#have some feels

[kanerallels]

Trick or treat 💜

*cracks knuckles* Let's see if I can do this justice

If Hera had thought being without Kanan was hard before, it was nothing compared to now after she had Jacen.

She’d been granted maternity leave (a very tired looking Princess Organa told her to take as long as she needed), and was spending it on Lothal. Governor Azadi had appointed a specific landing platform for the Ghost, and that was where Hera stayed. She couldn’t quite bring herself to visit the comm tower where Ezra had lived, not yet.

Often, she wasn’t alone. Zeb would be there as often as he could, as would Sabine. But they had their own responsibilities, and Hera wasn’t about to divert anything from the Rebellion. Her father had visited a few times, but it was hard for him to get off of Ryloth.

So more often than not, it was just her, Chopper, and Jacen. And while she was so, so grateful for the gift that was her son…it was hard.

He cried. A lot. Hera sometimes wondered if he somehow remembered the trauma she’d gone through while carrying him, if the pain of that and losing his father was still inside him. But more likely, he was just a baby, who cried when hungry or cold or pretty much whenever he needed anything. She vaguely recalled her little brother crying, too, before they’d lost him.

It had been months since she last had a full night’s sleep. If Jacen’s cries didn’t wake her—and they usually did—dreams of fire and blue-green eyes did. She was tired, and trying so desperately to take care of her son. But Hera felt like she was one step away from falling apart.

She couldn’t, though. She didn’t have a choice. She had to hold it together for Jacen.

As it turned out, it relaxed Jacen to be held, especially when she was moving. So Hera started spending a lot of time walking, with him cradled in her arms or strapped in a sling to her chest. She started exploring the streets of Lothal when she wasn’t helping Ryder with the relief work, pacing the lengths of them time after time. Often, she’d pass places she recognized—Old Jho’s, the bombed out shell of the Bridgers house. Or other times, she’d see a piece of graffiti by Sabine, and wonder when she was here. If it was recent or long ago, back when life made sense.

One day, she was walking through a tangle of neighborhoods, most of the houses burned away. Sabine had recently commed, saying that she was coming back to Lothal. She hadn’t said why, but the heaviness in her voice said it all. Her and Ahsoka’s search for Ezra was still fruitless, and Hera’s heart twisted at the thought. At the fear that he might actually be gone for good.

She tried to hide the fear and sadness she felt, but Jacen seemed to be picking up on it anyway, because he simply would not stop crying. No matter how much she rocked him, humming one of the songs that soothed him the most, he wailed steadily on.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she whispered to him, bouncing him up and down lightly. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

“Excuse me.”

A gentle voice cut through Hera’s spinning thoughts, and she looked up—meeting a pair of blue-green eyes. For a moment, she was paralyzed, and then she registered the sight of an elderly woman, silver hair pulled back from her face, which wore a warm but concerned expression.

“Can I help you?” she asked. “Please.”

Any other time, Hera would have demurred, would have told her she had it handled. But the combination of exhaustion and Jacen’s cries and the startlingly familiar eyes somehow overtook her brain, and before she knew it she was handing her son over to the woman, who introduced herself as Devorah.

To her shock, Jacen quieted quickly as the woman sang gently in a language Hera didn’t recognize, staring up at her with wide blue eyes. Apparently, many human children started out with blue eyes. Hera harbored a secret hope that Jacen’s eyes would change to look like his father’s.

“What a precious boy,” Devorah murmured. Giving Hera a sympathetic look, she said, “You look exhausted, General. Haven’t you been sleeping?”

“Not as much as I want to,” Hera admitted. “But—how did you know—”

“I’ve seen you around the refugee camps,” Devorah explained. “Everyone’s quite impressed with how much you’ve been doing, particularly with a newborn baby. But I know how hard raising a new baby can be.” Pausing, she said, “I take it his father is—”

“Gone,” Hera said, hating the ache in her throat and the sting in her eyes. “He—he died to save us.”

Devorah’s expression softened. “Then your little boy has two heroes as parents. But I have a feeling that’s little comfort.”

“You could say that,” Hera agreed.

“Hmm. I lost my husband to the Empire,” Devorah told her. “He was brave, too, but…it doesn’t prevent us from missing them.”

Hera suddenly found the tears in her eyes spilling forth. “No,” she whispered. “It doesn’t.”

And to her profound relief, Devorah didn’t hesitate before pulling her into a hug.

After that, she saw quite a bit more of Devorah. The refugee camps housed those who were displaced after Thrawn’s orbital bombardment, and Hera had been working there as much as possible to help. Now that she’d met her, Devorah seemed everywhere at once—cooking, helping put up tents, cheering up children and encouraging parents and singing, always singing.

(it reminded Hera, as too much did, of Kanan. How he’d told her once that the only memory he had of his life before the Jedi Order was of a voice, singing to him, and after that Hera had made a point to let him catch her singing as much as possible.)

