#just to clarify I would never ship these two in a million years but their dynamic compels me

[electricea]

@corvidconniver sent - there's plenty we could go with: ❤ 🔪 (as in: goro's love language is violence and he's deeply traumatized, but he's not going to abuse ryuji) , 💔 , 💙 , and perchance 💕 . ( Ship Symbols - Accepting! )

❤ 🔪- Our muses are in love but it might not be ‘entirely’ healthy. One muse may be possessive of or obsessed with the other. They still try to make it work.

💔 - Our muses are in a secret relationship and have difficulty keeping silent about it. Many challenges await them.

💙 - Enemies to friends to lovers. A classic.

💕 - Our muses have feelings for each other but take one million years to figure it out.  Try to convince themselves that their feelings are only platonic but they always end up getting blushy and shy around them.    Debatable if they’ll ever be together.  

Firstly, I do appreciate you clarifying right off the bat that there'll be no violence or abuse involved against either of them as neither of them deserve that and I would never want to write a ship that involves abuse or violence against any other part.

Onto the other symbols, I do think an 'enemies to lovers' dynamic is always a classic, especially with these two, where tension between them is so high and palatable - before they know it, they're involved with each other and they're in too deep to stop themselves or just end it, so they try to keep it a desperate, buried secret between them.

Also, I would certainly love if one day, this did become a genuinely romantic relationship without the 'enemies' part - where these two could just enjoy a happy and cute relationship together and maybe one day, they will reach that point but I'm also looking forward to what the journey there might entail.

[mdhwrites]

Could you please explain the difference between the goal and the objective to me? English is not my first language, and when i opened translator, i found out these two things mean the same in my native language, so i don't understand it well enough. Thanks in advance

This is EXTREMELY reasonable, especially since when I first read it I had to pause and think about it for a second, and I kind of wish I'd thought ahead about it because I don't blame you at all for this. For those missing context, I posted this quote last night saying that I could expand on it but that it was a perfect phrasing of how Luz and Amity see their relationship, or bare minimum how they treat it.

So the simplest way I can explain it is that: A goal is the final destination. The end point of a plan or desire. An objective needs to be achievable and needs to be clarified as 'final' if it's the last one. It is the steps in which you take to reach a goal.

For Amity, improving herself, becoming better, etc. like that are all objectives to serve the goal of being an awesome girlfriend because her goal, as far as the two are concerned (and kind of in life in general but that's at the point where this gets depressing), is to be an awesome girlfriend and never stop being one. It's not a goal that she can ever cross off though because being an awesome girlfriend means continuing to put in the work towards the other person.

Luz meanwhile treats "Get a girlfriend" as an objective for her larger goal of "Live out my ultimate witch fantasy." Remember the fervor she had about befriending Amity no matter what? And then how she blatantly ignores her being in danger or in pain once they're together? That's because once they're together, she considers the work to be done. It's like she completed a sidequest for the emote "Spin girlfriend" and now she has more important things to do than talk to an NPC with no treats left for her.

If you think this is overkill... It's what happened to Willow and Gus. She befriended Gus and Willow and then literally never sought them out again once they unlocked Hexide for her unless it was for key items required to progress the Amity quest chain like the library card. Gus and Willow always had to come and see her. And how does it go with Amity once they're together? Amity keeps coming to Luz minus Clouds on the Horizon where Luz has to get talked INTO going and seeing her girlfriend.

This disparity (let alone what it did to Amity's character) is what makes canon Lumity so sad to me. No, neither of them should only care about their girlfriend but one frankly cares too much where as it becomes her only real worry while the other doesn't care at all. It's just an ugly situation and yes, very real to being a teenager but I also think entirely unintentional seeing as they are still together to go to college.

It also makes me wonder if Luz living in the human realm for three years is the only reason they're still together. No human girl can compete with Amity because they don't have magic and she isn't spending enough time with Amity to get bored. They're effectively in an endless honeymoon period where Luz can do whatever she wants and be rewarded with the fun parts of a relationship.

When she has to find out she has to grind to get her next reward though... Is she just going to find a game with faster to achieve objectives? Just find a new project to work on? Or will Amity finally stop caring about the lying because it hurts her ability to be an awesome girlfriend and instead just realize that being lied to constantly sucks?

Or would those two collide into something truly sad because Luz won't admit she's playing a new game?

*sigh* I'm now just thinking about a quote I once heard. "The worst thing that can happen to your ship isn't that it doesn't become canon. It's that it becomes canon and then is done poorly." And blogs like these make me wonder why I've put over half a million words into these two.

Because they sure did become canon and sure were done poorly.

===========

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[pascalpanic]

hi i love ur writing so much!! can i request something with mutual pining, denial of feelings, idiots-to-lovers, hurt/comfort/angst , maybe some jealousy and fluff and smut if you want i just need something really angsty with javier peña, frankie m or din djarin?? tysmm!!!!!

The Bantha (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Being an animal lover does not work well with the plans the Tuskens and Mos Pelgo citizens have to kill the krayt dragon. A retelling of S2E1 of the Mandalorian: The Marshal.

W/C: 4.4K

Warnings: talk of animals being harmed/dying, lots of arguing and angst, Vanth kind of is gross bc I hate his character aha, we respect the Tuskens in this house and use proper terminology for them, language, tiniest mentions of alcohol

A/N: Not gonna lie, the idea for this fic came to me pretty quickly but it took me a long time to properly figure it out. Lots of drafting and editing so THANK YOU to my beta readers, you’re all the best ever!! Anon, I’m so sorry this took so long but I hope it’s worth it!

Of all the dilemmas you’d expected to face as you traveled the galaxy with a tiny, Force-sensitive, 50-year-old toddler and a Mandalorian with the emotional capacity of the earlier-mentioned child, the last one you’d ever predicted you’d face had to be the challenge of ridding a tiny desert town of a giant sand beast that eats their banthas.

“You are so fucking dense,” you groan as you and Din settle on a speeder bike, the little green child tucked in a wrap on your chest. “You’re a Mandalorian, a battle-worn bounty hunter with a kill streak probably in the thousands, and some random man asks for your help and not only do you fucking freely give it, you decide to help them kill the sand dragon terrorizing their town.” You groan to him, rubbing your temples.

Din nods and starts up the speeder bike. “You don’t need to summarize what we just lived through,” he grunts and you wrap an arm around him.

“I do, because I need to clarify that your dumb ass would do that. Sometimes I really do think you don’t have a brain under that beskar bucket,” you shake your head, trying to keep the anger that you’re feeling. If you’re not careful, it’ll turn to adoration and love.

You’ve been battling your feelings for Din for a while now, trying to force the giddiness bubbling in your chest deep down inside. The man is everything you look for in a partner: strong, committed, tall, protective. He’s good with the child, adorably cuddly and loving. He’s even funny sometimes, making dry-humored remarks around the ship.

“Excuse me for caring,” the man grumbles through the modulator. He’s strong and warm beneath your arms, the Tatooine heat making the beskar warm like your bunk in the morning when you don’t want to get up. Stop it, stop it you remind yourself. This is not the time to be enraptured by the Mandalorian man’s body.

That’s yet another trait you love about him- how caring he is. He’s a bounty hunter, a warrior by oath who never shows his face and probably knows millions of ways to kill someone with his bare hands. Yet he cares. He raises the child well; he even raised him alone before you came into the picture. He puts himself in harm’s way for innocent people on the daily, all because he simply thinks it’s right.

You take a sip from your water canteen and hand it to the baby on your chest so he can drink too. “No, I will not excuse you for caring when you’re doing stupid shit, Din,” you scowl and cap the canteen as two three-fingered green hands give it back to you. “You came here- we came here, our family did, to find Mandalorians. There are none.”

“This man will give me his beskar if we help,” Din hisses, revving the engine of the speeder, non-verbally telling Vanth to get moving. The man is dawdling along, a few meters away, as he packs his bike up.

“What do you need it for, huh?” You ask him, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “I’m not a Mandalorian. This little shit doesn’t need beskar. You have a full set of armor already.”

“Beskar belongs to me, to my people, by my Creed,” he says, articulating himself with his hands too. It’s a habit he’s picked up from you. “You wouldn’t ask a Tatooinian to deprive themselves of the moisture they farm.”

You put your face in your hands and groan. “No, you’re right, because they fucking need water to live. You do not need beskar to survive, Din!” You shout, getting off the speeder bike. “And please, forget I called us a family. We’re clearly just a bounty hunter and his… assistant, whatever the fuck I am, and some little kid we picked up for the ride.” You stalk off towards the building.

“Where are you going?” He asks as you turn.

Cobb is standing to the side somewhere, and you approach him. “You got another speeder? I don’t want to put up with him for the ride.”

The man chuckles and claps your shoulder. “Sure thing, pretty thing.” He wanders off and returns about a minute later with another speeder. Din watches the two of you in annoyance, visible from his rigid body language. “Hop on. You know how to drive?” You nod once and he heads to his own speeder. “I’ll lead. You two follow.”

-

The ride is uneventful at first. Cobb Vanth tells the two of you the story of how he came to be the town marshal, and Din nods his silent comprehension when the man in beskar looks over at him. Most of the stories are aimed at you, desperate to crack your stony anger. It doesn’t work. You stare straight ahead, daring to break your frown into a neutral expression when the little green baby coos excitedly at the wind in his ears.

There are valleys and caverns to navigate through, nimbly ducking and weaving on your speeder bike. The kid loves it, squealing happily when you fly over a bump or turn a sharp corner. It’s a joyride to him.

When Din and Vanth suddenly stop your ride, you panic, holding the child close against your chest. From your holster, you grab your weapon and stand next to the two men. The growling noises are revealed to be massiffs, huge dog-like lizards. You squeal in delight, immediately dropping to your knees and summoning the beast in Tusken.

“What in the hell is she doin’?” Vanth mutters to Din as the big animal comes bounding toward you.

“She’s always like this with animals. Thinks they’re all big puppies,” Din rolls his eyes but can’t help himself: he smiles beneath his helmet as the beast licks your face and you scratch its sides.

You’re such a wonderful person, Din sighs, even though he’s mad at you. You’ve always been amazing with other species, like massiffs and the little green child strapped to your chest. You’re so intelligent too: speaking seemingly endless languages.

“They are big puppies!” You coo and press a kiss to the forehead of one massiff. Another finds Din, who also bends down to give it scratches and attention. “Green bean, look!” You tell the child and put out his hand for the massiff to lick. “See? They’re our friends,” you tell him, admiring the way the little green child giggles at the scaly skin.

From around a corner, a Tusken appears, then several. You stand and lower your weapon, speaking to them first in their native language. “We mean no harm. You have beautiful massiffs,” you tell them then turn to Din and Vanth. “Drop the weapons.”

“Are you crazy?” Vanth shouts.

“We are here to put an end to the krayt dragon,” you explain to them in their language. “Your assistance and knowledge would certainly help us. You want it gone too, yes?”

They affirm you that it’s a yes, and you nod back at the men. You know Din understands. “They’re willing to help if you’ll stop being a douchebag.” Vanth starts to talk but you hold up a hand and cut him off. “I know, I know. We can strike a deal. Are you willing?”

Din’s heart is nearly exploding. In any other timeline, he’d be the one conducting negotiations, using his threat as a Mandalorian to run the show. But here you are, with your gentle nature, making deals and completing them through cooperation and kindness. It’s hard to speak in a soft tone when speaking Tusken, yet you can do it. All with a baby strapped to your chest. Maker, Din thinks, he might be in love with you.

Vanth sighs a few moments later. “Why the hell not?”

-

Din talks with the Tuskens for a while at the camp, planning and negotiating as night falls and the air starts to get cold. To entertain the child, you spend time with the banthas, brushing their fur and letting the baby get exposed to the animals.

The kid loves them. He coos happily as he strokes their thick fur, giggling as one of them gives him a kiss and covers him in slime. You wash him off and return, quietly talking with the Tuskens caring for the creatures.

You’ve taken a liking to them. They’re gentle and soft, like big lumbering puppies, really. They moo when you brush their fur just right, let their eyes slip shut when you scratch them between the eyes. You’ve always had a soft spot for animals, like Din said earlier.

Cobb likes you. That much is clear from the way he finds you when he’s not working with Din and the Tuskens, bringing you food and water as you and the child mind your business. He’s overly flirtatious, to the point of annoyance. He’s rude and crude about the Tuskens, calling them words you’d never use to describe a human.

Politely excusing yourself, you allow the child to run with some of the other Tuskens’ children and spot a silver-plated man sitting by the fire.

“Vanth is such a goddamn xenophobe,” you grumble as you sit down next to the fire with Din, the child off playing with some Tusken children. He’d ranted about the Tuskens as you rode with them, luckily in Basic so that the people couldn’t understand him.

“Thought you liked him,” Din says and cocks his head. “He certainly likes you.”

You roll your eyes and sip the canteen of water, looking at the crackling fire. “Those things are not mutually exclusive,” you chuckle, looking over at him. “What, are you jealous, tin can?” You tease and knock on his beskar pauldron.

“In your dreams, cyar’ika,” he teases. It’s clear to him that whatever tension had been between the two of you earlier has dissipated, enough for him to steal the water flask from your hand and pass it to the child as he toddles past.

“I was drinking that, you fucking bantha,” you laugh and smack him on an unarmored part of his arm. The Tatooinian desert gets cold at night, you find, and you pull into yourself a little more from the cold.

Din unclips his cape and drapes it over your shoulders, tucking it in beneath where your arms press against your ribs so that it wraps tight to your body. “Hm. You do have a heart under there,” you tease and sigh, naturally leaning against Din and resting your head on his shoulder pauldron.

“So it’s been said,” he nods and even dares to rest his head on top of yours. Through the bare spots in his beskar, he can feel the way your body radiates warmth into the chilly night. You spot a little green head toddling past again, much slower than the other children thanks to his tiny legs, and Din scoops him up.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly, the roar of the Tuskens’ conversations creating a soft hum around you. “For what I said, when I yelled at you. You’re right. You really are just caring for them.”

He nods. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I’m more sorry for saying we aren’t a family. I mean, we are, right? Not that we’re like, a couple or anything,” you say hurriedly, your voice low as you stumble over your words. “But you and this little womp rat…” you muse as you scratch the baby’s little green head. “You are my family. That much is clear to me.”

Din nods once more. “I agree.”

You smile up at him. “What’s going on under that bucket, huh?”

He turns, looking off. “Just going over the plans for how we’re going to get that krayt dragon.”

“Ooh, share,” you ask, taking one of his hands and lacing through his glove-covered fingers. “I didn’t mean it when we said all of this for some banthas, you know. I’ve really fallen in love with them lately.”

Din is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t answer. “Din?”

He knows you’re going to hate him for this. Your big heart, your animal-loving, sweet talking kindness is not going be okay with this, but he has to tell you the truth. “We’re going to have to sacrifice some of the banthas for this mission to work.”

“What?” You exclaim, dropping his hand. “You can’t possibly do that.”

“We have to. We need to lure the dragon.”

“Do it some other way!” You frown, looking over at the big soft desert cows. “Seriously, please, Din.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head. “They’re not sentient.”

“But they can feel!” You exclaim again, standing. “Fuck this. Why don’t you sacrifice yourself to the krayt dragon and see how that feels?” You shout, storming off. You’re aware it’s childish, but you stomp to your tent and lie down. You close your eyes and hope Din doesn’t come to find you.

-

Of course you didn’t mean it. Of course you didn’t want Din to sacrifice himself to the krayt dragon. So why is he doing it? Why are you on your knees, screaming to the sky that he did exactly what you said?

You’d been avoiding him since that night, since you showed vulnerability and subsequently returned to anger towards the man. You’d wanted to apologize, but you couldn’t get over the sacrificing of the animals for the cause. You just couldn’t.

Din had flown straight into the sand dragon’s mouth, just seconds ago, and is now deep inside its bowels, you’re sure. You clutch the baby to your chest and wail, agonized and terrified. Vanth stands at your side, a hand resting on your shoulder as you wheeze and sob.

But this is Din. He must have a plan.  He has to have a plan; he’s a battle-worn warrior and you’ve never seen him lose a fight. You’d stormed off before you could hear the rest of his plans the other night- maybe this was part of it. But the way Vanth stares at the dragon in terror makes you think that maybe it isn’t. Maybe Din just really fucked it up. You set the little green kid in his cradle and stand, sniffling and clinging to the metal sphere as if it’s your last lifeline to Din.

Suddenly, there’s a burst of green goo and out flies a shining silver rocket: it’s Din. “Oh thank the fucking Maker,” you shout as he lands not far from your small group, the wailing and dying sand beast behind him.

He’s covered in slime, but you’ve never been so happy to see the man. You rush to him and throw your arms around him, not giving a single fuck as you jump on him. “Please, never fucking do that again,” you wheeze into his cape, getting yourself covered in slime.

The hug is not comfortable. Din is all beskar where you want to feel his strong body, but it’s all worth it when he wraps his arms around you too. You’re crying, he knows it, and he knows just why. “I didn’t do it because you said it. You know that, right?”

You let go of him, sniffling and wiping your eyes. “Yeah. I was just so scared- oh Maker, Din, I can’t fucking lose you,” you admit, freely crying now. “I love you, I really do, and I can’t-“

“How?”

You look at him in confusion.

“How do you love me?”

This damn man. He’s full of surprises, just getting literally eaten alive by a krayt dragon, and now he’s asking you for a full emotional confession. You’re still reeling from the shock, but the fact that he’s there is enough. You don’t care that Cobb is definitely listening over your shoulder. “Every way. All of them. Romantic, friendship, family. You feel like my home and I want to be with you.” No better time than now, you suppose, to admit this all.

Din walks a step closer. “Romantic. Huh.”

“I hate that fucking helmet,” you admit, trying to deflect the emotion between the two of you. “I can never see your face. Can’t know what you’re thinking, your tone, your-“

Din cuts you off. “We ride back to the village and clean up. Meet me in the home as the suns set.”

What that means, you have no clue, but you nod. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” you murmur, putting a hand on the cut-out cheek of his helmet.

-

The town rejoices when you come back, shouting and celebrating over the dragon’s death and the plentiful meat that came with the creature. You’d joined in the reverie, taking a shot of spotchka and chanting along to a Tatooinian call-and-response they’d started. It was wonderful, really, and you and the little green thing were the stars. They admired the little green thing, cooing over him. You were proud to stand there as his mother.

The party died as the suns set. Din was notably absent from the hubbub, preferring to be alone as usual. You and the kid talked with the villagers, but as the suns started to sink, you excused yourself and found your way to the spare home you and Din each had rooms in.

Vanth and the women had taken the baby when you told them you were going to talk with Din. Not that it was hard: they all loved the little beast, showered him with affection. It was practically a competition over who got to play with him most.

The building has a warm glow as you wander over to it, wrapping your arms around yourself. The night has become cold now that the two harsh suns have sunk below the horizon, and it’s a relief to open the door to the home and feel the warmth radiating from a fireplace inside.

You find Din staring out of a window on the back, watching the endless wind sweep across the sand dunes, a dark sky contrasting the golden ground. Just his silhouette is visible, black against the deep blue. “Hi,” you say quietly as you walk in, the worn floorboards creaking beneath your feet no matter how deliberately you step. “Glad to see you got cleaned up.”

The man tilts his head in an obvious eye roll, even through the helmet. The slime was disgusting, although Din’s adoptive son had seemed to enjoy the gooey texture, as little ones are prone to. “I almost died and you’re already back to the sarcasm.”

“It’s called a coping mechanism,” you laugh gently and place a hand on his shoulder. There’s no beskar there, just soft fabric warmed by his body. It makes you shiver; even in the safety of the Crest, Din never takes off the armor. You wonder why it’s gone. Maybe to clean it?

Din’s quiet for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your fingers splayed over his shoulder in such an affectionate gesture. “You know how much I trust you, don’t you?” He asks and the black visor turns toward you, admiring what’s visible of your face in the moonlight. Your eyes glimmer and he admires them, the color he’s always loved.

You nod and smile just a little, cheeks growing rounder with the movement. “Of course.” He’s trusted you with his son, the most important thing to him in the galaxy. There’s one clear gesture even now: the absence of the beskar from his form. Maker, he’s broad, shoulders just as wide as with the metal.

He nods and shuts the window’s shutters, allowing even less light in before turning to you. There’s just a soft glow in the room, outlining the shape of the helmet and his shoulders. You can’t see any detail, just the shape. He walks over towards the long comfortable seating in the middle of the room and you instinctively follow, standing in front of it and stopping when he stops, facing him. His hands find your shoulders and his fingertips brush down your arms until they find yours. “Take off my helmet.”

“What? No,” you exclaim, frowning even though he can’t see it.

“Can you see anything?” He asks, a hand gesturing, an even darker shadow through the already murky visibility.

“No.”

“My Creed says you cannot see my face. Not that I can’t remove the helmet.”

You gulp hard, your fingers lacing through his. They’re bare. You’ve never felt them before. Often you’ve wondered if they’re calloused and tough from his work, soft from being hidden beneath the soft leather for all those years, or somewhere in between. They do fall into that in between, but they’re warm and strong and large, even without the leather casing them.

“I can’t do that to you,” you shudder, squeezing his fingers. “It’s the very thing about you, that you can’t take it off,” you start to ramble. You want to, desperately, but there’s no turning back now. If you feel his face, if you’re even so lucky as to kiss him, you’ll never be able to get enough of it. You’ll be subjected to an eternity of longing, even more than you’re yearning now.

“I want you to,” he breathes, his beskar-covered forehead falling against yours. “Please, cyare.”

“Why don’t you hate me?” You ask, your voice straining. You need to keep stalling, need to keep pushing it off or you’re actually going to do it. “I’m so mean to you. All the time,” you point out to him. You do it to keep him away, but he’s persistent. He never seems to care. “All we do is argue.”

“I may not be able to use the Force like the kid,” he mumbles, bringing one hand up to cup your face. “But I can sense your feelings. You don’t hide them well.”

“Din,” you plead, biting your lip and closing your eyes to prevent the tears that are threatening to well in them. “You can’t do this.”

“I can, and I want to.”

“Why are you so fucking patient with me when I’m only ever a bitch to you?” You practically wail, half annoyed and half honored. “You’re such a good man, Din. You don’t deserve someone shitty like me. I’ve got no hunting skills, I’m too stubborn, I’m mean and-”

He stops you by lifting your hands, setting them on either side of his helmet. “You can’t see me, so it doesn’t break the Creed. I want you to do this, because I want you.” He’s eternally blunt, but in this moment you can’t tell if it’s breaking your heart or warming it. “I love you too. Please. Take it off.”

“This is your last fucking chance, Djarin,” you tell him with a wavering voice.

“Cyare.”

“Okay,” you nod and take a deep breath. Din unlatches the little bit at the bottom that keeps it sealed against his head, and there’s a soft rush of air. Your hands grip either side and you slowly lift it off. Din takes it once it’s gone and rests it on the plush seat.

