#choppers probably going to have to take her blood pressure again

[mostly-artsy]

offputting nico robin my beloved, a post-time skip checkup comic

I just drew this from @/magicaylee’s post on tiktok

[soaps-mohawk]

I am... Desperately waiting for chapter 9, no pressure, but I read the last two back to back and I gripping my sheets in anticipation. I was expecting to read that Ghost had a similar experience with his father, but then you threw me from the chopper with no parachute and no warning. Like holy fuck. Also he seemed... Upset that he Price was happy to make the Omega happy and get her what she likes.. is it because he was having difficulties moving past his trauma and nightmares as well?

If I had a way to just plug my brain into the computer and turn the images in my head into 7k words with little to no effort I would do it, believe me 😭

I mean, you're not entirely wrong. I'm using OG Ghost's backstory for this one too, like a lot of writers do, so that's definitely going to come into play later as well when reader starts revealing more and more of her backstory later on.

See, here's the thing. Ghost and death are best friends, right? They follow each other like shadows. Ghost has seen many, many people die and he has killed many himself, a lot of which were probably omegas that got caught in the crossfire. So you'd think some nameless omega getting shot in front of him wouldn't stick with him like that. Like yeah, that's pretty brutal for his first mission, but he's done far worse things since then. So, something like that shouldn't bother him.

Until, suddenly there's an omega being added to their pack. There's an unwanted dynamic being forced upon all of them and he's, of course, the least happy about it. They don't need some weak, mindless omega. They don't need a loose end, a vulnerability.

Then this omega shows up, and obviously something's off from the start. There's things not adding up, things not quite right with the omega and the situation. Suddenly this omega isn't some mindless subservient creature, it's a real person with a name and a face and he's sitting there watching his beta and Gaz and his Captain slowly fall for this thing that none of them had wanted. I mean, Price was fighting adding an omega for months before he was finally told no, you're getting one because the higher-ups said so.

So now, suddenly, there's this real, tangible thing in front of him. He's watching his beta slowly develop feelings for this omega and now he wants to pursue a bond with the omega and that's something Ghost will have to put up with, because of course he's not going to tell Johnny he can't. There's this real thing in their lives that would destroy each of them if something happened to it. He'd be forced to watch his pack, the only people he cares about in the world, fall apart if this thing was ever taken from them.

Now this nameless omega is beginning to take form in his dreams again. He's being haunted by something that happened probably fifteen years ago, something that had been lost in a haze of blood and violence. This omega that he couldn't save suddenly begins to have a face and a name, it's becoming real, something he can see, something he can lose.

The faceless omega has become the reader.

There's a real fear there now. Their lives are dangerous. They have enemies. If someone found out about the omega, it would be so easy to distract them, to tear them apart from the inside. He's scared for the first time in a long time because now there's something to lose. Something innocent and free from the bloodshed of their jobs, of their lives. Losing a member of the pack is something they all had to come to terms with. Any mission could be their last, they could die at any moment and that's something they've all had to accept. They were fine with that, they understood. It's part of the lifestyle. It's what they agreed to when they signed their names on the sheet of paper.

Now there's an omega.

Defenseless, blind to the true dangers of their lives, naive to the real horrors they're capable of. The omega didn't have a choice in this. If one of them doesn't return, then that's just the dangers of the job. If their omega is gone?

It will destroy all of them.

Well...that turned into way more than I expected but damn that felt good to finally say. Lord that's what I've been holding in ever since chapter 1 when y'all were asking "what about Ghost??" "What's Ghost's deal?" "What's going to happen to Ghost?" I've been sitting on this. I've been holding it in for so long you have no idea how good that was to finally put into words.

Obviously there's more and things will slowly get uncovered as the story goes on, but yeah. This...this is what that last little part of Chapter 8 means. This is really what Ghost was saying when he told the reader about his nightmares, about what happened to that omega he didn't even know the name of, the one he couldn't save.

It was never about some omega, it's always been the reader.

[slippinmickeys]

Proof of Life, pt 2

1. She steps off the Chinook and onto the deck of the aircraft carrier, and the first person she meets is, improbably, her older brother. Not improbable in that he was a Lieutenant in the Navy and finding him on one of its ships was not an unheard of occurrence, but improbable in that the last she knew – just before she left to fly overseas – he was stationed in San Diego, California.

“Dana!” he says, and leaps forward to crush her into his side, at the same time leading her away from the helicopter, which is already being powered down. The noise on the deck of the carrier is still loud though, and she struggles to hear Bill’s voice. She remembers to pull the ear plugs out of her ears, which helps, marginally.

When he finally gets her below deck and seals the hatch on the noise above, he whirls around and hugs her to him, tight.

“Jesus, I thought we’d lost you,” he says into her hair. “The picture was all over the news and the intel was slow to come in. It took weeks longer than – I should probably wait until you’ve been debriefed,” he interrupts himself, and extricates her from his arms, holding her at arm's length, just looking her over, as if she was a gift he had just unwrapped.

“Where’s Mulder?” she asks, the very second he seems to have recovered himself. She’s happy to see a friendly face – her brother, no less – but she’s been dying for news and couldn’t talk to anyone on the chopper, as she wasn’t wearing a headset.

“Are you hurt?” Bill asks her, like he didn’t hear her. “You’re supposed to go directly to the med bay, and I told them I was taking you personally.”

He turns and starts leading her along, and she grabs his arm and pulls up short.

“Bill,” she says, and her tone of voice catches his attention. “Where is Mulder?”

“Who?”

Not in each other’s presence five minutes and already she wants to strangle him.

“Mulder. Fox Mulder. The other hostage?”

“Oh,” Bill says. “I think he’s being debriefed on the mainland. I had to pull a lot of strings to get you here. I’m going to get you home, Dana, don’t you worry.”

“But,” she starts, and already he’s leading her along again, through bulkheads and past sailors who back themselves up against the sides of the walkways to get out of their way.

“I’ve got Ethan on a sat phone,” he goes on, turning her this way and that – she’ll never be able to find her way around without a map. “He’s champing at the bit. You can talk to him after you’ve been debriefed.”

Before she has a moment to unpack what he just said, they’re at a hatch and a nurse in BDU’s takes her arm and leads her away from her brother, who watches her, his eyes wistful, his face proud.

2.Murray had been standing next to her when it happened. She had a microphone in her hand, was attaching the earpiece in order to hear the anchors in Washington, and then there was a sound like the ripping of the fabric of time, and Murray was on the ground at her feet, a pool of blood leaking out from under him.

Militants poured out of the building behind her, screaming at her and Mikey.

One of them shoved a gun in her face yelling “Translate! Translate!” And her insides went liquid.

Mikey kept rolling, but took the time to scream “You killed the translator, fucknuts!” which earned him a punch to the knee with the barrel of an old Russian assault rifle. The next thing she knew, Mikey was being hustled into a van with his equipment and a black bag was shoved over her head and then: the Hilton. Mulder.

3. She’d refused the rape kit and just about every exam other than the blood pressure cuff the nurse put on her while she was arguing with the doctor.

“Dana, I don’t understand,” Bill says, struggling to keep up with her despite his longer legs. She doesn’t even really know where she’s going, but if she stays still another moment longer, she’s going to explode.

“The mainland, Bill,” she says without looking at him. “I need to get back to the mainland.”

“I told you,” he says, with a little more patience. “I’m going to get you home, from here. From the ship. I called in a bunch of favors.”

She feels like she is going crazy. She pulls up short and pokes Bill in the chest with her finger.

“I don’t want to go home. I want to go to the mainland!” Her eyes start to sting. She’s tired and traumatized and all she wants to do is see Mulder. Tears fall. “I just want to see him,” she pleads, quietly, to herself.

“Dana,” Bill says gently. “He’s not on the mainland. He’s in Washington. I told you, I’ve got Ethan on a sat phone link up and you can talk to him as soon as you’re out of debrief. I’m sorry, but we’ve got to follow protocol. We have intelligence to gather, and it’s time sensitive.”

She feels something inside her wither.

4.“Do you know,” Mulder says, pulling off the top of the thick plastic wrap. “That this is the best flavor of MRE? I’m shocked they were willing to part with it.” He’s nodding toward the hotel door at the guards who deliver their intermittent meals.

“Chili and macaroni?” she says dubiously. “I can’t imagine they know what they’re missing.”

They are ten minutes post-coital, and both of them are starved, but the look on Mulder’s face makes her want to dash the self-contained meal to the floor and climb back on his face.

“I know that look,” he says, nostrils flaring. “But you’ve got to let me build my strength back up.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I’ve so far been impressed with your refractory period, Mulder. Don’t go getting Starved Hostage on me, now.”

He pulls a small bag of Skittles out of the brown wrapping and tosses it to her from where he sits on the other side of the bed. She catches it easily.

“Yeah, well I need to eat something other than you,” he says, leaning forward to steal a kiss before she can register what he said.

She reaches out to playfully swat at him but he leans out of the way, and she instead opts to tear open the little bag of candy and pop a sunny yellow round into her mouth, which floods with saliva at the first hint of lemony flavor. The candies are harder than she remembers, but they’re the best thing she’s ever tasted. Their captives aren’t starving them, but they’ve both lost weight neither of them could really afford to lose.

“And it’s chili and macaroni that’s going to do it for you?” she asks.

“Listen,” he says, activating the little ration heater. “I was embedded with the 41st and the 103rd. I know of which I speak.”

The sheets are rumpled over his lap as he sits cross-legged in the bed, and she doesn’t really want to think about the state of them, but if she squints, he could be sitting in her bed back in Georgetown. A Sunday morning, coffee brewing, CBS on low on the other side of the room, nothing to do for the rest of the day but read trash literature and make love.

The sugar from the candy hits her bloodstream, making her feel a little sick.

“What are you going to do,” she asks him, her voice suddenly serious. “When we get out of here?”

The air seems to go out of the room; post-coital joy and food delivery euphoria only temporary mood enhancers.

Mulder stirs the meal with the little plastic spork. “I don’t know,” he says, without looking up. “Probably take on another assignment. Though maybe I’ll settle down and write a book. I don’t-I don’t know,” he repeats himself.

Her mind flashes to Murray’s body on the pavement at her feet.

“What about you?” he asks, lifting a sporkful to inspect it. “Do you have someone at home waiting for you?”

This is the first time he’s phrased the question thusly. When they were first getting to know each other, he’d asked her if there was anyone special she was missing terribly, and her answer had been an honest “No.” Did she have a boyfriend who missed her? Yes. Did she miss him back? Not really. Her work was too exciting and she’d only really stayed with him because he was at CNN too, he was part of it. But not a part she missed when she was in the field.

This relationship, the deepest she’s ever felt, raw and elemental and life-changing, may only exist in this room. Once they leave it, what are they to each other?

Suddenly, there is a sporkful of food hovering in front of her mouth, steam wafting up from it.

“Taste,” he says, his expression earnest and open.

She lets him feed her, and sucks the food from the utensil, chews, her mouth once again flooding with saliva.

“Shit,” she says, smiling with her mouth full and covering it with her hand while she speaks. “That’s delicious.”

“Fucking told you,” he says. He puts the spork back in his mouth and smiles around it like a cocky frat boy and she’s lost. This moment, this second, right here, she is lost. She will love him her whole life, in or out of this room.

She doesn’t realize until days later that she never actually answered his question.

5. She pushes her way through the double doors of the building on the base, having gotten the run around from three separate MPs and one dickhead brother who insisted on accompanying her.

Mulder was supposed to be here. In this building. In this room. He’d completed his debrief and gotten permission from the base commander to leave. The military had offered to fly him stateside, but he’d declined the offer and was supposedly waiting here for his ride off-base.

But as she makes a turn around the room, she finds it empty. She wants to scream. A primal urge which dies on her lips when she hears a familiar voice. In the corner of the room, a TV is suspended, tuned to CNN.

And on the screen is none other than Ethan Minette.

It takes her a moment to take it all in. Wolf Blitzer on one side of a split screen, Ethan on the other. And the Chiron beneath his face says, no shit, “Dana Scully’s boyfriend.”

“And we just, we’re so thankful to the Network for helping to get her back, Wolf,” he is saying. “And I know I just said it a minute ago, but I can’t wait to wrap my arms around her and never let go.”

At that moment, a door into the room opens, and a uniformed woman with a clipboard steps through it.

Scully, mouth dry and pulse pounding, manages to speak.

“Fox Mulder,” she says, and her voice sounds strained to her own ears. “Where is he?”

The woman’s eyes flit up to the television and back to Scully.

“Oh,” she says. “He left.”

[kazimakuwabara]

Monkies And The Weasel

Summary: The game comes to an end. But the Weasel is triumphant in his end. (Meant to be Whump, but it just hurts!) Lupin the third fanfiction

Words: about 1k.

Was inspired by the prompt "If only we could hold on"

***

It was a game, even when someone got hurt, even when someone died. It was all a gag of laughs. They were a barrel of monkeys running around in circles, chasing the weasel, and being chased by the weasel. They ran, and ran, laughing, smiling, and taking swipes at the soft spots on the back of each other's heads. It was so fun, so fun, so dizzying and fun!

All around the mulberry bush, the monkeys chased the weasel.

And at the Pop, they’d switch places and the weasel chased the monkeys.

Pop!

Switch.

Pop!

Switch.

Again, and again, and again, and again, until-

BANG.

The gunshot echoed too loudly, and the air shifted. Lupin stopped laughing, his foot stuck in the rung of a ladder. Jigen and Goemon had a hold of his arms, pearls, and diamonds hanging off their necks like a stream of dazzling stars. Fujiko was in the pilot’s seat of the helicopter, the passenger seat filled with bags of money and her share of gems. A tiara with a golden veil glittered in her hair.

Her golden honey color, and the strands of dazzling twinkles dripping from his two closest friends became grizzly and grotesque at the sound of that gunshot, and a short cut-off cough.

Air being punched out of a lung. Lupin turned, knowing before he saw, that the weasel had been caught. His eyes landed on Koichi Zenigata, his hated rival, his beloved friend, the hound, his pops, his paramour, his shadow, his noose, his lock and key. Zenigata’s hand was caught, still reaching for Lupin, his expression still fierce and determined as he reached for him. But it was changing. The fun was falling away. At the pocket of his coat, there was a small smoking little hole. It bubbled, and a small stream of blood trickled out like a fountain taking the color from Zenigata’s face. The angry, the cunning, the obsessive glint that always lit the Inspector’s face with a light that matched Lupin’s greed, coyness, and insanity, drained. Gray entered his brown cheeks like a creeping cold frosting the earth, and he looked down at the blood spilling from him. He was so surprised to see his life blood blooming on his chest. He looked back up at Lupin, and together their eyes darted behind him. The snipers that had joined Zenigata’s swat team had lined up their lights on Lupin, and in haste, in miscalculation, and without care, someone had fired.

Everyone was caught in that breath, frozen in that moment of when a bullet struck wrong. The sickening change where the friendly ‘Pop,’ had become a bang.

Yata was waving his hands at his swat team, running towards the snipers, his voice lost in the whirring of the blades of the helicopter. Red little lights danced back onto Zenigata, and a few lights managed to touch Lupin’s skin, but Zenigata would be lost if the snipers fired, and missed another hit. 

‘Missed? No, they didn’t miss. They could have accounted for the wind, for the pressure shifts, even for the damn chopper. And if they couldn’t, they shouldn’t have taken the shot. That's what a sniper does. They were told to fire. Even if Zenigata was in the way. Even if Zenigata would get hurt or die… someone from above probably thought all the better for it too,’ Lupin’s accursed, clever, terrible mind whirled, supplying an explanation in seconds. He didn't want it. He hadn't wanted it. Koichi Zenigata, for all his loveable ways, and moments of struggle… was no fool. Their eyes met, and Lupin knew that Zenigata knew…

This was an end to the game.

Zenigata, as always, wasn’t going to be satisfied unless he got in one more jab. His hand pressed to Lupin’s back, and he pushed, using the momentum of his own body’s collapse to propel Lupin forward into Jigen and Goemon’s arms. “Eyes forward, Lupin,” Zenigata rasped. "Get him out..." Yata was screaming. The copter blades were whirring.

Red lights danced.

And Pop, pop, pop… BANG, went the weasel. Time became real again as Lupin fell into Goemon and Jigen’s arms, and they hauled him into the helicopter, not wasting Zenigata’s final gift. “Don’t look, Lup, Goddammit, don’t look!” Jigen howled, his hands like claws on the back of Lupin’s head. He hadn’t even realized he had been fighting the rescue. Pop, pop, pop, went the guns…

“Lupin! Lupin! Lupin!” Goemon cried, his voice struck with the horror of the moment, his hands on Lupin’s face, trying to get Lupin to look at him. He could not see it, could not hear the final moment, but Lupin still somehow knew Zenigata’s body was getting riddled with holes. That even as the man went down laughing, pleased that he had released his prey so the carrion birds would not peck at it, he was getting shot up simply because some ugly boys wanted to destroy something beautiful. And Lupin’s beautiful inspector, with his always tired eyes, his over large hands, and his thread-bare cut was getting cut down.

“Oh my God! Those bastards!” Fujiko screamed, shaking her head like she wanted to throw a tantrum. She screamed, hateful and ugly, but she was beautiful as always as she cried.

