#for once not the one walking away from disaster clinging to life

[thedragonagelesbian]

Realized last night at 3am that if i keep the timing from my inq!cyrus au of him arriving in haven with dorian he gets to be there to hear yiseeril rush to sacrifice herself when they realize they're trapped/need a diversion. And she does it with a smile rather than a grim-set jaw, the preacher on the pulpit dreaming of the songs they'll sing of her, the herald of andraste martyred and immortalized like the prophet herself, but it makes cyrus' heart ache nonetheless. To see someone so desperate, like he once was, to be anything other than a person.

[forcedagere]

Based on @/spitdrunken’s reincarnation post! If you haven’t/don’t want to read it, it’s about Bill having known befriended when he was a child, killed you in the disaster. Now you have reincarnated as a human, with some vague memories of your past.

Content: Age regression, obsessive behaviour, implied mental manipulation

Bill tries to avoid thinking about it, but he’s already seen the light leave your eyes once before. (And it had been his fault! You had been so excited, and then—) But dwelling on the past is for suckers. And Bill is no sucker, he has reality in the palm of his hand! Either way, you’re here now, you’re together again! He has the chance to make it all better, to make it all right.

He hasn’t cared about anyone’s opinion of him in a trillion years. You, however, such a clear reminder of his past, of the child he was, he almost wants to crystallize. You still believe that Bill is your imaginary childhood friend somehow given physical form. You don’t need to know everything else he has been up to! It’s fine. It’s totally fine. It’s better for you, this way. And if you’re the most at peace with having your brain slowed down a little, having you all regressed all the time, it only makes the most sense to walk that path.

The Fearamid is a maze of twisting hallways, dead-end corridors and hidden passages. Among the incomprehensible architecture, there is a big, padded room with a locked room where you’re allowed to stay. Whenever Bill isn’t around, you doze off into the dream of a special world created from your own imagination, where all of your favourite things in the world come together! In there, you’re a little kid, having one adventure after another. Bill had spent most of his time around you when younger and grows almost nostalgic thinking about how wonder-eyed you’d been all the way back then.

Your room is full of pillows and stuffed toys and other decorations, all plucked straight from your brain. If there’s anything that’s true, it’s that Bill will always know you better than anyone else. When he’s around you, the noise in his brain seems too quiet down, just a little. He’s not the best caretaker. What he wants more than anything is for you to like him, to love him! So your diet is horribly imbalanced (it’s mostly candy), and instead of cleaning any of your clothes, for example, he’ll just make the old ones disappear and make new ones. He likes to play luck-based (board) games with you, because then it’s not entirely certain he’ll win! It seems there nothing he can’t do— Because that’s the truth! He can make all of your dreams come true, if you just stay right here.

Sometimes, he’ll try to recreate some small scenes of what he remembers. It isn’t much. After a trillion years, most of his recollections have faded away. But he has painted the ceiling of your room to reflect the starry night sky, and he likes to play hide and seek with you. He’ll toss you in the air and catch you again. For some reason, he can even enjoy listening to you babble endlessly about meaningless things.

He tries not to be overjoyed when you cling to him, when you ask him not to leave, when you need him. He likes you the most when you’re being clingy. It’s how you convince him to do the silliest things. He’ll shrink himself down so you can hug him to your chest, or swaddle himself in blankets so his ‘pointy edges’ can’t poke you in your sides while you cuddle.

You see a side of Bill that no one else ever will, but that doesn’t mean his intentions are entirely selfless. Whether this is a form of penance for having snuffed out your life, the desire for someone’s undivided, uncomplicated almost-worshipping attention, or a need to be loved and wanted… Even Bill doesn’t know. He convinces himself there’s some kind of long-con here, but there’s not. Perhaps it’s a little bit of all three.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐊

Pairing: FEDRA!Javier Peña x firefly!reader

Genre: slice of life, smut, romance, angst, enemies to reluctant friends to lovers, TLOU AU, minors dni

Summary: Javier, a former member of the Federal Disaster Response Agency in Kansas City, is haunted by the guilt and violence he indirectly caused by not taking action when he should have. After fleeing Kansas City in the aftermath of Kathleen's violent overthrow of FEDRA, you and Javier seek refuge in an abandoned train in the middle of a forest.

As you and Javier turn the train into a living space and learn to navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, you gradually overcome your differences and form an unlikely bond. But when your pasts catch up with you, you must confront the demons that haunt you and make a choice that could mean the difference between life and death. Will you choose to protect each other and find a way to build a new life together, or will the ghosts of your pasts tear you apart?

word count: 4.5k

chapter summary: you and javier get off on a rocky start.

warnings: canon typical violence, arguing, a brief reference to Ellie and the main TLOU plot, no y/n

Deadhead - A railcar or locomotive that is being transported empty, typically to be used for future shipments.

The day was warm, the sun bright. Small petals flew further away from the green grass, colorful flowers moving left and right with the soft caress of the wind. The vest Javier wore dug uncomfortably into his chest, his rifle slung over his back and pistol snug on his hip. The lovely weather mocked him, taunted him. It was a lie. A facade. The color, the white clouds, the green grass— all of it seemed muddled now. If he tried hard enough he could see specks of blood, tainting the visual that could as well be a spitting image of a Van Gough painting. 

But despite it all. Despite knowing it’s a lie, despite knowing the horror, he still wore the letters; F E D R A— Federal Disaster Response Agency. He liked to think that they were doing some good. At least they drove the wretched infected underground, right? They did one good thing, so that made the killing, the rape, and the torture okay. 

Right? 

“Fuck me.” he muttered into the wind, hoping the words, later on, would be carried back to him, reminding him that hey, at least I knew something was wrong. 

He noticed someone walking up to him. He was expecting it, really. Micheal Coghlan. The man who by some goddamn miracle still carried goodness inside of him. The type of goodness that would radiate through the cracks of skin and bone, the type that would bring light to a person’s face. 

Micheal had a limp. 

It was caused by someone Javier knew but didn’t particularly like. He saw it happen. He still heard the bone snapping into two when he closed his eyes at night. The man stood next to him and Javier observed him from the corner of his eye. Once upon a time, he could call his face roguishly handsome. It wasn’t a sharp face, round around the edges, with a bit of stubble; shaved by his sister no doubt. His eyes were kind, a darker shade of brown compared to his own, lips thin and chapped. Thirsty. 

Javier cleared his throat, hand going to his waist, he pulled out his flask and offered it to him. 

“Water?” 

He took it without an answer. Drank it in a way where water droplets would stream from the corner of his lips, his gulps loud. It made Javier feel awkward. Micheal stood a bit straighter when he offered the flask back. It was empty. 

“So what did you want to talk about?” Javier asked. 

Micheal smiled and crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes. “The people.” 

It’s a bird violently flying into the window that wakes you. 

Your eyes open fearfully, your heart beating a mile a minute. Your breathing is uneven. Dust clings to both the inside of your throat and skin. Eyes still wide open, you stare at the ceiling of the train. The seats you managed to sprawl yourself upon are uncomfortable, jagged metal sticking into your skin, making ugly marks and dents. When your breathing calms, and body relaxes, you slowly get up. 

The weather is hot, yet gray clouds decorate the sky. The heat of rain, you like to refer to it as. You can barely see the sun, the light of it filtered through the gray, painting the world into a muted color. Fitting. 

You hear a snore and direct your gaze toward the sound. You see the boots that belong to a man that’s sleeping a couple of rows ahead, too big to truly fit and get comfortable. Javier Peña. You heave yourself up by grasping the heads of the seats, your legs aching and stumbling like a newborn doe’s. His shirt is unbuttoned from the top, revealing golden, scarred skin. Your eyes trail further down, and they don’t stop until you see the gun strapped to his waist. You think about how easy it would be to just take it, to shoot him and try to find your people. 

Then you remember. They’re all gone. You have no people. Marlene’s words were clear;

The girl’s gone. No more soldiers, no cure, no nothing. The fireflies are dead; you’re on your own now. 

A chill crawls up every inch of your skin. Why are you even here? Why are you with him of all people? You’re not sure yet. It’s much easier to dislike him when he’s not speaking and his eyes are closed. 

You hate that when they are closed, the only memory of them is him being struck with fear, the flames behind you mirrored in his eyes. Kansas City quickly became a place of destruction and death. It was unexpected and with every fabric of your being, you wished you had never seen it. 

“Why are you watching me?” his voice startles you; it’s deep with sleep. “It’s creepy.” 

“I was thinking about taking your gun and shooting you.” 

“I’ve always loved an honest woman. What stopped you?” 

“I have no place to go.” 

“Neither do I, as you know,” he says. He finally opens his eyes, but only to stare at the ceiling in a similar way you did not moments ago. “So where does that leave us?” 

You don’t understand what he’s asking you. The air is still.�� Javier takes a sitting position, his elbows pressed into his knees and hands hanging loosely between his legs. 

“I say we stay here,” he says, voice firm.

“The train?” you ask, confused.

He shrugs. “Why not? It’s covered pretty well, it’s far enough for people to see and close enough if—god forbid—we want to head back into the city.” 

“You want us to live together?” 

“I want us to turn this into a living space. After that leave, if you want,” he rubs his thumb into the corner of his lips. “Though I wouldn’t really advise leaving, and I definitely need your help.” 

“So I should stay because?” 

“Safety. Security.” his smile is bitter. “What else can a person want during the end of times?” 

“Someone they can trust.” 

“You can trust me.” 

You look him over. He must’ve sensed your immediate hostility because his gaze slowly moves to you. He returns your suspicion in like, contemplating what to say. You don’t trust him. He doesn’t trust you. Javier’s fingers twitch and his hand moves to clap over his pocket. He lets out a sigh of relief when he feels the familiar shape of a cigarette box. 

He licks his lips again. 

You gaze out the windows. They’re thick with dust and vines, the outside seems a tad bit brighter now, the gray clouds clearing up a bit. 

“Being addicted must be hard,” you mutter. “What are you going to do when you run out? Sacrifice yourself for a box of Marlboros?” 

He chuckles. “Maybe. Who knows. I’m not out of stock yet.” 

“Not a very comforting thing to hear from a man that’s arguing that I should trust him.” 

“It’s not like I said I’d trade you for a pack of cigarettes.” 

“Who knows. That’s what you said, right?” 

He sighs and gets up. He walks down the narrow hall of the train, hands brushing over the headrests. You follow him outside, and just like you suspected, the weather is grossly warm with no light. The dry weeds crunch under your boots. Javier pulls out the crumpled pack and offers you one; you shake your head. You’re surrounded by trees, with little to see except the sky.

“Wouldn’t want to dry out your stock faster.” 

“That scared of what I’ll do if I run out?” he smiles, placing the butt of the cigarette between his lips. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re paranoid or smart.” 

“Paranoia works.” 

“I guess that’s true.” he mutters, lighting a match. “So what are you going to do? Stay or leave?” 

Javier inhales deeply, his lips not too tight not too loose. A soft groan vibrates from the back of his throat and he lets go of the smoke. Your eyes follow the dance of it, twisting and dissipating like the vapor on the first exhales of winter. He places the cigarette back between his lips and tucks his hands behind as he leans back into the metal surface of the train.  

He waits as you think. It’s ironic really, the fact that you’re actually contemplating staying with him. Needless to say, FEDRA and the fireflies don’t have the best relationship, but you guess that’s all behind you now. There are no organizations at this moment, no rebellions. Just him and you; two people looking for a way to survive. 

You turn to stare at the train. It’s nearly completely intact— there are six cars and the locomotive. If you stare hard enough you can spot the tracks buried under the moss and grass. It would take a lot of work, but indeed it was possible to turn it into a living space. 

“Give me a gun,” you say and he smiles. 

“What makes you think I have more than one?” 

“Then give me the one.” you press. 

“The first thing you said to me this morning was that you wanted to shoot me.” he pushes himself away from the metal surface. Pulling his cigarette away from his lips, he stands an inch away from you and holds your gaze. His smile disappears as smoke fans across your face, making your stomach churn. “Are you going to stay?” he asks. 

“If you give me the gun then sure.” you tilt your chin up. “I don’t trust FEDRA.” 

“I’m not FEDRA anymore and you’re not a firefly.” 

“You were once. I think you can see why I have my reservations. You weren’t just any FEDRA soldier, you were a part of it in Kansas City. I heard horror stories about that place.” you rub your eyes, trying to erase what they had seen. “And I actually witnessed the fables.”  

Javier takes a step back then, admitting defeat. Something horrific seems to cross his face, a series of violent images perhaps, or maybe it was the loss of his “friends” whatever it was you don’t pay much mind to it. Everyone has pain. Even children who are meant to be carefree and happy. You’re surprised when he suddenly hands you the gun, cigarette loose between his lips. You take the weapon. It’s heavy in your hand, cold between your fingers. 

“Satisfied?” 

“Very much so, yes.” you don’t smile, but you pull an expression very similar to it. He exhales another breath of smoke, and you push the gun under your waistband. “Where do we start?” 

“You can’t be serious, Carillo.” 

It was dark and he could barely see the figure of his colleague. Javier had the intention of stepping forward and taking the gun from the other, but he stood there instead, heart beating in his throat. His stomach churned, bile thick on his tongue. Carillo didn’t bother to look at him. There was a man that was on his knees in front of the captain, his head bowed, shaking like a leaf. Carillo aimed his gun at him, his jaw tense. 

“You rather them kill us?” 

“I rather none of us kill each other.” 

Carillo finally turned to him then. Javier would expect the captain’s eyes to soften but they didn’t. 

“You heard what happened in the other QZ’s,” he spat. “Soldiers being killed, murdered. The people rioting. We can’t let weeds grow free Peña, he already killed one of us. You heard the rumors to overthrow FEDRA.” 

Before Javier could say anything a gunshot echoed, a body fell lifelessly to the concrete. He didn’t move. He didn’t even twitch. He just watched. Carillo placed a hand on his shoulder and the skin under Javier’s shirt burned—his stomach trembled then. 

“Ya no vivimos en un mundo de misericordia. Elige un bando.” 

Pick a side. 

Carillo left, Javier followed. Without thinking, his hand went to his empty flask. The cool metal under his fingertips did little to soothe him.

It’s odd being here with him. You feel trapped by nature, by circumstance. Nothing is the same and nothing would ever be the same. You lean over and sweep out the glass into a tattered bag. Javier had decided on burying the glass or anything else you might find and have no use for down into the dirt. You didn’t have any objections to that. When you lean over to pick up a piece of a broken wine bottle, you feel the gun Javier gave you pressing into the skin of your hip. 