Your hands are drawn to his face like you’re being pulled on a string, your skin prickling as you feel the stubble along his chin and jaw. Your fingers trace his face for a few moments, exploring the new terrain. His cheeks feel hot, and his lips make you shiver again with how soft they are. Swallowing hard, you dare to look at his silhouette, noticing his hair is mostly matted down from the helmet. “What color are your eyes, Din?”

“Brown.”

You smile at that, and you rest your head against his shoulder, your hands dropping to your sides. His arms encircle you and it feels perfect, like you were meant to be like this for all of eternity and it took you long enough. “Of course they are.”

He chuckles at that and presses a kiss into your head, his hands finding your waist. “I did take this off for a reason.”

You lift your head, looking at his just-visible shape. “Really? I don’t know what you mean,” you flirt.

He’s silent. You’re sure he’s rolling his eyes, absolutely certain. “May I kiss you?”

The words are ever blunt, just like Din. “Yes, you bantha,” you tease, but the laughter is gone as his hands find your face again.

Just like that, his lips are on yours, radiating heat and love and it immediately tops the feeling of his arms around you. You gasp, not expecting him to do it so quickly, but your lips quickly meld to his and you sigh in content.

You stay like that for a while, hands traveling each other’s heads and necks and shoulders and sides as you kiss. He’s so warm and strong, his muscles just as sculpted as the indestructible metal that covers him. He’s so human.

After a bit, Din breaks away and presses his forehead to yours once more. He doesn’t speak, just rests there, his hands on your waist. His breath mingles with yours. For once, you’re speechless, unsure of what you can say back. The sarcasm has been stripped from your body like the beskar from Din’s.

“I better put the helmet back on,” he murmurs.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, tucking your face into the curve of his neck. You sit on the couch and he follows, desperate not to lose your touch. “Just… we’ll stay like this.”

He nods. He can’t say no when you kiss his neck feather-lightly, when your skin is pressed to his like this. He hasn’t had contact like this in years. He’ll prolong it as long as he can.

You do stay like that, relaxed and curled into each other. His arm wraps around you and you curl into a ball, nestled into his side. It’s been a long day for Din, you know, but the depth of it occurs to you as his breathing slows and his muscles relax.

He’s fallen asleep in your arms. You press a soft kiss to his neck and set a timer on the wrist-comm you’re wearing, so that you’ll both wake while it’s still dark in the room. For now, he deserves his rest. His face nuzzles into your hair, and he gives a soft sigh in his sleep. Yes, this is exactly what the beskar warrior needed: rest and you.

-

taglist:

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[nincompoopydoo]

LOVE IS STRANGE

PAIRING: Poe Dameron x reader WORD COUNT: 1.9k SUMMARY: The union of Ireca and Mohash may seem a typical cliche of love in comparison to your depressingly lonely state, but when a certain poster boy pilot emerges during the celebration, you wonder if love works in other underlying ways. A/N: I found this in my google docs, first written about a year ago. so, wohoo i present to you my first ever poe dameron content, i think? he's so charming and carelessly beautiful. please leave a comment and tell me what you think or what else you'll like to see from me 💖 gif by @john-seed from this gifst WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol and getting drunk, space swearing. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST

Love is strange. Delicate yet fierce. So forceful that it manages to seep through the cracks created by bombs and gunfire of war. Unexpected at times, appearing out of nowhere. Yet, it’s beautiful because it brings those with beautiful hearts and minds together, entangled in the constant dance of intimacy and devotion.

It’s what Ireca and Mohash have.

Ireca was from the Logistic division, a mechanic herself and your colleague. She was to be married to her long-time lover, Mohash, a flight engineer for the Cobalt Squadron. As far as cliches go, wartime love falls along the lines of a romance cliche. Yet, war was all you’ve known. It’s what everyone has ever known. It’s common to develop some kind of a feeling other than the constant emotions during battle—fondness, the feeling of falling in love with someone. It’s truly what we stay alive for.

Maybe that’s why you hate it so much. The absence of the feeling that everyone describes as so fucking amazing that it completes you. You feel empty most of the time. It’s definitely the reason why you put all your effort into fixing things you can rather than complicated problems and issues that continue to reside in your mind, especially in the wake of midnight.

You find yourself sitting by the makeshift bar, tucked away from the crowd of friends and colleagues. There’s music playing, the sound of drums, and the seven-string hallikset reminds you of your brief visit to Naboo three cycles ago. You’re nursing a warm cup of something that tastes closer to acid water than alcohol.

Ireca emerges from the crowd with flowers in her braided hair. She approaches you with a bright smile and calls out your name wistfully. You shoot a strained smile her way, feeling the bags under your eyes weigh a little more. “What are you doing here all by yourself, huh?” she asks, leaning against the bar with a gentle pat on your shoulder.

“I’m just really tired. Last night was rough. Plus, I’m behind schedule.” you sighed heavily, running your fingers through your hair. She flashed you a smile of sympathy as you continued, “I’m sorry, Ireca. Don’t let me ruin your night. Go, have fun.”

She raises an eyebrow as you take another sip from your cup.

"Go. I'm sure you don't want to miss Mohash's special performance." You gesture to a drunk Mohash, who seemed to be searching for the woman. Ireca merely laughed. "Oh, it sure is going to be special." With a gentle touch to your back and wave, you watch her make her way into the swarm of bodies. You're left alone once again.

You’re still trying to figure out how Mohash even got hold of any sort of alcohol and managed to smuggle it into the base. Someone must have nicked it during one of the previous missions in the Mid Rim.

You rub your eyes, half-awake at this point; your cup is placed beside you as you rest your head against your folded arms on the table. Your mind is in a daze and incapable of irrational thought, deciding it would be best to just camp out here, by the makeshift bar, for the night. You were too tired to drag yourself all the way to your quarters, which felt like miles away, in the first place.

As sleep began to weigh heavy upon your eyelids, you suddenly felt a sharp tap on your shoulder. A soft groan escaped your lips as you shifted your head, still resting on your arms, just enough to peek at your sleep intruder.

It’s Poe Dameron. Commander and Black Leader. Incredibly talented, confident, and effortlessly handsome.

Ugh, you hate this guy.

Yet, you don’t feel so tired anymore.

“Are you drunk?” There’s amusement in his voice with a tinge of mockery. It made you realize the stun you were pulling. Classic Dameron. It was supposed to be a happy ceremony, but it was truly Ireca’s fault for manipulating you into coming tonight. Parties, events, and social gatherings were never right up your alley. You prefer spending time with machinery and your greasy hands.

Poe’s eyes are gleaming under the fluorescent lights, filled with concern, but you spot the smugness in his emerging smile. A flash of a thought, you kind of want to feel his lips on yours. The image immediately stings. You want to gag.

Poe is irritating, arrogant, and careless. Not charming. Nope, definitely not charming.

You straighten yourself, trying to shake off the burning image, shoving it to the back of your head. You lift your head, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin on the heel of your hand. “You actually think I’ll even touch that bantha shit?”

Tearing your eyes away from Poe, you reach for your cup only to realize it was empty. He casts you a look. Your eyes shoot daggers with an extended pointer finger his way, “Don’t you dare say anything, flyboy.”

Poe raises his palms in defense, lips pursing. “Wasn’t going to.”

You catch a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, one hand discreetly reaching under his tawny leather jacket. Then, a bottle of Corellian whiskey emerges, shining under the lights of the Resistance hangar. Your face lights up at the recognition of the bottle, memories of your rare trips to Corellia, sharing whiskey drinks with your colleagues. It was the only planet you’d been to ever since you joined the Resistance.

You’ve only tasted Corellian whiskey once because of how expensive it is. You’ll happily get drunk to that in a heartbeat. Drink the worry and sorrow away with the lingering taste of frankly exorbitant whiskey.

Like a child with grabby hands, you reach for the bottle, but as your fingers brush his, Poe quickly lifts it to the air and away from you. He smacks your hand away. You whine, feeling a little lightheaded. The contents of the mysterious drink are starting to kick in.

What the blinkin' mradhe muck was in that drink?

“What do you want from me? It’s not like I have a drinking problem.”

He’s giving you that look like he’s judging you, but with a hint of amusement at the slight tug of the corner of his mouth. “You definitely have a drinking problem, but... i'll let you drink this on one condition.”

“For kriff’s sake,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, glancing away. “I’m not doing any weird wacky favors for you, Dameron.”

He scoffs, expression bewildered. “Hey, I don’t ask for weird wacky favors,” He articulates his words with a defensive tone, index finger stretched to your face. You simply smack it away as Poe clicks his tongue and continues to clarify his proposition. “All I’m asking is for you to fix my ship.”

Your wide-eyed gaze flies to him, shaking your head furiously. “Oh, no, no. No. Never in a million cycles. Never in a million millennials. Nuh-uh—”

“Hey, quit being dramatic. It’s a simple job.”

Your eyes grow even wider, voice raising. “A simple job? You fly that ship of yours like we have hundreds of spare ones. I’m not putting all my time and effort into fixing a lost cause.”

“But you haven’t even—”

“No. I’m not fixing your ship, and that’s final.”

Poe blinks and you’re back to fussing over your empty cup. The chatter of the crowd grows louder as a group of pilots of the Cobalt Squadron began rendering verses of an unknown traditional drinking song to your ears. You steal a look to only find Ireca and Mohash amidst a dance, tangled in each other's arms.

He eyes closely, noticing the turn of your lips, trained eyes deem melancholy. He knows the face of a loner very well—usually recruits with lost family and homes. They enlist in a mass community of freedom fighters for the restoration of good in the universe, and to finally feel a sense of familiarity and belonging. He doesn’t know much about you but he knows you don’t truly have anyone to depend on but yourself. It’s the reason why you’re constantly fierce.

Poe clears his throat, shifting closer to you as he watches the way you carry your gradual gaze to hold his. They then flit to the space between the two of you, raised eyebrows acknowledging the weird close proximity of his presence to yours.

“Look, you’re the best mechanic there ever was and probably ever will be. So, fix my ship, and you get to have this Corellian beauty. All of it.” He sways the bottle in the air, but you don’t look at it.

“You know, that’s bribery.”

“Yes, and it’s working.”

You scoff. “No, it isn’t.”

Poe laughs. “Yes, it is. I can see it in your eyes.”

Another scoff, you look fully aggravated. “How dense do you think I am?”

“Oh, very, but let’s not get into that.”

Bickering was the only language the two of you spoke fluently when you found yourselves tangled in a conversation with one another. Thrown insults were spoken lies—saying you hate each other when you know that isn’t true. Well, at least you don’t mean it and you hoped Poe didn’t either.

You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. For once, kindness and acceptance seem to be the easiest route.

A sigh passes your lips as you blink up to the ceiling, sending a silent prayer for blessings from the Maker above. “You’re right. I am dense. Truly dense. So, yeah. Okay. I’ll fix that stupid X-Wing of yours.”

Poe blinks, dumbfounded. “Wait, really?”

With a roll of your eyes, they meet his very own wide ones. “Yes, really. Only because you complimented me. Now, hand me that Corellian whiskey before I change my mind.”

He then makes a sound that resonates between a cough and a pleasantly surprised laugh, eyes crinkling with delight. Poe happily and absentmindedly passes the whiskey to you, still reacting like your agreement is some sort of object of ridicule in the best way possible.

“Wow—Maker, you have no idea what kind of trouble you’re saving me from. If the General ever found out—man, pfft. Thank you. Thank you so much—”

A swift and unexpected motion, he is reaching you, palms clasp and either side of your face, and plants a quick peck on the side of your left temple.

Poe isn’t thinking straight.

There you are, mid-swig, lips so close to the rim of the bottle with eyes so wide. You steal a steady glance at the pilot whose expression seems to reflect yours. His hands are still on your cheeks. He’s unbelievably close to you and he’s staring with that stupid look of his.

‘Maker, preserve me.’

A cheer erupts from the crowd from across the space and just like that, the moment is gone. Whatever the moment even was. His touch is no longer on yours and his gaze shifting away.

The tension, however, is still very present.

You finally take a swig of the whiskey, wanting to ease the sudden tightness in your chest. You hum at the stinging sensation on your tongue. You catch a glimpse of Poe from the corner of your eye who busies himself with tapping his fingers nervously against the surface of the bar.

Then, in an awkward motion, you stretch your arm to him, offering the drink.

A beat. His gaze shifts between you and your hand. When he finally gives in, a smile curves upon his lips, fingers brushing against yours. They’re delicate and you smile at him. It's small, but it makes his heart skip a beat and you wonder to yourself about the strangeness of love.

[punkyyyweed]

For everyone how as a problem with loki and mobius ‘age gap’ in the serie, let me tell you this

The age differences don’t even make sense , fist of all, loki is literally a god, he’s hundreds and hundreds maybe millions years old, and mobius as specified that in the TVA time work differently, and he stated that he worked there for so long he don’t even remember, so by that statement, he could be perfectly more then 500+ years old, and don’t even try to put the card “well loki in human years would be 17”, no, the method they used for the calculation as been debunked because it’s used the “7 years method” that we use for clarify dogs ages ( obviously with a little hundreds of 0s ya know, also I’m not sure if they actually use this or something similar, if not feel free to tell me), there was a TikTok I can’t no longer find where a dude makes a serious calculation of Loki age threw all the movies, and end up locating him in his early 30s (maybe in his early 20 during the events of Thor 1 and mid 20 during avengers) so that theory doesn’t make sense, some of y’all complaining about lokius age gap but never speak a word with Thor and Jane ( same argument can go with the sambucky age gap stuff, when literally there is Steve and Sharon right there with the same think, but for some reason some of y’all don’t speak about it either)

And little note, not even the actor age difference is a problem,Tom and Owen pass from each other only 12, literally my parents have that age gap, I understand if they where both like in their 20, that would be awkward, but Tom is 40 and Owen 52💀, those are two grown ass man, ( also don’t worry, if thst still make you uncomfortable that’s completely valid, just don’t press other people about it)

Sorry if I sounded rude or disrespectful in some part, I don’t alway make rants but I’m alway so angry when people don’t look it up stuff and immediately jump to conclusion. Alway remember to be respectful with someone if the do or do on ship lokius or every ship in general (as long is legal and not problematic)

[theoriginalladya]

Dinosaur Brain

I have the most amazing friends, I swear!

The following ficlet evolved out of conversations about Rhys Shepard and Grunt and dinosaurs ... and then it had to have some commissioned ART, too!  Fabulous art by @thepixelagora​ who somehow managed to take my incoherent ramblings about this and turn it into the absolutely most perfect picture of events!!!!  Thank you so much for lending me your talents!!  

There is more to this story, but it wasn’t quite working how I wanted, so the rest will come later.  In the meantime, have the madness that started it all!!!

