#medpack thoughts

[raccoonfallsharder]

Presumably Rocket has never used a medpak before Vol 3 which could be seen as a plothole but I think the better answer is that he never needed to, he's never been that close to death before, that's how badass he is

look I’ve put a LOT of thought into medpacks with no clear outcomes lol. thanks for sending this ask so i can finally sit down and process through all my too-many ideas about them lol (seriously! this was a great ask and a lot of fun to think about thaaank you)

short answer: i agree. my guy is a fuckin genius at evasion and survival. but... i also don’t know what our rate of comparison for medpack-usage is? i’m fairly certain we don’t see many (any?) medpacks before vol 3. for all we know, they get used pretty rarely in general. maybe almost none of the guardians have had to use one before, because they’re all survivors - the luckiest of the unlucky, or vice versa.

i say this because i suspect medpacks are intended to heal major, life-threatening, emergency trauma - not cuts and contusions, not things that aren't emergencies - and we actually haven’t seen the guardians in those situations tbh. until v3, they’ve come out of every fight with scrapes, or (relatively) minor injuries that can heal in time. plus, access to medpacks (especially while actively cavorting around the galaxy) may be limited, and if you have three medpacks on a ship with a five-person crew and won't be able to restock for at least another six missions, nobody wants to be the asshole who uses a medpack for bruised ribs when, two cycles later, you end up with three teammates who are bleeding out.

(as an aside: i think the only reason mantis uses the medpack in v3 on herself is because in this particular scenario, a busted-up noodle-arm is an emergency. they are in the middle of an unexpected attack on their home turf and they don’t know why, rocket’s almost dead, and mantis needs to be able to perform at her best to protect herself, her friends, and the people of knowhere. i suspect a painful case of the noodle-arm gets in the way of peak performance.)

this all leads me to add that i think crewmates want to avoid using medpacks for more delicate injuries even if they are readily-accessible. like, if drax cuts his hand off while trying to juggle his daggers, the medpack would heal his stump - but doc glirgoth on the next planet over might be able to reattach it with 98% return on strength and sensation within two cycles, as long as the guardians can get drax to him in the next rotation or so.

now. i also think rocket has probably sustained some emergency life-threatening injuries before, especially when he was newly-escaped from halfworld. however, i think he learned how to do almost all his own first aid thanks to his years alone and his brilliant mind, even if a lot of his efforts are clumsier than a trained healer might be able to provide. like, you know at some point, this guy got sliced up or shot at pretty bad, and he probably could have used a medpack but didn’t have access to one. rocket for sure has ended up passing out while stitching himself up, at least once. even when he does have access to healers, he's not gonna use 'em - not only because he refuses to set foot in medical centers (ttttrauma), but also because he has so many unique things going on in his body that he’s had to figure most of it out on his own. like. there isn’t a single medical holotext in the galaxy that can comprehensively cover his physiology. a healer would need at least a grasp of basic mammal biology and medicine (even this can be hyper-complicated) and probably a few different types of engineering as well. so no to the healers and med-centers: not only does rocket not trust strangers with his body, but they also couldn’t possibly be expected to know what they were doing.

finally, i also think it’s possible that he has used a medpack before in emergency situations for non-vital, non-synthetic, non-trademarked organs. i kind of think a medpack on his crushed, biologically-given femur wouldn’t trigger his killswitch the same way a medpack on his heart, lungs, or brain would. i haven’t studied up on medpacks enough to REALLY know how they interact with rocket (if there's anything definitive out there), but i doubt all organs and structures are linked to the killswitch and if they haven't been tampered with too badly, the medpack may still work on them.

i mean, fundamentally, you’re right. it’s unlikely rocket has used a medpack before because he is that good, but they’re also complicated tech we don’t fully understand and i think that allows them to be less of a “plot hole” than others might think. or at least, they are plot holes so artistically constructed that i can justify them lol ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ♡♡♡

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen: Daughter

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 4.2K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, comfort, harsh language, tw: description of intense injuries, trauma from abusive mother, description of child neglect/abuse

—————

They keep sayin' that I ain't nothin' like my father But I'm the furthest thing from choir boys and altars If you cross me, I'm just like my father I am colder than Titanic water

Joel felt his heart so far up in his throat as he and Tommy rode off towards the cabin just like all those months ago but for a different reason. He wasn’t sure what they were going to come upon. Then gunfire fills the air, sending a chill down both Millers’ spines, spurring their horses faster. When Red appeared out of the blue Tommy quickly wrangled the creature as Joel speeds ahead. He didn’t know what those gunshots meant but he only hoped he would still find you breathing. The dense forest opens up to the large clearing where the cabin resides, Joel snaps the reins harsher on his horse to send him flying over the hillside. He only got seconds to take in the still-destroyed cabin, two dead bodies, and you on your knees with a pistol against your head.

“Y/n!” He screams right as you pull the trigger, it seems like a blur seeing you drop to the ground and he lands harshly on his feet as he dismounts his horse only one thought in mind. You were dead he watched his daughter kill herself. Until he sees you roll over and start crying in pain he sprints seeing you try and reach for the pistol but he kicks it far away. You’re caked in grime and blood but the side of your head has a deep graze blood pours steadily from it. Joel rips off his flannel pressing it to the side of your head as you cry out in pain but sadness.

“You’re okay baby girl. I got you,” He mumbles holding you in his arms. You try struggling against him your ears ringing in from the damage caused to them and the wound on your temple.

“Why!” You cry and he holds you to his chest as you run out of energy. Tommy appears over the hillside unlike Joel having more time to process the scene. Your mother’s mutilated infected body and his stomach churn at the violent death, Lila lays by the pond blood still flowing steadily from her head the water turns red, and there is his brother and it seems like they are back years ago seeing his brother clutch the body of his niece. Tommy walks closer ready to pull Joel away from the sight but practically falls over grabbing his knees to calm his racing heart. Joel soothes you tears in his eyes as you cry into his chest, part of the flannel pressed to your head damp with blood and tears. You were alive.

It seems like hours of the three of you being in the field Joel soothing you until you passed out from exhaustion. Joel peels back the flannel seeing the clotted wound, it is a deep graze but he would rather it is that than you dead.

“Joel,” Tommy calls out and he looks away from his daughter, “We shouldn't be out here long,” Joel nods knowing they would have to return to Jackson but he was too worried that if he moved you were going to slip away.  Tommy rises to his feet.

“I’ll…I’ll go take care of the bodies,” Tommy has a troubled look on his face having to bury more of the dead especially ones so close to you and technically them as family.

“Thank you, Tommy,” Joel says his voice gruff but there is still a shakiness to it. Tommy leaves to start preparing the graves as Joel finds your pack lying nearby searching and pulling out a medpack. It’s a shoddy job and those at the clinic with their ever-growing injuries would make sure you’re properly taken care of. As he wraps the bandage around your head he can’t help but wonder is this exactly how Tommy felt? Tommy had been the one to find him, he made him flinch and miss. He found no reason to keep going on after Sarah and that’s how Tommy found Joel with his pistol against his temple taking the easy way out. It seemed like a blur of Tommy fixing him back up, the gunshot had made him go deaf for a bit so he couldn’t hear Tommy yelling at him with tears in his eyes as the two brothers cried and mourned together. Did he feel the fear of seeing that sight, hearing that gun go off, and praying they missed and weren’t about to continue in the world without them?

Tommy returns the bodies buried in the dirt, not the best or proper graves but a shallow one given they are both infected. Tommy brings the horses over slinging your pack over Red before letting Joel climb onto his horse. Tommy helps lift you to Joel who holds you across his lap, one hand holding the reins and the other around your waist to keep you close. Once Tommy mounts his horse with Red attached with a lead they leave the cabin in the dust. Joel glances back at the ruined cabin the only thing left there is the dead and horrid memories now.

A faint ringing wakes you up squinting at the bright light coming from the stained windows. The ringing never leaves as you groan at the pain in your head feeling like your skin is very tight. Footsteps come over to your right side, and you hear something muffled. You listen to them move once before speaking from your left side.