You always hated cleaning before the outbreak. Now it was a soothing thing to do. It felt normal. A reminisce of the past. Still, you can’t help but feel sick from being at ease. Change has to happen. But with the immune girl gone, and the fireflies basically disbanded (at least that was what you could tell from Marlene's massage) there is nothing you can do. 

You see Javier approaching, a sheer amount of sweat coats his skin, his shirt clinging to his body. Surprisingly, he’s silent. You had expected him to talk, to pry into your past life. But he seemed to be content with just cleaning for now. 

“We should scout the area,” he says when he catches your gaze. “Look for abandoned houses, supplies. Maybe we can find a fruit bush or something and plant some here for food.” 

“You do know there’s no way this is going to be like…a peaceful suburb residence right?” 

“A man can only dream.” 

He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow and your curiosity gets the better of you. 

“I need to ask,” you say and he piques with interest. “Why FEDRA? No offense but you don’t exactly look the type.” 

“I remember you saying that the first time you saw me.” 

“Still surprised you didn’t shoot me then, considering who I was.” 

“No offense but you didn’t exactly look the terrorist type. I didn’t know who, or what, you were.” 

“We weren’t terrorists.” 

“So you guys didn’t plant bombs?”  he asks sounding amused. “You didn’t kill people?” 

You narrow your eyes, heat pooling under your skin. “Only pieces of shit like you.” 

“I thought I didn’t look the type?” he sighs and shakes his head. “Look I’m not going to argue the ethics of it all and you’re definitely right. The things they—we did, FEDRA, It’s inexcusable. But don’t come here and tell me the fireflies were squeaky clean.” he takes the broken bottle from you and throws it into the bag. “I don’t want to fight about this. I don’t want to argue with you all the time. I’m not telling you I’m a good person, I don’t understand why you have to remind me. I know I’m not.” 

Silence follows. Your anger shifts into guilt and you push those feelings down. He gives you one last stern look before turning his back to you. 

“But neither are you so let’s stop bulshitting ourselves. And if you’re going to start interrogating me about my decisions—about my past— I recommend you not cuss me out a minute later.” 

His steps are loud as he leaves. You notice he left the bag behind, meaning that you managed to rile him up enough that he just had to get away from you. You probably deserved that. You don’t understand how he can shove the past aside so carelessly, how he can just forget what he’d done, what you’d done. But he was right, you aren’t a good person. Unlike him, you enjoy believing that you are. Joining the fireflies…it made you believe that you were doing good, that you were better and more noble. The killings you did were for the greater good, the people that ended up under the rubble of explosions were just a sacrifice that needed to be made—you told yourself that, again and again. 

Maybe you aren’t as bad as FEDRA but you aren’t that above it either. 

You contemplate going after him. Apologize without actually apologizing. You remember a time you used to break the tension by making a joke, how did you do that again? You can’t quite remember. 

You shake your head and continue to clear out the debris. He’ll come back. You can think about what to do then. 

Javier does eventually come back, but not before the sun had set. 

The stars appear one by one, and you hate to admit that you’d worried about him. Being alone is worse than being with someone you hate. 

Dirt and dust sit uncomfortably on your skin. After an entire day of work, you managed to clear out the broken glass, rust metals, dead insects, and rodents (you shudder at the memory). Now all of it lays outside, waiting to be taken further away from the train. 

“Where were you?” you ask when he arrives, you notice a bow strapped to his back. “And where did you find that?” 

“Careful, it almost sounds like you were worried about me.” he grins as if he hadn’t stormed away from you when the sun was at the very top. You decide to let it slide. He lifts two rabbits and your eyes go wide. “I went looking around a bit. Found this in an abandoned cabin, then did some hunting. Assuming you’d be hungry.” 

“Thanks. I…actually forgot that we need to eat.” 

“Help me build a fire?” 

You answer. “Sure.” 

The process of building a fire has become as natural as breathing air. If it were a couple of years ago, most people wouldn’t know how to build a fire but that wasn’t the case now. You doubt that anyone who had survived in this world did so by not knowing how to create flames from scraps of wood and dried leaves. Even the children know. That’s just the world they grow up in now. 

Your eyes constantly follow him whenever he moves and you can’t decide if it’s due to old habits or is it because of something else. He has a bizarre aura about him. Something that you can’t quite read. He’s soft. You’ve met a lot of FEDRA soldiers back in the day, have argued and fought against them, but you never met someone like him. He has a bite to his words, but you see the kindness swirling in his eyes, suffocating him from the inside out. It’s an odd contrast and makes you feel uncomfortable. 

He’s a man that has been beaten down by the world and the system. Him asking you to stay here is his way of giving up on everything he wanted for the world. You can see it as vividly as you see the stars. Just glimpses of his backstory winking down at you. 

The flames come alive, roaring and eating the rabbits whole. Javier had taken the job of cooking for himself, patiently watching the fire, he pokes the sizzling meat from time to time. 

“You like cooking?” you ask, and your eyes water when the wind blows the ashes into your face. 

“I did,” he answers without looking. “I wouldn’t really say I particularly enjoy cooking this.”

You cross your legs as Javier hands you a branch, skewered with rabbit meat. You take a moment to examine the branch, noting the rough texture of the wood and the way it's been stripped of any leaves or twigs. The delicate slices of meat have been threaded onto the branch with care and precision, each one spaced perfectly apart.

He takes his own portion and sits across from you, the flames curling into the air in between. He doesn’t say a word as he takes the first bite. You watch him chew. The flames lick his face, the tip of his nose a dusted red. Javier swallows and when he does you bring a piece to your lips and slowly chew. It’s gamey, slightly sweet. Overall, tastes pretty damn good. 

Your lips twitch up to a small smile. Biting into it more eagerly this time, your stomach growls as you swallow. 

“This actually tastes pretty good,” you mutter, feeling the fat from the rabbit coating your lips. 

“Well, don’t go overboard.” 

“It’s the truth.”

When you lower your gaze back down to the meat, you don’t miss the way a smile curls at his lips. The night grows louder and you two finish the rest of your dinner in silence. You hear crickets, the leaves rustling with the wind. A sweet scent touches your nose, something like newly blossomed flowers. You look into the distance and all you can see is darkness. 

Your eyes play games with you, shows you shadows of people, tricks you into thinking that you and Javier might’ve been followed by Katleen’s resistance. 

You blink. 

No. 

There’s no one there. 

Your pulse skyrockets, your heart beating in your throat. Vibrating, you turn back to Javier only to see that he’s already staring at you. His look is one of understanding, his lips relaxed as his eyes flit around your face. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I just thought—” you look back to the silhouette of trees. “I thought I saw something.” 

“The curse of the forest,” he answers, placing a cigarette between his lips. He realizes he doesn’t have his matches with him so he leans forward and lights it from the source. Javier’s face illuminates, and you see splashes of blood, of death. It lingers over his skin, curls around his throat, stains the white of his eyes. “It makes us see things we don’t wanna see.” 

“There was this girl,” you suddenly say, swallowing down the gasp that threatened to slip from your lips. He raises an eyebrow and sits back, listening. “Marlene told us that she was immune. I was supposed to meet up with them in Boston.” 

“Immune?” he scoffs. “Immune to what?” 

“Cordyceps.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“No, it’s true,” you answer with a sudden need to convince him. You’re not sure why. “She got bit and never turned.” 

“Did you actually see it?” he exhales a puff of smoke when you shake your head. He believes he made his point. “So what about this girl? Is there a reason why you’re telling me this or are you just that afraid of the dark?” 

You bite into your bottom lip, the sting offering a fleeting relief. “It’s not that I’m afraid. It’s just too silent. It feels…naked.” 

“Naked?” he asks, grinning, he steals the cigarette from between his lips and evens his gaze with yours. “We’re covered, cariño. Nothing to worry about.” 

“Famous last words,” you tease, ignoring how his tongue rolled as he mumbled cariño. “I guess I’m not used to it yet. There’s always something to fight. Someone is always lurking in the shadows.” 

He voices out the rest of your thoughts, “It’s like all the noise and chaos of the world has disappeared, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts.”

You take a deep breath of the crisp forest air. 

Emotionally, you want to lean into him. There’s a need in your chest that doesn’t go away but it’s tainted with the anger and the hatred of the organizations that tear you away from each other. He might’ve wanted to do good once, but he chose the wrong side. He thought fireflies were terrorists, and maybe to some you were. However, at least you weren’t fascists and tried to help the people. For better or for worse.

“It doesn’t hurt does it?” he says, guiding your attention back to him. Javier looks up to the sky, takes a deep inhale of smoke. It spills from his lips as he continues. “To have someone by your side.” 

No, you think as you get up and head into the train, it doesn’t. 

You don’t know what it is this time that wakes you up. There’s no noise. The only thing that convinces you that you’re not in a soundproof cell is the moonlight filtering through the dirty windows. You watch as the pine leaves move together, you’ve always enjoyed the smell of it. The sound of it comes like an afterthought, slowly gaining and getting louder. 

You get up when you feel the train shake. 

Javier is in the same spot that he always sleeps in, only a couple rows ahead. You move past him and you sneak a glance. His lips twitch and move as he sleeps. 

Stepping outside, you take in the same sight as before. It’s still eerie. 

Interestingly enough since the fire was gone the darkness seemed lighter somehow. A shimmering blackness. The moonlight probably helped. 

Dry earth cracks under your boots. The sound of the trees now mixed with something else, something violent and cruel yet beautiful. You feel the gun on your hip and travel deeper into the forest. The scent of pine and flowers that only bloom during the night stronger. The train is still visible so you don’t worry much about the distance in between. Your fingers brush over the tree trunks, you feel the moss, the sticky resin. 

You hear a click. 

Click. Click. Click. 

Just ahead there’s a clicker, moving with its arms bent and dragging its feet through the soil. Swallowing, you take a slow step back. Then another. And another. 

The chill of the night stings your skin, sticky from sweat and burning. The clicker turns in your direction and you stop moving, your one foot suspended in the air. It gains momentum, head twisting and turning. Very slowly you lower your foot, and your heart beats loud in your chest. Surely the clicker hears it. 

Fuck. 

The sound of the branch snapping underneath you was like a gunshot, reverberating through the stillness of the woods.

You don’t even get the chance to pull out the gun on your hip. 

You’re slammed into the dirt, all air forced out of your lungs. You struggle against it but it’s too heavy, too wild to be pushed off of you. The clicker screams into your face, the stench horrid. Bile builds in your throat and coats your stomach. You’re helpless. 

It makes a move towards your hands and you pull them away, its full weight suffocating you. Killing you. You can’t breathe. 

Tears flood your eyes. You know you’re about to die because you see your life flashing before your eyes, snippets of the past and possible future. You think of the fireflies, of Marlene. You see earth cleansed from the virus. 

You see Javier. He’s smiling, leading you in a dance around the wilting flames. You don’t push the thoughts away. You take them as a blessing in moments of lingering death. 

A gunshot echoes. You hear the bullet cutting through the air, whistling in the night. It sinks into the clicker’s shoulder, you hear another one, this time the bullet strikes its head.  The clicker collapses. Before you can shove the lifeless vessel away, it’s being lifted. 

You can breathe again. 

Javier is standing before you, his brows creased with worry. His lips are parted as if he’s about to say something but you beat him to it. You’re still gasping for air when you speak. 

“You had a gun.” 

“Yeah,” he heaves, sweat clinging to his chest and moonlight trickling down his skin. “I had a fucking gun.” 

Oh man, you guys have no idea how excited I am to finally be sharing the first chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it, I'll probably be posting a new chapter every Saturday (the first 3 chapters will def go up and Saturdays, after that, if everything goes well, I'll continue it the same way)

A few thank you's are in order; @pedrito-friskito , @inklore , @fuckyeahdindjarin and @pedrorascal who listened to me go on and on about this and for their endless moral support ♥︎ and thank you to @laters-gators who beta'd this.

[verdemoun]

for your timewarp au might i be so evil to suggest sean has another sudden death in like his 50s or 40s….like hit by a car or something….might i be so bold….or maybe you could just do how they WOULD react to that IF it did happen in your au which it DID NOT🥺

honestly super proud of myself for timewarp becoming 'that one dude with the macsummers content' and i'm here for it also WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ALL DON'T YOU JUST WANT THE BOYS TO BE HAPPY?? not timewarp canon because NO but a timewarp what if

sean is found dead in almost the exact same position as he fell in rhodes, having been shot and killed in a mugging gone wrong at 39 years old

when two uniformed officers asked if they could step inside, lenny rolled his eyes and immediately asked what sean had done. when they very delicately explained sean had been found dead, lenny laughed.

he went so far into denial it was uncomfortable. that it wasn't possible, he'd seen sean that morning. that this is the exact sort of shit his husband would pull as a prank (sean had never, ever pulled any stunt or prank like this).

tried to call him. tried to call and tell him to cut the crap and come home. no answer. called again. it had long passed being funny. no answer. called again. knew his phone wasn't flat, because the calls were ringing out before that familiar 'hi, it's sean macguire here FUCK I MESSED UP LENNY HOW DO I RESET-'. begged him to pick up. he was starting to get worried. called again. admitted he was scared. that he needed sean to actually pick up his goddamned phone for once.

looks back at the officers and screams for them to get out of his house. keeps calling. keeps desperately calling. hears about a body being found on the news. keeps calling. phone rings. sprints to get it. it's not sean. it's hosea. only needs to hear that old man's soft, defeated sigh and realizes sean wasn't coming home.

still tries to cling onto denial. sean was always losing his wallet. maybe it was a different tall ginger who happened to have sean's wallet. maybe sean was just running late and he'd walk in any second and clear this whole fucking disaster up.

then karen walks in, eyes already red and dry from rubbing away hours of tears. walks straight past him, to the kitchen, grabs down two bottles of whatever hard liquor she gets her hands on, and holds a bottle towards lenny. because they've done this before.

maeve is already asleep. they have until morning to figure out how to explain to daddy's girl that da isn't coming home. until then, they drink.

lenny only needs to be drunk enough to ask once 'what if sean timewarped again' for the whole gang to come together as lenny's official suicide watch. he is not allowed to be alone, at all, for months after sean's death no matter how much he insists he knows he has to be there for maeve and karen

whatever made lenny lenny died with sean. that spark, that youthfulness even in age and general passion and wonder for life is gone. he disintegrates into a workaholic who keeps himself so emotionally guarded in an attempt to never hurt again he becomes apathetic, and jarred, and bitter, and the spitting image of his own father

[hrefna-the-raven]

Waiting in the wings

First date - tell me more, tell me more - Black velvet dress - Cloudy mornings and sweet bareness - Kiss me, you fool

Words: 604

Summary: this is just a tiny chapter while reader and Kelvin are impatiently awaiting their night out with Fisheye

You to took a stroll home with a smile on your face, your heart racing in bubbling excitement as your thoughts continuously replayed the kiss Kelvin had given you. There was this irresistible pull towards him, like an invisible force sucking you into a vortex of different emotions, especially considering your usual reluctance to date soldiers as most of them tended to be away on missions most of their time. But Kelvin had a way of making you feel alive, of poking at your heart in just the right way to paint a smile on your face for hours and despite only knowing him for a few days, your gut instincts confidently proclaimed that you would regret it if you didn't at least try to give him a chance. And yet, as you walked towards your apartment, the shadow of doubt cast on your heart. What if Kelvin changed his mind? What if he got hurt on this mission? What if you failed to handle the pressure of being the partner of a soldier? You shook your head, trying to ignore the gnawing doubts for now and sat down to write Kelvin a message, setting up a time for you to meet a bit in advance to have at least a few moments alone with him before Sergeant obtrusion showed up. As you typed away, you couldn't help but notice your heart being filled with a newfound sense of happiness. Meeting Kelvin at this moment in your life and connecting immediately with him on a level you've never connected with anyone before, had to be a sign. Whatever would follow their magical journey, you'd be ready for it.

