#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…

[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.”

[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.

[my-writings-and-musings]

The thirst for Sexwave knows no bounds, but gotta give Bumblebee credit for a solid second!

Gotta love some Soundwave being all tender and concerned about reader, so here, have some fluff! Soundwave struggling with all his feelings is just fun to write tbh...

Soundwave x Reader

Decepticons rarely lived pleasantly on Earth, as their primary means of survival was avoiding humans who covered all but the most isolated and brutal portions of the planet, but their Cybertronian hardiness meant most could endure extreme conditions without much danger.

Unfortunately, you as a human allied with said Decepticons didn't possess such luck. You'd fallen ill after one too many exposures to cold and rain, forcing the Con in your company to take drastic measures to keep you safe while he searched for the help you needed.

Between the fever and the countless miles of travel you weren't quite sure where he'd taken you, but the time spent snuggled under a load of blankets in his warm cockpit had been nice enough that you didn't care where you'd ended up. The endless frozen wastes and sparse buildings led you to believe somewhere up far to the north, but the Con had found a secure enough bunker and rigged up an effective climate control device by your tiny cot, so you didn't care about the specifics. All that really mattered now was that he'd been gone long enough for you to drift in and out of a feverish sleep multiple times. That still worried you, even if he often went out for similar stretches in the past. It was impossible not to fear for his capture every time he left your side...

Metallic clanks echoed up the tunnel to the outside world, and you snapped awake as the rumble of the bunker seal opening and closing quite literally shook the sleep out of you. Though still exhausted and delirious, you recognized the patter of approaching Cybertronian footsteps straight away, and relaxed when you noted two familiar walking patterns; one with two pedes and one with four.

A Felicon bounded into the circular cement room and came to a halt with a skid, metallic claws sending up a brief shower of sparks before two bright red optics focused on you. Carrying a pouch between his sharp teeth as delicately as he could, Ravage approached you with a tentative sniff, looking you over as he always did after you'd fallen ill. Not entirely coherent, you smiled and put up a hand to meet his muzzle.

"Glad to see you too." you greeted, allowing your heavy head to rest on the pillow as the Felicon sniffed your hand and endured the brief petting quietly. He moved aside when Soundwave entered the room, a literal crate of supplies tucked under an arm. Brushing some of the lingering snow and ice from his armor, the mech dropped to his knees beside your cot, checking you over for a fraction of an instant before he got to work. Cracking open the crate with his claws, he pulled out what appeared to be enough medical supplies to stock a small clinic.

"Medical equipment; acquired." he said in recognition of the obvious, focusing his attention on a kit that appeared to be full of medication for every kind of human illness. You doubted the owners had parted with so much willingly, and couldn't help but hope no one had been squished to provide these.

"How did you...?"

"No casualties to report." Soundwave answered, firm but calm enough that you believed him fully. Organizing his haul into piles by category, he surprised you further when his claws delicately plucked a bag of food from a thick thermal wrapping, allowing you to catch a whiff of the first hot meal you'd encountered in weeks. You couldn't even imagine how he'd acquired such a thing, and no explanation was forthcoming once he finished organizing everything. "Supplies fully restocked and expanded."

Ravage ensured his bag was added to the pile before he settled at your side, offering warmth and comfort as Soundwave gingerly handled the bag of food before laying it down in front of you.

"Rations overdue." he instructed with an obvious desire for you to eat, unable to hide the tiniest hint of uncertainty in his voice as he sat back on his heels. Understanding what he meant, you happily complied, hungry and quite touched by the gesture.

"Thanks, Soundwave." you croaked as you unwrapped the still steaming meal, your exhausted body beyond thankful for some much needed nourishment. The comment made the bot pause, his helm lowering a fraction of an inch as he briefly averted his gaze to mumble his reply.

"Gratitude... unnecessary.'

Ravage made a sound that more resembled a snicker than one of his usual growls, and only wiggled his tail in the picture of innocence when Soundwave fixed him with a hard stare.

[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!

[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.

[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

[jobskenyaplace]

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[weirdowithaquill]

What Fuel would NWR Steam Engines use Today?

