#his helmet gets ripped off so often they all understand what we want

[drysaladandketchup]

FLA vs. DET || Jan 17, 2024

[the-mandawhor1an]

Just a scratch - Din Djarin x Reader drabble

Summary: Life as the assistant in a droid-operated doctor’s office isn't eventful. That is, unless a certain frequent visitor ends up in your capable hands again. This time he’s in for a bit more than just some bacta  Warnings: 18+ content, MDNI! brief description of wounds, some Mando’a (translation at the end), no face reveal (sorry!), allusion to sexytime A/N: This was fun! This little drabble is for @janaispunk’s 1500 follower celebration. The prompt was “neck kisses” and our boy Din – I decided to play around with a younger Din and the prompt basically screamed for an inner conflict about his oath (His age isn't mentioned but in my head he's in his 20s here) Fun fact, the actual fic part is exactly 1500 words. Unbeta'd, be nice 🙏

It is a slow day today, boring even.

So boring that you decide to clean the reception, dust off the high-shine furniture while listening to the low hum of all the equipment in the adjacent room. Your name badge rustles with every swipe of your arm. The light above you flickers. It is late in the evening, close to the end of your shift. 

To be quite frank, you like it like this. 

Empty. Peaceful. Tranquil.

Working in a doctor’s office, you’re regularly presented with emergencies that drain your energy quickly. Yes, the actual healing is mostly done by droids, but you occasionally have to lend a hand. Some people don’t trust droids. Or they are scared so you end up taking care of them.  

You understand to a degree. Sometimes the ‘doctor’ malfunctions and it’s your job to make sure it doesn’t harm the patients. And – because of your regular maintenance, you’d like to think – nothing has ever happened since you started your job here. Basically you are both a mechanic and the receptionist. And, well, the healer for certain patients that under no circumstance want a droid near them.

Such as the Mandalorian who has visited the office quite often now. In fact, you’re sure he deliberately stays close to the space port just to make sure he can see you when he is injured. 

He never really talks much until you start your process. He likes to tell you about where his injuries come from. He’s a bounty hunter, that much you have figured out by yourself. Most of his wounds aren’t threatening to his health, scratches, bruises, an occasional concussion. 

Today is no different. Just as you are about to take off your name tag, the door opens and he stumbles in. You’re familiar with the sound of his steps and take no time to get the med droid out of the exam room. 

He plops down on the table and starts removing his cape. 

“Well, what do we have this time?”

You don’t even need an answer. The hole ripped into the flight suit and the dark stain on his shoulder says enough. “Got bitten,” he states. With your head slightly tilted, you ask “You got bitten?”  The helmet halts for a second, staring at you. He said what he said. 

“May I?” you ask, offering a hand in taking off the metal plates that have to come off before you can tend to his wound. He nods and you carefully detach the shoulder plates. He hisses underneath the helmet. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. Placing the armor parts gently on the table next to him, you watch him take his gloves off. The gauntlets follow, as does the chest plate. His fingers feel for the closure of his vest. “Let me get some Bacta while you’re busy,” you stumble when you realize you’ve been staring at him for a while.

“I need you to take the shirt off as well…” you add as you’re already halfway in the storage to get equipment and hide your blushed cheeks. Technically there is enough Bacta in the exam room, but you know he needs privacy. 

The topic of his creed has come up before – when you’ve been treating him for the first time. He had suffered a concussion and you wanted to check his head, but ultimately he refused and explained why. You didn’t understand then, you don’t now, but you don’t have to. You’re just here to make sure he isn’t dying, right? 

When you return, he sits there in all his glory. Broad shoulders, a toned back, a slender waist and that damn helmet on his head. Tan, freckled skin and, rather pleasant to see, there’s no bruises on him this time. You’ve seen it all. The scars, bruises, new, old; scratches, cuts, blaster wounds. But a bite? That’s new. 

With a hand on his wounded shoulder, you take out a small light to see if the wound shows any signs of infection. “I know we usually have a ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ agreement but I have to break that this time. How? And was that a bounty?” Again, he hisses as your fingers graze the skin, avoiding your touch by arching his back. “Yes,” he replies. What else would it have been, realistically? An animal? Not here. And certainly not with a bite wound up that high. Or this is a rather unfortunate bedroom accident. 

You take the Bacta and spray it on the bite mark. It’s not too deep luckily. Neither has it hit any larger blood vessel nor are his precious muscles at risk. It probably hurts a lot, but he is used to pain. “Not a human, of course,” he says as the spray starts closing the little marks the teeth of the quarry have left in his flesh. With a damp wipe you wash away the blood on his shoulder, far enough away from the wound that he shouldn’t wince again. But he does. “Fierce warrior, huh? Is it that painful?” You half-mock, but your concern still audible underneath. This isn’t a wound that should hurt. Judging by his behavior, it’s uncomfortable. 

“It’s not. It’s just … you” “Me?” You take a step back to look into that black visor. Sometimes you wonder how he looks like underneath it. If his face is as pretty as you’ve imagined. “I–” he stammers. “I’m not used to being touched. Not so close to the helmet.” 

“Oh,” you let out. It’s not loud by any means but he’s close, so he hears it anyway. “Do you want to wipe your blood off of yourself?” You offer the cloth with an outreached arm. He hesitates, staring at the stained fabric you’re holding towards him. The pain in his shoulder slowly dissipates and the throbbing leaves. “N-no,” he finally says. His voice is low, breathy. You can clearly see that his breathing is more labored. Is he anxious? 

The hand with the rag slowly retreats and you take a moment to process what he says. “Do you want me to–” He nods, so you continue wiping away the blood. The holes in his skin have closed up and now only a set of pink little spots remains. His blood has traveled far down his back and you gulp before slowly moving down with your hand. His skin is warm and you can’t deny that there is suddenly a weird tension between you two. He sits here, watching you touch his exposed skin. You’ve done it before but never so close to his neck. Is he sensitive? As the side of your hand brushes against his neck, he flinches. You do it again and the helmet turns to face you. For a few seconds you stare at each other. 

You’re standing in between his knees, a respectful distance between your bodies otherwise. “I would’ve never guessed that,” you take your unoccupied hand and let your fingertips wander over the other side of his neck. He shivers and exhales sharply. 

He leans into your touch. The beat of his heart is visible, a vein pulsing underneath your index. “Don’t,” he hushes. Don’t what?

You halt the movement of both of your hands. He hesitantly extends one arm and rests his hand on your waist. First you expect him to push you away, but rather than that – he pulls you closer. He straightens his back until you’re almost eye to eye. You know he’s broad, but being so close to him made that abundantly clear.

“Don’t stop,” he pleas. The softness in his voice could melt your heart. The cloth falls onto the table behind him, squelching upon impact with the cold metal surface. Both your hands rest on his skin, drawing small circles on his neck. 

“Can I take that as confirmation you’ve been staying close on purpose?” Again, he nods. “I hope you’re not getting injured on purpose though,” you say with a smirk. A single chuckle emits from underneath the helmet. “I’m not, not any more at least.” you shake your head in amusement. “Could’ve just said something. Ask me out or something.” “And what would we do? I can’t take that helmet off.” 

I have an idea.

Leaning forward, you stroke over his shoulders and down his arms, making way for your lips to brush his shoulder. “Osik,” he curses under his breath. You’ve heard him curse in Mando’a before so your smirk just grows. Your lips travel up his shoulder, until they finally reach his neck. “I mean,” you talk in between kisses, feeling him melt against your chest. “I know something we could do that doesn’t necessarily need the helmet to come off.” On your life, you swear you hear him whimper. The battle-hardened Mandalorian whimpers. Because you offer what he probably has been waiting for for a while now. 

“Would you like that?” You tease. His hand travels down your waist. As it ends by your hip, his second hand joins. “Yeah.” 

_________________________

Osik – shit 

[unknownjpegs]

enviro

“This fucking ship is trying to kill us.”

“It’s a ship. Can’t do anything without being told. Usually just go backward, forward, that sort of thing. Guess it goes up ‘n down—”

“Nomi.”

Xavier is leaning against the wall, a hand to his forehead. Sweat has dampened his hair enough that it’s flat to his head now. It rolls in rivulets down his bare throat. When he runs a hand back through all that red, the strands go wild until his palm runs back over again. He whips his gloved hand and flecks of sweat hit the grated flooring of the prison ship.

He’s drenched. So is she. So is Benji. Because the enviro has gone off. Or rather, on—very, very on. Because if the enviro were to shut down completely, the gravity would go with it; they’d be floating around, bumping into things with all those dead things and also, cold. So cold their pupils would freeze; so cold if they survived they’d have permanent lung damage. That’s how cold the interior of a metal ship can get when the environment shuts off. So, even though the corporal keeps saying, get the fucking enviro on, Nomi, please, she keeps having to correct, actually, it is on.

It is on, and nothing she is doing is making it fucking work better. Because—

“I’m not an engineer, Xavier,” she snaps, hands full of cords. The wall panel is open and she vaguely knows what she’s looking at, sure. Has been around enough men ripping open ships to understand a few things, because she likes a ships innards. Likes all those moving parts. But she’s never actually done anything with those guts. “Get me to a fuckin’ computer, yeah?” With them combined, they have to be able to find their way around. She stands, tapping the wall. Theres a decal for every corridor. These prison ships aren’t built for elegance. This is a giant box in the fucking sky; he can sort it out. “2-A. Where do we go from here?”

The bounty hunter snorts.

He’d done what Nomi and Xavier hadn’t the nerve to do yet; stripped the top part of his suit off and tied off the arms around his waist. He’s in a tank top, a thin one that’s made mostly to stop suit chaffing. It’s snug around his chest and bunched a little above his hips, risen up because he kept yanking it to cool himself down. Nomi had noticed how Xavier’s eyes flickered back at him more often than not now that those thick arms were revealed. He’d not taken those gauntlets off or his helmet yet, though. It’s merely see through, a little tint to it. She wonders how hot it must be underneath—how safe he must feel with it on to let himself sweat through anyway.

“Something funny?” Xavier asks in a thin voice. He’d taken off his rebreather, tucked it into a pocket on those tactical pants. Nomi wants to warn Benji; Corporals patience is a centimeter thick on a good day. This is not a good day. There’s still blood on Xavier’s knee from crunching down on one of those—one of those. One of them. Xavier’s moods flicker. He switches quick. Violent to friend to depressed to—well. Lots of Xavier’s inside that head. She’d like to keep the militant-tactical forward Xavier, if they can.

“Looked at those schematics for what? Minute? Tops? You remember them?” And to his credit, it doesn’t sound like Benji means Xavier wouldn’t remember them. It’s more-so, who would? They’d boarded this ship assuming Nomi’s tablet would stay on the whole time, not short circuit two steps in. They’d come on this ship thinking things would be normal. Who would remember the schematic of an entire ship like that?

Xavier finally yanks at his suit with quick, furious gestures. He pulls at the armor plates, shrugging them off and tossing them aside. Then he unhooks the black collar of his suit and slides down the zipper until it’s parting away like a second skin. He pulls his long arms out one by one and then deftly, with a lot of annoyance, ties the suit together. He stands there, breathing hard and fast, with bright eyes. Determined. Not a hint of hurt there—which, good. He’s thinking. She can see cogs turning. This, too, is the best version of him they can have in this moment.

“It’s this way.” He snaps, gesturing to the right. Nomi watches his long, powerful body move forward in that rolling sort of gait he’s got, flattening herself to the panel wall to let him pass. Her eyes slide toward Benji, whose eyes also seemed to keep one track of the corporal.

“Xavier doesn’t mess up maps,” she says quietly. Benji’s eyes are on the ghost of Xavier’s path, lingering right where he’d turned the corner to another long hallway. He looks at her finally, those darkly intense eyes shining through the clear part of his mask. Nomi smiles and taps her finger against the side of her nose. Then she peels herself off the panel, one finger looping into the metal piece of her suit and pulling it open. It unzips to her navel. It’s enough for now.

—

“This isn’t right.”

They’re staring at the end of a hallway. Its a smooth wall of white; similar to every other wall on the ship. When Nomi had boarded, she’d thought it would be all black. Maybe silver glinting rusted metal here and there. Something horrifying to look at—that had come later and it had nothing to do with the interior of the ship. Instead, it’s white. All of it, with accents of blues and reds and little arrows and watch your step and mind the gap when presented with a section into docking. Nomi stares at that white wall and something about it, despite being just a white wall, is so fucking ominous her skin feels peeled away.

Xavier touches the walls, his gloved hands sliding across it. Sweat beads down his pale, freckled shoulders, down his arms. It was getting hotter. It was getting worse.

“Nomi,” he whispers. “This is—this isn’t supposed to fucking be here.” And though he’d said her name, when he looks over his shoulder, his dark green eyes find the bounty hunter first. They flick away from him quickly, back to the wall, down to the floor and then to her. “I promise this is—”

“Believe ya,” Benji says, kicking his booted foot against the wall. He presses, like maybe it should move, or bend, or sink or come apart, because it’s not meant to be there at all. He’s glaring, pinched brows underneath that transparent visor. “Where’s it supposed to fuckin’ go?”

“Intel.” Xavier steps back from the wall. His hands shake a little as he curls them into fists—Nomi notices, because it’s weird, right? That he can fall into violence so easily. When there’s something for him to shoot or punch or kick or kill, Xavier is so efficient. This is different. A wall where a wall isn’t supposed to be. The heat on the ship cranking higher and higher. Nomi slides her arms out of the suit, finally realizing it doesn’t matter anymore. She ties the arms the way they have. When they come loose immediately, Benji takes them and tightens them with a savage snap that makes her whole body shake a little.

“Alright?” he gives her a reassuring, crooked grin. She nods, wishing she could find a smile back for him.

“We go back and—”

“Wolffe.”

All three of them flinch—Xavier’s hand slipping across the wall, Nomi bunching herself closer to Benji despite the heat, his visor immediately flickering black and opaque. She touches his arm, fingers sliding over wet skin, fingers digging in and curling because the noise is coming from Xavier. The crackle of a comm from his hip where the collared neck of his suit is. She notices the way his face goes pale, when it was flushed red from the oppressive temperature in the hallway. His hand goes there, yanking the collar up.

“Wolffe—what the fuck—why haven’t you been replying on comms?”

“Tillman,” Xavier replies, exhaling a shaky breath. “Holy shit, Sergeant, what the fuck—”

Nomi’s other hand snatches out, curling around the Corporals wrist. She’s holding onto both of them now, her breathing shallow. Her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes stare at the collar, at the missing green dot of comm on. She looks at Xavier, her eyes wide.

“Ask him something,” Nomi whispers. “Ask him something only you’d know.”

Xavier startles back from her, wrenching his hand out from her grip. The look on his face makes Nomi’s insides feel oily and slick and horrible. That betrayed look in his dark green eyes, this great pinch to his freckled boyish face. She stares at him anyway, because he hadn’t noticed the light. She wants to apologize, because he knows that she knows now. Not that she knows, that she’s asking him this. To do this. In front of someone else. But his shoulders tighten and he swivels away from them, looking back down the hallway they’d come. Nomi’s heart feels small and ugly.

“Tillman,” Xavier holds the collar up. She looks at the dark spot of sweat between his shoulders on the undershirt he wears. “What’s your middle name?”

“Wolffe.”

“C’mon, Sergeant.” Xavier’s laugh comes out soft and not at all like a laugh. It’s a sound, but not a laugh. He’s quieter when he continues. “You hate your middle name.” Nomi jumps at the sound of a hiss, a little venting from Benji’s helmet. He takes it off then, tucks it under his arm. He’s also staring at Xavier’s back, his eyes dark and shining. He has long eyelashes, Nomi notices. They frame such intelligent brown eyes; sharp feline, noticing. Noticing Xavier. Beads of sweat roll, disappear into his black facial hair.

The answer from the comm doesn’t come for another minute and then—

It’s a loud screeching sound, a layering of multiple voices, of loud screaming, of something disgusting and deeply inhuman and then Xavier’s fist closes around the comm on the collar and crushes it. A little bead of blood joins his sweat when he does, the plastic having caught maybe on flesh and dug in. He shakes his hand out, the tension in his shoulders rising until his entire body deflates.

“Auditory hallucination,” Nomi says quickly, darting forward and around him, hands raised. “Maybe—”

“Not a hallucination—”

“Those things back there hadn’t been hallucinations.” Benji steps forward too. Xavier looks at his palm, at the little wellspring of cherry red blood. It’s just a shallow little cut, something minor that’ll heal quickly on its own.

“But it is somethin’, because—It couldn’t figure out what to say, yeah? To make all of us believe, because—”

“You don’t know Tillman’s fucking middle name,” Xavier finishes, his white teeth snapping together. Nomi’s eyes are drawn to that slightly cracked canine tooth. Then she swings her eyes to Benji, who still hasn’t stopped looking up at Xavier. It’s not obvious—or rather, it has to be, because Nomi notices, right? But it’s just this tilt of his unmasked face, this burning look that is piecing something together. Maybe something he isn’t fond of.

“What accent did he have?” Nomi asks, prodding a finger into Benji’s chest suddenly. He looks at her then, dark brows pulled down.

“What?”

“What accent did Tillman have?”

“Colony British.”

“What?” Xavier turns then, facing Benji. His shoulders straighten, his own focus returning from that far off kicked dog space. Good. Good, Xavier, she thinks. Need you here. I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry you can be hurt like that, but need you here.

“Benji never heard Tillman speak.” Nomi puts a hand to her sweat slicked chest. She hadn’t realized she was breathing so quickly, thin ribs moving frantically. “You spoke to the Sergeant before we boarded—he isn’t on the same comm length as us. He’s never heard Tillman’s voice.”

“What’s that fuckin’ mean? He not from the colonies?”

“Tillman is old Earth. Pre-colony. Southern.” Xavier laughs—and for some reason, it is his real laugh. A loud sort of noise that echoes down this awful, sweltering hallway as he runs a hand back through his drenched hair. “Oh fuck. You—You don’t know what that bastard sounds like—your brain made him fucking British. God, that’s kind of funny.” Nomi laughs too, because, he’s right. Imagining Sergeant Tillman British almost is funny—it’s really funny. She laughs as the short bounty hunter looks between them.

“S’not that fuckin’ funny—”

It isn’t, it’s hysterical and that’s the apt word, because for some reason it’s the thing popping that horrible bubble of tension and Xavier needed it. He snorts out another laugh, color returning to his face as he nudges his shoulder against Benji’s. Nomi watches the two men realize their bare skin is touching, the sudden distance Xavier puts between them at that as he turns back to the wall. Only, well. The wall isn’t there anymore.

“No fucking way.”

There’s a sudden dump of air from the vents in the hallway. Blessedly cool fucking air. All three of them make a sound; something mixed with elation and desperation at the sensation of it and Xavier immediately flattens to the wall to get under that rush of cold ventilation. He presses his face to the wall, rubbing it back and forth, groaning. Nomi lifts her hands up underneath the spray as it acclimates the hallway back to a livable fucking temperature. She hears a hiss again and watches Benji slide the helmet back over his head.

Xavier slaps the wall, his flattened palm turning into just a finger as he points.

“Intel, that way. We’ll get you a fucking computer, Nomi. Then you get us off this fucking ship.”

[ni-kinoni-ki]

7/30/24

Today all of the new teachers in the area were taken to prominent places in the area to learn about Matsuno. There were 9 stops throughout the day.

The first was Kagomori Castle. It was first in order to beat the mid day heat, but it was still so fucking humid outside. I climb to the castle all the time by myself, but it was fun to go up with other people for a change. The view was as awe inspiring as ever, and the wind felt good at the top. Matsuno is a truly beautiful place, and every time I climb the mountain my heart skips a beat when I can look out and see everything that my life spins around in panoramic view.

Next was the local lumber yard. GOD I LOVE THE SMELL OF WOOD (athankyou). Sawdust was everywhere though, so I couldn't stop coughing. Wish they gave me a respirator instead of a helmet. I miss chopping wood, and prepping for winter. Most of the supply on site goes to the local onsen, and as it is probably the biggest tourist attraction in town (aside from the aquarium) I understand the production necessity. There were cats on site <3 Too feral to pet though T-T

Stop 3 was a crab meat production and processing plant? I had no fucking clue it was here lmfao. The building is huge. We were shown a video about the production process instead of getting a factory tour, but FUCK did it make me hungry. I need to start eating a bigger breakfast. Climbing the mountain took what little I did eat beforehand.

Next up was the mountainside rice terraces. I love that place so much. I go there twice a year with my kids. Once in the spring to plant new rice, and again in the fall to harvest it. Both by hand. If one of the farmers adopted me, I'd work the fields 'till I died. I'm far better suited to manual labor, at least I feel so. Working as a teacher is not a terrible gig, and my kids make it better, but I feel best when I can turn my brain off and automatically complete tasks. Flow state take me away, lol.

