#a copilots duties never end

[blakelysco-pilot]

WIP WEDNESDAY

thank you for the tag @lestweforget5

currently working on the next part of Love Letters, so here’s a bit of that until the next chapter comes out (soon I promise) 💗

After a wonderful two week reprieve with John Brady’s sweetheart and now her friend, Juliet, Jo was back home in Brooklyn. She would spend the remainder of Harry Crosby’s furlough with her parents so that Jean had the privacy she deserved. She was certain that the next two weeks would crawl by, for her at least.

“I’m back!” She called, entering the house. She could hear her mother rustling around, before she appeared in the foyer with an almost worried look in her eye.

“Josephine!” Hugging her tightly, she stepped back, appraising her daughter and picking the sadness up immediately. “Sweetheart, welcome back!”

“Thanks,” she forced a grin, knowing there would be minimal gossip and cocktails that night. “Are you okay? Mom you look worried.”

“You have a visitor. A gentleman is waiting in the living room for you.”

“Oh god, is he, is it… did something happen to Robbie?”

“He says his name is Pappy?”

“Oh my! Pappy!?”

Jo rushed from the foyer into the living room, all ladylike behavior thrown out the window as she came skidding to a stop in the doorway.

“Hiya Jo!” Pappy grinned, standing from the sofa as he saw her.

“Pappy! Oh my- what are you doing here!”

“Rosie sent me,” he grinned, coming to greet her properly, the pair finally able to put names to faces. “He thought with Croz home, you might need some cheering up.”

“You came all the way here just to cheer me up?”

“Well, you’re Rosie’s sweetheart, and your Val’s friend too. Val would give me a wallop if she knew I didn’t come see you when you needed it. She sends her regards by the way, boy, wait till you meet her! Have you met Croz yet? I’m sure he’ll want to meet you too, you’re very popular amongst the Riveters crew you know? We all-”

“Pappy, slow down!” She laughed.

tagging: @sagesolsticewrites @hesbuckcompton-baby @claireelizabeth85 @footprintsinthesxnd @major-mads and anyone else who’d like to play along

[french-fryyyy]

Hold on gang I just watched the Markiplier playthrough of the game this morning

I'll try to give a thorough explanation without ruining any of the plot or too many spoilers :3

Mouthwashing is a psychological horror game on steam where you play mostly as a character named Jimmy. It takes place on a transportation ship for one of the only companies that does manned space cargo hauls. you're part of a crew of 5 people, Anya the medic, Swansea the mechanic, Daisukie the mechanic apprentice, Curly the captain, and Jimmy the copilot.

Curly gets a message from corp that they're shutting down. About a week later, the ship crashed into asteroids. Curly gets blown up in the cockpit during the crash, but he survives. His limbs get blown off and his skin is destroyed, but he's alive.

Throughout the game you play mostly as Jimmy, the copilot. He's acting as captain post crash due to Curly's position though. He has to perform the duties of captain as well as hold the team together in the ship. Anya, the medic, puts the responsibility of giving Curly his pain meds on Jimmy because of how the meds have to be administered (Jimmy has to force them down Curly's throat. In gameplay it blacks out the screen but you hear him gagging on the pills and struggling to roll away from Jimmy). Swansea and Daisukie are tasked with clearing out as much of the emergency foam from the ship as they can without opening a seal in the ship.

On occasion you play as Curly pre crash. This is your only opportunity to see Jimmy as a character from an outside pov. Because when you're playing as Jimmy you only see his pov and his view of himself and his actions. In this way he can be considered an unreliable narrator. Also because Jimmy believes he is "taking responsibility" for things and for the crew, but in the end he never takes responsibility for what he actually needed to. Which was the situation with Anya.

There are certain scenes of the game that lead me to believe that Jimmy is hallucinating due to his subconscious guilt. He doesn't believe he is responsible for everything, but his subconscious knows he is. Which is partially why he is so insistent that he is "taking responsibility" for the crew members. These scenes increase dramatically near the end of the game.

At some point we find out that Swansea was hiding the only working cryo pod left in the utility room. He was saving it for when everyone else on the ship inevitably died and wanted Daisukie to use it when that happened.

Right near the end, the crew starts dying off. All of their deaths are highly disturbing, and bloody. But Jimmy shows grief and guilt for it, more specifically when it comes to Daisukie's blood on the ground. This is right around when the hallucination scenes get more intense.

The game reaches its climax with the main message being "take responsibility". In the end Jimmy saves Curly by putting him in the cryo pod and shoots himself. He selfishly ends his own suffering and the only one left alive is Curly, who's been in agony the entire time, unable to help anyone in his crew. I doubt that if he ever does get saved, he would live a life without suffering. Not after all the psychological trauma or the way his body has irreparable damage. Jimmy selfishly tried to save Curly in hopes to "take responsibility" for everything and killed himself to escape taking responsibility for the thing that started it all.

It can be a very triggering game, with implied SA, suicide, murder, hallucinations, gore, and other psychologically horrific things. Please be careful if you decide to get into the game

lux is reblogging a bunch of mouthwashing posts and one of them is realy sad what is mouthwashing about man what the hell

[buckybarnesdiaries]

white wolf: “the story of a first date”

first part — second part — third part — fourth part (soon)

© @capsgrantrogers

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Sam helps Bucky to ask you out for a date and it's a disaster, but he gets it.

word count: 3.147 words. (not sorry, it worth it, i promise!!!)

warnings/tags: none. bucky being the cutest gentleman in the whole wide world, and sam keeping an eye on him.

author notes: as it happened with the first part, i'm not really happy with the result but i had so much fun writing it and i think that that made this writing perfect, so i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed it. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

The car stopped because of a red light, a moment where Sam took the advantage to turn at his copilot, glancing at Bucky from top to bottom in complete silence. Analyzing him. The soldier tilted his head raising an eyebrow, showing his curiosity about what the hell he was doing.

“What are you gonna wear, uh?” Sam asked then, maintaining a serious gesture on his face.

“Clothes”. Unworriedly, he put back his eyes to the front window.

“You probably look good naked, but that’s not what I’m talking ‘bout”.

“Just… some jeans, a shirt, and a jacket”.

“And shoes, I guess”.

Bucky turned on his seat towards his friend, squinting confused for the interrogatory. “Who cares?”

“About the shoe—”

“About the clothes”.

“Man, it’s a date! Do you wan’her to remember this night as the night Bucky Barnes shown up as a Russian bum?”

“I’m from Brookl—”.

“Yeah, but you look like mother Russia just spat you to the world”.

Sam rolled his eyes as a sigh escaped his mouth. Shaking his head, he took the next corner to the fifth avenue changing the planes they had in mind. A good outfit meant a good date. A good date meant happy soldier. Happy soldier meant no trouble. See the point? So the Falcon would take care of the Winter Soldier today. If only Steve could see them. He’d feel proud, that was for sure. They visited a couple of shops, finally letting Sam take control over the situation and pick the clothes he would wear for you. He had good taste, everybody knew that, and Bucky couldn’t complain about his choices.

Even less when the distinctive black suit dressed his anatomy to perfection. Spinning around in front of the mirror, he felt different. He looked different. He looked good, but not as he’d like. Holding the bucket of flowers once he was ready, Bucky left his apartment straight to the garage under the building. He was nervous, he couldn’t lie. But he had that sensation inside him that made him believe everything would be okay for the first time since he woke up.

The road didn’t take him more than ten minutes, not really worried about the time given that he had planned to arrive a little sooner than accorded. Life seemed like it was smiling at him, finding a parking lot in the same entrance. Landing his blue eyes on the rearview mirror, Bucky took a last view at his reflection, brushing back his hair as he used to do in the forties. He grabbed then the flowers he bought for you and stepped out of the car, trying to remember the advice Sam gave him. Resting his back against the copilot's door, he waited impatiently for you.

“Hey, you”.

His heart stopped for a second, raising his orbs to the man coming closer. Before he could react, the man in question tucked a hand beneath Bucky's jacket. Patting him down.

“What the hell are you doing, Sam?” He questioned irritatedly, slapping his hands and causing him to laugh.

“Just checking you didn't bring the notecards again”.

“Yeah, very funny…”

“Man, look at you! Should be illegal to look this good, uh?” Sam helped him to put on the jacket again, receiving another slap from his friend.

“Don't touch me”. Scowling, he fixed the flowers in his left hand, wanting them to be perfect. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“Watch you till (Y/N) comes. Lemme take a picture, I feel like a proud father on his son's prom day”.

“You're not m— Get the hell outta here, Sam”.

“Fighting again, kids? Should I call your mama?”

As Bucky heard you scoff, his soul abandoned. His pupils dilated. His legs trembled. And he could swear that everything disappeared around him when he watched you going downstairs, swinging your hips unconsciously sensual, with a black dress fitting you like a glove. If this morning Bucky wanted to marry you, now he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. Your makeup was on point, just like your hair, not being too formal but enough to run him out of words.

“Steve is off-duty, so, what 'you gonna do, soldier?” Sam mocked, an instant before noticing how pale Bucky was. He couldn't help but slap the back of his neck to bring him back to reality.

“I, uh… flowers… I bought you…”

“You're not Yoda”. Sam whispered as the other offered you the present.

“C'mon, stop messing with him”. You clicked your tongue, right before you drew an adorable smile on your lips, leaning to kiss Bucky's cheek. “Thank you”.

“You're welcome”. He just answered, responding to your same gesture while opening the door for you.

“Such a gentleman…” His playful murmur made Bucky frown and nudge him, trying to stop him from saying anything else and ruin the occasion.

“I'll bring him back at ten”. You joked palming his chest.

“The point is to not bring him back to me”. Sam cackled, shaking his head and taking a step back.

Once in the car turning on the engine, James joined the road after checking you were good. Never in his life he had driven with so much care as if he was carrying a bomb by his side. He set on the radio, not really knowing how to start a conversation, watching you through the corners of his eyes caressing the flowers over your lap. No one had bought you them before, thinking it was a thing that only happened in movies. But then, you met Bucky. An old-fashioned man, making yourself wonder how he was the same the news used to say he was a cold-blood assassin.

“What have you thought?”

“Uh?”

“About the date”.

“Sam told me about a rest—”.

“Okay, okay, Bucky. Pull over”. You couldn't help but burst into laughter, as his face was pale again thinking you were about to step out and end the date.

“Sorry, did I…?”

You swiveled at him on your seat, kissing your teeth and squinting inevitably. Studying his face you knew how afraid he was, and it was the most adorable reaction ever. You could have kissed at that precise instant, but it'd have been a little awkward.

“Where do you wanna go?”

The question didn't take him by surprise, actually. He was still getting used to doing the things he desired and not what other people asked him to do. The restaurant was a fancy place with a distinguished menu according to what his friend explained to him, but it wasn't the kind of site that he'd normally go, or that represented him.

“When I, uh… came back, I discovered that my favorite burger joint in Brooklyn was still standing”. Bucky told you, facing you after finishing the sentence. “They prepare the best burgers of the whole New York and you can decide what ingredients add, and the bread, and the kind of meat. And it still having the original decoration”.

You reclined on your seat, just staring at him talking with that kind of burning passion about something he loved. Puckering your lips, you nodded your chin. The fact that not only he wanted to take you to a different place, but a place that he used to go to when he was young made butterflies flutter within your belly. Bucky wanted to make you part of his future, but also his past. That made the difference.

“Sounds good to me”.

“Really?” He inquired funnily confused, wrinkling his nose and forehead.

“Really”.

The shine that appeared within his eyes made you place a hand on his cheek to urge him to turn his head and drive again. An innocent gesture that provoked him a lively giggle. If that man knew all the things he caused you, he'd have taken the step months ago.

As the night went on and Bucky was losing his shyness, he talked to you about the good old times. Before HYDRA, before the winter, before the war. When he was a kid with no worries more than keeping Steven safe from the bullies. It was nice to disconnect from the present, from the gazes around the two of you, from the back talks, only enjoying your dinner and your conversation. You talked to Bucky about how was to be raised on a farm, surrounded by open fields and animals, to join the army years later. Without going into details that could make him remember the old bad times, you told him about what you used to do, your missions, and how you were wounded in combat after being shot and fell from a helicopter.

Bucky felt confident enough to compare it with how everything started. Falling from a wagon to the snow. But as soon as his voice became lower, you couldn't help but hold his gloved left hand and intertwine your fingers with his. And you could swear you felt him shaking for a brief moment because of your touch.

“So, what, uh? It was a forties trend to jump into the void?” You tried to joke, wanting to feel relaxed.

“Yeah, seems like”. He mumbled curling up his lips. “Listen… I really want to… open up, and I know it’s easier with you because… y’know, you work doing this”.

“Hold on, Bucky”. You laughed waving your free hand, shaking your chin as you closed your eyes for a second. “That has sounded really bad”.

“Wait, wh— Oh, shit, no, no, no”.

For the first time since you walked into the small restaurant, his laughter was lively, unworriedly, honest.

“Take it easy, just kidding”. You grinned, nailing your elbow on the table to rest your cheek on your palm. “But… this isn’t work. We’re not doing therapy, we’re… knowing each other. And I don’t want to pressure you to talk about something you don’t feel prepared to, okay?”

“I know”.

Bucky couldn’t believe how much you seemed to empathize with him, not judging his acts nor his past, not deciding that the date wasn't a good idea nor running away. He couldn’t believe the less importance you were giving to his arm made of vibranium; usually, people used to freak out, to feel frightened somehow about the things it could do. But you were there, fingers playing with the others as if it was the most common and natural act in the world. And, for you, it was. That was you in all your best. Considerate, smart, patient, lovingly. The rainbow after a stormy life. Everything that Bucky needed in his life to start from scratch and be his better version. A shoulder to lean on and a reason to come back home.

“Was afraid of asking you out”. He confessed after some seconds admiring each other. Any person closer would say you had been dating for a long, long time by the way you had to keep silent and not feel uncomfortable.

“Why?”

“You came from war and made your world a place to live. I’m still stuck there”.

“I have my own red flags”. Clicking your tongue, you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, really? Please, surprise me”. Bucky teased you sitting up on his chair, not loosening the gentle grip around your left hand.

“I put the milk before cereals”.

“Oh… Oh, God”. He let out, pretending to be horrified and running a hand on his face. “Goddammit… you’re a monster, ma’am. I don’ think this is going to work”.

“Excuse me?” You chuckled, parting your lips in a breath while leaning over the table to palm his right shoulder. “It wasn’t me who added lettuce to the burger”.

“What? What’s the matter with that, uh?”

“Lettuce kills the savor!”

“Y’know what kills the savor? Ketchup. Today, people use ketchup literally with everything… And that’s disgusting”.

“Okay! Next time, no lettuce, and… no ketchup”.

“That’s a big challenge”. Bucky scoffed tenderly squeezing your hand between his cold fingers.

“I’ll live, Sergeant Barnes”. You narrowed your eyes and crinkled your nose at the same time.

“I was talking about a second date, not about your issue with ketchup”.

“So was I”.

A goofy smirk appeared on Bucky’s face, biting his inner cheek as he assented with his head. Seeing you again, knowing that you wanted it —that you wanted him—, made him trust Dr. Raynor’s words. He was having a second chance to do the right thing. To live and to be.

You wanted to add something else when the clock in his wrist started to beep. Curious, you raised an eyebrow. “We have to leave”.

“Why?”

“Sam told me you work tomorrow at eight, which means you’ll get up at six and a half… maybe seven. While I pay, take you home, all that stuff… I don’ want you to be tired in the morning”.

Bucky would never stop to amaze you, looking up to him in silence to contemplate how he called the bartender and beckoned his free hand to ask for the bill.

“What…? What are you doing?” He chuckled embarrassed, taking his beer to sip.

You cleared your throat when you realized how stupid you should look right now, shaking your head as you freed his cold hand from yours to find unlock your phone as soon as the guy brought the dataphone.

“Hey, no, no. I asked you out, I pay”. Bucky began to fight with you, provoking some laughs on the table as you tried to put your screen above the tpv.

“Well, welcome to the twenty-first century”. You hummed as the operation was confirmed.

“I’ll pay next time”. He declared licking his incisors, prior to his lips.

You wished the ride back home to last forever, not wanting to end the date. But the car reached your neighborhood in a blink of eyes. You couldn't help but sigh barely appreciably for your companion, gazing through the window until double parking in front of your apartment. You turned towards him, hearing the engine shut off. Bucky seemed disappointed like you, not being able to remember when was the last time he had a break, he had fun. The date was nicer than he expected but the idea of not knowing exactly when he was going to see you again was killing him from the inside.

“I'll accompany you”. He declared undoing his seat belt as you did to step out.

You reacted with a delicate smile, holding the bucket of flowers against your abdomen while walking to the front door of the building. That moment was a little uncomfortable, not being sure about how to say goodbye, just looking like two teens in love.

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky”. You uttered without thinking about it. “It's been the best night I've ever had”.

“Next will be better, I promise”.

“That's a big challenge”. You chuckled repeating his words a while ago in the restaurant.

“I'll live”. He nodded convinced, glancing at you bowing down your interest to the red roses between your hands.

How could you tell him that you were dying to be together again? That you wouldn't mind waking up sooner and having breakfast? You bit your inner upper lip, trying to find the correct words to say, without sounding like you were feeling something else to a physical attraction. Bucky was hot as hell, that wasn't up to debate, but he was the kindest and charmingest man you had known. He was sensible and strong at the same time. You both complemented the other like the pieces of a puzzle and you never thought something like that could happen to you. To find your other half and having it so clear you didn't want anyone else.

“I am, uh… free tomorrow”.

His words pushed you out of your thoughts, putting up your attention to a Bucky almost flushing, stroking the back of his head, and having the impression that he could scare you.

“Got a break for lunch, if you want”. You proposed without hesitation.

His eyes sparkled with happiness, holding your left hand with his to bring it to his mouth, placing a fond kiss on the back. Such a gentleman, like Sam said, inducing your cheeks to burn. And then, you saw him doubting about taking another step. You wanted it too to happen, tho, leaning forward to press your lips together. Your eyes snapped closed at that precise instant, not having any rush, tasting each other's and shortening the distance between both of you by his free arm getting wrapped around your waist. The kiss was innocent but passionate. It was warm, intimate, trying to transmit all the chemistry you woke up within the other with only one look, with only one smile. Breaking it —much to your regret— when you needed air to breathe. And even so, Bucky rested his forehead against yours freeing your hand to place it on the right side of his neck.

Neither of the two of you opened your eyes, extending the moment as much as you could. You felt he craved to spend the night with you, and you desired it too, but you also felt that he needed some time to get used to this new world he was living in. It wasn't easy. You thought back to the months after the war, the recovery, the loneliness you forced yourself to be in. You were in Afghanistan for three months. He had been fighting since nineteen forty. And he didn't want to ruin what you were building together.

“I should leave”. Bucky murmured against his wishes.

“See you tomorrow”.

At the moment you opened your eyes to meet the pale blue ones, your whole body felt weak. You saw the brightness in them after letting him know that the second date was going to happen and that it wasn't just a formality before disappearing, wiping out any minimal doubt by kissing him again. The last kiss. A good night, I'll dream with you kiss.

“I'm gonna play this on your wedding day, definitely”.

You screamed because of the unexpected metallic voice coming closer, clinging to Bucky's neck as his heart raced too. Redwing was suspended in the air some steps away from you, being controlled by Sam. Who else is not him, uh?

“I'm starting to think you have separation anxiety”. The soldier growled trying to hit the flying device with his flesh hand, hearing you laughing against his chest.

“Good night, kids”. You chuckled separating from Bucky.

“No kiss for me, soldier?”

“I'm not gonna kiss that thing, Samuel”.

“What about a howl, White wolf? Would be very appro—”.

“White wo—”.

“Please, don't. Don't ask”. Bucky begged you, licking his bottom lip while rubbing the back of his head, clearly ashamed.

“Hope you show me one day what it means…”

“Oh, he will… Just wait till the full moon”.

“Sam!” Bucky and you yelled in unison, you playfully, he annoyed.

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[iam93percentstardust]

Marvels Unsolved: A Series by iam93percentstardust

Marvels Unsolved

Marvels Unsolved was never supposed to be this popular. It started off as a novelty webseries about Tony trying to convince Bucky about the existence of the supernatural—he firmly believed that if science could turn Uncle Steve from an actual shrimp to the god of muscles, then magic had to be out there—and then they’d started talking about an unsolved crime from the early 20th century after filming an episode one day, forgetting that the camera was still rolling, and had ended up with enough footage to make a second episode about real crimes. They had stayed pretty unknown throughout that first season but then true crime podcasts had exploded in popularity and Unsolved along with them.

Marvels Unsolved: The Treasure of Captain Kidd

“Hello, my lovelies!” Tony calls into the camera over the crunch of the gravel below their feet. “Every season Bucky and I do one episode where we go treasure hunting because he feels bad that he keeps making me hunt demons so this season, we’re in New Jersey where we’re looking for the treasure of Captain William Kidd.”

Marvels Unsolved: The Eerie Disappearance of Major Carol Danvers

This week on Marvels Unsolved, Tony and a special guest star investigate the disappearance of Air Force pilot Carol Danvers after a plane crash that left her copilot dead.

Marvels Unsolved: Mysteries of the Maximoff House

This week on Marvels Unsolved, Bucky and Tony investigate the Westview Anomaly and the Maximoff House as part of their ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?

Marvels Unsolved: The First Season

"Jameson’s taking me off of listicle duty and making me make videos instead," Tony complains.

“Ouch. What about?” Bucky asks.

“I’ve got no fucking clue. I’ve got until Friday to come up with an idea.”

He yanks his calendar out of one of his drawers. Each month features a different supernatural creature with January’s as a ghost, helpfully depicted with a white sheet as though ghosts look anything like that. He blinks at it for a long time, the beginnings of an idea stirring in his mind.

He glances up and over at Bucky’s desk where a small bobblehead of a similar-looking ghost sits next to the computer. Bucky had gotten it at the haunted house that someone had dragged them to years ago as a souvenir of “the stupidest thing I’ve ever been forced to go to.”

“What’s that look for?” Bucky asks curiously. “I know that one. You’ve got an idea, so what is it?”

“Bucky, do you believe in ghosts?” he asks.

Bucky snorts, “Fuck no.” Then, a small crease in his brow appears. “Why do you ask?”

Marvels Unsolved: Secret Societies

He almost walks back out to go ask Rollins what’s up, but decides to click on the link instead. And from there, as soon as he lays eyes on the title, it’s not hard to spot what caught Rollins’ attention. Marvels Unsolved True Crime: Secret Societies and Orders

[cjsinkythoughts]

FATWS One Shot #2 - The Beginning of a Family

Word Count: 1804

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Human Trafficking (once, it was a mission Reader did), Minor Character Injury

Setting/Characters: The first half-ish of The Avengers in 2012; Reader, Steve Rogers, Nick Fury, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor, Mentions of Loki, Phil Coulson, and Clint Barton, OC!Agent Anderson

A/N: Here’s One Shot Number 2! I was thinking of making it longer and adding the actual Battle of Manhattan, but I dunno if I’m gonna do that. I just wanted these to be One Shots of first meetings and other smaller events. I didn’t want to do scene-for-scene two parters. If you want me to, I can, I don’t mind doing it, I just wasn’t planning on it. I’ve kinda been slacking today, which is why I haven’t cranked out more than this one, but I’ll see if I can finish one more for tonight. Tomorrow’s another late night for me at work, BUT! Tomorrow night FATWS comes out! So I will be doing the next Episode! I also don’t have Friday off this week, so the Parts might bleed into Saturday, but they will come this weekend!

Reminder that this has nothing to do with FATWS the show, but I don’t have a title for my FATWS Series, which is what these are based off of, so this is what they’re called for now! If you have any ideas for names, feel free to send them in! I’m just too lazy to come up with something clever for the whole Series.