Kelvin's heart was pounding as he paced up and down his living room. He couldn't shake the nagging anxiety of being trapped in a place with Fisheye and you, the presumable love of his life. He had to come up with a plan to avoid embarrassment in front of you, again, be it by his friend or his own drunken stupor. Fish had a good core hidden somewhere under all these layers of trouble and pomposity, but as much fun as it was to get shit-faced with him, the alcohol also rendered him unpredictable and Kelvin absolutely couldn't risk him ruining his chances with you. He had to come up with a battle plan. Maybe he could steer the conversation away from himself and more to Fisheye, or maybe he could suggest leaving the bar early. Kelvin knew he couldn't handle more than a few drinks and his stomach still angrily reminded him of yesterday's escapade, but with Fisheye around, anything could happen and the usual course of their boozy pre-mission ritual ended in him being capable of making it it back to the base in time, looking like he died at least five times the night before as he doubted all his previous choice while not being able to properly remember one of them. He sank down on his couch, sent a rather long message to Fish requesting him to be on his best behaviour tomorrow. It didn't take long for his phone to blink up. Kelvin huffed in disbelief as he read Fish's "Always". Was he mocking him? They knew each other for five years now and they have been through so much self hailed bullshit that Kelvin would need to suffer from severe brain damage to believe that promise. He threw his phone on the table, groaning exasperatedly. The recipe for the perfect disaster was foreboding and still he chose to frantically cling to the modicum of hope that everything would work out for once.

Part 6: You're only falling now? (18+)

SotF masterlist

[olderthannetfic]

Meta anon again for the last time. Sorry to clog up your inbox OTNF -.-' ...This person who reblogged my ask with "#I need to know if you're really the amazing writer you think you are#(a big part of me bets you are not)"

That really stung. I have pretty low self-esteem and sense of self-worth and writing is the only thing in my life that I'm solidly proud of and that keeps whatever self-confidence I have from completely tanking. I've been writing regularly for over 20 years and have received nothing but positive feedback on everything I have posted since I started posting publicly three years ago.

I'm genuinely very sorry to this person and anyone else that my ask came off so negative. I realised after I had submitted the ask that I just needed to vent somewhere and probably made everything sound much more negative than I actually felt and it was too late to take it back. It was not my intention to offend anyone who is into that sort of writing or to imply that it's facile though I realise that's what it sounded like and I'm sorry for how I handled that. I was just reflecting on what I have experienced in my fandom space and my frustration. I also said that I found it very difficult to write meta myself so it's not like it's necessarily easy or less complex than writing a fanfic.

Meta writers are their own breed with their own set of skills and I just wish fanfic writers were taken just as seriously in my fandom, and possibly others if other people have had this experience.

I'm sorry again about the way my ask sounded and I definitely could have worded it better.

Writing good meta and writing good fanfic both require excellent writing skills and perception. But to that person with the hashtags... I am a very good fanfic writer. I'm going to hold my head high for once and reiterate: this is something I'm very good at and the only thing that I'm proud of and that brings me immense joy and pleasure in life. If you want to think otherwise, you are free to do so. I'm going to walk away from this blog for a while and reflect on and rethink my relationship to the meta side of my fandom and how I can engage with it more positively and I hope you rethink the comments/hash tags you make in the future.

--

Dude... I have no way to tell if you're good, and it honestly doesn't matter for this: clinging to one thing as your source of self worth is a recipe for disaster.

[lanistas]

in the sea of lovers (Maura x Eyk, shameless fluff; Maura doesn’t understand why she barely feels anything when Daniel kisses her. So, naturally, when Eyk is washed back into her arms, she wants to test a little theory)

also on ao3

Daniel kisses her. Daniel. Her husband. The father of her child. He kisses her, and she can taste his tears on her lips, as he pours all his love and longing and affection into his touch. Maura kisses him back, and suddenly it’s a racing flood of images that overload her system.

The lights are dimmed, the sheets are soft, and Daniel’s touch is reverent, as he makes love to her on a makeshift bed, caressing her skin and intertwining their fingers.

It’s too much, the intensity of it all, and Maura breaks the kiss. This is not real. This can’t be real.

Because, if those are indeed the memories that got stolen from her, why doesn’t she feel anything? Anything at all?

She should feel like she is a terrible mother, forsaking her son like that. Like she is a disaster of a wife, if she doesn’t remember the man who is sitting in front of her right now, looking at her with so much adoration that Maura should feel guilty, unworthy of such devotion. And yet, she feels… nothing.

This man kisses her and needs her and loves her, and Maura Franklin is empty and tired and even more confused. A stranger in her own body, baffled at the memories that supposedly belong to her.

Maura thinks it’s driving her even closer to madness.

* * *

When the Kerberos emerges from the vortex unscathed, when Maura sees the Prometheus in front of her and spots Eyk right there, not an illusion, still here, still alive - Maura feels like she can finally breathe again.

When Eyk climbs aboard the Kerberos, when she runs to him, and he envelops her in a hug so tight she is melting against him, clinging on to him for dear life - Maura feels like her heart is once again alight and beating, warmth blooming in her chest.

When Eyk asks after Daniel, and Maura has to explain all of the things that she’s discovered on her own (she speaks of husbands and sons, and Eyk’s face falls) - Maura feels her world’s axis shifting, like all of this is somehow inexplicably wrong.

Thinking of Daniel makes her head hurt.

But holding on to Eyk, feeling Eyk’s pulse under her fingertips, keeping him close… this steadies her and brings her peace.

Her anchor in the raging sea of questions and doubts.

Maura doesn’t know what any of this means, but seeing Eyk again drives a little bit of madness away.

* * *

Maura Franklin is a doctor. A scientist. A scholar. She likes figuring out complicated concepts, playing with the unthinkable and unimaginable. And if she has a theory that needs testing? Well, then she will do just that.

This theory of hers thus far has proven to be… well, odd at best, but Maura Franklin is certainly not the type of woman to reject the possibility of the impossible.

She looks at Eyk, who is pacing around his cabin, telling her about the thoughts that passed through his mind while they were apart, and Maura is certain of two things.

One - Eyk’s presence comforts her, and his touch carries familiarity that she’s hardly ever felt with anyone else, even her brother. Two - her memory of Daniel is confusing and distant, as if she is simply watching a creation of Lumière brothers. A story of someone else, but not hers. Never hers. So, Maura thinks, she has a hypothesis in mind, and she has already decided what she has to do.

“Eyk,” she says, interrupting one of his stories. “I have a theory.”

Eyk stops talking and moving around and looks at her. “All right,” he simply nods, waiting for her to continue at her own pace. Maura takes a deep breath.

“I have a theory, and I need you to test it. With me.”

“Of course,” Eyk says, and Maura’s heart quickens, because the man in front of her trusts her so completely, and, to be honest, she is slightly embarrassed to abuse this power now. “What do you need?”

Maura chooses not to explain anything. She simply walks up to him, takes his face into her hands and kisses him.

The stubble on Eyk’s cheeks tickles her palms as she runs her fingers over it, closing her eyes and trying to lose herself completely in the sensation. Maura kisses him, moving her lips against his unresponsive ones, and when Eyk is still shocked after a second or two, still a stone statue unable to answer her desperate plea, Maura feels a hot wave of shame washing over her. How wrong she was. How terribly, terribly wrong. Maura ends the kiss and mumbles an apology, but she doesn’t even get the chance to finish a full sentence before Eyk presses her closer to him and captures her mouth in a kiss that makes her head spin.

She is locked in his embrace, his hands gently pressing on the spot between her shoulder blades, while her own arms find their way up and around his neck, her fingers running through his hair. Eyk groans at the contact, deepens the kiss, and it’s as if both of them are melting, the air around them hot with lust and love.

Eyk’s tongue is in her mouth, and Maura moans when she finally gets a taste of him, and memories come flooding back.

It’s Eyk peppering her face with kisses as Maura laughs and tries to playfully push him away. “I need to finish deciphering this,” she says. “I know,” he answers, “and I don’t care. This can wait”. She smiles, and she laughs, basking in this rare moment of simple human happiness.

It’s Eyk pulling her closer to his chest at night, humming a quiet lullaby, so that she can fall asleep faster. She plants soft kisses on his jawline and succumbs to slumber feeling cherished, adored, and protected.

In every moment, every second, every simulation it’s Eyk, his smell and his voice and his touch bringing her home.

Eyk breaks the kiss when both of them need to stop and take a breath. Still, he doesn’t let go of her, his arms resting on her waist and his forehead pressed to hers.

“It’s you,” Maura whispers, her heart aflutter. “I knew it was you.”

Eyk grins at her and plants a quick kiss on her tingling lips. For a moment they stay silent, breathing each other in, but then Eyk clears his throat, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Wait. You said you had a theory to test.”

Maura licks her lips and averts her gaze, trying not to smile.

“I did.”

Eyk squints at her, and Maura just stares back, defiant as ever.

“Care to share your findings, miss Franklin?”

“Well,” Maura starts, caressing the back of Eyk’s neck, “I believe the results are still rather inconclusive.”

“Uh-huh,” Eyk fiddles with the fabric of Maura’s blouse, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I suppose we can’t have that, now can we, doctor?”

It’s Maura’s turn to grin at him, as he is leaning down once again.

“No, we definitely can not,” she practically sighs into his mouth before his lips cover hers.

[whomeidontknowthem]

Content warning: slavery, implied sexual slavery, implied torture, implied non-con

From the author: THIS STORY IS GOING TO BE REWRITTEN. The details will change. Once I have a new version, I will take this one down and repost it as it's own thing. It's necessary so I can get the story progression and worldbuilding straight, as now I have plans for a series based on these characters, but initially I didn't put much forethought into it.

When six years ago Kris promised she'd never give up until she found Ayzan, she didn't know how it'd be. She thought it'd be simple: she had a trail to follow and people to interrogate, and she'd not give up until she got to the bottom of it all. She did, get to the bottom of the whole slave trade organization. Ayzan was not there.

She followed more trails, then, went through the names in encrypted documents, through sellers and buyers and all the people in between, got into fights that almost killed her and conflicts with higher ups that nearly ended in worse disasters.

Ayzan wasn't there. They weren't anywhere. No matter how she tried, what lead she followed, how many times she rode across the country and visited places where only a quick smile and smart words separated her from being found at the bottom of the nearest lake, they were not there.

Ayzan had simply disappeared. Kris was told that they had probably died and that she should give up. Should accept it. Move on and live her life, not haunted by the echoes of her past.

Deep in the dark of the night, these words rang in her head and she gritted her teeth against the desperation and grief.

She dreamed of them often.

She saw them:

As the teen barely older than her, when Ayzan cheated her in a game for all the money she had left, and then bought her a dinner and showed how to move someone's attention away until their pouch found a new home in her hands.

As a friend that held her during the long nights after her mother's death and made her laugh through tears until she felt alive again.

As a lover with a tongue made of silver, who teased and teased and teased until she learned how to answer and then it was Ayzan's turn to hide their red face behind their hands.

As a figure larger than life and the closest family she ever had.

At the end of every dream, they smiled, their eyes turning into half-moon slits of pure giddiness. And then they turned and walked away, and no matter how she tried to run and reach out, she could never stop them.

So, it was easy to hold on to the hope the first few weeks. It was easy to cling to the determination as the weeks turned into months that threatened to turn into years. When years passed by and the features of their face in her dreams grew more and more blurry, she wondered if the others had been right. If she was supposed to move on.

Which was why Kris wasn’t searching for them that day. Walking through the underbelly of a city as if it was her second home, among the dangerous and the poor, the unlucky and the cruel, she didn’t think about Ayzan, focused on the mission at hand. She was far from the lands she called home, on the southern peninsular with different customs, traditions and laws. Slavery wasn’t frowned upon here. She felt her skin crawl and kept her mouth shut because she was alone. In places like this, it was all too easy to disappear and never be found if you’re not careful.

Kris meant to walk past a makeshift slave trading ground. She did it more and more often lately, sparing a glance or two to the poor dirty things huddled together in front of a small scene, because stopping and truly looking felt like flaying herself row only to be met with unavoidable disappointment. Hope hurt, these days. And there didn’t seem to be much reason to hold on to it anymore, — Kris started to accept.

Nearly accepted, before her eyes locked with the familiar pale blue. Before their eyes blinked, widened, suddenly focusing, as she stopped dead in her tracks. Before she looked at the dirty face with unfamiliar scars and greasy short hair that once fell on the shoulders in radiant curls, and her whole being froze, overwhelmed with the sense of recognition.

Someone bumped into her and she muttered a quick apology and ignored the obscene yelling, and with a long look sweeping across the market, noting the other slaves and the seller and the few people walking by, ducked into the nearest side street to wait for her hands to stop shaking.

Ayzan was right there.

Thoughts ran through Kris’ mind in a hurricane, leaving a few facts in their wake:

She could not confront the slave seller. Back in her kingdom, sure, she could afford to deal with whatever mess it would cause, but not here. She couldn’t get into a fight directly, nor did she know enough to go through the indirect means.