“Lupin!” Someone screamed, and Lupin felt his hands clawing at his own hair as he wished he could just see the moment Pops slid to the ground. He didn’t care how bloody it was, but he wanted to say goodbye… he wanted that last moment with Zenigata. He could still feel Zenigata’s hand on the back of his shoulder, he could still feel that push that had shoved him into his friends’ waiting arms.

The weasel chased the monkeys. Pop. The monkeys chased the weasel. Pop. The weasel chased the monkeys. Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

They would never play again.

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

(ii)

Aside from Kibin herself and Uchui here, just Kaede Akamatsu. At least, those are the only people I've told.

Speaking of Miaya though...Uchui and I just got finished up with her.

Really? You guys sought therapy?

More like she came to talk to the two of us while we were healing...She'll probably do the same for you if you check in at the medical bay.

She wasn't trying to force us but...Kuripa was surprisingly willing to go through with it. Even though he's hated the idea for so long.

Yeah, well...things are different now...Gyalusetsu's dead, and Kotoko's been avenged. And now...Now all I've got left with me...are the screams and souls of those I've damned...

I figured if Gekkogahara could help alleviate me of those in any way, it'd be...well, cool...I guess.

Kuripa...

Eh...Forget about my trauma. I deserve it. But if you want to help, then there's one thing that I need to hear from you.

What happened the night after we last saw you? On top of Koime's mansion. You said Gyalusetsu saved you, and I want to know what you meant by that.

Actually, yeah. I'd like to know that too.

Oh...Well, ok, but...there's not much of a story.

...

——————————————————————

Mukuro: I passed out from blood loss after taking that knife for Kuripa. I really did think it was gonna be the end but...knowing what was going on back in Tokyo, I wanted you guys to leave me behind...I was fully expecting to die there, but...

Uchui: But fate had other plans for you?

Mukuro: Not fate in particular, but...a certain someone did at least. A few hours later, when I woke up, I found myself inside the mansion or...what was left of it.

——————————————————————

The first thing I noticed was...This...

*Mukuro pulls down her shirt to reveal the area just under her collarbone. Around the left hand side of her is a steel plating that seems physically implanted into her body.

What's that?

In short...it's my new heart...Well, where it is at least.

——————————————————————

Mukuro: I noticed the plating almost immediately when I woke up. The dagger Koime threw pierced my heart, and when I came to, it had been replaced with an artificial one. I had a chance to look at it later, and the technology is...nothing like I've seen before. But shortly before I could process that...

Mukuro: I opened my eyes...and saw him.

Kuripa: Gyalusetsu, right?

Mukuro: Yeah...I saw a load of equipment that he was putting away too. Some of it that had traces of blood on them. That was enough of a giveaway for me.

Makoto: So he really did save you? What did he say to you at the time?

Mukuro: I wanted to ask him a few questions, but my voice was basically gone by the time I woke up. And he'd clearly given me some meds so that my blood pressure didn't rise when I awoke. I only started talking to him after he gave me some soup.

Kuripa: Waitwaitwaitwaitwait! He made you SOUP!? What is he, your nurse!?

Mukuro: Apparently.

Uchui: But...why did he save you?

Mukuro: To be honest...I still don't know...I asked him several times but he always gave me the same answer...

——————————————————————

"You cannot die. You are too important."

"Too important?" In what regard?

Again...I don't know...

Hm...

——————————————————————

Mukuro: After I recovered enough to walk, Gyalusetsu escorted me out of the mansion and flew me in a chopper all the way back to Tokyo. I intended to catch up with you there, but Gylusetsu said that I needed to lay low for a while and support you from a distance. For a while at least, Zetsubou weren't allowed to know that I was still alive.

Uchui: In retrospect, maybe he was trying to get the Organization to let its guard down.

Makoto: But didn't Gyalusetsu work for Zetsubou?

Kuripa: Mm...

Mukuro: Either way, I didn't trust him, even if he did save me, But I played along right until he arranged a meeting with...

Makoto: Yuki and the Whitecloaks?

Mukuro: Exactly. At first, I thought Gyalusetsu might have been a spy for the Children of Utsuro, but apparently, that's not it either. He cooperated with Yuki on that one occasion and no other. He made a request to take me in as a Whitecloak so that I could support you guys from the shadows until I was ready to come back.

Uchui: And what happened during your time as a Whitecloak?

Mukuro: Well, you pretty much know all that. Occasionally I popped in to help you, like the time I helped you and Akeru escape from that Fang Inc. building.

Makoto: Thinking back, Kyoko did always have a theory that you were the one under the hood. And that you'd survived somehow. Looks like she was right.

Mukuro: I had a distinct feeling that she might catch on to me, which is why I brought Akane with me to the USA. So we could do a bait and switch and throw you off the trail.

Kuripa: Well, that was clever, I'll give you that.

——————————————————————

But...I'm afraid that's all I can tell you. A lot of our actions were taking down Zetsubou's smaller operations to give you all time to focus on the big ones.

I never saw Gyalusetsu again after joining up with Yuki and his cohorts, until last night when you two fought. I'm sorry I don't have the answers you want, Kuripa.

No. You gave me way more than enough. Thanks to you, I've filled in the blanks.

The reason Gyalusetsu saved you...I think it might have something to do with the future he was trying to create...

Mysteries Running Deeper...

[Future Foundation Branch 14 Head Office - Several Hours Later]

This feels...strange...This was basically my home for so long, but...having not been here in a year, it feels...weird coming back.

Yeah. Same is true for me. I haven't been here in a long time either.

And recently, I was worried that I might never be able to come back.

Why not?

Kyoko loves me dearly, but she knows to make tough calls. If I hadn't gotten out of that twisted headspace when I did, I...Well, you get the picture.

Makoto...I know this didn't work out so well the last time but...maybe it would be best if you sought consultation with Miaya.

I know...Maybe that would be best...still...

*He reaches out and takes her hand.

I don't think I would have been comfy spending time in this office if you weren't here in it. Shortly after you...left...every time someone came in through the door I'd raise my head hoping it'd be you but...it was never going to be.

I...I know I can't stop you from doing your duty, but...Please...Never do any of that again. For me, or for anyone else.

That's not a promise I can keep...

Well, you had fuckin' bettah...

Ah!? K-Kuripa!?

You're...WHAT!? You're ok!?

Eh...Mostly...

Hey...

*Kuripa is wheeled into the room on a chair by Uchui. His face is patched up, but his broken legs and arms are thoroughly bandaged. Uchui also has smaller bandages around his face.

Jeez...You got that face issue fixed FAST!

I told you guys, Uchui's tech is like magic.

I've done operations like this on Kuripa at least a dozen times already, but I actually had surgical help from Tsumiki and Inori this time. They insisted he take pain medicine and lie down for a few hours...not sure why since he doesn't feel pain anyway...but he insisted on coming to talk to you guys.

This is the first time he's thoroughly damaged his face, but it should be equally as persuadable. Still, it's gonna leave a nasty scar.

I don't see a scar.

Yeah, well, it'll take a while to form, but it'll pop up eventually. I might have to get stitches to prevent half my face falling off in the future.

Is...that...really how that...works?

Nah, I don't think so, but Mod Creeper was too lazy to go and add a scar to all my sprites. So hopefully it'll be on my redesign in Phase 3.

I don't know what any of those words mean, but I'm glad you're doing better.

...

So...is it really true? You really can't feel pain?

Pfft...Check the medical records if you don't believe me. They only now just got updated to include my condition.

Is that why you avoided getting medical help for so long? You didn't want anyone else knowing about your CIPA's?

Pretty much...It's...pretty personal to me. I didn't tell you guys, not because I don't trust you, but because I just don't like talking about how fucked up I am in basically every way...

How many people knew before you and Kibin told us?

[disgruntledspacedad]

Exit Wounds

pairing: Steve Murphy x Javier Peña, buddies or pre-slash, up to you. Not part of the Better Love ‘verse.

summary: Steve comes to several realizations all at once. Steve Murphy POV.

words: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ - violence (beyond canon-typical), GSW, ambiguous ending, ANGST. You really probably shouldn’t read this one at all, my dudes.

a/n: unbeta’d. For those sharp eyed readers, there’s a slight canon change regarding Brady’s murder.

“Stay back,” Steve mouths, lifting a hand to Javier’s chest. Behind him, Steve can damn near feel Javi rolling his eyes, but he keeps still, both of them hardly daring to breathe as they pause at the corner of the stairwell. 

Feo is waiting for them. Steve just knows it.

Dread and anticipation are rising in him, age old instinct and adrenaline converging into a single minded awareness that sharpens every sense. Steve’s heartbeat thrums in his ears. Reality glitters around him. Javi huffs softly at his shoulder, eager, impatient. 

It’s like having a superpower. 

Carefully, Steve edges his gaze just around the corner, and leaps back as a single round grazes just past his left ear. He feels the zing of displaced air before he’s even aware of the crack of gunfire. 

“Shit,” he hisses. 

That had been close. 

“Think you found him,” Javi supplies helpfully. 

Above them, there’s a scuffle, receding footsteps. Javi doesn’t wait - he’s already tearing around the corner, glock extended, giving chase.

Steve leaps at his heels.

He’ll never admit it, not to anybody and especially not to Connie because she worries, but this is Steve’s favorite part of the job. There’s something primal and evocative about chasing a bad guy through the streets of Medellín. It calls back to that little boy in Memphis, playing cops and robbers with the neighborhood kids until long past the streetlamps had lit. It awakens that visceral sense of masculine justice that’s simmered just beneath the surface of Steve’s thoughts since he could remember; the burning need to protect, to avenge, to do the right thing.

And fuck, it’s just fun.

He grits his teeth and digs in, running for all he’s worth. Chases in Medellín are all sticky heat and creaking rooftops that pop beneath a grown man’s weight, the smell of spices and gunpowder and unwashed bodies. The air is thick like soup. It stagnates in his lungs, stifles his breaths. His heart pounds wildly. Sweat pours down his back and clings to his shirt, and Steve basks in it all, loving every second. 

Javi ducks into one of the zócalos, taking a short cut on a hunch. Steve follows. The world narrows, the entire cramped room smelling of tortillas and goat milk. The darkness inside is a stark contrast to the midday Medellín sun, and Steve barrels into the tiny kitchen table before his eyes can fully adjust. A child shrieks, and Javi pauses just long enough to wince toward her mother as Steve staggers to his feet. 

“Sorry,” he bleats, already stumbling out the door.

Outside, they are faced with a choice. Stairs going up to the rooftops. Stairs going down into the alleyway. Absolute silence. 

Steve takes the street and Javi takes the high ground. There’s no discussion, no pause to consider, no flicker of eye contact and a question. Steve and Javi move as one unit in two bodies, working in seamless tandem that comes from surviving and thriving together in countless life or death scenarios.

Feo is not in the street, it’s apparent immediately.  Steve has gone the wrong way. 

Well, win some, lose some. The comuna is built into a slope, like so many comunas are, and Steve makes for the top of it, determined to get a better view. Maybe he can cut Feo off while Javi herds him forward, though it’s unlikely. 

He reaches the top of the hill and whirls, shading his eyes against the sun as he glances over the rooftops, searching. 

Javier shouts in Spanish. Steve cranes his neck toward the sound. He’s close.

There.

A shot rings out. That’s nothing new - shots are always ringing out in Medellín. It’s practically how the sicarios say hello. 

But this time, it’s different. This time, Javier staggers back like he’s been punched in the solar plexus, and Steve’s world converges into two undeniable facts - dread, and absolute certainty.

Javi’s been hit. 

Somehow, Steve has the sense of mind to radio for backup with medical, an instinct honed from years of beats in the shadier neighborhoods of Miami. He doesn’t bother listening for the garbled response, he’s just running, tearing down the hill with one ominous thought replaying through his mind. 

He can’t see Javi anymore.

Steve shakes away the implications and focuses on what he can remember - where Javi had been standing, the direction of his voice. His lungs are burning, heart pounding painfully in his chest, but Steve’s totally unaware of that. It shouldn’t be possible, but he’s flying, feet hardly hitting the ground as he tears through the comuna, making his way once again toward the rooftops.

His best friend’s life is on the line.

And isn’t that funny? If you’d have asked Steve an hour ago, he’d have laughed in your face at the idea that Javi was anything more than his work partner. Javi’s an asshole. A self-righteous, arrogant, hypocritical, sell-you-to-the-fucking-cartels-on-a-whim cuntstain of a human being. Yeah, Steve can admit that Javier Peña is a decent agent. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t. There’s also the fact that Javi knows all of the best dives in town, and that he’s always good for a drink after a long shift, and sure, maybe he’d stuck up for Steve that one time with Messina, but friends? Yeah, that’s a long shot.

Except now, it’s not.

The stairwell Steve’s been climbing ends abruptly. He’s standing on a three foot square platform, looking up at a ten foot wall.

Shit, shit, shit.

Javi is right there, just on the roof above him.

Steve doesn’t think, he just leaps, the tin edges slicing his palms as he scrambles for the ledge. He kicks his feet hard, banging his shins with enough force to bruise as he rolls gracelessly onto the roof. Later, when Steve tells Connie that it was a feat of athleticism that would put the best of his college buddies to shame, he’s not lying.

And there’s Javi. 

Steve drops to his knees beside the body. Javi’s lying crumpled on the ground, curled on his side in a fetal position that is far more vulnerable than Steve is comfortable witnessing. 

“Javi?” Steve calls, shaking his partner hard as he hauls him over onto his back. “Shit.”

Javi doesn’t answer. The concrete beneath him is a pool of red blood. It’s smeared all over Javi’s pink shirt, an ominous, dark stain originating from somewhere near his shoulder. 

And it’s still pumping steadily from the wound. 

Steve catches a breath, reminds himself that this is a good thing. Dead people don’t bleed. 

Automatically, he presses one hand over the most saturated part of Javi’s shirt. Hold pressure. It’s basic first aid, but basic first aid is prioritized in the academy because it saves lives. Steve punches his palm into Javi’s shoulder for all he’s worth. 

But Javi’s still not moving, not responding. Carefully, Steve cups his free fingers gently over Javi’s mouth and nose. Soft, quick breaths pulse hot against his skin, and a tight bubble of tension bursts in Steve’s chest. 

Javi is breathing. Thank fuck, Javi is breathing.

Blood spurts through the cracks Steve’s fingers, warm and deep crimson, and Steve has a sudden, wild thought that it’s much more slippery than he’d have thought, more like motor oil than water. He’s seen blood in this quantity before, many, many times, but never this close, never fresh and red on his bare hands, never gushing in slick rivulets from the body of his partner and friend. 

Steve flashes back to that one sting gone horribly wrong in Miami, to being held at gunpoint in the doorway while Brady bled out onto the dirty motel carpet. 

He shakes it away. Not this time. Never again.

He shifts his position, tilting Javi’s head to the opposite side so he won’t choke and exposing the wound so he has better access to it. He can’t see the edges, and hell, he’s definitely not looking, but the blood seems to be coming from the juncture of Javi’s neck and shoulder, just to the edge of the kevlar strap of his tac vest. 

Fuck.

An inch to right, and Javi would have walked away with a massive bruise, maybe a broken clavicle. An inch to the left, and it would have all been over.

“Of course it would be your shoulder, Javi,” Steve bites out between gritted teeth. It it were an arm or a leg, he’d have already used his belt to make a tourniquet. But that’s not an option here, and by the way Javi’s breathing - fast, quick little pants that are quickly turning his lips blue, Steve wonders if there might be something wrong with Javi’s lung, too.

Fucking Christ. 

“God, get here already,” Steve mutters under his breath as he presses both palms into Javi’s chest. Shit, the bullet’s gone all the way through. Steve can feel the heat of Javier’s blood seeping into his jeans. 

‘All bleeding eventually stops,’ he remembers Connie saying after a terrible shift at Ryder. Her tone had been flippant and thoroughly blasé, cynical like the humor of all nurses who work trauma call is cynical. At the time, Steve had brushed it off as a one-off, a ruthless, humorless joke made out of frustration. 

With a slow dawn of horror, he suddenly understands exactly what Connie had meant. 

“Fuck,” Steve mutters desperately, pinning Javi’s body between his knee and his fists, locking his elbows and pressing both hands as hard as he’s able into the wound in a desperate attempt to staunch the bleeding. 

His wild thought of ‘where the hell are they going to land the chopper?’ is cut off as Javi shifts and groans.

Steve panics. Javi’s lost a lot of blood, far, far too much blood. It’s all over Steve, all over Javi, all over the concrete, and Steve has just now gotten it under control. 

Javi needs to be still, dammit. 

“Don’t you dare fucking move, Javi, you hear me?” Steve’s voice is brittle as he leans in close to Javi’s ear. 

And oh god, somehow, the situation is suddenly so much worse now that Javi isn’t completely out, now that Steve knows that in some capacity, Javi is aware of what’s happening to him. 

Fuck.

But Javi just huffs one shuddering breath, and then goes so completely still that Steve’s heart lurches in his chest. 

“And don’t you fucking die, either, you hear?” Steve shouts into his ear.

Really, that’s more important than anything. 

Javi grunts something in response, a word that Steve, in his frazzled state, doesn’t quite catch. Later, when he relives this day over and over again, Steve thinks it might have been “asshole.”

