#had a whole compartment to myself

[thesoundofsnowfallingfromeaves]

I did nearly 19.000 steps today. Slay

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

your knight to the rescue

pairing: dick grayson x gn!reader

WC: 1.8K

warnings: cursing, creepy older man, sexual tension? i think thats it.

summary: being a plus one has its perks and downsides.

A/N: i wrote this for @alecmores​ my editor and friend since they did a fic for my birthday this year. a little reward for having to read all my stories and listen to me talk nonsense in chat.

also tried to make this as gender neutral as possible. so if theres something that comes off as fem presenting just let me know and ill fix it!

also used two prompts from @urfriendlywriter​ , forced proximity numbers 3 and 4 

in the drafts since may13

masterlist / dick grayson

“please, y/n! you’ll be doing me a solid!”

“if you get on your knees and start begging i might consider throwing myself to the wolves.”

you were just joking, you would’ve done anything dick asked of you. but he got on his knees with his hands clasped in front of his face and put on his best puppy dog eyes. oh! he really didn’t want to go.

“y/n l/n, will you do your best friend in the whole world a huge favor and be my plus one to this wayne gala event?” he even shuffled closer and leaned his head against your thighs as you leaned against the cave computer.

without a thought you set a hand on the crown of his raven hair and run your fingers through the strands. “can we get a big belly burger after?” you know the gala will only have alcohol and finger food.

dick moved his head as his chin sat on the meat of your thighs so he could look directly into your eyes. “of course, y/n. what kind of friend would i be if i let you starve yourself on my time?”

“a terrible friend.”

“and i am anything but a terrible friend.” he groaned as he pushed himself from the floor and walked to the suit displays.

“sure you should be going out? i heard you groan from just getting off the floor, you might be getting old.” you followed behind with your arms crossed over your chest.

dick just threw a middle finger over his shoulder, not wasting his time to look your way. “fuck you. i’m in my twenties, this is my prime.”

“yeah, okay, boy wonder.”

dick grabbed his black and blue outfit before heading to a changing area. you lingered around and the silence slowly got to your head. your fingers bit into your biceps and looked down at your slippers.

“just… just be careful, dick.” you scrunch your face at your simple wording, “cause- cause i’m sure alfred is tired of patching you up. and- and you don’t want to look a mess at the gala… could cause some rumors or something.” rambling just so it doesn’t seem like you care too deeply for dick’s safety. honestly just saying, “i like you dick grayson, so don’t be an idiot as you’re backflipping off buildings.” would be a lot easier than what just came out your mouth.

dick stepped back into the cold cave and stood in front of you. his black eye mask was in place along with his gear all secured in their compartments. you couldn’t see his baby blues due to the white holes staring back at you, but he had a smirk on his lips that made you scuff without knowing his next words.

“worried about my safety?” he copied your arms-crossed stance. his head cocked to the side. you narrowed your eyes, “no shit, dumbass. you're fighting criminals, street level and insane.”

you rolled your lips, “i know it’s unavoidable at times, just…” you sighed, “just don’t get in the line of fire if you can.” you touched his arm before walking away and back up the spiral stairs.

in your rush to leave you missed how dick’s arms fell and his smirk vanished in a blink. hidden eyes watching your every step until you were gone from his sight.

-

“i want big belly burger.”

“all in due time, y/n.”

your hands tugged at the nice, but tight fabric of your black formal attire. you even shuffled on your feet, already feeling the blisters forming. you were used to loose and flowy clothing with sneakers or slippers since you worked behind the scenes.

with you knowing there would be cameras in attendance, you took extra long to make sure you were presentable and cleaned well. especially since you would be standing beside dick for most of the event, you didn’t want to look like sewer trash next to a sculpted statue.

“stop fidgeting,” dick leaned close to your ear, “you look marvelous.” his breath caressed your ear and you had to suppress the shiver it caused.

leaving the outfit alone, your hands clasped over your stomach. a more appropriate gesture than arms crossed as you stare down the boring one percenters. you could spot bruce somewhere in the distance chatting along with some people, and you could spot his fake laughing from a mile away. letting your eyes scan the room you land on detective gordon, who’s tucked away in a corner with his hands shoved in his khaki trench coat.

“looks like gordon didn’t get the dress code memo.” giving dick a hit from your elbow as you knocked your chin in the cop’s direction.

“wants a little attention. nothing wrong with that.” and something about that last part… “i’m- i’m gonna get a drink. i’ll- i’ll be right back.” and you hurried off before dick could stop you.

politely moving through the sea of people, you landed at the open bar. palms wrapping around the cool granite counter, you leaned forward and waved down a bartender. he was very handsome, but he wasn’t-

“just champagne, please. thank you.”

the flute of bubbling amber liquid sat in front of you and the bartender left to help others. you fiddled with the stem and bottom, giving the liquid a little swirling making the bubbles fizzle. you held the glass in hand as you turned your back to the counter and faced the chatting party. you needed a breather from grayson.

from the corner of your eye, you saw an older gentleman saddle up to the bar top, right next to you. to close for comfort. you could feel the air shift as he moved his arm, suit jacket popping your bubble. you stiffened, not feeling brave enough to make it obvious that he was the cause of discomfort. now you wished dick would come to your rescue and lead you away, on the other side of the room would be nice.

“may i just say,” his hand touched you, “you are a visionary.” fingers moving caused goosebumps. you had to swallow the acid rising.

“you're too kind.” fake smiled as you raised your glass. where is dick?

“are you here alone? how do you know bruce wayne?” the man questioned. moving closer, his chest almost bumping yours.

you licked your lips, “i’m a- a worker for bruce wayne… secretary. or personal assistant to mister wayne.” not too much of a fib. “and i’m here with someone. i should,” you pointed a finger at the crowd, “i should go look for him.”

the man’s grimy fingers trapped your wrist after just a step and tugged you into his body. his breathing grating against your ear and neck, “what’s the rush? i’m sure your friend can wait.”

“really, i should-“ he slipped an arm over your waist and you shut down. it’s like you were hit with mr. freeze’s ice gun.

your heart started hammering and your eyes were darting around for any sight of him. your chest was heaving, your panic growing the longer his touch and breath were on your body.

“how about we-“ “there you are, baby. i was starting to get worried.”

it’s like an angel was sent to save you from death. the chandelier lighting cast dick in a halo of blinding light. his tall stature and wide shoulders held with grace and strength. his dark black hair swept in a clean style as his piercing irises stared the man down. you heard the gasp and took a shallow breath when you felt him move away.

dick held a hand out and you grasped it like a lifeline as he tucked you into his side. arm protective on your waist and fingers splayed, it was the warmth you need after freezing to death. your arm circled his waist to pull him even closer, head falling to his chest. he even positioned himself to where you were less in the older man’s eye line, his wider frame acting as a shield.

“who’s your new friend?” dick asked. it came off playful, but you heard the undertone. he was ready to hang him upside down by his shoestrings.

“i’m not sure. haven’t been given a name.” and you haven’t. but you already have his face memorized.

the creep opened and closed his mouth. a fish gasping for water as sharks played with their dinner. you tried to give the air of innocence to compliment dick’s bomb that was slowly ticking with each second.

he stuck his hand out for a friendly shake, “dick grayson. nice to meet you…” he trailed off. waiting for the answer before he searched him up on the computer back home.

the man took his outstretched hand, “mr. cooper. pleasure to meet you.” and you saw the flash of pain over his face. dick’s grip looked like it could crush a skull.

“mr. cooper, well i hope you have an excellent evening. if you don’t mind, i’d like to steal my dance partner back.” without waiting, he walked the both of you away. you left your champagne behind without a thought.

near the edge of the dance floor on the other side was where dick planted the both of you. he held your right hand in his while his left hand settled at the small of your back. you let your left-hand rest on his strong shoulder. it wasn’t much dancing, just bodies swaying.

“thank you… for back there-“ “no need to thank me. i would do it again in a heartbeat.”

his eyes twinkled. your heartbeat stuttered.

the orchestra continued their melodic strumming and you let yourself get swept away. eyes closing, you leaned your head on dick’s dress shirt. right near his heart. the smell of citrus and pine invaded your senses and you almost got dizzy. the hand on your back pressed in harder and then rubbed along your spine.

you almost snapped your eyes open at the feeling of dick’s lips being pressed to your temple. and it wasn’t just a simple peck, it lingered. your body felt hot and you would bet ten bucks your ears were burning red. his lips moved and then he nudged his nose against your hairline as he sighed. 

“i still want a big belly burger.”

your hunger broke the romantic moment.

feeling dick’s laugh through his chest and hearing the boyish noise lit you up. pressing your chin into his shirt, you made eye contact and both flashed smiles.

“wanna ditch?” “you make it sound like high school.” hands tightening. he grinned, “you're right. i think it’s time to leave.”

and dick grayson, being your knight in shining armor, led the both of you out of the stuffy venue. and he took the waiting chariot to the closet's big belly so you could stuff your face with food you’ve been waiting to scarf down. 

and as you moaned with ketchup at the corner of your mouth and chugged soda, dick grayson thought you were the best thing to ever happen to him. and he would do anything to keep you safe and smiling.

...

[frannyzooey]

On The Green: 3

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Mature-ish? More space violence, gratuitous descriptions of Ezra’s body 🤡

A/N: thank you to both @the-scandalorian who always sets me in the right direction and gives me the best reassurance and @bageldaddy who, I’m pretty sure, is giving me more of an education than any English teacher I’ve ever had and thank god ❤️

Series Masterlist

—

For the next couple days, it rains. 

Sheets of it pour down, a steady drum against the roof, trails of it sliding down the windows. It creates rivers in the rich soil, deep trenches that lead to even deeper puddles, and the world outside looks like a muted blur from your seat inside. A smear of dark green, a blot of rich brown, the watery shape of roots that distort with every drop. 

Tucking your knees tighter under your chin, you give your legs a squeeze, hoping to squash the restlessness that thrums through them. 

“Anything new out there?”

You sigh, knowing he’s teasing. “No.”

“Fitting, the way you can sit still for so long, Birdie. Perched there in your little nest.”

The only blanket you have pooled at your hip, your headphones on the floor, and your notebook open and face down next to them, you suppose it does look a bit like a nest. You shrug. “Not much else to do.”

Ezra fiddles with a ship part in his hand, his head bent in focus. “Always something to do.”

After days stuck inside, it doesn’t feel like it. 

You’ve combed over every inch of the pod, putting it back to rights. Cleaning every surface, organizing every cupboard. The med supplies were pulled out and meticulously sorted, the food stores combined with Ezra’s meager offerings, the dash scrubbed free of every particle of dirt that’s collected on it over the years. Your fingers finding a few rusty drips of blood that were missed, you spent more time than necessary scouring every inch of the pilot’s seat until your fingers ached. 

One untouched compartment remained: your father’s private belongings. 

“Hand me that wrench, would you?”

Ezra extends his hand, and you crawl over to the open tool kit, rifling through it until you find the one he’s looking for. Handing it to him, you abandon your seat by the window and sit next to him. His fingers are thick and long, marred with the nicks of small scars, his fingernails short and black with permanent dirt—but his handling of the part is graceful, his touch deft when he uses the tool. 

“Tell me everything he said again, from the top.”

Resting your cheek on your knee, you recite every detail you can recall, your voice monotone with boredom. 

“He didn’t say much. A group of mercs hired him to help with the dig, but I don’t know where he met them. Called “The Queen’s Lair,” it’s supposed to be an untouched dig site that holds more gems than any other on this planet. A deposit the size of this pod. Depending on his source, the whole thing could be real or it could be nothing, but either way, he thought it would make us rich. He said it would be enough to retire on, that this would be our last run.”

Ezra huffs. “If the rumor is true, then he’d be right.” He passes the wrench back, looking at you. “If it’s true.” He waits a beat. “Do you think it is?”

You still had to get used to that – someone asking your opinion about something. You shrug. “It’s possible, right?”

“Sure, it’s possible,” he agrees. “Probable, though?” 

You pause to think, and his expression softens into a smile. “A dreamer like myself, I see.” 

“I don’t know about that,” you reply. “But as long as we’re stuck here, might as well look, right?”

He nods, thinking for a moment. 

“The Queen’s Lair,” he muses, dragging the words out in a slow drawl. He looks up, wiggling his eyebrows, and a small smile pulls at your lips. 

Mirroring it, he goes back to work. 

It had taken you all of a couple days to tell him about the reason your father came here. Tossing in your lot with Ezra the second you agreed to his deal, the idea of a hidden cache of gems that had the potential to make you both rich was too valuable to keep to yourself. You had the location; he had the digging skills. You had, as minimal as they were, details about who was waiting, and he had the skills to navigate the situation. 

You needed each other. 

Cautious around him for the first couple of days, you were surprised by his geniality. For someone who appeared so ruthless when you first met him, he was…kinder than you thought he would be with you. You had remained hesitant, convinced that it was a ruse to get you to lower your defenses, but after a while, you came to see that he was just desperate for someone to talk to. 

So were you, it seemed, for how easily the words slipped out once you let them. 

After a lifetime of being left to wilt alone in empty apartments, or being dragged around the universe only to be ignored until your father needed something from you, it felt good to have someone’s attention. His curiosity about you was endless, his questions never ending, and when you answered, he really listened. Not like he was searching for anything to give him a leg up on you, but rather just openly interested. His face was expressive, his eyes fixed on yours whenever you were talking, and even when you tried to shy away from the direct attention you weren’t used to, he never faltered. 

He was patient, a gift you’d never been given from anyone. 

Unfortunately, along with that came a blossoming attraction to the man, but you pushed that down. The pod was a tight space with two people, and he was broad. You couldn’t help but notice his presence. Especially at night, when it was just the two of you. 

When a blanket of tension seemed to build across the small space between your cots. 

When it was just you and him and the darkness; the steady sound of his breathing over the thrum of your restless limbs. 

Squashing down the nagging shame that surfaced every time you remembered that he was a stranger and also a murderer, you ignored that logic and leaned into the warmth of his companionship instead. 

Besides, even if he was planning on taking advantage, what could you really do about it anyway? 

“You mentioned a map?” he says, his brow furrowing in concentration. 

You tilt your head towards his cupboard. “I haven’t checked, but it should be in there. I remember him looking at it.”

Knowing you’ve been avoiding that particular cupboard, he nods. 

“How many mercs are waiting for him at the dig?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“What terms did he negotiate?”

“He didn’t say.”

Ezra shakes his head to himself, looking up. “The more you tell me about this old man of yours, the less I’m impressed with how he treated his partner.”

“I was never his partner,” you correct. “Just his daughter.”

He gives you a level glance, and you look away. Fiddling with the leg of your thermals, you change the subject. “Do you think it’s safe to leave the pod unattended?” 

“I’m not assured that she’s fit to fly in the state she’s in, but just to be sure, we’ll take this with us wherever we go.”

He holds up the part in his hand with a smirk, and you give it a closer look, huffing a laugh when you recognize it. 

The starter. 

He stands with a soft grunt, stretching. The muscles in his shoulders shift underneath his threadbare thermals, and you keep your eyes on them when he tucks the part away in his case. 

“I’ll need a digging partner out there, if this opportunity is what you say it is,” he says. “I think we should practice some, to get you ready. Is that amenable to you?”

You bite the pillow of your lip. “He never taught me that. How to dig,” you clarify. 

“Course he didn’t,” Ezra frowns, his voice sliding low with unamused disappointment. He shakes his head clear of whatever dark thought seems to pass through his mind, his expression softening. “All the more reason.” He bends, peering out the window. “Looks like it’s tapering off. The sooner we get some practice under your belt, the better.”

A swoop of relief flowing through you at the thought of leaving the pod, it mixes with excitement at the prospect of learning something new. Your father never trusted you with the actual digging – you had been brought along to carry things, made to follow for “assistance”, but he never let you touch the blade. You’d once thought it was a father’s way to protect his child from the dangerous job but quickly realized it was born out of impatience. 

Unfurling your tight limbs when he holds his hand out to help you off the floor, you grab your suits from the closet. Slipping them on in silence, you click your helmet into place while he secures the connection of your filters, and hunching to get through the door, you follow him outside. 

The ground is saturated with water, your boots leaving clear impressions in the soil as he leads you into the forest. He’s broad, even more so with his suit on, but the trees that surround you are still big enough to conceal his entire body, not to mention yours. The canopy of lush growth glistens with droplets, shafts of misty light piercing through it to highlight the floor of moss and growth underneath you. Vines and tree roots spread and crawl underneath your feet, no visible path that you can see.  

You follow the beacon of his worn yellow suit, his voice carrying through the comm into your helmet. 

“So, Birdie,” his voice sounds deeper through the link, scratchy with static. “If your father never taught you how to dig, what did he teach you?”

You huff under your breath. “A lot of things.”

Missing the low tone of your sarcasm through the radio, he continues in his conversational tone. “Anything useful?”

“I know how to navigate.” You think of using your father’s last coordinates to find him in the seedier part of town. “I’m resourceful.” Rationing your vouchers, making sure they bought you enough food to last. “I’m actually not a bad mechanic.”

“Oh yea?” He turns to look to peek back at you for a moment. 

