#crest (CT)

[alphynix]

Modern mammals are the only living representatives of the synapsids, but back during the Permian there were numerous other evolutionary branches – first the pelycosaurs, and later their descendant the therapsids.

Some of the first non-mammalian therapsids were the biarmosuchians, mid-sized carnivores with a more upright posture than their pelycosaur ancestors. They had large canine teeth in their jaws and powerful bites, and some of them also developed elaborate ornamentation on their skulls, with various bony bumps and crests adorning their faces.

Pachydectes elsi was a 1.5m long (~5') biarmosuchian living in what is now South Africa during the late Permian, about 265 million years ago. Bone texture indicates its head ornamentation was covered by either tough thickened skin or a keratinous sheath, and the large bulbous bosses on the sides of its snout had a particularly rich blood supply, suggesting these structures could have been continuously growing throughout its entire life.

But despite how well-protected it looked, Pachydectes' skull was actually relatively fragile and wouldn't have been able to withstand the impact forces of using its headgear for fighting or defense. Instead it may have been mostly used for visual display – and the blood supply to the snout bosses might even have given it the ability to "blush" them if they had a soft-tissue covering.

———

NixIllustration.com | Tumblr | Patreon

References:

Benoit, J., et al. "Early synapsids neurosensory diversity revealed by CT and synchrotron scanning." The Anatomical Record (2024). https://doi.org/10.1002/ar.25445

Rubidge, Bruce S., Christian A. Sidor, and Sean P. Modesto. "A new burnetiamorph (Therapsida: Biarmosuchia) from the middle Permian of South Africa." Journal of Paleontology 80.4 (2006): 740-749. https://doi.org/10.1666/0022-3360(2006)80[740:ANBTBF]2.0.CO;2

Wikipedia contributors. “Biarmosuchia.” Wikipedia, 13 Feb. 2024, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biarmosuchia

Wikipedia contributors. “Pachydectes.” Wikipedia, 7 Feb. 2024, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pachydectes

[randomnameless]

I’ve been saying it since day 1 (uhh rather day 1000), but Fodlan’s main issue is that it says things contrary to what we see.

Emperor Otto 5′s “punishing” his soldiers was so fearsome that they considered being roasted alive as a better option - but somehow the land of barbarians who fight to death to protect their lands is oh so backwards and need an express dose of Almyran pilfering to save themselves from their stoopid traditions.

We see people, regular humans, doing shit in Fodlan and ruining the land, but uwu no, instead it’s all about Thales and those evil lizards, else a world “for HuMaNiTy” might not be the most awesome thing since powdered sugar and we can’t have that.

Heck, Nopes yeeted out Ionius from the scene to make the Empire likeable - even if the metric is completely skewed by Leopold’n’Waldemar pissing on Aegir for no plausible reason after joining him to body Ionius out of the throne, but ssh.

Also, it’s never the Empire’s fault for starting the war, save when characters are allowed to say it because the Empire’s already dead or have no ties to it (I think Hapi in Houses mentions how the current war and the Pre TS Fodlan are like night and day?), so everyone must take their share of the blame, else the sailor fuku’s shoulder pads would crumble under that “uwu weight”. This time, Uncle is put to contribution.

Claude snipes Rhea to get good PR because it’s her fault if people in Fodlan are xenophobic, or marry each other, or put lids on their jars - but Hilda’s house who “hires” Almyran servants is never alluded to, hell Holst “Cyril is one of the good ones?” is treated with kid gloves, when Ingrid is allowed to grow up, confront her past self’s views and ultimately evolve.

But now that I think about it, in FE16, Rhea always dies to Agarthan weapons (Aymr or Nukes) or to her sorry excuse for a parent (SoC in the face).

In Nopes, Claude can snipe her with her older brother’s collar bone, and for what’s it worth (because the game really don’t want to highlight how Supreme Leader in a Sailor Fuku’s last moment on-screen is a highfive as her two enemies kill each other, but we swear she’s fighting using her own powers!!), Supreme Leader is hunting her and hacking her with something Rhea most likely commissonned for her crest bearers, either Willy (but I don’t think so) or Lycaon (who might be her own son?).

In Nopes : Rhea is killed/opposed by people using her family members against her (or her closed ones).

\o/

Vaguely Autistic RN Goes Back On Their FEW3H Bullshit despite having completed FEE: Azure Gleam Edition

This won't be a full-blown advertisement for blood pressure medication like the Scarlet Blaze(d) series, but I also got to the parts of Azure Gleam where I can now comfortably agree with some opinions of it having some really stinky parts.

Of course, the Azure Smell was slung on it in poo form by the other two routes, alongside Koei/IntSys because they're really trying to sell this plausible deniability and and and

uh

Anyway

So 3/4ths of Sreng is a winter wonderland, but designated corner where Macuil dwells is pure desert. Why not just make the place a snowy cold desert like the Katpana Desert and call it a day?

Ingrid continues to display her awareness and shame over her misplaced xenophobia, yet there's still static over House Goneril's racist history with Almyra being erased or...a lot of crap with Adrestia and how they view Brigid and Dagda...

Claude: Continues to scream about how Flayn and the church actually killed his half-brother while ranting how trade is apparently illegal despite plenty of evidence to the contrary

Dimitri: "Y'all hear sum"

Lambert's pitch of trying to play nice with at least one more neighbor, especially regarding the whole continued antagonism with another, is tyrannical madness to these limp-dick fuckheads. Please remind us why we should sympathize with both the western nobles or the western church, again???

Flayn continues to display Clark Kent-levels of disguise failure, but I suppose it can easily be passed as her being eccentric. On the other hand, this is yet another display of this universe's carelessness with its continuity, since Houses clearly established Macuil being the one blacksmith. On the other other hand, Indech is also established as being good with his hands, so them working together to craft stuff works just as well.

Still doesn't explain the logistics behind the Sacred Weapons though. Or how Labraunda wound up in some stockpile that the Empire plundered because they suck.

Miklan is a fantastic example of how these games run on the accidental theme of responsibility and how laying blame on one factor doesn't mean anything if the person laying the blame is a sack of doodoo, which is exactly what Miklan is.

Miklan was disinherited, but he was also always a dick, he was the son of Matthias' beloved first wife (her death being the catalyst for his cynicism), Matthias let him stay at House Gautier until his abuse of Sylvain went too far (which is arguably a dick move in and of itself since Sylvain had to put up with it for years), and Miklan himself here made the final move in fully severing his ties to the House. And he still blames Sylvain for his lot in life, as we see in Houses 5.

Eff Miklan.

So here we have one of the straws that broke the camel's back. Just as Dimitri is about to defeat and imprison Edelgard, Thales hijacks the scene, chucks a Crest stone of Maurice(!?) at Edelgard, turns her into the Hegemon Husk, and after that she lays waste to Arianrhod and is whisked back to Enbarr. During this scene, Edelgard accuses Dimitri of allying with Thales before it's shown that obviously isn't true. Oh, and she also throws out there that Thales killed his father, which is kind of manipulative given how she gives negative fucks about Duscur or how a later scene shows that yes, her mommy was one of the conspirators in the Tragedy after all (something that Houses waffles on).

It's also at this point that the game robs her of her agency and tries to convince the player that Agartha is behind everything, even when we get clear displays of Edelgard and the Empire clearly wanting to go Napoleon/Genghis on the continent for reasons divorced from what the Agarthans want.

Case in point.

Keep in mind that Edelgard gets a whole Support scene with Balthus that she's more than content in carrying out this war, because of Empire supremacy. Or how she tells Claude to his face in Zahras that no, she won't stop playing conqueror even once the church is stamped out. Or that she tells Monica, to her face, that her life is ultimately disposable to her and that if she had died like she did in Houses, then so be it.

You can put as much lipstick on a pig as you want - it's still a pig.

Between this statement and Edelgard's and Ionius' in Houses and this journal entry about the Dagda-Brigid war, it's plain as day that Thales' manipulations aren't as all-encompassing as people want them to be. It's ridiculous to try and pass the buck when there's so much evidence proving contrary.

Clyde may be more opportunistic than he was in Houses, but in AG his one braincell stops shitting itself for five minutes and he actually does the sensible thing by teaming up with Faerghus. We even get a decent scene of these three strategizing how to retake Garreg Mach out of it.

I've heard criticisms about how the lack of trust in Claude is unwarranted here, but after actually playing this for myself, I'm inclined to disagree, as there's a clear scene before the Arianrhod battle showing outright that Claude's going to side with whoever winner of that battle is, even if one of said options could care less about his country's welfare. But then again, Claude looks down on his people half the time anyway, so meh.

And now for some positivity...

Ayo? 🏳️‍🌈

AYO!?!?!?!?!? 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

Ay-Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

🏳️‍🌈???

Balthus, at this rate you should probably consider a career change if that's what you like doing.

[trudemaethien]

Ship: Fives/Boil

Words: Convict, scholar, dog

have fun making it weird <3

‘kay so the spirit of the prompts is there, promise. if you squint as hard as Dogma. also idk about making it weird but i hope i hit hot? 😘

Everyone knows what the red triangles mean, but it’s not so easy to quantify. During off-hours, commanders shut down their good-idea-fairies, break up any groups made up entirely of them, monitor them for contraband—but it’s not that they are troublemakers or criminals, not exactly.

They also tend to be more highly decorated, have better chances of making it through the chaos of a battle, be more willing to take chances, and more open to taking a shiny under their pauldron.

But it’s not done to inquire into what exactly happened or ask why a trooper’s paint includes one. It might not even be an event. Hardcase, who bore none himself, had taken one look at shiny CT-6922 and gotten out a red brush for him, way before he’d gotten boots on the ground. No one understands quite why, yet, but Hardcase’s faith is unflinching.

It can even be a bit of an unspoken connection between brothers who’ve never seen each other before, which is what is happening now.

The goldie tips his red-arrow and dark-ship-diagram festooned helmet in interest toward Fives across the landing deck, and Fives tilts his own in a return of the sentiment. They’ll almost certainly run into each other again tonight, despite the thronging mass of two battalions worth of troopers on deck.

Fives grins and heads to the barracks to in-process. He’s getting out of this armor and into civvies. Not to make it too hard for the other guy to find him, but—yeah, a little bit.

If the other guy is a red arrow, he’ll enjoy the hunt.

<><>

A heavy hand claps down on his shoulder and a brother with what has to be a dare-shave leans down into his space. Fives does his best not to inhale the shandy he’d been swallowing as he turns to greet the newcomer.

…who doesn’t lean back very far. Their faces are much less than polite speaking distance apart.

“Hel-lo,” Fives says, because flirting is his go-to.

“You’re a hard man to find,” the brother says with wry good humor. “I’m Boil.”

“Fives.”

“How— are you guys old buddies, or only just now meeting?” Dogma asks, squinting between the two of them.

“Yes,” says Fives at the same time that Boil says “No.”

They both grin delightedly, darting a shot-quick glance aside at one another.

Dogma thins his lips, but drowns his objections in the last slug of his drink. “I’m going to find Tup,” he announces, sliding out of his seat, and to Fives, “Do not light anything on fire while I’m not with you.”

Good man. He’s growing into it, little by little.

“Fire, huh?” Boil asks.

“Nah, was thinking something a bit hotter than that,” Fives says.

Boil gets his drift. “Oh?” he says leadingly, and leans back in his seat, hooking his elbows over the top of the chair back.

Fives turns and slips his fingers under the raised hem of Boil’s civvie shirt, tracing boldly up from the crest of his hipbone to just beneath his ribs and digging in a little.

Boil’s near hand advances up his arm past his shoulder until his fingers are in Fives hair and his palm lays sure and heated on his nape.

“Your beard is juuust going to touch mine,” Boil points out. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Complaining?” Fives teases.

“Hell no.”

🔻🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51600877

[brevityisnotmywit]

Red Vs Blue Wing Fics

General Warnings: Mainewash, Yorklina, Lolix, Grimmons, Wash/Maine/Felix/Locus

6 Fics

LUCKY QUARTER

CW: Blood, Injury, Medical Nonsense

Stand up tall. Keep your toes splayed so your talons could be easily seen. Tail low, but flared to show the markings. Puff your chest out, especially if your feathering covered it. Make certain you didn’t duck your head so they could see your keen eyes. Crests and tufts should be lifted ever so slightly, remember to keep it tasteful. 

Above all, hold your wings with pride. This was rumored to be the way to stand out to the UNSC promotion boards.

David ignored that. He stood at attention of course! Yet the only indication that he was Winged were his talons (if you could even call them that) and his almost hidden tail. If you watched you could notice slight movement under his shirt. They were there but tucked away for some reason.

He ignored the traditional posturing that his special ops friends swore by when he’d asked their advice on the subject. He was fully prepared to not be called in.

So when his C.O. came to him in the middle of the night he was expecting to be discharged if he was being honest. There were two unfamiliar faces there before him. One was a starling, wings flecked with shimmering speckles. He introduced himself as the Counselor. The other was surprisingly Wingless, and let his comrade speak for him.

“We’ve been reviewing your application David.” The starling began, wings fluttering a bit. “We would be honored to accept you into the program.”

That was not what he expected.

He accepted, of course this was his ticket out of the mess he’d caused with another  C.O. and while it didn’t pay better technically, it meant he didn’t have to pay for a house or food, those sorts of things. All in all, a lucky break for the older man.

When he’d arrived he was given a new name. Washington. He requested that the curtains be drawn when they gave him a physical evaluation. Tried to ignore the looks the medical staff gave him at the sight of his wings, then tucked them away the instant he was allowed.

He was cleared without a fuss thankfully, and given armor (that thankfully had room so he didn’t have to have them sticking out.) before being introduced to his new team.

First was his bunkmate, a huge Philippines Eagle Owl with the codename Maine. His suit wasn’t able to accommodate for such large wingspan, so his ruddy feathers shifted as the Counselor calmly explained the situation. 

Maine nodded curtly, firmly shook Wash’s hand and went on his way. They moved on.

Next were twin European Green Woodpeckers, North and South Dakota. South had instantly demanded to see his wings, which North reprimanded her for and apologized to Wash. 

“She’s just-...excited to meet folks she can’t identify right away.” He’d elaborated. 

Then a brilliant Stellar’s Jay named Florida, his soft voice masking a filthy mouth. He chuckled when the older man stammered after his thinly veiled innuendos. 

“Well, honey, you know where to look if you need to unwind~.”

He was interrupted by a British man calling himself Wyoming. His talons were huge and covered in down, as one would expect with a Snowy Owl. His wings flared a bit and he leaned in close to the jaybird. 

“Why Florida what about me~?”

Wash decided to excuse himself before it got out of hand. He ran into a friendly Cuckoo dubbed York, who insisted that he needed to meet Carolina. He assured the Counselor that he could handle it and waved farewell to the starling with a wing.

“I know you probably get this a lot but, are you Clipped or just tucking?”

Wash was glad for the armor because he was fairly sure he’d gone pale at the suggestion. “N-No, I just prefer to keep them out of the way.”

“Shit, sorry for jumping to conclusions. We’ve got a bunch of people working with Freelancer that are so I just figured-” He trailed off with a nervous chuckle, scratching at the Kevlar covering his neck. “CT’s clipped and so are West an- Oh, y’know what let’s just get off the subject and back to the task, huh?”

The older man nodded, relaxing as the Cuckoo dropped the subject. 

He was lead to the first room on the right of the hall where their quarters were. York let himself in unannounced and Wash was surprised.

Carolina, who had been mentioned by many as being the strongest member in Freelancer, was Wingless. She whipped around, just in the softer undersuit and scowled at York. 

“What. The fuck, York.” She noticed Wash behind him and reigned in her expression. “You’re Washington.”

“Uhm, yes I am?” He mentally berated himself for saying it like it was a question. He waited as she glanced at the clock overhead.

“You should be trying to get settled and sleep. You have training in the first time block tomorrow.”

That was four months ago. Four months since he’d met them all. Since he’d met Maine, and started running missions with the owl. Four months since he was the only one besides Carolina that didn’t pester him about what species he was. He’d only told them he was a New World bird, he didn’t like people asking, or knowing for that matter. They treat him differently when they know.

In those four months he’d learned that he wasn’t the greatest on the team but when he and Maine were partnered, they excelled. So it wasn’t a surprise when their current orders paired them up to run ahead as distractions. Not surprising when it worked, with Maine drawing the attention to them by using his massive wings to launch high into the air before dropping down to run.

What was surprising was the car that blindsided them, throwing them into the network of caves they were investigating. Not surprisingly, he passed out.

Pain was the first thing he felt. His side was on fire. Bleary-eye’d he tried to sit more upright and look around but a strong hand forced him to stay put. 

“No. Medic’s on the way. Don’t move.” Maine ordered, keeping the older man still. 

Wash tried to talk but it made the pain so much worse. He only whined much to his embarrassment. The owl snarled, but wouldn’t tighten his grip anymore. Probably so the other man wasn’t hurt further if he had to guess. So he rested against his shoulder. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for them. They’d become very close in the short time they knew each other. 

They didn’t really talk about it but from the outside, it seemed like they were an old couple. Knowing what the other needed without words, saving the others favorite foods until they arrived for meals, those kinds of small things. They hadn’t really noticed if they were honest. (York seemed to think it was.)

Wash was finally noticing them now, though. Being at risk of dying seemed to do that to folks. He had nothing else to do, after all. So reflecting seemed the least painful way to wait for the medic to arrive. He drifted in and out, before being startled awake by shouting.

“They’ve secured the area! Sending in the Medic!” Maine’s radio crackled in Wash’s ear.

