and you thought perhaps it was best to just drop it before he began to question it further.

“Got it,” you said eventually. “I’ll use the bunk when I need it.”

“Good.”

“So what’s the next stop?” you asked after a beat. Grogu had finished the meiloorun, and you took the sticky remnants from him and hopped down off of the storage bin to toss it in the refuse recycler. “Where’s the next quarry?”

“There’s a bail jumper whose last known location was on Ryloth. I wasn’t planning on doing that one next, but it’s so close, I don’t know if I will be able to justify a trip back to this sector. It’s just a short jump down the Corellian Run,” the bounty hunter explained.

You considered this information for a moment. You knew little of the planet Ryloth; it was mostly known for being the home planet of the Twi’leks and for its somewhat treacherous terrain, so you didn’t feel as though you knew any better what to expect when you landed than you had a minute ago.

Just as you were using the back of your sleeve to wipe the meiloorun juice from Grogu’s mouth, Mando seemed to finish his inventorying.

“We should be well out of Tatooine’s star system by now. I’ll get us into hyperspace,” he said.

“We’ll be here,” you said, gesturing at the grinning child now nibbling absently on the wrist of your boilersuit.

Mando paused for a moment then, one foot on the ladder, and appeared to study you both. He glanced from you, to Grogu, and then back to you, and that blush came roaring back into your cheeks as you swore you could feel his gaze settling on your body through his helmet.

You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of that notion. What the kriff was wrong with you?

However, the moment passed as quickly as it had come. The bounty hunter appeared to almost shake himself, and then without another word, he took the ladder rungs two at a time and disappeared.

[earlymorningfoxhunt]

MALEVOLENT 51 RELEASE YIPPEE!!!!!

our liveblogging below! (sorry its long im so in love with this episode)

the scariest intro!!!!!! the dubious transition between the company to the purpose GOOD GOD its a heavy gut punch.

LILLITH IS SO COOL HELLO BEAUTIFUL WOMAN

bro we could have gotten oscar lillith in the purpose, the emotional turmoil would have killed

YEEEEESSSSSSS arthur has officially called kayne daddy!!!

all gods are beyond gender, noted

she can't hear john!!!!! (prophecy w)

"not all things that are dead are gone, and not all things gone are dead." im sure that won't be important later

actively cheering for pestilence, any time rot is mentioned i point and :o

I was gonna say "wow I can't do this without you is a bit dramatic for someone he met 4 days ago" but then I remembered he knew oscar for 16 hours

ARTHUR LESTER KILL COUNT UPDATE!!!!!! YIPPEE (rip sir vale we never got to know you)

RAAAAA WE'RE ASSEMBLING A BODY!!! collect the gems bentley bear. more gems bear!

DAY OF WRATH MENTIONED

dude im so tired of supplying my own light

"you do that alot... scratch" uh huh "my mind aches with dark thoughts" oh ya mhm

I've never violently cheered for a mans loss of faith before but RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA GOOD FOR HIM

ooo trusting antoine tastes different in vanilla malevolent, like week to week i had time to hate him but with parts its like damn we met him yesterday. he's just a guy, a sniveling guy but just a guy

"Tender friend" AAAAAAAAAAAAA

WHATS ON THE SLAB

her murder monolog FUCKS

my favorite insignificant <3 <3

read that bitch!!!!! "I believe the part of you thats truthful is the part that cares" "it existed when all but the core fragments of you remained as scratch"

so she's pissed cause kayne killed her father but before they made a plan to end him and everything

the most reasonable arthur crash out

yorick its ok you don't have to talk but please be ok my boy I cant do this without you

"no where, m'lord" everything cutting out but the rain, uuuuug the depths of despair

"there is no way out of this... there's only pushing the ball forward for as far as we can. until we can't no more"

"we learn the lesson and start a fire" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

great thesis king!!!!!!

"in the face in my impending demise I will still fight to exist. because that is my purpose. and on a personal level fuck you" RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THERES SO MUCH HOPE IN MY BONES

ARTHUR LOOK UP I CAN SEE THE STARS THE PROPHECY!!!!!!!!!! THE PROPHECY IS REEEEEEEEEAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NIGHTMARE ROUND 2 BABY BRING IT ON RAAAAAAAAAAAAA my favorite fucking episode coming back but this time both side are more equipped to dig into each other conscious UUUUUUUUUU ITS SUCH A GOOD CLIFFHANGER

[codenameredkrystalmatrix]

⁘꩜⚓Hurricane (Neuvillette x Fem! Sailor Reader)⚓꩜⁘

synopsis:

With those ominous thunderclaps, you know your husband needs you.

word count:

1380

genres:

angst, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff

warnings:

Mentions of schizophrenia, cannibalism.

There were darkly elegant swirls in the clouds. Lightning danced through the air. The smell of ozone left notes of something that clung to your windpipe. This was not the typical ocean storm. Racing below deck, you checked to ensure the supplies were secured, and raced to the navigation cabin.

In your earlier sailing days, they'd been known as freak storms that strangely coincided with the more dramatic trials. No meteorologist could explain them, and they were eventually theorized to be a quirk of The Oratrice or something to do with the Primordial Sea. But time, and your secret marriage to a certain Iudex, had taught you better.

"Check the equipment and divert more power to the engines. We make a break for the port."

"Yes, Captain."

On land, all a storm was something of the outside. It could be avoided entirely, or admired from within well-enforced walls. On the seas, however, they swallowed one whole. The primeval roar of the waves was to be endured (and soothed the moment you had the chance).

A sailor's report- there were enough reserves for the return. You nodded distractedly when they complimented your judgement. Some would go as far as to say you challenged the seas themselves with the might of Fontainian technology. You knew better than to let that flattery get to your head.

After minutes that felt like hours of struggle, electric blue lamplight cut through fog and fear. Cheering, the crew guided the ship to Fontaine's southwestern inlet. Their work was near its end- but not yours. Pulling a greatcoat around your shoulders, you left your first mate to supervise things and headed to the hurricane's true eye.

Just wait a little longer for me.

The wind and rain battered you, making every step a battle to keep balance. The drops lashed against your face and left stinging pain in your eyes. Not that they could help the scenario- they couldn’t even make out the cobblestone past the grey all around. The shapes of the people and Melusines were only outlines and shadows caught in the haze. It was hard to even hear their shouts.

The city lamps (to your eyes now fuzzy blue orbs), and your experience served as guides. They led you to Quartier Nabonnais, past the now eerily glowing fountain. Racing through the passageway below a deceptively designed arch, you found a brief respite. It led to the outskirts of the city proper, and you headed through the muddy fields up the slopes to your home.

Though inside the moderate, but tastefully decorated villa, the thunderclaps were very much still audible. The lights were off, rendering the once-cozy home black and frigid. You flung off your uniform and headed across the hallway and up the stairs to the bedroom. Your heart ached at the sight.

He was crumpled on the ground, facing away from the doorway and tail wrapped around his body. Crossing the room, you reached your arms around his stomach and rested your forehead on his back.

He seized once, violently- not expecting you back so soon. Patrols around Fontaine could take weeks. He'd encumbered upon your life again. But in that moment, he had not the strength to act on the guilt.

The case had been that of a man in Poisson, struggling under poverty. The voices in his head had fed on his desperation, his isolation and his hunger. That ever-growling beast that made him tremble all over, that stole the time he had in flashes of unconsciousness. And, once back in waking moments, made him salivate after the warm, young, tender flesh of the children he once loved so.

And with the sentencing he handed down, it seemed he'd given them license to take his life too.

For the lives of the little ones lost, for the nightmares of the witnesses who'd heard the screams, for the sick dread that would eternally haunt the officers who'd been called to the scene, the judgement had to be severe. But what about him? He, who'd not had a clear thought for months and drifted half-aware of reality? He, for whom the iron stench and sizzling meat brought a sickening clarity. He, who'd been found sobbing, screaming, and clutching what little was left of his son's hand.

In the man's earlier pictures, the Iudex saw Vautrin's eyes- worn, yet determined. His children clung to him, sensing nothing but their father's devotion. None of them, not even this perpetrator, could have perceived what was to come. What was the use of his justice, if it could not have saved this family? All this power, and yet he could do nothing but condemn one already living a nightmare.

You'd been inching around, trying to reach his front. But with smooth, scaly hands, he gripped your arms.

“Do not look at me.”

You complied, returning to your position behind him.