The ensuing silence is stifling. They lay there on that rooftop for an eternity, Javi sandwiched between Steve’s fists and his knee, Steve’s back and arms burning with tension. Javi’s breathing speeds and shallows. His entire face is ashen now. Little beads of sweat have broken out on his forehead. His blood is cooling, congealing dark between Steve’s fingers.

“Please, god, please.” Steve hasn’t prayed in years, but this is different. Important. He’s not asking for anything for himself. Not for Connie, even.  

He’s begging for Javi’s life.

In the distance, the blades of a chopper are beat, beat, beating against the wind.

LINK TO SPACEDAD’S MASTERLIST

[barnesandco]

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (9/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack at Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ ​​2020. Word count: 1191. Square filled: “Gunshot Wound”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: injury, blood, almost-death, mentions of war and stabbing. This is an angsty one, y'all.

A/N: Please pray that I finish this bingo because if I don't I'll hate myself forever.

It might be a strange thing for a former assassin to think, but Bucky can't remember the last time he saw this much blood. Maybe it's because the woman bleeding in his arms has induced tunnel vision like never before, and his history with blood and gunshot wounds is but a faded recollection. A dream of a dream, like a crime committed by someone else. The ramifications of this injury are much more urgent, and he knows, even as he hauls her into his arms and goes deeper into the cover of the forest on the coast of Tanzania, that the danger is both right behind them and right there, staring him in the face in the form of a bleeding wound and nothing to do about it.

He runs for what feels like hours but is probably just a minute, trying to jostle her as little as possible as he navigates the bush, and he slows only when the sound of the chopper has faded away. Temperature sensing technology won't work in an environment in which the surroundings are as pulsating hot as the people running. Soon, he faces a cove. If the circumstances were any different -- if the woman he has formed an inexplicable connection to wasn't dying in his arms -- he might laugh. Trust fate to give them two chopper chases, and coves to hide in after almost killing them. There's a metaphor in there but he can't be bothered to find it.

He lays her down on the ground and takes out his nearest knife, removing her upper layer and cutting open the tshirt under it to reveal the GSW under her ribs. Praying to God it hasn't hit anything vital, he removes his sweatshirt from where its tied around his waist and places pressure on the wound.

She winces and moves, lets out a whimper. The only sign of weakness -- no, humanity -- she has shown since the car crash in Romania.

Bucky shushes her. "Hey, shhh, it's okay," he says, pulling forth words he didn't know he had. "Hold this here, doll," he says, taking her hands and pushing them down on the jacket. She bites her lip and he swipes a strand of hair off her forehead with a gentle consolation, smearing blood across it, before turning to the now almost depleted first aid kit.

There are still tweezers and needle and thread in there, along with a sufficient amount of antiseptic and cotton. Taking the supplies out, he removes his now red sweatshirt and applies the antiseptic in panicked movements. His hands are shaking.

His heart is beating a death march drumbeat, deafening in his ears, but he still hears the rustle of leaves in the tree canopy above, too loud for a bird to cause. It makes him take her into his arms and back away, and he doesn't relax when Sam Wilson makes a graceful landing on the forest floor, and Steve Rogers drops down from the sky.

"Buck, it's alright, we're here to help," Steve says, and Bucky holds her tighter. The first aid kit is visible, as is the gaping wound and bloodied clothing, but Bucky doesn't know what to do with the concern written all over Steve. "We're here to help. Clint just landed the jet in a clearing nearby. Sam has paramedic training. He can save her." This is what does it. Although Bucky hasn't completely processed his feelings about Steve Rogers, he knows that she trusts Sam. She knows Sam, and he'll help here.

So he nods cautiously, but says, in a voice tight with emotion, "Lead us there." They nod and hurry to the right, and Bucky follows with rushed steps and an ache in his heart. It has been around minutes since she was shot, and time is running out.

When they enter the jet, he doesn't let himself feel comforted by the cool air inside or the reprieve from the sharp light, because she is still injured. She is still bleeding. Wilson pulls out a table from a wall, and Bucky lays her down on it. She whimpers again, and reaches for him, so he grabs her hand.

"It's going to be okay. Sam is here, you hear me?" He tells her, determined, trying to make sure she doesn't feel what he did in that long fall. He knows what it's like to almost die, to get to think about everything you might have to pay for. "Sam is going to help," Bucky says, and wonders who it is he's convincing.

Wilson, who has cleaned her wound and is now reaching for the tweezers, apologizes, "We don't have anaesthetic on board," and Bucky bites down the urge to snap why the hell not, until her hand clutches his tightly as Wilson locates the bullet.

Bucky squeezes back and starts talking while the painstaking process of removing the bullet without causing more damage begins. He can barely see for how his vision is blurring, but he speaks to her while his voice goes sandpaper rough, and Brooklyn heavy.

"I was stabbed in France, once. Before Azanno, so that wound had to heal like a normal one without the help of whatever those bastards put in me." Steve and Barton, on autopilot as the plane heads towards that pulsating dot a distant away, exchange a look. "Got hit by a Nazi two feet taller and wider, but that's no excuse. That's how I met Morita," Bucky says, watching her eyes struggle to stay open against the pain. The bullet is out and dropped into a tray with a clink. Wilson pulls out needle and thread, and starts to stitch, as Bucky continues.

"Died of a heart attack in '89, according to the Smithsonian," Bucky adds, and hears Steve whisper rest his soul.

"He found me in the ditch I was ready to die in -- sayin' my prayers and all -- and stitched my stomach up like it was child's play. Let me lean on him all the way back to camp when the dust settled, but on the way across the battlefield I saw the body if the Kraut that stabbed me. I stole his knife. Still have it," Bucky ends morbidly, as Wilson seals the stitches, and cleans the area, before covering it with gauze. Her eyes flutter shut, finally, and now, Bucky lets them.

"Rest," he murmurs lowly as Wilson and Steve move away to give them privacy, and he sits down on a bench against the walls as the jet continues over the African continent. Bucky closes his eyes and leans his head back against the cold, metal walls of the aircraft, and listens to his companion breathe.

As he registers the inhales and exhales, the shudder of her lungs after her ordeal, something in his chest loosens. It's a knot he didn't know was tied in the first place, but it unravels, and leaves a sphere of heat in his chest. The grip of icy fear on his heart has thawed, and in its place, is something soft. A feathered thing, smooth against his ribs, warm in his chest, waiting to take flight.

[number-one-micoverse-fan]

FebuWhump Day13: Hiding Injury

Spy AU time! Honestly probably my favorite Micoverse AU.

Warnings: lots of guns, blood, violence, very cliche, like absolutely dripping with tropes i’m not kidding, open ending

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Miranda throws herself around a corner and presses her back against the wall, ejecting the spent cartridge from her gun and pulling a fresh clip from her belt. Shots chip off the concrete next to her and she flinches when Dom comes swinging around the corner after her. His suit coat is open and both his guns freed from their shoulder holsters. He leans against the wall, catching his breath as he reloads.

“Well,” He pants, a bitter smile on his face, “This certainly didn’t go as planned.”

“No,” Miranda agrees and leans down to kiss his temple, “But date nights rarely do. Come on, we’re almost to the extraction point; just a bit more to go!”

“Tell that to my aching legs.”

“I did tell you to stretch before we left, hon.”

Dom makes a face, takes a deep breath, and dives out of cover, firing down the hall as he goes. Miranda’s hot on his heels, picking off anyone unlucky enough to think they’ve dodged a bullet. It’s a rather harrowing dash to the door at the end of the hall but once they’re through it, they’re able to smash the electronic lock and keep themselves from being followed. Still, Miranda keeps an eye on the door while Dom hacks his way through the next lock.

“I hate missions like this,” Dom mutters, scowling at the keypad as it refuses to play nice with him, “I’m always so tired afterwards I never get to spend any quality time with Cody.”

“We did get that time off approved for next year,” Miranda says over her shoulder, “So that will be a whole month we get to spend with him. Have you thought about a vacation destination yet?”

There’s a beep as the electronic lock finally gives in to Dom’s demands, “Not yet. I was playing with the idea of Disneyland though. Do you think he’d like that?”

The door slides open and Miranda puts a bullet in the head of the guard waiting on the other side. She beams at Dom, “Sweetie, you know he’d be happy no matter where we took him.”

“Well, yeah,” They take off down a narrow hall lined with steel doors, guns at the ready, “But I want it to be really special! We don’t get a lot of vacation time.”

Miranda is spared from replying by a handful of armed guards bursting out of one of the doors they pass. Dom says a word he would never even dream of using in front of his son and starts taking potshots over his shoulder. But it’s hard to aim and shoot at the same time and everyone’s shots are going wide, pinging off the floors and gouging lines into the ceiling. Miranda feels a bullet graze her shoulder and hisses at the sting of it, but grits her teeth and keeps moving. There’s a T-intersection up ahead that can provide them with cover where they can pick off the enemy before moving on.

But apparently one of the guards has had enough.

Their gun empty, they instead hurl their weapon at the pair of spies, the strap on the rifle whipping through the air. It snags around Miranda’s ankles and she crashes to the floor, her own weapon spinning out of her grip as the air rushes out of her lungs.

“Mira!” Dom turns on a dime, spinning around so fast he almost drops to all fours as he sprints back to his wife. Bullets are still snapping at the air around him but he doesn’t hesitate, just picks Miranda up, throws her over his shoulder, and runs like hell. They’re both gasping for different reason when he ducks around the corner, Dom setting Miranda on the floor so she can get her breath back while he takes careful aim around the corner to pick off the enemy.

“How’re you doing? Are you okay?” Dom asks without taking his eye off the few remaining guards.

“All right, in one piece,” Miranda confirms, a little breathlessly, “You good to go?”

Dom fires another shot, there’s the thud of a body hitting the ground, and then silence. He lets out a slow, shaky breath, and looks at Miranda with a wobbly smile, “Er, yeah. I got the last of ‘em. We’re close, we should be okay from here.”

And they’re on the move again.

Miranda’s in the lead, having retrieved her dropped weapon, and is keeping a sharp eye out for anyone trying to make a move. They run into a few more harassers but nothing they can’t take care of. Dom is breathing heavily, sweat clinging to his brow and matting his hair. Not that Miranda looks much better, with fly-aways spilling from her bun and her shirt clinging to her back. She’s exhausted and ready to collapse into a hot bath and then curl up in Dom’s arms for a good night’s sleep. They’re almost out of here, they’re almost home, they just have to go a little bit further.

The extraction point is a large balcony on the side of the enemy base. Large enough for their allies to land and get them out. Miranda barricades the door, loose hair whipping in the chilly wind, and then turns to watch the sky. She keeps her gun in her hand and her nerves on alert; it wouldn’t do to relax just yet, they’re still in woods and danger is still very nearby. Dom is leaning against the wall near the door, his legs shaking, chest heaving, his eyes closed as he tries to even his breathing out.

“Are you okay?” Miranda asks, glancing at him before looking back to the horizon.

“Y-yeah,” Dom wheezes, “Jus’…just tired. Sorry. I’ll, uh, it’ll be better once we get out of here.”

“Do you think they’ll get us back in time to finish our date?” Miranda jokes, smiling at the skyline. The smile wavers when she doesn’t get a response, “Dom?” She turns, frowning, and the frown turns into panic when she sees her partner sliding to the floor, “Dom!” She hurries over and takes a knee beside him, hovering, “What’s wrong? Dom, talk to me. I need you to talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Dom slides his hand under his suit jacket, wincing, and withdraws it again, looking down at the red smeared across his palm. A crimson stain is spreading over his white shirt, soaking into the fabric. Dom looks pale and sick, his frame quivering with pain and his eyes glazed with exhaustion. His gun slips from his fingers and clatters to the floor as he lets his head thud back against the wall.

“Oops…” His voice is a hoarse whisper.

“You’re hit!” Miranda moves his jacket aside, abandoning her own gun to tear open the buttons on his shirt and inspect the wound.

“‘Least w-wait ‘till we’re home…” Dom says, chuckling weakly.

“Shut up, Bridges,” It’s said with panicked affection, worried and full of love, “Shit, this looks really bad. It’s been bleeding for a while, you’ve lost a lot of blood. When did you get hit?”

“When I went back for you.”

Miranda looks up at him and he’s smiling. It’s a weak smile but it’s so tender and warm that it breaks Miranda’s heart to see it. She presses a hand against his face and he tilts his head into her touch, letting his eyes fall closed as he just savors her. Her fingers card through his hair, thumb brushing his cheek, taking him in.

“You fantastic idiot,” She murmurs, leaning into him, pressing her forehead against his, “You’ve been running around with that injury and you didn’t say anything. You’re so stupid.”

“Couldn’t leave you.” He tells her in a low voice, tired and fading.

“Well you better not leave me now, Mr. Bridges,” Miranda tells him, shrugging off her jacket to fold it up and press it over his wound. He hisses, twitching at the pressure, but is too weak to do much else, “Or else I’ll be very angry with you.”

Dom’s tired chuckle is almost lost under the sound of chopper blades coming closer. His eyes are still closed and his breathing is shallow. Miranda blinks the hot tears from her eyes and presses closer to him, wants desperately to hold him and kiss him and hold his hand. She wishes they were home, on the couch, just sitting together and holding hands while the television played something stupid and mundane. His blood is seeping through her jacket and her breath hitches in a sounds that wants to be a cry.

“Don’t you dare leave me and Cody alone,” She says to him, ducking her face into his neck, listening to his wispy breaths and the fluttering of his heart, “I would never forgive you if you left us. Don’t leave, Dominic, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare leave me…” Miranda looks back up at his face, pale and still, his eyes closed, and she doesn’t stop the tears from racing down her face as her colleges run over to help bundle them into the chopper,

“I couldn’t live in a world without you in it.”

[softdadcarlos]

Aftermath

Masterlist

Fandom: Resident Evil/Biohazard

Pairing: Jill/Carlos

AU: Post-RE3 Carlos and Jill

Summary: Leaving Raccoon City behind, Jill and Carlos deal with the present and think about the future.

Requested by @stardustfalling​ I hope you enjoy as this is the first half of your request!

Jill didn’t know how long they were flying for, completely out of it as she stared out into the horizon blankly. The city she knew was gone, reduced to smouldering rubble, her home and life as she knew nought but ashes. She had no idea what she meant to do now, the only thing she was certain of was that Umbrella needed to pay for the lives they’ve ruined and snuffed out before their time. She wondered if those she had encountered that weren’t on the train had survived, like Kendo and his family.

Jill was bought out of her thoughts by hands covering on her own that were resting on her knees. She looked over, meeting Carlos’ eyes as he gave her a soft smile.

“Looks like this is our stop supercop, chopper’s out of gas.”

Jill nodded, too exhausted for words both emotionally and physically. Carlos hopped out of the aircraft first, holding out a hand to her to help her down, which in all honesty she was grateful for. She had taken a beating the past few days and it was finally catching up to her as the adrenaline filtered out of her system. It seemed they had landed in an empty field not far from a large town.

Carlos walked out into her field of vision, silhouetted by the midday sun as he put a hand on his hip and gestured to the town with his thumb, “It’s roughly midday so shops should be open, I’ll be able to get us some new clothes to change into and some medical supplies. You probably don’t have your wallet on you but I’m more than happy to foot the bill this time.”

Jill raised a brow, “This time?”

“We need to lay low for a while, let Umbrella forget about us. So once we’re all cleaned up we’re hitting the bank so you can get out as much money as you can.”

Oh. He was making plans… that included her.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Jill agreed.

“I would ask you to stay here for me but… I don’t think either of us will feel easy about being separated right now.”

Carlos wandered back over to the helicopter, shrugging off his assault rifle and undoing his vest. Leaving him in just his tshirt and cargo pants with a pistol strapped to his thigh. He looked distastefully at his sleeves, emblazoned with the Umbrella logo, making him reach up and rip them off.

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After an hour of waiting around for Carlos outside of shops as not to draw too much attention to themselves, they finally had what they needed. They just needed to find a place to stay. A shopkeeper had kindly told Carlos about a cheap hotel, not from the shopping district. So the duo headed that way, thanking every god that they could think of that the receptionist did bat an eye at Jill’s blood-covered appearance. They opted to share a room but with separate beds, feeling awkward about the idea of sharing a bed.

“I’ll shower first. I feel gross and I doubt I’m pleasant to be around.” Jill announced.

Carlos chuckled, “You don’t exactly smell like roses.” He dumped their shopping out onto a bed, sorting through it before tossing some clothes towards her, which she effortlessly caught. “I’ll fix you up when we’re both clean. Don’t want to touch open wounds with grubby hands.”

Jill grunted in response, heading straight to the bathroom, favouring getting clean over conversation. She situated the clean clothes on the towel rack before moving to the shower to turn it on, fiddling with the faucets to reach her desired temperature. God she couldn’t wait to get under the hot steaming water. The dried sewage and Nemesis blood making her skin crawl and itch as it cracked and flaked off of her as she moved.

She stripped off her filthy clothes, once again muttering about burning them in a dumpster because no amount of rinse cycles would remove the stains or stench. She stepped under the hot stream with a sigh, just standing under it basking in the heat as it relaxed her tense and aching muscles. Open wounds stang as the dirt that had caked them shut got washed away. More so when she reached for the hotel supplied body wash, scrubbing herself down rigorously like it could wash away the memories that were more than likely going to haunt her dreams.