The story can also be found on AO3 here.

~~~

Rhys drops into an empty seat and starts eating immediately, his focus less on the food and more on the datapad in his hand. Across from him, a chair squeaks and shadows flicker in his peripheral vision.  Still, he pays little heed to the disruption until…

“You going all dinosaur brain?”

He would prefer to flat out ignore the question, but there are times that’s worse than responding to it.  Rhys doesn’t bother to look up from the pad.  “Not this again.”

Kaidan’s chuckle of amusement drifts across the table. “What?”

“You know what.”

Kaidan leans over and stabs a piece of Rhys’ meal, retreating quickly.  He chews with a thoughtful look in his eye, then swallows.  “Tell me honestly, when have you never been thinking about them?”

“What’s a dinosaur?”

The table wobbles as Grunt slams his tray down and sits next to Rhys.  This time, it’s Kaidan who is taken aback and Rhys whose interest perks up.  “You want to know what dinosaurs are?”

“Here we go,” Kaidan mutters, rolling his eyes and reaching for his coffee.

Rhys ignores him and turns to face Grunt. “O’Keer never imprinted them on you?”

Grunt shakes his massive head back and forth. “What are they?”

Rhys peeks over at Kaidan, his blue eyes sparkling with delight.  “Translated from the Latin, the word means ‘terrible lizard,’” he explains.  “They are creatures that lived millions of years ago on Earth.”  He grabs his datapad, pointedly ignoring the sputter of choked laughter from Kaidan, and scrolls to the end of the device before passing it over to Grunt.  “This is a Triceratops.  About eight meters long and three meters tall.  They are known for having three horns on their head; one long one above each eye and a smaller one over its nose, as well as a large frill made out of bone.”

Grunt examines the picture on the datapad then glances back over at Rhys.  “Looks like a mighty warrior,” he concludes with a sage nod.

Rhys grins.  “Actually, they weren’t the fighters.  Not unless they were attacked, of course.” He takes back the datapad and sets it aside.  “The real fighters were the Velociraptors and Tyrannosaurus Rex.”

“You know,” Kaidan muses as he sits back in his seat, “I’m going to tell Wrex you’re calling him a tyrant again.”

“Oh, shut up!” Rhys hisses over at him.  He spends the next several minutes explaining about the two different dinosaurs to Grunt before he reaches into his pocket and nabs the Deinonychus claw he always carries with him.  “This is from a much smaller dinosaur, similar to the Velociraptor, called Deinonychus.  I found this on our family’s ranch when I was a kid.”  

Grunt takes the claw and squints at it, holding it up to the light and tilting his head.  “Doesn’t look very dangerous.”

Rhys chuckles.  Pushing his chair back, he stands and lifts a hand to about chest level, just above his elbow.  “They were only this tall when adults,” he explains.  “A smaller version of the Velociraptor, if you will, but older.  They were also very bird-like.”

“You know, Shepard,” Garrus comments from down the table, “if you keep making references like that, I’m going to start taking it personally.”

Kaidan almost spits out his coffee.  Rhys just grins as he retakes his seat.  

Grunt, however, stares at the datapad.  “So, what did you do with them?”

Kaidan starts to laugh uncontrollably.  Rhys kicks his leg beneath the table.  “We didn’t do anything to them.  They died out over time, long before humans were around.  We’ve spent centuries searching for their bones, fossilized in the earth.”  

The krogan sets the datapad down.  “Too bad.  I would have liked to go up against one of them.”

 ~

 A week later, while on duty in the CIC with his attention focused on planets, minerals, and potential prothean ruins, Grunt comes thundering his way through. “Shepard!”

Caught in the middle of running a scan, Rhys cannot give the krogan his full attention, and calls back over his shoulder, “Yes?”

Grunt makes some sort of disgruntled sound. “Shepard, what’s a ‘shark?’”

With his fingers flying over the haptic keyboard, Rhys’ reply comes automatically.  “Water dinosaur.”  A heartbeat passes, and he thinks about what he said before turning around to find the krogan standing there, a piece of paper in his hand.  It is an image of a Great White shark.

Kaidan is just exiting the cockpit and happens by during the conversation.  Giving Rhys a bemused look, he replies, “Really?”

Rhys shrugs back at him, but Grunt grins, a spark of delight in his eyes, and turns back toward the lift, chuckling in his usual, deep, rumbly manner.  It’s quite adorable, even if it does leave both men scratching their heads.

 ~

 Late in the Collector mission

Stops at the Citadel are opportunities Rhys never ignores.  This time around, however, he isn’t tracking down prothean specialists at the university or the archives, but shopping.  He returns to the Normandy a few hours before required, not surprised to find the CIC nearly empty as he walks through, bags in hand.  What does surprise him, however, is when the lift doors open and Kaidan steps out.  The other man sizes up the current situation and his hand shoots back out to hold the doors open for Rhys.  “What are those?” he asks, nodding at the bags Rhys carries.

Hopping inside, Rhys shrugs.  “Books.”  

Kaidan chuckles.  “Obviously.”  He reaches into a bag and tugs one free.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Rhys clarifies.  “On dinosaurs.”

The switch from amusement to… well, whatever the look in his eyes is now – half bemusement, half irritation? – is instantaneous.  Kaidan drops the book back into the bag without looking at it and slams his hand on the buttons.  “You need a fucking lab, I swear.”

Rhys chuckles.  “I tried, but Mordin won’t share.”  He’s the first one through the doors when the lift stops outside of Kaidan’s cabin.  The new arrangement works out better than expected, at least until this topic comes up in discussion.  “Besides, these aren’t for me.”

“No?”  Kaidan swipes his hand over the door’s interface.  “Who?”

“Grunt.”

Almost as if he’s listening in to their conversation, a soft, “Hehehehehe,” whispers through the walls of the ship as they enter the room.  

 ~

 2186, Citadel, during the Reaper War

While Kaidan heads off to do Spectre things, Rhys makes his way to Huerta Memorial Hospital.  After the incident on Mars and his time spent there, the desire to visit isn’t exactly thrumming inside of him, but Grunt is now a patient there, and it’s more important to check on how the krogan is doing.  Wrex’s assurances that Grunt is fine aside, Rhys decides to check in on him anyway, just to be sure.  Kaidan promises to meet up with him as soon as his responsibilities are taken care of, hopefully in time to visit the krogan as well.  

Entering the critical care ward, Rhys notices not much has changed in the weeks since his departure.  In many ways, it reminds him of the rest of the Presidium at the moment; hiding the true nature of what is happening in the Galaxy outside of the Serpent Nebula behind common, everyday things like Blasto movies, home redecoration conventions, and the latest varren races.  Nothing like sticking their collective heads in the sand.

Rhys enters to find Grunt sitting up in bed.  There are makings of a few scars – two across his face, another on his upper left arm, and one more across the broad expanse of his chest – but he appears greatly improved since receiving his injuries on Utukku.  As Rhys enters, Grunt slowly turns his bandaged head in his direction.  His voice is on the weak side, but there is an urgency to it that confuses Rhys at first.  “Shepard.”

Rhys takes that as permission to enter, removing his cowboy hat in the process.  “Hey, Grunt. How’re you doing?”

Grunt ignores the question.  “Shepard, what’s a kakliosaur?”

Startled, it takes Rhys a minute to digest the full question.  In the space between, he pulls over a chair and takes a seat.  “It’s… a krogan dinosaur, I guess,” he replies after a time. “Remember the Triceratops? Akin to that, I guess you could say.”

An added spark of life brightens the krogan’s blue eyes.  “Krogan had dinosaurs?”

Rhys chuckles but nods.  “I would point out that krogan are dinosaurs, but yeah. They had creatures very similar to Earth’s dinosaurs.”

Lying back, Grunt’s eyes close, but he manages a small laugh as he drifts back off to sleep.  “Hehehehehe.”  Rhys takes his leave a few minutes later.

After catching up with one another, Rhys and Kaidan reboard the Normandy.  Halfway through the CIC, Rhys announces, “We have a mission.”

They’re just passing Traynor’s station and she hands Kaidan several datapads.  Absently, he replies, “I know.”

Rhys sighs.  “A new one, I mean.”

That, apparently, is enough to catch the man’s attention, and he glances up.  “What?”

Using his chin to point to the galaxy map, Rhys continues, “We need to go to the Phoenix System.  It’s… important.”

Kaidan frowns.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

A grin slips across Rhys’ face.  He can’t help it.  “We are going dinosaur hunting.  Krogan dinosaur hunting, to be specific.”

The blank look in Kaidan’s eyes as he blinks owlishly at him makes it clear he has no idea what Rhys is talking about.  Either that or he thinks Rhys has lost his mind. Maybe both.  “Check your messages.”

There is a hint of apprehension in his steps as Kaidan walks over to his terminal and retrieves them.  “Shit!”

Rhys tips his hat just a bit and turns toward the elevator.  “See? Told you.  Anyway, let me know when we get there.  I know the director of the museum.”

He’s just stepped onto the lift and pressed the button for the cabin when Kaidan calls over, “Have I mentioned you’re a menace?”

Rhys’ grin widens and he winks at him.  “Not this week…”

[amysteryspot]

Better With You - Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Request: If you can could you please do one about Tommy having a sort of possessive claim over you (not in an abusive way of course) even though you’ve never looked at him in that way, and when Michael comes into the family again you two get close, which makes Tommy extremely jealous.

Requested by: Anonymous

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: Thomas has known (Y/N) for all of her life and loved her for most part of his, always disguising his claim on her as friendly protectiveness. What happens when Michael makes his way back into the family and starts to get a little too close to her for Tommy’s liking?

Warnings: swearing, mentions of war, mild smut (?).

Word Count: 3526

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this. Hope you all have fun reading it too. An especial thank to @the-friendly-editor​ for helping me edit this, it meant a lot to me. Tags are at the end of the post, if you want to be add send me a message. I would love to hear what you think of it, your feedback is always appreciated.

 Things you should consider before reading this:

1. I named the Shelby’s mother Anastasia because I felt like I needed to do that. Also, I know that there is a lot of discussion about Finn and the rest of the Shelbys having the same mother or not. I just assumed that they all have the same mother and she died a little after giving birth to Finn. It is not something groundbreaking for the fic but I wanted to clarify just in case.

2. The boys went to war right at the beginning of it; I just ignored the information given to us by “The Ballad of Tommy Shelby”.

3. I probably forgot to warn you about something, I’m sorry.

 (Y/N) = Your Name | (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname | (Y/L/N) = Your Last Name | (Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color

If you asked Tommy how long he had known (Y/N) (Y/L/N), he wouldn’t know how to answer—fuck, it seemed like the woman had been in his life forever.

He remembered the day his mother had brought him to the (Y/L/N)’s house for them to meet the new baby. Four-year-old Tommy had complained all the way to their neighbor’s house, much to his older brother’s amusement, until their mother had given him a scolding. (Y/N)’s birth had been the talk of Watery Lane. They finally had a sweet little girl for the neighborhood to dote on.

With two sons, Anastasia was more than happy to welcome the little girl into their lives, not so secretly longing to have a daughter, and that was the reason for Tommy to be fussing over going to see the newborn—jealousy.

However, nothing could have prepared little Tommy for what was about to happen when his mother sat him down on the couch and Mrs. (Y/L/N) put the bundle of covers in his arms—his icy blue eyes stared down at baby (Y/N), who stopped crying instantly when she looked up at him with bright (Y/E/C) eyes of her own. From that moment on, Tommy knew that he would always love her.

And love her he did, since that day and throughout all of their lives. He would raise hell at home for his mother to bring him to the (Y/L/N)’s home so he could see (Y/N), and the three adults would all be astonished at how easily the baby would stop crying when she was in his arms. It wasn’t really a surprise that the first word she babbled was “Tom” or that when she started walking, on wobbly feet, it was Tommy she was seeking.

As they grew up, they grew closer, until it became almost impossible to have one without the other. When Ada was born, Tommy was worried about the possibility that (Y/N) would forget about him, that she would be too enchanted by having another girl around. Instead, as the time passed, he discovered that his little sister was one more reason for (Y/N) to spend more time at the Shelby home.

Even when he started messing around with the boys on the street, and she befriended other girls at school, they would still seek each other out whenever they could. They stuck together when their teenage years came, when Tommy started fooling around with girls from school and secretly scaring down most of the boys that showed any interest in (Y/N).

At least, he did until the day she came crying to him about not being good enough or pretty enough for anybody, not like the girls he would go out with, and breaking his heart; that certainly wasn’t what he had in mind when chasing down the boys. All he had wanted was to protect her, to make sure that she wouldn’t exchange him for some other boy. He wanted to ensure that she was his and his only.

That was actually the reason that led to their first kiss—her first kiss—(Y/N/N) had asked him, pleaded with him, through all the tears to just kiss her and get it done. Fifteen-year-old (Y/N) was sure that nobody would ever want her, and she wanted to experience it at least once. She told Tommy he was the only one she trusted with the task.

“It will mean nothing to you, Tom. You have kissed a million other girls already—I will just be another one for you—but it’s important to me. Please, Tom? Please, please.”

Her pleas had won him over, but (Y/N)’s words couldn’t have been further from the truth—the kiss had meant something for him. It had meant more than he predicted when he gave in to her begging, because the moment their lips touched, Tommy realized he was in love with his best friend and the worst part was that she didn’t had a fucking clue about it.

Then Tommy did what he did best; he pretended that it never happened, pushing it away and never talking to anyone about the kiss or his feelings. He stopped chasing down the boys who would show interest in (Y/N) and watched as she eventually started going out with some of them, laughing with him about how stupid she was to think that no one would ever like her.

When her first boyfriend got too handsy and she broke up with him—not before giving him a good left hook that left him with a very black eye, just like Tommy had taught her—(Y/N) had gone straight to the Shelby home, looking for comfort in his arms. Tommy pretended that the gnawing feeling in his chest was nothing but brotherly protectiveness instead of anger, jealousy and possessiveness—a destructive combination, especially on a Shelby boy.

(Y/N) had stayed with him that night, and the both of them slept together like they used to when they were kids. First thing in the morning the next day, right after he left her at her own house, he found her now ex-boyfriend and beat him up. Arthur and Freddie had to get him off of the guy, afraid of what he would end up doing if they didn’t stop him.

After that, Tommy had focused on channeling his frustrations into going out with every girl in town that wasn’t her. It wasn’t difficult, he was good looking and charming and he was very aware of it; that’s how he met Greta, and thought that he could get over his feelings for his best friend with her.

Greta’s parents were against their involvement at first, but he charmed them, so they started dating. His heart broke down when (Y/N) found out and showed genuine happiness for him having finally found somebody to settle down with.

Tommy’s plan was to end things between them. However, Greta fell ill and he didn’t have the heart to break up with her, so he stayed by her side until she passed. (Y/N) gave him support in the only way she knew how: by loving him.

Just not in the way he wanted her to.

When they thought that things would go back to normal, the War exploded and Tommy did the only thing he considered right in his eyes: he enlisted alongside his brothers. Their first fight had taken place on the night he told her he was leaving for France in two weeks. (Y/N) had hit and screamed at him until he was able to take a hold on her and then, then she cried in his arms the whole night, afraid that she would lose him forever.

They did the best they could with those two weeks. Once more, nothing could have prepared Tommy for (Y/N)’s appeal the night before he was shipping to France. She had come to him right after dinner. Her father was preparing himself to leave, too, and both of the (Y/L/N) women were enjoying whatever time they had left with him before he was gone.

As they both laid there in his bed, resting in each other’s arms and staring at the ceiling, (Y/N) made the decision that would seal his fate if he could survive the war.

“Make love to me.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a request—she was simply telling him to make love to her like this was the most logical thing in the world. His breath caught in his throat, preventing him from answering at first, and (Y/N/N) took that as a cue to reassure him.

“It will be like my first kiss, Tommy, just something I have to get over with. I want it to be you. I trust you. Let me give you at least one last good memory of me before you go.”

Again, he caved in, not needing much more convincing than the certainty in her eyes as she looked down at him, propped up on one elbow. Her hand rested unintentionally above his heart. Granting her wishes, he let himself dive into his own desires, touching her the way he had wanted since they had kissed for the first time.

He worked her body like a delicate instrument and pulled at her strings smoothly, engraving every beautiful sound that he coaxed out of her and the feel of her under his fingertips in his memory. When morning came, they were still a mess of limbs intertwined together, trying to hold on to a last thread of hope and imprint the last few hours on their memories.

In a way, (Y/N) was right. The boy that entered that train in 1914 wasn’t the same that got out of it in 1918. Yet, his love for her never faltered; it just became a tad more… dangerous.

Thomas lost count of how many letters they had exchanged during the past four years. He lost count of how many times he dreamt of her, of coming back home and telling her how he felt. However, any courage he had gathered vanished the moment he saw her waiting for him at the train station. He couldn’t condemn her to a life by his side, he had already taken enough from her.

Polly had told him in her letters how (Y/N/N) had helped her with the business, with the house, with Finn, and with any other thing she could. Especially after her mother, who had given up on life after Mr. (Y/L/N) was killed in combat, passed. A part of him felt guilty for not being there for her as much as she was for him when his mother passed and his father left.

“She’s a Shelby now.”

That’s what Polly had said when he asked her if (Y/N) had any remaining family.

Not much changed when they returned. (Y/N/N) still worked with them. She spent more time at the Shelby home and the gambling den than at her own place. The two of them still sought each other out, not talking much, but enjoying each other’s company. It was in those quiet moments with her that Tommy had a little peace.

Thomas drowned himself in work to forget it all, wanting to expand the business, unleashing his ambitions so long smothered by the war. They found the guns, in a strike of luck, he thought. Both Polly and (Y/N) advised him to let it go, but he just couldn’t. It was too good of an opportunity.

Campbell had come because of it, and with him, Grace. At the time, he didn’t know who she really was. He thought that the beautiful, blonde barmaid was just that: beautiful and innocent, everything he and his family were not. So he fooled himself, fell for her, and then she betrayed him and left for America.

Again, (Y/N) was there for him, and again, he found himself sinking into his love for her. The only good thing that came from all this mess was that the business was never better. He thought that it was time to start planning for an expansion, and with that came another thing that he hadn’t quite predicted—Michael.

He had planned to find Polly’s children for her. She had been suffering quite a lot lately. Even if people thought that his heart was as good as gone, he wanted his family to be okay. He wanted them to be happy.

Thomas found the boy and he came to Polly, making his way into the family and the business quickly. That included starting to get close to (Y/N) – too fucking close for his liking.

It was supposed to be natural, he knew that. (Y/N) kept the books at the shop. She was better with numbers than most of them, so it was natural that she would be the one to help Michael when he assumed the position of accounts clerk.

After they came back, he learned that (Y/N) had become very good at sneaking around without getting caught. It was rare to see her with any men whose last name wasn’t Shelby, or wasn’t closely related to the Peaky Blinders. That didn’t mean she didn’t have men swooning over her all the time, or that he was finally okay with that—much like when they were teenagers, he wanted to chase them all down—the only difference was now he was more deadly.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

It was Michael’s voice that brought him back to reality, and his gaze fell immediately on the boy. They were all gathered on the snug in the Garrison. (Y/N) was sitting between him and Michael, Tommy’s arm casually rested on her shoulders.

(Y/N) said, “Oh, no, you would totally get it... after a few more weeks.”

Everyone burst out laughing at her remark, but the only thing he could think about was the hand Michael rested on (Y/N)’s thigh. His own hand clenched around his glass before he downed the rest of its contents.

He didn’t notice Polly’s gaze on him. Despite what most people believed, Tommy had never been a good liar. He could get away with omitting information to people and redirecting the conversation, most of the time, but a direct confrontation was a completely different thing. Polly was always able to read him first, to know the things he wasn’t willing to share.

“Maybe we should just hire you instead of Michael, then.” He ignored the look (Y/N) gave him, taking another drag of his cigarette and looking away.

However, he couldn’t miss the lingering touches, or how (Y/N/N) leaned into Michael when he talked to her, and how she was just so comfortable with him. It made his blood boil.

When (Y/N/N) said she wanted to get home he offered to walk her, and was fairly surprised at how she didn’t say a word to him until they reached her front door.

Then she turned to face him, features painted with anger, and asked, “What the hell was that, Tom?”

He actually rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

(Y/N) huffed, turning around to unlock the door before entering the house, leaving it open for him to follow. She went straight to the dressing room, shedding her coat and throwing it at the table with her purse as he followed her closely.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She was taking her shoes off, and Tommy took advantage of the moment to let his eyes follow her movements. God, was he in love with that woman.

“I’m talking about your attitude with Michael at the Garrison. That was completely unnecessary,” She said.

“Someone had to put that boy in his place,” Tommy said.

(Y/N) turned to him then, and he would be worried with that look if he hadn’t been at the receiving end of her anger for so many years.

“Oh, please enlighten me, Thomas. What is his place?” (Y/N) asked.

“For fucks sake, (Y/N/N), he was all over you!”

She rolled her eyes. “He is a boy, Thomas, a boy. He’s family…”

Tommy never thought that what would make him snap would be hearing her say that Michael was family, but apparently it was.

“He’s family, huh?” Thomas said. “He is fucking family! Then he should know better and stay away from you.”

She stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed, as she seemed to put the puzzle together in her head. “Why would he stay away from me, Tom?”

He turned around to face away from her for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, no. You won’t make me feel guilty for that.”

“Make you feel guilty for what, Tommy?”

He recognized the hint of annoyance on her tone and couldn’t ignore it anymore, the alcohol giving him the courage that he had lost that day on the train station, as he turned around and shouted, “For loving you!”

She held her breath, eyes widening as she stared back at him.

Tommy continued, “Michael should stay away from you because you’re fucking mine and I love you.”

“Tommy, I’m not your property, and you know that I love you…”

“No, you don’t,” he interrupted her, making her look at him with confusion, “You don’t love me the way I love you. The way I’ve loved you since the fucking day you asked me to kiss you when you were fifteen!”

He saw her flinch before murmuring his name, trying to gain his attention but he couldn’t stop now. The truth was finally out there and he just had to go on with it, let it all out before he lost his mind.

“You said to me that it would mean nothing, that it would be just another kiss for me, but you were wrong,” Tommy said, his breaths short.

She looked bewildered, and Tommy held onto a strand of hope he didn’t even know still existed.

“That kiss meant fucking everything. From that day on, I’ve never seen you in the same way as before, because I realized I was in love with you and you didn’t feel the same. So I ignored these feelings while I saw you going out with boys, and I’ve thrown myself into fucking every girl that wasn’t you because I knew I couldn’t have you, not the way I wanted.”

Tommy didn’t notice that he was walking to her until they were just a breath apart.

“Then I found Greta, and I thought that I could forget you, but it only reminded me that you are the only one I want. I was going to break up with her, but she fell ill. You stayed by my side, and just when I thought that I would have a chance to tell you everything, the war happened and I just couldn’t. I couldn’t, because there was no way in hell that I was going to risk going to fight in France and die. I couldn’t leave you here to suffer because of me, either because you felt the same or not.”

“Tommy…” (Y/N)’s voice was all but a whisper.

He couldn’t resist anymore, his hands brought her to him, his eyes observing hers from up close, not giving her time to talk or he would lose his courage.

“I was ready to go there and die, and never let you know how I felt. But you had to give me hope that night before I was shipped off to that fucking hell. You had to…”He took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a brief second, a flood of memories making his heart race faster. “You had to give yourself to me. You had to give me a taste of what I thought I could never have, to make me want to survive the fucking war, to come back to you, and to let you know about all of these stupid feelings.”

Tommy couldn’t wait anymore. He did the one thing he had wanted to since he had returned from France—he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle or patient; no, it was urgent and filled with passion and he didn’t know how to stop, not when she wasn’t pushing him away. He devoured her as a man starved, teeth clashing and hands grabbing at anything they could touch. They were both out of breath when they finally parted.

“You said that you wanted to give me one last good memory and it was that memory that kept me alive during most of the nights when I was stuck in the fucking mud,” Thomas said.

(Y/N)’s fingers were clinging to him like her life depended on it, like she was afraid to lose him to the War again.

Tommy took the moment to let the words spill out. “The memory of you and the feeling of you under my fingers, and all around me, and the way you tasted.”

His lips brushed against hers, fingers clawing at the flesh of her hips like they had done the night before he left for France.