The camps were overcrowded, and work to get people their homes back was slow. A lot of people were sharing tents, and some didn’t have one to begin with. When Hera realized that Devorah was one of those—she’d given hers up to a pair of children, whose parents had died in the bombings—she’d immediately, impulsively, offered to let Devorah use one of the spare rooms on the Ghost.

(there was only one real spare room. Hera almost never went in there, not anymore. But somehow, it felt right to let Devorah use it.)

Having someone else around all the time brought a little light to Hera’s life. And it helped a lot to have someone look after Jacen so she could catch a little extra sleep every now and then.

It helped that Jacen loved Devorah. He’d light up when she was around, babbling to her, and she’d listen and laugh like he was actually talking. “He’s such a sweet boy,” she told Hera one day. “He reminds me of my son at his age.”

“You had a son?” Hera asked, not quite surprised, and Devorah nodded.

“And a daughter. She left to fight the Empire, although I hear from her pretty often. And my son…” Devorah’s usually cheerful face fell, an old sadness in her eyes. “He’s gone, too. For longer, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Hera said slowly, and Devorah glanced at her.

“It’s quite alright. He didn’t die, exactly, although I’d say it’s not impossible he’s gone at this point. He was a Jedi.”

The word went through Hera’s heart like a knife, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. “A Jedi?” she managed finally.

Nodding, Devorah said, “Yes. I was sad to let him go but, oh, how proud. We knew he’d change the galaxy someday. I was sure of it. Our family never bought into the Empire’s lies about the Jedi, and I always wondered if he’d made it.”

“What was his name?” Hera managed, and she knew. She just knew, before Devorah spoke with a gentle, wistful smile on her face.

“Caleb,” she said. “Caleb Dume.”

[tooxmanyxships]

for the prompts, dando break up and make up? or they get into a bad fight n lando thinks it’s over but daniel comes back n then fluff <3

I'm missing Dando so much lately so yeah. I FINALLY went back into my inbox to look at prompts and just had to respond to this one.

It was so fucking stupid. But weren't all fights between couples pretty stupid?

Those between Lando and Daniel definitely were.

Lando couldn't even remember why they were fighting....

It probably all started with one of them making a joke, that's usually how it went with them, which suddenly turned into an argument.

Then one of them would slip up and say something nasty, most likely Lando; if he was honest with himself.

This was usually settled pretty quickly, because Daniel always forgave him. Lando was aware of that.

He tried not to take advantage of it, but sometimes he thought Daniel forgave him a little too easily.

But not this time.

This time Daniel hadn't listened, no matter how many times Lando said sorry and exclaimed that he didn't mean it.

Maybe he'd taken it too far this time. If only he could remember what he said.....

It was in the heat of the moment.

It was also in the heat of the moment that Daniel had slammed the door as he left the apartment.

He didn't even take his key.

The key was still sitting next to Lando's in their usual spot so they wouldn't lose them.

Daniel was gone.

He wasn't coming back.

Lando stuffed himself into the corner of the couch and made himself as small as he could, folding himself into a ball.

He played with the bracelets on his wrist, which usually calmed him down.

It did this time too until his eyes caught onto that one special bracelet.

His most precious one.

It was simple, but pretty.

DR3 sitting proudly in the middle.

Daniel had the same one. The only difference that his one said LN4.

3 & 4... People sometimes joked that they were made to be teammates.

And they had been. But that was in the past.

Some even said they were meant to be together.

And that--- that's what scared Lando so much.

As much as their relationship was built off of a lot of joking and dishing it out against each other, Lando had the tendency to push a little too hard. Too fast.

He wanted to see when Daniel would break. If he would break at all.

Today he had his answer.

Daniel could break.

Daniel could also leave.