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A full hour later, Jill finally left the bathroom cleaner than she had probably ever been in her life. The clothes Carlos had bought for her were loose-fitting sweats which she was very thankful for. The last thing she wanted to wear would be some sort of body-conforming ensemble that would rub up against and constrict her injuries. Especially after her brief self-assessment in the shower. It was more than likely she had a couple of broken ribs. Her ankles sprained.

Carlos took a significantly shorter amount of time in the bathroom than she did but then again, he didn’t have to trek through the sewers. He came out dressed in a matching set of sweats, probably having his own injuries he didn’t want to aggravate. His hair was slicked back out of his face, no doubt in Jill’s mind that if not its shaggy length while wet would have obscured his vision. It also revealed just how nasty of a black eye he had from his punch up with Nikolai which she hadn’t really noticed before. He went over to the bed that was silently agreed to be his, grabbing the medical supplies he purchased from a pharmacy.

He crouched down in front of her and started assessing her ankle, “We should get you patched up first. I don’t know how you managed to run around the city and fight that thing multiple times in this state.” He pushed up the pant leg to see how bad the bruising was and what he saw had him take in a sharp breath, “Jesus Christ, Jill, there’s nothing here that isn’t purple. Good thing I grabbed this arnica cream, should help the bruising go down… Although I think there won’t be enough for me.”

He was gentle in rubbing the cream onto the worst areas, even when he wrapped it in gauze to help support her ankle. From there he went into a pattern, reveal a new bruised canvas and lather it in cream, find a cut: disinfect and cover it. Some wounds required paper stitches to help encourage them to close. The wound from where she was infected would need actual stitches but the pharmacy didn’t have the items necessary for that. Jill tried to stop herself from blushing as she pulled up her sweater to just under her breasts, but her ribs couldn’t be ignored and self-consciousness would get her nowhere.

Carlos applied a gentle pressure as he surveyed the damage making Jill hiss. “Shit, yeah they’re definitely broken. But unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do. They can’t be splinted and binding them would make them worse. All I can offer you for this is an ice pack.”

Jill sighed, dropping the material, “Just my luck. But that can wait for now.”

Carlos nodded, understanding her unsaid order, stripping off his sweater so she could get a good look at his injuries. Multiple fist-sized bruises littered his upper body, a few scrapes and cuts on his arms. All in all not too bad… except for the gunshot wound in his shoulder. Jill felt guilt settle in her stomach. She did that to him. And the faded scars from stab wounds and other gunshots told her she wasn’t the first to injure him in such a manner. Probably a hazard of the job much like how it was for S.T.A.R.S. She flinched as he grunted when she disinfected the wound, muttering apologises as she did so. She was drawn out of it by Carlos placing a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes, sincerity warming his chocolate coloured ones.

“Don’t blame yourself. I told you to take the shot.”

“It could have been so much worse if I had missed.”

“But you didn’t and I trusted you not to.”

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

Carlos was already awake when he heard Jill tossing and turning in her sleep. They were both exhausted and had decided to call it a day early. It would be a lie to say Carlos wasn’t concerned for her. In fact, it would also be an understatement to say he was only concerned. After spending half a day searching for her and finding her on the ground, his first thought was that she had died and he had lost her. Of course, he was proven wrong when he approached her, relieved to find she was comatosed. Which didn’t last long with the realisation that she was infected. Carlos had never been through such a flurry of emotion in such a short space of time. But it did bring to light that he didn’t want to be away from her side. So sleep did not come easy to him, visions of her laying there bloodied on the ground swimming in his head.

He couldn’t begin to imagine what she must be seeing in those nightmares of hers, because there was no doubt that after that hell that dreams would be a thing of the past for a while. With a groan, Carlos pushed himself up and off his bed, approaching the distraught woman as she sat bolt upright panting.

“Easy there, supercop, I’m here.” He reassured, seating himself next to her and took one of her hands in his, thumb rubbing the back of it soothingly.

“I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine, I couldn’t sleep anyway.” Carlos chuckled dryly, “Was too concerned that if I closed my eyes and opened them again you’d be gone.”

Jill was quiet for a moment, considering his words before she spoke up, “Want to push the beds together?”

Carlos blinked at her, “Uuuh… Jill as much as I think that you’re one hell of a woman, I doubt you or I are in a fit state to-”

Jill covered his mouth with her palm, awkward laughter bubbling out of her, “That’s not what I meant. It’s just sometimes sleeping next to someone helps, you know?”

Carlos nodded, “Yeah I get you… Would you like to get dinner together tomorrow?” Jill looked visibly confused as Carlos became flustered at her unwavering stare. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re one hell of a woman. And I uh… there’s no pressure but uh… since I’m the only one out of the two of us that has a place to actually live once we leave this place… I was thinking it might be best if you crash at my place until you sort something out…” He trailed off, avoiding her eyes the more unsure in himself he became.

Jill got off the bed and Carlos felt his stomach drop. Shit.

“Come on let’s push these beds together, we can talk more about it once we’ve rested up.”

Begrudgingly Carlos got up and helped close the gaps between the two beds. Once done they settled into the centre of the unified bed. Carlos was pleasantly surprised to find Jill shuffling back into him while led on the side without broken ribs and grabbed one of his arms to drape over her stomach, interlocking her fingers with his. This effectively led to them spooning.

“I think I’ll feel safer like this.” She whispered, glad he couldn’t see the red colouring her cheeks.

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A/N:  A lot of the injuries Jill is described as having here I have kinda experienced first hand including the broken ribs and entirely fucked ankles. And let me tell you, injuries like that UNTREATED really fuck with your sex life. My ribs are still hurty nearly 20 years later. If only I had someone as gentle as Carlos ㅠㅠ Also I suffer from chronic pain and had a particularly bad time with it today and had a random ass anxiety attack on top of that.

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[witharsenicsauce]

Chosen Stories From the War #5: Two Stones, One Bird

Kon-Mai opened one eye at the distant sound of a returning chopper. She stood slowly, still barefoot, and made her way to the large window that stood in the corner of her room, overlooking an orange sky and fluffy clouds.

Her heart was racing. She had not seen her brother in a long time; their last interaction had been months before she had encountered XCOM, and even then it was less than cordial. The two had never been exactly close, but Kon-Mai had always held a certain admiration his nonchalant attitude: it was a refreshing contrast to their eldest brother. And they worked well together, when they DID work together.

A feeling of anxiety settled in her stomach. Not just nervousness, no, she felt like something was terribly wrong.

As she opened her bedroom door and stepped into the hallway, this was confirmed. Three of the five soldiers assigned to this mission, along with two of the Avenger’s medics, were sprinting up the hall towards her. As she stepped back in surprise, she got a good look at the gurney they were wheeling, and the person lying on it.

“Gur-Rai?” She gasped.

She only saw her brother for a second. His blue skin was pale, nearly white. His hood was stripped off to make room for an oxygen mask they’d plastered to his face. His eyes were closed.

Kon-Mai stared after them for a moment. Then she sprinted down the hall.

She nearly crashed into Malinalli, who was running from the opposite direction with two other medics hot on her heels. She barely had time to acknowledge Kon-Mai before the nurse threw open the door (leaving it wide open) and darted into the room. Kon-Mai stood in the doorway, watching the commotion.

Tygan was there, scrubbing up and putting on his gloves. The other medics were suited up, and the soldiers who had wheeled her brother there pushed past her, leaving the room to make space for the doctors. As they moved, she caught another glimpse of her brother. They were stripping his armor off now, leaving him completely naked. He was as pale as the bedding and completely limp, not responding at all to the surgeons’ touches.

“Torn External Iliac, left side.” One of the medics said.

“Start a fluid drip.” Tygan said. “Administer 0.2 mg of Midazolam, please.”

“That’s a little light, Doc.” Malinalli said as she reached for an IV bag.

“I’d rather him wake up during surgery than overdose and die.” Tygan grabbed a scalpel. “I’m making the first incision. Lothar, be ready with the clamp.”

“Ready, Doc.”

“Someone get started on the chip.”

“It’s gone, Doc, Tisiphone cut it loose on the ride over.”

“While I applaud her quick thinking, I’d have preferred she waited for us to perform that. But it is one less thing to worry about.”

Kon-Mai couldn’t see Tygan cutting into her brother, but she could hear him softly curse. “The wound is uneven. We will need a graft.”

“I’ll need to get one from the supply cabinet.” One of the medics pushed past Kon-Mai and ran out the door.

“I can’t clamp it, Doc, it’s too big a hole.”

“Clamp the ends.” Tygan sounded stressed. “I’d rather not resort to blocking blood flow, but it’s all we can do.”

“Blood pressure is dropping really fast!” Someone called.

“Shit.” Tygna took a breath. “Someone go get one of the Skirmishers, if we can synthesize some of their blood we might just be able to-”

“If it is blood you need,” Kon-Mai burst into the room, finally breaking her silence “then let me be of service.”

The medical team looked at her in silence for a moment.

“He and I share the same blood.” She said, “Let me give him some of mine. I have it to spare.”

“Normally I’d say not while you’re still recovering.” Tygan said. “But we don’t have much other choice. Molly?”

“On it.” Malinalli grabbed an IV bag and needle and sat Kon-Mai in a nearby chair. She held out her arm, and her nurse wrapped it in a tourniquet and wiped down her inner elbow with an alcohol cloth.

“Thank you.” Malinalli whispered.

“He is my brother.” Kon-Mai held her breath, wincing as the needle pierced the skin of her arm.

“I’m so sorry it’s come to this, I know this probably wasn’t the reunion you were hoping for…”

“Gur-Rai has...a thick skull, as you say.” Kon-Mai chuckled. “If anyone was to get themselves into this situation, it would be him.”

“We’ll still save him.” Malinalli gently shook the bag as it began to fill with red.

“I would expect nothing less of XCOM.” Kon-Mai smiled.

.

.

The surgery lasted much longer than was probably healthy, but the blood Kon-Mai provided kept her brother from slipping into the world beyond. They had managed to make an artificial graft to close the damaged vein, although they had had to cut out some of the tissue around it, and part of the bone had been shattered beyond repair. But at the end, when they sewed him up, Gur-Rai was still breathing.

Now Kon-Mai sat in a chair at his bedside, watching her brother drool in his sleep. She pulled her legs up and crossed them, leaning on one of the armrests as Tygan came back in.

“I see he’s not awoken?”

She shook her head. “Alas, he remains unconscious.”

“I’m sorry this happened.”

“He is alive.” She smiled. “That is all I asked of XCOM, and you delivered on that promise.”

“Your blood is what saved him.” Tygan began marking something on the IV bag. “Hm. What antibiotics were you on, do you remember?”

“It began with an A, I believe.”

“Amikacin?”

“That name sounds familiar.”

“I figured. It is used mostly on children.” He went to the nearby cabinet and pulled a vial from it, unwrapping a clean syringe.

“Do you forget our strength, Doctor? We may be young, but we are no mere children.” Kon-Mai said with a smile.

“I hardly doubt that. But I also don’t know what the more potent antibiotics will do to you.” He pulled a few milliliters from the tube into the syringe. “Besides, this is most commonly used to treat intra-abdominal infections, which your brother is at risk for.”

Tygan took Gur-Rai’s arm and pressed the needle into his vein.

“Ow.” The unconscious Chosen groggily mumbled.

Kon-Mai gasped and Tygan looked up in surprise. “You’re awake.”

“Yeh…” Gur-Rai tried to pull his arm back, but his strength was gone and Tygan’s grip was firm.

Kon-Mai stood and reached for her brother’s hand. “Gur-Rai?”

He opened his eyes slowly, staring straight up into the lights and blinking.

“Brother, it’s me. Kon-Mai. The Assassin.”

He looked over to her and smiled a toothy grin. “I knew it.”

“...You knew what?”

“I knew you weren’t dead.” He pointed at her. “I knew you couldn’t just...die like that. You’re too smart.”

“That may be the only nice thing you’ve ever said to me.” Kon-Mai raised a brow.

“My guess is the drugs haven’t worn off quite yet.” Tygan tossed the needle in the trash and put the vial away. “He’s going to be quite loopy for a while.”

On cue, Gur-Rai tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed and sit up, and Kon-Mai grabbed him by the shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Goin’ out.” He swayed considerably as he sat there, and it didn’t take much to push him back down.

“You must rest, Brother.”

“Nah.” He chuckled, weakly trying to push her away. It did not work.

“You’re injured.”

“Naaaah. I’m just fine.” He made a peace sign with his fingers. “See?”

She smiled just a bit. “Yes Brother, I see.”

“Where are we?” He looked around.

“We are aboard the Avenger.” Kon-Mai sat on the side of his bed. “It is under the command of XCOM.”

“The Avenger?” He blinked. “...Why is it small?”

“...This is not all of it.” She said, “This is simply one room of many.”

He tried to sit up again. “Can I see?”

“Not as of now! You must rest!”

“I want to see the Avenger.” He whined like a child.

Kon-Mai smiled. “Stay in bed for now, and I will show you around the Avenger myself.”

“...Kay.” Gur-Rai relaxed back in his bed. “But you gotta carry me.”

“No.”

“Please?”

Kon-Mai smirked. “Brother, I carry enough of your weight as it is~”

“You’re a bitch.”

“Sticks and stones, Brother.”

.

.

The Hunter’s recovery went slightly more smoothly than The Assassin’s, even with him going back into surgery the next day to replace his shattered hip with a metal implant. By that time, Kon-Mai’s own injuries had stopped bothering her, but she was still keen to join her brother in the gym for his physical therapy, if for no other reason than for the entertainment value.

“And thus, the Mighty Hunter is reduced to toddling like a child without kneecaps.” Gur-Rai grumbled as he gripped the metal bars on either side of him. “Outrider owes me several drinks for this.”

“Not that you could enjoy them.” Kon-Mai pointed out as she bent backward into the bridge position.

“I like the taste.”

“Then you may be the only creature who does. Alcohol is noxious.”

“That green tea you like is noxious.”

“Green tea is relaxing and provides many health benefits.”

Gur-Rai smirked. “Not that you could enjoy them.”

Kon-Mai scowled as she bounced back up and lifted her leg over her lead.

Gur-Rai seemed to look her over. “...Are you wearing your hair down?”

“What?”

He pointed to her hair. Released from it’s protective dreadlocks, she had taken to pulling it into a loose ponytail that sat at the nape of her neck. The curly locks were starting to grow out as well, and had regained some of the sheen and volume she assumed they had at one point.

Kon-Mai avoided his eyes. “...Yes, I am.” 

“That’s new.” Gur-Rai grunted as he took a step on his bad leg. “It’s a good look on you.”

“It’s simply for comfort.” She bent forward into Downward Dog. “Once out, they are impossible to fit properly back into the casings. It’s akin to trying to put toothpaste back into the tube.”

“Well then it’s a win win.” Gur-Rai said as he reached the other side and turned himself on his hands. “I must say I’m slightly jealous. Between you and our brother, there were no good hair genes left for me.”

“Oh please.” Kon-Mai straightened up and stepped forward into a lunge, clasping her hands in a prayer position. “The Elders gave you many important gifts. Your eyes, for example.”

“Yes, I can take comfort that I will never need glasses.” Gur-Rai sat down on an inflatable bouncy ball and propped his leg up on one of the bars he’d been holding on to. “Owowowow, fuck…”

Kon-Mai got up and sighed as she walked over, pulling her brother’s leg into her lap. “Do not overextend the joint. Here.” She shifted so one of her knees was slightly bent forward, keeping his leg level with the ground. 

“I remember not long ago you were holding a knife to my throat.” Gur-Rai chuckled as he slowly rolled back and forth, stretching out his hip joint. “And now you’re holding my foot like a princess~”

“I can drop it, if you so prefer.”

Gur-Rai’s smile faltered. “Please don’t.”

Kon-Mai only offered a cheeky smirk as footsteps from outside caught her attention. The famed John Bradford knocked on the wall as he entered. 

“Sorry to interrupt your bonding time.”

“It is quite alright.” Kon-Mai stood and helped Gur-Rai to his feet, and he leaned back against the bar.

“You weren’t in your room so I decided to try here. I have your contract all written out.” John handed Kon-Mai a clipboard. “We can move somewhere else if you wanna read-”

“Not necessary.” Kon-Mai mumbled as her eyes darted over the words. She seemed to process each page in the blink of an eye.

“What’s it say?” Gur-Rai asked.

“As of now I am an official employee of the Extraterrestrial Combat Unit, also known as XCOM.” She said, “My duties will include, but not be limited to, combat, tactical warfare, espionage and various other forms of physical labor and activity. I acknowledge that I have no loyalty to the ADVENT organization and will not interact with the ADVENT organization except on behalf of XCOM. Revisions to this contract may be requested in the event of a medical diagnosis or emergency circumstances. If found in breach of contract, or to be collaborating with ADVENT, I shall be subjected to prosecution and possible court marshalling, and a punishment of up to 100 years in prison and/or capital execution.” Kon-Mai looked up at Bradford. “Is this all? Did I misinterpret anything?”

“That’s the gist of it. We just need your signature.” He handed her a pen.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been made to sign anything.” Kon-Mai said as she clicked the pen. “Pray excuse my scrawl.”

“It can’t be worse than mine.” Bradford chuckled.