You immediately backtrack when you see a glimmer of hope on his face. “I mean, nothing like we need. I can try to help though, if you show me how. My father used to bring me with him everywhere but always left me behind, so I got pretty good at fixing things around the ship. He always wanted me to do the wiring because my hands were smaller than his. He said my fingers were more precise.”  

You remember the rest of it silently: the way his hands trembled and shook between doses. 

Ezra hums in acknowledgement. “And yet he never taught you how to dig?”

The moss softens your footsteps, flakes of dust floating through the thick air. 

“No,” you reply. “He tried, but…I don’t know. He was too impatient, I think.”

Memories of his harsh words come back: the biting clip of his reprimands, the disappointed yet dismissive tone he always had when it came to you. 

Ezra’s voice pulls you back. “Seems like a waste to me. If I had access to those fingers of yours, I would have made use of them.”

Your steps falter as his unearned praise catches you off guard, at his automatic assumption that skills he doesn’t even know if you have were wasted. Warmth unfurls in your chest, the edge of your mouth unconsciously lifting. Feeling slightly foolish and young at your reaction, you look down at your feet. 

You’re still thinking about it when he pushes through dense bush, halting you with his arm.  

Peering over his shoulder, you see a dark, gaping pit of disturbed earth obstructing your path. He creeps closer, toeing around the edge of it, and you follow, taking in the size and depth. Shallow but with steep sides, roots bulge out from below the soil, extending into the sky with gnarled fingers. Looking closer, you note pockets of earth gaping open just underneath each one. The whole site is eerie, appearing abandoned – though Ezra seems to know what he’s looking for. 

Standing on the edge of the pit with a narrowed gaze, he crouches, studying the crater. 

You watch with curiosity as he eases down the slope, into the dig site. Sitting on your butt, you carefully slide down the embankment to join him. 

You’re not experienced enough to know for sure, but everything about this looks barren to you. 

“Is there anything left in here?”

He flashes a smile your way. “If you know where to look.”

He paces the length of the pit, studying it. “Many sites were depleted during the Rush, but carelessness left some treasures behind.” 

He squats next to a thick, gnarled root, his helmet tilting in study. 

“Come here, Birdie.” His voice slipping into something softer and quieter, he motions you closer. “Here. You see it?”

His gloved fingers splay over the earth, dusting along tiny pin-prick holes that pierce the rich dirt, and he brushes away the crumbling top layer to reveal a deeper set. As if whatever is buried underneath needs access to the toxic air. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he coos. 

Blinking, it takes you a second to understand he’s talking to the hole he’s gently unearthing. He hums to himself, one of satisfaction when the earth tumbles away and an involuntary shiver of pleasure at the sound surprises you by rolling down your spine. Shifting your crouch, you push it down. 

“Hand me my kit?”

You reach for it, watching as he preps his tools. 

“I’ll go first, and then teach you how to do it. Watch my fingers.” 

Bracing his hand on the side of the site, he uses the strength in his other one to scoop into the pocket of soil until it completely opens. His arm disappears as he reaches into the dark pit, and trepidation spreads through you. He searches for something, his eyes lighting up when he finds it. 

"I knew somebody oughta give her a go,” he says with a smile. 

His hand wrapped around the root like a rope, he tugs with a soft grunt of exertion, and a thick, milky white root pearl spills from the hole. He keeps pulling, coaxing everything out and a bulbous pod covered in mucus emerges, sliding out onto the ground by his feet. Shifting onto his knees, he picks up his knife. 

“You want to be careful when you cut,” he starts to explain, motioning you to scoot closer. “Easy does it, with delicate things like these. One wrong move and the whole thing will go to shit.”

You hold your breath as he makes a careful incision, his knife slowly drawing across the top of the pod. Your eyes widen in half revulsion and half curiosity as it splits open, strands of thick mucus connecting each side. 

“I saw my dad do it once,” you say lowly, mesmerized by his deft movements. “Mess it up.”

The dark crown of his shorn curls shakes under the dome of his visor. “It’s a shame to waste it. All the effort it takes to get her to give it up, only to be ruined with a misplaced touch.”

A hissing sound slips through the thick air, and his fingers form a vee to hold the slick seam open. 

“That's the price for a dry breach,” he explains. “My chem will calm the brine.”

You have the bottle of pre-mixed chemicals ready in your hand, and he gives you a nod in thanks, taking it from you. Pouring it slowly into the crack, the pod disintegrates into a steamy cloud, a slimy puddle forming underneath. A core remains, and setting the bottle down, he holds up the unpolished gem. 

“Small, but still worth it.”

“You made that look so easy.” Clear experience in every movement he made, you’re still looking at the gem when he speaks. 

“Your turn.”

You look up at the words, unsure, and his gaze is steady and encouraging. “I’ll be right here. If you slip, it’s just a trial run.”

You frown in hesitation, and he chuckles. “Don’t look so serious, Birdie. The stakes are about as low as they can get. Come on.”

He jerks his chin towards something behind you, and crawling over to it, you follow. 

“Just there,” he says. “You can see her. Look.”

You follow his finger, and reaching your glove out, start to brush the crumbling soil away from the side of the pit. He guides you through every step with a patience you’ve not encountered before, every instruction murmured in a cadence so soothing that would be distracting if not for the intensity of your concentration on the task. 

Watch it, girl. Straight finger. 

You got it?

Hold it nice and tight. 

Oh. That’s perfect. 

The sense of accomplishment you feel when you hold up the gem is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. All of your other skills discovered through the lens of isolation, forged by way of necessity without the luxury of help, this one feels different. A safety net beneath you every step of the way, you know if you were to mess up, he would have saved you – but you didn’t. 

The faith he placed in you when he handed you the knife suddenly feels so much more earned, and you beam up at him with pride.  

“Not nearly as daunting as you thought now, was it?” He smiles back at you, holding his hand out for the gem. “Your father was right, by the way. Your fingers are nimble. The most precise and steady I’ve ever seen.”

You know he must be humoring you but the flush of validation flourishes in your chest as he tucks the stone carefully into the soft foam padding of his case. 

“I would have us stay out longer, but we didn’t charge the filters as much as we should have. Let’s head back and admire our loot in a more hospitable environment.”

Clicking it shut, he climbs the slope of the pit before turning to help you out. 

“Your first gem,” he muses, leading you back into the forest. “How does it feel?”

“Good,” you breathe, a small smile still on your face and you follow him, his constant stream of words fading into the background. 

Entirely dependent on the whims of your father, you’d been existing inside of an isolated bubble until now. You hadn’t been lying when you told Ezra you had no idea what you wanted to do, because the freedom to choose your own path was something that had never occurred to you. You’d been self-reliant, but always within the shadow of a burden. Your dad forced you into a caretaker role, and for the first time in years, as Ezra’s voice flows into your helmet from his, you feel the possibility of something else breaking through the fog. 

A glimmering edge of potential, the hue of an amber colored gem. 

The shift inside you sparks to life, a realization dawning on you: a life you never thought possible. For the first time since you landed on this planet, you see opportunity stretching out in front of you instead of a dead end.  Pride kindles in your chest as you walk back to the pod, and you think about sharing it with Ezra, but stating your excitement over something as routine for the competent man in front of you seems foolish. Like something you should keep to yourself, in order to protect it against the power you know other’s words hold. 

You make it to the edge of the clearing before it spills forth from your lips. 

“I can’t wait –” you start, your words interrupted by Ezra’s arm whipping out for the second time that day to stop you in your tracks. 

“Hello, stranger.”

Your head snaps up, both at the greeting itself and the tone his voice has slipped into: something colder than the easy geniality he’s been using with you all morning, an edge to it that you can sense without seeing his face.

“Can I help you?” Ezra’s hand rests on the thrower attached to his hip, and from your place behind him, you slowly reach for your own weapon strapped across your back. Peering over Ezra’s shoulder, you spot the edge of a man. 

Sneering through the visor of his dirty helmet, he looks starved, almost feral underneath the dome, his eyes dead with hunger. Dangerous is the first word that comes to mind, and when the man’s gaze settles on you, you shrink back behind Ezra.

“Pretty ship,” his voice crackles through the comm link. “Pretty girl.”

Your stomach bottoms out, but Ezra remains still.

“Both of whom belong to me,” he replies, steady and sure. 

Your fingers bury themselves into Ezra’s suit at his side, and you feel him straighten, standing taller in front of you.

“Seems like a lot for one man.” The man’s chin tilts up in a challenge, stepping closer. “Maybe I can take one of em’ off your hands.”

“As generous as that offer is, I will have to decline.” You can hear the casual smile on Ezra’s face, meant to disarm. “I’m partial to both, you see. I wouldn’t be able to choose.”

The stranger takes a step closer, testing. When Ezra doesn’t move, he takes another. 

“Actually,” the stranger confesses, “I’ve got a ship. It could use some parts, and I intended to take them from you…but I’d be willing to walk away.” He pauses a beat, tilting his head to look directly at you. “For her.” 

He smiles, and the sight of his rotted teeth causes bile to rise in your throat. 

“That is a bold offer,” Ezra drawls. “Unfortunately,” his voice dropping into a firmer tone, “She stays with me.”

The man’s greasy smile disappears, replaced with a menacing frown. 

“I’m not gonna ask again,” he growls. 

Ezra stands firm, shifting to cover you with the whole of his body and a tight tension fills the air, crackling amongst the slow floating dust. 

“Then I guess I’ll have to take her by force,” the man says, taking another step forward. 

Without any warning, Ezra whips the pistol from the holster attached to his hip and fires. You shrink at the first shot, scrambling to hide by the pod at the sound of a second one, and by the third, your ass hits the ground with a thud. A cold sweat soaks through your thermals, your pulse pounding as you watch Ezra saunter closer to the dead man with a relaxed gait and aiming his gun right between the man’s vacant eyes, you flinch when he pulls the trigger again. 

A crash echoes through the field, followed by silence. 

–

“It’s really a thing of beauty, isn’t it?”

Still reeling from the confrontation outside, you blink numbly at the refresher. 

“Um,” you swallow, taking a seat. “Sure.”

He seems so unbothered it’s disorienting, and you tug your boot off, placing it on the floor next to the other one. Needing him to go somewhere else so you can process what just happened alone, you attempt casualness. “You just gonna stare at it, or are you gonna shower?”

“You just gonna watch me, or are you gonna turn around?” he mimics. 

You pause, and he grins. 

“Either way suits me just fine, little bird. Just fine.”

He crouches to dig through a bin of his belongings, and you turn your back to him, your body slipping into the rote memory as you take off your suit. The difference between who he’s been the last several days with you versus who he just turned into is jarring, a slap in the face, a stark reminder of what he’s capable of. 

“You want to bathe first, or do you mind if I have the honor?” he asks from behind you. 

“Go for it,” you reply. 

You hear him pause behind you and turn to face him. A frown pulls between his dark brows as he studies you. “Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting for you to get your own relief. In fact, I’d prefer it.”

You shake your head, just wanting him to give you space. “I’m good. I’ll wait.” 

He nods and before you can turn back around, reaches over his head to strip his shirt off with a tug. Marks of rough won survival litter the skin of his back. A gouge here, the thin stripe of a scar there; some cleanly healed, some not. He leans forward into the fresher, turning the water on to let it run for a moment and you eye the dark curls that edge the nape of his neck. The wings of muscle that make up his broad shoulders seem so much wider with his suit off, so much wider against the small opening he stands in front of, and your eyes follow the strong plane of his back down all the way down to the dimples on either side of his spine, just above the waistband of the pants he’s already working open – 

Turning, his face registers surprise when he sees you’re still looking – yet he makes no effort to cover himself. Instead, he stands taller, confident in his bareness. His chest is covered in the same marks as his back, visible strength held in his arms, and dark hair collects in a swirl around his belly button and leads down, his hand obstructing where his pants hang open. 

“I’m – sorry,” you hastily apologize, heat rushing to your face. Averting your eyes, you get a glimpse of his amused smile before you turn your back on him again. 

You expect him to tease you, but he doesn’t. Instead, the door to the fresher clicks shut and you let a breath out you didn’t know you were holding. 

Finally alone, you close your eyes. 

He killed…again. Right in front of you, shamelessly, so confident in his own skills that you never sensed even a fraction of fear. Going back to the moment you both saw the man, you focus on the memory of his calmness, on the image of confidence he presented delivering that final shot. Almost lazy with it, like he was so desensitized by killing it didn’t even register with him. 

Searching deeper, where you should find fear, you find reassurance instead. 

He’s the one that took out the initial threat of his original partner, he’s the one who buried your father like it was nothing, he’s the one who has taught you about this place. Treating you like an equal except for when he needs to take out a threat, the way he slides into territorial protection should make you worry…but instead, it makes you feel safe. 

You don’t belong to him, but you don’t find yourself rebelling against the idea as much as you probably should. The stranger meant to take you, and when Ezra told that man you belonged to him, you should have shrunk away, probably should have mentally protested. Instead, you silently clutched him tighter. 

You hear him behind the door, water splashing against the tiles as he moves around and that swirl of hair above his waistband flashes behind your eyelids, along with an image of his thick fingers. The width of his chest, the rounds of his shoulders. The muscles along his ribs. 

You jam the heels of your hands into your eyes, willing it to stop. 

He’s a murderer. He’s a thief. He’s a dangerous man who has taken advantage of a situation in order to save himself. 

And yet, you breathe out, listening to the shower – he’s saved you every time too. 

–

You stay quiet the rest of the night, sitting with your thoughts. 

He notices, those dark eyes resting on you every now and then over the map. He’d waited until you were in the shower to go through your father’s belongings, a courtesy you silently thanked him for. 

Picking at your dinner, you finally ask him one of the questions weighing on your mind. “Am I really that much of a commodity around here?” you ask. “Is a girl that…rare?”

He stops eating, his expression turning solemn. He holds your gaze for a moment, answering honestly. “You have no idea, Birdie.”

There is a weight to the answer that gives you pause, and a clear implication that confirms the worry that you’re really not safe here – not just for the reasons you thought.

You go back to eating – or rather, picking at your food – and you feel him watching you. 

“It is not my intention to scare you,” he starts, “but it is important that you stay close to me. If anyone asks, you’re mine. You understand?”

You nod, the words sparking to life an empty ache inside you, and you swallow hard. 

“Not because I own you,” he continues, “but because they need to think I do.”

“Wouldn’t being your partner be enough?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I wish it was, but they…” He pauses, being careful with his words. “It’s been a long time since these men have seen a girl. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one. Your father was foolish to bring you here.” His hand splays on his chest, his thumb catching the worn collar of his thermal. “I would never hurt you, Birdie. But them? They’d do it in a heartbeat.”

You go quiet again, and he puts his fork down, leaning in. 

“Again – I don’t say this to scare you, but –”

“That man today,” you interrupt. “How can you kill like that?”

He misunderstands your question, his body language shifting into defensiveness.��

“It was all in the name of self-preservation, Birdie. It was nothing personal. Out here –”

“Can you teach me how?”

Your question takes him aback, his eyebrows popping up with surprise. 

You let the question hang in the air between you, fully expecting him to say no. He shouldn’t help you learn to protect yourself, you know it would be in his best interest not to. Despite that, you hold eye contact with him, pleading inwardly for him to say yes. 

You know he’d protect you, but you want more freedom than that. You want more, just like he taught you earlier.

Taking in your measure for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifts just a fraction, his dark eyes glinting with warmth – and pride. 

“Of course.”

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

You can totally delete this if it makes you uncomfortable or you just don't want to answer or anything

trigger warning : period (?)

I know you didn't describe Pup's body (and that's so great)

But i was wondering, in a world where they are afab (assigned female at birth), how would they react if they have periods?

Would their old base had shamed Pup of them? Or would Pup have something, like a treatment, to not have them?

How would Pup react if they got their period and it got a stain on their bed sheets or uniform?

(Not me again projecting myself because I have my period at the moment lmao)

✨️ anon

Yes, I like to keep most stuff for Pup gender free so that people are able to picture them being a guy/gal/non-binary wolf-person if they like! However I will happily write a lil something for if they were AFAB and had periods ☺️

You sighed and thunked your head back into the pillows, cursing softly as you felt a dreaded wetness pooling between your legs and an aching burn work itself through your tummy. Your period had started. With a small whimper you sat up and reached out for the lamp, standing away from the bed and sighing with relief when you realised that by some miracle you hadn't stained the bed yet.

However your pyjamas were another story.

There was nothing else for it, you had to raid your drawers and steal yourself to the bathroom so that you could shed them and get something to quell the bleeding. Luckily the house was quiet and dark, Ghost was asleep. At least that was something - you wouldn't have to face him seeing your dirty clothes and questioning why you were up past lights out.

After getting changed you headed to the kitchen and stuck your pyjamas into the washing machine, not thinking of anything else but hiding all evidence that you'd made a mess. Once all was clean, you breathed a little sigh of relief and sat cross legged in front of the washing machine, watching as the dark compartment filled with sloshing water and began to spin.

You were glad for being able to just deal with it right away, not having to worry about anyone else see you or judge you. The cramping, still blazing on low in your belly, reminded you of the training sessions you’d have at Branhaven, sometimes performing so badly in your dizzied and weakened state that you’d be sent to the kennels as punishment. Sometimes of course they’d catch you out from the blood on your clothes and send you off just for knowing you were on your cycle, ‘predicting’ that you’d just be a nuisance. The rest of the day would be spent clutching yourself like a feeble child, feeling dirty and sweaty the whole time until you were able to leave and change. It worse if you were actively on a mission, any little mistake would be blamed on your ‘condition’, and you’d be constantly threatened with abandonment.