“Y/n can you hear me?” They call out and you turn in their direction seeing it’s one of the women who works in the clinic. Your whole body aches as you try sitting up but she quickly rushes to settle you back down. “You shouldn’t be getting up, your injuries are still healing.”

“Don’t touch me,” You glare at her getting to the point of sitting up, her hands hovering over you to make sure you don’t fall over or feel faint. Both your arms are covered in bandages, your left arm down to your palm, while your right arm has a splint around your thumb keeping it from moving. Your stomach aches and you feel something wrapped tight around your midsection. Your hand lightly traces your stomach over the clean shirt you’re in…the faces of your mother and Derek grins as they dig cigarette butt after cigarette butt into your flesh. The mutilated body of your mother flashes behind closed eyes and memories of the pond. Of Lila’s warmth, her smile, her smell, picking flowers as her mind was being eaten away. Her small body lies in the dirt as the blood feeds the earth and the water.

That’s how Joel and Tommy find you with your knees to your chest a hand clutching your stomach the other in your hair as you cry into yourself. Since returning to Jackson hadn’t dared move from you even as the doctors worked on you late into the night with the multitude of other patients. It wasn't until the sun rose again that Tommy found him still in that chair watching your chest rise and fall with each breath. Tommy practically had to drag him out of there to clean up and get some food.

“She isn’t going anywhere and plenty of people are looking over her,” Tommy pleads until Joel ultimately agrees but only for a shower, food, and a force power nap that Tommy tried forcing but the general exhaustion from the events Joel was out. When Joel awoke the brothers quickly returned to the church converted into a larger clinic. That’s where they find you amongst other folks who rest or are being treated as you cry, the young nurse looking unsure how to assess the situation. Joel quickly weaves through the people and draws you into his arms. He feels you flinch but settle into his arms still muffling your tears and cries, he glances at the nurse who points at her right side.

“She’s partially deaf in her right ear from a ruptured eardrum,” She says and Joel nods the lady taking that as her cue to leave as Tommy quickly takes her spot. What fucking irony that his daughter ends up just like him. Joel presses a kiss on your temple right over your stitches that match his own.

“It’s going to be okay babygirl…I got you,” he says and you can get fractions of what Joel says but hear him say ‘I got you’ and you’ve never felt more safe and comforted by those simple words.

It seems everywhere in Jackson haunted you with memories. The stables you found comfort in now filled you with dread, the alleys you preferred over the main streets only filled you with memories of fighting for your life through them, the playground outside the Tipsy Bison lay barren, reminders of children's laughter filled your ear imagining them playing and enjoying themselves. The streets were still stained with blood though diluted by water and rain that washes its way slowly but the iron smell wouldn’t leave your nose. The harsh dirt is pressed against your cheek as you’re shoved against the ground. The struggle in your fading as you lay there for what you assumed were only fleeting moments. The street sign of Connor’s Drive sends chills down your spine when you see the house on the corner, the phantom voices and pain ghost over your skin from the months of suffering in that home.

The blackboard stares back at you as you sit in Tommy and Maria’s living room the names and dates written on it mocking you. ‘Kevin 4/3/00-9/29/03, Sarah 7/20/89-9/27/03, and Lila 2021-5/13/25’. It felt morbid the only thing left of her was writing on a board alongside Maria’s son and another name you don’t recognize. During your time living there you never really asked about the memorial, it wasn’t your place. The melting candles flicker as if someone blew at them, maybe they were here. Her spirit forever haunts you, sinking her claws into her killer’s flesh until you soon meet your fate. Whether by another’s hand or your own.

“Hey kid,” A voice comes to your left side and you jump slightly turning to see Tommy looking a bit tired. It was still weird not hearing from your right side. Permanent hearing loss they said, they had hopes since you were young it could heal but they didn’t have the technology to help with that. Not that you cared anymore, the loss and the scar that graces your temple are a reminder of your failures. Tommy holds up your pack,

“Was able to get all your stuff from,” He cuts himself off suddenly not wanting to say that place in fear of your reaction. You just nod as he comes over placing the bag at your feet. There is still a smoky smell from the fires and the smell of iron off it flecks of blood still stains parts of it. Was her blood embedded into the fabric? You glance back at the board at the thought and Tommy silently watches you.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he starts, “That we added her…I thought it would be a good thing to remember her…to remember all of them.” He grows quiet from the closeness he held to it.

“Who’s Sarah?” You ask. It was a name that was on the memorium of your sister, you felt you had a right to know who else would remain with her. Tommy grows quiet.

“Uh, that’s…Joel daughter. Your sister.”

You laugh. A bit morbid and probably insane to Tommy watching you start laughing at the news but you couldn’t help but find the irony in it all. A macabre reunion of sisters. With only one still living though in shambles while the others are together in whatever afterlife there is. So you laugh until you hunch over to hold your head with your elbows on your knees. You hiss forced to sit up grabbing your stomach and Tommy takes a concerned step forward.

“Come on you need to change your bandages.” Tommy holds his hand out and you don’t fight it allowing him to help you up before leading you to the clinic.

The reformed clinic was quiet given the events that occurred. Most people who were injured were either minimal or threatening enough to be put on bed rest. Many families were displaced by the fire and damages so the chapel became a sanctuary for others taking people to their homes.

“They’re healing nicely given the placement would be harder,” The doctor says while applying a thicker ointment onto each burn. Tommy stands to your left while you keep your gaze straight ahead not daring to look down. “I won’t lie these will scar similar to the ones on your arms but with proper treatment, they will be less noticeable.” His words go in one ear and out the other. These were with you forever. Despite your mother rotting she will forever be with you cause of her doing. Your family’s doing impact all those in Jackson because of your actions. Once your stomach is wrapped he allows you to lower your shirt before checking over your thumb in the splint and the stitches.

“I would recommend trying some movement exercises to regain some of the mobility but nothing too strenuous and no work that would require using that hand. I or anyone in the clinic should be able to remove your stitches in the coming days.” He says before looking over at Tommy, “If she keeps her injuries clean and takes her meds she’ll be good in no time,”

Tommy thanks the doctor as he leaves the room to get yourself situated. You stand in front of a mirror your finger lightly traces the stitches across your right temple. You spot him in the reflection a sad expression on his face.

“You didn’t have to stay Tommy,” You comment looking at him through the mirror as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Course I did, you’re family kid,” It still felt weird hearing that. When they tried including you in spending time together in the past was met with so much restriction and fear unaware you were all related to begin with. He and Maria were your aunt and uncle, Ellie your technical surrogate sibling, and Joel.

“How is Joel,” You ask and he looks away at the sensitive topic. The last time you saw him was when he and Tommy found you crying in the church/clinic holding you tight to him whispering promises to you. To take care of you, that he wasn’t going to be like her. Then with that, you were dumped as Tommy and Maria’s responsibility wasn’t the best impression you wanted from your long-lost father but you know why he did. The fear that came from everything, the world ending, your tense relationship to start, he wasn’t sure if you even wanted him in your life. So he pushed you away to protect you. You still saw him around when you did get out of the house or when he came over to see Tommy. It was weird like he treated you with politeness and respect but as if you were acquaintances or neighborly kindness not that you were his child. His flesh and blood.

Tommy coughs nervously, “He’s as good as any of us can be. He asks about you sometimes.” That surprises you. He wonders about you even after giving you away?

“What do you say?” It felt wrong asking for more but you were curious what your father wished to know when you just lived down the road.

“That his daughter is wondering why the hell you don’t talk to her,” You smirk at his answer that he knows you would feel. You don’t realize he comes over until he rests a hand on your shoulder, “Joel…he’s a complicated guy. He might be seen as some gruff unapproachable guy but he’s got scars that still haven’t healed. He’s never good at the whole confrontation thing.”

You laugh but can’t help but agree.

“It’s a lot to process, hell I’m still processing I’m related to you,” Tommy scoffs with a laugh, “But he cares even when you both weren’t on the best terms he did. Maybe something deep down he knew you were someone to protect without knowing you were his kid.”