Kon-Mai took a while to sign her name, seemingly putting thought into each letter she scratched onto the page. It was a full minute before she handed the clipboard back to Bradford.

“That’s interesting…” He mused.

“I apologize-”

“No no, it’s really neat.” He squinted. “...That’s not Etheric, is it?”

She...seemed to think for a minute. “Does it not look it?”

“Kinda but...huh.” He chuckled. “Looks like how Shen writes her name.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, Shen sometimes writes in Mandarin sometimes, just for practice. The characters look similar...” He shrugged. “But it doesn’t really matter, as long as you’re in the system.” He stuck out his hand. “Welcome, Kon-Mai Mordenna, to XCOM.”

“I am...glad to be here.” She took his hand.

“Likewise. When you get a chance, the Commander wants to see you about your first assignment.”

“Did she indicate what my mission shall be?”

“Well she had a gleam in her eye and a very concerning smile, so she’s probably sending you down with either Mox or Outrider.”

Kon-Mai snarled. “Wonderful. I am...on bad terms with both of them.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules.” Bradford tucked the clipboard under his shoulder. “Oh, and Hunter.” He called to her brother. “The Commander wants to talk to you, too. You might wanna go with your sister; kill two stones with one bird.”

The Chosen nodded, before exchanging confused glances and looking back at Bradford.

“You know, it...pecks one stone…” Bradford made a pecking motion with his hand “and then it...pecks the other stone...you know what, I’m gonna go-”

“That would be best.” Kon-Mai hissed.

As Bradford went running, Gur-Rai hummed in musing. “You surprise me, Dear Sister.”

“What?” She looked at him.

“Abandoning our precious Elders to join XCOM?” He feigned disbelief, placing a hand to his head dramatically. “Oh the inhumanity!”

“The Elders believe me dead.” Kon-Mai mumbled, taking up a nearby 40 pound set of weights and pulling them into her chest. “What use is there in going back to them?”

“It still amazes me you didn’t try.” Gur-Rai began making circles with the ankle of his bad leg. “Did you not love them?”

Kon-Mai froze mid-lunge. Her heart hurt with those words. “...You know I love them.”

“And yet here you are, ready to kill them.” Gur-Rai raised a brow.

“Not everything is about murder, Brother.”

“And now the pot’s calling the kettle black.” Gur-Rai raised one arm above his head in a half shrug. “What do you expect: that you’ll be able to reason with the Elders? Convince them to dissolve their government peacefully and then humans and aliens alike will all unite under one banner and sing kumbaya? Because if so, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Sister, but that’ll never happen.”

Kon-Mai took a deep, deep breath. She’d forgotten her brother’s best talent was getting on every single one of her nerves. Even more so now that...he had a point.

“I joined…” She put the weights down and straightened up “because the people on this ship took me in when I was near death. They nursed me back to health and gave me…” She didn’t know what to call it, really “...a place to sleep. To hang my armor.” She looked Gur-Rai in the eyes. “They bested me in battle. They are clearly the superior warriors. My honor demands I repay their kindness by lending my strength to their cause.”

“It sounds to me like you just want to be on the winning side.” Gur-Rai smirked. That smirk dropped as a dumbbell whizzed passed his head and hit the wall, making a large hole.

“Enough.” Kon-Mai said in a warning tone. Gur-Rai held up his hands in mock surrender and Kon-Mai took a deep breath.

“I am going to dress.” She said, heading out the door. Gur-Rai watched her for a moment before realization hit him.

“Wait a minute. How do I get back?” Gur-Rai called after her. “Kon-Mai? Sister? Wait!”

Kon-Mai stood outside in the hall, chucking. She figured she’d give it a few minutes before she came back for him, just to remind him she was (still) in charge.

.

.

.

.

.

(if my Hunter ever met @grace-kohai ’s Hunter, mine would be so jealous it would damn near break him. Because Mordenna has these beautiful, fluffy white locks, and my Gur-Rai is as bald as a hairless cat.

I had so much fun writing the banter between The Hunter and The Assassin. Gur-Rai has his weapon of mass sarcasm, but Kon-Mai is quite the sass master herself (pun intended), so the two really bounce off each other effortlessly. It’s like they write themselves.

Next chapter out on Saturday!)

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/

[wolf-555-writer]

Not Too Late

Sooo, I don’t really know if I conquered writers block, but this is me trying haha.

Alex Danvers x Reader

Summary: Reader works at DEO as an agent and has feelings for Director Danvers. But has never told her as she’s your boss. But maybe you should have, cause you never know when it’s too late...

Word Count: 1,835

Calmly sipping your well-deserved coffee as you sit on the couch. Completely relaxing, considering you finally have the day off. After turning on the TV you almost choke in the bitter liquid since you just took a large gulp. “What the h-”. You can’t even finish your sentence now that you’re gaping at the screen with your mouth wide open. Paralyzed for mere seconds before quickly putting the mug down on the table with a loud thud, spilling some coffee on the clean table surface. You jump up and grab your leather jacket while rushing towards the door. Wait… the keys?! Obviously not thinking clearly at the moment. You could barely slip your right foot between the almost closed door and doorpost and rush back inside. Keys? Check. Helmet? Check. You hop on your bike and speed away with screeching tires, leaving behind a black skid mark on the road.  

Driving like your life depends on it. Way too fast and passing many cars you encounter on route. It’s a miracle you haven’t caused any accidents along the way as you ignored some red lights. Luckily you’re almost there. Parking your motorcycle at a spot where it’s not allowed to place any vehicle at all. But you don’t care.

“I hope I’m not too late”, you desperately wish while reaching the entrance of the emergency unit at the hospital.

///

[Earlier that day]

“Okay, so we need patrols on these different locations”, Director Danvers commands while pointing at a map of National City. “The chopper will oversee the situation and can interfere if necessary. That’s also where I will be”.

“Count me in too”, you brightly answer while stepping forward. Separating you from the others as you’re gathered around with a number of agents who are also waiting to be assigned.

“(Y/N)? What are you still doing here?”, Alex responds surprised. “I thought I send you home to get some rest?”

“I don’t need to rest”, you claim while actually being exhausted to the bone. You’ve been working for three days straight now. But why rest? The Children of Liberty and the Elite don’t take a break, so why would you? They’re probably preparing their next mission of creating havoc around the city as we speak and you want to stop them before something disastrous happens.

“I know you want to help (Y/N). But I don’t want you to get hurt”, Alex caringly speaks. You can’t argue with that, knowing damn well you’re not fully concentrated due to being sleep-deprived. And of course it’s Alex, the Alex who has a special place in your heart.

“Just get some sleep (Y/N)”, as she gently touches your shoulder, stroking it lightly. But it’s the tone in her voice that makes you feel warm inside. Not that the words she just said are special, it’s simply the way she said it. With a loving, caring voice, a voice she never uses when talking to other agents. Only to you.

You suspect that Alex also has feelings for you. However you both never acted on it because, well, she’s the director of the DEO and you’re just a simple agent. You sigh quietly.

“Very well director Danvers, I wouldn’t dare to defy your orders”, you assure with a professional expression, arms crossed behind your back.  

You walk away and go home to get some sleep, seeing the other agents gear-up, preparing to leave DEO headquarters. Looking over your shoulder one last time before stepping into the elevator you lock eyes with Alex. Sending her a loving smile on which she sends you one back. Noticing the sparkling in her eyes.

“See you later Danvers”, you mouth while the elevator doors close, losing sight of her while she turns around, following the other agents. Doing what she does best, protecting aliens and people, facing the danger every time again. You lean against the elevator wall and stare at the ceiling. Eexhaling deeply as you close your eyes.

“I can’t wait forever. Maybe I should just tell her… before it’s too late”

///

Sprinting inside the hospital, trembling and shaking due to the adrenaline flooding your veins. You’ve been trained for these situations right? So why does this happen now? Jolting your head around to search for a doctor or a nurse.

“Where is she? Where is she?!” you yell like a maniac, flashing your ‘FBI’ badge hoping it will get you priority over the rest of the people who are also waiting to get noticed. Normally you wouldn’t do this, to let your emotions completely take over. Usually you’re calm and thoughtful, overthinking every sentence before you speak. Not now however, hands shaking and getting weak in your knees.

“(Y/N)?”, a voice behind you softly calls. You recognize it. It’s Kara, Alex her sister. You’ve known her for a while now as you sometimes provide a tiny bit of classified DEO information to her for her articles at CatCo. Alex is unaware of your illegal side activity and thinks that you’re just friends, which is actually true by the way. You turn around to face Kara and notice a concerned expression. “Come on, let’s sit so you can calm down”, she eases while grabbing your arm with both hands and pulling you towards the waiting area. You try to control your breathing, but for some reason it’s not working.

“Where is she? Where is Alex?”, you repeat again. Still clueless and sitting on the tip of the chair while nervously shaking your leg. “I-I saw on the news that the helicopter crashed…. And… is she…”, choking on the words as you’re not able to say it out loud. Is she dead? A terrible accident in National City was shown on the news and you recognized the DEO chopper. The entire incident took place while you were napping. You feel extremely guilty, because you could have been there, by her side. But you weren’t.   

“I was told she’s in surgery right now”, Kara replies while softly touching your arm. You flinch as you were lost in thoughts, viewing every doom scenario in your mind.

“So… so, she’s alive?”, you whisper with a hoarse sound.

“Of course she is, it’s Alex!”, Kara responds as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. However, she’s also scared. Scared Alex won’t make it, you can see it in her watery eyes.   

Waiting and waiting, which honestly feels like an eternity, as you’re still glued to the chair Kara sat you down in. You watch her restlessly pacing around in front of you. She had been marching back and forth for a while now. You swear you can almost see a trail appearing in the bleak hospital floor. Kara abruptly stopped now that two doctors approach her. You try to read their body language yet you can’t seem to conclude anything from it. Jumping out of the chair and placing yourself directly next to Kara, you listen to the conversation.

“Miss Danvers successfully underwent surgery and is currently monitored in the ICU. You can see her if you want”, one speaks to Kara. Wait… are you not allowed to see her?

“What about me?!” you quickly urge, clearly using the wrong tone which is not appreciated by the doctors.

“You are not family, so-”, the doctor is interrupted by Kara who swiftly stepped in front of you as if she’s protecting you with her life. “Well, not by blood maybe, but (Y/N) is family”, giving them her fiercest look, both hands on her hips. It apparently helped, judging by their response.  

“Okay, well then, follow me”

While walking towards the ICU you feel your heartbeat pounding in your throat. Unaware in what state you’ll find Alex. Strolling towards the room and not even noticing your legs moving. You feel like a zombie, being completely numb and not hearing the doctors as they’re explaining the entire procedure they carried out to save Alex her life.

When you’ve reached the room, you quietly look at her, asleep in a hospital bed. Immediately feeling a tightness in your chest. You can see some bruising on her arms and a couple of scars on her face. Besides that she seems peaceful.

“You can come closer if you want (Y/N)” Kara suggest as she stands next to the bed, close to Alex. You're still standing at the door, entirely frozen, blindly staring into the distance.  

“You’re not too late”, Kara continues.  

“Not too late for what?”, you ask while slowly walking towards the bed. Carefully placing yourself at the other side next to the monitor that displays her heart rate, blood pressure and other important measures.   

“It’s too obvious (Y/N), just tell her”, Kara remarks with a piercing gaze fixed on you.

“Oh, um… okay”, you stammer back at Kara as you’re a little intimidated by her. A bright red blush appearing on your cheeks. “Wait, you mean, like, right now?”

“Yes! Now!”

“Okay then. Um, Alex, I know I’m sometimes an emotionless brick at work. But- but I care about you, I care... a lot”, while you hold her hand gently, caressing her warm skin with your thumb.

“Is this your way of confessing your feelings?”, Kara countered as she lifts an eyebrow.  

“Don’t judge me”, you mutter at Kara. As you said that, you felt a soft squeeze in your hand and avert your eyesight to it.

“K-kara? (Y/N)?”

Quickly looking up at Alex you see her eyelids twitching.

“(Y/N)? Is that… you?”. Now fully opening her eyes and staring at you with her charming brown ones.

“Yeah I'm here”, you softly speak, squeezing Alex her hand tighter.

“So…. did- did you get some sleep?”, she whispers with a croaky voice.

“Wait… What? Seriously Alex? You’re asking me-”

“It’s Director Danvers”, she interrupts with an authoritative tone.

“But… didn’t you hear what I just... confessed?”, you mumble with a sad look, deflecting your eyes to the ground. A small grin appears on Alex her scarred face.

“No, It’s okay, I did hear you”, she admits, weakly pulling on your hand which caused you to look at her again. “And (Y/N), I feel the same”. A loving smile appears and also that red blush you had earlier is back.

“Good… you scared me there for a minute”, as you rub your neck nervously. “That scared you?”, Kara blunty responds. “What about the other events today?”

“Oh, eh, yes the whole helicopter crash had us terrified. And I wasn’t there with you… I-I just, what if you...”, you feel a teardrop running down your face upon which it lands on the bed sheet.

“Don’t cry (Y/N). All that matters is that I’m alive and that you’re here now”, Alex comforts with that loving tone again. Still holding her hand tight, you bring it to your lips and press a tender kiss on her knuckles. You softly whisper:

“There is nowhere else I would rather be than here, next to you”

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Jus In Bello- Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,168

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“Sam and Dean Winchester. Y/L Y/L/N. I’m Deputy Director Steven Groves. This is a pleasure.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us feels that way,” Dean said and Steven looked at Dean before looking back at you. He smirked maliciously and you frowned, putting yourself down for not feeling this earlier.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you three to come out of the woodwork,” Steven said before taking out his gun and pointing it at you.

“Guys, he’s a demon!” You yelled right before he shot you in the shoulder. You yelled out in pain as you fell onto the bed, your blood spraying on the wall behind you. Steven tried to take a few more shots at you but you narrowly missed them. To distract the demon, Sam began to chant the exorcism in Latin, taking the demon’s attention away from you. He walked over to their cell and shot Dean in the arm, the same thing happening to him. With his hands outstretched in front of him, Sam reached through the bars and grabbed at the hand holding the gun.

Steven’s eyes turned black as he growled but before he could do any more damage, Steven’s head moved back and forth as Sam chanted in Latin.

“Sorry, I've gotta cut this short. It’s gonna be a long night, fellas.” The demon said before exiting the deputy’s body. As soon as the demon left, Steven dropped to the ground, Sam still holding the gun. Suddenly the door opened and two officers came rushing in with Henriksen behind them, his gun trained on Sam.

“Alright, put the gun down!” One of the officers yelled.

“Wait, okay, wait,” Sam pleaded as he moved to put the gun down.

“He shot him!” The same officer yelled.

“I didn’t shoot him, okay. I didn’t shoot anyone.” Sam defended himself.

“He shot me!!” You grunted in pain, making the men look at you. You were still lying on the bed with your hand pressed to your wound.

“He shot me too!” Dean spoke up.

“Get on your knees, NOW!” Victor yelled and Sam nodded, doing what he was told.

“Okay, okay, okay. Don’t shoot. Please. Look. Here. Here,” Sam passed the gun through the bars as he got on his knees. “Look. We didn’t shoot him. Check the body. There’s no blood. We did not kill him. Go ahead, check him.” Reidy looked at Sam before leaning over Steven. He checked the body and looked up at Victor.

“Vic, there’s no bullet wound.”

“He’s probably been dead for months.” You said through the pain.

“What did you do to him?” Victor demanded answers.

“We didn’t do anything. You wouldn’t believe us even if we told you the truth.” You snapped at him. He raised his gun at you and you looked at Dean worriedly.

“Talk or I shoot.” He threatened.

“He was possessed by a demon.” You told them the truth.

“Possessed? Right. Fire up the chopper! We’re taking them out of here now.” Henriksen scoffed.

“Yeah! Do that!” You yelled at him, getting angry. You whimpered when you moved your shoulder and looked at Dean who was pissed.

“Bill?” Reidy said over the walkie-talkie. “Bill are you there?” You assumed Bill was in charge of the helicopter. However, there wasn’t any response. Henriksen nodded to Reidy to see what was going on and the other Agent left the room. The other officers still had their guns trained on you and the brothers.

“They’re dead. I think they’re all dead.” Reidy said over the talkie. Your eyes widened because you knew what that meant. If one demon found you, then a whole fleet of them out be here. Suddenly, there was a loud crash coming from outside and that shook the officers and Victor up.

“What the hell was that? Reidy? Reidy?!” Victor said over the talkie but no answer. “What the hell was that? Come in? Reidy? Reidy? Alright, let’s go.” The officers and Victor left you and Dean to bleed out while Sam was sighing in frustration.

“How are you holding up, sweetheart?”

“It fucking hurts but it looks like he didn’t hit a major artery so I won’t bleed out in the next ten minutes,” You sighed, sitting up while keeping pressure on your wound. “What about you?”

“Just great.” You sighed and leaned against the wall, wondering what was going on out there. You needed to get out because you three were the only ones who can fight this. All of a sudden, the lights in the entire building went out and that put you immediately on alert. You stood up and looked around the room, the emergency light still on.

“Oh, that can’t be good.” Dean sighed.

“We need to get out of here, patch our wounds up and fight these bastards back!” You yelled. You looked over at Sam and Dean to see Sam treating Dean’s wound. Sam used the toilet paper as gauze. You did the same thing. It wasn’t ideal but it was something. Dean yelled out when Sam hit something bad but Sam just rolled his eyes.