This is a question that I think a lot of people in the fandom are asking, especially with ever-more stringent environmental laws, the war in Ukraine cutting off Russian coal and the end of coal mines in the UK and the western world.

So, what exactly are Sodor's options if Sir Topham Hatt wants to run a steam railway in the 21st century.

I will do a separate post based on what I think the Fat Controllers do to ensure their engines run safely and profitably into the 2020's, but this post is all about fuel. Now, let's talk options:

1: Coal:

This is what Sodor is already using, and is the option that I think Sodor would enter the 2000's with. However, the UK has been rapidly closing coal mines since then, with the last deep coal mine in the United Kingdom, Kellingley colliery in North Yorkshire, closing in December 2015, and many of the mines that produced engine-grade coal already being closed. From this point on, the NWR has two options really: American anthracite coal (which is in decline) or Russian anthracite coal. Most British heritage railways used Russian coal due to its cheap and plentiful nature, leading to their current predicament of skyrocketing prices caused by tariffs and a cut-off from the Russian coal supply. Polish coal is an option some railways are switching too, however this is also quite expensive and not as plentiful as the previous coal.

Another option would be Australian bituminous coal, which is a worse coal for engines but is far cheaper and more plentiful. This would be unlikely, but could potentially be used as a desperate measure by the railway while searching for a better and more permanent option. Remember, bad coal causes a lot of havoc on Sodor even when considering different grades of anthracite coal.

2: Electricity:

If you've ever watched Train of Thought's video on electric steam (find here), then you may just know what I'm about to suggest. During the 1940's, the Swiss Federal Railways (SBB) converted a pair of steam engines with pantographs and used the electricity to boil the water. There was also a patent taken out in Canada as recently as 1992 for a steam engine that uses electricity to boil the water.

The pantograph part of the design would not happen - as much as Sodor has updated and modified their engines, whacking a pantograph on them would be crossing a line. So, what are the other options? Well, they could potentially use a third rail, and hide the converters and other pieces inside the bunker or tender, with what space remains being a perfect spot for extra water storage. Another option is batteries in the place of the bunker or tender, this in essence turning the engines of Sodor into battery engines.

The issue here is that the batteries are not really very efficient above the size of a Tesla, and a third-rail system has the potential to cause issues with any safety equipment on the ground (GWR had problems with their AWS system when travelling near the Southern Railway or the London Underground).

The battery version is something I could see being implemented on branchline and shunting engines however, as they could stay near charging ports and best utilise the extra range and lower emissions such a change would bring, without having as many drawbacks. Another advancement would be using an electric battery to preheat the boiler and to power the electrics in the coaches.

3: Biodiesel:

Before anyone goes insane about the idea of converting the NWR engines to oil-fired, I think I should say that I mean torrefied biodiesel pellets, as tested by the CSR in the USA on steam locomotives since as early as 2016 (article linked here). Torrefied biodiesel pellets have similar qualities to coal, including the fact that they can be shovelled and stored similarly to coal.

They don't really look that different to coal, do they? And in this trial, the engine they were trialling it on (Milwaukee County Zoo Train No. 1924) not only ran on 100% torrefied biodiesel, but also reached just under 200PSI. CSR has also ran tests on standard gauge engines, and the fact is that the Skarloey Railway would probably be an early adopter.

Furthermore, Sodor is a primarily agricultural island, and due to globalisation, the farms would be looking to find new crops with which to make a profit from, as the prices of cheap international products hurts their smaller farms. The NWR looking at biofuels would be a golden opportunity for them, and the NWR would have the crops needed for biodiesel locally, decreasing shipping costs.

The issue with biodiesel as a fuel is that it does not burn as hot as conventional coal, and it burns quicker. It does however start burning sooner, meaning setting a good fire in the mornings would be easier.

Railways using steam power are currently being faced with these major issues, and Sodor would probably be at the forefront of the debate, as its heavy usage of steam and early diesel engines makes for problematic encounters with environmentalists. However, Sodor would also be one of the largest supporters and financers of steam research, and would, in my opinion, use a mix of electric steam and biofuels to preserve their fleet of engines well into the 21st century. And yes, it would be theoretically possible to create an entire scientific essay out of this.