He backed her up against the wall, hands trailing down to the back of her thighs, picking her up and trapping her with his body.

Tommy looked straight to her eyes as he spoke again, “How you writhed under me, all the beautiful sounds you made, and I just wanted to come back to you and make some new memories.”

(Y/N) shivered at his words. She gave him just a brief second to observe the rise and fall of her chest and her expanded pupils before he felt her fingers at the back of his head, forcing him to really look at her as she said, “Then let’s work on those new memories.”

Their lips clashed again, and every doubt that he ever felt vanished for a moment. That night their bodies moved together like old acquaintances, skin sliding against skin, hands gripping at each other, lips kissing every patch of skin while chanting a sinful choir of moans and curses alongside their names.

When Tommy woke up the next day, (Y/N/N) in his arms, he realized that he was finally home.

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @internalmess3

[pilotcallsigns]

Start Again - Chapter Six (Din Djarin x Reader)

SUMMARY: Arriving on Orus, Din learns more about the girl and forces himself to make a choice when the planet isn’t so welcoming after all. 

CHAPTER WARNINGS: discussion of sexism/gender roles, canon-typical violence, non-consensual touching, mention of blood, and panic attacks/anxiety attacks. 

Author’s Note: This chapter sits at 3k words! It’s the longest chapter yet and a lot happens! I would also like to give credit to @kyberpistol​ for starting the headcanon of haunted!Din. I love the concept and I felt like I could use it in my story. Please heed the warnings. Feel free to like and reblog! 

CHAPTER SIX - THE FIGHT

Landing on Orus is difficult, the terrain is not suitable for ships of Idrionna’s size. Din should’ve known that the moment Cara suggested the planet to him, but it was the first suitable planet on the list. It was also the closest, so fuel was not a concern.

When they arrived, the suns had already set over Orus, making the trek to the city of Opseg dangerous. A drop in the canyon could be hidden in the darkness, leaving them with no choice but to set up a camp for the night. Din knew that the girl would rather not sleep in the cot on Idrionna, at least for one night. Not that the sand was any more comfortable, but for at least one night it could be.

“It’s a bit of a drop,” The girl says, peering down the canyon below their feet. Even in the darkness, Din could see the dip in the edge of the canyon. Her voice echoes off the walls, giving Din an idea of just how far the drop was. Couldn’t have been more than a couple hundred feet, he thinks.  

“It is,” Din says, looking across from where they’re standing. He could see the bustling city of Opseg just on the horizon. It had a medcenter, big enough to take in the girl for a physical examination without a long waiting time.

Cara had mentioned that Orus had been overlooked by the Empire. An old mining planet, when the Empire had arrived to steal the planet’s profit, they found that the mines had been wiped clean by a flood. Locals had called it a “hundred-year storm”, which had wiped out half the population as well as all the loot. With no profit to be made, the Empire sought other planets. Since then, Orus had been running an underground mining operation, making millions of credits in a single day alone. Once a ghost town, Opseg was on the up and coming. The city was expanding by the day, housing a growing population enriched by the planet’s rare ores.

“It’s beautiful,” The girl murmurs. Din turns, his eyes catching the lights of the city. It glows in the darkness of the surrounding landscape, making it all the more beautiful. He glances back up at the girl, catching the light just glimpsing off her face.

Despite her suffering, she was still full of life. The way her face contorted in excitement as she merely stared at the city ahead of her. Her entire life was stolen from her, yet she still saw the universe in the same innocence a child would. Shaking himself out of his daze, Din takes one more look at the city, before turning to start the fire.

“You didn’t get off Puvo much?” He asks, collecting enough firewood to keep them warm for the night. It was their luck that the wind hadn’t been terrible, a light breeze to keep the embers of the flame away from their faces, but not enough to put the fire out. Surprising luck for a mountainous planet.

“I wasn’t allowed to,” she replies, her voice distant. He turns to see her still staring at the city ahead of her. “Tatooine was my first. I had to convince Valara to let me go off-world. When I first started venturing out on my own on Puvo, I was told going off Puvo wasn’t an option. They were worried that if the Empire found out I was still alive, they’d come and finish the job.”

“They were probably right,” he says, igniting his flamethrower to start the fire. Although meant for combat, it usually came in handy when fires needed to be started quickly. Din watches as the flames jump, licking up the wood.

“They were,” she sighs, “But eventually I needed answers. So, I employed that pilot and then I found you. You’re the only one who’s willing to help me.”

Din pauses, looking back over her. Her focus remains on the city, but this time her face was troubled. Conflicted, perhaps, over the thought of leaving the only home she had ever known. She had left the one safety net protecting her from the Empire all in the name of seeking out answers that may not even exist.

“Besides, washing plant leaves on Puvo wasn’t what I wanted.” She chuckles, shaking her head, “I knew the work that was expected of me, but I wanted something more. Everyone thought I was too fragile.” She mumbles, shaking her head.

“Too fragile for what?” Din finds himself asking. He watches as she joins him by the fire, leaning against her pack.

“I don’t know…work that wasn’t just washing leaves and preparing them for transport.” She laments, looking up at the constellations above. “I stole a communicator off a pilot back on Puvo. It was so easy. The pilots that fly in, they’re so full of themselves. I let him talk about himself and he didn’t even notice it was missing.”

“You stole a communicator?” He asks. It’s not a surprise that she was able to steal one so easily. Most of the pilots he had come across in the New Republic Era were cocky, thinking themselves as the best of the best. In reality, had they been flying when the Empire was still in power, they probably would’ve never left the ground on any planet.

“I did,” she chuckles, “Valara couldn’t believe it, but I think she knew deep down I was capable of more. Over time she knew I was growing bored of the same chores we did every day.”

“What did you want?” Din finds himself asking, looking at her as she sits up. Her eyes look to the fire and Din admires the way the light of the flames flicker off her skin.

“The war was over and Puvo had been at peace for a while. Didn’t mean that they weren’t prepared for something. I saw the training that the soldiers went through. If the boys wanted to, they could go off to receive training. Puvo is a traditional planet, the women stay home for the families and the men work. I wanted to train, Valara blamed it on the post-traumatic stress but at the time, it was all that I could think about. I was so angry at the Empire after I found out what they had done to me, I wanted revenge and I thought learning to fight might help.” The girl shrugs, tossing a couple of sticks she had gathered into the fire.

“What stopped you?” He asks. Twisting a vibroblade between his fingers, he carefully begins to carve at the end of the stick, sharpening the edge.  

“On Puvo, if you’re a woman wanting to fight, a council has to rule in majority favor to let you train. Valara could count on one hand the number of times a woman had been allowed and she didn’t have much hope for me. I guess she was right, the council voted overwhelmingly against me. Something about how my head wasn’t in the right place and I wasn’t fit to serve.” The girl sighs, wringing her hands together as she looks toward the horizon again. “But the more time I spent with Valara’s grandmother, I realized that I was more hellbent on revenge than actually healing. If they had let me train and fight, I probably would’ve been killed.”

“Do you still want to? Learn to fight, I mean,” Din asks, watching as her head turns to face him again. After a beat of silence, she nods.

“I’m better than I was before,” she murmurs, “I know my head still isn’t in the right place but I don’t care about revenge anymore. I just want Castin back.”

A wave of emotions hit him. Emotions he hadn’t felt since that day he watched Grogu go off with the Jedi. It had been the same words Din had said to Gideon, he didn’t care about power or money, he just wanted Grogu back safely. Nothing mattered more to him at that moment, just that Grogu was in his arms and away from the fist of the Empire.

“You going to teach me, Mando?” She teases, obvious in her tone that she’s not serious.

“I could,” Din breathes, watching as her eyes widen. She may have not been serious about the offer, but if they were going to be searching for her son, she was better off knowing a few things to protect herself.

“You’d do that?” She clarifies, still unsure if his offer is real.

“It’s safer for you to know how to protect yourself. I could teach you a few things in self-defense. I’m surprised they didn’t teach you anything on Puvo.” Din says, looking up as she bites her lip.

“Puvo is about tradition. Men fight so the women don’t have to.” She reminds him and he hums at her statement. “Not to mention they never expected me to leave. Here I am, systems away,” she laughs, and Din chuckles too.

“I’ll take the first shift,” Din tells her. She nods, pulling the poncho over her shoulders as she lays her head against her pack. He watches as she turns over, facing the illuminated city.

“Mando?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Din hums, smiling underneath the helmet as he fiddles with the vibroblade, continuing to sharpen the stick in his hand. He would need to make two so that he’d be ready to teach her first round of self-defense by morning. He tries brushing off the feeling that manifests from her words.

“Get up.”

Din wakes up to a voice that does not belong to the girl. When his eyes open behind the helmet, the barrel of a weapon stares right back at him. Not moving, he eyes the camp and sees that the girl sits defeated, hands cuffed in front of her.

“I said get up Mandalorian! What are you, deaf?” The voice demands again. Looking past the barrel, he stares at a Devaronian. His face contorted in clear anger, a snarl on his lips just barely hiding the sharpened teeth.

Slowly, Din sits up from his position and with the shove of the barrel, he stands. Raising his hands, he watches as the Devaronian’s partner, another Devaronian, lifts the girl up by her cuffs, growling at her to stand. Din can see the swelling just below her eye, hinting that there had been a scuffle before he had been woken up.

He chastises himself, knowing he should’ve taken the last shift instead of the first. Or maybe he should’ve taken both, in order to protect the girl better. And how could he have slept while she struggled? Din curses himself as his hands are placed in front of him and cuffed.

“Quite the loot, ain’t it, Zek?” The Devaronian behind him says, chuckling to himself.

“Ah well, we still have to decide what to do with them, Vroth.” Zek huffs, rolling his eyes. His yellow eyes turn gleeful as the girl continues to struggle in his grip and Din sneers as Zek sniffs at her hair.

“Keep your hands off her.” Din demands, stepping forward. He’s stopped by Vroth, his blaster jamming into his lower back just underneath his armor.

“Ah, ah, I make the demands here, Mandalorian. You’re the one in cuffs.” Vroth smirks, “You’re the only one of value here, beskar is still of some worth on the market. The girl is just an added bonus.”

“We’re not here to cause trouble—” The girl says, interrupted by a blaster butting against her face. The thump of her hitting the ground angers Din, but he knows that he has no control here. Not at the moment at least.

“Don’t make me hurt your pretty face again,” Zek snaps, pulling the girl up again. The daze in her eyes is clear as she leans against the Devaronian for balance. Zek seems to appreciate it as he holds her, taking another sniff of her hair. “She smells so good, Vroth. I should keep her to myself.” He licks his lips, smirking when Din tenses.

“Just a moment,” Vroth spits out, focusing his attention on Din. They care more about his armor and the credits it will bring them.

“You won’t find anyone willing to buy my armor.” Din says, “Orus has their own resources, they’ll overlook your highly-priced beskar and look the other way.”

Both Zek and Vroth seem to pause as the statement, looking to each other for their next move. Din takes the time to study the girl again, watching her as she sways. She’s too out of it to contribute to the fight, but now, more than ever she needs to see a doctor. He’ll have to take the Devaronians on alone.

Their strength is the one thing they have against him, as well as the cuffs around his wrists. Looking around the camp, they haven’t ransacked his weapons yet or found the girl's credits. Good, he thinks, they’re too tied up in the armor to survey who they’re actually going against. They knew he was a Mandalorian, but Din’s more than aware now that not all those who wear the armor are actual Mandalorians.

“I’ll take the girl!” The arguing takes Din out of his thoughts and he watches as the two snap at each other, Zek pulling the girl close to him once again. Vroth marches over, removing his blaster from underneath Din’s armor, presumably to argue with his partner over who will take the girl. Din has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Catching a glimpse of her behind the mass of Zek, Din notices the blood crusted on her forehead, just within her hairline from where the blaster broke the skin. He seethes with anger at the thought of them hurting her. The dazed look in her eyes only tells him that he needs to act now.

The cuffs hang loose around his wrists, clearly meant for a creature of a bigger size. With the two Devaronians distracted by the girl, he slips his wrists out of them. The blaster at his hip is gone, probably confiscated while he was still asleep. The beskar spear had been left on the ship, leaving Din with the one weapon he refused to use. The dark saber.

Wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the weapon, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Treat it like any other sword, he reminds himself. Save her and deal with the two mercenaries.

The ignition of the saber startles both Devaronians and the girl. Zek and Vroth’s faces turn into snarls, lips turning up as they bare their teeth at the threat. Din breathes out and moves first, swinging the saber up as Zek fires his blaster. The shot ricochets off the humming blade, burning a hole in Zek’s forehead, right between his horns. The thud of Zek hitting the ground fills Din with a certain satisfaction from a deep part inside himself. He suppresses the feeling and breathes out again, ready for the next move.

“Stop! Or I’ll shoot her!” Vroth demands. His hand quivers, the blaster wavering against the girl’s temple. Din stares at the girl as she looks up at him.

“I just killed your friend with his own blaster fire. Do you really want to try it out yourself?” Din asks, almost breathless with the adrenaline running through him. The saber hums at his side, awaiting the next move. Din still waits for a response from the Devaronian, the realization hitting Vroth that there’s no way out from this situation.

Din could choose to let him live, but that could lead to word getting out that he wielded the dark saber. It would send Bo-Katan into a frenzy trying to find him, believing him ready to fight for the saber simply because he used it.

“You bitch!” Vroth snarls and Din watches as the girl falls out of the way of the angry Devaronian, giving Din the opportunity. Vroth brings the blaster up, finger hovering over the trigger just as the blade slashes through the barrel.

In shock, Vroth stumbles back, tossing away the smoking blaster and reaching around for another. His scream pierces the air as he falls back into the canyon, a resounding thud echoing off the walls.

For a moment, Din stares in stunned silence. The saber recedes back into the hilt and Din clips it back to his belt, focusing his attention now on the girl.  

She’s sitting up in the sand, trying to remove the cuffs herself. Her breathing is shallow and the glaze over her eyes tells him that she’s panicking, in overdrive to get herself out of harm’s way.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he tells her, gently reaching out with his hand to ground her. “Let me take those off, okay?” He says. She offers her wrists to him and he carefully slides the cuffs off, tossing them aside.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “If I had just—”

“No, no, it’s fine. We handled it. It’s over. Just breathe. Can I take a look at your head? He hit you pretty hard,” He asks, watching as she winces and then nods. Her shock and adrenaline are wearing off, leaving her to feel the effects of her wounds.

Taking a gloved hand, Din cups her face, turning her face so that he can get a better look at the cut. It’s not deep, a simple bacta patch will repair the skin. The bruise under her eyes is another problem, it’s already swelling and he doesn’t have much to work with to stem the swelling.

Her hand swipes at her mouth, leaving a streak of blood behind on both her hand and the corner of her lips. It’s not her own.

“You bit him?” He asks, not sure if he should laugh.

“I did,” she murmurs, the usual glint in her eyes returning as she looks at him. “Didn’t taste very good.”

Din chuckles and sits back, reaching into his pack and pulling out a canteen of water for her to rinse her mouth and to wash away the crusted blood on her forehead. With the edge of his cape, he wipes the blood off as she spits the water out next to her.

“Should start that training soon,” Din mumbles, placing the bacta patch against her skin.

“You think?” she smirks and although she can’t see it, Din smiles underneath the helmet.

Read Chapter Seven - The Diagnosis here!

[karlyfr13s]

Oathkeeper, Chapter 3

Thank you: @veryverynotgood my phenomenal beta--you keep me going when I'm busy wallowing in doubt, and you make me less of a walking run-on (hooray!).

Bless y'all: the CSMM Discord crew--it's like a community of flails, encouragement, and collaboration...such magic!

Head's up: No description of violence nor abuse; however, they are mentioned.

AO3 Links: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Most days, Killian occupied himself either by helping Granny with the more physically taxing chores around the inn and diner or on board his ship ensuring her seaworthiness. Granted, the Jolly was in top form and she certainly had no need of repairs nor did she have a heading before her; but it quieted his mind to see to her every need and to painstakingly mend every frayed hem of a sail and worn bit of paint. Lately, he’d taken to wandering Storybrooke as Granny increasingly gave tasks over to young Felix.

The boy was coming along, a bit less surly now. Killian was certain this was due to Ruby’s unending praise of his efforts--no sixteen year-old lad could resist her charms. He’d had a hard time containing his laughter when he witnessed the latest scene: Ruby, clad in a button-down shirt she must have sewn onto herself each morning, batting her eyes at young Felix as she asked for his help bringing up kegs from the cellar. The boy had practically tripped over his own feet as he scrambled to assist, then struggled mightily as he puffed up the stairs with a metal cylinder that likely outweighed his slight frame. Killian had watched as Felix professed the task “no problem”, but had also seen his eyes widen to immense saucers when Ruby cheerfully called there were only “five more to go”. At that, Killian offered his assistance quietly, assuring the boy Ruby would never know that he had not fulfilled the task single-handedly. She was occupied cleaning up after the lunch crowd filtered out, so Killian helped Felix make short work of the task before ducking out the back and allowing the young man credit for the entire endeavor.

Today, however, there was little for him to do and it made Killian antsy. He took to wandering the shore as his mind drifted to the Crocodile, the Princess, and the confusion of his present state of affairs. His increasingly cloudy thoughts were interrupted by a shouted “Ahoy, Captain Hook!” and Killian’s eyes snapped to a strange wooden contraption where young Henry Mills stood, waving to him and grinning from ear to ear.

“Good afternoon,” he sketched a brief bow to the boy as he stepped up to what he now realized was Henry’s castle. Emma had mentioned it in passing as the place the young lad took refuge in his own thoughts, an all-too-familiar notion for Killian. “I was given to understand this time of day was set aside for studies, lad. Or am I mistaken?” He raised an eyebrow up at the boy who shook his head, informing Killian school had ended an hour ago.

“My moms are busy though,” he explained simply. “Regina has a meeting with someone who wants to open a new store, and Emma is in the mines because ‘ the dwarves are flipping out about some property rights ’.” Killian chuckled at the boy’s impression of his mother. He was invited into Henry’s castle where the two sat and looked out at the waves lapping against the shore. At first, the conversation was largely Henry reporting out about his school day. It seemed he was struggling with something math-related, and while Killian’s formal schooling was long behind him, he did offer the boy assistance.

“If, that is, your parents will allow it,” he added quickly, unsure where he stood in the strange dynamic of this town and particularly this family.

Henry snorted at that. “Regina might get weird about it, but she’s trying to make up for the whole...Evil Queen thing, so I think I can manage one mom. The other mom…” he shrugged “I don’t think she’d mind as long as I’m not asking her the math questions. She said it was her least favorite subject in school.”

Killian steeled himself for his next question, taking a deep breath and levelling his gaze at Henry. “And your father?”

Henry made a face at that. “I don’t really know,” he admitted in a tone Killian couldn’t quite decipher. “He was supposed to pick me up from school today,” Henry tucked up his knees and rested his chin on them in a pose Killian had seen Emma take up as well. It seems they both made themselves smaller in these moments of questioning.  “I don’t know if he forgot, or if something came up...I don’t think he knows what to do with me.” Henry peeked up at Killian, looking so uncertain of himself that it nearly broke the man’s heart. He knew what it was to feel on uneven ground with one’s father, to feel more a burden than a blessing, and he refused to allow Henry’s mind to wander those dark halls. While he could offer no real comfort when it came to the man Neal seemed determined to remain, he could offer a promising distraction that should spark young Henry’s curiosity.

“Well, whatever may be delaying him, it certainly has come at an opportune moment for me. Would you care to join me on board the Jolly , Master Mills? It’s past time she received an inspection from a keen eye such as yours.” The boy’s face lit up immediately and he jumped up, grabbing a device from his jacket pocket. After a moment’s pause, Killian heard a tinny version of Emma's voice as Henry hurriedly explained the plan to his device, suppressing a smile as Henry rolled his eyes at his mother’s questions.

“Yes, we’ll stay in the harbor,” he glanced at Killian who nodded along. “Yes, I will stay away from the railing and listen to everything--did you just call him Killian ? That’s weird, Mom, he’s a Captain...well, you’re supposed to address him by title because it’s his ship, of course…yes, yes, no….Mom, I’m not gonna die. I’m gonna go around the harbor with a master sailor…”

Killian knew the lad had won out when a rushed series of ‘thank you’s’ left his mouth before he tucked the device away once more. “She says, ‘tell The Captain that if you come back with one hair out of place, I’ll shave his off with David’s longsword’. She’s just being weird, I know we’re gonna be great--let’s go!” The lad took hold of Killian’s hook and led him down the small stairs onto the sand, setting off in the direction of his ship.

Once aboard, Henry was clearly overcome with curiosity. His return trip from Neverland hadn’t afforded him much time to explore or ask questions. In fact, he’d largely been asleep from pure exhaustion. For Killian, the afternoon with Henry was a remarkable chance to see his ship through the eyes of another. The boy’s questions seemed endless, and while they started with simple questions of identification--what parts of the rigging were called, the names of the various decks and quarters--they quickly expanded to encompass how everything came together to make her sail. His enthusiasm was infectious, and it brought Killian so fully out of his earlier sour mood that it nearly felt like Henry had his own kind of magic.

“Okay, but how do you get up to the crow’s nest?” Henry scrutinized the location through narrowed eyes. Killian stepped in behind him, pointing out the most logical route through the rigging. “Cool! Can I try?”

“I...don’t think that’s wise, lad. I prefer my head firmly attached, and your mother may well remove it if she finds out I let you free-climb the rigging.” Henry turned to face him, a mischievous smirk on his face as he intoned that she didn’t have to know about it.

“While I appreciate the enthusiasm, I need her to like me far better than she does before I conspire against her wishes. A rogue can only get away with so much when it comes to the tenacity of a mother,” he winked, and hoped like hell the boy would let it go. Of course, as Emma’s child he should have known that would be improbable at best.

“Oh, she likes you well enough.” Killian furrowed his brow at this while Henry grinned. Obviously the lad knew how to catch his attention, though just how aware he was of what Killian felt for Emma was still unclear-- the notorious Captain Hook, bested by a child . “You earned a ton of points with her in Neverland,” Henry clarified. “I know she didn’t tell me everything, but she did tell me you saved my grandpa, and I already know you saved me. Since she just got this part of her family back, you gotta know that earned you like...a million points in her eyes. You could totally stand to lose a few of them and teach me how to get up there.”

It took Killian another five minutes to finally persuade Henry that rather than risk a broken arm, or worse, he should simply ask Emma for permission before he learned to scout from above. The cost of negotiations wasn’t much, Henry simply wanted to learn to steer the ship, and so Killian guided him in his quest as they toured the harbor together. The lad had adventure in his blood, that much Killian was certain of, and it seemed he just might be falling in love with the sea as well. The idea tugged at Killian’s heart, as did the pure joy he saw in the boy’s face when they returned to port after the successful little journey.

After receiving a message on his device, Henry mentioned needing to return to his grandparents’ loft, and Killian was happy to escort him, listening to Henry’s re-telling of their afternoon on the Jolly and basking in the shared moment. To hear Henry tell it, you’d think they’d travelled across a realm or two rather than simply around Storybrooke’s small harbor.  He wondered how the boy would tell it to his mother and what she would think. Would she be angry at Killian and think he had overstepped? Would Henry mention his father’s neglect today?

His thoughts were interrupted when they arrived at the door and Henry flung his arms around Killian. He hesitated only a moment before returning the fierce embrace. “Thanks, Captain,” the boy grinned up at him. “Next time, I’m going up that rigging though. And I’m learning how to use your spyglass up there, right? I wanna see everything--as far out as I can!”

Killian chuckled, “So long as you have it in writing from your mother, aye lad.”

---

Two nights later, Killian awoke to someone pounding on his door in the middle of the night and he bolted upright, grabbing his hook from the bedside table as he crossed the pitch-black room. He swung the door open to reveal a distraught Emma Swan, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and her fingers tapping an uneven rhythm at her side.

“I didn’t know where else to go, but I couldn’t stay in that loft for another minute,” she explained, voice cracking. “Can I come in?”

Killian stepped aside, allowing her to pass before he followed and shut the door behind them, clicking on the lamp by the bed and sitting down. There was little room, and she took a spot near him on the bed, her right leg bouncing as she stared down at the floor. He gave her a moment, but when she showed no signs of relaxing he gently spoke her name, “Swan?” Her leg stilled and she looked up, tears tracking down her cheeks. “Swan, what’s wrong?”