Thank you so much for reading! As always, not beta’d so please excuse any mistakes! Be kind to yourselves and others! Stay tuned and enjoy!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

You were exhausted, coming back from an assignment that lasted a little over two months. It’d been your first one since you were assigned to help Steve adjust, and you were guessing they’d keep you on desk duty for a few months before sending you back out again. Which frustrated you to no end.

But then you got back your personal cell phone from a fellow agent and, seeing you had a few  voicemails - which you never had - you flipped it on.

“Hi, Y/N.” Your lips turned up at the man you started growing close to over the past year. “I-I know you’re on a mission right now. I mean, you just left last week. Anyways, I just…I hope you’re doin’ okay. You probably won’t get this until later, but…still. I hope you’re safe. I, uh, I got that book. The one you were joking about me getting. The U.S. History for Dummies one. It goes farther back than I need to know, but I still read all of it. It helped. I wish you were here though. But I know you’re working. And that’s important. Um… I guess I’ll see you in a few months.”

The phone beeped before the next message played. “I took your advice. I got a sketchbook and some other stuff. There’s a ton of new supplies. I’m kinda excited to try them out. Maybe they’re not new but they’re more accessible now than they used to be. And I found a gym. In Brooklyn. It’s kinda run down - a hole in the wall type place - but they don’t do memberships and they don’t care how long you stay as long as you pay for your time. So that’s nice. I guess. Anyways…hi. I don’t think I said that earlier. It’s Steve, by the way. But you probably guessed that. Um…that’s all. I just wanted to let you know. Stay safe, honey. Abbyssinia.”

You listened to the next couple ones, all along the same lines. Steve telling you about his day; about the dog he was allowed to pet on his run or the different coffee he tried this morning at your previous suggestion. You snickered a little, shaking your head. You would never guessed that Hitler hitting, Nazi punching Captain America was so…soft. Cute.

His last voicemail was from earlier that morning, and it made her brow furrow. “Hey, honey. I, uh…God, I really wish you were here. I was told you’d be getting back last week, but then they said it might be another couple weeks because something happened? I hope nothing happened. Please be okay. I’ve really missed you. I know it’s only been a year, but…you’re the only familiar thing I have right now. I guess Fury was right to choose you since you were the first person I saw. There’s a, uh, problem. Fury’s got a mission for me. Some guy named Loki stole the Tesseract. Which was HYDRA’s secret weapon. That blue cube thing. I was just getting used to laptops and fast food and this…it’s just a lot. Overwhelming. You were always good at making things less intimidating. I’ve gotta go. Some SHIELD personnel are picking me up now. We’re going to…somewhere. I’m sure you would know, but they haven’t exactly told me. Hoping to see you soon, Y/N. Please be safe.”

You frowned at the information, looking up at one of your fellow agents, Anderson. “Hey.” He turned his head towards you from his conversation with the copilot. “Is something going on at HQ?”

“The Helicarrier.” Anderson corrected. “Fury just called it in. Something with the Tesseract. And some guy’s mind controlling people. He’s got Barton, apparently. The director is bringing a few people on board; Banner, Stark, Romanoff. Rogers, too, I heard. He wants you to be there ASAP, so we’re going there now.”

Letting out a sigh, you rubbed your eyes and nodded. “Alright. Let’s go see what’s going on.”

*************************

Fury met you as you walked off the jet, lugging your duffle bag over your shoulder. You were still in your clothes from the mission; a human trafficking ring in Guam. Dirty, torn up jeans along with a white tank top hugging your torso and a flannel, unbuttoned, over your shoulders. One of your sneakers had a hole in it, too, and you were walking with a slight limp from the dislocated kneecap you got a few days prior.

“Agent.” He nodded in greeting, passing you a file. “The others are waiting. We just brought in Loki.”

You chewed your cheek, narrowing your eyes as you scanned the information in the file. It had personal files of the others, but you didn’t need to look through those. You knew Natasha very well, considering she taught you half the things you know, along with Barton. You knew Stark - of course you did - especially after you helped set Natasha up to be his secretary a while back. Banner you were also knowledgeable about, seeing as you went undercover to find him when he first took off and had been part of the tracking team on him ever since. Thor you had learned about after his fiasco in New Mexico from Coulson. And, last but certainly not least, Steve Rogers, who you knew better than any file could explain.

“Walk me through this; Thor and Loki are the real Thor and Loki? Like, from Norse myths?”

“Apparently so. You know about the New Mexico incident with the two last year, don’t you?”

You nodded, pinching your lips together tightly. “Well, yeah, but I thought…I dunno. I guess it just didn’t click. So,” you tucked the file under your arm securely, raising an eyebrow at Fury. “We’re fighting a god? An actual god?”

“With an army of aliens.” He confirmed.

“Wonderful.” You huffed as the two of you turned a corner, making your way onto the bridge, just in time to hear Stark talking to Banner about him turning into the Hulk.

“Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube.” Fury butted in. You crossed your arms behind Fury, leaning on your good leg. “I was hoping you might join him. Before you do, this is-” 

“Y/N! You’re back!”

You shot a grin to the blonde, who perked up upon seeing you. “Hi, Steve. Just in time, too, huh.” You nudged Natasha slightly. “Hey, Nat. Sorry about Clint.”

She shrugged. “I’m just glad you’re here to help.”

“I’m sorry.” You looked over to find Banner frowning contemplatively at you. “Do I know you?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Fury beat you to it. “Formalities later. Y/L/N, we’ll bring you up to speed-”

“I’ll get there, sir. How are you boys planning on tracking down the Tesseract?” You questioned, nodding in the two geniuses’ direction.

“I’d start with that stick of his.” Steve suggested, turning to look at the duo as well. “It may be magical but it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon.”

“I don’t know about that, but it is powered by the Cube.” Fury stated. “And I’d like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.”

A tall, broad as hell blonde looked at Fury, confused. “Monkeys? I do not understand-”

“I do!” Steve jumped in, pointing at Thor, before leaning back in his seat at the silence that came after his exclamation. “I-I understood that reference.”

You chuckled and shook your head, winking at Steve when he smiled bashfully at you. As the two scientists - was Stark a scientist? - started heading out, Steve hopped up, padding over to you.

“You’re back early.”

“Late, technically.” You shrugged, letting him pull you in for a hug, your hand rubbing his back. “I got your calls.”

He pulled away, his ears turning red. “Oh, yeah. I, uhm-”

You sniggered. “It’s fine, Steve. You can call me whenever you need to. I’m just sorry I couldn’t answer you sooner.”

“You were working.” He shrugged half heartedly. “Did it go okay? Are you okay?”

“Yes, Steven. I’m fine.” You rolled your eyes just as a yawn threatened to escape your lips. “If not a little tired.” You tapped on the star against his chest. “Nice suit, by the way.”

“Ha ha.” He grinned, eyeing your own clothing. “You’re matching me.” He tugged on the red, white, and blue flannel hanging from your arms. “You also look like shit.”

You snorted. “Wow. What a gentleman. Let’s get this whole Loki situation over with so I can go to bed, yeah?”

He chuckled a little with a nod. “Sounds like a plan, honey.” The two of you started out of the bridge. “You should shower first, though.”

“You’re a bully, you know that?”

“I’m just sayin’!”

“I’m just sayin’!” You mocked with a huff. “Leave me be, Rogers.”

His laughter was cut short, making you look over at him curiously, only to find his slitted eyes studying your movements. “Why are you limping?”

“Relax, Captain. I just dislocated my knee. It’s fine. Shit happens on missions, you know that.”

“Is that why you came back late?”

Shaking your head, you lead him to one of the private rooms the Helicarrier had so you could shower and change. “No. I just needed a little more time. That’s all. Now let’s focus on the problem at hand. We can talk more later.”

He hesitated, leaning against the doorway and watching you set your bag on the small cot.  “Okay. As long as you’re alright.”

Your heart jumped a bit at the concern laced in his tone, the apprehension in those blue eyes - which you found out had some green in them - making your breath hitch slightly. “I am.” You spoke softly with a firm nod of your head, trying to assure him and his worries. “I promise.”

“I’m gonna go check on Banner and Stark, then. Come find me when you’re done.”

You cleared your throat to recover yourself, throwing him a cheeky grin. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile, before turning and walking out, leaving you alone and confused.

What was that? You’d never had that reaction to anything. Your heart doesn’t race whenever someone walks in the room. Not like it did with him. What the hell did that even mean?

You shook your head, clearing your throats. You didn’t have time to dwell on that now. You doubted it was anything more than a fluke. You were just tired and seeing someone familiar, who was genuinely excited to see you was like a breath of fresh air after your operation. That’s all. Yeah.

With that decided, you headed to the shower, head spinning with new thoughts of this problem with the God of Mischief and that stupid blue cube.

All Works Taglist (Open):

@happygoreading​ @bibliophilewednesday​

[psalloacappella]

Flight crew AU - snippet

Finding inspo lately has kind of been like pulling teeth so I’m digging back through WIP’s and snips ✈️This deserved edits since I wrote it on the fly in that tiny twitter box lol. OG snip

In which Sakura is the best pilot from her class and Sasuke is crew + Ino best copilot/wingwoman.

“You did,” he whispers, breathing hard against her temple, feeling her coat against her chest, between them. “But not the job - I don’t care about that.”

Desperate, the way he takes her face in his hands, thinking if he holds on she can’t flit away into the bright blue world.

“It’s that you’ll always love me second.” 

.

.

.

“You know they’re separated for a reason? Pilots and crew?” 

Lingering by the cockpit near the crew rest quarters is the height of pathetic, he knows. In the aftermath, the chaotic fireworks of an illicit fling, it feels like a smoldering fire the whole route’s crew can see. 

Ino’s glower cuts deep.

“Sniffing around isn’t a good look,” she says, raising her eyes up to the crew rest area above first class. “You’re so obvious.” 

Sasuke sighs, expression pained. No matter the roles, he still feels responsible. He was the catalyst; in his life he’s never been “that guy.”

“It’s ending.” Voice harsh, a knife’s curt cut to drive home his point. Bitterness.

“It better be,” she hisses, folding her arms across her uniform. “I can’t stick my neck out for crew that doesn’t know their place.” 

He glances at her stripes, jaw clenched.

“This is the last time. I’m . . . saying goodbye.” Dark eyes boring into Ino’s, he acutely feels the weight and tenor of his disrespect. 

“She’s too good to be disgraced. This could end her career. She’s an idiot for overstepping.”

“I wanted her,” he says simply. “It’s me, too.”

The longest pause:  First class dishes clinking softly, the murmurs of the engines and gentle waves of passenger conversation. 

A few feet above him, she sleeps. Sasuke prepares to leave the only woman that’s ever made him feel a thing. 

Pilot and cabin crew:  A timeless cliche.

“You’re a mess, Uchiha.” Turning her ocean eyes back to the ceiling, she stretches tall and reaches for the ladder latch. Enters a code. “I’d better not see you on this route again. Go close the book on this.” 

She sweeps past him, gifting him a hard nudge to the shoulder. He deserves it.

Pilots and crew always have separate quarters for a reason — it didn’t manage to keep their hurricane love apart. 

Ascending the ladder, aware of the risk to him and the copilot, he curses himself for it all:  The utter cliche of it. The drunk layovers. Whispers. Loneliness.

The lifestyle’s a difficult one, holidays and milestones celebrated on crash couches, the new year rung in halfway over a dark ocean with only your crew and passengers for company. But he jeopardized her one true love, and for that, he owed it to her to go.

Dim rest quarters, plush bunks for the pilots; long-haul routes offered comfortable accommodations, and he’d been around the world on them, whipped into a whirlwind by one of the best and youngest pilots of her flight class. 

“Sasuke?” Her eyes trap him, glitter and green.

“You’re almost up again,” he says quietly, staying near the ladder. “Approach is soon.” 

Sakura sits up, swings her legs to the bunkside. “But that’s not why you’re here.” 

Unraveling, the frayed threads of their silence. 

“I’ll make this easy for you,” he says. “I’m going.”

“Absolutely not.” 

Watching one another askew, reflections bouncing at odd angles off the mirrors; seems they can only watch with distance. 

“I’m taking a commuter route,” he mutters to the carpet. “I’ll work out of—”

“So that’s it, hm?” She stands, eyes blazing, feet planted. Looking every bit the charming, vivacious, undaunted young pilot he took an off-duty drink with not long after FA training. Did he know he was doomed then? “The mistakes were all mine,” she rasps, shaking her head. “This power dynamic — I disrespected that. Became a cliche.”

“And I begged you to,” he hisses. “I’m not about to ruin your career for this — for me.” 

Aloud, it’s too fraught:  He will take the hit, alter his course to stay out of hers and keep that runway clear. 

“Don’t you see, Sasuke? I don’t deserve this position. I’m a mess.”

He snatches her jacket off a hook and tosses it at her with force. Catching it, she squares her jaw in anger. 

“That’s what I want to see,” Sasuke says, acknowledging her with a handsome jerk of his chin. “The fire. You love what you do. So take it. Be the best.”

She feels the fabric in her hands, fingertips tracing delicate stitches in winding curves — her long-haul journeys, her thousands of hours in the sky. Mapping the world, her one true love. 

Ah, and don’t they both know it, as their last flight ticks down to the approach.

“I’ve destroyed you,” she whispers, trailing her fingers over the epaulets. Four stripes — the culmination of her life’s work. 

He crosses the small space in a few swift steps, crushing his lips on hers without pausing to breathe, tasting her for the last time, their epilogue.

“You did,” he whispers, breathing hard against her temple, feeling her coat against her chest, trapped between them. “But not the job — I don’t care about that.” 

Desperate, the way he takes her face in his hands, thinking if he holds on she can’t flit away into the bright blue world.

“It’s that you’ll always love me second.” 

He steps back, feels the ache and loss immediately, a stitch in the chest. “But to love you, Sakura, even second has been worth it.” 

And he retreats, turning his back on her because her sorrow will absolutely ruin him. 

“You’re up.”

.

.

.

Ten minutes later, crew and passengers alike enjoy a smooth descent and taxi, like slipping into a warm bath. 

Sasuke lingers, nodding as people disembark, avoiding the blonde copilot’s sharp eyes while hating the soft warmth in his chest as he watches Sakura smile at the departures, taking compliments with grace.

When people shake hands with her, thank her, marvel at her, he knows in his heart she was born with wings.

This is what she’s made for. A thing not easily articulated but apparent the minute you meet her.

A great love, destiny at 20,000 feet.

And Sasuke knows it’s impossible to compete with a fate like this. 

“We’re off-duty now, you know.” 

She’s staring at him, handle of her rolling suitcase in hand. Of course he knows, and feels her gaze, unwavering. 

That hunger, consuming.

“If you changed airlines,” she says, turning on her heel in a way that always manages to make him fall into line, “it could be less of a mess.”

And she starts walking, heels tapping the dirge of their great love undone, echoing across the airport floors.

He doesn’t hesitate to follow.

“Perhaps,” she says, “your name’s already been brought up at another legacy.”

“So then what would I do?” He catches up, watching the top of her pink head. Cap tucked under her arm. “Chase you around the world, meeting up when our schedules cross?” 

Sakura shrugs, eyes ahead.

“Is that not what we’ve been doing anyway?” 

They arrive at street-level, standing on hard concrete, bereft of words. 

Then—

Sakura hands him a business card, a number scribbled on the back in a gorgeous, looping hand. “Go to your hotel,” she says. “Call her. Discuss it.”

“Sakura—”

“If you like the terms, I’ll see you at 7:00 p.m. in your finest, non-crew dress. I’ll be a stranger, and so will you. Endings and beginnings, you know.” 

Her smile could power a city with its light and magic. It could chase away every cranny, small and dark.

“I’m sorry you’ve been second.” Summoning a taxi with a wave of the hand, she lets the driver take her luggage and lowers herself into the back seat. Pauses before continuing,

“But I have two great loves, and I don’t want to let go of either.” 

Leaves him standing there on the curb, contemplating his fate.

.

.

.

Two strangers meet in a bar.

With his dark hair and eyes and hers so fair, they paint complementary shadows in the thrown curtain of dim candlelight; a new and foreign city. 

They speak of everything and nothing, her considerably chattier than him, but upon taking her hand, she sinks into a companionable silence.

The bartender’s used to seeing this play out:  International crews criss-crossing the globe, anonymous in a place like this. Flickering sparks of two kindred souls catching fire. 

Unsurprised when they leave together, sailing into the night giddy on desire.

Watching a stern man chase a soft love. 

Embarking on their star-crossed life in perpetuum, circling infinity. 

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Soldier, Poet, King

Part 8

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

[AO3] [Masterpost]

[Potential TW for graphic violence: Jin Guangyao has vivid fantasies of how he'd like to murder Jin Guangshan, though he doesn't act on any of them of course]

[Yet 👀]

-/-

It takes roughly a week of doing very little save resting to recover from the Drift experiment, though Lan Xichen doesn’t have much to complain about. It’s an excuse to spend an unrealistic amount of time in bed with Jin Guangyao, and though they don’t do anything more strenuous than kiss in deference to Nie Mingjue’s gruff brand of mother-henning them, it’s still lovely. Lan Xichen knows, of course, that the lack of work chafes at Jin Guangyao’s nerves when he’s so used to running things around the shatterdome in nearly every way, but he privately thinks that the enforced break is good for him.

That being said, it is still a relief when the doctor declares them well enough to return to light duty, though they’re forbidden from further Drift experiments for at least another two weeks to ensure they don’t do permanent damage to themselves or each other. Jin Guangyao disappears almost immediately after a few parting kisses to go see to his duties that he’s been forced to neglect (read: delegate), and Lan Xichen finds himself wandering around the shatterdome by himself without much direction.

After all - he’s not…really…a pilot anymore. It’s a strange sort of limbo to exist in, not knowing whether or not he’ll ever step into a Jaeger again. He supposes he could still be asked to run Jade Dragon with Lan Wangji - in fact he probably will before either his brother or Wei Wuxian spills the secret that Lan Wangji longs to retire as soon as possible. Should he be called back into rotation as Wangji’s copilot, he’ll go happily and without a word of complaint. 

But his days of training hard in between each run are over. Lan Wangji’s training with Wei Wuxian is time-consuming and necessary so early in their partnership to ensure they’ll be able to fight together safely. Lan Xichen would only be intruding and interfering with Jin Guangyao’s goals with this project if he were to step in and insist on training with his brother, especially considering it’s not even necessary for them anymore so many years into their own partnership. Of course, following the rather disastrous experiments with Jiang Wanyin and Qin Su, Nie Mingjue had instructed him to train with the others and not just his brother in case of finding another suitable Drift. Now that he’s their partner though, and not a viable partner to any of the other active duty pilots, it all seems a bit less..urgent.

He’s not used to finding himself at loose ends, considering how staunchly he’d trained as a child first to lead the family and then as a young man to bring righteous justice to the world by piloting a Jaeger when the world went insane. He’s never really had a moment in his life in which what he could do with his time was left up to him and his whims, and he’s startled to find that the only desire he has that he can really articulate is that he wants to spend time with his partners.

With the exception of their flirtation when Lan Xichen had helped head off Nie Mingjue’s migraine a week ago, Nie Mingjue has been keeping something of a polite distance while Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao have been recovering. He’s been nothing but polite and indulgent, accepting teasing remarks with minimal grumbling and only once did he throw a pillow at Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao to stop them laughing at a particularly pointed innuendo that had made Nie Mingjue blush a deep crimson even in the privacy of their quarters. Lan Xichen doesn’t doubt that Nie Mingjue wants him, but the other man’s sense of propriety is charmingly old-fashioned despite the fact that he’d apparently been the one to push for their somewhat unorthodox relationship in the first place.

Lan Xichen stands by his assessment from that night after overhearing Nie Mingjue’s short conversation with Nie Huaisang - he’s a fascinating man, and Lan Xichen desperately wants to understand every single thing there is to know about him.

“He’s in the weight room,” Nie Zonghui says as soon as Lan Xichen pokes his head into their shared office. “Had a meeting with Jin Guangshan this morning so I sent him to burn off some energy.”

“Ah - thank you, Zonghui.”

“Hey-” Lan Xichen pauses in his retreat to find Nie Zonghui studying him with slightly narrowed eyes. “You’re feeling better, then?”

“Yes, A-Yao and I have both been given permission to return to light work.”

“Good, Mingjue’s been moping all week. I don’t need him for anything else today, so make sure you cheer him up.”

Any questions he might have as to if Nie Zonghui is insinuating what he seems to be are answered by the self-satisfied smirk on the man’s face as he turns back to his work and Lan Xichen disguises a laugh as a delicate little cough. It’s nice to know he’s not the only one who thinks Nie Mingjue could do with a very particular brand of relaxation.

All that remains is to convince Nie Mingjue himself.

The irregular staccato thuds of someone testing a sandbag’s limits reaches him first as he approaches the weight room, followed shortly after by the clanking of bars and various other familiar sounds ubiquitous to gyms everywhere. He resists the urge to pout that Nie Mingjue won’t be alone for him to lay him down on a weight bench and have his way with him, but perhaps some other time.

“Hey Xichen,” Jiang Wanyin greets the moment he crosses the threshold, halfway through a rep on the pulldown machine. “Feeling better?”

“Hello Wanyin - yes, much better. I would like to apologize for the result of our Drift.” He hadn’t been able to find Jiang Wanyin after everything, and then he’d skipped breakfast the morning after, leaving him no chance to see the other and apologize properly.

As he’d expected, Jiang Wanyin deflects instantly, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Don’t worry about it, it’s whatever. You looking for Wangji?”

“Ah - no, actually, Chifeng-Zun. I was told he’s here.”

Jiang Wanyin jerks his chin in the direction of the back corner past the rows of equipment just in time for Nie Mingjue to land a punch so solid that the boom of it echoes around the room. Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow when he spots his partner’s bare hands. 

“You’re going to break your knuckles,” he chides once he’s close enough to properly appreciate the sight of Nie Mingjue sweaty and out of breath, glaring at him half-heartedly.

“I know how to throw a punch, Xichen. What are you doing down here?”

“I have been released from my bedrest, and I wanted to discuss something with you. Are you nearly finished teaching the punching bag a lesson?”

“Just about. You trying to give these hens even more gossip fodder?” He asks the last in a quiet aside with a sidelong look at the rest of the room. Lan Xichen does the same only to spot everyone hastily looking away from the pair of them to go back to their workouts with varying degrees of embarrassment. Jin Zixuan in particular looks like he’s at risk of his hair catching on fire from the strength of his blush, though that seems relatively par for the course from what Lan Xichen has been able to gather of the man’s rather bumbling sort of personality (so at odds with the haughty persona he maintains for the media).

“I assume word has spread that I have been in bed with A-Yao this week?” He doesn’t bother lowering his voice any more than usual; he usually speaks softly enough to make eavesdropping more difficult, but Jin Zixun, sitting nearest to them, still racks his barbell harder than necessary and stands up from the benchpress in a huff to plonk himself down on a different piece of equipment clear across the room.

“Not much can stay secret around here when pilots are the worst gossips in the world.”

“It’s not gossip if we’d just see it in each other’s heads anyway, Chifeng-Zun!” Wei Wuxian shouts across the room. “We might as well tell each other everything we know before any siblings can be ahhhh surprised in the Drift, and besides it’s all about ~communication~ as Lan Zhan so helpfully keeps reminding me.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Shut up Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Wanyin snaps over Lan Wangji’s quiet censure, flinging the sweaty towel around his neck at his brother’s face. “You have absolutely no fucking shame!”

“Aiyah, shame is overrated, didi! Loosen up,” Wei Wuxian laughs. Lan Xichen glances at Lan Wangji and is unsurprised to find his brother only looks distantly smug in the moment before he flows into a backbend on his yoga mat, set up near enough to where Wei Wuxian is practicing with his staff for them to chat if they want. Lan Xichen deems everyone sufficiently distracted to look back at Nie Mingjue and offer him a quick wink, which fortunately is still capable of making him blush.