One again, pictures are not mine, and remember to tell me your ideas!

[lesbianwyllravengard]

You know honestly I made this post initially as a joke/naïve theory but now that I've been thinking about it, it's not technically far off. I even wrote it into my fic because like. Luis was always sneaking around, trying to survive. He'd want materials stored in places, in case he ever got cornered in a bad spot. The villagers don't seem to attack inanimate objects, only using some as weapons, and they don't seem to have the cognition anymore to figure there'd be items hidden inside boxes, especially if they didn't put the items there themselves.

Also ever since I first watched a playthrough of the og Re4, I always wondered why the currency used was pesetas, when those had been replaced by euros in Spain as the official currency January 1st 2002 - after a 3 year transitional period - and ceased being legal tender by Feb 28th 2002 [^1]. Back then with the og Re4, it could've been a lack of research, but the fact that they kept it makes it seem like more of a narrative choice, in which I'd think "maybe the villagers still use pesetas within the village, because this is a cult after all and cults control the population with isolation from society" which makes sense. But also, the only way Leon gets pesetas is by the crates and selling to the merchant (also by looting people/monsters he killed, but that's irrelevant to my point). So it'd also make sense if Luis had been saving pesetas for a loooong time, storing them places for safe keeping because he never knew when/if he'd get captured and all his possessions taken. I mean he had a fucking lab, full of tech and equipment that could remove the plaga. He had to have access to lots of materials.

Which also brings up the point of the merchant. Was he a villager who had made a business for himself amidst the plaga takeover? Was he just a passerby, a travelling merchant who just so happened to take up shop in the middle of a plague at the same time Leon happened to be passing by? A secret third thing? Who knows. But either way, it seems the merchant has substantial knowledge of the goings on in the village - especially considering his 'merchant requests'. And if he deals in pesetas, and also happens to supply Leon with the exact weapons for which ammo is stored throughout the village in the crates, it's very possible the merchant has been here for a long time, and more than likely would've done trades with Luis.

You know it could go any number of ways, but my point is that Luis placing crates full of supplies everywhere - and also marking them with yellow so he knows which crates are his - is entirely possible.

[^1]: European Commission: Economy and Finance, "Spain and the euro" economy-finance.ec.europa

[cloudbattrolls]

Like all caverns, Kaningård (“rabbit warren”) has a lot of different positions. Its specialty is, on paper, the containment and study of mutants and limebloods to better eradicate their genes from mother grubs’ reproductive capacities.

In practice it aids them in survival, both in the cavern as well as preparing them for a healthier life outside of it.

It is a cold place suited to a maximum population of around a thousand consistent troll inhabitants and a few hundred grubs and wrigglers. It is located in the equivalent of troll Sweden, and best fosters land dwellers of varying mid and high castes, but cares for plenty of lowblood grubs as well.

Further roles detailed below the cut.

EGG TENDER: Trolls who first clean, survey, and catalogue any eggs that come in, as well as care for them during their incubations. There are only a few present at the moment, as Kaningård’s own mother grub is not yet of age to produce her own offspring.

WRIGGLER MINDER: Those who deal with the newly hatched grubs, responsible not only for their care but for recording information about their health, habits, and psiionic ability, as well as any other notable qualities.

TRIAL PROCTOR: Trolls specifically trained to administer and oversee a newly pupated grub’s cavern trials. Kaningård administers a variety of trials that take into mind a troll’s particular needs or disadvantages. It is important to ensure their more likely survival on the surface, but also to give every grub a fair shot.

DIETARY SPECIALIST: Grubs are, as much as possible, tested for allergies or any other health concerns and fed in account with such by trained professionals.

CULTIVATOR: With limited moonlight and a location unfavorable for farming, the cavern supports its own food supply as much as possible. It possesses various underground greenhives and keeps a small amount of livestock in shallower passages near the surface.