“What’re you doin’ up then, ay?”

You jumped, not expecting Ghost to walk in on your late night contemplating. He shone a torch low at your feet, but from his shadowy position you could see that he was only in his boxers and t-shirt, his unmasked face was squinting out at you in the dark.

“Sorry, Ghost,” you murmured sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I had some- I had to wash my pyjamas.”

“Alright…and why’s that?” He asked, rubbing his bleary eyes with the back of his free hand.

“My um- my period came,” you sighed.

Ghost’s head lifted in understanding. He flicked the light on at that wall, causing you both to blink furiously. In the cold harsh light, you found your cheeks warming, now embarrassed that he was having to deal with you. You just hoped he wasn’t going to be annoyed about your upcoming performance the next day…

“You need anything?” He asked, crossing the room to the cupboard he usually kept the first aid kit in. “I got some paracetamol here if you’re feelin’ sore. Can get you a hot water bottle if you’d like?”

You blinked, not quite prepared for his pragmatism until you reminded yourself of exactly who you were dealing with. Of course Ghost would be understanding. It was obvious now, you smiled and nodded and then gratefully took the pills and glass of water he’d prepared for you.

“Go get yourself comfy n’ lie down, Pup. I’ll get your hot water bottle to you once it’s ready.”

You were about to tell him he didn’t need to go to the trouble but he shot you a hard look that wasn’t easy to disagree with. Easier to just go along with it, you decided.

“Thanks, Ghost,” you said softly, smiling when he grunted his acknowledgement.

After you were settled in bed, Ghost soon joined you again and tucked the fluffy hot water bottle under the covers for you. Even after that though, he remained when you expected him to leave. He settled by your side and ran a hand over the top of your head, softly fussing at your ears until you let out a content purr like sound.

“Poor thing,” he cooed, cupping his hand over your cheek. “We’ll need to go easier tomorrow, huh?”

“We don’t have to,” you yawned, blinking back the sleep that darkened the corners of your vision. “I’ll still be putting in the effort for you Ghost.”

“I know you will, Pup,” he chuckled. “I know. We’ll see how you get on. Just do me a favour and get a good nights sleep, darlin’”

You rolled your eyes at him, but nodded. He was too nice sometimes you thought, he’d be such a pushover if you ever tried to take advantage. Not that you wanted to.

“Night Ghost,” you yawned. “Thank you…”

[21wanderer]

Strangers on a train

Body a day - #25: Choice

Five stations left… It was 20:32 and in about twenty minutes the train would arrive at Alex’s destination, where he had planned to meet up with his friends to hit the town.

For a Friday evening, it was unusually quiet in the train. Alex had the whole compartment to himself, and just stared out through the dark windows at the indistinguishable landscapes and buildings that passed by.

Down the aisle, he could see two young men walking towards him, they were laughing very loudly. They passed Alex, but from the corner of his eye, he could see, that they stopped right as they walked by. One of them poked the other with an elbow and whispering: “that one.” Ominously they sat down on the vacant seats in front of him.

They didn’t say anything, so Alex pretended he hadn’t noticed them, and just continued staring out the window. Alex were starting to feel uncomfortable. For a sliver of a second he got eye-contact with them, they were staring right back at him, one with the arm around the other’s shoulder. Alex didn’t know what it was…

Their cocky smiles or sinister stares, nevertheless he felt a sense of unease. Why would they sit here, when the rest of the compartment is empty? They have done that by choice. They looked like bad news…

”That’s not a nice thing to say.” said the guy in the tracksuit jacket. Alex was shocked. Had he really said that out loud?

The guy in the tracksuit jacket leaned forward towards Alex, Alex tried scooting back in his seat, but the guy grabbed Alex’s chin with his thumb and index finger, then with one swift move he yanked his arm upwards, Alex felt a sharp pain in his face, and everything went black.

--

Alex had no idea, how much time had passed, or what he had just experience was just a bad dream, he was laying sideways across the train seat, his face was still hurting, though he wasn’t sure why.

He pulled himself up in the seat, then almost fell out of it again as he almost died of fright, he couldn't believe his own eyes.

The two guy were still seated across from him, but now he saw his own face smiling fiendishly and laughing at him. Alex was deeply horrified at the display, he couldn't think, all he felt was fright and panic, and then he fainted again.

--

“Good choice,” said Jacob to Adam, as the two young men disembarked the train at the next station.

Adam couldn’t stop admiring his new face using his phone camera as a mirror, gently rubbing his face and running his fingers through his lush golden hair, there was little doubt that Adam was beyond satisfied with his new model-like face.

”Do you wanna go try and find his friends? Maybe you could get yourself a new face too?” Adam said, his voice now more akin to Alex’s.

”Nah… I like my face the way it is,” Jacob said calmly, “but I would like to get myself some abs and some pecs,” he added mischievously.

”Holy shit! You can do that too?!” Adam shouted unable to contain his excitement, it beamed off Alex’s face.

Jacob chuckled: ”Probably. Why not? I already discovered how to read thoughts, and how to steal people’s faces. Why shouldn’t I be able to take ’other’ things…”

”That’s so rad! Let’s go do it! I want to be bigger, something to go well with this face!”

”Sure thing, bro, let’s hit the town and see what we find!”

The two friends, Jacob and Adam Alex, headed for the station exit, looking forward to who they were going to choose next.

[joeliz99]

Draco Malfoy- The Weight of Expectations

Draco Malfoy

Sixth Year at Hogwarts

As the train rumbled along, a girl walked through the moving corridors—one whom many knew but few dared provoke. (Y/N) Athens was fierce, impenetrable, and self-sufficient. She needed nothing and no one to fulfill her own needs. Her movements were calculated yet subtle, with an impeccable elegance. Her gaze swept from compartment to compartment, searching for a young man with platinum-blonde hair whom she had spent the entire summer with. Draco Malfoy had grown up with the girl from as far back as they could remember—learning to walk together, celebrating holidays at each other's homes. They weren’t inseparable or soulmates, but they had each other nonetheless. They understood the aspects of a life based on appearances; a life complicated where perfection only masked hidden imperfection.

(Y/N) and Draco had started a relationship in their fifth year at Hogwarts. Not out of love or even attraction, but to shape a marriage that would occur once they completed their education at the school of magic. They seemed made for each other, complementing each other naturally. So, when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named made his grand return, both were swept up by the reckless decisions their parents had made. With his father imprisoned in Azkaban and a task to complete before the end of the academic year, Draco was forced to mature and make decisions that not only protected his family's reputation but also their lives. There was no room for error. And if anyone knew the strengths and weaknesses of the young man with gray eyes and pale skin, it was her. She was determined to help him even when she had no reason to get entangled in the mess Draco was in. Both were strong on their own, but together, they were unstoppable.

When she finally locates him, she approaches with her chin slightly raised and clears her throat to announce her presence. His Slytherin companions look up, but Draco keeps his eyes fixed on the window showing the path to Hogwarts. He didn’t need to turn his head to know it was her—he had memorized the scent of the lavender perfume she always wore.

— Parkinson, Zabini. — She nods in greeting, and they return the gesture. — I’m afraid it’s time for you to find another place to sit. Draco and I need to catch up. —

— Why should I find another seat? You’re the one who just arrived, — Pansy replies bitterly, shooting her a look of disapproval. (Y/N) smiles cynically and adjusts the sleeve of her shirt to make sure it’s perfectly in place.

— You know I don’t like repeating myself. Gather your things and leave now. — Pansy clenches her jaw at this and looks to the dark-haired boy for support, who is already in the process of gathering his belongings and getting up from his seat.

— Draco... —

— You heard her, Pansy. — The blonde interrupts before his companion can finish her sentence, and the people seated on the other side of the aisle laugh mockingly. — And the same goes for you, Crabbe and Goyle. Get out of here already. —

The laughter dies instantly, and the two boys leave with barely audible complaints. (Y/N) waves Pansy off with a hand and a smile still on her face, which fades as her companions disappear from view. For the first time, Draco meets her gaze and watches as she sits down across from him, her eyes never leaving his.

— I thought you’d be sick of seeing me after spending the whole summer together. I definitely need a break from you. Honestly, you’re starting to seem like my babysitter. — The girl laughs at this and rolls her eyes playfully.

— Is that how you talk to your girlfriend, Malfoy? Should I remind you of that last night we saw each other when you started to...—

— Shut up, (Y/N). — His jaw tightens as he recalls how he had turned to her with tears in his eyes and his breathing uncontrolled. Draco had been scared then, and he was still scared now. He feared becoming a killer, losing his family, and not being able to escape the reality that was closing in on him. And even though he hated to admit it, (Y/N) was the only person who truly understood him and made him feel better in moments when nothing seemed right.

— That’s what I thought. — The girl smiles with satisfaction and casually checks her manicure. — Shouldn’t you be doing your prefect duties right now? —

— I don’t feel like it. — He shrugs nonchalantly and plays with his hands as a distraction.

— You don’t want to attract attention, Draco. — (Y/N)'s features harden slightly, showing seriousness on the matter. — If you want things to work, you can’t fail in the most basic aspects of a plan. You’ll have to act as if nothing is happening, otherwise, you’ll have too many eyes on you. We don’t need that, do you understand? —

— I don’t need you telling me what to do. — The blonde retorts disdainfully. — And don’t speak in the plural as if this is something we’re doing together. I’ve told you a thousand times I don’t want you involved in any of this. This is something I have to handle alone, so focus on your own problems and leave me alone.

A silence settles between them for a moment, and Draco opens his mouth, ready to apologize, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The corridor darkens suddenly, and all the students in the compartment begin to wonder what is happening. (Y/N) frowns and, hearing footsteps approaching, rises from her seat and takes a step towards Draco, bumping into someone she couldn’t see due to the darkness. The girl murmurs a small 'sorry,' but receives no response in return. Draco stretches out his hand to guide her towards him, and as she sits down, the corridor begins to return to its normal state, with everything back in its place. However, Draco’s gaze shifts to the luggage racks above them, noticing something wasn’t quite right. (Y/N) quickly notices this and tightens her grip on the table to snap him out of his trance. He licks his lips, shifting his attention from what was above to her.

— So, how much did you miss me over the holidays? — Draco drapes an arm over the girl’s shoulders, and she doesn’t protest, fully aware he was trying to divert the conversation due to an unexpected visitor.

— I won’t say what you want to hear, Malfoy. — She smiles, turning her gaze away, and he laughs, leaving a small kiss on her neck. — But you do seem to have missed me... a lot.

— You have no idea. — Draco whispers in her ear with a mischievous grin and nibbles on her earlobe, causing her to shiver, though she tries to maintain her composure and engage in normal conversation.

The next 30 minutes of the journey feel long and heavy for both young people, but they manage to keep their composure. As the train comes to a stop, night has fallen, and everyone is eager to reach the castle and fill their stomachs with the comforting, hot food awaiting them in the Great Hall. Students disembark from the carriages as quickly as their bodies allow, and when only Draco and (Y/N) are left to disembark, the girl heads to the exit and closes the door. She turns after drawing the curtains of the carriage with a flick of her wand and sees Draco holding his briefcase in one hand and his wand in the other.

— I think we have a visitor, love. — The boy comments with a serious expression, and (Y/N) nods, scanning the carriage casually.

— Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, Potter? —

Draco raises his wand and quickly utters 'Petrificus Totalus,' and a body immediately falls to the ground. The blonde walks over and removes the blanket covering the body of his most prized enemy, his face contorting with the hatred and disdain he felt.

— Oh yes... She was dead before you could even wipe the drool off your chin. — He lifts his knee and strikes Harry Potter's nose with force, likely breaking it with the impact. — That’s for my father.

— Alright, Draco... That’s enough. — (Y/N) approaches him and extends her arm, which he intertwines with his. Draco hesitates for a moment but ends up doing what she wanted after covering the young Potter with the blanket again. — Enjoy your trip back to London, Potter.

The girl nods, signaling to the blonde that it’s time to leave, and they both exit the train with their heads held high and their expressions neutral. As they are about to board the carriages that will take them to the school entrance, (Y/N) stops and adjusts Draco’s tie in silence. The boy watches her closely as she does this, and when she feels his gaze, she looks at him in return.

— There you go, we don’t want you looking disheveled... — Draco nods and licks his lower lip, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

— Thanks. — He leaves a small kiss on (Y/N)’s lips, taking advantage of the closeness between them.

— We’re in this together... — Draco nods, listening to her words, and with a sigh, he separates from her and extends his hand, offering help to her as she climbs into the carriage. (Y/N) smiles at this and ignores the gesture, easily getting into the carriage on her own. — Draco raises an eyebrow when he notices this, and the girl mimics his action, looking at him.

— Come on, Malfoy, what are you waiting for? — The boy rolls his eyes and gets into the carriage, heading towards a place that no longer felt like a second home and that would change his life completely in a few months. Hogwarts would never be the same.

[krirebr]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Curtis + bound wrists + “Mmm such a jumpy little thing, you’re not used to being treated this way, are you?”

This took me forever, but between being sick at the beginning of the week and work kicking my ass at the end, it took a while to get to a point where I could string multiple sentences together. 😂😭 But we're finally here. I'm a little afraid this is only half a hoe thot, but it's already over 600 words and I kind of like ending it where I did. This is my contribution to the Curtis successfully takes the snowpiercer and deserves a reward trope. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for playing with me!!

Warnings: dark elements, bondage, forced public nudity, threats of and implied non-con, explicit language, 18+ - MINORS DNI

Your wrists were bound with rope in front of you as you were led into the meatpacking car, wearing what you’d been sleeping in, a short nightgown. You shivered, partly out of fear and partly because it was freezing in this part of the train, nothing like the warmth you’d always had in your private compartment near the front. A group of tail-enders flanked you. They’d barged into your room in the middle of the night. They’d overpowered you, tied up your hands, and then dragged you out. You weren’t sure how long you’d walked or what was happening. The whole train seemed to be in chaos.

One of the tail-enders pushed you to the car's center towards a large man wearing a dark overcoat and a wool beanie on his head. Animal carcasses hung all around him, in the process of being butchered. He had sharp blue eyes and an intense stare that he fixed on you, like you were the most prime cut of meat in there. You tried to hold your ground but the man pushing you forward was stronger than you were. 

The blue-eyed man reached above himself and pulled down a large hook on a chain suspended from the ceiling. The men on either side of you grabbed your bound hands, raising them above your head. You tried to flail away, scream for help, but it was no use. The rope around your wrists was placed on the hook, which was then raised until you were balancing on your tip toes. 

The large man, who was clearly in charge, stood right in front of you. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, his voice deep and gritty. “My name is Curtis. This train is mine now.”

That could not possibly be. That wasn’t how things worked here. “What?? Where’s Wilford?!” you shouted.

He chuckled. “I killed him,” he said, plainly. 

You tried to recoil or thrash or something but suspended how you were, all you could really do was sort of sway.

“Life is about to change drastically for all you front-enders, but for you most of all.”

 “What? What are you talking about? Why me? I didn’t do anything!” you protested.

He nodded calmly. “Yes,” he said, “I’m sure that’s true. I’m sure you did a whole lot of nothing while my people suffered in ways you can’t imagine for seventeen years.”

You felt your eyes start to tear up. You couldn’t help it. You felt like you were still asleep. Maybe you were. Maybe this was just a nightmare. 

“What are you going to do to me?” you whimpered.

“I saw you, you know,“ he said, instead of answering your question. “I had to pass through the club car to get to the front. And there you were, dancing away like you didn’t have a care in the world. And I thought to myself, ‘That’s what I’ll deserve if I make it through this.’”

All you could do was look at him, confused.

“Oh honey,” he said, reaching out with one finger to brush away a tear that you hadn’t realized had fallen. “What am I going to do to you? Whatever I want. You’re my reward.”

In the moment it took you even to start to process what he’d said, he tore your nightgown away. He took one of your now bare breasts in his large hand and squeezed it cruelly, tweaking your nipple. You jolted at his touch, whining despite yourself. 

“Mmm, such a jumpy little thing, you’re not used to being treated this way, are you? That’s ok,” he said, with a sharklike grin that both terrified you and went straight to your core, “I’ll make sure you get used to it real fast.”

Tag lists are open

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24

[cosplaypandared]

My biggest challenge in crafting cosplay

It was the year 2015 when my cosband decided to make a perfect cosplay on, suddenly, the card game Magic the Gathering. We chose planeswalkers because this setting has a lot of characters, but only planeswalkers are more popular and well-known than others.

We met at a café to decide which characters we would choose to participate in the big event in another big city. My friend made a great choice, beautiful Lera picked up terrifying Elesh Norn, very tall Albert decided to make furry Goldmane Ajani, and the lightest Lin chose the heaviest Chandra. But I decided to make my dream come true and craft a dragon. So my choice was Dragon-God, Nicol Bolas.

When I mentioned my decision, one friend answered, Really? You will never make a huge dragon, with your height, your Bolas will look like a silly Pokémon. Ha! I said, "You don’t have any idea what I can create!" After this, I understood that I had embarked on quite an adventure. This was this challenge!