As he waited for her response, Killian wracked his memory--what had happened over the course of the last few days? He’d seen her in the diner each morning when she picked up her coffee and there had been no hint of whatever was on her mind. He’d run into her at the library when Henry was doing research for a school project and he was reading up on this realm’s history, but she’d been perfectly fine and that was only yesterday. They’d even discussed finding volunteer work for Felix as he was starting to grate on Granny’s nerves, Swan mentioning it may be best if the boy also enrolled in school. What could have changed so much since yesterday? He searched her eyes and waited, hoping she would reveal the problem in due time.

“I yelled at them,” she murmured at last, dropping her eyes back to the floor.

“Pardon? At whom?” He’d seen Emma yell at a fair number of people, himself chief among them, and didn’t recall her reacting in this way before.

“My parents,” she clarified, “I yelled at Snow White and Prince Charming of all people, and I know I hurt them...she was crying when I left the loft, but I was just...I was so angry with them that I couldn’t, I mean, I can’t be there right now.” She sniffed, and Killian saw her shoulders start to shake. He took a risk, trying his hand at comfort when he slipped an arm around her shoulders and to his surprise she willingly leaned into him. Silence fell between them. He knew there was far more to the story, but wanted to let her move at her own pace and tell it in her way rather than pry it out of her.

She wiped her eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” she started, “I don’t know what I was doing, I just had to get out and you were the only person I thought might answer the door this late.”

“Always available to help a lady in distress, Swan,” he tried a light jest and was rewarded with poke to his ribs. “Oww--just going to wake a man up and bruise him in his own room?” He pulled back to smile at her and she immediately scooted away, a blush blossoming on her cheeks. It was then he realized they’d never shared a touch that gentle and intimate. Yes, they had kissed-- and gods what a kiss it was --but moments before he’d been granted permission to hold her. It was just the two of them in the quiet hours of the night, and she had spent these vulnerable moments cradled against his bare chest. He cleared his throat and asked softly, “What was it that upset you so? Is there something I can do to help?”

She shook her head, tucking her legs under her as she chewed her bottom lip. With a huff, she continued. “They asked if I wanted to have family dinner, and that’s kind of...new, but I went with it. So Regina dropped Henry at the loft and I thought it was going to be--anyway, it wasn’t what I thought. Neal showed up ten minutes later.” She was picking at the quilt on the bed and wouldn’t meet Killian’s eyes, probably for the best given the sneer he couldn’t quite hide. “I didn’t want to make a scene in front of Henry, so I just went along with things at dinner. I figured I could deal with a couple of hours, plus the kid is a hell of a buffer and good at keeping everyone talking, but I know he didn’t show up the other day when you and Henry went sailing. I know when Henry talks Neal only half listens.” She paused for a long while, and Killian crossed the room, offering her the flask he pulled from the pocket of his greatcoat.

She took a swig and rolled her shoulders, visibly trying to relax before turning back to face him. After a soft word of thanks, she continued. “When Henry left, Neal stuck around. My parents offered him a nightcap and asked if he’d like to stay over .” It didn’t take the experience of Dr. Hopper to see she was disturbed by this. “And I lost it. I am so sick of their meddling, and their bizarrely perfect vision of him that I completely snapped. I spit out the whole story--”

Killian sat up straighter at this, aware she’d built up momentum and certain he was about to have another piece of the puzzle that was Emma Swan click into place.

“How he’d preyed on a goddamn homeless teenager, offering her shelter when he knew she didn’t have any of her own. How he knocked up a fucking seventeen year old and left her to rot in jail for his crimes, never bothering to admit his own guilt, never checking in to learn he’d fathered a child,” her tears flowed freely and her eyes blazed like emerald fire. “I told them the truth. That he was a predator, and I was too young and stupid to know better, and that I didn’t have the luxury of having anyone to warn me about people like him, of having anyone who cared enough to see the situation for what it was.”

Her breathing hitched and Killian instinctively reached for her, pulling her into a tight embrace and stroking her hair as she lost the final shreds of her composure. She sobbed against him and he murmured to her small comforts, that it would be all right and she didn’t have to be alone. After a while, her sobs diminished, lessening to sniffles and gasping breaths. He rubbed slow circles on her back and she finished her tale, tone empty and defeated, “I told them exactly what I finally realized: that I was abused by the man they keep inviting into our family, and that I cannot be in that place if they really think I’m supposed to patch things up with him and act like none of this happened, like it didn’t matter that he used me and threw me away.”

His heart broke for her, eyes stinging with unshed tears as he listened to the culmination of her loss and pain. “I don’t know how to face them again,” she mumbled against Killian’s chest, sagging against him in complete exhaustion. He assured her she needn’t think of that now, that what she needed was rest. And he offered to share the space with her. She nodded quietly, taking the offered shirt and pants and leaving to change in the adjoining bathroom.

Killian lay back, propped up on a pillow while his mind processed all she’d told him. He knew without a doubt her parents would mend this relationship, though it may well take time. He knew as well that whatever he’d promised Neal, that oath had been needless. In fact, the larger problem Killian now faced was how to make it through the next twenty-four hours without gutting Neal with his hook. The man had taken advantage of Emma, had framed her for his crime, and had abandoned her. It seemed Bae had become his father after all, and that did not bode well for him in Killian’s eyes.

His violent contemplations were interrupted by a bashful looking Emma, clad all in his own black attire and softly padding across the small room. “I’ll take the side by the door, Swan. Old habits, you know,” he nodded toward the cutlass by the bed and his hook which once again lay atop the nightstand. She smiled sheepishly as she slid under the covers next to him, offering a soft word of thanks and curling up with her back to him. He clicked off the light, desperately hoping she couldn’t hear the pounding of his heart as Killian tried like hell to fall back asleep.

Thanks for reading! Tagging the usual suspects: @kmomof4, @teamhook, @gingerpolyglot, @hollyethecurious, @caught-in-the-filter, @lonelyspectator12, @donteattheappleshook

[ramblinganthropologist]

Crossed over

Summary: Garrus has something to tell Shepard before they get down to pound town. Same hat, though? Same hat.

(I wrote this originally for pride but didn’t finish it in time. Yes I am 100% pulling this out of my ass, but who cares. My city now.)

---

Shit.

Garrus’ heart was still racing as the door to the main battery shut in front of him. Only moments prior, the Normandy’s commander had been standing there, chatting with him. Well… chatting wasn’t really the right word. Propositioning, maybe? That felt more on the face plate to him, but it just sounded so salacious for something coming from the man people had dubbed humanity’s boy scout.

He didn’t know what a boy scout was, but he was fairly sure they didn’t make suggestions like that…

“I guess I need to… ask Mordin about this.”

His hand hesitated on his omni-tool before he could make the call. The salarian would be good for positioning and allergic warnings, but he didn’t need that at the moment. That wasn’t going to quiet the frantic racing of his heart. He needed somebody else for that, someone he was still on shaky terms with.

But he needed someone would listen and not need a million clarifying questions…

His talons typed in the familiar number, and it was soon sending out the request. Thanks to being so close to a mass relay, it would go through no problem. Well, that and the fact Cerberus had souped up the Normandy’s communication system in several definitely off the market and illegal ways. Though that really wasn’t his problem anymore – he hadn’t been part of C-SEC for over two years.

Just… old habits die hard he supposed.

The call took a few seconds to connect, but he soon heard the sounds of Palaven on the other end. Garrus felt his stomach drop as he realized just how late it was on his homeworld. No doubt he had woken up the other party from a deep sleep – that was strike two for him before he had said a word.

Strike one, naturally, was going off on Omega and becoming a mercenary who took a rocket to the face. She was still mad about that.

“Garrus?”

Solana sounded tired. He could hear her shifting on the other end, no doubt because she had been in bed and fast asleep. Guilt swarmed in his stomach, but his resolve pushed it away. As the humans said it, in for a penny in for a pound.

And boy, he was going to get a pounding…

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The humans of the Normandy would’ve never noticed it, but no doubt his sister had already picked up on just how frantic he sounded. Right then, any turian within a couple hundred yards probably could’ve picked it up. Hell, a passing ship might have even gotten the hint if they hadn’t been in FTL drive. But he tried anyway – he had his pride in the end.

“Uh, hey, Solana. Sorry, I realize it’s late and all, but- “

Right then, he could imagine her mandibles twitching in annoyance, but also the gleam in her eyes that gave away just how curious she actually was. After all, he wasn’t the call home type. Never had been really, especially after their mother had passed. It just sort of got pushed to the back and they caught up when they could.

“Gar, you’re freaking out so loud the humans are going to hear it. You’re not dying again, are you?”

Hey, that had been a one-time deal. It wasn’t like he had a habit of taking rockets to the face or anything…

Garrus took a deep breath to steady himself once more, and he allowed his body some respite by dropping it onto the cot he kept in the battery. Sure, he probably could’ve had a bunk elsewhere – but that would’ve been with humans who had no problems working with Cerberus. As the object of his anxiety would’ve put it, taco was good out there.

He still didn’t get that – what did food have to do with displeasure? Humans were weird…

“I’m fine.” His mandibles twitched. “Just… had a talk with Shepard.”

Solana’s subvocals were curiosity city as she leaned in. “The big one or the dead one?”

“He’s not dead anymore…” Garrus’ voice trailed off. “And the little one, yeah.”

On the other end of the line, he heard his sister chuckle. “What, did you two have a fight about calibrating or something? That’s not exactly something to call me over, Gar. He’s not going to kick you off the…”

Her voice trailed off, no doubt because she had put the pieces together. He felt his stomach squirm as he waited in the pregnant silence, knowing the ball was going to drop any second. Really, this was the last thing he wanted to tell her…

“Please tell me you told him before you two fucked.”

Garrus’ mandibles almost let him lift off the ground as he jumped to his feet on instinct. “We haven’t… not yet. We were just… he made suggestions. I think we’re going to eventually, once we both put some research in. Kind of hard to smash a turian and a human together and all…”

His voice trailed off, realizing just how awkward he sounded. Really, the logical side of him knew he was being ridiculous. It wasn’t like he was a virgin like Shepard was. There were a few lovers in his past, so for the most part he knew what he was doing. It was just… well, humans were odd.

Solana’s voice was steadier the next time she spoke. “So… you’re planning to fuck your CO.”

“Yes, I know, I’m a walking stereotype.” The embarrassment could have choked a krogan. “Honestly… I don’t even know why I called. I just…”

His sister finished for him. “You’re worried about how he’s going to react if you tell him, because you’re planning on filling him in.”

Garrus was left standing there in the battery, mandibles almost to the bottom of his neck. He had no idea what kind of vocals he must’ve been giving off then, but they had to be something. After all, Solana wasn’t making fun of him. When it came to his love life, she loved nothing more than doing that. It was some older sister commandment: thou shalt pick on thy little brother for his terrible interest in people.

So… yeah.

“Gar?”

He shook his head. “Yeah, I guess that’s it,”

Solana shifted a pillow on the other end. “He’s a medic, right? He’ll at least understand it that way.”

Enough interaction with medical staff had taught Garrus that didn’t mean a whole lot of anything. Besides, he wasn’t looking for a checkup, this was practically starting… something. And maybe that’s why his stomach shifted so badly at the thought of it as he glanced around the battery.

Shit…

“I mean… do they even hold classes on that outside of turian occupied areas?” He sighed. “It’s easier with us… I don’t know how a human is going to feel about it.”

His sister’s subvocals shifted to something that reminded him of when he had been smaller, and she had stood by him on the playground. He was bigger than her now… but something about it was oddly comforting. It was also kind of embarrassing, but he was going to take what he could get at the moment.

“Well, if he starts shit, tell him to count his days.”

Despite his anxiety, Garrus found himself chuckling. “You’re really going to threaten the first human Spectre?”

“He died once; I can make it happen again if he hurts you.” The certainty in Solana’s voice was a strange comfort then. “Seriously, if he has a problem with it, then he’s an ass and he’s not worth it. Not your fault he’s a dumb human who doesn’t get what it means.”

Another chuckle – he knew when he had lost a fight. “Thanks, but I think I can handle it. Besides, you’re kind of on Palaven.”

Not that that meant anything – piss Solana off enough and she’d find a way to show up.

“Lucky him.” Solana let out a yawn that helped Garrus know their call was ending. “I mean it, Garrus. If he says anything…”

He found the knot in his stomach loosening as he sat back down. “I’ll send you our coordinates.”

“That’s my little brother. Now, get the hell off the line. I gotta get up for work in 4 hours.”

Well, love you too…

Still, Garrus let his sister go and the battery lapsed into silence once more as the call ended. He could hear life on the other side of the heavy door as the crew went about their duties, but right then it didn’t matter. He had made up his mind over the course of the call, so now he felt more resolute.

Was he still terrified? Absolutely. Humans were fucking unpredictable. After all, who else launches out of a mass effect field and starts fighting with the first sentient species they meet? They had a species wide death wish or something…

But that didn’t matter then. Now it was time to figure out what he wanted to say. And at least he had time for that as he waited for the big gun in front of him to show him some data.

---

A few weeks later, and there he was. Garrus shifted from foot to foot as the elevator door opened and let him out. He had been to the top of the Normandy before, enough that he knew the layout. Past that door was the object of his anxiety, waiting on the pretense of a talk about what they were planning.

Maybe it had been a while since he had last had sex, but he definitely didn’t remember that much thought put into it before. Was it because he was getting older, or because his partner was a squishy human?

“That you, Garrus?”

Shepard’s soft voice carried through the metal. Something about it always set the turian’s heart beating a little faster. In those moments, he found it hard to talk. So, in the end he just stood there like an idiot.

This was going great, clearly.

Thankfully, Shepard wasn’t a stupid man. His head appeared through the open door, checking to make sure he was ok. Today he had his hair pulled behind his head – he was fairly sure he called it a ponytail – and out of his face. No doubt he had been working with Saren. The hamster had full face privileges at pretty much anytime. And yes, he was jealous of a hamster for that.

So sue him.

The words brought hm back to life. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, guess I was more tired than I thought.”

The Spectre smiled at him as he motioned for Garrus to follow. Just as the turian had thought, he had been working with his hamster. From the looks of things, it had been a deep clean and a cage change if the shredded bedding meant anything. No doubt the man in charge of it all had been cleaning it up when he had come calling.

“What’s Saren got this time?”

Shepard gestured to the cage as they moved past his desk towards the sitting area. “I went for an under the sea theme. It seemed appropriate; he is living in the old fish tank system.”

That would explain the sunken ship half buried in the substrate. He had to hand it to the human, he really knew how to spoil his pets…

Together they sat at the table, Garrus positioned so he could just see Shepard’s unmade bed in the background. It was so close, but it felt like lightyears away. He was supposed to get on that eventually with the Spectre…

Talk about nearly giving himself a heart attack.

“Anyway, you wanted to talk about …”

Shepard’s voice dropped and his cheeks turned pink. Humans called that blushing, and it was pretty noticeable on the ones with light skin. It usually turned the Spectre krogan rampage red if he got going, so things weren’t too bad yet. He could work with this.

Still, Garrus felt tense as he gazed over at the human. At least both of them were nervous about this, so he didn’t feel completely stupid. In a way, that was helpful as he tried to find the words he had practiced for a week.

Naturally, they had abandoned him at the sight of those blue eyes. He was a sucker for blue…

“Yeah. There was something… I needed to tell you.”

His talons tucked against each other as he tried to keep from looking at the human. “Just so we both know what we’re getting into and all.”

“You’re not allergic to human body fluids, are you?”

Shepard was so matter of fact in his tone that Garrus felt himself chuckling without meaning to do it. Leave it to the Spectre to find a way to relax him without consciously attempting it. Maybe that was his real superpower – the biotics were just a fun perk.

But yeah… maybe he could do this.

“No, I’m good there.” Another deep breath. “Just uh… I don’t really tell people this. None of their business, and most non-turians wouldn’t get it anyway.”

At that, Garrus paused and checked the sight in front of him. Shepard was watching him, analyzing him maybe. He had stopped nervously tugging at the end of his ponytail, and his hands were in his lap. From the looks of things, he had the Spectre’s undivided attention.

No pressure.

“Something up, Garrus? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t- “

He held up his hand. “No, I feel like I should. We’re getting kind of… close.”

The tension rippled across his carapace as he felt it on the tip of his tongue. “Do… you know what it means to be crossed?”

At that point, the translating function on their omni-tools went haywire. Whatever Shepard normally heard when it worked, he definitely wasn’t getting it then. At least the man hadn’t winced at the sound of him untranslated. That was probably a good sign for cross-species relations if there ever was one.

“Sorry, the translator didn’t pick that up. I got something about a mix up?”

Well, half points for trying.

Garrus nodded as he tried to pick his words carefully so they would translate right. “Something like that. You know we believe in spirits, right?”

When Shepard nodded, he continued, stomach churning all the while. “Well… sometimes the spirit and the body it’s in have a disagreement about… things I guess.”

Disagreement was putting it mildly, of course. Garrus would’ve rather called it an all-out war in his early teens when the bad feelings were at their peak. Now it was mostly quiet – thank you, modern medicine – but sometimes it still whispered in his thoughts when he least expected it. His spirit was a tricky one like that, no wonder he had lasted so long on Omega.

But… yeah, he was getting away from the awkward conversation he was having. That was probably a bad coping mechanism left over from being a merc.

Shepard still seemed tuned into the conversation at the very least. “Ok… so your mind and body don’t… agree on something? Is that what I’m getting?”

“Pretty much. It’s not super common, but it happens.” His mandibles flapped as he tried to find the words. “There are ways of… making the spirit more comfortable depending on what way you need to go. Medical procedures help, but oftentimes one of the best ways is to just live the way your spirit wants.”

He had been 13 when his spirit had started acting up. That was a common age, though he didn’t exactly hang out with many crossed turians these days…

His shoulders still tensed as he snuck a glance at the human – hadn’t lost him completely. “I guess I’m trying to tell you… that I’m crossed. Not that it’s going to matter for us in bed, the hormone therapy has pretty much taken care of everything. I only have to take a maintenance dose every couple months…”

His voice trailed off. Shepard hadn’t said anything for a long time. Instead, the Spectre seemed to draw into himself. Something about that made Garrus’ stomach drop and almost instantly he regretted saying anything at all.

Maybe he was going to need Solana after all…

His voice was shaky when he spoke again. “Look, I get that it doesn’t- “

“So, you’re like the turian version of trans?”

Garrus blinked. The word was a new one, he had learned it from listening to the crew. Mentally, the translation ran through his head as he sat there, trying to remember what it meant. Something about gender?

What was that again, an ice cream flavor? He was kind of drawing a blank…

“Uh… don’t really get what that is, Shepard. You’re going to have to explain it to me before I can say anything.”

There was a glint in the man’s eye then as he nodded. “Basically, humans have a thing where their brain and body don’t match up. We can also fix it with medical procedures, but the best way is the same way you’ve got.”

The turian found himself nodding. “Guess that would be the human version of being crossed, yeah.”

In that moment, Garrus wasn’t sure what to expect as the pieces fell into place. It was Shepard, but Shepard was still human. More importantly, it was impossible to read how he was reacting then. His face was utterly blank as he sat there, staring down at his hands.

In the words of the Spectre… he should probably go.

Garrus could feel something breaking inside still as he stood. “I get it’s probably not what you expected. It’s ok… I just ask you don’t spread it- “

Those eyes were on him as Shepard reached out to keep him from going. “Damn it, Garrus, same hat.”

…

“Same…”

A wide grin broke out on Shepard’s face as he started laughing. “I think we’re in the same boat here if you’re telling me you’re on the turian version of HRT. Holy shit, talk about one hell of a relief. I thought you were going to say you were allergic to humans or something.”

The translation whirred in Garrus’ visor as he wordlessly sat back down. He had a full picture now, and it was one hell of a sight. The tension that had been vibrating across his carapace began to melt away as he listened to the human laugh, and soon he found himself chuckling as well.

Solana was never going to believe this.

“Nope, still not allergic to humans.” His mandibles twitched. “So… you humans do it too then?”

Shepard was still smiling as he nodded. “Yeah. If not for my biotics fucking everything up, I would’ve been on HRT too by now. But then you wouldn’t get to hear my lovely, squeaky voice cracking over the battlefield and who would want to miss that?”

“I wouldn’t…” Garrus’ voice trailed off. “Oh…”

Well, from the sound of things he hadn’t needed to worry. Maybe he didn’t need his older sister to come beat up his not-yet lover yet after all. His pride would survive for at least one more day at this rate.

Honestly, he felt lighter than he had in weeks. If not for the ship’s gravity, he might have been floating then. Then again, that might have been caused by Shepard’s quiet chuckles over all of this. Something about the man’s laughter always put him at ease.

“I can’t believe you thought I was cis, though.” The human had gone back to playing with the end of his ponytail, though from the motions it was less nerves and more something to do with his hands. “I would be insulted if you were human.”

Garrus felt his mandibles twitch. “It’s not like I know the difference, Shepard.”

“You literally saw my dick fall out of my pants, Garrus.”

…

Yeah, well… he wasn’t the medic, now was he? For all he knew, they were supposed to do that.

Still, at his silence Shepard just chuckled more. Surprisingly, he seemed lighter as well as he sat back. Maybe because of his own nerves, but he hadn’t noticed just how tight the man’s shoulders had been when he had entered. No doubt they had been worrying about similar things if there was that much crossover.

Something, something, communication made for happy relationships.

“Well, clearly we’ve got plenty of research to do if we want to do this right.” The human sounded much happier as he looked down at his always present omni-tool. “I mean… if you still want to and all. I understand if you’ve changed your mind.”

Garrus all but hopped to his feet. “No! I mean… no, I haven’t changed my mind. I’m just glad I know what to research. I think I was looking at the wrong vids…”

“Well, that makes two of us, unless you guys figured out a way to fix anatomical issues we’re still working on. Turian anatomy seems a little more straight-forward when it comes to genitals, what with everything being internal.”

…

You know, he probably should’ve found his anatomy being discussed in such clinical terms rather dry. Yet the fact Shepard seemed so relaxed about the whole thing was rather heartening. Maybe he was just more relaxed now that the bomb had dropped and he still had both of his mandibles.

He was glad for that – the implant surgery to fix him the first time had really sucked.

“I think you’ll be fine with whatever you’re looking at.” He let out a sigh of relief. “So… good talk?”

Even he knew that sounded awkward. Yet, the other man chuckled and nodded as he stood at last, pushing his ponytail behind his shoulders as he approached the turian. Apart from when they were getting shot at, it was probably the closest they had ever been.

“Yeah. Good talk.”

And then he smiled. “So, uh… I need to finish cleaning up from Saren. Unless you want to help with that?”

Garrus was already on his feet, eyeing the door. “I think I have some calibrations to get to down in the battery.”

Shepard’s cheeks briefly puffed out, but then he allowed a rather laid-back chuckle. “Alright, I get the idea. I’ll talk to you later, Garrus. Good luck with the calibrations.”

Luck – he certainly had a lot of that at the moment.

Garrus honestly felt lighter as he left the man’s quarters to return to his spot in the battery. The weight that had pressed down hard on his talons had evaporated, like gravity no longer affected him. It was a bit strange – the ship was set to adjust to that – but right then he wasn’t thinking like a tech as he rode the elevator back down.

All things considered, that had gone better than he had expected.

“Well… doubt Solana is going to believe this one. Who knew humans had it too…” he trailed off as the door opened to the crew floor. He let the matter drop for the moment, focused instead on getting back to work. After all, the Normandy was a big ship, and keeping her running was a heavy task he was more than happy to deal with.

Still… it was good to know they were on even footing. Maybe it wouldn’t go as badly as he thought it might. But he definitely needed to change his vids…

But he could worry about that later. A big gun needed some specialized calibrations if they were going to live another day. He could think about his sex life later.

[iaintyourbro]

As much as I ship Cloud and Tifa, I personally think that if Cloud didn't love Aerith, he wouldn't have beat himself up constantly about her death in Advent Children. I don't think it was just about guilt for being unable to protect her because he frets around so badly about Aerith to the point that he's unwilling to even LIVE anymore. Tifa loves Cloud, but I don't think that Cloud loves her back, and that sort of disappoints me.

Canon resources say otherwise.