“Let me just get cleaned up and I’ll head out with you.”

“Take your time.”

When Nie Mingjue reemerges and falls in at Lan Xichen’s side, he turns his steps back in the direction of the living quarters rather than any of the areas where Nie Mingjue might reasonably be found working during the day.

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue warns him when they turn the final corner and, content in their lack of an audience, Lan Xichen takes Nie Mingjue’s hand in his and coaxes him the last few yards to their door.

“Humor me, Mingjue. Zonghui told me he won’t need you for anything else today, it’s alright.”

Lan Xichen ignores Nie Mingjue’s grumbling about his cousin and his meddling in favor of bullying the man into their room, sliding the door shut with a clang behind them.

“Do you actually want to talk about anything?”

“Talking is lovely,” Lan Xichen says agreeably with a bit of a shrug. He steps forward to run his hands slowly up the strong planes of Nie Mingjue’s chest, across his shoulders. “I would like to spend time with you in any way that would help you after it sounds like you’ve had a rough morning. Zonghui told me you had a meeting with Jin Guangshan.”

Nie Mingjue’s expression grows predictably thunderous at the reminder. In an attempt to reclaim his attention, Lan Xichen cups his partner’s jaw and brushes his thumbs against his cheeks in slow, careful strokes. 

“Fucking monster,” Nie Mingjue growls; Lan Xichen steps closer until their chests are nearly touching and Nie Mingjue’s hands settle on his waist seemingly without his conscious input. “I’d rather forget about his entire fucking existence than repeat any of the shit he says to me.”

“That can also be arranged, only say the word.” Nie Mingjue seems to rather abruptly realize the position they’re in, his hands tensing on Lan Xichen’s waist. “Zonghui said he sent you down there to expend some energy. While I am sure that punching a sandbag repeatedly is a satisfying release, I have some alternative suggestions.”

As anticipated, the double entendre has Nie Mingjue blushing a charming pink in no time and Lan Xichen can’t quite resist smiling and leaning in to nuzzle the tips of their noses together, though he doesn’t go in for a kiss quite yet. They haven’t kissed again since that first Nie Mingjue had given him when Lan Xichen had been on his knees for him, which is perhaps for the best as even just remembering that single kiss still makes him feel a bit…wobbly (in an extremely pleasant way, of course).

“Xichen - we..we haven’t really..”

“As I said, we can talk if you’d like to,” Lan Xichen reminds him gently and brushes one of his thumbs slowly down his cheek to trace the curve of his bottom lip. “Are you unsure about me?”

“No!”

“Are you uncertain about our mutual regard for A-Yao?”

“Not in the least. You look at him like he hung the fucking moon.”

“Mn, I adore him,” Lan Xichen agrees as easily as breathing. “I know you nearly as well, through him. I’ve felt his love for you, I’ve seen how much you care for him, both in his memories and through watching you together myself. I know how strongly you feel about your principles, and your morals. I know how kind you are, and how ruthless when you need to be for the sake of justice. I also feel like you hung the moon.”

Nie Mingjue takes a long, deep breath in and he doesn’t move when Lan Xichen leans in to press their lips together in a chaste kiss.

“We should do this with all three of us, first. It doesn’t feel right for the first time at least without A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue eventually mumbles, which is a concession Lan Xichen is more than willing to make.

“We can do whatever you like, as much or as little. But I have already kissed him quite a bit, and you hardly at all…”

He kisses Nie Mingjue a few more times in quick succession with clear intent, and he’s unsurprised but inordinately pleased when Nie Mingjue makes some noise of concession in the back of his throat and backs him up to press him against the metal door. It’s cool and unyielding at his back, Nie Mingjue burning hot and equally as unyielding at his front, and Lan Xichen is very abruptly aware of how little his life has prepared him for this.

Experiencing Jin Guangyao’s relationship with Nie Mingjue through the filter of his memories had given him a taste of it - a good one - and what little he and Jin Guangyao had managed to get up to together since their enforced bed rest has been another very good primer.

But Nie Mingjue doesn’t kiss him like Jin Guangyao does.

He starts carefully, gaze lowered to watch Lan Xichen’s mouth as he asks a hoarse, “Is this okay?”

Lan Xichen breathes a besotted, “Yes.” Nie Mingjue’s tongue catches the word off his lips, and then all caution is thrown to the wind. Nie Mingjue kisses like he does everything else - blunt, straightforward, disarming in his honesty. Lan Xichen’s head nearly thuds against the door with the force of it, but Nie Mingjue’s broad, hot hand is there threaded through the silk of his hair for a cushion. Lan Xichen tests out a nip to his bottom lip, tentative and a bit unsure, but when Nie Mingjue grunts a soft encouragement he tries it again, harder, only to be rewarded with a sharp jerk of Nie Mingjue’s hips against his.

Something pained and starving buried deep in the bottomless well of Lan Xichen’s chest cracks through his ribs and breaks free.

All his life he’s wanted to be touched. He’s ached for it until his skin felt like it would tear apart from the wanting. He’s kept desperate pleas to be held clenched behind his smile. He’s sobbed himself awake from dreams of being carried on his mother’s hip,or  holding his father’s and his uncle’s hands, clinging to their legs, anything to hold them close and keep them there. He used to follow after Wangji just waiting for his brother to let him pick him up and carry him despite their similarity in stature as young children, but Wangji had refused every attempt with angry heartache that Lan Xichen could never convince himself to stand in the way of. Lan Wangji, despite his silence, has always worn his emotions on his face, his heart on his sleeve, and Lan Xichen has never once been allowed to, not really.

He wants to be desperate. He wants to be needy, and he wants to be safe in it. Maybe it’s greedy, maybe it’s selfish, but no one can criticize him in here, no one can discipline him, no one can tell him to spend a week or more in isolated meditation to reflect on his dedication to his responsibilities. No one can attempt to turn him into his father, no one will praise him for carving off every inconvenient piece of himself to sacrifice on the altar of filial piety and duty like he’s learned from Lan Qiren.

“Mingjue please,” he gasps, eyes suddenly burning. “Please, please, anything-”

Nie Mingjue doesn’t try to soothe him or slow him down, and Lan Xichen lets himself get swept up in pure sensation that he’s been deprived of for decades too long.

-/-

Nie Mingjue is not a weak man. His obstinance and inflexibility have been his downfall more than once in his life, though thankfully the permanent damage so far has been minimal. He’s stubborn to a fault, bullheaded and opinionated, strong in his convictions of right and wrong.

But Lan Xichen makes him want to be weak.

He’s still so soft, so polite, gentle and genteel in a way that Nie Mingjue is becoming increasingly convinced has little place in this war. Lan Xichen begs against his lips after little more than a single heated kiss and a little roll of their hips, as if he’ll collapse in on himself if he isn’t given something pleasurable to feel. Nie Mingjue knows between one kiss and the next that Lan Xichen already has him wrapped around his finger.

“Alright,” he agrees, any lingering reservations evaporating instantly in the face of Lan Xichen’s plea. “Anything you want, I promise.”

Nie Mingjue doesn’t think about anything except the present moment, the task at hand. Lan Xichen is clinging to him like he’s terrified to feel even an inch of space between them, so Nie Mingjue bundles him close and holds him so tightly that he’s expecting him to complain, to swat at him like Jin Guangyao does when he gets too grabby. But Lan Xichen just arches his back, throws a long leg around his, yanks at his hair to pull him in close as if there’s nothing but a lack of determination stopping them from finding space to fit their bodies inside one another’s entirely.

Not that Nie Mingjue doubts that Jin Guangyao wants him, needs him just as badly as Lan Xichen does, but this is a level of pure longing that he’s never experienced before; he’d be lying to say that it isn’t heady.

He gives into it with a groan muffled and lapped up quickly by the starving press of Lan Xichen’s tongue. He kisses like a drowning man desperately clawing for air, and Nie Mingjue is there to meet him at every turn. For an unmeasured time they’re nothing but grasping hands, frantic bites, whimpers tucked into throats and punctuated with gasps for the too-rough scratch of nails on skin. Lan Xichen’s hands are already under his shirt to claw at his back, his hips, and Nie Mingjue lets him - of course he lets him.

They linger there at the door until Lan Xichen is shaking from head to toe and Nie Mingjue can taste salt between their kiss-swollen lips, but even when he turns to take Lan Xichen to bed he does it with the man wrapped up so tightly in his arms that whatever broken pieces there are of him will hopefully survive the 7-foot journey.

He hasn’t asked about the Drift between Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao, and neither of them have offered up specific information of their own accord. He doesn’t know what it is that Lan Xichen can’t stand to face, what hurts him so much that the burden of sharing it weakened Jin Guangyao so much, but he doesn’t have to know the details to know that Lan Xichen is in pain. He hides it extremely well - Nie Mingjue would have never suspected it without the experiments - but now that he knows what to look for it’s so achingly obvious.

“Mingjue,” Lan Xichen mumbles against his mouth, their lips bruising and teeth sharp as they kiss. “Please-“

Nie Mingjue hates that Lan Xichen feels the need to beg for what he wants, no matter how much his body is very much on board with hearing him do it. He caves immediately, coaxing Lan Xichen down onto the too-narrow bed and giving him no time at all to adjust himself comfortably before he lays out on top of him from chest to ankle. When he does this with Jin Guangyao, he’s always careful to hold his weight on his elbows and knees, to surround his partner but never trap him (Jin Guangyao’s fight or flight instinct is in peak condition, and Nie Mingjue has learnt the hard way not to activate it).

With Lan Xichen, though, Nie Mingjue presses every inch of himself down against his partner, doing nothing at all to support his own weight other than to keep his head up to continue working on his new goal to taste every centimeter of Lan Xichen’s mouth.

It’s not necessarily about sex. Nie Mingjue had realized that the instant Lan Xichen started previcating and telling him they could do whatever he wants. He absolutely doesn’t doubt that Lan Xichen wants sex, but it’s not all he wants, or even most of what he wants if Nie Mingjue’s instincts can be trusted as they usually can. Lan Xichen melts underneath him, and rather than wrapping his limbs around him as if to pull him close and start grinding their hips together, instead he tucks them in between them pressed under Nie Mingjue’s bulk. Nie Mingjue obliges him, gathers up all the graceful long lines of him, and bundles him to his chest to hide him from the rest of the world.

Their kisses do eventually slow, or at least become less urgent as Lan Xichen’s panicked need simmers down to something softer. Nie Mingjue doesn’t ask him about it directly but he does drag his aching lips away from the temptation of Lan Xichen’s mouth to nose along his neck instead, his ears full of the sound of Lan Xichen’s ragged panting and the way he’s trying to subtly sniffle.

“I told you I’d take on some of it,” Nie Mingjue tries. “Whatever it is you tried to show A-Yao -”

Nie Mingjue cuts himself off when Lan Xichen slides his hands up from where they’re trapped between their chests to cup his face instead, long fingers holding him so gently, like he’s something precious. Nie Mingjue breathes deeply of the warm, clean scent of his skin and sighs a tired exhale.

“Mn. I believe I may be slightly touch-starved,” Lan Xichen says with remarkable delicacy and Nie Mingjue can’t stop himself from snorting, though he instantly apologizes with a flurry of kisses along Lan Xichen’s shoulder through his jacket. “I have been in extremely close quarters with A-Yao for days and yet..I need you now, like this. I cannot bear the thought of distance.”

“Can’t make up for an entire life in a couple of days. And I mean I don’t know much about the rest of your family but for all that Lan Wangji seems like a good man, I can’t really picture him being a hugger.”

Lan Xichen takes several slow, steady breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Nie Mingjue gives him the space (metaphorically) to consider it. 

“No,” Lan Xichen eventually says, the admission small and delicate between them. “No, he is not.”

Nie Mingjue rewards him for his honesty with a kiss to his collarbone. “You are, though, and both options are understandable. Do you have anyone else in your life?”

“My uncle,” Lan Xichen whispers, pained again. “He and Wangji are remarkably similar…I am more like our father.”

“Yeah? What’s he like?”

Lan Xichen is silent for so long that Nie Mingjue sits up again just enough to look down at him only to find he’s staring glassy-eyed up at the ceiling. “He was very lonely, I think. He must have been.”

Nie Mingjue sighs, leans down to press his forehead against Lan Xichen’s, eyes closed against the sight of him so melancholy. He gives him a few more moments to brood, but then he starts pressing soft, barely-there kisses to Lan Xichen’s lips until he starts to come back to himself enough to return them. He’s tentative at first, distracted, but Nie Mingjue just keeps giving him little sips of his lips until Lan Xichen chases his mouth after each one.

“You don’t have to be like him,” Nie Mingjue tells him between kisses. “You have A-Yao, and me, and Wangji, and everyone else here for that matter. You don’t have to be lonely anymore, you know.”

Lan Xichen hums noncommittally and strokes his cheeks with his fingertips again, running them softly up and down until he shifts suddenly and slips his arms around Nie Mingjue’s neck and his legs around his hips to cling to him. 

“So I am beginning to realize,” he admits, soft as a feather.

How is Nie Mingjue not supposed to kiss him for that?

-/-

“Sit down, Guangyao.”

Jin Guangshan sits in his usual ridiculous opulence, enthroned behind his massive desk that sees absolutely no important work. Jin Guangyao hates himself for how quickly he obeys. The visitors’ chairs in Jin Guangshan’s office are as gaudy as everything else, overstuffed leather monstrosities; every time Jin Guangyao finds himself in the unfortunate position of having to sit in one of them he can’t help but wonder just how in the hell he got them in the door. Jin Guangyao perches as close to the edge of the seat as he can get away with, back ramrod straight and his hands neatly settled in his lap - not clenching at each other in an attempt to maintain control of himself. Even that much weakness would be sniffed out and exploited, which he absolutely can’t allow.

“I take it you understand how this place runs,” Jin Guangshan muses after a few beats too many of pregnant silence. “You certainly waltz around pretending that you do.”

“Yes, father,” Jin Guangyao replies politely, tight and cool. His smile feels like fishhooks at the corners of his mouth and he keeps his eyes carefully on the hideously expensive trinkets littering the front edge of the desk between them.

“Yes you understand, or yes you pretend to understand so you can play housewife with the overgrown Nie brat?”

Jin Guangyao is made of ice. He’s plastic, he’s concrete, he’s made of anything that will not show any emotion other than what he allows. He absolutely will not show any reaction to Jin Guangshan’s needling, not even to come to Nie Mingjue’s defense for the dismissive little slight.

“Yes, I understand how this shatterdome runs.”

“For some reason, I’m finding that extremely hard to believe that at the moment. Do you think that no one in this building watches what you do? Do you think that you’re above it all just because Nie Mingjue is willing to play guard dog and shout down anyone who dares try to contradict you?”

“I am unsure what has prompted this,” Jin Guangyao lies smoothly. It’s only partially a lie anyway - he’s done so many things that would anger Jin Guangshan that he genuinely can’t tell yet which infraction has reached his father’s ears and upset him. “Has my work been unsatisfactory?”

“Your existence is unsatisfactory, boy, so of course anything touched by you is immediately sullied!”

Jin Guangyao’s fingers twitch ever so slightly with the desire to curl them into claws and gouge out Jin Guangshan’s bloodshot eyes. He can picture it perfectly, the steps he would take. He can vividly imagine standing up from his chair, climbing onto the desk and kicking all the shitty little baubles and clutter away to kneel on the polished mahogany surface and pin Jin Guangshan in his ridiculous chair with a choking hand around his throat. He imagines his eyes would be soft. Squishy. They’d probably give far too quickly for him to be able to enjoy dragging the process out, but he takes savage pleasure in the imagined sensation of Jin Guangshan thrashing and screaming in agony for any length of time at all.

“This humble one apologizes for the disappointment. Please instruct me.”

Jin Guangshan’s scoff drips with disdain. Jin Guangyao imagines shoving his ruined eyeballs down his throat. “I don’t want your useless apologies. Never forget how easily I could take away everything you have, boy. Everything in this shatterdome exists exactly as I say it does, without me none of this exists! Including you!! Do I have to go back to reminding you of your place?!”

Jin Guangyao shoves away the phantom pains of bruises, broken bones, wounded pride, split lips, constant illness, and debilitating terror he’d worked through anyway in favor of fantasizing about chopping off Jin Guangshan’s tongue and forcefully shoving it down his throat. Or digging a rusty nail into his windpipe, or maybe something long and sharp enough to pin him to his chair by the throat. There’s construction happening further down the coast, it would be laughably easy to get his hands on an old railroad spike, the rustier the better.

Jin Guangshan hauls himself to his feet with a slam of his hands and Jin Guangyao’s entire body tenses, ready to bolt but locked by fear and old habits of obedience that just refuse to die. He stays perfectly still and silent as Jin Guangshan rounds his desk to lean down and box him in with his hands planted on both arms of the chair, and then there’s no avoiding the sight of his furious sneer as he’s ducking down into Jin Guangyao’s line of sight. He wonders how many teeth it’s possible to knock loose with one punch while Jin Guangshan bares his, and the manic rage in his eyes could match any of Nie Mingjue’s worst episodes.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Jin Guangshan breathes; it reeks of alcohol, which is at least something of an explanation if not a particularly comforting one. “Your mother was a two-bit conniving whore and you’re far worse. The world would be better off if you weren’t in it. It would be a public service at this point to take out the trash once and for all, don’t you think?”

“This humble one disagrees,” Jin Guangyao says through his pulse hammering in his ears. Before he can think better of it, before he can panic over the consequences and think himself into knots, he moves too fast to be countered. Jin Guangshan reels back from the impact of Jin Guangyao’s fist into his throat, coughing and choking around the breath that he can’t seem to find. Jin Guangyao shoves his chair back far enough to stand and pat his father on the shoulder a couple times, condescending and cold as he tuts. “That’s a bad cough, father. I’ll have the doctors prescribe you something to treat it, it would be a shame to see you fall ill.”

He leaves without a glance backwards. He doesn’t know how much damage he just did; if Jin Guangshan’s windpipe collapses and he suffocates on the surface of his own desk, then so be it. Jin Guangyao is sure that no one will mourn the loss, and there are plenty of Jin children to inherit the leadership of the shatterdome if Nie Mingjue doesn’t want to claim it. If Jin Guangshan survives, if the doctors manage to get to him in time, then Jin Guangyao’s safety will be anything but guaranteed even with Nie Mingjue protecting him.

He grabs the next person he sees and instructs them to find a doctor who’s free to check on Jin Guangshan, no sense of urgency in his tone, he’s nothing but polite and detached concern. He forces the echoes of Jin Guangshan’s vitriol to quiet, he numbs himself to everything but the sounds of life going on around him as he stalks through the familiar labyrinth of the shatterdome he runs at Nie Mingjue’s side.

When he steps into the research lab, Mo Xuanyu notices him first. Nie Huaisang is bent over his computer as always, Jiang Wanyin beside him and glaring at something on the screen with equal intensity.

“Hey Yao-ge - whoa. Holy shit what happened to you?” Mo Xuanyu breathes. Mo Xuanyu has always been the odd duck of their little fucked up sibling foursome; Jin Guangyao isn’t surprised that the boy’s fanatical interest in the macabre and the trauma of his childhood spent in his mother’s family’s house have combined into an uncanny ability to tell when Jin Guangyao is on the cusp of a murderous breakdown.

“A-Sang. Where’s your stash?”

“What?”

“Your stash, A-Sang,” he repeats again slowly, with so much ice in his tone that everything in the room freezes. Nie Huaisang slowly looks up at him and blinks slowly at whatever he sees on his face.

“Hold on, A-Cheng,” he says quietly and stands to hurry back to the shadowy corner of the lab dedicated to personal lockers. Jin Guangyao follows him, and when Nie Huaisang hands him what he’s looking for with nervous hands he leaves without another word.

There are two options - only two - when Jin Guangyao feels like this. He prides himself on having multiple possible courses of action in response to any situation he can imagine, but when the rage he’d grown up with and the madness he’d helped Nie Mingjue tame (at a high cost to himself and his own sanity) blend and push him to the breaking point, he can either kill someone (as he has in the past) or he can find Nie Mingjue. The option to ask Nie Mingjue to help him is as new as their second chance at a relationship, and Jin Guangyao hasn’t had to seek him out like this very often since. But on the occasions that he has, he’s always chosen it without hesitation.

Because the alternative is to become someone that Nie Mingjue can’t abide, and Jin Guangyao would rather die himself than lose his partner again.

He walks through the shatterdome imagining each step is a fresh chance to crush Jin Guangshan’s skull under his clunky workboots, each heavy thud accompanied by the imagined crunch of bone and squelch of blood. By the time he reaches the living quarters he’s slightly mollified, but by no means in the clear yet.

“There you are! A-Yao you’re supposed to be on light -”

Nie Mingjue’s admonishment cuts off abruptly at the sight of him. Jin Guangyao shuts the door to their room with a controlled, relatively quiet clang, and he watches his partners process the hateful misery of him as they untangle themselves from each other and sit up properly.

“Do not, under any circumstances, let me step out of our quarters again tonight.”

It’s not quite dinner yet, only late afternoon, but Jin Guangyao doesn’t know what he’ll do if he leaves again. He wants to hunt Jin Guangshan down for sport and finish what he’d started. He wants to bribe the doctors into overdosing that monster on their precious supply of painkillers just to get rid of him. He wants to bribe the cooks into poisoning his food. He wants to get his own hands bloody, he wants to sit back and watch everything his father has ever touched burn.

“What do you need, A-Yao?” Lan Xichen asks, low and urgent. He’s kneeling on the bed now, one hand half-raised like he isn’t even aware of it. Jin Guangyao methodically takes off his shoes, his socks, his jacket, and sets down the bottle of lube (a precious commodity around the shatterdome) from Nie Huaisang on the file box he uses as a nightstand.

“I need to do something that isn’t murdering my father.” The alarm on both his partner’s faces, in their own ways, soothes the niggling fear he’d had that they wouldn’t think to take him seriously. “I need both of you to keep me distracted until I’m not at risk of snapping his neck anymore.”

He’d hoped that their first time would be fun. That it would be a celebration of his and Lan Xichen’s successful recovery from their Drift, that he could laugh at Nie Mingjue’s secret reticence and his need to always make sure he’s doing the right thing. He knows that Lan Xichen has never been with anyone, let alone two experienced partners at once. He’d been looking forward to spoiling him rotten and ruining him for anyone else in the world.

But they’re all so broken. There are things that he needs right now that aren’t romantic, or soft, or tender, or any of the things either of his partners deserves. He needs to feel like he’s in his own skin again. He needs years of memories of Jin Guangshan’s violent hands on him erased by the feeling of his partners’ much more pleasurable hands and mouths. They can’t Drift right now, or anytime soon, most likely, if Jin Guangshan really is watching him that closely, but Jin Guangyao knows they can get pretty damn close to that level of intimacy if they want it badly enough.

Lan Xichen has, of course, seen his betrayal of Nie Mingjue’s trust as well as their agreement when he’d helped their partner recover his sanity, and so he asks absolutely no questions. Instead, he lifts that half-raised hand the rest of the way to reach out and pull him closer by the wrist, his fingers tight and grounding against his skin. “Come here, A-Yao. We’ll help you forget for as long as we can, alright?”

It’s what they all want, he supposes as he lays down in a bed that absolutely doesn’t fit the three of them, but it’s just going to have to. All three of them are looking to forget for a while that their lives are far from perfect, barely managing to scrape a rating of ‘good’, and though he’s usually the one helping in whatever way he can it’s good to know that should he need it he can trust that he’ll be taken care of as well.

With two huge saps like Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen for lovers, though, that hasn’t really been in doubt for a single second.