He wished not to hide the fangs or the scales or the tail, but the tears. Tiny, ever-so tiny-pools sang of the distillation of that which he'd never seemed to master. Each pat onto the ground tolled a damning accusation for which he had no counter. The prosecution found him guilty of unquantifiable counts of failure to protect the innocent and an unpardonable lack of self-control. His sentence- to drown within his own mind, where images of the ones he'd left behind would dance in time to a throbbing heartbeat.

And yet, here you were- laying your head against the centre of his spine and leaving warmth to blossom. He knew you'd hear of the trial. And yet, as always, you'd trust that he'd made the best choice.

A lone dewdrop dissolved in love's and agony's deluge.

Teeth gritted, revealing his fangs. Lightning once more cracked and clawed through the clouds. Rain lashed against the windows and the winds gave agonizing howls. But he knew that, any longer, and the city would have to be evacuated. He could almost see them- human and Melusine alike clinging to anything they could reach. This had to end.

He began relaxing his posture. Your body was there, reassuring as always.

Focus on that, Neuvillette.

Her breathing is even- match her tempo.

They...are cool. Like the zephyrs of fall that comfort the workers, dance around the children and refresh all the people of Fontaine. All these souls still need me. They, too, trust my judgement.

This man is now a danger to Fontaine, and to himself. He was lost long before the case came to you. There are many more that can still be saved. Many others can find closure in the court over which you preside.

May the light of Justice cast burning upon the fog of sin, that her children may glory in her warmth.

With time, the frenetic drumbeats above softened to rumbles. He could at last, loosen his grip and turn to you. Gently, but still a little desperately, he nuzzled in under your jaw. His tail inched around your body and drew you closer. A huge improvement.

"May I, now?"

A low, choked assent. You lifted his head so he could look into your eyes.

Scale patterns had risen, transforming the texture of his skin. Their faint indigo was being lent a beautiful, though poignant shine from saline stars. And his eyes, though a beautiful shade of lavender, seemed darkened in grief.

He could not voice his thoughts, and he would not for a long time. But you did not ask it of him. Instead, you gave. You traced the bumps and ridges, warming them with your touch while you wiped away the tears.

Once you ceased, drawing back to smile at him, he stared in awe. The floods within his heart and the city's streets began to ebb. Your gentle, powerful hands had showed once again the road to peace, and to the strength he needed.

With hesitant, but nonetheless earnest adoration, he kissed those hands. They always accepted his offerings of affection- bloodied, raw and trembling as they were. He kissed them, while whispering your name as one would a prayer in their darkest hours. For somehow, you knew the spells to part the sea of tears, perform the tenderest of hydromancies, and through its reflection divine a dragon-man worthy of love.

⚓⁘꩜⁘Author's Notes⁘꩜⁘⚓

Dividers:

@firefly-graphics @div1nepetal

Kaomojis:

@junghwansy2k  @yvbiko @dientesdeporcelana @itmodelblog

Thank you for reading!

[jobskenyaplace]

TENDER FOR SUPPLY AND DELIVERY OF INSTRUMENTS, EQUIPMENT AND ACCESSORIES FOR MENENGAI STEAM GATHERING SYSTEM

GEOTHERMAL DEVELOPMENT COMPANY LIMITED TENDER DECEMBER 2024  TENDER NOTICE The Geothermal Development Company Limited (GDC) invites sealed tenders from eligible candidates for the following: TENDER NO. TENDER DESCRIPTION TARGET GROUP TENDER SECURITY AMOUNT CLOSING DATE GDC/DO/OT/025/2024:2025 Tender for Supply and Delivery of Left Hand Thread Drill Pipes and Accessories Open to All Ksh…

[mooonjin]

Hey, i see that your request are open, I could be wrong. Let me know if I am. I just wanted to tell you that I adore you writing.

Can I have a Wrecker X gn!reader on those trying times? I think it would be funny to see Wrecker TRYING to keep his relationship with his s/o a secret from his brothers. But it's Wrecker, they noticed right away.

Maybe because he suddenly doesn't have a problem going to the medic bay to treat his wounds. He starts to look for excuses to leave the ship or go alone to get the supplies. And the rest of the batch starts to get suspicious like...

Wrecker is trying to keep his armor clean now. HE looks more clean. Every time he goes to the medic bay he comes back with a stupid smile. They see him looking at the little plushies on the stores they pass by. He evens starts to ask Teach about flowers and wich ones are dangerous to humans (of course he gets bored midway).

The last straw is when one day they him trying to sneak back in the havoc with something behind his back. When they manage to get it from him they see its a packed lunch, it's so neat and sweet and they know Wrecker isn't the one who made it. So... was it?

(Sorry of its too much I got a little excited. It's my first time making a request and English is not my first language)

Stealth Wrecker, Remember?

Pairing: Wrecker x gn!reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, no y/n mentions, pretty much lovey dove y cutesy wrecker stuff ⁠— tell me if I've missed anything!

Clone Force 99 shared countless missions and adventures together, known for their high success rate but also reckless tactics. Each clone abiding with their own skills, making them unique.

Wrecker, the big guy. He's the boisterous and carefree member of the team, known for his extreme strength and eagerness for battle or mission. However, something had changed for him. Instead of sleeping, eating or chatting, he seemed oddly preoccupied.

Lately, he's been finding excuses to leave the shuttle alone to head to the medbay more frequently. 

"Wrecker, this is the 8th time you've had an 'injury' to deal with." Hunter's confused voice spoke. Wrecker once again blabbed an excuse for him to leave so abruptly.

"Yeah well- I get hurt a lot! Just visiting the place s'all." His excited tone of voice came through, doing his best to mask it with 'ows' or 'ouch'. You know, to fool his brothers.

Crosshair's eyebrow raised up, looking through his top eyelashes at his brother. Wrecker left hastily as if this visit to the medbay was an emergency. The group exchanged puzzled glances as they observed their brother's peculiar behavior.

Wrecker couldn't help but feel a strange flutter of anticipation in his chest as he happily skipped down the halls of the med wing. He had a secret, one that he had been keeping from the rest of the squad. He was head over heels and he couldn't wait to see you again. 

He was eager to steal a few precious moments with you, his special someone.

"Hey beautiful." Wrecker's voice was quick to fill the quiet space of the medbay, watching as you tidied equipment. He stared for a bit before walking over to peer over your shoulder. He loved watching you work. He loved watching you do anything, really.

"Got another 'injury' for me?" You chuckled, looking up at his towering figure. Wrecker gave a cheeky grin, his playful nature shining through.

"Oh absolutely." The two of you laughed and chatted, finding solace in each other's company amidst the quiet hum of medical equipment. 

Wrecker's gaze softened as he watched you talk about your day, captivated by your every word. You exchanged playful banter and shared tender moments, opening up to one another. He marveled at the shimmer in your eyes, even if it was just the reflection of the white medical lights.

He found himself wrapping his bulky arms around your waist, giving you a back hug as he gently rocked side to side whilst you fixed equipment. He followed you around like a puppy, craving attention.

He always made you smile, always made you laugh.

After a while, you had to go back to your shift to tend to other units of the GAR. As much as Wrecker despised leaving you, he'd make sure to come back again. 

Skipping back to the Marauder, he couldn't get rid of the giddy smile on his face.

"How's your injury?" Echo said, his scomp whirring under the haul of the Marauder.

Wrecker grinned, "Oh she- it! Went well." Uh oh, a slip up. Echo was quick to sus out Wrecker's mistake, brushing it off since it could really just be a mistake. It's Wrecker after all.

-

The first sign that something was amiss was Wrecker's sudden interest in keeping his armour clean. Gone were the smudges of dirt and battle scars that were once his signature. Now, he regularly wiped down his armor, striving to maintain a pristine appearance after every mission. 

His brothers couldn't help but raise their eyebrows at this newfound obsession with cleanliness.

His bunk, full of food scraps and his blacks hung up on the drying rack above his sheets were no longer. The burn marks and dents, fixed in a jiffy. He even repainted the prominent red stripes across his armour, the CF99 skull, and his artistic helmet.

With a grin, he proudly scrubbed down the filth that once covered his armour. 

Once again, Wrecker pops in to visit the medbay with a small smile on his face. Then he would return to the barracks with a foolish grin. Ear to ear smile with teeth which didn't go unnoticed by his sharp-eyed brother, Crosshair - as well as the others. 

Normally Wrecker would brush off minor injuries, refusing treatment since 'he was going to get hurt again anyway'. Now he was willingly seeking medical attention without complaint only because he got to see your beautiful face.

