#and they had that staring down the barrel of a war knowing the babies would carry on being morn regardless

[meganelixabethh]

I had never considered this but LOVE it- can I also suggest the first episode starts with introducing them all, seeing them all going about their day, all of them rejecting the idea that there might be another Great War, and then the last scene is them huddling around the radio, listening to Churchills announcement and trying to be strong.

I love Call the Midwife but all I can want is a prequel set in WW2.

Sister Monica Joan in her prime??

Sister Julienne and Sister Evangelina in the earlier stages of their career??

GIVE IT ALL TO ME. Show me them delivering babies during the blitz. Show me Poplar as it falls apart around them.

I don’t really want the 70s. I want the 40s. Show me what we haven’t seen.

[danikamariewrites]

hey, how are you?

I wanted to ask Azriel something, where maybe the reader has a phobia of spiders (something serious, like, she freaks out, screams, gets short of breath...) and then cass makes a prank on the reader, where he puts a spider fake in her room with Az...

then maybe Azriel was working and feels her distress or hears her screams

at the end Az threatens Cass 😅

Spiders

Azriel x reader

A/n: Hi anon! Thank you for the request I loved this

Warnings: none

You hum to yourself as you tidy up the living room of the House of Wind. After you lay out a comfy blanket on the couch you set your mug of hot cocoa and your book down on the table. You planned on reading and watching the snowfall while Azriel worked for a few hours.

You loved watching the snow from up here. Velaris looked like it was trapped in a snow globe, you could stare at the enchanting view forever.

You left the living room to go get more marshmallows from the kitchen. As you turn the corner you completely miss Cassian’s poor attempt at hiding behind a plant. He snickers to himself as he quietly makes his way into the room to hide a very real looking fake spider. You two are in the middle of your best prank war yet and Cassian was determined to win.

He had found the fake spider at Amren’s, instantly knowing it would be perfect. Cassian had waited weeks for the perfect opportunity and it had finally arrived. After placing the spider under your blanket, Cassian rushed out and up to Azriel’s office. He was late for their meeting but totally worth it.

Coming back, you drop the marshmallows in your mug. Looking over your set up you smile to yourself. This was the perfect way to spend your day before your and Az’s dinner date later.

Pulling the blanket back you let out an ear piercing scream. Spiders are your biggest fear. No matter how big or small they make your body lock up and shake uncontrollably. You press your back into the wall farthest from the couch. Your body is shaking, you squeeze your eyes shut. Letting out a whimper, Azriel comes barreling into the room. He whips his head around looking for you. Cassian follows, looking guilty as his eyes land on you.

Azriel comes to stand in front of you. He gently runs his fingers over your cheeks, cupping your jaw to tilt your head to look at him. “Hey, baby what’s wrong? What is it?” You gasp out, “Spider.” And point to the couch with a shaking hand.

“Ok, it’s ok, I’ll stay with you and Cassian will get rid of it.” He looks to Cassian who nods and strides over to the couch, picking up the fake creature. “It’s gone.” Cassian announces holding it behind his back.

You bring your hand up to grasp at Azriel’s shirt. Closing your eyes Azriel guides you through deep breaths, running his fingers through your hair. It helped you start to feel normal again. Opening your eyes you look around for Cassian.

“Where’s Cass?” It was Azriel’s turn to look for his brother. Confusion sets in on his face. Cassian comes back, looking a little nervous. He scratches the back of his neck, staring at the floor. “So…err, that was fake and supposed to be a prank. I’m so sorry y/n. I had no idea you were afraid of spiders.”

Azriel gives his brother a death glare. “Cassian! Are you serious.” “It’s ok Cass,” you say before it gets physical between the two Illyrians, “Az, he didn’t know it’s ok.” Azriel scoffs and pulls you into his chest tightly. “Come on, your sitting with me in my office.”

You giggle, “To keep me safe from fake spiders?” He rolls his eyes, “obviously.” Passing Cassian, Azriel points a finger at him. “I will deal with you later, brother.” Cassian puts his hands up in surrender. He was going to do his best to avoid Azriel for a few days.

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @twsssmlmaa

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return Part 3

Chapter 19: The Morning of War

Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 1.3k

Marco woke you early to run one last routine checkup. 

“Still a happy and healthy baby you’ve got in there,” he said, giving you a nervous look. “You’re almost at month five.”

“Bell pepper month,” you said quietly, your hand rubbing over your stomach subconsciously. “Still so tiny.”

“And not very resistant to heat,” Marco warned. “So please, today…don’t do anything stupid. It’s not just your life anymore.”

“I know,” you whispered, staring at your small baby bump. You hadn’t expected to get so attached to this little nuisance. But when you weighed the thought of losing Ace or this baby…there was no contest. 

Marco hesitated, watching you. He knew you too well. Your behavior was too perfect. You were scheming. 

“Please don’t-“

“Just promise to save him, Marco.” Tears flooded your eyes. “Please.”

He knew how much promises meant to you. He knew you were asking him to promise the impossible. 

“I promise I’ll do the best I can,” he said. “Let’s get you up to Pops.”

You were almost there. Almost to Ace. You just had to behave for a little bit longer. 

“You’ll stay beside me through this entire thing,” your father said, sitting in his captain's chair. “I’ll need your eyes to find weak points.” 

“Of course,” you said, nodding in agreement. You stood tall and proud, as if that role would be the only position you’d have all day. Your good behavior had allowed you to roam freely around the ship today, but you knew the commanders were all under orders to stop you if you tried to run onto the battlefield. Plus your sea-prism shackles were still tightly fastened around your wrists. 

When your father’s ship rose from the sea, you stood at the bow of the ship, your eyes desperately searching for him. You didn’t care about the layout of the battlefield, you could examine that later. Right now, you needed to find him. 

He was so far away. And yet so close. You scrambled up and stood on the railing to get a better view, but it was him. He was alive. He was safe. For now. 

“No,” Ace mouthed in horror. He hadn’t even found you yet; this horror was from the sacrifice of so many that was about to be made.

You almost jumped down and took off towards him. But you needed to bide your time. Marineford was full of traps and different sections. You needed to see their hand before you put yourself into play. 

“Ace!” Your father yelled out. “Bear with me, son. We’ll be there soon.”

“Father!” Ace called out. 

There was an eerie silence amongst the battlefield, everyone waiting for the other side to make a move. 

“Do it,” you whispered, gripping a rope to hold yourself steady. 

Your father listened, and sent a shattering tremor through the sea. Giant tidal waves rose up, getting ready to crash down on the bay of Marineford. 

But they never came. The bay instantly froze over, Aokiji’s powers activating and solidifying the waters. 

All hell broke loose after that, every Marine aiming for your father and you in some way. But your division commanders protected you, and you took the time to examine the battlefield. 

Thousands of Marines stood at different portions of the battlefield. Men with swords and guns, strange patterns and sectionings. You had examined as much of Marineford as you could beforehand, but the Marines kept this place a highly guarded secret. Yet there was something that felt off about the battlefield. 

The canons. They were angled wrong. The walls were too low for a first defense. It didn’t make any sense. 

Then you saw it: the invisible line where the first defense stopped and the second defense started. There had to be a secret there; perhaps a wall segment that was activated by a trigger of some sort. If that wall were to be triggered while all of the pirates were in there, they would be fish in a barrel; easy targets for anyone who wanted to pick them off. 

At least one wall segment you’d have to get through. Though you had no idea how tall, how thick, or how it was activated. Practically useless information, but you reported it to your father regardless. 

And your father called Little Oars into action. He didn’t have to give any directions, Little Oars just went straight for the guarded platform. 

“Wait, Pops-”

“I know,” he said. “I made the call. Not you.”

“But he’ll-!”

“Quiet,” he hissed. “My men are more capable than you think. So watch.”

Cannonfire rained down upon Little Oars, but you refused to look away. You had caused this death and destruction. And when Little Oars fell to the ground, you couldn’t help but blame yourself for his untimely demise. 

Ace was screaming from the platform, begging everyone to run. But nobody would listen; of course they wouldn’t. Everyone loved the second division commander. So much they would be willing to die for him. 

You could see him drop his head in defeat, broken by the amount of loss he was being forced to witness. 

“You better live, Portgas D. Ace!” You screamed at him, putting all of your rage and hurt into your voice. “Because wherever you go, I go!”

His head perked up, and he scanned the battlefield, desperately searching for you.

“And when I get a hold of you-” you paused to take a breath, tears streaming down your face. “I’m going to kick your ass! Do you understand?!?”

His eyes widened as he found the source of your voice, and you could see the will to live return to his body, ever so slightly. That would be your goal for now. Keeping Ace alive and keeping the fight in him. 

You felt a shiver up your spine and turned to the source of the dread. The admirals. You had shown yourself, and you knew they would take advantage of that. 

And Akainu was staring straight at you, a triumphant smirk on his face. You glared back at him, until his eyes slid down to the cuffs around your hands. He raised an eyebrow curiously, and you could see him mutter something to his fellow Vice Admirals. 

Aokiji didn’t scare you when he looked your way, but Kizaru’s humored glance made your stomach churn. He raised a finger and pointed it at you. 

Suddenly Marco was on top of you, slamming you down onto the deck. An instant later, a beam of light shot past where your head had been. 

“No!” Ace’s voice wailed from the platform. “Stop! Don’t do this for me! Stop!!”

You tried to get up to see him again, but Marco held you down.

“They saw your sea prism,” he hissed. “They know you’re vulnerable right now, so stay down.”

“I have to see him!” You thrashed under him, trying to break free. “I have to let him know I’m okay!”

“We have to let the Admirals think they hit you!” he yelled. 

“They wouldn’t fall for such cheap tricks!”

“No, but their attention will turn elsewhere eventually!” he argued. “Just stay still for a second!”

You could hear the shouts and the battle raging on the ground below where your father’s ship was, and you wanted nothing more to fight alongside your family. You were half tempted to throw Marco off and start the race toward Ace without knowing anything else about the battlefield.

You heard a strange grinding sound that shook the ground, and you knew they were raising the hidden walls. The next phase of battle had begun. 

You took a deep breath and tried to center yourself. You couldn’t be rash here. You had to save Ace at any cost. So, you stared up at the sky and relaxed, waiting for the right moment to get back up. 

You listened to the sounds of the battlefield, trying to gauge where people were based on how loud the sounds of their weapons were. Strangely enough, some of the screaming seemed to be coming from above you. 

And then you saw a giant ship falling from the sky.

Tag list! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog @dancingnewcat @dxestyi @flooofity @nyxthedragon01 @deadsnothere @h-rhodes1598  @morgyyyyyyy @trafalgardvivi  @fiestynatureweeb @frogpogjoghurt @beepboopcowboy @ms-portgas @luvyallbabes @appalost @zuchkaa @saybeyonce @stray-npc @kitsunechan707 @theyluvmesblog @heartysworld @aira-needs-sleep  @mothmomjay @ophelias-flowerss @aqualein @sehyojae @fanficwriter5 @forgotten-blues @amberash05 @firefistnoct @depressed-but-make-it-cute @stuckinthewrongworld@lizpoir

[teecupangel]

https://youtube.com/shorts/9vgk6lhbxRA?si=P0VDhXkCFfXuS87U

It would be funny if Desmond's the cat while his ancestors are the puppies

Retirement was a foreign word that would have never left any Assassins’ lips.

Yet, here they were, retired and living the peaceful life Desmond never had.

No. He did have a peaceful life.

It just so happened that Abstergo took him away from that life and plunged him deep in the middle of a shadow war he had never wanted to be part of.

But it was all water under the bridge.

Sure, he could send the rest of his years cursing every single Templar and wishing they would all die but he was pass that.

He had reached… zen…

Or the cat equivalent of ‘zen’ anyway.

He had done his part and had died for the sake of the world.

Now he had joined Shaun and Rebecca in their retirement, letting the ‘youngkins’ continue the fight.

Shaun and Rebecca seemed to have complete trust in the new mentor, some dude named Elijah, so Desmond would trust them and just…

… laze around and get enough sun for his afternoon nap.

The two had driven out of their home early this morning, leaving Desmond food (canned sardines, Desmond wasn’t going to eat that damn cat food) and water for him to eat and drink while they were gone.

His memories of the time he was a kitten were quite vague, flashes and muffled voices. All he knew that he was a ‘retirement gift’ given to Shaun and Rebecca by the mentor.

He would assume that the mentor knew who he truly was but Shaun and Rebecca were the ones to call him ‘Desmond’.

They joked about how they wouldn’t name a corgi ‘Desmond’ even if they were held at gunpoint but Desmond has no idea why that was a joke.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

Being a cat meant behaving like a cat and that includes having this… desire to just laze around until it was time to eat.

Were all cats like him?

Probably not.

Desmond supposed he was just a lazy cat.

He deserves to be lazy.

This was his retirement.

He heard the car being parked but didn’t bother to get up.

There was the telltale sound of the keys hitting each other as they unlock the door.

And Desmond’s fur rose.

He smelled them.

They were ‘new’.

Unfamiliar.

‘Strangers’.

But at the same time…

Something inside Desmond knew who they were.

They came barreling inside, ignoring Shaun’s shout of ‘heel!’ or maybe it was ‘hey!’, Desmond didn’t really catch it because of the chorus of…

“Desmond!”

“Desmond!”

“Desmond!”

“Desmond!”

Desmond has no idea what has happened.

Before he could even react, they had descended upon him, slobbering his face with furious licks and little nips of his ear.

It didn’t hurt.

But his face was drenched.

In a sea of yipping puppies calling his name and furiously wagging tails, Desmond managed to stare at Shaun and Rebecca (who was holding her phone and most definitely recording the entire thing).

He let out a small meow and immediately closed his mouth because one of the puppies got close to licking his open mouth and Desmond didn’t want any of that.

“Desmond, meet your baby brothers.” Rebecca cooed, “Altaïr, Ezio, Connor, Edward-”

Desmond blinked at the familiar names.

That…

That was just a coincidence, right???

(the puppies were rescued by an Assassin who had been given the mission to burn down an Abstergo laboratory and they were being used as experiments. He didn’t know what else to do with the puppies so he called Shaun and Rebecca and they just… adopted the puppies.)

[abbatoirablaze]

Matched, Namira, Chapter 2

Word Count:  2.7k

Warnings:  military protocol/harsh treatment, harassment, treating women like objects, mentions of violence and blood/punching.

“Sergeant Barnes?” you asked, his name dripping off your lips, “What are you doing here?”

“Come on, doll?” he teased lightly, “did you really think that we wouldn’t see each other again?”

“I-I mean...”

“Nami,” he all but whispered, “you and I...we’ve always drifted towards one another...even when we weren’t supposed to...”

“Well yeah...but-“

“Like the day we first met...”

“You weren’t even supposed to be at the beach...but another commanding officer went awol...”

“I knew that I would find some way back to you after we both left...” he admitted.

“I still think about the day we first met...”

“You hadn’t slept in a day...but you were the rock for your group...and I knew that day that you were going to be the one who kept me afloat...”

“TWENTY-FOUR HOURS!” he yelled at the recruits, “THE LOT OF YOU COULDN’T LAST TWENTY-FOUR HOURS!  WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENS WHEN YOU BREAK, HUH?  DO YOU THINK THE ENEMY PICKS YOU BACK UP AND TELLS YOU IT’S ALL GONNA BE OKAY?  THIS IS WAR.  THE ENEMY WILL KILL YOU WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT!”

The recruits were silent, each one of them balancing the log on their shoulder while the waves crashed against their legs.

“ANSWER ME RECRUITS!” One of your platoon leaders screamed from the shore, “YOU THINK THEY’RE GONNA BABY YOUR SORRY ASSES?”

“NO SIR!”

“I DIDN’T HEAR YOU!”

“SIR NO SIR!” the recruits screamed. 

Another wave came barrelling towards the group of twenty, and one of the men in the back, exhausted from the lack of sleep for the past day, and the past four hours of which had them thigh-deep in the ocean holding logs, fell into the man in front of him, which caused a domino like effect on the group of five men.  Their log dropped from their shoulders and hit the legs of the group beside them, before sinking into the sand. 

The second group struggled to hold up their log, but you screamed out, trying to get the group beside you to remain focused, because if they slipped, they would fall into your group, and you couldn’t let them fail and hit you.