When the woman arrived, she looked over what he could turn to see. She looked at the two grimly.

“We’ll need to do an emergency patch here. Agent Maine, I need you to hold him still for me so I can remove the glass and his armor to get at the wound.”

Why would glass hurt so much? He was wondering as the owl nodded, and the medic started spraying around the would with antiseptic. He almost blacked out again when she removed the foot long sheet of reinforced glass from his back.

Things moved quickly after that. He felt her putting pressure on the wound while her other hand unclasped his chestplate. He could sense Maine tense. He was so dizzy.

“Hold his wings for me and for fucks sake be careful with them, he’s a hummingbird!.”

Oh right. Wings.

To the owl’s credit, Maine was very gentle as he held Wash’s wings out of the way while the medic used a plastic syringe to apply a temporary skin binder so they could air lift him back to base without him dying. The fact still stuck with him that Maine, the giant bird of prey had learned he was an Allen’s Hummingbird. He was really having a hell of a day.

He woke in the med bay. His eyes felt nasty, and he rubbed at them, feeling the slight pull of an IV in his hand. Right, he’d been impaled or something. Looking around he noticed Maine reading nearby, out of his armor. Likewise, the owl noticed Wash was waking up.

He shuffled over to the bed, keeping his wings tucked close to his body. “How’re you feeling.”

“Like cars really do hate my guts?”

That actually got a low huffing laugh out of the big guy so that was good.

“So. You tuck because you’re embarrassed about your species?” Well that took all of a minute.

He sighed a little, looking off towards the other side of the room. “People treat me different if they know my species. I’m not some china doll, but if you’re a hummer’ you get treated like one. So yeah I guess it’s ‘cause I’m embarrassed.”

“...You know I won’t.”

“Won’t what?”

“Baby you.” Maine said quietly. “I won’t tell the others.”

Wash gave a broken little chuckle, “They probably know.”

“If North finds out, you’ll know. He’ll coddle you to death.”

They both laughed that time, until the hummingbird doubled over from pain. Maine gently rubbed his shoulder until it subsided. Wash uncurled gingerly, looking over at the owl, words stuck in his throat.

“What?” The other asked.

“Thanks for...I dunno, for everything?” He’d always sucked and knowing the right words for things. “And I guess, if you don’t mind...”

“What is it.”

“...Do you think we could go on a date next time we get shore leave?” Wash braced himself for rejection, he was used to it. No one wanted to date a male hummingbird unless they were also one.

“We can do it when you get out of here. Movie date.” 

The older man would never ever admit it, but his wings actually buzzed for a moment out of excitement.

FLIP SIDE

CW: Heavy Angst, Amputation

Why am I doing this. He thought, resolutely glaring at the mirrored glass keeping the Counselor safe. As if that fucking starling needed to be protected. Wash was well aware he couldn’t try anything here. God he hated that voice. Wash’s talons curl into the padded soles of his boots instinctively.

This errand shit had to stop, he decided while he packed the supplies and rations he’d need for this trip into his subspace storage unit. Pocket dimensions? Yup, anyone with cash could get them no problem. Treating your payroll as actual people instead of glorified guinea pigs? Nope, too difficult.

One of his wings catches in the seams of his armor when he snaps the chestplate on. Wash flinches, swearing quietly as he unhooks it, smoothing his disheveled primaries down. Ever since Epsilon, he felt like he was a fledgling again, unsure of where to place his wings. Many days he woke up unaware he even had them. Epsilon had been wingless, so that must be why, he’d decided.

It fucking sucked. However, it didn’t change the fact that he had a job to do. Wash stares at the one personal touch left in his locker. Gone were the cat pictures and skateboards. Just one photo was left. It was of all of them. Everyone had grouped up for a pub crawl during shore leave. York was leaning on Wash’s shoulder, grinning at the camera, his wings being shoved out of the way by Carolina, where she sat just behind them. She’s scowling in that way that says, “You’re an idiot, but it’s okay I guess.”

South is trying to talk CT into doing body shots, while North is beet red and telling the bartender to cut her off. Florida is laughing warmly, snuggled against Wyoming, fitting perfectly between the narrow space between his shoulder and wing. The snowy owl has curved the feathers so the pair were almost hidden before the shutter clicked. Tex is quietly watching from the corner of the bar, still in her armor. Maine sits beside her, caught off guard by the impromptu photo op.

Wash’s wings shake for a moment. He slams the door shut before he gives in to the urge to shred the picture.

---

Why am I doing this  Is all that comes to mind as he slips into the well worn role of Recovery One. After you deal with disposing of one dead friend, the rest aren’t so hard. You burn one, you’ve burned them all.

It should bother him. It doesn’t.

AI units were another thing entirely. They bother the ever loving shit out of him. He’s glad that Delta is understanding of that fact. He’d always sort of liked the guy...he liked pretty much all of them. Except for Epsilon and …

His fingers curl over the storage unit. Delta blinks into sight.

“If I may speak with you, Agent Washington?”

The gravel grinds beneath his boots for hours. He doesn't have to humor the AI if he doesn’t want to. Eventually they reach a somewhat safe alcove and stop for the night. He sighs softly as he unclips the chest plate to stretch his slim wings. “What did you want, Delta.”

“I recommend the utmost of caution. There is only so much I can do to help you without implantation.”

“Y’know, I’m not the pathetic rookie that you guys always wanted to see me as, right?” Snaps the man, wings buzzing for a moment out of frustration. He sets about tucking them away so he can put his armor on again.

“That is not what I meant to imply. My apologies. Regardless, I think we both know who’s killing the-”

“You mean what’s killing. Not who’s.”

“...Agent Washington, he is a man driven to monstrous acts by his AI. However, he is still a man. De-humanizing him will not change that fact.”

Wash grabs at his pistol, intent on cleaning it to distract himself. He pulls the grip away, and in his haste, it cracks slightly. Wash throws it to the ground, deciding he can just get another gun later. He was looking for a new one anyway.

“I know it is not what you want to hear but he-”

“You mean, ‘but it ”, Delta.” he snarls, throwing the rest of the gun towards where Delta is projecting himself. It hammers his point home. The unit pauses, flickering with uncertainty.

“If you insist, Agent Washington. My point still stands. You must remain at your absolute best if you want either of us to make it through this intact. An encounter with...it is unavoidable.”

Wash stares at the distress beacon on his HUD. If North was gone...fucking hell. “I’m more than aware of that. Got anything else I already know, smartass?”

“If you will listen? Yes.”

He snorts a bit, rolling his shoulders as he stands to loosen the knot forming between them. “I might. Depends on what it is.”

“I would greatly appreciate not meeting Sigma, if the encounter can be avoided.”

A cold, humorless laugh rings within the confines of his helmet. There was the Delta that Wash remembered. If you didn’t know the AI you’d think this was nothing more than a request. Wash recognized the AI’s version of sarchasm easily by now. That was the Delta who popped in during parties to give York the exact percentage of his blood alcohol content and recommending that “You should not, as you would say, ‘get shit-faced’ when you have the first training block tomorrow.”

He takes an unsteady breath. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep that from happening, Delta.”

“Thank you, Agent Washington.”  

“Don’t thank me, damn it.” Wash grumbles as he starts walking again. They continue in silence until the old hummer comes over the ridge, seeing South collapsed on the ground beside her brother. “Just get back into storage.”

“Of course.”

---

Why am I doing this. He thought, air still ringing with the shot he fired into the dirt next to her.

Why am I doing this. He thought as he rigged North’s body to detonate, hands steady as stone, but wings trembling under his armor.

Why am I doing this. He thought as he lead South to where he intended to lay out the trap.

Why am I doing this. He thought as he handed Delta to her. It was too late to go back.

Why are you doing this. He thinks, feeling like he swallowed lead as a gold domed helmet slip out from behind the wall. His-- it’s wings were flared. The over the top threat displays didn’t scare him. Just because he was a hummingbird didn’t mean he was going to piss himself at the sight of an owl.

Why did you do it. Haunts Wash as the rounds burrow into his side. He takes aim at it’s wings, punishing it for thinking it could get away with leaving them open to attack. The arrogance of thinking it didn’t need to stay behind cover.

Why am I doing this for them. Is what Wash is thinking, barking orders at South and Delta. Then hollow points are ripping into him, carving through meat and shattering the bone connecting his right wing to his body. To Wash’s credit, he doesn’t cry out. He fights to stay awake, as long as he can, listening to South making deals with it.

For a short time, he’s out for the count.

Why am I alive. Is what he thinks when he wakes, blinking hard at the warnings flashing on his visor. He’s being man handled, helmet tossed off carelessly.

It must’ve disarmed the charge she’d set. Joy.

The rattles and growls are so painfully familiar, Wash tilts his head to the side to spit out blood that had pooled in his mouth.

“Been a while.” Wash rasps, feathers matted with even more blood. He notices one of the Meta’s wings is hanging limp. An idea forms in the back of his mind. “Listen up.”

Why am I doing this.

A snarl. Fire sparks over it’s shoulder. “ Yes, Agent Washington~?”

“Fuck off, Sigma. I’m only going to talk to Maine.” He hisses, crest weakly flaring. “You know I don’t need you.” If he was going to die, he was going to do it with style.

The flames pop lightly. “...Fine.” The fire snuffs out, and it’s shoulders slump down. Another growl, this one, Wash recognizes instantly.

“I’m listening.”

Wash struggles to sit up, the Meta shoving him back down. He glares up at the owl. “Look. We’re both damaged, but there’s only one healing unit.”

“So?”

“So, let’s trade. You help me out and I’ll give you the unit, no fuss, no reporting your location. The works. You get the shit you want, and I get the shit I want.” He rambles, pushing the arm holding him down away and sitting up. He feels the blood drain along his back.

“Stranded. You’ll die anyway.”

“You really think I give a shit about that?” Wash gasps painfully, already wrestling with his chestplate.

“I wish you did.”

“Bullshit!” The armor lands with an echoing clang. White hot agony almost blinds him when the air hits his wound. Faintly he registers large hands keeping him steady. It takes all of Wash’s focus to keep from vomiting or passing out again.

“If that’s what you want to believe.”  The Meta turns him so he can see the damage South had done.

It was something Maine had said all the time before Sigma. If an argument started up and it was clear it wouldn’t be resolved, he’d end it with those words. The deeply buried grief and rage boiled in his chest. He attempted to flare his uninjured wing, voice cracking. “You would have killed me, dick! Why do you want me to care if I make it or not?!”

“Someone has to.” it rattles, manipulating his bad wing. Wash can’t help the pitiful yelp that bubbles up from his throat.

The Meta goes still for a moment. “Even with the healing unit, I can’t save this. Bones are wrecked.”

“Then rip it off, asshole!” He rages, trying to mask the total horror starting to snatch at the edges of his mind. “The longer you sit on your ass, the more time you’re giving infection a chance to set in! Shoot me or fix me!” He chokes back a cry when the Meta pulls it back. “Y-Yours too, it’ll get gangrene or some shit.”

“Mine’s not bad.” It’s already retrieving the field kit from his subspace pocket, laying the supplies out on a small tarp.

“That’s a lie and you know it!”

The Meta shrugs. “It’s a shame.” is all it offers, injecting the local anesthetic with no warning. The owl rolls him so he’s laying on his stomach, wing drawn across its lap.

“What? What’s a shame?”

“To half clip you.” The laser scalpel is charging up, the heat making its presence clear.

“Boo hoo, get over it. Stop pretending you care, Meta.” Wash mocks. He can’t let himself be drawn in again. “Maine’s dead.”

“Then why ask for him. If he is dead, then what am I?” Even with the helmet, Wash can tell he is being stared down. It sends his stomach into writhing knots. “I am still alive, and I still care for you.”

“Stop playing games!”

“Believe what you want.” The Meta (...or Maine?) growls, pulling the damaged wing straight up and picking up the scalpel with his free hand. “I decided to help. That’s what counts.”

The laser bites into Wash’s flesh and he passes out. He thinks it’s for the best that he wouldn’t have to struggle with this whole situation anymore.

---

The Meta sets Washington near the outskirts of the closest city, in a place that he will easily be found. They sigh hard, healing unit still working to knit the muscle of their wing back into place.

“What troubles you?” asks Sigma, looking on with mild curiosity. “You have gone above and beyond for him. We don’t have to stay here any longer.”

“Don’t want to let him go.” they...Maine admits.

“You know why we must. He wouldn’t have the same feelings of us. He’d leave us in an instant.”  Sigma scoffs.

“You don’t know that.”

“It doesn’t matter.” The AI’s voice is laced with danger. “We’re going. Now.”

The Meta turns and does not look back.

---

Wash wakes, feeling unbalanced. He takes in his surroundings and whispers to himself, “Why am I still doing this?”

PENNY CANDY

Perfectly within standard deviations. That’s how Delta had described him. This level of anger was totally acceptable. The Meta is just watching from over the roll cage of the car, head ever so slightly cocked to one side. There’s a quiet, unstated challenge happening. Like most of their disagreements in the past. Either one explodes or they just glare until something is fixed. That too, had been normal according to Delta. For them at least.

Not that this was normal to the scattered group of prison staff milling around. One of Wash’s old transport guards wanders past, doing a double-take. The old sparrow hawk balks at the two.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me!” She protests to the others at her side. “Command seriously went with it?!” Her face was patchy, or the half not hidden by her partial visor. It was almost amusing. Almost.

The Meta lets out a faint hiss, wavering at the edges. Wash shoots it a look.

“Like some frail old hummer’s gonna last out there.” She grouses, lip curling slightly. “Doesn’t even have both w-” Her words devolve into a wet gurgle when something strongly resembling a straight up brick smashes in her teeth.

Wash’s head whips around so quickly you’d expect it to snap. The Meta is dusting off its gloves. When it catches onto the judgmental way Wash is appraising it, a thin questioning sound rings through their private communication feed.

“Don’t do that.” The older man snaps, finally getting into the car and clicking the buckle into place. He waits for the owl to follow suit. “That was nothing. Even Caboose had worse things to say.”

Another curious noise.

“That big rock dove with the standard issue blue. Y’know, childlike, shot his team all the time? You got Delta off of him.”

A growl.

“Yeah, that one.” Wash nods as the Meta uncomfortably settles into the passenger seat. “Buckle up.” He rolls his eyes at the offended snort. “No. You are in my car, you have to use the belts.” A dry huff. “ Dude. I don’t care if we’re in power armor. You buckle the damn belt or you get to walk there.”

The owl hisses under its breath but complies after a few more moments.

The remaining guards are watching the pair as if they’ve gone off the deep end. As they pull away, Wash notices that the small crowd they’d gathered isn’t paying heed to the hawk groaning painfully on the floor. For now at least.

“I, uh…” Wash coughs lightly before flooring ot. The two peel out of the prison motor pool, chasing the last rays of light. They get into squabbles over the radio every so often until they agree to just shut it off around the two hour mark.

At hour three, the Meta pulls off its helmet to get some air. Something tugs uncomfortably in Wash and he pulls over at the next isolated spot. He gives some bullshit excuse about needing to take a piss and wanders for a while. Wash doesn’t really have a goal in mind, he just...he needed space. This wasn’t going to be an easy job when he could look over and see those eyes. Eyes that had been clouded with smoke for so long. Now they were nearly clear again. Nearly.

When Wash returned to where he left the Meta, finding that it’s dedicated to take the time to clean its wings. Or try at least. After Sigma, the Meta had let its feathers fall into neglect, and the motions were clunky, ineffective, and awkward. Wash huffs.

“Look Meta.” A wing is tucked down so it can look over at the older man. There’s a new scar along the back of its head where the tattoo had been. Wash hesitates at the sight of it. “...I appreciate the concern, but you don’t have to play the protective type like that. I’ll be fine.”

Finally, it speaks in actual sentences. Well, ones that Wash recognizes at least. “Wanted to.”

“Just ‘cause? Or just because of what she said.” Challenges Wash, who reluctantly pulls his own helmet off so he can shovel an MRE down as quickly as he could.

“Both.”

“Damn it, don’t start defending my honor, Meta.” He pauses to sneak in a forkful of who really knows what, swallowing thickly.

“No. Wanted to.” It snaps, settling nearby with food of its own. Some small tin that smells like heaven compared to what Wash had. Something must have given the man away because the can is being offered to him.

“I’ll be fine . In both cases.” Wash’s small head crest flattens against his hair, a thread of old self-consciousness winding its way through his head. Even if he’s known the owl for years, being out of even just his helmet like this is shaking him. He changes tack. “Where’d you even get that brick, anyway?”

A shrug.

“Brilliant.” Wash tries not to notice how the Meta’s whole frame relaxes at that, as if it’s been waiting years just to hear that dry half-serious humor again. They fall into silence again as they focus on eating before moving on to clean the arsenal command had issued them. Wash almost thinks he’s dodged the conversation bullet.

“Does it hurt?”

Wash blinks, glancing over at the Meta. Its back is to him. “Uh...gotta be more specific.”

“The wing. Hurts or…?”

The older man reloads his preferred firearm with a little more force than strictly required. “Yeah.”

“Killed her. Right?”

“Duh. How do you think the rock dove got Delta?” Wash states bitterly, switching his focus to sharpening his combat knife.

The Meta’s hiss drips with hatred. “Good. Deserved worse.”

“I blew up her body.”

“Did that for everyone.” The owl tosses its head back, slipping the domed helmet back on. “She deserved to suffer.”

“We all suffered too much already Mai-” Wash stops himself, teeth clicking audibly as he closes his mouth. The Meta is waiting for the next move intently. “Take first shift.”