It was clear that something was lingering in the air and his brothers were determined to find out what.

-

"Tech, just wondering somethin'." Wrecker asked his intelligent brother.

"What is it?"

Wrecker cleared his throat, trying to sound nonchalant, "You know flowers, right? What one of those are dangerous or poisonous to people? What's the best one to keep as a house... flower?" He tried his best to cover up his eagerness about flowers.

"Well there are the simple ones. Roses, for instance, are generally safe. Their beauty lies in their petals, and they pose no direct threat. Sunflowers, with their large, cheerful heads, are harmless as well. Delicate daisies, tulips..." 

Tech's voice faded out. Wrecker daydreamed, getting bored about his brothers rant. He only considered roses since those reminded them of you. He loved your rosy blush and the pink stud earrings you wore.

He imagined how your reaction to a gift of flowers would be or your reaction a small plushie he saw in the markets on a supply run. A small blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"...but it's crucial to approach unfamiliar flowers with caution, as many contain varying levels of toxicity." Tech finished his small explanation on flowers, finding Wrecker not paying an ounce of attention. He also brushed this off, used to the boredom. But he didn't brush off the suspicion of the sudden interest in flowers.

Wrecker wouldn't even consider smelling a flower in the first place.

Because it was only Tech and himself in the barracks - everyone else went on the supply run - he decided to give you another visit. Whilst Tech was distracted, the big guy snuck off to the medical wing in hopes to see your angel face once again.

Wrecker was off to the medical wing, delighted to see you. The rest of the Batch returned with food, new blacks, and cleaning equipment. Time to address the elephant that wasn't in the room anymore.

"Tech, where's Wrecker?" Echo asked his brother, who was slouched over his desk, tinkering.

He looked up, "Huh? Oh he was just-" Tech paused as he looked around, no Wrecker in sight, "-here."

"He keeps disappearing." Hunter shook his head, placing the new supplies on the couch.

-

As days turned into weeks, the clues continued to pile up. Wrecker's disappearance slowly began to add up, only disappearing when it was your shift in the medical wing and when it wasn't, it would be during the Batches lunch break.

The final straw came one day when Wrecker tried to sneak back into the barracks with something hidden behind his back. The rest of the team quickly cornered him, demanding to know what he was hiding. 

With a sheepish smile, Wrecker reluctantly revealed a neatly packed lunch.

The Batch exchanged stunned looks. It was a small, pale box full of food you wouldn't find in the mess hall. The food was neatly stacked and separated into the compartments.

Wrecker was known for his appetite and love for all things hearty and messy. There was no way he had made such a thoughtful and delicate meal. Crosshair was quick to reach into the box, grabbing a small note which Wrecker attempted to retrieve.

'hey wrecker! have a lovely day biggie, enjoy the food my foodie xx'

Read the note. The realization hit them like a blaster bolt—someone else had prepared that lunch for him. The question remained: who?

Unable to contain their curiosity any longer, the batch confronted Wrecker about this mystery.

Wrecker hesitated for a moment before finally admitting the truth. He had been seeing someone, someone special who had captured his heart. You. The angel who swept him off his feet.

The news was met with a mixture of surprise, amusement, and relief. Their suspicions had been confirmed, "I knew it!" Hunter said.

"No, you didn't." Crosshair put a toothpick into his mouth.

They felt genuinely happy for their brother. Wrecker's infectious grin spread across his face, relieved none of them freaked. He was still able to see you, maybe even come introduce his brothers to you.

With the truth out in the open, the Batch embraced Wrecker's special someone with open arms. They teased him mercilessly, each offering their own unique brand of humor and advice. Wrecker beamed from ear to ear, grateful for the support.

As time passed, you would eventually become an important part of the batches lives. The clone siblings grew to appreciate the joy and warmth that you brought to their tight-knit family. 

You boasted about bagging such a hearty guy like Wrecker.

After all, what's there not to brag about?

-

Post Notes: WOW ALsMOT FINISheD WITH MEASteRlisT!! i hope you liked this fic :3

~ ~ ~

@elsastoes @nekotaetae @lokigirlszendaya @imalovernotahater @backyard-bear @namesmox @jiabae

my taglist form!

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

Beside the Seaside: Ch 8

previous chapter

read on ao3

Chapter 8

Claire reached out to feel the girl’s forehead, and though Jamie had already told her Faith was running a fever, she was alarmed by just how warm she felt. She had a thermometer in her bag that she would use to get an accurate reading, but no wonder Jamie was distressed.

Faith suddenly shivered with her whole body. “Oh, darling girl…” Claire breathed out. “How long has she felt ill?” She directed this question to Jamie.

“Just since this morning. I’ve kept her back here all day.” He gestured to indicate the space of rooms that belonged just to them, their home within the inn. “She didnae even fight me on it, that’s how I kent she must be feeling bad.”

She had Jamie give her a rundown of Faith’s symptoms and how much she’d had to eat and drink while beckoning Jamie to follow her while she went to put the tea kettle on in his tiny kitchen.

“I’ve been running back and forth all day to check on her, but…” She caught the edge of regret in his voice, the panic.

“Hey.” Claire gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “You did just fine, Jamie.” Nothing in life had made her feel more vulnerable and ill-equipped for life than being a parent, so she knew what might’ve been going through Jamie’s head just then, but practicing medicine… that was something Claire knew how to do, something she was quite useful at. And she wouldn’t leave him alone in this.

“Maybe in the morning, we can see if Mrs. Fitz can make her some soup. Or at the very least, run out for the supplies for us.”

“Oh… aye, that’s a good idea. I can make a list for her.”

She felt her heart squeeze at the still-frazzled look of him, but he latched onto the task for all that it simply gave him something to do, to feel useful in his own right.

“Steady on, soldier. We’ll get through this.”

----------

“Ms. Claire?”

“Hi, darling girl.” Claire brushed the girl’s hair from her forehead and felt a rush of tenderness and sympathy as Faith leaned into the touch.

“I dinnae feel good.”

“I heard. I just want to take your temperature before I give you some tea. Can you keep this under your tongue? There you go.”

Faith was docile as lamb, doing whatever Claire asked of her, though Claire knew a good part of that was due to how poorly she was feeling. When a few minutes had passed, Claire took the thermometer and read the results, stepping away to speak quietly with Jamie.

“Her fever is very high. I’d like to give her a bath in tepid water and see if that helps bring her temperature down.”

“Aye. Of course. I should ha’ thought…”

“None of that now, Jamie Fraser,” she chided softly. “It won’t help Faith any to beat yourself up over every little thing.”

“I ken, it’s only… I’ve never seen her this sick before.” He swallowed roughly, his gaze shifting past Claire to the little girl behind her. “But I’ve also… I’ve missed most o’ her life up until this year. So maybe it’s no’ just that she’s that sick, but that I… I dinna ken how to care for her.”

Claire floundered a bit, at a loss for what to say to such disarming honesty. She’d had a front row seat these past few weeks to the confident and wholehearted way that Jamie loved his child. She knew, of course, that he’d lost several years with her because of the war, but seeing the two of them together, one would never be able to tell.

“It’s not just you.” She reached out and patted his arm, trying to put as much comfort and confidence into that one little touch. “It’s… Well, it’s bloody well terrifying being a parent, isn’t it?” That got the hint of a smile out of him, and she felt a small thrill over the victory. “All you want is to keep them safe, but some things are always out of our hands — they get sick, or they run off… Of course you’re scared. I’d be more worried if you weren’t, if I’m being honest.”

Jamie nodded, and stood a little taller. “Alright… Aye, a bath. Come wi’ me.”

Faith didn’t particularly want a bath, and Claire couldn’t blame her, but her medical kit hadn’t exactly been primed for dealing with such an illness — she felt a slight, sudden pang of loss for the small garden of medicinal herbs she’d left behind in Oxfordshire, and pushed all thoughts of that away. She would have to make do with what was on hand, and kept a running list of what she would send Mrs. Fitz out for in the morning. But there was still the long night ahead of them if Claire couldn’t at least make Faith comfortable enough for the girl to get some much-needed sleep. She didn’t want to consider what that would do to Jamie, given the state he was already in.

After Faith’s bath, Claire had Jamie find the lightest nightgown for her and stripped the girl’s bed of the heavier layers of blankets.

“Ye should try and get some rest, a leannan,” Jamie was murmuring to her, his head bent low over the girl’s, when Claire reentered the room.

Faith shifted onto her side, towards the edge of the bed, as if she might’ve been drawing closer to Jamie, only to promptly vomit over the side of the bed, right at his feet.