“FIRST RULE OF THE CORPS:  REMAIN VIGILANT AND FOCUSED ON THE TASK AT HAND!”

“FIRST RULE OF THE CORPS!” the man behind you repeated, shimmying just enough to adjust his weight of the log.

The rest of your group joined in “REMAIN VIGILANT AND FOCUSED ON THE TASK AT HAND!”

The sergeant’s scowl didn’t falter as he waded into the water.  Stopping just short of you with the two unit leaders. You kept your stare dead ahead, but your reciting of the rules didn’t stop.

“SECOND RULE OF THE CORPS:  YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS ARE THE CORPS.  YOUR FAMILY IS THE MEN AND WOMEN WHO PROTECT THE COUNTRY WITH YOU.”

“Recruit!”

Your eyes snapped to his, “SIR!”

“RECITE THE CORPS PROMISE!”

“THE CORPS EXIST TO PROTECT THE COUNTRY, A COUNTRY WHICH AIMS TO PROVIDE THE BASIC AND NECESSARY FREEDOMS FOR ALL,” You recited, keeping your eyes forward while you ignored the pain in your shoulder, “THE CORPS IS MADE UP OF INDIVIDUALS WHO SERVE THE CITIZENS, AND THE GOVERNMENT, WHICH PROTECTS OUR FREEDOMS.  I WILL GIVE MY LIFE TO PROTECT THOSE VERY FREEDOMS AND DO WHAT MY COUNTRY ASKS OF ME.  I WILL SURRENDER EVERY PART OF MYSELF TO MAKE SURE I CAN DO WHAT IS NECESSARY, SO THAT OUR COUNTRY MAY THRIVE.  THE CORPS-“

“That’s enough!” he answered firmly, cutting you off.  You tried to avoid the fact that he was staring you down, but your eyes deceived you as you looked up into his steely blue ones. 

Your heart raced. 

It was like a wave was rolling over you and you didn’t know how to get back to the surface.

“What’s your name recruit?”

“Hassan, sir!”

“Recruit Hassan-“

“Yes sir!”

“You and your group...at ease!”

“Sir?”

Your eyes snapped to that of your unit leaders.  They looked shocked.  His eyes snapped to theirs, “This group is to be at ease...they haven’t faltered.  Now command it, Tyriq.”

“Yes Sergeant Barnes...” Tyriq said nervously.  He looked back at you, but your eyes were focused on the sergeant’s, “Hassan’s line.  At ease.”

“But Sergeant Barnes...I-you-“

“It’s Bucky, doll...”

“W-what are you doing here?” you asked breathlessly once more, “I-I thought that you-“

He chuckled, and your nearly swooned.  It felt like your knees were turning to jello, “did you even look at the profiles, when you’d received them, Nami?”

“You shook your head, dropping your bag as you started towards him, “I-I was so excited at the possibility of a match...I-“

“Nami...you don’t know how happy I am to see you!” he sighed, making his way towards you, “When I saw your picture...when I saw that you accepted the match...”

“I just wanted a family!”

“Doll, you and I both know that you could have had your pick of anyone,” he pointed out, “you always had that option...”

“Come on, Hassan...it’ll take the edge off.”

“I told you,” you hissed, slapping away another of the recruit’s hands as he tried to stroke your cheek, “I’m not interested, you creep.”

“It’s just a little bit of fun!”

“Come on...you can’t even have kids!” another one of the guys chuckled, “we’ll make it good for you if you just-“

“Back off, Eric!” you snapped, pushing one of the guys away from you.

“We’re just trying to be nice!”

“No, you’re trying to be a slimeball,” you spat.  You balled your fists and took a defensive position when the three guys started to surround you.  When Alan, the guy who’d tried to stroke your cheek came towards you, you swung at him.  Even with you being maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, you threw all of your weight behind it, and his head snapped to the side.  He lost his balance and spun around, “piss off!”

“You little bitch!” he growled, spitting out a little bit of blood while he held his cheek, “you’ll fucking pay for-“

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!”

The recruits looked at one another as Sergeant Barnes came into view.  He’d been walking past when he’d heard and slipped into the room when they started to get more aggressive.

He’d thought about intervening, but personally he was curious to see if the young woman he’d silently watched over the past month was actually serious about her career, or a girl who would allow herself to be used for privileges amongst her other corpsmen like so many other women before her had done.

“She fucking hit me!”

“Recruit Hassan...”

You huffed, your defensive position never faltering, while your eyes barely glanced at Alan, “he came at me, sir...”

“Speak up, recruit.”

“He and the others propositioned me,” you said louder, “they argued that since I’m infertile it wouldn’t matter.  But I’m not a pleasure house worker, sir.”

“No?”

“I’m a member of the corps,” you answered firmly, “my job is to ensure the safety and security of our country, not ensure the comfortability of their cocks.”

“That was the day that I fell in love with her...”

You felt a blush rising to your cheeks, listening to how Sergeant Bucky Barnes had talked about you with the other four men in your group. 

“She really sounds like a special woman...” your alpha, a man who had introduced himself as Andy smiled.  You couldn’t help but feel a special warmth in the way that he looked at you, “I know that Buck was the one that greeted you at first, but let me just say, on behalf of all of us, we’re really happy to have a woman like you...from what Barnes has told us, you are quite amazing.”

“She really is!” Bucky smiled, his hand grazing over your thigh as he took a long drag from the beer, “Nami...she’s everything.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No...Nami...you gave me sanity when you came into the corps...when I came to find out that I was going to take over your platoon...you were my rock when I was in a very dark place.”

You couldn’t help but watch the hand on your thigh.  Your eyes travelled up his arm, to his face, and you felt your heart fluttering.  You were almost overcome with emotion from his words alone, but you didn’t want to let go of yourself and be vulnerable; not in front of a group of men you had barely known.  Bucky...he was different. He’d heard your story over the time that you’d come to know him...but these men were still very much strangers to you, “I-I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much, Sergeant.”

“It’s Bucky, doll!” he reminded you softly.  You reached down and took his hand in your own, lacing your fingers with his, “we’re not in the military anymore.  We don’t have to be so formal around each other.”

“Well, military or not, you sound like a badass!”

You looked away from Bucky, your blush growing at your omega’s compliment.

“She is, Ben.” Bucky confirmed, “she’s fiery as anything.  You know...she actually reminds me of my best friend from when I was a kid.”

“Oh, don’t say I’m like Steve again,” you teased lightly.  He blushed this time and you looked to your epsilon and sigma who were silently watching you with their own drinks, “has he told you guys stories about his best friend, Steve?  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that he was in love with him!”

“Oh, we’ve heard about Steve,” the sigma answered, rolling his eyes as he sipped on his whiskey, “trust me, I’m sure we’ve had the same thought as well.”

Bucky frowned, before turning his attention back to you, “you know...I’m still in shock myself that you’re here.  When we were in the military, I was under the impression that you were infertile...you know...because of that day.  And when I’d seen your profile popping up as our center, it was...it was hard to believe that it was reality and not some dream I’d had.”

“Wait...infertile?”

You bit your lip as you looked at your epsilon, “It was a mistake through the country’s system when the EMP hit five years ago...I’m actually very fertile.”

Ransom leaned forward, his brow rising ever so slightly, “oh?”

  Your blush returned, this time for an entirely different reason as you had already been quick to reassure one of your matches that you were able to have children.  Suddenly, you felt just how vulnerable you really were by opening up to the men who sat with you.  You let go of Bucky’s hand, and wrapped your arms around yourself, “yeah...I mean...if I’m being honest, when I was younger, it was always my dream that I’d get my match and have a very large family...I-I always loved growing up in my family unit...I always wanted a lot of children.”

Ransom seemed to perk up even more, “really?”

“I-I mean...admittedly, I didn’t look over your profiles...I was far too excited when they explained it all to me...but I mean...how do each of you feel?” you asked, “do you...want children?  I think that is something we should discuss if we’re going to be a real family unit, right?  I-is there anyone opposed to a large family?”

“Well, if there is anyone objecting...I’d gladly take their turn!” Ransom smirked, “you know...I have always wanted a large family...the more the better, right?”

“Drysdale!” Andy growled, glaring at the epsilon.

“Ignore him,” Ben frowned, rolling his eyes, “Ransom’s been drooling over your profile since he got it.  He’s never been interested in kids before.  If he was, he would have taken the first four matches that his elitist family tried to worm him into and started popping em out...but he’s a romantic at heart.”

“What can I say...maybe I was waiting on the right person.  Contrary to what the others might say about my family, I didn’t want a match made on the back of my family name.  I did want it for love,”  he smiled, leaning towards you, “you know, Namira...I think our children will be beautiful and smart....”

“See what I mean?” Ben teased.

“Alright, Drysdale, cool it!” Lee grunted, rolling his eyes even more as he took another drink.

“Before Ransom drags you too far down his rabbit hole,” Andy teased, chuckling as he took a sip from his own drink, “we’ve actually already discussed this...a family that is.  But I want your input...”

“My input?” you asked, “on-on what?”

“I’ve already come from a failed match...one where I did have a child.”

You paled, “Wh-what?”

“Jacob is four....and while he’s not biologically my child...I’ve been in talks with the government about keeping him.”

“He-he’s not your child!”

“His previous match, Laurie was a lying bitch!” Lee growled.  Your eyes snapped to his, surprised at the wording, “she posed as a pleasure house worked in the inlets because she didn’t wanna have any kids with her actual matches...and when she’d have sex with Andy or the others, she’d purposefully abort em.”

You gasped, “I-how did that-“

“The important part is,” Andy said firmly as he cut you off and shot Lee a glance, “I view Jacob as my son.  I care about him.  I’ve raised and supported him for four years.  And while the government is holding him for now, they’ve informed me that the biological father wants nothing to do with him.”

You felt a knot twisting in your stomach as pity for the child grew. 

“A-are you asking if we can raise him?” you asked.

“Yes!” Andy nodded, “now I’d understand if you didn’t want to.  I won’t force you to raise a child that’s not yours, bu-“

“We should raise him!”

Andy’s head shot up. 

It was obvious that he was surprised by your answer, as he’d looked like he’d internally prepared himself for you saying that you shouldn’t raise the boy.

“What?”

“We should raise him!” you repeated, “he may not be your biological child, but you spent time and energy and love raising him.  And in a family unit, we do what is best for the family unit, right?  And it’s not fair of me to ask that any of you agree with my statements, but I believe that if someone sees this child as theirs, which you clearly do, I should support you in your decision.  And that means raising Jacob.”

Andy breathed a very visible sigh of relief, and there was a shared look between him and Bucky.

“I told you!”

Your brow furrowed as you looked at Bucky, “y-you know about the boy?”

“We all do, doll,” he confirmed, “and knowing you, I told Andy that you would more than likely be willing to take Jacob in.  I know you value family.”

“And all of you are okay with it?”

“Andy is a good guy,” Ben smiled, “he is very straight forward with us...and all he asks is that we communicate our needs.  He needs his son.  We’re all in this for the long run, Namira.”

“So...a four year old son?”

Ransom smirked, leaning forward once more, “so...does this count as his?  Because I think it should and personally, I’m feeling a little bit left out...you know, if we’re doing this whole communication thing.”

You rolled your eyes, laughter breaking through your smile at the cheeky epsilon, “oh yeah?  And what would make you feel better?”

“I mean...trying for a kid couldn’t hurt, could it?”

“Ransom!” Andy sighed, shaking his head.

“What?” he asked, “you got one!  I want one too...and anyways, Namira told us that she wants a big family...who am I to keep that wish from coming true?”

“Drysdale!” Bucky frowned.

“Hey...our center wants a big family!” he pointed out, “and I’m a big picture kind of guy who likes to help.  I want to bring her dreams to life!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lee scowled, leaning back into his chair and taking a deep drink from his whiskey, “that’s all we need...another Drysdale runnin’ wild around this place.”

“You know what,” Ben offered, standing from his chair, “I’ll go write the letter on your behalf, Andy...I’ll make sure that it goes through the proper channels...we’ll have Jacob home in no time.”

Chapter 3

[whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell]

Vatic - Chapter VI " Cardinal "

Series Description : The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister. 

Chapter Description : Y/n Targaryen says goodbye to her sister, and finds herself in another dream at night.

Warnings : none in this chapter

Pairing : eventual Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 1.9k

Y/n sat on top of a barrel that was likely full of mead or wine that had yet to be moved into the cellar of the kitchens , so it sat in the bailey of the Red Keep, and along with it, the princess, watching as men were readying the coach for Rhaenyra and her family. Rhaenyra’s ladies-in-waiting and the guards that would be going to Dragonstone would go by ship. Baby Joffrey and his wetnurse would also go by ship, along with Lucerys and Jacaerys. Luke didn’t have full control of his dragon yet, while Jace did. But that didn’t matter. Arrax and Vermax were not yet large enough to be ridden. Rhaenyra and Laenor would be on dragonback to Dragonstone. Taking Syrax and Seasmoke, flying alongside Arrax and Vermax. 

They’d go to Dragonstone, and Y/n would be left here. 

That was how Rhaenyra found her. Sitting on the barrel, staring at the coach as though if she stared long enough it might catch fire. 

The oldest daughter of king Viserys had always had a soft spot for her youngest sister. Y/n was told often how when she was just a newborn babe, she was a small thing. The smallest out of all of her siblings, and yet, the strongest. Screaming and kicking like a goat as she was handed off to her lady mother. 

Y/n had been told by her elder sister that due to her mother’s weakened state after her labors, Y/n was frequently with her wetnurse and nursemaid. But she shared the same wetnurse and Jace, so Rhaenyra was frequently with both her newborn son and sister, and had taken quite the liking to her new half-sister. 

“While I do believe that we are from the house of the dragon, I do not believe that means that we can set things afire with our minds.” 

Y/n’s attention snapped behind her, where her sister stood, wearing an old dress since her bump had yet to go down. 

Y/n stared at her sister in silence, the mournful feeling she had was nearly sickening. She did not wish to see her go, And yet, after this day, her sister would reside at Dragonstone. 

Rhaenyra sighed, flattening her hands over her deflated bump as she approached the youngest princess, reaching one hand out to cup Y/n’s shoulder as she came to a stop. “What troubles you, sweet girl?”

Y/n looked from her sister to the coach. Still being loaded. “I want you to stay.” Y/n confessed. There was never any use in keeping secrets from her sister. Rhaenyra saw right through her, always. Anytime the young girl tried to keep a secret, or wanted to hide the fact that she’d done something she shouldn’t had, Rhaenyra always knew. In the same way that her lady mother always saw through Aegon. Sometimes Y/n wondered if Alicent was truly her mother. If there was any possible chance that Rhaenyra was her true mother. But Y/n knew it to be true that Alicent had been the one Y/n was sired upon. 

“I’ll always write to you,” Rhaenyra suggested, her voice soft. As it always was when she directed her speech to Y/n. “I cannot stay here. I wish you to know that it pains me to leave you here among the vultures.” Y/n picked up on the lace of venom she gave to ‘vultures.’ Though, Y/n knew not who she referred to. 

A brief silence overtook the two sisters, both of them observing the chests of belongings being packed away to take to the ship awaiting the crowned princess’ staff in Blackwater bay. There was a silent understanding between the two. This was ending something. Not just Rhaenyra’s residence in the Red Keep, but something deeper. Only a child, and Y/n felt it deep in her bones that nothing would be the same again. 

Rhaenyra pulled her hand away from Y/n and reached into the pocket of her dress, pulling something out. “I had the goldsmith make something for you.” She started, catching Y/n’s interest as she turned to look at her sister’s hands. Rhaenyra held out the gold pendant. It was large and thick, and the thin hinges on the side of it made it clear to Y/n it was a locket. Y/n’s smaller hands reached out and took it from her sister. The gold was ornately engraved with designs of branches and leaves, and the center of it,  thin glass over a miniature painting of a red cardinal bird, soaring high. 

Red.

“A parting gift. Though I suspect we will see one another soon enough after my departure.”

Y/n continued to stare at the necklace. The gold rope chain dangling from her small fingers and her index and thumb holding the pendant. “There aren’t any portraits in it. You should be the one to choose who you wish to keep close to your heart.” Y/n gave a small nod as she looked up to her sister. 

“You will write to me once you arrive, won’t you?” Y/n questioned with a small voice, her eyes searching her sister for any clues. And in response, she received a look of adoration and a small nod.