“Alright, don’t be such a wuss.” You chuckled because even after all this, they were still the same brothers.

“What’s the plan? Kill everyone in the station, bust you three out?” You looked up to see Henriksen at the entrance.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean grunted out.

“I’m talking about your psycho friends. I’m talking about a bloodbath.”

“Okay, I promise you—whoever’s out there, is not here to help us.” You glared at him.

“Look, you got to believe us. Everyone here is in terrible danger.” Sam tried to be the reasonable one.

“You think?”

“Why don’t you let us out of here so we can save your arrogant asses?” You snapped.

“From what? You gonna say demons?” After a few moments of silence, he rolled his eyes. “Don’t you dare say demons. Let me tell you something. You should be a lot more scared of me.” He turned around and left after that.

“How’s the shoulder?” Sam asked you and Dean.

“It’s awesome,” Dean said, tossing the stained paper away. “I’ll live. You know, if we get out of here alive. So, you got a plan?”

“Still thinking, Dean,” Sam said, checking the exit wound on his shoulder. You looked around and noticed Nancy, the secretary, peeking at you three from around the corner.

“Hey,” You whispered to the boys and they noticed Nancy standing there.

“Hey, Nancy, is it?” You asked gently and she backed away in fear of being caught. “Please, Nancy, Dean and I have been shot. We need your help. We’re bleeding badly. Just, could you go get a towel? Just one?” All she did was stare at you and you sighed, hoping to get through to her. “Look, Nancy, we’re not the bad guys. I promise you.” All Nancy did was leave you and you groaned, hitting your head on the wall.

“Nice try,” Dean said but you heard footsteps and turned to see Nancy walking over to you. It seemed as if she trusted you more than the brother. You got up and walked to her, reaching out for the towel. You grabbed it from her and smiled at her.

“Thank you.” You whispered. She just smiled back at you and you noticed the rosary around her neck. She was about to leave but you called out her name to stop her. You could use violence but you wanted to try something else.

“Nancy, that’s a nice necklace.” You said and she looked down at it before looking back at you. She still didn’t say a word.

“Look, can I tell you something?” You whispered but she didn’t make a move to go near you again. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? You have my word.” That seemed to do the trick and she walked closer to you so you could whisper to her.

“I’m very religious, as I’m sure you are too. I would very much appreciate it if I could borrow your necklace? I would like to pray to God and ask for his forgiveness in this time of need.” She stared at you in the eyes and she nodded, taking off her necklace and handing it to you.

“Thank you, Nancy. You’re very kind.” She smiled at you before leaving your side. She left the room and you smirked, looking at the brothers.

“Why did you do that?” Dean asked.

“I think we might be needing some holy water. Sam, how does it go?” You smirked, going over to your toilet and copying whatever Sam said before dropping the necklace in the water. You stood up and turned around with a smile on your face.

A lot of time has passed by and you ripped the towel in two before sliding one half over to Sam who used it on Dean.

“We’re like sitting ducks in here.” Sam sighed, hating that he didn’t know what was going on out there.

“Yeah, I know. Would it kill these cops to BRING US A SNACK?!” Dean raised his voice at the end so that the officers could hear them in the other room.

“How many to do you think are out there?” You asked.

“I don’t know,” Dean answered.

“However many they are, they could be possessing anyone. Anyone could just walk right in.” Sam said and you agreed with him.

“It's kind of wild, right? I mean it’s like they’re coming for us. They’ve never done that before,” Dean smiled. “It’s like we got a contract on us. Think it’s because we’re so awesome? I think it’s because we’re so awesome.” Dean lost his smile when Sam offered the bitch face to him. You didn't have time to answer because the sheriff walked into the room, opening your cell first. You stood up and frowned, looking at the brothers who were on alert.

“It’s time to go.” You stepped back as the sheriff walked into your cell.

“Uh, you know what? I think I’m fine right here.” You didn’t know if he was possessed or not.

“What do you think you’re doing?” All heads turned to Henriksen who walked into the room.

“We’re not just gonna sit around here and wait to die. We’re gonna make a run for it.”

“It’s safer in here.”

“There’s a SWAT facility in Boulder.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Henriksen said, walking inside your cell. You glanced at the brother nervously because you were chained up which left you at a disadvantage.

“The hell we’re not.” The sheriff growled. Henriksen took out his gun and shot the sheriff between the eyes. You jumped at the loud noise and looked at the FBI Agent. He smirked and pointed his gun at you but you were too fast for him. You slammed into him, ignoring the pain in your shoulder. He grunted and tried to get the upper hand but you grabbed his face and shoved it in the toilet. You looked at Sam and he started the exorcism. You held him under as best as you could with his body failing around. Another officer came into the room with his rifle but Dean took care of him.

“Stay back!!” Dean yelled at him. The demon in Victor lifted his head and screamed out in pain as his skin sizzled. His eyes were black as the night but you forced it under again.

“Hurry up!” Dean pressured Sam. The demon lifted his head, his eyes still black.

“It’s too late. I already called them. They’re already coming.” You shoved his head back in and Sam finished the exorcism. Black smoke came out of Victor’s mouth, shooting into the air vent.

“Is he… is he dead?” You looked behind you to see Nancy standing there, scared out of her mind. You were about to answer when Victor coughed. He pushed himself up on the bed and looked at you with a sad expression.

“Henriksen! Hey. Is that you in there?” You asked, looking into his eyes.

“I… I shot the sheriff.”

“But you didn't shoot the deputy.” Dean joked and you and Sam glared at him which shut him up.

“Five minutes ago, I was fine, and then…”

“Let me guess. Some nasty black smoke jammed itself down your throat?”

“You were possessed,” Sam said.

“Let me ask you something, Henriksen,” you sneered, staring into his eyes. “You believe us now?”

“I owe the biggest I told you so ever,” Dean said and you handed Victor his gun back.

“I told you, we’re not the bad guys.” You sighed.

“Officer Amici,” Henriksen said, standing up and addressed the officer in the room. “Keys…” Officer Amici handed Victor the keys and he unlocked your chains. You sighed in relief and Victor moved to Sam and Dean’s cell, doing the same thing.

“Alright, so how do we survive?” Victor asked.

“Do you have any spray paint?” You asked Officer Amici.

Series Rewrite Junkies:

@helllonearth @amyisabellal @deanwnchstr  @caseykitten6 @quixoticcat @supernaturalblogging  @notmoose45 @crowleysminion @mina22 @tahbehonest  @oreosatmidnight @seninjakitey @flyonlittlewinchester  @earthtokace @gingersnapped13 @superrandomnatural @my-wayward-heroes @stevetrevorstardis @supernaturallover2002  @teamfreewillsstuff @gucci-daddario @22sarah08 @gh0stgurl  @put-my-favorite-record-on @rhiannonj79 @onlydeanandjensen

[bittersweetmelodie]

home

Fandom: RWBY Pairing: Blake Belladonna/Sun Wukong Summary: Sometimes home isn’t four walls; it’s two eyes and a heartbeat. But oh, how easily all of that can come crumbling down.  FF.net

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and places belong to Rooster Teeth

A/N: Have some blacksun word vomit, because I am trash and their interactions this volume are killing me. Half inspired by Blake’s “word for a person” thing. Although every blacksun shipper probably wants it to be “love”, I’d like to think Blake thinks of Sun as “home”.

Blake groaned sleepily as the familiar vibration of a scroll call pulled her from her dreams. She rolled over onto the other side of the bed, half expecting to snuggle into Sun’s warmth, only to find his side of the bed empty. Sighing as she remembered that Team SSSN was still away on a mission, she sat up and grabbed her scroll off the dresser. A quick glance at the clock told her that it was four in the morning.

She frowned – phone calls at this time of night usually didn’t amount to anything good, especially for a Huntress. “Hello?” she asked, her voice heavy with sleep.

“Hey Blake.” Sun’s voice carried through the scroll.

Had she been a little more alert, paid a little more attention, she would have noticed the slight tremble in his voice, the quiet, but sharp, intake of breath at the end of the greeting. But it was the middle of the night, and her sleep-addled brain let the small details slip under her radar.

“Sun?” she blearily tried to rub the sleep from her eyes. “Is something wrong? Do you know what time it is?”

“Yea, sorry. I woke you, didn’t I? Of course I did – it’s four in the morning. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Being woken in the middle of the night kind of comes with being a Huntress. What’s wrong? Are you and your team okay?”

“Yea, no, no. We’re fine, everybody is fine.” A muffled grunt. “I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all. I think I miss you too much.”

She smiled, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. “I miss you too, Sun.” Quietly, she slipped out of bed and padded, barefoot, across their apartment to the kitchen. She squished her scroll between her ear and shoulder, and started filling the kettle with water. “How much longer do you think you and your team will be out there for?”

“A couple more days at most,” he said, his voice sounding oddly tinny.

Blake frowned. Was it her imagination or did it sound like Sun was running out of breath? Or was it just bad connection? She opened her mouth to ask, again, if he was alright, but he spoke over her.

“There’s just a lot of Grimm here… More than we’d been expecting. We were hoping to get back last week. I think we’re all really excited to be coming back to see some familiar faces. Especially Neptune. He really wants to get back so he can tease Weiss and Yang.”

Blake let out a soft chuckle. “Who spilled? Weiss has been working up the courage to let him know when you guys got back.”

“Scarlet – you know how he loves to run his big mouth.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t you?” she teased. “You always were terrible at keeping a secret from Neptune.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Yea. Yang made me promise not to say anything. Well, she threatened me, really, and I really don’t want her to break my legs. But I can see why they wanted to tell him themselves, Neptune being Weiss’s ex-boyfriend and all.”

“Hmm,” she hummed in agreement, and the conversation dropped off into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by Sun’s heavy breathing.  

“Are you making tea?” he huffed out when the shrill shriek of the kettle pierced the silence.

“I’m tired,” she retorted as she poured the boiling water into her mug and watched the tea leaves float to the surface. “You did wake me up in the middle of the night, after all.”

“Coffee works wonders.”

She made a face, even though he couldn’t see her. “It’s also disgusting. I don’t know how you drink that stuff.” She wrapped her hands around the warm mug and headed back to the bedroom. “I will admit that I miss the smell of your coffee in the morning, though. It certainly smells better than it tastes.”

He chuckled, but it came out sounding a little watery.

She frowned. “Sun? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yea, m’fine,” he mumbled. “Just… miss you a lot. It feels really good to hear your voice.”

“You’ll be home soon; hopefully just a couple more days.”

Home, she mused. She wondered when she had started associating Sun with the word ‘home’ – with the way that he seemed to always know what she was thinking, and how to cheer her up; with the way that he would wake her up in the mornings by peppering kisses along her cheeks and jaw. Home was the way he would pull her away from her paperwork, and into his arms. It was the way he would twirl her around the living room while he hummed whatever cheesy song he’d heard on the radio that day. Home, she realized, was Sun’s smile that radiated warmth and happiness, bringing joy to everybody around him. He might have been the one on a mission thousands of miles away from their apartment, but she was the one who wouldn’t feel at home until he came back and wrapped her up in his warmth.

“Blake?” Sun’s voice pulled her from her reverie.

“Yea, sorry.” She put her mug down on the bedside table and pulled the blanket around her shoulders in an attempt to stay warm. “What was that?”

“You said ‘home’, and it made me think… I’ve never really had a home before. I mean, Vacuo was… just a place where I grew up. I was always moving, and never stayed in one place for long.”

“And Mistral?”

“Mistral and Haven Academy were always meant to be temp-temporary. Just a stepping stone to get stronger – to help me survive. Neptune, Sage and Scarlet – they’re a big part of my life, but… I still felt like something was always missing, and I would never be home until I found it. Maybe that’s why I never managed to stay put – because I was looking for something.”

“And? Did you find it?”

“Yea. Yea, I think I did. Have you ever been with somebody, and it just feels right? Like you could spend the rest of your life with them?”

She paused before answering. “Yes. You, Sun. You’ve always been there for me, despite how many times I pushed you out, despite my flaws and my broken past. You took those broken pieces and you glued them back together. I don’t tell you enough how grateful I am that you never gave up on me.”

“I would do it again, and again, and again, if it meant you would be happy, because I’m happy as long as you are. I’ve never felt like I ever belonged somewhere until I met you. You’re home, Blake, and I love you so much.”

“Sun…” she breathed out, touched by how earnest he sounded. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I love you, Blake,” he repeated. “I am always going to love you.”

She sighed, contentment and warmth washing over her. “I love you too, Sun.”

She could hear a rustle from his end of the call, before he said, “I have to go. I need to wake Nep so I can get a bit of rest.”

“Be careful on the rest of your mission, Sun. Good night.”

“Good night, Blake. Sweet dreams.” And then the line went dead.

“See you soon,” Blake whispered into the open air, even though she knew he’d already hung up. She set her scroll down next to her untouched cup of tea and snuggled deeper into the blankets. It didn’t take long for sleep to overcome her once again.

Having finally hung up the phone, Sun let out a pained gasp and coughed, blood spilling out from the corner of his mouth. He pressed his hand, already slick with his own blood, against his abdomen, where Wilt and Blush had pierced him – in the exact same spot where he had stabbed Blake all those years ago. He couldn’t help but think that Adam was trying to make a statement, and he knew exactly what it was – this is your fault.

And, hundreds of miles away from the nearest city, and miles away from where his team had set up base for the night, he knew he wasn’t going to make it out alive. Nothing his team had in their meager first aid kit could stop the amount of blood that was flowing out of his wound. So he’d called Blake – if only to hear her voice one last time, and to tell her that he loved her.

“Sun!” Neptune’s voice, filled with concern, reverberated through the night. “Sun!”

Sun let out another cough, blood spurting out. He could hear the familiar footsteps of his teammates rushing to his side.

Neptune landed next to him. “Sun!” His voice was panicked as he took in the sight of his best friend, lying in a pool of his own blood, an open, gaping wound in his abdomen, and blood dribbling down his chin. He had his scroll clutched in his right hand, Blake’s smiling face the only source of light illuminating the dark (Neptune can remember the shenanigans he and his teammates had gotten into to get her to smile like that). His other hand was clamped over the wound, trying futilely to staunch the blood flow. His face was contorted in pain and his breathing was heavy.

“Sage, Scarlet, call for help! Now! Yang and Weiss are on a mission near the outskirts of Vale – see if they have anything better than the first aid kit we have back at camp!” Neptune yanked his jacket off and pressed it against Sun’s wound, applying as much pressure as he could.

“You guys found me.” He let out a grunt of pain and let his eyes fall closed – he was starting to find it hard to concentrate, and his eyelids were starting to feel heavy.

“Sun, open your eyes!” Neptune said in a rush, his voice panicked. “I swear to dust, if you don’t open your eyes, I’m going to sic Blake on you when we get back to Vale. She’s going to let you have it for getting yourself so injured. Open your damned eyes!”

Sun struggled to pry his eyes open. “I’m okay,” he mumbled.

Sage jogged up to the pair. “We called for help – they’re sending in an emergency chopper from Vale, but it could be hours before they get here. Yang and Weiss are…” his voice trailed off when he saw Sun’s condition, and panic flashed across his usually calm façade. He swallowed loudly. “Keep him talking, Neptune. Don’t let him lose consciousness. I’m going to tell the girls to hurry.” His voice, usually calm and collected, was starting to take on tones of desperation.

Neptune nodded numbly as Sage took off towards Scarlet, who was giving the girls details about their location. He turned his attention back to Sun, whose breathing had started to turn shallow. “What happened? Why didn’t you wake us?” He asked, grasping for something – anything – to talk about in his panic-induced state.

“D-don’t know,” Sun sputtered, choking on his blood. “Was a noise – went to investigate. Caught me by surprise.”

“Who?” Neptune could feel fury building in his chest – he was going to find the monster who did this to his best friend, and make them pay. “Who was it?” he growled.

“A-Adam,” he slurred. “Don’t – don’t tell Blake. Promise – promise you won’t tell her.” He coughed again, spraying more blood everywhere.

Neptune wanted to scream. Even now, as he was laying there, his life slowly seeping out of him, Sun was thinking of Blake. He couldn’t promise that – he knew why Sun wanted him to, but he couldn’t. Blake would never forgive them if they kept something this big from her. But she would also never forgive herself for something that wasn’t her fault.  

“Can’t – I can’t do that, Sun.”

“Please! You h-have to. She can’t know. She doesn’t – doesn’t deserve to…” his voice trailed off into a shallow exhale as his eyes started to close again.

“Sun! Stay with me! Open your eyes, Sun! Tell me about Blake – you always want to talk about Blake, right? Tell me about your first date, what your wedding will be like, anything!”

“S-sorry, Nep. I don’t think I can – tell Sage and Scarlet that –” he let out a pained breath. “You guys were the – best team I could’ve asked for.” He forced his eyes open and gave Neptune a weak smile. “Thanks for – putting up with all my crap.”

“You can tell them yourself when we get back into the city! Just a little longer, Sun! Yang and Weiss will be here soon with help!” Neptune looked around wildly, as if it would somehow make the two girls magically appear. “Sun!”

“Tell Blake I love…” his words trailed off as the light faded from his eyes.