[mickeymouse-moshpit]

cowboy like me

A/N: I’m terrible at summaries! What would happen if you were a Mandalorian who knew Din Djarin once upon a time? This is canon-divergent (Grogu is there and not at Jedi school), and quite the piece of fluff! 

This is the first half of my gift for my Secret Santa! I got very carried away and after I had the second half finished, I realized that this also needed to be written down and shared as well.

Word count: 3.2K

No warnings! 

You let your head tilt back, smacking against the headrest of the pilot’s seat. There were two more standard hours in hyperspace before you would reach your destination, and you considered closing your eyes. These last three days had not gone the way you expected them, with a rowdy bounty leading you on a wild bantha chase that consisted of moon hopping and them inevitably ending up in carbonite anyway. You were tired, but you were headed to a new planet to finally get your Guild credentials. Worth it. 

***

You shifted in your seat as you woke to the alert from the autopilot, back and neck stiff from sitting in one position for so long. Time was up, time to land on Nevarro. You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to tame it some so you could braid it back. You picked up your helmet from the copilot’s seat, settling the beskar over your head. The display flickered to life, offering enhanced views of your path to the surface. You took control of your ship, entering the atmosphere and deciding to settle on the outskirts of the town you had been told about. It didn’t look like much, with its overcast skies and unassuming arch at the entrance to the town with blaster marks scarring it.

You opened your footlocker, pulled out your rifle. You checked to make sure your vibroblade and blaster were secure. You went to close it again but stopped. The small square of beskar you had swiped from an Imp glimmered through the visor of your helmet. On autopilot, it ended up in the sleeve pocket on your left arm and the footlocker was closed.

You lowered the ramp and walked down, engaging your ground security before you went in search of the cantina you were to meet your contact in. You would have to come back to let them get the bounties, but you didn’t trust the contact yet. The volcanic soil crunched under your boots. You could see the residents milling about, some with small children at their side. That made you smile. How bad a place could it be if there were kids? You kept walking, keeping a brisk pace. You stopped at a set of unassuming doors with the right numbers inscribed above them. They opened on their own.

Various species were scattered around the cantina, drinking or eating or talking or just watching. No band. Odd. But they still noticed you and the talk came to a halt.

“Mando!” came the voice of a stranger. “I’ve been waiting for you!”

“I’m sure,” you replied, an edge of suspicion coloring your words that you never could quite get rid of. The onlookers went back to their drinks and conversations.

“Come, sit, we have business to attend you.”

He led you to a booth on the right side of the bar, and you sat with your back to the wall.

“You Mandos are all the same, you know.”

You tilted your helmet at him.

“You won’t sit anywhere except against the wall, and no matter how I rave about the spotchka you won’t drink with me.”

“Seems like you’ve had a lot of experience with Mandalorians then.”

“You could say that, but then you could say I don’t. I don’t share my dealings with other Guild members.”

“To business then? I don’t have all day.”

“Of course. What do you have for me?”

“Enough to get into the Guild.”

You slid the two tracking fobs across the table.

“Are you sure you want in?”

“I need work, Guild has work.”

“Very well. Let’s get the offload going.” *** You adjusted the rifle strap across your chest and wandered back into the town. You had heard rumors of a covert here and wanted to see for yourself if they were true. You hadn’t seen another Mandalorian since you left your home seven years prior. The Empire had taken control of your planet and flushed the small tribe you belonged to from its covert. You had survived on your found talent as a bounty hunter. You had always had a knack for tracking, payment was a side benefit you had figured out when the handsy pirate you had laid out turned out to have a price on his capture.

A flicker of motion in the periphery caught your eye. A heavy curtain was settling back into place, tucked away in the corner of the marketplace behind a food stand. You walked past the monkey-lizards in their cage and paused beside the unassuming entryway. You listened. As you considered entering, a girl no older than 10 crept through the curtain and into the square, paying you no mind. She moved quickly, but the mythosaur around her neck let you know this was the place.

You stepped behind the curtain yourself, walking down the steps as quietly as you could. There were maybe five kids running around the hall, laughing at something. You were maybe ten steps away from the stairs when you were met with a mountain of a Mandalorian.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded.

“It was crafted for me in pieces.” You knew he was referring to the beskar you wore and hoped your answer would be enough.

“Why should I believe you?”

You pulled down the material of the glove on your left hand, revealing your own mythosaur your clan had given you.

“Very well, you are welcome to rest here. There aren’t many of us left here so there is space.”

“Where is your Armorer?”

“Keep walking, take the first left, you’ll know where she is.”

“Thank you.”

You set off, felt the stares of other Mandalorians that were scattered through the halls. You didn’t dare meet their glances. You felt much the intruder, with your phoenix rebellion symbol painted onto your back and frynock signet welded onto your pauldron. You kept walking until you reached the forge, halting to make sure the Armorer wasn’t busy. Satisfied with silence, you entered and knelt at her table. She came from behind the flames, kneeling across from you. You slipped the beskar square out of its pocket and set it in front of her.

“I know it isn’t much, but it belongs back with Mandalorians.”

“It would be enough to produce a small blade if that is your preferred medium.”

“Yes. It always has been since I was a child.”

“Very well.” *** You left the forge with your small blade now in a leather sheath on your left arm. You were adjusting the straps when you heard your name. Your real name. The only people who knew that name had been scattered across the galaxy.

“How do you know that name?” you called as you spun on your heel to face the stranger.

“I would know you anywhere.” He was close to you now, on the edge of your personal space. “You’re not saying you forgot me?”

You took in the stance, the way his helmet tilted, the voice behind the vocoder.

“Din Djarin.”

“So, you do remember.”

He reached for your arm, but you took a step back out of instinct; the last guy who did that had ended up dead. If he was hurt, you couldn’t tell.

“Of course, I remember. I remember we were kids, young, dumb, responsibilities to fulfill.” Your voice was softer now. You took a half step back toward him. “I remember before we swore the Creed, before you went off to the Fighting Corps, before I went to train other foundlings. Before I joined the rebellion. That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was. Did they tell you where your quarters are?”

“Of course not, but it is what it is.”

“Come on, I’ll take you.”

You fell into step beside him, almost like no time has passed. He led you through the halls of his covert. As you went further, you could hear the sounds of fighting from what you assumed to be the training room, snippets of the history of Mandalore before it was destroyed by the Empire. You recalled growing up, meeting the man beside you before you had covered your faces. You wondered what he looked like now.

“Here we are.” He punched in the code for the quarters and gestured for you to go in. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Um, actually I got some sleep before I landed. Would you stay for a minute?” You touched his wrist, hoping it might get him to come inside.

“Uh, sure, why not.”

You stepped over the threshold, Din right behind you. The room was sparse, like any Mandalorian’s existence since The Great Purge. There was a bed, a kitchen area, a refresher, but not much more. This room was clearly meant for one person, there wasn’t even a chair. Your fingers itched to pull the helmet from your head now that you were in private, but you knew this wasn’t the time. You pulled your rifle off and left it by the door, then walked over to the kitchen and hopped up on the counter. You didn’t want to chance sitting on the bed and making him uncomfortable.

“It’s been a while,” you tried.

“You could say that.” He was still beside the entrance, standing like he wasn’t quite sure how to relax with you in the room. “But when I saw you it seemed like no time had passed at all.”

You gestured to the counter opposite you. He didn’t move.

“You, sentimental? I never would have described you that way.” You slid off the counter and paused. “From what I remember, we were ‘supposed’ to forget each other existed. We were supposed to do our duties and what was needed of us.” You took a few steps toward him.

“I know. But clearly that didn’t work.” His shoulders slumped as much as they could in his armor. “Now we’re here.”

“That’s true. We are here.” You stepped closer, removed your gloves. “I tried you know. I tried to forget about you. I threw myself into those foundlings, into whatever was needed of me. Then came the Empire to my new home. Then everyone was scattered. Then I hunted. Then I joined the Guild. Now I’m here.” You tossed the gloves on the counter behind you.

“I tried, and it worked for a while. I went across the galaxy for my son. But we ended up back here. And all I wanted was to tell you about it.” He closed more of the space between the two of you with two steps and took your left hand in his right. “Now I’m here.”

You didn’t respond, just lifted your joined hands, bringing your other to slip under the glove that covered his hand still. You tilted your helmet up to see him nod once. You turned your attention back to your task, shuffling the leather over his hand and knuckles. You tossed the offending article on the counter beside your own as he threaded his fingers through yours. His other hand reached up slowly, finding your chin under your helmet and tilting your head up to look at him. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I missed you,” he whispered. “I didn’t know that I would ever see you again. Now that you’re here, I never want you to leave me again.”

“I—I joined the Guild, I’ll have to.” You thought he was going to break your hand when his fingers tightened around yours.

“You just had to go and be a cowboy like me, didn’t you?” He laughed softly. You tilted your head and he let his hand drop away from it.

“Hey now, I had to do something to pay the bills.” You didn’t want him to know that desperation that had led you to this moment. “You could come with me, keep the ship clean and food cooked.” You wished he could see the way your nose scrunched when you teased him. ‘

“Karga didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“You’re not the only Mando he knows.” His laugh crackled through the vocoder. “I’m not saying we should team up but let’s also agree to not fight over bounties.”

“Yeah. Not teaming up.” You stared at your interwoven hands. “Do you remember that last afternoon?”

You hoped the same images ran through his mind that were running through yours. You had both been given the half day off to prepare for your coming assignments. You were nervous, he had asked you to come with him to discuss something important. He had led you to the stream where the two of you had always escaped to even before you had sworn the Creed years prior. He had asked if you would be his, his to love, his to raise warriors with. The two of you had been halfway through your vows when plans had changed. The timelines had shifted, and you were both to leave that night. You had promised each other you would find your way back. But that didn’t happen. The Empire had seen to that. You had been separated and you had both assumed the other was dead. It was easier. No one would grant the two of you to ability to seek out the other. There was no time for the past, only going forward.

“It has run through my head every night as I fall asleep since.” He pulled your hands to his chest, gently trapping yours between the cold steel and his warm touch. “All I wanted for so long was to find you, to finish those words, to see your face again. But there were other plans for us. Now we’re here.”

“We could—we’re here now.” You couldn’t keep the hope from your voice. You step even closer, your helmet resting just above your hands where his collarbone would be.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome.” You almost miss his quiet words, so lost in thought and the feeling of being in his arms again. “We’ve always been one, c’yarika. Even with a galaxy between us, we just couldn’t know it.”

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome.” You pick your head up again, doing your best attempt at eye contact. You felt a prick at the corner of your eyes but kept your composure. This was what you had always wanted, no need for tears.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

“Mhi me’dinui an.” You considered that one for a moment. “Even our bounties?”

“Mhi ba’juri verde.” He ignored your question. This was not the time for jokes, and you knew it.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

His forehead met yours again. When he pulled away briefly, you stepped back a bit, pulling him with you. You untied the sheath from your arm, from your leg and placed them with your gloves. You turned away from him, paused for a moment, placing your hands on either side of the helmet. This was it, what you had wanted for so many years. Why were you hesitating? You turned back to him, and his hands rested over yours. Together you lifted part of the barrier between the two of you. You set it to the side and stared up at him while his hands went to his own helmet. Your hands followed his. Slowly, his face was revealed to you.

“Mesh’la,” you whispered, taking in a sight you hadn’t known you were missing. His eyes were like you remembered them, deep brown. The crease between them was new, as was the small scar across the bridge of his nose. You stood on tiptoe, pressed a kiss over that crease. He was silent, just staring at you like you hung the moon. You reached behind you, pulled your braid over your shoulder. You pulled the tie out, but his fingers were there before you could start tugging at your hair. He smoothed the end and pushed it back over your shoulder.

“Not yet. There’s something I need to do first.” He ran the fingers of his right hand over your cheekbone; you settled into his palm on instinct. You would have closed your eyes, but you couldn’t get enough of looking at him. He seemed hesitant at first, head almost bobbing as he waffled between leaning in to kiss you and giving you space for a minute. You reached out for him, threaded your fingers through the curls at the base of his head. He closed the distance between the two of you, letting his lips brush against yours. You stayed there for a moment, just breathing each other in, taking in the feel of two halves being reunited.

You opened your eyes, let your hand drift from his hair to his cheek. He turned his head just enough for him to press a kiss to the palm of your hand. He took your hands, brought them to his chest. You stayed there while he reached over your shoulder for your braid. He slowly undid it, gently unweaving the strands until they were free, messy, but he didn’t seem to care. He let his fingers skim over your scalp, smoothing it back. You couldn’t help but let your eyes drift closed, the soft ministrations lulling you, soothing you.

“Mesh’la,” he whispered, pulling you closer to him still. You never wanted to leave this moment.

You were the first to move, but only to remove the beskar so you could feel him against you. Your hands moved to your forearms first, removing the pieces that were also weapons. You went for the pauldrons next, paused as you set down the one that bore your signet. How were the two of you going to work with that? No matter. Seeing what you were doing, he followed suit. There was silence but for the occasional hiss and thud until the two of you were left in the sweaters, cowls, trousers that kept you warm in the cold expanse of space. Maybe it wouldn’t be so cold anymore.

Din took you into his arms again, holding you against him so tightly you could hear his heart thumping in his chest. You felt his hands running over your back, your shoulders, seemingly memorizing the contours of you.

“I can’t tell you how many ways I’ve imagined this, you,” he whispered into your hair.

You leaned back, looking at him again, a small smile making its way onto your face. You pulled him over to the radiator and sat down, bringing him with you. You were facing each other, just enjoying seeing each other’s faces when the door to the room whooshed open. You were sure you were the picture of panic, and whipped yourself around to face the radiator fully, hoping to hide your identity. But Din remained there, staring at you, then looking over to the door. He held his hand out, reaching for what or who you couldn’t tell yet. Din took your hand in his free one, tugging on you to try and get you to turn toward him. Your curiosity got the better of you.

You were met with a tiny green creature with brown eyes only rivaled by Din’s.

“This is Grogu, my son.”

[dongiovannaswife]

Home is where you are

some days ago @softlimefluff​ suggested a collab for my birthday,,, so here we are :3c 

cw: food mentions and a smol suggestive scene but other than that,,, i don’t think there’s more. 

part 1.     part 2. 

April 20, 8:22 PM. Giovanna’s mansion.

Giorno’s fingers pass the page to the book he’s reading, making a note to jot down the last sentence as it will help with the case he’s working on —when his wife stumbles into his studio, sighing under her breath.

He doesn’t look up from his book, “What’s wrong?”

There’s a moment of silence while she sits down at the couch in the office, crossing a leg over the other in the way she always does: the fabric of her dress exposes a small patch of skin before she moves a hand to slide over it, smoothing the fabric so nothing is out of its place.

“I got a call,” she starts and he looks up immediately, putting a piece of paper in the middle of his book as he closes it, his attention now fully on her. “We won’t be able to do what we planned.”

He frowns, although it holds a double intention, he didn’t think the execution of his plan would hurt as much as it does in that moment; he knew his plan was a tricky one, but he knew, deep down, that she needed far more distraction than him to get his surprise come across. Especially after her stunt with the apartment in Australia and surprise birthday party.

‘I wish for a quiet morning with you and the boys —just us, as a family, blasting music and cooking together. I want us to pretend we’re a normal family for once. I want to spend the day in pajamas, playing with the boys and cuddling you.’

Yes, he recalls her wish clearly. He had agreed, after all, since he had asked what she wanted to do for her birthday: but his plan had already started by the time he asked.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, coming back from his daydream as he shakes his head, standing from his desk. Walking up to her, he undoes his tie, taking it off and letting it hang on the back of the other couch before he sits on the one she is in. His thigh presses against hers in a comforting and intimate way —his arm circles her shoulders as he rests it against the back of the couch. “What happened? Is it your mom?”

 She shakes her head, huffing under her breath, disappointed and sad as Giorno tries to keep the act up. “I wish —The Morioh branch of the Foundation is asking for my assistance. Apparently the supervisor of the paramedics over there is no longer working with them and they have an event that day, you know, the interns and all that.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling her ears ring for a second, her nose hurt and temples pounding as an upcoming headache settles in within her.

“Don’t worry,” he starts, “I know you wanted to spend your birthday at home, but what do you think if I get there with the boys too? After your event we can go to Tonio’s restaurant. Hang out with Ariel and Rohan —perhaps even see Josuke and Krys.”

She shakes her head, still pinching the bridge of her nose. “It won’t work, the event is supposed to follow with a press  conference and then an introduction to the interns. There’s also the Paramedic Course--I won’t teach it myself, but I do have to give the first years the welcome.”

“In conclusion,” he murmurs, trying to keep his voice stable despite the smirk threatening to fall —Junichi, the person he had asked to move some strings so she would think she’d have to work on her birthday with no free time, had done an excellent job. “We’ll have to postpone it.”

She nods, sighing again and scooting closer, leaning into his chest. “I could have easily said no, but I can’t afford that.”

Giorno hums, but it really does pain him to see her like that. Even then, he hopes the surprise makes up for it. “It’s okay, angel.” He says, the arm around her shoulders dropping to wrap around her; a warm palm rests atop of her hip, with his thumb rubbing in gentle circles. “We could go with you so we spend some time together, ‘s the least we can do… What do you think?”

She’s quiet for a moment and before he can worry more, her voice is barely audible through the sad tone in her voice. “Okay.”

 April 25, 2:45 AM. Giovanna’s mansion.

The pads of her fingers graze his scalp gracefully as he tilts his face to the side, deepening the kiss. The way her thighs close around his waist as the cool air from the window enters into the kitchen makes him smirk involuntary: his hips sink deeper into hers, eliciting a whimper from her.

And his phone rings.

Growling, he curses mentally as he remembers that other part of his plan as he pulls back, taking a quick look at her —hair disheveled, eyelids heavy with something else and hands resting at the waistband of his sweatpants.

He looks down at his phone, noticing the number from the burner phone he got Westwood —one of those disposable ones, just in case Lena recognized Westwood’s number if they had changed contact names to make it look like someone from work was calling-- displayed on the screen. He recognizes the number, but acts as if he doesn’t, frowning as he slides a finger over the screen, bringing the device to his ear.

His voice is slightly deeper, but he manages to sort through the call. His wife is quick to notice this is about a client that, despite his patience, this client was a… Problematic person. Always getting into legal issues.

“See you there then, Signore Trevi.” He nods, stealing a glance to Lena —smirking when she keeps looking between his lips and eyes, a playful hand touching his chest tattoo.

The call ends and he lets himself smile, masking it with a subtle roll of his hips. “Sorry, doll —duty calls.”

“Mhm. Is Mister Client in trouble again?”

He chuckles, loving the way she barely makes the words understandable, “Yeah, Trevi is always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

She laughs against his lips when he’s barely inches away from hers, “Do you have to leave?”

And so he plays along. Pulling back, he rubs the back of his neck with sudden pursed lips. “Yeah, about that —I don’t think I’ll get to go with you to Morioh... This case requires my presence, as he needs my assistance at the place he’s facing said issue.”

The mood in the room instantly shifts and he almost regrets it. Although she’s nodding with an understanding glint, he can still see the disappointment in her eyes. In the way her happiness subsides into pure empty calmness.

“It’s okay,” she says, “Like we said, we’ll postpone it.”

He never thought a plan could hurt this much —couldn’t he stick to something less hard? Something that didn’t hurt her before bringing happiness?

Then again, if wishes were horses.

April 25, 5:15 PM. Morioh.

“Han, do you think the flowers look okay here? I don’t want it to block the conversation space at the table…” 

“Hmmmm.” He turned around, looking at the arrangement. “Why don’t we put them in the front hall instead? It’ll brighten the space up when Lena gets in. Sunflowers are her favorite, you said?”

Ari nodded, taking a moment to stand up, letting out a deep breath and holding her back for a second. “Mhm, I asked Giogio again to be sure.”

Walking over, he put a hand on the bump and held one of hers. “Everything okay?”

She nodded, squeezing his hand. “Fine. Ellie’s just getting big. So big. Watermelon baby.”

Rohan chuckled, grinning back. “Melon wife~”

“Shoosh~” Having stolen a kiss, Ari grabbed the vase, setting it on the bump as she walked to the main hall and setting it in place, glancing at her phone on the way back.

“Giogio says Lena should be in the air by now. Looks like things are going to plan…”

“I’ll video chat him and show him around to see if we need to make any changes.” Looking his wife over, he put a hand on her forehead. “You feel a little warm, baby. You should go lay on the couch, rest a bit. You’ve been working hard on this. The Giovanna’s won’t mind you sleeping on the new couch.”

Nodding, she walked over slowly, plopping down and curling her legs up. “Tell Giorno we can’t wait to see them.”

“I will. Rest.”

April 26, 1:15 AM. Morioh. 

Humming a tune, Westwood stops the car by the house, looking over the mirror just in time to see his boss look at his sons with big eyes, seizing his options.

The boys had grown too much over the last months and, with their first words and sentences starting to fill the silence, he definitely seemed lost without his wife there to carry one along with him. 

Stealing a glance at Mista, who’s sitting in the copilot seat looking at the map of Morioh, he elbows his ribs, earning a glare before he’s looking back in a silent signal so the gunslinger notices Giorno’s struggle. 

Clearing his throat, Mista finally speaks. “Need help with the boys, Giogio?”

Giorno hums and Westwood adds, “I’m gonna park the car while you get inside, yes?”

With a quick nod, Mista climbs off first, circling the vehicle and opening the door. He gives Jovi a big smile, cooing at him before he picks him up, closing the door afterwards. 

With Giorno carrying Dante on his hip, he and Mista walk up to the front of the small house. 

“Man, I knew you got her a nice house but this? This makes me think of her parent’s house.” 

Giorno nods, looking down at Dante while the little one leans on his chest, sighing —finally tired out from the flight and the sudden change of environment; the unknown people probably stress him out. “Yeah, it doesn’t look like theirs, but I know she wants to feel like we���re a normal family for once.” 

Mista purses his lips, feeling Jovi moving still on his hold. “I get it.” He then looks back at the baby in his arms, inspecting him with caring eyes, gaze drifting to the boy in Giorno’s arms next, noticing how these two angels are the perfect blend of their parents; to Mista, they’re a miracle. 

“Gio,” he murmurs and Giorno looks back at him, confused with his sudden change of demeanor. “Helena doesn’t need this house.” 

Giorno frowns immediately, opening his mouth to reply instantly when Mista cuts him off, deep brown eyes soft with nostalgia. “As long as you and your boys are with her —wherever you are, she’ll be home. You, Dante and Jovi are her home now.” 

Giorno nods, looking forward at the house, finding it hard to contain the grin that crosses his features. The sound of footsteps approaching doesn’t concern them, recognizing Westwood’s gait as he comes to a stop behind them. 

“Mista,” Giorno calls. “You are right.” 

The gunsling hums, smiling. “Of course, I always am~ Besides, I never thought you would get married or even have a relationship. You didn’t seem like that type of person.” 

“I wasn’t,” he answers, walking forward slowly with Mista following him. “But she changed my vision of things. It took her a while to do so and I didn’t even know she was doing it, but in the end,” he strokes Dante’s hair briefly, fingers barely ghosting the baby’s head. “She did it. And now these two are giving me so much joy… I never thought I’d be a father, you know.” 

“Yeah, I know. I remember we talked about it when Fugo opened up.” 

There’s a moment of comfortable silence as they stop before the door. Giorno quickly finds the keys in his pocket, twirling them on his fingers before he opens the door, pushing it open and walking inside.

“West,” he calls, getting a hum as response. “Any information about her?”

“Not really,” the masked man answers, looking up in a sign that he’s remembering the details. “Fugo sent a message saying they’re okay, apparently she’s stressed, though.”

“With her workload that’s for sure.” Mista comments, sitting down and smiling when Jovi moves until he’s comfortable laying on his chest —holding onto his shirt, his eyes look around the room in search of a certain someone but upon the lack of her presence, all he does is settle down to sleep. 