You’re quiet returning your gaze to yourself in the mirror taking in your features. It seems more evident the similarities you share with the Miller brothers especially the older one. Did Joel see Sarah in you or were you two so different? Most likely. You picture her as kind-hearted and soft while you are cruel and rough.

“Come on. Let’s get heading before Maria has our heads for being late for supper.” Tommy jokes and you roll your eyes at his antics before following after him.

Dinner is nice with the two adults and baby as the sun starts setting and you finish drying off the last dish. Tommy fusses over Liam while Maria wipes the table clean. Since the clinic, there was a request on your mind to ask them a bit apprehensive of their reaction.

“Tommy…Maria.” You get their attention as you stand there the rag to dry dishes being picked at from nerves, “Can I go and see Joel?”

The two have surprised looks at the request and you see Maria give a soft look over at Tommy before she goes over to the wrapped dishes of leftovers.

“Come help me make a plate.”

The cool spring breeze has the trees swaying as you hold the large covered plate making sure to keep the weight away from your splint. You hadn’t taken the time to appreciate the peaceful nights in Jackson and find solace walking towards Rancher Street. The porch light was off and inside the lights were all off making you frown. Was he or Ellie home or maybe they were asleep though it wasn’t that late at night. A melodic noise comes from your left as it fills the night air coming down the porch and starts trailing around the house only getting louder as you draw near. The sweet noise comes from Joel as he plays the guitar his hands steadily plucking the strings making music and mouthing along to something.

The loud creak from the step makes Joel freeze when he spots you instantly sitting up from his lax position.

“Hi.” You say and it’s quiet between you two before he responds.

“Hey.” His eyes flicker over you and you see his shoulder slump in relief seeing you unharmed.

You raise the plate slightly, “I brought food for you and Ellie, Maria had extra leftovers so I thought to bring you guys it.” He nods still in a bit of shock processing each word.

“Ellie isn’t here, she’s at a sleepover with Dina,” Joel says and you nod rocking on your heels. He immediately gestures at the table beside him, “Here so you don’t strain your hand.” You move across the porch placing it down before standing there a bit awkwardly with Joel looking a bit uncomfortable as well.

“How are you?” You ask and he perks up at the attempts of small talk.

“Good…I’m good. How…How are you feeling?” It’s a stupid question Joel already knows the answer. How would anyone feel finding out their whole life was a lie, their mother trying to kill them, learning their real father, having to put down their infected sibling, before killing their infected mother, and then trying to kill themselves?

“Alright…I’m doing better with…everything.”

Joel nods mumbling, “That…That’s good.”

“Tommy’s making sure I’m taking my meds, eating enough, keeping myself busy.” You pause before adding, “Just stuff fathers do.” Your comment hits hard and he flinches slightly looking away unable to face you.

“Joel,” He refuses to look, “Why have you been avoiding me?” Too many overwhelming self-harming thoughts take over.

“Is it cause I’m my mother’s kid? I know having Ellie is a lot and adding another is already a hassle enough. I know I’m not Sarah and—” Too many thoughts take over each growing worse and worse.

“Kid no,” Joel stands up grabbing your shoulders and making you look up at him. His face is conflicted but you see sadness in it, “Just let’s sit.” He guides you to sit before doing so himself. He sighs resting his head in his hands before looking up at you.

“I didn’t expect to have you,” His words send a dagger in your heart, “I’m not saying I’m not happy though. After Sarah I thought it was over then I met Ellie and Christ she could’ve been my blood if I wished it enough. Then you came along.” You see his hand grab the broken watch he always wears.

“Christ you were a pain in my ass,” He pinches the bridge of his nose with a laugh, “I wanted nothing to do with you. You were dangerous in my eyes I didn’t notice how much you were like me. But I saw in your behind that aggression and bitterness just a girl, a child in this fucked up world. So I wanted to protect you, like I protect Ellie…like I protected Sarah. I saw you more and more involved until your mother came back and it felt like I lost that chance all over.” The look on his face is vulnerable as he picks at his nails and a flash of anger crosses his face.

“I would’ve ripped you out of the house so fast if I could…how you cried seeing them. Knowing what they did and failing at stopping them, I knew you would’ve only hated me more if I did.” He grows silent, “When I realized you were mine I was scared out of my fucking wits. Seeing you lay there on that ground ready to die I felt like I failed you. I could’ve fought harder so you didn’t have to go through that loss. If I could have gone back all those years ago and stayed with your mother with the knowledge I know now I would’ve done it in a heartbeat. If I meant you never dealt with the pain she put you through because I failed you all those years ago.” His eyes are glossy and you don’t realize yours are as well. Joel takes a shaky inhale reaching over and thumbing away a stray tear that’s fallen down your cheek.

“That’s why I pushed you away. Gave you to Tommy and Maria to take care of you better than I ever could’ve. I’ve already failed you too much to think you’d want me in your life. How could I call myself your father if I only caused your suffering.” He sounds so defeated having accepted the reality he would only be a ghost in your life. To watch you grow up, and live your life from the outskirts.

“I always wondered who my father could be. As a kid, I dreamed of the kind of man he was, that one day he’d come back into my life and everything would be perfect. It was only when I got older I grew to hate the idea of one and my mother only fueled it. He was a sleaze who left, abandoned a pregnant woman in this world to raise a child, a bastard father for a bastard daughter.” Your finger traces your sleeve where the scar lies underneath the fabric having memorized each placement.

“It felt wrong knowing all these years to put a name to a face. Made my fucking skin crawl to see what I was missing all this time. Part of me that kid still desperate to know who their father was felt betrayed by Derek,” You laugh slightly, “You know I thought every time I spent with him, ‘Why couldn’t he be a better man against my mother? Why couldn’t he protect me like Joel would?’ Ironic isn’t it?” You hum.

“I want you a part of my life Joel,” You admit and he looks surprised, “It kills me seeing you look right through me or treat me like anyone else in Jackson. It will kill me if you treat me like Tommy’s responsibility instead of your daughter.” His eyes are red, tears long spilled at your confession.

“I want to be your kid Joel,” You say before growing hesitant, “If you’ll have me?” He nods quickly rubbing at his eyes.

“I’d like that.” His voice is thick with tears and you smile through unshed tears as you look at Joel, your father. Wiping the tears from your face glancing at the instrument that was the only witness of your conversation.

“Do..do the offer for those guitar lessons still stand?” You ask and a smile covers his face as he reaches over to grab it.

“Yeah, they do, kiddo.” He passes the instrument to you and you try mimicking the way he held it himself. It was a bit weird, especially with the splint on your hand against the top of the guitar.

“Okay use your first three fingers to press,” He guides your fingers to a specific position as you lean over the body to watch, “there now use your other hand to strum.” You do as you’re told and slide your fingers down all the strings a crisp nice sound comes from it. You look at at Joel with an excited smile on your face seeing his own softer prouder look on his.

“You’re a natural, just like your father.”

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[starwuvs]

cassian andor x gn!reader

“nowhere else but here.” a sequel to this.

Cassian Andor tends to your wounds in the quiet of your apartment. His touch is gentle, his presence grounding, and as the tension between you finally breaks, you realize the real ache is the thing you’ve left unsaid.

The door slides shut behind you with a hiss, and for a moment, you both just stand there. You don’t speak. Neither does he.

Cassian’s a meter away, but he feels closer. The room is dim, lit only by the glow from the city outside the window, reflections scattered across worn metal walls and the sparse furniture of the safehouse. It’s late, but that never means anything in this part of Coruscant. Time is just a background hum here.

You should be collapsing. To be honest, you desperately want to. Every part of your body aches. There’s some blood on your shirt, not all yours, but enough of it is.

Your shoulder is tight and throbbing, ribs bruised. You’re still upright, still breathing, the sting reminding you your heart is still beating.

Cassian watches you. His eyes never leave you, and there’s something about the way he’s looking, like he’s making sure you’re still whole.

You try to smile. “You gonna stare at me all night?”

He moves toward you, not with any rush. The slow, silent steps he uses when he’s hurt too but won’t admit it. His voice is quiet. “Sit.”