Besides. Kris could not tolerate the idea of leaving the market when Ayzan was right there, so close. Closer than ever in these six years. She couldn’t leave and hope she’d find them again. She needed to get them now, and leave with them.

It meant playing by the disgusting rules of this place.

She opened her purse, counted the money. Cursed. Took a deep breath. She’d accomplished more with less. Failure was not an option.

Kris returned to the market from another street and strolled by, her gaze lazily moving from one face to the other and never stopping at Ayzan for longer than a second. Her clothes made her look like a wealthy foreigner, she knew and made sure her face reflected the bored expression she often saw on an experienced buyer. It didn’t take long for the merchant to come to her.

“Have something caught your eyes, lady…” he drifted off.

She inclined her head. “Teyol,” a fake surname naturally rolled off her tongue, made more realistic with the skilled northern accent. The merchant immediately answered with a wide smile.

“Come, lady Teyol,” he invited. “I have many remarkable items here. Something for anyone’s taste! Has any of them caught your eyes?”

Kris let him lead her closer to the slaves, all sitting right in the dirt, all tied to a long railing by short leashes connected to rough leather collars. Hardly the astounding selection the merchant was trying to sell it as. Ayzan was among them, sitting to the side, and Kris felt their stare on her face as she refused to look in their direction more than necessary. She inspected other slaves instead, letting the merchant pitch his property and feigning interest. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Ayzan sink back in line as the merchant pushed them back in passing. They didn’t do much of anything to make her turn attention to them, and Kris was infinitely grateful. It would go so much easier if the merchant didn’t suspect any connection between the two of them.

After looking at two slaves and nodding along to the merchant’s tales, Kris finally decided it was enough. “What about that one?” she asked and pointed at Ayzan, who flinched from the sudden attention of the both of them. “They seem pretty.”

“Ah, you have a great taste, lady! They’re one of the better ones,” the merchant hurried to assure her. “Years of training. Very obedient, and can do many things, too, outside and inside the bedroom, if you know what I mean.”

He flashed a grin, untied the leash and tugged at it, making Ayzan follow on their knees. They didn’t try to use arms to help them. Ayzan stopped before her, kneeling and keeping their head low, the looks they’d been giving her this whole time disappearing in an instant. She could see their hands, one curled on their lap, shaking slightly.

It took all her willpower to not reach out to hug them then and there.

Instead Kris let her gaze slip from their form, rising to meet the merchant’s eyes with a pleasant smile. “Where were they trained, then?”

“In Ashtar,” he answered instantly and proudly. Kris nodded in understanding and approval as her stomach sunk. Ashtar. She met enough people who’d been through that place to know it was nothing short of awful. She knew also that a slave from Ashtar wouldn’t end up in a place like this for no reason. There was something else there, something that’d lowered Ayzan’s price so much they ended up covered in dirt and rags, sold on the street among other cheap slaves. And these were cheap, Kris could see, no matter what the merchant was trying to tell her. She’d been to enough auctions to know.

“Ashtar,” Kris felt her lips move when the silence went on for two long. She was distantly impressed that her voice sounded calm as it did, tinted with curiosity and doubt. “They have an awful lot of scars for someone from there.”

Slowly, she reached out and put a hand in their hair — so, so short, when she knew they always preferred to let it grow out, — coaxing them to look up. There was a moment of resistance as they tried to flinch away, sink even more onto themself. The merchant noticed immediately and tugged their hair with no hesitation.

There was a quiet, sharp exhale, and then Kris could finally see their face. Her blood turned cold from just one look.

There were scars there, those she’d noticed even from afar: a wide one crossing their cheek, an old one through their brow, leaving pale skin where once was hair. This close, she could see more: a thin line starting from under their ear and going down to their neck. Many small but uneven, angry red dots around their lips, in an uneven pattern Kris took long seconds to recognize as what it was: the marks left behind from the thread that once held their mouth shut.

Never, in all her years, had Kris wanted to kill so much as at that moment.

And then, there were their eyes. She looked into them, finally, and had to fight to keep her features relaxed. There was so much in those blue eyes, so much she never wanted to see there: hurt and barely contained fear, and confusion, and, more than anything else, desperate, painful kind of hope. They didn’t say anything, didn’t even try to, only looked, until a smack came from the merchant, forcing their gaze down.

Kris silently let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding, before tuning in the merchant’s words.

“…long time. They were a feisty one once, you see, with a spirit. All the better when they’re finally broken, isn’t it?” he smiled as if it was a joke. She laughed and nodded in agreement. “I can lower the price for the scars, but believe me, they’re worth every coin you pay for them.”

“And how much is the price?” Kris asked. The merchant smiled widely.

And said, “two thousands.”

It took her a moment to convert the sum to the currency she was more familiar with. She didn’t need to fake the indignant snort. “That much?”

Kris knew the prices, that was the thing. She saw so many of such places, so many of such people putting a tag on a person’s worth, and she learned the numbers. Slaves from Ashtar meant to be pets, toys, pretty playthings for their owners, trained to be obedient and appealing in every way the owner wanted. They were meant to be kept healthy and beautiful, and any permanent mark immediately dropped their price.

Two thousands was too much. She’d give it barely seven hundred, maybe eleven if she was generous.

She felt bile rise up in her throat as she realized she was thinking about Ayzan in these terms. She felt the shudder go through their body as her hand stayed in their hair. Kris hoped the gentle touch felt reassuring.

“They’re the best you can find around these parts,” the merchant answered quickly.

“A pleasure slave, scarred like that?” she replied coldly. “Hardly.”

“A highly trained slave with just a few unfortunate but faded marks. You said it yourself, lady Teyol, they’re pretty. You won’t have to work hard to forget the scars are there at all.”

“Well, I don’t think I can just ignore them, they’re quite unsightly, in my opinion,” Kris argued. “You said you’d lower the price for them.”

“And I already have,” the merchant assured her. “You see, ordinarily I’d ask two and a half, even three thousands for them!..”

“Don’t try to cheat me,” Kris cut him off. She crossed her arms, letting go of Ayzan’s hair with the last gentle stroke, and added, softening her voice. “You are a smart man, lord…”

“Just Relo, lady Teyol.”

“Relo. You must know when what you’re asking for is beyond any limit.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t think it is,” the merchant continued stubbornly. “They’re the best you can find around these parts. Try finding other shops or even going to the auctions, see for yourself. Ashtar slaves are hard to come by.”

“Perhaps they’re hard to come by because there’s no need for them here. Who else would you sell them to? The mines? Even with all their… training, you’d be happy to receive even a few hundred.”

“I’m sure there’ll be those who understand the value of what I’m offering,” Relo countered.

Kris saw as his pose changed, closed off. She spoke quieter, friendlier once again. “I must say I am one of those people. An Ashtar slave is something I’d gladly buy, but not with this price; like this, I’d be better off making the trip myself. It wouldn’t be much more costly, and I’d surely find one there that isn’t so… defective.”

Ayzan was quiet before the two of them, hunched onto themself now that nothing held their head up. Kris sneaked a glance at them and saw the white of their knuckles as their fingers dug into their thighs. Ayzan made themself so easy to ignore with how quiet and motionless they were, and Kris hated herself for talking over them like this.

“Perhaps, I could go a bit lower without it being a loss,” after a few seconds of consideration, the merchant relented. “Eighteen hundred, how does that sound?”

Kris laughed, “I was thinking more in terms of five or maybe eight hundred,” and quickly raised her hand when Relo opened his mouth to protest. “But I apologize, I understand, it’s not an adequate compensation for your efforts. The transportation itself must have cost quite a bit. Perhaps, we could settle on a thousand?” she flashed a persuasive smile.

The merchant answered to her smile with his, but then shook his head. “I’m afraid it is so low I’d have to try my luck somewhere else. Seventeen hundred is the lowest I can go.”

It was better, closer to the real price. She only had fourteen hundred in her purse. She needed to go lower.

She turned her attention to Ayzan once more, looking them up and down in search of something to use as a leverage. They were skinny, pale, but this was normal for a slave, even desirable in the eyes of some. Easier to control, when they’re weak from hunger. Ayzan didn’t look like they’d starve at any moment, and that meant she couldn’t use it as an argument. Kris needed something else, and fast.

“It is a serious investment, you understand,” she said to the merchant who nodded. “I don’t want to disrespect you in any way, Relo, but, you understand, a slave bought for… the reasons… that I’m considering, needs to be in an appealing form everywhere. With such scars on their face, who knows what can be hidden underneath their clothes? Please don’t take it as a sign of distrust…”

“No-no, lady, I understand,” Relo reassured her. “It’s only natural to want to make sure.” He tugged the leash and then once again when Ayzan hesitated, frozen in place. Relo frowned and shot an apologetic look to Kris, which she waved off with a smile. “Get up and strip for the lady,” the merchant spat, “you know what’s going to happen otherwise.”

Finally, Ayzan moved, slowly rising to their feet but never looking up. They tugged the coarse, badly cut in shape fabric they had for a shirt up with their left hand, Relo helping them get it off the leash. Silently, Kris begged for forgiveness as they pulled their pants down with one hand. When she caught a sight of their face, it was uncomfortably, eerily empty.

Finished, they stood before her and the merchant, not making a single move to cover their body. They trembled slightly, and Kris wasn’t sure if it was from cold.

There were scars on their body, but not as many as she feared. The one starting below their ear continued on to their chest. On the opposite side, there were lines starting from under their armpit and going down, where Kris knew very well the skin was more sensitive than in most other parts of the body. Even the shallow cuts must’ve hurt as hell. A few were on the legs, but they looked more accidental and less like deliberate torture. Their right hand was half covered in pink scar tissue, their little finger missing in its entirety. When Relo told Ayzan to turn around and they obeyed, Kris could see the long, numerous lines left by lashes, layered on top of each other so that there was barely any healthy skin left.

She stepped forward, raising a hand, and barely kept her face neutral when Ayzan tried to flinch from her touch. “Stand still,” the merchant grumbled and tugged the leash. He looked apologetic once more, “You know how some of them are, when with new people.”

“I understand,” she brushed it off once again. It was a good excuse to use with something else, but it wouldn’t get her much of an advantage by itself. Instead, she ran her fingers down Ayzan’s body as they kept horribly still except for rapid, panicked breaths. She prayed for forgiveness once more, taking their left hand and rotating it around.

Then, she moved to the right hand. The moment she raised it, slightly rotating the wrist, a shudder when through Ayzan’s whole body and a quiet, pained whimper escaped their tightly pressed lips.

Kris immediately let go of their hand and turned to Relo, who looked incredibly upset. “You must be kidding me,” she said, letting some of her fury reflect in her tone. The merchant frowned and stepped closer.

“Must’ve pulled something,” he found an excuse and shot a glance to Ayzan before grabbing their hand and forcefully rotating the whole way. Ayzan tried hard to stay silent. Kris saw how their breath hitched, their eyes fluttering shut, and stopped the merchant’s attempts to pretend it was nothing.

“Do you want to hurt them more,” she snapped. “Because if you do, I won’t be buying them for sure.”

That made Relo hesitate and ultimately let go of Ayzan’s hand. It fell limply down their side and they took in a deep, rough breath, their eyes still tightly closed.

“I apologize, lady Teyol, there wasn’t anything like this yesterday,” the merchant explained, and Kris felt too tired to guess if he was lying or somehow managed to genuinely overlook such a problem. “I’m sure it’ll heal in no time, but, because of the circumstances, I will cut down some more. Sixteen hundred.”

“Thirteen,” Kris replied. “I can’t know if the injury is permanent or will heal, but it’ll require attention and money. I’ll have to find a healer to look at them! Not only at the arm, too, who knows what else is wrong!” she made sure it didn’t sound like a threat, but was sure the merchant did hear it as such. She didn’t know what else she’d find if she continued on with the inspection. Whatever it was, it was in Relo’s interest to stop from trying.

“Fifteen,” Relo returned an offer with a wince. “You must understand, going any lower would put me at a loss…”

“Fourteen. They aren’t even as obedient as you promised, hesitating like this. Can I even trust you that they’re from Ashtar? Or is it something you’ve lied about just like you neglected to mention that they can’t move their right arm?”

The merchant winced again. He must know, Kris thought, that with such an injury he had no luck of selling them to anyone. Even the mines would refuse a slave that couldn’t use one hand. Now that it was noticed, he couldn’t afford to cling to the bigger price. What she was offering was already generous. He must know that. He must accept.

Relo chews his lips, deep in thought.

Then sighed.

“Fourteen hundred it is, then. Deal.” She shook his hand and gave nearly all the money she had to him. After being paid, Relo smiled with much more sincerity. Kris found it hard to much his enthusiasm.

She helped Ayzan dress up, mindful of their arm, and took the leash from the joyful merchant. Just a few minutes, until they got to the room in the closest inn, she promised herself.

Ayzan didn’t make a single attempt to look up at her, following her steps as a second shadow, quiet and gloomy as one.

In the inn, she cut the small talk with the innkeeper short, getting a key for a room with one bed (it would be suspicious if a slave was given their own bed; she’d sleep on the floor if needed) and swiftly making her way upstairs. She let them inside the room first and shut the door after herself, immediately slumping before it.

“Holy fuck,” she breathed and then muttered a whole string of curses as the adrenaline wore off, leaving her fingers shaking. She did it. She’d got them. She’d got them.

She took half a minute to herself, staring at her hands and willing her emotions back under control. Then she looked up.

Ayzan stood where she left them, in the middle of the room, their head hanging low and left fist tightly clenched. They were so still she couldn’t even notice if they were breathing. They didn’t move to look at her, not even once.

“Hey,” she whispered and stepped closer. They tensed but didn’t back away. She worked on removing the collar, letting it fall down once she was done. “Ayzan, will you look at me? Dear?” gently, oh so gently she touched their chin and guided it up. They used to be higher than her. Slouched as they were now, she had to look down to meet their eyes.

Back in the market, there was fear there, and she’d thought it was the worst. Now, she searched and searched and could only find — something like defeat. Like resignation. They looked at her with pale blue eyes that always used to crinkle in a smile, and this time there was nothing.

Kris was the one who let out a shaking breath and had to fight to hold back tears. “I’m sorry,” she said, softly as she could, when her voice was back under her control. When she let her hand fall, Ayzan’s head immediately hang low, too. “I didn’t mean any of what I said to that bastard. I just— you're worth so much, but if I didn’t make him think I didn’t care, I— I couldn’t let let him take you away! I’m so so sorry you had to hear it. You had to— I’m so sorry. None, none of that is true.”