Giorno sighs, imitating Mista —Dante does the same, surprising Mista in the act. “I suppose that’s true. Should I call her?”

“Nah,” Westwood waves, “It’s too late and she’s probably sleeping for tomorrow or doing a shift at the Foundation, who knows.” 

The Don can only hum, retrieving his phone and typing quickly, much to his heart’s ache to hear her voice. 

Hey angel, how’s everything going? 

Received. 

 Sighing again, he can only hope for the best. “Well, time to put these little ones to bed.” 

April 27, 7:55 AM.

“Good morning, Panni.” Lena greets him, stepping into the kitchen with a simple outfit —she doesn’t look up at him, busy with her attempt to put her uniform into her bag in a way that it doesn’t get messed up. 

“Good morning, Lena.” Fugo replies, pouring another cup of coffee for her. “Are you on a rush?” 

“Not really, I just woke up a little bit earlier —I want to call Giobaby.” 

“Oh,” Fugo smiles, warm —one of those smiles he couldn't pull out when he was younger. “Birthday call?” 

 “Mhm,” she murmurs, sitting in the kitchen stool, dropping her bag by her side. “I miss the boys, too.”

Leaning in the counter as he passes the coffee cup to her, Fugo leans his chin on his hand. “It must be hard to work on your birthday and be away from your family.” 

She takes the cup, taking a sip with a sad smile. “Yeah, but it’s not the first time it has happened. I’ve had worse birthdays.” 

Silence.

“I’m so stupid, shit,” Fugo frowns, cirlcing the counter quickly. “I didn’t say happy birthday.” getting by her side, he pulls her in for a short and friendly hug, squeezing her briefly before pulling back, getting back at his place on the counter.

“Well, thank you, Panni.” she grins, all traces of sadness long gone.  “But you’re not stupid, remember that.” 

Fugo nods, taking a sip from his cup. Lena had been the person who started to help him heal, open up, seek help. Giorno and Mista were there too, but the kind of comfort she offered was different, maybe because of her way of treating him; just like his grandmother. 

Standing from the stool, Lena makes her way to the fridge, opening and closing it after the ringtone of her phone interrupts her actions. Pulling her phone out, she reads over the name displayed on the screen, answering shortly after.

“Good morning, Mister Kensho.” 

Fugo turns around, curious. Watching while she leans on the fridge, looking at the ceiling while she listens to the person on the other side. Suddenly, her eyes shoot forward and she walks directly to his side, motioning at him for paper and pen. Fiddling for a moment, he soon gives her the notebook on the counter, retrieving a pen from his suit. 

Writing down a direction, she hums a few times while she listens to the instructions, lips pursed together by the end. With a small salute, she hangs up, looking back at him. 

“Something wrong?”

“No really, he just gave me the address to our first stop for the day —the paramedic’s academy.”

Fugo hums, taking the last bit of his coffee in one go. “Can I see it?” 

She passes the paper to him. Fugo reads over it a couple of times, recognizing the address Giorno had shown him a few days ago: it was the moment of truth. 

“Okay, Lena. I’ll drive you there. Do you have any other instructions?”

She shakes her head, “The usual; arrive dressed casually —put the uniform on once in the facility.” 

Fugo hums, “We will get something for breakfast on the way?” 

She shakes her head again, “I’d rather have breakfast after the event. Won’t be able to eat comfortably with the pressure of the big event.” 

“Oh, right,” Fugo nods, watching her disappear into her room to put on her shoes. Pulling his phone out, he opens the chat with Giorno, typing quickly. 

Fugo: Gio, we’re about to head there —thirty minutes aprox.

The bubble pops up as soon as the delivered appears. 

Giorno: Okay, does she know?

Fugo: No. 

Giorno: Good. Keep up with it. 

Hearing the door open, Fugo almost crashes his phone’s screen when he shoves it down onto the counter, playing it off as an accident. 

“You okay?” Lena asks, taking her bag from the floor and setting it on the stool before her, opening it to put her makeup bag in. 

“Yeah, I just dropped my phone by accident —you know I‘m kinda clumsy in the morning.”

With a nod and a small laugh, she puts her bag on, taking a moment to fix the sports’ bag shoulder strap so the bag ends up by her hip; despite it not seeming good for her back, it has always been a habit. “If you’re clumsy I don’t think I’ll let you drive, Panni.” 

Fugo fakes a laugh, standing from the stool and taking the car keys along with him —he’s already dressed and ready. 

“You’re sooo funny, Helena.” 

She wrinkles her nose as they both walk out, “Of course I am. I’m funny and pretty.” 

Fugo shakes his head, laughing genuinely now. “God, I hope the boys don’t do this too.” 

She gasps, exaggerated. “Take that back or I will use a fork against you.”

“You don’t have a fork with you.”

“Yeah, but I have my boots.” 

“... Okay, okay.” 

Exiting from the Foundation, they soon find the Jeep Wrangler parked outside. Hopping in, Lena sets her bag by her feet, taking out her makeup bag while Fugo makes sure everything’s in place. 

Driving out of the Morioh Foundation ground, Fugo goes silent, stopping at a red light to tap the address into the GPS. After doing so, he looks over at his friend. She’s putting her eyeliner on, focused and calm. 

“Are you sure you don’t want breakfast? I wouldn’t want you to feel hungry or woozy in the middle of the event..” 

“Eh,” Lena blinks, making sure the eyeliner is finally dry and the corners of both eyes are equal —symmetrical. “Maybe some apple and cranberry juice?” 

Fugo hums, nodding along, speeding up when the green light shows up; “Yeah, why not —I’ll try it too.” 

“You’ve never drunk a single cup of it?” Lena’s eyes are the size of dinner plates when she asks, smiling playfully. 

“Not really.” Fugo replies, stealing a glance at her, noticing she’s still doing her makeup. 

“We’ll change that before we get there.” 

Fugo hums again, smiling. From his perspective, buying time was better than lacking it. 

9:13 AM. 

Hearing the doorbell ring, Vivienne quickly walks up to the door, checking who’s at the other side first. Upon the sight of Vittorio and Pietro outside, looking tired and almost asleep on their feet, she opens the door, stepping aside to let them in. 

“How was the flight?” she asks first, seeing them stumbling inside.

“Tiring as fuck,” Vittorio replies, frowning. “But we’re finally here, at least.” 

“Yeah,” Pietro sets down the crate. “And the little guy’s here too, he’s a handsome and calm boy; a good boy.” 

Vivienne laughs, touched with Pietro’s sudden gush. “I’ll go and tell Gio you’re here.” 

“Where is he?” Vittorio asks, stopping Vivienne.

“He’s dressing the twins. The Kishibe’s are helping with the food, I believe.” 

“Oh.” 

9:46 AM.

Taking the last sip from her cup, Lena’s eyes quickly scan the area, eyebrows twitching when she can’t spot the academy —or at least what she thinks would look like a school; the area was pure houses, fancy ones. 

“Panni,” she calls, looking over at her friend. “Are you sure this is the right address? Nothing here looks like a school.”

“Of course,” Fugo frowns, playing along. “I was following the instructions from the GPS from the direction that man told you.” 

She presses her lips together, shifting so she can slip her phone out from the pocket on the back of her jeans, looking at the device for a second in hopes of a message —but nothing was there. 

The Jeep stops and she looks up at Fugo, lips slightly open and words caught on her throat when Fugo’s grin catches her off guard.

“Lena, you should turn around and see who’s outside.”

Doing as he said, she turns around, facing the door of her seat. 

Giorno stands by the other side —a twin on each arm and a grin on his lips, making his eyes stand out. The boys giggle, trying to get her to hug them. 

Turning back to Fugo, Lena’s lip trembles while she tries to think of an explanation —but Fugo’s gone, instead appearing by her side, opening the door for her. 

“Hi.” Giorno says, seeing her step out with trembling lips and watering eyes, “Happy birthday, love.” 

The people outside the house start to clap, making her lean and look over Giorno’s figure —friends and family stand outside the house, bright grins and warm laughs fill the silence; Rohan and Ariel step outside last, with Rohan carrying a small cake and Ari holding on his arm as they walk up to them. 

By the time they’re before her, Lena’s tears have started to fall, a hand clasped on her mouth. 

“Why?” she asks in a broken voice, a smile trying to take over despite the strange mix of emotions. Although the question catches her husband off guard, he’s quick to recover, leaning over to kiss her forehead as the boys babble, calling for her. 

“Because I know you love Morioh, and today, we’ll get to pretend we’re a simple family, like you wanted.”

She grins, murmuring a thank you.

[jenniferrpovey]

Her Legacy

Please spread this piece widely - it’s for all paramedics and EMTs on the front lines. This is a gift, and you can post it as LONG as you credit me. Her Legacy

Jennifer R. Povey

It wasn't a good day. Now, it was very rare for Sophie to have a good day. Or rather, by definition, a good day was a day off.

Every other day was that odd mix of boredom and terror that came with being where she was, doing what she was. Either you were doing nothing, or you were scrambling.

Today had been, up until now, a doing nothing day and part of her had hoped it would stay a doing nothing day.

Then the alert came, and she sighed inwardly. The selfish part of her knew that this meant her shift would not be over quite as soon as she had thought.

The part of her that had chosen this job stirred in a different way. Somebody was in trouble; in danger or sick or hurt and it was her duty and joy to help them. She pulled herself together figuratively and literally (she had partially unzipped her jumpsuit) and ran to the shuttle.

Gora, her Ilarian pilot was already waiting and strapped in. She dipped her muzzle. Ilarians didn't generally nod, but Gora had picked up the gesture.

She strapped herself in. "What do we have?"

"Freighter in distress," the dispatcher said. "Sick pilot. We already have a tug out there to keep them from flying into anything important.

She nodded. Once they were en route, she unstrapped and checked the back of the shuttle This was the dangerous part in some ways; she knew more than one person who had ended up needing treatment for a concussion because they banged their head moving around under thrust, but it was part of the job. You learned to be careful, that was all.

Everything was stable. "Dispatch, what do we know about the pilot's condition? And what about the co-pilot?"

In-system freighters generally had a pilot and co-pilot. There could also be a couple of passengers aboard; it was rare, specialist passenger ferries were faster and more comfortable, but it did happen.

"Idiot seems to have tried to do the run alone."

Dispatch was an AI. That didn't mean he didn't have opinions on stupid people, and Sophie cracked a smile. "Well, then he'll be dealing with the license authorities when he's better. What species?"

"You really need to ask?"

Sophie sighed. "Human. Caucasian."

"In one."

It wasn't that humans were all that more reckless; it was that humans tended to get away with it more than most other species. So the reckless ones tended to live to do even more stupid things.

Like this.

The freighter was still careening. The tug had yet to get a good grip on it.

"He's accelerating," Gora said with a sigh. "Maybe he collapsed over the controls."

"The deadman's should stop that."

"On that?" Ilarians didn't smile, but the slight appearance of the very tip of her tongue was a good substitute for that habit.

She was probably right. Sophie could tell that it the freighter was a total rustbucket. Maybe the pilot had done the run alone because nobody else wanted to do it with him.

She didn't know the gender, but she was sure it was a he. Nine times out of ten something this stupid was a young male.

No, she was stereotyping, and that was unworthy of her. "Can you get us alongside?"

"It's risky."

"And that guy could be dying." It was his own fault; but it didn't matter.

You saved them all, even the ones who risked themselves and others.

And if they could get hooked on, Gora could get control back over the ship while she worked on the pilot. "Please. Do it."

Gora nodded again, her muzzle making the gesture almost too obvious, exaggerated.

A caricature of humanity. She glanced at the Ilarian again; short fur, long pointed ears, the slight muzzle, all of which spoke of a different evolution.

The fact that her fur was blue spoke of it even more. Chemicals other than melanin protected her from the light of a very different sun.

And then Sophie threw herself into her seat as the shuttle accelerated. She didn't move around under this thrust. Accelerating to full speed. Pushing the shuttle past its normal cruise speed was something you did.

It always made the mechanics complain. Something would break. She was just making sure it wasn't her. She didn't want to be a patient by the end of the day.

She got the straps closed just in time as Gora decelerated. Once more, she was amazed with her partner's skill.

There was a reason she always let Gora fly; she wasn't a terrible pilot, but she wasn't that good.

Twisting to the side. She felt her shoulder wrench; that was going to need attention later, she already knew that.

But there was nothing she could do about it. And then she felt them latch on, the shudder that went through.

"Got a good hatch?"

"Got a good hatch." With the ship latched on, Gora could leave the controls. Their fate was now tied to the freighter's.

If it hit something...

The hatch was stuck. Sophia had to use a literal crowbar to force it once the seal was in place.

She pulled on her rebreather before going through, checking the atmospheric readings. Good choice; the carbon dioxide levels were a little high. "Dispatch, what are the pilot's symptoms?"

"Headache, vertigo, bit of a cough."

"I don't think he's sick. I think it's life support failure." She glanced at Gora, made sure she had her own mask in place and then headed into the ship.

It was held together by duct tape and prayers and the duct tape was wearing out.

Headache, vertigo, bit of a cough. She went over that. The rebreather would also protect her from viral and bacterial infection. She already had her gloves on.

It was most likely a life support problem. But there were other things it could be.

Gora might or might not have to worry. Some bugs cared what species they infected. Some didn't. Fungi were...

Fungi.

Headache, vertigo, bit of a cough, stale smell in the air.

Crap.

She suddenly sped up. Of course, she'd got a breath of it herself, but if it was what she was afraid it was, early treatment would work.

The pilot hadn't gotten early treatment.

She moved quickly, hearing Gora behind her. The freighter was, thankfully, a stock model; she knew exactly where the bridge would be.

The bridge. The man slumped over the controls. She'd been right in all of her demographic guesses except one; he wasn't a young man.

He was an old one, pushing past retirement, trying to keep doing what he loved on a shoestring, fighting off the creditors.

This would be his last trip one way or the other.

Gora dropped into the copilot seat, started slowing the freighter.

Carefully, she examined the man. Checked him for broken bones before turning him over.

The grayish cast to his face said it all. Crap.

"Leri fever."

Gora paled.

She pulled out the bag, tossed Gora a vial. "You know what you have to do as soon as you have us stopped."

The second one was for the patient.

The third one was for her. But the patient would need more. She imagined the black tendrils going through his lungs.

She imagined what would have happened if he'd landed. What might be happening. "Dispatch, we have leri fever. Find out where this guy is from, alert medical there, get them to dose everyone."

She took the dose and then turned back to the patient.

And got to work.

Quarantine was boring. The worst part was that she couldn't do her job. She caught up on her favorite TV shows.

And she looked through old pictures. She found the one of her standing next to the Emergency Medicine Memorial on Earth, its graceful lines behind her resembling a bird taking flight. Or a protective mask.

And she thought about the fact that she had never had to deal with the events that had caused it to be erected. Even leri fever, as nasty as it was, had gone through its pandemic phase before she had been born.

She thought about the fact that she'd never had to go out there, look at her coworkers, and wonder which of them would survive.

Knowing it could not be all of them.

And being in quarantine suddenly didn't seem so bad. Being part of that lineage, that honorable band going back through the centuries, back to the very first person who had discovered chewing certain leaves prevented a cough and spread that knowledge to others.

To those who had tried to fight the Black Death with no knowledge of germ theory.

To those who had fought against swine flu, and bird flu, and SARS, and COVID.

She was part of them, and the risk was what she did.

She was their legacy and the students coming up would be hers.

[uniqueshoebakeryweasel]

This is my @jedijune fanfiction. This is totally late and I have absolutely no excuse for it so I apologize! I had fun trying to figure out how Anakin’s brain works for this fic, because he’s such a chaotic force and I don’t really understand him at all! Constructive criticism is very welcome! Thanks and I hope you enjoy!💙

Prompt 2: Lightsaber

It was official. Anakin was about to die. He had only been a Padawan for about a year and now he would never fulfill any of his hopes or dreams. He would never become a Jedi Knight or Master, he would never get to see his mother again, never get a chance to free her and tell her how much progress he had made. He wouldn’t be able to free all of the slaves on Tatooine. And he would never get to explore the whole wide galaxy!

After all his thoughts of how he would go out if he ever did, this wasn’t what Anakin expected. He thought that if he ever died it would be in the midst of a large battle - he would die heroically saving countless people, Jedi included. Obi-Wan would finally see how good he really was, and in Anakin’s last moments Obi-Wan would apologize for holding him back and teaching him useless things like breathing exercises and boring meditation techniques. Even in his head, however, Anakin usually assumed he would survive whatever wound had led Obi-Wan to apologize to him, so that he could go on to become the grand master of the Jedi, as well as a most loved hero of the galaxy!

Now Anakin knew that that wouldn’t come to pass. Instead, he was doomed to die as a Jedi Padawan, here on a small planet where he and Obi-Wan had been sent as peacekeepers.

Obi-Wan and Anakin had chased an assassin who had attempted to kill one of the leaders within the negotiations at the time. Somewhere along the way they had gotten separated, which led to Anakin stumbling into the bind that he was currently in. He had almost caught the assassin on his own, but he got cocky and the assassin took advantage of that. He had caught Anakin on top of one of the buildings, and after a few minutes he had managed to push Anakin off the edge. Anakin had fallen onto a balcony a ways down, and discovered that the building wasn’t finished being built and there was no exit from the level he was on. He wasn’t yet skilled or experienced enough to find a way out, although he had tried, and nearly fallen off of the balcony in an attempt to climb down. So there he was - stuck, mildly injured, and waiting for his terrible fate to come to pass.

Anakin knew he was being dramatic, however - death would be too quick a punishment to be suitable for such a mistake. Maybe Obi-Wan would realize that he was indeed too young to be a Padawan and would demote him to be a youngling for a few years. Maybe he would be sent away! Anakin overheard a few Padawans talking about some type of agricorp that their friend had been sent to? Apparently if a youngling wasn’t chosen by their thirteenth birthday they were sent away… who knew?

Just then Anakin heard the sound of engines outside of the building and looked up in time to see a quaint ship carefully lining up by the balcony that he had fallen onto earlier. He panicked as he saw it, his imagination going into overdrive as he thought of the probable consequences of his actions. What if Obi-Wan simply kicked him out of the temple and left him to try and survive! What if he decided to just leave him on this foreign planet where the people spoke a dialect that he didn’t understand? What if they decided he was better suited to Tatooine and dropped him off back at Watto’s shop??

His mother would be so disappointed! Obi-Wan would glare at him in that way that would look rather neutral to outsiders, but if you were on the receiving end of it you would just Know that you were about to regret whatever you just did. The other Padawans would laugh at him for his idiocy and tell him it proved that he was never worthy, just like they always said. What if…

Anakin’s thoughts and wild imagination were cut off by his name being called out from the direction of the ship. Looking up from the ground - when had he started looking at the ground instead of the ship? - he saw the ship's ramp had lowered and suddenly Obi-Wan was safely on the balcony, looking at him with… was that worry in his eyes? No, that couldn’t be right, and it would quickly change when he realized the magnitude of what Anakin had done.

“Are you alright, Anakin? It’s unlike you to be this quiet,” Obi-Wan questioned as he swiftly paced forward to stand in front of his young Padawan. For once in his life, Anakin was unable to come up with any response, sarcastic or not. So he simply looked back at the ground, hoping wistfully that it could just swallow him up and end his suffering.

He glanced up briefly when he heard Obi-Wan stepping closer. His brow was creased and he was scanning Anakin over for, presumably, injuries. However, Anakin knew that he would only find some cuts and bruises from the fall, and maybe from the brief scuffle he had had with the assassin.

After what seemed like ages but was probably only a few seconds, Obi-Wan seemed satisfied that he wasn’t terribly hurt, and gestured for Anakin to follow him into their ship.

Once inside, Anakin swiftly strapped himself into the copilot's seat, and promptly smashed his face against the window as he stubbornly stared outside to avoid Obi-Wan concerned glances as he began to pilot the ship back to the room they were staying at. Anakin assumed that meant that the assassin got away, which certainly didn’t help his mood.

For some reason, Obi-Wan allowed him to stay silent the whole trip back, which admittedly wasn’t that long, only a few minutes, but still… Anakin grudgingly appreciated it, not that Obi-Wan ever needed to know that, and as soon as the ship landed on the roof of their building, Anakin hopped out scarcely before the ramp was even lowered, and scurried inside to clean up. Before he made it up the stairs to the refresher, however, he was stopped by Obi-Wan, who placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder just as he was about to skulk off to the refresher.

“Stay here for now, Anakin,” Obi-Wan instructed before swiftly moving to the kitchen to prepare both of them some tea.

Their accommodations were small and simple so the kitchen was little more than a few cabinets and appliances in the corner of the room. Anakin huffed and moodily sat down on the steps that he had been about to climb. Obi-Wan put on the teapot and as he waited for the water to heat up, he glanced at Anakin over his shoulder.

“What happened?”

It was a simple question, and yet it was what Anakin had been dreading since he had fallen onto the balcony. Obi-Wan had turned back to face the teapot so Anakin had a chance to gather the courage to speak.

He finally decided it would be better to get it over with, so glaring (pouting) at the floor, he shot out, “I lost my lightsaber!”

Once he realized that he had actually admitted to such a crime his head shot up to look at Obi-Wan, his eyes going impossibly wide, and he started rambling, “it was an accident I promise, the assassin pushed me off of a building and I landed on that balcony and I didn’t even notice at first but it must’ve fallen off or something because I couldn’t find it anywhere, and I’m really sorry! Please don’t be mad, don’t send me back to Tatooine..”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan cut him off when it was clear that he wouldn't stop. “Calm yourself, my young Padawan. Why do you think I would ever send you back to Tatooine?” Obi-Wan pinned Anakin with an incredulous gaze as he turned around to fully face him.

Anakin squirmed uncomfortably and grimaced as he replied. “Well, you’ve told me before that my lightsaber is my life, and that I have to be mindful of it at all times, and you’ve told me specifically not to misplace it, because I would be in trouble if I did…”

Obi-Wan sighed, and started working on brewing their tea as the teapot had just started whistling. “Please listen to me, Anakin. Nothing you do could change the fact that you are my family and I love you - I would never send you away for any reason. You’re my Padawan - it’s my duty and my honor to train, protect, and guide you into the life of a Jedi. I care about you and I just want to help you build the skills and habits that will help you be safe with or without me there to help you. That doesn’t mean that you will never make mistakes, but it is my job to help you lessen the chances of those mistakes happening.”

Anakin hadn’t looked up from the floor the entire time Obi-Wan was talking, but he looked up when he heard the clinking of two mugs being placed on a table. Obi-Wan strode to the steps he was sitting (most definitely not skulking) on and took a seat next to him. He waited a moment for Anakin to look up at him and gave him a small smile, before pulling something out of his robes. It was… Anakin's lightsaber!! Anakin's eyes widened and he leapt to his feet, shooting his head up to gape at Obi-Wan in awe.

Obi-Wan chuckled at his reaction. “You have much potential - however, you are still a new Padawan, and your Force shielding isn’t as thorough as it someday will be. You panicked when you lost your lightsaber and I felt you try to block me from our training bond, but you only managed to dull what you were feeling, so it was fairly easy to deduce what had happened. When I came to get you, I stopped by the base of the building and found it before I picked you up.“ Obi-Wan gave him a stern look, “I tell you not to lose your lightsaber because it is your life. I just want you to be safe. We will discuss this later, and meditate on it together.”

He ignored Anakin’s groan of annoyance and continued, “Tomorrow. I think you’ve had enough excitement for tonight, so for now, enjoy your tea. You did well, Anakin.”

Much love to the wonderful and talented muffin @imaginaryrobin for being my ever patient beta reader and illustrator!!