Jamie’s panicked eyes sought out hers, and, Christ, it was going to be a long night.

----------

“Ye should get some rest.”

Claire shot him a sideways glance. “I could say the very same to you.” She shifted in her chair, uncrossing her legs and recrossing them the other way. “No, I’ll be alright. I don’t want to go all the way back up to my room, in case either of you need anything.” She bumped his elbow with her own, wanting to ease the lines of worry on his face. “Shouldn’t have put me all the way on the third floor after all.”

His sharp exhale of breath was as close to a laugh as she could get from him. It was enough. “Ye can stay in my room.”

There wasn’t even a hint of seduction in his tone, and yet his words, in his quiet, exhaustion-worn voice, made her stomach flip at the possibility of his suggestion. His eyes widened just slightly. “On yer own. I wasnae—”

“I know what you meant. And thank you, but I’m alright. You should go, though.”

He settled back into his own chair, his gaze returning to his daughter, who was sleeping what appeared to be a restless sleep. “No. I’ll stay.”

   ----------

In the morning, the doctor came.

Faith’s sleep had been fitful during the night, disrupted by her cough or upset stomach or the way the fever made her body ache and rattle. And the fever never waned.

Claire had sat down on the sofa — the one where she had sat with Jamie and told him about Frank — at some point during the night and managed to catch an hour or two of unintentional sleep before the sound of Jamie helping Faith to the bathroom woke her again. Jamie, to her knowledge, hadn’t had even a wink of sleep.

Dr. Fentiman’s visit was short, but in that time, Claire formed an opinion of him that was not entirely flattering. She’d known plenty of doctors like him, of course, who weren’t bad at their jobs but still managed to make a fool of themselves with their arrogance. In short, he treated Claire as he would any concerned mother instead of the trained nurse she’d introduced herself as, and still managed to arrive at his own conclusion that aligned with Claire’s suspicion — Faith likely had the flu.

The notion of which had Claire’s thoughts turning towards her own child. She hadn’t seen any signs of illness in him, but there was still a chance he had been exposed before Faith started showing symptoms. And if he hadn’t been exposed, she didn’t want to do so now by going to him.

“I’ve asked Mrs. Fitz to look in on the lad, make sure he’s fed and see to it if he needs anything else. She’ll come find ye if he starts feeling unwell.”

She startled abruptly at Jamie’s words, turning to find him in the doorway after seeing Dr. Fentiman out. “How on earth did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Know exactly what I was thinking.”

He smiled slightly, looked like he was about to speak and then hesitated. “Ye had the look of a concerned parent is all.”

“And how are you holding up with all of this?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I dinna ken. Ask me again tomorrow?”

“I can do that. Jamie? It’s going to be alright.”

He made a sound of acknowledgement that wasn’t at all convincing.

“Mrs. Fitz has our list, then? She’ll be able to run into town for us?”

“Aye, she will. And Hugh has said he’ll take care of the room cleaning and the laundry for today, so I’ll just need to handle any check-ins and check-outs. Front desk duties, ken.” He said this with a sigh, which spoke more to his physical exhaustion than anything else. Hugh’s help would be invaluable today, as Jamie looked nearly dead on his feet, but it would still be a rough day for him.

----------

Faith was able to keep down some porridge in the late morning. Her temperature dipped to a low-grade fever, and though Claire couldn’t convince Jamie to get some rest himself, she did watch as he crawled into Faith’s too-small bed with her, and read Peter Pan aloud. When Faith drifted off, and then Jamie after her, curled protectively around the girl, Claire left them to their sleep.

Jamie inevitably emerged, splashed cold water on his face in the bathroom, and went to monitor the front desk. Faith didn’t sleep nearly as long as Claire would’ve hoped, and when she woke, it was because her fever had spiked again and she was feeling miserable once more. The morning bled into afternoon as Claire tended to Faith, keeping her comfortable and trying to coax the girl to drink enough liquids, and did her best to keep Jamie from wasting away — he was so focused on Faith that she worried he would forget to care for himself too.

She convinced him to sit and eat lunch with her in his kitchen, Mrs. Fitz having brought over soup for Faith and food from the lunch menu for the two of them.

“Will she be alright, Claire? Truly?” He spoke low and didn’t look up from his plate to see how she took the question, so Claire had a moment for the unexpected emotional blow to land before she could answer. She thought suddenly of a nurse she’d worked with during the war, whose sister’s children had all come down with the flu one winter… the youngest, a little boy, had died.

That won’t be Faith, the thought came, stubborn and insistent.

She put her hand on his arm, and only then did his gaze meet hers, bracing for the worst. “She will, Jamie. She’ll be alright, you have to believe it.” His eyes stayed on hers for a beat longer before he nodded slightly and looked down at his food again.

“Has she ever had the flu before?”

“I dinna ken. She was sick a few times as a bairn, and it always made me fearful. Faith was born early… so small. Did I ever tell ye that?”

Claire shook her head. “Only that your— that her mother died during the birth.”

They’d never really talked of Jamie’s wife, but Claire had a sudden, sharp flair of curiosity for the woman. Wanted to know and didn’t want to know, really, but it seemed as though Jamie needed to speak of it.

“She—” He broke off and seemed at a loss for words, and she wondered, knowing Jamie, if he’d ever told the story before. “It’s a miracle I even have Faith. Kirstin and I were young, hadn’t been married even a year before Faith was born. I didnae ken what to expect, but I… I wanted to be a father.”

That tender admission wasn’t a shock to Claire; she’d seen him with Faith, after all.

“And then I was a father before I was ready — or as ready as ye can be for such things. Kirstin started bleeding, and I rushed her to the hospital, but it didn’t—” He swallowed thickly and didn’t speak for a moment. “Next thing I knew, they were telling me my wife was already gone and I had a wee lass but that she was verra small and weak, and would I like to name her so she could be baptized, just in case?”

“Oh, Jamie…”

“We hadn’t even thought of names. That’s how early she was.”

“So you named her, then? All on your own.”

“Aye.” Jamie looked down at his hands, his gaze turning contemplative. “Faith, because it was what we needed the most of at that moment, she and I. And… I gave her one of my own middle names for hers as well because I wasnae sure I’d ever be able to give her anything else as her father, if she didn’t live long.”

“One of your middle names?”

Jamie only smiled briefly at that and didn’t elaborate, though his smile turned a bit sad before he spoke again. “And Margaret, because it’s a family name on both her mother’s side and mine, and it means pearl. The first time I saw her, when I couldn’t even hold her yet, her skin looked so delicate, like light on a pearl. And Ellen for my mother. She’s… verra stubborn, my mother.” He smiled again at that, fondly this time. “I thought Faith could use some of that. O’ course that has backfired on me, for Faith is still the most stubborn wee thing.”

“What’s her name in its entirety?” Claire asked — for he never said which of his — apparently multiple — middle names he’d given her.

“Faith Alexandra Margaret Ellen Fraser.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“Aye. It’s served her well, I think. She came home from the hospital, after all.”

Claire squeezed his hand. “She’s a strong girl,” she reminded him. “That’s the Fraser in her.” Under the table, her foot tapped against Jamie’s, and he swallowed thickly, nodding.

“I hope it’s enough.”

She understood better then, why he’d been so worried — even as Fergus grew, she still saw the wild boy of seven she’d met in a military camp every time she looked at him. But when Jamie looked at Faith, he still saw the tiny baby girl fighting for her life.

  ----------  

“Ms. Claire?”

“Yes, darling?”

Faith didn’t speak any further, simply caught a fistful of Claire’s shirt in her hand and held on. Claire got the hint, and knelt beside the bed, brushing the damp hair away from the girl’s face. “What is it, darling?” she tried again.

“My da calls me that,” Faith murmured, her eyes drifting shut, though Claire knew she wasn’t likely to fall asleep just then.

“Does he?” She was a bit surprised by that, having never heard it from Jamie at least — and caught herself before she said it outloud. She wasn’t privy to their day-to-day lives, only what she saw from the other side of the front desk.

“A leannan means ‘my darling’. It’s Gaelic.”

“Oh,” Claire smiled brightly. “Yes, I’ve heard him call you that many times.” In a matter of seconds, she had somehow become entangled there, with Faith shifting her head to rest on Claire’s arm, a warm and heavy anchor to the girl’s small bed. It was late in the afternoon, and Jamie hadn’t been able to avoid the responsibilities of the inn with the arrival of new guests, so it was just the two of them for the moment.