“Absolutely.” Was Rhaenyra’s only response as she came to stand in front of her, leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead, holding her much like how her own mother would. “I’ll send you gifts every name day, every holiday, and perhaps just whenever I think of you, sweet girl.” 

Y/n continued to stare up at her. Targaryen meeting Hightower eyes. But the rest of them were all the same. Targaryen hair, and features. To onlookers who were unfamiliar with the family of the king, they might assume that Y/n was Rhaenyra’s own child. She looked more like her half-sister than she did her mother or siblings. Yes, all five of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower’s children possessed silver hair, and four of them had the typical various shades of purple eyes, but Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron all looked like their mother’s family. They were Hightowers at heart. They all happily wore green and looked upon their nephews with distaste, but Y/n? 

She longed for the freedom to wear her house colors, and to freely speak to her nephews as real children did. But she knew her mother’s politics would never allow it. 

Not long after, Y/n had to say her final goodbyes to her sister and her family. The entire Targaryen family, save for Daemon’s. all standing out in the outer yard to see them off, however, Y/n’s mother was absent from the group. 

And Y/n wasn’t foolish enough to not notice how all Aemond and Aegon did was saying goodbye, with hardly any pleasantries exchanged. Helaena had given Rhaenyra a short and obligatory hug, and Viserys had seen her off warmly, while Y/n had embraced her sister with such a grip that would put Maegor the Cruel to shame. She’d said her farewell to her nephews, and to Laenor, and within moments, Rhaenyra and her household were gone from the Red Keep. 

She was asleep in her bed, Aemond adjacent to her, a book long forgotten in his arms as he snored, sleep had finally found him. While sleep had found her long ago. She’d peacefully fallen asleep in his arms while he read stories to her about ancient princes and princesses from the age of heroes. some from the Reach or the Riverlands, but Y/n’s favorites were about the Westerlands. Lann the Clever’s descendants, ever the problem for the people of the Westerlands. 

And though those stories brought her comfort, the dreams she had every night didn’t. 

Some nights, she saw a giant war hammer slamming into the armored chest of a man with all the force of a dozen men behind it. The armor was dark, wth rubies encrusted into it, in the shape of house Targaryen’s sigil. Those nights where she saw him, she always woke up right before his body hit the stream of water beneath him. The rubies flying through the air.

Some nights, she saw a young girl, with Valyrian blood no doubt. When she saw this girl, she had to have been no more than seven. Sitting by a window, leaning her head against her arms, silver waves cascading around her head, shoulders, and back, violet eyes taking in the lemon tree right outside her window. It was a window far away from King’s Landing. She wasn’t from Westeros. 

Other nights would alternate from images of a young man, dark curly hair, and dark eyes. Sometimes he wore all black, like a brother of the Night’s Watch, or he wore a very large fur pelt cloak around his shoulder that swallowed his frame, making him look larger than he was. The white and black hilt of his sword peeking out from his cloak. And then others, she’d see a young woman, sometimes with her golden hair down and around her shoulder as befitting a young unmarried woman, wearing bright reds and golds, stags and lions embroidered on her gowns, and others? In others she stood with her head held high, hair pinned up, and out of the way, her gowns darker, made with heavier materials, and metal work intermingled with it. In some images of the young woman, she carried a sword, and in others she didn’t, and in others, she carried a child with her, dark curly hair atop the young child’s head, dark eyes always staring up at her mother with adoration and love, even as an infant. 

This was one of those nights, Where she saw the young woman and the child. She recognized the scenery. It was the gardens of the Red Keep, where the large party stood and sat. The young woman wore green this time. Golden embroidery and patterns. A golden rose pin on each side of her hips. The young child was in the arms of the man next to her. dirty blonde curls around his face, and a very similar motif in his clothing as well. Tyrell. 

“My dear sister. Tell me, do you like theater?” 

The young woman turned her head to the boy next to her, and finally, Y/n could see his face. Golden hair just like the woman’s, he was adorned in black and gold, a golden crown atop his head. Its shape reminds Y/n of a stag’s antlers. 

“I've never seen theater.” She responded curtly. 

“Everyone! Silence!” He shouted, hitting his fork against his golden goblet to gain the supposed crowd’s attention. The young woman shook her head and looked away from her brother. 

“Clear the floor. There’s been too much amusement here today. A royal wedding is not amusement, a royal wedding is history. Time has come for all of us to contemplate our history. My Lords. . .”

It happened quickly, observing as the young woman took the child and handed her off to the older man next to her, likely the young man’s father based on the rose motif in their clothing. 

“My Ladies. . . I give you, King Joffrey, Renly, Stannis, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy! The War of The Five Kings!” 

It was interrupted. 

The images of the young woman disappeared from her, being ripped away from her before she was ready, and very quickly, the sight was replaced with her maid’s face in front of her, sunlight blazing its way into the room from the windows. 

“It is time to start the day, Princess.”

Add yourself to the taglist!!

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @winxschester @blissfulbluenights @ghostlypineappl @dreaming-of-the-reality

[thebadgerclan]

Break The Sound Barrier

Pairing: Alex Claremont-Diaz x Henry Fox

Summary: When the emails leak, there's only one place Alex needs to be...

A/N: GO WATCH THIS MOVIE IF YOU HAVE PRIME!!!!! I had to expand on this particular scene, I just had to

(I've been writing some multi-chapter fics for firstprince over on AO3 if anyone's intersted!)

“You know what?  I’m coming to London tonight.  Just hold on until I get there.  We’ll figure this out.  As soon as the words left Alex’s mouth, Henry had been restless.  Pacing the halls, organizing and reorganizing his bookshelf, weeding out David’s toys, trying (and failing) to throw out the old ones (how could he, when he literally gave him puppy-dog eyes?), mind numbing tasks to distract him from the literal ocean separating him from the man he loved when he needed him most.

After three hours, Henry had taken to staring out the window like a war-era woman waiting for her husband to return from war.  Then a car pulled up to the gates, and Henry thought he might throw himself out the window to get to Alex faster.  But he settled for hurrying from his perch, down the stairs, and….There he was.  His Alex, his love, he was here.  Henry was barreling down the stairs, Alex was running up them, and they met in the middle, crashing into each other, clinging to each other desperately.  

They sank to the ground, in the middle of the stairs, wrapped in each other’s arms.  Henry was holding Alex like he might evaporate if he let go, and Alex was holding Henry like he wanted to shelter him from the world, like he wanted nothing more than to protect him from anything and everything.  Finally, Alex spoke.  “I’m here, baby,” he whispered, and Henry shattered, turning his face into Alex’s neck and sobbing.

Alex tightened his arms around him, kissing the top of his head.  “I’m sorry,” Henry cried.  “I’m so sorry.”  “Baby, Henry, no.  You have nothing to be sorry for.  None of this is either of our faults, baby.”  Henry only sniffled, keeping his face buried in Alex’s shoulder.  “Henry, look at me.”  Slowly, he lifted his head, and Alex’s heart cracked seeing his puffy and red-rimmed eyes.  “Baby,” Alex cooed, wiping tears from Henry’s cheeks, pressing a kiss to his forehead.  “Whatever happens next, I’m with you.  I love you, Henry, and I’ll fight for you.”

“I love you too,” Henry replied.  “God, I love you.  But…I’m scared, Alex.”  Alex nodded, resting his forehead against Henry’s.  “I’m scared too, baby.  But I’ve got you, whatever they try to throw at us.  Because I love you so fucking much, Hen, and….I feel forever about you.”  Henry nodded, fresh tears welling up.  But these were happy tears, spurred on by Alex’s appearance, his willingness to be here, to fight for him.  And Henry, well, he felt forever about him too.

After a few minutes, Alex coaxed Henry to his feet and shepherded him back to his rooms, where they barely managed to climb into bed before Henry was wrapped around Alex like a vine.  Henry was exhausted, and being in Alex’s arms was like a sedative.  Yet he was reluctant to sleep, fearing that when he woke, Alex would be gone.  “Go to sleep, baby,” he whispered, smoothing Henry’s hair back from his face.  “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

Eventually, Henry nodded off, and for the first time in weeks, he slept soundly.  When he woke, Alex’s arms were no longer around him, but there was still a warm presence at his side.  When Henry opened his eyes, it was to find Alex propped up against the headboard, David curled in his lap.  “Morning, baby,” Alex said, a warm smile on his face.  “I hate to break it to you, but I think your dog loves me more.”  Henry rolled over, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Well, he does take after me, and I do love you very much.”  He sat up further, pressing a kiss to Alex’s lips, drawing a huff from David, who’d been squished between them.  Henry cuddled into Alex’s side, who pulled him close, kissing his temple.  “I’m scared people will hate me now,” Henry admitted, one hand stroking David’s fur, the other linking with Alex’s.  “They call me ‘The Prince of England’s Hearts’.  Now that they know….I don’t know.”

“Well….you’re the king of my heart, that’s gotta count for something, right?”  It took Henry a moment, then he was laughing.  “Did you just call me a Taylor Swift song?”  “Maybe,” Alex replied, laughing now too.  “It’s not my fault her songs seem to fit our life so well!”  Henry smiled, pressing a kiss to Alex’s cheek.  “We’ll be alright, won’t we?” he asked, and Alex nodded, squeezing his hand tightly.  “Yeah, baby.  We will.”

[acourtofquestions]

Lidia had known, even as a child, that she was pure power, and she'd kept that power buried in her veins.

Not witch-power. She knew her flames were ... different. Her father didn't have them, either.

She'd kept them secret, even from the Asteri.

Especially from the Asteri. No other shifters had them, to her knowledge, and she knew what revealing them would mean: becoming an experiment to be pulled apart by the Asteri.

Then she had run into Danika Fendyr, who had somehow learned things about Lidia's paternal bloodline, and wanted to know if Lidia had any strange gifts. Fae-like, elemental gifts.

She'd debated killing Danika then and there to keep the gift secret. And what else did Danika know—could she know about her sons?

The shifters were Fae from another world, Danika had explained. Blessed with a Fae form and a humanoid one, gifted with elemental powers.

It confirmed what Lidia had long guessed. Why she had named Brannon after the oldest legends from her family's bloodline: of a Fae King from another world, fire in his veins, who had created stags with the power of flame to be his sacred guards.

Lidia hadn't mentioned any of that as Danika had filled her in on how they'd become shifters, and the Asteri's experimentation with them on Midgard, which had eventually erased their pointed ears. She'd been glad when Danika had died, all her questions with her.

No longer.

After ingesting the antidote that her brilliant, brave sister had made, the fire had surged so close to the surface that she couldn't deny it.

Didn't want to deny it.

Flame rippled from Lidia as she raced out of the palace, through the city, and onto the battlefield beyond. Untethered, unconquerable.

It was time for Lidia to clean house.

Her fire a song in her blood, Lidia walked across the battlefield. Bullets melted before they could reach her.

It was so much more natural than it had ever been. In the Cave of Princes, it had taken nearly all her concentration to douse the flames of the Autumn King around her companions.

Only Morven had seemed to be surprised—the others hadn't questioned how the flames had disappeared. There had been too much chaos for anyone to piece it together.

Now her fire flowed and flowed. Her truth was freed.

The war-machines halted. Angled their guns and bombers toward her. They'd wipe her from Midgard.

But she'd keep going until the end. She didn't look behind her at the palace, where she could only pray that Ruhn-her mate-was getting her sons to safety.

For the first time in her miserable existence, she let the world see her for what she was. Let herself see all that she was.

The missile launchers turned white-hot. Lidia rallied her flames. Even if she intercepted the missiles in midair, the shrapnel alone could kill her allies—

There was one way to stop it. To get there first.

Before the missiles launched. And take them all out, herself included.

She began running.

She wished she'd been able to say goodbye to her sons. To Ruhn. To tell him her answer to what he'd said.

I love you.

She cast the thought behind her, toward the Fae Prince she knew would keep her sons safe.

The war-machines followed her movements with their launchers. They'd try to blast her into Hel before she could reach them.

Emphasis on try.

It had been a short life, as far as Vanir were concerned, and a bad one, but there had been moments of joy. Moments that she now gathered and held close to her heart: cradling her newborn sons, smelling their baby-sweet scents. Talking with Ruhn for hours, when she knew him only as Night. Lying in his arms.

So few happy memories, but she wouldn't have traded them for anything.

Would have done it all again, just for those memories.

Lidia dove deep, all the way into the simmering dregs of her power.

The war-machines loomed, black and blazing with power. Ready for her. Launch barrels stared her down, brimstone missiles glowing golden in their throats.

Lidia unleashed her own fire, ready for her final incineration.

But before her flame could touch those war-machines, before the brimstone missiles could fire, the launch barrels melted. Iron dripped away, sizzling on the dry earth.

And those brimstone missiles, caught in the melting machinery ...

The explosions shook the very world as the missiles ruptured, turning the war-machines into death traps for the soldiers within. They melted into nothing. The heat of it singed Lidia's face, and amid the burning and billowing smoke

Three tiny white lights burned bright. Fire sprites. Simmering with power.

Through the fire and smoke and drifting embers, Lidia recognized them. Sasa. Rithi. Malana. Blazing, raging with fire. They must have crept up unseen from behind enemy lines.

Too small to be noticed, to ever be counted by arrogant Vanir.

"Let's burn it all down."

Because ahead of them, dozens strong, an entire line of war-machines headed their way.

Missile launchers groaned into position. All aiming for where they stood.

"With pleasure," Irithys said, and even from a few feet away, Lidia's skin seared with the heat of the queen's flame. "We shall build a new world atop their ashes.' Rithi, Sasa, and Malana turned blue, matching their queen's fire with their own. The four fire sprites unleashed their power on the war-machines and the Vanir powering them. Lidia's white-hot flames joined theirs, twining and dancing around it, as if every moment of recognition until now had built toward this, as if her flames had known theirs for millennia. And as one flame, one unified people, as Bryce Quinlan had promised, their fire struck the enemy line.

Machines ruptured. Lidia staggered back, back, back with the force of it, still unfamiliar with the fire in her veins, after it had been so long suppressed.

But the sprites kept their fire concentrated on the machines and their pilots. And as Lidia hit the ground, as the missiles exploded upon contact with the flames, she cast the last of her power upward. To shield the allied forces fighting behind them and the fire sprites now ahead of her from the shrapnel, which melted until it became raining, molten metal.

It hissed where it hit the earth.

Irithys blazed like a blue star, shooting from machine to machine, leaving burning death in her wake. The three other sprites followed suit.

Where they shimmered, imperial forces died.

And as the enemy melted at their fingertips ... for a moment, just one, Lidia allowed herself to kindle a spark of hope.

[relevant-url-incoming]

Power Games

since I've been on my roleswap bullshit, here is a little peek at how Ven's doing in the role of Sith Inquisitor (hint: not well). If you look closely you can see the moment both Andronikos and I looked at Ven and went "oh this is a baby"

Andronikos hadn’t expected to wake to the barrel of a blaster against his forehead, but then again he was the idiot who’d thrown in with the Sith.

“How frequently do you make your reports?” snarled the Sith. In the dark, he could barely make out her shape; her black eyes were luminous as they caught what little light there was. Too bad they were sparking in anger.

Mask off, her voice sounded different – Republic, for one thing. Her full mouth displayed her displeasure with a dramatic curl of her lip. Andronikos would bet anything she wore the thing just to hide her expressions.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid,” the Sith spat. “You’re Zash’s little pirate pet, and I know she wants you on this ship. The navigational blocks aren’t enough? The threats to innocents? Forcing me to do every last bit of the Empire’s dirty work until I break isn’t fucking enough for her?”

He realised with a sinking feeling that he had stumbled into something darker than typical Sith bullshit.

“Maybe not,” he said slowly. “But I don’t take orders from Zash, Sith.”

“I’m not a damn Sith!” she cried, her voice breaking, but she tossed the blaster at the wall. Andronikos sat up warily.

She was just a kid, he realised. He’d buy it if she said she was twenty, but nothing more than that. For all her cynical comments on Tatooine, there was only so much this young woman would have had time to see.

“She’s watching you that closely?” he asked. That didn’t sit right with him. There were some things he drew the line at, and freedom was too dear to Andronikos to make this kind of thing ok.