Your art looks as spectacular as always!💙

[kylosupremeimagines]

Kylo Ren X Reader: Scars

Summary: Snoke believes that the reader has become a weakness for Kylo, and injures they in front of Kylo as a way to show his disapproval. Kylo is lead to believe that the reader is dead, and in a fit of rage, kills Snoke.

Song | Blog Master List

Warnings: Injury (dismemberment, impaling) Blood, Panic, Mention of/Present Abuse, Death

The Knight of Ren’s heart pounded against his chest as the air went cold; the mere presence of his master before him never ceased to shake him right down to the core. His dark eyes fell onto Snoke as the man towered over your limp figure sprawled out on the floor. “(Y/N) didn’t do anything wrong, Master,” Kylo tried to defend you, breathing out heavily in concern. “punish me, please. Let her go and I swear on the Force that I will obey your every command.”

Snoke scoffed in amusement at his apprentice, gaze flickering to Kylo. “She may not have done so willingly, but she has been distracting you from your training. You’ve been growing weak, young Ren,” he insisted. Pulling you up with the Force, he captured your throat in his gnarled hand. As he clamped down, you jolted awake in a panic with your airway closing. His icy blue orbs pierced into your gaze sharply. A sadistic smirk formed across his pale features

“She hasn’t distracted me!” Kylo defended. “don’t punish her for my mistakes! Do whatever you want to me. But Kriff, let her go! Stop!”

“Not that you can realize,” he retorted. Your hand wrapped around Snoke’s wrist, hoping to the Stars that he would loosen his grip to give you a moment to take in a breath. But no, he had no intention of giving you such a satisfaction. “perhaps just a little show will prove to you…”

Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your skull as the pressure increased, leaving you no room for air. “I said stop!” Kylo’s voice boomed through the throne room. He ripped you from Snoke’s grasp and with ease, brought you over to him. “run,” he begged you in a whisper. Absolutely terrified him to see the already forming bruises around your neck.

“No…” you muttered to him in protest. Even if you were in fatal danger, nothing would keep you from Kylo so long as you were still alive and breathing.

“Please, I’m begging you.”

“He’ll just…” you tried to get out in a cough. “send people… after me-“ you continued before Snoke yanked Kylo away and slammed him against the tiled floor below. “no!”

“Insolent brat, if you think you can undermine me, you are mistaken!” Snoke declared in a bark. He forced Kylo to his knees as you watched, tears streaming down your cheeks. His Master looked over him, gaze like daggers. “you may believe that she is your strength, but that is far from the truth. She blinds you from your duties to the First Order. The Knights of Ren. To me!”

“You’re wrong, she’s the only thing that keeps me sane in all of this. She is my strength!” For ages, he was void of an anchor until he came to love you with all he could give you. However, he never confessed to you in fear of what Snoke would do to you. It was one thing to care about you, but if he knew about how Kylo felt about you? It would be the end of his galaxy.

“You believe wrong. Time and time again you fail before retreating back to her. In no way does she strengthen you!” Snoke spat out, extending his hand to capture you in the Force and pull you closer to him. “she will be no more!”

“No!” Kylo struggled against Snoke’s hold. “I won’t let you kriffing just her!”

“Is that so?” The smirk ceases the fade from the Supreme Leader’s deformed features. With ease, he yanked Kylo’s saber off of his belt and ignited the crimson blade. “because as far as I’m aware, you are not in the position to stop me,” with his piercing glare sharp on Kylo, he pulled you forward to let the blade impale you.

A scream erupted from your quivering lips as the lightsaber pierced through your organs, tearing them all in two. It felt like the fires of the Tatooine suns melted down into you. Snoke retracted the blade and threw the weapon to the side with little care. You were hurled across the room towards Kylo, stopping just before him.

“(Y/N)!” The raven haired man looked upon you in horror. A sharp pain met his abdomen where you were stabbed. With your connection, you felt one another’s pain, even emotions if you focused enough. To sense what you felt was excruciating to him and he wasn’t even the one injured. “I’m going to kill you!” He declared at his - former - Master.

“Try,” Snoke whispered to him in a mock. As Kylo brought his hands up, he slammed the monster against the floor and made sure that his head collided with the tiles. He forced his saber back to his hand, blade cracking to life and illuminating against his sweat riddled features. “you can’t beat me even if you try.”

Kylo didn’t wait for Snoke to rise before he raced at the man. As his master shot a bolt of Force lightning towards Kylo, he only blocked it with his weapons flawed blade. He struggled to push past, his racing heart and dread for your life driving him past his limits. Snoke has to die and he was going to make sure he did.

The purple streaks of lightning flew every which way, Kylo avoiding contact with it. As soon as he reached him, he sliced the blade up to swipe at his face. Swiftly, Snoke took control of the lightsaber with the Force to allow it to slice through Kylo’s left hand like warm butter. Her let out an excruciating cry as his hand crashed to the ground.

“You will never win, apprentice. Give out now and I may spare you immense cruelty.”

“I won’t summit... to you again!” Kylo took a few steps back to recompose himself.

“Then I will just send you to reconditioning. You will always be obedient to be whether you will it or not!” Snoke declared. He retracted the blade once more and examined the weapon closer. “I had expectations for you and your bloodline, but all that you’ve done is disappoint me over and over again. It’s about time that I fix you to my image. You will be my perfect little soldier.”

“I don’t have to be like my grandfather. I can always forge my own path…” Kylo muttered.. With his intact hand, he used the Force to ignite the saber as it was pointed towards Snoke’s chest, the blade piercing into his rib cage. Snoke’s light eyes widened as it was yanked out through his shoulder and fell back down to slice him in half.

As his body collapsed to the ground, Kylo could feel his very life essence slowly dissipating, fading out of existence. He breathed out heavily as his saber dropped with a metallic clank. Quickly, his attention shifted back to you. He raced over to you and fell to his knees by your side.

“(Y/N)...” he breathed out in a broken voice, lips trembling in a sob. Desperately, he looked over all your wounds. Kylo could sense your life force slowly draining from your form. But that the stars that it was even still there! “please, I need you…”

Reluctantly, he ripped open your tunic to get a better look at your wound. The skin around the whole was scorched, warm to the touch. This was all his fault. If only he had protected you, the love of his life, you wouldn’t be in this condition. He rested his hand in your wound, and desperately tried to tap into the Force in an effort to heal you.

He had never been too good at it, but stars he needed you to live. Your chest still rose and fell with your weak breaths which gave him hope. “Please. You can’t die on me…” Kylo sobbed. his hand went warm as he healed you, soon retracting it to take note that your wound had miraculously healed. But you weren’t waking up. “please, wake up!”

He picked you up in his arm, holding you close. As you were against his chest, your (E/C) eyes fluttered open. Your hand crept up his back to grip his tunic. “Kylo… is he dead?”

His eyes widened as he felt your hand on him, dropping you down to take a look at you to see for himself that you were alive. “Kriff… I thought that I was going to lose you…” a smile played at his feature in disbelief. “yes, he’s dead. He won’t hurt you again. I promise.”

With tears streaming from your eyes, you cupped his cheeks to pull him into a loving kiss. Despite being utterly taken aback, Kylo sunk right into the kiss as he felt your plush lips against his own. He kept you secure in your arms even after you parted from the kiss. “I love you…”

“I love you too,” the smile ceases to fade from his light features as he lifted you up and kept you in your arms bridal style. “I… I’m going to take you away. Far from here where we won’t be hurt again…” he whispered and kissed you softly on your cheek before making a run out of the throne room to make it to a private hangar. He had a personal ship that no one else had access to.

“What?”

“We’re escaping. I won’t let you die because of the Order…” he explained in a mutter. He never once thought that you’d die with his affiliations with the First Order; he had sworn to protect you so he wanted to believe he could do it. Soon, you made it to his shop, Kylo placing you down gently on the copilot’s chair. “I promise that we’re going to hide and make sure that they can’t find us.”

He cupped your cheek and gazed into your memorizing orbs, vowing to himself that he would make up for his mistakes. “They’ll track is…”

“No they won’t,” he insisted, kneeling down by the main controls. Ripping off the main paneling underneath and yanking out the tracker, he crashed it with the Force. “see? They can’t find us now,” Kylo showed you the shattered pieces before throwing them to the side. He plopped down in the pilot’s seat to start up the ship.

It roared to life as he unclamped the magnetic hold to the docking bay to allow for it to rise. He wasted no time letting it fly out of the hangar, setting the coordinates for uncharted space. While the ship entered hyperspace, he rotated the chair to face you. He reached over to wipe away the ears that stained your cheeks. “Why did you kill him for me?”

“I… I thought that I had lost you when he stabbed you. He had to pay for it, for everything that he’s ever done…” he breathed. For a moment, memories of abuse flooded his mind, but he snapped out of it as he felt your hand cup his cheek gently. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t feel like you have to apologize,” you insisted. Kylo has opened up plenty of times to let out all the emotions building up as a result of the abuse. So you knew exactly what was wrong. “I’m glad that you’re alright. Thank you so much for healing me.”

“I refused to let you die. I don’t know what I’d do if you died…” he choked beneath a sob as his head sunk down into your lap. Kylo took immense comfort as you ran a hand through his inky locks, leaning into your couch instinctively.

“Shh, it’s alright now. I’m here,” you kissed the top of his head. “just take a moment to breathe,” your free hand took his to squeeze it gently. You closed your eyes and rested your head against his back. “I’m not going to leave you. Not when I love you so much…”

[svankmajerbaby]

13, 20, 30, 40 !!

thank you so much for the ask!!!!!!

13.  Describe your writing process from idea to polished i’m not really sure, but i think i’d go something like this: i get the idea usually by either being obsessed with a property (whether it’s frankenstein, beetlejuice or barbie) or by thinking up characters and adding traits and backstory to them, and then thinking up possible dynamics for them to have with other characters. then, i try to figure out a particular context (place and time) that could fit these characters, and i make sure to think it up in such a way that it doesn’t really conflict with the source material (for my barbie-frankenstein fanfic, for example, i didn’t want to set it in early 19th century, because i wanted vivianna to be able to become barbara roberts at some point, and as such it was more comfortable to preserve the victorian aesthetic while also being closer to the 20th century); if there’s not a proper space and time these characters can feel comfortable in (whether because of a particularly tense political situation, persecution, or simply The Wrong Aesthetic Choice), i make up one. after that i begin to write dialogues and location descriptions, try to picture it all in my head as clearly as possible. then, after i have some scenes written and some interactions done, i try to organize them, thinking what should come first, what can lead to a good finale, what would be the most important moment for each character and so on. when this is done, i usually already figure out the ending and can structure everything to lead up to it. after that, it’s all a matter of sitting down and writing between the scenes i’ve already done, editing them and adding whatever new ideas i get in the meantime. usually this is what takes the longest, because by this point i’m losing steam and interest and become distracted by new projects... but sometimes i manage to finish it and by then the editing process starts on full, checking for any grammar or spelling mistakes, wrong pronouns or words or names, usually cutting down on redundant descriptions or dialogues, adding things if i think something is not clear enough or erasing things if they seem too on the nose, and then i do this over and over until i feel it’s good enough.

20.  How many WIPs and story ideas do you have? oh boy do i have plenty. i’ve sorta finished the first novel of the story of Olimpia Gómez -the first one is simply called “La Ejecutora, 1938″; i’m currently writing the second, the third and the fourth ones -”La Ejecutora, 1946″, “La Ejecutora, 1954″, and “La Ejecutora, 1966″ respectively. then i also have almost finished my stage adaptation version of “Corpse Bride”, which i renamed “Death and Marriage”. i’m a chapter away at finishing my toy story fanfic, “Sitting On The Shelf”. i’ve written a single chapter of a beetlejuice fanfic about the maitlands that i still haven’t found a proper name fore, but which i’m very excited about. i’m writing several chapters at once of a massive addams family fanfic, focused on most of the main family characters’ backstories or developments beyond the nineties movies, which i’m calling “Family Beyond Blood”. i’ve started a little princess tutu fanfic that i’m not sure if i should continue, but which is a stylistic deviation of what i’ve been writing so far, so that’s good. i’ve kind of abandoned another fanfic idea i had, “Vulnavia & Vulnavia”, from one of my favorite horror movies, “abominable dr phibes”, which i have to come back to... and like the madwoman i am, i’m planning on rewriting the star wars sequel trilogy, so i got that in my to do list, as well. besides those fanfics, i got a sci-fi novel being developed, called “Los Prototipos”, about two twins that escape the enclosure where they had been raised to find out they were being studied to make a single-minded working force (kind of like the replicants in blade runner) with an expiration date -all this set in a dystopic 1960s country somewhere in latinamerica, tackling issues of economic imperalism, forced labor and independece through revolution. this is one of my most political works, so i’m giving it a lot of space to breathe. i’ve also began some time ago a series of noir/horror short stories set in Buenos Aires, one of them based on a short movie script i’ve written, which i’m really excited to do -because i’m usually crap at writing short stories -but i’ve left it in standby until i finish the bigger projects first... and then I Have Scripts, Baby! “Mi Amiga Carolina”, about a possessed doll that emotionally manipulates a depressed teenager that moves alone into her grandmother’s old house; “El Moderno Prometeo”, a (mostly) faithful retelling of frankenstein set in Argentina, focused on the family drama of the frankenstein family and on the relationships between victor, daniela (justine, here being his older sister), quique (henry) and elsa (elizabeth); a screen adaptation of a novel of a friend of mine, “La Chica Que Trabajaba Los Sábados”, about a non-practising jewish woman in Buenos Aires who falls in love with a rabbi, and how their relationship ebbs and flows; and “Verano en los Manzanos”, about a boy who lives in rural Córdoba who falls in love with a girl from Buenos Aires (i try to write what i know, usually), and who as they grow up become a couple, have a kid, and ultimately wind up apart due to his struggle with depression and her own struggle with acute anxiety, all of this interweaved with his own return to the little forgotten village he grew up on, where he reflects on the life he used to have. so, in total... 16 WIP. plenty.

30.  Favourite idea you haven’t started on yet i just now realized that i forgot to mention it in the last point, but technically i havent’ even started, so yeah, it’s just an idea: a series of sci-fi books about a parallel history in which India was the first country to go to the moon, and in which South America has the ASADE (Asociação Sul-Americana D’exploração Espacial), where they train cosmonauts to explore the vastness of space: set in an alternate 1930, a team of specialists on several fields and from several countries (the ones I got thought up already are captain Alfonsina Shua, from argentina, and copilot Adolfo Chaviano, from a paraguayan-argentinean couple) go on the fifth ever tripulated voyage. on an exploration, copilot Chaviano gets lost and disappears in space, cut off from his crew, and ends up going through a wormhole and crossing a threshold between sci-fi and fantasy of a blooming star -rendering him immortal but extremely radiated, which allows him to continue exploring space (ending up in several planets, registering his encounters with varied extraterrestrial cultures) while back in Earth the ASADE and his family try to locate him and bring him back home -it’s basically “The Martian” meets “The Little Prince”. and then, there’s the sequel series, about the three grandchildren of Adolfo Chaviano, who, after his death, discover that their grandfather had been developing a time machine alongside Alfonsina to go back in time and look for a way to revert the effects of the radiation in him, in order for him to live longer -and, perhaps, to find the way to become immortal and continue exploring the deepest limits of space. set in an alternate 1971, where space travel is now commonplace, the three siblings, Lena, Majo and Laucha embark on a space mission, meeting all sorts of new characters similarly affected by radiation and some mysterious magical/space properties, in order to find Alfonsina and ask her to give them one more chance to ask questions and say goodbye to their grandfather. so yeah, i got a lot of ideas, but i haven’t been writing any scenes yet -it’s still all in my head so far.

40.  Share some backstory for one of your characters well, the original character i’ve got developed the most is Olimpia Gómez (whose birth name is Beatriz Moreno), the orphaned daughter of two spanish union workers who were killed in the Semana Trágica on 1919 by the mysterious Society (of course, working in cahoots with the repressive government), and taken in by that same Society and raised to kill supposed “criminals and dangerous subjects”. trained in the countryside, taught to always be ready to die an honorable death for peace and justice while on duty, she’s taken to Buenos Aires to prove herself by stealth-killing the targets she is given, who she is told are people beyond salvation. she’s never been popular, but her closest friend, Eugenia Menéndez, always tries to get her to open up and join her own attempts at having a normal social life -which is quite difficult when being a spy and “executioner”. Olimpia has a boyfriend, fellow agent Evaristo Gutiérrez, but by the time they’re nineteen their relationship feels cold and strained, and at the same time there’s the pull of one of the most powerful members of the organization, Azucena Velázquez, daughter of two high-ranking agents: she’s kind-of out as a lesbian (only able to be so because of her high status), and has always been interested in Olimpia; Olimpia has to wrestle with her own internalized homophobia, feelings of guilt and bisexuality in order to finally decide who she wants to be, alongside her discovery of precisely how the Society is corrupt and extremely politically motivated when electing its “targets”, which leads Olimpia to try to escape it -despite knowing that the Society is everywhere, and if she can manage to escape, it’s because the Society allows it in the first place.

[sunsetofdoom]

Prompt number: #20-  “You could talk about it, you know?”

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic, Sith Warrior crew

Rating: PG

Warnings/Tags: Discussion of an emotionally abusive mentor with dementia

“I’m sorry, Sir,” the girl in her early twenties was frantic over the holo that she’d managed to wrench back into her hands, “I’m so sorry, I can’t keep him away from the terminal-”

“Bastards!” He could still hear Broysc’s hateful voice in the background, “Bastards and traitors them all- Kai, you know he disobeyed orders, the willful little-”

“It’s all right,” Quinn allowed, his voice soft. “Lieutenant- please. I understand.”

“It’s just- I can’t- I try, I try quite hard to get him where he needs to be but-” She was stammering, almost in tears.

“I understand,” He emphasized, trying not to let the anger take over, quietly hating her for being the echo of twenty-three year old Malavai Quinn. It made his skin crawl to look at her. “I- held your position, once. It’s alright. Now go take care of your duties.”

“Right. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, I’m- thank you.” Her voice was thick with relief as she turned away to go catch the wayward Moff.

Malavai slammed down the end call button, shutting off the comm call but not ridding himself of the hateful image of his rambling former CO. Burning with energy and the desperate need to hit something, he punched the button again, unsatisfied and disgusted with himself. A sick, deranged, dying old man affected him like this? And he was supposed to be a professional.

“Hey there, Admiral.” Vette’s cheerful drawl had never been less welcome.

“Regulation only calls for the bridge to be staffed by one individual when not in an emergency,” Malavai quoted the rule-book, his voice stead but his hands quivering, “you’re not needed here.”

“Well, aren’t you cheerful today.” Vette sighed as she sprawled out in the copilot chair.

Malavai was silent as he wiped the log of the three separate calls from Broysc, ranting at him for ruining the operation. He spoke as though Druckenwell were weeks ago, not a decade previous. Forgetting words, stalling in the middle of the rambling insults that Malavai remembered so vividly.

Part of the shivering revulsion lay in how quickly his self-appointed mentor was degrading. A few weeks ago, he’d sounded exactly the same- so much so that Malavai had needed to fight back nausea at the sound of his condescending attempt to convince his subordinate that absolutely nothing had ever been Broysc’s fault. And now- now he was skipping entire trains of thought, stopping and starting, losing time and forgetting dates; holding whole conversations with dead men.

Quinn’s medical training had involved at least one primer on dementia. He knew the signs and the symptoms. Seeing as he had no relationship with any of his remaining family, he had never thought this would be of any concern to him.

“You could talk about it, you know,” Vette called, her nose buried in her datapad, “it wouldn’t kill you. I’ve heard the yelling from Moff Crazy too, you’re not the only one that mans the comm.”

Gritting his teeth, Malavai rested his shaking hands on the console and willed them to be still. The thought of Broysc talking to him in such a way was already horrible. But realizing that he’d done the same to Vette, not even realizing who she was? Without a single clue that she wasn’t him, just debasing himself in front of a stranger when, for five unfortunate years of Malavai’s life, he had been dependable to at least always show his best face in public?

“I could not,” Malavai tried to shut her down, “as that information is classified.”

“It’s not that classified if he’s yelling it over an open comm line.”

His gut clenched up. How many times had Broysc given him a dressing-down about security protocols? And now he forgot even basic encryption-

“So... why’s he call you Admiral?” Vette asked, and it sounded like she was trying to be casual while also being passionately curious. 

Malavai didn’t appreciate it.

Admiral, that’s what you’ll be in a few years, Broysc had told him when he was all of twenty-two years old, shiny-eyed and as innocent as a newborn, commanding fleets at my side, eh? I’ll have to get a new secretary, but that’s progress for you! My Kai would have loved you.

“That is none of your business.” He informed her, and got up to leave. He had a sudden need for, if not the ‘medicinal’ brandy on the top shelf of the pantry, then at least some tea.

“Fine, Admiral, don’t tell me!” She shouted as he dove for the door like it was his salvation.

“Man the bloody comms!” He snarled back, attempting to cling to the last word as he slammed the door behind him.

[the--regenerating--degenerate]

Sol Invictus

Chapter Four: Caviis IV

The Red Claw slammed out of the Fold, on fire and drifting. Her sublight engines flickered and died as the ship listed heavily to port. The cockpit a mess of tangled wires, the smell of cooked electronics and the stench of burning ozone. 

They were alive.

True, they were without power, the Fold Drive was probably damaged beyond repair; and she was sure that neither the blonde brute, the black-haired Faunus or the off-putting girl in the red-cape had a spare one stashed somewhere. But surviving was a start. 

Weiss collapsed into her seat as the thought hit her. She was alive, they had escaped Raven and the Muninn. There was a hiss of a fire suppressor as the Faunus woman hosed down an electrical fire that had sprung from behind the console she had been sitting at. 

 "Well…" the blonde, Yang, Weiss believed, began, as she looked back and gave a tired grin. "That could have gone better."

“We’re alive. That counts for something.” Ruby crossed her arms behind her head and leaned back, smiling, as though she was basking in the glory of her great accomplishment of not getting them all killed.

“Alive, but trapped in a tin can with no engines, little power and so heavily damaged I’m surprised we even survived that Fold,” Weiss interjected, providing a preverbal needle to Ruby’s inflated sense of accomplishment. 

“Hey! Considering what we were up against, ” Yang shot back as she climbed from the copilot’s chair. “We just escaped from Raven Branwen and the White Fang. I think we’ve earned a bit of a pat on the back.” 

“Back patting?” Weiss arched an eyebrow before she gestured to the state of the cockpit. She worked to bury her own panic and anxiety. It wouldn’t do if the other three could see how terrified she actually was. Weiss needed to present a cool, calm and collected front.  

“Yes.” Weiss continued cooly, “We have most definitely earned that. Escaping certain doom, to… oh: near-certain doom from either thirst or starvation if we can’t get the engines back online.” 

Weiss looked down to Ruby and then back to Yang. It was obvious that someone needed to take charge of this little group of misfits. She couldn’t trust the brute who had murdered her crewmember, the less said of the Faunus the better. And Ruby, while competent, if a little over-enthusiastic, was too immature. If any of them were to survive, she would have to assume command.

“Ruby, take the Faunus and see if you can find out what’s wrong with the engines. Yang, check the Fold Drive. Raven was able to hit that area a couple of times and, seeing as you were unable to get our shields up, it’s most likely been damaged. I will do a…” 

“Wait, hold on. ” Yang’s tone lowered to a dangerous octave as she glared at the heiress.  “Who put you in charge, princess?”

“And this Faunus has a name, Atlassian,” the cat Faunus hissed from behind her, “Don’t forget who also helped you to escape.”

Weiss sniffed as she straightened her back, attempting to intimidate the larger, hulking woman. An attempt, she noted, that was horrifically lost when Weiss realised she only came to just above the blonde savage’s well-developed bosom. 

Nevertheless, Weiss stood her ground. “I am taking control due to the fact that I am the only one here qualified to do so.”