Ayzan’s chest slowly rose in a deeper breath than they’d taken before. If Kris wasn’t staring at their features so intently, she’d miss the way their lips twitched, just a bit.

“Love,” she begged. “Ayzan. Say something, please?”

Their lips twitched again, opened just a bit. They didn’t look Kris in the eyes, but their gaze moved just a bit closer. Slowly, quietly, they breathed out in a raspy voice, “Kris?” and then fell silent again.

“Yes. Yes, Ayzan, it’s me. I’m here, I’ve— I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore, okay? I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” she repeated and reached out to clench their good hand in hers. Ayzan didn’t move, staring at their hands as if unable to see it. “I’ve got you,” she repeated again as her heart bled from the distant, uncomprehending look on their face.

After a long stretch of silence, Ayzan’s lips moved again. “What do you want me for?”

It felt like a punch. Like somebody made a hole through her chest and squeezed her heart until it turned into burning mash, coating her insides with pain. She took a breath that sounded like a sob.

“Nothing. I— nothing like that. I needed him to believe that I did, but I wouldn’t— I didn’t—“ she tried to find words to explain and failed. Ayzan stood before her, terribly still, terribly distant, terribly tense. As if they weren’t safe. As if they expected her to hurt them.

She tried again, “You’re not here as my property. I am very, very happy to see you alive. I’ve been searching for you,” she paused as her breath hitched. She hadn’t been searching for them this time, had she? She would walk right past them, not pausing to even find out that they were so close. She’d nearly given up. She forced the thoughts down, focusing on here and now and the fact that she’d found them. “I want you to be free, and safe, and happy. This is all.” She repeated, helplessly, when they didn’t move, “this is all.”

Kris watched their face as they breathed. There was no reaction to see if they understood, if they even heard her. Ayzan’s face used to be so open, so emotive, all their feelings written loud and clear all over it, be it a bright smile or childish pouting. She rarely remembered them genuinely upset, but even that was better than the careful, nearly complete blankness. As if they weren’t here at all.

She fought to blink back tears. “May I hug you?”

Their brows twitched, barely perceptible. Their eyes moved to the side. They didn’t answer.

She didn’t reach out to touch them.

She took a deep breath instead, trying to ground herself. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I know it’s sudden and hard. We have time now, okay? You have time. You’re safe, and here, and—“ another deep, deep breath. “You’re safe. I promise you. I won’t ever let you be hurt again. I promise.”

Ayzen didn’t answer, but Kris saw as their breaths grew deeper, slower, calmer. It was okay. They were here, and they had all the time in the world.

Whump prompt XVIII

Caretaker is trying to buy whumpee to free them.

Only they cannot afford the asking price, so they're left haggling down whumpee's value, picking out every conceivable flaw and arguing with the seller that whumpee really isn't worth that - all fully within earshot of whumpee.

[the-mortifying-ordeal-of]

Yesterday was the first day I wanted to lie to my tracker app. It was a plasma day and I was doing so good, but then I went to a Halloween party and could. not. stop. I had a plan and had made promises to myself, had even pre-plugged in the treats I was gonna allow myself, but once I started I couldn't stop. A cupcake became three, plus three cookies, plus the chips, plus the mac and cheese that I didn't even like. I did avoid the booze, clung to my water bottle like a life raft, and only took a few sips of the cider when balancing out the recipe, but I felt bloated and heavy and out of control and I kept experiencing waves of anxiety long after we left, remembering the spread on the table like a scene from a horror movie. We got home and I still felt hungry, knew it was that feeling that isn't actually hunger, but is the ache of fullness that my body associates with a binge and tells me to consume more until it hurts. Because the fullness feels like numbness and my body only knows how to recognize the sharp pains, not the dull ones. I put my ass to bed but I was so horrified by how much I wanted, how much I needed, how much I craved. I wanted to steal food, hoard it for later, binge by myself. I eyed up the beers in the fridge and wanted to take some home with me (knowing how deeply our lives are intertwined, I undertake the practice to only take what is offered to me). I wanted everyone to look away so I could eat standing over the food, like it doesn't count if I'm not sitting or using a plate. I hated it. It was too much.

Now this morning I'm clinging to the life raft of my empty stomach, listening to it growl and feeling the first glimmers of hunger, and I'm conflicted: I want to get on an elliptical and burn myself out but it's daytime and I don't want any witnesses. I want to ⭐ today, especially since I have another party tonight and I know I can't trust myself now, plus it'll be smaller with just my besties and they'll definitely notice if I abstain. I know I should have a normal, healthy meal to prevent more binging but I did that yesterday and it didn't fucking work. I want to burn all this off, burn through this weakness and angst, feel pure and clean and bright and in control again. My stomach was visibly rounded this morning but MUC spent the night so I couldn't soothe with my pushups or tricep dips or calf raises. Maybe I'll put on a workout video here in my apartment - I have a few no-jump videos in my Watch Later, so maybe I can sweat without disturbing my downstairs neighbor. I was planning to work today but MUC just left and I only have a few hours before I pick her up again for the next party. I just wanna sweat and burn and shower and disappear. Maybe I'll also read to soothe myself, but I just... I need a reset.

On the bright side, I didn't spend money, I didn't drink, I didn't have sex with MUC and I deflected her request for a kiss before bed, and my kitchen is filled with healthy food for when I do get back into it. My body is capable of exercise and I do have some free time. Plasma has also been going really well and my anxiety is now about a 3/10 instead of like, an 8 - I've got a decent system and I can feel my phobia dissolving and becoming more of a discomfort. I am capable of so much growth, discipline, agency, goodness. I've been better about only taking what is offered and keeping my speech true and generous. I'm not perfect but my gains are substantial.

Also! I'm gonna start tracking my dips and pushups maxes, because I've already noticed my calf raise counts are higher/easier before I fatigue and I think slowly increasing by like, one a day will be really satisfying. Oh and and! I did my final count and I walked 62 miles in October!!

I had one rough night and even then it wasn't a disaster (2300?), and I learned a lot about my limits and triggers and growth points so ok, we're ok, I can do this. I'm doing this.

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

The No-Skip Albums: tag game!

Thanks @ace-of-hearts-and-spades for the tag this was so cool. And difficult because I have so many no skip albums apparently? Also, yes, every Florence + The Machine and Tove Lo album is included, I just saved some space and made little collages.

rules: share the albums that you can listen to nonstop, those lightning in a bottle-albums that scratch ur brain just right. every single track, an absolute banger. u could not skip one if u tried, no notes, stunning, show-stopping, immaculate, ur no-skip albums.

bonus & optional (but imo, v fun) rules: 1) add a track rec for us to listen to! AND 2) share ur favorite line(s) from that track!..

Everyone is tagged. As a treat.

Track rec time. I didn't put lyrics for every song because I'm very tired✌️ Have fun.

Advanced Basics 💿 USS (Ubiquitous Synergy Seeker)

Song - Built To Break

My life in a cage I wake up shower, bleed, and blaze / And what would I know / If no one ever told me so

There's not much to say / In such an ordinary daze / There's not much to be / I'm such an ordinary me

Pain Killer 💿 Little Big Town

Song: Tumble and Fall

It's a want you, it's a need you, it's a hold on through the pain

It's a get through what you got to, 'cause it can't stay the same

It's a long talk with the lights off, it's the last breath in your lungs

It's the deep end that we jump in, it's the love that we become

It's a reach out, it's a white flag, it's a forfeit of the game

It's a let go of the ego, and the whisper of your name

It's a fight for, not a defend, it's a stay out in the rain

It's the knowin' that you love me more than anything

Mr. Misunderstood 💿 Eric Church

Song: Chattanooga Lucy

With Teeth 💿 Nine Inch Nails

Song: You Know What You Are?

Beauty Behind the Madness 💿 The Weeknd

Song: In the Night

In the night she hears him calling

In the night she's dancing to relieve the pain

She'll never walk away (I don't think you understand)

In the night when she comes crawling

Dollar bills and tears keep falling down her face

She'll never walk away (I don't think you understand)

Florence + The Machine

Album: Lungs Song: Cosmic Love

I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map

And knew that somehow I could find my way back

Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too

So I stayed in the darkness with you

Album: Ceremonials Song: What The Water Gave Me

And oh, poor Atlas / The world's a beast of a burden / You've been holding on a long time / And all this longing / And the ships are left to rust / That's what the water gave us

Cause she's a cruel mistress

And a bargain must be made

But oh, my love, don't forget me

When I let the water take me

Album: How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful

Song: Various Storms & Saints

Now find a rooftop to sing from / Now find a hallway to dance / You don't need no edge to cling from / Your heart is there, it's in your hands / I know it seems like forever I know it seems like an age / But one day this will be over I swear it's not so far away

Album: High As Hope Song: June

In those heavy days in June / When love became an act of defiance

You were broken-hearted and the world was too / And I was beginning to lose my grip / And I have always held it loosely But this time, I admit / I felt it really start to slip

Album: Dance Fever Song: Mermaids

And the merrmaids, they come once a year

They climb the struts of Brighton Pier

They come to drink, they come to dance

To sacrifice a human heart

Album: Lady Wood Song: True Disaster

And the world is so much wilder than you think

You haven't seen nothing til you've seen an English girl drink

Tove Lo

Album: Queen of the Clouds Song: This Time Around

Album: Blue Lips. Song: shivering gold

Album: Sunshine Kitty Song: Anywhere U Go

Album: Dirt Femme Song: True Romance

[whattheheckmidoriya]

Hold me for a bit longer

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader

Description: Being the wife of a pro hero is no easy feat— being the pregnant wife of a pro hero makes things much harder. With a baby belly so big you can only waddle as you walk, Shota decides to take some of the weight into his own hands in hopes of providing some relief.

Warnings: established relationship, pregnancy, mentions of sickness

Word count: 1,506

°

The concept of life, the fragility of it, never seemed to fully sink in for Shota. As a hero who’s witnessed more disasters and catastrophes than he’d like to recount, he understands well the value of a single life, but he never truly understood how precious it is.

His eyes burned with a need of sleep that had been chasing him for the entire week, slowly wearing him down until he was sure he was a mere second away from falling asleep on the couch. His heart ached to see you. He’d just arrived from his night patrol and simply wanted to catch sight of the treasure he calls his lover.

You walked out of your shared room, recently showered and sporting one of his shirts over your figure. His heart almost seized at the sight. He couldn’t help the adoring smile that pulled at his lips. His shirt, which usually swallowed you whole, now hung over the top of your growing belly.

Shota hauled himself off the couch, dragging his feet over wooden floors until you were within his reach. Tired, sore eyes twinkled with the purest forms of love as he basked in the sight of you. One hand on your jaw, the other clinging to your fingers, he smiled tenderly as you leaned into his touch.

Pressing his forehead to yours, he gazed into those sweet hues of yours, memorizing each twinkle of light caught in your eyes. “How are you?” He murmured, tender and warm.

You sighed, smiling at the warmth of his touch. “Tired,” Gently, you pulled him in just enough to plant a soft pressing of your lips on his cheekbone, right over the scar that ran over his skin. “I missed you today—” As if on cue, you winced slightly, putting a hand over your swollen belly. “We missed you today,” you corrected with a soft laugh.

A sense of adoration softened the sharp lines of your lover’s eyes, his lips turned up in a shy smile. He carefully got on his knees, as if he were scared of spooking the baby within you, and cupped the sides of your belly tenderly. “I missed you, too, kid,” His voice was a whisper, the words gentle and soft. “You’ve been good to your mom?”

You winced again but bit back a smile at the look of astonishment that sparkled in your husband’s eyes as the baby kicked right where his hand was pressed. It’s like this every time. The tiny treasure growing within you always seemed to know when their dad was speaking to them. Shota's eyes always glistened with something akin to wonder and joy whenever the baby reacted to him. It was one of the most precious things you’ve witnessed.

As the baby shifted and continued to kick around, you sighed, letting yourself lean against the wall behind you for support. Shota looked up, concern washing over his features as your face twisted in pain. “Everything alright, angel?”

A single stiff nod was his only reply as you took in deep breaths. Finally, you gave a tired smile. “Yeah, yeah,” Once his fingers were once again locked around your own, you gave what was meant to be a reassuring squeeze, but turned out to be a hand-crushing grip. “Baby's just getting a bit too big to be moving around this much.”

He watched with a frown as you rolled your shoulders back, adjusting your posture in a vain attempt of finding comfort. Shota had to admit, he didn’t understand how you could walk— well, waddle— with such a swollen belly in the way. He now had to help you get out of bed, hold your hand to help you sit down— he even learned how to paint your toenails now that you couldn’t do it on your own. Never in a million years would he ever complain about small details such as these— he adores doing whatever it takes to keep you happy— but he wasn’t blind to how tired and uncomfortable you grew as your belly continued to swell.

A frown settled on his lips as he looked back at your belly. “Is there anything you need?” He rose to his feet, reassuringly squeezing your hand.

You smiled at his concern, pulling his hand to your lips so you could plant a kiss over his knuckles. “I need this baby out of me,” You only half-joked, remembering you still had at least two more months until your due date. “My back is killing me.”

Shota watched as you once again tried to roll your shoulders back in an attempt to alleviate the aches of your back, frowning at the look of discomfort that twisted your face. His heart ached for you. The process of seeing your body change over the months has been somewhat bittersweet. The joy of knowing a new member of your family will finally be in his arms makes the butterflies in his stomach flutter, but the bouts of sickness and discomfort that wrack your body flood him with concern.

With lips pulled into a thin line, he toyed around with a thought that swirled around his mind. His hands trailed up to the apples of your cheeks, cupping the sides of your face gently as he searched your gaze. Voice low, he asked, “May I try something?”

Curiosity flashed in your eyes as you leaned into his touch. You turned your face to the side, kissing the palm of his hand with ghostly pressings of your lips. A sigh escaped your lips. “Yeah,”

Shota pulled you away from the wall you leaned on and moved so he was standing behind you. His arms wrapped around you, allowing for his hands to gently cup the bottom of your belly. “Lean into me,” He whispered into your ear, huffing a breath of amusement at your confused expression. “Trust me. Lean back.”

Following his order, you pressed your back to his chest, relaxing into the warmth of his body. “What now?”

His thumbs caressed your belly tenderly. “Take a deep breath.” Once he felt the steady rise of your chest, he slowly and carefully took the weight of your growing baby into his own hands, lifting your belly gently and releasing the pressure from your aching bones. He smiled at the sigh of relief that flew past your lips. “Does this help?”