“Would you tell me a story? A fairy story?”

“A fairy story?” Claire echoed, smiling slightly in her confusion. “Oh, because this is Fairy Hill, is that it?”

“I had a dream once that I flew with a fairy up to her house in the trees. Can you fly, Ms. Claire?”

“Can I—? Faith, I’m not a fairy, silly girl. I’m plain Claire Beauchamp.” But even as she said the words, the memory of a conversation from weeks ago came flitting back through her mind; “Faith has a… a wee fairy, did I hear that right?” Jamie laughed abruptly, and she waited to be let in on the joke. “Aye,” he said at last, shaking his head a little. “Aye, she does. And she adores her, ken, to the point where I think I’m starting to feel a wee bit jealous.”

“Can I go with you?” Faith went on, as if she hadn’t heard Claire. “Only, I think we’d have to bring my da, too. I cannae go without him. Told me once… I couldnae go alone.”

I’m the wee fairy, she thought, feeling something soften in her chest. Faith’s fevered gaze found Claire’s eyes, and she placed the tender skin of her wrist to the girl’s forehead. Would that fever never break? Claire swallowed roughly and moved to extricate herself so she could grab the thermometer, but Faith’s hold on her tightened.

“No. Stay,” the girl pleaded.

“I’m just going to—”

A coughing fit overtook Faith before Claire could make any progress. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. I mean— nevermind what I mean, actually. Here, darling, drink some more tea.”

With that, she gave up trying to retrieve the thermometer. What would it tell her in that moment besides what she already knew? Faith wasn’t getting any better. Instead, she slid her arms under the girl’s slight form and lifted her into her arms, settling back into the bed with her back against the headboard and Faith in her lap. “How’s this? Are you alright?”

Faith simply turned her face into Claire’s chest and relaxed into her. Her whole body was a furnace in Claire’s arms, and for the first time since Jamie had come to fetch her, Claire felt a sense of panic seeping in. What would she do if Faith’s fever spiked? If it dragged on for more days? This precious little girl who had wormed her way into Claire’s heart and hadn’t let Fergus’s guarded walls be any sort of deterrent in making friends with him… Claire had the image in her mind now, too, of a younger Jamie thrust into fatherhood, so terribly alone as he picked out the name he thought his little girl needed. Jamie would never forgive Claire if she— No. She couldn’t let that happen; she’d never forgive herself either, if she did.

“Ms. Claire?”

“I’m here,” she murmured, her voice tight, and rocked slightly with the girl. “You wanted a… a fairy story, but I don’t know any. I’m quite terrible at telling stories, anyway — you can ask Fergus.” Claire brushed the wayward strands of Faith’s hair away from her face. “But how about… a song?”

Faith nodded against her.

“Right…” Claire breathed out, wondering why that idea had seemed less daunting in the moment than a story; Fergus never asked for songs, either. Maybe he would have if he’d been allowed a normal childhood. “My mother used to sing this one to me. Maybe you know it too. It goes:

“Oh! I do like to be beside the seaside!

I do like to be beside the sea!

Oh I do like to stroll along the Prom, Prom, Prom!

Where the brass bands play, “Tiddely-om-pom-pom!”

So just let me be beside the seaside!

I'll be beside myself with glee

and there's lots of girls beside,

I should like to be beside, beside the seaside,

beside the sea!”

She swayed with Faith in her arms as she sung, her voice barely above a whisper, and as the girl melted into her, she felt her throat tighten. Faith let out a raspy sigh, and it was all Claire could manage not to burst into tears. “I do like to be beside the sea… with you.”

“Ma?”

Claire’s heart leapt to her throat and looked down to catch Faith’s fevered gaze.

“Are you… my ma?”

“Yes, darling,” she agreed — for what else could she say in that moment? — and smoothed a hand over Faith’s brow. “How are you feeling?”

“M’tired.”

“You need your rest, so you can feel better.”

“Then we can… go to the beach?”

A tear spilled down Claire’s cheek, dropping into Faith’s hair. “Yes,” Claire whispered tightly.

“Need sun lotion…” Faith murmured, so seriously that Claire couldn’t help but laugh, though the sound came out wet and startled.

“Yes,” she pressed a kiss to the crown of Faith’s head. “We have to protect you from sunburn, dear one.”

----------

She managed, somehow, to put a tight lid on her fear for Faith by the time Jamie had been able to step away from the front desk for the day. Another night of facing the unknown with Faith’s illness stretched before them. It felt at least that they were in this together; Jamie trusted her and followed her lead, but he’d also listened whenever she explained the reasons behind her care of Faith — brewing willow bark tea to help with pain and fevers, or which foods would be easy on Faith’s stomach, which would help her replenish the fluids lost — and began to put those things into practice.

Mrs. Fitz also brought them supper, knocking on the door that led out to the inn.

“Claire?”

She looked up from washing the ceramic tea cups Faith had used that day to see Jamie standing by the cracked-open doorway.

“Fergus wants to say goodnight to ye.”

She busily dried her hands and went at once. She’d caught a glimpse of him earlier in the day, curled up in the study with a book, and that had been enough to assure her he was fine and not falling ill without anyone’s notice — and she knew Mrs. Fitz, grandmother extraordinaire, would keep him in her care — but she had still felt her son’s absence all through the day, a physical ache blooming in her chest every time her thoughts tugged in his direction.

He was waiting on the other side of the front desk with Mrs. Fitz, and she squeezed the door handle to keep from running over to him and hauling him into a hug. “Salut mon chéri,” she murmured, and felt her insides turn to mush with his smile. Oh, she’d missed him, and she told him as much. He acted offended when she asked him if he was minding Mrs. Fitz, and promised he hadn’t been up to any mischief.

“I read and I practiced chess today, Maman, that is it. Oh, I did go for a walk, but Mrs. Fitz made me promise to stay in sight of the inn.” He said this last part as if it was a great trial to be looked after, and as if only weeks ago, he hadn’t disappeared for several hours.

“Well, thank you for appeasing her, darling,” she muttered wryly, and Fergus beamed at her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you today.”

“Is Faith going to be alright?”

Claire felt her breath snag in her throat. “She’s pretty sick, but we’re taking good care of her.”

Fergus nodded solemnly at this. “You will make her feel better, Maman,” he said, as if there wasn’t any doubt. “Tell her,” he then said, in slow, halting English, “I hope she feels better soon.”

Tears spilled silently down her cheeks, but she smiled through it and nodded to him. “I will tell her you said that,” she agreed, also switching to English, and didn’t miss the way Mrs. Fitz was surreptitiously reaching for her handkerchief to dab her eyes.

“Don’t stay up too late, and make sure you have a bath tonight.” She couldn’t help the fussing — the only thing she felt like she could do for him at the moment. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Maman.”

She blew him kisses through the doorway and watched as Mrs. Fitz brought him into the dining room, where he would undoubtedly get his fill to eat and likely extra servings of dessert too. He was alright — and would be alright; she didn’t need to worry over him. And he’d intentionally spoken in English for the first time in months, with the promise of his message to Faith that the days of a friendship through a language barrier would be behind them once she was well — and she would be well, there was no other choice. Claire’s vision misted over, and she pushed away from the door to share that message with Faith.

----------

Late in the night, Faith’s fever finally broke. The girl had roused from sleep to use the toilet and seemed rather more alert than Claire had seen her in days. She darted out a hand to feel the girl’s forehead, bracing for the burn of her skin that felt so familiar by now, and instead felt only an ordinary, unalarming warmth.

“How do you feel?”

Faith sighed a bit impatiently. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Of course,” she said quickly, breathlessly, holding back a laugh, “I’m so sorry, darling. Go on.”

Once the bathroom door had snicked shut, she looked at Jamie, and the laughter slipped free from both of them — delirious, sleep-deprived, relief-infused laughter that almost had Claire falling out of her chair and into Jamie. His arms came out to steady her, and held on, even as the laughter died down. She didn’t pull away.

When Faith returned, she crawled back in bed and let Claire take her temperature, just to confirm their hope. Claire saw the level holding firmly at 97.8 ℉ and felt positively giddy from it, but it was nothing compared to the visible joy on Jamie Fraser’s face, as he tucked his daughter back into bed, kissed her little face, and murmured a prayer there against her cheek. “Get some sleep, a leannan, so ye can feel even better in the morning.”