I had only three months to create this monster. Almost the whole costume I made myself, but when I realized I ran the risk of being late, I started to ask for help from family and friends. My husband helped me with sanitary pipes to make the wings base, my mom worked as a model; and when I tried to make this creature more proportional, my friends assisted with armor and painting wings. I finished the costume at night, with just 4 hours left before my train took off to the big city.

We ordered this taxi, arrived at this station, met with our friends, and didn't get on the train! My costume was too big to take on this train. My friends left without us. So we decided to buy other tickets for us and a ticket for a special place in the luggage compartment for the dragon four hours later. It was an emotional challenge, I realized that my creature required special attention everywhere, even with transportation. It is just this dragon's doom, I calmed myself down.

When we arrived at the next train one hour before departure. This new train master said, "We can’t accommodate the dragon because this costume is too big for this luggage compartment". This was contrary to what was said by staff at the station and this previous train director. It is just this dragon's doom, I was repeating in my head. This Dragon-God is just testing me. We ended up just buying a third ticket, and my little monster rode like a king in his own seat.

After an exhausting 3-month journey, I finally reached this contest. And here I am. This music is playing. I’m ready. My friends are going to the stage one by one, and each time this roar of this crowd becomes louder and louder. I make the first step on the spot and hear this woman's heartbreaking scream. This is it. I’m This Monster! I am the mind-ripper, the deathbringer, the winged dark that terrifies your dreams. I AM THIS DRAGON!

Of course, we won the Grand-pri in this contest. It was the Sony PlayStation II, but the brilliant thing I've won is the passed challenge. I crafted it, we brought it to the contest, and together we made the coolest group cosplay from MTG. And I’ve created the biggest mowing dragon cosplay in Siberia and possibly in all of Russia.

[starsturniolos]

I think he knows

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Fem Reader

Synopsis: Matt is y/n’s childhood bestfriend. Y/n has always had a thing for Matt , but unbeknownst to y/n , matt knew the whole time.

Warnings⚠️ : smut , fluff , teensy bit of angst if u squint, use of nicknames (baby, love)

This is my first story on this app so bear w me pls😭

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It was just another day , a day that I had planned to hangout with Matt. I check my phone and I see that he had texted me that hes here. I skip along my porch steps and run to the car , waving eagerly at the blue eyed boy waiting for me in the vehicle.

“Hey y/n!” Matt says , his eyes lighting up at the sight of me.

“Mattyyyyy!!! Ive missed you!” I squeal and lean over to hug him lightly.

“Ew never call me that again. Strictly Matt.” Matt says , playfully disgusted.

“Awwww cmon matty you know you like it.” I say in a playful sing-song teasing manner. Matt scoffs and starts the car. I set up my things for my passenger side of his car. Matt begins driving us to a café and I adjust my makeup using his mirror.

One of matts hands grips the steering wheel and the other rests on the center glove compartment. I had always liked Matt, not like a friend. I like liked him. My life would end if he ever found out , and to be honest part of me thinks he knows.

“Soooooo, how was your morning matty?” I tease again. He scoffs and blows the question off.

“It was fine l- i mean y/n” Matt speaks.

“Wait what were you about to call me?” I ask and look at him, my eyes practically pleading him to repeat himself. “N-Nothing y/n dont worry about it.” He says and adjusts his pants.

“Whatever you say matty.” I say and flip open my phone, matts instagram profile pops up I go to comment on his post. A couple hours pass and the ride had stayed an awkward silence ever since that nickname nearly slipped matt’s lips.

“Were here.” Matt states and gets out the car to go open your door. “Such a gentleman.” I say and he blushes slightly.

Matt and Y/N walk into the café and get a table for two at the counter, the view is perfect. The sun a perfect orange contrasting with the purpley pinkish sky. Y/N picks up the menu and starts looking at the options.

I kick off my heels and start putting my feet on top of matt’s white airforce 1’s. “Being a girl hurts.” I complain and move my feet on his shoes playfully before sliding them back on my feet. As I remove my feet i see matt adjust his pants again.

“Whats wrong Matty? Youve been moving a whole lot tod-“ My words are interrupted by matts lips pushed against mine. I let myself get lost in the passionate kiss before he pulls away, looking into my eyes, searching for the right words to say.

“Does that answer your question y/n?” Matt asks and continues to look at me with desperation and lust in his eyes.

“N-No, W-Why did you kiss me Matt?” I ask, not knowing what to do.

“Because im inlove with you, y/n. From the day we met I knew I had a crush on you, and you do too. I can see the way you look at me, how you copy what I do, what I wear. How you try to get along with my insufferable friends just so you can hang around with me. I know you like me y/n. I like you too.” He speaks with a breathy voice, continuously searching for the answer in my eyes. Without a response, I pull him into another kiss, this time more desire and lust overwhelming us.

Matt slams a hand on the table, $200 leaving his palm. He pushes me out the door, his lips never leaving mine, he opens the car door, pushing me down on the carseat, quickly taking off his shirt and starting to try to unbutton mine. I submit completely, letting his hands roam my half naked body.

“Matt..~” I moan softly. My eyes never leaving his.

“I know baby I know..~ So eager for me..~”

His praise only makes me want him more. He leans down to kiss my neck, continuing to undress me. I soon get too impatient and rip my skirt off by myself.

“Mmm..~ Somones needy..~” Matt coos, a smirk paints his painfully beautiful face. I nod and buck my hips toward him, his erection now resting comfortably on my stomach. I whine in a effort to get him to fulfill my needs.

“Shhh..~” Matt whispers softly. He unbuttons his pants, pulling his boxers down aswell. His erect cock springs out and I lick my lips. He preps my entrace by entering two of his fingers, curling them slightly at the end, drawing helpless moans from my slightly agape lips.

“May I?” Matt asks with a grin on his face, satisfied with my horny expression. I dont say a word, I just nod frantically, consenting to his words. At this cue, he pulls his fingers out, licking them clean.

He gives his dick a stroke and then slowly pushes inside of me. An immediate moan leaves my mouth, my head tossed back and my back arched. “Oh fuck, Matt..~ Y-Youre so big..”

“Mmmm you feel so good ma.” He says as he starts thrusting in and out of me, grabbing a hold of my wrists as I squirm beneath him.

“Youre taking me so well baby. I didn’t know youd be so tight. You dont know how long ive thought about this.”

I say nothing but moan, letting my legs wrap around his waist. “M’gonna cum..~ P-Please let me cum.” I moan out desperately, waiting for his permission.

“Fuck yeah baby, cum with me.” He says smirking, he grabs my waist harder as we chase our highs together. After we have hit our orgasms, matt pulls out and cleans me up.

“Okay love lets get up.” He says, grabbing my hands moving me up, picking me up off the bed. He sets me on the floor and I collapse to the floor. “Mmph.. fuck.” I sigh.

“Shit baby you okay?” He asks and quickly lifts me up. He rubs my back lightly and kisses my forehead softly.

“Fuck matt, you took my ability to walk.” I giggle and blush slightly.

“My pleasure” He replies and laughs with me. He walks me to the bathroom and we shower together. Later we talked about our feelings and now he’s finally mine.

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (23/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~4k

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11-20 | ch. 21 - i wouldn't marry me either | ch. 22 - burn all the files, desert all your past lives | ch. 23 - i've still got love for you

Some text in this chapter is lifted directly from ACOTAR book one.

I am also over the moon and insanely honored to share that there is now ART OF THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THIS FIC!!!!! It's by the love of my life Amnevitah, and you can go make heart eyes at it and tell her she's wonderful over here on her tumblr (warning that it's mildly NSFW).

Read on AO3 or you can find the twenty-third chapter below the readmore.

It was nearly midnight when I made my way to Nesta's bedroom in a borrowed nightgown, late enough that the servants were gone and Elain was sound asleep. I knocked on the door once, and she ushered me inside without a word.

Like the rest of the manor, Nesta's bedroom was full of furniture fit for a palace and utterly devoid of personal touches. It might as well have been a guest room.

I hovered near the door and watched Nesta open a hidden compartment in the writing desk near the window. She pulled something out and placed it on a side table. I stepped closer to get a better look.

A chunk of wood. The edges were rough, as if it had been ripped from something. I started to ask her where it had come from, but when I spotted the tangle of vines I'd painted on it, I understood.

"I had to watch as Father and Elain went from sobbing hysterics into nothing. I had to listen to them talk about how lucky it was for you to be taken to some made-up aunt’s house, how some winter wind had shattered our door. And I thought I’d gone mad—but every time I did, I would look at that painted part of the table, then at the claw marks farther down, and know it wasn’t in my head. So tell me everything and leave none of it out," Nesta said quietly, sinking down into the chair by the desk.

My heart broke to think what she'd gone through—what Tamlin had put her through. His lies to me might have been in service of saving his people, but there was no reason for my sister's sanity to be collateral damage. Tamlin had paid my father off, then washed his hands of the matter without bothering to ensure that his glamour had worked.

It was sloppy and thoughtless, and not for the first time, I wondered how many people ultimately would have died if I'd stayed in the Spring Court a moment longer.

I sat on the bed, tucking my feet under me, and started at the beginning. The very beginning, fifty years ago when Rhys had gone to that damned party and Amarantha had taken over.

I'd barely gotten a few words out when Nesta was already interrupting. "Is your High Lord too stupid to employ poison-testers?"

"I…I don't think any of them do, actually."

"It seems Prythian is ruled by idiots, then. Perhaps that explains why this Rhysand married you."

"You know nothing about what Rhys has been though," I hissed, clenching my teeth so I didn't yell the words and wake up Elain.

Nesta waved a hand, an elegant, dismissive gesture. "Then continue."

So I did. And to Nesta's credit, she listened intently, her lips pressed together in a thin line, as I described the curse, my arrival in Prythian, and those early days in the Spring Court.

Somehow, it calmed something within me to tell the whole tale again now that I knew everything. I wasn't used to having a confidant, and I couldn't remember a time before this that speaking to Nesta had felt like a lightening a burden.

It was strange, but not unwelcome.

I braced myself when I started to describe my first meeting with Rhys on Calanmai. Nesta had once sneered at me for rutting in the barn with Isaac Hale—I was sure she'd have some choice words about a mating frenzy that had taken place in a cave.

But she merely furrowed her brow and said, "Your marriage was….arranged, then? By the stag?"

I nearly snapped and told her no—I'd specifically told Rhys not to marry me, after all. And Nesta knew he wasn't my husband. But…she'd never feel the pull of a mating bond for herself, and the concept was completely foreign to her. Perhaps this was the way to make her understand.

"By the Mother herself. The stag merely…cleared our path to each other. I'm not sure what would have happened if it didn't, but I think it probably saved us quite a lot of heartbreak, in the end."

"That's such an odd way to speak about a man you've been shackled to against your will," she said, shaking her head.

The Inner Circle had also been horrified when they'd realized I'd accepted the bond without knowing what I was doing. If even Nesta was worried about it…perhaps there was something wrong with me for not being more distressed. But even though I'd had to go Under the Mountain for Rhys, I still felt profoundly lucky that everything I could possibly want had just been dropped into my lap on Calanmai.

I shrugged. "There's no reason to be upset when I would have chosen him for myself anyway." That was the truth at the center of everything.

There was a flicker of understanding, and—if I wasn't mistaken—relief in Nesta's eyes. "And I take it he feels the same?"

"Yes."

"Good." There was an edge to her voice, and I wondered what she would have said if my answer had been no.

There was still so much to tell her, so I continued, describing my arrival at the Night Court—though I didn't mention Velaris, merely said that Rhys had directed me to a warded home. Nesta didn't ask about the tattoo the magic had given me, just scowled at my left hand. She said nothing about my immortality either, instead interrogating me about the Inner Circle and their ranks and roles and relations to Rhys.

They were, perhaps, the sort of questions I should have asked on that first day. But unlike me, Nesta knew how to get the lay of a land in a noble court and assess her place in it.

If my eldest sister were dropped in the Court of Nightmares, I had no doubt she'd be running it within a day.

I hadn't spoken about Under the Mountain at length with anyone but Rhys before that night, and getting the words out under Nesta's uncompromising steel glare was difficult. My sister and I weren't linked through mating bond and shared experience. My voice shook, and at points I felt faintly sick, but I managed to tell her everything.

Even with Rhys…I'd needed to hold back. My own few weeks Under the Mountain paled in comparison to his decades there alone, and I knew on some level, even though I'd never voiced it aloud, that he'd had it worse than me. Without even realizing it, I'd been carrying around a prickly sort of guilt over that.

Once, I would have spent several days with a paintbrush in hand until I'd gotten those feelings out, but since I could barely stand to look at a canvas anymore, it all had been festering inside of me.

So to my immense embarrassment, I cried in front of Nesta.

For once, she didn't say anything harsh, just wordlessly handed me a handkerchief. I didn't mind—it would be strange for her to coddle me. Instead, she pretended nothing was amiss as I wiped at my eyes and finished the rest of the story, all the way through my trip to Illyria and the Weaver's cottage and the attacks on the temples.

At the end of it, Nesta merely said, "This is all the more reason you shouldn't come back here again."

I could see her logic, but that didn't make it any less a kick in the teeth. "Elain and Father deserve proper goodbyes."

"It's too much of a risk," she said, eyes flashing dangerously. It would be ugly if I tried to fight her on this; Nesta, who had once put herself in front of Elain and left me to the beast that broke into our cabin, would always protect our middle sister, even if that meant casting me aside.

I should have been used to that by now, but it still hurt.

"Then at least allow the sentries around the manor to stay. There are far too many fae who would wish us harm, and their numbers will only increase if war breaks out like we fear."

"As long as the sentries keep their distance."

They would, but of course Nesta had no reason to be sure of that. A thought struck me. "They answer to Cassian, Rhys's general. I could send him to meet with you and discuss the specifics, if that would ease your mind."

I expected Nesta to balk at interacting with any more faeries, but she asked, "Does he listen to orders?"

"He will if you give them. My position as Lady of Night makes you and Elain something akin to princesses in Prythian." Mor had explained it to me once, though I wasn't interested enough to remember the details about ranks and noble titles. It would matter to Nesta, though.

She nodded once, then stared down at her hands, which were folded in her lap. "Thank you," she said, a bit more softly, "and for what it's worth, this is easier, knowing you've gotten everything you deserve. After that beast took you away, it's a relief, truly, to know that Rhysand loves you and is keeping you safe."

I stilled. It was beyond a doubt the kindest thing Nesta had ever said to me. I hadn't thought she'd cared at all what had become of me in Prythian.

"Elain said—said that you tried to visit me," I said, my throat so tight I barely got the words out.

"I got to the Wall. I couldn't find a way through."

“You trekked two days there and two days back—through the winter woods?”

“I hired that mercenary from town to bring me a week after you were taken. With the money from your pelt. She was the only one who seemed like she would believe me.”

“You did that—for me?” Rhys was the only person in the world that I'd truly believed would bother, and no matter how much he loved me, a mating bond made everything different. Mor had tried to soften the truth on my first day in the Night Court, but even she had admitted the Inner Circle was duty-bound to protect their High Lord's mate, and I'd only become their friend later.

"What Tamlin did to you—it wasn't right. None of it was right."

Nesta finally met my gaze, and for once, the fire in her blue-grey eyes wasn't intended to burn me. We weren't drowning anymore—the lifeline of her anger was unnecessary now, and she knew it. In her darkened bedroom in a too-clean manor, we'd found just enough safety that she'd let me know she cared.

Underneath it all, Nesta cared, more deeply and loyally than I'd been able to comprehend.

There were no words for that. I launched myself at her, and Nesta went stiff in my arms as I embraced her. She didn't hug me back, just…patted my upper back awkwardly after a moment. I didn't mind—that was downright affectionate from her.

I pulled away and said, "If I'm unable to return here, will— will I at least be able to write?"

"Is there a way to ensure your correspondence stays private?"

I caught the meaning behind that—Nesta was confident in her own ability to keep a secret, but she knew too little about my own situation to be sure I could do the same. It wouldn't have crossed my mind—after all, I hadn't even learned to read until Rhys ensured I was taught—but my sister had been expected to marry a prince one day. She'd been trained for a life where sensitive letters falling into the wrong hands could cause a reputation-ruining scandal.

She was right to ask, though, so I explained how paper spelled to vanish was used to pass messages across Prythian. And by some miracle…she agreed to let me leave some with her.

"Rhys can deliver it tonight, if that's alright," I said; I'd feel better knowing it was in her hands when I left. Nesta nodded her assent. "Give me a moment to ask him, then."

Ignoring the grimace Nesta made as my gaze went distant, I gave the gentlest tug on the bond I could. I was still met with a wave of blind protectbitemaimkill panic the moment Rhys's shields dropped. He hadn't expected to hear from me until morning.

All is well, I said, reaching for the beast. I could feel its hackles rising in the back of my mind.

With a mental hand, I scratched a sensitive spot on its chin, right under the maw with its rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth, the thing that threatened to gobble up sleeping fae in their nightmares. Its eyes closed at my touch, and it purred like an affectionate cat.

Nothing's amiss. I just have a favor to ask, I added.

Anything. You know that, he said. I was dimly aware of a spiral of anxiety—some sort of fear that I didn't know that. Stroking the beast's flank like it was a nervous horse, I kicked the worry away.