Stop 5 was a local plant nursery. A TON of produce is grown here annually, and depending on the time of year the crops switch around. They're also famous for pickled plums, and we got to see the big pickling tanks. I wish I could have eaten a few. If you cut me open I'd probably bleed vinegar. lmfao

After that we got to go to Nametoko Gorge. I FELL IN LOVE. I could spend weeks fucking around in the woods there. It's so beautiful. The water's fresh, there's wildlife everywhere, and the food at the park shop is delicious. There's a famous hotel there too that I'd like to stay at at some point. I need to go back and explore when I have more time. I wish I had gotten to meet the cat though. Rip lil' baby.

the 7th stop was a local history museum that had a topographical model of the surrounding area all the way to Uwajima. There were written records of conflicts, and land division during the Edo period under Tokugawa Ieyasu's rein. I liked the display of different kinds of wood that can be found throughout Ehime. It makes me want to start carving again, but I need to focus on other artistic goals when I have the drive to make something. There was also an old millstone there I got to grind rice in. I could do that for hours. Great arm workout.

Next up was a deer meat processing plant. God, I love venison. The local farmers market carries their product, and I buy it often. I can't wait until stew season starts up. I'm ready for soup lol. They recently began making products for pets too, which makes me wish I could have a dog. I'd really hoped to bring Victor with me here. He would have loved chewing on deer bones and walking in the woods.

Last, but not least, was the Fukio Shiba memorial museum. Panda works there, and at like 5 other places. Between that and a new baby, I'm not sure how he's functioning. Dudes a maniac, but it suits him lol. Apparently Fukio Shiba is an extremely famous haiku poet that lived here in Matsuno. I'm not very intimate with his work, but I'm interested in learning more. The museum is super cozy too. If I could, I'd live on the second floor. The place is straight out of "My Neighbor Totoro."

Today was a really nice break in the monotony of deskwork at the BOE. I get to participate in a couple other activities next week too that I'm excited for. Canyoning and glass blowing. I need to try them at least once while I'm here and have the opportunity. I'm lucky to be afforded the opportunities I have around me, and I'm trying to be more conscious of that.

[wynsomeart]

i’m just going to rant about my silly little guardian Riddle-15 for my own entertainment ok 👍

1. Ghost’s name?

Mint (cause it’s pretty chill 😌)

2. Where were they rezzed?

The cosmodrome? ain’t we all rezzed there 🤨

3. How long ago were they revived?

He can’t remember. He can’t remember a lot of things. But Mint says it was years ago, before things really began to go down.

4. Preferred subclass?

Arc. It’s the embodiment of light, and he’s constantly fighting the darkness within himself.

5. How did he react to being revived?

How does anyone react to being revived from the dead, let alone in a new, foreign robotic body? Luckily, Riddle doesn’t remember much of that time anymore.

6. Did he struggle to learn his light?

Yes. And he struggles to relearn it every time he’s rebooted, just as he struggles to relearn who he is after his memories are scrambled once again in an attempt to rid him of his DER (dissociative exomind rejection).

7. Does he remember is past?

No. Riddle has no memory of who he was before his consciousness was transferred into an exomind, and he’s almost glad for the lack of concrete memories of what it was like to be truly human.

8. Loner or team player?

Riddle loves being around other people, but struggles to make new friends as he knows he’ll just forget them one day. He keeps his friend’s names in a pocket notebook, and most he befriends again when they reintroduce themselves to him after a reboot, but many too have been lost, ones made that did not know of his condition.

9. Dredgen, snitch, or neither?

Neither, probably. Riddle likes to stay out of things as much as he can. Doesn’t like to take sides.

10. Thoughts on the darkness?

It is a tool, just as the light is, but Riddle has seen too many get lost to it just as he can feel the pull of it in his own mind, so he can’t help but despise it, even just a little.

11. Thoughts on the Traveler?

Indifferent. Not even it’s great size causes that much awe, after regularly travelling through space and to even greater planets. Riddle appreciates what it’s done for the people, but doesn’t have any strong feelings particularly.

12. Thoughts on his ghost? Do they get along?

Yes, they get along. Mint is Riddles no.1 supporters through his struggles with DER, and helps immensely with reconnecting with friends he’s forgotten. Riddle doesn’t know what he’d do without his cool-headed, sarcastic sidekick.

13. Motivation for being a guardian?

Riddle doesn’t really have any sort of motivation. He often feels adrift, but being a Guardian means he’s well-liked and surrounded by kind people and that’s all he can really ask for. Besides, he knows he can help people, and he’d rather be fighting the darkness than giving into it.

14. What shape is his nightmare?

I gotta be real, I dunno what this means 😟

15. Favourite guardian event?

He doesn’t really get involved with these.

16. What does he do off-duty?

He doesn’t. Go off duty, that is. As long as he’s on a mission, he’s not thinking about how much he wants to rip the plating off his robotic body to search for the flesh within. If he’s forced off-duty, he tries to indulge in artificial human behaviours like dancing, drawing, etc.

17. Does he interact with civilians?

Yes, but they can’t really understand the things one has to do during a war, so he hasn’t ever formed any lasting connections with any of them.

18. How much glimmer does he keep on him?

This seems a strange question. As much as possible, wouldn’t you think?

19. What’s in his pockets?

That notebook of his friend’s names and a pen for doodling.

20. Does he have any secrets?

If he does, they’re secret even to him. Mint knows everything he’s ever told the ghost, though, so maybe it’s not him but Mint keeping the secrets.

21. Random fact:

Riddle keeps his helmet on 24/7 as another way to help his DER, as it hides his mechanical appearance. He hasn’t seen his real face in years, and barely remembers what he looks like anymore.

[silverwhittlingknife]

Dick's struggle with anger (with bonus Tim and Jason)

Dick: But as the truth sank in, I felt a rage growing so great inside me that it felt like I was just a part of the anger, instead of it being part of me. - Secret Origins 13 (kudos to this post)

I love this quote because it's so characteristic: introspective, self-aware, and struggling with being overwhelmed by anger? Dick Grayson all over.

Dick's struggle with anger - and more broadly, his struggle with the strength of his own emotions - is a huge part of his character in the post-Crisis era, especially the early 90s. AFAIK this trait mostly disappeared in the new 52, and I miss it!

So this is a meandering post to spotlight 1) some of post-Crisis Dick's analyses of his own anger, and 2) why I feel like his struggle with his temper was sympathetic and compelling and added depth to his character.

Below the cut, panels from New Titans, Nightwing, BftC, and Batman and Robin and the things that I like about them (with bonus thoughts on how Dick's attitude toward anger compares to Tim's and Jason's):

Dick's anger in New Titans & Nightwing

Okay, so first, I think it's important to remember whenever you're talking about with a character with a temper - Dick doesn't randomly get angry. There's always a reason.

For Dick, anger is part of a powerful emotional response, not a state of being. He lashes out when his loved ones are in danger, or when his feelings are hurt, or when he's feeling guilty and pushing people away, etc. He doesn't just, I dunno, sit around in front of the TV being angry.

Dick's conflicted relationship with his own anger is developed most extensively in New Titans. Here's Dick losing his temper when the Wildebeest Society threatens the lives of the other Titans, paired with his retrospective narration analyzing the moment:

Dick: "You lousy sons - of - bi - I'LL KILL YOU!" I snapped. I tried to be calm, I tried to stay focused - but I couldn't. All I wanted was to rip off his stinking helmet and his head with it. (New Titans 75)

When Dick's mad at himself, he often contrasts himself to Batman. For Dick, Bruce is the calm, dispassionate one, while Dick's driven by strong emotion:

Dick: I...I'm sorry...I'm sorry. I know this isn't your fault. Here I'm attacking you - and you're probably just as scared as I am. I just feel so frustrated. Batman could always remain calm in a crisis. I guess that's just another difference between us. Maybe I'd be better off if I just cut myself off from all feeling like he does. (New Titans 77)

Dick contrasts himself with Batman again here:

Dick: I - I - ahh, dammit. How the hell do people like you and Bruce keep it bottled up inside you? Don't you ever have to cut loose? To let go? If I didn't...I think I'd explode. (New Titans 86)

Dick's "I can't bottle things up the way Bruce does" self-image isn't just in New Titans. It also carries over to his first starring role - in Prodigal as Batman to Tim's Robin.

Here, Dick's struggling not with anger but with agonizing self-blame and guilt - he and Tim have this exchange when he's blaming himself for Two-Face's murders and Tim's trying to reassure him:

Dick: Nearly a dozen dead already and it's just starting. What if I can't stay a step ahead of Dent? How many more are going to die because of me? Tim: You can't think of it like that. Dick: What other way is there to look at it? Two-Face makes the rules. If you don't understand what they are and you make a wrong guess then someone dies. No second chances. No time-outs. Tim: But if you put that kind of pressure on yourself you'll choke. We have to distance ourselves. Dick: The cold light of reason, huh? Distance. Maybe that's what made the real Batman what he is. I never got the hang of that.

Here's a similar, later conversation with Tim when Dick's mad at himself for losing control and trying to beat the Joker to death in Last Laugh. As in Prodigal, Tim's trying to reassure him:

Dick: I thought I was more in control than that. But I lost it. Tim: It was made right, Dick. The Joker is alive and not well in a maximum security cell. Dick: It's not right with me. I never thought I could be a killer. I'm wrong. There's a part of me I never saw before. The rage. I never felt anger like that. I feel like it clawed me up inside. Tim: It's a mistake to pull away like this. You should be with your family this time of year. (Post-Last Laugh: Nightwing 64)

I think it's worth remembering that the reason why this keeps coming up for Dick is because he values control. A character like, say, Lobo doesn't spend his time second-guessing his own anger or comparing himself to more reserved characters - Lobo just gleefully punches things!

By contrast, Dick's big dilemma is that he feels things really intensely - anger, love, guilt - but he thinks it's important to stay detached and controlled ... even though he usually feels like he can't do it or like he's failing at it.

Dick & Tim & anger (Prodigal, Nightwing)

One thing you'll notice about Dick and Tim's conversations above is that they have similar assumptions about "good" behavior: like Dick, Tim values control and distance.

Another similarity is their tendency toward introspection: Tim, too, lives in his head a lot and spends a ton of time analyzing his own behavior. Tim's self-castigating narration is less likely to be about anger - it's more often about his own distance from other people / holding back / keeping secrets / being too much like Bruce - but the inner-monologue-self-analysis is the same.

It's a subtle difference because they're pretty similar, but I also think Tim's a bit more likely to be analyzing himself even as he's doing whatever the problematic thing is, while Dick's more likely to analyze himself after the fact. Tim will sometimes do this sort of split-screen analysis where he's getting emotional but also overthinking his emotions and still obsessing about observing other people at the same time, like here:

Tim: Maybe this will do the trick. Some adrenaline to wash this sick feeling away. Dick’s watching me. Gauging my reactions. He’s not as judgmental as Bruce would be. But he’s keeping an eye on me.

The above is from Prodigal: Tim's frustrated because he had to give in to bullies to preserve his secret identity, Dick wonders if he’s hoping to work out his anger on patrol and Tim admits “I guess I am,” and then Tim spends patrol… kinda trying to work out his frustrations, but also simultaneously watching himself react and analyzing Dick watching him react.

OTOH, Dick's a bit more likely to get swept up in overpowering emotion, and then later calm down and start unsparingly analyzing his own behavior.

So for example, here's Dick upset with Bruce, losing his temper, impulsively punching something...and then immediately afterward cooling down, analyzing the rage and castigating himself for it:

Bruce is playing martyr. Keeping us at a distance. [...] Why does it have to be this way with us? WHY? Uncontrollable rage. The same rage I felt when I killed the Joker. Thought I had it under control. (Bruce Wayne: Murderer? : Nightwing 65)

(Dick and Tim also sometimes get uncomplicatedly mad when their friends are annoying them or when Bruce is being difficult, but this post is probably long enough. Anyway, though there are exceptions, in general, they're both people who prioritize control.)

Dick & Jason & anger (BftC, B&R)

By contrast, you won't see post-Crisis Jason having critical inner monologues about his own anger because Jason doesn't see righteous anger as bad. In UtRH, he thinks that Bruce can't have really cared about him because he didn't go after the Joker (tragically, unbeknownst to Jason, Bruce did lash out a lot after Jason's death - but Jason doesn't know this). For Jason, giving in to your emotions is a good thing.

This is IMO a factor in Jason's fights with Dick as well as with Bruce - Jason's constantly taunting Dick, trying to get him to lose control (and show what Jason sees as his more admirable/genuine angry side), while Dick's trying to stay controlled.

For example, here's Dick's inner monologue in their Battle for the Cowl fight:

Dick: Nothing Jason says can be taken for truth. He says Tim is dead. I'll need more proof than his word and an empty cowl. Because right now, I need to keep that hope alive. If for nothing else, then to keep me from losing control...and I won't let that happen. Can't let that happen. Can't.

And here's Jason's take on Dick from Batman and Robin 25:

Jason: Dick is different from Bruce. In the way he fights. In the way he thinks. And the way he feels. And he gets angry. Really angry. That anger, it'd make him a great Batman, if he'd let it. But he won't. He's trying too much to be like him. The good son. Man, I hate him.

I have some complaints about this arc, but I really love this voiceover because of the cool multiple-perspectives aspect. Here, Jason's describing Dick-and-his-anger (and Dick's attempts to be more controlled, like Bruce) in terms similar to how Dick thinks of himself. But where Dick sees his anger as a flaw to overcome, Jason sees it as a good quality that he resents Dick for repressing.

Something else I like: because Jason values righteous anger and thinks Dick should too, he assumes that Dick's only repressing his anger out of an attempt to impress Bruce - to be "the good son" - not realizing that Dick might value control on his own behalf. After all, Robin!Jason and Bruce argued about control, and Jason resented Bruce's restraint as being callous and uncaring in the face of injustice. So Jason's (understandably!) projecting his own relationship with Bruce onto Dick's relationship with Bruce.

But contra Jason's assumptions, even though Dick sometimes waxes in admiration of Bruce's calm... in practice, Dick's more likely to be the one insisting Bruce control himself, not the other way round. In Lonely Place of Dying (and the comics immediately prior to it), for example, the whole point of Dick and Tim's intervention is that Bruce is too emotional and needs to get himself under control.

So Jason isn't reading Dick quite correctly, but his analysis makes sense given his own experience and values.

Final thoughts on Dick

Let's pause to admire the consistency of Dick's characterization here, because the panels I've grabbed span two decades of post-Crisis comics!

1991-92: New Titans 75-86 1994-95: Prodigal 2001-02: Last Laugh (Nightwing 64) 2009: Battle for the Cowl 2011: Batman and Robin 25

A final note - for me, Dick's attitude toward his anger is as important a part of his characterization as the anger itself. It's true that you can find plenty of panels, especially in the early 90s days, where Dick's just unselfconsciously snappish - he's only human, and when he's under stress, sometimes he gets grumpy.

But there are also lots of panels like these ones where you can see that Dick's self-aware and actively fighting his anger - even when he's got every reason to be angry. And that struggle is all wrapped up in Dick's uneasy relationship with his own emotions. Dick cares a lot about control, which is why he's so hyperaware of the times when he loses it.

Look, I just think he's neat <3

[auty-ren]

Salvation

Prologue

Pairings: The Mandalorian x Reader. Din Djarin x Reader. Mand’alor!Mando x Reader.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Canon-type violence. Mentions of death/injury. Canon divergency. Yearning. Panic and similar themes. The teensiest bit of steamy stuff.

A/N: We’re just getting started babes and holy shit I'm so excited for Mand'alor!Mando. We get to see the best of both worlds! Clan Leader Mando + Dark!Mando. Enjoy💗

Salvation Masterlist | My Masterlist

There was a vice that kept hold of your being, suspended between two planes of existence as you sat helpless to watch time pass at an agonizing pace. It filled you with dread, a heavy and pulling weight that settled in your stomach and had you glued to the floor; praying that the next thrum of violence that waged outside your door would be softer.

You hoped and pleaded every second you sat cowering in your home wouldn't be in vain, that something good would come of the war that had been building in weeks prior. The violence that crept over your village somewhat overnight, an uneasiness that settled between neighbors, and had people barricading their doors with fear.

You squeezed your palms tighter over your ears at the shrill sound of gunfire piercing through the walls of your home. The ground felt alive with footfalls and the impact fire, defeating sounds muffled between layers of durasteel were all you could hear, save for a few lost words that winded aimlessly through the air.

From your window you made out a figure that streamed across the sky; their form bulky and unnatural around the faint release of a jetpack that followed behind them.

Mandalorians had been passing through your village for as long as you could remember. Quiet and brooding warriors who often demanded very little and hardly left a trace that they had ever stepped foot in your town. You felt nothing but respect, considering that all your life you had seen the kindness that had been disguised behind layers of beskar and tall-tales of savage upbringings. As a child, you remember them speaking so softly to you, something that clashed with their demeanor and the heavy blasters that often rested on their hips.

There was never trouble, any thug that had made their way into your village was soon left scrambling at the sight of your guardians. No one ever dared to speak a harsh word in their presence, and your people were left with safe and warm homes that prospered when it felt the Galaxy was falling apart.

Mandalorians had protected you all of your life. But now you wanted more than anything for them to disappear, to fade away like the final wisps of smoke from dying embers. 

You just wanted the noise to stop.

Your eyes had dried beyond the point of tears, streaks of their remnants covered your face and left your skin feeling raw and tacky as your eyes squeezed shut. You heaved a dry sob as the walls of your home shook again, tremors vibrating at the ends of your fingertips as they scraped across the floor. Your joints ache from sitting so long, from trembling in the corner of your home as the only way to seek shelter.

There is a heavy thump that breaks through the noise, something solid that lands over your head. You can hear the unmistakable sound of footfalls as they walk across your ceiling, each step like a knife that twists deeper and deeper into an already gushing wound. Your grasp for anything you can reach, the leg of the table next to you, a book that had fallen from your desk, anything to ward off whatever was making its way to your front door. You felt pathetic, sure that whoever would burst into your home in the next seconds would find joy in the way your hands shook as you held them up in front of you, your only defense.

The weight that you had been holding in your shoulders came crashing down at the sound of a masked voice coming from your door. The shadow of their legs briefly visible through the gap in the door as lights flashed behind them, gunfire ringing through the small room as they barked a message about ‘Imps’ into their commlink.

‘Imperials’ they called themselves, led by the magistrate elect to ‘relieve our town from the clutches of oppressive rulers,’ or so they put it. Suddenly your town was full of strangers, of mercenaries with nasty tendencies that left you hesitant to leave your doorstep. Your home was turned into a hellhole in a matter of weeks, warm and kind faces were replaced with snarling teeth that spit evil in your direction every time you faced them. 

‘All in the name of progress.’

Destruction was the only thing that progressed in these short months, and Moff Gideon had no trouble thriving off every ounce of sacrifice he could squeeze from your town. Gideon had used any and all authority he had to wage war on the Mandalorians, the people you considered your protectors. You and nearly half of the village knew he was crazy for doing such a thing, for provoking the wrath of a people who had carved legends of war and battle into every corner of the Galaxy. All of this suffering because he was too greedy for something that was never his.

Your limbs were heavy by the time sunlight peered over the horizon, brief wisps of warmth dancing across your eyelids as you blinked awake from where you sat.

There was nothing but silence, heavy silence that was damning after a night of constant chaos. Early morning fog still lingered, your breath puffing in front of your face as you pulled yourself to stand. Your door was ripped open before you could even think, your only thought wanting to be able to witness whatever had been left in last night's wake.

The ground was firm and solid beneath your feet, your legs shaking as you stepped off the porch of your home and for the first time in forever everything was still. There was nothing but the faint shuffle of your feet across the ground, and the muffled conversations in the homes you passed by. It seemed you weren’t the only one who was curious; familar faces grew in number, their eyes wide and interested in the wreckage just as you were, everyone you met wondered what would become next. Some of them wept, holding whoever was closest as relief washed over them. Some of them celebrated, cheers echoing through streets as they basked in the absence of Imperials in their homes.

You stood, staring down an alley where the body of an Imperial laid unmoving in the dirt, their white armor smudged, cracking, and littering the wet ground. The reality of what had been happening only a few hours prior laid heavy on your chest, curling tight around your ribs until you felt there was no way to take a breath.

Your hands were shaking as you reached for your face, covering your lip as it trembled from swelling emotion and finally breaking away from the scene before you. You backtracked, fully intent on turning to run back the way you had come when you bumped into someone; their arm came up to grab yours, steadying you as their questions fell upon deaf ears. You stared at the woman before you, the brows knit in concern as she repeated her question.