Blake was pulled out of her slumber again, when she heard somebody loudly banging on her apartment door. She buried her face into her pillow and let out a muffled groan. Maybe if she ignored them, whoever it was at the door would go away. But the knocking didn’t cease and, with an irritated growl, she tossed the blankets aside and stormed across the apartment. She threw door open, forgetting that she was in nothing more than one of Sun’s old t-shirts (which she had donned because she missed him, and it smelled like him – not that she would ever admit that to anybody).

“What do you –” her words died in her throat when she took in Yang and Weiss’s disheveled state. “Yang? Weiss? What’s wrong? Aren’t you guys supposed to be on a mission? Are you guys okay?” She asked in alarm when she finally noticed the dried blood on their hands and sleeves.

Yang looked at her sadly. “Blake – I’m so sorry. Something’s happened and –” she broke off as a sob overcame her.

Weiss, whose eyes were uncharacteristically shiny with unshed tears, gave Yang’s hand a comforting squeeze.

Blake could feel dread pooling in the pit of her stomach. She had never seen Yang at a loss for words before, and Weiss had never been one to show intense emotions. Something was definitely off. She clutched the doorknob so tightly that her knuckles started turning white. “Guys?” she prompted, her voice cracking.

Weiss glanced at Yang and, seeing that her girlfriend was in no state to talk, turned back to Blake and mumbled something. But the only thing Blake managed to make out through the buzzing in her ears was the word Sun.

She could feel the strength leaving her legs, and she reached out blindly in front of her for support before she completely collapsed.

Yang and Weiss immediately leapt forward, each clasping one of her arms to hold her up.

“What – what happened to Sun? Is he okay?” How could something have happened to him in such a short time? She had spoken to him a mere few hours ago!

“Let’s go inside,” Weiss said, a slight tremble in her voice despite her attempts to remain calm and unemotional. She and Yang led her to the couch and sat her down. “We should have sent Neptune,” she grumbled under her breath.

Yang elbowed her sharply, and glared at her through the tears in her eyes. She sighed heavily. “Blake…Sun is – he went to investigate something during his night watch. Things…things didn’t – they didn’t go well.”

Blake felt herself seize with terror. “Sun – where is Sun?” she demanded frantically.

Yang and Weiss shared a look before Weiss spoke up. “Blake … he – Sun didn’t make it.”

“No…no, that’s impossible! I just spoke with him. He was fine!” She shook her head in denial.

“I’m sorry, Blake,” Yang whispered, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“They called us in the early hours of the morning, asking us to bring help. We got there as fast as we could, but… w-we were too late. He’d already –” Weiss cut herself off and took Blake’s other hand.

“He was… He was in really bad shape.” Yang swallowed the lump in her throat. “He didn’t go down without a fight, Blake. He did everything he could to make it back to you, but…”

Blake was stunned, frozen to the spot. “How? How did he –” she stopped, unable to bring herself to say the word ’die’, as if uttering the word would make it more real.

“We don’t know,” Weiss admitted. “Neptune was the last one to speak to him, but he refuses to say.”

“Blood loss,” Yang said. “He had a severe wound in his abdomen. On the left. I – Sage said it was probably from a sword.”

Blake felt like somebody had poured a bucket of ice over her. Unconsciously, she reached down to touch the scar on the left side of her stomach, a scar from a wound that haunted her even to this day, and would probably haunt her for the rest of her life. Her stomach rolled, and she struggled to keep herself from throwing up all over the rug. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

‘I will make it my mission to destroy everything you love,’ his words echoed through her mind and her heart clenched. Was he still trying to haunt her? After all these years, was he still trying to take away everything that she loved? Would her friends – her family – ever be safe?  

“Blake?” Yang glanced worriedly over at Weiss who looked just as lost and miserable as she felt.

“Adam,” she managed to get out through clenched teeth. She felt like she was suffocating, like the world was closing in around her. “It was Adam.”

Yang stiffened, her eyes going instinctively to her robotic arm. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch,” she growled, her eyes flashing dangerously red.

“My fault,” Blake said as if Yang hadn’t said anything. “It’s my fault. I killed Sun.”

“No,” Weiss whispered. “It’s not. It’s nobody’s fault but whoever did it.”

“It was Adam! Why else would Neptune keep it a secret? That – his wound – was a message. He’s telling me it’s my fault.” She gestured wildly to Yang’s arm. “That’s my fault too. This is why I left! He won’t s-stop until you’re all dead.” She buried her face in her hands as she tried to keep the tears from falling.

Yang sighed. She took a seat next to Blake and wrapped her arm around her. “Nobody blames you, Blake. Sun – I know Sun wouldn’t blame you either, and he wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. It was out of your hands. Adam is – he says he’s doing it to hurt you, but if Sun had nothing to do with you, and he was on the same mission, and confronted Adam, do you think Adam would have just let him go? Just because he had no connection to you?”

“Yang is right, Blake. It doesn’t matter who it is or who they are to you, Adam will kill everybody who gets in his way. It is not your fault,” she emphasized. “So please, don’t run from us. You don’t have to do this alone, but we can’t be there for you if you don’t let us in.” She sat down on Blake’s other side and put a comforting hand on her back.

Blake looked up, a desperate look on her face. “But Sun –”

“Sun wouldn’t want you to do this alone,” Yang said firmly. “Please, Blake. Stop pushing us out. We want to help you.”

Blake’s breath hitched at the familiarity of the words – the very words that Sun had used to get her to stop running away, and to bring her back to the people she loved. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Thank you.”

“You’re our family, Blake. You know we’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

She gave Weiss and Yang each a tight hug before bidding them goodbye. She shut the door and leaned against it, letting herself slide into an exhausted, defeated heap on the floor of their apartment. Her apartment now, she realized as the sinking feeling in her gut grew. It wasn’t theirs anymore; it would never be theirs again. Only hers.  

She replayed their last conversation in her head, and she wondered how she could have missed all the signs. The watery laugh, the way he sounded like he was running out of breath, the fact that he hadn’t said ‘see you soon’ like he always did. He had known – when he’d called her, he must have already known then that he wouldn’t come back to her.

And if he had known, then his telling her that he loved her hadn’t been a spur of the moment thing. He had called her with the specific purpose of telling her that he loved her, that he would always love her (but, she thought bitterly, the ache in her chest growing more and more painful, always didn’t last very long), to make sure that she knew. And she was certain that Neptune refusing to tell them what happened had everything to do with Sun telling him not to. Even in his last moments, he had put her first. He always put her first, and for once, she wished that he had put himself first.

She buried her face in her hands and let out a broken, heart-wrenching sob, finally letting the tears fall. Sun was dead. How could Sun be dead? After so many years fighting extremists, Grimm, after defeating Salem, how could he be dead? After everything they had all been through, she supposed she had started thinking that they were invincible. But they weren’t. And now… now Sun was gone, and she would never see him again. She would never again see his smile that shone brighter than the sun; she would never get to walk down the aisle to see him in a suit; she would never again fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart or wake up to his warmth. She would never really, truly be home again.

A/N: Vaguely based on this prompt, because apparently, I really like killing off my favourite characters. 

[karatails]

Brother meets cliff, a family story

So to get Eagle Scout rank, you need to get all the required badges before you age out of Boy Scouts at 18. Seeing as the men in my family on both sides have all been in boy scouts and have made Eagle, my brother was under a lot of pressure.

The last one he needed was the Swimming, Hiking, or Cycling Merit badge. You basically do that activity for a required distance in one go. My brother isn’t a great swimmer and Hiking is OK but it was also still really hot in California during early September and it would take all day, so since Dad is an avid biker he opted for Cycling because he might get it done faster. Cycling on a non Mountain Bike required 50 miles, so my dad took him to do warm ups to work him up to the 50 miler.

So all was going well until the day he went on a  45 mile run with a group that Dad rides with. It was supposed to be the last run before the 50, and dad took him out with his bicycling group as they went around the bay area for the day. Mom and I waved them off and settled in for a day with nothing to do.

From what we pieced together, the bike ride was going smoothly until the group hit a long downward slope. The road curved sharply against a rising cliff, and the more experienced cyclists navigated it easily. But no one had taught my brother how to counter steer. He had picked up speed, went off the road onto the gravel and slammed into the cliff at ramming speed!

Dad had been in the rear of the group, so he crested the hill, saw the other cyclists gathered around someone who had fallen, and got down to them before realizing the fallen rider was his kid. He panicked.

Someone called the medics. It took 6 minutes for the Sheriff to get there, and 6 more for the ambulance.

As for my brother? He woke up about the time the medics got to him, and reflexively sat up to check his watch, wondering what time it was. People started yelling at him to not move! He might have a concussion! The Paramedics then start asking him the usual questions. The basic stuff, what's his name, birthday, who's the president, where was he (He was still not fully sure where he was honestly. Some part of the bay he'd never gone to, so they let it slide), and then the hard one. What day is it? He remembered trying to recall what his watch had said, because he had just checked it, but answered Friday. Turns out it was Saturday, so the paramedics decided he should go to the hospital. 

 Problem: They were out in the fringe of the bay, too far to go by ambulance, so the kid had to go by air. So they stuck a neck brace on him, lifted him onto a stretcher, wheeled him into an ambulance, drove him a mile to where the helicopter was waiting, then wheeled him out of the ambulance and into the chopper. Kid was delighted. The view was fantastic! He wished didn't have the neck brace so he could look out the window better. Plus the flight medics were kind enough to show him the needle for the IV before putting it in his arm, which he really appreciated.

Mom and I had just been sitting down on the couch wondering how the boys were doing when the house phone rang. It was dad, trying to tell us where they were and that the kid had been taken to the hospital. 

He told us the wrong city, but mom and I got enough that we knew where my brother was headed.

This whole drive mom and I are going  "The kid got HELICOPTERED to the hospital. He's probably delighted about the helicopter part!" like its no big. The thing is? my brother's been in the ER like 5-6 times over the years for small things. A kid threw sand and it scratched his eye. He slipped on the school bathroom, hit his chin on the toilet, and needed stitches. He went up to high elevations with the scouts and got a never ending nosebleed and had to be driven down into town to get it cauterized. We were kinda used to him being in the ER every 3 or so years.

So there are only a few ER that take minors in the area. The one he got helicoptered to ended up being the Good Samaritan that I was born at. Mom and I drove up and ID it as the correct hospital cause the helicopter was still on the roof! 

In the meantime, my brother was asked about who they could contact, and the house wasnt picking up, as we were already there, and mom's cellphone was dead so that didn't work, and he didn't know my cell phone number. 

Mom and I got up to the ER and go talk to the receptionist. Give her my brother's name, and she said she didn't have anyone there with that name. We told her he just got helicoptered in. 

The poor lady's face goes white and she starts stammering, telling us why don't we sit down so she can get a social worker to take us to the trauma center?

Mom and I sit, and look at eachother and immediately go "Well that's new. We get a Social Worker! and he's in the Trauma Center! Gee I wonder what he looks like."

The social worker then arrives and spends a bit of time trying to reassure us that our dear boy only LOOKS bad but he isnt dying please dont panic over all the blood he's really gonna be ok I promise.

Well... my brother was still puzzling over what my cellphone number was when we walked in. I looked him over. He was bright eyed, alert, I can tell most of it is just surface wounds so I immediately go "GOOD JOB [Brother’s Name]!" and he gives me a big ol "WHY THANK YOU!" and we confused the poor Social worker at how well we are taking all of this.

So we hang around as he gets more grit scrubbed off of him and a few x-rays before they eventually let us take him home with us (brother’s note: they scrubbed with something green that hurt more than anything else in this endeavour). He got a nice shower where he looked MUCH better, and ended up sleeping on the couch for a few days. (Brother’s note again: That couch was more comf than my bed, and it perfect whenever I was sick. I miss it.)

He got away with just a road rash and some bruised ribs. The bike bent, and his helmet was destroyed, but he was safe and that's what those things are for. 

The next day was his fundraiser but as he couldt do the car wash stuff he sat in one of those folding camp chairs with a sun shade and limped over to get his funds and pulled in a good deal of pity money.

He pretty much got to relax while his trop did all the heavy lifting.

But as he still had the 50 miler to do, we got him a new bike (it was blood red, which he said was disturbing and oddly fitting at the same time) and a new helmet (same model as before since they obviously work) and he got his eagle badge and the mayor came by to congratulate him cause our mayor was really cool and liked spending time with the community.

Then that christmas he got him a blue shirt (blue like the old ex bike) with a stick figure tumbling over the bike's handlebars with a caption "I do my own stunts"

[gkingoffez]

if you fall, i’ll pick you up

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Words: 3,251

AO3 | FFN.Net

And if you call, I will answer

And if you fall, I’ll pick you up

And if you court this disaster

I’ll point you home.

-          Barenaked Ladies, Call and Answer

Reklam Station is falling from the sky, writhing in its final death throes, and it’s taking Ezra Bridger with it.

The wind is blowing hard around Ezra as he falls, his clothes billow and flap against his skin as he plummets through layers of cloud and smoke. He is cold, wet, and terrified, but still forcing his eyes to stay open despite the stinging wind, scanning around for an escape, a chance, a miracle, anything; but all he can see is hopelessness and burning debris casting an orange hue on the world around him.

“Karabast, karabast, karabast!” he yells, trying to hear his own voice above the whooshing in his ears.

This is all so wrong, it shouldn’t have gone this way. The Holocron was supposed to make me strong, invincible, so why is everything literally falling apart?

A small part of Ezra’s brain knows there’s almost no use holding on to the station as it falls. It wouldn’t matter in the end whether he clung on as tight as he could, or let go and free fell, the result would be the same either way- death, either by being caught in the fireball of the station going up in the lightning storm, or from hitting the planet’s surface that was quickly rushing to meet him at terminal velocity.

His comm unit had broken, the Phantom was destroyed, and as communication had cut off before he’d had time to tell Sabine what had happened, none of his friends even knew he was still on the station. It was official: Ezra Bridger was going to die, here at this place, in this moment. So it was no surprise that he was scrambling for every last shred of hope he could reach; even if it was just the tangible sensation of clinging to a wall like it could somehow save him.

Karabast, why didn’t I think it through before cutting the power? he feels like screaming to the uncaring wind.

The fall, and the heart-pounding, hope-destroying anticipation of death at any second stretches Ezra’s time out to an agonising crawl, and he finds himself with time to think.

One of the clearer threads of thought in his racing mind is that he never, ever thought he’d die like this. There’d been people on the streets of Lothal who whispered between themselves that Ezra would never make it to sixteen years old if he kept living on scraps and dodging angry Stormtroopers. Ezra himself had once thought he’d never make it off Lothal, and yet he had proceeded to exceed everyone’s expectations, including his own.  He was a Jedi apprentice, a rebel, a Lieutenant Commander, who’d beaten the odds and every impossible situation that had been thrown at him, all while being hunted down by Inquisitors and Darth Vader himself. Somehow, he survived every time.

Except this time, apparently.

It was almost insulting that after all Ezra had done, that this mission, this impossible situation- falling planet-ward, clinging on for dear life like a drowning loth-rat and no one coming to his rescue- would be the one to finally kill him.

He had made it past sixteen, but not by much. What would his parents think about that? He couldn’t bear to imagine what they would say..

“Those Starfighters better be worth it,” he hisses through his teeth, half-angrily, half-terrified. He’d watched the ships flying away skyward in two lines with a surge of elation, and by now Zeb, Sabine Rex and Chopper had no doubt bested the Empire in orbit, and were probably half-way back to base. At least, he sincerely hoped they were. It would suck to no end if Ezra was dying for nothing, even more so if he’d led his friends to their deaths as well.

How would they feel when they landed and found that Ezra hadn’t followed them, that he’d never meet them at Chopper Base like he’d promised? That thought sent a spike of regret through his chest; he’d really let them, Hera and the rebellion down. Were a couple of old Y-Wings really worth the trade for how useful he was as a Jedi?

He desperately hopes so. Otherwise, his death would mean nothing at all, and that was a scary thought.

Ezra’s feelings turn somewhat inevitably to lament, with a hint of bitterness. Maybe, if he’d been truthful with Hera on her check-up, Phoenix Squadron could have sent in backup. Maybe, if he hadn’t have been so quick to cut power to the station, he could have come up with a more foolproof escape plan. Maybe if he’d been quicker, stronger, more powerful, had listened more closely to the Sith Holocron-

Oh, but now all he can think about is Kanan, and it wrenches at his heart so badly he has to choke back a sob.

The last time they’d spoken was when Kanan had confiscated the Holocron, and Ezra had felt so mad it had overwhelmed all his senses and set a fire in his chest. But now he regrets everything- he regrets with the heat of a thousand suns not talking to Kanan more since Malachor; he regrets not seeking his master out, not simply telling him he still had the Holocron in the first place; not trying harder to mend the bridge between them that had been damaged in the wake of Ezra’s mistakes. Kanan was blind because Ezra had been stupid and naïve enough to trust Maul, and now instead of words of love or even an apology, the last words Kanan would ever hear from him were cruel and hurtful.

Just like I don’t need you.

But if this whole mission had proved anything, it was that Ezra did need Kanan.

Zeb had been right, Kanan would have loved to be here with them. Kana would have been in his element; the plan constantly changing? Check. New, unexpected dangers flying in from all directions? Check. A countdown timer ticking down? Double check.