If it's not too much trouble, could you please bring us some of the enchanted paper you use for correspondence? I'd like to make sure Nesta has a way to contact me directly.

Talons shifted into fingers that gently tucked an errant strand of my hair behind my ear. There's no such thing as too much trouble where you're concerned. Call for me again when you want me there.

Thank you. Just as I'd kicked away his concern, I felt his claw shred my lingering discomfort at asking him to do something on my behalf.

His mind began to pull away from mine, but he stopped halfway. Are you sure you're alright? The emotions on your side of the bond seem to be…churning.

I hesitated. There was no point in lying, but I was tempted to say we'd talk about it later. I didn't want him to worry any further, either. For now, I could give Rhys the bare minimum. I learned that Nesta tried to go to the Wall and bring me back after I was taken. She wasn't able to get through, though.

An image flashed across the bond before Rhys could stop it—a female with his pointed ears, violet eyes, and massive wingspan. She was standing on one of the footbridges that spanned the Sidra, her head thrown back in raucous laughter and the lights of the Rainbow sparkling behind her. A happy memory, but at the same time, it felt like looking at a painful, howling void.

Another younger sister whose elder sibling hadn't been able to save her. But unlike me, she didn't have a mate who'd eventually swooped in and brought her to safety.

I'll see you soon, Rhys said, then dropped his shields before I had a chance to respond.

Nesta quickly pinned her hair up and changed into a gown, but I didn't bother. Regardless, it gave Rhys time to pass through the Wall again. When she assured me she was ready, I gave another light tug on the bond.

Rhys appeared with nothing more than a gust of night-kissed wind so gentle it barely made the curtains flutter. He held a small, black-and-silver box in one hand, identical to one I'd seen holding blank paper on his desk in the House of Wind. He'd had the good sense to hide his wings, and the leash on his power was tighter than I'd ever felt it.

Even when he subdued himself, Rhys still felt too enormous and otherworldly for this side of the Wall. Between the night still clinging to him and the width of his obnoxiously broad shoulders, he seemed to take up the whole room.

And yet, as if he were an entirely normal person and none of the current circumstances were bizarre, he pressed a chaste kiss to my cheek and said, "Hello, Feyre darling."

To her credit, Nesta didn't flinch. Or hiss at him. Which already meant this was going better than I'd anticipated.

Before either of them could make this worse, I said, "This is my sister, Nesta Archeron. Nesta, this is my mate, Rhysand."

To my shock Rhys bent at the waist and bowed—actually bowed—to my sister. Polite and graceful, his upbringing as a crown prince on full display and all signs of the Illyrian warrior hidden.

Nesta's face was frozen in a mask of cold indifference. "No surname?" she said, and those two words were enough to let a nasty implication hang in the air—that Rhys wasn't pedigreed, despite being a High Lord.

His mother had been a seamstress, after all. If I didn't know better, I would have thought Nesta could smell that on him.

Rhys didn't blink. "Archeron. Or at least, it will be when we're ready to make the mating bond public knowledge."

It was a small miracle I caught myself before my mouth gaped open in surprise; he hadn't told me he'd intended to take my name. A glimmer of wicked amusement and a twinge of pride floated down the bond towards me.

Nesta, however, just cocked her head like she was sizing up an opponent, almost exactly the way Cassian did in the training ring. "I won't be mocked in my own home. You can leave."

"I'd rather be known as Feyre's mate than my father's son," Rhys said, picking invisible lint off his tunic in a gesture that was clearly calculated to look as nonchalant as possible. "I'm not mocking you. Feyre is an infinitely better person than he ever was."

Nesta went quiet. I wondered if it was as strange for her as it was for me to hear someone call me good and mean it. Rhys glanced at me, his expression melting into something soft for a moment, and Nesta tracked his movement like a hawk.

Before the silence stretched long enough to become awkward, Rhys held the box of stationery out to her and added, "This is for you."

Nesta flicked her hand towards the writing desk, an imperiousness gesture of a queen directing a servant. "Top drawer on the left," she said. An order, not a request.

She was testing him, I realized. Or had thrown down a gauntlet. Maybe both. Whatever was happening between Nesta and Rhys was some sort of courtier bullshit I was too feral to understand. Rhys did as she said, and I wasn't sure if that meant he'd lost or conceded something.

Regardless, there was no reason for Rhys to linger—and I suspected my sister would bite his head off if he tried. He said something blandly polite to Nesta about it being a pleasure to finally meet her, kissed my cheek again, and winnowed away.

When he was gone, I looked at Nesta expectantly and braced myself for whatever cutting remark was coming. She was already grimacing as if he'd tracked mud all over the floor.

My chest squeezed. Not that I needed anyone's approval, but as mates, Rhys's and my coupling had been had been quite literally blessed by the Mother herself. And I'd spent years shrugging off Nesta's scornful comments about damn near every choice I made.

I shouldn't have cared what she thought. But…for whatever reason, in this matter, I did.

"You two are so besotted with each other, it's disgusting," Nesta spat. It was congratulations enough.

I smiled. "You aren't the first person to say that about us."

There wasn't much else to discuss after that. Nesta and I sat in silence together as we burned the chunk of wood from the table in the fireplace in her bedroom. I felt something settle between us as the last piece of the cabin that she'd been holding onto was reduced to ash.

I returned to my room and managed a few hours of sleep before slipping out of the manor before dawn without saying goodbye. Before bed, Elain had said to bring the paints that she'd bought for me back to Aunt Ripleigh's, so I took them with and left her the first thank you note I'd ever managed to write by myself.

It was easier to go without facing either of my sisters again.

When I met Rhys in the woods, I threw myself at him so forcefully that he stumbled back a few steps and nearly hit a tree. "I missed you too," he said, hooking an arm under my knees as he scooped me up to fly.

Something about being in the mortal lands again—or if I was truly honest, being around my family again—had reawakened that stupid, childish part of me that wanted to cry out until I was fussed over. A bit embarrassed, I pressed my face to his chest and wished I could scent him like a faerie. But instead, all I could smell was the laundry soap we both used. Maybe that was better than nothing.

"It was a long night," I said, and he pressed a kiss to my temple.

The world faded to smoke and shadow, and then I felt that peculiar sense of being torn in two for the space of a heartbeat as we passed through the Wall. Rhys could have winnowed us again, but he continued flying above the sea for a while, probably to get the practice in to strengthen his wings.

Being cradled, his warmth and nearness, the rhythm of wingbeats, the salt air…it soothed me. Dawn was breaking, turning the sky and the sea golden. Rhys, painfully beautiful as always, was positively glowing in the light; his skin was returning to a healthy brown, the unnatural paleness from years underground almost gone. I wanted to paint it.

"With Nesta, why were you so…" I said, then trailed off, unsure of the right word. Rhys's whole demeanor had been subdued, but there had been more to it than just that. Now that I thought about it… "You didn't smirk once. That's not like you."

His face was solemn. "If my sister had inadvertently accepted a mating bond, I'd expect her mate to have his tail between his legs when she brought him home to meet me."

Once, I would have scoffed at the idea Nesta cared at all about how a man or male treated me. But she'd tried to save me. If Rhys had seemed at all like a threat, then…Nesta would have faced down the Lord of Nightmares to get me back.

I still didn't quite know what to make of that.

"Would you have tried to get my father's blessing if he'd been there?"

"Cauldron, no. You're your own person and make your own choices." He sounded affronted I'd even suggest it.

"Then why be so restrained around Nesta?"

"I don't like being thought of as an ill-mannered brute."

I could imagine how often insults like that had been flung at him for being Illyrian, probably from people just as adept as sneering down their noses as Nesta was. And yet, even though I knew Rhys well, it was still a bit strange to hear from a faerie when so many of his kind considered humans to be half-wild beasts below their notice.

Strange, but…not unwelcome.

"For what it's worth, you're not all ill-mannered brute at all," I said, smiling, "but you are a prick, though."

Rhys's wicked grin was the only warning before he gripped me tighter and tilted us into a barrel roll so swift and dizzying that I would have emptied the contents of my stomach if I'd eaten. I screamed, but the wind tore the words away.

He laughed, and it was impossible to snap an irritated response when the joy was so plain on his face. We settled into a smooth glide.

"We need to winnow the rest of the way back soon," he said once the roaring wind died down. "Cassian wants to spar, and if you're late for training, Az will ensure you pay for it."

I wouldn't expect anything less. We faded into the morning mist, and when the Night Court materialized around us, I'd never been happier to be home again.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hey nalyra!

I was hoping you could sort of help put some thoughts in order.

So, what I keep seeing often is the discourse of lestat deserving the murder night vs lestat did not deserve it and that's why paris happens.

On one hand I agree murder night "needed" to happen bc the household had turned too toxic for all of them and something had to give ( and lestat did not seem about to relent on anything tbh ).

And then we have lestat himself saying he would have done the same thing and in a way its his fault things ended up the way they did. ( and we have sam saying lestat needs to be humbled to start a character journey in the next seasons)

On the other hand, there is the argument that paris happened because lestat did not deserve what happened in murder night and murder night was a mistake that claudia and louis paid for with the trial.

I find it hard to agree with the latter (it sounds too punitive and I don't think the trial had anything to do with actual rules it was all armand getting back at lestat and getting louis to himself) but as a lestat fan it was hard to watch murder night and say lestat deserved it as well!!

What are your thoughts on this whole mess? 🤔 😅

Okay, so... I personally think it is not that clear cut.

Because there are a lot of things involved in all of this.

For one - I keep saying - the abuse itself is in the book, so Louis did experience it as abuse, at least at times.

Now, Jacob has said that Louis "presents Lestat as a monster", because he is hurt by what happened. So Louis exaggerates (at the very least a little bit) - for reasons.

However, a tale is also always built on truth.

The Lestat in the book was very young still, and had a temper (well, he does not lose that, lol). Louis remarks on not saying something because he feared Lestat would destroy the parlor in a rage. They fight. And so on. Canon. The Lestat in the show is older, and jaded through loneliness - I personally think that is a great way to introduce the more bitter parts of the relationship, because it lends towards possessiveness and a certain remoteness, because he just sees it very, very differently to Louis, and sometimes cannot really empathize with Louis' actual problems. (Sam notes on that in the podcast, too.)

Now. When Lestat says in TVL that Claudia attacking him was "something he might have done himself"... then that refers to him trapping her in a too small, too fragile, too weak body - for eternity.

He knows he should not have made her. He is aware of that. That is what he refers to there:

From TVL:

But what had I done to Claudia? And when would I have to pay for that? How long was she content to be the mystery that bound Louis and me so tightly together, the muse of our moonlit hours, the one object of devotion common to us both? Was it inevitable that she who would never have a woman's form would strike out at the demon father who condemned her to the body of a little china doll? [...] And on a warm sultry night in the spring of the year 1860, she rose up to settle the score. She enticed me, she trapped me, and she plunged a knife over and over again into my drugged and poisoned body, until almost every drop of the vampiric blood gushed out of me before my wounds had the precious few seconds in which to heal. I don't blame her. It was the sort of thing I might have done myself. And those delirious moments will never be forgotten by me, never consigned to some unexplored compartment of the mind. It was her cunning and her will that laid me low as surely as the blade that slashed my throat and divided my heart. I will think on those moments every night for as long as I go on, and of the chasm that opened under me, the plunge into mortal death that was nearly mine. Claudia gave me that.

From Merrick:

Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle; she died young. I winced at the recollection. Lestat had been condemning himself when he'd spoken those words to her, he'd been offering himself up to her rage. She'd known it.

And here is the crux of it all: "murder night" does need to happen in the grand scheme of things in order to bring both Louis and Lestat onto their journey... they both need to get a reality check, both need to be hauled low so to speak to be able to ultimately heal and the justification is what was done to Claudia (not Louis). And to find peace with themselves.

However, and here is the "problem", if you will - this crime against nature, against Claudia was not only done by Lestat. And that is what her diary entry from "Merrick" is about, and what I believe we already saw hints for in the trial scene when she turns to Louis... Claudia blamed both. "It was never about me." And we saw that already in the show when Claudia argues with Louis before leaving in episode 5, too.

She decided to go and try to kill Lestat, because she thought she could handle Louis more easily.

From Merrick:

To do away with Louis would be foolish, as he is without question the more malleable of the pair. [...] Louis will do as I wish, even unto the very destruction of Lestat, which I plan in every detail. Whereas Lestat would never cooperate with my designs upon Louis. So there my loyalty lies, under the guise of love even in my own heart.

Now, don't get me wrong, I concur with Bailey and Delainey in that Claudia is very justified in her rage, imho :) And... both Lestat and Louis feel the same way, they carry the guilt of what they did to her until the very end.

Now, Paris.

Paris... did happen because Louis and (mostly) Claudia factoring things in) did make a mistake.

They thought (mostly Claudia, and the show hints at that in that episode 6 sex scene when she says to Louis that they "cannot be all like him") that Lestat was the worst.

Like the big bad vampire™, the worst of the worst™, and him (certainly) making mistakes or having a temper or even physically fighting with Louis was the absolute worst that could possibly happen to them.

And that... is the (big, fatal) mistake that is being made.

The show gave us Lestat already brushing Paris off, so I believe show Louis will be a bit more... careful when they get there. A bit more reluctant. Nonetheless, neither Claudia nor Louis are prepared for the old world covens. Or their rules.

Lestat kept them mostly human, a family, because Marius had advised him to do so.

Claudia and Louis, despite their run-ins with the revenants, have no concept of the rules, the viciousness, nor the strength to defend themselves.

They kill off their only protection (so to speak) - and will pay for it.

I believe in one of the interviews it was called "out of the frying pan and into the fire", and that is, unfortunately, very fitting.

That is why "murder night" was a mistake... in Claudia's calculation.

Louis will come to the realization that he "hated Lestat for the wrong reasons" in the second half of IWTV. He will come to a lot of realizations, painful realizations, unfortunately.

Ultimately, it boils down to this, I think (very simplified):

No, Lestat (probably) did not deserve "murder night" for what Louis tries to argue for in s1. Because those reasons will turn out to be the wrong reasons, unfortunately, and likely for a variety of reasons (cue "tinkering" and "suppressed memories")

Yes, Lestat (probably) deserved "murder night" for not heeding Marius' warning. For not trying hard enough, too, maybe. For condemning someone that young. For trapping Claudia (and, by extension Louis) like that.

"I should have listened to Marius's warning. I should have stopped for one moment to reflect on it as I stood on the edge of that grand and intoxicating experiment: to make a vampire of "the least of these. " I should have taken a deep breath."

But he did not.

And the tragedy unfolds.

[hansa-lao]

АОЗ

You didn't deserve to be born into this cruel world, in this terrible time.

Once upon a time, where bullets whistled mercilessly, you cried for the first time in your little life. You lit up our sparks, gave us a reason to fight on to give you peace. Your big blue eyes and yellow short strands of hair prompted us to call you Bumblebee.

One of the soldiers, I can no longer remember the name of this guy, made a crib, quite simple, but comfortable for you. Waking up early in the morning in it, you blinked at the ceiling and waited for us to come up to you.

You cried loudly, just like you said. Often at night, your tears woke up not only us, but also those who lived next to our compartment. With your short hands, you grabbed your mom by her curls and pulled at yourself, burrowing into them. And to tell the truth, I also liked to do this, pulling away from the whole world. When I was Orion, when I became Optimus, always.

When you grew up, you were constantly rushing after me on your unstable legs and were very upset when I had to leave. Ratchet and everyone who stayed with you told me how you cried bitterly, clinging to them, then running to the exit of the compartment, waiting for me. And I came, always.

In my spark, I swore an oath that I would never leave you, that I would always protect you. You were growing up, but you were still a little boy to me, with a sniffling nose.

Your character was changing and becoming more aware. But you didn't stop following me around. In the evenings, you put your curly blond head on my chest and hugged me tightly. I was stroking your back, gently massaging it and praying to myself that you were okay.

When you were deprived of your voice, I was pierced by rage, ancient and primal. I was ready to kill those who did this to you. But then you needed me more than anything in the world. And having overcome myself, I was there. It hurts me to remember what happened to your young and slender body. Bruises, abrasions, fractures. You were exhausted and bleeding, your eyes were dull, and your lower jaw was disfigured. Thank Primus, Ratchet was able to get you back on your feet no matter what. But you never found your voice, your old voice. Now it has become binary. We've been getting used to it for a long time, just like you.

That passage with the quiet and constantly silent you will never It will not disappear my memory. You were just were shy by your new voice.

On Earth, there was someone who understood you as if they were you yourself. Raphael. I was glad to see you like that. Happy again. All your life you believed in the best. And your courage has put us to shame.

With glowing eyes, you were playing with your new friend and still didn't like it when you had to surrender to Ratchet for inspection.

We have restored Cybertron and you have helped a lot in this.

Tall buildings shone again, energon filled the vaults and at night the Iacon sparkled with lights. Life has started to flow again on our home planet.

And you're looking at it, at your dream come true, from a tombstone. Your eyes are still sparkling with joy and happiness, and your curls are climbing into your eyes. Under the mask, you smile and your dark skin is tanned by the sun.

You once became the hope of Cybertron, and now we were bringing flowers to your grave.