Nothing ever confirms Cloud loves Aerith. Nothing. The closest you’ve got is her loving him - stated in Lifestream White - but nothing confirms he loves her. People can twist, erase, and ignore whatever they want, but it’s not there. The most I’ll give you is maybe he had a crush on her in the OG during his SOLDIER!Cloud time. Aerith tells us that any feelings he may THINKS he has AREN’T REAL in Remake. These are all part of the compilation. You can’t pick and choose lines, parts of scenes, and sentences to prove something as canon. It’s the whole picture. 

I think you missed the entire guilt thing that they’ve tried to clarify. The guy also has geostigma. He knows a lot about it. He’s spent a ton of time researching it. Tons. He knows there’s no cure. So on top of EVERYTHING ELSE he’s going to die now too. He doesn’t want to die. 

And look, even if he did - his BEST FRIEND and his BEST FRIEND’S GIRLFRIEND are there... sounds like he wouldn’t get too far. He also calls her Mom. Zack and Aerith also act like he’s a child that’s too big to adopt. I feel like they really tried to drive some of these themes home. 

Also - I’ve said this before. You all always forget about Zack. He’s got a lot of guilt and sadness over Zack. You all also forget that Zack and Aerith treat Cloud like a child that is too big to adopt. My husband immediately said during that scene that people must ignore this because clearly it isn’t romantic in the way they portray it.

Hell, I’d say his reaction not only to Zack’s death, but his reaction to Zack’s appearance in AC are FAR more emotional than anything regarding Aerith. 

Rationally, what you say makes no sense. Cloud tells us his feelings in the OG. In CoT he’s clearly happy and then goes down the path of guilt. People close themselves off in cases like this - not everybody talks about it and, yeah, that makes it worse. Top it off with a sick kid that - because you think you’ll get forgiveness - you really want to cure, then YOU get it, so in your mind, nothing can be done because the research you’ve done shows you this - it sucks. 

This isn’t romantic. Nothing about his relationship with Aerith in AC is romantic. If it is, then you need to say his relationship with Zack is too. Period. 

But you won’t, because for some reason, it’s only opposite sex people that get this treatment. Because I guess a guy and girl can never just be friends. 

And in that case, Clack wins. There’s more history and more of a relationship built between the two. I know people just hate to hear that, but it’s true. He knew Zack for longer and he knew him better than Aerith. 

Also, do you really think Cloud intentionally is going to shut off the woman who pretty much saved his life? Is he going to try and motivate her to keep going (early in Case of Tifa) if he really didn’t care for her? Would he freak out and stomp all over the flowers to get to her? Would he find out from Reno and Rude that the kids are missing and refuse to leave her side? 

The OG told us who he loves. 

I feel like a broken record here. I’m sure this is coming off as brutal, and I try very hard to keep my tone calm in some of these posts, but I’ve gotten WAY too many of these questions in the last few days and they’re all similar. 

Cloud is 21 years old. He is mentally 16 years old. Cloud has major trauma. He has amnesia and other shit going on in his head. He knew Aerith for a month. His focus was not just Aerith for that month. I know people for some reason think that’s the case, but I think they IGNORE everything else in the game. 

On top of it: ZACK WAS CLOUD’S BEST FRIEND.... I cannot in a million years think that once he remembers Zack and Aerith finds out he knew Zack that they’d be okay with getting together. I just don’t. 

They’re clearing up all this shit in remake. They’ve already made it clear that SOLDIER!Cloud also has a thing for Tifa. If you play Chapters 1-7 and 10-18, you’ll see a lot of that interaction. 

The devs have also said the characters are being portrayed as they were in OG. We just have the added features of voice acting and body language to make things even more clear. 

Please, next time you think about this undying love that he supposedly has... Ask yourself:

Would you be okay if your 21 year old son gave up on their life for a girl they knew for a month? When they were mentally unstable? Let’s just ignore anything past her death. Nobody would be okay with their kid doing that. Most people WOULDN’T do this on their own. Even Cloud I can say wouldn’t do it. Once he gets his mind back, it’s TIFA TIFA TIFA. There’s NOTHING that will change that. 

I’m not answering anymore of these questions that say Cloud doesn’t love or care for Tifa or that Cloud doesn’t deserve Tifa. I’ve answered enough. My answer will not change. You can believe whatever the hell you want, but going forward I will delete and block any of these types of ask. 

I didn’t write the story. If you don’t like it, don’t play it. It’s simple. 

[curls-cat]

Who we Grew to Be

HAPPY HOLIDAYS @vertdegrece!!!! You asked for grown up Daphne/Pinocchio, so you got a lot of vaguely purple prose leading up to adult Daphnocchio! I haven’t written for this ship in a while, I forgot that I like it!

also posted on AO3

--

Daphne and Pinocchio do not grow up together. That would be too easy. Daphne stalls out for a little bit at eleven, when she gets her first zit, but besides that, she grows like any human child: straight through. 

Pinocchio, on the other hand, grows in fits and starts. He’s been cursed that way, because the Blue Fairy, his absent mother, takes as much as she gives. All her blessings have a little bit of the monkey’s paw about them, so he only grows as old as he acts, forever cursed to act his own age.

The upshot of this is that they don’t spend much time together in childhood. Daphne is much closer to Red, who grows at the same pace she does. Pinocchio, too, is closer to Red. They live in the same house, after all. And Red may be aging at the same pace as her best friend, but she’s got a sort of ageless quality about her that makes it easy for Pinocchio to spend time with her no matter how different their ages are, physically.

Oh, they see each other nearly all of every summer, when Henry and Veronica pack up their rarely-used car to make the drive up from NYC to Ferryport Landing, towing their children with them. Summers are nice. Daphne likes summer, when she has her whole family together in Granny’s newly-renovated ramble of a house for two entire months. Even Puck and Uncle Jake are nearly always there.

But they don’t hang out. Daphne out-ages Pinocchio for the first two years, the growing difference between seven and nine not nearly as much of an impediment as Pinocchio’s snobby brattishness. Then he makes a leap forward, catching up and almost outstripping her to ten. They leapfrog their way through childhood, only matching up briefly every few years. Then he makes a final jump from sixteen and moody to somewhere much closer to twenty, and he’s off to university while Daphne is still sixteen herself, and he throws himself into the kind of universities that he now looks old enough to be a student at.

Sixteen is a weird time. They’re the same age, for once, and they’re together in Granny’s house, for the last time, it’ll later turn out. Pinocchio spends a lot more time with her than usual, but he’s grumpier than he’s been since he was ten, demanding her attention one minute and then scoffing at her the next. Sabrina rolls her eyes and tells him to get his act together, but she’s mostly too busy hate-flirting with Puck to explain what she means, even though she gives Daphne knowing looks whenever pressed.

Then Granny dies, and Daphne’s family shatters.

Puck and Uncle Jake disappear to opposite corners of the globe. Sabrina and Pinocchio go back to school and if Daphne didn’t drag her sister home over the weekends, she’d never see her. Her parents start fighting, both of them either at work or at home but not present. Mr. Canis is so heartbroken that Red is spending all her time, nearly, with him, trying to make him eat or sleep or smile. Basil is furious and heartbroken by turns, begging Daphne for hugs one moment and screaming at her the next. Daphne feels like she’s alone, pulling at a dozen different strings that are all tied to people running as hard as they can in opposite directions. Like she’s being drawn and quartered by her own grief, by her own desire to keep her family together.

It doesn’t come to a head at any one point. It’s several smaller heads, a million little breaks, separate scenes where Daphne begs each of her family members to come back to her one by one. Most of them do. Puck and Pinocchio don’t.

And she gets it. She knows, from the way Mr. Canis and her dad look at her sometimes, that she’s the most like Granny out of all of them. She’s got her grandmother’s righteous indignation and need to help everyone, her rigid moral compass that even she knows is a little shy of true north, her big, enormous heart. Of course it’ll hurt to come back to her. Of course it’ll be like looking at the little imperfect shadow of the woman they’ve lost, the woman who loved them when nobody else would.

It doesn’t make her any less furious at them. And, for a year or two, she’s almost glad they’ve stayed away, her hurt turning into anger.

Fast forward again, to Sabrina’s wedding. By this point, Pinocchio has sort of been back in her life, by virtue of being back in Red’s life. He’s halfway through a doctorate in history, and Daphne’s learned through Red that he wants to get more, in anthropology and archaeology, among other things. He wants to get all the doctorates, from the sound of it.

Sabrina’s wedding goes strangely. Daphne may have meddled a little bit. Just a tiny, tiny bit. But it’s not her fault Sabrina kept moping about Puck. It was super obvious. And Bradley’s a nice guy and all, and Daphne knows Sabrina loves him, but it’s not gonna be a happy marriage if they don’t at least get all the Puck baggage out in the open. So she meddles. Finds Puck, pulls him out of his five-year mope, and throws him at the wedding.

It’s a mess, obviously. There’s a huge scene at the wedding, it sort of falls apart, a lot of forgetful dust has to be spread around. At the end of it, Daphne’s left standing, exhausted, with an empty bag of forgetful dust, watching the last of the guests leave. Or, at least, she thought it was all the guests.

“Are you cleaning up as penance?” someone says behind her, in an absolutely gorgeous voice.

“Come again?” She turns, and there’s Pinocchio, in all his dark academia glory. He’s grown into his nose, though it’s still a striking centerpiece to his face.

“For turning your sister’s wedding into a fiasco,” he clarifies. “I assume that was you.”

“Maybe,” she says, trying for teasing. It comes out a little more flirtatious than she meant it. What? He’s cute, okay?

“How—how have you been?” Pinocchio asks.

He could’ve asked her that any time in the past five years. Any time. She’s honestly kind of surprised he came to the wedding. She will not give him the cold shoulder, though. She won’t. She’s better than that now.

“I’m all right,” she says. “In college. You?”

“Also in college,” Pinocchio says. He gives her a small smile.

She smiles back. It’s all very awkward. She starts gathering up wedding decorations.

“I, uh,” Pinocchio says after a minute. “I think I owe you an apology.”

Damn right he does. She doesn’t say that, though. She does look at him expectantly.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, not making eye contact. “After—Well. You know. I shouldn’t have run away like that. I was hurting, and spending time around anyone who knew your grandma just made me think about how much I hurt. So I ran away. And that wasn’t fair. Because you were all hurting, too, and I know you, especially, wanted everyone to stay close.”

“Very nicely said,” Daphne approves. “Did Red coach you on it?”

“Only a little,” Pinocchio admits. “But I mean it. All of it.”

“All right,” Daphne says. And she takes a deep breath, the way she’s been practicing with Cindy, and she lets the anger go. “I forgive you. But only if you’re done hiding.”

“I am,” he says, and he smiles at her.

They keep in contact after the wedding. Pinocchio still has a tendency to bury himself in books and forget about other humans, but if she texts him, he’ll text back the same day. Usually. She tells him about the weird things going on between Puck, Sabrina, and Bradley. Occasionally he’ll send her an unprompted message ranting about something she has only the vaguest understanding of. She’ll patch it together across the pages her phone’s divided it into and have wikipedia open for reference as she reads. They go out for coffee at least once a month, sometimes with Red, sometimes without her.

Daphne refuses to ask him for help with her homework. Getting a degree in social work requires a lot more of the hard sciences than she’d anticipated. It’s frustrating, but it’s worth it. She’s gonna be able to help people, when she’s done with this. Everafters and humans alike. Oh, Sabrina’s got her child advocacy law thing going on, and that’s great, but Daphne’s determined to help people before they get to the point where the courts have to get involved. And she’s not going to do it by depending on Pinocchio for help. She can do this on her own.

But as she moves from her bachelor’s to the postgrad degree it’s apparent she’s going to need if she wants to actually get a, y’know, job in her field, she does start complaining to Pinocchio more. They’re at the same university, Pinocchio now well into an anthropology degree, so they hang out at the library pretty often, their noses buried in separate books or laptops.

Pinocchio’s funny. She’d forgotten about that, or never really learned it. He’s got a dry sense of humor, and he’s sarcastic like you wouldn’t believe. He’s fun to be around.

“I had a crush on you, you know,” he tells her one day, apropos of nothing, as he stretches in his chair, taking a break from whatever he’s working on right now.

“What?” Daphne pauses, not sure she’s heard him right. She’s been pretty intent on putting together a case study review.

“When we were, oh, sixteen or so,” Pinocchio says. It’s too casual to be anything but feigned. He knows exactly how old they were. “G-d, you were so—friendly. Overwhelmingly so.”

“Am I not friendly anymore?” Daphne asks, but she’s teasing. Friendly. What a reason to get a crush on someone!

“Nope,” Pinocchio teases right back. “Downright unpersonable. I must be rubbing off on you.”

“If Sabrina couldn’t turn me into a grouch, you’re definitely not gonna manage it,” Daphne says with an easy grin. “This new ‘unpersonable’ thing is all me, baby.”

“The world has worn on you,” Pinocchio says with a melodramatic sigh. “You’ve finally lost your childlike joy.”

“Only took twenty-three years,” Daphne says with a grin. The conversation dies for a minute, then Daphne brings it back. “Why bring it up now?”

Pinocchio shrugs. “I was just thinking about it. Thinking about back then. It was nice. I miss it.”

“You barely talked to me!” Daphne says with a laugh.

Someone two tables over glares at her, and she gives them an apologetic wave and a smile.

“I was shy!” Pinocchio protests. “I didn’t know how to talk to someone I liked! Let alone someone who was in my house the whole summer!”

“Fair enough,” Daphne agrees. “I hope you know this is teasing fodder for forever, though.”

“Oh no,” Pinocchio says, deadpan again. “What will I ever do. You’ve never teased me before in my life. I don’t think I can handle it.” He pauses, then says, “You don’t seem surprised. That I liked you.”

“What can I say?” Daphne winks at him. “Nobody can resist my charms.”

“Fair enough,” Pinocchio says, giving her a shrug. Then he goes back to studying.

Time passes. Daphne graduates, can’t get a job through normal channels, but gets herself employed working for Faerie. Pinocchio teases her about nepotism, but listen. If there were anyone else qualified, she wouldn’t need to do this job. She and Pinocchio don’t spend all their time together in the library anymore, but they do meet up for lunch, and dinner, and sometimes breakfast. Someone has to make sure he remembers to eat, after all.

Several months into seeing each other nearly every day, by choice rather than by ease, something occurs to Daphne. 

“Are we dating?” she asks.

Pinocchio chokes a little. “What?”

“Are we dating?” she repeats, emphasizing each word a little more clearly.

“How would we be dating?”

“We see each other almost every day,” Daphne starts, ticking her points off on her fingers as she goes. “We go out to dinner together, just the two of us. We watch movies together. We hang out in each other’s apartments. I text you almost as much as I text my brother and sister, and more than I text Red. When I have news, you’re the first person I want to tell. You leave your little nerd fort to hang out with me.”

“I mean—” Pinocchio splutters. “You’re— Dating usually involves a certain amount of intent, doesn’t it?”

Well, yeah, okay, there’s that. But Daphne’s stumbled into relationships before, only realized what they were partway through. Love is messy like that. But, well. Pinocchio likes things to be clearly labeled. People don’t come naturally to him the way they do to her.

“Would you like this to be dating?” she asks.

“Would you?” he counters, still spluttering and blushing.

Would she?

She thinks about all the things she listed, about how she wants to spend time with him, about the way he’s comfortable. About his dry sense of humor, about his stupid handsome face, about the way, every time she sees him she’s struck, a little, by the sight. About how it makes her heart beat faster. She’d put it down to his being one of the hottest men she’s ever seen, but that should probably have worn off sometime in the past few years, right?

“Yes,” she decides. She would like to date him.

“Oh,” Pinocchio says. His blush deepens.

He says nothing else for a long minute, and Daphne starts blushing too. “If you don’t—I mean, I—listen. It doesn’t. I’ve gotten crushes on friends before. If you don’t want to date me, that’s fine. It doesn’t have to change anything. We can forget this whole conversation!” Because she’d rather keep his friendship than anything else.

“No!” Pinocchio rushes in. “No, that’s not—I just—I mean—” he’s stumbling over her words, now, the two of them talking over each other to explain themselves, when he says, “I like you too!”

“Oh,” Daphne says, stopping abruptly. “You do?” She smiles at him.

“Yeah,” Pinocchio says. “I think I never really stopped.”

“That,” Daphne says, reaching a hand forward to grab at Pinocchio’s, “was downright romantic, you handsome sweetie.”

Pinocchio gives her a dopey, lovestruck smile. Then, after a long moment, he says, “So are we dating then?”

Daphne laughs, twines their fingers together. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, we are.”

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part seven Word count: ±5570 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part seven summary: Zoë goes undercover to find out more about the murder she saw in her dream. Little does she know, that Sam and Dean do the same. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​ and @deanwanddamons​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     Confident, Zoë bends down in order to fit under the yellow ‘crime scene - do not cross’ ribbon. She takes out her federal agent ID and flips it open before the officer guarding the perimeter can ask her about it. He steps away respectfully and lets her through. 

     It’s about 10 AM and the sun is already out on this relatively warm November day. Marching up the driveway with her heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete, Zoë unbuttons her black suit jacket to let in some air. The Stars and Stripes hasn’t been taken down yet and still flutters from the top of the mast, located in the center of a perfectly landscaped garden. The fallen leaves drape parts of the neatly mowed lawn in different tones of orange and brown. Not only does this particular estate look amazing, the entire street is brochure perfect. It is obvious that the families living in these homes on Reynolds Park Road, are wealthy ones. However, the ambulances and police cars blocking the street and the officers scanning the area, indicate that something is terribly wrong. What would seem like the last place on earth for a murder, is indeed a gruesome crime scene.

     Two officers are having a conversation by the front entry. They pause the discussion once they notice the unfamiliar face approaching them. She captivates them instantly. Determined strides, head held high, clearly a woman who stands her ground in the men’s words that is law enforcement. There’s not a single trace of doubt noticeable when she flashes her ID once more.      “Agent Evans, FBI,” she states.

     “Detective Lee. This is officer Sanchez,” a tall man, with a serious case of a receding hairline, introduces his colleague a little reluctantly, clearly not happy about the presence of a fed. He holds out his hand anyway and Zoë makes eye contact, giving him a powerful handshake.      “I didn’t know the Bureau was involved,” he comments with an Upper South accent, common for the region.

     “Well, if you had paid attention while investigating the crimes in your own county, detective,” the specialist returns without missing a beat, facing the two man with enough arrogance to shut them down immediately, “- you might had noticed that there has been a murder similar to this one, making this a serial killing.”      “Still don’t make this a federal case,” Lee returns, standing his ground.      “What does, is the fact that there’s a whole string of deaths leading from Alabama up to your lovely little town.”

     Of course she just made that up on the spot, just to back up her reason to be here, but no one would be able to tell without doing some solid digging first. She is so convincing that the two men fail to counter her.      “Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. If you could be so kind to show me the way, that would be neat,” she requires, throwing them a fake smile while narrowing her eyes.

     The two officers glance at each other, it being clear as day that the detective is not amused by the way he’s spoken to. Nonetheless, he gestures to the FBI agent to get into the house. She seems like a person not to be messed with.

      They enter the villa with Zoë in tow, who nods approving while taking a look around. She glances up to the high ceilings, which are decorated with beautiful alto-reveilo, carved into the white plaster. Roman pillars support the level above, and in the back two staircases circle up to the second floor. Every square inch of the floor underneath their feet is made from marble. Renaissance paintings, portraying country sides in the 19th century and battles from the Civil War hang from the walls, a gold plated chandelier floats overhead. Flower pieces, amongst them an expensive bouquet placed on the mahogany round table in the center of the main room, gives the house a finishing touch. Zoë knows the lifestyle of the rich and famous, but this place looks more like a palace than a principal’s home in a town called Paragould.

     “As you can see, Mr. Van Dyke lived the good life. His father owned a Dutch shipping company and made millions,” Officer Sanchez explains, having noticed the federal agent’s impressed expression. “We believe the fortune he passed on to his son might have something to do with Van Dyke’s death.”

     As they climb the stairs, Zoë chuckles, but doesn’t say a word. These oblivious bastards... they have absolutely no clue, do they?      “You think something else is going on?” Lee questions, noticing the sarcasm in her little laugh.      “Money is not the motive,”  she returns, curt.

     An awkward silence follows and Zoë can feel the hostility between her and the two police officers. She has experienced it before, especially in smaller communities. Most cops despise the feds, simply because the cases they work quite literally hit close to home. The FBI is no stranger to barging in and taking over entire investigations, without sending a ‘thank you’ card. A lot of hard work for the local coppers, without any credit. Zoë can’t say she blames the police for being reluctant.

     “This way.” Sanchez beckons them after climbing the stairs to the second floor, where he turns left on the vestibule.      The closer they get to the crime scene, the more crowded it gets. The Crime Scene Unit has already arrived and forensics dust for prints, take pictures and search for evidence. When Zoë enters the room and finds Mr. Van Dyke, she frowns. 

      In the corner lies a man, probably in his mid fifties, half into a shattered exhibition case, his eyes open, death evident. It’s not the first time Zoë has seen a dead guy, but she wasn’t expecting such a violent killing committed by a ten year old. Apparently his head got smashed into the showcase; glass is scattered all over his body. He has bruises and cuts on his arms and face, but most peculiar is his probable cause of death. His neck is broken; the head at a 90° angle. 

     Zoë scans the room, which shows several signs of a struggle. One thing is certain; Van Dyke really got his ass kicked before he died. As she takes a look around, a woman wearing white latex gloves updates Lee and his partner. Zoë glances over, notices the CSU logo on her jacket, and walks over to tune in.      “- time of death was between 6:30 and 7 AM. No prints found so far,” the forensic states.      “Look at this place. There must be something,” Detective Lee ponders, his gaze panning over the crime scene.      “Not even a fiber,” she sighs. “I have to admit; I’ve never seen anything like this.”

     “Seems like the suspect has left no trace,” Zoë intervenes, mixing into the conversation.      “Someone just did a good job covering up,” Sanchez scoffs, not finding her remark relevant. “We’ll find something.”      Dude, you have no idea, Zoë thinks to herself, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. She doesn’t cut in on him, although she has about a dozen smart curve balls ready. Never get too smart around cops, who knows what she might need them for later on.

     “There’s one thing, though, but it adds more confusion than it clears up.”      The forensic walks over to the body of Mr. Van Dyke and points out the way his sweater is pulled down. It uncovers his left shoulder, the sleeve seems too long at the end by the force that was used.      “Looks like someone pulled him down. As if the killer wanted to level his victim with him or her,” she clarifies.      “The murderer was shorter than the victim,” Lee concludes.      “Not just a little shorter, I’m talking about round 4 ft. 5 here, looking at the angle and location of the bruising,” the forensic adds up.      “About the height of a ten year old, right?” Zoë fills in, as the clues sum up.      “Yeah, that would be correct, but that’s impossible. Even if a ten year old could be capable of doing such a thing, they wouldn’t have the strength,” she rules out.

     Impossible isn’t in Zoë’s dictionary, but she has seen enough. The forensics might be on a dead end, Zoë is a hundred percent sure of who Van Dyke’s killer is. She is dealing with one furious ghost child here, but two questions remain unanswered: why isn't Laura at rest and how is she able to relocate?      A cursed object is the first thing that comes to mind. Being on the clock, Zoë decides to leave and have a talk with the family.      “Thanks very much, I’ve got everything I need.” She gives both the forensic and the members of the PPD a nod, before she exits the room.

     While Zoë walks down the corridor towards the staircase, the undercover huntress goes through the things she just learned. It almost seems like Laura is trying to put her victims through the same horror she experienced before she died. She simply shows them who’s boss, just like her father used to teach her. It’s violent, not suited for viewers under the age of eighteen, and yet a girl of only ten years of age, is behind these murders. 

     Back on the first floor, Zoë can hear soft wailing coming from the dining room. For the third time this morning she shows her ID, this time to the officer guarding the shielded off private space. The door is slightly ajar, when she pushes it open further in order to enter, the investigator finds the Van Dyke family, gathered together. A woman in her early fifties with blonde pixie hair has her arms around a teenage girl, who Zoë presumes to be the principal’s daughter. The son, a few years younger than his sister, stares outside, his empty eyes gazing out over the lake, quietly grieving in his own way. Instantly, Zoë feels sorry for the family. She wouldn’t wish this upon anyone.      “Mrs. Van Dyke?”