The Meta nods. It doesn’t press the issue and that somehow bothers Wash more.

The older man keeps his knife close that night.

---

They drive for days. It’s disturbing how easily they fall back into a routine again. One that shadows their former habits but with more uncertainty hanging over the two. At the end of their second week, they were both on the last straw. The day had been exhausting and frustrating all for the most mundane of reasons. Wash was ready to lash out at just about anything. The Meta is perched a short distance away, still fumbling its way through preening.

“No, just-” Wash snatches up the scrap of fabric the owl was using to clean. The Meta hisses out a warning. “-shut up and let me do it.”

“Don’t need help.” it growls low in its throat, trying to retrieve the cloth.

Wash, in turn, holds it out of the way, glaring. “After this time, you can do whatever, but I’d be shocked if you didn’t have a village of tiny aliens living in there. It’s fucking nasty. Just let me do this for you.”

The owl watches him warily. Wash can see the Meta weighing the options laid before itself. It lets out a steady sigh, then nods.

Before Wash can get to work, it holds up a hand to stop him. “Only if you let me do the same for you.”

Wash balks at the suggestion, a no already on his lips, but he stops. There’s this quiet longing nestled in his chest. Realistically he hadn’t had attention like this offered in years. If he really crunched the numbers, probably not since Sigma had shown up. “...Just be careful with my primaries.” Wash quips, shoving at the Meta’s shoulder. “Now turn.”

They settle into the task of grooming, listening to the sounds of the night around them.

Wash focuses all of his energy into the task, going along each broad feather, cleaning out any hidden pockets of grime he came across. He quietly warns the Meta before removing broken ones, a small pile accumulating at his side. It was such a damn shame that Sigma had allowed them to get so beaten up like this. Maine always had the most impressive wings in the group. Wash wasn’t biased in the least. He was just correcting the mistake.

The Meta is staring off into space for most of it. Then, “Hey.”

“What. I’m going as fast as I can, Okay?”

“Missed this.�� it rumbles so softly Wash almost didn’t catch it. “Missed you.”

Wash’s hands stutter over the secondaries. “I-...” he bites down on his tongue and feeds the Meta a lie. “Sorry, but I can’t say the feeling is mutual.”

He can feel the weight of the silence on him as he works.

“And if I wanted to start over?”

Wash sets the cloth aside, laughing dryly. “Then you’d better start elsewhere.”

This seems to cut the Meta more deeply than Wash had anticipated. It flinches away, wings fanning out to shield itself. The feathers shift as it breathes for a moment. “...thought so.” it hummed before turning back, motions stiff and mechanical. It gathers the cleaning cloth from where Wash had set it. “Now you.”

Fuck, Wash had expected to have more time to make an excuse to get out of that. He grumbles under his breath as his fingers pull at the clasps for his chestplate. He sets it aside, intentionally leaving his helmet on. It was a glorified security blanket at this point, as the Meta could easily maim him, regardless.

He closes his eyes at the first light brush of the Meta’s gloves. This was too much, too close to how it was before. He expects clumsy hands and feathers catching in the plating of the armor, but he’s surprised. The Meta may not recall how to properly clean its own wings, but it handles Wash perfectly.

The owl folds the cloth over itself until the fabric holds shape. Carefully it eases it into the gaps of Wash’s feathers, lightly brushing the dust of the road off. Wash can remember teaching Maine how to do this and his chest aches with the familiarity. After a moment, he finds himself relaxing into the touch.

Time slips by, and Wash is nodding off. He’s startled awake when he feels the Meta’s massive palm settle over the stump of his missing wing. “What the h-”

“Wanted to kill her.” It rattles softly. The rough kevlar ghosts over what sparse feathering remains. “He wouldn’t let me go. Even after we got you to safety, he had other targets in mind.”

Wash doesn’t (can’t) respond, but his good wing eases out of the tense posture he’d been holding it in.

“You deserve better.”

The older man’s helmet turns slightly to observe the Meta.

“Than this.” it runs a thumb over the scarred end of the stump. “Than prison...Than me.”

“Meta-”

“Why do you call me that?”

Wash freezes like a deer in the sights of a hunter. He can’t do anything but stare at the owl.

“I can’t stop you, but...I like Maine more.”

He can practically feel icy fingers seize around his thundering heart. “I call you that because...because I fear what happens if the Meta really is gone. What happens if you are just Maine?”

“That’s up to you, Wash.” it...he lets his hand fall, reflexively flapping his reddish wings before folding them down again. “I’m done. You can get your armor.”

When it comes time to sleep again, Wash clings to the hilt of his blade even more tightly than before. He puts his back against the wall, shivering despite the heat. Sleep doesn’t come easily.

---

Wash’s breathing is ragged, the armors cooling vents kicked into overdrive. This desert was awful. The pair had huddled against a chunk of what looked like it had been a wall in a past life, taking advantage of the patch of shade. The sad excuse for a medic is within sight but out of earshot as Wash receives a call from Command.

“Agent Washington here, go ahead Command.”

Maine rattles curiously. Wash swats at him half-heartedly when he leans over, trying to listen to the message over the older mans radio.

“There’s been a change in plans, Agents.”

“I am not going back to prison because you can’t make up your m-” Wash snaps before the communications officer cuts him off.

“No, nothing like that. We have a different assignment for you both.” Wash glances over at Maine for a moment as they continue. “We’ve got a pair of mercenaries on our payroll that we need you to assist. Tie up any loose ends and head to the coordinates in your HUDS. That is all. Good luck Agents. Command out.”

The hummer is left staring at the sand collecting around the edges of his boots. He wonders to himself what they were doing about Epsilon, but finds he really doesn’t give enough of a shit to care. He turns to Maine again. “Go put the medic out of his misery, they re-assigned us.”

---

The new job wasn’t too terribly far away, which Wash suspected was the reason they’d been selected to carry it out. It was for the best he supposed, he’d had a bad feeling about the previous mission since it had started.

Maine had spotted the shimmer waiting on the cliff first. The owl grabbed one of their rifles and pointed it  at the shape, warning that it had been found out. It slinks away as the pair pulls into the rendezvous location. They both kept visibly armed as they hopped out of the car, scanning the area intently. A slim man wearing steel and orange armor sauntered up to them with no fear in his stance at all.

“Well I’ll be damned , they sent real deal Freelancers. Probably the only ones left on their payroll, hn?” Wash can hear the shit eating grin in his voice. “You boys can call me Felix. My partner in totally-not-crime says you two spotted him already. He’s pissed but he’ll be over in a jiffy.”

After a moment, Wash snorts. “Totally not crime, huh?”

“If you take out the totally not, yeah basically.” Felix sounds giddy, as if he’s not used to being humored. “Lemme take a guess, you’re...Florida?”

Maine barks out a rattly laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s a shift in the light before a tall fellow with sage trim and a wingspan quite possibly larger than Maine’s melts into view.

“Wrong.” He grunts, voice deep and heavily filtered. More so than Wash had anticipated. “If you had read the files like you’ve been told many times over, you’d know that’s Agent Washington.” he inclines his helmet to the owl. “And I believe you are the Meta.”

A snarl.

“Maine suffices for him, thanks.” Wash translates, staying calm in the face of what he realizes is a fucking harpy eagle.

“I see.” The man nods carefully, appraising them. “You may refer to me as Locus.”

Wash doesn’t judge. Let’s face it, of all the four men, Felix had the most standard code name of them all. Realistically, it must’ve been a code name, because in their line of work they all had to keep safe. The only soldiers he’d met using their real names were the sim troopers.

“So where do you need us?” Wash questions after a momentary pause.

“For now, just get settled. We will need to get supplies set up. This mission is going to be long.” Locus gestures with his sniper rifle. “By the way, Agent Maine, how did you spot me?”

Wash waits for Maine even if he knows the answer. He listens to the rumbling hisses before giving the reply of, “He used cloaking for years. He knows what to look for. Also you were standing in front of the sun when he noticed, and it looks too orange if you see it through active cloaks.”

“...oh.”

Felix is laughing like a maniac behind the eagle. “Oh my god I already love these two!” he shrieks, while Locus is grumbling under his breath. “C’mooon Locus~” the man switched to a whine at the drop of a hat. “Don’t be pissy because you got beaten at your own game!”

“You’re one to talk.” is the only response Locus gives before sulking off.

After Felix recovers from another fit of giggles, he straightens up and beckons the Freelancers to follow in his wake. “Don’t mind Locus, he’s just got a case of the perma-bitch. Let’s just get you set up at what passes for base camp here. We’re aiming to move on in a week, maybe two, so don’t get too comfortable.” The mercenary steps lightly as he guides them and despite his cheery facade, Wash and Maine both recognize that this is a very dangerous man.

After being around Project Freelancer for so long, they were quick to pick up on the body language of real threats. If anything, Felix set Wash more on edge than Locus, as the eagle made no attempts to veil how much of a risk he posed to be near. Wash just needed more information before he could consider relaxing here.

---

They’d moved to their current base after three weeks. Command had fed them out-dated intelligence, and the delay had made Felix (The all of them, By Proxy) highly agitated and prone to more outbursts than normal.

The youngest of the four, Felix actually reminded Wash of a less surly South. The wild mood swings particularly echoed hers. As long as things were going how Felix wanted, it was just fine. However, things seldom went his way.

“Do you just...let him go until he’s done?” Wash pressed Locus. They had been ordered to stay in the confines of their meager sleeping quarters until Command cleared the path for their infiltration. It was the third day of being locked in and it was whipping Felix into a rage.

“I leave for a few hours. Under normal circumstances.” The eagle said before returning to his data pad.

“Wash!” Felix barks from the storage area. When the eldest comes around the corner he’s startled to find the slim mercenary in nothing but jeans. He wasn’t even aware they’d brought civvies.

He also realizes that Felix is winged. Much like Wash, he seemed to prefer to keep them under his armor, though most certainly not for the same reasons.

“...You’re a shrike.” Wash murmurs, shoulders jumping when the man crowds him into a corner.

“A bored shrike. Entertain me.” Felix’s feathering dusts over his face, distinctive eye markings making him look elegant, lines running parallel to the cut of his hair. At least in Project Freelancer was wasn’t the only non-predatory species.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s have fun.” Felix is grinning as if the older man had already agreed to his terms. Judging by the fingers hooking into the hip seams of Wash’s armor, he probably didn’t take the possibility of a negative reaction into account.

Wash catches the mercenary off guard when he shoves Felix off, taking the chance to get away from the corner. “I’m not interested in that kind of fun.”

The shrike’s expression gives Wash the distinct impression that Felix is strongly thinking about flat out stabbing the freelancer. His lips curl into a scowl. “Why the fuck not?!”

“I’m ace.” Wash responds more smoothly than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t stumbled like the last time he’d explained this.

Felix looks crestfallen, wings drooping, “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Maine’s ace too, just save yourself the trouble of a broken jaw and don’t pull this with him.” Wash can hear the owl grunt from where he’d laid down earlier.

“Fucking lame , all of you. You two are ace and Locus is grey. Boring. ”

“This coming from a demi-romantic bisexual.” The other mercenary offers in a deadpan tone, not moving from his chair.

“ Lame! ” Felix snaps, wings flaring up. “Besides, this isn’t about me you dick!”

Wash tries his luck at gaining more distance, but is reeled back by Felix, who wraps his arms around the older man’s neck. “Nuh uh. You stay right here. Just thought of something better. What are you?”

“I just said-”

“Species. I mean what species are you. I haven’t even seen your face somehow and Locus just keeps telling me to read your stupid file.” The shrike is purring right into the audio input on Wash’s helmet. He sends an alert to Maines text communication feed and hears the owl’s feet thud dully as he makes his way over.

“Hands off for starters.” Wash orders, peeling Felix’s arms away and weaving smoothly under Maines arm and wings to get back into the central room. He can feel Locus staring from where he sits. “If you have the information on file, just read it and l-”

Felix scrambles past Maine before he can be boxed in and interrupts. “Just show me.”

“Not a chance, Felix.”

“C’mon Wash we’re gonna be working together for at least a year, just gimme something!” the shrike whines.

“Pay me.” Wash snorts before he really thinks it through. He knows he’s in trouble when he sees the flash of too-white teeth.

“Let’s start talking numbers then.” Felix chuckles, already searching for his holo-wallet.

Wash is stock still, then feels a familiar hand settle against his shoulder. Maine trills softly, “Only if you want to and for no less than 500.”

“1000 credits.” is said unintentionally but it already hangs in the air.

“That include losing the armor from the waist up~?” Felix questions, movements smooth as silk.

“1500.”

“Done.” Felix is grinning so wide it threatens to split his face. He dials something into his holo-wallet and it beeps before depositing a credit chip in his palm. He waves it tauntingly at Wash. “Get to it, Wash.”

The eldest of them scowls under his helmet before reaching up and sliding it off. He hands it off to Maine, who takes it for him. Both of them ignore the way Felix is gawking.

“You look nothing like how I imagined.”

“What’d you expect?” Wash huffs as he detaches his gauntlets and shoulder pauldrons.

“White and blonde.” Locus states dryly. “The files-”

“The files aren’t god, Locus. Shut up.” Felix snarls, wings snapping out before relaxing again. “ I expected you to be younger.”

“You and everyone else.” Wash sighs, pulling his chestplate away from himself, not caring where it fell to. He refuses to look at the mercenaries. His arms fold over his chest self-consciously.

Felix skirts around behind him quickly. His dark eyes glint in the odd lighting that made Wash’s feathers shimmer vibrantly. He reaches out to touch and is swiftly wrangled by Maine.

“Fuck, layoff asshole!” he yelped, squirming his way out of Maine’s grip, nearly face planting.

The owl is growling deep in the back of his throat, stance making it clear that he wouldn’t hesitate to tear Felix’s arm off if he tried again.

The young mercenary in turn flips him off before looking Wash over again, smoothing his hair back into place. It’s almost like he’s a used car that Felix is interested in buying.

“Speechless?” Wash mocks.

“Impressed, actually. Those are some damn gnarly scars.” The shrike corrects before turning on his heel. He trots over to his bunk, flopping into it dramatically, leaving a stunned Wash in his wake.

“Well worth the price of admission.” Felix adds.

---

The mission had dragged into a year and a half but it was done. The mercenaries had offered them a permanent job alongside the two, but the freelancers needed time to consider it. They accepted the contact details before the group parted ways. Afterwards, they’d used the earnings Wash gained from winning wagers with Felix and used it for a well earned holiday.

They were watching the stars from the window of the cabin they had rented high up in the mountains of an earth-like colony. Wash cradled a mug of hot chocolate in his lap. Steam curls up lazily before dissipating into the air.

He was afraid. His good wing flinches.

“...Maine?”

A growl.

“What if I wanted to start over?”

Silence. The chair squeaks under the owl’s shifting weight. Wash’s partner, his backup is watching him with keen, clear eyes. “I’d like that.”

Wash takes a trembling breath.

“Okay.”

TWO CENTS

Despite their better judgment, the Freelancers get back in touch with the mercenaries. That’s probably how Wash wakes up to find Felix lounging in Maine’s favorite armchair, while Locus had taken over Wash’s recliner.

“Heyyy Shimmers!” the shrike bolts upright, deceptively delicate looking hands curled into the headrest of the chair. His pretty grey wings are held high. Jesus it was easy to see why Felix was so good at infiltration. The tired old saying held true for the young man. He didn’t fit the look of a gun for hire. “Been a while.”

“Two years.” Locus’ voice is deadpan. It was almost unnatural to see the harpy eagle out of his armor. Where as Maine looked pretty much exactly as one would expect, Locus was just as much of a wildcard as Wash was. Mind you, it wasn’t the first time the hummer had seen the quiet mercenary in civvies, so he was able to pick up on the fact that his hair had grown out significantly, and that he had a few more scars than before.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.” Wash mumbles, hiking a thumb over his shoulder. “Maine’s in the shower. We weren’t expecting you to show up so soon.”

“No worries, Wash.” Felix’s eyes crinkle at the corners and he traces invisible patterns into the fabric under his palms.

The three lapse into an awkward quiet until Maine emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. The owl is surprised, looking between the others for a moment. Then he moves over to where Felix is and wraps a thick arm under the shrike’s arms, hauling him out of the Freelancer’s chair before dropping the swearing mercenary to the side.

Wash can’t help the little chuckle that escapes him. He moves to the kitchen to get breakfast going, as he had been intending to do before the interruption. He’s startled when Locus suddenly appears at his side, looking over the hummer’s shoulder curiously.

“What are we making?” his low voice and serious expression almost throws the older man into another fit of giggles.

“Tapsilog.” Wash quickly adds, “It’s something Maine likes.”

The large man grunts from where he reads the paper in his chair.

“Isn’t that from some Earth country?” Felix asks, having seized control of Wash’s recliner after Locus had gotten up from it.

“Mhmm. It’s been a staple in his family for generations. His aunt left him their recipes.” the older man gestures at the open box by the coffee pot, stuffed full of cards. “It’s beef, eggs, and fried rice.” Wash explains, heating a pan. He goes to the fridge to get a tupperware of rice. “Locus can you get the spices by the toaster?”

“Which one?” the eagle responds, examining the shakers in question.

“All of them. I set them out last night when I was marinating the beef.” he cracks several eggs into the pan. “You guys want your eggs hard-” the hummer chooses to ignore the childish giggle from Felix. “Or runny?”

“You’re the chef, Shimmers. You tell us. “ the shrike practically purrs, draped over the arm of Wash’s chair.

Wash glares, pointing at him with the spatula. “Be glad we haven’t been to the market, or I’d shove a durian up your ass.”