[jellyfishsthings]

Warnings: this is going to be a multi part series and it's going to be angsty cause I am in my feels. Female reader, Padmé and Anakin were together but had a healthy break up, Jedi reader so forbidden love

This story takes plays in Clone Wars yet many events have been changed (like the meeting of Ashoka and Anakin... don't worry the sibling energy is still there.)

series masterlist

The meeting ended way faster than it was planned due to… you guessed it, a surprise attack. Both me and Anakin fought with great intensity and when it was over, we had won every Senator over. Our job was done. And so after bidding goodbye, we headed towards our ship. Anakin sat in the driving compartment ready to pilot the ship back to the Temple and I joined him.

A comfortable silence enveloped us, safety and protection radiated from him and sooner than later I felt myself slip into a much-needed slumber.

A set of plain dark grey doors stood tall before me, and as I reached to open them my hand came short several centimetres under the handles. A tall black man called Windu stood beside me, silently assessing me. I stood on my tiptoes and opened the doors. Several pairs of eyes turned towards me and I felt myself shrink back. Master Windu placed his hand on my shoulder and gave me a slight push while whispering "It will be alright".

My feet carried me to the buffet of the cafeteria and my mouth watered at the sight of the plethora of food. I wasn't used to it and my stomach growled as the minutes flew by. In the end, I chose rice with some chicken because I knew that even though I could eat anything on the table my stomach wouldn't be able to handle more than that. I headed towards the far side of the room, where next to no one was sitting.

A blond boy suddenly appears in front of me, startling me. He has a kind face, that is framed by shortcutted hair and a small braid, a padawan. He smiles at me as he examines me.

"Hi, I am Anakin. You can join me and the rest of the padawans if you want to."

"No thank you."

"Are you shy? Or just really stuck up? Because there is this girl Jade…" He says maliciously. "Well let's just say that no one likes Jade."

I snort a small chuckle and he laughs at me.

"Is it okay if I come and sit with you?"

"Sure," I said back to him.

He simply rushes back to his table and grabs his lunch before coming back to the table. He lets his tray down with a thud and he beams at me with a toothy smile, some of his teeth are missing, as he sits down. He must be older than me by a year or so or two.

"I see you chose the chicken. Good choice but it is a bit like a tyre you know, probably overcooked. You should try the roasted beef next time. It is simply great."

The ship rocks side to side being caught in a star storm, a hushed curse sounds as I shift my position trying to get comfortable.

My body is covered in sweat and I pant like crazy. My sides burn like there is no tomorrow.

"Again?" Anakin asks with a smirk.

"I hate you"

"Oh come on, trouble. I am sure you will beat me next time."

I roll my eyes at the nickname. You crash five fighter jets and set only two fires and suddenly you are a pariah. Anakin was the only one who defended me because somehow he had figured out that I wanted to go home or to what was left of it. He stopped me at the last minute and he crashed three out of the five jets.

Training with Anakin late at night when the whole Temple rested. When the nightmares started nothing could calm me down. The sleepless nights started to catch up with me, and the dark circles that adorned my eyes were prominent. After a while, he suggested joining me when trying to fall asleep like we used to do when we were little. And for a time it worked and then they got worse. He believed they were just nightmares but they were memories of the abuse and the destruction.

Then Master Obi-Wan said that we had both fallen back on our training and that we should be focused only on that. That was our priority. And so one late night in the training room turned to hundred and to thousand. We would fight to the brink of exhaustion and then we would turn off like lights.

In the meantime, we have both grown. My body started to turn more feminine, and curves showed up, attracting creepy stares from the boys and glares from the girls. Anakin on the other side gained a lot of height, surpassing me by a full head. His once lean body slowly became more muscular, and his shoulders were broadened.

I examined him as we both tried to gain our breath.

As he was still trying to calm down, I lunged at him. Raising my lightsabers, trying to disarm me. His quick reflexes were his saviour. Our sabers clashed as we attacked and defended ourselves. It was like a dance, a brutal one and we matched each other. No one could know for how long we stayed there until he missed a step and went down like a sack of potatoes.

"That … was not … fair. I was caught off guard." He says breathlessly.

"Say that… to your enemy… next time." I say to him smirking and I grab his outstretched arm, pulling him up.

"I miss the days when I did all the talking. You were less mean." He says with a pout and I laugh at him. Little did I know that would be the last time I would see him for six months.

I feel someone move me from my sitting position and being laid down on the reclined chair. A light duvet covers my body. His familiar scent fills my nostrils and drifts me back to sleep.

Master Windu watches me from the top of the stadium and his encouragement comes to me in waves through the Force. Today I gained my knighthood. And after all of the struggles and challenges, this moment of that day is not my favourite.

I found myself unable to sleep so I took a walk through the Temple. I tried to meditate. Still, I feel on edge, some would say that it is because of my achievement of becoming a Jedi Knight. I wander in the aircraft zone, his favourite place. I need to feel close to him, now more than ever. A few months ago he left for the war front with some other padawans and Jedis, for some reason, I was not approved to follow. At least not yet.

I see a craft landing and I hide behind a pillar, holding tightly one of my lightsabers in my hand, ready to attack.

A deep voice sounds. "I already told you, Master. I didn't not hint that-"

"That is the problem with you you never think." A familiar voice said. Obi-Wan's voice sounds tired and full of panic. "You could have been killed."

"Don't say that Master. I didn't do anything wrong." The deep voice says mischievously, his voice laced with mirth.

"Oh really. Well, I guess there is nothing wrong with jumping off of jets, and completely trusting your life on a droid, no offence Artoo, or challenging your opponents. You are being reckless."

I slowly pull myself out from my hiding space trying to get a better look at the two approaching figures. Obi-Wan is the same, only his robes are more tattered and he looks bone tired as he moves at the pace of a sloth.

The figure next to him wears dark clothes blending in the dark night sky. Yet I am able to make him out. His blond hair has grown from his short spiky haircut. He seems even taller and his body more muscular than it was. It fits snuggly against his armour. Ani, he is here, he is back.

Without a second thought, I sprint towards him and jump on top of him. He staggers back by the force of the sudden impact. His arms shoot out to catch me as he gains his footing.

"Hey, trouble. I missed you." He whispers into the skin of my neck as he buries his head in the crook of my neck, breathing me in. His arms tighten around me and I wrap my legs around his waist. He is solid, covered in hard muscle and almost double in size. His voice is several octaves lower than it used to be. Everything about him makes my stomach roll and coil into a knot. That's when it all started. Since then I could not pull my eyes from him. Since then I could not stop thinking and fantasizing about him.

I am woken up by the rumble of the edges shutting down. I blink the sleepiness away and pull myself up ready to head towards my room. A hand grabs mine, stopping me on the spot.

"You look beautiful, you know. You should wear dresses more often." He says as he looks at me with a loving gaze. I blush harshly as he walks away, only turning his gaze back to me to say "Goodnight, trouble."

My eyesight finds the first reflective surface and I take a long look at my appearance. My hair had fallen from the messy curled bun Padmé had somehow made at the top of my head. The dress truly compliments my figure, making every curve stand out, daunting every man to take a look. Yet my strong arms stand out, in contrast to the soft aspects of my body making me look like a true fighter. Making me look like a Greek goddess.

words: 1.622

[engie-ivy]

(Last day of August, just in time for a @wolfstarmicrofic August prompt!)

Bonus: S'mores

917 words

Happy Camper

“I’m sorry,” Dora says for about the hundredth time.

Remus just glares at her.

Dora tries to look guilty, but she has to bite her lip not to laugh.

Around them, hyperactive and overly excited children are running around, while a surprisingly cheery bus driver is trying to get a whole pile of backpacks into the bus’s luggage compartment.

Remus himself is carrying a bag of his own, rethinking the events that got him in this situation.

Dora and he were attending a meeting hosted by the Parents’ Committee at Teddy’s school, and Molly Weasley had been assigning tasks to all reluctantly volunteering parents. They had both managed not to get any tasks assigned to them, and Remus had been hopeful he was going to dodge the bullet, when they arrived at the last item.

The yearly camping trip.

They needed one more parent to supervise the children while out camping in the woods by the lake for a week. While everyone in the room was hoping that not making eye contact with Molly might prevent her from seeing you, Dora had loudly exclaimed “Remus, didn’t you tell me you used to be in the boy scouts?”

Remus did in fact tell her this, because he was telling her how he quit after two meetings because he had hated it so much, and how he detested the concept of ‘going back to basic’. But before he got a chance to say any of this, Molly had already smiled and said “Excellent”, while noting Remus’ name down on her clipboard. And everyone knows, once you’re on the clipboard, there’s no getting off anymore.

Some boys run past them, one carrying a pocket knife and one somehow already having lost his shoes.

“I can’t believe you did this to me,” Remus says.

Dora grimaces watching the boy run away with the knife. “I truly didn’t mean to,” she says. “I genuinely just remembered you once having said something about the boy scouts, and I spoke before I could think.”

Remus scoffs. “I’m not letting you off the hook that easy! Forcing me into this nightmare. It’ll take more than sorry for me to forgive you.”

Remus hasn’t decided yet how long he’ll wait before forgiving Dora. It’ll probably depend on how disastrous this week is going to be.

Dora is his... Well, she started out as his one night stand, then she got pregnant, and became the mother of his son. Gradually, she also became one of his closest friends. Neither of them ever had feelings for the other beyond friendship, though, save for that one night of blatant sexual attraction.

Dora rolls her eyes. “You’re being awfully dramatic, Remus. But alright. I guess I do owe you a bottle of wine, the good stuff, alright?”

Remus is about to reply, when a voice interrupts.

“Excuse me, are you Teddy’s dad?”

Remus looks up and his jaw drops. A man comes walking towards them.

And what a man.

He’s tall and lean. He has long, dark hair falling elegantly over his piercing silver-grey eyes and a bright smile on his handsome face. He has a duffle bag thrown over one, remarkably broad, shoulder.

“Uh..” Remus says eloquently.

Dora, who was also eyeing the man appreciatively, turns to look at Remus with a knowing smirk.

The man just smiles at Remus. “I believe we’ll be camp counsellors together!”

Remus blinks. “I thought I was paired with Harry’s dad?”

“Ah, yes.” The man runs a hand through his hair. “James has fallen ill, I’m afraid. He asked me to cover for him. I’m Harry’s godfather!” He holds out his hand. “I’m Sirius. The star.” He pauses for a moment, before quickly adding “I mean written as the star! God, can you imagine?” He chuckles. “One Calvin Klein photoshoot and I’d go around introducing myself as ‘the star’. No, I promise it hasn’t inflated my ego that much!”

“I’m Remus,” Remus replies, making a mental note to do a Google search for the most recent Calvin Klein add the moment he gets home.

“Nice to meet you, Remus!” Sirius replies. “James told me you were supposed to share a tent? I hope you won’t mind sharing with me?”

Remus swallows, his throat suddenly a little dry. “No, I don’t mind. Not at all.”

“Great!” Sirius beams at him. “Then we’ll be getting go know each other pretty well the coming week.” He gives Remus a wink, and it should probably be cheesy, but when Sirius does it, it’s just damn attractive.

“Oh!” Sirius exclaims. “And I hope you like S’mores!” He pats his bag. “This is almost completely filled with just chocolate and marshmallows. I hardly brought any clothes,” he admits. “So it’s a good thing I’m probably going to be walking around in my swimming trunks all week anyway!”

“Yeah,” Remus manages to say. “Good thing indeed.”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Sirius says. “I promised James I’d embarrass Harry by loudly telling him his father sends him lots of love and kisses in front of all his friends. See you in the bus?”

“Uh-huh,” Remus says. He watches Sirius walk away, trying to wrap his head around the sudden appearance of a gorgeous Calvin Klein model who will be around him in only his swimming trunks all week and also share a tent with him, while bringing loads of chocolate.

“Well,” Dora says, pulling him from his thoughts. “On second thought, I’d say you owe me that bottle of wine!”

[justrainandcoffee]

Against all odds (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) 2x05

Crossover Peaky Blinders - Hunger Games

• First part masterlist -Second part masterlist → 2x01 2x02 2x03 2x04

Summary: Alfie and Rose are finally together and this time is forever. || Alfie meets Allie and Rose is surprised by her brother. || Campbell surprises the whole group saying something about Rose that no one expected. || Remember: Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.

Warnings: None this time.

Words: 3.3K.

The two of them barely fitted in the mattress. They didn't have a matrimonial compartment, so for now they were together on that small bed. But they didn't care. Too much time apart from each other made that small space the perfect place in the world.

District 13 was still sleeping, big part of it at least. No one knew yet that during the night Aveline and Rose, did arrive there.

"It hurts?" she asked caressing his cheek and eye with her fingertips.

"Not now. But it hurt the first days without morphling. That thing it's the worst and the best thing at the same time thing I ever experienced. But I couldn't think, I was barely awake… painless but so gone."

"I should have been here."

"No, sweetheart. You were where you needed to be. But you're here now."

"I am."

Alfie kissed her again. He has been doing it all night since she appeared in front of him, and wasn't ready to stop. He put his hands on her back, caressing her skin and whispered again her ear.

"Why, Rosie, why…"

She knew that sooner or later the topic was going to appear. It was obvious.

"I had to."

Rose didn't want to mention to him her nightmares but she figured out that he already knew.

"She's gone for ever. And so is the rest. Initially the plan was to leave her there, to froze herself to death. But minutes before we landed she started to talk about you…and I couldn't, Al, I couldn't. I was afraid that maybe she'd survive so I decided that I needed to kill her myself. And I did it."

"I saw it. They showed me the video once I felt better enough to see it."

"It was gruesome. I know."

"No, I think it was pretty impressive. And she's fucking dead, thanks to you. Rosie, I love you."

"Me too. For you, Alfie, I'd do anything. From killing the woman who hurt you to walk almost two districts to be with you."

"Fuckin hell, sweetheart. I don't deserve you," he embraced her really tight when she settled herself closer to him. "No one can separate us, now. Did you think about it?"

"I'm doing it now… and it only took us 15 years. 15 years waiting for this."

Every time they saw each other in the past, time was always against them. Only two weeks a year the first years, and then only once month for an entire weekend. The sound of the clock in their backs was always present. Sounding like a curse, remanding them that despite what it seemed, he belonged to the capitol and not to her. They were the owners of his time and in consequence hers.

But not anymore.

"I want to marry you, Rosie. For real this time," he said on top of her again. "Not just by word. You know? A certificate, the rings… I want you to be my wife."

"I'm your wife."

"Let's make it official. Do you want to marry me now that you're a free widow woman?"

"Shouldn't I be mourning my late husband?" she laughed with a joy she didn't feel in a long time and kissed him. And Alfie, too. He felt alive for the first time he put his feet in district 13 and watching her smile only increased his happiness. "Of course I want to make it official, Al. I don't want anyone else in my life but you. But first, you need to know someone…"

.

The news that Aveline and Rose were alive, fine and finally in district 13 spread really quickly. All of them well assumed that Aveline was safe in her district but after all those months that Rose was alive was something that few expected.

Knowing that, it didn't suprise anyone that even hours after they should be up, as the schedule indicated, Alfie's door was still closed. The man suffered enough since his arrival there and he did deserve time alone with his woman.

But for Samuel the awaiting was more excruciating than for the rest. Last time he saw her sister in person was when he was 15 and she was 19. Later, he saw her in tv when she became the stylist for District 9. But he had been waiting for almost two decades to hug her again.

He had to remain himself that of course her sister chose to see Alfie first because they were a couple and because she didn't know that he, Samuel, survived the bombing that killed his younger brother and mother.

But if he waited 18 years, he could wait a couple of hours.

.

By the time Rose finally left Alfie's compartment, the whole group was dispersed doing their different activities. But Aveline, new there as she was, didn't and Campbell allowed her to take a day off to rest and adapt herself there. Besides, Aveline didn't allow anyone from the district be near Allie.

"Did you enjoy your time with him?" the tall woman asked. She was smirking which caused Rose to smile.

"I did. I missed him and not just physically… I missed him."

"And he missed you. I saw our friends, they're fine. They told me that Alfie wasn't feeling fine. I think you arrived just in time again to his life."

"Thanks to you, Avie."

Allie was in Aveline's bed when Rose entered into her compartment and the girl jumped when she saw her.

"I love your hugs, sweetheart!" Rose said hugging her back "Did you sleep well?"

"I did! And we had a breakfast today with auntie Avie! You weren't there! I knew a lot of people!"

"Auntie Avie, is the best. No, I wasn't there because I was sleeping, I was really tired. But I promise we're going to have lunch together. You meet people?"

"I did! There's another kid, too! His name is Laurie and his mommy told me I can play with him. They wanted to meet Cyril, but a man took him out."

"They took Cyril out?" Rose asked.

"Only to make his business," Aveline clarified. "He's with…"

Samuel, wanted to add Aveline but she realised that her friend didn't know her brother was alive yet and didn't want to ruin the surprise.

"Honestly I don't know where he is," Aveline lied, "but he's with one of us here, don't worry."

"Okay then. Yes, of course you can play with Laurie if his parents allow it, Allie. But you know what? You didn't know the most important person to me here. His name is Alfie."