Kriff, Kanan probably would have come up with an even better one-liner for the demoted Imperial officer Ezra had encountered. Kanan would have done it all better, and they would have saved more ships and everyone would have safely escaped safely on the Phantom, if he’d been here with them. Ezra was sure of it.

He tries again to choke back his emotion, blinking away the threat of tears. He can almost hear Kanan’s low, familiar voice in his mind, trying to soothe him.

Ezra, I’m here, Kanan whispers, distant like he’s underwater, and Ezra almost feels like it should be a comfort.

But Ezra’s not that stupid: Kanan isn’t here, not like he should have been. He’d never see Kanan, or Hera, Sabine, Zeb, Rex or even Chopper ever again. This time, it was his turn to be the one abandoning the people he loved, not the other way around.

Ezra clutches tighter to the metal wall and screws his eyes against the wind’s cruel touch. His face is completely numb with cold by now, and he knows that if he were to give up and start crying his tears would probably roll right off his face and be caught in the updraft, like a Force-damned kid’s holo-cartoon.

A shadow falls upon him. He doesn’t bother to turn and look, thinking it must just be a large piece of debris shaken loose from the whole.

Instead, he desperately wishes that he was back aboard the Ghost right now.

The smell of fresh paint and warm space-waffles in the air as they all sit in the common room, Zeb arguing animatedly with Chopper, Kanan and Hera with their arms wrapped around each other on the couch, Sabine stretched out on the floor sketching out her next project on a holopad.

He thinks also about the picture of his parents Sabine had found for him, and imagines he can feel their warm arms around him as he continues to fall, shielding him from the wind and the world like they did when he was young.

He would give anything, anything to see any of them again one last time, to hear his mother’s laughter, watch Sabine as she painted another bright orange iteration of her phoenix, to hear Kanan calling him for Jedi training…

“Ezra!” a voice cries.

It’s then he hears it- the low thrumming of an engine straining itself above the rushing of the wind. He shoots his eyes open.

“I’m right here!” the voice yells again, and Ezra turns to it.

He recognises Kanan in a split-second- Kanan, face in shadow and silhouetted by a background of bright artificial light, one hand hanging onto the sideways doorframe of the Ghosts airlock, and the other reaching out in Ezra’s direction. Ezra’s entire brain screams in relief and confusion.

“Kanan?” he calls back, not quite believing his eyes.

(But how could Kanan be here now, like a miracle, at the last possible second? Is he hallucinating? Is the sudden change in pressure as he falls through the atmosphere making him go crazy?

Something, perhaps the Force, tells him that yes, Kanan really is here, he really had come to save him, despite everything Ezra had done wrong.)

Instinctively, Ezra reaches out for his master, but the distance between their fingertips immediately overwhelms him.

“I can’t reach you,” he cries. His other hand slips its grip, and he withdraws to clutch again at the wall. “It’s too far,” he yells, mostly to himself. But that doesn’t stop him, and still he tries again- because now he has wonderful, terrible, tangible hope to cling on to as well.

He reaches out, loses grip once again and this time lets the wind pick his body up, and he strategically flips himself 180 degrees to be directly parallel to Kanan before clutching again at the wal. The blood in his Ezra’s ears pounds and rushes downwards, but he ignores everything except Kanan, who had come for him; Kanan, who is so close, just a couple of feet away.

As his eyes adjust to the light, Ezra sees the familiar walls and floor of the Ghost behind his master, that corridor that he had memorised as much as the rest of the ship beckons him, and his heart suddenly aches for home. It could only be Hera at the helm, pulling such as dangerous manoeuvre beside falling wreckage. He sees Kanan’s lightsaber bobbing up and down in the wind where it hangs from his master’s belt.

It’s all there waiting for him, open arms ready to wrap themselves around him, except- Kanan is blind. Ezra’s heart drops down to his toes. Kanan couldn’t see where Ezra was, so how would he catch him? What happens if Ezra screws up the jump? What happens if he overshoots? There was no way Kanan would know where he was to grab him, especially as the cacophony of screaming wind and burning metal would make it impossible to use his hearing.

Ezra can only hesitate, doubt tearing at his resolve. It somehow seemed so much worse to come so close to being saved, to going home and then have it all ripped away again. Maybe it would have been better if Kanan and Hera hadn’t come for him at all.

As if he sensed Ezra’s trepidation, Kanan called out again. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, go ahead,” Kanan says, with his own note of desperation. Ezra cannot help but think back to Malachor- him holding tight onto the Holocron as Darth Vader tried to rip it away, Kanan with two hands gripped tight around his arm and screaming “I’ve got you!”

Kanan had him then, and instinct was reassuring Ezra that the same would happen now, if he just opened himself to the Force and trusted his Master’s guidance.

“Let go,” Kanan insists, and suddenly Ezra isn’t falling, the wind isn’t tearing at his clothes and hair; instead, he’s fourteen years old again, standing in the middle of a field on Lothal with TIE-fighters bearing down on him and being asked by a stranger to jump into a strange ship.

If he’d trusted Kanan enough to take a leap of faith back then, there should be no doubt at all what he should do right now. He had to trust Kanan now, because Kanan had always been there to catch him.

Ezra took a breath and closed his eyes, steeling himself and calming the thumping of his heart. This was his only chance, and all he needed was to be brave enough to take it. He reached out to his Master with every bit of strength but- it wasn’t good enough. The wind caught him again while he was unbalanced, and suddenly he was upside down, and been carried far too high above the airlock door.

No, no, no, no!

He tried again to reach for Kanan’s hand- it was so close- but succeeded only in flailing about and grabbing at air. This was wrong, all wrong. Karabast, karabast!

He’s failed- Kanan is still looking to the place where Ezra had just been before, and Ezra’s fears were confirmed. Kanan didn’t know where he was, and in a second, the updraft would rocket Ezra well out of his reach. With the station so close to the planet’s surface there would be no time at all for another attempt. This realisation hits Ezra harder than a blaster bolt; he is truly going to die here, and it tears him apart to feel the hope that Kanan’s hand had offered die in his heart.

There’s no point, no hope. He starts to pull back, and in the split-second he has left, there are so many things he wants to scream at Kanan- go, get out of here, there’s no time, leave me, I’m sorry, please forgive me, I should have tried harder-

But suddenly, Kanan turns and reaches up, grabbing at Ezra’s arm not a second before it would have been beyond his reach. Kanan’s grip is vice like and shocking, and Ezra watches him twist to brace himself against the doorframe and anchor them both to the Ghost.

The wind buffets and tears at Ezra, hoping to snatch him up once again as Kanan strains to pull him inside. Ezra is twice convinced that they aren’t going to make it, and briefly thinks that his shoulder is about to be dislocated- but after a drawn out moment, Kanan throws his arm around Ezra’s shoulders and pulls with all his might, and they both fall to the solid floor of the ship face first.

I’m alive, we’re alive, is all he can think as the door hisses shut behind them, cutting off the sound of the wind..

“I’m alive,” he says out loud, sucking in the biggest breath he’s ever breathed. The relief and pure, unadulterated exhilaration he feels as he grips at the wall/floor under him floods through his entire body.

“Got him!” yells Kanan beside him.

The Ghost responds almost immediately, twisting around them as it veers off from its nosedive to level out.

Unfortunately for Ezra, this sudden turn sends him sliding down the wall to land face-first once again on the corridor’s actual floor as the anti-gravs enabled themselves. Despite being still numb with cold, his face stings when it came into contact with the metal grating. It hurts even more a second later when Kanan crashes down on top of him, pushing all the air out of his lungs.

Kanan is the first to recover, and he rolls off and is on his knees in one fluid move.

“Ezra, I’m sorry, are you alright? Are you injured? Talk to me, buddy,” asks Kanan, fretful and fatherly .

“Ugh,” Ezra moans, still overwhelmingly happy to be alive.

He feels Kanan’s hands wandering across his head, back and arms, poking, prodding and probably searching for broken bones or cuts. Ezra lets him do this for a couple of seconds before he pushes himself up onto his forearms, groaning. He scrubs a hand down his face and recoils- his gloves are damp with, so are his clothes and boots. He feels cold to the bone, the muscles in his arms are aching from trying to hold on to Reklam station as it fell and can feel the familiar sensation of bruises forming on his legs, back and cheek. The adrenaline is starting to die down, his heart is steadily moving back to a normal rhythm and his teeth are beginning to chatter, but other than all of that-

“I’m fine, Kanan. I’m alive,” he replies, repeating that last bit like he can’t quite believe it, and mostly to himself.

Kanan chuckles. “Yes, you keep saying that. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head, though?”

Ezra laughs perhaps a bit too loudly, and then moves to sit up on his haunches as well. Kanan’s hands are on his shoulders in a second to give him support and grip him tight.

Ezra makes himself look right into the eyes Sabine had painted on Kanan’s mask, and feels a swell of emotion rising in his chest. Kanan just smiles at him, his mouth crinkled, and Ezra imagined that if he could see Kanan’s eyes in that moment (whole and that bluey-greeney colour as he remembered them in his dreams) they would be sparkling with amusement and relief.

“You-you came for me,” Ezra whispers with a soft, sad awe, gripping at Kanan’s arm in return. He’d still come, even after he’d found out Ezra had been lying to him, even after he’d had flat out told him that he didn’t need him, Kanan had still come.

It had been a while since Ezra had feared being abandoned again, but every time his Ghost family made a point to return for him, it bolstered something bright in Ezra’s soul.

Kanan’s smile softened. “Of course I-”

“Spectre One and Spectre Six, we’re heading for the atmosphere. Better get up here and strap yourselves in, this might be rough!” comes Hera’s voice suddenly over the intercom.

Breaking from his train of thought, Ezra can only laugh at the command- just a minute earlier he’d thought he’d never hear Hera’s voice crackling through Ghost’s speakers ever again. He was alive, and he laughed because his only other option was to break down and cry, and that would just be embarrassing for everyone involved.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Kanan says with a smirk, squeezing Ezra’s shoulder before reaching out to grip onto the wall and pull himself to his feet. “I’d get up there quick if I were you, you’re in enough trouble as it is.”

Kanan held out his hand again, and Ezra took it, letting his Master drag him to his feet.

Trouble, what-?  He frowns, and then remembers with a groan what had been forgotten in the rush of the wind and feeling of impending death.

The mission, the Phantom, the fact that he’d disobeyed orders and not told her about it during his check in. Forget the fall, Hera was going to kill him now.

“Oh, karabast,” he mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Kanan chuckles again. “Come on, let’s go. There’ll be time to talk back at base, right now we need to escape the Empire.”

Ezra nods, and reaches out for Kanan’s arm. He moves to guide them both out of the airlock and towards the cockpit.

Below, what’s left of Reklam Station hits the planet’s surface with a resounding boom that no one hears.

Me? Writing, finishing and publishing fics somewhat regularly? What is this, 2011 when I actually had motivation to write fanfiction???? What has this show done to me??????

So this was inspired by a gifset of the scene where Kanan grabs Ezra from the air in Steps Into Shadow. If you watch closely, you can see that Ezra tries to reach for Kanan, fails, and then gives up hope. He pulls his hand back and his face crumbles, and you also see that when Kanan reaches out and grabs Ezra, he does so at the last possible second. Ezra was literally a millisecond away from being out of reach. The nuances in animation in this show are amazing, 10/10, would overanalyse and cry over again.

Also, I’m not quite convinced I can pull off first person, but whatever. It’s good for more introspective focuses like this fic, I guess. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

P.S I have about five more WIPs of Rebels fic that aren’t scene rewrites. Ya’ll probably won’t see all five of them bc it’s me, but look forward to see something more from me soon. Hopefully. 

[livasoar]

Let’s get personal!

1: 6 of the songs/artists/bands you listen to most? Red Hot Chili Peppers, Blink-182, Real Friends, This Wild Life, Gideon & Green Day

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? I want to meet my half-brother, I just don’t know if he would want to meet me.

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17. “First of all, I told my mom I would never cry when people left the show...”

4: What do you think about most? Too many things.

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say? “What’s happening?”

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on? With

7: What’s your strangest talent? I don’t think I’ve discovered it yet.

8: Girls… (finish the sentence) rule?; Boys… (finish the sentence)drool?

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you? Yes, I have.

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar? I don’t usually do that.

11: Do you have any strange phobias? Trypophobia; look it up.

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose? Yes, when I was younger

13: What’s your religion? I don’t have one.

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing? Walking, observing my surroundings & taking photo’s.

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? Behind the camera.

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band? I have a favorite band from every genre; not one single favorite. But if I really have to choose, I’d say Real Friends

17: What was the last lie you told? I told my grandma that I didn’t get another tattoo, when I actually did.

18: Do you believe in karma? Indeed.

19: What does your URL mean? It was just an old nickname I had in middle school.

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength? Greatest weakness, I hate feeling forced or pressured to do something. Greatest strength, having control of things in my life.

21: Who are your celebrity crushes? Jesse McCartney, Taron Egerton & Chloe Grace Moretz 

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping? Nope

23: How do you vent your anger? I don’t usually get angry a lot, but when I do I cry.

24: Do you have a collection of anything? I used to collect buttons as a kid. Now I collect crystals & rocks.

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online? It depends on who I’m talking to. 

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become? Most of the time yes; occasionally no.

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love? I hate the sound of someone grinding their teeth. I love the sound of food cooking haha!

28: What’s your biggest “what if”? What if I’m just wasting my time again?

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens? Yes and yes.

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm. Right arm touches a pillow, left arm touches a table.

31: Smell the air. What do you smell? The roast in the crock pot

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to? I’m not entirely sure, nothing comes to mind.

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast? East Coast

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender? There are so many! Anthony Del Grosso, Tyler Joseph, MGK, Mod Sun...<3

35: To you, what is the meaning of life? Doing what you want and saying what you feel to create your own happiness, regardless of what that looks like to others.

36: Define Art. An expression of happiness, humor, life, love and everything in between; through every individuals eyes. 

37: Do you believe in luck? Eh, more or less.

38: What’s the weather like right now? 20 degrees and snowing!

39: What time is it? 5:45pm

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed? I do drive, I haven’t crashed per-say. But one day about a month ago, it started snowing out of nowhere and the roads got really slippery. My car spun completely around and I ended up on the other side of the road in the ditch. 

41: What was the last book you read? “The Summer I Turned Pretty”

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline? Yuck, no. Diesel is fine though

43: Do you have any nicknames? Yes; Liv, Livie & Bee to name a few

44: What was the last film you saw? Underworld: Blood Wars

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had? An almost broken hand?

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly? Yes

47: Do you have any obsessions right now? I’ve always been obsessed with decorating.

48: What’s your sexual orientation? Bisexual 

49: Ever had a rumor spread about you? Yup

50: Do you believe in magic? Oh yes

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? Yes I do

52: What is your astrological sign? Virgo

53: Do you save money or spend it? A little bit of both

54: What’s the last thing you purchased? Dinner at Cracker barrel 

55: Love or lust? Love

56: In a relationship? No I am not.

57: How many relationships have you had? 5

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue? Some days I can, some days I can’t. It’s weird lol

59: Where were you yesterday? Home, my mom’s, America’s Best, Price Chopper and Cracker Barrel.

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you? If there is, I can’t see it.

61: Are you wearing socks right now? Yes

62: What’s your favorite animal? An octopus

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you? I don’t go out of my way to get someone to like me. I just like to be myself and see who comes my way. 

64: Where is your best friend? Living in Florida.

65: Give me your top 5 favorite blogs on Tumblr. I don’t know.

66: What is your heritage? I’m American, my mom is Scottish.

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM? Talking to Eric.

68: What do you think is Satan’s last name? Sawyer

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off? Yeah

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend? I think so.

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do? You’re nuts if you think that I’d jump in the canal after it. I’m not trying to be a hero. I’d call police and let them take care of it.

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid? I would tell my best friend, no one else. I would live everyday as I normally would, I would try to maybe even travel. I don’t think I would be afraid. 

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love. Trust

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it? Ooo there are so many. Hmm... “Out Of Her Mind” - Blink-182 or “One Week” - Barenaked Ladies

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number? 8893

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship? Trust, openness, communication, honesty and doing everything wholeheartedly 

77: How can I win your heart? Everything in my answer to #76, plus pizza.

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity? In a sense, yes.

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far? Letting go of the things in the past.

80: What size shoes do you wear? Usually 9, depending on the shoe.

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone? I’m going to be cremated, not buried. But if I did have a tombstone it would probably say something about coffee or pizza!

82: What is your favorite word? Rad

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart. “Of Gold”

84: What is a saying you say a lot? “Okie dokie” 

85: What’s the last song you listened to? Santeria - Sublime

86: Basic question; what’s your favorite color? Purple

87: What is your current desktop picture? A purple patterned background

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be? Donald Trump

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on? There aren’t any, there is no point in lying.

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do? Tell them to leave, or offer them some food.

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power? The ability to read minds

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again? Doing something fun with my grandpa.

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? Something that happened like 4 years ago, I’m not gonna go into details though.

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be? Hm, I don’t know...

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go? I would either go to Florida to visit Jonathon or to England to meet my family on my mom’s side.

96: Do you have any relatives in jail? Not that I’m aware of.

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car? Yepper

98: Ever been on a plane? Yes

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say? I don’t have anything to say that I would want the whole world to hear.