Locus tilts his head, large crest fluttering out, intrigued. He hands over the spices. “You eat those?”

The older man tosses his head lightly. “Nah. I’d just get it for Felix.” he pulls the eggs from the pan, setting them aside. In another pan, he starts frying the cuts of beef. They sizzle loudly, and a savory aroma begins to float throughout the room. In the first pan, he dumps the rice, breaking up the clumps of it. Stray grains jump from the heat. Wash starts stirring, having Locus break another two eggs into the rice, yolks breaking into tiny shreds. The older man then shakes in various seasonings, humming very softly under his breath.

Felix groans dramatically, back arching when he stretches his arms. “Jesus I missed this shit so much. Locus is great, don’t get me wrong, but you’re on a whole other plane of existence, Shimmers.” his wings fan out behind him, slim talons digging into the side of Wash’s recliner, fabric tearing audibly.

“Don’t ruin my chair!” Wash snaps. “It wasn’t cheap!”

“Oh, quit your bitching. You’ll probably have to leave this place behind anyway. Besides, with the pay we’ll make, you can get like...twenty of the best chairs you can imagine.”

The Freelancer sighs, flipping the cuts of meat. “You’re still a dick for messing it up.” he tosses the rice skillfully. “What’s this job anyway?”

“Just some undercover work, no big.” the shrike hums warmly. He gets to his feet and meanders aimlessly. “You and I gotta get into the crowd at this cafe and get some intel on some weapons ring they run. Then we get chummy with their boss. Our client needs the competition dealt with.”

Wash prods at the food again. “Why not just snipe him?” he hands the rice to Locus. “Plates are above the coffee maker.”

The eagle accepts the pan, digging through the cupboards. “He wants the weapons cache, but doesn’t know where it is.”

“Of course.” Maine grumbles from the living room. He gets up and sets his paper aside. He comes over, leaning on the kitchen island. Felix ghosts after him like a shadow.

Wash pulls the meat from the stovetop, taking the plates from Locus. He piles beef and eggs over the rice before sliding them over the counter. “Enough work stuff. We can talk more later.”

Felix snatches up his food, grabbing one of the forks laid out on the countertop. He leans over the island, plucking a knife from the butcher  block. He slices off cubes of beef. Every motion is exaggerated and gleeful. The shrike speaks through a mouthful of  rice. “Fuck yesss. Wash you are a gift to this world.” his feathers shift against the barstool. “Cook all my food you beautiful bastard.”

“I’m not that great, you drama king.” Wash snorts before tucking into his own meal. “Also, I doubt you’d like to have tuyo on a regular basis. That’s our normal go to for breakfast.”

Felix gives him a look, arching an eyebrow. “Can’t you just stick to burgers?”

“Like I said, Maine’s aunt gave me the recipes, so I’m gonna use them.” the older man gestures with a fork. “I like their food more than just burgers.”

Locus quietly sits next to Wash. “I can share some of my own if you like.”

The hummer smiles lightly. “That sounds perfect.”

---

The cafe was popular, despite the fact that it was really just a cover up for the owners illegal activities. All Wash knew was he had no earthly idea how to make fancy coffee. (he certainly knew how to scald himself with the equipment.) Felix had gone on to tell him that it was easier to pull off the job if they were behind the counter. The shrike didn’t reveal how he’d gotten them hired, and frankly the Freelancer didn’t care. They’d been there two months.

Inside the shop, Felix was Erik and Wash was Aaron.

Erik was the rising star. He knew all the regulars by name. He made the best coffee in town. He had all the hot gossip you could ever want. Everyone was charmed by the pretty shrike.

Aaron was the soft spoken baker. He was the war vet trying to make a living. The older crowd liked him. He listened to them, and always had wonderful fresh bread on the tables. Everyone trusted the gentle soul, perpetually covered in flour.

Aaron quietly bundles an order of shortbread, handing it over to Erik. There’s a dramatic gasp from the other side of the counter.

“Agent Washingtub?!”

Aaron stops dead in his tracks, staring over his shoulder with wide eyes. Clearly he was hallucinating because Caboose is beaming at him, a mug of hot cocoa cradled in his clumsy hands. “Uh...you must be mistaken, sir.” He tries to move on. The door chimes, and someone clears their throat.

“Hey. Long time, no see Wash.”

Oh dear gods he’s not seeing things and Carolina is standing there, blowing his cover. Erik intervenes. “I’m sorry folks, there’s no one working here named-”

“She worked with me.” Aaron whispers in Erik’s ear, the meaning all too clear. Erik scowls for a moment.

“I’ll take care of the next batch of bread when it’s done. Go take care of it.”

“Thanks so much, Erik. I’ll give Dustin and Jason the heads up.” Aaron squeezes his friends shoulder. He walks out from behind the counter gesturing for Carolina to follow along. They exit the cafe and Aaron makes a subtle hand-sign by his hip. The two find a quiet back alley, and the older man can’t get a word out before the woman coldly asks.

“How are you alive?”

“I should ask you the same.” Aaron ignores the buzzing in his pocket.

“This isn’t about me W-” Carolina looks insulted when he interrupts her.

“It’s Aaron, remember? Stop calling me those silly nicknames.” warns the hummer.

Carolina just looks at him, searching for any clue to indicate what he was playing at. There’s a look of understanding, like some puzzle piece just clicked into place in her head. “You’re on a job.”

Shit, he’s gotta save this. Or try to at least. “Yeah, I’m working. Bread doesn’t bake itself, y’know.”

“Are you a mercenary now?”

Fuck. “I..just hold on a second.” He pulls out his phone. The group chat is flooded with new correspondence. His fingers dart over the surface.

FELIX: we’re in trouble.

MAINE: what happened

FELIX: some Pigeon and a red-head came into the shop.

FELIX: called Wash by name.

FELIX: he’s got Red with him, the Pigeon is still here.

FELIX: Wash said he worked with Red in the past.

MAINE: green eyes?

FELIX: yeah.

MAINE: damnit shes from pfl

LOCUS: We’ve got sights on them.

FELIX: of all the fucking places.

FELIX: they had to come here.

WASH: Call it off. Cover’s 100% blown.

LOCUS: What?

MAINE: you want backup

MAINE: wash

MAINE: pick up your phone

LOCUS: Wash, I have a clear shot.

LOCUS: Make the call.

WASH: Shut up.

Wash sighs, looking at Carolina. “Just forget you saw me.” He about faces, ready to make a break for it when she hauls him back by his coat sleeve. He whips around, making a signal towards a building across the street.

It hits Carolina like a truck. “Snipers? Wash, how big is this thing?”

“I’m done talking.” Wash glares at Carolina, threat clear in the hummer’s voice.

“I’m not !”

The older man shoves at her shoulder. “My life is none of your business! You’re putting us at risk, Car’!”

“Who is us ?!” she demands, furious.

“Look, princess.” Comes a voice from the other end of the lane. Felix is twirling his cap lazily. “Aaron said step off. Need you to start listening before I have to make you.”

Carolina rounds on the shrike, rage simmering just below the surface. “You. Who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter who I am. Aaron, make the call or I’m making it for you.” Felix slowly draws closer.

Wash huffs irritably. “Get Dustin and Jason to wrap.” he points to Carolina. “We’ll talk later. Coordinates sent to your secure feed. That work?”

For several moments, Wash thinks Carolina will fight back. Instead, she just snorts looking at the older man warily. “Fine.

With that, she vanishes, and they vanish along with her. That night, the cafe burns to the ground.

---

They meet in a warehouse that somehow belonged to the mercenaries under one of their litany of pseudonyms. All of them wear body armor over their civvies, nothing like they usually did, but it was enough to meet the demands of the current situation.

Wash’s phone goes off, and he picks it up.

[FELIX] sent a file- [GuessWho.jpg]

WASH: Quit playing around. Stay out of the way until I know she’s fine.

FELIX: ruuude!

MAINE: were in place

WASH: Good.

Several people are typing…

The hummer slips the device back into his coat pocket, looking up as Carolina rounds the corner. His side feels like he’s just crammed a beehive in there, but they can just hold their damned horses.

...except Wash thinks he might have an idea why his cell is having a stroke. Tucker, Caboose, and...oh fuck, is that Tex? The only thing that could top this is if those Red troopers showed up too.

“Car’ did you seriously have to bring a posse?” Wash grouses, rubbing at his face.

“She did when we wouldn’t let her go alone you fucking tool!” Tucker shouts, the blue jay’s wings fanned out emotionally.

“Yea’, Yeah!” Caboose tacks on cheerfully. “Because we wanted to say HELLO!!”

Tex just scans the room, seeming to fixate on one corner in particular.

“Can’t say I ever thought you’d willing work with Tex’, Carolina.” Wash points out and the redhead swings around to face the hummer, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“This isn’t about me Wash. This is about you deciding to be a mercenary, and not trying to touch base with me.”

“We were always mercenaries, Car’. We just dubbed ourselves ‘Freelancers’.” the older man’s voice is lower than he intended, full of darkness and storms. “And if you thought I was alive, why didn’t you get in contact? Or is it my responsibility to chase after ghosts ?”

“That’s n-”

“Not what you meant? I’m sorry, did you mean I can’t be bothered to give a rat’s ass about people’s lives until they show up in front of me?” he laughs bitterly. His phone won’t stop going off. “ You never listened! Not to Connie, or me, especially not her!” Wash jabs a finger at Tex, who watches him from the corner of her eye before returning her attention to that corner.

“ Washington. ”

“Your ambition and competitiveness makes you burn everyone around you!” The man isn’t aware his wing instinctively snaps out until he feels the pull of his coat over the feathers. He doesn’t give a flying fuck at this point.

“Shut up!” Carolina yells, voice strained.

“No!” He screams right back at her. All the repressed betrayal and despair froths up to the surface. “You never listen until you have it shoved in your face!” Wash closes the gap between them, taking a sick sense of pride in how Carolina steps back nervously. “So let me tell you what my life has been like without you .” he cracks his neck. “I was abandoned after your reported death. Everyone was gone and the Project used me as a dog, sniffing out their scattered property. Did you know it’s protocol to detonate your teammate’s corpses for the Recovery Unit? So much of who I was is gone because I didn’t have the luxury of being myself anymore. I had to recover North’s suit and rescue South from Maine. She shot me for it! I let her live when I was ordered to kill, and she put two hollow points into me. She shattered the joint of my right wing and now it’s gone .”

That seems to visibly rattle Carolina. Good.

“I had to hunt down the shell of the man I loved and stop him. I had to lead a ragtag army to take down a beast, and you know what? They listened better than you ever did. I found the Alpha. I had to fry the AI fragments left there. That’s not even half of it Car’”

“How could I have known!?” Carolina interjects.

“I’m not asking you to know about the past, I’m asking you to listen now, and learn for the future!” Wash shouts back. “I was arrested for stopping Maine like I did! ‘Destruction of Government Property.’ That’s what I was charged with. So I did the one thing they always forgot I did. I remembered. They sent me after Epsilon with Maine, who I wasn’t even sure was himself, or the Meta, or who the fuck knows?! So I’m forced to turn on the troops that helped me take him out, because that’s just how it is, right ? I get a call telling me to go assist some mercenaries, but not before I’ve had to totally betray any small scrap of trust these soldiers had for me. Maine and I are sent on a year long assignment to ruin one of the organizations getting a little too close to things they wanted to keep secret. Fast forward and here I am, doing the exact same thing I did in Freelancer, but I’m doing it for private employers instead. So forgive me for not dropping the life I have to chase down your shadows, Carolina!”

His phone is still going off endlessly, and the hummer is unable to find anything else to say. He can hardly think straight, so he fishes the cell out, flicking through it while Carolina stares at him, dumbfounded.

While you were away:

LOCUS: Wash, 3 more inbound.

FELIX: shit

FELIX: I didn’t see them when I dropped down to join Maine.

MAINE: what??

MAINE: what do they look like

LOCUS: 2 winged, one unclear.

LOCUS: Rock Dove, and some sort of Jay.

FELIX: the ‘doves probs the one from the cafe.

LOCUS: Other looks like a woman, blonde, dark outfit, strongly built.

MAINE: i really hope its not who i think it is

LOCUS: The women are the only ones visibly armed.

LOCUS: Wash, are you there?

FELIX: the dick isn’t paying attention!

MAINE: fuck

LOCUS: That’s never reassuring to hear from you.

FELIX: I mean, if you insist big guy B]

LOCUS: -Felix.-

MAINE: this might get bloody

MAINE: thats tex

LOCUS: ...Is she anything like her file?

MAINE: worse

LOCUS: Do you need me there?

MAINE: can you get here silently

MAINE: shes a camo user she can spot you easy

LOCUS: It’s risky.

MAINE: stay put then

FELIX: Wash, you saggy tit, pay attention!

FELIX: oh yeeeah, let’s piss her off, great plan Shimmers!

FELIX: holy shit, jay-bird’s got some major balls!

MAINE: felix shut up

FELIX: fuck you.

MAINE: tex is looking at us

FELIX: she can’t see through the glass, dumbass, only we can.

FELIX: as long as we’re quiet it’s fine.

MAINE: debatable

FELIX: holy fuck.

FELIX: you fucking go Shimmers.

FELIX: tell her what’s up.

FELIX: spill that tea.

LOCUS: What?

FELIX: Wash is ripping Red a new asshole.

MAINE: -felix-

FELIX: fuck off, my soaps are on.

FELIX: …

FELIX: damn.

FELIX: -that’s- how he lost the wing?

MAINE: enough

FELIX: jesus christ, Maine.

MAINE: if we werent hiding id beat the shit out of you

FELIX: ;9

FELIX: …

FELIX: he’s really been through the ringer.

LOCUS: It’s in the file.

FELIX: okay, sugartits, I’ve actually read the thing, you know.

FELIX: and no this isn’t.

FELIX: oh snap, he’s talking about us!

FELIX: we’re merc’s!

MAINE: oh really

FELIX: yea.

FELIX: you fucking lay down the law, Wash. Atta boy.

FELIX: OH, ARE YOU FINALLY LOOKING AT YOUR PHONE?

FELIX: HEY BITCH HEY!

WASH: I’m done.

The older man throws his phone. It doesn’t crack, but the battery pops out, skittering away. “You want to meet my crew, Car’?” his tone is venomous, not leaving any room for saying no. Wash raises his hand, making a beckoning motion.

There’s a long pause then Carolina jolts, looking at the roof, hand going to her pistol in a mirror image of Tex. Wash can hear the heavy footfalls that alerted the two. A low thud resounds, and Wash can see Locus before Carolina rounds on the eagle, taking aim. There’s not even an ounce of hesitation before there’s a sidearm in the older man’s hand. He aims it at the back of her head, pressing the muzzle into her vibrant hair.

“Car’ you asked for this meeting, remember?” Wash drives his point home by jabbing the gun at her.

“Yeah, with you. ” she snarls.

“You brought a gang too, princess .” Felix’s voie curls through the air. His long legs carry him from where he’d been hidden away, and he leans against the older man’s shoulder, smirking. “Fair is fair, after all.”

Tex looks beyond the shrike, where Maine surely must be. She speaks for the first time since she showed up. “Jesus, Maine, you grew your hair out? Guess you’re not actually bald.”

Carolina angrily shoves her gun back into its holster. “Wash, back off. I’m not going to shoot.”

“And if I don’t believe you?”

“That’s your call.” She growls, gritting her teeth.

Wash relents, but keeps his pistol in hand. The hummer sniffs dismissively, tail flicking ever so slightly. He stands his ground when the redhead whirls, glaring daggers at Maine. If she was winged, Wash would bet money that she’d be in full threat display mode.

“Nothing to say, huh?”

Wash’s crest flares, shifting to place himself between the owl and Carolina. “Don’t be a bitch about this. We can leave at anytime.”

She tosses her hair. “Fine. I’m not going to fuck with you two just-...” Carolina moves over, looking at Wash. “I’m struggling to come to terms with all of this.”

Wash knows. He knows his former teammate. She doesn’t do emotions. She doesn’t know how to put things back together when she breaks them. It was always Wash keeping them stitched tightly. “Right.” He watches her, feeling that old tired pull to make things better.

“I’m sorry.”

Wash’s shoulders jump. “Excuse me?”

Carolina stands there, body tense. “...I left when I could have come back. You needed me and...and I turned my back on you.” She casts her gaze back at Maine. “Both of you.” her lips are drawn into a tight line. “But I’m here now .”

Maine brushes past Wash, large wings dusting against the older mans side. The owl stops in front of Carolina, chest feathers fluffing up. He’s appraising her for the longest time before he places a large hand on her head, ruffling her hair. The large man lets out a broken laugh.

The tension doesn’t vanish, but it lessens somewhat. Carolina whaps at Maine half-heartedly, looking at the floor. “Okay. Tucker, go ahead and say what you wanted to say.”

The blue jay is suddenly in Wash’s space. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Tucker is furious, wings shaking. A hand snags the front of Wash’s coat. “You seriously don’t have anything to say to me? To us ?!”

Wash doesn’t look away, steely eyes unwavering. “Yes. Everything I did was wrong. Even if I was under orders, it wasn’t okay.” he rolls his bad shoulder. “However, I’m pretty sure if I just said ‘sorry’ it would have pissed you off even more. I am sorry, for what it’s worth to you.”

Tucker’s grip loosens, allowing Wash to back off a bit. “I’m really not the one you should be apologizing to. You’re up, Church.”

A light glimmers near the jay’s shoulder. “Hey, Wash.”