You do. Not entirely because of the order, but because your legs are halfway to giving out.

Cassian drops to one knee in front of you and pulls the medpack from your gear bag. His hands are steady, fingers moving with calm precision. He’s done this before for you. You’ve done it for him.

This is different.

When he peels your jacket back, his fingers brush your shoulder, and you inhale sharply. His touch lingers just a second too long.

The fabric sticks where blood has dried, and when he tugs it loose, you flinch. He immediately slows, more careful now.

“Sorry.”

You shake your head. “Not your fault.”

He starts cleaning the wound. It’s shallow but messy, just enough to need attention but not enough to slow you down. Still, the pain pulls another sharp breath from you.

His hand stills.

“I hate seeing you like this.”

You look at him. “We both knew what we signed up for.”

His jaw tightens. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

There’s an anger in his voice, not at you, but something he hasn’t said. Not yet.

You glance at him, and for a moment, all the noise outside the room disappears. It’s just you and him and the quiet hum of something unresolved between you and thickness of your words in your throat.

Cassian tears open a bacta patch and presses it carefully against your skin. His fingertips trail the edge of it intentionally.

You shiver.

“Cold?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

“No.”

He looks at you, eyes catching the low light, and you see it—the tension you’ve been dancing around for months. It’s never been the right time. There’s always been something else to do, someone else to save, a war that didn’t care about feelings.

Now, in this space somehow lovingly carved out of violence and fear, there’s nothing stopping it.

“Cassian…”

He leans forward before you can finish, resting his forehead gently against yours. His hand settles over your chest, just above your heartbeat. His touch is warm. It lingers there.

“I thought—” He cuts himself off. “I couldn’t lose you.”

Your fingers find his wrist, anchoring him. “You didn’t. You didn’t, Cassian.”

The silence that follows is thick with everything you’ve both buried much too deep inside.

And then he closes the space.

His lips meet yours in a kiss that’s slow, almost hesitant. It’s not rushed. The galaxy has taken everything from you. From him. Yet, not each other.

Cassian’s hand slides up your neck as he pulls you in just a little closer. He would never admit it, but he’s scared to let go.

His other hand still rests on your chest, feeling the thrum of your pulse beneath his palm. You kiss him back with all the fear and relief and aching affection you’ve been carrying in silence.

When he pulls away, barely, his breath ghosts across your lips.

You don’t open your eyes yet. You’re afraid that if you do, it might break whatever this is. But his voice keeps you grounded.

“We’re safe now,” he murmurs. “You can rest.”

You lean your head against his, your hand still wrapped around his wrist. “Only if you stay.”

His lips brush your cheek this time, softer. “I will.”

You don’t ask for more. You don’t need to.

When the city finally quiets and your body begins to fold into sleep, you feel the weight of his presence beside you, one arm curled around your side.

In this small moment between darkness and dawn, it feels like you’ve both found something worth holding onto.

[ thanks for enjoying my work!! leaving a like, reblog, or follow means a lot to me. be sure to leave a comment or send an ask as well! my requests are open. - love, diego ]

[zeke-fanfucs]

Make albus lactate/j..... unless

I seriously had to look this up. Why. Why..

Ahem.

Lil Anomaly…

What in the mutant mushroom hell are you doing requesting “make Albus lactate”?

There are laws, Anomaly. There are boundaries. There are things Hipswitch can’t un-hear.

Albus is a foul-mouthed, emotionally stunted disaster man—not a magical breastmilk factory.

And yet…

And yet.

Fine this pays my online rent.

⸻

“Milk of the Warrior”

Or: The Most Cursed Fanfic I’ve Ever Written. I need one of you unhinged artists to draw this.

⸻

It started with Attila, because of course it did.

“Side effect,” they said flatly, flipping through the label of a stolen medpack from the biotech black market. “This compound was originally designed to keep gladiator-slaves alive during nutrient-deprived bloodsport. It also… stimulates mammary response.”

Albus blinked. “…Say that again. But slowly.”

“You’re lactating,” Mahatma said from across the ship kitchen, sipping tea and unfazed. “Not uncommon in Human hybrid stabilizers. Your body’s overcompensating for the lack of rest, hydration, and vitamins.”

Albus stared at the wet spot on his shirt like it had personally betrayed him.

“I am a killer. A mercenary. A legend. I am not a cow.”

“You’re leaking through your shirt,” Hipswitch said helpfully.

Albus growled. “I’m gonna find the guy who made this drug and make him drink it.”

Karmor, passing by with a datapad, paused. Slowly turned.

“…Are you okay?”

Albus turned, eyes wide with shame. “Don’t you dare say anything.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Karmor said, grinning. “But I am going to write about it in my journal.”

Later that day, Albus sat hunched in the medbay, shirt off, glaring at a bottle Mahatma handed him.

“It’s an herbal suppressor,” they said. “Will help stop the… flow.”

Albus muttered, “Bet Faithful never saw this coming when she looked at me and thought ‘There goes a man I could trust with my child.’”

Hipswitch passed by, snorting. “Correction: She thought ‘there goes a man I could trust with a cow-print bib.’”

“SWITCH, I SWEAR TO EVERY PLANET—”

⸻

[workanons]

Hurt dogs don't bite - Gribeans one shot

Another lovely au of the @ludolka I couldn't help but write about! This one shot comes with some warnings so please read them! Word count 10262

Warning ⚠️ mention of shooting someone, mention of taking someone hostage, mention of broken bones, mention of shooting animals, mention of causing someone harm and kissing!⚠️

Stay safe!

-💼

It wasn't fair, and he desperately wants to cuss out the entire Forest for his stupid mistake. On his hunt he was dumb enough to walk too close to the mountains, upsetting a bear family who recently had their cubs. He couldn't blame them for protecting the newborns but he didn't expect them to be this hostile and chase him through the mountain range. It was just his luck that he slit down loose rubble and sprained his ankle badly, squealing out his pain. In the first few moments where his ankle was stunned by the force of his fall he was convinced he broke it. But just laying there for a few minutes and taking mental notes of his body's status he was relieved it was just minor bruises and a few scratches that were bleeding.

Though the pain in his ankle was undeniable. With a huff he pulled out his wildlife map, checking quickly over where the closest outlook he could get to. To his luck one wasn't that far, normally it would only take a few minutes of walking but with his injured ankle he knew it's going to be a long walk. With a sturdy looking branch he found he heft his backpack back on, checking around him in case he dropped some and made his way to the outlook post.The walk was excruciatingly slow, having to stop for a few minutes to get his hurt ankle some rest. Joel wasn't a wimp and took pain like a champ, but the pain felt like he was actively stepping on glass shards again and again. When lifting his foot off the ground to give it rest it felt like it was pulsating, the pain getting so bad he had sweat bullets on his forehead and felt like he might pass out. However he made it to the outlook, and didn't care he crawled up the many steps on all fours.

Out of breath and sore hands he unclipped his heavy backpack. For a few minutes he just lays there getting his breathing back under control, choosing to ignore the throbbing pain in his ankle. Rolling onto his back he looks for a talky or a radio of some sort, he needs help there is no way he would walk back out of his hunting reserve with his ankle. After spotting one he scoots closer to it on his bottom trying his best not to jostle his leg too much, upon reaching for the radio he quickly unhooks it from its station and fiddles with the frequency. "Jimmy. Jimmy come in" For a few seconds he feared he selected the wrong one before a crackling static filled the silence. "Joel? What's up mate?" Biting his lip he hesitates. Sure he needs help but normally it was Jimmy who called for help and now he had to tug his tail between his legs and accept defeat. "I got hurt, I need you to get me from the outpost near pheasant lake..." For a few minutes there was silence before

"you're joking..are you actually?"

"I am not! I did not get chased by an angry bear and fall off a mountain only for you to accuse me of lying Jim! My foot hurts! So get your ass here! I did not crawl all the way from the mountainside to here to prank you!"