She turned to the Faunus with a polite bow of her head. “I am sorry, Faunus. But I do not know your name.” 

“That’s Blake,” Yang answered, no doubt annoyed that she had been so casually dismissed, “but you and me aren’t finished here, Weiss. Considering the last time you were in charge you got locked up in the brig.”

“Belladonna Zech Blake Ist Dawn Hope,” the Faunus woman corrected, clearly becoming impatient with Yang. 

“Like I said. Blake,” Yang said with a dismissive shrug, before turning back to Weiss. “Like I was saying you wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if it wasn’t for me and Rubes.”

“And all of you would have been captured and killed if not for me,” Belladonna snapped angrily. "I betrayed my Brothers and Sisters for you."

"Why?" 

All three stopped as Ruby spoke up from the pilot seat, turning to look at the arguing women. Weiss had to suppress an uncomfortable shudder as Ruby’s wide silver eyes met hers before sliding over to Belladonna, who was seemingly unable to hide her own distaste at the aura of wrongness that radiated from the young girl.

It made Weiss wonder: What was so unsettling about her? She was cheerful, a little obnoxious, immature and overly cheerful to be sure. But that didn’t account for how… disturbed Ruby made Weiss. Not like the vat-freak Yang, or the terrorist Faunus. It was something more. Less physical, more like a gut feeling that something was not quite right with the girl. 

“Why what?” Belladonna asked sharply pulling Weiss back to the present discussion. 

“Why did you help us?” Ruby repeated, “I don’t know much about the White Fang. I mean, you think of each other almost as family, and we’re just humans. One of us is even Atlassian. So why?”

Belladonna was silent for a moment. Then she took in a shuddering breath. 

“Because Menagerie wouldn’t survive if the White Fang killed the Schnee,” Belladonna said with a wave of her hand at Weiss. “If the Heir Apparent was executed, the Protectorate would use it as an excuse to invade the Menagerie Systems. We, the Faunus, the White Fang… We don’t have the numbers or resources to even give them pause.” 

Weiss snorted with a dismissive wave of her hand. “If Atlas did take such a direct retaliatory action, the other powers; Vale, The Vacuo Union, the Empire of Mistral, all of them would be forced to act. None of them want the Protectorate in the Menagerie Systems. Especially after what you White Fang did on Ophion a year ago.”

Belladonna continued on as she ignored the interruption, “It would be a massacre for the Faunus, ending with either every one of us dead or back in slave chains working in the Protectorate’s foundries and mines. Meanwhile, the galaxy would be torn apart in another Great War.”

She paused then, her eyes shifting back and forth between the three of them. Weiss was about to snap at her to stop stalling and spit out what more she was hiding when she took a breath, licked the top of her lip and plunged on.

“Besides there is something worse out there.” Her words were hurried and she often stumbled over them as though chasing a half-believed memory. “My… my leader, Brother-Commander Taurus Naut Adam Ist White Fang… he made an ally out here in Wild Space.  An ally who… Gods of Sanctuary… I barely believe this myself. But he has an ally who can command the Grimm.”

Silence hung in the cockpit for several long seconds. 

Then Yang laughed and the silence shattered like a fragile, crystalline glass. Weiss couldn’t help herself as her own lips pulled into a grin, at the sheer absurdity of it. 

“Controlling the Grimm,” Yang chortled as she wiped a tear from her eye. “I’m sorry Blakey but that’s a good one. You had me. You had me for a moment.”

"I know it's hard to believe…"

"Impossible to believe," Weiss curtly interrupted with a chopping gesture, "the Grimm are mindless beasts. You cannot control them."

"I have seen them!" Belladonna shouted back pausing to take a breath, "I have seen the woman control them. They follow her every instruction, every command. It’s even worse than that. And… Taurus is gathering White Fang there. With High-Leader Khan's approval.”

Weiss couldn’t believe the tale that this Belladonna was weaving… well… no. She could believe that some techno-barbarians like the Faunus could think someone could control the Grimm. A few light projectors, a hologram or two and superstitious savages would be falling over themselves to ally themselves with someone who could claim to ‘control the Grimm.’          

But superstition could be dangerous if that person was using it to gather the White Fang. That was a danger that needed to be addressed. Quickly. If not, the raiders would be able to strike deep into Protectorate territory. Maybe as far as the core worlds. The fleet was vast, but even it couldn’t be everywhere at once. What had happened at Ophion, would break across a hundred more worlds.

That could not be allowed to happen.

“How though? How can someone control the Grimm?” Ruby asked, frowning worriedly. Weiss couldn't help but snort. Of course, the bumpkin would believe it.

"I don't know," Belladonna sounded terrified as she shrugged helplessly. "Tech? Dark magic? Witchcraft? I don't know. Does it matter?"

She looked back over at Weiss. "I know asking an Atlassian to help the Faunus is fighting a black hole. I know that this idea of some magic woman controlling the Grimm is insane. But the White Fang is gathering strength on the edge of Wild Space. I don't need to tell you how dangerous that is, Schnee."

"So what do you want, Belladonna?" Weiss asked after a moment of silence.

"Come with me. Come and see what's happening. Then you can warn the Protectorate,” The Faunus eyes were wide, almost pleadingly. 

“Why can’t you warn them, Blake?” Yang asked, ignoring the angry and frustrated frown Belladonna shot her. 

Weiss answered for her, as it was her duty to instruct the savage. “The Lord and Lady Marshalls of the Protectorate would never take the word of a Faunus."

If Belladonna was annoyed at being spoken for, she didn't show it. She merely nodded in agreement. "But if the Heir Apparent was to give first-hand evidence, along with the women who helped rescue her, the Protectorate would have to respond."

"Okay.” Ruby chirped, speaking up before anyone else. “I’m in.” 

“Ruby?” Yang rounded on her sister in surprise, “You can’t be serious.”

Ruby looked up at Yang then motioned with a nod of her head to the hold. “A word please?” 

Yang looked like she was about to protest, but shrugged and followed the smaller woman out. 

Weiss eyed Belladonna for several moments, glaring at the red wolf’s head and three claw marks emblazoned on the woman’s white and grey uniform. 

Belladonna for her part, returned the glare as the two settled into an uneasy, silent stalemate. 

The White Fang was nothing but pirates. Zealots. Mass murdering thugs and terrorists. 

But now she was indebted to one. One who had recently left the White Fang, certainly, but a good deed did not wash blood-stained hands clean. 

“Belladonna Blake,” Weiss broke the uneasy silence with a polite bow of her head. “I don’t trust you. I don’t like that you show up seemingly out of the void as the one person who can not only help us escape from Raven but also just happens to dump an extraordinary piece of intelligence into my lap. But… You did save me. You betrayed your own…” 

Belladonna raised a hand. “Don’t say it. I know what I did. I knew some of those Brothers and Sisters since before I first joined. I didn’t do it for you. I didn’t do it for the Protectorate or any human, for that matter. I did it for the Faunus. ”

Weiss nodded, letting the subject of their rescue drop. “I will still thank you for what you did and it is because of that, and the grave danger the White Fang represents, I will go to this planet with you to ascertain this threat. I will speak on your behalf to the Council of Marshalls if your claims are true.”

She held out a hand. For a moment Belladonna stared at it, then, gingerly, took it. Sealing the pact between the two, between the former White Fang terrorist and Atlassian officer. 

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

Ruby lead Yang through the hold, stepping over the fallen wires, broken cargo and ruptured armour. She grimaced in sympathetic pain with the ship. Though a total inspection would be needed, it was doubtful that the Red Claw would be able to survive many more Folds or even be void worthy at all. But that was a problem for another time. 

“Yang,” Ruby turned to her sister when she was sure they were alone and in no danger of being overheard by their two other crewmates. “We have to help them.” 

Yang shook her head. “No, we don’t. We already helped them, Ruby. We got them out of there. What we need to do is leave and go somewhere else. Away from Wild Space. Somewhere Raven can’t come after us.”

“So we’re running?” Ruby asked, unable to believe what she was hearing coming from her tough as nails sister. 

“No. It’s just- This isn’t our fight,” Yang huffed angrily as she sat down on a piece of wreckage. “It’s the White Fang and the Protectorate’s fight. We got nothing to gain and a lot to lose.”

“Sounds like we’re running.” Ruby sat down beside Yang, voice filled with concern. “That’s not you, Yang. You don’t run from fights. You always took them head-on. Better or for worse.”

“Ruby...All I know is that I can’t lose you. I’ve lost everyone else. Dad, Qrow, Gris, Raven. You’re the only one I got left.” Yang put her arm around Ruby’s shoulders and pulled her in a tight hug. “We’ll help the Princess and Blakey get a ship, then we’ll get our own. Maybe head to Vacuo or Mistral, see what trouble we can stir up there.”   

The two were quiet for a moment, then Ruby pushed Yang’s arm off and stood up. 

“Ruby? What is it?” Yang asked. Ruby could tell she was trying not to sound hurt. 

“I know what you did on Raven’s ship.” 

Yang stiffened; Ruby could see the panic rising in her sister’s eyes. It tore Ruby’s heart out to see Yang actually frightened, but she pushed on regardless. Yang needed to hear this. 

“I know what you did. I know you killed someone.”

“Ruby please…” Yang tried to interrupt the tears forming in her eyes but was stopped as Ruby raised a hand. 

“I was scared of you. Horrified that you could do something like that and for a second I thought you were exactly like them. And that hurt Yang. More than you running away, more than anything since mom died.” 

Yang flinched, each word hitting her like a physical blow, and Ruby knew that this could destroy her sister. But she had to press on, if she didn’t Ruby felt like she would lose her sister to this new, frightening and bitter Yang.  

“I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that I wanted the old Yang back, and I was terrified that I had lost her forever... Then I saw that little picture. That crayon drawing I made you when I was four.” 

Ruby sat back down and hugged her sister. “I knew that you weren’t some monster. I knew that you were not one of them. You weren’t Raven. You were still Yang. Still my older brash, hot-headed, stubborn sister Yang. Sure, that Yang could do silly, stupid things, but she would always try and do what’s right. That Yang wouldn’t abandon people in need. She would have charged in head first, fists swinging. Please… Give me that Yang back.” 

Ruby smiled a little. “I’m not going to abandon you either. You are my sister too. You’re all I got out here as well.” 

Yang wiped the tears forming as she hugged her sister back. “I’m sorry Ruby. I’m so sorry.” 

Ruby didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to, so she just held her sister. 

They sat there for several moments as Yang tried to reign in her emotions, taking deep long breaths. Finally, Yang looked up and wiped her face. A small grin slowly stretching her tear-streaked cheeks.

“I’m still going to ask the princess for a buttload of money.” Yang grinned as she stood up. 

Ruby laughed as she hopped to her feet. “If she will even agree to that.” 

Yang shrugged as she walked back to the cockpit. "Why not? I'm me!" 

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

Weiss wiped the sweat from her brow, leaving a streak of grease and grit. Her nose wrinkled with the smell of burning electronics, as Ruby stripped the burnt power cables away and replaced them with fresh wiring. There was a hiss from the electro-spanner and the faint glow of light blue sparks as Ruby worked on the Fold Drive’s sensitive circuitry.

The last several days had been… stressful to say the least. 

Repairs were slow, due mostly to the constant headbutting. If Yang wasn’t being a vulgar extortionist, then Belladonna was sneaking around and questioning everything that Weiss was doing. It didn’t help that both Yang and Belladonna seemed to also be constantly arguing about one thing or another. 

Or to be more accurate, Yang would loudly complain and Belladonna would either ignore her, get into an argument, or get annoyed and sneak off to work someplace more quiet. 

Weiss was at her wit’s end. 

She had tried to take command, tried to get the rest to listen to her. Yang had been happy enough to follow her lead after Weiss had, very grudgingly accepted Yang’s demanded ‘Princess Rescue and Bodyguard Service’ fee. However, Yang, it seemed, was more interested in teasing and annoying their resident Faunus. As well as testing what buttons she could push with Weiss, her new employer.    

Belladonna, for her part, was paranoid and suspicious, often questioning or ignoring Weiss’s instructions and plans; instead preferring to stalk off somewhere else to work or find some other task to complete. Usually alone.  

And Ruby… Was Ruby. 

Thankfully, she seemed to have some coherent ideas about what needed to be done, so she required little supervision. 

Weiss still tried to help. 

But in truth, the Protectorate, or to be more specific, her father’s tutors, had not included classes on ship repair or electrical engineering. So it wasn’t entirely her fault when she handed Ruby an arc-wrench, when Ruby had asked for a circuit-infuser. For the seventh or so time.

Though to be perfectly honest, Weiss did not want to be working with the girl. Not because Weiss didn’t like her. No. Weiss actually found herself warming up to the girl. Despite her initial assessment of Ruby being somewhat more negative, Weiss had to admit that Ruby was competent. She was clearly skilled in what makeshift repairs they could do with their rather limited resources. Ruby had a good head on her shoulders too, despite her immaturity.

No, it was that Ruby made her… uncomfortable. Not in the way Ruby’s vat-grown sister did. That was a purely physical reaction to the ‘gene-fucking’ as Yang so vulgary called it.

The feeling of otherness from Ruby’s was more subtle. Like a stranger stepping on your shadow. Or the feeling of someone you cannot see, watching you.

It was upsetting for reasons Weiss could not fully understand. That intrigued her.

“Well that’s going to be about all we’re gonna be able to do,” Ruby muttered, sounding annoyed. “If we had been able to get shields up this would have been simple but noooo.” 

Weiss stood up, collecting tools and broken parts as she did.  “Well? Are you going to tell me what you did? Or just complain?”

Ruby shrugged angrily and let out a frustrated breath, “I managed to get us some power to the Fold Drive. Problem is, she's not in great shape. Neither is the ship. We can make three, maybe four Folds before either the Drive explodes or the ship’s hull falls apart. I don’t know about you, Weiss, but I’m not really interested in finding out which one goes first.” 

“That would make two of us,” Weiss agreed, following the strange woman to the cockpit. She frowned as the two found Yang sitting in the copilot’s chair, her feet kicked up on the dashboard, slowly chewing on a nutrient bar. 

“Well?” Yang asked through a mouthful of dried, tasteless nutrient bar ration pack, from their dwindling supplies. 

Weiss ignored her question. “Where’s Belladonna?”

“Somewhere.” Yang shrugged, sounding bored. “Blakey got huffy for some reason, then wandered off to another part of the ship.”

“That’s because you keep insulting her,” Ruby piped up.

“As I told you three or four days ago,” Weiss reminded her ‘bodyguard,’ “Faunus names are particular, and you are being incredibly informal with her.”

“I’m a pirate. Just seems overly complicated.” Yang laughed around a mouthful of the nutrient bar.  

“We’re kinda stuck together,” Ruby pleaded, “Can we just try to get along?” 

Yang rolled her eyes but smiled reassuringly. “Okay, okay. I’ll try.” 

The door slid open with a hiss as the joined them. Weiss immediately noticed Belladonna had changed out of the White Fang uniform. She now wore a long, twin-tailed white coat with a dark purple lining. Her boots were heeled and her top was short, exposing her midriff.

Weiss hand pressed into her forehead in frustration, as Yang let out an appreciative wolf whistle

“Hey Blakey! So that’s where you been.” Yang smiled and waved. 

Belladonna frowned but quickly schooled her emotions; adopting the emotionally distant persona the three had come to know. “Xiao Long Yang, I have asked you to please stop being so informal. We don’t know each other, you have no right to call me ‘Blakey.’” 

Yang rolled her eyes with a teasing grin. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’m sorry Belladonna.”  

Belladonna held the blonde’s eyes for several more seconds before she nodded her acceptance of the apology. 

“I inspected the fuel lines. Most were damaged and the fuel pumps were disengaged. I managed to patch one of the pumps…” Belladonna trailed off. 

“The ship’s pretty much a wreck,” Ruby finished for her. “I just told Weiss, we maybe have three or so Folds left before this ship either falls apart or explodes.” 

“So we’re dead?” Belladonna asked grimly. 

“Not necessarily.” Yang’s grin was smug as she brought up the star charts. “I managed to Fold us fairly close to Caviis IV. We’re no more than two, maybe two-and-a-half Folds away.” 

“What’s Caviis IV? And wouldn’t Raven be looking for us there? And why didn't you Fold us in the planetary system?” Weiss asked as she studied the holographic chart. "She knows we couldn't have Folded that far from her, and after the damage we sustained, we would need a harbour."

"Yeah, buuuut…. We got three things going for us. One: She has no idea where we are and two: Caviis IV is home to several gangs who… well… they hate Raven more than they hate each other. And while Raven is tough, ruthless, vengeful and cunning; she knows when she's beat. The Muninn is only one ship. She wouldn’t be able to take on a small armada of pirates. Which is why I avoided dropping us in the system. If they found us in this near-derelict of a craft, we would have ended back at square one. In pirate chains.” 

“Gangs?” Ruby asked curiously peeking over Yang’s shoulder. “What kind of gangs?”

“Mostly pirate, and most loyal to the crime families and syndicates in Mistral. Which leads us to the third thing.” Yang held up her fingers. “Where there are syndicates, there’s Slot smugglers. Caviis IV has been used as a popular stopping point for them.”

“Slot?” Weiss almost screeched. ”Grimmaphage? Are you insane?” 

Weiss grimaced, Grimmaphage, or Slot as it was commonly called, was highly illegal in all civilized areas of space; baring the Union, but that went without saying. Grimmaphage was a mix of stimulant and hallucinogenic made from several chemicals found commonly in Wild Space and was distilled from Grimm blood. Taken in small doses it left the user hyper-aware, filled with energy, having pleasant visions.  It gave increased strength, speed, and reaction time. Too much though… Well… Pleasant dreams can easily become mind breaking nightmares.  

“A little,” Yang’s smile turned crooked, “But hey. Unless you got a better idea for finding us a ship to get us all the way to the edge of Grimm Space then back to Atlas, I’m waiting for it. Besides, the smugglers aren’t that bad… Unless they’ve been sampling the product.”

Weiss had to admit, she didn’t have a better plan. Still, she wasn’t overly excited to put her hands into drug smugglers, especially those in the pockets of Mistralian crime syndicates. But it appeared there was very little choice. 

“I agree with Xiao Long,” Belladonna spoke up from behind them, “We need a ship.”

“Yep.” Ruby cheerily added, popping the ‘p.’ “Besides, we took on Raven. What chances do a bunch of smugglers got against us?”

Weiss sighed. She didn’t like this, not one bit. But she was outvoted. More importantly, she had come to realize, they were right. Yang, Belladonna, Ruby, her; without a ship they were stuck. Caviis IV it was. 

Not that she had to like it. 

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

Blake groaned inwardly and resigned herself to another round of angry negotiations, as Xiao Long’s temper rose. It was becoming a rather common occurrence if she thought about it. The human was rather ill-tempered. 

“Twenty-five thousand? Don’t be insulting!” Xiao Long crossed her arms frowning in exacerbation. “The ship is worth at least eighty.” 

“This ship is rubbish. Barely worth the scrap,” The man she was bartering with countered patiently as though he was speaking to an over-eager child, “The engines are nearly fried. The Fold drive is cooked. Half of the bulkheads have collapsed, the superstructure is falling apart. No, twenty-five is more than reasonable.” 

Xiao Long was about to start again. Blake knew she had to step in before her companion decided to do something impulsive and drastic. 

“You forgot the torpedoes, sir,” Blake calmly interrupted before Xiao Long could start, “Certainly they are worth more than the twenty-five you are offering us.”

Xiao Long shot her a grateful look but quickly returned to the hanger dealer. “There’s four of them in there. You know as well as I do that those alone are worth an easy one-hundred. I’m offering the ship and the torps for eighty. Fair?”

The man sat back for a moment thinking. 

“Sixty-five,” He offered evenly. 

“Seventy,” Xiao Long offered, as she leaned on the table. 

The man nodded. “Done. I’ll make the transfer…”

Xiao Long shook her head. “No, I want hard currency. Aegisalt bars, not E-creds.”

The man looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a spacer. E-creds will be fine.”

“Aegisalt,” Xiao Long insisted again. 

Blake watched the two as they stared each other down. Finally, the man relented.

“I’ll be right back.” He said before turning around back into his shop. 

“Easier than I thought it was going to be. Thanks.” Xiao Long grinned with a nod. 

“E-Creds would have been fine though.” Blake’s fingers tapped a steady tattoo on the grease stained counter. She was becoming aggravated. The argument and the haggling had taken up valuable time. Every moment spent here was a moment the White Fang spent building their forces. A moment where Cinder could continue to weave her dark magics, gathering the Grimm to her. 

“Nah,” Yang waved her off, “No smuggler out in Wild Space will take E-creds. They're virtually worthless out here.”

Blake nodded. “So our scrap dealer here was trying to cheat us.”  

Xiao Long shrugged. “Not necessarily, but I wouldn’t put it past the bastard.”

It was just then the man returned and placed a dozen or so milky white and purple streaked card-sized bars on the counter. Xiao Long quickly scooped them up, and after a moment of counting, slipped them into a pouch at her side. 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Xiao Long waved once she was satisfied with the payment. 

The man grunted something that not even Blake’s superior hearing could detect before he turned away yelling at his workers to go and collect the ship. 

“Well, that’s part one done,” Xiao Long grunted as she walked down the street, weaving through the small groups of people clustered around stalls selling everything from weapons to intoxicants to scraps of strange foul smelling meats. “Now to find us a ship.” 

“And where will we find that?” Blake raised an eyebrow as she followed after her. Side stepping the odd solitary pickpocket and dodging around an overly aggressive merchant hawking Grimm repellent charms made from what Blake could only guess; were human bones tied together with leather strips.  

Xiao Long turned and winked. “At the nearest drinking hole, Blakey.” 

Inwardly Blake seethed as she struggled to maintain an air of aloofness. Xiao Long had been told again and again, over several days, not just by her, but by her sister and the Atlassian as well. It was obvious the pirate was just trying to get under her skin. 

“Well… This looks like a good place to start as any.” Xiao Long ignoring her seething companion and pushed her way inside and into the dark entrance of the bar, as Blake, still seething with annoyance, followed close behind.

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

Jaune Arc, smuggler and Captain of the Juniper checked his cards again, then placed a small Aegisalt bar in front of himself buying another card before tossing a larger tablet from his stack into the middle pile. His long, scraggly blond hair and bright blue eyes made his wide smile seem boyish and charmingly disarming, as he passed his turn with a wave.  

Beside him, his co-pilot, first mate and ship’s cook, Lie Ren, was almost the complete opposite. Where Jaune was blond and open: grinning and laughing, Ren was black-haired, stoic and emotionless. His only movements were to purchase a card himself and to toss in a matching bet; indicating an end to his phase. 

Jaune nodded as two of their opponents tossed their cards away in disgust, while another eyed him suspiciously. 

“No hard feelings then, Jaune?” Perry, the man who sat across from him, asked lightly. 

Jaune leaned back into his seat nonchalantly. “If I had a problem with everyone who tried to blow the Juniper out of the sky I wouldn’t have a whole lot of business partners left. It's the way of the game sometimes isn’t it?”

Jaune wasn’t much one for holding grudges. It was a simple truth that came with the business. Sometimes your employer was your best friend. Other times they would try and shoot you in the back. All you could do was deal with it. 

Take Perry as an example. Just the other day he had tried to down the Juniper as it came back from a Mistral run. Perry’s ship had gotten the worse from that exchange, but now the two were playing cards in some dingy drinking hole.

To the outsider, this was a strange turn of events. For Jaune and the crew of the Juniper, this was simply a part of life as a smuggler in Wild Space

Perry gwaffed a short laugh. “You shorted the Spiders. They’re pissed, and their reach is long outside of Mistral.” 

“Well, it’s not like they were trying to short me. We had an agreement, they failed to live up to it. So I sold off the cargo which they didn’t pay for.” Jaune’s fingers tapped the back of his cards before he looked back down at them. Waiting patiently for Perry to reveal his own hand.  