Some trolls also hunt and forage for the cavern in nearby forests to provide fresh meat and other plants they cannot grow themselves, but they still remain somewhat dependent on imports.

DROID/DRONE HANDLER: While Kaningård’s head matron frowns upon the use of imperial drones to cull and demand genetic samples, they reluctantly allow in robotic ones so long as they are strictly controlled by their handlers.

Simple droids, used primarily for sanitation, architecture, and general maintenance, pass without issue, and the cavern always needs a few trolls to handle requests for their use and maintain the ones in service.

MEDICULLER: Kaningård aims to preserve the lives of as many grubs and wrigglers as possible, but as always, not all of them can be saved. Those who do thrive will receive as much medical care as possible to help them do so, and a painless death if it becomes necessary.

LAB WORKER: Scientists of varying fields work together in the cavern’s laboratories, searching for ways to improve the life quality of all types of mutants, as well as to stabilize psiionics that cause health issues, and any other project the head matron deems useful. They also have the riskiest job, coming up with sufficient research and evidence to appear as if they are supporting Imperial casteism.

SECURITY DETAIL: While most caverns have trolls trained to defend both the other inhabitants and the young trolls they care for, Kaningård’s forces are equipped to also deal with the empire or supernatural threats if needed. The head matron gives few details, but assures their guards that there are many things that might try to attack them, and not all are mortal or natural.

There are also small organic constructs scattered all around the cavern to keep an eye on things, though they are rarely seen or admitted to existing. They seem to be able to change shape at will, if unobserved.

OUTSIDE LIAISON: Trolls who frequently come and go from the cavern for various reasons. Kaningård is not isolated as other caverns often are - trolls are welcome to come and go from the surface with the proper leave requests and notifications - but these workers perform some particular service for their cavern, be it making trips to other ones, handling imported supplies, or otherwise.

LUSUS TENDER: Trolls who ensure the steady flow of lusii to pick up their pupated charges, and that said lusii don’t eat too many of their fellows. They keep tabs on breeding seasons, general health, and any threats to lusus populations such as disease that might enter the area.

[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.

[mikeepoo]

Photo: C. 1883-1889. A 20-mule team before its 165-mile journey to the railhead in Mojave, California. Photo courtesy of the National Park Service The purpose of the twenty-mule-team wagons was to transport 10 short tons of borax ore per journey. The rear wheels, standing at a height of seven feet, were equipped with 1-inch-thick iron tires. The wagon beds, crafted from solid oak, measured 16 feet in length and 6 feet in depth, with an empty weight of 7,800 pounds. The convoy, extending over 180 feet with mules in tow, consisted of three wagons: the first as a trailer, the second known as "the tender" or the "back action," and the last serving as a water tank. When loaded with ore, the complete weight of the mule train, including the wagons, amounted to approximately 73,200 pounds. The water tank, holding 1,200 US gallons, supplied the mules with water during the journey. An additional 500-US-gallon wagon was occasionally appended to deliver water to a dry camp along the route. Over a span of six years, the teams successfully transported more than 20 million pounds of borax out of Death Valley. The horses, positioned as wheelers closest to the wagon, were ridden by one of the two individuals typically required to operate the wagons. While larger than the mules, the horses were considered less intelligent and less adaptable to desert conditions. Remi Nadeau's historical account, "Nadeau's Freighting Teams in the Mojave," highlights the mules' superiority for general use in the desert region. The teamster controlled the team using a single long rein, known as a "jerk line," aided by a lengthy blacksnake whip. Typically riding the left wheeler, the teamster could also operate from the trailer seat, managing the brake on steep descents. The swamper, usually riding the trailer, would be positioned on the back action in hilly terrain to operate the brake. Armed with a can of small rocks, the swamper could encourage an inattentive mule to return to work. Both men were responsible for preparing the team, tending to the mules' needs, and addressing any veterinary or repair requirements. A mid-day stop allowed for feeding and watering the mules in harness, while night stops provided corrals and feed boxes. Each day's travel averaged around 17 miles, and the entire one-way trip took approximately ten days. The company constructed cabins at night stops for the use of drivers and swampers.

[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