  ----------

Claire woke in an unfamiliar room with no memory of falling asleep in the bed she was currently sprawled in. Where she had fallen asleep was in the uncomfortable chair at Faith’s bedside, out of necessity. She curled onto her side and turned her face into the pillow with a sigh. She hadn’t the slightest clue what time it was, foggy and disoriented from how little she’d slept the last two days, but as she breathed in deep, the sudden knowing that this was Jamie’s bed — it smelled like him — triggered the hazy recollection of being carried by sturdy arms, and leaning into the warm wall of the man, smelling just the same as the bed linens.

She blinked slowly against the bright sunlight. Jamie had carried her to bed. She had slept still dressed in her blouse and skirt, but she caught sight of her shoes placed neatly on the floor by the foot of the bed. An image popped into her head, unbidden, of Jamie carefully removing her shoes before tucking her in.

Jamie, who had been out of his mind with worry for his daughter the last few days — the kind of fatherly love that still poked at a raw wound in Claire just to see it.

Jamie, who still had the presence of mind to care for her in the midst of that.

Jamie, who made her heart simply ache sometimes.

Claire threw the covers off and sat up, her gaze sweeping over the sparse but tidy room. The house — the inn — was quiet, and she thought that to be a good sign. No doubt Jamie had kept his vigil over Faith even after her fever had broke during the night, and if she’d taken a turn for the worse, Jamie would’ve come to wake Claire.

She still felt the tug to go to them and see for herself that all was well, so she slipped on her shoes and visited the washroom to relieve herself and splash cold water on her face.

Faith was still sleeping soundly. Next to her bed, Jamie had somehow managed to fall asleep in the chair not made to comfortably accommodate his large form. Claire doubted it was at all a restful sleep that he had found.

She tiptoed into the room and sidled up to Faith’s bed, careful not to disturb either Fraser, and laid a gentle hand on Faith’s forehead. The girl was warm from sleep but not alarmingly so. Relief bloomed anew in Claire’s chest. She eased away and then froze when she caught Jamie’s gaze. He was still wound tight with concern, and she wanted to reach out and smooth the worried crease from his brow.

“She’s alright,” she whispered and then nodded her head towards the door. He followed her quietly out of the room. They lingered in the doorway, each leaning on a side of the frame, and Claire felt almost giddy with relief now. “We’ll keep an eye on her, she might spike another fever, but I think she’s through the worst of it. And it’s good that she’s resting now. Her body needs it.”

“Claire…” His voice broke on her name and she felt her whole body orient towards the sound. She folded her arms tight across her chest, but wanted very much to reach for him. “I cannae— I cannae thank you enough.”

“You don’t need to thank me for anything. It’s—” She stopped herself from saying it was her job, because that wasn’t quite true. But Jamie didn’t need any clarification to understand, it seemed.

“Well, maybe no’, but I am grateful to ye then. I’m grateful Faith had such a skilled healer at her bedside.”

Claire felt a slight thrill at that word — healer — and smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. “I meant to tell you… when Mrs. Fitz first arrived and I extended our stay here — I want to start working as a nurse again. I’ll need a way to support Fergus and myself, but I—I don’t see why I couldn’t do that here rather than back in England. I thought I might use these next few weeks to try and secure work here, and then a more permanent place to live if that—”

She stopped abruptly when Jamie’s warm, calloused hands gently framed her face, his whole body suddenly crowding into her space. Claire had just a moment of recognition for what was about to happen. Her breath hitched in anticipation, and then Jamie’s lips met her own.

[guerrerense]

An oasis on a very long journey por Kevin Madore Por Flickr: Baldwin beauties Eureka & Palisade #4 "Eureka" and Carson & Tahoe Lumber & Fluming Co. #1 "Glenbrook" pull up to the standpipe at Sublette, NM (MP 306.6) and a welcome water (and wood) stop on the long journey from Antonito to Osier, CO. This image was captured during the August, 2021 "Victorian Iron Horse Round-Up" event, which featured 5 narrow gauge steam locomotives, all of which were built before 1900. Of the "featured five" the logistics of operating these two locomotives were perhaps the most challenging for the planners of this event. As saturated, wood-burners, these locomotives go through their water and fuel supplies very quickly. Back in the day, wood and water stops on their home lines would have been relatively frequent. This ex-D&RGW line had many of the fuel and water stops eliminated in its later years, because the engines were much larger, they were burning coal, and were equipped with superheaters, which optimize the use of water. Consequently, the planners of this event had to create additional fuel and water stations by positioning cars loaded with water and wood at frequent intervals along the line. Although water has always been available here, the railroad did position a couple of D&RGW gondolas loaded with wood about 50 yards east of this position. When the train pulled forward to the water plug seen here, the crews had already "wooded-up" both tenders in preparation for the next leg of the trip.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Energy auctions in Brazil could attract up to R$57bn in 2025

Forecast includes investments in power generation and transmission, but experts warn of risks due to complexity and tight timelines

Brazil’s planned electricity auctions in 2025 could drive between R$47 billion and R$57 billion in investments, according to a study by the Energy Research Company (EPE), an agency linked to the Ministry of Mines and Energy (MME), commissioned by Valor. The estimate includes R$45 billion to R$50 billion in generation projects and R$7.6 billion in transmission infrastructure.

Major energy companies are already mobilizing to secure their place in the upcoming tenders. Confirmed participants include Eletrobras, Eneva, Petrobras, Âmbar (part of the J&F group), CPFL, CTG, Spic, Auren, Copel, among others.

Equipment manufacturers, essential to delivering the projects, are racing against time. Companies such as WEG, Voith, GE, and Hitachi are preparing for a sharp increase in demand for turbines, transformers, control systems, and storage equipment.

The EPE study analyzed the year’s main auctions: the energy security auction (known as the Capacity Reserve Auction or LRCAP); the energy storage auction; the transmission auction; the A-5 auction (for projects that begin supplying energy in five years); and the supply auction for still-isolated areas not connected to the National Interconnected System (SIN).

Continue reading.

[usafphantom2]

SAC Crew Dogs: The Elephant Walk, The Wing Commander, and the Boom

T Campbell

@tcamp202

·

4h

… as the crew pulled up to the Alert shack, they could see the Wing Commander’s Chrysler Reliant K-Car parked right at the main entrance to the shack. The Air Force blue car was still smoking a bit, and most of the paint had been burned away… somebody was gonna get a chuck taken, that much was sure…

This is the retelling of a story I heard as an A1C (Airmen First Class) while pulling SAC Alert at Loring AFB when I was a Boom Operator in the KC-135 A model. It was probably embellished when it was told, and I might embellish it even more… cause you know, that’s how Alert Stories go. I do hope that I do it justice in my retelling.

In order to understand the humor in this small fairy tale, I first need to explain a couple of technical details about KC-135 operations. It’s a lot of background to tell a silly old story, but please bear with me… the story is funny (or at least I think it is.)

Engine Start: The KC-135A was equipped with the Pratt and Whitney JP-57-P/F-43W, good solid engines, but they required a lot of tender loving care, and if they didn’t get it, they let you know in a hurry. There were a few different ways to start the engines.

The most common was to have an air cart connected to the aircraft. It would supply air to the bleed air manifold and would be used to start all four engines.

Another way we could start the engines was often called a Cart Start. Using a Cartridge, a canister about the size of a large coffee can, filled with a slow burning explosive, which could create enough air to turn the starter long enough to start the engine. All four engines could use Cartridges.

If you had any single engine running, you could use bleed air from that engine to start the others, however, you had to push up the power a bit to generate enough air pressure in the bleed air manifold.

Image

Gases escaping after turning the engine starter during a Cartridge Start on a KC-135A.

Photo from https://www.airliners.net/photo/USA-Air-Force/Boeing-KC-135A-Stratotanker-717-148/666058/L

Hot Starts: One thing that these engines did not like at all was being started with an insufficient amount of bleed air, whether from a ground cart, or the other engines. Failure to get the engine turning fast enough when adding fuel often resulted in hot starts with flames shooting out the back of the engine, kind of like an afterburner, but these flames weren’t blue… they were a reddish yellow, like fire and could reach out to the tail of the aircraft. Sometimes flames would even shoot out the front. They were dangerous. Fire bottles were always on hand for engine starts, just in case.

Engine Shutdown: After landing, the pilots would stow the spoilers, retract the flaps (otherwise, tower might think we’d been hijacked) and shut down two of the engines, usually the inboards to avoid accidentally sucking up anything from the taxiways into the engines, and also, so that when the ground crew chocked the tires, they wouldn’t have to walk closely to a running engine.