“I left Balmorra without doing the job she wanted, and the ship shut down. I tried to avoid working for the war effort, and an officer tracks me down with orders to kill prisoners until I complied. I tried to steal a different ship, and some fuck pops out of the woodwork to stop me, because apparently Imperial Intelligence has nothing better to do!”

She rubbed her face ruefully, leaning against the wall. With a clatter of armour, she slid to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. It was almost funny, seeing such a brawny woman curled up like a toddler. Andronikos wasn’t laughing.

“At least you’re telling me the truth,” she said to her knees.

“How can you tell?”

The look she gave him was withering. “Same way I know Zash is using me. Same way I know she won’t have me killed. I can tell.”

She looked away, laughing bitterly. “And I’d bet you anything that’s part of the power Zash is so fucking obsessed with.”

“Ok… So I’m not gonna mess with the Force stuff, but I know ships,” he said. She stared at him like she’d suddenly stopped understanding Basic. “Want me to take a look at the navigation systems?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“You’re serious,” she said. “You want to help me.”

“What can I say?” Andronikos said. “Pirates like freedom.”

She rolled her shoulders and stood slowly, looking thoughtful.

“It doesn’t fix the other things,” she said. “The POWs they’ll gladly throw away just to keep me in line. Whatever the hell Zash really has planned for me. And I bet this ship is being tracked in a couple ways, just in case.”

She pushed her tendrils back over her shoulders, lifting her chin with a defiant expression. It was the first time she’d looked both powerful and comfortable.

���It’ll help, though,” she said. “And as much as I hate it, I know how to play a long game. The Sith have all their power games, right? Maybe I can get control over Zash.”

“You’re getting all this from me offering to look at the navicomputer?”

She shrugged ruefully.

“It’s easier to plan when I have more than me on my side,” she said. “If you’re in?”

“Something tells me you already know my answer,” Andronikos said. She huffed out the tiniest of laughs and, to his surprise and mild offense, saluted him. Before he could ask her why the hell she’d done that, she’d left. He shook his head. He’d have to be careful around her, but he already knew that. At least this way he knew what she’d be looking for, and that he didn’t want to work against her.

And she’d left the blaster. He picked it up and tucked it away. It had been damaged when she threw it, but there might still be something he could do with it. He’d help the kid. He just wasn’t dumb enough to forget how ready she’d been to kill him.

[im-tempted]

The Black Parade is a rock opera concept album written by American rock band My Chemical Romance. It follows the story of a young, ex military, terminal cancer patient  as he reckons with his life, death, and the impact his life really had. Many people like to rearrange the song order of the album to tell the story, however I think the order of all of the tracks in Black Parade are where they’re meant to be. MyChem’s other albums tell a cohesive story within their designated track orders and never need to be swapped around so I personally follow that rule as well when it comes to Black Parade.

Of course we start with The End narrating, rather sarcastically, the current situation of our protagonist. The End and Dead! are two tracks in this album that are the definition of DO NOT SEPARATE.

Generally I see The End and Dead! as the big opener,This Is How I Disappear as anger The Sharpest Lives as reckless self indulgence/destruction, Welcome to the Black Parade as a reflection in a moment of clarity almost like a broken promise the patient never wanted to break, I Don’t Love You is the patient speaking to his partner possibly trying to convince them to give up loving him because he's a dead man already.

House of Wolves is the religious guilt/anger of realizing that all the actions he took serving his country and how he lived his life were damning and not saving, while Welcome to the Black Parade is a hopeful look on the afterlife, House of Wolves is a negative. “Heaven” vs “Hell” maybe.

Cancer is pretty self explanatory, patient speaking to his loved ones nearing his end. Mama is A Lot. It’s a confession of sin from the war (this and blood and dead are where the military context comes from as well as the social political climate of when the album was released) it's a confession of sin in the personal life as well. “You should have raised a baby girl I could have been a better son” can take on a few meanings all of which are up for interpretation. Sleep is a sobering realization. It’s devoid of anger or passion or anything, like a quiet defeat.The opening tape recording is of Gerard describing to their therapist the nightmares they had while staying in a haunted house to write this album with his bandmates.

Teenagers I have not enough to say regarding the overall story but a banger. Disenchanted is in the title, it's the final result and reflection of the patient’s life. No matter what he did it was always going to end up this way. Nothing he could have done would have changed it.

 Famous Last Words is an interesting one. Gerard originally wrote it for their brother Mikey, who was taking a short break from the band during the writing process to deal with various mental health going ons at the moment. When he returned and heard the song he asked for it (AND DISENCHANTED!) to be on the album. It fits thematically, and adds a hopeful note to the end of a tragedy.

THESE ARE MY INTERPRETATIONS I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOUR OWN IF YOU'VE GOT ANY. ABSOLUTELY AMAZING ALBUM

this became so much longer than i thought it would i am so sorry

ok finally have the time to sit down and respond to this idk how long this will get i have thoughts(tm) if theirs one thing I'm always thinking about it's death and SPECIFICALLY terminal illness which as someone who's actually had that will probably wildly influence my reading of the album (I know shock to everyone I've never been to war) as well as my big feelings about medical things in general (this album was made in a lab about me actually)

overarching it's always interesting to see stories where death is not only expected but something actively being waited for I feel like everyone and their mother knows they're going to die to the point it's joked about but I don't think many people actually understand that as someone who had to metaphorically stare down the barrel of a gun from birth it's always interesting to see others express that feeling of not quite apathy that I've always felt but the moment you stop trying to claw your way away from death and when you start just living with it always over you shoulder

anyways back to the actual album

there's something so visceral about giving your body to your country and having it not be able to save you back of sacrificing your safety for you to come back home just to die of something no one can save you from there is no atonement in death of chance you went somewhere and you hurt a lot of people and you come back and don't even have the chance to die of it you die of chance like all the others like people who weren't broken for a cause who didn't shape themselves into a weapon to serve

they say that they don't feel bad for the blood on their hands and should they? for getting sucked into the largest propaganda campaign for trying their best for being in the wrong place at the wrong time a dying man can feel no guilt at some point it's just to late there is no point in feeling bad for what brought you somewhere when you simply don't have time

I think this album is also particularly interesting when the singer is explicitly talking to others (like in mama) 'cuz even though the POV person seems to have come to terms with what they've done it's interesting to one of the hardest parts of dying is trying to explain to anyone else you are because no one will actually believe you I don't have to many thoughts on that right now but I just think that's a part of dying people don't talk about is when you've come to terms with it and no one else has

OVERALL I will be thinking about this album probably for a while and this isn't even close to all of my thoughts but I have so many posts I can make in the future so there's always that This one got a tad away from me I can talk about each song on it's own later if you want but for right now I think all the time about what it's like for someone to come to terms with the fact they are dying and what they had to make themselves to get there (< is so normal about this and hasn't based their whole life around it for almost two decades)

GREAT SONGS

[nutteu]

tomorrow is the fleeting smile on your bleeding lips [Chapter I]

-

[AO3 Chapter I] [AO3 Chapter II] [AO3 Chapter III] [moonsea series]

Steven’s mechanic was unfairly, unfathomably, absolutely, devastatingly hot. He was going to die from a severe case of embarrassment before the car was even fixed, if the mechanic didn’t stop grinning at him as if he wanted to devour Steven whole. [Jake/Steven; au; published 2022-06-29; total word count: 24,806]

-

Marc was going to chewed his ears off—no, he was going to kill Steven if he found out. His brother might be babying him to a fault, but this was the fourth time this month that Steven barreled into a problem with the car, which Marc owned, and bought after saving up for so long, and which he loved so much, and which he only lent to Steven because he was paranoid as fuck and thought that Steven would fall asleep in the bus, or get mugged, or worse, get harassed.

See, Steven was more than happy to drive the car around. It cut down the time he usually spent waiting for the bus, and he didn’t need to worry about his bus leaving before he could get on it. Also, he could bring a lot of things, and it was faster altogether—a more practical experience. But the catch was, Steven didn’t know shit about cars. Ask him about the complete history of Trojan War and he’d answer in less than a heartbeat. Ask him about how to change a tire, and he’d just stay silent until he inevitably squirmed in discomfort.

He just didn’t know, okay?

Which was probably not the best thing to say to Marc. Especially now that his brother was away in Cairo for a few weeks. Also, not the best thing to inform that the car just suddenly broke down and wouldn’t start, and Steven was slowly panicking. He had taken the car to repair shops, but they evidently didn’t do a good enough job if it was still not working right. He couldn’t tell the difference, honestly. He just knew that there was nothing he could do but to resign another portion of his paycheck to fix the car, more than usual this time because it never broke down like this before.

He sighed, and pulled out his phone. It was brand new, and he didn’t quite understand how to use it yet. Marc insisted that he had it, because he complained that Steven’s voice sounded so shitty when he used his Neanderthal era phone, which was a big insult, because that phone served him for years just fine. But his brother was hardheaded, and Steven was so used to accepting everything Marc had given to him, to follow where his brother went.

It was definitely useful now, even if he fumbled a bit with it. He looked up the nearest auto repair shop, and called the number. A gruff voice answered his call, and he stuttered a bit before he relayed the condition. The person, a man named Khonshu—which was hilarious as fuck because the last Steven checked, it was the Egyptian god of moon—sounded so displeased. He understood; it was night, and the shop must have been closing soon. But he was a bit desperate, and still very much panicking. In the end, Khonshu told him to wait on his location, said someone would pick him up.

He let out a relieved sigh as soon as the call ended. Khonshu was not pleasant to talk to. He bit his lip, and stretched a bit on the driver seat. He supposed he should just go out, since the AC was dead, and he could miss the person picking him up if he spent his time holing up inside. So, he stepped out, and waited on the side of the road; walking around, and swinging on the tip of his toes. He should have brought a book. He usually did, but he forgot this morning because he was in a hurry; he was almost late for a tour from a uni. He could just read on the phone, like Marc had taught him, but it hurt his eyes, and he didn’t understand how to control the functions of the app.

Waiting like an idiot it was.

He watched cars and bike pass by, smiling awkwardly at passersby stealing glances at him. He was a bit wary when people walked closer, or when they stared at him for too long. He was sure he looked neat enough today, he had wanted to impress the entourage after all. But, perhaps, it was his hair? He surreptitiously looked at the tinted window to check if his curls were in place. They were a bit messy, but acceptable nonetheless. Was it his clothes? Nah, no way, this shirt looked cool, for his taste anyway, and he didn’t button it wrong. Was it because he looked painfully, obviously uncomfortable and restless? Yeah, maybe; he felt that way, definitely.

He tried his best to ignore them, thinking back to Marc’s tireless lecture of stranger danger. Honestly, Steven was thirty-six, and though he was a complete garbage at having good sleeping schedule, he thought that he managed his life pretty good. Marc was just overprotective. But the clock was ticking by, and the road was slowly deserted, and Steven couldn’t help but press his back closer to the side of his car. There was a man who had been standing against the wall of a nearby building, and Steven caught him staring several times. He didn’t try to approach, but yeah, Marc was right. Stranger danger.

Just when he was about to call Khonshu again, be damned with him grumbling in his ears, just to make sure that he was indeed getting picked up, a car parked in front of his, and the driver climbed out. Steven paused for a moment. It might be someone who lived here, but then the man walked towards him, and he had to rub at his eyes for a moment.

The man, whom Steven was now sure the person that Khonshu had sent because he was still wearing a mechanic jumpsuit, looked exactly like him and his brother. There were a few key differences, like the deceptively relaxed set of his brows and shoulders, the hooded stare, the perpetual smirk on his lips, the gait in his steps. But aside from that, he could pass as their brother. Steven was pretty sure that he and Marc were born as twins, not triplet. But here the man was, stopping to stand in front of Steven, with his smirk and the stench of tobacco clinging to him. It was like seeing Marc, just more relaxed and devious, and Steven almost thought that, perhaps, for some magical reason, Marc had sensed that his baby brother was in trouble, again, and flew over from Cairo to save his pathetic ass.

“Steven Grant?” he asked, and Steven swallowed. His voice was rough around the edges, husky and low. There was a noticeable accent in his syllables, and it only made him all the more—what was the word? Steven didn’t want to say seductive; he didn’t think he could handle the mortification of his own thought. Yeah, nope, this one was definitely not Marc.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered out, aware that he was staring like a creep. “You’re from the Iah Auto Repair Shop?”

“Jake Lockley,” the man introduced himself, and nodded. “Khonshu sent me, said something about your car breaking down.”

He smiled in dismay, and gestured to the poor, abused thing. “Yeah,” he said. “Brought it to the repair shops before this, but either they didn’t fix it properly, or I’m just a disaster with a car. I’m leaning more towards the latter.”

The man’s smirk widened a fraction, almost a grin. There was mirth in his eyes as he placed a warm palm on Steven’s shoulders. He didn’t want to admit that he was holding back a gasp. He could feel the warmth of Jake’s hand through the shirt, and he was suddenly torn between feeling grateful that he left the jacket inside the car, or panicking all over again because even a small contact could make him so flustered.

He couldn’t quite hide the flush on his cheeks when Jake leaned forward. He was about to push the man away—Marc’s training was rigorous and it had been ingrained into Steven’s head—but then Jake said, “I’ll handle the towing, and you get inside my car. That gentleman over there hasn’t moved an inch, and you’ve been fidgeting quite a lot. Let’s not find out what he wants to do to you, yeah?”

He found it hard to voice out an answer, so he just nodded his head, cheeks aflame because Jake’s warm breath hit his skin when he spoke, from how close they were. He followed behind the man as they walked to the side of his car. He opened the door for Steven, throwing him a last grin before he closed the door behind. Steven let out the breath he had been holding.

That was the most intense, well-intentioned warning he had gotten in his life. He unconsciously lifted his hand to his shoulders, where Jake had touched him. It was still a little bit warm. He scrunched his nose and quickly put his hand down. What the hell was he doing? It was just a friendly gesture, for fuck’s sake. No need to be so self-conscious about it. Or bothered. Or- or wanting it to happen again.

Jesus fuck he was going insane.

He decided to ignore his embarrassment, and looked up. The man who had been watching him was scowling at something, and Steven turned around slightly to see that Jake was throwing a grin at him. The grin was different than the one he gave to Steven. This one made him shiver and curl a little in his seat. Jake, for all that he looked like a hot, unruly man, now seemed so dangerous.

The man then pushed off of the wall, and started to walk away. Steven stared. It truly was fortunate that Jake arrived just in time. He glanced at Jake again, but the man was already gone, presumably inside Steven’s car to set the gear to neutral. He looked up ahead again, and fiddled with his fingers. He really should have brought a book.

It took Jake some time before he opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. “All done, Stevie,” he said, the name rolling on his tongue like a tease. “Put on your seatbelt.”

“It’s Steven,” he corrected as he clicked the belt in place. “With a ‘v’.”

“Not so catchy,” Jake replied easily. “Stevie is better, don’t you think?”

“Nope, don’t think so. I like my name as it is,” he said, leaning against the seat as the car was started. It purred instead of rumbling, like Marc’s car. Which was all Steven’s fault in the first place. He promised himself he’d treat Marc once his brother was back. If he didn’t plan on telling what was the reason other than welcoming Marc back, then, well, what was a little white lie, right?

“I can suggest a lot more interesting names,” Jake said without looking away from the road. They turned left on the junction, before he continued. “How does sweetheart sound?”

Steven honest to God choked on his spit. He stuttered out an intelligible reply, but Jake was laughing already. He glanced at Steven, the same smirk on his lips. There was a glint in his eyes that Steven didn’t dare to look at for too long, in fear that he’d do something stupid. Like saying that he didn’t mind Jake calling him sweetheart. My God, it was less then an hour and he was already being so needy.

“You’re so easy,” Jake said, looking at the road again.

“Uh, I’m sorry?” he said, not sure how to respond to that. He should have been annoyed, he supposed. But Jake said it so softly that all Steven’s heart did was beat faster than it should.

Jake’s lips quirked a bit, but he didn’t say anything. Steven wanted to ask what exactly that grin meant, but then again, he was too busy trying to breathe right. Maybe phoning this particular repair shop wasn’t the best decision he’d taken today. Not because he met Jake, but because of how much he was turning into a desperate man in the presence of this cheeky mechanic.