And it was all Lando's fault.

~~~~~~********~~~~~~~

Lando didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, still folded in on himself, forefinger caressing the DR3 on his bracelet over and over again.

Lost in thoughts.

Suddenly he was pulled back to the present by pounding on the door.

The pounding had started off as soft knocks which Lando hadn't been aware of.

He wished he wasn't aware of these pounds either, but whoever this person was, they were relentless.

Lando didn't want to see anyone right now.

"Go away!!!"

Fuck.

When did he start crying?!

"Lando?"

That voice.

No.....

It couldn't be - - - -

"Lan, can you please open the door? I forgot my keys."

Someone was playing a very dirty trick on him here.

"Bear. Please. Open the door."

It's him.

Lando jumped up from the couch and sprinted to the door so fast Jon would be so proud of him.

He gripped the door handle and ripped the door open.

Then he stared.

Stared at a slightly flustered Daniel, who had his hand lifted to pound on the door again and quickly lowered it.

"Finally. I thou----"

Daniel couldn't even finish his sentence because the wind was knocked out of him as Lando propelled himself into his chest.

He was frozen for a second, but he immediately came back to life when the sob reached his ears. And his heart.

"I thought you left me."

Daniel quickly wrapped his arms around the younger boy.

"Oh Lan. Never. I would never leave you. No matter how much you try to push me away."

Sometimes he forgets how well the Australian actually knows him.

"But you...." a sniffle. "You left your key."

"Forgot. I forgot my keys. Couldn't even go for a drive so I just took a walk instead."

That Lando could believe. Daniel was prone to forgetting things like that.

"I'm sorry..."

"It's okay."

"No. I shouldn't have said what I did."

Silence.

"You forgot what you said, huh?"

Lando tensed. "I---"

Whatever he was expecting to happen, it wasn't the laugh that bubbled out of Daniel's mouth.

"Keeps on picking fights with me and then completely forgets about them."

A soft whine. "I don't mean to..."

"I know. I know you don't mean to." He turns his head to press a kiss into Lando's curls. "That's why I always come back."

A rustle. Some shifting. Two sets of eyes meeting each other.

"Always?"

"Always. I promise."

A sigh of relief. Head meeting shoulder. Face hiding in the crook of the older man's neck.

"I love you."

Don't leave me again.

"I love you too."

I never will.

[le-amewzing]

All We Have in the End

Absolutely had to write the Paris POV of receiving that news. ;w; *Note: Set during s21e2, "The Stories We Leave Behind."

-----

Fic: "All We Have in the End" [FFN] [AO3] [pfio]

Pairings/Characters: Tony DiNozzo/Ziva David, DiNozzo Sr., & Tali David–DiNozzo, with a cameo from Timothy McGee

Rating: K+

Words: ~1,580

Additional info: family, tragedy, hurt/comfort, 3rd person POV

Summary: Their day is winding down in Paris, and the David–DiNozzo family gets a call from McGee just like any…other…day…

-----

"I've decided: I am not a fan of the unseasonably warm winter," Tony announced as Ziva joined him on their balcony late that February afternoon. They had the big double doors thrown wide open, and a chilly breeze caught the curtains, pulling the fabric outside, trying to wrap the couple in a warm embrace as they looked out on the twinkling city below.

She chuckled beside him and leaned against his left arm while he rested on his arms on the balcony railing. "So we've not had much snow, Tony. Personally, while I miss the winter wonderland D.C. can be this time of year…I won't dismiss that this is nice, too."

"But the hot cocoa! The s'mores!"

"You whine as though we've not done all those things still," she reminded him with a gentle poke to his side.

True. He nodded at that, although he wanted to bring up snowball fights next…then again, he wasn't getting any younger. Bending down to scoop up snow and play with Tali and her friends and their families was, uh, not as easy as it used to be. Even compared to a year or two ago.

Ziva rested her chin on his shoulder and nuzzled his cheek, moving her arms around him. "Besides, I find I am quite partial to this weather. Soft sweaters and," she murmured, leaving her thought go unfinished.

But Tony glanced at her, his grumpiness ebbing. He turned in her arms, drawing her close, because he actually knew what the rest of that thought was, now that they had several years under their belt, here.

Together. In Paris. With Tali.

Tony hadn't remarked about it. Not before, because he hadn't wanted to scare Ziva off, and not now, because he didn't want to piss her off. But now, setting down roots here, Ziva clearly was comfortable—in a new home, in her own skin, in showing her love and affection. He was proud of her, but—more than anything—he was happy for her, and Tony reminded her of this as he pressed a kiss to her temple as well as one to her lips.

"WE'RE HOME, ABBA, IMAH!!!" Tali yelled from deep inside the flat, and the front door closed behind her a moment later.

The parents chuckled and Tony rolled his eyes as they walked inside. "Indoor voice, Tal, indoor voice."

The ten-year-old grinned and dropped her schoolbag on the nearest chair before rushing her mother for a hug.

Tony glanced at his father behind Tali. "How was the walk home?"

"Fantastic," Senior said. He shed his coat and draped it on the back of the chair where Tali left her bag. "You know, that teacher from Tali's school, Madame Dumond, she always has a bright smile for me whenever I pick Tali up from school…"

Tony's face fell. He had to be imagining that twinkle in Senior's eye—oh, God, he was hallucinating that cocky twinkle in his eye, right?! "Dad, please tell me you didn't."

"What? I haven't done anything, son. We just exchange hellos, and she's incredibly patient with my broken French."

He rubbed his forehead, sensing a headache developing, and he didn't appreciate the snickers on his right. "…don't encourage him, Zee."