The aforementioned man was waiting for the person who Rose said he needed to know. A lot of possibilities crossed his mind but neither of them was correct. And he knew it as soon as he saw Rose entering again to his compartment holding the hand of a precious little girl.

"Are you Alfie?" the girl asked before Rose could even introduce them.

"Yes, I am, luv. Who are you?"

Rose released her, and the kid approached Alfie who took her in his arms.

"I'm Allie," she said. Not father and daughter yet but there was something in their eyes when they looked at each other that bonded them in that very first moment.

Allie put her little hands on his face and touched his beard. Her grey curious eyes, looked at him and Alfie couldn't help but smile.

"What happened to your eye?"

"Long story, Allie. But it was an accident."

"Mommy always kissed me when I got hurt," she said kissing his cheek and then hugged him "maybe you can feel better soon."

"You know what? I'm feeling better right now."

Alfie had a lot of questions. Who that girl really was, what she was doing there… but the moment Allie hugged him, Alfie felt that something he didn't know he needed, was finally complete. Alfie sat on the mattress with the girl still in his arms and Rose who was fighting really hard to not cry in front of them, did the same next to him.

Rose didn't doubt about Alfie adoring Allie, but she didn't know how Allie could react in front of him, considering all the things the kid lived in her short life. But now she knew that Allie's personality helped a lot to make things easier. She was sweet and outgoing, she was curious and she was ready to make friends everywhere. Including Alfie.

"I found her in the woods when Aveline and me were walking to come here. There's someone else you don't know yet," Rose said, "his name is Cyril."

"He's my doggie!" Allie exclaimed looking at Alfie , who was stroking her hair "he's brown and has big eyes. He's good."

"He's a mastiff," his wife said "and Allie is right! He's a good boy. He guided me to her and Cyril also warmed her up while she was alone there."

"Seems to me that Cyril is a hero," Alfie commented.

"He is."

Still, he had some questions but those were things that couldn't be asked in front of Allie. So for now the interview was over and the man accepted the invitation to play with her.

"Sweetheart," Alfie casually said to Rose, "Could I ask you a favour? Can you knock the next door and see if the man that lives there is inside?"

If Rose surprised him with a girl, then he could do the same to her. Samuel lived there and it was about time for them to meet again.

"Sure, did he owe you something?"

"Not really. But he'll understand."

"Alfie, what are trying to do?" she asked suspicious of his intentions.

"Just do me that favour, love."

As Aveline knew, Cyril was indeed there and he knew before Samuel that someone was in the other side of the door.

He was resting when he heard the knocks and the voice.

"I'm sorry to bother, but Alfie wanted to know if you're there, sir. I'm his wife and -"

Rose's speech was interrupted the moment she heard noises inside, as if someone was running to the door.

It took her several seconds to process what she was watching. To understand who that man was. But when she did it, tears filled her eyes. She had been trying to remain calm when she saw Alfie and Allie interact, but she couldn't anymore.

"Sam…"

Samuel embraced his elder sister so tight that her feet were in the air. Both Coldwells were crying not just because that was the end of an era separated for so many years but because after the tragedy of Snow killing their mother and youngest brother, finally other than themselves could understand that pain. Even if almost three years passed since that moment.

Alfie with Allie in his arms were looking at them but the siblings didn't notice them.

"Why are they crying?" the girl asked.

"They're happy."

.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she said once she calmed down. Still her eyes were puffy "I pushed my luck. I'm not saying I underestimated Snow, but I felt safe under the identity I had there. But he discovered me. And found you."

"It's not your fault. Don't think we weren't starting to make plans back in 8. Mom and her illegal clinic was one of those things. She trained other women to make abortions as well. Louis and me and a group of rebels were plotting against Snow for years. One of them found a way here and I was planning to take mom and Lou with me when that happened. I was in the garden when everything exploded. I passed out, for few minutes… but as soon as I recovered myself I ran away. That same night I returned with a group of rebels and we buried them there. Then I came here."

"How did you know about this place?"

"Rumours. Once I was 19, and could be free from the reaping I started to frequent some people. They told me."

"Your name wasn't in the bowl, Sam."

"What? But I asked for food, tesserae and medicine!"

"I made a deal with Evert," Rose said. "that was years before I knew he was a pedophile. I accepted to marry him and in exchange he paid for removing your name and Lou's name from the bowl, even if you were in the list. Evert had a disgusting taste for people from the districts. I was young and he couldn't resist that. So I accepted it. Soon I discovered that he was an idiot. With power and money but an idiot. And only a year and half later I met Alfie," she said unable to hide her smile "Alfie made my life easier. But yeah, I tried to protect you two. And despite everything, Lou died the same."

"Rose…"

"I don't regret it, Sam. At least you survived."

.

A new compartment was assigned to the Solomons that day and by her own demand, they gave one to Samuel near theirs. Cyril got an old mattress to sleep on and for the moment he was with Samuel although the dog insisted on sleeping in Allie's bed.

The change in Alfie was notorious and even if it was just the first day together after over two months apart, those who knew him, could say how much he improved.

Allie in that moment was playing with Cyril and Laurie in the Nelson's compartment, when Alfie grabbed Rose by her waist and pushed her against a wall. After kissing her again, he looked at her.

"Let me rephrase the question, sweetheart. Today I asked you if you wanted to marry me. That's not fucking enough, luv. So, here I go: Do you want to start a family with me? Us, the girl and Cyril."

The smile she gave to him it was probably the biggest and full of love since they met.

"Do you want us to be the Solomons?"

"That's what I want, yes. The Solomons. That sounds perfect."

"I love you and I do accept."

Rose finished to brush Allie's hair after bathing her and put her in bed. The little girl was tired and she was still adapting to that. Not just Rose and Alfie but district 13 and her new life as well.

The new compartment they had now was bigger than the one where Rose and Alfie slept the night before and they added a bed for the girl as well. Her teddy bear, Ms. Boo, almost the last thing she had from her old life was tucked next to her.

"Are you going to sleep with me?"

"I am, Allie. Alfie is attending a meeting with his friends, I don't know at what time he's going to come, so for now it's just you and me."

"I like Alfie."

"He's a good man. And he loves you."

"Is he my daddy now?"

"We decided to adopt you as our kid, Allie. But we're not going to pressure to call us mom and dad if you don't feel it yet. Is that okay with you?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then, baby. Now try to sleep. Sweet dreams, Allie."

Rose kissed her forehead as Allie closed her eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

At least an hour passed, when she heard someone knocking on their door. When she opened, to her surprise, her brother was there.

"Sam? What happened?"

"Campbell and the rest require you. I don't know why, I was going to sleep when I found Aveline in the hallway and asked if I could tell you this."

"Why the hell did they need me?"

"No idea. I can look after the girl, if you want."

Rose frowned. "If that fucker is making Alfie's life a living hell again I'm going to kick his balls. Allie is sleeping," Rose said to Samuel "I don't think she notices I'm not here, besides I'm not planning to stay there that long. I just need what they want."

"Don't worry, Rosie. Just go, I can babysit my niece."

Both siblings smiled and Rose left to go to Campbell's office.

All the victors that made it to district 13 where there. There was a blackboard with the faces that the Capitol held and those who were killed.

"There she is," Campbell said "we guessed that you were taking care of your daughter but we needed you here. Alfie didn't want to bother you."

She looked at her husband who had a grumpy expression in his face. Rose didn't know what was happening but whatever it was, apparently, wasn't good.

"Well, yes, I was with Allie. What…? What the hell is going on?"

Campbell smiled at her and put a hand on her shoulder that Rose pulled away from her. "Mrs. Solomons as you can see this is a victors' meeting. I called them because we need to take important decisions."

"Funny considering that until yesterday you sent Alfie to the kitchens like he was a fucking servant. Did you upgrade him from boiling potatoes to this privileged place?"

"I'm trying to make the right things, Mrs. Solomons."

"I wonder why…"

Campbell ignored her, and continue speaking "and because I'm doing the right thing now it's that I'm calling you too, to have a seat here."

"Why? I'm not a victor."

Campbell looked at her, while all the rest were looking at him. "You're our last victor, Mrs. Solomons. Did you or did not win the 76th hunger games? How do you call the last man standing in this world? Let me answer my own question: we call him or her, in this case, victor. You even volunteered to be there. You had any obligation but you decided to participate… and no one survived except you. One plus one is always two, Rose."

"What? No! No! It's not the same. I planned those games! The Golds helped me! You can't… you can't compare what I did to the things that the real victors had to face!"

"It's the same, Rose," Campbell continued "You're a victor. You won the games, organized by you or not, those were the games that whole Panem saw."

"Did you vote for this?" she asked to Alfie.

"We didn't, Rosie. Campbell told us and I said you were going to be angry. But the decision was already made."

"You're a victor," Aveline said "He's right, Rose. I didn't think about it when I saw you. But it makes sense. You survived your games."

"The 76th weren't my games! The 76th was planned to kill the rapists! All of them! I was there to make them believe I was one of them until it was too late for them to fight back! Are you kidding me? Alfie, you can't believe I'm like you! I did it because I had to! Because it was necessary to expose them, because I didn't want more victims of them!"

"They didn't have a chance," Campbell said again "their names were selected the first moment you knew them. Their fate was sealed. Not like those thousands of kids that died, but the method was basically the same. You needed to punish them, killing them. You succeeded and in the process you participated… and you won."

Rose opened the mouth to protest but she didn't found the right words. She didn't find any word, in fact.

Campbell showed her that empty seat next to Alfie and she sat down there. She felt Alfie's hand on hers, but she didn't look at him.

"You're the last victor, Mrs. Solomons."

Next

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Hey there, if you are up for it could I make a request for angst/comfort/fluff with Batcher’s x fem!reader or (wrecker x fem!reader).

The situation: she’s been with the team for a while and is used to their teasing and can dish it out, but unknowingly, they tease her about something from her child hood that she would get teased about (something silly, not too serious). She hasn’t told them about it bc she still gets bothered by it and they notice her withdraw and one finds her upset. She knows she shouldn’t be mad at them and of course feels bad that they feel bad. They talk it out and she clears the air, things go back to normal, etc (maybe a kiss from Wrecker).

🫣I hope this makes sense. Feel free to interpret how you feel fit. (If not, just scratch it)

Thanks for being an amazing writer! 🎉

Warnings and Information: No real age rating. 2nd person POV; undescribed fem!Reader with the use of she/her pronouns. Wrecker has a crush on Reader. Light, playful teasing all around from our Batchers and Reader. Mentions of a generic, embarrassing situation that happened in the reader's childhood (part of your clothing getting stained/dirty and not remembering how it happened). Minor language. Sprinkling of Mando'a. I wasn't quite sure where this was going for a while honestly, but I think I got it all smoothed out! Thanks for making a request! <3

Word-count: 5,046

Hyperspace was a strange and mystifying concept. You could spend hours, days, even whole weeks traveling at breakneck speeds among the eternal, ethereal canvas of space. Time felt different in hyperspace. Too short, too long, and everything in between. Were it not for a day/night system within the attack shuttle, you'd lose sense of time, and much like the primary navigator of Clone Force 99, your sleep schedule would be kriffed. 

You could stare out the viewport of the Havoc Marauder at the swirling, shimmering and shifting blues for hours at a time. If only you had a moment of peace, though. You can hear someone calling your name, the voice growing closer as they search for you. 

It's a small ship, he'll find you eventually. You keep your eyes fixed on the hypnotic scene just outside the viewport. 

"Hey, daydreamer. Thought I'd find you here. Chow time." Hunter steps into the cockpit, the hinged box of foodstuffs tucked in the crook of his right arm. With his left hand, Hunter scrounges up your share of the rations and passes them over to you. "Here. Best-tasting bits in the box." 

You roll your eyes playfully. "Oh I'm sure." Everything about ration bars and sticks are incredibly bland. They're not meant to be flavorful. They're just supposed to keep up with the minimal nutritional needs of the lifeforms they were formulated for. Your options were "chewy" and "crumbly" if you were lucky. "Thanks, Hunter." You bite down into one, and as expected, it's just barely palatable, but chewy today. 

His head bobs politely. "You're welcome. We make planet-fall to meet up with Commander Cody in 12 standard hours." Hunter closes the box and tucks it away in an overhead compartment within the cockpit. You must have been the last of the squad to get your last meal of the day before the Marauder automatically cycles itself into nocturnal lighting. 

Twelve hours… just two more meals at least before you'd reach your destination. Just twelve more hours of hyperspace to lose yourself in before you had a job to do. You weren't going to let Commander Cody regret his decision to allow a non-Clone researcher into the ranks of the GAR. 

Hunter catches the way your shoulders droop just half an inch at the news. "Hey. Something on your mind?" 

"Hm?" You perk up at the shift in tone of his voice, wondering what tipped him off. "Nothing's the matter, Hunter. I'm fine. Only thinking." 

"About…?" 

You shake your head softly, smiling gently at the Clone Sergeant who had spent considerable effort to make sure you felt like part of this team. "I promise, I'm fine. Just mentally preparing myself for what Commander Cody asked of us." You could be honest with Hunter. When he learned that the seventh researcher considered for his squad could tolerate a bit of rude humor and teasing, he had admittedly thought about testing his commander's claims alongside his brothers, save for Echo. 

"She spent some time with the 501st. If she can handle them, she can handle you. She spent six months with them before Commander Cody considered reassigning her. They're not an easy group." Echo cautioned Hunter after reading the introductory files. 

"Neither are we. Sounds like she's in for a challenge." Crosshair scoffed, waving away the files he had no interest in reading. Hunter would have been completely on board with the idea of seeing how soon they could send researcher number seven running, were it not for the way Wrecker took Tech's datapad and frowned in deep concentration as he read. He kept scrolling back to the top of the file every few minutes to glance at the portrait attached. 

Researchers one through six had been men. 

Men who'd had their pride hurt when Tech corrected them, men who'd promptly disembarked the attack shuttle the next time they reported to Commander Cody because they couldn't stand the unprofessionalism, and men who realized too late that they were not cut out for traveling the galaxy like they once thought and had been more of a liability than an asset to CF99. 

"She's pretty." Wrecker murmured to himself, scrolling back up to the portrait for the fifth time. "And she's… uh, what's that word mean, Tech? … Oh wow. That's a lotta certifications. So she's real smart? When's she supposed to join us?" 

"Twelve standard hours." Tech replied nonchalantly, taking the datapad back before Wrecker would change his mind and steal another look at the professional headshot embedded in the file. "Which means we would have ample time to come up with an excuse to-" Hunter shook his head sharply, silencing Tech. "Let me see the file." 

He thumbed his way down the file and made his selection. Crosshair tucked his arms around his chest, toothpick swaying in the air like a conductor's wand as he spoke, hearing the cheery tone that denoted Hunter had selected ACCEPT rather than dismissing the application. "You're approving her to join our squad? Just like that?" 

"Just like that." 

Twelve standard hours later, Hunter knew he was not going to regret this spur of the moment decision to include this woman on his squad. Crosshair made a blunt remark about needing to move things to shelves you could better reach, and you wasted no time in retorting that there was no need. 

"I'll just be sure not to wear my shoes when I use you as a footstool or a ladder, string bean." 

The toothpick fell from his lip, expression incredulous. "Stri-?" 

"HAHAHAH! I like her already!" Wrecker declared before pushing through his brothers to be the first to introduce himself, "Hi! I'm Wrecker!" 

Things only got easier from there. They liked that you weren't afraid of a little teasing. You could definitely dish it, too! When Commander Cody asked to see the squad three months later when there wasn't so much as an inkling as to whether you were still with them or not, he had been surprised that his brothers were prepared to go and beg to keep this seventh researcher. 

Tech appreciated that you didn't take great offense to his gentle, or not-so-gentle, corrections. A new conversational partner with an inquisitive mind was sorely needed, too. 

"It's 'clusters of three, leave it be' when it comes to select plants found on planets like Naboo, yes. But not where we're going." 

"Is it? … Oh, yes, you're right. Interesting. 'Leaves of three, safe for me. Leaves of four, internal war.' That's… ominous. I'll be sure to study up on this; thank you Tech." 

Crosshair didn't tolerate anyone other than you (or his brothers) comparing him to a kriffing vegetable. Matter of fact, he took it badly if you didn't playfully mock him every couple of rotations. 

"What's got you so sour this morning? Didn't chew enough logs for your beaver den last night?" you had teased, alluding to his habit of gnawing on a toothpick whenever he had the chance. 

"... caf pot is just taking its sweet kriffing time." 

Echo had enjoyed that there was someone who could share in the stories about the shenanigans of the 501st in the wee hours of twilight. Someone to reminisce with. Someone to tell him what he'd missed.

"Captain Rex had to separate a couple of batchmates, I think,  because they wouldn't stop making faces at each other when they thought he couldn't see!" you giggled, drying the tears from your eyes and clutching the aching ribs from laughing so much during one of your happier recountings. 

"Are you sure they weren't Shinies?" Echo asked. You shrugged honestly, admitting you couldn't tell, and did your best to describe the patterns painted in blue on their armor. Echo only sighed and laughed. "Of course it'd be them."

Hunter found greater relief for his episodic headaches since bringing you on board their team. You weren't brought there to be their medic, but you had a knack for knowing just what sort of headache plagued him before he could puzzle it out with everyone making so much noise around him. 