Could this be considered as narcissism? They looked unnervingly similar to each other. And yet, they couldn’t be more different. Sure, Marc had called him a cheeky little shit on at least a thousand different occasions, but it wasn’t the point. They had no similarities between except for their appearance, and even that stopped at several points. Steven didn’t think that he could ever dream of being as suave as Jake.

He tried to surreptitiously glance at Jake, and found that the man was looking straight ahead. He noted that Jake’s nose was taller than his, and with his face set on a neutral expression, he looked like Marc—which, way to go really, bringing his own brother into his. Really killed the mood. Even if Steven didn’t know what mood, exactly, he was talking about.

“If you want to stare at me, all you have to do is ask, little dove,” Jake said suddenly, and let out an amused huff when Steven squeaked.

“Sorry, mate, didn’t mean to be rude,” he said, scratching his neck. “You just look a lot like me and my brother.”

“You have a brother?” Jake asked, an eyebrow raised, eyes still focused on the road.

“Yeah, a twin, older than me, just by twelve minutes, honestly; probably won’t let me go out of the house if he has any say to it,” he said, pursing his lips a little. Sure, Marc was thoroughly traumatized that he let his guard down one second and Steven almost drowned. Or that one time Steven almost got kidnapped. Or that one time he fell off of his friend’s bike. Or that one time Steven sleep-walked to the streets. Or—yeah, he got the idea: Marc was worried because his little brother seemed to be a huge magnet for troubles and disasters. Which, probably, explained why fate decided that he was to meet Jake Lockley. If Steven had to describe that man with a word, trouble was definitely the first thing that came to mind.

But he couldn’t look away, and he was aware that his cheeks was still heated. Oh, God, he was doomed and Marc was going to be so, so disappointed at him.

“Your brother has a complex,” Jake told him bluntly.

Steven laughed a little. “He does, doesn’t he?” he said with a slight shake of his head. “Not without reason, though. I’m a walking disaster.”

“A cute walking disaster, at least,” came the reply, and Steven was speechless for God knew how many times tonight. He was afraid that it wouldn’t stop anytime soon.

He bit his lip and looked down, suddenly hyper aware of how he must have looked like a garbage next to Jake’s confidence. He unconsciously tried to fix the curls falling into his eyes, hoping that Jake wouldn’t notice, would only see it as a nervous gesture.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the car halted in front of the repair shop. Jake unlocked the car, and went ahead to take care of Steven’s car. He went out, too, and saw that some people were still there. They got his car inside the large space of the garage, and started to prepare their tools. Steven watched him, fascinated. They worked so quickly and efficiently, almost without a thought in their practiced movements. He saw that Jake was talking to another mechanic, and an unbelievably tall man dressed in white, face adorned with neatly trimmed mustache and beard. There was a scowl on the man’s face, but he was listening intently nonetheless. This must have been Khonshu.

Steven waited near Jake’s car, unsure what to do. He fiddled with his sleeves, and suddenly longed for his jacket just to have something to touch. He liked the texture of the seams, the feel of worn fabric under his fingertips. There was just something soothing in tracing the neat line of the threads, as if his fingers were running above the cables of the utility pole; long, smooth lines that seemed to follow when he passed them by.

Jake went back to him after some time. He pointed a thumb to the car, and said, “We gotta make sure what’s broken before we can fix it. Upfront payment after the diagnosis. Can you come here tomorrow?”

“I can,” he nodded. “But I’m going to be a bit late, is that okay? I get off work at six, and I gotta take the bus to go here, and a taxi probably since there’s no route for the bus here.”

“No need,” Jake said. “I can pick you up. Where’s your workplace?”

Steven was stunned for a moment. That offer just came out of nowhere. Well, not that out of nowhere, given the situation. But he was pretty sure that mechanics didn’t just offer to pick up their clients off of work just because their car was out of commission. Besides, Jake had just met him, and he honestly didn’t want to impose on the other man. But Steven didn’t want to refuse the offer either. For one, it’d be easier. Also, because he got to be picked up by Jake.

Oh, dear Lord, he was turning into a fifteen-year-old in puberty.

“Uh, Petrie Museum,” he said, unsure for a moment.

“I’ll pick you up at six,” Jake nodded, then shouted something at someone in the garage. It was in a language that Steven didn’t recognize. He just watched as Jake nodded at the answering reply, before he turned back to him. “Do you need a ride home?”

Alright. No matter how much Steven’s heart was kicking, screaming and giggling at Jake’s presence, this was way too fast. Or maybe he was reading into it too much. It was just a harmless, kind offer, and Jake was just being polite. But, God, did he want to.

“If you don’t mind?” he asked, hesitant.

“Wouldn’t offer you otherwise, little dove,” Jake said, again with the pet name. “Come on, I’ve told them I’m clocking off.”

Steven nodded dumbly, following Jake to once again get into the car, not really believing what was happening, couldn’t really wrap his head around it. The car broke down, he was worried sick because he didn’t want to make Marc mad, he was anxiously waiting to get picked up while trying to ignore the stare of that stranger burning on the side of his face, met Jake Lockley, realized that he was fucked and doomed, and now Jake was driving him home and Steven was about to scream out his confusion. That sounded about right.

He fastened the seatbelt as the car was turned on. Jake looked around for incoming vehicles that might pass, before he drove to the main road. “Where are we going, Stevie?”

He ignored the obvious mockery of his name, and rattled off the address. It was forty-minutes’ drive from here, and he didn’t know what to do in the meantime. Here he was, in the same space with the person he had admitted was attractive enough to make him fumble and stutter, and he didn’t know how to appear less like he was a weirdo and more of a respectable customer, whatever that meant.

Jake turned on the tape, and they listened to some music Steven didn’t recognize in low volume. The drive was spent in silence, and Steven was getting antsy. Had he made the wrong decision? Maybe Jake was hoping he’d refuse the offer, but Steven was too dumb to read the clue. He pressed himself closer against the door of the car, mulling in his thoughts.

“You were more talkative before,” Jake then remarked, surprising Steven. “Why, you afraid I’m gonna do something to you?”

“No!” Steven exclaimed, then recoiled when he said it louder than he intended. “No,” he repeated, at reasonable volume this time. “I’m just—not used to being driven by someone else than my brother, I guess. A stranger at that, no less.”

“We won’t be stranger soon, Steven with a ‘v’,” Jake said, the trademark smirk reappearing. “Was that your brother’s car?”

“Yeah,” he said weakly, remembering about his carelessness. “He lent me to it a few months ago because he’s been going on business trips constantly these days. He’s the one who usually drives me around when he’s in town. Which he won’t be, for a few weeks at least.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to tack on the last bit.

“And you broke it,” Jake said.

“Oi, no need to rub the salt on the wound, mate,” Steven huffed out, crossing his arms in front of his chest, face flushing. He was talking to a mechanic, who understood cars’ technicalities more than Steven could ever hope to do. He was embarrassing himself enough.

Jake chuckled lightly. It sounded so pleasant to the ears, for some reason. They were halfway to the apartment building, and Steven started to see familiar shops and streets around the area. The low hum of the tape blended in with the faint bustling of the people and vehicles left on the streets. It was later than the time he usually went home at. He had thought of getting himself some dinner at the restaurant he frequented, because he felt lethargic after two tours with huge groups and didn’t want to cook himself. He supposed it was fortunate enough that the car broke down when it did, he wouldn’t happen to stumble on Iah Repair Shop otherwise. Wouldn’t meet Jake.

And there he went, sounding like a teenager with a gigantic crush again. He met a stranger wearing his face one time, and bam, he was flailing and helpless. This felt like that one time he ate a steak, and then went bonkers and thought that he was hallucinating Gus having two fins, when in reality, Marc had forgotten to feed the poor fish and tried to replace it with a new one. He was mad at Marc for two days, because Gus was his little one-finned wonder, alright.

“Been working at the museum for long, Stevie?” Jake then asked.

Steven looked away from the bright neon lights of a barber shop and shrugged. “Depends on how you see it,” he said. “I worked as the clerk before, selling sweets and souvenirs from the museum. I only got the job as the tour guide recently. About… six months now? It’s been a huge improvement, nonetheless, even if my boss is still an annoying hag.”

Jake grinned. “Mine too.”

“Khonshu?” he asked, then laughed when Jake nodded. “Yeah, a bit of a prick, isn’t he? I thought he was going to strangle me, with how annoyed he sounded like on the phone.”

“We were about to close,” Jake told him. “We usually close at seven, but we close later than usual on Saturday and Sunday.”

“Ah, that explains it, then,” Steven said, nodding along with the explanation. “Sorry for heaping up more troubles on you.”

“It’s good for the business anyway,” Jake said, and turned left at the three-way junction. Steven could already see the apartment building from here. “And I get to drive you home. Not a bad deal for me, be damned with Khonshu.”

Steven chewed at his lower lip, fidgeting slightly. He was trying so hard not to outright blush at the implication of Jake’s words. But it was so hard to fight his natural bodily reaction. He could feel the back of his neck warming up. “Yeah, thanks for offering. The taxi fare would be a nightmare for my bank account.”

They halted in front of the apartment building, and Jake turned to look at him. There was that same glint again in his eyes when he practically purred, “Oh, trust me, the pleasure’s all mine, little dove.”

Good God, what was it with this man? Steven felt all at once like he wanted to ask Jake if he fancied a drink, and to whimper and curl into himself because never in his life that he felt this flustered. In the end he just bit his lip harder, and tried not to fiddle with his fingers again.

A hand reached out towards him, and Steven was still a little dazed to react properly. There was a thumb pulling insistently on his lower lip, so he released it from his teeth. The thumb stayed there, rubbing at the reddened flesh, small indents from how often Steven had bitten his lip in the span of less than two hours alone. It was a bold gesture, and one that he was sure that not everyone would do to a stranger they just met.

A part of him, that sounded annoyingly like Marc, was screaming about stranger danger again, urging him to get the hell out of the car, to push away Jake’s hand because it shouldn’t be there. But a bigger part of him was promptly short-circuiting when Jake continued swiping the thumb on his lip. Steven’s mouth was parted a little, afraid that he’d accidentally lick Jake’s finger if he closed it. He was sure that his whole face was obviously red enough to rival the ketchup that Marc hated so much.

“You’ll bleed if you bite it any harder,” Jake told him, voice soft for once, yet heavy with something Steven couldn’t decipher. His eyes flicked towards Steven’s lips for a moment, his thumb stopping, and the air in the car seemed to be stagnant, as if waiting for something.

Steven, too, felt like he was waiting, though he didn’t know what that was that he waited for. But he stayed there, breath bated in his lungs, clenching the seams of his shirt tight. He watched Jake lick his own lips, and something in him ached at the sight. He wanted—he wanted to—

Jake pulled his hand away, and straightened himself. His usual grin came back as he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Stevie.”

“It’s Steven,” he reminded, voice embarrassingly hoarse. He tried not to bite his lip again, and instead opened the door. He was equal part relieved and frustrated that nothing happened in the end. It was a bit foolish, and forward, to think that Jake would be interested in having anything to do with lame, old Steven. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jake.”

He got out of the car with shaky legs, and waved as the car drove away. He was still a bit out of it when he got into the elevator, and pressed the button for his floor. It was only when he was inside his apartment that he realized that he had forgotten to take his bag and jacket from the backseat of his car; his phone, wallet, and apartment key safely tucked inside the pockets of his pants. He hadn’t even realized that, only noticing when he went to deposit his bag at its usual place, and found nothing to put down.

All because of Jake Lockley and his goddamned smirk and pet names.

Yeah, Marc was definitely going to scold him for a thousand years after this.

-

“Do you think I’m going crazy?” he asked to Gus 2.0 as he fed the fish.

He couldn’t sleep until it was pretty late. He tried to read books, solve the Rubik cube, do some light exercises. But each time he closed his eyes, Jake’s smirk was there, and Steven would wake up faster than he could ever do; skin heated and a whisper of need crawling on his back. It wasn’t that he had never had a fleeting infatuation, or plain physical attraction towards someone else. It was just that it had never been this bad before. Not to mention that Marc wasn’t there to hold him down in sleep, and thus he had to resign himself to chaining his ankle again and pouring sands around the bed.

He pointedly ignored how he tried to sleep with restlessness and a certain need down in his pelvis. He didn’t think he could face Jake if he were to jerk off to the thought of him; of his face, of the danger in the glint of his eyes, of his touch on Steven’s skin, of his smirk, of his low voice calling Steven with all sorts of endearment. Nope, no Siree, not in this household. Definitely.

“Yeah, I think so, too,” he said to the gurgle of bubbles Gus 2.0 let out. He sighed, and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the tank. It felt pleasant, so he stayed for a moment. “Marc won’t be pleased. But then again, he’s not pleased with anyone I go out with. Weird chap, that guy, really. Good thing I love him.” And good thing that Marc loved him too much to ever strangle Steven for all the troubles he found himself in over the span of their lives.

He went out of the apartment, a bit weirded out that he had to go back to the usual routine of waiting for the bus, standing amongst the crowded of people minding their own business. Fortunately, he didn’t fell asleep on someone’s back like that one time. He couldn’t help it; he was dead at his feet, and Marc hadn’t come home for a week because he had something to do. He carefully didn’t tell his brother about it.

The museum was bustling about today, since it was Sunday. Little kids with their parents, teenagers pointing to artefacts and making funny faces to imitate them; just people walking around the museum, and Steven occasionally greeted them to ask if they needed any assistance, explaining the history whenever someone asked.

He liked his job, had been dreaming of it since he worked in the museum for the first time. There was just something fascinating about recounting the old stories of how a certain outcome in history came to be, in speculating about the factuality of it all, in mulling about the superstitious reasonings of some customs. It was certainly better than selling jellies and plushies at the counter, though he did like the Taweret plushies, had two back at home.

He was distracted enough with work throughout the day, but when it was his time to clock off, he was feeling a bit jittery. He supposed it showed on his face, because he was never as good as Marc in concealing his emotions. J.B even asked him what got his panties so twisted, which Steven reprimanded for his crude language—there were children around them still!—but he kept his mouth shut. He had enough teasing from Jake alone, he didn’t any more to make himself even more anxious.

He didn’t even know what he’s worried about. It was just Jake picking him up from work, so they could go to the repair shop and Steven could reluctantly let go of his money to fix the car. It was pure business, with a dash of kindness. He was just getting worked up for no good reason. Still, he couldn’t help it.

When it was time for him to go out, he was nearly vibrating with restlessness. He waited nervously on the side of the road, eyes roving over the street to spot Jake’s car. He didn’t remember the plate number, but he remembered the shape, the color, and the brand. Should be easy enough.

Except, Jake didn’t come with that car. Or even a car at all.

A bike slowed down in front of Steven; the roaring machine petered out as the gas was let go carefully. Steven stared for a moment, uncomprehending. There was a small chuckle, muffled by the helmet, from the rider. When the helmet was opened, Steven had to hold himself back from reeling. Because it was Jake Lockley, on a bike, wearing leather jacket, and—oh, Lord have mercy on him—leather gloves as well. He looked comfortable and so, so unfairly hot like that. His curls were mussed from the helmet, an easy smile on his lips, the familiar stench of tobacco around him. Steven swallowed hard, and took a trembling step forward to greet the other man.

“Hullo,” he said, berating himself inwardly when his voice came out small and unsure.

“Been waiting long?” Jake asked, unclasping the second helmet on the back and handed it to Steven.

“No, not really,” he said. He put on the helmet, made sure the clasp was secured, before he cautiously got on the bike. “Didn’t know you ride a bike.”

“The car isn’t mine, it’s for all of us to use,” Jake explained, putting his helmet back on, and gripped the handles. “Never been on one of these babies before?” the man asked, peering at Steven from the side rearview mirror.

Steven shook his head. “Never been brave enough to try, to be exact,” he said. “Seems kinda dangerous, and I have enough bad luck as it is.”

Jake chuckled again, and prepared to go ahead, before he paused. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Steven said dumbly.

“What are you holding on?” Jake patiently elaborated.

“Oh,” he breathed out, and let go of the clutch he had on the seams of Jake’s jacket. “Sorry, didn’t know where to hold. Should I grab the bar?”

Jake shook his head, and much to Steven’s surprise and the imminent danger of his heart exploding, yanked Steven’s forearms to put it around the man’s waist. “You said it yourself; it’s dangerous. And it will be if you don’t hold on properly.”