"What? I have seen the way Madame Dumond looks at your father. It's cute."

Thankfully, a familiar series of chirps sounded in the other room. Tony did a double-take before he realized he'd left his laptop in his and Ziva's room-slash-home office. Given the time difference, he didn't have high hopes it was McGee calling from the start of the workday, but a part of him wished for his friend's ear, because at least McGee might sympathize with him. So Tony ducked into the room, grabbed the device, and returned only to catch his daughter's eye as Senior split a chocolate éclair with her. "Hey! No spoiling your dinner."

"What's for dinner?" Tali and Senior asked in unison.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Undecided. But, Tali, homework first."

The curly-haired scamp didn't protest, but she did shove her entire half of the éclair in her mouth before scooting off to her room with her belongings.

Ziva snickered. "And, knowing you and your talk of s'mores earlier, we'll be heading out to that specialty dessert restaurant tonight," she quipped.

Tony's cheeks warmed, because his partner…wasn't entirely wrong. "Yeah, yeah…" Before the video caller gave up, he opened his laptop and the app—and was relieved to discover his wish had been answered. "McGoober McCheese! Have some crime-solving only we can assist with from across the pond?"

McGee opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Tony furrowed his brow. He glanced at the app's settings…no, the volume was up and everything appeared to be running just fine…and the video feed wasn't frozen… Tony's good cheer vanished, his smile forced. "McGee?"

McGee struggled to meet his eyes. When he did, Tony saw: They were red.

…aw, hell. This—This was like three years ago all over again. But if the shock of Bishop's treason (which, as Tony and Ziva had discussed between themselves, made zero sense without someone pulling serious strings…) and then the brief terror of Gibbs' supposed death had made McGee pale and a mess that reverted him to his probie self, then what…?

Tony dropped onto the family sofa like a sack of potatoes.

Oh.

Someone…someone was gone. For real, this time.

Ziva drew near and placed a hand on Tony's left shoulder, her fingers curling into him, strong, as she reached the same conclusion. Senior sat down in the armchair, looking from his son to the screen.

Finally, McGee got enough breath in him, and his words came out in an exhale: "Jimmy found Ducky."

Tony winced. Not from Ziva digging her nails in, not from hearing his father's gasp—he winced, because the news…the news hurt. The news was a blow.

Ducky.

Ducky—he was someone who was supposed to live forever. If he could survive wartime battlefields and being attacked on the job and even that damn heart-attack after Dearing's attack on NCIS headquarters, then surely Dr. Donald "Ducky" Mallard was some breed of invincible man, not far removed from Gibbs himself. He was supposed to live well into his hundreds, into his two-hundreds. He— He— He—

Ducky didn't just pass away in his sleep. Ducky was supposed to be around forever.

All the while Tony's thoughts jumbled, McGee kept talking, about organizing things and trying to help Jimmy and just—everyone there trying to hold it together.

Ah. Right. There…was still an agency, a team mourning their friend.

Ducky wasn't theirs alone.

"What can we do to help, Tim?" Senior offered.

His question caught both McGee and Tony by surprise, and both looked Senior's way. "…uhh, nothing, Mr. DiNozzo, sorry. We've got our hands full, and I'm in the middle of calling you all first." He paused to swallow a lump in his throat. "I called Gibbs before I called you. …Abby's next on my list."

"Thank you for letting us know, McGee," Ziva said.

He nodded by way of parting, and the video cut out a second later.

Ziva studied Tony—he felt her eyes on him—and she pulled the laptop from his grip. "Tony…"

He closed his eyes, though. He knew they all mourned Ducky, but there was…this was different. Ducky belonged to everyone, yes, but also—he didn't. The team originally had been Gibbs, Tony, Kate, McGee, Abby, Ducky, and Jimmy.

But Kate had been taken too soon. Then Tony, Abby, and Gibbs left. And now McGee and Jimmy… Tony rubbed that same spot on his forehead, his headache arriving as he tried to hold back his tears as well as a confusing mixture of grief and other emotions he couldn't quite name.

Ziva passed the laptop to Senior as she sat beside Tony. She pulled him in and held him, tight, without saying a word.

The first one to break the silence was Senior, a few minutes later. He piped up, "I can book you on a flight back to D.C. that departs in an hour. It's cutting it close, and you'll have a layover, but it'll make do."

They both turned to him. Tony gawked. "You—"

Senior shook his head. "Tony, you know you've gotta be there. I'd love to go and pay my respects to my fellow Sherlock, and I can tell Ziva would love to go, too," he said, and Ziva gave him a wet smile, "but you have to be there."

Tony faced Ziva. "But—"

She shushed him. "Tali's still in the middle of the school year. Your father and I can man-handle the fort while you're gone."

Relief bubbled up in his chest, pushing down the urge to chuckle at and not correct her Zivaism. "Zee, Dad—"

But Senior was having none of it. He got back to clicking on the airline's site. "Tim said there wasn't anything I could do, but I like to prove you kids wrong even now. So go pack your nicest suit, Tony, and represent all of us."

Ziva nodded at that, and she pecked Tony's cheek. "Being there is one thing you can do, so give them our love," she said. "Remind them that they're not alone. It's what we can do."

Tony watched as Ziva laced their fingers together, clasped his hand. Strangely, that mix of emotions didn't threaten to overwhelm him anymore. "…yeah," he agreed, "it's what we can do."