“Are you alright?”

Everything was starting to bleed together, the sounds of people emerging from their homes suddenly became far too loud, and your awareness of where you stood punching you in the gut. You winced away from the woman, pulling your arm from her grip and ignoring how she called after you. Your lungs swelled with each heaving breath you took, the ground beneath you disappearing faster and faster as you tried to find your way home. Neighboring villagers found their ways into the streets, crowding alleyways and blocking your way home. You ran into a few of them, whispered apologies falling from your lips as you fought to hold yourself upright.

You needed to take a breath. You needed to slow down.

There was no distinction between the voice in your head and the concerned words of people you passed; friends, neighbors, all people you had known for most of your life.

They just want to help and part of you doesn't understand why you don't listen to them.

The ache that tears through your skull sends waves of nausea down your spine, your eyes blinking slowly at the dirt that sat just a few inches from your face. Your breath disturbed it, puffs of clay-colored soil swirling in front of you, and some of it landing on your cheeks.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbow, your entire side sore from how hard you had hit the ground. It was slow, your limbs feeling heavy and weighed even with adrenaline buzzing underneath your skin.

There was hardly any noise now, just a few whispers that danced between the crowds; the tail ends of sentences being lost as they shush themselves. You hear the scuffle of boots hitting the ground, their gate heavy and kicking up dirt in your peripheral. The dark-colored toe of someone's boot walks into your line of sight, you watch the leather come to a stop just a few inches from where your hand pressed into the mud. You followed the boot up the length of its owner’s body until you were met with the bulky visor of a beskar helmet, embers of the morning sun peeking out from behind the silver shine. 

He offers his hand out to you, the ends of his gloves a bright orange that was weathered at the tips. The leather was worn but soft to the touch as his hand wrapped around yours, pulling you to your feet with just a little bit more force than necessary. Your hand shot out to brace yourself against his chest, your weight falling against the solid expanse of his cuirass as you huffed out a curse. Your head was still spinning as you clung to him, trying to find balance on your own two feet as you looked at the stranger. His armor looked new, bright, and unsoiled save for the dirt that smudged from where you had touched it; your eyes are drawn to the obnoxious color offset by the dark linen of his clothes. You mutter an apology, moving to separate yourself from him but find yourself trapped under the arm he used to steady you.

From the corner of your eye, you can see the other Mandos who are waiting on him. Their armors a deep matching blue with white accents on the face of their masks, they stood at attention as if they were waiting on their next command. You looked back at the man in front of you, who you assumed was their leader, your hand still laying on his chest and your faces even closer than they had been before.

His hand hesitated just a breath away from your face, his fingers twitching before he pushed strands of your hair out of your eyes, the leather of his glove tickling the shell of your ear. The knuckles of his fingers traced down your jaw, his touch light and curious as he studied you. His thumb stopped at the apex of your cheek and he drags the pad of it across the same spot of skin a few times, brushing off the dirt that had stuck to your face.

You could hardly breathe under his attention, your lungs burning from how long you waited in between small intakes of breath. His hand was still warm against your face, his other fingers flexing on the hold he kept around your waist. Every second dragged on as you looked at him, studied what little you could see from the layers he wore around his being. Oddly enough, it felt that he was doing the same to you, his gaze felt like a burn as it trailed along with your features, your chest feeling tight and your cheeks hot from how overwhelmed he made you.

And then he was gone.

His hold on you released and he turned back in the direction he had been walking, followed by the Mandos who had stopped and waited for him. They parted the crowds that had formed in the streets, their presence enough to leave anyone in standing back, awestruck just as you had been. You watched their forms disappear from your sight until finally they turned a corner, and you never saw them again.

-

It feels impossible to sleep that night.

Though it had only been a few months, the soured pit in your stomach was telling that memories of Imperials wouldn't fade so easily. There wasn't enough water to wash away the stain that their greed had left behind. Everyone seemed happy, smiling freely and feasting in celebration as the day turned to dusk, and as dusk turned to night you sat, staring at the ceiling of your home and buzzing with something you couldn't quite pin down. You studied the crack that had split that ran from one corner of your home to the next, fresh and taunting you with how you had been cowering beneath this roof only a day ago; watching the stone give way as the very foundation of your house shook. Just outside you could hear voices again; quiet, content voices that felt unfamiliar, almost out of place amongst the chaos that had been living recently.

How could it be over so quickly?

It only took a day, not even that. Your village was wiped clean, the only evidence that there had even been Imperials, were scraps that had been piled together throughout the streets. Pieces of equipment, armor, a couple of uniforms that had been discarded were all that was left of them. And most of it was being discarded without a second thought. 

You had always heard stories of what Mandalorians could be capable of, but you had never believed them.

People liked to talk, to tell stories. It was easy to believe the tales of warrior races were just constructed, exaggerations of the true history of their people. But you were wrong. You hoped that you stayed wrong, that this wasn't temporary or even worse, a dream.

With every night that passed, it became easier, sleeping without worry you would wake up in hell all over again. It came over you slowly. Ease? Relief? Tranquility long enough for you to rest a few hours, then wake up to rebuild the life that had almost been taken from you. It finally felt safe. Safe to live, safe to breathe, safe to dream again.

But then all at once, it was swept out from under you and your heart plummeted when you answered the door to find two guards standing on your front steps.

“Can I help you?”

You noticed the way he ducked his head, his helmet cock-eyed when he looked at you to keep it from knocking with the frame of your doorway. He spoke very softly, almost gentle in the way he said your name; a stark contrast to the beaten, dull blue armor he wore and the heavy blaster strapped to his back. You looked over his shoulder at the female that followed him, her back was turned to you as she scanned the street in front of your home. She wasn’t as large as he was, but her armor was just as thick and a beautiful maroon color that glinted in the sun when she turned to face you.

They both waited for you to answer, turning to look at each other when you gave them a small nod, confirming that they had found who they were looking for.

“The Mand’alor has sent us for you.” The woman spoke, her tone clipped as she took a step closer. “Please. Come with us.”

Your fingernails dug into the softwood of the door frame, your skin burning from the way it dragged across the rough terrain until you released it, balling your fist at your side. You made no other attempt at moving, and neither did they. 

There would be no point in arguing, you would never be able to outrun two Mandalorians, but it felt very tempting at that moment.

“The….Mand’alor?”

You had heard the name before, a few of the Mandalorians in town had spoken it in passing and while you had never asked them who or what it meant, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. 

They had asked for you by name, and they were too occupied to come and find you themselves. 

You tried to wrack your brain for anything you could’ve done to cause this, of what could have upset someone to this point.

But then again, if they were upset, they probably would’ve just had you killed.

You looked behind you at the mess that was strewn across your room, crates of your belongings dumped in the tiny space and making it much smaller than it seemed. There was no telling where you were going, or how long you’d be gone but maybe you could take a few things with you.

“Can I have a minute please?”

You moved to shut the door, just wanting a little privacy to get a bag ready, but you were stopped when the female guard’s arm shot out, holding the frame still just a few inches before it would’ve closed.

“You don't need to take anything.” She huffed and pushed the door back open, stepping through the threshold to stand directly in front of you. “Come with us.”

You couldn't think of anything to say, not that she wanted a response from you, you just stood there staring at the two Mandalorians who crowded your doorway. She practically snarled an order at you, becoming increasingly impatient with how unresponsive you were.

“Now.”

-

Sometime later

“I-... I don't understand.”

He had you pinned, backed into a wall that you wished would open up and swallow you whole. Your face burned with shame but you couldn't figure out from what. From him? From how close he stood to you? From how every word that dripped from his lips was sweet? Like thick, sugary honey that became far more addictive than any spice you ever heard of; and you were glutenous in wanting more of those delicious words that he seemed so confident saying.

Shamefully so.

“Don't worry about such things.”

His thumb ran delicately over the bottom of your lip, tracing down until he held your chin in between it and his forefinger. He tipped your face to look up at him, his knuckles brushing across your throat as his hand fell to your chest. His fingers splayed across your exposed skin, his gloves are warm and soft as they made their way back up and finally wrapped around your neck.

“You're here now.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers flexed, his grip almost ghosting, as if he was afraid you'd break under any pressure.

You wished you could see his face, the blank stare of his visor did not indicate what he was thinking; though you imagined he was enjoying this from the way he touched you. He was like molten that left your skin burning in its wake, your heart fluttering as he moved over every inch that was shown to him. He held your jaw in the palm of his hand, his helmet coming only a hairbreadth away from your face; your breath puffing clouds of condensation on the smooth surface.

“You're mine.”

-

A/n pt2: I’ll give a sticker to whoever can guess who the female guard Mando was lol

Taglists

Salvation

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[deniigi]

Do you think there is a language barrier with the Star Wars group? Like I know there are different languages and then most people speak Basic, but are there different dialects for it? It is like English and American English where it's mostly the same but every so often one word has the opposite meaning?

I do think there are language barriers!!

I think there are a lot actually. and it’s funny because the SW universe seems to suggest that people are moving between planets all the time, but like, when you actually think about how species live in places, you realize that most people probably don’t zip around the way the cast we are exposed to does.

So that means that our cast folks are extraordinary people, who probably developed a lot of language skills. So while yeah, folks speak Basic, I can absolutely image that there is so much variation in what ‘speaks Basic’ means that most people have probably 2-3 languages stuffed in their back pocket.

I wrote a long-ass fic where Han, Chewie and Luke get kidnapped by Din, Fennec, and Fett and there was a little bit where Din is chatting with Chewie and gets taken off guard when Han understands him. Here’s that for y’all to play with.

-------

Fifteen minutes into Mando-flight, Han and Chewie shared the realization that these people were wildly confused about how to fly the MF. Djarin kept trying to squeak away from under Fett and Fennec’s thumb to ask Han, Chewie, and Luke what certain readings were.

Han hated how much he was growing on him.

Then Chewie offered Djarin a proposition.

In return for nonviolence, he, Han, and Luke could fly the ship. Djarin told him that regrettably that wasn’t going to happen. But he might be able to negotiate one person into the cockpit.

Han asked him in Shyriiwook what these people had on him, and he seemed startled that Han could understand him.

“I’m not being coerced,” he said with a lilt of confused honesty. “Fett said that he was ‘tired of looking at me being a sorry sack of shit’ is all. He agreed to help me leave.”

“Why?” Han asked him. “Why would you want to go? You’ve got all of Mandalore at your feet? You could have anything you want.”

Silver’s fingers flexed anxiously. Then he switched dialects on Han like a fucking asshole and went back to only talking to Chewie.

“Byeeee,” Luke crooned when Djarin got up and passed him on the way back to speak to the others. Djarin paused next to him. He left but came back to move Luke’s bunched-up cloak out from behind his shoulders. Luke smiled up at him in thanks and he scrambled away as if realizing that he wasn’t being a scary enough wolf in the face of the three bears.

“I like him,” Luke informed Han and Chewie. “I’m gonna marry him.”

Luke.

Five minutes. They were asking only for five minutes without a crush here, alright?

“He’s not a crush, he’s my husband.”

Han made the executive decision to block Luke’s voice from his ears for the next 48 hours. He turned to Chewie and demanded to know what Djarin had said to him.

Chewie fidgeted and hummed and said he wasn’t so sure he should repeat it.

Han reached back into the depths of his internal black book and started ripping out pages to shove in Chewie’s face until Chewie couldn’t take the guilt anymore.

He explained that Djarin had told him that, without the child, he had no one anymore. He’d been part of a Mandalorian commune and the commune had been destroyed because of his actions. He didn’t know if he could go back to them. He didn’t know if they would want him back.

But he wanted to apologize, if nothing else. He had to do that, and he wanted to give them his helmet if they refused to accept the apology.

Han stared.

“That sounds bad,” he said.

Chewie nodded.

“I’m not here to support a suicide mission,” Han told him.

Chewie nodded harder than ever.

“Does Fett know what he’s planning?” Han asked in a whisper while Luke got bored of him and Chewie leaving him out of their discussion yet again.

Chewie didn’t know. He had the feeling that Djarin hadn’t told anyone else. He’d stumbled on his words like he hadn’t said them outloud before.

Han tapped a foot furiously.

They had to get that guy back in here to talk.

“Luke,” he snapped. “Today’s your lucky day, kid. I’m gonna teach you how to flirt, so listen up.”

--------

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 15 rewatch thoughts

- mayfeld does hear when the droid talks to him the first time, you can see him pretending not to like he hopes he’ll just go away haha. I also guess he’s had a lot of time to think, picking apart pieces of the large fascist machine he used to be a part of and going over everything he clearly regrets 

- hahaha fennec and boba are in the back intensely keeping watch the entire time they’re on the prison planet. I suppose a good two thirds of this crew is uuuuh extremely wanted by the new republic lol

- the thing din’s voice does at the end when he says “but you still know your imperial clearances and protocols. don’t you.” is beyond fucking words, it sends a chill right through me

- 

1) din fiddling with that panel; I think he’s phenomenally nervous behind the helmet here, that’s the sort of keeping his hands busy he does when he’s anxious and 2) why the hell does boba have this many chairs instead of like space for cargo haha does he throw bounty hunter parties in here or what

- ngl boba correctly guessing at a glance what sort of ore they’re mining and informing everyone in his sardonic deadpan voice is Big Sexy  

I love how he and fennec are standing together when they’re both present in these opening scenes too, first at the very back when they’re keeping a lookout: 

and then in the foreground while they discuss the scan 

it’s a nice subtle way to get across that they already have a dynamic, they’re somewhat used to working together as a unit at this point. (she’s also looking over at him when she asks what they might be mining in there, like she’s mostly asking his opinion instead of opening it to the floor. they’re talking the mission out between them before din enters the conversation)

- the inside of slave 1 when the ship’s moving makes me a little bit motion sick, I really love seeing it but I hope we don’t stay in here too often haha

- aaaw the small weary sigh din gives upon realizing none of his bros can go with mayfeld. I’m sorry about basically your entire life buddy

-

the awkward way din adjusts the helmet like he’s trying to get used to the way it feels ;______;  

- ah the distinct implication that mayfeld is needling din about this because he’s actually feeling super uncomfortable being back in empire gear and he needs to transfer that discomfort over onto someone else so he won’t have to feel through it... very psychologically understandable and such a fucking piece of shit asshole character trait to give in to haha

- din’s level of side eye is so epic you can see it straight through the helmet fhaskjfhd

- neat detail: din’s head turns slightly toward mayfeld when he calls mandalorians a ‘race’. (it’s sort of cool  that we as the audience know why that bothers him, but mayfeld probably didn’t even pick up on it). also shows that mayfeld doesn’t actually quite understand what he’s talking about, even when he makes decent points he’s caught up in his own myopic nihilistic point of view. ‘we’re all the same’ ------> ‘everyone’s secretly as shitty as me deep down’. (which also betrays a lot of self loathing, since we see later he does have the capacity to NOT be that shitty when he chooses to. rick famuyiwa manages to get a LOT of really interesting nuanced stuff into this character in two short episodes, that’s super impressive)   

the bright sunny look on mayfeld’s face when din finally gives in and takes the bait tho fsajdkfhasj he’s awful but that’s very funny

- rip all these excellent dudes who really only wanted to accomplish the noble goal of ruining the empire’s entire day and didn’t know they were also trying to blow up My Dad Who Does Not Deserve Any Of This, it’s honestly just really sad that there’s no moment to talk that out

well at least they blew up the entire refinery on their way out, I’m sure that’s the way they would have wanted their memories honored lol

- the comedy beat of din running out of ammo for the first time ever and the music briefly cutting out for it is so so good for me 

hahahaha din seems to actually take a moment to be a little aghast at that dude who ends up crushed under the treads of the tank thing, he’s just sort of staring for a few seconds too long and that’s how pirate nr 2 takes him by surprise and shatters his shoulder armour 

- I feel a bit bad -- two of the ‘pirates’ try to hold on to each other for balance and then din punches them apart and off the tank :( I mean it’s not like he could just let them murderate him either but like. ouch I’m guessing this one might haunt him for a while for several reasons huh

(the sequence is actually this guy, let’s call him pirate 3, swings the spear at din and misses, instead hitting his buddy who’s trying to get to his feet, then looks horrified and grabs for him to make sure he doesn’t fall off, and then... mando’s forehead happens to them haha)

- poor fennec and cara just running up that hill while everything’s on fire, they must be wondering what the FUCK is going on (at least cara knows that things blowing up is a sure sign din djarin is in the middle there somewhere)

- everything about carano in real life aside for one second -- I do like that we get this contrast in build between our main female characters of the episode and the way their costume designs enhance it

 - awwww the little gesture din does with his hand after he removes it from mayfeld’s chest after stopping him from leaving, it’s just so... sweet. it’s a little bit appeal, a little bit reassurance, it just lightens/softens the tone of what he says a bit (he has quite a lot of like... not conciliatory mannerisms exactly, but small touches here and there that are there to communicate that he’s not angry/aggressive or trying to be a dick about it even when he’s emphatic. I keep wondering how much that is just him being him and how much is him being practiced at settling other people’s hot tempers)  

- this shot is just... genius

it’s din seen entirely from the outside, with nothing of what we’ve learned to recognize as him for almost two seasons now in view -- not even his face, which we have at least a tenuous fledgling attachment to from before. it’s like we get introduced to him almost as if anew again and again in this episode, just like he’s getting introduced to new aspects of himself and what he’s willing to do and having to struggle to find ways to have that fit with who he is. his discomfort and stress is our discomfort and stress. it’s so interesting 

- I can’t stop cackling at this moment even in all the tension -- you only get a sliver of din’s profile but you can feel the sheer MURDER radiating off him sdhfasjk

- aaaaaaaagh the way you get a whole different view of din’s habitual impassiveness when you can actually see his face... the way he keeps appealing to mayfeld ‘just don’t make more trouble, just shut up’, the way he goes completely silent and watchful and frozen..... those are all really obvious trauma responses, and it leads you to wonder how often he touches into that even when he’s in his element, when he’s got the full armour on. hmngh my heart  

- ‘the believer’ is such a galaxy brain title for this episode, because it could be referring to either of the three men around this table or all of them at once. (and crucially the only person whose beliefs aren’t in a living, breathing state of adapting to the world around them is the empire officer, with his horrific inhuman ideology. mayfeld thinks he believes in nothing, and proves himself explosively wrong by the end of the episode, and it’s redeeming for him in some capacity. din is facing a more internal dilemma of different parts of his (and his culture’s) beliefs/values clashing and having to decide which one’s more important, to his identity and to how to exist in the world as a person (and love for the baby wins out supremely in the end. of course it does Y_____Y). the empire dude only sees the same sterile fascist world at the end of his shit rainbow that he’s clearly always done, even when faced with proof that it’s untenable. (I mean he wouldn’t give a fuck that it’s immoral because he’s y’know evil, but he’s not even fazed by the fact that the empire provably FAILED, and failed so quickly) his belief is a dead and deadening thing to contrast the others. man when this show goes off with the themes it goes OFF haha) 

- love the triumphant heroic mando music kicking in as we’re finally getting to pick off imps, love that for us 

- din’s protective instincts at work again, he helps mayfeld to his feet and makes sure he’s safely on board before going further in himself ;_______;

- fennec’s professional approval at mayfeld’s shot hahaha. well I guess he was supposed to be a sharpshooter back in the day huh

I do Not think she likes mayfeld even after all that, though, the withering look she sends him on her way past... should have killed him stone dead on the spot

- seeing din back in the armour is like a physical relief, I can breathe again haha

- tfw you catch yourself thinking ‘at least when all this is over we can go back to the razor crest and everything will be normal again’ and then you rEMEMBER 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[edie-baby]

Les Fleurs du Mal Chapter 1| Pierre Gasly

Summary: Sava Dvorakova had big dreams for Formula One. An opportunity of a lifetime comes around, so she takes it and runs. She proved just about everyone wrong, and is awarded a very controversial seat on the F1 grid. There’s smiles and grins, hugs and kisses, love and laughter. There’s tears and sobs, fights and break ups. There’s evil where you least expect it, hidden in the garden of eden. The Flowers of Evil.

Warnings: a lot of swearing, shitty parents (they’re a recurring theme), sexism, i ignored a lot of actual f1 rules because i couldn’t be bothered writing it into the story tbh, yuki is fcking adorable, a lot of smut eventually, like a lot.

There were hundreds, thousands, maybe even a million girls who have dreamed of making it into Formula One. It is the pinnacle of motorsport, the highest calibre and the most competitive of its many engine-based counterparts. Many women over the years have tried to make their way into the sport, but as each season becomes more competitive, it seems as though the women of motorsport keep slipping through the cracks. Perhaps it’s a timing thing - they weren’t in the right place at the right time - or perhaps it’s a sexism thing, or maybe the female drivers just simply are not at the same level that a lot of the men are at.