With your head falling back on his shoulder, you peered up at him with adoration twinkling in your eyes. Shota's heart fluttered. “I love you so much.” A hushed breath carried your voice through the cracks of his heart, giving way for warmth to bloom in his chest as heat rose to his cheeks.

He kissed the top of your head before burying his face in the crook of your neck. Maybe that’ll help him hide how flustered he truly is. His hands continued to hold the weight of the life growing within you, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles over the skin of your belly. “I love you, too,” The baby kicked at one of his hands, right on cue. “Yeah, I love you, too, kid.” Shota looked over your shoulder, down at the swollen belly in his hands. He smiled. “They’re heavy.”

You snickered. “I know.”

Shota released a breath of wonder, letting his chin rest over your shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

A bright smile tugged at your lips. “So much better,” Your body sunk further into your lover’s. “I really needed this. Thank you.”

Your husband hummed. “Let me know where you’re ready for me to let go.”

Immediately, your hands latched onto his, almost holding on for dear life. “Please,” Your voice was urgent, tight with a plead. “Not yet. Just… hold me for a bit longer.”

Shota's smile grew. His lips caught the side of your face in a gentle kiss. His hands never wavered or strayed away. “Okay,” he breathed. “I’ve got you.”

His heart was light. The weight of your growing baby in his hands made his heart swell with excitement. He doesn’t know how long he stood there, with your back pressed against him and your swollen belly resting in his hands, but he isn’t in a hurry to pull away. Tears welled in his eyes, clinging to his lashes before dropping onto his cheeks. He once again hid by the crook of your neck, breathing shakily as your hands cupped his, joining him in the efforts of holding your belly.

Shota was only starting to understand how precious life was. He still had so much to learn— so much love to give. But right at that moment, he realized he was living in a moment in time he never believed could belong to him. The weight of the unborn creation of your love on his hands made this so much more real to him.

He has a family. His family is growing.

And he knew that, no matter what, he’d keep the treasures of his heart far from the dangers of this world.

°

🏷 Aizawa Shota taglist:

@runaowo @beecca9 @bandaidfaerie @zawasleepingbag @retaaschilling @rvgrsbrns @samx-jpeg @girl_lost_not_found @sir-knight-slytherdor @justheretoaskandread @andrastesbeard @yaskna @izukus-gf

[tragcdyfallen]

The walls are closing in, Nesta was sure of this. An enclave to keep her from bursting at the seams. To allow the fire to control every aspect of her being. Her eyes flit from Cassian to the room they are surrounded in. Though they were the only ones, somehow it feels too crowded. She needed air and the fact this conversation was tilting her world off its axis. The earth no longer revolves around the sun. He's within the center and now everything rotates around him. Running her hands over her face to jostle herself out of this cognizance.

" Yes because you never gave up on her. " she finally agrees. Realizations weren't easily swayed now that they are blatantly present. Memories are fading but she can still taste them on her lips. But that's not the only thing she can savor on her tongue. A kiss that she briefly remembers on a rocky hillside. There was no need to give him those details. Not yet, at least. Nevertheless, Nesta's lips tingle at the sensation of familiarity. How she hovered over Cassian's intact body and breathed a sigh of relief. When she pressed her mouth to his, there was no battle waging against the other. It was like the sunshine breaking the stormy clouds that bore down on her every day of her life. Comparable to the pines that kissed the snowflakes as they fell to earth. Clinging and pure. He was her beginning and her end. She didn't know why that wasn't a frightening thought. Or why she couldn't fear him at all.

Cassian spoke in fantasies, words that felt too sweet to linger. Another life where she felt wanted and not stuck in an endless loop of the mundane. Could his wings fly her so far to freedom? Nesta's eyes dance on those majestic appendages that ascend through her mind as well as the skies above. Imagining them taking her far, far away. And she would soar with him so very willingly. For once, maybe she could trust her heart. Her mind is still racing against her - against him. She still needed him, even on this island. " I want to remember, Cassian. " she listened to every word from his mouth and she wanted to desperately grab hold. " I want to remember Elain and Feyre. I - " she inhales to gather thoughts, " Something is tormenting me. Yelling at me to remember something so incredibly disastrous. " Though there's warmth and affection when she looks up at him. Moving closer to him so her chest is pressed against his. In this life he spoke of, they were a beautiful disaster. " I want to remember you. Us. " she choked out the last admission, her tears springing to her and she resented them.

Yes, they were both fools. He may not agree but she will do it for the both of them. Wordlessly, her hands reach up and her fingers trace his jawline. Truly in awe at the man underneath her fingertips. He was making the air around her even thinner. " You are certain that I am this Lady Death? Are you not my Lord? " she whispers, assurance rushes through her that she has certainly gotten on her knees for this male before. A pink tinge colors her cheeks, she is hesitant to allow her thoughts to stray too far. His words keep her pacified and she cannot flee. Her heart racing now, he loves her? He admitted it so easily that her eyes had widened. " I believe you, you know. " her touch now placates as it tangles into his darkened tresses. Intuition calls to her that he needs comfort. Nesta can inspect every aspect of him but she sees no deception staring back at her. " I hate that I believe you. I hate that I can't walk away. " she finally rests her head on his chest, " Because walking away means that I am turning away from you. Cassian, " she pulls away slightly so their eyes lock, " If I walk out of this building, will you promise to hold my hand? "

With her now being so close he could almost close his eyes and breath in the scent of the crisp air of a winter sunrise, so sharp yet inviting. a hint of cool peppermint lingering in her wake. she held the scent of toasty cinnamon paired with a nutmeg kiss, sharp yet comforting. she was the smouldering smoke of a fresh fire with the tender greeting. she was the allure of warm spice and spicy ginger with a hint of zesty citrus. She was welcoming and inviting in every imaginable and he couldn't get enough of her. He knew deep down that it wouldn't be long until he was folding her into his arms, perching her upon his lap, as he took in as much as he could get. Relishing in her presence and letting her scent consume him in any way he was able to. All of it was almost enough to sooth and push that dull ache aside and bring back the comfort he had been so lost without.

He had promised himself ages ago that he would do better for the woman in front of him. That he wouldn't let himself become so weak and easily damaged as he had done before. He vowed that he would make himself better, that he would not only physically strengthen himself but he would work on his mental shields. He would do whatever it took so that he could be the force needed not to fall once more. Her words made his inner turmoil come to a halt as he glanced up at her, his lips tugging back into the smallest of smiles. "She was happy, very happy. It took her a long time to get there though, she had a lot of battles to face but I never gave up on her." That was true, he had been there every step of the way with her. Despite how angry and frustrated he had gotten at times he didn't turn his back on her. He would have risked everything if it meant that she could have the life she deserved.

At the start he didn't know what he had been expecting. Perhaps her yelling at him, maybe even a slap or two. Yet Cassian did not expect for Nesta to pull and shove away from him, his hands falling to his sides as he sat there, his gaze narrowing into a frown as his lips pursed. "I did but because of that no matter how many times I fail I will apologize and work harder to be better for you.," he nodded slowly as he licked his now dry lips. "Whether you or anyone else believe them I know that they are true for I had been there every moment you truly needed me and..." pausing he shook his head, "I don't know." He didn't truly know why she had loved him once before, he was still trying to figure it out. He could list all the reasons why she held his heart yet since coming here and seeing this version of her he couldn't figure out why she did love a bastard born male like him.

The second the word fool had reached his ears he could feel his gaze turning to a hardened glare as he looked at her and rose to his feet. "I might be a fool for I gave myself over to love, I might be a fool for I stayed by a stubborn woman's side without a second thought because I knew that I would do anything to see a smile on her face, I might be a fool for hoping that the woman that I love could have everything that her heart desires but," pausing he shook his head, "you are no fool, you never have been and you never will be. You are amazing. You are the one who will defend those she cares for without a second thought. You are a caring sister and you love your sisters, even if others can't see it I know it's there. You are a fierce warrior who will never give up," clearing his throat he nodded slowly, "you are my Lady Death and I will walk by your side from this day until the end of time. I will walk by your side in this life and the next. I will walk by your side in this world or the next. For it will always be that, Lady Death and her General."

[tired-night-owl]

Uncanny Sentiment

Fandom : the owl house 

Chapter 1 of ? 

Hi there ! So I drew a small comic of a scenario that happens after the thanks to them episode and felt like it needed more background.. So I wrote my first fic ever ! It’s part of my headcanon that all grimwalkers share a « common mind » or have access to glimpses of Caleb’s memory. Sorry if It’s not the best... English isn’t my first language and its been a while since I had to write anything with it but I hope you still enjoy. 

Word count : 2,332 

Summary : The gang has to face all the emotions and fears they bottled up during their trip to the human realm but one particular boy can’t figured out where his come from until a familiar figure joins them.

Notes : subtle huntlow, sibling hunter/luz, lumity, talk of death, stress, mention of grimwalker, ghost, hurt and confort.

They were walking through the darkness of the isles’ woods trying to find some sort of life form or shelter. They could never have imagined what wreck they would come to once they made their way back… on top of that they didn’t know what the collector did during their time in the human realm and guilt was starting to form at the back of everyone’s head. 

Amity, Willow and Gus all feared for what might’ve happen to their families while they were exploring Luz’s world. Luz, with a form of sixth sense when it came to her friends, could tell every thought that was crossing each of their minds. 

Gus, poor little Gus, far too young to be going through all this, was running through over and over how he shouldn’t have abandoned his father. It was only them both, always, but he left him behind to survive in this wreck. It wasn’t fair, even if it would be what his father would've wanted, he shouldn’t have left him by himself in this disaster. 

Amity felt similar. They all did in their own way. She wondered if her mom rejoined her father, maybe not out of love but for survival at the least. It’s what their couple forever has been : an arrangement. She doubted that her mother would do that but it was a nice thought to cling to. She hated how things ended. Even if Odalia was a twisted tirant, she was still her mother. Luz could tell her girlfriend was scared for her brother and sister too. She didn’t doubt their father would do anything to protect them but who could tell how the day of unity left him. They all saw how hunter’s branding seem to burn and drain him during the eclipse. Maybe some weren’t as strong or lucky and perished under the spell’s influence. Luz squeezed amity’s hand in the hope of chasing those ugly thoughts away. Her face softened but the thoughts were still there, rolling in her head like one of those movie wheels Luz showed her in the human realm. 

As for Willow, the brave captain, she was trying so hard to keep herself composed it only made her face more distorted with distress. All her life she had to feel like she felt now : powerless. At least when she was in the wrong coven she had a reason not to be able to save anyone, because she didn’t know how. But now she knew she would’ve been able to hold her ground and perhaps save her parents. Who knows what that godlike child intends to do with the citizens of the boiling isles. Titan forbid if anything happened to her dads, she would never forgive herself for not being there. All those hours training to protect the ones she loved would’ve been for nothing. And to top it all, remorse was filling every last cell in her body because she enjoyed her time with her friends in the human realm. « How could I be so selfish » she thought to herself as her face twisted more and more.

With Amity’s hand in her own, Luz reached for Willow in a side hug hoping this closeness would help them cross what felt like death row. But the touch only broke her from her trance and silent tears started rolling down her cheeks. As if a signal to let out the past weeks’ anxieties, Willow’s tears initiated a river of salty water and heavy sigh amongst her friends. Camila held Gus a little tighter and approached the girls with a warming embrace. Something she would always do when Luz felt down because of school or when her father passed. They held each other with such force that day she was scared she would bruise her daughter. She did the same with her new kids now. They might not be her own but they didn’t have anyone else at the moment. Camila would never let a scared and sad child motherless. The hug seemed to calm the raging sobs and tears for most but Amity’s only worsened. She never had that with her mom and it had been a long time with her workaholic father. Luz knew that, and didn’t want to steal any parental love she had been lucky enough to have her whole life. So she stepped back from her mother’s hold. Out of character for her, but Camila saw her daughter make her way toward someone who could use the company. Someone who strayed at the back of the group ever since they got to this strange place. 

Hunter hasn't said a word since crossing the portal. Grieving for his best friend and culpability gnawing at him relentlessly, he didn’t feel like he deserved to be with them. Deep down he knows it wasn’t him fighting off his friends and killing flapjack but if he tried harder to break off Belos’ mind hold earlier, he never would’ve hurt flapjack in the first place. He would still be with him, pulling on his hair to show him something or chirping on his shoulder as a way to scold him. Now all he had left of him was his eyes. Another haunting memory he would have to face in the mirror later. 

After the days’ events, he would expect to be in the same state as everyone : on the ground bawling his eyes out but no. He didn’t really know how to describe it but nothing came. Even if he tried torturing himself with what could’ve happened at the graveyard, all he felt was numbness. Something only spurred when Luz approached him. He opened his mouth to say something, to confort her but his voiced croaked. Perhaps it was better this way. He didn’t know what he would’ve said anyway. But simply by looking at her, it only dawned on him now that she felt just like he did, and must have been for a couple of months now. He felt stupid for not seeing it earlier. When he first met her, despite the circumstances, she always seemed happy. Her eyes bright with hope and mischief. He always had a soft spot for her even when he considered her the enemy. A familiar sensation he could not quite put his finger on the first few encounters they had. Only in the shack did his affection for Luz finally made sense to him. When the word « family » left her mouth, it’s like something inside him unlocked. A need to protect her. Something primal beyond his logic and understanding. He supposed that it might have to do something with being Caleb Wittebane‘s « reincarnation ». After all, he was only a copy of this man he knew nothing about. All he remembered was what he heard on the hayride. That Caleb was a caretaker for his brother at a very young age. So maybe Luz filled a void in his existence by being the sibling he never got. Something every new « Caleb » seem to need. He remembered what Darius said about the golden guard that came before him. The other grimwalker must’ve took the head of the abomination coven as his sibling back then. Perhaps it was a buried need to look out for someone in every version of Philip’s brother. 

Luz didn’t even have the time to catch up to him all the way. He sprang to her with a vital necessity to make her feel better and, by the same occasion, possibly appeasing his own soul as well. The unexpected gesture caught her off guard but wasn’t unwelcomed. Feeling how hard he held her, she knew he needed this as much as she did. Imitating her mother’s cuddle session not too far ahead, she hugged Hunter back with the same force she did with her mother all those years ago in the hospital. Remembering that day with the addition of all the built up stress of the last year or so finally broke her. When she realized she was staining hunter’s shoulder with tears and snot she tried apologizing a dozen times. Feeling ashamed for breaking down like that, she tried pulling away but Hunter wouldn’t let her. Letting her know he couldn’t care less about his shirt or her sobs. He joked about it trying to make her feel better and to his surprised it worked. Feeling like he succeeded at being a brother for her and being a little bit more at ease himself, he suggested to return with the others. 