-----

Hi, hello, still a wreck after that final scene in s21e2. The mellow version of the theme song, the nods to all the other offices (they didn't forget about NOLA! TT-TT), and just…a lot of details in general had my entire family teary-eyed throughout the ep. But then. THE TONY CAMEO. And not a dry eye could be found in the mew household, folks. Ngl, it made it hard to pay full attention to Hawai'i after, *lol*. X'D So…some things. First, the title comes from a passing line of Jimmy's at the end of the ep; he refers to the stories left behind as what we have in the end, altho Tony corrects him, about the "the lives we touch"—and I like that take, implying that what we have still is each other. :') Second, with this story, there's deffo a big nod to my previous fic, "Stand-In," bc it's hard not to see the parallels in terms of McGee reaching out with Bad News™ to tell the David–DiNozzo family. But, here, more time has passed, and Tiva truly are more comfortable in their lives here…altho, receiving this call and thinking about a) the OG team and b) his age, it's implied that this is a bit of a wake-up call for Tony, too. Things have been changing for a long time, but things feel far more permanent now. This Tony is much more aware of his mortality now (which, as a Marvel fan, is not a fun sentence to type, ouch ;w; *has cross-fandom feels again even tho it's been yrs*). ANYWHO. I just wanted to give us all a peek into how the Tiva fam prolly is doing (spunky little Tali! Senior still up to his charming old ways!!! Tiva being Tiva!!!!), and to reflect a bit on the ep. Actually rly happy they had a lot of great flashbacks for the ep from across the seasons… RIP, DM and DM.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to: leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link, comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, or comment via the pillowfort link also at the top, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

[ligercat]

[justsasuke]

"Juugo, Juugo listen to me".

Sasuke kneels on the wooden floor. Right in front of the large man who is hunched over and quivering from the sheer effort of holding back what seems hellbent on consuming him.

Juugo's hands are clutching either side of his head and when he hears Sasuke's voice he presses his fingers deeper into his skull, as if he's physically trying to fight the brutal urges back.

"no." His head jerks back and forth. His words are grated through clenched teeth. "go away. Please get away"

Sasuke's eyebrows furrow, worry creasing lines near his eyes. He sees how hard Juugo is trying to keep himself under control and he thinks about how terrifying it must be for the gentle nin when he just can't anymore.

"Juugo look at me"

He takes Juugo's face in his hands and raises the man's head until amber eyes meet deep onyx.

"I can't stop it" Juugo pleads, fingers clutching at Sasuke wrists. "It won't stop"

Sasuke can see the shadow of the monster that isn't Juugo forcing it's way into his face. He can see how Juugo is still fighting it even as the angry burn like marks are crawling painfully across his skin.

It breaks something in him to see Juugo like this. It always breaks something in him.

"it's ok" Sasuke assures, and his eyes change slowly, carefully, kindly to red "you don't have to fight it on your own, I'm here"

[nerdynanny]

@stellarhistoria liked for a ZACK starter

"The buster sword suits you."

Zack Fair-- the man who should have died-- but didn't.

Or at least-- he had? Maybe? Some strange twist of fate had led to him surviving his last stand. He wasn't sure how or why. But he had been driven to Wutai-- like a moth to a flame. It was like something inside Cloud called out to him.

Like a beacon.

"I'm glad you're alright, Cloud. I was pretty worried about ya-- but look at you now. I hear you're a mercenary-- and you made quite a name for yourself back in Midgar."

[pyramultimuse]

Would you still fancy Remus if he "falls". Probably of your doing to... ❤️

Crowley would feel heart broken if Remus fell. He would feel tremendous guilt because it would most certainly be because of him or them being together. He would still call him Angel and would keep Remus away from hell and any other demons. Very overprotective and likely fall into depression. Heaven wasn't all good but he never wanted Remus to lose his connection with the light.

[firsthumandisaster]

Do you wonder what it would be like if the ships never crashed?

Curious anons || Accepting always

There was a silence for a long moment. Vash wanted to say "no, of course not" but...the truth is, he did. Or... he used to.

"The thing is..." Vash's hands folded together, eyes downcast to look at the way his flesh and metal fingers wove together. "I try not to anymore, because it was making it hard to function in the here and now."

He used to have vivid dreams of still being on the SEEDs ship, with Rem and Nai and nothing ever happened to cause the crash. He dreamed of Nai opening up about Tesla and how it had hurt him, Rem spent time with him and he'd learned to trust her again.

They were growing up, and Rem was growing older. Sometimes the dreams would span many many years, and they met other crew members, found their place among them. Took care of the Plants while the humans slept.

Vash sniffed hard, taking in a deep breath, fighting down the emotions that welled up, remembering those dreams.

"They were....wonderful, the dreams but... When I woke up, the guilt of being part of the reason we are on this sandy planet just.." A tear slipped out in spite of his best efforts.

"If we could have found a green planet, and worked together... Rem could have watched the humans and Plants make a real home, and grow old with some kind of happiness. Proud of her two sons because we helped make it possible..." A sob choked the words to a stop. Why? Why was this hurting him so much, now?