     The woman looks up with tears in her eyes and lets go of her daughter, but not before sweetly stroking her hair. Zoë shows Mr. Van Dyke’s wife her identification.      “I’m Special Agent Evans, you can call me Sharon. I would like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright.”      The mother of two nods her head as she wipes away her tears. “Of course.”      “Your husband’s passing took place between 6:30 and 7 O'clock this morning. Where were you at this time?” Zoë questions calmly.      “I was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast,” Mrs. Van Dyke replies, having crossed one arm over her chest, her hand covering her mouth as she breathes out with a shudder.      “And you heard nothing?” the huntress wonders, her voice gentle, not wanting to upset the poor woman even more.      “Not a sound,” she shakes her head. “Heather was in her room next to Bill’s office, she didn’t hear a thing until the dog started barking, that’s when she found him.”

     Zoë nods at that, aware that dogs have a better sense of the supernatural than humans have. She glances past the woman before her, noticing the kind Australian shepherd, who has laid his head in Heather’s lap, watching up at her with worried eyes while trying to comfort his owner. The dog seems calm now, a good indication that Laura isn’t anywhere near.      What the huntress does find strange, though, is that their daughter didn’t hear a thing. The article in the newspaper yesterday about Robert Shire’s murder comes to mind. His family was home during the incident as well.

     “That will be it for now, thank you for your time,” Zoë notifies, smiling sympathetically. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”      Mrs. Van Dyke turns back to her family with half a nod, still in complete shock after this morning’s events which turned her world upside down. Zoë would like to take more time to talk to the children, but she simply doesn’t have a minute to spare. Hastened, the huntress exits the house, stepping out into the warm sun as she takes out her shades and puts them on. 

      It all makes sense now. Laura isn’t just getting even with the people who are directly or indirectly connected to her death. She’s recreating how she died. What Zoë remembers from her flashback, the poor girl was a punching bag for her father’s fist on a daily basis, but it’s not just that. No one around heard a thing, not even a single sound, like the victims were isolated from the outside world. The vision of Laura’s mother stoically continuing her dinner while her older brother watched TV. As if they couldn’t bear the abuse and therefore shut out the sounds that came along with it. 

     Pondering, Zoë strides down Reynolds Park Road, back to her bike, which she parked near the water. Unlike the police, the huntress is everything but stuck, she knows exactly where she needs to go. Next stop; The Shire residence.

     “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

     Dean has been complaining ever since they pulled away from the In-N-Out, when Sam came up with his newest masterplan. Their usual jeans and several layers of plaid have been replaced with black suits, the sharp dressed men now approaching Arkansas Methodist Medical Center, leaving the Impala in the parking lot.

     “We are doing this, so get used to it,” Sam returns, getting tired of his brother’s whining. “You have the ID’s?”      Dean takes out two leather wallets and flips them open, showing him the fake identification. Sam stares at the ID’s, his jaw falling open.      “FBI? Are you nuts, Dean?”      “Dad and I do it all the time. No sweat,” Dean shrugs, not that worried about getting caught.

     “What if they look up our badge numbers? This is suicide!” Sam hisses, keeping his voice down when they pass people at the entrance of the hospital.      “You wanna know what’s suicide? Meddling with Zoë’s case,” Dean counters.      Sam huffs. “Oh, come on. How bad can it be?”      “You should have seen her in Rochester when she found out we rang Cliffer and blew her cover. That wasn’t even intentional, and now you actually choose to get involved?” Dean argues.

     He gives his brother his new identification, which Sam studies carefully as he mumbles his fake name. Dean watches his brother closely, curious if he will detect the little gimmick in their aliases, them being Angus and Young. But Sam doesn’t know enough about rock music to notice that the two names combined is the full name of AC/DC’s lead guitarist. Nonetheless, Dean is proud of the inside joke.

     “She might get a little annoyed, but she won’t get mad. We’re helping her,” Sam assures, hoping his brother will stop being dramatic.      “Exactly! I’m dressed like a fucking penguin while I know she won’t ever thank us, even if we have a major breakthrough.” Dean loosens his tie a bit, smothered by the tightness of his collar.      “Look man, we can sit on our ass and waste this day or--”      “- I prefer that actually,” the oldest intervenes.      “Or--” Sam continues, sternly, “- we can do something useful.”

     With that being said, he walks through the revolving doors of the governmental facility, followed by Dean, who mutters something unintelligible; stubborn fucker. Dean might be the older sibling here, but when Sammy has got his mind set on something, he can’t be reasoned with.      Heading straight for the main desk, the Winchester brothers get into character. Sam especially looks somewhat young to be a federal agent, thankfully his height makes up for that. They both need to sell this in order to gather new information on the case.      Confidently, Dean flashes his FBI identification to the woman behind the counter. “Agent Young, this is my partner Agent Angus. We’re here to see a dead body.”      “You came to the right place,” she comments, apparently not impressed by their badges.      She calls for an older physician in a long white coat who just passed by.      “Dr. Hughes? Could you escort these two agents to the morgue?” she asks him.      “Of course, I’m heading over there anyway,” he agrees, beckoning Dean and Sam to walk with him.

     The hunters follow the doctor through the long hospital hallways. White ceilings, mint green vinyl floors and random photos and Picasso rip offs on the walls every now and then; the typical hospital decor the Winchester brothers are more familiar with than they would want to be. They’ve been inside medical centers plenty. To investigate a case, but also as a visitor whenever someone in their close circle got hurt on the job, but also as a patient. Hunting isn’t just a profession prone to injury, it’s worse than that. It’s a profession prone to death.

     Dr. Hughes eventually breaks the silence when they reach an elevator. “Who are you here for?”      “Ronald Shire,” Sam informs.      Unpleasantly surprised, Hughes looks up at the tall agent. He halts by the elevator, calling it down to the first floor. It takes a second to arrive, the doctor uncomfortably shifts from one foot to the other. Dean and Sam have noticed it, however, exchanging a look.

     “I’m sorry,” the physician apologizes when he realizes how his behavior might come across. “Ronald was a colleague of mine, but he was also a close friend.”      “Our condolences,” Dean says, knowing all about Shire’s death after Sam filled him in earlier.      Hughes pushes the button to call the elevator down, accepting the sympathy offered by the agent. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? We see death every day and yet when it hits close to home, you never see it coming.”

     Wise words, applicable to everyone. He has been there on many occasions when the final hour struck; of hunters, of people they were trying to save. One would expect all this experience to give him thick skin, since he’s used to the violence and killings. But when Jess was murdered, it hit him harder than a wrecking ball.

     The younger Winchesters train of thought is interrupted by the sound of the bell, announcing that the elevator has reached their level. He clears his throat and directs his attention to the doctor again. “Do you have an idea what happened to Mr. Shire?”      “I did the autopsy myself; it left me stunned,” Dr. Hughes tells them as they enter the elevator.

     Again the doctor presses a key and the doors close. As they slowly move down to the basement, Dean tries to find out if Hughes knows more about the case then he’s willing to let go at this point.      “We think his death might have something to do with the murder that took place in the Van Dyke residence,” he fills in.      “I heard about that on the news. CSU is still on that, though”, the physician says.      “We have one of our agents at the scene,” Sam returns, with the short statement explaining their suspicion.

     The doors open and the three enter the morgue of the hospital. It’s cool in this section and an unpleasant scent fills the area, chemicals almost masking the lingering smell of the dead. The doctor walks over to the furthest wall of metal drawers. He pulls out one of the many trays and puts on a pair of latex gloves before he zips open the body bag.      “What’s so stunning about this case?” Sam wonders.      “See for yourself.” Hughes unfolds the bag and both boys raise their eyebrows.      “Ouch,” Dean comments.

     The body of Laura’s father is badly bruised and battered, as if he got beaten up by a street gang in a bad neighborhood. His jaw is demolished, his neck broken; this is some serious abuse. The ‘Y’ shaped incisions on his torso indicated that a full autopsy has been performed on Ronald Shire, but the large stitches barely stand out between the black and broken skin.

     “That’s not all,” the doctor adds as he takes out the file. “I searched every inch of his body on the in and outside, but there is not a print, not one single fiber on him that  could point you fellas towards a suspect.”      Dean gives Sam a look without the physician seeing it. Dr. Hughes might have never seen this before, the hunters certainly have. Ghosts never leave any trace on their victims, unless they want to.

     “This caught my attention, though.” The doctor points out the bruises. “See how they run out upwards? That indicates that these injuries were caused from a lower angle. Or the killer was on its knees - which would be most unlikely - or the injuries were inflicted by someone shorter than 4 ft. 7. Someone with a growth defect, dwarf syndrome. That’s the only way I can clarify this.”      “Have you considered a child?” Sam questions, carefully.      “I have for a brief moment, but it’s theoretically impossible for a child to throw punches like this, even when it would use an object to create some kind of leverage, which I found no indication of,” the doctor explains. “Honestly, I’ve never seen damage done like this, not even by trained fighters. The evidence doesn’t add up in the slightest. This shouldn’t be possible.”

     The boys exchange another glance; the evidence adds up just fine for them. Sam tilts his head and nods to the door, giving Dean the signal that they are leaving.      “Thank you for your time, doctor.” he rounds up their visit. “If there is anything else, let us know.”      “You’re welcome, I hope you’ll get this one,” Hughes mentions while he cleans up.      “We’ll do our best,” Sam ensures.

     The two hunters leave the morgue and step back into the elevator. As soon as the doors close, the oldest of the two turns to the other.      “Laura, definitely,” the youngest brother states, determined.      “Unless this town is haunted by two frustrated mini spirits, yeah, it’s Laura.” Dean agrees, watching Sam take his phone out of his pocket as they arrive at the first floor again. “Who’re you gonna call?”      “The other Ghostbuster,” Sam replies, as he looks up Zoë’s number and presses the green button as soon as they step outside the hospital.      “Shouldn’t we get to the bomb shelter first?” the oldest suggests, snarky.      “This information could be useful”, Sam replies, but before Dean can respond to that, Zoë answers her phone.

     “Sullivan.”      “Hey Zoë, it’s Sam. Listen, I’ve got some info on Ronald Shire for you,” Sam cuts to the chase.      “Why would you have info on Laura’s dad?”      Sam cringes slightly, detecting the suspecting tone in her voice. Oh well, here goes nothing.      “We went to the Medical Center to see Shire’s body.”

      Complete silence, but Sam can almost hear Zoë’s blood boil on the other side of the line. Dean pulls his sleeve and gestures at him, frustrated.      “What are you including me for?” he hisses, making sure Zoë can’t hear him.      Sam waves him away, without making a sound he hushes his brother to be quiet, turning away from him in order not to get distracted. He takes a breath, gathering his courage. 

      “Zoë?”       “I’m sorry, I think I misunderstood you. Did you just tell me that you deliberately messed with my case, even though I told you VERY clearly not to get involved?”      The huntress’s voice trembles with anger, Sam can hear she tries to keep calm.      “We figured we could spare you some time by going ourselves--”      “- You FIGURED?!”

     Sam cowers, her voice so sharp and loud that he doesn’t have to put her on speaker for Dean to pick up on the conversation. He did move closer to his brother, invading his personal space in order to tune in.      “Better take cover,” Dean advises his brother.      Annoyed, Sam pushes his brother away and focuses on Zoë again.

     “We didn’t mess anything up if that’s what you’re worried about”, he states defensively.      “I wouldn't give a flying fuck if you solved the fucking case! You didn’t listen!”      “You’re not my boss!” Sam makes clear, not having her raging attitude, no matter how intimidated he feels by the fiery woman.      “I am the boss when it comes to MY cases, damn it! This is not a fucking candy store I’m running, Sam! You can’t go do my job without telling me, you almost got me killed last time!”      “It was an innocent morgue visit!” Sam exclaims while making a wild gesture, even though Zoë isn’t there to see it. “And honestly, would you have said ‘yes’ if I asked you first?”

     “No of course not, you fucking asshat! That’s the fucking point!” she returns, clearly furious. “I swear to God, Sam, if you and your brother cross my path again…”      “What? You’ll kill us?” Sam huffs. “Listen, Zoë. Ronald Shire was attacked by Laura, without doubt. He was a mess, his jaw was wrecked and his neck was broken, all injuries inflicted from a lower angle. That’s all the info I’ve got for you, you do with it whatever the hell you want.”

     Before Zoë can return an answer, Sam ends the call. It’s only now that he notices Dean opposite of him, his arms crossed in front of him. He nods, appreciating.      “No more Mr. Nice Guy. I like it,” he comments, then continues his way to the Impala.      Without responding to his notification, Sam follows and catches up with him, still angry with the ungrateful attitude of the huntress. He cannot believe he saved her at least an hour and a half and this is what he gets in return; so much for gratitude. 

     Together they walk over to the classic Chevrolet without speaking about it further. Yet Dean can’t help but  smile as he opens his door. Sam notices the grin and rolls his eyes.      “Just say it,” he mutters.      “Say what?”      “You know what.”      Dean looks at him over the top of the black Chevrolet and ponders, still deciding if he should say the words which he longs to say. He can’t help himself, he has to enjoy the moment and rub it in.      His smirk grows even wider. “Hate to say I told you so.”      “No, you don’t,” Sam sighs, sits down and closes the door.

     Dean does the same and turns the key, starting up the Impala’s V8 engine, which lets out an enthusiastic roar. People Are Strange by The Doors is playing on the radio while Sam stares through the windshield, still bummed about the call.      “Why doesn’t she just drop the act?” Sam wonders.      “I’m not sure if it’s an act, Sammy.” Dean checks in both directions before steering his precious car onto the road. “I sincerely think her soul is pitch black.”

     But Sam shakes his head, not buying it. “This can’t be her persona. You said it yourself; she was different when you first met her.”      “So? People change,” Dean simply declares, shrugging his shoulders.      “Maybe, but this is just stupid. We’re in town, bored out of our skull while she is working her ass off to finish up on time. It can’t be that hard to accept our help.”      “Apparently she’s socially disturbed, Sam. Let it go already. If she can’t appreciate a helping hand, she’s not worth the effort,” the older brother suggests, not wanting Sam to be bothered by the matter. “Let’s go to Texas and hunt some wolf, huh?”

     He considers the advice for a moment as they drive by Linwood Cemetery. As soon as he spots the place, he glances across the road at the Hampton Inn, but there is no sign of Zoë; she must be at the crime scene.      As they pass through, he decides he wants to stay. “No. We agreed to stay in town till tonight. Zoë will leave, case closed or not. It’s almost midday, so what difference will it make if we leave now or tonight?”      “Half a day,” Dean answers smartly.      “Denise? Or did you completely forget about the fact that you are meeting up with her later?”

     The driver of the black car raises his eyebrow at that, contemplating, because Sam is right; he did forget about his ‘date’ later today for just a second. Dean doesn’t like to admit it, but Denise is a very big plus to stay in town just a little while longer. A silence follows after Sam’s mention while his brother thinks through his options.

     “Point taken,” he gives in. “But I’ll tell you one thing. Zoë is not gonna come around.”      “She will, believe me. She’s not as bad to the bone as she pretends to be,” Sam states, sure of his words. After all, last night she was friendly for letting him crash in her room and transferring all that lore to his computer.      “I know her better than you do,” Dean weighs up.      “I don’t believe that's true,” Sam counters, shaking his head.      “Wanna bet?” Dean looks aside as the argument is starting to turn into a ‘do not, do too’ fight. “Burgers for a week.”      “I rarely eat burgers. How’s that gonna benefit me?” the younger sibling brings to mind.

     “Okay, well… If I win, you buy me burgers for a week. If you win, I won’t give you shit for ordering a salad in every fast food joint we eat at.” The green eyed hunter wiggles his eyebrows, his arrogant grin confident, spread wide on his lips.      “I’m not settling for that.” Sam huffs and shakes his head. “You can buy me whatever I order for the next seven days if I’m right.”      “Deal.”

     Before Dean can assure him that this is a bet he will win, his brother’s Blackberry rings. Surprised, he checks the screen for the number, his long chestnut hair falling in front of his eyes when he looks down, then he raises his eyebrows and smiles. Victoriously he shows the screen to Dean; it’s Zoë. Sam picks up his phone and puts her on speaker.      “What?” he snaps, still mad at her.      “What are you up to?”      The youngest of the Winchesters isn’t sure if she’s asking him if he’s still intending to mess with her case or that she’s asking if he has some spare time.      “Depends,” he answers, curt.      “You said Shire broke his neck, so did Van Dyke.”      “So?”      “Might be something.”

     Sam keeps his mouth shut, warning Dean to do the same with only a look and a slight shake of the head. An unpleasant silence follows. Obviously, it irritates Zoë.      “C'mon, Sam. Knock it off!”      “No, Zoë! We’re helping you out and this is what we get?” Sam returns.      “You two nosey dickwads went behind my back! How can you expect me to be--”

     They can hear her sigh and swallow down the rest of the sentence as she collects herself, trying to keep her temper in check.      “I don’t like working with others and I certainly don’t want to abandon this case. I’ve never passed up a job, it’s not my style. But if I don't finish up by tonight, I don't have another option.”

     “I get that, but wouldn’t it be better if we just work together now and make sure that you’ll make your deadline?” Sam suggests, calmer than a moment ago, now that the woman on the other end of the line has done the same.      “Look, Zo,” Dean interrupts, adding his two cents. “I know you’re not particularly happy about teaming up - and hey, neither am I - but you’ll be able to cover more ground that way. You can’t expect us to leave town knowing you might have to face a dilemma. The sooner you close this case, the sooner we can go our separate ways.”      “I don’t know...”      Again a sigh while Zoë considers her next move. Sam allows the silence, granting her the time to think it through. The way he sees it, she doesn't have much of a choice. The Winchesters are the best option she’s got.      “Okay, fine,” she eventually gives in. “But this is still my case. I call the shots and might we stumble on trouble, we stick to the plan. I can’t settle for anything less.”      Dean has already opened his mouth to object, but Sam elbows him hard, shooting him a warning glare.      “Agreed,” the youngest quickly answers, ignoring the quiet muttering from his left.      “Dean?”

     The older Winchester brother grinds his teeth. Shit, he does not want to bow down to her, because he knows the second he does, she will without a doubt step up to become Evil Queen Bitch. He’s never going to live it down. One case, he tells himself. One fucking case and he will never have to deal with her again.      “Fine,” he utters, barely audible.      “One other thing. I need to leave town tonight, case finished or not. We have to try or take care of this today, okay?”      “We will,” Sam assures. “And if we run into trouble and can’t manage to wrap up, you don’t have to worry about this case. We’ll make sure to have it covered and that Laura will be put to rest.”      “So, do we meet up or what?”      “Yeah, sure.”      “Where are you at?”

     Before Sam answers he checks the name of the road they are on.      “W. Kings Highway, going west. We’re staying at the Ramada Inn,” Sam tells her.      “Shit motel.”      He scoffs a chuckle, glad the tension has lifted. “Tell me ‘bout it.”      “I'll see you at In-N-Out,” the huntress decides. “I want an Animal Burger.”      “Have you had that 4x4 burger?” Dean says, his mouth watering. “The amount of meat, hmm.”      “Are you kidding me? I grew up in California; In-N-Out is my jam!”      “Their food is fuckin’ amazing, ain’t it?” Dean agrees.      “Oh my God, yes! How they grill their cheese—”

     Stunned, Sam stares from the phone to Dean and back. Did the unthinkable just happen? Did Zoë and Dean actually agree on something? Remarkable, but truly, here is the one subject they can’t fight about; food.      “Zo?” he interrupts.      “Yeah?”      “See you at In-N-Out.” He chuckles and hangs up.

     The Ramada Inn shows up in front of them and Dean pulls up into the parking lot, turning off the ignition once he has found a spot close to the entrance. Before he gets out of the car, he registers Sam, who’s wearing a boyish grin on his face. His eyes sparkle through the curtain of his bangs, his pearl white teeth on display; it’s clear he’s very much amused.      “Hate to say I told you so,” Sam nags victoriously, and pushes the passenger door open.

     With a confused expression upon his face, Dean gets out of his car himself. He then glares at younger Winchester over the top of the Impala, the words sinking in. Fuck, he lost a bet; Zoë came around.      “No, you don’t,” he mutters, following his sibling inside. Looks like he’s going to have to live through the embarrassment of ordering and paying for salads the coming week. Oh well, at least he doesn’t have to eat them.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).   

Read part eight here

[youngbugandtonystank]

If you can, do some more of the facial and body language analysis posts because they're soooo good, I love them and your blog 💕

Hi, I’m sorry for the long wait!

This must be the hardest analysis yet. I cried three times writing this, so I’m sharing my pain with you.

1. Peter is a kid.

2. Tony and Peter are a team.

3. He’s traumatized.

Ok, the first thing you gotta understand about Peter Parker in these movies: he is a kid. 

No matter how much you want him to act all grown up and capable, he’s a kid. A very brave kid. Throughout the movie, Peter remains calm and collected because he really wants to help and he understands the gravity of the situation. Bear in my mind this kid is not acting because someone gave him orders but because they informed him what’s going on. He knows that they need to take the gauntlet off, he knows Thanos is dangerous and this could be the complete demise of not only his neighboorhood but the entire earth. We all know that at the end of the movie, Peter shows just how scared he was all the time.

‘You can't be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man...if there's no neighborhood.’

The minute he realizes that there’s trouble, he goes and helps.

It’s been two years since Homecoming (it was confirmed that the time gap between HOCO and IW was two years even if Peter says he’s 16 in FFH. This could possibly be a mistake since not many people knew much about IW and Endgame back then. Also, in HOCO there was a similar mistake with the timeline. "Eight years later") Peter’s been spiderman for almost three years and he knows how to control and work his powers better. He probably trained with Tony and he has now more experience with all the superhero thing. 

Now, Peter is his very own independent hero, he has his story but some people think that everything about him revolves around Tony and I’ve said it before, in my HOCO analysis that the reason people think this is because Tony Stark is a very big presence in the MCU and it’s easy to overlook the other details about Peter’s life when someone that big is also there too. But, any fan who really loves Spiderman knows that Peter’s journey is about growth. It’s about sacrifice. It’s about responsibility. It’s about him finding his way into this world and surviving it. It’s about him protecting the little guy because he is the little kid in a big world like his. His attachment to Tony has more to do with the fact that he wants a male figure in his life, one that is alive. He wants the comfort, the safety and the support that comes with it. A teenage wanting those things is not out of the ordinary. He’s allowed to have more than one paternal figure in his life. Don’t constraint Peter just because you don’t like Tony Stark.

And Peter himself confirms this: 

‘Peter knew he should feel all these things -help other people, being responsible inthe hero business- without Tony’s approval. But, right now, Peter wanted Mr. Stark to approve of him more than anything.’ 

‘Mr. Stark made him feel normal and okay. Something he thought he’d never feel again.’

Something very interesting to me was how both Tony and Peter reacted the same way when the aliens came. Tony was internally panicking and said to Bruce: ‘This is it.’ And in the IW novelization, the moment Peter saw the space ship he said to himself: ‘This was it. He had to do something.’ 

Something that I just love about this is how much they know each other too well. Tony knows Peter is stubborn and he won’t give up easily. Tony told him that Strange ‘The wizard’ was in trouble and Peter went after Maw and didn’t let go even if he was getting dragged up to space, so he did what he usually did when Peter was being difficult. Force him back to earth. And Peter? He cooperates with him so well, he calculates his mentor’s next moves and goes along with it. They’re a team. They have worked together before. Two years of working together. Look at the coordination, how they flawlessly work together. They’ve done this before. How Tony just informs Peter what’s going on instead of yelling and panicking. He understands Peter is pretty capable of defending himself. 

Later, they demonstrate this again with this:

Peter is capable of thinking of a solution because this kid, no matter how many pop culture references, is a genius and will be a great strategist in the future and Tony knows this. He left EDITH to Peter for these reasons.

This is routine for them. Tony makes this a teachable lesson. lol. ‘Come on. We got a situation. See him down there? He's in trouble. What's your plan?’

He’s a dad, forgive him.

I love how they just bicker while Strange is getting tortured down there lmao. 

This part only solidifies their relationship. Look at Peter looks so done and disappointed because this is the same argument Tony gives him when he’s in danger. Tony may trust Peter but his safety always comes first and Peter knows this. Look at him: 

He takes in the situation and even if he can come back to earth and fight the other aliens there, he won’t leave Tony. I want to clarify that the reason Peter is in space is because 1. He wants to fight. He wants to help. He’s said it before, if he has the chance to help, he'll do it. He’s spiderman and is his responsibility to help if he can. This is the essence of Spiderman. 

‘When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.’

2. Tony. He’s a loyal kid and he loves his mentor. People regularly point out Tony’s fear of losing Peter but Peter is just equally scared of losing Tony.

‘speaking of loyalty...’  ‘I just thought about you on the way...and kinda stuck to the side of the ship.’

So he fights Tony on this. He won’t let him not participate. He already lost Ben, he won’t lose Tony. He knows this is a dangerous situation, he wants to protect his people. He feels responsible for them and he’ll fight to do the right thing.