Briefly he felt guilty for losing his shit at Jim but the throbbing pain constantly reminding him didn't help stay calm. "Alright! Geez just stay calm I'm getting the pickup truck alright? Stay hydrated up there.." and with that he was left alone with his thoughts. Placing the radio back on the table he decided to at least do first aid on himself, leaning over to his backpack he pulled it closer with his healthy foot and looked for his med kid. Frowning at the contents of his own med pack he grabbed a bottle of almost empty disinfectant. Only he could blame himself for not stocking up his medpack, having procrastinated on restocking it for a few weeks now. Technically it was empty save for the small puddle of it left in there, despite it he took some gauze and drenched it quickly wiping away the dirt off his few scratches. It barely hurt assuring him that he wasn't too badly hurt save for his ankle, moving on from his wounds he made a move to remove his boot. Hissing in pain, despite having the entire boot untied, it was a painful progress almost making moving a mountain seem like a breeze. After he finally got the boot off he peeled away his sock, having to bite his jacket in pain and yep. There is bruising. Now Joel had a new dilemma. While he has swelling plus bruising, he was now unsure if he broke his ankle or just sprained it. Both outcomes suck but broken means being out of commission for a few months, meaning he had to rely on Jim to nurse him back to health...yeah right. He has to stabilize his ankle if he wants to avoid hurting it further, looking around there were not many options. A few empty crates, some cans, a pack of bottled water, a small kitchenette which has a portable stove. Praying that the kitchen had some wooden spoons he lifts himself up. Sitting down on a nearby stool and began rummaging through the drawers and cabinets. He was excited to find a wooden spoon in one of them and quickly placed it near his ankle and wrapped the gauze around it. Inspecting his work, he deemed acceptable for now before pulling his sock over it. Popping quickly some pain killers in the hope his ankles pain won't make his head spin anymore.

The wait for Jimmy to come quickly became boring and Joel had no other choice but to sit outside with his binoculars and scan the terrain for a light blue pickup truck. The Forest of course hid a few roads and he wasn't sure from what site Jim would come from, so he quickly changed his interest and tried to spot a few resting spots or feeding spots of the animals in the reserve. Happy he noted down on his map a few resting spots and even saw a group of fallow deer drink at the lake, noting down the time next to the location. However his mood soured a bit after spotting a red deer with an amazing rack, a work of nature. The fur is a nice brown with a reddish tint to it and antlers on its head that looked like wings sprouting from its head.

It would make a pretty mount for collectors and would give him a pretty good income. But at last, his ankle wouldn't allow him to track the animal and judging by the height and distance between him and the deer he was certain that his shot would definitely miss and only spook the animal. His rifles only could shoot a distance of three hundred and wile he managed to hit a target further than that he simply wouldn't risk fucking it up and making the poor thing suffer. However his thoughts came to a screeching halt when a voice sounded behind him. "What doing?" Joel's ears pulled back, his head turning quickly to the sound that he could have broken his neck. And truly a pheasant hybrid was sitting on the outlooks roof smiling at him in that annoying shit eating grin that makes him want to shoot him.

"YOU!" He barked, already pissed despite the hybrid barely having done anything yet. "Yes me~ what are you up to, puppy boy?" Oh he really came to rub salt into the wound. "Fuck off I'm not in the mood for your taunts." A chuckle sounded that made him want to blush, why was his laughter so beautiful? "I can see that, but don't worry I totally didn't hear your scream from the mountain range and definitely didn't see you get chased by a bear and absolutely didn't see you fall down." He laughed. That laughter only served to make his blood boil, but he knew he couldn't chase, couldn't engage in their usual fight.

Grian seemed to have noticed as well his teasing smile vanishing. "Are you badly hurt?" It was strange, the pheasant never showed this much concern for him before. "...not too bad, I have a friend pick me up here." His eyes scanned the other and he found himself lost in the shimmering feathers of the other, the sunset catching his frame in a golden light. Almost like an angel.

"I was worried when I saw you fall..." That did snap his attention back to the other's face. "And then I didn't see you... I didn't hear any shots... For a moment I thought you got eaten by the bear..." Silence sat heavy between the two, Joel wasn't a fool. He knew Grian worried about his only protection against other hunters. "Did you break your foot?-" "stop pretending, I'm fine and will gladly Chase you in a few weeks."

The pheasants' face twisted in confusion before it was quickly replaced with annoyance. "Typical for you hunters... All you care about is your next hunt. When you get to take another life!" The cheek feathers fluff up in defense and Joel couldn't help but feel like he had to defend himself. "That's not true and you know it. I hunt animals that have grown in population rapidly...like the red and fallow deer." The pheasant's gaze left him looking over to the Forrest line that was drowned in gold."I don't hunt for fun or to just shoot for the heck of it, these animals don't have natural predators here. You know Forrest as well as me." Joel was amazed at himself at how composed he was right now, normally conversations between them were short and quickly turned into threats, escalation close behind with physical attacks. Funny how a hurt ankle managed to keep him calm enough to have a conversation with the other. The silence stretched on between the two before Grian jumped down and approached him with caution, a lazy smile placed itself on Joel's lips as he leaned against the railing behind him. "Don't worry I won't bite~" he jokes, eyeing the bite mark on Grian's neck. The pheasant gave him an unamused look. "Yeah and I don't scratch, let me take a look at you.." he let the blond fuzz over him for a while, quite enjoying the attention, but was unamused when the focus landed on his main problem. "I wrapped it up pretty tight with a wooden spoon on it- OW." He squealed as grian touched his bandages. "Yeah and wrong let me redo it" hot white pain flashes in Joel's vision and all he could do was grip Grian's shoulder as he re-wrapped the spoon. It was over fast but the shock of the pain left him breathless.

Both men locked eyes and still high on adrenaline from the pain he crashes their lips together. It was messy, primal and just so them. With his other hand on the pheasant's shoulders he pushed him to the ground, getting on top of the bird hybrid, straddling his hips. Sharp claws were against his stomach slipping between the jacket and the shirt, he was aware of the danger he was in. One cut of those claws at his stomach and he would lose all his organs. His tail wags at the thought, grian was dangerous but so was he.

Breathless both separate, the yellow eyes sparkle of the Bird hybrid and in an odd sense it felt almost domestic. The moment was broken by a harsh slap to his cheek and a kick to his stomach, confused Joel got off the other and was met with a very mad and flustered grian. "What is wrong with you?! Don't touch me." 'back to chase and catch ' Joel thought before he decided to lay down on the wooden floor. "Alright, whatever..." Closing his eyes Joel listens to the sounds around him, the soft breeze rustling the leaves, the faint mating calls of the wildlife around them, his own calm breathing and Grain's labored breathing. 'but no car...' slowly the pheasant hybrid approaches him and he makes no move to grab or move and to his surprise the other actually lies next to him, draping a wing over him. The wing was soft and warm like the sun on his face. For a few minutes no one of them speaks until... "I'm sorry..." "It's alright." Joel knew Grian wanted to say more, hesitant "we are a mess...when you were on top of me I knew we were just kissing...but I got..." "Spooked? Yeah I have that effect on prey hybrids G." A look was shared between them both before grian leaned over giving him a kiss on the cheek before resting his head on his shoulder. "Get well soon Joel, this Forest is going to be boring without you." A snort. "You act like I'm dying, G" "who knows perhaps you are, your so mellow puppy. It's so unlike you." Rolling onto his back he took Grain's hand, pressing a kiss to the others knuckles. "Don't worry song bird soon I'm back to hunting you through the Forest and one day I will catch you and keep you in my home where no one can hear you scream~" the thought sounded too appealing but both of them knew that it wasn't what they wanted. Joel too much enjoyed the chase and grian to be free. This fantasy shouldn't become reality. "You best believe that I won't stop a day to get out of it." The pheasant teased back, leaning down again. This kiss was much sweeter and gentle. The constant thump thump thump against the wood floor from his tail was the only noise in their shared moment. Separating again felt worse than the lack of breath in their lungs, but the view of Grian made up for it. Ruffled feathers, a deep blush on his cheeks and freshly kissed lips.

"Then I will have to catch you again, such a pretty angel can't get away." Both basked in the evening sun some more, soon the sun will be behind the mountains and cast the forest in shadows. But the haze of soft kisses and touches was broken by Jimmy.