Perhaps the end of his life being so at hand had something to do with it. The black hair had advanced so much recently... a reminder of his power and his dwindling. Perhaps its only that the question came to him when his emotions were set on edge already.

A long, tense moment, and Vash could breathe again. He sighed and shook his head.

"But...There's still time to make up for what happened. We may never leave his planet, but, there is still hope. I can't stop now.."

[hellfangedfire]

❤️ -  for  your  muse  to  confess  they  still  love  them  despite  them  being  a  vampire. + reverse, duh.

He was growing frustrated and the more frustrated he was growing the more hungry /they / got, he could feel Kas scratching at the back of his mind wanting out to feed or just say it himself cause it was rare the two of them agreed on anything despite sharing a body and a conciseness.

“.. Steve.. Steveie it’s not that I don’t want you here I just it’s not safe Henry still very much king around here and I can’t have you hurt cause .. I .. —shut up- “ he hissed to himself fangs glinting in the red lightening of the upside down.

“Despite me being well a monster now.. Steve I.. I love you I don’t want you hurt we don’t want you hurt “ he finally admitted .

@alwaysthesitter

[khakerskayavdova-arch]

@shieldretired​ liked (x) for a starter

“ she really trusted you... ” faina says quietly, staring up at the starry night sky. not quite as dazzling as it looked over the tundra when there were no lights around for hundreds of miles. but, better than manhattan by far. “ natasha. that does not come easily in our line of work. ”

[robyn-i-guess]

liking someone platonically is so embarrassing like. yeah i admire you. yeah i think about you all the time. yeah i look forward to every time i see you even if it's only for a minute. yeah it's all platonic and yeah i couldn't explain this because it'd sound romantic. fucking hell

[straightlightyagami]

u ever see someone with extremely fucked up views (or actions) and think wowww if a couple of things in my life went the tiniest bit differently that would have been me

[inbabylontheywept]

i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

[le-amewzing]

maybe we make this our happily ever after

When @yearoftheotpevent gives you the perfect inspiration for your OTP with a single prompt. TTwTT

Fic: "maybe we make this our happily ever after" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Nick Torres/Ellie Bishop

Rating: T

Words: ~2,310

Additional info: romance, angst, 3rd person POV

Summary: Nick's long wondered—and has always wanted to ask Ellie—if they're the kind of people who deserve a happy ending.

      Nick wakes up well ahead of his alarm and drags a hand across his face, ending in pinching the remaining bits of sleep dust from his eyes. He's not jet-lagged in the least—Miami and D.C. are in the same time zone, thankfully—but he's still utterly exhausted, and waking from the semblance of a nightmare the same morning he's due back at headquarters to present his report in person on shuttering that arms ring…well, Nick surely wishes he could turn his alarm off and sleep for another five hours, at least.

      Instead, he lies awake and stares at the ceiling of his current dwelling.

      It's…all right, he surmises of what he can squint in the early morning darkness. At least the place is clean and not in disrepair, like some of the places he's slept on certain assignments these last few years. Still—

      It's not home. It's not the previous apartment he had, where he last risked setting roots, back when he'd been part of a team, part of something more.

      …and, frowning at that thought, Nick huffs and sits up. He gropes for his phone on the nightstand to his right and turns off the alarm with a yawn. Director Vance isn't expecting him until later this morning, so Nick can waste a few hours as he pleases.

      He pulls a few ingredients from the small fridge and quickly showers before whipping up an egg-heavy but filling breakfast. It's not Lucia's cooking, but it's safer for his big sister if she doesn't know about all these different Airbnbs with him back at it, even though Nick misses her dropping by to fill his fridge when he's not home.

      This particular rental has a medium-sized, flat screen TV, so Nick turns on the news at a low volume after he finishes cleaning up in the kitchen. He stretches slowly, legs and arms, and pays half attention to the local and national headlines scrolling along. The news items never catch his interest, though, not when he knows they'll never contain information on one specific person.

      Nick grimaces, thinking over how short the Miami op had been. That hadn't been fruitful—just a run-of-the-mill undercover assignment. And some jobs (most jobs) are like that, and he returned to undercover work expecting as much. But sometimes…sometimes, a case takes him places and he heard things. Be it this coast or the west, south of the border and accidentally crossing paths with his father, north of the border and on his own, back at the Pearl Harbor office to assist Tennant's team with a particular sloppy mission, or even in the northwest and close enough to meet a familiar pair of blue eyes from afar and exchange a reassuring nod before Nick brought in a fugitive from Alaska…he always heard things.

      Snippets of a golden ghost.

      Mumblings of a blond assassin.

      Occasionally, a "fair-haired fixer."

      They're vague rumors, and Nick never came close to discerning the credibility of the rumors at the time…but he knows he's got time on his side. After all, returning to undercover work is only partly because it's his area of expertise. The other half is because he's long desired the freedom to chase down leads on her.

      He's daydreamed a million times over what he'd say, should they ever meet again—but he knows he at least wants to redo that parting, someway, somehow. And if seeing her again isn't in her handler's plans…