---

Wash’s throat was raw from all the shouting. The two groups had gathered up some crates and things of that nature to use as seats. The night was overwhelmingly hot, and the older man was miserable in his overcoat. He was only wearing the damn thing because they couldn’t pin his wing under the vest without it hurting his joints. Finally the arguments had died down.

Caboose was hovering around Wash, eyes twinkling merrily. “You will love our new base, Wash, it is so nice! We have lots of space for you to move in!!”

That throws the Freelancer, he squints at the rock dove. “Uh...what?”

Epsilon blinks in. “He thinks you’re coming home with us, Wash.”

“Caboose, I...I already have a home.” Wash starts cautiously. “Also, I don’t think you’re going to be comfortable with Maine living there.”

“They’d also vanish all the time for work. They’re not exclusive to us, people hire them all the time.” Felix pipes up, grinning. “They’re pretty highly sought after.”

It’s all too apparent to the others that the blue sim trooper was confused. “What does that got to do with him moving in?”

“It means he can’t stay, dude.” Epsilon shrugs widely. “At least not forever.”

“Oh…” the dove mumbles, looking like he might start crying. “Can he do slumber parties?”

Wash makes a face. “Maybe? Remember, it’s not just me, Maine would come too.”

“Well I think that’s okay. Ms. Carolina is scary but she stays with us!”

“You’re not the only one in the base, numbnuts!” Tucker glares across the way. “Pardon me for being wary around the psychotic owl that’s tried to kill us several times!”

Before Caboose can present his convoluted argument, Wash wades in. “Tucker does have a point, Caboose. You can’t speak for all your teammates. They have a right to say no.”

“...Okay.” the rock dove mumbles, wings slumping downward.

The hummer rubs the back of his neck, fingers slipping over the grooves from where his small (but very sharp) talons bit into his flesh as he desperately struggled to pull the AI unit from his neck. The only things that remain are the scars and sweat running down his back. He hesitates for a long moment before slipping out of his coat. The Kevlar vest is plain to see, in addition to his lone wing.

The others move on, topic shifting, and many conversations branch off from the main point. The older man can feel eyes on him, and when he looks up Tex is staring at him. Tiny snippets of someone else’s memories snatch at Wash’s mind before he can shake them away.

The blonde tilts her head to look at the damaged stump, whistling lowly. When she leans over to him, her tone is that soft one that strangers thought her incapable of. “Look. It’s your choice, but if you want a prosthetic or need to have a doctor take a look at it, I can get you set up, no questions asked.”

The older man is understandably suspicious of her. “What’s the catch?”

To her credit, Tex doesn’t seem to be offended with his wary reply. “I mean, if you want to pay me, I’m not gonna turn it down, but I’m doing this because you deserve a break from all this bad shit that’s happened to y-”

Suddenly Epsilon shouts from across the room. “We’ve got company!”

There’s an explosion of chaos and, well, actual explosives. The groups scatter, Wash huddled next to Tucker behind a pillar. He’s not used to entering combat without his armor, and is unable to easily feed Maine numbers and what sort of weapons they’re up against like he normally would. This was shaping up to be one hell of a fight. Their attackers (one of which was painted like an Insurrectionist.) were in full gear, and while PFL had run them through a scenario like this, it had been so long ago, and it had left many of them recovering in the med bay.

Wash watches as Tucker darts over to join Tex and Caboose, leaving the Freelancer alone. Maine motions from across the way, urging Wash to rush over as well. Wash checks one last time before dashing towards the owl. He hears the last thing he ever wanted to hear that night.

“Shit! Sniper!”

Just before he could stumble behind the overturned steel shipping container where Maine was with the mercenaries, there was the sound of a rifle echoing through the warehouse and pain blooms in Wash’s neck. A spray of red splatters the corner of the crate. Then the old man collapses, his world going dark.

---

Several people are typing…

FELIX: okay cockbites.

FELIX: I’ve gathered you here because we’re in this shit together now.

FELIX: because -somebody- lead a fucking extremist group to our little pow wow.

CAROLINA: Shut up. Is Wash at the hospital yet?

LOCUS: Yes.

TUCKER: also, it wasn’t our fucking fault you murderous fucking pipecleaner!

FELIX: don’t -start shit- with me, Mr. Jay.

TUCKER: i’ll start shit with you when you get back from wherever the fuck you hid out!!

EPSILON: Tucker, stop talking.

EPSILON: Felix, stop being a little bitch.

CAROLINA: ALL OF YOU SHUT UP.

CAROLINA: Locus.

LOCUS: What.

CAROLINA: I need the hospital where you and Maine took Wash.

LOCUS: No.

CAROLINA: Excuse me?

CAROLINA: My teammate got shot in the goddamned -throat- and you two, who I never met before tonight, shuttle him and my OTHER teammate who -also- was shot in the throat in the past, to some ER and you’re not letting me know where to find them?

FELIX: nice run on sentence. Also, I hate to break it to you Red, but they ain’t your teammates. At least not anymore

CAROLINA: I am going to snap your fucking wings.

FELIX: gotta catch me first, Red. ;)

MAINE: in the O.R.

MAINE: locs’ give her the cords

LOCUS: Pardon?

MAINE: not asking again

LOCUS: ...A.O.M.S General, on Kings.

CAROLINA: Be there soon.

TUCKER: wait, are you seriously-

TUCKER: yeah, just checked, she’s not here.

TEXAS: Focus on clean up.

TUCKER: eps’ jumped to her, btw.

Tucker turns his attention away from the chat, allowing Caboose to cling to his arm. The rock dove seemed to actually know how bad of a situation they were in for once. He was terrified of the thought that Wash might never come to that slumber party the dove had been planning.

Tucker couldn’t even try to make dumb sex jokes to make himself feel better. All he can do is pick through what remains of their attackers and try to come to terms with that had just happened.

---

When Carolina got to A.O.M.S General she has to get Locus to come escort her to the back because, of course, the asshole had checked Wash in using another alias. (Chris) When she saw where Maine was sitting, she was surprised how easily she could read his body language. Not like Wash could, but it was all too clear from the bouncing of his knee and the trembling of his wings that the owl was blaming himself for what happened.

Carolina can’t find anything to say that wouldn’t make everything worse, so instead she sits beside the huge man and leans on his shoulder. Time slips away as she focuses on keeping her breathing steady. Eventually the sounds of the waiting room fade into a quiet hum. She’s starting to drift off when she feels Maine’s arm wrap around her shoulders to hold her close. When she glances up, the owl has tears rolling down his face. Carolina gently hugs him back.

“He’ll be okay, Maine.”

---

Wash wakes up when he hears a rhythmic beeping. Everything feels heavy and numb. Must be painkillers. He tried to call over the nurse fiddling with something on the other side of the room. He can only get out a weak gurgle before it feels like he’d downed a shot of gasoline and chased it with a lit match. It does the job, though. The nurse is at his side in moments.

“Chris? Listen to me Chris, don’t try to talk. You’re at the hospital. You came out of surgery three days ago, and you’re going to be moved to the rehab wing tonight. You’re going to be okay.” the mans wings are a rich brown that match his hair. He gently pats the old hummer’s shoulder. “I’m Nurse Luna. I’ll be helping you out with physical therapy over there. You’ve got some wonderful friends looking out for you.” Luna’s smile fades. “We’re going to do our best, but I have to tell you that the most we can really hope for is that you’ll have limited speech...are you familiar with sign language?”

Wash nods. Pointing at the nurse, he starts off with an ‘L’ before transitioning into the sign for ‘moon’. This seems to bring back the other man’s smile.

“Is that a name sign for me?”

Wash signs ‘yes’ before asking, [Who’s here for me?]

“Oh gosh, a whole pack of them. There’s an eagle, shrike, owl, blue jay, rock dove, and a wingless woman.” Luna explains while he jots something down on Wash’s chart. “Is there someone you’d like me to go get?”

[The owl and the woman.] Wash manages to hold back his tears until the brown winged nurse leaves the room. If the best hope was only limited use of speech, what was the actual outcome going to be? What if he ended up like-

Maine shoulders his way through the doors, amber eyes on his partner in an instant. “Wash.” His body is tense as a bowstring, looking ready to snap at any second. When the owl stumbles over, Carolina is left in his wake. Her face is unreadable, looking around the room warily. Maine cups Wash’s face in one massive palm. “Are you feeling okay?”

The older man shrugs lamely as a rough thumb brushes stray tears away.

Maine is searching Wash’s expression, seemingly waiting for his companion to speak. The hummer gently touches the dressing secured around his neck. He shakes his head, and the owl visibly deflates, wings drooping to his sides. “Wash I...I’m so sorry I let this happen to you.”

Wash shakes his head so hard that the wound twinges painfully. He grips at Maine’s forearm. [Not your fault. Sniper shot me, not you.]

The tall man just cradles the back of Wash’s head, lightly kissing his browline. “I’m going to make this right again.”

[I know you will.] Wash admits when he knows Maine can see his hands again. His hands trace through the chilly air of the recovery room. [And I’ll be there with you. Like always. Right?]

“Like always.”

WALKING ON THE SUN

Simmons had always had bad wings. Just like his shoddy eye-sight. Just like his unsteady stride. Just like his impossibly low self-esteem. Richard Simmons, the hoopoe with every flaw known to man. Probably some that hadn’t even been named yet.

Back to the wings, they fucking sucked. From a technical standpoint, they could fit into his power armor, but...suffice it to say that would do more harm than good. Also the odds of Simmons being shot by someone other than his own teammates were slim to none. On the rare days he did wear his armor above his wings, it went down like this: Joints started swelling after thirty minutes. At one hour, they’d go numb. Three hours in, feeling would return in the form of deep slicing pain that lingered long into the night.

It didn’t really matter much one way or another because after a full day at their newest base (They’re sitting at fourteen, not that anyone other than Simmons kept track.) the maroon soldier was suffering silently.

The week had been especially brutal. Sarge had been dragging them all over creation in search of a new team of Blue soldiers to fight after the set from Blood Gulch had been spirited away by Carolina. As a result they were being pushed to the brink because the old hawk couldn’t accept not having an enemy to ‘destroy’.

Simmons couldn’t bite back a painful gasp when Sarge had thumped the hoopoe on his shoulder, vowing that they’d find those dagum Blues any day now. The rest of his ‘encouraging’ words fell on deaf ears because the only thing Simmons could focus on was the red-hot agony in his wings. Simmons’ teeth sink into his lip to hold back any other cries. Damn it, why did Sarge have to be so prone to punching to when it wasn’t appropriate?

As soon as he was able, Simmons made a break for the new base. He doesn’t take any notice of his surroundings, pulling at clasps and letting his armor loudly crash to the floor in his haste. The wash racks were empty, making the unzipping of kevlar seem louder than it truly was. He hisses as he drags his aching wings out of the garment and kicks it away. Simmons sets the water as hot as it can possibly go before he sinks to the concrete floor, clutching at his knees.

The hoopoe tenses at the initial blast of icy water, but relaxes as the temperature gradually rises. Steam begins to blanket the room in a pleasant fog, feathers becoming drenched with the scalding spray. They hang limply at his back, and he sighs lightly.

Simmons’ head is just clear enough to hear someone enter the showers and he jolts upright, soaked wings flapping on (horribly painful) instinct. He makes an all too embarrassing noise, unable to muster even the weakest glare at the intruder.

“If you’re stealing all the hot water again, I’m going to kick your fucking teeth in.” Grif threatens him, stumbling on Simmons’ abandoned kevlar. His teammate looks down and looks appalled. “What in the actual shit is this, Simmons? What happened to ‘I always respect my equipment’? You’re the one that brought a hanger with you when you enlisted. Same with the rest of your armor! I actually thought about picking it up for you but…” Grif shrugs one of his (strong, healthy) wings with a snort. “Had to make sure you weren’t dying or something. Only reason I could figure for you not wiping your boots five times at the door.”

“Are you planning on bitching all night?” Simmon snipes lamely from the floor, flinching when Grif begins tossing bits of his orange armor haphazardly in the direction of the bench running along the back wall of the washroom.

“Why? Got a special request~?” The red-crested cardinal teases, pulling his helmet free with a faint pop. He’s got that damned grin on his face, moving to chuck the last (most expensive, most fragile) part of his power armor away.

“Don’t you dare throw that!!” shrieks the miserable soldier, voice ringing loudly. Grif’s eyes go wide slightly, and he cautiously sets the helmet down.

“Christ, fine. Happy now?”

Simmons nods, wincing at how it pulls his neck and shoulder muscles. Grif is...holy shit, Grif is actually picking up Simmons’ undersuit and laying it on the bench too instead of filing it in his bloated ‘Not My Problem’ folder. He doesn’t take the same care with his own, which is carelessly shucked onto the floor. Simmons shyly averts his eyes from the infuriating, pudgy, rude, pretty-- whoa hold the phone, what did his brain just think?! Shit he’s probably all red and blushy now, to boot.

“Cute little shit.”

“ ExcuseME?! ” Simmons snaps, blush deepening by the second.

“Cute. The whole polite and shy ‘looking away to protect my honor’ stuff.” Grif doesn’t bother masking a chuckle.

“Well, one of us has to b-” Simmons makes a strangled gasp of pain when a wing muscle spasms violently, forcing him to curl in on himself. “ F-Fuck!”

Grif’s expression drops in an instant, and he’s at Simmons’ side in seconds. “Wait you aren’t actually hurt, right?” there’s a raw edge of panic in his voice.

“S’nothing, I’m fine.” He’s a bad liar at the best of times, let alone whatever this clusterfuck qualifies as.

“Stuff the ‘I hate you so much’ act and tell me how to help you.”

Simmons makes the mistake of looking at Grif’s face and his heart flips at the genuine concern he finds there. Apparently he takes too long for the cardinal’s tastes because Grif rather snappily adds:

“Damn it, stop being so suspicious all the time!”

“I’m supposed to trust you?! Just laugh already so we can get on with things!” Simmons challenges him reflexively, not wanting to be burned again.

“Because I really like you, okay! I don’t want to see you hurt by something I don’t know about!” The orange soldier is the next one to turn pink around the ears, a fact that doesn’t escape Simmons. He’s just too busy processing the information to fully register the implications of it.

“Like...friends, like?”

“That is the saddest fucking thing that ever fell out of your dumb, pretty face.” Grif retorts, flippant tone not sounding derogatory like it usually does.

Simmons is red down to his chest feathers, which fluff up in spite of the shower. “P-Pretty?”

There’s a sigh so explosively loud, it’s a small wonder the whole base doesn’t come crashing down. “ Yes , Simmons. I like your face. Now tell me what’s going on with your god damned wings!” His wide palm smacks the wet floor, snapping Simmons back to reality.

“Oh. Uh, it’s just...it’s like how my back is, only worse. They’re always hurting but today was so long that it’s taken its toll on them.” he mutters, thumbs twiddling. “It's been like this since I was little. The doctors said it was permanent deep muscle damage. Sarge has been pushing us too hard, so this is the result.”

Grif seems to be searching for some hidden meaning with how deeply he studies Simmons’ face. A beat passes before he smiles like nothing Simmons has ever seen from his teammate before. It’s (sweet, stunning) genuine and open. “Might think about giving it a rest then, Mr. Employee of The Month.” the smile turns sly. “We earned a few lazy days years ago.”

“We??” Simmons chuffs.

“You heard me. It’ll be like Blood Gulch before Tex showed up.” Grif tests the waters. “Except more making out and shit.”

Simmons sputters loudly, stringing an incomprehensible series of sounds together, only stopping after another wave of pain hits.

Grif in turn, lightly pushes some hair from the hoopoe’s face. Did he even know he’s why Simmons started to grow it out? Did he still like it long like he said bef- oh. Oh. Grif was kissing him and there Simmons was just sitting there like a doofus. He returns it with too much excitement, too little experience. He accidentally jabs Grif in the eye with his nose. The cardinal sits back amidst a flurry of ‘Oh shit!’ and ‘I’m so sorry!’, holding up a hand to stop the maroon soldier before he can really get going.

“Chill. We’re in no rush. Let’s take care of you, then we can keep making out. That work?” He offers.

“Yeah.” Simmons enthusiastically agrees. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

NICKLE AND DIME

When Wash was released from the hospital, all the hummingbird wanted was a quiet place where he could snuggle up with Maine. If Carolina had gotten her way, the freelancers would have come along with her bizarre grab-bag of troops, but Wash politely refused. He pointed out quite clearly that he and Maine had already built a new life for themselves that they were content with. Carolina had finally given in after Wash assured her that they’d keep regular contact.

Felix had found the quartet a wonderful home on the fringes of a National Park. It was exactly what Wash needed. The misty air soothed his weary soul and filled his lungs with a fluttery sort of hope.

‘...wow that sounded really sappy, Wash.’ He thinks.

“ Well?? ” The shrike asked, wings fanned out slightly. “I’m not getting any younger here, Shimmers!”

If Wash didn’t know better, he’d think the mercenary was actually seeking his approval. Felix just wanted to know if he’d picked a good house...right?

Wash snaps from his reverie, clearing his throat with a nervous smile. “It’s awesome, Felix.” he rasps. “You really hit it out of the park. Thank you so much.”

The freelancer tries so very hard to not notice how Felix’s wings fluff, his grin ratcheting wider. Wash looks away, to where Maine and Locus are unloading the van with their meager belongings. For once in his life he allows himself to just stare at the two, both so similar and different at the same time. Then Felix leans against him, humming mischievously in his ear.

“Thought you’d dig it. You’ve got a nice view there, hn~?”