Sava Dvorakova feared being one of those women. One that would try their hardest, but were still unable to make their mark on a sport they had very clear passion for. The seventeen year old had been karting since her fifth birthday, progressing through the levels the Czech Republic had to offer before she moved onto European championships. Nearly every weekend of the year, Sava was in her kart, racing against boys three years her senior and thrashing them each time. However, she didn’t get the opportunity to progress into single-seaters for many years.

It was September 2020, just like any other race weekend when it happened, Sava piled into her kart as the marshalling for her heat was called. Her uncle patted the top of her helmet for good luck, a tradition the two had kept for about twelve years at this point, and she made it out onto her starting place - pole position as usual. Sava pulled clean moves the entire race, defended her position without being reckless or desperate, and had perfect pace. As she pulled back into the pits under her team’s marquee, she spotted her uncle speaking with an older man in a button up and slacks, something quite odd for a normal karting weekend. Sava hopped out, practically ripping her helmet and balaclava off as her footsteps increased in pace to get to her uncle. He scooped her up into a hug, spinning the girl a few times and congratulating her on another victory for the season.

“Bunny, this is Doctor Helmut Marko, he’s the director of Red Bull Racing. He’d like to speak with you about a driving opportunity.” Sebastian, her uncle, stated clearly, his excitement spilling into his eyes as he stared at his seventeen year old niece. Her dyed-pink hair sat matted to her forehead, the majority of it spun into Dutch braids down her back that would be tucked into the back of her race suit before the next race, her cheeks were flushed red, and her bottom lip was cracked in places from how much the Czech nibbled on it on and off track. Sebastian almost laughed at the situation she had ended up in.

“Dr Marko, it’s lovely to meet you. I have an hour until my next heat, so if you would like to speak urgently, there is a small cafe about a hundred metres from the track. If you’d like less of a time constraint, I will be completely free after 4pm today.” Sava told the man in front of her, Czech accent so thick the Austrian could barely understand her.

“It should only take about 10 minutes, so if you’d like, I can buy you and your uncle a coffee at the cafe while we speak.” Dr Marko offered. Sava nodded calmly, her uncle much more vocal about his excitement. Sava excused herself to change into less sweaty clothes, returning in a halter-neck singlet and a pair of ripped skinny jeans. Her trusty combat boots stepped over all of the tools, debris, and shit that was scattered around the pits as she made it back to the two men.

“So, Sava, what is your goal in karting?” Dr Marko began almost immediately after the trio had sat down in the cafe.

“To make it into formula one and win multiple world championships.” Sava responded confidently, barely a second between the question and her reply as it was something she had thought about for a very long time.

“So why aren’t you already driving in single seaters?” Dr Marko questioned further, and from the corner of her eye, Sava could see her uncle tense up.

“Because no one’s willing to give me a chance in the big leagues because they know I’ll do a lot better than half the boys on the grid.” The seventeen year old replied. Helmut seemed impressed with the rapid fire, confidence laden responses he was receiving.

“Well, I’m willing to. Jehan Daruvala, a Red Bull junior currently driving for Carlin in formula two is unable to attend the last three races of the season because of health issues. I want you to take his seat for those races, and if you’re as good in a single seater as you are in that kart, I’ll make sure you have a seat for next year.” Helmut laid out, and Sebastian audibly choked. Sava smirked at her uncle’s reaction, and stared into the eyes of the man offering her a fast track to her dreams.

“I’d love to. When and where is the next race?” Sava chuckled, her uncle’s recovery from his choking fit was slow, and Helmut looked on in amusement. He had seen many similar reactions from the drivers he was propositioning, but it seemed as though this duo had reversed the normal roles.

“The weekend begins on Thursday in Italy. You’ll be racing in Mugello.” Helmut told the pair dryly. Sebastian began coughing once again, Sava simply rubbing his back soothingly while she nodded.

“I’ll need to make arrangements with my school, but I presume you’ll make travel and accommodation arrangements from Prague to Mugello?” Sava continued her calm conversation, though she could feel her natural bubbliness and excitement ready to burst through.

“Yes. There will be a Carlin race suit and boots in Mugello when you arrive, as well as a helmet and teamwear. You’ll have a personal assistant for the time you’re in Jehan’s seat, to keep up with the media and to navigate the paddock. I’ll have all of the relevant information forwarded to you tonight, and there will be a contract for you to sign upon your arrival in Italy.”

“Then I’ll see you there, sir. I best be on my way, I’ll need time to change back into my race suit before my heat is called in about half an hour. It was lovely to meet you, and I look forward to meeting and exceeding your expectations.” Sava concluded, standing up to give her new boss a handshake before she turned on her heels and practically sprinted out of the cafe. She speed walked back to the track and into the changing rooms before letting out the ear splitting squeal she had been holding in since she won her race forty five minutes ago.

It was easy enough to sort out her absence with her school, as there were no assessments due and Sava was already miles ahead of the rest of her peers, so her teachers had no qualms with letting their champion out to represent the country.

The issue however, was with her parents. Her father, a man she had been emancipated from for over a year, decided he would give her grief for throwing away her education to take someone’s spot for a few weeks before they would inevitably drop her once they realised how bad she was. Her mother wasn’t much better. As her legal guardian, she technically did have the right to stop her daughter from going into the F2 seat, but after a gruelling discussion and many threats from Sava to emancipate from her mother as well, she conceded.

So, on a very sunny, very early Thursday morning in September, Sava hopped onto a plane with an overnight bag to begin catching her dreams. Unfortunately, Sebastian had work during the week, but would be flying out to Italy on Friday night to watch his niece’s races on Saturday and Sunday. But, Sava arrived in Italy as bubbly and excitable as ever. Her pink hair was split into her iconic high pigtails, a white crop top, and pastel pink pleated skirt and trusted combat boots covered her form, black duffel bag thrown over her shoulder with some clothes for the weekend, and all of her travel documents. The PA standing with her name printed on a sign was very confused when a very small, very pink teenage girl bumbled over to her and said ‘Hi, I’m Sava. But everyone calls me Bunny’.

“I’m sorry, I expected someone a little more gritty.” The twenty-something woman spoke, her blonde hair in a high ponytail with a Carlin shirt and dark wash jeans. Sava guessed the PA expected someone who looked more like herself.

“It’s okay, I get that a lot. Most people don’t recognise me out of my race suit, so I definitely don’t expect someone who’s never seen me to anticipate my looks. What’s your name?” Sava’s Czech accent, combined with her hyperactivity meant she talked extremely fast, and often it was all nonsense, and she simply spoke for the sake of speaking. The PA took a few seconds to process the words Sava had spoken before finally replying with a simple ‘Amelia’. The two made it to the car that was waiting and travelled to the track in silence, Sava taking in the sights, and Amelia tapping away at her phone. When they got out, Amelia handed Sava a paddock pass, explaining the importance of it and demonstrating how to use it at the gates. They walked through to the Carlin garage, one half working away excitedly, while the other side seemed rather dead.

“Everyone, can I have your attention please? This is Sava Dvorakova, she’s our reserve driver for the rest of the season. Make her comfortable, and make sure she feels welcome!” Amelia yelled, very quickly causing silence to spread over the entire garage.

“Hi! I’m Sava, but most people call me Bunny, so feel free to do either! Or if you’d like, Dvorakova works just as well, but it’s a bit of a mouthful so I understand if you mispronounce it. I’ll also probably respond to ‘hey you’ so anything works. I’m really looking forward to working with you all and giving you some good results this weekend!” Sava giggled at the end, her fists clenched in front of her chest as she gave a small cheer with her hands and the entire garage remained silent for a few moments before breaking out into whispers, their eyes trailing over the teenager’s body. The anxiety in Sava’s belly bubbled, and she began playing with her hands until she was approached by a boy who was a little taller than her with a friendly smile on his face.

“Hi, I’m Yuki. I drive the other Carlin. It’s nice to meet you Bunny.” Yuki introduced with a smile and fist bump. He was unbelievably pleased to meet a driver who was smaller than him, though he supposed that her being a girl wouldn’t ease all of the teasing he got from other drivers on the grid. The two chatted about their background in racing, and Yuki gave Sava a few pointers on handling the car she was about to drive for the first time ever.

“Sava, I have all of your race gear to try on, and later on you’ll need to do a seat fitting as the mechanics are just going to modify one of Yuki’s seats since you two are similar height.” Amelia stated, breaking up the conversation between the two youngsters. Sava apologised to her new friend before practically skipping behind Amelia. She received a few weird looks from others in the paddock, including a few F1 drivers she recognised from TV and her Instagram feed. She wasn’t sure why they were in this paddock, but supposed a few of the younger guys had only recently come out of F2.

When she got into a Carlin motorhome, race overalls and her flame-retardant undersuit were thrust into her hands by Amelia, and then pointed toward a tiny bathroom within the motorhome while the PA continued scrolling through emails, updating social media, and answering calls. Sava pulled the suits on excitedly, and though it was a bit tight in the hips, thighs and chest, she thought it looked pretty damn good.

“So, I think this was definitely made for a guy with less boobs and smaller hips, but the fit is still really good.” Sava joked to Amelia when she stepped out, only to see Helmut Marko standing alongside her new assistant. She went red instantly, her shoulders tensing and sliding up toward her head.

“Yes, well, we can certainly fix that before the next race, but right now, I believe you’re needed for fittings in the garage, so throw on your helmet and get down there.” Helmut ordered. Sava quickly snatched up her balaclava and helmet, threading the two onto her arm as she began undoing the pigtails to braid them on her way back to the Carlin garage while Amelia and Helmut stayed behind to talk.

If Sava thought she was getting weird looks on her way to the motorhome, she was getting even weirder ones on the way back from it. From what she could tell, it seemed more like mechanics, engineers and other personnel from other teams and she couldn’t see any drivers she recognised before she slipped into the Carlin garage, one braid half finished, and her helmet banging against her head every time she moved her arm. Yuki laughed at her struggles, ambling over to thread the helmet and balaclava off her arm while she held the half finished braid precariously. Sava thanked him with a quick smile and continued braiding, her tongue occasionally poking out the side of her mouth in concentration. One she was finished, and the long braids were tucked into the back of her suit, she pulled on the balaclava and helmet in record speed, and then was ushered into the F2 car to begin the tedious process of trying and changing one of Yuki’s seats to suit her height and posture. 

After about an hour of fiddling, she was allowed to take the helmet off, and was beginning to doze off in the cockpit while a few of the employees debated different ways of measuring and fixing the seat nearby. Amelia came into the garage to find the new driver fully asleep in her car with everyone still talking around her. She took a photo and uploaded it to Carlin’s Instagram story, tagging the driver and writing a quick word about the reserve driver they hadn’t officially announced yet. She giggled slightly, and when two of the mechanics came back over to lift the seat out of the car, they accidentally lifted the driver out with it. Amelia took more photos of the seventeen year old comfortably in her race suit, curled in her seat while two mechanics held the entire ensemble up above the car.

Suffice to say, Carlin’s Instragram was flooded with adoring new fans, angered stans, and a few cheeky formula one drivers on private accounts. 

[triptuckers]

Drained - Anakin Skywalker

Request: nope Pairing:  Anakin Skywalker x reader Summary:  The war is taking a toll on everyone, and you’re tired of it. Warnings: mentions of minor injuries (not reader) Word count:  1.3K A/N: I’m 2 followers away from 600 🥺 have this Anakin x reader because I love him so much, enjoy reading! 

Weeks. Months. Years. Time didn’t even feel real anymore. The war is still raging on, despite the Jedi’s best efforts to end it. You can tell everyone is growing tired of it. Though no one’s said it out loud, you can tell at least half of the smiles people give you are fake. 

You can’t help but to think it must be easy for the clones. Most of the times, you can’t even see their faces because of their helmets. They don’t have to smile reassuringly at everyone they see. 

But you’re a Jedi. You’ve got a handful of clones under your command. And they need to see there’s an end to this war, that they can win it, that there’s still hope. You can’t show the signs that are so obviously there. 

The only one who ever sees them is Anakin, and you even try to hide them from him. He has enough to worry about. The last thing you’d want, is for him to worry about you as well. You’re a grown woman, you can handle yourself.

You stretch your arms above your head as you walk through the halls of the Temple. Most Jedi used their time at the Temple to get some rest in between missions. You tried to do the same, but most of the times you were at the Temple, either Obi-Wan or Anakin and Ahsoka were on a mission. Resting was not easy when you are worrying about them.

Right now, you’re merely waiting for Master Yoda to tell you he’s got another mission for you. Anakin and Ahsoka are on their way back from a mission, and Obi-Wan got a nasty blaster hit on his last mission, so it was only logical you would be assigned to the next mission.

You’re on your way to the gardens. Your mind is often restless, and meditation is the best solution to it. Though you like your quarters, there’s something about the gardens that you can’t find anywhere else. 

You’ve almost reached the gardens, when you see a familiar figure in the distance, also heading for the gardens. You jog to catch up with them.

‘Ahsoka!’ you say, and she turns around. ‘When did you come back?’

‘Hello Master Y/L/N- I mean, hello Y/N.’ she says, correcting herself. You didn’t like to be called “Master Y/L/N” by your friends. ‘We only just got here.’ she looks at you, and answers your question before you’ve asked it. ‘Anakin is in his quarters. His robes got ripped he needed to change.’ 

‘Thanks!’ you say, and you turn and walk the other way, leaving the gardens behind you. 

You and Anakin had developed a habit of checking up on each other when one of you came back from a mission. It had started years ago, back when you were still Padawans. Somehow, it became a second nature to you. 

Everyone knew you and Anakin were close. Always checking up on each other, inside jokes, being able to communicate without words. Everyone also had the very strong feeling you and Anakin are a lot more than close friends, but because they couldn’t prove any of it, and nothing ever went wrong, no one would act on their suspicions.

You knock on the door of Anakin’s quarters and wait. A few moments later, it opens, revealing a very tired looking Anakin. He smiles at you and steps aside so you can enter. 

‘You look like hell.’ you say. ‘Good to see you too, Y/N/N.’ he says.

You walk up to him and raise your hand to his cheek, where a cut stretches from his temple almost to the corner of his lips. 

‘I’m fine.’ he says. ‘It’s nothing, just a little cut.’ ‘Hmm.’ you hum, and Anakin slightly rolls his eyes. ‘I know what hmm means.’ he says. ‘I was careful. No unnecessary risks. Sometimes stuff like this happens, you know that.’ ‘Yeah, I know it does.’ you say, dropping your hand from his cheek.

‘Thought you’d be on a mission when we got back.’ he says, moving to sit on his bed. ‘That makes two of us.’ you say. ‘I’m only waiting for Master Yoda to tell me where I’m going. I was on my way to the gardens to meditate, actually. But then I ran into Ahsoka who told me you were here.’

‘I think a nap would suit you more than meditation right now.’ chuckles Anakin. His eyes travel over your tired eyes and the heavy bags under them. ‘No offence, but you also look like hell.’ he says.

‘I’m fine.’ you say. Anakin raises his eyebrows in doubt. ‘Really.’ you say with a smile. 

Anakin looks at you. ‘I can see you’re smiling, but I can sense you’re not fine.’ he says. ‘How can I help?’

You look at him for a while. He’s waiting for your answer as you look at him. And then it’s like everything hits you at once, like a huge wave. Tears fall from your eyes and you feel your knees give out. Anakin catches you before you can hit the ground.

‘Hey, hey, hey, what are all those tears about?’ he says as he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you. You try to say something, but only sobs escape your lips. 

‘Shh.’ says Anakin softly. ‘It’s alright, I’m here, I’ve got you. Let it all out.’ 

You don’t know how long you sat there, until you finally pull back a bit from Anakin’s embrace to wipe the tears off your cheeks. You move to stand up, but Anakin doesn’t let go of you. You look at him and he smiles at you.

‘Let’s stay like this for a while.’ he says. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

You sigh and let your head fall to his chest. ‘I’m just so tired.’ you say. ‘Of this war, of fighting, all of it. I just want it to be over. I want to walk around the temple and annoy Obi-Wan like we used to do when we were younger. Use my free time to improve my lightsaber skills or just walk around Coruscant and go for a drink. Feels like all I know is war. It used to be different.’

‘I understand.’ says Anakin. ‘These days it feels like this war might never end. But it will. We’ll just have to hold on a little longer. At least we’ve got each other. And it’s alright if it gets too much sometimes. We’re all tired, you’re certainly not alone in this, Y/N.’ says Anakin. 

You sigh and lift your head from his chest. ‘How do you do it, Anakin? How do you hold on?’ you say.

‘Well, mostly because of you. I hold on for you.’ says Anakin. ‘Artoo!’

You look up when you hear Artoo approaching you, beeping happily.

‘Show her, buddy.’ says Anakin. 

Artoo beeps again before showing a holo. It’s an old picture of you and Anakin that Ahsoka took years ago. You look at it and smile. It was taken before the war, and both you and Anakin are smiling brightly. You two look so young. Unaware of the war that would start, sending you all across the galaxy.

‘They once reset Artoo’s memory, and I was scared to death that had gotten erased as well.’ says Anakin. ‘Thanks Artoo.’ The blue and white droid beeps once and takes off. 

You turn back to look at Anakin and smile. 

‘Now, that’s a real smile.’ says Anakin and he stands up, pulling you up with him. ‘You didn’t have to show me that, you know.’ you say. ‘Hey, you asked me how I hold on, that’s how.’ says Anakin. ‘Remember years ago, you made me promise to come back to you? I care about you, Y/N, and if it’s up to me, I’m never going to break that promise.’

‘You’re really amazing, you know that right?’ you say. ‘Eh, I try to be.’ says Anakin, making you chuckle. You move closer and wrap your arms around his torso. Anakin rests his chin on your head.

‘Can I stay here tonight?’ you ask. ‘I’ll leave early in the morning. It’s just that your presence is soothing.’ ‘Of course.’ says Anakin. ‘We could both use a good night’s sleep.’

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Jo

[omegas-spaghettios]

In Defense of Bo-Katan

This character receives an enormous amount of hate and it is so unfair.

Before I begin, I have a few disclaimers to make.

1. I used to be on the hate train for her. When TCW S7 and Mando S2 aired, I hated her. Absolutely loathed her and I was vocal about it. You could go back and find a trail of me hating on her, I want to admit to that before I go on.

2. I love every character I talk about during this. When I compare her to other characters or discuss other characters, it comes from a place of love. Flawed characters are the best characters because it makes them feel human.

3. I am not defending her from a moral standpoint. She does some pretty awful things. What I'm arguing is that a lot of criticism levied at her for being a "bad character" is unfair because what she does either lines up with her motivations and thus makes her a well written character (if not unlikable), or she does things and gets slammed for it when male characters do the same things and get away with it.

I'm just gonna go chronologically and discuss major talking points on why people hate her.

1. Her Discussion with Kenobi in 7×10

People hate on her because of this, and that could be fair, depending on how else you view Star Wars. Bo was responsible for helping bring an organization to power that killed her sister, she weaponized the death of her sister against Obi-Wan, and also her organization (Death Watch) has tried to kill Obi-Wan many times. She is overall being incredibly unfair and awful in this scene.

Okay, so she helped kill a woman important in her life, weaponized that death to guilt Obi-Wan, and also is responsible for attempts on Obi-Wan's life.... why does this feel familiar....

Anakin did much, MUCH worse than her, yet he is still loved. I love Anakin! But it pisses me off that when Bo does it it's a valid reason to hate her and one of the two most commonly listed examples to hate her, but when Anakin does it he gets nuance. Anakin's character and motivations line up to that event, it makes him a flawed character. But when Bo does it, we just hate her?

"But she doesn't have the development to that point like Anakin" the entire Prequel Era is the story of Anakin, no character has as much time dedicated to them. How can Bo have that much development to make it "believable" when the only character who can rival Anakin's level of development is Ahsoka?

If you hate both Bo and Anakin then her Discussion with Obi-Wan is a 100% valid reason to hate her. This is not to say you can't hate her for that, this is to say that there is a lot of hypocrisy in the fandom over this.

2. Sabine Wren

I'm not gonna spend much time on this, cause it isn't a huge reason I see often and it's just, so easy to debunk. I love Sabine and her arc is good, but from a Mandalorian standpoint, she's lucky she left the planet with a decent public standing. She makes a weapon for the empire that is handcrafted to kill Mandalorians and names it after Bo's dead pacifist sister. Under no circumstance is any Mandalorian required to treat her well after that, especially Bo.