      Nick shudders. It must've been a nightmare of earning Odette's ire, since he's got the two of them on his brain.

      He dresses and goes for a light jog, familiarizing himself with the neighborhood and shaking off the eerie vibes Ziva's old compatriot gives him at the same time. It helps him kill time, too, and Nick takes a second brief shower before dressing for the day and leaving for NCIS.

      The drive to the Navy Yard is average for this time of morning, right before the morning rush starts to spill into the streets. When Nick does arrive, he parks near the entrance of the lot. He needs the long walk to wake him up the rest of the way, and he needs the time to bury his personal stakes under other things so Vance and the others, if they're in, don't pry.

      …it's funny, though. Nick returns time and again to headquarters, sometimes after a few weeks, sometimes after months and months on end, and he finds the red brick building an odd mix of home and alien to him. The sensation reminds him of even longer ago, back when he first took a desk job and put undercover work on pause while he adjusted to his new circumstances.

      He scratches the back of his head, suddenly unsure about arriving so early. McGee's got kids to delay him and Knight's chronically late these days, but Vance and Parker—they turn up when you least expect them, and he's not sure he's ready for the kind of small talk they might prompt, so Nick veers off his direct path up the lot and heads for the footpath to the right, across the green. He internally heaves a sigh of relief, having bought himself another minute or two, and he stuffs his hands in his jeans' pockets—

      —but then he spies a familiar form on the bench ten yards ahead, just ahead of the coffee cart, and he slows his pace to course-correct, all but forgetting his appointment later this morning.

      When he's close enough, Nick carefully lowers himself on the opposite end from her. But, the whole time, his lips are parted and his brow is pinched, and he can't pull his eyes away from her.

      From Ellie.

      The bench isn't very big (there's space barely enough for a third person between them), but she leans back comfortably on his right side, and…she looks good, all things considered. She's dressed casual, like him, in jeans and her tan leather jacket, and she's got a takeout coffee in her hands and a bag of those shrimp chips Reeves used to buy her half-eaten beside her.

      …but she's a little worn, too, Nick realizes. There are a few new lines around her eyes, and her hair—ah, she's sporting bangs again—is lighter in places. Though her left eye…something's off with her left eye, and Nick does his best to stop staring when he understands why: Her left eye is completely cloudy.

      "Hey, Nick," Ellie says.

      He responds half a beat late, because—given her eye and the way she faces forward—he wasn't sure she actually realized he'd sat down. "H-Hey."

      Ellie smiles against the lid of her coffee as she takes a sip. "Something wrong?"

      "I—" Nick lips his lips. "I didn't get enough sleep last night. But now I think I'm not even awake yet, because, if you're here…I have to be dreaming still."

      She lowers her drink and grins, a familiar, toothy sight he hasn't seen in nearly ten long years. Ellie shakes her head and brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. "Nope, I'm here. Real and in the flesh." She takes one more sip before twisting around on the bench and tucking her left leg under her right, to face Nick.

      This time, face to face, it's more apparent. Ellie's got one opal iris and one deep brown iris, one pupil gone and one visible, and he worries about the story behind this change.

      Ellie leans against the back of the bench on her left arm. "By the way, I thought you'd like to know: I'm officially retired."

      Nick blinks, his train of thought derailed. "Wait. What?"

      "I'm coming in from the cold, Nick. I'm not Ellie Bishop, NCIS Special Agent. And I'm not Eleanor Bishop, disgraced federal agent. I'm just…Ellie." She exhales, slowly, almost a sigh. She's quiet for a moment as she reaches for his nearer arm with her free hand and pushes up the cuff of his thin jacket, tracing over a newer scar that peeks out over his wrist. "I see the same goes for you," she mumbles.

      He frowns. He's still a mix of shock and amazement and concern—but Ellie's assessment is at least one thing he knows a thing or two about. "I'm back to doing what I know best," Nick admits with a glance at this scar. He huffs. "Although, is it just me, or are the bad guys stronger and faster these days?" Nick thinks aloud.

      "Well, you've been doing this for more than twenty years, Nick. And you took a small hiatus."

      He pouts but covers her hand with his, hiding that scar on his arm. "Maybe. Or maybe they just hit harder."

      Ellie purses her lips. She sits up a little and leans forward, reaching up to trace the old scar from childhood in his right eyebrow. Then Ellie moves her thumb to just below his eye, along his cheekbone, tracing this mirrored scar from twenty months ago. "Do they?"

      Nick tries to muster his cocksure grin for her. "Ah, that? Don't worry about that. I'm still pretty sure that was friendly fire from…ah, well, he'd never admit it, but Sam."

      "Hanna? As in, the L.A. office?"

      "Yeah. Let's just say he and Callen ended up needing backup with Morocco, part two."

      Her brow furrows as she gives him a curious little smile, but Ellie chuckles.

      "What?"

      "Ohh, just. That would explain how I lost track of you for a time."

      He gapes at her. For all he chased down leads on her—! "You kept tabs on me?"

      "Don't look so surprised, Nick. But yeah, Hetty's office… I only got to work with Pride's team a few times, but everything I've ever heard about Hetty—she and Odette are two peas in a pod." She punctuates this with a sage nod of her head.