Hoping Camila’s technique worked as much as it did for them, they approached the group slowly. Hearing the dying down of sniffles and some light chatter, they finally caught up with the group with the confirmation of not disturbing anything. Seeing Willow’s tear stained face hurt Hunter more than he would care to admit. She was his captain, the fiercest person he knows and the first real friend he ever had. Seeing her this cheerless brought back the feeling of numbness and guilt he managed to put aside earlier. She looked at him in a way that usually would've made his face change color but the questioning look she was giving him wasn’t reassuring or warming. He probably should say something about what he is, especially to her, but he found himself tongue-tied for the second time that day. Camila’s voice interrupted their gaze and he jumped at the intrusion. Luz’s mother discouraged building a fire for warmth in fear of getting detected by someone. A smart move, if it wasn’t such a cold night. None of them had the time to pack essentials before going through the portal. Most of them were still in their ripped up halloween costumes… Having had some survival courses in his time in the emperor’s coven, Hunter raised questions about the dangers of the cold night and the darkness. The moon was full and of a bright blue color, but in the middle of the woods the sole light of the moon wouldn’t help to locate a possible danger. Furthermore, without the warmth of a fire they would be shivering all night without being able to rest. A sleep they desperately needed if they wanted to face Belos again. But Camila wouldn’t risk it. She preferred they all exchanged body heat for warmth, comparing it to a litter of puppies or a pack of wolves during a harsh winter night. Hunter was already sold to the idea with his newfound love for the human realm creature. The thought of having a pack of his own tied another knot in his throat. As for the light problem, she proposed they should rest only for a little while and use the said lack of light to move undiscovered. They all agreed and began forming a mass of shivering bodies. 

Hunter woke up first with a weird feeling in his stomach. Probably just remaining stress from the days prior. Hearing rustling, Willow woke soon after. 

-  « Are you alright ? » Willow whispered to him while putting a hand on his shoulder.

The familiar pink glow returned to his cheek and warmth filled his body by the interest a certain witch was showing him. Until he realized the unusual feeling was back and that he felt abnormally hot for just a simple crush. As soft as Willow tried to speak and not disturb, everyone was starting to wake up too.

Hunter’s mind was racing. Trying to find an answer to the uncanny sensation he was feeling. It felt similar to his sibling rivalry with Luz. Perhaps it was another of Caleb’s experience resurfacing from deep within his person. The warmth was worsening as they made their way through the forest. Staring at his feet trying to not make it look like he felt sick, the sudden halt in everyone’s step finally made his head jerk up in the direction they were all staring at with wide eyes. Between the pine trees, a glowing figure stood mute. Her eyes blank but somehow staring right through him. Luz’s mother asked her something he did not quite catch and neither did she Hunter supposed because he heard Camila repeat her daughter’s name twice. 

They all stared ahead, shocked at the vision before them. A ghost it would seem but not just any ghost. For the Noceda sibling, she seemed extremely familiar. The phantom wore what seemed like a feather cape and her hair was messy and voluminous. It’s not until Luz muttered the name « Eda » that her friends connected the dots on her appearance. Their hearts sank at the possibility of Luz’s wild mentor passing. It could be true. They didn’t know what the collector was capable of and how life has been on the isles after that dreadful day. Last time they heard anything of Eda, she had no magic except for her curse which they were going to use to corrupt Belos’ spell. She could’ve died a hundred times that day so who knows what else happened in the last couple of months… Before any tears could form in their eyes, Hunter muttered a quiet « No ». In spite of the striking ressemblance to the owl lady, he sensed that it wasn’t her. For some reason, the figure felt familiar to him. Like he had known her before. Only then did it crossed his mind. This feeling of familiarity, the persisting warmth in his cheek, the story he heard on the hayride about the witch and the Wittebane brothers and most importantly, what Belos said before crushing his best friend to death. 

- « No, not eda… » hunter repeated. 

They all looked at him in confusion. Waiting for the answer he seemed to have.

Hunter hesitated, trying to remember the name of the witch his ancestor met. The one that suggests cost him his life. Spurring Caleb’s younger brother, his « uncle », in a turmoil of betrayal and life long hatred.

- « Evelyn » he finally spoke softly from deep inside what could only be someone else’s memory.  

[phoenixyfriend]

👀 PLease tell us your thoughts about the Jedi babies re-growing up among different cultural contexts.

Oh fuck okay

Context: original post, chrono The specific post this ask is referencing: here

Summary of the AU: Disaster lineage got tossed back in time. Anakin stayed 21-ish, but Obi-Wan and Ahsoka got deaged, took new names for time-travel reasons (Ylliben and Sokanth, or Ben and Soka), are now staying with the True Mandalorians under Jaster Mereel because the Force said to, go back to the Temple after about a decade. They grabbed Shmi about three months after arriving.

So as far as the cultural background goes, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka had similar upbringings. She spent a few years on Shili first, but both spent the majority of their childhoods up to age 13/14 being raised in the creche. So that's the basis that they would default to, in a vacuum.

Nobody is raised in a vacuum.

Along with the Jedi cultural background, they're being raised by Tatooine natives in a Mandalorian environment.

Shmi and Anakin are both former slaves who have desert survival baked into their bones. The longer Anakin spends around her, the more his accent slips, the more he talks about old folktales, the more he uses idioms that don't exist on a cityplanet like Coruscant. All the things that he tamped down to be a Jedi come floating back to the surface, and Shmi's never known anything else. Anakin's knowledge of slave customs make her feel more comfortable, which in turn makes him feel better, and so on.

Mandalore is just... the culture they're living in. You don't grow up in a new culture with a new language without picking up on it personally. (Source: I moved to the US when I was a little under two years old.)

I think the thing I'm going to focus on as an example is the way each of these cultures approaches family, and then maybe how they approach the keeping of peace/what peace means.

Jedi: Where you come from means little, only the legacy you leave behind in your students. Mandalore: You protect your clan and your children; adoption is a major cultural value, if not actually practiced consistently. Tatooine: You can lose your family at any time, so you value what you have in all its forms. You don’t forget where and who you came from, to family of blood and family of choice alike. You cling to your memories and what little you still have of them, to what your master cannot take away.

These are all valid ways to approach family, and each of these approaches can have significant meaning to different people. But they do all, to a certain degree, conflict with one another, despite all three being fairly communal cultures.

The Jedi have a culture, one that’s built on a shared ability and religion over thousands of years. It’s not just an organization, but a continuous community with legends and traditions and art and records. But it’s one that is built on new blood coming in from the outside, volunteers who join because the religion speaks to them (near literally, given the nature of Force Sensitivity), given up by families who couldn’t or wouldn’t teach them in a way that let their talents flourish instead of pushing it all down.

For the Jedi, a culture built on people coming together due to something they have in common intrinsically that their families of blood do not, it makes sense to put emphasis on letting go of that past when they can, and to place importance on teaching lineages. It’s not just the official master-padawan pairs, either, but that’s the most obvious and easily paralleled element. Moreover, a lot of the Jedi culture is about gaining knowledge, so obviously spreading it is good, and also on supporting the galaxy to make it a better place; to view the Jedi order as a heavily communal culture would make sense, since their values are all about selfless betterment of the universe, which on a larger scale is about the galactic conflicts, but on a smaller scale is about supporting their own community, the children and the ill and elderly.

So that is the specific culture that Obi-Wan and Ahsoka grew up in, one that holds blood family as relevant but not particularly crucial to one’s identity, but is structured so people leave behind legacies through education in a manner that often becomes adoptive family (depending on your definition, I guess). Jedi are encouraged to connect to their home cultures, if not their families, with practices like the coming of age hunt for Togruta leading to the young Jedi taking a trip out to Shili to engage in that cultural milestone. This can also be viewed as a way for the Jedi to maintain personal connections to the wider universe, a (not entirely successful, but certainly attempted) way of keeping them from becoming too isolated and insular from the universe at large, and losing touch from what the galaxy actually needs of them.

They’re now growing up with two cultures that do place emphasis on blood and found family.

Mandalore, as presented in The Mandalorian, has their traditional values set as being heavily associated with their armor, battle skills, and childcare. While that’s clearly a set of values that aren’t actually followed by everyone with full sincerity, we can assume that these stated cultural values do have at least some impact on the way the society is structured, since we do see more traditional characters (Jaster, Din) adopt orphaned children and then have the Mandalorian elements of their immediate circles support that claim.

(We’ll ignore Jango and the whole clone army thing because the amount of Sith influence is up for debate and also holy trauma, Batman.)

However, we also see that a lot of Mandalorian culture is built on their family histories. On the New Mandalorian side, we see emphasis placed on the fact that Satine is House Kryze and that she’s a duchess. Her bloodline is relevant, though not the most important thing about her. On the Death Watch side, we have Pre and Tor placing emphasis on the fact that they’re Clan Vizsla, descended from Tarre, that this is important to why they deserve what the darksaber represents, this is part of why they not only deserve to lead, but should for the good of Mandalore.

Bo-Katan’s armor is a family heirloom. Boba’s armor was Jango’s, but before being Jango’s, it was Jaster’s. Armor is important enough to pass to family, but the family can be adopted. This all tracks.

The resol’nare specifies loyalty and care for the clan/tribe among the six tenets.

These two elements seem relatively well-balanced: the importance of adoption and the importance of family as a larger unit on the level of a house or clan.

And then you have Tatooine, which also balances blood and adoption, but for entirely different reasons, that being this: it can always be taken from you.

For all that a Mandalorian could historically expect their family to die in battle, and a Jedi could expect to lose their master the same way if things went poorly, those were usually choices. A Mandalorian was raised to walk into battle, and then they could make that choice to do so. It wasn’t often much of a choice, but they could feasibly turn their back and choose to be a farmer or a doctor or something, and support the people who went out to do battle instead of being the one on the field themselves. A Jedi could choose to be a healer or an archivist or join one of the Corps.

A slave does not get that choice. A slave can be killed or sold on a whim from their master. It’s not a one-time trauma, but an ever-present fear. Your parent, your child, your sibling, your spouse, all of them can be separated from you at any time. You can always lose them, and you have no choice but to grin and bear it, or try to run and die before you reach freedom.

In a context like that, I imagine Tatooine places a very heavy emphasis on family, both of blood and of choice, and on treasuring what you have while you have it. A person is always aware that they can lose whoever they have in their life, and so they make the most of their times together, have clear and consistent ways of expressing that love (I imagine primarily direct verbal confirmations and physical contact, practical gifts like water and fruit). Childcare is important, elders are venerated. Those who survived that far have valuable wisdom, and the children are to be given what happiness they can have before reality wipes that ability from them.

The family ‘networks’ among Tatooine slaves are smaller and tighter knit. There’s less trust for outsiders, but once you’re in, you’re in until you are taken away. Still, families are torn apart regularly, and often can’t contact each other after being separated if they’re sold far enough away, so families stay small because they’re always being broken up. Unlike Mandalore’s tribe/clan system, or the Jedi’s wide, loosely-structured community, Tatooine’s slaves form smaller groups that cling for as long as they can, and try to support each other. (There are selfish ones, of course, especially the newbies, but... well. Most try.)

Tatooine is also much more likely to assign a familial role (e.g. referring to an elder as ‘grandmother’). It’s not uncommon in the others (multiple Jedi refer to their masters as a parent or sibling, like Anakin’s “you’re like a father to me” line), but it’s not as baked-in that such a role should be given.

So on a structural level, we have two people from a community culture with little emphasis on blood family or formal familial roles are now being raised in a community that has them asking “what can you do for the people around you first, and then the wider world?” by people who tell them “your family, blood and found, is the most important thing you have; never let anyone take more from you than they possibly can.”

And that shit has an effect.

For all that Sokanth and Ylliben were once raised with a knowledge that their duty, their goal, was to better the galaxy as a whole, they are now being told that the community that raises them asks their loyalty back, because societies are built on support networks, and if you support the tribe, it will support you. There are parallels to that kind of thinking among Jedi, because it is basic social theory, but it’s not presented as the same kind of cultural value. It’s not given as something to strive for, just a basic fact.

This, for instance, means that once they’re back at the Temple, they have a tendency towards suggesting study groups and other ways of supporting people in their immediate circle, often structured in very unfamiliar ways. Again, this isn’t uncommon among Jedi, but it’s not done in the same way, or with the same emphasis. The Jedi also often approach problem-solving in a different order, so the step of “meditate on it and you may find your solution” often comes before “gather information from people who know more about it than you do,” while Ben and Soka have by this point learned to do it the other way around, because that’s what the Mandalorian system taught them: rely on your family first.

Meanwhile, the Tatooine element of their upbringing has them being much more willing to just... casually refer to ‘my dad’ and ‘my sister’ and so on. They use those words. It’s not just “my master is like a father to me,” but “this is my father.” They don’t hesitate to talk about the family they had and still have in Mandalorian space. None of the Jedi begrudge them it, really, but it’s always a shock to hear for the first time, and between the Tatooine refusal to pretend the connection is gone and the Mandalorian tendency to err on the side of roughhousing as affection, they’re just... odd. It’s not like none of the other Jedi know family outside the Order--some of the old books had Obi-Wan visiting his brother on Stewjon once in a while--or like none of the active Jedi are loud or boisterous, but the specific manner in which Soka and Ben interact with the Order, especially when their dad is around, is very weird.

More Soka than Ben, really, but that’s mostly just because Ben’s a very quiet person until he gets a little older, so it’s harder to notice on him.

Point is, while they still hold to their duty to the wider galaxy and will continue to keep that duty above almost anything else in their lives, the way they talk and act about the subject of family, especially in private, is heavily influenced by their new cultures.

This is already very long but I promised I’d talk about peace so let’s go:

The Jedi seek peace as an absence of war and conflict in the portion of the galaxy under their purview, in hopes that they will prevent as much suffering and death as they can.

The Mandalorians are varied, but Jaster Mereel’s group (which is the community the Skywalkers are with) is likely to view peace as unrealistic to achieve in the long term. They do not seek war, but they know the world they live in, and are prepared to protect against violence as their first resort. They always expect an attack, even if they don’t seek it.