Steven flailed a little, before he gingerly clasped his fingers together to hug Jake’s middle. It brought him closer to the man, right cheek pressed against a broad back. He could smell the leather and something that he guessed was Jake’s cologne, along with hints of sweat and musk. He barely restrained himself from burying his face on the man’s back completely, just to chase a little bit more of the heady scent.

“Hang on tight, princess,” Jake said, before they went off.

Steven didn’t want to admit that he squeaked in surprise. The bike was much faster than a car, and he wasn’t used to the maneuvering needed. He tightened his hold on Jake, closing his eyes as they went pass the streets in a blur. He was pretty sure they exceeded speed limit or something, but maybe it was just because he wasn’t used to the feeling of riding a bike.

It felt pleasant, to be honest, aside from the surprise and unfamiliarity. He could feel the wind on his face, the whizzing of every vehicle passing by, the flex of Jake’s torso each time they turned, the rumble of the machine, the way Jake’s shoulders looked so strong, felt that way, from the back. He might just enjoy this experience yet. Even if he knew that a big part of it was because it was Jake Lockley, and he got to wrap his arms around the man without making it awkward. If he pressed even closer until his front was plastered to Jake’s back—well, then, he was just unused to this, okay? No ulterior motive at all.

The ride went by faster than he’d like to admit. Before long, the bike slowed down as they entered the parking space of the repair shop. The mechanics didn’t spare them a glance, absorbed in their work. Khonshu was nowhere to be seen, but two men approached the bike, and started telling Jake about something Steven couldn’t pretend to understand.

“As much as I enjoy you clinging tight to me, we still have something to do,” Jake then said, and Steven felt his cheeks burn from embarrassment when he realized that he hadn’t let go. He had just clung to Jake in front of all these people. Great.

He let go hastily, almost stumbling as he got off the bike. Jake only laughed lightly and followed at a more sedate pace. He put the helmet on the seat, and went to unclasp Steven’s without prompting. He was probably used to how slow Steven was at everything, particularly when he was around Jake. Steven held his breath when Jake was once again within his personal space, his knuckles brushing the underside of his chin.

“Come on, little dove,” Jake said, walking towards Steven’s car.

He followed and watched with clenched fists as Jake easily divested his jacket, the muscles on his shoulders apparent through the thin black shirt. He hung it on the back of a chair, along with the gloves, which he bit down to pull off and nearly gave Steven a heart attack from doing so. He signaled to Steven to wait as he went to towards a door that must have led to the back room. Steven smiled at the mechanics around him, and some of them grinned at him; eyeing him and then glancing to where Jake had disappeared. He didn’t know, and didn’t think he wanted to know the silent conversation going between them as they exchanged loaded look with each other.

Jake came back with his jumpsuit ready, only this time, the upper part was tied around his waist, and Steven sucked in a deep breath because Jake’s shirt was tight and it clung to his defined chest. He was defined everywhere, it seemed. From his shoulders to his chest, the thick biceps and lean torso. Probably from all the heavy lifting he had to do in his job. Steven was a little bit envious; Marc was built almost similarly to Jake, and little old Steven was soft on the stomach because he didn’t exercise that much and he went through a box of chocolate whenever he tried to calm himself down from watching sad movies.

“We’ve taken a look at your car this morning,” Jake started, hands braced against the opened hood of the car. “It’s total wasteland in here.”

Steven shuffled his feet guiltily. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Jake hummed and pursed his lips a little. “There are problems on the battery, spark plugs, clutch cables, as well as dried oil. It’s a wonder you could drive as far as you could. You can go ahead and pay at the counter for the total, and they’ll give you the details of payment, things we need to change entirely or to simply repair.”

He then pointed to the cashier, and Steven ambled there. He listened without really understanding as the young woman who manned the cashier listed all the thing he should pay. He just gave her his credit card, and said his gratitude once she was done. Jake and the other mechanics were already in the process of tinkering with the machine when he came back.

“Your bag is on the bench,” Jake said without looking up.

Steven nodded and went to take his belongings. Everything was there, thankfully, nothing was missing. He went back to Jake, and clutched at the strap of his bag. “Um, how long does it take to fix it?”

“Give or take twelve days. Could be faster, could take longer; it depends,” Jake explained. “We’re a bit swamped, so I’m leaning towards around two weeks. We’ll notify you once it’s done.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Thank you for informing me. I guess I’ll take my leave?” He didn’t know why he even phrased it as a question. There was nothing else he could do here, anyway. He should let Jake work instead of bothering him.

“You got someone to drive you home tonight?”

“The taxi driver will, I’m sure,” he said with a light grin.

Jake laughed, and stepped away from the car, leaving two of his friends to continue fixing it. “Can you wait a bit? Just around,” he checked on the clock at the wall, and looked back to Steven, “twenty minutes. We’re closing soon anyway.”

“Oh,” Steven said, blinking a few times in surprise. He had thought that the offer was one-time. He didn’t expect to have Jake driving him home again. With his bike. And his leather jacket. And gloves. Oh, fuck. “Uh, I can? I mean, yes, I can. Definitely. Twenty minutes, no problem.”

Jake looked at him with a strange expression, as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or be exasperated. Probably both. In the end, however, he just led Steven to the bench, and went over to get his jacket and gloves. “Here, keep them safe for me. There’s a vending machine there if you want to drink something.”

Steven nodded and clutched the jacket closer. He put the gloves in his bag so he wouldn’t lose them. He’d keep them safe. They were worn, he realized, both the jacket and gloves, now that he had the chance to properly run his hand through the fabric. Some part of the leather on the shoulders was already flaking off, a sign of use and time. This was a well-beloved and taken care of item. Steven bit his lip, and tried not to be too conspicuous as he hugged the jacket closer to his chest. It was still warm from Jake’s body heat, and the previous scent wafted to his nose. He inhaled deep and clutched it tighter.

He watched as Jake talked with the other mechanics, laughing at something, before he went back to work on another car. He sounded so relaxed and comfortable, here in his elements, surrounded by the people he must have known for a long time. Instead of a young man who was seemingly cocky and devious, he was more open and playful. Boyish, was the right word. They ruffled his hair and he complained about their dirty hands; punching someone’s arm with a grin; muttering to himself as he bent over the hood of the car. He looked like he was enjoying himself.

Steven smiled to himself softly. It felt nice, to see a side of Jake that didn’t make him constantly flustered and losing his mind. He felt more real, somehow. Like someone Steven could care about instead of one he wanted to taste on his lips. Well, that too, but not only. This was worse than he had thought. Two days and he was thinking about such foolish things. Marc was right when he said that Steven gave his heart to easily for the world; falling too fast, shattering on the impact.

He hoped this was just a fleeting fancy, nothing more serious. Jake was charming and nice to be around. Steven shouldn’t use his kindness for his own benefit in feeding his fantasies. He knew that Marc never really approved Steven being in a relationship because not many people could understand him, could accept him as he was without demanding for some changes.

Changes weren’t always bad, as long as it means to improve, but most of the time, it was a critic of Steven’s personality and habit. It was hard not to be self-conscious of himself, after so long being the odd man out amongst his peers, to follow and bend over people’s will because he thought that they loved him, but Marc had picked up the pieces of his heart far too often. He didn’t want his brother to worry about him like that. It pained him to see Marc looking so sad and resigned.

But it was alright, this time. Jake was just naturally playful and flirty, it seemed. And Steven wouldn’t disappoint Marc again by nurturing his feelings. He felt guilty enough for desiring Jake physically. He didn’t need to take it further and put his emotions into play. Besides, people weren’t really interested in having a proper relationship with Steven once they got past the curiosity and the sweetness. They probably thought that he was too much of a dork, or too dependent on his brother, or just too weird in general because of his interests, behavior, and his internal problems, including the sleep-walking and the whole ankle restraint fiasco. Someone laughed at it once, and Marc broke their nose.

The idea that Jake would be interested in all of that mess was laughable enough.

He didn’t know how long time had passed, too engrossed in his own thought. But then Jake stood in front of him, already out of his jumpsuit, and sporting a smear of oil on his cheek. Steven stood up and reached out to wipe it with the sleeve of his shirt. It was more of a habit than anything else. Marc had done it to him countless times, as he did to Marc.

“There you go,” he said softly, smiling at Jake. “All clean.”

Jake didn’t say anything, and Steven suddenly realized that he might stepping on some landmine he wasn’t aware of. It was bold of him to touch Jake like that, despite the man having done the same yesterday. The thing was, Steven didn’t mind being touched, if he had to be honest. He didn’t get it much from anyone but Marc, but Marc was the only one he had in nearly everything. He supposed he was just lonely, or touch-starved, especially when Marc left for a while to enlist in the military, and when he started going out of country often for his job.

But he also knew that not everyone shared the same thought. He looked down and shuffled with his feet again. “I’m sorry,” he said.

There was a lone finger lifting up his chin, Jake’s dark eyes burning into his. “What for?” he asked, voice low enough that Steven had to strain to catch it. “You didn’t do anything wrong, little dove.”

Steven bit his lip, and nodded, feeling relieved and dizzy at the same time. If there was one thing he immediately noticed from Jake, aside from how unbelievably hot he was, it was his apparent lack of understanding of personal space. He had crowded into Steven a lot in the span of two days, never looking bothered with what he did. Not that Steven minded either.

Jake let his finger linger a little bit more, before he pulled his hand back. Steven unconsciously followed the warmth, and gritted his teeth when he realized too late what he was doing. “Are you- are you done for the night?” he then asked, just to alleviate the sheer mortification running through his veins. He kept forgetting that he shouldn’t do that. Marc might understand, but just because Jake had been touchy, didn’t mean that Steven should just let go of his inhibition.

“All done,” Jake nodded. Thankfully, he didn’t comment on Steven’s slip. “We can go now.”

Steven took the gloves out of his bag and gave it to Jake as the man put on his jacket. He waved a little at the other mechanics, while Jake just nodded at them and started walking towards the bike. This time, Steven was only less hesitant to put his arms around Jake. There was a pleased hum, an approval, coming from Jake at his decision. Steven didn’t know why it made his heart flutter so much. Perhaps, he was just that much of a people-pleaser.

They rode through the night, whizzing past buildings and streets. Steven felt more comfortable than the first time, and he could enjoy the sceneries as well as the feel of Jake in his arms better. They were more or less of the same height and build, though with considerable difference in muscle mass. Hugging Jake felt a lot like hugging Marc, and it brought a sort of familiar comfort in Steven. The warmth, the weight, the width, they all were nearly similar. He missed his brother more than he had thought, apparently.

He closed his eyes and tightened his hold on Jake, just enjoying the breeze hitting his face and bare hands that weren’t covered by the sleeves of his own jacket. It just felt nice to have someone to touch.

The bike then slowed, and Steven lifted his head to see that they had arrived. He climbed off the bike with some reluctance. His bum was sore, but he liked the experience enough. He gave the helmet back to Jake and smiled awkwardly at him. He didn’t know what to say, out of all thing to lose words at. He usually talked so much that oftentimes people just sighed and walked away, or in Marc’s case, very rare and only when he was in a particularly severe bad mood, just closed his palm over Steven’s lips and dragged him to the bed so they could sleep instead.

Jake reached out suddenly, and closed his hand over Steven’s. He didn’t realize he was squeezing his fists so tight from nervousness. “What is it?” he asked, gently this time, keeping his gloved hand wrapped around Steven’s wrist.

“I just—I don’t know,” he admitted with a sigh. “Thank you, I guess? For doing this for me. I know that you don’t have to pick me up and drive me home. I don’t even know where you live, whether it’s far from here. So, thank you, and sorry for being a burden.”

“You really think so lowly of yourself, don’t you?” Jake said, and tugged at Steven’s wrist, bringing him just a tad closer. “I was the one who offered. Don’t think too much and accept it as it is. I’m not one to do something I don’t want to.”

“Okay,” Steven nodded, chewing on his lower lip for a moment before he cautiously continued, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“In the morning,” Jake then said. “I’ll pick you up early. We can get some breakfast before work.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Steven paused; Jake had tightened his hold around his wrist in a warning. He stuttered and nodded at last. “Okay, then. Breakfast tomorrow.”

Jake pulled his hand away, and nodded at Steven before he drove off. Steven watched his back going further and further away, before he walked into the apartment, not sure about how he should feel. He was happy, that was for sure. But also confused and kind of scared. Jake Lockley had the capability of wrecking him in merely two days, in only several hours. He didn’t know just how much he was going to embarrass himself if he spent more time in Jake’s presence.

But, hey, this wouldn’t last forever, and this could be the only time Steven could enjoy his company. Two weeks, Jake had said. Steven didn’t know how it’d end, but he could… perhaps he could just let himself have this for the short amount of time. It was harmless anyway, right? Just someone to talk to, have breakfast together, and a companion he saw before and after he worked.

It should be alright, he was sure.

-

[buckyscombatboots]

Monstertober Day 2:

My Legacy

Pairing: Orc!Bucky x Captured!Reader

Warnings: Non con→Dub con, Dead dove: Do not eat, insults/degrading language, forced breeding, forced impregnation, drastic size difference, belly bulge, blood mention, virgin!reader, hair pulling, cowgirl→mating press, dacryphilia, dark!bucky, threat of violence, aphrodisiac

Nicknames: Tiny, little one, cum slut

Word count: 2.4 k

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This has been long awaited, I know everyone loves Orc!Bucky, me too honestly. Enjoy.

A colossal, herculean man loomed over you, he was built from slabs of muscles that shifted under his thick layers of green skin. His bulging forearms, decorated with tribal tattoos, half concealed by a pair of tanned leather bracers, lined with fur; the designs carved into the leather matched his ornate iron pauldrons, slightly covered by the reddish-brown pelt of a direwolf, and the only thing covering his lower half was a loin cloth attached to a metal belt adorned with his tribe’s insignia. His eyes narrowed in a scowl, but despite this you could see his golden eyes, with flecks of amber and a vertical slit for a pupil—reminiscent of a cat's eyes. They were trained on you, hunched between the cart and barrels “How unfortunate Tiny. Should have hid better than that.” His meaniscing tone sends a ripple of goosebumps across your skin, a scream bubbles up to your throat and dies there as he reaches out for you. You scramble away from his enormous juniper hand, the lighter skin of his palm filling your vision before he opts for grabbing you by the waist and pulling you out “Gods above I can smell chu ‘ittle one. You’re terrified out your tiny little brain, but you're still so wet for me. If you play nice, I won’t have to hurt chu.” You consider chomping down on the web of skin connecting his thumb and forefinger, but Orcs are known for their tough skin, you decide not to. You stare up at the monster before you through your long lashes, tears streaming down your cheeks “Good, Tiny human. My true name is too complicated for your kind to understand or pronounce, so you can call me Bucky. I am War chief of this clan of Orcs, it will do you well to listen or I’ll pass you to the others. They ain’t too kind to little tiny girls like chu.” He begins to walk with you, pushing you to his beefy chest like a mother holding a baby close, your hands grab for purchase at the direwolf pelt strung across his shoulders; the feeling of the fur in your hands and the familiar scent brings you solace as he carries you over to a large group of orcs, one with blonde hair turns towards Bucky smiling with his tusks on full display, you cower at the sight—you know exactly what those tusks can do, you’ve watched them tear people like parchment “Steve, I’m going to head back to camp with a small group. You stay here. Kill any survivors, pillage whatever’s left, return by nightfall.” The Orc named Steve nods and replies in a strange serious of grunts, to which Bucky also replies in the same manner. They he’s walking again, he stops infront of an orcish warhorse—specially breed to be taller and stronger than normal horses to with stand the sheer size of the orcs— then he climbs on with you held in one arm

“Where are we going?” You whisper near his ear

“To your new home ‘ittle one.”

The ride back to the camp isn’t a long one, you slept for most of it as your adrenaline finally died down or you’d fallen into a state of shock. At this point you had no idea. When you awoke you’d arrived at what he called ‘your new home’ There were countless Orcs, they barely used any of their troops to conquer your village. The feeling of hopelessness rose in you once again.

“‘ere we are, Pet. Home sweet home.” He got off the horse and handed the reins off to another orc to be taken care of. He spoke to the orc bostriously with enthusiasm, smiling so wide you thought one of his tusks would like your eye out. Then he strode off decisively through the thicket of tents. He was taking you home, to his home. Not yours. He burnt yours down, he murdered your family. You hated the fact that seeing him smile and talking so happily, despite you being unable to understand what he was saying, made you happy. His attitude was contagious.