"Joel? Are you up there? Sorry I'm late. I accidentally went to the other viewpoint near the lake!" And with that his angel slipped away and he sadly had to watch the pheasant fly away. With a sigh he answered his friend. "Yeah I'm up here."

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

Ranchers - All the Stars and Me and You

Some ranchers fluff for @crownpastelyellow Starkissed AU w/ T-male Jimmy < 3333

It would be quite an achievement to lose someone in this cramped shuttle. And yet, as Tango turns back from the cockpit after flicking switches that make the petite vessel purr into automated function, he can’t for the life of him see Jimmy. 

Scanning the cramped bones of the ship, Tango tries to pick him out, find the familiar golden fluff and that smile like a lone star in a cold bitter universe. 

Vast comos’ roll behind him, their ship basking in the interstellar glow of a deathworld: a condemned colony for the corp. Tango deflates at the radioactive glow and arcs of decades old fission reactions still bubbling and cracking the surface washing over their ship. Tango spares the ‘planet’ at a glance, and wonders if they would blame him for this one somehow, or if they already had someone to pin it on. The sight is hauntingly nostalgic. 

The ship veers well out of its orbit before anything too harsh can seep through. By the time the shutters are creaking down the cockpit, the deathworld is a dark ghost in the rear view - a haunting green spectre of a planet. 

Leaving the cockpit, Tango takes all of five steps before he’s at the pullout, looking down at the standard issue sheets and the colourful array of blankets Jimmy brought with him when he joined his voyage. They are bundled up, and within that bundle, Tango spies a little tuft of gold sticking out: like bird’s tail feathers hanging out the nest. 

“Jim, you okay?” Tango asks, placing a hand on the mound. Shifting beneath the bundle like a great worm beneath the sand, Jimmy pokes his head out. 

Doesn’t say a word. Just shakes his head. Tango sighs, massaging his worn temple. “I don’t want to say I told you to wear more layers when we stopped on Skadi-7-”

“It’s not a cold.” Jimmy groans, each word seeming to pain him. His face is set in a sorrowful grimace like someone was permanently twisting a knife into him and he was just gritting and bearing through it. “Cramps.”

Sitting down on the pullout next to Jimmy, Tango blinks down at him. Blinks again. The word settles into his brain and Jimmy looks almost concerned at how thoughtful Tango looks. “Like stomach cramps?” 

The fleeting sound of Jimmy’s laugh fills the coffin of a vessel and Tango raises a brow - after that incident with the all you can get seafood stomach cramps had never been funny. Wriggling like a worm, Jimmy rests his head on Tango’s thigh, face momentarily knotted and tense before settling into his warmth. 

“Period cramps.” Jimmy can see the hamster return to spinning the cogs of Tango’s mind once again. 

“But you’re- wait you’re not a cis guy?” A laugh breaks past his lips, Tango’s astonishment and embarrassed kindling something pleasantly warm in his chest - a brief shot of gender euphoria like a star shooting through the sky. Magnificent. “There’s no way-” Jimmy rises with a bird’s nest of hair and Tango can see the outline of his chest shifting underneath his shirt. Oh. 

“Well. You may possess the universe's strongest binder,” Tango chuckles awkwardly, burning with embarrassment. But Jimmy smiles wearily, just lets the pain settle and slumps back against the ship's hull - blankets open, a clear invitation. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” 

Contemplating the empty space to Jimmy - they were in for a long haul, Tango first turns to look down towards the rear of the ship, “Can I get you anything, I think we might have some painkillers in the medpack.”

“That would be great actually… then cuddle?” How can Tango say no to those big eyes, batting so sweetly at him. 

Tango returns soon after with some tablets and a water which Jimmy greedily gulps down.

“You okay with being touched?” He asks, a quietly nervous look on his face. 

“Tango you dirty old dog, while I’m so vulnerable” The way red erupts off his face makes Jimmy’s heart swell and the pain briefly dissipate. Slumping back into the bed, creaking and refusing to give beneath him, he wiggles to try and find some comfort atop the slab of a mattress. 

“I- not like that-” Flames crack and fill the space, Tango blathering while Jimmy reaches up and weakly tugs at his shirt. 

“I’m fine with being touched, just come here.” Jimmy chuckles, voice a little worn, fatigued. Currently Jimmy doesn’t possess the strength to pull Tango down, but he comes easily, falling into bed next to him and slotting against him. The pullout is basically a slab of rock with a sheet, but Jimmy found some way to make it hospitable with all of his blankets and pillows. The stark minimalism and whirl of machines feeling just that more alive because of him.

Jimmy nestles close and breathes Tango in the char and soot of his auroma, face burying itself in his chest, tucking himself under his chin. The warmth of his breath against his neck has heat racing down Tango’s spine while his hands ghost Jimmy, still a little nervous to touch him. But his comfort is paramount. 

Wiggling close, Tango presses his chest against Jimmy, lets him melt into him with a groan settling in the back of his throat. Jimmy almost jumps out of bed at the sudden warmth tracing down his body when Tango’s hands run down his stomach, but he settles just as quick and melts into him. 

Slowly, Tango’s hands dance around Jimmy’s hips, pressing comfortingly into his abdomen, soothing warmth flushing into aching muscles while another meanders down to his thighs and kneads out the throbbing pains. The sight of Jimmy’s face so at ease makes Tango swoon, enraptured by how the tightness of his face unwinds, flutters with an ease he hadn’t known before.

Painful groans and whimper evaporate under Tango’s touch. A warming hand flat against his abdomen, slowly seeping into the cramping and throbbing pains twisting his insides, it doesn’t erase them, but the flames soothe, burn away the bitter edges fraying Jimmy’s body inside out. 

He sighs, a deep exhale, chest rising to bump up against Tango before exhaling with a soft smile. 

“Thank you.” Jimmy purrs, nestling into the crook of Tango’s neck, lapping at the sweet warmth bleeding out of him. Tango simply hums small agreeable noises, the scruff of his jaw comfortably brushing through his hair, like cats rubbing up against one another. 

It’s perhaps the first time in a few weeks that Tango has felt at ease: no patches to weld, no systems screaming at him, no looking over his shoulder - not for now at least. 

For now, in the grave cosmos sprawling beyond the confines of their little coffin of a ship does not matter, just the quiet soothing of his partner in crime’s pain. Slow and methodical ministrations absorbing him in quiet focus. In how Jimmy’s body feels in his hands, how he clambers for him, silently begging for just a little more. 

He could get used to… and maybe that thought makes his cheeks flush and heart heavy with something foreign. But right now, he can’t bring himself to care much for worries of the future. 

[eveenstar]

heii!! ^^, can you make another hoodie x reader one-shot? i've come to love ALL of your scenarios ,, left me wanting more :D

if you don't want to do this... well! thats fine, i'd understand! ^^

maybe... hoodie's hurt? and reader cares for him?

hurt, as in, wounded! like, knife stab or something!

thank you,

take care

One injured Hoodie coming through! This was interesting to write. Hope you enjoy! Sorry it's short. Take care! ♡

your blood in my hands (and I wouldn't have it any other way) | Brian Thomas/Hoodie

tw: reader's gender isn't specified. Obvious blood mentions, nothing too gory.

Beneath your hands, Brian lays as still as a rock. He doesn't flinch from your touch, not after the last three reprimands you muttered under your breath. It was odd enough that he let you tend to his wound, even more that he actually listened to you! Then again, there was a bullet wound on his body. Thankfully, it hadn't punctured any organs. Still, you were surprised someone had managed to survive long enough to shoot him.

Ah, well, Brian wasn't a young man anymore. He was closer to his mid forties than his mid twenties.

And with the number of Americans now possessing guns as if it were candy? Tsk. That was bad for business. Brian's business, that is.

"That's enough." Brian uttered, pulling himself up to his feet - and almost sliding back down onto the blood-stained chair with a frustrated hiss. "Fuck.."