The Slaves of Tatooine view peace as the calm in a storm. It is the status quo. Nobody has escaped tonight, for the guards aren’t searching, but neither is anyone dead. The Master you have is in a good enough mood to not sell you, to not kill you, to not beat you. Peace as an absence of suffering is impossible, so you seek for your master to be peaceful, that is to say: not raging at you.

The scope of each of these narrows significantly. From the known galaxy, to the wars that meet Mandalorian space, to the household one serves.

A community like the Jedi can choose to address peace as something to be sought on a large scale as an absence of war. They primarily function within the borders of the Republic, which has its problems but is largely structured to prevent such things from occurring until the Sith interfere. The Jedi have a structure that allows them to address peace as an ideal to be sought, at least within the borders of the territory they serve.

Mandalore, meanwhile, has been at war on and off for... ever. When they are not at war with themselves, they’re at war with someone else. ‘Peace’ is just the time between wars, and they know that if they do not attack first, they will be forced to defend. Jaster Mereel was known as the Reformer, and part of that was that instituting a code of honor, one that was intended to prevent Mandalorian warriors from acting as raiders and brigands, but rather acting as honorable hired soldiers, or taking roles such as the Journeyman Protectors. Given that, I imagine that he views war as something inevitable, but also something that can be mitigated.

War doesn’t touch Tatooine.

Oh, it might raise taxes and import rates. It might prevent visitors who come for the races. It can do a lot of things.

But to a slave, these are nothing. The only thing war does is affect the master, the person who chooses when their slaves get water, when they get beaten, when they are no longer useful enough to keep around or keep alive.

The peace of a slave’s live is dictated by how much abuse they are subjected to by the person who owns them.

What this means for Soka and Ben is... well, they are viewed as war-hungry by the people who don’t know them very well. They have armor. They focus on fighting, both with and without their sabers. They know tactics better than most masters. They claim that war is coming, and don’t seem too sad about it.

(It is a fact to them. War will come. All they can do is meet it. They’ve already done their mourning once.)

They also... well, Shmi tells them things in hidden corners. How to duck their head to hide the hate or fear in their eyes. How to watch for the anger in the tendons of a hand. The laugh of someone who enjoys the pain they’ve caused, not just the adrenaline of a fight. She is free, and so are they, but she has not forgotten how to hide in the shadows until the master’s ire has turned elsewhere. How to be small and quiet and unseen until the danger passes.

A Jedi’s first resort is words. Their second is their saber. But the Jeedai hold their heads high, and the Mandalorians do the same.

“You rely on the Force, and you have your pride,” she tells them, her hands on their own. “But there will come a time when you will not be able to remind people that you are free. You will not be able to say that you are a person, that you deserve the respect of a living sentient. Perhaps it will be a politician who treats everyone like that. Perhaps you will be captured by an enemy. Perhaps you will be undercover. You will not be able to fight, with words or with weapons, and you will have to know how to survive.”

Tatooine does not have peace. Tatooine only has survival.

And while Jedi fight for the survival and peace of the universe, they are refined and composed. Mando’ade fight like warriors of old, and Tatooine slaves fight like cornered, rabid anooba.

The galaxy comes first, but when the chips are down and the Sith come out to play, Soka and Ben do not need refinement, because they know how to toss aside their pride and live.

[mxchellesworld]

swim

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings; smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, degradation, light choking, creampies, slight thigh riding

Synopsis; during a night out with your friends you spot a tall man in a dark suit with an even darker look in his eyes

a/n; this is literally just smut with very little plot lmaoo uhh i’ve been struggling in my smut writing/writing in general so here’s this, hope its not completely trash and you enjoy!

fic inspired by swim by chase atlantic, bc god knows i can't write anything original sdhfdh

***

It was 10 o’clock when your girlfriends rounded you up for a night out, hopefully full of sweet drinks and good company. By 11:30 you were happily buzzed and the feelings of warm bodies around you brought a heat to your lower stomach. Maybe tonight you’d go home with someone, wake up the next morning with that delicious sense of soreness between your legs. The only task at hand was finding a companion.

Once the current song ended you walked over to the bar grabbing a water and taking a seat next to your friends.

“How are the prospects lookin tonight y/n/n?” Jessica, the short brunette you’d known for years asked. Being around her had rubbed some of her boldness onto you. Hopefully that could make an appearance tonight.

“No luck so far,” you sighed “but my eyes are wide open.” You brought the straw to your lips, gulping down the cool water as you looked around the dimly lit room.

“Woah check out suit and tie over there. He’s been checking you out for a while,” chimed Erika. While she has happily taken, that didn’t stop her from going out with you guys and pushing you into random laps.

You looked up to see the darkest pair of brown eyes on yours. Maybe it was the lighting but here was something in them. Lust perhaps? His eyes travelled down your frame as you stood up. The tight lilac dress you had on hugging each of your curves perfectly.

"I'm gonna get some air, let me know if you guys wanna head out," you said never letting your eyes drift away from the handsome stranger a few feet away.

Once outside you let your back hit the brick wall. The music from the building could be felt vibrating through the cracks. You looked up seeing the stars barley visible through the city lights.

"Contrary to popular belief you can never see millions of stars, they simply aren't close and bright enough. On a really exceptional night, with no moon and far from any source of lights, a person with very good eyesight may be able to see 2000-2500 stars at any one time."

You turned to see the same man from inside. He was gorgeous, a light stubble grazing his cheeks, long hair falling past his ears. He was a lot taller than you had thought probably taller than 6'0 but all that made you think about was him towering over you.

"Did you make that up off the top of your head? Or do you approach all your conquests with astronomy facts?"

"That depends do you usually let strange men corner you behind bars or am I just special?" he said walking closer to where you stood.

"Touche Mr."

"Doctor actually."

There was a brief pause where you both let out a giggle. The dark eyes from before seemed lighter and you cold almost make out a blush on his cheeks. The lack of alcohol on his breath told you it was from the conversation, though there was nothing to be flushed about yet.

“But seriously a pretty girl walking out to a back alley late at night is just a recipe for disaster,” he finished scanning both ends.

“Well do you plan on hurting me doctor?" you said coyly. You did you best to flutter your lashes looking up at him.

"Is that what you want?" he said letting one of his hands tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. That same hand ended up resting loosely around you neck making you gulp.

"Yes," you breathed out, "please doctor."

He wasted no time in crashing his lips to yours. You moaned into his mouth as he slid his thigh in between your own. His unoccupied hand went down to your hip, slowly guiding the pace of your frantic rutting.

Your lips parted as your head tilted back onto the brick wall. A symphony of whimpers leaving your mouth.

"Look how desperate you are for me. I haven't even done anything and you're already such a mess," he said leaving wet kisses, cooling on your scorching neck.

"Oh fuck doctor," you said clinging onto his arms, "need y'to fuck."

The power he had over you turned your brain to mush. It was sad how quickly he had you melted in the palm of hand without even doing much but kissing. At this point you didn't even care. The only thought swimming in your head was having him inside you.

A pout formed on your lips as his hands dropped from your frame. However it was quickly wiped away as you heard the familiar sound of a belt unbuckling.

"Is this what you needed baby? You need my cock to stretch you out?" he said pulling your hips closer to his.

You looked up at him for permission before you reached forward to pump your hand along his shaft. He lifted your right leg, hooking it over his arm as he pulled the thin material separating the both of you to the side.

Guiding his length to your glistening folds was a sight you'd want engraved in your brain forever. The first intrusion of his fat tip in your tight hole had you mewling a mix of curses and his title.

All you could do was wrap your arms around his neck and hold on for dear life as his thrusts gained speed. The sound of your skin slapping luckily wouldn't have been heard through the door with the loud music playing inside. But anyone who walked by the alley or decided it was time for a breath of air would surly be in for a show.

"Fuck you're such a good little whore for me," he said gruffly against the skin of your shoulder, "letting me fuck you out here where anyone could see."

Your pussy clenched at his words and your moans amplified as he continued to pound into you. The curve of his cock hitting the spot inside of you that had you seeing all the stars in the sky contrary to what he said before.

"More doctor! Please wanna cum," you whined.

He made a noise of disapproval before pushing you back farther into the wall. At this point you and the red bricks were one. You were sure to have crescent marks on how hard he was holding up your thigh.

"Greedy little whore aren't you," he gritted out, "You take whatever I wanna give you."

"Please I need it! Need t'cum please please please," you rushed out bucking your hips to meet each one of his thrusts.

His hold on your hip got tighter as he started drilling into you. You could feel his heavy breathes on your shoulder and the way his cock was throbbing inside you ready to fill you up.

Your mind was dizzy. It felt like you were in a bubble of him, the scent of his cologne trapped in your senses. Your nerves were on fire, any pressure on your neglected bud would be sure to set you off.

It was as if the gods had answered your prayers when he spoke, "I can feel you clenching around me baby. Go ahead and touch yourself for me," he rasped out.

Reaching between yourself you felt the slippery mess where you both connected and started rubbing at your stiff clit. Your fingers sent lighting strikes through your body, breaking the damn that was building in your lower tummy.

"Gonna cum! I'm oh god cumming doctor," you all but yelled out. If people walking around the corner were unaware of the spectacle they sure would be now.

"That's it.. such a good girl."

Your arms around his neck let up as you pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. His lips swallowing the moans you let out as he helped you ride out your orgasm.

"Where do you want-," he tried to speak out but you cut him off.

"Inside," you begged, "Need to feel you cum inside." His thrusts turned frantic as you spoke against his lips. Pleading for hum to fill you to the brim with his seed.

You sighed as you finally felt the warm liquid coat your walls, his thrusts continuing to pump into you.

He pulled out stepping back to watch the creamy mess spill down your center before be swiped it away with his fingers, bringing them up to your awaiting mouth.

Happily you took his fingers in your mouth, moaning around them at the salty taste of your mixed release. You looked up at him keeping your gaze on the sliver of brown around his dilated pupils.

_

Walking back into the bar Jessica and Erika's eyes nearly popped out of their heads as they took in the limp in your walk and your disheveled hair.

"You whore!," Erika screamed out greeting you with pats on the shoulder.

"Shut up," you said looking down feeling the heat rising to your cheeks.

Jessica giggled handing you her compact mirror, "Yeah I bet we're not the only ones who called her that," she finished with a raise of her brow.

Looking back up across the bar you saw the same dark eyes from before staring at you with a smug smile, proud how much of mess he left you in. If the little business card tucked in your bra told you anything, it was that the stunt from outside would be far from the last.

[tormxntum]

Cailean followed Abdullah and his grandmother, their eyes gleaming with a playful tease when they noticed the colour of his cheek turning crimson. They already loved his babaannem. She was a far cry from their grandmother, who had died when they were still young. All they remember of her are her sharp words and the look of discontent directed at them whenever they did anything she found displeasing. Her presence in their home had been larger than life; they had admired her strength, but she had always been more of a stranger than a grandmother.

Without intending to, Cailean walked past Abdullah into the room. It felt like being invited into a secret corner of Abdullah's life, one he hadn't shared with anyone before. Everything in the room reminded Cailean of him; it felt like home, a stark contrast to the cold, empty room they thought was his home in the palace. Their lips parted in silent admiration, but their words caught in their throat when they noticed the row of books on the shelf. Cailean ran their fingers down the spine of one book. Is this what he's been doing while he was away? Has he been writing?

When the door closed behind Abdullah, Mór jumped from their shoulder, lazily stretching on the carpet before leaving them to explore the room. How they wished they could be that carefree. Cailean had forcefully pushed aside any thoughts of the accusation. Meeting Abby's grandmother had momentarily distracted them from the consequences of their rebellion, but as Abdullah tugged them into his embrace, the weight of it all came crashing down on Cailean.

Cailean stood frozen, their mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Before long, they enveloped him in a tight embrace. His familiar scent and warmth washed over them, easing their tension. Initially, Cailean intended to lie to him, to assure him they were fine and that they would manage to talk their way out of this disaster, but Cailean knew they couldn't lie to him. Instead, they shook their head gently without letting go of him.

"What have I done…" Their jaw tensed, the weight of the accusation sinking in. Would Abby despise them once he knew the truth? Their fingers curled around his shirt, clinging as if letting go of him would plunge them into the darkest depth of the sea. "I don't understand how they found out." It was an unspoken admission. "Not that it matters; once the king hears about this…" They swallowed dryly, forcing themself to release Abby and take one step back. "What the hell should I do?"

the mesmerized shine in their eyes takes him off-guard. the flutter of his heart; the gentle smile that crawls itself across his lips; the way his own eyes can't tear themselves away, even there under the watchful gaze of his grandmother - it made nostalgia sink deep and hit him straight in the stomach with memories of afternoons in fields of barley. cailean would get distracted by the clouds and he would get distracted by them. most of the time, they were silent and others they weren't. "cailean, my grandmother...babaannem, cailean." he stresses, earning a look from the elderly woman, who extends her hand in greeting and expresses her pleasure in meeting them as well. at first, when he had realized just who they would have to pass in order to get where they were going, he'd grown nervous. when they had met for the first time, their conversation had not been brief. his grandmother had told him the story of his parents love and how that had turned into his birth. his true mother had never gone a day without him occupying her thoughts while his father felt guilty for paying his debts with his eldest son. more importantly, he hadn't needed to be fake here - he'd told her everything; he'd told her about them. abby chuckles fondly. he could tell simply by the strain in their voice that they were nervous. brushing their wrists together, the commander's smile is gentle as his grandmother searches for the key to the upstairs part of the house where his own quarters were. "technically, i have my pa's eyes." he teases, motioning for them to follow once the key is secure in his hand.

a simple 'behave' echoes toward him as they shuffle passed her and for once, it is abdullah who turns red in the face. "of course," he assures, his tone shaky and eyes unable to meet cailean's out of fear of seeing a laugh in their gaze. perhaps this had been a mistake, his pride thought as he leads cailean up the stairs and in through a door which creaks loudly from disuse. dark with shuttered windows, the wooden floors, decorated in turkish rugs and dust, come into view. charcoal drawings litter the walls; tartan blankets cover a simple bed, and the trunk set at the edge of the bed has his initials carved into the leather. tall bookshelves line the walls, abused bindings face outward in alphabetical order, however, what cailean would understand if they looked closely enough, instead of fiction, they were personal journals, a mixture of mission notes, letters from home, and lamentations of his regrets. unlike his quarters in the palace, he was sure that anybody who knew him well enough, would know that it belonged to him and not commander hasan. once the door is shut and locked behind them and the kitten jumps from the commander's shoulders, he tugs cailean close, burying his face into their neck. "are you alright?"