You approached a tent that was much larger than the others, it was also dyed a faded black compared to the other plain tents. It had two lit torches on each side of the pegs keeping it up and on the tent door was the same insignia that was on his belt, but this was painted in red—the colour of blood which he was so accustomed to spilling. You had to hate him, you needed to hate him.

He pushed aside the cloth entrance revealing a very spacious tent decorated in a sporadic manner with a large table that had a map splayed on its surface, your eyes shot down to all the red markers on it. One was on your village. They had planned this and nobody knew, fresh tears welled up in your eyes and you bit your wobbling lip, but a whimper still slipped. “This is your new home princess,” he wiped the tears from your eyes with one of his thick green fingers “so don’t cry anymore. It’s all gonna be okay. If you listen, everything will be fine. Now,” he placed you on the ground and walked over to a pile of things in the corner. He turned to face you before pulling out a shotel from behind him, but this shotel was the largest one you’d ever seen; the blade was unbelievably sharp, it was obvious that he’d spent hours sharpening, cleaning and customising it. Your legs collapsed beneath you as he pointed the curved blade at you, the point resting below your chin. Tears leaked from your eyes like a flowing river, you let out a whine as he hoovered it so close to your skin that you could feel the coolness of the blade “Move and I’ll cleave your skull in half. Understood?” Your vision shook as you meet his steely glare

“Y-yes.” You blubbered, he removed the blade and pulled out a chair from the long oaken table. The chair was much larger than a normal chair, obviously hand made for orcs by orcs—no scratch that, handmade for him. The chair was even bigger than all the others, it was made for Bucky, it was made for the war chief who towered above even other orcs. He plopped down in it, the twine holding it together creaking under his substantial weight, and opened his legs slightly clapping his massive bejeweled green hands down on his muscular bulging thighs.

“Come ‘ere little one. Sit on my lap.” He commanded, spinning the shotel on its blade on the hard packed dirt next to him. When you sat frozen, on the floor, he raised the blade towards you “I know you ain’t deaf. I don’t like repeatin’ myself.” You pressed your hands either side of your thighs and pushed yourself to your feet, your legs shook as you stumbled over. He extended out a massive green hand, you took it noting how your hand could only wrap around two of his fingers. Your line of sight travelled down to his dick. It was huge. Straining against the thin fabric of his loincloth. Straining so much that you could see all its features; dark green with lighter sections of skin, ribbed, with a thick gold ring pierced through the thin skin just under the head. There was no way he’d fit.

He helped you climb onto him, practically pulling you up by your arm which was dwarfed in his grasp. You straddled his lap, sat right in front of his bulging cock. Once you were in place he undid the opulent belt keeping the loin cloth in place and pulled. With one swift movement the belt and the loin cloth were both removed and thrown to the ground. His member was now on full display; girthy, long and definitely not able to fit inside you. You paled at the sight of it throbbing and leaking “It won’t fit!” You cried, attempting to run. He grabbed your arm just before you fel to the ground and pulled you back in place. You struggled against him, floundering like a fish drowning on land “Please! Anything else! You’re gonna kill me!” His hand clasped around your face as he reached back with his free arm and came back with a hefty glass bottle filled with a shimmering clear liquid.

“Breath, Pet. I ain’t expecting it to fit in you without a little help, little one.” He uncorked it with one hand and finally removed his hand from your mouth, you relished in the woodsy scent. He poured a generous amount on his hand “Take yer clothes off. Or I’ll rip ‘em off.” He ordered sternly, you met his gaze. His cat eye pupils had blown wide, filled with lust and need. You obliged, stripping off your dirty, torn clothes that smelt heavily of smoke. You swallowed your vomit as you recollected the state of your village.

His huge green hand began slathering the liquid on your pussy, it was warm. The heat coming off of the orc had heated it in such a short period of time, your eyes met his cock again. The heat of it was slightly darker green with a bluish cast, his balls were heavy and full. Your mouth was almost watering. You were pulled from you from your blatant ogling from the sting of a finger being inserted inside you. You yelped, grabbing at his thick wrist with your small hands “It hurts!” You yowled, beating at his calloused palm with your fist, he began moving his finger and the pain slowly melted into pleasure. You hummed at the heat filling your belly “Mhmn.”

“You’re a virgin aren’t you little one, there’s blood.” He cooed, slipping another finger. Which your quivering hole gladly took. You nodded slowly, whimpering as he stretched you, scissoring his fingers “Were gonna fix that. The Oil is enchanted, it should help you be able to take me, it’s also an aphrodisiac.” His words swam in your mind becoming almost meaningless as you pushed back on his fingers until you met his rings at the base of his thick, lengthy fingers.

Suddenly he pulled his fingers out, you whimpered at the loss humping his thigh for friction. You needed more. You wanted Bucky in you “Buck. Want you in me.” You mewl, grinding your sensitive bud down on the thick skin of his thigh

“Gladly.” He lifts you as if you weigh nothing and holds you above his dick, smiling coyly at your lopped sided grin and hazy eyes before slamming you down on his fat cock. The pain momentarily breaks your gaze but then the overwhelming feeling of his humongous prick filling your insides. Your hands travel to the bulge in your stomach, running your hands over it. Marvelling at it as he thrusts in and out. The meaty slaps of Bucky bouncing you roughly up and down on his lap filled the tent, more likely than not the sound was spilling outside. You didn’t care, right now you didn’t have the liberty to think much at all with his fat cock muddling up your insides. Your tongue fell dumbly out your mouth as you dribbled mumbling and moaning with every harsh thrust “That’s it, Pet, go dumb on my massive Orc cock. Never gonna want a human after this, they can’t fill you up like an orc. How pathetic. You deserve an Orcs cock to bring you this. Much. Pleasure.” He punctuated his words with his thrusts, bashing your cervix each time. You threw your head back in a silent wail, digging your nails into his large pecs as you relished in the orgasm that wracked your body. Constricted his cock, drawing a deep, primal grunt from his core “Yes! Come! Come as many times as you want pet, soak my cock in your juices my little cockslut. Gonna get you pregnant, gonna paint you fucking tight little slut hole with my seed. Gonna watch you swell with my children. Take it.” He groaned slamming into you with a new found vigour, picking you up as he stood.

You barely even registered him laying you on the bed until he pushed back your knees, resting them near your ears. You thought it impossible but he dick managed to nestle itself even further inside of you. An electric shock ran through your body as you came again, the pleasure being tears to your eyes as his thrust became more erratic, more powerful. His face loomed above yours staring intensely into your eyes “Gonna make you a mother, Tiny. You want to be the mother of my children? You want to grow with my child? You want to birth My Legacy?” He asked, “Answer me.” He demanded pounded into your cunt, his balls smacking against your ass, twitching, as he pushed down on your bent knees.

“Yes! Make me a mommy!” You cried, squeezing around him as he came inside you, he continued to thrust as he shot ropes and ropes of cum into you. Your stomach swelling with the sheer amount of spend shooting from his spasming tip.

“Ah feels so fucking good. Look at you, your body can barely contain my cum.” He chuckled, huffing, sweat glistening on his forehead as he littered your reddened face, ruined with tears and spit with passionate open mouth kisses.

“Felt good, wanna nap.” You yawned, your body tremouring from the overstimulation, your clit puffy and sensitive as his pelvis pressed into you enrolling you completely, blocking out almost all the light in the tent.

A hearty chuckle emerges from him, the sound fills your ears making more slick drip from your cunt onto his cock still buried in your overflowing pussy “Oh, we ain’t done yet, Pet. Gotta make sure you’re nice and pregnant, gonna fuck ya till I make ya look pregnant; so everyone knows who you belong to, that I have claimed you and that they can never touch you. ‘Cause you’re gonna have my babies, I’ll keep you filled and wanton on my cock ‘cause we Orcs mate for life after all, Tiny, and I’ve chosen you to be the bearer of My legacy.”

Tag list: @alina02 @winterslove1917 @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @petesey @getwellsoontana @feyfantome @alexxavicry @ashenc-blog @floral-recs @renster05 @redbloodedgurl @teambarnes72 @shrekwreck @sweetwrathoflilith @cjand10 @bunnyscraft @flamefoxxrecs @addie5587483

[star-girl69]

I Loved You Like the Sun

a/n: me hurriedly watching youtube videos on what happens during the dance of dragons so i can continue writing this story (which also means we’re going my version of book canon) should i probably wait until season 2 of the show comes out? maybe. but i love my babies and this fic and idk if i can do that so i hope you all enjoy a very angsty chapter!!

also apologies for this chapter being kinda short i just thought that was the best place to end it

disclaimer: i SUCK at angst so bear with me pls

warnings: incest, angst, the girls (+ daemon but tbh the girls) are fightinggg, swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of death, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Twenty Four- Pawn

—-

“It’s no easy thing for a man to be a dragonslayer.”Daemon starts, hands digging into the table. “But dragons can kill dragons, and have. The simple truth is this: we have more dragons than Aegon.”

“Viserys spike often of the Valyrian histories. I know them well.” You watch, from beside her, as Rhaenyra takes a deep breath. Her crown discarded in the warm firelight.

You are not a warrior, you know nothing of battle and what it means to kill a man. You have only seen two dead bodies in your life. Your mother’s and your husband’s. You do not know death, other than the feeling when you are away from them, and you do not know war, other than the battle between your head and heart.

Your heart screams to be done with all this war, to marry Aemond because although you will not live for the rest of your life, you children will be safe. And that it all you could ever ask for. But your mind knows that surviving is not living. You would whither with Aemond like you did with your first husband. Your children be deprived of their mother.

You wish war had not come to Westeros. But it is here, and you know you must choose.

“When dragons flew to war… everything burned. I do not wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone.”

“Are you considering the Hightower’s terms, Your Grace?” A lord speaks, and Daemon straightens.

“As Queen, what is my true duty to the realm, Lord Bartimos? Ensuring peace and unity? Or that I sit the Iron Throne no matter the cost?”

You stare at Rhaenyra.

You are being a hypocrite, you recognize this, but it is different when Rhaenyra accepts that you marry Aemond. It is as if she has grown born with you, does not want you, does not love you. And even though she assured you just earlier that day, you wonder if she has gone back on her promise.

You think a tear falls down your face.

“That’s your father talking,” Daemon hisses, taking a step back from the table.

“My father’s dead.” Daemon walks around the table, towards the roaring fire. But you are frozen. “And he chose me as his successor… to defend the realm not cast it headlong into war.”

“Well the enemy have declared war! What are you going to do about it?”

The room is filled with tense silence, and you fight back tears.

“Clear the room.” The shuffling of feet, the undeniable breaking of your heart fade into one.

You watch through blurry eyes as Daemon paces, and Rhaenyra walks over to him.

“Y/N, sweetheart, we’ll come to you later. No need for you to see this.” Daemon says, dismissing you with a sigh and a hand through his hair. He speaks from habit, and you can tell he is more focused on fighting with Rhaenyra than you. You should heed him. Think, calm yourself.

But you are hurt, and you wish to yell and scream like a wild woman.

“No. No, no, no,” you repeat, walking over to them.

Daemon looks up as you walk over, brow furrowing as he sees the state you are in. Betrayal and sadness runs in your veins, but it is as if your arteries have burst and the blood is collecting under your skin. And you are paper thin- it is easy to see through to your anguish.

Rhaenyra turns at your quick footsteps, and you barrel into her, grabbing her biceps.

“You- you wish to fucking throw me out? Sweep me aside like I am trash? I am the mother of your children, your wife, who you swore to protect and love.” Tears stream, and you can barely make out Rhaenyra’s shocked face. “I have loved you all my life. And now… now you wish to accept their terms and marry me off to that one-eyed swine!” Your fingers dig, and some part of you that will always love her hopes you are not hurting her. You just want her to listen to you, to see you. “What have I- what have I done to-”

And with a wild gasp, you pull away from her and curl in on yourself, sobbing and screeching because you do not know what you have done to make her do this to you.

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra says, and you feel her reach for you through your hair, untamed and hanging over you like a curtain.

Her hands cup your face, and you let her, because you’ll always love her. Through your hiccups and wild sobs, you hear her voice fill your ears, see her lips move.

“I would never do that,” she hisses. “If were to accept their terms, you would not marry him. Do you hear me? I wouldn’t fucking- they can’t take you from me again. Trust me,” she implores, but you are sick with it. With your own pain, your own memories.

Finally, when you have the strength to look up and face her, half of you is surprised to find her concerned, eyes darting back and forth. She brushes damp hair from your forehead, slick with tears, shushes you with a pout of her pretty mouth.

“Why would you ever think that?” She tilts her head, smiling fondly, like you are a young child who has just made a mistake. “You are my sun, my beacon, I rely on you to guide me home.”

You pull away from her, watch with apathy as her face falls. Hands still outstretched, still reaching for you, as if she will blink and you will be back in her arms again.

“Y/N, I-”

“You’re a fool if you think they will let us keep her.”

Rhaenyra’s face hardens, no more sweetness, rounding on Daemon with the fury of a thousand dragons in her eyes. How she has looked at him all day.

“I will make them.”

He scoffs, a cruel, hostile thing. “With what power? You are surrendering if you agree. You are giving up each wisp of power we are barely holding onto.”

“Fine. Fine, Daemon, tell me what you would have me do.”

“I would have you attack, act first, ensure that our family and our wife will be safe and where they belong.”

You watch as she studies him for a second, lilac eyes trailing up and down his figure. She turns away.

“Alicent is not cruel.”

“Perhaps,” your husband agrees. “But her father is. Her father has impressed his cruelty onto her. Whether you want to believe it or not.” You watch as he sighs again, runs a hand through his hair, and you swear his hand shakes. “It is good, politically, to marry Y/N to him. Otto is a cunt, but not a fool. She represents everything. She rides Cannibal. She is our life. Our fucking marriage to her represents Targaryen heraldry, open-mindedness that Otto cannot have.”

He lowers his head, but looks up at you through his lashes. Your tears have long since ebbed, cut off by him, because you have always been water and he is your dam.

“Aegon’s claim rests on the fact that you are a woman. What you need to do, Rhaenyra, as Queen, as my Queen, is let me go to the Riverlands-”

And with that, whatever spell he had woven with his seminal words and calming presences breaks.

“Do not act as if you are innocent.” His eyes narrow on you.

“I never claimed to be anything than what I am, darling.”

“And what are you? The perfect husband, the dashing warrior?”

“No-”

“Right. Because a perfect- not even a perfect husband, but a good husband would not abandon us in times of war. Would not leave us vulnerable, and fucking lonely.” You feel ashamed at how your voice cracks at the end, tears flowing freely because Daemon is no longer your dam, he is your source.

“I know you don’t wish for me to leave,” he says, slowly, carefully, “but you- both of you- must have realized by now that not even death could tear me away. I would simply crawl back. My love for you two goes beyond fucking breathing.”

But even at his kind words, sparking bright images in your eyes, you and Rhaenyra stand stiff.

But suddenly, Rhaenyra’s sigh breaks the silence.

“Please. I do not want us to fight. Let us be on the same side, so we can focus on the real war, on what is actually in front of us.”

“So you will fight?”

“I will not tear our family apart.”

And that answer seems good enough for Daemon, because he quiets, folding his hands in front of him. His eyes meet yours, through the darkness, the faint orange glow, the sound of crackling wood in the air.

“I do not want to leave.” Is all you can think to say.

“You won’t.” Rhaenyra assures, taking a step forward. When you don’t react, she takes your hand in hers. Thumb rubbing comfortingly against your skin, and the tension seeps from your body.

“And I do not want Daemon to leave.” Rhaenyra leans forward, brushes your hair back, places a feather light kiss upon your warm neck. “But if you truly believe it to be the best course of action, I’ll support it.”

Daemon joins you as well, grabbing your other hand to press a kiss to your knuckles. When he speaks, he is resigned, bored. But not with you. Never with you. Never with Rhaenyra.

“That is the thing about war, love. You never truly know what is the best way.”