I know she has an arc to redeem herself over the course of the show, but imagine if a public figure irl did that. No one would care how hard they worked to redeem themselves, no one would ever trust them again and that is valid.

3. Bo's discussions with Din

The way she and the other two scoff at Din is not kind at all, it's pretty rude. But guess what? Din got aggressive first when they took their helmets off.

I understand being in a cult means your view of the world is purposefully warped and information withheld so he doesn't know better, but why does Bo have this responsibility to be kind to anyone who is mean to her just because they might not know better? Why does Bo NEED to give everyone the benefit of the doubt?

Din was aggressive and accused them of not being mandalorian FIRST, he doesn't know better and that makes Bo's treatment of him less than ideal, but why does she have to respect his beliefs and identity when he IMMEDIATELY is trying to rip apart hers?

She never even says he isn't Mandalorian, just he was raised in a cult, which he high key is. The amount of identity suppression and implied information control in The Children of the Watch or whatever they are called is very cultish.

4. The Boba interaction

This and the TCW S7 interaction with Kenobi are the two big ones I see very frequently.

Before I begin with her motivations, can we talk about how blatant the one-sided hate is in this scene anyway? Boba is standoff-ish and aggressive right from the get go, audibly calling them a waste of time, ridiculing Bo for wanting to liberate her literal ancestral homeland, calling her all sorts of names, etc. Boba is by no means trying to be respectful or diplomatic but that's fine, but when Bo gives the same energy as him she gets hated. Again, Boba starts it by saying they were a waste of time.

Getting mad that she called him "not a real mandalorian" is pointless because he immediately says "never claimed to be". Boba isn't Mandalorian. He isn't. He doesn't view himself as Mandalorian and his connection to the armor is just because of his father, not because of Mandalorian heritage.

Her seething hatred for clones and attacking Boba with it is awful but it's understandable within her character. Clone Troopers came to help in the Siege of Mandalore with the explicit agreement they would leave once Maul was captured. Maul was captured, Order 66 came down, the clones never lifted their occupation. Does that mean her hatred of all clones is justified? No. But is it understandable from her viewpoint? Yes, and that makes her a 3 dimensional, flawed character.

We know it wasn't the clones' fault, but we have no reason to believe Bo knows about the chips. Even then, it is established in Rebels when Kanan first meets Rex and crew that people who know about the chips don't necessarily believe it. It takes discussion with the clones themselves and evidence to sway his belief. So even if Bo knows, why does she need to believe it when Kanan initially didn't? Bo hasn't had any discussions like Kanan and Rex had with a clone on screen, so the evidence already shown in previous media lines up with her hating clones.

Also, the weird stuff with the darksaber is not her fault. It's legit just the writers changing how it works to write their story so now she has to bend. It's inconsistent between Rebels and Mando but literally every character shown so far suffers from it. The Saber has not been won in combat since Maul killed Pre Vizsla, the whole "rightful heir" thing is just a mess and is more inconsistent writing that affects star wars overall, not just Bo.

Conclusion

Hate her all you want but stop letting men get away with the shit you hate her for lmao

I still don't particularly love her at all, I don't tend to think about her much, but y'all, come on.

[some-days-we-get-sundays]

Full of shit and in too deep.  A Wildmoore fic

This is a prompt request that I got from @aliyahtheghost : “Sophie and Ryan have been messing around for a couple months when Kate Kane returns. Sophie basically breaks up with Ryan. Ryan is heartbroken while Sophie can’t stop thinking about Ryan while with Kate. What will Sophie do?.” So I didn’t completely fulfill this because I do not want Sophie breaking up with Ryan for Kate and also didn’t want to write Sophie and Kate being romantic. I tired to make it similar to what you asked. <3 If y’all like imagine me and you please read to the end I know it’s long ish but I’m geeked about the ending.

Ryan lets out a soft whimper as she feels Sophie pepper delicate kisses onto her neck. Ryan tilts her head back against the pillow and then drops her right hand into Sophie’s hair to keep Sophie’s head and lips in place against her neck. She runs her fingers through Sophie’s hair while Sophie darts out her tongue against Ryan’s throat. She licks and then sucks Ryan’s skin; leaving wet marks and eventual hickeys in her wake. 

“FUCK, Sophie!” Ryan mutters while biting her own lip to keep from yelling out again. Sophie chuckles against Ryan’s throat and the vibration of her laugh nearly sends Ryan over the edge. Ryan and Sophie were playing one of Ryan’s favorite games. It was sort of like too hot, where they see who can get the other hot before they have to just rip each others clothes off. Ryan always loses and starts unbuttoning Sophie’s pants or trying to take off Sophie’s top within minutes. Sophie thinks Ryan doesn’t even try very hard to win. 

Sophie feels Ryan start to move her hands towards Sophie’s button on her pants. Instead of letting Ryan have her way, Sophie takes Ryan’s hands and pins them over the top of Ryan’s head. Sophie looks down into Ryan’s eyes and Ryan gazes back up at Sophie’s almond hues. When this happens, it’s not just lust, rawness, and sex anymore; It’s passion, love, trust, and care. Sometimes Ryan and Sophie kid themselves. They pretend that what they’re doing is just casual, light, fun. No feelings. No, “where is this going, what are we” questions. When they hold each others gazes in this way however, they both know they are full of shit and in too deep.

Sophie rolls off the top of Ryan and then lies on her side. Ryan immediately rolls over and spoons Sophie from behind, snaking her arm around Sophie’s midsection. Sophie thinks it’s funny that Ryan is so small but loves to be the big spoon. They do this often too. Lie in stillness with each other. Their breathing and heartbeats slowly synch up and dance in a melodic rhythm, and it’s the only sound in the room. 

Suddenly there is a knock at Sophie’s front door. Sophie untangles herself from Ryan and shuts the bedroom door behind her as she goes to see who the visitor is. Sophie is happy that she is still fully clothed so that whoever is at the door isn’t kept waiting. 

Sophie opens the door and her breath catches, she puts her hand to her chest instinctively. 

“Kate.” Sophie says. Sophie looks back to the room that Ryan is currently occupying. Then she looks back to Kate who is standing in her doorway with her motorcycle helmet under one arm. Sophie runs a hand through her hair,  attempting to nonchalantly fix up her appearance so she doesn’t look like she was just fooling around with someone. Not that it would be Kate’s business if she was. Kate left. 

“Hi Sophie.” Kate says. 

Sophie and Kate stand like this for what feels like several minutes. Sophie, not moving to let Kate in, and Kate seeming unsure of what to do as she stands across from Sophie in the doorway. 

“I uh, I would invite you in but now is not a good time.” Sophie says. Sophie doesn’t want to tell Kate that she has company. She prays that Ryan stays in the room and doesn’t come out to see who is at the door. They aren’t hiding their— whatever they are. No they aren’t hiding but now is not the time to tell Kate that she is messing around with Ryan. How would Kate even react. 

“I’m sorry, I should have called first. That was rude of me.” Kate offers. 

“Why are here, Kate?” Sophie doesn’t mean for this to sound so sharp. But she also offers no apology for her tone.

“I made a mistake leaving you the way I did. It was stupid. I don’t know if we can, perhaps, I don’t know, maybe start over? Or we could pick up where we left off? You thought I was dead Sophie, and then it turns out I’m not dead and instead of staying I rush off to go find Bruce. That was a dick move.” Kate finishes. She shifts on her feet. Sophie can tell she wants to be invited in. 

“Yeah.” Sophie says. What else is she supposed to say. Kate ripped out her heart and yeah it was a dick move. 

“Ok... I’m gonna go see if I can stay with Mary for the night. Hopefully it will be ok with Ryan, I don’t want to impose. Maybe we can get coffee tomorrow?” Kate says, seeming to finally get the hint that Sophie is not going to let her in tonight. Sophie’s heart picks up at the mention of Ryan’s name. 

“Ryan’s not over there.” Sophie says quickly. Then she immediately regrets saying anything. Kate gives her a look. Sophie tries to explain. 

“I mean, I uh, I think she said she was gonna be out tonight. Doing bat stuff or something.” Sophie was never that great of a liar. Kate gives her another look. Sophie tries to breathe.

“So you two are pretty close then huh?” Kate randomly says. 

Sophie sputters. “Um oh, yeah, no. I mean yeah, Ryan’s cool. We didn’t get along at first but, yeah. I like her now. I mean she likes me now. I mean like we are friends now because I’m not with the Crows trying to arrest her and she’s well, you know, she’s Batwoman.” Sophie let’s out a forced raspy laugh, feeling mortified at her explanation of Ryan. 

“Ok well, I’ll uh, I’ll text you tomorrow morning when I get up and we can grab that coffee.” Kate says. She hovers at the door and then she lunges forward and wraps Sophie in a hug. Sophie returns the hug. Kate steps back, waves goodbye, and then she is gone. Sophie closes the door and leans her head against it. 

“So, Kate’s back.” Ryan says. Sophie jumps and then whips her head around to see a sleepy looking Ryan who has changed into sleep shorts and one of Sophie’s old military shirts. The shirt is too small on Ryan’s shorter muscular frame, it rides up and has turned into some what of a crop top on her. 

“Are you ok?” Ryan asks. Sophie’s heart melts just a bit. Instead of Ryan being accusatory, or being upset with Sophie, her first thought is worry and concern over Sophie’s well being. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m ok. That was just, weird.” Sophie says. Sophie walks towards Ryan and stands in front of her. She reaches out and lightly tugs down on the shirt Ryan is wearing. Then she goes to the couch and Ryan follows her. 

“So what did she want?” Ryan asks. 

Sophie sighs. “She wants to get coffee I guess. Says she misses me.” 

“I can imagine.” Ryan says softly. Sophie looks up at Ryan and then tucks a strand of hair behind Ryan’s ear. She brings her hand down and let’s her thumb lazily touch Ryan’s bottom lip in the process.

“Should I go? Should I go have coffee with her? I told her I would but—” Sophie trails off. 

“Why not?” Ryan says. Sophie eyes Ryan. 

“I don’t really have anything to say to her, Ryan. I mean, I can’t have her coming in and out of my life whenever she pleases.” Sophie says. Ryan puts her hand on Sophie’s shoulder and then starts rubbing Sophie’s back. 

“Maybe just see what she wants, get closure or something? I don’t know.” Ryan says. She then stops rubbing Sophie’s back and adjusts her body so that she is lying down with her head resting in Sophie’s lap. Sophie’s hand immediately drops to Ryan’s head to play with her hair. 

“I know what she wants, Ryan. She wants to get back together. I mean I really think she thought she could just waltz back in here and come into my life again; as if I’ve just been frozen in time waiting for her, like some lap dog. Sometimes I think that’s what she thinks of me. The girl who is just going to wait around for Kate Kane to come riding back on her white knight motorcycle and save everybody. I’m not that girl anymore, Ryan. I mean, I quit the Crows. She didn’t even ask me about that. She didn’t ask me about my life at all. Does she care what I’ve been up to, what I’ve been through? What we have all been through?” Sophie waits for an answer from Ryan. When no answer comes, she looks down and see’s Ryan’s eyes are closed and she’s breathing slow, deep and steady. She’s fallen asleep. Sophie smiles to herself and continues running her fingers through Ryan’s tresses. She pulls a near by blanket over them and then reaches for a book that is on her coffee table. She tries to focus on her book but all she can think about is Kate’s impromptu visit and whether or not she should grab coffee with her extremely flighty ex. 

“I’m glad you decided to meet me Sophie. I was worried you would back out.” Kate says as she brings their coffees to a table that Sophie is leading them to. Kate sets the drinks down and her and Sophie sit in their respective chairs across from one another. As soon as they sit, Sophie bites down on the blueberry muffin that she ordered so that she doesn’t have to answer Kate right away. She watches as Kate blows on her coffee and takes a timid sip. 

“Ok Sophie, I’m just going to say it. I want you back. I want us back. I’m really sorry for the way that I left. I had so much on my mind and I didn’t know how to handle it. I had to get away to process everything.” Kate said. 

Sophie takes a deep breath. “I understand that Kate. But, you can’t just keep coming and going. I want closure. I want to move on from this time in my life. I want to close up these wounds and you, you just keep pouring salt on them.” Sophie looks up to see Kate’s reaction to her words. Kate looks taken aback. 

“Sophie–” Kate starts.

“Look, Kate. I know it is not your fault, what happened to you, and what they did to you. And I’d love to be here for you as a, as a friend but I’m not ready to be with— no. It’s not that I’m not ready. I don’t want to be with you in that way, Kate.” Sophie says. Sophie looks apologetic, but she also looks determined, fierce, confident, older. This Sophie was different from the one that Kate knew.  

“It’s Ryan isn’t it.” Kate says suddenly. Sophie’s heart leaps out of her chest. How the hell did Kate put that one together. 

“What’s Ryan?” Sophie says, not wanting to offer anything up and waiting to see what else Kate was going to say. 

“Come on Sophie, you know you’ve always been an awful liar. She was there with you last night wasn’t she.” Kate says. It wasn’t a question. Sophie shifts in her chair and looks out the window. None of this was Kate’s business. 

“Do you love her?” Kate asks. Sophie stays quiet. Her and Ryan hadn’t even discussed what they were yet, no way was she going to be giving Kate this tea. 

“Ok, you don’t have to tell me.” Kate says in that smug way she always says and does everything. Like she knows better than everyone, like she knows people better than they know themselves. “I guess that’s what Ryan meant when she said her and I had more in common than I knew.” Kate says. 

“I’m a different person than I was when I was with you Kate. I’m not going to get into what is going on with me and Ryan because that’s not any of your business, but I’m not going to hurt Ryan, I refuse to hurt her actually, and I would never betray her trust. Even if it wasn’t for Ryan, you and me just can’t work out. We want different things and we are at extremely different points in our lives. I can’t keep living in the past. I want to move forward. You’re my past Kate, and it is something that is part of me, but it’s not my story. You know, you’ve not asked me once about what has been going on since you’ve been gone. It doesn’t feel like you want to know the new me, it feels like you want to hang onto the old me. But the old me wasn’t happy, the old me was hiding in the closet, scared to be out, scared to tell my mom who I really was. The old me was sneaking around, scared to be myself. The old me was stupidly dedicated to the Crows, so much so that it almost got me and my friends killed!” Sophie says the last parts of her speech breathlessly. Kate looks shocked and confused. 

“See, you don’t even know all the things that have happened. And again, I don’t blame you Kate. You came back from the dead, you had other fish to fry. But that’s just it. Us and timing. Even with you coming back now. It was not good timing, and I don’t think it ever will be.” Sophie says. She starts sipping her coffee now that she was sure it had cooled down. She watches Kate. 

“Well that settles it then, doesn’t it.” Kate says.

“Kate—” Sophie tries, she doesn’t want to end on a sour note. 

“No, no I’m not mad Sophie. I appreciate your honesty.” Kate gulps the last of her coffee and stands up. Sophie takes this as her que to stand as well. Sophie cleans up her crumbs into a napkin and crumples it in her hand. Kate takes their empty coffee mugs up to the front counter. They walk out to the parking lot. Sophie looks around for Kate’s motorcycle and then sees it parked some feet away, sun glistening on the handle bars. Sophie puts her hand above her eyes to shield the sun. 

“Ryan is lucky to have you, kid.” Kate says. She regards Sophie with a look and then starts off towards her motorcycle. 

“I’m pretty lucky myself, actually.” Sophie says to Kate and then smiles to herself.

“You always did like your women in suits.” Kate says. She continues walking towards her motorcycle and then turns around and gives Sophie the two finger salute. Sophie smiles and watches as Kate gets on her bike, puts her helmet over her head, revves up the engine and then takes off. Sophie hates to admit it but she hopes it’s the last time that she sees Kate. at least for a while. She wasn’t lying when she said they could be friends, she also wasn’t lying when she said she refused to hurt Ryan and break Ryan’s trust. Sophie jumps into her car and heads back to her place, on the way she calls Ryan to see if she will meet her there. 

******************************************************************************

Sophie enters her place and see’s Ryan lounging on the couch watching some Batman cartoon, she’d figured when she told Ryan to meet her here that Ryan would get there first and let herself in. She gave Ryan a key a couple of weeks ago and it’s been fun to come home to someone that she cares so much about. It’s still blows her mind that only a year ago her and Ryan couldn’t stand each other. And now Ryan was all over Sophie’s place. In Sophie’s bed, on Sophie’s couch, on Sophie’s shirts, in Sophie’s arms.

“Hey Soph! How cool is it that I’m literally watching Batman, and I’m freakin Batwoman bish!” 

Sophie laughs. “Pretty cool, babe.” Ryan looks up and smirks at Sophie and the pet name that just slipped out of Sophie’s mouth. Ryan sits up and pauses the TV. 

“How is Kate?” Ryan asks. Sophie takes off her shoes and coat and goes to sit next to Ryan on the couch. 

“Kate’s... Kate. She’s gone again.” Sophie says and rolls her eyes. 

“Are we, are we mad about this?” Ryan asks. She is not sure how Sophie is feeling but wants to support her in whatever way she can. 

“Gosh no.” Sophie says briskly. Ryan says nothing and Sophie continues. 

“Kate wanted to get back together and I shut it down. She uh, she actually kind of guessed that something was going on between you and I, I didn’t really confirm it completely but she seemed to know anyway. I didn’t give her details.” Sophie says hesitantly, trying to register Ryan’s reactions. Ryan still says nothing, she just looks at Sophie with those rich, deep brown eyes of hers and Sophie has to look away because sometimes Ryan is just... Ryan is so raw and fragile at times that it makes Sophie ache. Sophie swears that one day she is going to drown in a pool of Ryan Wilder’s eyes. 

Ryan finally speaks. “So, Kate suspected that something was going on between you and me and that bitch still tried to shoot her shot!” Ryan says pretending to be extremely incensed. Sophie sniggers at Ryan’s antics. 

“She kept trying to pry but I didn’t want to tell her.” Sophie says. Ryan looks confused. 

“You didn’t want to tell her what?” Ryan says. 

“I didn’t want to tell her how crazy I am about you. I mean I did want to tell her. I want to tell everyone! But I thought you should be the first to know how I feel.” Sophie says. She puts her hand on top of Ryan’s hand. 

“And uh, how do you feel?” Ryan quietly asks. Sophie’s answer comes in the form of her lips on Ryan’s lips. Ryan’s eyes flutter shut and Sophie places her hand behind Ryan’s head to deepen the kiss. They break apart and lean their foreheads together. 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that, can you repeat it? How do you feel?” Ryan jokes. Instead of another kiss, Sophie wraps Ryan up in a hug, placing her hand on Ryan’s head and pulling her into her chest. They fall back onto the couch. 

“I feel like everything that happens from here on just proves that you have been right in that first moment. When you suddenly realize that you were incomplete and now you are whole...” Sophie says, almost to herself. 

“Not you quoting Imagine Me & You.” Ryan laughs and buries her head into the crook of Sophie’s arm. Sophie laughs and then there is a comfortable lull in the conversation, where their breathing and heartbeats synch up once more. 

“I dare you to love me.” Sophie barely says above a whisper. 

“I just might.” Ryan responds back quietly, her head resting on Sophie’s chest. 

“Don’t forget me, Soph.” Ryan says softly after a few beats.  

“I won’t remember anything else.” Sophie says.

The two of them lie there for a while like that. Ryan drifting in and out of sleep, and Sophie playing with Ryan’s hair. Sophie’s eyes dance around her own living room as if seeing it for the first time. She looks at her coffee table, empty except for the book laying there and she decides that tomorrow she is going to purchase some fresh lilies. Sophie, feeling more content, more alive, and more like herself than she’s ever felt before, glances down at a peacefully sleeping Ryan Wilder on her chest and smiles.

[clanoffetts]

Like Real People Do, Part 3

series summary: Kyra Esson, a pilot trying to forget her past, takes Jango Fett up on an offer. It's supposed to be her last hurrah before she settles down, but she can't seem to leave the bounty hunter, no matter how hard they both try.

word count: 2k

warnings: 18+, NSFW. Fluff; Eventual Smut maybe; Slow Burn; uh oh jango catches feelings; Yearning; Dirty Thoughts; ; severe misunderstanding of Slave I’s layout; (M) masturbation

The ship’s hum lulled Kyra to sleep that night and gently brought her out of it the next morning. When she sat up in the cot, her neck was stiff and her back desperately needed to be popped. How the actual fuck did this man sleep here every night? Maybe that’s why he was eager to sleep in the pilot’s seat.

“You awake?” He calls up the ladder. 

“Barely,” Kyra calls back, standing and stretching her limbs. 

Jango hadn’t been awake long, it seemed, as his voice was gruff and his curly hair was a mess atop his head. “You want one?” He asks as Kyra makes her way down into the main hole. He’s holding up some kind of bread in his hand, and it’s half eaten.