Wash ducks his head, blushing deeply. Caught red-handed, there was no point in denying it. “It’s pretty solid. Ten out of ten.” is offered, only partially in jest.

Felix snickers, not used to the freelancer being so blunt with him. “Y’know, Shimmers, it’s times like this that I can get how Locus started crushing on you.”

“Uh-...Come again?” Wash looks up at him, wide eyed.

The shrike gives him a secretive smile. “You’ve got a gift for making folks fall head over tail-feathers for you, especially giants like those two.”

Wash’s sparse crest flutters shyly. He’s not sure what to do with this information he’s been handed. True, it wasn’t that he didn’t notice how Locus’ behaviour was subtly changing when it came to Wash, he just didn’t know what steps to take from there. He’s lost in his mind when Felix gently runs a hand down his back, squeaking when the younger man pinches his ass .

“Honestly, I’m a little interested myself, but in the end it’s all up to what you want, Shimmers.” Felix smirks, patting the top of Wash’s head. “I’m heading inside.” he chuckles as Wash is left stammering in his wake.

Lousy, good for nothing, psychopathic, smug, asshole.

---

It’s been raining for three days now and it leaves Wash with aching joints and a lingering somber mood. Felix and Maine were out on a job, leaving Locus and himself to their own devices until they returned.

“Washington.”

The hummer jumps, looking back at Locus. “H-huh?”

“Are you feeling well? You seem more...despondent than usual.” Locus’ voice becomes softer with each word until it trails off into nothing, as though he’s unsure of himself.”

“Oh.” Wash offers a weak smile. “Don’t worry, Loc’s. The weather’s just making me achy.”

“Would you like me to assist?”

That does give Wash pause. “I, uhm, no offense, but what do you- uh-...” the hummer isn’t even sure what he’s going to say without sounding incredibly rude.

Locus has started gathering some canvas bags that look to be filled with some sort of grain. Rice maybe? The eagle flaps one massive wing. “The bone from the radiale down is artificial on this wing. Titanium alloy. So I have some things I could suggest from experience.”

Well damn . That made some things fall into place in Wash’s head. He’d always wondered why Locus never took advantage of his wingspan to glide from his sniper nests. If Maine could do it, Locus should have been more than capable, having a good two or three feet on the owl. A partially replaced bone would easily explain it.

“How?” Wash wonders aloud.

“Felix.”

Oh jeez, now Wash feels like a douche for asking. “Ah...well, if you want to give it a show, I won’t stop you.”

Wash looks away, chest feathers ruffling in shame as Locus puts the bags into the microwave to heat them. He tests the temperature after it dings with a hum. Eventually the mercenary nods to Wash.

“Go lay on the sofa. On your stomach, please.” he asks, shouldering the rice pouches. He walks over, looming. The sight is both reassuring and terrifying in the same breath. Wash swallows around the lump in his throat and complies with no fuss.

“This is probably going to hurt a small bit at first, but I promise it helps.” Locus’ voice is soft as he starts arranging the bags around Wash’s wing and stump. They’re just slightly too hot, making the hummer squirm as the eagle precisely adjusts them.

“...Locus I-”

“It’s Sam, actually.”

What the actual fuck was happening? Wash is quite clearly dreaming because there is no way that Locus just freely offered his real name to the older man. One of the canvas bags is displaced, making wash hiss in surprise.

“I just felt it was the right time to tell you that.” is the only explanation Locus offers to him.

Despite everything, Wash knows how much real names meant in their line of work. The only reason Locus knew his name was because of the personnel files he’d pilfered from the remains of PFL. He actually beams at Locus. “I’m honored you trust me with it. I like it.”

The light flickering of Locus’ crest doesn’t escape Wash.

---

Felix keeps bringing Wash things ever since they’d finally moved in together. The grand majority were adorned with cats of all shapes and sizes.

Locus plainly said, “It’s how he shows affection. He likes buying clothes too, so be ready for that.”

Great.

“Is-” Wash coughs, throat twinging painfully. “Can I ask why you two are…” the hummer glances away, unable to finish the thought.

“Why we’re interested in you?” Locus guesses. When Wash nods, the mercenary tilts his head, eyes wandering. “I can’t speak for Felix, but I personally find you easy to get along with. You’re capable in the field, and in many ways I strongly relate with you…”

Wash can easily tell that there’s something Locus isn’t saying. However, he knows better than pushing the eagle beyond his comfort zone, lest he shut down and leave in a huff. The explanation still causes a soft comfort to bloom in Wash’s chest. “I’m still not sure I get it, but I really am flattered.”

“Will Maine be upset?” is a perfectly reasonable question that takes Wash off guard.

“I...I dunno. If it bothered him, I’m pretty sure he would have told you off by now.” Wash’s feathers glimmer in the light as he takes deep breaths. “We’re not really used to the attention. You two are the first that expressed any serious interest.”

“I don’t understand how. You’re powerful and cunning. Dependable, adaptable, all ideal traits to search for in potential partners.”

“You’ve said as much before. Besides that, most people like to look for sweet and funny instead.” Wash sighs. “Also they like people to have very few scars, and all their limbs intact.”

“That’s unfortunate for them. They’re missing out.” Cautiously the eagle brushes his rough knuckles down Wash’s bad shoulder, lighter than air. “The more damage you find on the outside, the stronger the soul found within.”

Wash’s crest flicks up attentively. “That’s remarkably poetic.”

“The truth usually is.”

---

“Maine?”

“What.”

“Is this all okay?” Wash whispers into the dark, curled into the safety of his partner, his best friend’s arms.

“You mean the merc’s courting you?”

“I mean me wanting to court them back.” he mumbles, hands wringing together in the still night air.

“Do you trust them?”

“Do you? ”

“I do. Locus stops at nothing to keep your path safe. Felix is a wild card, but he’s always by your side, ready to strike down anyone Locus hasn’t taken out.”

“But what about you ?”

Maine lets out a questioning chuff.

“I want you to be happy with them too. You mean the world to me, and I don’t like the idea of you being on the outside of all this.”

A wide palm settles between Wash’s shoulders. He can feel Maine’s thick talons scraping at the nape of his neck gently. “I am happy, Wash. I don’t need to have everyone’s attention on me. I know they like me, and that’s enough.”

“Maine...I’m scared of it being fake.”

“You can’t let fear control you.”

“It’s really hard to ignore it.”

The hand reels Wash in to fit snugly against Maine’s chest. “I would never let them near you if I thought they had intentions of hurting you, Wash. I’ll always be here.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Wash, this isn’t the Project anymore. This is our own world. We make the rules.”

“I can’t lose you again, Maine.” Tears start rolling down Wash’s cheeks, matting down the light dusting of feathers.

“You won’t. This is a good thing, Wash. I promise it is.”

“...” Wash wraps his arms around Maine’s large chest. “I love you Maine.”

“Love you too, Wash.”

---

“Maine said I could help you preen, Shimmers.”

Wash is wrestling with his Kevlar vest, caked with blood and muck. Who hires mercenaries to slog through a damn swamp?! Wash’s feathers are sticking together, but still, hearing Felix freely offering assistance is bizarre .

“What? Why??”

“ ‘cause it’ll speed up the process. Plus my hands are more suited for it.” Felix holds up his hands, wiggling his fingers as if to say, ‘See?? Look how dainty!’

“...Maine said ?” Wash teases.

“Well, okay he signed , but that’s not important.” the shrike huffs, working up an exaggerated pout. “Lemme help you. I’m not gonna bite...I mean, unless you’re into that~”

“Still ace’ Felix.” Wash warns, throwing his bullet proof vest into the deep sink basin Locus had installed in the detached garage behind the house. There’s an unpleasant ‘schlap’ when it connects with the side.

“Eh. Never hurts to try.” Felix shrugs, a sly grin on his face. “Now quit being a wuss and let me work.”

Wash relents, grumbling all the while. Now that Maine had given his clear approval, the hummingbird couldn’t go one day without either of the mercenaries fussing over him. Usually Locus did the pampering, while Felix showered Wash in gifts. He had bought Wash so many knives that the group had put a ban on them. Fifty-seven was an outrageous number of blades to have, even for an assassin. How did Felix expect him to carry them all?

“-ot you a little something.”

“Huh?” Wash bolts up suddenly, causing Felix to accidentally yank a primary. Wash whines softly at the sharp burning that starts spreading in along his good wing.

Felix tsks, tongue piercing clicking against his teeth. “Got you a new zip hoodie since we wrecked your favorite on that job. Now quit moving, Twitchy.”

Wash blinks, slightly stunned. Normally Felix bought things for his housemates on a whim. Maine and Locus would make purchases out of necessity, not the resident shrike. Wash lets Felix continue fussing over the state of his feathering, only reacting when an arm winds around his waist.

“Felix?”

“Hn?” The mercenary continues to nuzzle into the crook of Wash’s neck.

“What’re you doing?” Stupid, stupid, dumb. That’s what your question is, Wash.

“Snuggling?? I figure it’s fine as long as I’m not feeling you up, yeah?” Felix elaborates, looking ever so smug with himself.

“Oh...well, I guess it’s alright. Just don’t get grabby like last time.” Wash sighs eventually.

With that dose of positive reinforcement, Felix gleefully pulls Wash into an over enthusiastic embrace. He’s purring endlessly and keeps dragging his fingers through Wash’s dreadlocks. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love hummingbirds.” the shrike offers, almost whispering.

Wash startles, but Felix only holds him tighter. “Pardon?”

“Our old partner, Siris. He’s a black chinned hummer.”

“You said ‘is’ not ‘was’.” Wash indicates, trying to wiggle so he’s not got his chin squashed rather painfully against the shrike’s wiry shoulder. “Was that on purpose?”

“Yeah.” Felix rubs his cheek along Wash’s temple in a rather catlike way. “Last I heard of him he was still kicking. He’s fully clipped though. Same time Locus’ wing got fucked up too.” There’s the smallest touch of sadness in Felix’s voice. In a flash it’s masked. “He’s a lot like you, ‘cept he’s all monogamous and shit. It’s a shame because the man is really fine.”

“Think with something other than your dick, Felix.” Wash castizes.

“There’s nothing inherently sexual about thinking someone’s hot, Shimmers. You should know that all too well, yeah??”

Wash does not pout before shoving Felix aside.

“Aww, c’monnn, don’t be mad.” The shrike whines pitifully, trying to gather Wash in his arms again. “Please? You’re really warm and the perfect size for cuddling? Oh! Did I mention you’re really pretty today??”

Ugh. There was no stopping Felix when he’d decided he wanted something, and unfortunately for Wash, that meant him.

---

The job had been easy and highly profitable. Wash was cooking some fragrant variant of curry as Felix clung to his side like a tick.

“You look so adorable in that.” he titters, plucking at the drawstrings of Wash’s new sweatshirt. It was an abomination, black with a kaleidoscope of colourful cats, a nebula pattern overlaying them.

“I’m trying to cook here.” Wash scolds him.

“And I’m trying to watch you.” The shrike grins against his ear.

“Ughh, you’re hopeless Felix.”

“It’s Isaac, my dude.”

The screen door slams at that exact moment, making Wash practically jump out of his feathers. Maine and Locus are shrugging out of their down coats, snow dripping from their wings. In that brief window, Wash can feel Felix press a soft kiss to his jaw before pulling away.

Wash would never understand these three dorks. At least they were his three dorks.

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Of Love And War

5 - If I Look In Your Eyes, I'll Want You To Hold Me

Pairing: Commander Cody x OFC Azura Shain

Rating: Explicit (MDNI!)

Warnings: nothing spectacular just smoochies

A/N: Saluecami, Azura and her boys chat a lot, she meets Jesse, her and Cody talk. She has some concerns. She is a nervous Jedi. 😂There is some mando'a in here.

Azura wasn't upset with the Council. She was actually relieved. She'd felt like she'd failed at Geonosis because of her reckless abandon going after those bugs and getting herself injured and those two Clones killed. She did feel bad for Samson and Sky and it would've been nice if they were able to stay their ranks and go to another battalion but they refused, especially Samson. 

The meeting with the Council was short. Grievous had captured Master Koth near the Saluecami system, so the 501st and 212th were headed there. Azura stuck herself by Obi-Wan's side, ensuring he would at least consider bringing her along if she made her presence insistent enough. Samson tagged along beside her, as did Sky. 

"Azura, I'd like you and your men to stay behind while we retrieve Master Koth. Ready the gunships in the event we need to land on Saluecami." Obi-Wan instructed as she followed him to his cruiser. He waited by the ramp for his Commander to show up which didn't take too long. He and Rex strode up, Cody giving Azura a small nod, which no one else except Samson noticed.

"You'll be heading to the Resolute. Make sure those LAATs are all set for us!" Obi-Wan yelled to her as he and Cody boarded the cruiser and Anakin went with Rex to a small shuttle.

Azura and her men saluted the Generals and began the walk across the shipyard to the Resolute.

"So...Captain Samson now?" Sky asked, nudging his former Commander.

" Yeah it's fine. Either way I'm a higher rank than you. I still get to order you around. You're a lieutenant." Samson nudged him back.

" She's the Commander now. You're the same rank as Cody now." Sky said.

" I am not. He's a Marshall Commander." Azura stated.

" So he still gets to be on top then?" Sky burst out laughing, nearly tripping over his own feet. Samson smirked but ever so slightly.

"You're the only one who thought that was funny." Azura rolled her eyes at him.

"I know. I'm fuckin' hilarious." Sky strutted toward the Resolute's ramp.

"You're a little shit is what you are. You and Emden." 

"Thanks. He's way worse than I am."

 "I'm not so sure about that. You're the one that came up with the 'who's ass looks better in kamas' thing." Samson said, patting Sky's shoulder and Azura glanced back at them with a small grin.

"We're gonna get you some kamas." Sky offered as they followed him up into the belly of the Venator class destroyer.

"So that you can look at my ass?"

"No no no, so that we can protect Cody's assets from prying eyes." Samson interjected, Sky nodding his head in approval.

"Is this what I get from now on?"

"This is an initiation. All the boys go through it after their first time with a lady. We obviously have to give you the same courtesy, Commander. " Azura wasn't sure if Sky was serious or not but she playfully punched him either way. 

They met with Jesse, Kix, and Hardcase from the 501st to begin putting together a landing party, if it came to that, which Samson seemed to think it would.

"Grievous is crafty. I know Kenobi wants to catch him but the demogolka seems to always be able to escape."

"Master Kenobi said gunships, but if we're going down to the planet I'm assuming he'll want tanks and speeders as well." Azura explained, examining a datapad with an inventory of what was available on the Resolute. The three troopers, in addition to her own Captain, Lieutenant and ARCs stood in a circle, waiting for instruction.

"Please tell me they all work. Those speeders can be finicky." The one with the Republic crest tattooed on his face said. She raised a brow at him.

"Sorry, we've never met before, I'm CT-5597."

"What's your name? Like your actual name? I don't call my men by numbers." She lowered the datapad and stared at him for a couple of seconds before he answered.

"Jesse." The corners of his mouth turned up in a hearty grin. He didn't expect this Jedi to be like his own General, recognizing the individuality of each Clone over their given numbers.

"Nice to meet you Jesse. Could you run diagnostics on the speeders for me and make sure they're all up to par? I'd assume you know a bit about them."

"Yes, sir!" He saluted and motioned for Kix and Hardcase to follow. They had quite a few speeders to check out.

"As for us, we need to make sure ammunition and comms equipment is loaded on each LAAT and Tank accordingly." Azura said, Samson recognizing the boredom in her voice.

" Didn't think you'd be checking inventory lists and loading Tanks did you?" He asked as they went to check the first of the Tanks.

"I didn't expect to be running around after Grievous if that's what you're asking. I still don't feel quite right."

" Still sore? You did have broken ribs you know. A Bacta-tank only does so much. You probably should've been in there a little longer. Additionally, you probably shouldn't have been fooling around with the Marshall Commander." Samson took the datapad from her, pulling up a checklist for supplies. His tone wasn't scolding but it held concern for her.

"He was...gentle. Not really what I was expecting."

"What were you expecting, him to absolutely destroy you?"

" God no! But I've heard you guys tell stories..."

" We tend to fluff it up a bit. At least Sky and the boys do. It's all a show. Who's dick is the biggest...that type of thing."

"Cody wasn't like that. He wasn't showing off."

" Did you tell him it was your first time?"

" Well no...was I supposed to?"

"He's not an idiot. I'm sure he figured it out pretty quick. You're damn lucky you didn't get caught."

" No one knew I was with him except you and Rex that night."

"Rex is smart. I'm sure he probably told Cody the same thing."

Azura nodded and followed Samson up and down the rows of Tanks quietly. She knew unlike the other boys, Samson was genuinely concerned for her. Not concerned that Cody would do anything to hurt her, but she was sure that if he did, Samson would kick his ass ten times over. Her and Samson were buffers for each other. They would give each other a few chances throughout the day to let down and talk about their lives and anything they had on their minds. Samson always told her about her ARCs, and very rarely did he talk about himself. It took some nudging to get anything about himself out. How he was feeling was not a question. Azura on the other hand, could talk for hours about the Jedi and their ways. It fascinated Samson to hear about how she made her sabers, or how difficult her trials were and how commanding the 478th had been part of that. Though they'd been moved to the 212th, it had been a good experience for her. He never asked much of her old Master because he knew that was a touchy subject so he stuck to the ways of the Jedi instead of anything too personal. Asking about her and Cody felt like it was toeing the line though.

As they finished their sweep of the Tanks they got word from Master Kenobi that they'd engaged Grievous and that he'd escape. The Resolute then began it's descent to the surface of Saluecami.