Another thing is how much Peter trusts Tony. He knows and is so sure that Tony will keep him safe, no matter what. This is because Tony has proved this before. Multiple times. He knows he’s Tony’s priority even if the world is practically ending. 

‘He wanted him away from all of Tony’s complicated feelings around caring about this kid way too much to focus on the task at hand.’

‘Tony had to keep himself calm and not think back to mere seconds ago when that terror had been his own, directly connected to the possibility of losing Peter Parker.’

‘Tony had only continued onto the ship because he felt certain that he’d gotten Peter safely out of harm’s way. With Peter here, very much IN harm’s way, would he be able to fully concentrate on the task at hand?’

‘They were about to take on the greatest enemy they’d ever faced. This was an enemy that had haunted Tony for six years. An enemy that threatened to wipe out half of the universe, untold trillions of beings with the snap of his fingers. He had a wide-eyed kid he had to protect’

‘Is this… oh, no… is this how it feels? To be on the other end of this? He owed Pepper an apology. He owed Pepper a lot of apologies.’

I love how Tony is comparing Pepper’s love for him with his own love for Peter. This not only tells you Peter is part of his family but just as Endgame confirms it, Peter is one of the few people he loves the most in the world.

Later, when the guardians attack, look at how Peter stays put, he could easily get himself out of Quill’s grip but he doesn’t, he lets Tony handle the situation. 

Makes me wonder how many times they’ve been in this situation. Homecoming!Peter would’ve done something very reckless. He would’ve risked his life or someone else's but this is a 17-year-old kid who’s had Tony as his mentor, he’s had May to think about and he won’t let Ben down. 

Also,  the non-verbal communication between them is very telling. How the glances, the trust and the way they fight tells us how much they mean to each other. How he always looks at Tony for his reaction and how both of them are in synch with everything. 

Now, let’s talk about this kid’s bravery in this film. Look at him, this is peak bravery. This kid is kicking one of the most terrifying and powerful titans on the universe. 

Even if I loved FFH, I think they shouldn’t have skipped the part where Peter dwells with the repercussions of his trauma. They should’ve focused on Peter’s traumas and experiences after passing through all of this.

Look at this, you do really believe this kid wouldn’t have nightmares of this monster? He probably sees his face in every nightmare. This titan killed Tony. This titan killed him and half of the universe. He threw him around like a rag doll, chocked him and slammed him against the ground. 

One of the most heartbreaking things is that Mysterio is right about what he said to Peter. ‘Maybe if you were good enough, Tony would still be alive’ Peter feels responsible. He does. Remember how Peter was a big part in securing the gauntlet? He took the gauntlet off Thanos. He actually did it. He took it off. For Peter, there were pretty close. That was it. He doesn’t know what Strange knows, Strange must’ve seen in all of the millions of possibilities he saw that even if Peter took the gauntlet off, Thanos would still win. But Peter doesn’t know this. He thinks he almost got it. 

When he came back, he was one of the people who went after the gauntlet to protect it. He took it because he felt like this was his responsibility before waking up and now he’s trying to amend that by taking care of it. Thanos started blowing people off with lasers and Peter still held the gauntlet like it was his lifeline. 

He feels like he failed. The person who used the gauntlet, later on, is his mentor.

Of course he feels like he failed. He feels responsible for Tony’s death even if he’s not. 

‘I don't think Tony would have done what he did, if he didn't know you were going to be here after he was gone.’

He knows that Tony practically did it for him. Tony is a hero and he would’ve done that regardless but the motivation behind all of it, it was Peter. Always Peter.

‘Tony second-guessed everything he did. But the one thing he didn't second guess was picking you.’

It’s natural that Peter feels responsible. Look at the catatonic way he behaves after the horrible experience. He’s still in shock.

Peter is the kind of kid that stands tall and bounces back up when the situation demands it but he’s also the kind of kid that wants to introduce himself to a magical cape and walk ladies across the street.

Look at him: This kid is scared but his bravery doesn’t let him hesitate. He knows what’s right and he knows in his heart, what he needs to do.

This is the kind of kid that would go to war with his mentor, stay on the space ship to save one person, come back from being dead and fight all over again.

Now, this is the most painful part and I almost wanted to skip it because... I’m still not over it and I never will. I still think Tony deserved a different ending.

So first Tony witness one of his biggest nightmares. Peter dying. Peter, for the first time in this film, shows us just how scared he truly is. He sees how the others start fading and he feels his demise coming. It’s inevitable. So he thinks in the one thing he always thinks about when he’s in a place where he can’t save himself. He goes to Tony. He thinks Tony can save him. Tony always saved him so why would this time be different, right? He desperately clings to Tony and begs him to save him. He doesn’t want to die. 

When he knows that there’s no other way, he gives up. This 17-year-old kid just gave up on his life and apologized for it. This just tells you how selfless Peter is. He’s dying and he’s concerned Tony is going to blame himself for his death. 

Then, when he comes back, from Peter’s perspective, it’s only been a couple of hours or minutes but he doesn’t know he lost 5 years of his life. Imagine how traumatic it was for him when he realized he’s been dead for years. 

He lets Tony hug him. He’s probably done this before. I refuse to believe this is their second hug after two years. Just because this hug is more emotionally charged doesn’t mean Peter didn’t get any affection from Tony before. 

Then the terrible thing happens. He realizes his mentor is dying and tells him the thing no one else told him: ‘We won and you did it, sir.’ 

Tony did it and Peter is aware of this. He tells him it’s him, it’s Peter. It’s someone he trusts and knows. ‘Can you hear me?’ He clings to him and by the look on his face, Peter’s in pain. He passed through this once and now he’s doing it again. For Peter, this is history repeating and he feels like is his fault all over again. 

He’s begging Tony to come back now. He’s watching his father figure die. This kid must be pretty messed up. I thought that after this he wouldn’t be capable of trusting people again but maybe FFH took another direction and showed us that nothing can corrupt Peter’s pure heart. Tony would’ve wanted him to stay pure. It’s just who he is, he always put others before himself. 

In my perspective, I think Peter is not over Tony’s death. He’s not even halfway there. He’s still in denial, he’s still assimilating, he’s still going through it and it’s going to take some time.

Peter is one of the bravest kids out there and that alone should be a big reason to have mad respect for him. He has been through hell and back and he still comes out on top in every situation.

Tony is a big part of his life, and he is always going to be. Peter has Tony in his heart and his presence will still be on him the rest of life. He loves Tony and will always love him, whether you like it or not and if you want to be mad about this, stay mad. This is a fact and no matter how much whining you do, there’s nothing you can do to change that. 

[wixelt]

Stargate: “Hoag” - Mass X’over Idea

About this time last year, I started watching Stargate with my dad. We watched the original movie and SG-1. And Atlantis. And the SG-1 movies. And Universe. And Origins.

We finished the franchise somewhere about a third of the way through 2020, though with how this year’s been it feels like that was years ago, now. And for a lot of the time we were watching it and for at least a little while after it, I had a thought that wouldn’t go away and that I kind of liked.

Namely that I wanted to write a Stargate fanfic of some kind, possibly even a crossover. A mass crossover, in fact. As with most of my fan-fiction thoughts, no matter the work, they eventually fell onto my pile of half-started ideas. I’m awful at keeping to things and not getting distracted by “new shiny” ideas like some kind of fanfic magpie, even when I like the idea.

That said, this was a concept I really liked, so i’m going to share the basics of it now, as far as I got with it. Maybe it will inspire someone else, or maybe i’ll come back to this someday.

Regardless, though here’s the notes:

- Post-Universe, the war with the Lucian Alliance is still going, and despite the slightly dire situation things were headed toward last we saw, the SGC’s winning. The LA are on the back foot, and is starting to break into smaller factions. One of the larger LA factions decides to cut their losses and make a run for it, their space fleet making a beeline for the Supergate the Ori Army built to link the Milky Way and Alteran Home galaxies, having either deciphered or stolen the codes required to dial it. The SGC puts together an attack force to intercept the faction at the gate and stop their escape. The fleet is accompanied by several characters from existing series.

- The battle’s one sided, but the LA faction continues to make a run for the gate. And then it happens. I’m undecided on the details, but a mix of weapons fire on the ships trying to pass through and other circumstances - in much the same way as that classic episode of SG-1 - causes the open Supergate to “jump tracks”, the destination shifting to somewhere not in the Alteran Galaxy. A side effect of energy on this scale causes all ships in the vicinity to be pulled through.

- Emerging on the far side, the surviving ships exit through what seems to be another Supergate, albeit of less refined design. Later study will show it to be Ancient, instead of Ori. This lesser design proves unstable, leading to the SGC fleet being forced to destroy both it and their crippled ships to force a ceasefire with the LA ships, stranding a cast of both old and new faces wherever they’ve ended up.

- As for where they’ve found themselves, it’s the Hoag’s Object galaxy, they eventually discover. For those unaware, this is a real ring galaxy more than 600 million light-years from the Milky Way (~200 times further from Earth than the Pegasus Galaxy). It’s a galaxy for which we have a low understanding of the mechanics behind its formation - which sparked my interest as the ideal location for a Stargate series with an underlying mystery beyond just “get home”, in the tradition of Atlantis and Universe. It’s a fun place to read and speculate about.

- The base of operations for the “Hoag Expedition” as they try to contact Earth (a challenge when their arrival method and much of their equipment has been destroyed), is the “Spire”, an automated Ancient outpost which is, as the name implies, a massive pointed tower in space. The story behind it, as the cast discover, is that the Ancients were very interested in what was causing Hoag’s Object’s structure, and sent a large automated seeding ship to the galaxy, with the intent that it would automatically drop Stargates on various interesting worlds and other locales - similar to the Destiny - also seed a few worlds with human life, as was their MO to an extent, then take up a preset location and convert itself into a stationary... station, that would serve as the Ancient’s home once they were ready to arrive - a local Supergate also being constructed as one of the projects they were intending to test alongside their studies in Hoag. Like Destiny, though, they never arrived. The Spire was dispatched late in the Ancient’s time, likely around about when they were fighting the Wraith in the Pegasus Galaxy. After that, they focused on ascension, and the Spire lay forgotten, its systems waiting for a crew that wasn’t coming.

- Some of the first things the expedition discover on arrival are tied to the local gates. Firstly, they can’t dial home. Even when they work out where they are relative to Earth, they can’t calculate what the 8 symbol address required to dial would be (for reasons made harder by the second point). There’s no indication what the address would even consist of, given there’s no “dial Earth” address in the Spire’s database - presumably the Ancients didn’t know where they’d end up dialing from, and no-one ever arrived to clarify. Secondly, while the local gates are Pegasus-era 3rd generation Stargates, they have a different color palette - being purple rather than blue, because I like purple - as well as a completely different set of symbols. These symbols are determined to be a very symbol numeric system set up in 5s, presumably because the gate seeding was automated and chose a structured visual system. I actually created a guide for this system. As might be obvious, this gate network has more symbols them any other - to account for Hoag’s Object being a larger galaxy - featuring 41 non-Point of Origin options:

- As I mentioned before, however, I wanted this to be a mass crossover, which is where the Ancients’ MO of seeding human life comes in. Like the Pegasus Galaxy, you can still have those human cultures, but how far out Hoag’s Object is - as with Stargate Universe - allows for more alien cultures as well. Which naturally lets you drop pretty much any non-Earth (or otherwise, in some cases) setting into this concept amid other, more original planets and have it turn up as the expedition does what Stargate does best: explore new worlds. RWBY? No problem. Avatar? Eeyup. Fairy Tail? Definitely. Madoka Magica? Trickier, but even with that being set on Earth the Incubators have to come from somewhere, right? MLP? Simple, if the Equestria Girls world is considered the local side of the mirror and Equestria another reality. Heck, you could even throw in something as out there as Hermitcraft and probably make it fit.

- And yes, I did briefly play around with gate addresses for a few of the above places, too, but didn’t get very far due to waning inspiration (the above symbol system itself was already my 5th or 6th attempt to make something workable). I did include my meta-logic for choosing the symbols, though:

- There were other ideas I had for this whole thing, too. I played around with the idea of writing this on a forum thread on somewhere like SpaceBattles or Sufficient Velocity, and maybe I still could one day, where other people could write in the setting too if I got enough traction (always been a big fan of interactive and/or collab ventures). Also played with the concept of a story-line of two Goa’uld “brothers” who had left the Milky Way in centuries past in search of new pickings, finding Hoag’s Object and setting themselves up as gods over multiple worlds (one of which may have been RWBY, if that gives you an idea of where that was probably going), but that fell apart once I started questioning how they got to Hoag’s Object when the Spire and its gate hadn’t been touched before the SGC arrived.

All that aside, though, this idea is out in the open now. If someone wants to play around with it, they can. Or if people want to ask what i’d do with various settings or features, i’m happy to give it some more thought to get the creative juices pumping again.

For now, though, enjoy! :)

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 11: Ch 5

Previous

Summary: Finally, on Commander Knox’s spaceship, the trio finds themselves running out of time before the commander becomes an all too powerful Watcher.

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The rest of the Lords, except for Four, got up from their thrones. Four, with luminous hands, clapped. A book seemed to plop down onto their lap out of nowhere, and they quickly scribbled something down. As for the rest of us, besides Seven, in unison, we repeated, "Daughter?"

"Ah, yes." One glances at the rest of the Lords with a cocked head before continuing, "Why are you all baffled? Higher beings have always done this to lower beings throughout time even before we were created for this universe. Human history even consists of gods breeding with them multiple times."

Third, one of their incredibly long, gangly arms that I now see has that circular symbol with the dot inside of it, which consists of their knuckles scratching against the floor as they move it upwards towards their face, moves their thumb and index finger apart. Their two bony fingernails, which swirl and curve, squeeze where their nose should be as they groan, "Yes, One, but at least all of those times were aliens breeding with other aliens. None of which consisted of a Lord or anything close to an actual god."

Two starts off sharply when they call, "One." Before Two can finish, they take a step towards One and rest their great hand on One's right shoulder. The mere gesture sounded like the same explosion I was supposed to die from. They then end their response with a soft, understanding voice, "What would Zero say to your inappropriate joke?"

One points at me and replies, "This isn't a joke." They place their hand on their chest, over the symbol. "That is my daughter."

"Blasphemy, Zero would say." Two yanks their hand off of One. 

Off to the side, Four nestles before whispering with their head deep into the book and hand still jotting down what's happening. "This is getting good." 

My crown floated on its side in front of One's chest, slowly spinning as it did. Through it, my eyes focus on the symbol. Everything around me turns a dark yellow, but after I blink, the tint fades. Another blink, and I feel my hands heating up. Moving them in front of me, I see a spark of my powers; apparently, a spike of my hidden bloodline, one moment until it vanishes with yet another blink. 

Besides Four, who's smiling with the eyes on their raisin-like arms, and silent Seven, the Lords are squabbling. Two are shouting at One with a blazing golden aura around them. Lanky Three is begging for Two to calm down. Overweight Five and glamorous Six are also bombarding One. Still, the former is more interested if they're any more "abnormalities" rather than angered, while the latter is scared over how crowded this void will get in the coming days. One has ignored Two and is trying to relieve the two Lords to his left when I interject with, "How can you possibly be one of my parents? I've seen my mother and father and I'm sure I would've noticed either of them being some white cloaked, faceless giant."

All but One grows silent, but they all focus on me. Even Four stops writing and lowers their book to peek up at me. The Lords around One hesitantly turn towards them. "That's because your mother was a whore."

Hands returning to being submerged into a golden light, I encircle my crown with some of my powers. Before One can react, I snatch my hurtling crown and point my longsword at them. "Take back what you said about my mother."

Somehow this void became bigger. I suppose it's thanks to the Lords around One either stepping away from them or sinking into their thrones. One teleports just a foot in front of me. Air slams onto me like I was just hit with a violent hurricane the size of an entire country. It pushes me, much of my skin off my bones, away from the giant as my feet point upwards, fluttering against this rough wind. I nearly fly up and am lost to the void if it wasn't for me, forcing the tip of my blade into the seemingly nonexistent floor and holding onto its handle for dear life. My heart drops as I see my sword wiggling loose. It felt as if it climbed up my throat and slid out of my mouth when it eventually gave in. I scramble in the air, watch the Lords look up at me for a moment until I change my sword into a bow. I shoot. One steps back before the arrow, which is attached to a string I'm gripping so tightly that my veins are popping out, can strike their left foot. 

Moving one hand closer, along the rope, to One and the lingering force of their teleportation meant being pushed back two paces. This pattern not only leaves my hands with lacerations but me gripping the rope's unwound end. I'm one heartbeat until I'm sent flying deeper into the void until I fall face first back onto the floor. When I change my bow back into a sword and use it to stand back up, I look up at One, who's staring down at me again. "You, feeble human, want me, a being you can never comprehend how powerful, to take back an observation about a woman who treated you like a dog until she died? She never loved you, you know that?" One bellows out a laugh. "That's right, you don't. You don't remember anything about her.

"You wish to protect the honor of someone who you don't know. Zero, who we seven were, would've laughed at that, which could be an accomplishment depending on how old they were. In the beginning, Zero felt nothing, but near the end they felt everything."

"I don't remember my past. So, yes, I don't remember her, but I knew her at one point and she is still my mother whether she loved me or not." Golden electricity sparks around the blade as I swing it towards One who simply steps away between my swift, blurring movement. Once my sword finishes making an arch, a force as strong as the beat of Cala's wings blows out from it. 

One swings a foot towards me. I try cutting through it, but when it hits my blade, it cracks, then is sent shattering, and I am sent flying towards the other Lords along with the pieces of my sword. My back and the fragments of metal hit One's backrest, and I, along with them, fell down on the seat. It's the feeling of someone poking my shoulder that brings me to force up my aching body as joints slide back together and bones and tissue reknit. 

I throw up and am greeted by a severed hand that's popped up from a floating disk of pure darkness directly right in front of me. There's nothing on the other side of it, but the punch that comes from the hand that's at its forefront tells me that it doesn't matter. 

Back of my head grating against Two's throne, then body flopping back down, I wipe the drip of vomit from my lips. One clarifies as they rub their wrist when I finally manage to look at them, "That was for making a mess of my seat, but I can keep tossing you around if you wish."

Sitting on the throne gets a growl out of Two and One to turn to me. I hold my side, which is still in pain, and eye my broken sword a little off from who's supposed to be my other parent. "What I wish?" I see my body is glowing through my reflection from the blade's pieces in the corner of my eye. Resting my hands on the armchairs once the nanites finish healing me nearly gets Two to pounce. I saw them bursting with the golden glow, which was almost like they were being engulfed in a gold-colored fire until Three rests their hand on the annoyed Two. "Why does it matter what I wish? I am what I've grown to fear and what I hate. I killed Knox. There's still a war out there, but I can't do anything about it because I am stuck in wherever the hell this place is."

"Why do you hate us?"

I blurt out, "Because you've made an entire fucking mess of the universe. Knox was insane, but he is right. You've all been sitting on your ass while things out there turn into chaos. My life too, apparently."

The Lord that just ripped a hole through the void moments ago now rips a hole right beside them. They seemingly grabbed hold of nothing, and after the white flap touches the floor, the new view gets me to jump out of the throne and step towards it because, before me, I see hundreds of ships shooting at each other. One explodes, and its pieces are sent flying into other ships and through a handful of men and women about to land on a nearby enemy ship. Billions are fighting on enemy ships: millions are punching and kicking, shattering helmets or denting armor, thousands are blasting or clawing right through chests and heads, and some have even ripped through others by grabbing their wrists and pulling them apart until their bodies became two, which caused guts to float out in space, but a handful did worse. I'm sickened through all of this, but it's that last bit that breaks me. I grab my face and try to talk myself to remain composed, but my tears push through anyways. 

One breaks through my disgust, "Yes, we have, but the universe isn't black and white. There are so many colors out there. With Knox gone, things are much more fucked up than before. 

"Some feel the need to avenge Knox. Others see weakness. Most are inspired by the fallen commander. At least this is only two years in. Things will get progressively worse, though."

"Two years? I just killed Knox a few minutes ago. How has time passed that quickly?"

They put back the flap, and the horrific imagery of war is put away. "We are in the very blackhole that created the universe. Time is fast out there and slow in here, but I think your friends will arrive here in six minutes thanks to that serpent girl, give or take. Isn't that right, Watcher?"

I jump when a Watcher suddenly appears to my left. The thing looks at me. Two steps out of the way as the multi souled being drifts towards One and bows before them when they're a few feet in front of the Lord. "Yes," the Watcher confirmed. 

"Excellent. You may go." The Watcher vanishes. "Now then would you like to continue to be thrown around like a ragdoll until your friends come and I kill them or sit back down to wait for me to kill your friends?"

"Why," I grunted through gritted teeth.

"Why what? Why were we created? We were created because people wanted us to be created. Did you know everyone spoke the same language before us? Even humans used the same language for a time long ago. That was when Zero was just a speck. Zero became us seven because people wanted to feel. Initially, emotions didn't exist. It's because of Two you want to rip off my head and now that you know this I still don't understand why you hate us. We are you and you are us."

Knuckles turning white, I burst with a golden glow and shout, "No, why did you make me?" I don't have my sword anymore, but that doesn't mean I'm harmless. I fly and charge towards the Lord, and when I'm about to punch them, they simply move aside. 

"You are the first and only one of your kind. You are a partial Lord, but while you've only known about this for mere minutes I've gotten used to my powers for thousands of years." Again, they rip a hole into the void and grab the back of my head. One throws me down and drags me across the floor. For a place of nothing, I sure felt something grind against my face. My face is leaking blood, but One seizes my legs and then hurls me across the room. I'm sure nothing was there before, but something sharp goes right through me. I cough out blood, and as I'm grabbing whatever it is and slowly pull myself free, One quickly does it for me. I scream, and midway through my body stitching the hole up, the Lord punches through the hole forty-five times until One grows tired of that.

I fall with a hard thud and try to inch away, but the Lord sets a foot onto my back and proceeds to crush me. I feel the bones that make up my spine fracture piece by piece. I sob and beg for mercy. This gets Two, Three, and Five to inch towards us. They resist taking another step, probably because One motions for them to stay where they are. "You're a late bloomer, human, but we both know you can stop me. So, why are you letting me do this to you? Do you hate yourself so much that you'd let your third parent brutally hurt you? Answer me." 

I sigh with relief when One steps off of me, but it's not over yet. The Lord kicks me, and I'm flung across the room towards the rest of the other Lords. I coil and wrap my arms around the shrinking hole in my stomach. Once that heals, I stumble up, swaying a little, and look up at the sudden arrival of One. One steps on my feet and proceeds to punch me left and right. I motion my hands in front of me, once again begging them to stop, but they only stop when their fists are hot from all the punching. 

"My daughter, I'm barely using one percent of my powers." I flop down, and One has one of their hands, which is now glowing, raised towards me. They're charging up for a final attack. "Do you wish to die that much?"

"Yes."

Lowering their hand, the Lord asks, "Why?"

"I asked the same of you. Hey, what are you waiting for? Kill me already."

"No." One takes a seat in front of me, but there's still a considerable size difference between us. They sigh before continuing with, "I made you because I am not a real person. I'm made from envy by a number of people you can't even comprehend how many, so my thoughts are not my own. Through the part of me that lives in you I'm able to live as a real person. I'm able to have my own thoughts. I'm able to have my own feelings through having an actual life."

"Selfish bastard!" I blast at them, but One easily deflects it when they summon a shield. 

"I answered your question and now you have to answer mine."

"I want you to kill me because the universe doesn't need me. It never has."