“What is it?” 

“Bread.”

Kyra nods. “Sure.” 

Jango grabs a pack of something from a crate and a bowl that he fills with water. He rips the packet open with his teeth, and Kyra sucks in a breath, the action hitting her straight in her stomach. She exhales shakily, watching Jango dump the contents of the packet into the bowl. 

“Like magic,” he says, watching the powder soak the water until it forms a roll of bread, just like his own. “There you go.” 

Kyra bites into it, instantly regretting the size of her bite. “It tastes like nothing.”

“Rather it tastes like nothing than taste like bantha shit,” Jango shrugs. 

-

The rest of the day is boring. Jango isn’t much of a talker, Kyra realizes, and their banter is an exception not a rule for the Mandalorian. Jango had sat silently across the room in his armor, sans helmet, tinkering with something on his workbench. 

Jango grunts every time he tightens a bolt, putting all his force into it, making the bolt almost impossible to loosen. And his grunts pry into Kyra’s mind, through the novel she’s trying to read on her ‘pad. 

Jango watches her in his peripheral, shifting in her seat while her eyes keep steady on the words in front of her. Her hair isn’t up today, he notices, instead it’s in long black waves down her back, almost reaching the swell of her- 

Stop , he brings his attention back to the weapon he’s working on. The damned thing doesn’t even need to be fixed, but he’s never met someone that makes it hard to talk. Usually, it’s a choice for Jango to withdraw, but this woman has him unable . It’s not that she matches him in his banter, at least not in a way he can understand, but it’s her nonchalance. He’s a kriffing Mandalorian, and she didn’t care. It’s the Pamarthe in her, he thinks. That’s what it is. It has to be. 

-

Dinner goes the same. Jango’s teeth rip open two packets at once, and Kyra gulps. Her roll comes out wonky, slightly soggy. 

“Here,” Jango says, holding out his. “Have mine, that one looks awful.”

“I’m sure it’s fine-“

“Kyra,” Jango says her name for the first time. “Take mine, it’s the least I can do.”

“You’re letting me stay on your ship and use your bed, the least I can do is eat soggy bread,” she replies, but he still sits across from her, hand out. “Fine.” Their hands brush slightly with the exchange, and both finish their dinner fairly quickly. 

-

The evening is boring, as hyperspace often is, but Jango doesn’t help. He answers questions with short answers, and he doesn’t ask any in return. Finally, Kyra excuses herself.

“Goodnight, Jango,” she says, her voice coasting over his name like no one else’s. 

All he can muster is a curt nod. 

When Jango steps into the ‘fresher a few hours later, he stares at himself in the small mirror. He examines his skin, where the scars cut deep and where a little bit of bacta could’ve prevented scarring, if he hadn’t been stubborn. 

Jango grabs his shirt by the collar, pulling it over his head. His chest is littered with small scratches, too, and his arms, where there aren’t tattoos. The middle of his chest has a bacta bandage on it, right between his pectorals. He’d applied it that morning, hoping it would ease the ache left behind there. He was wrong. 

Jango pulls it off quickly, depositing it in a wastebasket. The scar is still pronounced, he knew it would be, he’s never taken care of wounds very well. 

The water of the shower is hot, numbing the pain on Jango’s sternum. The water runs down his body, over the curve of his muscles and through the curls of his hair. 

Jango’s mind wanders to the woman sleeping in his bunk. She seems to only have the one scar across her left brow, and her porcelain skin was covered in scratches from the sand, but no scars of Jango’s caliber. 

He thinks back to her long hair, it looked so soft , reaching the soft curve of her ass while she read. Stop , he scolds himself. But it’s too late, his cock is hardening under the stream of water. 

He pushes any thought of Kyra out of his head, You fucking creep, he thinks, and instead pulls disembodied images of women and men from various holoporn videos he’s seen over his years. Jango’s rough hand grasps his cock, tugging fast and hard, trying to get this over with. 

Jango hopes his stray groans and swears are covered by the stream of water from the showerhead. “Kriffing hells,” he groans as he comes, the final image that flashes in his head is Kyra, sitting reading in the hold of his ship with that hair of hers down.

“Fucking creep,” Jango tells himself as he washes his release from his hand. 

When he steps out of the shower, wrapping his towel around his waist he steps back in front of the mirror. Jango wipes the fog from the mirror, and stares at himself again. He then reaches to a cabinet, pulling another bacta patch and unwrapping it. He lays it across his sternum, pushing gently to get it to stick. Kriffing things aren’t working, he thinks. They said they’ll work and I’ll be able to hunt-

There’s a thud from the front of the ship, and Jango rushes from the ‘fresher. “Are you ok?” He calls up to the bunk.

“Yeah, yeah sorry,” Kyra replies. “Dropped my datapad, sorry.”

She’s in her pajamas, her hair is in a loose braid from the nape of her neck. She’s reaching to the floor from the bunk, grabbing the ‘pad from the floor. “Oh,” Jango says. “Ok.”

Kyra watches him watching her, her eyes wander to the dark hair at his navel, the towel dangerously low. And then she notices the bacta patch. “Are you ok?”

“Hmm?”

“The bacta patch, are you ok?”

He lays a hand over his chest. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Kyra stares at his large hand, covering his toned chest, and tries her hardest to mask it as concern for the bacta patch. 

“Good,” she says. “I’m glad.” 

It’s awkward for a moment, the two just looking at each other. “Well,” Jango says, turning back. “Good night, then.”

“Good night, Jango.” 

Why’d she have to say my kriffing name again, he thinks as he makes his way back to the ‘fresher. Many people don’t say his first name, and if they do, it’s because they’re pleading. Otherwise, he’s just “Fett”. But not to her . 

Jango steps into sweatpants and then pulls a matching black t-shirt over his head. He climbs into the cockpit, hissing at the pain in his chest. The chair isn’t comfortable, not to sleep in, and he almost wishes he had taken Kyra up on her offer to sleep in the pilot’s seat instead. Almost. 

-

The next day is much of the same, ration packets distributed and made, small talk avoided by Jango. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? If you’re injured you should be sleeping in your own bed,” Kyra says, taking their bowls from breakfast to wash in the kitchenette. 

Jango nods. “I’m fine, Kyra, I promise.” Jango is taken by surprise by saying her name, and he can’t see it, but she is too. Her name feels foreign on his tongue, but he likes it. Almost like the first time he tasted a foreign whiskey, but this was better.  

“Well then, Jango,” Kyra says, her voice breathier than normal, hoping Jango can’t pick up on it. And in his own frenzy, he doesn’t. “If you change your mind just tell me. No hard feelings.” 

Jango says nothing, instead he just watches her. “Why do you do lekku braids everyday?”

“Lekku braids?” “Isn’t that what those are called?” He gestures to the two braids on her head, starting at her forehead and weaving all the way down to the nape of her neck and then some. “Or do you call them something different on Pamarthe?”

“I think I’ve heard them called that before,” she replies, shocked that Jango has entered a talkative mood again. “I’ve never really called them anything. They make my long hair easier to manage, that’s why I like them.”

“Why don’t you just cut it, then?” Jango knew many women who cut their hair short, making life under a helmet easier. It was part of many Mandalorians’ show of discipline. 

Kyra shrugs. “Because I don’t want to.” 

“Sometimes we have to do many things we don’t want to.”

Kyra looks at him. Was he trying to be profound? “Yes,” she agrees. “But I don’t have to. Are you trying to say I’d look better with short hair?”

Jango shakes his head. Kriffing hells, you’ve fumbled it. “No, no, not at all,” he says. “I- I quite like your hair, really. I was just curious, that's all.”

“Mm,” Kyra hums, drying the breakfast bowls trying to make sense of the man sitting behind her. 

Jango watches her, her braids swishing with every movement. He tries his hardest to keep his gaze from her thighs in her leggings, and when he can’t he stands, clearing his throat. “I’ll be in the cockpit.”

“Are you sure? We could always hang out a little, you know, and watch a holo. It won’t kill you.” 

With you, it might, he thinks. So he pushes himself away. A talent of his, really. “Quite sure.” 

He’s back with the short sentences, the curt nods, and the quick turns. Kyra watches him climb up to the cockpit, her brows furrowed. Odd man, she thinks as she makes her way back to a chair, setting up her ‘pad to watch a show.

-

The whole day is just that, Kyra in the hold watching a holodrama and Jango in the cockpit listening to the holodrama. He wants to go down there, he wants to see the story between the Twi’leki man and the Pantoran woman unfold, their fighting families keeping them apart for the sake of their businesses- Jango feels quite stupid for being so invested, but he is. He’s put his helmet on to listen better, so he can hear every dramatic gasp leave every character’s mouth. 

-

“We’ll land tomorrow at…” he checks a screen, “2100 hours, Pamarthe time.” 

“We won’t be landing at 2100 hours,” Kyra says. “I’m not flying into Pamarthe in the dark. Not on a foreign ship.”

“Why?”

“You should do more research,” she tells him. “Pamarthens are very particular on who can land. There are stories of ancient warriors that will come back to attack. And, well, Pamarthe is always ready for their return. It’ll be easier in the daylight.” 

“That’s stupid,” Jango says. 

Kyra’s face contorts with offense. “Amaxine warriors were very real on Pamarthe. It’s no more stupid than Mandalore exiling Mandalorian-”

“Do not speak about Mandalore,” Jango snaps, his finger pointing at her as she sits in the co-pilot’s seat. “Do not speak about something you do not know.” He stands, retreating down from the cockpit and into the hold.

“Then don’t be a hypocrite and do the same, Fett.”

[jgvfhl]

The Number Lads

Part 1/???? 3K words, no warnings :)

 So I’ve created an audience on Tumblr for the Number Lads, and I’ve happened to got 3K words here for them. So! Here are the origins of the Number Lads! More to follow.... eventually....

For future reference:

Sevenset = ARC-7777 = ARCBoiiiii

Do-si-do = CT-2222 = Double Trouble

Trees = CT-3333 = Green Bean

Loops = CT-8888 = Loopy

Sixes = CC-6666

Double Trouble: i meant it as a joke sevens

ARCBoiiiiii: i didn’t

ARCBoiiiii: what you think you can drop that information on me and i wont use it??? how long have you known me

Double Trouble: okay okay but if you die i’m not mourning you

Loopy: ouch

Green Bean: how do you have this much time to comm us when you’re at ARC training, sevenset

Green Bean: who changed my name

Double Trouble: :3c

ARCBoiiiii: what you don’t like it? thought it suited you, trees

Green Bean: why did i let you guys talk me into this club…

ARCBoiiiii: we’re awfully convincing that way

Double Trouble: you felt compelled

Double Trouble: it’s the numbers gang bond

Green Bean: it was not that

ARCBoiiiii: was it loops space buns

ARCBoiiiii: i bet it was loops space buns

Loopy: what

Double Trouble: they are adorable

Loopy: oh kriff you, don’t you have arc stuff to do, sevenset?

ARCBoiiiii: ehhhhh my next training block doesnt start for another 4min, so....

Double Trouble: well i gotta run, we’re going hyperspace in a min or so--remember the meeting next week!!! be there or be square!

ARCBoiiiii: we dont have any perfect squares yet ;-;

Green Bean: Yeah, yeah, i’ll see you weirdos eventually

Loopy: stay alive out there

Double Trouble: especially the guy who wants to recruit Commander Death over there

ARCBoiiiii: I’ll be fiiinnnne whats the worst that can happen

Green Bean: i mean. his name. is DEATH?

ARCBoiiiii: ..... a fair point.... i guess you’ll just have to wait until the next numbers gang meeting huh :)

Loopy: maker help you

----

Sevenset was uncharacteristically quiet that day during second meal, but only because his mouth was continually occupied with food, not talking. He was on the clock today.

“Hey, Sevenset, are you inhaling those rations, or…?”

He looked over at Buster next to him, quickly swallowing his food. “I just got something I wanna do,” he said, taking a glug of water.

“Something so important you’re taking one of the few unscheduled breaks we have to do it? Okay then.”

Sevenset cleaned the rest of his tray, flashing a grin at Buster as he stood up. “Don’t wanna be late. Got a meeting with death.” He really couldn’t resist the pun. Honestly.

Buster’s eyebrow raised skeptically. His friend next to him, Sketch, asked, “Is this about some new way you’ve managed to piss off the trainers? Because yeah, I’m sure Alpha could arrange a meeting with death for you if you… I dunno, painted pink hearts on his armor.”

“Amazing idea,” Sevenset admitted, his brain automatically figuring out where the pink paint was (he’d have to make it), where Alpha-17’s armor lived (not sure on that one), and how possible it would be to sneak in and out to accomplish the task (a challenge). “However, no, not this time. See you guys later!” He deposited his tray and utensils in the proper area to be cleaned, then jogged out of the mess hall.

Kamino’s winding halls and levels really weren’t efficient--but compared to Coruscant… he couldn’t really argue. A healthy stretch of time in the Guard had given him plenty of tools to make his way around inefficient, crowded, twisty places like this. It didn’t take long before he reached where he was going. Aside from the resident Rancor Battalion, there were often troopers on Kamino from various groups throughout the GAR. They stayed out of the way of those training in separate wings of Tipoca City, and right now, Sevenset was very keen to speak to a visiting commander.

He slipped into a lift with two other troopers--visiting, by the looks of their battered armor. Luckily, they were too engrossed in their own conversation to really notice him, despite his rather colorful tattoos that usually made him stick out. But it was for the best this time. He got off at the level above and started down the hall, reading door labels as he went, searching….

Ah. Here. He pushed a button to open the door, but it was locked. Not entirely surprising, but… now what? If his internal clock was still fairly accurate, he had about ten minutes before he needed to be back for the next training block.

“It’s locked for a reason.”

He whirled, his body almost automatically snapping to attention at the low voice behind him.

Commander Sixes (AKA Commander Death, remember) surveyed him with a disturbing lack of expression. He was tall, for a clone. Probably closer in height to some of the Alphas than to Sevenset. His black armor stuck out like green plants on Coruscant in the brightly lit halls of Tipoca City, making him somehow look even bigger. Even more unnerving, he still had his helmet on, the visor lit with a dull green light, and fixed pointedly on him. Sevenset hated not being able to read people...

Sevenset hadn’t planned for this. Come to think of it, a lot of the “plan” he’d concocted relied on a few assumptions, and all of them seemed to be fading. One of them had been that he would have no problem talking to a CO--he never had before. “Sir, hi--hello--I was uhm…” He managed to clamp down on the first coherent thought to float through his head, so instead of blurting, “You’re a lot taller than I thought you’d be,” he stumbled upon, “It’s a nice room you’ve got. From the outside,” and immediately wanted to bash his head in on the wall.

The commander’s helmet never moved, just kept staring him down. “Get out of my way,” he finally growled, taking a step forward.

Against all better judgement, Sevenset stood his ground, although he squished himself a bit closer against the door. “Yessir, of course, just--one thing, really quick thing, I promise.” When the commander didn’t kill him or rip his arms off or something, he went on, finally finding his words were cooperating with him. “So, you’re CC-6666, naturally. I happen to be CT-7777--Sevenset, I’m Sevenset. There’s a group of us, see, sir--with the repeating numbers, and we have little meetings--”

“No.”

“--is what I thought you’d say, but just--” he paused, fumbling a bit to pull a piece of flimsi out of his pocket. “There’s the frequency, there’s the date of the next meeting,” he said, holding out the flimsi scrap. “I’m sure the other boys would love it if you dropped by.” The end of his final sentence shriveled into an undignified squawk when Commander Sixes reached out, grabbed his collar, and shoved him bodily out of the way of the door.

“Get back to training before I have some of my boys drag you there,” he said, entering the door’s access code.

“I’ve got six minutes--”

The door slid shut in his face. Well. He was still alive. So… that counted as a success. Perhaps not a resounding success, but a success. He stood in stunned silence for a moment, still clutching the scrap of flimsi in his hand, wondering if he should stick it in the door so the commander would find it later. However, he had no trouble believing the commander’s threat that his men literally would drag him back to the ARCs if he told them to, so it was probably best not to linger.

Sevenset jumped to attention for the second time that day when the door slid open again. He just stood there, dumb, as Commander Sixes stepped out, plucked the scrap of flimsi from his fingers, then returned to his room with about as much ceremony as befitted dumping pebbles out of a boot.

Oh, yeah. Definitely a success.

---

The first thing Sixes did once back in the privacy of his albeit temporary rooms was remove the top half of his armor, only leaving the gauntlet with his wrist comm. Turning his attention to said wrist comm, he entered Colt’s number. There was a short wait before the other commander answered it.

“Everything alright over there, Sixes, sir?”

“It’s about one of the ARC candidates.”

There was a pause. Understandable. The ARCs weren’t supposed to be in this wing of Tipoca City. “Which one?” His tone suggested he already had his suspicions.

“Calls himself Sevenset.”

He heard inaudible muttering on the other end. “What’d he do this time?” Sixes had suspected as much.

“Quite a pair he’s got on him, hasn’t he?”

Colt laughed dryly. “Yeah, sure. Hopefully, he’s worth the trouble.”

Sixes looked over the scrap of flimsi in his other hand. “Yeah… I think he might be.”

~+~

Leaning back in his pilot’s chair, Do-si-do watched the little light on the ship’s holoprojector, waiting for the others to join the meeting. He always took the calls in his ship. It was more private than his bunk most of the time, and frankly, the audio quality was so much better than on the hand-held devices.

Trees was the first to join, punctual as usual.

“Hey, Trees,” he smiled.

“Have you heard from Sevenset yet?” he asked.

Do-si-do shook his head, combing strands of his bleached curls out of his face. “Nah. Figure he’s been too busy. Graduation was supposed to be a couple days ago, right?”

“Three, yes.”

Loops’ holographic miniature appeared beside Trees’. He looked exhausted, but awake. His long hair was down from his signature twin buns, and he leaned his chin on his hand, fingers resting just over the infinity symbol tattoo on his cheek.

“Loops,” Trees greeted him.

“Mph.”

“What happened to you?” Do-si-do asked.

“Supply shipment,” Loops sighed. “General Koon’s having skeleton crews tonight so we can get some sleep.” After a stifled yawn, he asked, “Is Sevenset dead yet?”

Do-si-do smiled. “Trees asked the same thing, and I have no idea.”

As if on cue, a third hologram popped up on the ship’s control panel. Sevenset beamed at them, his new ARC pauldrons proudly on display. “Guess who’s not dead, fellas!”

“Hey hey! Look at you, ARC-7777,” Do-si-do grinned, leaning forward in his seat. “How’s it feel?”

“I really love the kama, gotta be honest.” He was only visible from the waist up, but they could see him sway his hips back and forth, clearly enjoying his new gear.

“Show us the paint,” Loops demanded, as firmly has he could demand it in his half-asleep state.

Sevenset obliged, setting down his holoprojector--his personal one, now he had graduated--and stepping back so more of his body was visible. The paint job was fairly similar to his previous armor--the sharp edges, the circle on his right shoulder bell holding four stylized sevens--but the new armor on his chest and arms had forced some alterations. They could see just about all of the kama now, the bright red sevens standing out against the dark grey fabric. Predictable, maybe, but still eye-catching. That was Sevenset’s main goal, if it weren’t already clear from the tapestry of tattoos on his bald head that ran down his neck under his blacks, and the several glinting piercings in his ears and nose.

“It’s definitely you.” Trees, bluntly.

“They let you keep the red paint, huh?” Do-si-do said. Sevenset had previously been assigned to the Coruscant Guard. After proving a bit more trouble than the Guard could take, and catching some CO’s eye, he’d been shipped back to Kamino a couple months ago to join Rancor.

“Hey, if Commander Colt can have it, I guess I can too. No one stopped me.”

Without warning, a fourth hologram appeared beside the others in front of Do-si-do’s eyes. A trooper--a big trooper, even in miniature--and in dark armor, helmet included. His brows scrunched together as he studied the person, failing to recognize them.

Sevenset did. “Commander!”

“I see Colt decided against tossing you overboard.”

Oh, no karking way. “Commander Sixes?” Do-si-do blurted.

At the same time, Loops made some unintelligible noise and suddenly disconnected, and Trees froze like a lizard when a hawk flies overhead, his eyes gone wide, one arm half-way to a salute. Frankly, Do-si-do could understand their reactions. Commander Sixes--like many of the CCs--was legendary. His wing of Star Fighters had fought through some of the toughest space battles so far, and always came out of it. As a pilot himself, Do-si-do had heard story after story about their skills. The fighter wing and the commander now wore the nickname Death, thanks to their brutal but effective tactics.

There was a brief and painfully quiet pause before the commander said, “Pride of the GAR, this lot.”