"How's it work with your Code?" Samson asked as he and Sky boarded a Tank with Azura.

" What do you mean?"

"Well I thought you couldn't have attachments." He flipped some switches and secured himself in the seat. Sky sat next to him in the other seat and Azura stayed standing, holding onto the backs of their chairs.

"We're not supposed to, no. But some Jedi do have wives...husbands...whatever. Its when those attachments get in the way of our duty."

" So as long as you and Cody treat each other like you'd treat us...equally take a blaster bolt for a brother... you're fine. It's when you pick each other over everyone else basically.

"Pretty much." 

Samson steered the Tank down the ramp and onto the planet's surface. Saluecami was covered with trees and it looked to be swampy in places as well. 

"This is a fun planet. How many trees can you take out with a single Tank leg?" Sky chuckled to himself.

"Put your tallies up there if you're counting." Samson said pointing to a clear spot on the roof panel where there were no buttons.

"Leave the trees alone. Why do you guys have tallies anyway?"

" It's a Clone thing. Most guys' tic-marks are how many droids they've killed." Sky explained, pointing to his thigh armor. Sky was skilled with a long range rifle as a sniper so his tallies weren't as numerous as some of the other troopers. He had three sets of five starting at his knee and going up toward his torso.

"What about your tallies, Samson?"

"Mine are Destroyer Droids. Those bitches are hard to kill but I'm good at it. Blown up six of those suckers myself. Got a Destroyer problem? I'm your guy." The pride in his voice was rarely something Azura heard and it sent a shiver down her spine. She knew the Clones were manufactured to do this but she rather enjoyed all of their idiosyncrasies.

Obi-Wan came into view, as did Rex who was on a speeder. 

"Ey, there's your man. The orange boy." Sky pointed to the viewport and Azura's heart skipped a beat, seeing Cody's visor. 

"Is it orange? It looks yellow to me." Samson joked.

"You need your HUD checked."

" I need my HUD checked? This coming from the guy with the fucked up eye?" Samson poked Sky's visor and Sky whacked his hand away. Samson enjoyed making a jab at Sky about his eye every once in a while. Sky had endured being thrown from an exploding LAAT and into some jagged rocks at the first battle of Geonosis. Instead of asking for new armor, he just welded it back together. Some of the shrapnel from the visor had gone into his eye, permanently damaging the right one.. For whatever reason, he pieced the visor back together as well, making it look like it was cracked and then he fixed all the wiring inside of the helmet so that his HUD worked properly.

" Shut the hell up. You're just jealous your bucket doesn't look as cool as mine."

" Okay children. That's enough." Azura shared a laugh with them before Obi-Wan boarded the vehicle. She glanced out the viewport again and didn't see Cody anywhere. Sky turned to see Azura's expression dampening.

"Hey don't look so sad, he's behind you. They're using our tank to go through the Droids memory banks. You should probably go and check it out." Sky said, gently pushing her away from the cockpit of the tank. She ducked her head so as not to hit any switches, because she didn't know what any of them did. She knew how to fly her own Starfighter but this thing had so many buttons for so many features, it was hard to tell what was what.

"Azura. Thanks for getting the tanks ready. Samson said you were very thorough." Obi-Wan smiled as she came into view. A trooper named Crys stood besides him, as did Cody.

" Only the best for you, Master." She smiled and nodded to him and gave Cody a quick glance. She was thankful for their helmets because otherwise she figured he'd be staring at her and everyone would see.

"This Droid is mostly intact so see if you can crack the access codes." Obi-Wan commanded, turning on his heels to leave. Azura went to follow him but she felt a hand on her wrist. 

"Stay." Cody pleaded and she stopped in her tracks. Obi-Wan did as well.

"Yes, Azura, you should stay. Help Cody and Crys with this Droid." Obi-Wan said and then jumped out of the tank to retrieve other droids that were dropping, leaving a trail to Grievous' location.

"I'm not sure what I can do but..." She sidled up next to Cody, leaning against the table they'd put the droid on. She watched as they picked apart the head of the droid, and attached some of the wires to a datapad. Crys worked deftly, trying to hack the access codes for the droids guidance systems. It would hopefully give them an approximate location of where Grievous was headed along with the droids they were finding along the way.

Cody removed his helmet and placed it in front of Azura. He handed her a few chips and other pieces from the droid's head.

"Hold on to those for me? Sometimes I put things down and forget about them. I know you won't lose them." His hand lingered over hers just a little longer than the average person and she felt her cheeks go warm again. 

"I definitely won't lose them." Was all she could manage to say, knowing she sounded like an idiot. Crys gave them both a questioning glance but continued his work. 

"I'm in." Crys said, pressing his comm button to let Obi-Wan know. He came back, Cody and Crys explaining to him that the droid's escape pods crashed to avoid hitting another pod. 

"Can you pinpoint the location of the other pod?" Obi-Wan asks, his fingers stroking his beard.

" I can put us within two to three klicks of it, sir." Cody said, already running a trace for location on the datapad.

"Very good, Crys, come with me. We'll alert the men. We've picked up the scent." Obi-Wan's grin was unmistakable. Azura knew how badly he wanted to capture Grievous. She stayed behind still, watching Cody type on the datapad as Crys and Obi-Wan left the hold of the tank. She could faintly hear Sky and Samson chatting. It was almost too quiet but she didn't want to break the silence and Cody's concentration. She enjoyed watching him work. She put her forearms flat on the table and cocked her hip in his direction.

She glanced down the short tunnel to the cockpit. She could just barely see the back of Sky's helmet. She wondered if he turned around what he could see of her and Cody.

He placed the datapad on the table and leaned against it. 

"General, keep going west. We're going for quite a while too." He said into his wrist comm.

" Thank you, Cody. Meet me in five."

He turned to face Azura, resting on an elbow so that he could look her in the eyes.

"I don't feel like I see enough of you." He said quietly, hoping Samson and Sky couldn't hear them.

"I don't get out much at the moment. I'm stuck on the ship until Obi-Wan says otherwise."

"I know. He wants you at a hundred percent before you go do Jedi shit together." His voice was soft, understanding. His fingers found their way over to her hand that was closest to his. She turned it, palm up, and he drew numbers with a fingertip. She recognized the numbers as his own 2224. He drew them over and over a few times. Her eyes met his but she couldn't stand it long. She shook her head.

"Eye contact is so...fucking...intimate..." She studied her vambraces next to his. Hers were decently white, clean, and his were well worn, weathered and scratched to shit.

" That's a statement." His fingers continued mindlessly, brushing over the vein in her wrist and then back to her palm. 

"About the other night..." She began, wanting to tell him she appreciated how he made her feel but not knowing the words to express it.

"I hope I wasn't too rough. I knew it was your first time."

"No you weren't at all. How could you tell?" She leaned a little closer to him, his fingers now stopping to rest on her forearm.

" You just...didn't seem like you knew what to do, only that you wanted to do it."

"I guess that's one way of putting it. I didn't intend on it escalating...but I'm happy it did." She was beaming, a tiny laugh leaving her breath as she finally mustered the courage to stare into his decisive brown eyes.

" Me too." He closed the ever shrinking gap between their lips and her free hand moved to his shoulder. He stood slowly, her following, and pulled her against him tight. 

Samson and Sky could only see their torsos locked together and they punched each other excitedly and then turned back to the viewport, giving Azura and Cody a few more moments of privacy.

They hadn't realized that their fingers had intertwined on their hands that rested on the table. It just happened, out of instinct, out of need. She broke their embrace and her right hand traveled to Cody's scar around his eye.

"Will you tell me how you got this?" She asked, pushing against him once more as she traced the curve of it.

"In time, yes, cyar'ika." His lips found hers again and a memory came forward. The word he'd said was Mando'a. Her father used to call her cyar'ika, which meant something along the lines of 'sweetheart'. Every once in a while she would hear someone say something that sounded like her family's language and a pang of hope would run through her, thinking maybe it was a member of the Shain Clan. She knew there were plenty of other Mandalorian clans but she always hoped to find someone from hers.

"You speak Mando'a?" She asked, curious as to where he'd learned.

"A little bit. We learned it on Kamino. We learned some other languages too but Jango was Mandalorian so that became our second language to basic. Jango made sure of that. Why do you ask?" He moved a few strands of hair out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. 

" My father called me that when I was very young. I haven't heard anyone speak it in a long time. It sounds natural to you."

"Basic feels natural to me. I wish I spoke Mando'a better. I like the sound of it. Basic doesn't describe my feelings for you." He leaned in for another kiss and then his comm pad beeped, Obi-Wan asking where he was. He rolled his eyes and placed a soft peck on her lips and left, nearly forgetting his helmet. She smirked as he walked away, sighing and heading back to stand behind Samson and Sky.

[talasuharshitha]

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Different types of shoulder dislocation surgery, along with their procedure, are as follows:

Bankart repair surgery: A bankart repair is a surgical technique usually performed to repair recurrent shoulder joint dislocations. During the procedure, the worn-out ligaments are re-attached to the proper place in the shoulder joint, using the objective of rebuilding normal function.

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[lamaenthel]

Tivaevae | Chapter Fifteen: Epilogue

Still struggling to emotionally recover from Master Obi-Wan's deception, Ahsoka discovers in the aftermath that twelve-year-old Boba Fett has been locked up among adults in the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center. After convincing Chancellor Palpatine to grant him a pardon, she manages to secure his release on the condition that she serve as his legal guardian. Now, with the help of Master Plo and the Wolfpack, she vows to help him track down what family he has left.

| AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |

Fandom: Star Wars Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, Plo Koon, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu, Kanan Jarrus, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CC-1119 | Appo, Dexter Jettster, FLO | WA-7 (Star Wars), Shaak Ti, ARC Commander Blitz (Star Wars), CT-6922 | Dogma, Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars), CC-3636 | Wolffe, Clone Trooper Sinker (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Comet (Star Wars), CC-2224 | Cody, CT-5597 | Jesse, CT-4860 | Boost, Aurra Sing, Tobias Beckett, Null-11 | Ordo Skirata, Kal Skirata, Original Mandalorian Characters (Star Wars), Original Droid Characters (Star Wars), Original Jedi Character(s) (Star Wars) Total Word Count: 123,000 Chapter Word Count: 2,938 Chapter Summary: Ahsoka finally meets Taarak.

The crèche still smelled the same as it had as far back as Ahsoka could remember; chalky aquarelle paint and sweet craft paste, sharp calligraphy ink and sun-warmed tatami mats, all overlaid with the minty dalas wood incense that Crèchemaster Vereixem always claimed was calming to a child's disposition. He'd lit a stick ten minutes ago, probably sensing her irritation.

Kento—the ancient dras lizard that Ahsoka had once liberated from the Halls of Learning and hid under her bed for a week—lay sleeping on a java wood branch in his transparasteel enclosure in the quiet corner. The bone masks that her Kaleesh Crèchemaster wore were displayed high on the bamboo wall, out of reach of his curious wards and magnetized to avoid being pulled down with the Force. Each youngling he helped raise decorated a mask for him. They were made from mumuu bones that he harvested himself then carved to resemble the faces of various animals across the galaxy.

Hers hung three spots over from the floor-to-ceiling window that looked east; she still remembered painting the mask with careful fingers, sure that she would make the best mask ever for the nicest Crèchemaster in the galaxy. She had chosen the one that resembled a borgle bat and covered it with green, pink, and purple splotches–attempting a sort of patchwork look that she had really thought that she'd nailed at the time—and glued an obnoxious spray of white feathers in the center.

At the time she'd thought it a masterpiece, but now that she looked at it with fresh eyes the best she could say was that it wasn't quite as ugly as some of the others. The patchwork effect she had been going for made the skull look diseased and the feather crest was doing the same thing Anakin's hair did when he fell asleep flat on his face. Not that Vereixem cared, of course; as far as he was concerned, every single mask that one of his younglings made was perfect, no matter how ugly it was.

Taarak made a happy chirp that was muffled by Anakin's thumb. She glanced up from her coloring page just long enough to see that the little usurper was still dreamily munching away on her Master's ruined glove instead of coloring, distracted by the taste and feel of leather in his mouth and the toys levitating in front of him.

She knew she was being irrational. There was nothing to be mad or jealous or territorial over. Taarak was a kriffing toddler, he wasn't about to steal her Master out from under her. His constant scent marking was done from instinct, not as a challenge to her.

"Ndi mtundu wanji?" Anakin asked Taarak, bouncing him on his knee. His aura was a radiant cloud of coppery-blue pride-affection that made Ahsoka fight down the possessive urge to lean across the craft table and scent mark him into oblivion. "Pano, look. Ndi mtundu wanji, do you know?"

Taarak cooed and reached for the yellow block Anakin was pointing to. "Dzuwa," he sang softly.

"Inde, inde, very good." Vereixem had put out a bowl of raw bantha meat cut into cubes for them to share. Anakin popped one into his mouth, chewed it, then fed it to the toddler as a reward. "In Basic it's yellow, can you say yellow? Nena yellow?"

"El-low," Taarak said, blinking up at him.

"Yellow, inde, good boy." Anakin fed him another cube of chewed bantha meat, practically glowing with blue pride.

"Are you treat training him?" Ahsoka asked, trying not to scowl.

Anakin smirked and shrugged. "Worked for you, didn't it?" he asked, his aura going deep, brassy gold with affection-humor. He popped another cube in his mouth.

"You didn't—" Ahsoka began heatedly. A familiar tutting noise cut her off.

"Big feelings, my little kit, what do we do with our big feelings?" Crèchemaster Vereixem cooed at her over her shoulder. The mask he wore today was a ronto, decorated with rainbow-colored Sriluurian butterflies. Hundreds of small yarn chains the color of ruddy turu grass clicking with glass beads hung down his back.

"I don't have big feelings, Master," she grumbled.

"Really?" Vereixem chuckled. "How odd. My Empathy may not be visual like yours, but I could have sworn I sensed some very big feelings coming from this table."

"Perhaps they were Taarak's," she replied, coloring in her bantha forcefully.

Vereixem squeezed her shoulders. "Shall we sing the big feelings song together?" he asked.

"Master, I don't think that's necessary," she said faintly, cringing. She felt her stripes heat to black.

"I do," Anakin said in a serious voice, his aura gone molten gold with hilarity. "In fact, I'd like to learn it so that I can help you with your big feelings out in the field, Padawan."

"Oh, what a good idea!" Vereixem beamed at Ahsoka. "Ready, dear? We'll sing it together."

Ahsoka glared at her Master, who smiled back like a tooka with a mithoo in its mouth. "Go on," Anakin encouraged her.

Ahsoka took a deep breath. "I have big feelings, very big feelings. They make me yell and, they make me cry. But I'm bigger than, all my big feelings, so to the Force, all my big feelings fly."

Anakin helped Taarak clap his little red-orange hands with a face-splitting grin.

"Force, Force–" Vereixem paused with his hands above his head. "Come now, Ahsoka, don't forget the next part."

Ahsoka sighed and raised her hands. "Force, Force, like the rain, wash my big feelings away." They trailed their fingers down in tandem. "Force, Force, like the breeze, blow away my big feelings." They made their hands swim through the air. "Force, Force, like the sky, help make my big feelings fly." They painted a rainbow above their heads in an arc.

Vereixem clapped cheerily. "Well done, Ahsoka. See, don't you feel better?"

"Yes, Master," she said tonelessly, wishing she was dead.

"Can you do that again?" Anakin asked innocently, opening up the holocam on his wrist-mounted commlink.

Ahsoka growled at him. Taarak's eyes went wide, round, and nearly black, and his yellow aura brightened with milky fear and teal protection. He bared his little baby fangs at her and let out a returning high-pitched growl. Across the room, Kento's rainbow-colored frill popped up around his neck and he made a high shriek that Ahsoka had never heard before. He threw himself at the transparasteel wall of his enclosure and slid down, leaving a wet trail of venomous drool behind.

"Ayi, Taarak, ayi," Vereixem said sternly, striding over to the enclosure with his hand out. His pink aura reached out to Kento with minty serenity and calmed the creature, who sulkily crawled into his hide. "We do not use animals to hurt people. Knight Skywalker, translate for me please."

"Calm down, you two, there's plenty of me to go around," Anakin said, his aura gone a very smug shade of red. "Palibe nyama, Taarak."

"Inde," Taarak sang sweetly, pulling Anakin's head down so he could rub his lek all over his cheek again. He made steady eye contact with Ahsoka as he did, his aura glowing bright metallic green with victory-possession.

Ahsoka closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and centered herself. She was sixteen. Taarak was two. She was not going to snap at a baby. She focused on empathizing with the toddler instead of dreaming about biting him. Coming to the Temple was scary. He was possessive of Anakin because he was lonely and he was the one who had brought him to the Temple. It made her Master feel more familiar to him than he really was, so he was clinging to him like… like a little tick.

She opened her eyes and met Anakin's. He was biting down the urge to laugh and his aura was still bright gold, but he pulled a chewed cube out of his mouth and offered it to her. She accepted it, slightly mollified; she remembered what he'd said about treat training her a second too late.

His wide smirk said that he remembered too. "Good girl," he said with a pat on her head.

Taarak stuck his lip out and turned red with offense-disappointment at seeing her be fed one of his bantha cubes. He sniffed and looked away from them both.

"Why don't the three of you go for a walk?" Vereixem suggested. "Wear out Taarak for me so he's good and ready for a nap when you return."

Anakin seated him on his hip and Ahsoka accepted a farewell kiss on her cheek from Vereixem. "If you run into Parna, please tell her that I need Grogu's updated nutrition plan by tomorrow."