      But the mention of the woman who upended their lives brings to mind his nightmare from this morning, and it also brings Nick's attention back to Ellie's face, to her eye and why she's really back. He turns to face her, too, and brushes her hair back from her face, finding himself frowning once more. "Ellie…you said you're back, for good. But what happened?"

      A full minute of silence sits between them. Eventually, Ellie rests against his hand and gives him a fleeting, tight, tired smile. "…work hazard," she mumbles. She clears her throat and speaks more audibly, "Things didn't go right on what became my last mission, so…Odette said I'm out of the game."

      Nick furrows his brow while his heart sinks for her, knowing how badly she'd wanted that opportunity from the start. "Really? Just like that?"

      "Well, no. Surgery might still help, but a lot of time has passed. The more time that passes, the less successful it'll be."

      "So—"

      Ellie shakes her head. "I've adapted pretty well to my new blind spot, Nick. Funny thing is, all I could think was how relieved I was, finally coming home." Then she takes his hand from her face and holds it. She scoots closer and they sit together, quiet, letting the weight of her new reality sink in.

      A small part of him still worries that this is just his imagination at its best, that he'll wake up and it'll be a dream for sure. So he tucks Ellie into his side and presses a kiss to her crown…and, for good measure, he tilts her chin up, kissing her lips, too.

      (For two heartbeats, he flashes back unhappily to their parting, to their goodbye kiss at Odette's previous home.

      But then Nick summons to mind countless nights spent at Ellie's old apartment, of legs tangled with sheets and her pressed against him, of what came after, all his chances to wake her up with a good-morning kiss and getting to look into those big brown eyes of hers, fixed just on him…her world, him, his world, her.)

      They pull away, just enough to catch their breaths, and this time the silence doesn't feel so unbearable.

      But Nick breaks the silence anyway: "Marry me, Ellie."

      He thumbs her chin while she blinks and stares up at him in wide-eyed amazement. "…I thought, at best, we'd start over when I came back, if you wanted to," she replies.

      Nick shakes his head. "We went through hell already. We've had our good and our bad and, yeah, there'll be more to learn along the way. But I don't need more time to figure out that I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I've…I've know that for years, Ellie."

      She eases into a soft smile. "What about you getting back into undercover work?"

      That gives him pause, but he's surprisingly thinking on his feet today. "You said it yourself: I've done it for more than twenty years. I have a nice pension coming my way… Maybe it's time I stop being Nick Torres, NCIS Special Agent. Maybe I get to be just…Nick."

      Ellie hums under her breath, but the glint in her brown eye says she likes how he's using her argument.

      So he raises his eyebrows at her, as if saying, Do I need to ask again?

      But she cups his cheek and traces his newer scar once more with the pad of her thumb. "Marry me, Nick," she says, and she laughs when it takes him a second to piece together that her answer is a proposal, as well—how Ellie Bishop of her.

      (But, he thinks when he kisses her anew, to seal the deal—to seal this promise—it's very them, and if this is simply how their fairy tale goes, then he's all right with that, because it's finally real, and they're done letting others stand in their way.)

Done for the If You Dare Challenge (for prompt #39: ten yards) in the HPFC forum on FFN as well as the Year of the OTP (June prompt: proposal) on tumblr. I…do have other Ellick ideas, but this one cropped up recently, mainly bc of that June prompt, so I just dashed off to write this. XD As for what would make Odette give up an asset like Bishop…well, I do wonder if Odette would let her go simply if Bishop said she wanted out, but an injury that could jeopardize their work strikes me as smthg Odette considers retirement-worthy (altho note that corneal blindness is deffo treatable with grafts/transplants…but it's still a difficult surgery and resources are limited even developed nations, so Bishop isn't far off in her remarks). Idk if I want to write the op where Bishop got injured, since this was mainly just part of an Ellick plotbunny, tho. Ahhh, and assorted name drops… -w- Random, but it gives me the warm&fuzzies to think we have very our own multiverse here: Regardless of which you've watched, this is your reminder that all four (soon to be five) NCISes, JAG, the Hawaii 5-0 reboot, and Scorpion are in the same universe, thx to backdoor pilots and xovers. (Also feel free to scream with me if you still love and miss Scorpion and think it deserved better. ;w;) ANYWHO! On to my next NCIS fic~ AH, and final, final note: Bc I couldn't find the best places to squeeze this info into the fic naturally/without disrupting the rhythm, I thought I'd elaborate on the timeline here. This fic presumes Nick being with the Parker-led team for five years, and he's been back in UC work for three after that, so he rly hasn't seen his Ellie for nearly ten. ;w; (He would absolutely be pension-eligible since, when he joined Team Gibbs in s14, Quinn remarked she'd trained him "8yrs ago" at FLETC when he began his NCIS career…so if s14 is his ninth year, then this would be his 21st. :'3)

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

[gibbearish]

love when ppl defend the aggressive monetization of the internet with "what, do you just expect it to be free and them not make a profit???" like. yeah that would be really nice actually i would love that:)! thanks for asking

[hinamie]

to moving forward