“Eh, they’ll get over it,” Sevenset shrugged, his hologram appearing to zoom in as he came closer again. “Right, Trees?” he added with a grin. Their friend was still in shock, it looked like. “Might have to tell him to relax, sir.”

The commander’s helmet turned towards Trees. “At ease. Take a breath before you pass out.”

Trees blinked, lowering his arm. “Yessir,” he said quietly, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

“I’ll try to get Loops back,” Sevenset said, a datapad appearing in his hands. Damn, ARCs really did get all the good stuff. Do-si-do still had to share a datapad with his squad of pilots.

“Shouldn’t there be more?” Commander Sixes asked.

“Of us? Yeah,” Do-si-do answered. “I guess there should be nine of us, in theory.”

“Nine or ten,” Trees said, his tone still a bit clipped.

“Ten or eleven, actually,” Sevenset corrected, still looking at his datapad. “We don’t know if a CT designation can be all zeroes. Might have been taken out of the system, who knows.”

“It’s hard when we don’t have access to the full GAR database,” Do-si-do went on. “We have to rely on hearsay and brothers from other battalions. Sevenset and I met by chance on Coruscant.” Loops’ hologram reappeared. He looked a bit more awake now, still visibly on edge from the commander’s arrival, and with a glower on his face. “Loopy! Welcome back.”

“I hate you.”

“Whoa, hey, I didn’t know he was coming either,” he defended himself. “Blame Sevenset.”

“I’m blaming both of you,” Loops said. “You told Sevenset about him, and Sevenset was stupid enough to go through with it.”

Sevenset, his attention off his datapad and back on the meeting, put a hand over his heart. “Stupid enough?” he repeated, doing his best to sound utterly wounded. “I think you mean ballsy enough.”

“He meant stupid enough,” the commander replied immediately and without emotion. “And I agree.”

Do-si-do snorted a laugh at the look of utter indignation on Sevenset’s face. Even Trees relaxed a bit more. “Okay, I can get used to having a CC around,” he grinned.

“Finally, someone with the authority to tell him off,” Loops said, expressing Do-si-do’s feelings exactly.

The recipient of their mocking pouted at them, folding his arms as best he could with his new armor. “Now I just feel unloved.”

“Why do I get the feeling Commander Fox was only too happy to get you qualified for ARC training?” the commander asked, his tone remaining impassive.

“For your information,” Sevenset said, then stopped, realizing, as they all had, that the commander had known where Sevenset had previously served. No one had told him this information. “How did you know I was in the Guard?”

They all turned to the commander. “I’m a commander. I can look anyone up. I looked you all up.”

Do-si-do leaned even farther forward in his seat, a huge smile on his face. “You have access to the full database?”

“You can find the others!” Sevenset completed, a similar smile on his face as well.

There was a pause. Do-si-do was starting to think Commander Sixes just liked the drama they created. In fact, judging by how he had yet to show his face and was wearing all black armor, it seemed Commander Death was fond of the dramatic in a few ways. “In theory, sure.”

“Yes! Oh, fantastic,” Sevenset went on, rubbing his hands together. “You can tell us where they’re stationed--”

“If they’re still alive,” Trees added in. He had a point.

“--and then we can find them!”

The commander’s helmet tilted, his expression hidden. “I’m guessing Fox declined membership,” he said.

Do-si-do snorted a gain, and Trees and Loops both smiled. They all remembered Sevenset’s story of trying to recruit Commander Fox to be number ten for their little group.

“If by ‘declined membership’ you mean, ‘shipped me out to Kamino for someone else to deal with,’ then yes,” Sevenset answered. “He declined.”

“Maybe you can ask him,” Loops said.

“Hey, yeah--”

“No.” The commander’s tone didn’t leave much room for argument, but that had never stopped Sevenset a day in his life, and Do-si-do was more than content to sit back and enjoy the show.

“But you’re his big brother, right? You can drag him into things--”

“I’m not a damn recruiter, ARC, now stand down.”

The effect was instantaneous. They all recognized a CO’s “talk back and you’ll be cleaning ‘freshers for the next month” voice. Combined with Commander Sixes’ already awe-inspiring reputation, his order shut them all up. Trees once again straightened to attention, and this time they all joined him, even Sevenset.

“Understood, sir,” he replied. Do-si-do could see the new training in him now. Sevenset wouldn’t be an ARC if he didn’t know when to drop the comic act, but the speed and discipline with which he’d done so just now was different.

The commander waited a second or two, then he nodded once. “At ease.”

They relaxed, mostly. It was hard to ignore the mood shift that had taken place. As cool as it was having a commander in the club… there were some obvious issues that needed addressing if this was going to remain a “just for fun” place.

Do-si-do found himself as the one breaking the uneasy silence. “But… you can help us find where the others are stationed, right, sir?”

The commander’s helmet dipped. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Can you do that… now?” Sevenset ventured.

The commander’s helmet tilted to one side, and it looked like he sighed. “Fine.” The others perked up. “But, I can only find their assignments, not their current locations.”

“We can work with that,” Do-si-do agreed, and the others nodded along. “Who’s writing this down?”

“I can!” Sevenset volunteered.

Trees reminded him, “Your handwriting is entirely illegible. Even to you.”

“Yes, but now I have a datapad. I can type all my notes.”

“I’m just going to start talking if you boys don’t figure it out,” the commander warned.

“Okay, okay, fine, Trees can copy it.”

Trees’ organization skills would always beat out Sevenset’s anyway. Maybe ARC training had fixed that, though. Trees shifted around, grabbing what he needed, then looked up and nodded when he was ready.

The commander’s helmet tipped down to look at something--presumably a datapad--as he spoke. “CT-4444 is with the Marines under Bacara. Probably has limited contact availability depending on the mission. Infrequent leave.” Do-si-do’s eyebrows raised, and he glanced at Sevenset and Loops. They hadn’t been expecting a tactical rundown of each person. But… they wouldn’t complain. “CT-27-5555 is the only ‘fives’ trooper in the GAR. He’s one of Rex’s freaks, so good luck getting your hands on him.”

“That’s the five-oh-first, right?” Loops asked. “Torrent, or something?”

“Yeah. Rex’s freaks. I’m sure he’ll fit right in.” Do-si-do smirked. He probably would. “And CT-9999 is with Ghost Company in the two-twelfth. Pretty decent chance he and number five have run missions together. Or will in the future, anyway.”

“Is there a CT-0000?” Loops wanted to know.

“What about eleven-eleven?” Sevenset added.

The commander glanced up at them, then back to his materials. “Yeah, the one-eighteenth has a CT-0000. Didn’t find an eleven-eleven, though.”

Do-si-do frowned. “Not even a casualty report?”

“No.”

“But… he could still be on Kamino, right?” Trees said. “Cadets don’t show up in the main database until they graduate and deploy.”

The commander nodded. “He could be a cadet.”

“I could look,” Sevenset offered. “I mean. I live here now, so I should be able to find out if a CT-1111 exists. It’ll just take a bit longer.”

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out,” Do-si-do nodded. “In the meantime,” he continued, leaning forward, “who’re we going after first?”

Ta-daaa!! @blsmjoon @nintendolover13-ts4 (I couldn’t tag your side blog sorry) @alamogirl80 (idk why I can’t tag you either ;-;) @23-bears @theultimatesandwich

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch24: Like The Old Man Said…Together. Part 2- Walk It Off

Summary: The Avengers track Ultron and it’s a race against time before the AI can put his plan into action.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Bad language, Smut (NSFW) violence and crazy assed robots. Oh and “Something dramatic, I hope!”

A/N: This chapter now includes additional content! @angrybirdcr​ has done it again girrrrrl

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 24 Part 1

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“Ultron knows we’re coming. Odds are we’ll be running into heavy fire, and that’s what we signed up for, but the people of Sokovia they didn’t. That’s why our priority is getting them out. All they want is to live their lives in peace, and that’s not going to happen today. But we can do our best to protect them and get the job done. We find out what Ultron’s been building. We find Romanoff. We clear the field and keep the fight between us. Ultron thinks we’re monsters, and that we’re what’s wrong with the world, but this isn’t just about beating him, it’s about whether he’s right.“

Steve certainly felt like he was right when he descended down the ramp and the first thing he saw was a huge mural of himself on a wall to his right. If he hadn’t been so concerned with the word, ‘fašista’ scrawled across it, he might have given some consideration to the fact the art work was pretty good. He looked at the painting, before turning and tossing his helmet back into the jet, almost hitting Katie as she walked down the ramp. Frowning she looked at him, spotted the paining and gave a sigh. She knew that would have upset him.

But whether they liked Captain America or not, the people of Sokovia were getting his help and that of the rest of the Avengers too. Thor and Bruce went underground to Strucker’s base to find Natasha and the Vibranium, Tony and Vision went off to locate where Ultron was and confront him so that Vision could do his part. The rest of them focussed on the evacuation, if this was going to end in a fight as it always did, then it was best to get the civilians out of the way as soon as possible. Steve dispatched Clint to a rooftop to oversee events from up there and Katie headed off with Wanda to the bridge that led out of the city. She could feel the younger girl’s panic even though she did well to try and hide it

"Do you see…the beauty of it? The inevitability. You rise, only to fall. You, Avengers, a meteor. My swift and terrible sword. And the earth will crack with the weight of your failure. Purge me from your computers, turn my own flesh against me. It means nothing. When the dust settles, the only thing living in this world will be metal.”

They seemed to be fighting forever, and Sokovia was getting higher and higher. Just as everything seemed lost and the group looked to be faced with an impossible decision after Tony pointed out that the only thing he could think about was blowing the city before the impact radius got too big. Steve was adamant he was not leaving the city with one civilian on it, when Katie smiled sadly and turned to him.

“I didn’t say we should leave.” She swallowed, and she could feel Natasha looking at her as well from where she stood on her right. Katie turned to Steve, as he looked down at her “There’s worse ways to go.” she said responding to his silent question, her chest heaving resigning herself to the fact that they might not make it out of this alive, surprised the thought didn’t frighten her more at that point.

“She’s right,” Natasha agreed, and Katie turned to look at her. She shrugged and nodded out at the clouds “Where else are we gonna get a view like this?”

“Glad you like the view, Romanoff.”  All three of them started at the very familiar voice that came through the coms. “It’s about to get a whole lot better.”

That’s when the helicarrier came right into view and Katie smiled, her eyes filing with emotion as she felt the relief swell in her chest.

“So this is your ‘something dramatic’?” She quipped and Fury gave a hum of confirmation.

“Nice, right? Pulled her out of mothballs with a couple of old friends. She’s dusty.” Nick Fury said nonchalantly. “But she’ll do.”

Katie looked round and noticed that Pietro had joined us, looking at the ship.

“Fury, you son of a bitch.” Steve spoke in almost a whisper while shaking his head.

Fury let out a whistle before responded to Steve teasingly. “Ohhh hooo, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Their fight led them to protecting the Vibranium Core that was situated in a church which was in the dead centre of the City and of course Ultron followed them. As The Avengers surrounded their precious charge, Thor yelled out to the AI.

“Is that best you can do?”

Ultron picked his hand up, and what seemed like a million robots began to advance towards them.

Katie groaned, and looked at Steve as he turned to look at Thor, annoyance all over his face. “You haddda ask.” He deadpanned, his Brooklyn accent coming out as it often did in these situations, and Thor at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“This is the best I can do.” Ultron continued on. “This is exactly what I wanted. All of you against all of me. How can you possibly hope to stop me?”

“Well, like the old man said,” Tony stated, and Steve turned to look at him over his shoulder, “together.”

Hulk then let out a loud roar as the swarm of robots attacked.

The robots began running into the church by the hundreds it seemed, but everyone was ready. Arrows, fists and Steve’s shield flew, repulsors, guns and shock sticks fired, speed and red tendrils of power ripped them apart from the inside, lighting flashed and the Hulk smashed. Eventually Ultron joined the fray and Vision flew at him. Ultron punched Vision into the wall but he retaliated by using the mind stone in his forehead to shoot at Ultron making him stagger back and out of the church.

Vision didn’t let up as Thor, Tony and Katie joined the android with lightening and repulsor beams respectively. The Starks surged their arms forward, unloading all the power they had in their suits and the 4 of them combined melted away the outer layer of Vibranium that covered Ultron, which was when they stopped. He could be taken out easily now.

“You know, with the benefit of hindsight – ” Ultron began to say but Hulk roared then punched him so hard he went flying across the city.

Hulk growled at the remaining robots who immediately turned and ran away.

“They’ll try to leave the city.” Thor called out.

“We can’t let them, not even one.” Tony spoke frantically, calling on their other eye in the sky. “Rhodey…”

“I’m on it!” He announced over the radio. “Oh no, I didn’t say you could leave…War Machine coming at you.” there was a pause as Vision flew in to help, phasing and ripping one of them apart “Ok, what?”

“We gotta move out.” Steve spoke as those of them left on the ground re-grouped. “Even I can tell the air is getting thin. You guys get to the boats. I’ll sweep for stragglers…”

“I’ll come with you.”  Katie said. For some reason she didn’t want to leave him, or more to the point him to leave her.  Steve looked at her, and he understood, he really did. If there was a chance they were getting separated he really didn’t want to take it but he wanted her on that carrier, away.

“You go and make sure everyone gets out. I’ll be right behind you, I promise.”

He’d never broken a promise to her yet, so she took a deep breath and nodded.

“What about the core?” Clint asked while turning to look at it.

“I’ll protect it.” Everyone turned to Wanda, giving her a worried look. “It’s my job.” She clarified nodding to Clint. Clint inclined his head towards her, before he turned to leave.

“Nat.” He said as Steve started to usher everyone bar Wanda out of the church. I threw one last glance over at Wanda before Katie turned to Steve.  

“Be careful.” “I always am.” He grinned.

“Liar.” She muttered watching him go, before she took off again, looking down at the devastation on the ground below. This was far worse than New York. Far worse than Washington. It was horrendous, and Katie wasn’t sure how the people of Sokovia would ever recover.

Clint skidded the car he had been driving to a halt by the lifeboats and Katie landed besides them. There was a roar and she glanced to her left, noticing the huge form of the Hulk throwing around debris of the various robots.

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Clint looked at Natasha meaningfully.

“So get your ass on a boat.” She shot back, jumping out of the car.

Clint and Katie then set off, ushering the last civilians around them onto the last boat as they went. Katie spotted Thor stood a little to her left, his head turned over to his right as Steve appeared from inside a building.

“Thor, I’m gonna need you back at the church.” Tony said over the coms.

Thor nodded despite the fact that he couldn’t see Tony and then looked at Steve, breathing heavily. "Is that the last of them?” He asked him.

“Yeah,” He answered instead, quickly looking around at the evacuations taking place, spotting Katie and Clint boarding the boat “Everyone else is on board the carriers.”

“You know, if this works, we maybe don’t walk away.” Tony mutterd quietly, cutting Katie out of the coms temporarily so as not to worry or upset her.

“Maybe not.” Thor agreed in a whisper.

At that point Clint sprinted back past them, but before either of them had time to follow him to help a hail of gunfire suddenly erupted where they standing. Steve held his shield up just in time and Thor dived to the side to avoid the bullets that had luckily been fired in a straight line between them all.

But it was Katie who noticed first what had happened. As the dust settled she saw Clint stood, with a little boy in his arms. He’d clearly tried to shield him from the bullets but it was Pietro that was standing there with bullet holes riddling his torso, the blood seeping through them.

“No.” She muttered her pleading growing more frantic as she flew over to where they were stood “No, no, no.”

“You didn’t see that coming?” The blonde man attempted to joke weakly then wobbled before falling face first and Katie caught him as she landed, just before he hit the ground. She laid him down gently and looked him over.

“FRIDAY, life signs.”

“Negative.” The AI’s voice was tinged with sadness.

Katie bowed her head slightly before my face plate slid back and she looked up at Clint. The pair of them exchanged a glance before Steve knelt down and closed Pietro’s eyes.

“I’ve got him.” He said gently, as he bent down and picked up Pietro as easily as if he was a small child. The three of them headed back to the airship, Clint with the little boy in his arms. Once on board, Steve lay Pietro down gently on the floor, where Katie sat by him, her suit making a clunk as she slid to the floor. Clint groaned as he lowered himself onto the row of seats behind her. Someone walked over to see if they needed any medical help but Clint waved him away.

“No, no I’m fine.” He groaned, lying down across a few seats, his hand resting on the metal shoulder of Katie’s suit. “Oh it’s been a long day…”

Steve stood on the rock for one final look round, he couldn’t see anyone. But then, with a lurch the city fell with huge force and he turned and gave a jump, grabbing onto the platform of the ship as the city fell.  He pulled himself up onto the deck and stood up to see, lightning flashing from the sky. As he watched, the city of Sokovia exploded from the inside out crumbling to pieces and raining down heavily into the ocean below.

He turned to see Katie was stood a few feet away, looking down.

“Tony? Thor? Wanda?”

When none of them replied she looked over Steve, biting her lip.

“They’ll be okay.” He nodded, although he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

There was a slight lurch as the ship they were stood on docked with the hellicarrier and they turned to help Clint but he was already walking, carrying the body of Pietro with him. Katie jumped down onto the tarmac, deactivated her suit and made her way over to Maria Hill who was stood with another agent, directing them where to take the walking wounded, medics running onto the ships to deal with the more seriously injured in situ.

“You guys alright?” She asked as they walked over to her. Katie nodded and then spoke again into her coms. It was a relief to see Wanda’s red hair sat on the deck a few yards away from one of the ships, Vision having pulled her out of the city in time.

“Any news from the others?” Steve asked. Maria sighed.

“Natasha is on the bridge, Banner, I mean the Hulk, he got her out in time but…he went off in a jet after Ultron…I got nothing from Thor or Tony…”  

Katie turned to look out over the sky, the airborne dust making her cough slightly as she scanned the clouds, waiting for a sign or anything from her brother.

“He’ll be fine.” Steve dropped a hand onto her shoulder. “He always is.” “One day he won’t be.” She turned and looked up to face Steve

“Maybe, but that aint today…” A familiar voice rang in her ear and she let out a sigh of relief as her brother spoke. “Kiddo, put the beer on ice, I think we just won again.”

*****

Refugees crowded every corner of the flying base, sitting in the halls, huddling together, terrified. The dust in the air meant SHIELD couldn’t connect to their mainframe or satellites, and the internet-based translators were down. Every person on board who knew even a smattering of any Slavic language was being recruited into helping settle the homeless Sokovians.

Fury was meeting via telecon in one of the conference rooms with the Sokovian political leaders, who were not pleased at being dragged from their homes in Novi Grad in the wee hours of the morning only to then watch their nation destroyed. So with Fury busy, Steve and Katie had to tell Tony about Bruce.

That hadn’t been fun at all. Her brother had struggled back to the helicarrier, with barely enough power left to make the landing, Thor hot on his tail, soaked to the skin and staggering with a nasty head wound. Steve helped him inside where he was led to a medic bay and they had all retreated to the comms room where Nat was stood in a corner, staring at a blank screen.

“Where’s Bruce?” Tony demanded as soon as he got his helmet off. “We’ve got to figure out…” He trailed off, seeing the expression on Katie’s face. Then his eyes flashed across to Natasha. The woman hadn’t moved a muscle in ten minutes, standing in a corner and staring straight at the wall, back to the rest of the room.

“Tony.” Steve’s voice was heavy. “He’s taken off. We can’t reach him.” “And I don’t think he wants us to.” Katie added. She had barely finished her sentence before Tony bolted across the room to the computer banks, heedlessly shucking off bits of his armour as he went.

“No.” He shook his head, fingers flying across the keyboards. “No, I can find him. I can do this, I can bring him home.”

“It was cloaked.” Natasha’s voice was very even, with absolutely no inflection. She didn’t stop staring at her wall. “Your own cloaking devices. And SHIELD’s secret tracker was disabled in the fight.”

Tony’s hand slipped, hitting a bunch of things Steve was sure he hadn’t meant to. Swearing hopelessly, he stared blankly at the useless screens.

“Why?” He demanded, very quietly, the furious brokenness in his voice made my heart ache for him. “Why would he…?”

The unfinished question hung heavy in the dusty air. Steve was the one who answered.

“Because,” he said, swallowing. “When you’re in the air, and you’re carrying something that will destroy everything you love, that’s all you can do. You do go down, and you take it down with you.”

Tony’s hands curled into fists, anguish in his snarl. “This isn’t the same as your golden boy sacrifice play, Cap. No bombs on that Quinjet.”

“No, no bombs.” Steve gently squeezed Katie’s shoulder as he noticed she’d been about to chastise her brother for his venomous jibe, and he shook his head softly as he dragged his gloves back on over his bruised and bloody knuckles, flexing his hands. “Just himself,” he finished quietly.