However, on Alert, we always shut down the outboard engines first, so the ground crew could install a new Cartridge in the #1 engine (furthest to the left.) The cartridges were dangerous, and the last thing the crew chief wanted was a running engine behind him and no escape route if there were any problems. Once the cartridge was installed, the other engines could be shut down because we had the ability to restart the jet if required.

Ok… if you’re still with me… great! Last thing you need to know is about Elephants walks on Alert. An elephant walk is where a group of airplanes get all configured for a mission, start engines and taxi out, but instead of taking off, they just taxi down the runway. Kind of like a parade.

For elephant walks on Alert, this process is started with the Klaxon going off and the brass inspect the aircraft as they are taxing to ensure they are all properly configured for takeoff. Think of it as your typical military inspection… you know, “Trim those nose hairs” type of affair, but with airplanes.

Last thing to remember… SAC took Alert VERY seriously. Everything had to be done by the book, and if it wasn’t, there’d be hell to pay. The aircraft always had to be ready to launch on the nuclear mission to refuel B-52s. As they say, failure was not an option.

So… now that you are armed with some knowledge on how the KC-135 normally operates, it’s time to tell our story.

Image

An Elephant Walk. KC-135 R models (bigger engines), not A models... but it gives you the idea... imagine a car driving between the aircraft to inspect them. Our ill fated crew was somewhere in the middle of the line.

Once upon a time, there was a crew… we’ll call them R-113 with Captain William Bligh as the commander, the co-pilot and nav shall remain nameless, but the Boom Operator was SSgt Fletcher Christian. They were on Alert, spending another seven days cooped up in the Alert facility, and serving their country. Breakfast started the day followed by a mandatory briefing at oh eight hundred. After this, maybe some ground training or bon bons and the Price is Right, and then it’s lunch time. A combat nap would take up most of the afternoon, followed by dinner around five. All the while, waiting for the Klaxon to sound off. Not exactly riveting stuff, let me tell you.

“FOR ALERT FORCE, FOR ALERT FORCE, KLAXON KLAXON KLAXON”

One day, our fateful day, the Klaxon went off and the crew sprinted out to their aircraft. This is a hectic event. Get the covers off the engines, get the door opened, rush up into the cockpit, check all is clear, and fire up those Cartridges to start the engines. Black smoke is billowing everywhere and it’s hard to see, but the engines get started, the crew chief makes his way up the ladder into the aircraft, and they button up to the aircraft, ready to taxi.

On the sidelines, the Wing Commander is proudly watching his KC-135s do what they do best. He watches the rolling clouds of thick black, toxic smoke as the engines start.

“FOR ALERT FORCE, FOR ALERT FORCE, MESSAGE FOLLOWS… SIERA NOVEMBER ALPHA FOXTROT UNIFORM…”

The message from command post… it’s an elephant walk exercise. The aircraft will taxi out of the Cage, the Alert pad for the KC-135s, and out to the runway. There, they will taxi about halfway down the runway, turn off and line up, nose to tail, on the returning taxiway waiting to be inspected by the Wing Commander.

While sitting in line, with a tanker just in front of him, and another just behind, Captain Blight decides to save some fuel, he’s going to shut down two of the engines. This is normal. However, instead of shutting down the outboard engines, as was normal in this situation, he shuts down the inboard engines as if he’d just finished a normal flight.

As soon as the throttles were in the cut off position, he realizes his mistake, but there’s nothing he can do. He announces his dilemma over the crew’s intercom… so the boom, SSgt Christian says, “Hey, just restart them, what’s the big deal?”

Meanwhile, at the end of this line of KC-135s, the Wing Commander starts inspecting the aircraft. He drives by each jet, taking a zig zag route through the jets, looking to ensure the flaps are set correctly, the stabilizer trim (the horizontal portion of the tail) is trimmed to the correct position for takeoff. He’s quite proud of his jets… maybe he’ll get another promotion and get the h*ll out of this sh*t hole base.

Captain Bligh says, “In order to start the engines, I’m gonna have to push up the outboards a bit to get enough bleed air, but I don’t want to FOD (foreign object damage) out the jet behind us, but ok, let’s do it.” He pushes up the outboard throttles as much as he dares and starts the engine start sequence for the number two engine (left inboard). He turns on the ignition, and then after the engine has just barely enough rpms, the turns on the fuel.

Right about this time, the Wing Commander has finished looking at the jet behind our ill fated crew, and he is crossing behind Captain Bligh’s number two engine, when a huge flame, at least forty feet long come shooting out of the back of the engine, right onto the hood of his car.

As you might be able to imagine… the radios come to life and the Wing Commander starts screaming about the jet with the flames coming out of it… followed by “Everybody report to the briefing room (at the Alert shack) after re-cocking the aircraft.”

It was pretty quite for the next thirty minutes or so, while Captain Bligh and crew got their aircraft re-cocked for Alert. After they wrap things up, they get in their Alert truck and head back. There was a little discussion though, they had to get their story straight.

As the crew pulled up to the Alert shack, they could see the Wing Commander’s Chrysler Reliant K-Car (remember, we bailed out Chrysler) parked right at the main entrance to the shack. Oh sh*t… this wasn’t going to be good. The Air Force blue car was still smoking a bit, and most of the paint had been burned away from the front fender and hood. There was no doubt, the briefing room was not going to be a pleasant place to be.

As the last crew sat down, somebody called “Attention”, and everybody stood up at attention. The Wing Commander walked down the center isle and up to the podium. “Crew 113… get up here!”

The Wing Commander addressing Captain Bligh asked, “Why on earth were you restarting your engines?”

Captain Bligh responded, “My Boom Operator said to.”

Lesson learned… if you are the lowest ranking guy, always look be on the look out for sh*t rolling downhill.

@tcamp202 via X

[spicykaraage]

Tenipuri Complete Character Profile - Eiji Kikumaru

[PROFILE]

Birthday: November 28th (Sagittarius)

Blood Type: A

Relatives: Grandfather, grandmother, father, mother, two older brothers, two older sisters, dog, parrot (Taichi), guppy [TP]

Father’s Occupation: Company employee (newspaper reporter)

Elementary School: Hikarigaoka Elementary School

Middle School: Seishun Academy Junior High School

Grade & Class: Third Year | Class 3-6 | Seat 7

Club: Tennis Club (regular)

Committee: None

Strong Subjects: Japanese history

Weak Subjects: English

Most Visited Spot at School: Gym

Favorite Motto: “See which way the cat jumps.” ➜ “If you can be a cat, you can be a tiger.” [TP]

Daily Routines: Fighting with his siblings over which channel to watch

Hobbies: Visiting pet shops, brushing his teeth

Favorite Color: Red

Favorite Music: J-Pop

Favorite Movie: Anime, fantasy films

Favorite Book: Idol magazines (Morning Star [TP])

Favorite Food: Fluffy omelettes, tender fried shrimp, crunchy shaved ice

Favorite Anniversary: May 22nd

Preferred Type: A cheerful girl, a girl he can laugh with ➜ A girl he can laugh with all the time [TP]

Ideal Date Spot: An amusement park ➜ A zoo with meerkats [TP]

His Gift for a Special Person: “The fluffy loungewear that I wear too!”

Where He Wants to Travel: Koganezaki Park

What He Wants Most Right Now: A new knit hat ➜ A koala stuffed animal [23.5]

Dislikes: Going to the bathroom at night, changing his clothes during the winter [23.5]

Skills Outside of Tennis: Cooking, fly-swatting, collecting bugs, completing capsule toy sets [TP]

Spends Allowance On: Saving money to buy rare sneakers

Routine During the World Cup: Hanging out in everyone’s rooms

[DATA]

Height: 171cm | 5’7”

Weight: 52kg | 114 lbs ➜ 53kg | 116 lbs [23.5]

Shoe Size: 24.5cm

Dominant Arm: Right

Vision: 1.0 Left | 0.8 Right

Play Style: Serve & Volleyer

Signature Moves: Diving Volley, Acrobatic Play Style, Kikumaru Beam, Kikumaru Bazooka, Kikumaru Seal Step

Time Spent on Endurance Training: 4 hours a day

Equipment Brands:

Racket: WILSON (Slash DT Mid)

Shoes: DUNLOP (Revelation Pro Tour Series 90)

Fitness Test Results:

Sidesteps: 67

Shuttle Run: 120

Back Strength: 129kg

Grip Strength: 48kg

Backbend: 67cm

Seated Forward Bend: 52.8cm

50m Run: 6.62 seconds

Standing Long Jump: 246cm

Handball Throw: 31.5m

Endurance Run (1500m): 4:48

Overall Rating: Speed: 4 / Power: 2 / Stamina: 4 / Mental: 2 / Technique: 4 / Total: 16

Kurobe Memo: “Kikumaru has a strong heart because he recognizes the difference between friendship and sympathy. If possible, I’d like to see him take steps to better himself.” <Official Description>

[POSSESSIONS]

What’s in His Bedroom [10.5]:

“Daigoro”: His giant teddy bear. His sitting position is lopsided and he falls over easily since he was handled roughly

Bookshelf: He buys a lot of miscellaneous things but doesn’t discard any of them, so it’s very full

Outlet extender: Used for his TV, MD stereo, hair dryer, desk lamp, etc.