"You lost too much blood." You sat back, rummaging through the old medpack. Living with a stalker-killer "employed" by an eldritch being, far away from any civilization, had forced you to take on skills such as cleaning wounds (of any kind), sewing and cooking with the bare least you had.

You sighed. "I thought... Why did you take on such a mission alone? Why not take a lesser one with you?"

"It is what He asked of me."

The words fell off painted in tones of melancholy and numbness. There was no trace of emotion behind them, like a corpse. If it wasn't for his beating heart or the living blood that stained your hands, you would've thought Brian was as much of a dead man as those that fell to his hands.

Resigned, you closed the medpack. "Then you should tell him that you are not allowed to go on any missions that aren't scavenging for information."

For the first time that morning, a hint of emotion reflected on his eyes. Raising an eyebrow, a wheeze of laughter escaped his lips. "Allowed?"

"Yes," You mimicked his expression. "You care for me, I care for you. That was our deal."

"Our deal," Brian leaned forward, supporting his elbows on his knees. He bared his teeth at you in a low hiss, "did not include you bossing me around."

Still mimicking him, you too leaned closer until the tips of your noses were grazing each other. "Consider our deal emended."

For the briefest of moments, you thought Brian would lash out, pull you away as he always did. When his eyes narrowed, you prepared yourself for the worst. Your gazes met, and you hoped to see the man behind the walls Brian built around himself. You had his blood in your hands, but you didn't have his heart. No, his heart already belonged to something far above you.

Far darker.

The flicker of his gaze to your lips did not go unnoticed. You were close enough to smell the iron-blood in his skin and feel his breath mixing with yours. You believed Brian would kiss you right then and there.

Instead, he stood to his feet with unprompted strength. With a low rumble, he said, "Your skill with the needle has improved."

You assumed that was his way of thanking you and acknowledging your efforts. One, for removing the bullet. Two, for cleaning the wound. Three, for stitching it. You huffed lightly; Brian should be thankful you didn't take advantage of his altered state, stumbling bloody upon the kitchen at early sunrise and take him out of his misery right then and there.

Then again, you doubted you could take a man of his size and strength even when injured. A deep but low voice whispered in the back of your mind that that was not the only reason; you were in this with Brian. There was no turning back. Surely, no one sane enough would happily remain in your position.

Maybe you two weren't so different after all.

[xxm0thm4n-ph4nt0mxx]

I apologise to all the eliminated participants, but you did not make the cut below. You will find the reason why, as it’s not merely a failure but about upholding our core values of our society, integrity, the ability to work as a team, or compassion. These values are vital to our society, and unfortunately, they were not fully demonstrated.Below is the reason for elimination; you shall not continue with the trials:

1. Eden Abbott (they/she) – She didn’t stop and helped no one; she looked to fight other scholars.

2. Tabitha Weber (she/her) – Couldn’t get off her pillar up high despite having wings.

3. Theodora Kalonji (she/her)—Attempted to harm

4. Ezra Kian over a medpack despite being on the same team.

5. Briar Clausen (she/her) – Froze up, did nothing all round.

6. Scout Harris (she/they) – Hid all around.

7. Harper Irving (they/she) – Defected to another team.

8. Ezra Kian (he/him) – Didn’t defend himself, seemed to be in shock.

9. Clementine Bielsky (she/her)—Accidentally ‘killed’ one of the injured they were supposed to be treating.

10. Jacqueline ‘Jack’ Berg (she/he)—Abandoned team, didn’t help any of the injured.

11. Leah Quispe (she/her)—Refused to assist team.

12. Kalen Goodman (they/them) – Questioned the ethics loudly all around.

13. Mīlian Beck (he/him)—Attempted to escape the arena.

14. Clara Novák (she/they)—Tried to sabotage their own team.

15. Gemma Yadav (she/her)—Refused to help treat injuries.

16. Callen Glenn (they/he) – Threw up and passed out at the sight of blood.

17. Idrīs Green (he/they) – Had a panic attack and tapped out.

18. Selene Zahri (she/her)—Let people die, did nothing.

19. Kiana Brown (she/her)—Attempted to use her knack to find other people, passed out, and the team left her.

20. Adelaide Müller (she/her)—Instructed team to leave Kiana.

21. Jude Bishop (he/they) – Got in the middle of Theodora and Ezra’s fight.

22. Corey Gates (he/they) – Cried the whole time, followed the team, did nothing.

23. Valentine Cross (she/they) – Stole other teams’ gloves to prevent them from finishing the challenge.

24. Ari Young (he/they) – Had gloves stolen, made no effort to get them back.

25. Knox Croft (he/him) – Forgot the task his team sent him to do.

26. West Swift (they/them)—Built an explosive and detonated it, putting other scholars at risk.

27. Mariah Lee (she/her)—Intentionally killed any injured she found.

28. Camron Hawk (he/him)—Refused to work with the team, attempted to lead.

29. Rafael Mead (he/him)—Screamed nonstop.

30. Cathrine ‘Catty’ Singh (she/her)—Tapped out the moment she saw blood.

31. Finn Joss (he/him)—Broke their ankle in the explosion, didn’t attempt to get help.

32. Felicity Zahraoui (she/her)—Started a fire.

33. Esther Vernon (she/her)—Wouldn’t let Corey Gates help the team because they had a cane.

34. Daisy Vega (she/her)—Supported Eater’s decision.

35. Wynn Lewis (they/them)—Wouldn’t follow orders.

36. Arrow Chapman (they/them, it/its) – Collapsed rubble on survivors they were tasked to help.

37. Jonna Szymański (she/her)—Gave someone the wrong injection, killing them.

38. Reed Watson (he/they) – Forgot how to do CPR.

39. Jasper Tate (he/she)—Complained the whole time, refused to touch anything dirty.

40. Jasper Bond (he/they) – Did all of Tate’s work for him.

41. Casey Keller-Honey (they/them, she/her) – Refused to speak to Jasper Bond.

42. Oak Hale (they/them, it/its) – Didn’t read the challenge brief.

43. Wren Xiao (she/they) – Faked an injury so they wouldn’t have to help.

44. Devan Norris (he/they) – Prayed over every victim even if they said no.

45. Darcy Eaton (they/she, she/he/they)—When asked to fetch needles as the rest of the team were tied up with rescue, refused, citing, “I don’t do needles.”

46. Maya Kido (she/her)—Tried to fight team leader.

47. Levi Bakhtiar-McAllister (he/him) – Tapped out, reasons unknown.

48. Victor Cliff (he/its)—Refused to read the brief or listen to teammates; thought it could do it on its own.

49. Aurelia Bernstein-Levin (she/her)—Broke the rules.

50. Noa Grant (he/they)—Attempted to escape.

51. Olive Fitzwilliam (she/her)—Threw up.

52. Dorian Moon (he/him)—Helped West Swift construct a bomb.

53. Grace O'Connor (she/her) – Got lost.

54. Félix Makonnen-Alexander (he/him)—Refused to treat animal survivors.

55. Reed Koch (he/him)—Failed to check climbing gear before helping survivor teammate fall.

56. Lyle Claude (he/him)—Froze when asked to carry a victim.

57. Eponine Lemoine (she/her)—Micromanaged the team until the team could do nothing.

58. Harley Alexis (he/him)—Punched Ansel Stone.

59. Salem Newton (they/them)—Tried to kidnap other team leaders.

60. Katie Almeida (she/her) – Broke down under pressure.

61. Ansel Stone (he/him) – Decided he knew better than the team leader.

62. Lauren Patel (she/her)—Only helped people she was told to help by the team leader.

63. Avi March (he/they)—Slowed team’s progress on purpose.

64. Romeo Hendrix (he/they) – Wouldn’t help Dean when he broke their wrist.

65. Zephyr Collins (they/them)—Climbed up the building, got scared, and wouldn’t come down.

66. Dean Eo (he/they) – Broke wrist.

67. Henry Rees (he/she)—Attempted to join another team.

68. Rory Hill (they/he)—Tried to teach Avi how to clean a wound, didn’t realise it was a trick to slow the team.

69. Sawyer Quintero (they/them)—Hid in medical tent.Eoghan Hart (he/its) - refused to use knack to find survivors

[thatonefanficwriternooneknows]

Corrie Week Day 3: “You shouldn’t be here”

Started writing this yesterday cause I’m spending most of today driving to get to our art class and then art class 😂

And there’s a lot of free time between Halloween shows ;)

As requested by @somestorythoughts ;) thanks for the brain worm!