“Veronica failed, Tone.” Katie said gently, understanding at once what Steve was getting at, Bruce’s actions suddenly making sense. “He didn’t want to come to Sokovia and I guess, well he didn’t want to risk hurting anyone again, and he saw a way out.”

Natasha turned on her heel and pushed past them, her eyes wet as she made for the door.

“Nat.” Katie turned to watch her go. She shook her head, signalling she wanted to be alone as she left. Katie looked up at Steve who hung his head sadly.

But there wasn’t time to think on it. Fury arrived at that moment, clearly pissed at something. He explained to the group that after the explosion that tore Ultron’s plans to shreds, he had been set to take the helicarrier to a refugee camp in a nearby country but the Sokovian officials had refused, insisting they be set back down in what was left of Novi Grad. Steve nodded and told Fury to do as they wanted.

“This wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for us.” Steve’s jaw was set, and his arms folded. “We owe it to them Fury, like it or not.”

Fury hadn’t liked it, at all, but he didn’t have much say in the matter - not when Steve had that look on his face.

“This isn’t going to be nice.” Steve muttered as the pod had descended back to the ground.

“I know.” Katie said. “But we face it together, right?”

Together they strode off the pod, not really knowing where to start. Novi Grad was an absolute mess. Most of the city had been torn up by the roots, and the rim that was left hadn’t escaped unscathed either. Buildings had toppled from falling debris and the initial ground-shaking wrench. Water and electricity were out, phone lines were down, and the streets were clogged with cars and people. Children choked on the thick air as parents tied whatever cloth they could find around tiny mouths, trying to protect their lungs.

It was thankless, numbing work. Most of the civilians avoided them, casting wary glances out of the corner of their eyes. A few swore or spat, some cried, but after a while it began to get difficult as a particular group started to get violent, screaming as they threw things at the four Avengers. It didn’t cause much damage to the Nova or Iron Man suits, but the rocks soon started getting bigger. Katie heard a yell and turned to her left to see Steve stumbling forward, hand clamped over the back of his head. He fell to his knees and Katie moved over to him, dropping besides him.

“Shit.” He mumbled as she heard Thor give a roar.

“Let me see.” Katie looked at him and Steve winced, shaking his head.

“I’m fine.” He got to her feet, hand still clutching at the back of his head.

Katie glanced up at Tony, who had completely lost his patience.

“Ungrateful brats,” he snapped loudly after the young hooligans who had immediately scarpered after Thor’s show of anger. “Look, why don’t you head back to the carrier, see what the next step is?”  Tony curled his gauntlet clad hand over Steve’s shoulder as his face plate retracted. Katie looked at her brother, thankful for his suggestion.

Steve shook his head, but even as she did so she saw him sway a little.

“Sweetheart, you’re bleeding.” She whispered gently, and he looked at his hand. “At least let’s clean you up.”

Steve didn’t want to go, but he gave into her as she whispered “Please.”

“Five minutes,” he relented at last, and allowed her to lead him away.

*****

As Katie shed her suit, Steve sat on a chair in one of the hellicarrier kitchens, one of the few rooms that wasn’t being used as a makeshift hospital or treatment bay. There were no spare medics so Katie grabbed some gauze, antiseptic and a couple of steri-strip bandages. He would heal pretty fast anyway.

“You know you should have had your helmet on.” She said gently, suddenly realising he hadn’t had it on for the entire time they had been in Sokovia having tossed it back on the jet when he saw the graffiti picture of himself when they first landed. He shrugged and didn’t reply, but he flinched hard when Katie lightly touched the lump at the back of his head.

“Sorry…” she said gently as he waved away her apology, head bent as she cleaned the blood off his hair.

“Doesn’t hurt as much as what they were calling me.” He mumbled, and Katie paused.

“Which was what? I didn’t hear them.”

“Fašista.” He shrugged. “Fascist.” His shoulders slumped and sudden angry tears stung at Katie’s eyes, but she blinked them back and swallowed the hot anger swelling in her throat. This was a man who had put his life on the line countless times to fight the very things that people were calling him. She leaned forward, slipping my arms around his neck, connecting them in front of his chest as she bent to lay her face against his cheek.

“At the risk of sounding like an old man, everybody’s so young these days,” Steve said at last as he turned his head to face her “Has it all been forgotten, or have I really become…?”

Katie cut him off, her eyes on his, faces inches apart. “They’ve forgotten,” she assured him firmly. “You know those people, they can’t begin to imagine how things were back then. I find it hard at times and that’s after you told me so much. We never lived through it, never knew what it was like. History books and lessons can only do so much, Love.”

Steve’s fingers laced between hers. “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” he whispered heavily.

"But that’s why there are people like us, people like you. You will always remember, and because you do, you help us do our best to keep the rest of them safe.”

She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips before she straightened up and continued to tend to the wound on his head. It wasn’t as deep as it had looked and was already starting to heal. She checked to make sure there were no fragments of the brick left behind and when she was satisfied she dropped the bloodied gauze into a bin and turned to face him.

"I shouldn’t have taken Banner.” He said, and Katie took a deep breath “I knew he was low, but he said he wanted to come, he wanted to help find Nat.”

“You can’t blame yourself for his choice,” Katie reminded him. “He’s a grown man…” Steve didn’t say anything more about it, instead he stood up and took a deep breath. “Come on, let’s go see what’s happening.”

*****

It took almost two days for relief services to arrive at Sokovia. Steve felt dirty, tired and desperate for a hot shower and his own bed and he wasn’t alone. None of The Avengers had changed in 2 days. All their extra equipment had gone on the missing Quinjet with Bruce, including the change of civilian clothing everyone tried to keep on hand. But their discomfort paled into insignificance when he glanced over at Wanda as they landed at the tower. Katie guided her up to the spare room, ensured she had what she needed and then instructed her if she needed anything else, all she had to do was ask Friday, who would contact her immediately. Wanda nodded and Katie left her to be a lone for a while.

When Katie got back to her floor Steve was already in the shower, and the bed had never looked so inviting, which was why she couldn’t wait to get into it. Stripping off her filthy cat suit and her underwear she walked into the bathroom which was filled with steam and stepped into the shower behind Steve, her hands straying round to the front of his chest and she pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder, laying her head against his back. He didn’t flinch, he simply grasped her hands in his, pulling her closer and dipped his head slightly as she nuzzled into his shoulder, the grime from the last few days whirling down the plug hole as the water rained down on them. Without speaking, Katie grabbed his shampoo, and gently as she could massaged at his hair. Steve gave a soft moan, relishing at the feel of her nails on his scalp, happy to bliss out for a moment. He turned to face his future wife, tipping his head back to rinse his hair off and smiled tiredly as he dropped his head to kiss her softly.

“Turn round.” He said gently, and she did as she was told as his hands wound into her hair, repaying the favour. She leaned back into his touch, the intimate moment also serving as a perfect relaxer so much so that she didn’t object when things started to get a bit heated. This was always how things went with them both, they sought solace in one another, the physical relief of losing themselves with someone they loved was how they coped, how they stayed grounded, reminded themselves that they weren’t alone.

His hands travelled down her body, her back pressed to his chest as his fingers reached between her legs, finding her spot. She moaned, arching back into him as his other hand caressed her breast, his arousal pressing into the lower part of her back and she lazily rolled her head to catch his mouth. As the hot water cascaded down onto them he took her to the brink before he spun her round and lifted her easily, pressing her back onto the cool tiles. He thrust into her without warning and she groaned, her hands gripping his shoulders as he began to pump in and out, his head falling to her collar bone as he gave a soft nip. With each roll of his hips Katie felt her pleasure beginning to mount, soft moans falling from her lips as she dropped her head to his shoulder, the feeling in her stomach beginning to overwhelm her.

“Look at me, Doll” he said gently, and she opened her eyes, emerald gems locking onto his as he saw her mouth open, lips part in a soft cry as she came, a deeper groan bubbled over in her throat and her  head slid backwards. Steve would never get tired of seeing her like that, ever. It was the most arousing thing in the world to him. His pace began to quicken and he followed shortly, the tight bands in his stomach snapping as he pressed her harder against the wall as he rode out his release.

When they had finally finished in the shower the pair of them were almost dead on their feet. They dried off, Katie shucked on one of Steve’s T-shirts and clambered into bed with him. Neither had any idea what time of day it was but neither cared, the blackout blinds sent the room into darkness. Katie lay her head on Steve’s chest, his hand slid up the cotton of his shirt and he gently ran his fingers up and down her spine.

He managed to do it about twice before the pair of them were out for the count.

***** They both had nightmares that night. Katie woke first, gasping for air as she relived the moment on that rock where she had thought for one horrible moment they were done for, until Fury had shown up. After getting her a glass of water, Steve had held her until she’d fallen asleep, waked from a bad dream which, for some reason didn’t seem to take him anywhere near Sokovia. Instead, he was back at that moment he plunged into the ice.

And the dreams continued for them both for the next few nights. Katie’s were always the same, but Steve’s persistently catapulted back in time to various points during the war. It was unnerving for him but mostly, they were just that, bad dreams…until one night, for the first time he could remember, he suffered a full scale hallucinating night terror. 

Having actually managed to sleep soundly so far that evening, the first Katie knew something was wrong was when Steve was pinning her down against the mattress and shielding her from something.

“Steve.” She croaked gently, blinking the sleep from her eyes. He didn’t respond other than to simply flatten himself against her further, right arm curled around her head.

“Stay down,” he ordered firmly.

“What’s going on?” She asked softly, still coming round from the sleep he had roused her from.

“Air strike, men in the hall.”  He said, turning to her. "I’ll head for the door, cause a distraction. You get to the bathroom, get in the tub, cover your head.”

She listened intently, then realised what he had said. Air Strike. He must have been dreaming he was back in the war again. She let out a breath and relaxed, reaching up to take his face in her hands.

“Stevie, nobody’s there. Everything’s quiet.”

“You can’t hear them?” He looked at her frowning.

“Sweetheart, do you trust me?”

He nodded. “With my life, you know this Katie…”

“Baby, I promise you - there’s no air raid, nobody in the hall.”

For a moment, Steve just stared at her, his face wracked with confusion. Then, swallowing hard, he closed his eyes. After a moment he raised his head to look around before his face fell back on hers as her thumbs gently moved in long arcs down the sides of his face.

“Steve?”

With a shuddering breath, he pulled himself up, reaching for his shield by the bedroom door. Picking it up he listened for a moment before throwing the door open and he walked out into the hallway. Katie sat in bed listening to the sound of various other doors being opened and shut as he meticulously swept the whole of their floor, checking windows and closets until he ended up back in their room.

His back and chest were both glistening with sweat. He looked at her, his eyes wide before he went into the en-suite and she heard the tap running and the sound of water being splashed against what she assumed was his face. She gave him a few minutes before she followed him, where he was stood leaning forward, forehead pressed to the mirror, chest and shoulders heaving.

“Stevie…” she said gently, as she slipped both her arms round his waist, pressing a kiss to his bare, clammy shoulder. Her touch seemed to do the trick as he took one deep breath and turned to face her.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked his eyes looking at her as the palms of her hands spread across his lower back.

“Of course not.”

He wrapped his arms around her and she lay her head on his chest and felt his heartbeat as it gradually evened out. Neither of them spoke for a while.

“Your dreams, they’re getting worse.” Katie said gently.

“It’ll get better.” He finally managed. “You know it’s been bad before. It will fade after a while.”

Katie knew from experience that everyone dealt with traumatic experiences differently. For example, Tony suffered panic attacks and went completely off the rails post both his soiree in the Afghanistan cave and New York. She tended to take a lot of things as they came and worry about them for a while but after screaming and crying would then give herself a kick up the ass to either change things or deal with them. Steve’s worry seemed to manifest itself two fold. He would either be suffering from the inability to stay calm and therefore would exercise, pounding out frustrations on either the pavement or the punching bags. And then there was this, the nightmares. Normally Katie would wake with his jostling but if she didn’t, he would always shake her awake if he needed her, as that was the agreement they had. She would then help him back to sleep either by talking or they would engage in some other un-coventional means of therapy until both of them were spent and satiated enough to return to slumber.

Katie gently took his hand and led him out of the bathroom turning off the light. As they reached the bed he waited until she was in it, pulling the duvet up over her before snagging a pillow and turning to go.

"Where do you think you’re going?”

He shrugged. “Thought I’d camp out on the couch. I don’t want to keep you awake.”

“No way…” She said, throwing back the duvet “Come on.”

He sighed and climbed in as she opened her arms for him to settle his head on her chest, gently stroking his hair as he swallowed, his breathing steadying as her touch soothed him.

“Where were you this time?” she asked

“Azzano… I think.” He sighed “To be honest with you, I saw so many things, the dreams now…they all blur into one.”

“You wanna talk about it?” He took a deep breath. “It was just loud, and I was in a building and I couldn’t get out. It was so real. When I woke up I knew where I was. I knew who you were, but I just…I dunno…”

They lay in silence, Katie continually stroking his hair as he nuzzled into her closer. She kissed the top of his head and was pleased when about 10 minutes later she heard his breathing start to lower and his head became heavy. He had managed to drift off.

*****

The next night he woke with a start, but that was it. There was no walking or hallucinating, he merely woke from a bad dream and climbed out of bed for a glass of water. When he came back, there was no talking, but he sought solace in his girl in another way, his lips kissing her hard, his hands reaching out and roving over every bit of her body he could find and he fucked her, hard, losing himself completely. They lay afterwards, sweaty foreheads pressed together and Katie simply held him close as they both came round. Eventually he moved off, pulled her to him and they fell asleep, limbs tanged around one another, his hold tight.

The next few nights he was peaceful, and Katie was hopeful that the terrors had passed, but then, four nights after the first incident he broke his hand.

Captain America could put his fist through a two-by-four with nothing worse than slightly reddened knuckles - but Steve Rogers’ hand hadn’t been in a fist. Katie had woken to his hoarse cry of “Buck!!!”, in time to see his outstretched, fingers slamming straight through the plasterboard and into a metal stud in the wall as he flailed out of bed, reaching for a man who had fallen some seventy years earlier.

Katie scrambled over the bed like a shot as he was yelling out for Bucky again and again as he knelt among scattered pieces of plaster and wood, his left arm buried inside the wall up to the shoulder.

"Steve,” she tried, but he didn’t respond, eyes fixed in a thousand-yard stare, face crumpled with an agony that was more than physical, breath hitching and ragged. She felt the tears spring into her eyes and she was just about to ask FRIDAY to send Tony to help when she heard the door to their penthouse burst open and a few moments later Thor strode into the bedroom dressed in a pair of black sweatpants, hammer in his hand.

“I heard the Captain yell, and…” he trailed off as he took in the situation at a glance and then crouched next to Katie.

“He’s dreaming…” She said gently, “He’s dreaming about Bucky, his friend, falling…”

Thor frowned absently, brushing his fingers across the captain’s temples as though he was trying to work out a problem. Then abruptly, he rose and was gone, moving almost silently through the darkness.

Whilst he was gone, Katie managed to gently work Steve’s arm out of the wall. His broken hand lay twitching in her lap and she was horribly aware that they would need to set the bones before they healed wrong. Thankfully, Thor wasn’t gone long, and he was not alone when he returned, hand firm around Wanda’s shoulder. The girl’s eyes were wide and her hair was tangled - obviously she had been sleeping.

“Thor,” Katie began to protest as she glanced round at Steve. The last thing he would want would be to come back to reality in the middle of some kind of impromptu party.

Thor held up a hand, pausing her even as he turned his full attention to Wanda

“Do you see?” he asked gravely. “Do you understand now what The Vision told you?”

Trembling, Wanda shook her head even as she went to her knees beside Steve. He was still unresponsive, but his breathing was beginning to laboriously even out and Katie knew he was fighting for control. She started to sweep her hand up and down his back in long, firm strokes in the hope it would bring him back round.

Thor knelt too, sounding as though he were some kind of instructor. “When you allowed Stark’s fears to work against him,” he began patiently, “you found his weakness and dug deep.”

Wanda nodded slowly.

“Our Captain carries a grievous burden as well,” Thor continued, “He has been sorely wounded and works to heal, but your incautious workings have torn his memories open.”

“Thor…” Katie shook her head gently as a horror stricken look crossed Wanda’s face.

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know. How can I fix it?”

For the first time, Thor hesitated. “My brother would have known,” he admitted in a low voice. “He had the skill, when it pleased him to use it.” He paused again, and then continued, hesitating slightly. “You must consider carefully, and proceed as seems good to you.”

Biting her lip, Wanda looked up at Katie, her stricken eyes locked onto hers.

“If you can, remind him where he is,“ Katie said gently. “Just bring him round?”

Hesitantly, uncertainly, Wanda pointed and curled her fingers before Steve’s face and closed her eyes. Tendrils of red light flickered from her hands to his temples, and Katie tensed involuntarily. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Steve’s eyes flew open, and his uninjured hand darted up faster than sight to lock around Wanda’s wrist, breaking the connection. She squeaked, startled, and froze.

“Steve…” Katie touched his arm causing him to flinch. It took him a second and then he seemed to realize where he was and what was going on. He let go of Wanda’s wrist, and looked around at Katie, then Thor hovering behind the young Sokovian, and finally the familiar surroundings of their bedroom. Eventually he looked back at Wanda for a long moment before nodding once.

"Thanks.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely. “I tried to put everything back in place, but I don’t know how.”

“Can’t fix everything,” he assured her, with a twisted smile. His old Brooklyn accent came out very strong in this unguarded moment. “And I wouldn’t wantcha t’ try. There’s things in my head you shouldn’t ever hafta see.”

Wanda wrapped both her arms around herself. Her eyes still looked haunted. “He was like your brother, wasn’t he?” she quavered.

Steve bowed his head as Thor dropped a gentle arm round her shoulders.

“We have all lost brothers,” he rumbled, looking at her. “We know your pain. You do not face this alone.”

Katie could feel Steve was quivering, exhausted beyond words though he wouldn’t show it for the world, and all she wanted to do in that moment was to bind up his hand and then put him to bed. As she looked up to suggest to the others they might want to go she was surprised to see Wanda had squared her jaw with determination and she reached out once more.

“I can fix this, at least.”

Steve’s hurt hand suddenly glowed with red fire. He jumped, surprised, and then watched with fascination as the crooked fingers began re-align themselves. When the bones were straight again, the fire flickered out, and Wanda staggered to her feet to go, Thor right behind her.

“You ok for a moment?” Katie asked Steve and he nodded. She followed the two of them into the hall and gave a short groan as she saw the door that led to the stairs (which were never used) had been completely kicked off its hinges.

“Sorry.” Thor said, picking up the heavy door “I heard the screams and…well, I didn’t know what was going on.” “Just prop it up as best you can…I’ll let you out in the elevator.”

He propped it up, and dragged the sofa over towards it for good measure.

“I really am sorry…” Wanda whispered, tears in her eyes.

“I know, and so does he.” Katie said, giving her a hug. “He will be fine…” Her attention then turned to Thor as she gave the God a hug. “Thank you.” “Any time Little Stark.” He breathed into her hair, before the 2 of them stepped into the elevator.

Katie looked around, trying to think about how they could explain a broken door plus a hole in the wall to Tony, then she realised she didn’t care. She headed into the kitchen, rummaging through the first aid kit for an elastic bandage to keep his fingers straight and wrapped up safely whilst his fast healing worked its magic.

He was sat on the side of the bed when she re-entered the room, his injured hand cradled in his other.

“Here…” she said, and she gently took his hand as he surrendered to her ministrations.

“Is Wanda ok?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, but I’m more concerned about you.” she said, laying his hand down gently onto my lap. “Baby…” “I’m sorry.” He whispered softly, laying his head against hers.

“What for?” “This…for scaring you?” “Stop it.” She looked at him sternly “I love you, you idiot, I just want you to be ok.” “I will be…” he smiled softly, his lips catching hers “Given time.”

The next day, Katie dragged Steve out for a walk in Central Park, but first she spoke to Tony about the door and the wall. He was surprisingly sympathetic, and didn’t mention the issue to Steve once. By the time Steve and Katie returned home that afternoon both were fixed, the only evidence any repairs had taken place was the smell of fresh paint and plaster which lingered in the apartment for a few days. What thankfully didn’t linger further were Steve’s night terrors. Katie didn’t know what it was that Wanda did, but his bones healed straight and it seemed that his mind had healed somewhat straight too. Whilst he persisted with the odd bad dream, they were getting less and less frequent, and there was no repeat of the two hallucinations he had suffered which was a relief to her, as she knew with time and patience and rest, the dreams would stop as well.

**** Chapter 25

**Original Posting**