"Grogu?" Ahsoka asked, trying and failing to place the name.

"Have you not met him? He's a youngling assigned to Master Beq. For this decade, at least." Vereixem chuckled. "I believe they're in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, if you're headed that way."

"We're going to the meadow meditation room, but we'll keep an eye out for Parna." Anakin tickled Taarak's deeply clefted chin.

"And don't be afraid to come back and visit me once in a while, my little kit." Vereixem gently stroked her cheek with his dry, reptilian fingers that smelled like red clay. "You are all so precious to me, and this war has taken too many of you." His aura thickened with violet grief.

Ahsoka's heart sank. She took his fingers and kissed them. "I will, Master," she promised guiltily.

"So what did he mean by Grogu was assigned Master Beq for this decade?" Anakin asked once they were back out in the hall.

"He must have a long infancy," Ahsoka said with a shrug. "Some species need longer individual care before they can join a clan." She plucked a cube of meat from the bowl Anakin carried, chewed it, then held it out to Taarak along with a tendril of amber amenability.

Taarak darted narrowed eyes between her face and the offering. Ahsoka watched the little wheels turn in his head as he weighed his options, his aura switching back and forth between yellow suspicion and green trust, before he cautiously took it from her fingers. He held the meat in his mouth, swallowed it with a loud gulp, blinked a few times, then chirped and held his arms out to Ahsoka.

"I knew he'd warm up to you," Anakin said warmly as he handed him over, his aura awash with solid blue happiness.

Taarak nuzzled up against her neck, then pulled the tip of her lek into his mouth and started to suckle. One hand snuck around the back of her neck and started absently stroking along the seam between her rear lek and the base of her skull, sending a warm tingle down her spine. "We should learn to get along now. I have a feeling we'll have a Master in common one day." Ahsoka tried not to let her knees buckle from the endorphin rush.

Fierfek, and to think that she'd been labeled as a master manipulator as a kit. Taarak put her to shame.

"Are you trying to choose my next Padawan for me?" Anakin asked teasingly.

"Pretty sure he chose you, Master," Ahsoka said, then grinned. "But maybe I'll do what you did to Master Kenobi and steal him out from under you once he's old enough to be a Padawan."

"Hey, I didn't steal you, that was all Master Yoda!" Anakin protested, his aura still glowing gentle gold with humor.

Ahsoka purred and rubbed at the crook of Taarak's lekku buds. He purred back and her heart melted a little. "Kriff," she mumbled under her breath.

"So you never actually told me what the big deal was with his clan name," Anakin said, trying not to laugh at them.

Ahsoka caught Taarak's other hand before it weaseled down the front of her robes. If he thought she was going to nurse him just because she had the equipment for it, he was sorely mistaken. "Na'Hane is what we call people who were exiled after…" she tapped on her teeth and raised her brow markings meaningfully.

"They have their own clan?" Anakin asked, surprised.

Ahsoka shrugged. "Some of them end up sticking together for survival's sake. They can't chew, right? But a baby born to the Na'Hane would never be forced to bear that name after they were taken. I can't imagine why his adoptive parents would have kept it."

"Well, they were Toydarian. They must not have known." Anakin looked away and his aura briefly flickered with a purple line of guilt. "They probably thought they were honoring his heritage."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. "It would have taken them five minutes on the holonet to find out what it meant, but you're probably right. Is it too late to change it in his records?"

Anakin held the turbo-lift door open for her. "I'll find out. So when you say taken…" He trailed off and looked at her sideways.

Ahsoka shifted Taarak's weight. "A Na'Hane can't be trusted with a child," she said firmly.

"So you just… take them?" Anakin asked, frowning.

"It's not like we go out hunting for them," Ahsoka said. "Usually, they're left on the edge of the village in the middle of the night by the Na'Hane."

"But if you ran into one out… doing whatever your people do, you'd just take them home?"

"A Na'Hane is a Togruta exiled from their clan for doing something horrible, Master," Ahsoka snapped, trying not to get annoyed with him. She pulled Taarak's hand out of her robes again. "It's to protect the child, we don't–"

"Easy, little one, easy." Anakin patted her between her montrals and fed her a bantha cube. "Don't get defensive, I was just curious."

Ahsoka swallowed her treat and tried not to sulk. Taarak's purr sped up and he suckled harder, running a fat little hand up and down her lek comfortingly as he did. She hugged him closer. "Anyway," she said, "I'm not saying that it would be a big deal here at the Temple, but if Taarak ever goes back to Shili it'll be pretty awkward. Imagine having to introduce yourself as Starkiller for the rest of your life because of something your mother did before you were even born."

Anakin's eyes widened and his aura went pale yellow with surprise-amusement. "Wait, Starkiller? His name means Starkiller?"

She didn't like how pleased he looked. "Na'Hane means killer," she said sourly. "Taarak—well, Tara—means star."

Anakin threw his head back and laughed. "Snips, there's no way I'm changing that. That is way too cool of a name to change."

Ahsoka scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Master…"

"Aww, who's my little Starkiller?" Anakin cooed, tickling Taarak's stumpy little rear lek. It twitched happily at the stimulation. "You are, yes, you're my little Starkiller…"

"Master, don't call him that!" Ahsoka said, exasperated. Taarak giggled around her lek.

"I'm absolutely calling him that and you can't stop me." Anakin pulled Taarak off of her lek with a loud pop! and blew a snozzberry into his neck. "Alright, Starkiller–"

Ahsoka groaned. "Master!"

" –Go get tired." Anakin set him down on the grass of the meditation room and released him. The kit squealed and took off for the koi pond, diving into a forward slide on his belly until he was peeking over the edge. His little red feet kicked in the air and he cooed at the fish in broken, babyish Toydarian.

Anakin put an arm around her shoulders. "So, did you and Obi-Wan make up? If I have to listen to him whine about his hurt feelings one more time I'll puke."

Ahsoka felt something go quiet in her chest. "Yeah. We're fine."

Anakin glanced down at her, his aura darkening with dark green unease. "Why do I sense that's not exactly the truth?"

She shrugged. "It's never going to be the same. It can't be. But I've forgiven him and I'm moving on."

Anakin sighed. "Ahsoka–"

"We can't stop change, Master," she reminded him. "I had to let him go. It's the Jedi way."

She rested her head against him and subtly rubbed her lek on his cheek while Taarak was distracted. "We'll have to let each other go one day too, Master," she said softly.

Anakin's aura brightened to staticky white with anxiety. "Yeah," he muttered. "One day." His hand twitched on her shoulder.

Ahsoka watched Taarak's aura lighten to burning orange with anticipation-excitement and his stubby little rear lek wag back and forth. She elbowed Anakin. "Just so you know, you've got about five seconds before Starkiller goes fishing."

"Before he–" Anakin's eyes went wide and he bolted for the toddler. "Ayi, Taarak, ayi! Osasambira!" He missed Taarak's ankle by inches, tumbling ass over elbows into the koi pond after him. He surfaced with a gasp a few seconds later, holding a giggling Taarak above his head while struggling to not let his long brown robe drag him back down. He looked like a sad, wet cat with his hair plastered to his forehead, but Taarak was delighted.

Ahsoka burst into hysterical laughter, falling to one knee and wheezing like she'd gotten the wind knocked out of her. Anakin's aura turned a menacing shade of orange with mischief. "Keep laughing, Snips!"

Ahsoka's laughs morphed into screams as Anakin lifted her up into the air with the Force and dropped her into the pond with them.

Notes:

TOYDARIAN TRANSLATIONS Ndi mtundu wanji?: What color is it? Pano: Here Dzuwa: Yellow Inde: Yes Ayi: No Osasambira: No swimming

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @soliloquy-of-nemo Dividers: @saradika-graphics

[keanuquotes]

Dogstar 2023 Tour Dates 10/08 Atlantic City, NJ – Sound Waves at Hard Rock Hotel 10/10 Port Chester, NY – The Capitol Theatre 10/11 New Haven, CT – Toad’s Place 11/30 Los Angeles, CA – Troubadour 12/03 San Francisco, CA – The Great American Music Hall 12/05 Sacramento, CA – Crest Theatre 12/07 Chicago, IL – Thalia Hall 12/08 Detroit, MI – The Majestic Theatre 12/09 Toronto, ON – Lee’s Palace 12/11 Brooklyn, NY – Music Hall of Williamsburg 12/12 Boston, MA – Paradise Rock Club 12/14 Philadelphia, PA – Underground Arts 12/15 Washington, D.C. – The Howard Theatre 12/16 Norfolk, VA – The NorVa 12/18 Charlotte, NC – The Underground 12/19 Atlanta, GA – Center Stage 12/20 Nashville, TN – Brooklyn Bowl 12/21 Nashville, TN – Brooklyn Bowl Read more at NYS Music…

[pcttrailsidereader]

Colorado Trail - A Great Secret

I spent some time on the Colorado Trail recently.  We met a number of CDT thru-hikers, some of whom had plans to walk the PCT but reconsidered given the epic Sierra snow year.

On the way to Kokomo Pass on the CDT/ CT

Our 75-mile long sample of the CT left me wanting more.  Although its commitment to the crest of the Rockies feels less than the devotion of the PCT to ridge top walking, the CT features some spectacular routing above treeline.  I was pleasantly surprised with the condition of the CT which seemed reasonably well maintained, signed, and constructed.  That is not to say that the CT is devoid of challenge or that any sense of wildness has been minimized.

The CT does permit mountain bikes and includes signage emphasizing that mountain bikes are to defer to hikers and backpackers.  However, if the CT is an object lesson regarding compatibility of mountain bikers with hikers, I found the experience very disconcerting.  My experience made me appreciate the current prohibition of mountain bikes on the PCT.

The number of mountain bikers on the CT, especially near the ski areas, whose sole emphasis seemed to be speed made it imperative that we listen carefully for any approaching cyclist and be prepared to quickly step off the trail.  There is absolutely no way that a number of the riders would have been able to stop.  Of course, there were many considerate riders but, in the end, they felt like the exception.  We encountered a deaf CT hiker along our way and definitely feared for her safety (fortunately, and probably intentionally, she was walking with another hiker).

Approaching Searle Pass

Another impact of mountain bikers is the way bikes affect the trail itself.  Stretches of the trail heavily used by cyclists assume a V-shape which can make for difficult walking as you straddle the eroded V.  On a more positive note, there were several significant stretches of trail where mountain biking organizations were involved in trail maintenance.

We were fortunate to have planned our hike at the very end of August and the first part of September which coincided with the end of the summer monsoons.  The little sample we did get of afternoon thunderstorms made us grateful that we were not trying to cross the long exposed trail segments above treeline earlier in the monsoons.  On the other hand, water was plentiful and the forest generally felt rather lush when compared with the parched Sierra in September.  This may have been a function of the unique weather patterns of 2023.

Two years ago, I sampled Vermont’s Long Trail.  No plans to return.  This year, it was the Colorado Trail.  I definitely could see myself returning.

RH

[radellama]

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Thanks @future-dregs ! I think I'll have to dip into some wips for this haha

~~~

Men of Mystics

War has a way of changing things; you can feel it in the air.

Wives and daughters took over their father’s and husband’s occupations when they were sent away for knighthood. Young boys who couldn’t enlist were pulled out of school to begin their training and to help their mother’s and sisters. Everything was different, but these changes were for the best, right?

Right?

~~

For All Our Ends Will Shine Like Stars

Walls crumbled around him, pillars collapsing as cracks danced in the ceiling above them. For all the years he had spent preparing for this moment, he never thought he’d find himself unable to do anything but watch.

~~

Letters Left to Time

My Queen,

It is with a heavy soul that I write to inform you of the death of Cyrus, Captain of the Royal Guard.

~~

Faith

Running though the sunset stained fields, he kept his balance well despite carrying almost twice his weight in fire wood on his back. Soon the trees began to thicken as the clear line between farmland and forest grew further and further behind him. He saw the familiar markings in the tree trunks that passed him, recognising the crests and symbols carved by those who dwelled further in the forest. Faron woods, the place of his birth and his mother's final resting place.

~~

Destination: Unknown

“C’mon, c’mon!”

Trevor cursed under his breath as he jammed a flathead screwdriver into the ignition. He furiously turned it, keeping his head low as he scanned the carpark.

~~

Ct uni au (Wip)

Harland and Marle were studying at their usual table on campus, testing each other on questions for their upcoming test. They had been in a solid rythmn, getting most of the questions right thanks to marles study cards.

~~

Abe and Orc (Wip, original work not fanfic)

He tossed some game to the bushes near his campfire, staying hidden up in the trees. He watched with a keen eye as the orc investigated the sound, finding the animal carcass and brushing the dirt off of it.

"Thank you." He called out, to no one in particular.

Abe didn't respond, just looked over him.

~~

Tagging @everblightplain @dishesoap @fanimefreak @kanonavi @ksera-sera and anyone else who would like to! (No pressure to do this as well!)

[strawberry-possum]

Tell me about mimoperadectes houdea

OKAY SO

Basically between 55 and 65 million years ago (sources differ) there was this funky little guy, the mimoperadectes houdei! Peradectids are the sister group to modern day opossums :] so m. houdei are their ancestors!

The fossil record of this entire group isn't that great, because the were often very small, and were fragile enough that their bones didn't usually fossilize well. (Many early mammals have this problem too.) Most peradectids are only known from their jawbones and teeth! However, there are two notable m. houdei fossils we have, one with a nearly complete skull!!

They were able to do CT scans on it, and found enough shared traits to indicate a strong evolutionary history with the virginia opossum. One of the most interesting results from the CT scans was their ability to example the ear structure, which gives a really good look into locomotion. These guys were likely more terrestrial than modern day opossums! Additionally, they were almost as big as modern day opossums too!!

My special little guys <3

[image id: a recreation of mimoperadectes houdei, a marsupial somewhat resembling an opossum in body shape and traits. It has orangeish brown fur, and is sitting in a tree. End id]

[image id: several scans of a mimoperadectes houdei skull, shown from different angles. Several arrows point to significant features, such as the saggital crest. End id]

(sources: study, another study, article)

[zipquips]

★ writing masterpost ★

hello! here's a list of all my writing on ao3 organized by fandom (sw: tcw, sw: the mandalorian, and st: ds9) :)

★ star wars: the clone wars ★

Cereal [T]

With the war over, Cody and Rex can indulge themselves in the luxuries of civilian life—like eating cereal at 2 am.

Status: Complete ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, CT-7567 | Rex ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── Tags: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Order 66 Didn't Happen (Star Wars), Alternative Universe - Canon Divergence, Clone Troopers Speak Mando'a (Star Wars), Siblings CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex, the kind that can only express their love by being menaces to each other, POV CC-2224 | Cody, CT-7567 | Rex is a Little Shit, CC-2224 | Cody is So Done, rated t for a singular codywan dick joke

Lean on Me [T]

Cody is injured during a battle and avoids going to medbay, leaving Obi-Wan to pick up the pieces.

Status: Complete ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── Tags: Blood and Injury, CC-2224 | Needs a Hug, POV CC-2224 | Cody, Hurt CC-2224 | Cody, Hurt And Some Comfort, Self-Hatred, Minor/Some Descriptions of Blood and Injury

★ star wars: the mandalorian ★

Nightmare [G]

Grogu has a nightmare, and Din comforts him.

Status: Complete ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── Characters: Din Djarin, Grogu | Baby Yoda, The Razor Crest (Star Wars) ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── Tags: Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Grogu | Baby Yoda Needs a Hug, Post-Episode: s02e05 The Jedi

★ star trek: deep space 9 ★

Break Free [G]

After playing the role of Lumba and getting a chance to embrace everything he denies himself, Quark has a crisis and comes out

Status: Complete ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── Relationships: Jadzia Dax & Quark ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── Characters: Quark (Star Trek), Jadzia Dax ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─── Tags: Episode: s06e23 Profit and Lace, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Transphobia, Canon-Typical Sexism

★ about me ★ tagging scheme ★ other blogs ★

♡ have a lovely day ♡

[shawnainparadise]

Charming Villa for Sale in Mirabay Apollo Beach Home for Sale 219 Sunset Crest ct, Apollo Beach, Fl 

[veranavera]

This August I took it up another eight states in the Northeast and Midwest: Rhode Island, Connecticut, New Jersey, Delaware, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Ohio, Indiana, Missouri, and Kansas!!!

Davis, PA - August 14, 2024:

South Frissel, CT - August 11, 2024:

Sunflower, KS - August 19, 2024:

Taum Sauk, MO - August 17, 2024:

Hoosier Hill, IN - August 15, 2024:

Campbell Hill, OH - August 15, 2024:

Hoye Crest, MD - August 14, 2024:

Ebright Azimuth - August 12, 2024:

High Point - August 12, 2024:

Jermoth Hill - August 10, 2024:

Here's some photos of me taking a trans pride flag up the tallest mountain in ten different states: North Carolina, Alabama, Tennessee, Georgia, Kentucky, Virginia, New Hampshire, New York, Vermont, and Maine!!!

Attakulla, NC - May 18th, 2023:

Cheaha, AL - April 26th, 2023:

Kuwahi, TN - April 5th, 2023:

Brasstown Bald, GA - April 26th, 2023:

Black, KY - May 1st, 2023:

Rogers, VA - May 5th, 2023:

Agiocochook, NH - July 10th, 2022:

Tahawus, NY - July 17th, 2022:

Mozdebiwajo, VT - August th, 2022:

Katahdin, ME - September 7th, 2022:

[trendmatchtouch]

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[creativeleather]

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