Bunk bed: He sleeps on the top bunk, and him and his older brother’s clothes are stored in the space beneath the bed. His bed cover also has a teddy bear pattern

His older brother’s desk: Their parents changed it from a study desk to an office desk when his brother entered high school. Both him and his brother use it for studying

What’s in His Bag [10.5]:

Notebook and writing supplies: He has them just in case even though it’s unlikely he’ll use them

Toothbrush kit: He always carries it with him

A snack: Calbee JagaRico. He brings a snack on days when there’s practice since he gets hungry afterward

MP3 player: He listens to the latest trending music on his way to and from school

Hair wax: Mod’s Hair brand to restore his curls after exercising

Hairbrush: It takes him approximately three minutes to fix his hairstyle with hair wax

Bandages: It’s a mystery as to why he always wears them…

Playing cards: He carries them to show off any magic tricks he’s learned

[TRIVIA]

The Prince of Tennis 10.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 11/02/2001

He likes food meant for children and was always given children’s food at restaurants due to him being the youngest of five siblings

He likes sweets and dislikes spicy food

He loves brushing his teeth and is particular on the type of toothpaste he uses. He has his own toothpaste that is separate from his family’s

His entire family cooks and he is good at cooking as well. He specializes in making egg-based dishes, particularly omelettes

He is known to be very positive and always tries being cheerful

He and Oishi always have review meetings when they lose a match

Konomi developed Kikumaru’s phrases and speech from phrases he heard when he was a child

Konomi came up with his name since he thought a name with “-maru” in it would be cute

Konomi gave him cat-like qualities since he wanted him to be a whimsical character

He had lost many matches prior to the main storyline

He and Oishi have been an official doubles pair since they were second years

His hairstyle is not natural, he styles his hair every morning with hair wax

His parrot has a habit of saying “hey, Eiji!” because of his mother and older sister

He is good at swatting flies due to his excellent vision

He is described as being bright, cheerful, and always smiling, but also tends to tire out from all the excitement

Konomi describes him as a “natural character.” Not cool nor heroic, just a normal, natural young man

The Prince of Tennis 20.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 12/04/2003

He will clearly express his emotions

People of all ages are easily endeared by him and will even admire him

He is described to be suited for professions such as being a model, entertainer, or childcare worker

He is very pampered in his family due to him being the youngest child, and he gained his lighthearted personality from it

His secondary sport would be gymnastics

The Prince of Tennis 40.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 12/04/2007

His spirit animal is a salamander

He was more frivolous and would dawdle when he was younger, but has greatly matured since then

He has built up his stamina due to him doing low oxygen training

He is actually bad with technology and doesn’t even know how to record a video. When he went to the gym, he would constantly ask the staff how to use the machines

He is unsure of how many times he can duplicate himself, but states he wants to reach 100

Konomi states he is the most similar to his own tennis playing style

He is the character Konomi would like to be a part of his family since he’s cheerful and fun

The Prince of Tennis II Official Character Guide: PairPuri Vol. 1 | Publication Date: 11/04/2009

He is shown having a personal cell phone and showing Shiraishi Zaizen’s blog despite his previous information stating he is bad with technology

The Prince of Tennis II Official Character Guide: PairPuri Vol. 4 | Publication Date: 02/04/2010

He is fine playing doubles with a different partner, stating that he and Oishi will always be the Golden Pair regardless

He came up with his current hairstyle from growing out his hair and tampering with it

He and his family argue over which TV channel to watch, he has won only three times and wants to keep it a secret

He is happiest playing tennis when Oishi scores a perfect point

When asked what he struggles with at home, he replies with nothing and that his large family is easier to handle than school

When asked who he struggles with in the club, he replies with Oishi when he’s not playing tennis since he finds him too serious

Konomi named him after a friend he had in his middle school tennis club, “Haremaru”

Konomi created his acrobatic play style to be different from normal tennis, and wanted to express it in an animalistic or feline way

Konomi states Kikumaru isn’t too fond of Tezuka, and tries not to get too close to him. He states he is also aware that he has never drawn the two having a conversation

Konomi states Kikumaru’s appearance may not change much since he wants to depict him as a real-life middle school student

One of His School Days:

5:50am - Woken up by his brother

6:00am - On breakfast duty

6:50am - Arrives at school, attends morning practice

8:40am - 1st Period: Art

9:40am - 2nd Period: Social Studies (Japanese history)

11:00am - 3rd Period: PE (basketball)

12:00pm - 4th Period: Math III

12:50pm - Lunch, eats homemade bentos with Oishi in his classroom

1:20pm - 5th Period: Science III (chemistry)

2:20pm - 6th Period: English (grammar)

3:20pm - English supplementary course

4:00pm - Voluntary training, helps guide the underclassmen

5:30pm - Returns home after shopping for dinner

6:00pm - Helps with dinner

7:00pm - Plays a video game (an hour a day)

8:30pm - Takes an evening walk

10:00pm - Returns home, bathes, watches dramas and variety shows

11:30pm - Goes to bed

The Prince of Tennis II Official Character Guide: PairPuri Vol. 6 | Publication Date: 06/03/2011

He, Tezuka, and Fuji are shown having a chat with Yamato and appears surprised over the latter’s changed appearance

The Prince of Tennis II 10.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 09/04/2013

He exchanges messages with his family everyday. However, he struggles responding since his family’s quite large

The Prince of Tennis II 23.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 05/02/2018

Oishi had lended him 80 yen the day before the metropolitan tournament since he had went to him crying over not having enough money to buy a new pair of shoes he wanted

The Prince of Tennis 20th Anniversary Book: Tenipuri Party | Publication Date: 08/02/2019

Aside from playing tennis, he has gotten into parkour after watching a video about it

His parents had bought Daigoro for him since he disliked eating salmon and wanted a bear who would eat it instead

[dailyanarchistposts]

Water – A New Colonialism

Abroad, British water companies are hunting for contracts for water supply and sewage disposal. A Thames Water spokesperson said, “We are being too soft, and that is why our disconnection levels will rise” (Guardian, 1992). The company was then part of a consortium re-organising the water supply of East Berlin. Both the Suffolk and Essex water companies are owned by the French Lyonnaise des Eaux ,which along with the larger Compagnie Generale des Eaux, are the world’s largest water distributors. In 1994 Thames announced that it was teaming up with CGE to bid to maintain and expand the water and sewage system of Lima. Here the poor can’t have mains water, they must buy it by the drum. But the rich bribe the drivers of the tankers servicing the slums to divert the water to them so they can wash their cars. In 1993 Anglian Water was part of a consortium led by Lyonnaise to modernise and run the water and sewage operations of Buenos Aires. The chief executive of Thames Water explained its involvement in Latin America: “The aim remains to expand non-utility businesses to provide an earnings stream free of regulatory control”. Latin America has a long tradition of ‘client-populist’ politics resulting in the affluent areas of cities having a heavily subsidised and regularly maintained water supply. In most cities the poor do not have access to piped potable water, making them easy victims of the private water sellers; in Guayaquil for example, 400 tankers service 600,000 people (35% of the total urban population). Water customers who can afford large volumes get it at a heavily subsidised price from the public water utilities. Profiteers then sell it on to people living in the slums and shanties at 400 times what they paid. The cities have plenty of water but appalling hygiene and sanitation problems: average production and supply capacity would allow each inhabitant 220 litres a day; current consumption is an average of 307 litres in affluent areas but less than 25 litres for the poorest. Contemporary water imperialism is the result of the requirements of international water agencies that insist on international tender. Bilateral loans are usually subject to buying equipment and using engineering services from the lending country. These arrangements privilege infrastructure investment over institutional or organisational improvements and maintenance projects.