—-

taglist:

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[roipecheur]

AU where the Jedi council discovers Anakin’s marriage early and kicks him out of the order and Padmé tolerates his reckless shenanigans for like 2-3 years max before filing for divorce because she is a member of the Senate in the middle of a galactic war and that is not compatible with a husband who keeps flying off to have adventures, covering their bedroom floor with the mechanical parts of whatever the hell he’s working on now, and trying to fistfight anyone he even thinks insulted her

And Anakin deals with this by going on a massive bender and sucking and fucking his way through the galaxy, but it’s far enough removed from everything important that no one thinks to check on him

Five or so years later, people at the Jedi temple start to notice the influx of very powerful Force-sensitive babies--like, the incidents of stuff in the nursery floating and randomly catching on fire have gone way up over the past few years, and someone probably would’ve caught on sooner if not for, y’know, the galactic war that is still going on with no end in sight--but huh, now that you mention it, yeah, there have been a lot more babies than usual, and do some of them look uncannily alike, despite coming from planets at nearly opposite ends of the galaxy? What’s up with that?

What’s up with that, someone discovers after running some tests, is that a solid few dozen of these kids have the same father

And they have his DNA on file, but at this point, they’re really only confirming what everyone already knows

Mace Windu, who thought he had finally gotten rid of Anakin Skywalker once and for all and is now staring down the barrel of thirty-seven Anakin Skywalkers and Force knows how many more are out there and didn’t make their way to the Temple! seriously considers taking up drinking

Obi-Wan, face-down on his bed and halfway through a bottle of Corellian rum, is way ahead of him 

So, your mission, the Council tells a group of four sober, young Jedi who just graduated to Knighthood and were not particularly close with Anakin Skywalker, is to stop this absolute goddamn menace from sucking and fucking his way across the galaxy before we have to build a second nursery just to deal with his offspring

A week later, they all come back looking pink and sheepish. Yes, they found Anakin Skywalker. Yes, they asked him politely to use contraception. Yes, they asked him very nicely. He’s really very nice once you get to know him...

(At least the ones of them who can get pregnant are all on birth control.)

(Mace Windu asks Obi-Wan where he gets his rum)

Of course, they send Obi-Wan next. He spent ten years as the lone, stalwart figure keeping Skywalker nonsense at bay. Surely he can convince his former Padawan to tone it down. Surely, Obi-Wan thinks to himself as he white-knuckles his transport down to the planet’s surface, trying not to think about how much he hates flying.

He finds Anakin in what is politely called a parlor house but more accurately called a brothel with a Twi’lek woman on one arm and a Zabrak man on the other, singing something at the top of his lungs that makes Obi-Wan’s ears burn. When Anakin sees him, he abandons his song and his company both, runs over to Obi-Wan, and greets him by kissing him full on the mouth.

(That’s just how he does things now. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it.)

Anakin looks good. He looks happy, Obi-Wan supposes, unburdened in a way he never did at the Jedi temple, never did in all the time Obi-Wan knew him before. He isn’t sure how to feel about that. They drink what is some very excellent beer and talk for awhile, and Obi-Wan can’t quite broach the topic of why he’s here in the first place. He forgot how bright Anakin shone in the Force

When he returns to Coruscant, Mace Windu is waiting on the landing platform with baited breath to ask him how it went

Obi-Wan looks very pink and very sheepish. He mumbles something. Mace Windu lets out a string of curses that would put the meanest gangster of Coruscant’s underbelly to shame.

The next day, Mace Windu departs for Anakin’s last known location and drags Obi-Wan with him because he needs back-up and he’s certainly not going to let Skywalker corrupt anyone else. Obi-Wan makes sure to bring another bottle of Corellian rum

“I’m going to neuter that man,” Mace Windu says upon their return to the Temple. He’s lying in one of the ornamental koi ponds, robes billowing around him and head resting against the side, the fish nipping idly at the material. “I’d be doing everyone a favor.”

Obi-Wan hmms noncommittally, sitting cross-legged alongside the pool. “You’re just mad he got you to dance with him.”

Mace Windu covers his face with a lily pad

And Palpatine never gets to turn Anakin to the dark side because he’s too busy sucking and fucking

[dreamerstreamer]

Something SMP au where your like a year younger than Tommy and are basically adopted into the sleepy bois family? Like hcs of family shenanigans when you are the official baby of the group.

notes: gn!reader, contains some spoilers

being a part of the sbi family is both parts wholesome and a mess

on one hand, you truly love the family you’ve been welcomed into and you’ve never felt safer

but on the other, your life will never be nearly as calm again

philza might not have been the best father before, but with you, he tries his best

after all, you’re the youngest, his new precious baby

if you ever need something—anything at all—you best believe he’s going to do his best to get it for you

even if it means spending ages mining through a cave or weeks travelling

he would hand you the world on a silver platter if he could

and he’s always there for when you need a shoulder to lean on and just complain

it may be hard, but he’s going to do his best to be a better dad to all his kids

starting with you

“is it cool if i call you dad?” you ask, one day

phil blinks at you, tilting his head. “why wouldn’t it be?”

you jump, and glance down at your feet. “i, um, i don’t want to intrude or anything, since i’m adopted and all, so—”

you’re cut off by the sound of soft laughter, and you raise your head to see phil chuckling. “you’re a part of this family as much as anyone else, [y/n].”

your chest feels light and warm all at once as you barrel into him for a tight hug

meanwhile, technoblade isn’t really the type to be affectionate on the outside

but deep down, you know he’s a total softie

he knows your favourite flower without having to think about it, and he doesn’t have to ask to know how you like your eggs 

it’s just second nature to him, at this point

after all, you are the youngest phil would probably kill him if he was mean to you, anyways

you’ll mention that you were looking to find a few netherite ingots so you could make a new pickaxe

and the next day, you’ll wake up to find a brand new netherite pickaxe sitting on your doorstep

wrapped with a bow and already enchanted with efficiency v and unbreaking iii

he’d never admit it was him, but you see the way his lips twitch fondly when you gush about your new gift

“it’s a good pickaxe, isn’t it?” he quips as he watches your eyes glimmer with joy

“it is!” with a nod, you shoot him a sly grin. “it’s almost like whoever got it for me knows me like the back of their hand.”

he freezes, and you pretend not to notice the slight flush of his cheeks. “sure seems like it.”

he’s quiet in his care for you like that, and you don’t mind it one bit

don’t think you he won’t tease you, though!

no one is safe from his teasing, and you’re no exception, youngest or not :)

even though he may call you a nerd more than just a few times and push you around a little, you know he means well

just like wilbur does. or did

now, well... now he’s just ghostbur, you suppose

when wilbur was alive, he was kind to you, always taking the time to pat your head and spending hours with you blabbering about nonsense even when he had a country to lead

“if you’re the president of l’manburg, then what am i?”

wilbur stares at you before nudging your shoulder with his, a smile tugging at his lips. “i dunno—what do you want to be?”

you hum, pausing for a moment. “i’m not sure,” you finally say, “but whatever i become, i hope it means i get to stay with you.”

you don’t see the way his eyes widen at your words, soft, brotherly affection flitting across his face as he shoves you playfully

it doesn’t matter to you that he got exiled, later

to you, he’s still your big brother, and you’d wait for him for forever if you had to

you would sneak out to pay him and tommy visits, effectively acting as a spy and grasping at the shreds of your family while everything turned to ash around you

it wasn’t until after he started to slip that the two of you grew distant as you slowly started to realize that this wasn’t the wilbur you knew and loved

the wilbur you knew was snarky, sarcastic, and funny

this wilbur was manic, unhinged, and far too destructive for his own good

despite all his flaws, you still loved your brother, even after manburg’s destruction and his passing, which struck you to your core

you never thought you’d see your dad be the one to take your brother’s life

you couldn’t forgive phil for a while after that, or wilbur, for a matter of fact

but when he came back as ghostbur, part of you was relieved

this was the wilbur you remembered, even if he wasn’t quite the same as when he left you

you still love to spend time with him, exploring the fields as the two of you reminisce on the good memories of days long gone

then there’s tommy

if there’s any way to describe your relationship with tommy, it would have to be chaotic

he loves to poke fun at you for being the youngest

“just because you’re older doesn’t mean you’re better than me,” you point out with a pout.

tommy grins at you, wide and true. “no, it does.”

“tommy, no—”

the sheer number of pranks the two of you play on each other is astronomical, really

sometimes you’ll fill all of his chests with carrots and he’ll hide all of your armour, just to see how the other person reacts

spoiler alert: your prank wars almost always end up with one of you calling one of your other family members for help, screaming your heads off at each other

phil and wilbur have learned to tolerate it

techno has not

“you guys are both such losers—just have a fistfight and whoever wins is right.”

“techno, that’s a horrible idea,” phil says exasperatedly

techno shrugs with a small smile as you glower at tommy. “maybe, but it works.”

meanwhile, ghostbur is tugging tommy away with an apologetic grin, and it’s only then that you guys resolve the problem

your family is... wild at best and dysfunctional at worst

but above all else, they’re your family

and you love them to bits

[happytroopers]

Sick days // Hunter x reader

My google history search after this: what do they call toilets in Star Wars? Star Wars rabies?

Summary: I would do anything for Hunter, even take care of him when he has food poisoning. I saw a sick day prompt list and didn't end up using anything but it inspired this cluster fuck

TW: throwing up, alcohol mention but no use, bad writing I just love him ok

"Hey, have you seen Hunter? I need him to sign off on some damage reports." You announced as you entered the cockpit of the ship as it barreled through hyperspace, throwing a pointed look at Wrecker who was the main reason for most of aforementioned damage reports.The other members of Clone Force 99 made some sort of acknowledgment of your existence. Wrecker grinned obliviously at you as continued doing bicep curls with a GONK droid while Tech made brief eye contact with you before going back to some sort of machinery he’d dissected. Crosshair was the only one to actually somewhat answer your question, giving you a sassily quirked eyebrow and motioning down with his toothpick. "I’m assuming that super vague motion would mean he’s in the cargo hold?" You pressed but you had already turned around to go find the sergeant. "Should we tell ‘er?" You heard Wrecker ask but when no one answered him, you assumed things would be fine. Besides after almost a year with the Bad Batch, you’d walked in on them in all sorts of compromising moments. Nothing would surprise you anymore.

After popping down the ladder into the cargo bay, you did a cursory sweep. Crosshairs rifle was disassembled on a crate for cleaning, more of Tech’s mechanical experiments in a heap by the bay doors, your own trunk of belonging… but no sign of Hunter. "Hunter? Are you down here?" You poked a little further into the sleeping quarters, like any room that housed four soldiers who didn’t know how to mop, the smell chased you right back out. Shaking your head you thought to yourself, That should be considered a hazard zone. You paused by the fresher to listen for water running but heard nothing, which officially meant Hunter hadn’t been anywhere you checked, Hell, did he jump out of an airlock? Just as you were about to give up, you heard an awful noise come from the fresher. Like a bantha dying in a fire. Did some animal stow away? Absentmindedly you considered getting Wrecker to handle it- the last thing you needed was contracting some planet-specific strain of rabies. But then you considered that in the process, Wrecker would probably destroy the entire bathroom. And then everyone would be without a bathroom for the next two days… and that could get ugly. Then the noise came again, bringing you out of your mental debate. With a heavy sigh, you decided you’d have to check it out yourself. So, after pulling a random tool off your belt, you let the door slide open. To your surprise, Hunter was the first thing you saw, bent at the waist over the vac tube, bracing himself with one shaking arm against the durasteel wall. His helmet was discarded carelessly two feet closer to the entrance, and the enhanced trooper was heaving breaths, looking rather haggard. Almost stupidly the first thing that came out of your mouth was, "Oh my God, did the animal do this to you?" Hunter actually startled, which had never happened before. He was impossible to sneak up on, it was his whole thing. When he did look up at you, he looked confused, among other things. His skin pallor was four shades lighter than it was supposed to be, slightly greenish gray, and dew dropped with sweat. "Animal? What animal?" "The animal that made that-" You cut yourself off suddenly feeling dumb, now lamely dropping your defense tool. Then the disbelief, "Oh my- that noise was you?" He didn’t get the chance to answer again, instead turning his head back towards the vac tube to wretch again. Now with that information, the haggard appearance made more sense. "Hunter… you look like shit." You scolded, hesitantly moving closer, “Like, legitimately corpse like.” The sergeant coughed a bit before throwing you glare, “Thank you, (Y/L/N), that’s very helpful. Did you need something?” Damage reports long forgotten, you ignored the question instead more concerned with the trooper in front of you, “Why the hell are you standing like that? What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”

Hunter was confused with this sudden line of questioning, turning his head to gag a little bit but this time he kept it under control to answer you, “Clones don’t get sick.”

“So this is normal for you?” You snarked right back, “Here, try kneeling, it won’t take as much of a toll on your body like that.”

At first he didn’t listen to you, just when the ship hit a patch of turbulence it triggered another wave which forced him to a knee. Then it hit you, clones don’t get sick, they’re engineered with near perfect immune systems.

“You’ve never been sick before have you?” You whispered sympathetically, he legitimately didn’t know how to handle being sick. Frowning, worried welled up in your stomach. It was almost painful to watch the man be so sick, after all how many times had he saved you or helped you out of a tight spot, so you looked away until he quieted again. This time he took a minute to catch his breath so you took some liberties.

“First, let’s get your hair off your neck and face. You’ll feel less gross.” You promised, going behind him to gently scrape his long hair into a makeshift bun and tie it off with a spare hair tie.

“What are you doing?”  He croaked, but didn’t pull away from your hands.

“Taking care of you, now shut up and let me.” While your voice was still kind, you were just stern enough not to argue with you, “Now, lean up.”

You didn’t wait for him to follow the orders, instead you started unfastening pieces of armor on his arms before moving on to the chest and torso pieces. Moments later he was able to move a little freer and his armor from the waist up was neatly stacked to you right.

“There, that should help with the overheating.” You announced, not mentioned how he couldn’t bend over properly with a piece of plastoid against his abdomen. You gave him another once over, he was taking deep breaths with his eyes closed, little baby hairs already escaping your rather pitiful man bun situation. You’d never seen him so vulnerable.

“So clones don’t get sick, why are you throwing up like my roommate after her twenty first birthday?” You asked quietly, gently moving the stray bits of his forehead.

“Would you believe that I ate an expired meal ration?” He asked with enough doubt in your voice that you immediately shook your head.

“You’re not that stupid Hunter.”

“I lost a bet with Crosshair and had to eat part of the Yalbec stinger. Tech did say it was a delicacy on some planets.” He sighed, dry heaving again.

“I also remember him saying it was mildly poisonous to humans.” You reminded him, going past him to the shelves that held shower things. Reaching into your own caddy, you produced a rag before wetting it in the sink.

“Yeah, I lost the bet before he enlightened us.” Hunter admitted, visibly relaxing when you put the cold rag on his neck before sliding into a sitting position next to him, “How do you know all this stuff?”

“Well, us normies get sick a lot.” You teased, laughing when you caught the disgusted look on his face, “But, I learned most of this stuff taking care of my hungover friends.”

“Oh, just your friends?” It was Hunter’s turn to sass you, but you just rolled your eyes. The two of you fell into a halfway comfortable silence, so you took your data pad to do a little research on Yalbec poisoning.

“You don’t have to stay for this?” Hunter reminded you, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat off his forehead. When you looked back over to him, he was staring at you. Even when puking, his eyes could stare straight through you. Hurriedly, you dropped your gaze back to your data pad.

“Well, you spend all your time taking care of them,” you motioned up towards the cockpit, “And me. So someone has to look out for you when you need it, you don’t have to suffer alone.”

His eyes softened as he relaxed slightly, you were glad to see his coloring was already getting better. But after a few moments, even the softness of his stare brought a flush to your cheeks so you just cleared your throat, “Well, the good news is that the holonet says someone of your size and weight will be fine. Symptoms should pass within twelve hours at the most, and it’s already been five.”

“Thank you, (Y/N).”

Your head snapped back up, he rarely ever called you by your first name. Somehow it almost felt intimate.

“Of course, Hunter.”

You scooted a little closer so that your knees would touch. Closer than you had ever been to him, but he didn’t scoot away. You smiled at the small contact, shaking your head.

“Can I impart on you a bit of civilian wisdom?” You asked teasingly, not even waiting him to nod. You took the rag off his neck and used it to dab sweat off his forehead, “Don’t eat random things on a dare, especially things you cut off foreign animals.”

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”