"Here. Give this a try, see if that does anything to relieve your migraine, sarge." 

"How could you tell it was a-?"

"Shhh. I'll explain later. Go lay down in your bunk. I'll ask the others to be quiet."

And Wrecker…

… oh you had him wrapped around your little finger so tightly. He just loved you. The rest of the squad often found the two of you sharing snacks, or found you curled up in his bunk (with Lula snug in your arms) if Wrecker discovered you passed out in one of the crash seats, and entertained him with stories about your childhood. It would've broken his brother's heart if Hunter had been asked to transfer out their seventh researcher. It took less than a full week for Wrecker to realize that he didn't just find you pretty; but he was starting to develop a crush on you the longer you'd been with them.

You weren't stupid to the crush, either. You definitely noticed. But in the interest of professionalism, you and Wrecker both were very careful to keep things platonic and friendly. No one was quite sure if romantic partnerships could be pursued between the Clone soldiers of the GAR and nat-born personnel with the relative newness of this program. 

For now. 

You were supposed to meet up with Commander Cody every three months. It's been six months (and a handful of days in hyperspace) since you had joined the ranks of the Bad Batch, hoping to get approved to remain with them longer by the Marshal Commander. And it'd take just less than twelve standard hours to find out just how much or how little the two of you cared about keeping it professional. 

You could hear Echo groaning in the bunkroom from the confines of the cockpit. "What's with Echo?" you asked Hunter, wondering what was troubling the cybernetically enhanced soldier this… well, you guessed you could call it evening. "He okay?" 

"Dunno." Hunter shrugged, letting you exit the cockpit first so the two of you could go see what was wrong. 

Echo is sitting in Tech's rack, the two of them trying to scrub a mysterious stain out of the material of Echo's modified sleepwear. Nothing they have tried seems to be working. "It's getting worse." Echo insists, the edge of his voice suggesting he's getting very frustrated. 

"We will find something to remove the stain, Echo," Tech insists, trying to be reassuring and supportive, "don't worry." 

"We've been trying to get it out for the last ten minutes, it's not working!" You ask to give the sleep-shirt a look, offering to help so no one loses their temper with one another despite best efforts. "I'm no stranger to stains as a researcher. I get my clothes dirty all the time." you say, trying to lighten the mood. It looks like the stain is oil-based when you lift it up to your face to make a closer visual inspection. "Oh, this shouldn't be too hard to remove. Just need a little hot water and some cleaner. I've got something that should do the trick." 

You nab the container of laundry detergent powder that you have tucked among your things that's never failed you in removing even the toughest of stains, and there's some nervous snickers over the size of the box. "Are you really gonna need that much to get a little stain out?" Wrecker asks curiously, eyes flitting from container to the stain on the shirt that's roughly the size of a fingerprint.

You laugh gently, taking the top with you to the sink in the tiny on-board 'fresher. "Oh, no-no! I just like to be prepared and have a lot of this on hand." 

You're not quite sure who makes the first remark (or what it is exactly) over the gush of the faucet, but someone makes a jab that sounds like it's about the size of the detergent box and your comment regarding preparedness. You're honestly not sure. You're more focused on removing the grease from the sleepwear to completely pay attention. When you're finished, you carefully wring out the water from the material of the sleepwear and give it to Echo. "Here, give that a look. See if I got it out." 

He exhales softly with relief, thanking you. "Like it was never there. Thank you. This was one of my last sets of clean sleepers before we see Commander Cody." 

"Hey, like I said," you remind him with a smile, "plenty of experience with stained clothing as I've gotten older." 

Rationally, you understand that the remark one of them makes is made innocently, but it strikes a sore nerve all the same. "Hah. Betting there's some clothing that you ruined as a kid that you'd know how to get out now and save yourself some embarrassment or something, huh?"

You swallow uncomfortably. There is at least one occasion you can think of, yes. But it happened so long ago you don't recall the specifics. Maybe it'd been a party with your family or some friends, or maybe it was a sleepover, and you can't recall if the stain had gotten on the tops or bottoms of one of your favorite outfits as a child. But it was so bright and obvious that it was impossible not to miss. Trying to clean it up with a napkin or paper towel only smeared it into the clothing. And trying to use water just made it even worse, even larger and more noticeable than before because now part of you was wet. And some people had laughed. People with good intentions tried to help you clean the stain, but it just ruined your clothing, and you had to wear it for the rest of the day. 

You had been so kriffing embarrassed that you didn't even remember when you got your clothes stained, or what stained them to begin with. You just remember the teasing that came later. It probably wasn't even all that much teasing, in reality… but to a little girl, it sure felt like a lot. 

Someone timidly calls your name, noticing how silent you've become. An uneasy silence that you rarely fell into. "You okay, cyar'ika?" 

You don't say anything for a long moment, debating if it's worth explaining the embarrassing memory such a simple, honest question unearthed. No, you decide. It's silly. They've witnessed far worse as soldiers than a kriffing stain on their favorite clothes. Complaining about it to them would be… childish. You're being childish, you tell yourself. You're still bothered by things that happened so long ago that don't even matter, and those people who teased you likely don't remember now. How pathetic of you, you scold.

"I'm fine… I think I'm just tired. What, uh… what time is it?" you glance around the ship, genuinely forgetting where you might find something with a display of the time at the present moment. 

Tech, faithful datapad ever in hand, has the time. "It will be twenty minutes before the Marauder's internal lighting changes over to try to simulate nocturnal conditions." 

"Oh, no wonder…" you murmur, feigning a soft yawn. "I swear, it's always just shortly before we make planet-fall that my circadian rhythm finally takes the hint and wants to cooperate." Echo and Wrecker both nod sympathetically, Echo more so because he shares a similar struggle. Poor man is often turning like a nuna on a spit over an open fire in his bed, and it doesn't surprise Hunter, Crosshair or Wrecker anymore to now find three people chatting in the cockpit of the attack shuttle sometimes since the addition of the female researcher. (It certainly surprised Commander Cody on that three-month-mark check in that you were all getting along so well.)

Echo follows suit with a yawn of his own. "Yeah, I know whatcha mean, ad'ika… Think I'll turn in early too, if I'm not needed for watch duty."

Crosshair shakes his head, silently communicating with Hunter through a simple look, listing off your name along with Echo and Wrecker. "You three get some sleep. And Tech, do whatever the kriff you feel like so long as you do it quietly." If Cross and Hunter were taking watch together, they had something to discuss for a while before Crosshair would come along and collect Tech from wherever he inevitably passed out and tuck him into his bunk. 

You bid everyone good night and climbed up into your rack, laying on your side to face the inner wall of the alcove for some semblance of privacy. Being sleepy was a façade, of course. Even when the lights dimmed, you didn't find yourself any sleepier. You just kept thinking back to that comment someone had said. 

You hadn't thought about that instance of your childhood in ages until tonight. But you're starting to think it affected you a lot more than you initially believed. 

Is that why I learned how to get stains out of practically every kind of clothing? Is that why I have such a big container of laundry detergent "just in case"? Am I worried that they'll make fun of me if I ever got such an obvious stain on my clothing while I'm doing my job as a researcher? Am I worried that… Wrecker will make fun of me? 

Wrecker whispers your name from his rack after a few minutes of silence. "Are you okay?" Unbeknownst to you, he's been thinking about the way you reacted after the question too, and he wants to see if you're okay. But you don't want to bother him while you're feeling so blue about childhood embarrassments, so you pretend to be asleep by not answering him. "Think she's asleep, Wrecker…" Echo mumbles somewhere below you. "You should try to do the same."

You can imagine the dejected frown as Wrecker turns into his bunk and with a sigh says, "... 'kay. I'll ask her in the morning, then. G'night." 

You'll have at least six standard hours to hope that Wrecker forgets to ask. Or, with a healthy helping of mercy from the galaxy, that you'd forget too. 

You wake up to a timid hand reaching up into your rack and poking you gently between your shoulder blades. You know without having to roll over or even open your eyes that it's Wrecker. Each one of them has a different method of waking you, and Wrecker is always cautious. 

"Mm. Mornin'." you mumble, carefully sitting up and easing yourself to the edge of your bunk. "Sleep well, Wrecker?" The team's always been real sweet and considerate in the "mornings" through hyperspace travel, but there's something with Wrecker in particular you're drawn to in the morning… you've never quite gotten it figured out. "No bad dreams at least, right?" 

"Eh… think so, at least!" Wrecker chuckles with an exaggerated shrug, stifling a yawn with the palm of his hand. "None that I can remember, anyway. What about you?" 

Cautiously lowering yourself from the bunk, you think back to last night's dreams and vaguely describe what you remember of the disjointed sequence of events. And of course, there had been something related to your recollections last night, but you didn't tell Wrecker about that. For the time being, you're just going to keep mum about it.

You have things to do around the Havoc Marauder to prepare for meeting up with Commander Cody; a little bit of paperwork, mostly. After Hunter divvies up the morning rations for everyone, you say that you're going to retreat back to bunks where it'll be quietest to get this all sorted out, indicating your paperwork. 

The neater you make this, the faster a busy man like the Commander will be able to approve you for another three months. 

Wrecker follows you back to the sleeping racks, followed after by Tech, who rouses you from the files just as you find your groove. 

"Is there something bothering you?" 

Your head snaps up in confusion and surprise. "Huh?"

Tech states your name and repeats his question, believing that you hadn't been paying attention at all rather than just listening half-heartedly. "I asked if there was something bothering you. You're not one to shy away from doing your paperwork around the squad. In fact, doing your paperwork around us has never been a problem before until-"

Wrecker cuts to the chase when he senses his brother's explanation is getting too long-winded. "Tech's asking if something upset you last night." 

"If one of us upset you last night." 

Cross, Hunter and Echo have now come to make themselves part of this budding conversation, joining everyone else presently in the bunkroom. "We noticed that you got really quiet, and that's not exactly like you." one of them remarks. 

"If there's a problem, we want to sort this out before we see Commander Cody. If he thinks there's a chance things aren't working out-"

"-he'll probably reassign you. And we don't want that. I-I don't want tha'..." Wrecker admits bashfully. 

Someone nudges Cross in the ribs to say something. "Did something one of us said last night embarrass you?" 

You shake your head firmly. If the five of them are worried enough that a playful taunt was taken too far last night, and they were scared to risk you becoming reassigned that they were getting the jump on things before they had the chance to kick off, then they must really think they did something to screw up, or that you're mad at them, and that's why you're not talking to them as you do your paperwork like usual. 

"Oh boys…" you start, setting aside the datapad to give them your undivided company. "No. You don't have to worry. And I'm truly sorry that I made you all worry, but… nothing's wrong, really." You explain in some detail that you're really and truly okay. Maybe feeling a little blue about the memories that resurfaced after you confide in all of them that it turns out that incident from your childhood still upsets you more than you initially believed. "I know rationally none of you knew that. Or that it would upset me. I didn't even know it'd upset me to think about the time I got some clothes dirty as a little girl. So I don't blame anyone. And once again, I'm really sorry if I made any of you think I was mad, or offended, or anything like that just before we see the Marshal Commander. You don't have to worry about me asking to reassign just because my feelings got a little bruised. C'mon. We've all teased each other plenty. Ain't that right, Mr. Toothprick?" 

In his relief, Cross can only chuckle silently. "Think you've used that one before. Don't tell me you're running out of ideas." 

"She has not. I've been keeping a list of her- Nevermind. That's not important." Tech interrupts himself, adjusting the strap of his goggles. "What is important is we've cleared the air. And everything seems to be in order once more, as we hoped." 

You smile. “Heh. Never change, Tech.” Before most leave you to your paperwork, Tech assures you he doesn’t particularly plan on it. Among those that stay are Hunter and Wrecker. Hunter will need to add his signature to the paperwork once you’ve gotten it completed, and Wrecker just wants to keep you company. And give, or get, a little reassurance. “You know we’d never make fun of you for getting a stain in your clothing and mean it, right?”

“Yes Wrecker,” you promise, pawning the datapad to the sergeant of the rogue Clone squad once you’ve scribbled out your own signature. Getting up from the borrowed bunk you had been sitting in, you give Wrecker a friendly kiss on the cheek just to see him smile again before you make your way to the snug ‘fresher aboard the attack shuttle to freshen up. In less than six standard hours, you’ll be making planet-fall, and there’s still lots to do. “I trust you guys. You don’t have to worry, big guy.” 

Neither do you, turns out. 

Very shortly after touching down on the landing pad, you trot down the gangplank of the Marauder, datapad with all your necessary files prepped and ready once Cody comes to greet you in your hand. As civilian personnel, you’re not exactly sure how far you can stray from the ship while you wait for the Clone Commander. Or if there’s even protocol for that kind of thing to begin with. Strangely, there’s more than just the members of the 212th here; you’re seeing hints of blue armor of the 501st roaming the landing pad too.

Someone calls your name. It’s a younger trooper you made friends with in the sixth months that you were with them, surprised to see you. “Ad’ika? Hey, long time no see! Hope the Bad Batch hasn’t been giving you too much trouble!” 

“Not at all; they’ve been great! Oh, it’s so good to see you.” you reply, excitedly throwing your arms around your friend before he gets the chance to warn you.

Poor fellow begins to sputter nervously. “Y-yeah, it’s good to see you too, but uh…” He utters something that sounds like the words oh no under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, pulling away from him. That’s when you notice why he’s panicking. You’ve just given your friend a hug not long after he must have touched up the paint on his armor. There’s a bright splotch of blue all over the front of your field uniform now. “Oh kriff, I’m so sorry…!” you apologize to one another simultaneously. The paint is very fresh, and there’s no hiding it either. Oh stars, that’ll be a nightmare to get out… and you have to speak to Commander Cody soon, there’s probably not enough time to change into another field uniform!

“Oh no… um, Hunter? C-could you take my datapad please? I need to-” You’re about ready to ask Hunter if he can possibly stall for a little time if the Commander comes to review the report, but when you turn around, you find that Cody’s already here and talking to Hunter. Wrecker takes one look at you, your clothing covered in blue paint, and decides that he’s not going to let you be the only one covered in paint before the Commander notices. Thankfully, he’s too distracted with the supply manifest Tech’s presented to him to have heard you asking Hunter to help. One look at the situation, and he’s made up his mind on what to do; your warning can’t sway him.

“Wr-Wrecker! What’re you-!”

Bounding up to you with a laugh, Wrecker hoists you into his arms against his chest, transferring some of the paint from your clothing all over his plastoid in the process after safely tossing the datapad to Hunter from your hands. “Hey, if you’re offering hugs, I want one too!”

Wrecker carries you closer to the group and the others take some of the paint off your clothing and add it to their armor without complaint. You and Wrecker bare the most paint of the six of you standing near the Commander as he glances down the paperwork to make sure everything appears to be in order. “Ah, well I see you boys have been getting along very well with your seventh researcher.” Cody remarks casually, looking up from the datapad now everyone had a little bit of blue on them. “Guess I don’t need to ask whether this means you’re all sick of one another, yet.” Hunter’s jaw drops open to comment, but he’s silenced when the indicator tied to the APPROVED button chimes. So instead, he simply thanks the Marshal Commander and offers a polite salute as Cody dismisses himself. 

Hunter swears softly when he takes a look at the datapad. “He’s… approved you for another six months.” he says incredulously, showing you the screen when Wrecker refuses to put you down still.

 APPROVED FOR: SIXTH MONTHS 

REASON: CAMARADERIE

Wrecker in particular whoops loudest of all, everyone delighted that you weren't going anywhere any time soon. Caught up in the euphoria of the moment, just as someone suggests that you all go get some real karking food to celebrate while you have a brief reprieve before your next assignment as a squad, you take advantage of your proximity to Wrecker and kiss him before you completely consider what you're doing. Laughing when the two of you pull apart, Wrecker gives you a slightly befuddled look and asks, "Heh, what was that for, mesh'la?" 

You start to apologize, saying things like you should have asked and you’ve been wanting to kiss him for a while now, but you just weren’t thinking, much like now as you continue to ramble on apologizing. “I- I’m sorry, I guess I just got carried away.”

“Hey,” Wrecker chuckles, finally setting you on your feet, “S’okay. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while, too. But uh, I didn’t want to cross any boundaries, so I tried to keep it professional. But… if you-” Crosshair scoffs, softly nudging your elbow as he brushes past the pair of you. You know by the wry smile, he’s teasing both of you, not just his brother. “He’s been secretly practicing his confession for the past twelve standard hours and it’s not gonna get any smoother than this. If you just say “kark the professionalism” you can spare us all from more embarrassment.”

Most everyone can only laugh to themselves. “Aww, don’t you worry Cross,” Wrecker tells him, you and Wrecker sharing a look that says y’know what, he’s right, kark the professionalism already, “she’ll make sure to get all the blue paint off your armor later.” 

Cross only rolls his eyes at that. But under his breath, as everyone steps into the din of the mess hall, it sounds like he’s asking Hunter if he has to pay up if it was exactly twelve standard hours from the time he thought you and Wrecker were finally going to move beyond this “little mutual crush” stage. 

(Yes. He does, it turns out.)

Frost's Note: Merkitty, I gotta admit, I totally thought of your OC Ohno during that wet-paint-and-hug scene at first. 😅 Once again, I hope you enjoyed my interpretation of your request! 🩷

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