“You sold their cargo to the Tiandihui,” Perry commented idly as he laid down his cards. “Queen’s Right Chalice.” 

“No, I sold the cargo they failed to purchase to the Tiandihui,” Jaune corrected raising a finger, as he turned his own cards over. “King’s Golden Sword.” 

The man laughed again as Jaune scooped up the pot and tossed several bars of Aegisalt to Ren who had been cleaned out over the past hour or so.

“Well then. I’ll be seeing you around Jaune,” Perry grinned as he stood up and walked out of the bar, the two others from his crew following behind him. 

“He’s going to be back,” Ren warned. 

Jaune nodded as he lit a Lhostick and took a drag. “Probably.”

“Want me to get the ship ready?” 

Jaune sat quietly for a moment. “We were shorted for our last run, yes?” 

Ren closed his eyes, a habit he developed when number crunching, and nodded. “Compared to last month? We’re down roughly forty percent. Getting shorted by the Spiders didn’t help much.”

“No it didn't… There’s a lot of money to be made here, so I don't think we'll be leaving just yet. Besides we have Pyrrha.” Jaune tapped his lho out with a small, fond grin. “She’s worth an easy hundred mercs. We'll be fine."

Ren was about to reply when two women, surprisingly both Faunus, walked straight up to their table.

"You Jaune Arc? Captain of the Juniper?" The blonde Faunus asked. She was smaller than Jaune in height, but the well-defined muscles on her arms made her tough and strong looking. Her smile revealed sharp fang like canines and her pupils were slits. 

“I am,” Jaune answered, not overly concerned. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ren’s arm move subtly to pull his pistol from his holster.

“Great!” The blonde dropped into the chair across from him. “I’m Yang, this is Bla… Belladonna. We’re looking to book a ship.”

“Lucky for you the Juniper is available for hire.” Jaune straightened his shoulders and back, folding his hands in front of him in an effort to appear professional. “What’s the cargo?” 

The other Faunus, Belladonna, a cat by her ears, shook her head as she too sat down. “No cargo. Just passengers. Four of us all together.”

“All Faunus?”

“Just the one. Me. is that a problem?” Belladonna asked with a note of hostility in her voice. 

Jaune shook his head. “No, just wanting to know if we have to make climate and accommodation adjustments.” 

Belladonna slowly eased back into her seat. 

“So where are you going? Is there a time frame?” Ren took his cue and leaned forward. “Anything we need to avoid?”

Yang smiled and leaned forward, pushing her… assets out in a very provocative manner. Jaune gulped and snapped his eyes to her, refusing to look down. 

“You see Captain Arc,” Yang’s voice took on a husky, breathy tone. “We have two stops to make. The first is out to the edge of Grimm Space. Then we are going to be returning to Atlas.”   

“Grimm Space?” Thankfully Ren was less distracted by the display. “Why would you need to go there? That’s suicide.”

“Oh, we don’t need to go into Grimm Space. Just near the edge,” Belladonna answered back cooly, ignoring her companion’s display. “You see, we were hired to bring an Atlassian academic to the edge of Grimm Space. She wishes to collect several specimens to study the evolution of Grimm who haven’t come into contact with intelligent life.”

“I see,” Jaune said, not daring to remove his eyes from Yang’s. “Well then… Let’s talk price.” 

He turned to Ren who quickly wrote a number down and pushed it over to the two ladies. 

“Thirty thousand!” Yang was astounded. “I could buy a ship for that.”

“You could buy a piece of junk. The Juniper is the fastest ship this side of Wild Space.” Ren steepled his fingers together as he peered over them at the two. “Plus we are then headed almost half-way across the galaxy from Grimm Space to the core world of the Protectorate. Thirty-thousand includes our refueling costs, as well as danger pay.”

“We could go to any other pilot and get a much better deal.” Belladonna argued back. “All who could make the same ‘fastest ship’ claim.” 

Yang nodded in agreement with her compatriot. “What she said. Fifteen.”

Ren bowed his head as though agreeing with their assessment. “Indeed. They can all make that claim. The Juniper, however, simply is the fastest ship in Wild Space. Or else you wouldn’t have come to us. Thirty thousand is reasonable.” 

Yang snorted. “We both know it isn’t. Twenty-thousand.”

Jaune knew that twenty-thousand was an insult. No pilot or Captain would accept the job under twenty-five. Yet... There was something about these two ladies. The way they held themselves, the way their eyes kept flickering between him and Ren, the windows, the doors, and the other patrons. That interested him; there was something more and though he had very little interest in heroics. Adventure, well… adventure was something quite different. Jaune, for some reason, knew he wanted this job. 

Besides, these women, it seemed like they needed help. Jaune Arc, despite cynicism that had come to colour his views on the galaxy, would never turn away someone in need. That just wasn’t him. 

Before Ren could open his mouth, Jaune cut him off. “Twenty-three. Up front. In Aegisalt.”

Both Yang and Belladonna sat back in surprise. Yang was the first to recover. 

“Deal,” she said, holding out her hand, which Jaune took. 

There was a dull klink as several bars of Aegisalt dropped from Yang’s hand onto the table. Ren quickly scooped them up but spent several seconds examining each one carefully, checking for marks and purity before giving Jaune a nod. 

“Well, you got yourselves a ship. Hanger Thirty-Two A whenever you’re ready.” Jaune stood up and motioned with his head “Come on Ren, let’s get the ship ready.”

[trashpandaorigins]

The Body Keeps the Score: Ch. 11 The Tell Tale....?

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form

Come in, she said

I'll give ya shelter from the storm

---

I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word

In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm

Come in, she said

I'll give ya shelter from the storm

Shelter from the Storm - Bob Dylan

“I know what I said,” Rocket did not bother to suppress the growl in this tone. He glared at his data pad and the over-sized head of the Nova officer.

“Then she must be taken into custody. What are your coordinates?”

“I told yah we’re in the Keystone Quadrant.” The thing in his chest, heart or not palpated with fright. He swallowed it down with the help of trinquelian liquor.

“All the more reason for you to hand her over,” even on a screen the Nova officer’s smug grin made Rocket want to shoot something-well more than usual. 

“We’ve been getting reports of two individuals bearing a Halfworld insignia. Something acidic swelled up in the raccoonoid’s belly. He clenched his fists tight. “We’ll pay you extra for any information you can give us on Lady Gamora’s continued behavior, her combat status, and,” the officer continued, “we will continue to keep our mouths shut on your whereabouts should those Halfworlders come looking.”

“I said she threatened me,” he glanced over at Groot who fiddled with a disarmed treian bomb. “I ain’t said she acted on the threat.”

“That’s a chance you’re willing to take?”

Rocket’s ears flicked backward, baring his teeth.

“I’ll let you know if she does anything fishy.”

He tapped the screen watching the Nova officer’s face face away.

Poor kid, Groot let out a squeak as air from the bomb popped off.

“Careful Groot, you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

The little flora only stared at him inquisitively and smiled wide eyed. The thing in Rocket’s heart quivered, he sighed, running a paw through his fur.

“Made this for you bud,” he murmured, reaching over his work bench to a small, finely crafted gun. Made of smooth, opret metal. Durable but light, not too flashy, but pleasing to the eye. He’d painted it a bright light green over the barrel. Groot toddled closer, his brittle roots still fragile. Rocket knelt down beside him, showing him the gun. “It shoots water, see?” With the pull of the trigger a small jet of water escaped the gun, arching passed Groot and splashing onto the floor.

“I am Groot!”

“Yeah you can!” Rocket couldn’t help a laugh as the flora grabbed for the toy. He watched Groot play with the thing happily, shooting it off and watching the water splash.

“I am Groot!”

“Yeah bud, it’s for you. All yours.”  The little flora ignored him, running around the cramped engine room shooting off the toy gun. The raccoonoid watched,  ears slowly drooping. He sighed, slumping, cybernetics in his back relaxing for a moment, tugging on his skin abated. Groot laughed as several droplets of water hit against his face. Rocket closed his eyes, savoring that sound. Those three words.

“Groot, c’mere you can change the kinda water that comes out. Lemme show….FUCK!”

Rocket toppled, stomach spinning. His forepaws, and tail all sailing through the air in a sickening hurdle. He crashed against the storage cabinets, weapons and stray parts cascading down around him.

“Groot!” He shoved a large tube off himself, scrambling around for the little flora.

This ship tilted left as Rocket scampered on all fours, claws trying to get a grip on the aluminum floor.

“Groot!”

“Mmmm grooo!”

A small leaf poking out of the mess of tools sent Rocket panicking. He grabbed the small flora in his arms, quickly looking him over for any wounds.

“You okay?” Groot nodded, but sniffed, keeping his little body curled. Rocket pulled him to his chest, claws shielding him against another violent shake of the ship. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He held Groot to him, running on three legs, trying to balance against the Benatar’s jolting down the narrow halls to the cockpit.

“Who the flark is flying this thing?!”

“That would be Quill,” Drax nodded towards the humie who let out his own string of expletives from the helm.

Rocket teetered towards the copilot seat, then stopped in his tracks.

“Thats….”

On the starboard side, a flare of yellow fire burst and spread across the dark tableau of space, illuminating the Benatar.

“It’s a solar storm,” Gamora gapsed. The crack in her voice not going unnoticed to his capable ears.

Rocket leapt up into the co pilot seat, unlocking the steering controls and twisting the ship to the leeward side avoiding another flare.

“Groot!” The little flora tumbled from his place against Rocket’s chest, hitting the ground with a small thump “You alright?!”

“I am Groot!”

The ship groaned, another flash of fiery orange covering the large windows.

“Dude watch where we’re going!” Quill shouted, revving the engines and diving down under the flare. Drax let out a hooting laugh, as they swerved the ship around two more exploding flares.

“You didn’t read this on the radar?” Rocket growled, grunting as he swung the Benatar around another explosion. The humie glanced behind him, the raccoonoid followed his look to Gamora, scrutinizing the radar trying to anticipate the next flare.

“You got a read on Nebula’s ship didn’t you?!” He snarled.

“Rocket this isn’t the time,” she reprimanded. “We have bigger problems on our hands!”

“Clearly you don’t think so! You’d rather…” Something hissed, the Benatar buckling. All five of them screaming.

Beep, beep, beep, beep!

The red alarms blared.

“Quill! When I say now, take her around the horn!”

Rocket squinted through the harsh white light, waiting for the flare to thin out.

“Now!”

A collective scream rose once more as the Benatar swerved around the rim of a small sun, the hot air currents sending the ship surging up and around. The ship fishtailed, tremoring. Lights flashed. Rocket sniffed,  somethin’s burnin’.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Everyone okay?” The human called,

“I am well! This is quite fun!” Drax looked wide eyed straight at the bright lights.

“I’m fine,” Gamora seethed.

“Groot?....GROOT?!”

“Shit,” Quill whispered, white knuckling the steering and flinging the Benatar around a small sunburst just in time. The ship rolled on the hot air let off from the blast like a ship on the writhing ocean. “Groot wandered off to the storage area… that’s where…”

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Rocket glanced at the cameras, a fire in the main storage unit in the rear of the ship. Flames licked the containers. His stomach dropped. He fiddled with the seat belt, heaving for breath.

“Stay there,” Gamora ordered, already on her feet, flying out of the cockpit, down the hall towards the rear. Rocket bared his teeth, pulling his eyes back to the solar storm. He panted, heat from the fire inside and outside of the ship beginning to take its toll.

“Dude we have to get out of here! The ships on fire!”

“I know!”

The humie dipped under another large blast,

“We can land on Recseta. It’s only a jump away!”

Rocket nodded, but his eyes remained glued to the cameras, he spotted Gamora in the storage unit, shielding her face from the flames.

Cmon Groot….where are you bud?!

The mechanical thing in his chest threatened to explode it beat so fast, he gripped the steering controls so tight the metal scratched.

“Read….”

BOOM!

The Benatar jerked violently, Rocket closed his eyes against the straps holding him in. Pressing him downward, his insides threatening to empty. The lights on the controls blinked, fuzzed and went black. Sweat poured down Quill’s face.

“Why is it so hot?”

“Groot!”

Rocket leaned forward, staring at the shorted out screen, as if to will it back online. No luck.

“Here comes the jump! Rocket, punch it!”

The human’s voice called him back from his panic. Rocket thrust the steering forward, sending the ship surging forward. There was a sickening jolt, Quill muttered something, struggling to land through the dense trees.

Rocket adjusted the landing gears as the ship gradually slowed. A plume of black smoke billowing out of the starboard side.

“I...I got him,” the raccoonoid spun in his seat. Gamora leaned on the side of Quill’s chair, one arm gripping it tightly. On the other hand, Groot curled, scared and whimpering but otherwise unharmed. “There was an explosion.”

“Yeah we got that,” Rocket seethed, he grabbed Groot from Gamora’s hold. “You alright bud?”

“I..a...am G...grooot!”  The little face nodded but curled in on himself.

“He good?” Quill asked, the raccoonoid nodded.

“Good. Gamora….?”

The assassin nodded, silencing Quill’s further fretting.

---

The Benatar would be alright, after some repair. The bulk of the damage consisted mostly of the internal storage units, and some external hits but nothing permanent. Rocket surveyed the extent of the fires after they’d made sure everyone was okay. He and Quill took turns cooling the exterior of the ship, while Drax had offered to move any cargo into the living quarters temporarily. Even Groot “helped,” pushing containers around and trying to open the safes.

“Where’s Gamora, she should be helpin’ us. She got us into this mess,” the raccoonoid fumed.

“Just give her a break man, she got pretty burnt up trying to get Groot.”

Rocket waited for the end of that sentence, “when you should’ve been watching him.” But it didn’t come.

“Whatever, I’m going to find her. No one gets out of repair duty!”

He dropped his tools and hopped down from the wing of the ship

Recseta was an arboreal planet. Largely uninhabited due to its size and remote location even within the Keystone Quadrant.

“Gams! Gamora!” Rocket called, wandering through the trees. He kept one paw on his holster, just in case. “Gams! Gaaaammmoooorrrraaaa! Ga…”

He sniffed, once, twice. Dirt, steele, sweat, a slight burning. That’s her.

Rocket’s ears swiveled towards the smell. Through the lengthy shadows of the trees he spotted her, sitting hunched over her arm; no doubt trying to look at her wounds. Her shoulders trembled as she worked.

Something else too ….salt...water...tears? Ppppsh no way.

He crept closer, watching her.

“You’re never gonna cool the entire thing at that angel.” Rocket folded his arms, leaning against the rough bark of a tree. He sniffed the earthen moisture of the air, combined with the scent of tang of smoking metal.

“Are you offering assistance?” Gamora growled, trying to turn over her shoulder to get a better view of the wound. She held the cooling pen at an awkward position trying to focus on the torn wires and metal beneath the skin, wincing as the icy plasma-like substance graced her skin. She muttered a curse, adjusting her grip and attempting again. In the hazy twilight it was difficult to determine wire from vein.

“Since you’re askin’.” Rocket watched her left arm spasm twice more before sighing, heaving himself up, with an exaggerated sigh and striding towards her. “Gimme that.”

She relinquished the cooling pen without question, facing forward and curling her fingers around the fallen log on which she sat. Rocket pushed a nearby rock through the dirt several feet and climbed up, balancing on the top just the right height to hover over the woman’s shoulder. The darkness of the forest was no problem for his vision, he almost wished it was. The damage she’d taken from that explosive was extensive. Besides frying the cybernetics in her shoulder the elaborate wiring under her flesh bubbled and raised in angry black grey lines across the shoulder blade to the side of her spine and up the back of her neck.

Using the tip of the instrument, he traced over the cybernetic coils twisting in and out of her muscle tissue. White-blue liquid encapsulated the smoking wires, instantly cooling them. Gamora’s muscles twitch involuntarily with the chill.

“Stop moving,” he admonished. Without thinking of it the raccoonoid raised a paw, placing it against her other shoulder, little claws curling around the natural curve of the bone beneath flesh. Her skin was smooth, not perfect of course-stubble goosebumps raised on her skin, a million little hairs bent to and throw in the breeze. She stiffened but did not move as he worked his way around the socket of her shoulder. The metal of her implants set flush against her skin around the bend in her collar bone, contouring naturally. So carefully done, custom.  The engineering was flawless. The time it must have taken to weave the thin wires and paneling with skin was inexplicable. Especially around the curve of her face. How long did she have to lie still….did she remain still? Did they strap her down or manually hold her? Did they put her in a cage? Ha no….ain’t no cage strong enough to hold Gamora. But...one could’ve stayed still for long, they probably drugged her with stars know what.

For all that they’d done to his body and his brain...they’d never touched his face apart from his eyes. The face is so sensitive the flesh so thin...this must've taken at least several procedures for hours at a time…. Rocket shifted his weight, shivering, curving around the ball of her arm, carefully positioning the device to cool the tiny cybernetics that continued their way down her arm, lost to blood and bone.

The wind through the trees ruffled his fur and the distant unseen chorus of bugs continued making the dark silence more bearable.  He looked over the open wound once more, satisfied with the cooling.

“I can’t get anymore than that,” he explained  looking at the undulating black tentacles of fried cybernetics beneath the skin. “Only way to do those would be to open you up. You’ll have to wait it out, they should cool in a few days on their own.”

“That’s fine,” she answered shortly, making to get up. Rocket reached down beside her on the large fallen tree for the cloth already disheveled and stained with blood. He swiped it up, dabbing tenderly around the torn edges of her skin. Beneath his other paw, still resting on her shoulder he could feel her relax, sitting back in place.

“You shouldn’t have done that. If that fire had been any closer it would’ve disabled your whole system.” It came out a harsh growl, more-so then he meant.

“Groot would have been blown apart. Again,” she defended. “Besides these injuries are minor compared to …. others. I can handle it.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Gamora huffed, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

A gust of wind howled between them, sending a large piece of the assassins’s black-marroon hair sweeping down her back. She reached backward, gathering her hair up and holding it at the nape of her skull. From far off, the lights of the Benatar cast an almost moonlit glow. The metal in Gamora’s shoulder shone, reflecting in Rocket’s nocturnal eyes. He picked up the sutures with trembling paws.

It was much easier to patch up an inanimate object like a bomb or a gun. Metal didn’t feel anything. You could pulverize it as much as you wanted. You could push and pull flesh pretty damn well too. If you didn’t mind the screaming that usually went with it. He figured Gamora knew that truth too.

“Hang on, this might hurt. Move your head.”

She bent her head slightly to the right, and he moved his other paw, resting ever so carefully on her neck making sure to keep his claws as retracted as possible. Beneath the thin green skin, he could feel her pulse thrum in a steady rhythm. So delicate, unlike anything else about her. He  worked the stitches with dexterous, nimble hands weaving in and out. Her neck tensed.

“Ahh,” she winced.

“S’alright, it hurts.” Rocket murmured  by way of an apology. He poked the needle through her skin, watching the blood pucker up.  

“ When Thanos made yah,” he broached slowly, “did he keep all your insides in tact?” Slowly her green skin knit together and he adjusted his grip moving to steady the center of her spine with his other paw. The flesh was thin there too, though not as smooth.

“My cybernetics are muscular and skeletal.” He nodded. The gradient of her flesh changed, a scar twisted there, a ribbon of skin still healing here. More metal beneath the surface, he could feel it as he pressed.

“That’s good at least. I don’t know how much of me is actually me,” he admitted softly. “Sometimes I wonder if I even got a heart that’s my own or if that’s just a piece of metal too.”

Her left arm moved as she shifted her weight, her torso inflating with the breath she sucked through her teeth as he continued to work the flesh. Rocket finished tying off the final stitch with a snap, biting it off with his pointed teeth.  Gamora shuddered, the vibrations of which he could feel through his paws.

“All set.”

He waited for her to get up briskly but...she didn’t. He didn’t move either. The insects sung around the two of them, the trees filing the space. In the twilight purple haze they sat. The raccoonoid looked at his paws, one of them still resting on Gamora’s back, the other on her shoulder. He didn’t move them even as he realized it. Together they sat together breathing.

Finally, Gamora turned around, looking at him. Her large usually imperceptible eyes soft. He followed her gaze as it wandered over his small frame, resting finally on the raised bolts under his collar bones and the bald bits of knotted skin, raised and riddled with rough scar tissue. She reached out, hand trembling; fingers brushed the cold metal. The last person who touched those bolts, was the person putting them in.

“You were awake when they did this to you,” she whispered calmly. The raccoonoid didn’t dare ask how she knew.

You go under the knife enough times you start getting an immunity to the anesthetics. It takes more and more to knock you out….and keep you out. Eventually it’s more trouble than it’s worth.

He watched her scrutinize the implants with knowing eyes. Measuring the angle at which they were inserted, how the bolts functioned to expand his front limbs and give him a chest. But she wouldn’t ask anything aloud; she was too kind, too careful.

The blinding cold lights, the pinching restraints, the biting needles. He’d never told anyone anything about his creation, not in such detail not even to Groot. But Gamora...she got made too...by Thanos. And that asshole probably didn’t treat her no better than they treated me.

Rocket clenched his jaw shut, else his memories might come pouring out, covered in blood and visera. He yearned so desperately to tell Gamora everything. Every agonizing pang that every wracked him, every night he shivered in a windowless cage waiting for those gloved hands to strip him and beat him and break him and make him and unmake him and make him again. Whatever the thing was in his chest, mechanical or natural that pumped his blood-it tightened with yearning to speak his pain  to someone who knew. They’d each done terrible things to silence the voice of their anguish, of their pasts, but sitting here in this nighttime with her he longed to tell her what it was that turned him into this monster. He swallowed the urge, he wouldn’t say a thing,. Selfish as he was, Gamora had felt her own share of agonies. She didn’t need to hold his.

Gamora moved her hand slowly, reaching out and opening her palm for him to take her hand. Against his own inhibitions, Rocket grasped it, grateful. Fingers closed around his paw. Her skin was rougher there, calloused and raised from years of wielding a blade, but no less warm.

He squeezed her hand, it was all he could do. She squeezed his hand back, her large inexplicably sharp eyes looking at him. With the same deftness as Groot ...the old Groot. But different too, where the old Groot had always looked upon him with boundless empathy Gamora held his gaze with a mutual sorrow. A shared anguish they both carried within themselves though they were far from their creators. Even still, their bodies kept the score of years of violence and manipulation. Rocket sniffed, the scent of the assassin mingled with the trees and dirt, with the damp soil and the used metal instruments.

She stroked his paw incessantly, as if she were reassuring herself of something.

“Thank you,” she murmured looking down at their hands.

“Don’t mention it.”

She nodded in affirmation and stood up, walking back through the trees to the ship, leaving the raccoonoid alone once more. Rocket fought down the tears behind his eyes. How long they had been there, he didn’t know. What had provoked them, he wasn’t sure.  He watched her go until she was lost to the darkness once more. He curled his paw in a small fist, trying to hold on to whatever feeling was contained therein. Loneliness crashed upon him once more, he sniffed and straightened, hopping down from the rock and gathering the medical supplies.

---

“I am Groot!”

Back on the ship, some time later, Rocket turned, the tiny flora nudged the data bad towards him, blinking with the missed message of the day.

Nova.

The raccoonoid’s paws trembled as he clicked it on,

“This ...this is s...Subject 89P13.” He stole himself a breath, closing his eyes. “Gamora’s cybernetics have been damaged.” His fur bristled. “We hit a solar storm and she got hurt. I managed to do some repairs but…” he swallowed. “Her enhancements are operating at sixty percent. We’re on Recseta.”

He shut the mic off,  hurling the device against the room. It smacked against the far side of the pipes with a clatter.

He slid down against the wall to the floor, rubbing his eyes with the back of his paws.

“I am Groot?”

Rocket only shook his head, reaching for a bottle of isertine ale.