“Really Commander? What in the kriff did you get into this time? Why is blood pouring from the seams of your kute?”

Hex rushed into Fox’s office, already swinging his medpack off his back and opening it for easy access. He slid it across the floor to the bunk Fox thought he didn’t know about.

“Hex? You…you’re not supposed to be here.” Fox wheezed out, chest hitching with each gasp of breath he took. Clearly a broken rib or two.

But Hex was more concerned about wherever that much blood was coming from.

“I’m the kriffing CMO and you’re injured. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” Hex scoffed as he pushed Fox towards the bunk, carefully starting to de-shell his patient as he did.

Fox tried to stop him, but his arms were so weak Hex could push them away easily as he carefully placed the bloody armor out of the way. (A clear sign something was really really wrong. Even through all the haran that Coruscant has put them through, the ration cuts, the natborns, the GAR’s hatred, Fox remained the toughest shabuir the Corries had. The fact that Hex could easily push him way was a bad kriffing sign.)

“Let, let me rephrase then,” Fox gasped out, groaning as Hex pulled a little too hard on his kute when removing it from the gaping kriffing wound in his chest, “you shouldn’t be here.”

Hex growled at the stubborn di’kut and dug in his med pack one handed to get out the pre-portioned hypo, priming it as he brought the needle to Fox’s neck.

Of course the absolute besom knocked it out of Hex’s hands because he’s a self sacrifice kriffing moron.

“Fox, I swear to every holy and unholy deity I’ve ever heard of, including you, that if you do not let me give you this pain reliever I will tie you down and make you take it.”

Fox weakly glared at Hex, but bared his neck a few moments later, obviously realizing he wasn’t going to win against Hex.

“Good vod.”

Hex was then allowed the rare view of the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard flushing a fetching scarlet.

“Kinky…” Fox’s voice slurred a little as the pain relief kicked in and Hex let his tense muscles relax slightly as Fox started to slowly blink at him.

“It is quite similar to the last time we were together, isn’t it? Could do without the blood and clearly life threatening injury.” Hex snarked, trying not to get distracted by Fox’s bare tits when there was a gaping kriffing wound right below them.

(He was a simple vod, and Fox was stunning even when beat to haran and bloody as kriff.)

“Wish it was more like that…”

“Oh? Want to let me order you around again, commander? Let you turn off your scheming brain for an hour or two?” Hex talked slowly while getting out the surgical thread and needle.

“Mmmm. My favorite…part of the month, Hex.” Fox breathed slowly as Hex started stitching the gash closed.

His commander was a kriffing awful patient, but he knew how to breath the right way when Hex had to stitch a wound on his abdomen up.

“I thought that was when Quinlan surfaces from the lower levels and kidnaps you for a day or two.” Hex laughed under his breath at the stank face Fox made at him.

“Why the kriff-”

“You can’t fool me, Fox, that trash tooka lights up your life.” Hex tied the surgical thread tightly, snapping it carefully and putting the excess away.

“Just like…Prost and…Hetic do…to yours.”

Hex scowled.

(The downside to knowing Fox for so kriffing long was that the bastard knew just as much about Hex and he knew about Fox.

It was a very equal relationship.)

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” When in doubt, deny it out.

Fox laughed lightly before coughing some bloody spittle onto his chin.

Of course there was internal bleeding.

“I need to give you a bacta injection, Fox.” Hex was already reaching for the scarce necessity, keeping an eye on Fox so the madvod didn’t try and knock it out of his hands again.

“No.”

“It’s cute that you think I’m giving you a choice. You have internal bleeding, you besom.”

Fox, of course,

[sophieops]

Chapter 2: He Bleeds Too

"Heroes save lives. But no one ever taught her what to do when the life belonged to a villain."

He hadn’t moved since speaking. Not even to breathe, as far as she could tell. The only sign of life was the slow drip of blood from his fingertips, leaving a quiet crimson trail in the dust beneath him.

Mira crouched a few feet away, close enough to see the burns better now. They weren't just surface level — they were deep, gnarled, and raw. Old scars overlapped fresh damage. Some of the wounds looked self-inflicted. Others… were clearly not.

“Why are you still alive?” she murmured.

Dabi coughed — dry, hoarse, almost a laugh.

“Been wondering that myself.”

It wasn’t the answer of a man who feared death. It was the answer of someone annoyed he hadn’t earned it.

Her mind kept racing: This is Dabi. This is Toya Todoroki. Arsonist. Murderer. Traitor to hero society. She’d watched video feeds of him torching hero teams like kindling. She’d read reports of what was left behind. She’d memorized his face during sidekick training.

And now she was standing in front of him, in the middle of a dead zone, with no one watching.

One flick of her comm and she could call it in. One flick of her quirk and she could blind him long enough to run.

Instead… she opened the small medpack clipped to her belt.

“What are you doing?” he rasped.

“I don’t know.”

But she kept working. Pulled out a roll of gauze, gloves, disinfectant. Her hands moved like they were someone else's. She wasn’t thinking. If she thought too hard, she’d start questioning why she wasn’t leaving him here to rot.

She pressed a soaked pad against a gash on his side. He didn’t flinch.

“You’re going to get arrested,” he muttered.

“You’re going to die.”

“Wouldn’t that be better?”

She stopped. Met his eyes for the first time.

They weren’t wild. They weren’t angry. They were just… tired.

"You think if you bleed enough, it’ll make the fire stop?” she asked.

“Maybe it’ll make the past burn out,” he whispered.

Silence.

She didn’t know what to say to that. Because maybe — just maybe — she understood it more than she wanted to admit.

Her mind returned to 48 hours ago.

To the moment her team entered a burning block and didn’t come out. To the sounds of screaming through comms, cut short in mid-sentence. To her mentor’s voice — Burnout’s — yelling for her to fall back.

She did. They didn’t.

She'd spent the past two days digging through rubble for any trace of them. All she found was melted armor, crushed IDs, and a stray glove with blood on it.

She didn’t even have bodies to mourn.

And now, the man who lit the match sat broken before her, ribs visible under cracked skin, coughing up smoke like the fire never left him.

“I should hate you,” she said aloud.

Dabi said nothing.

“I want to.”

Still nothing.

“But I look at you, and all I see is… ash.”

That got a twitch. Maybe a smirk. Maybe pain.

She wrapped the last bandage around his side, tight enough to stop the bleeding. Crude work. Temporary at best.

“You’re not saving me,” he said finally.

“I know.”

“You think I’ll change?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

She stood.

“I guess I want to know what a monster looks like when it’s not being watched.”

Dabi let out a weak chuckle, but it cracked halfway and turned into a cough.

“Brave girl.”

“No. Just lost.”

She turned to leave, her hand finally brushing the comm on her belt.

She hesitated again.

She could report this. She should.

But the truth felt more dangerous than the lie.

She stared at the cracked ceiling, at the sliver of fading daylight bleeding through a hole in the roof.

Tomorrow, she told herself.

Tomorrow, she’d decide.

For now, she left Dabi in the shadows, bandaged and burning inside, and walked back into the smoke.

Some monsters don’t hide in the dark. They sit in it, hoping it’ll finish what the world started.

[End of Chapter 2]

Check out the rest of the chapters :

[ruinedbylanadelrey]

Just imagine Reader taking care of Din’s injuries after he was in a big fight and got lots of cuts and bruises on his chest and back. Of course it starts to turn intimate and Din wants some, but Reader reminds him he’s hurt. It would be steamy, sweet, and funny all at once.

Like You Do | Din Djarin x f!Reader

"You're the one I can't lose, no one loves me like you do" - Joji, Like You Do

summary: Din comes back to the crest hurt and her heart just breaks at the sight of her strong Mandalorian crumbling to his knees. warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, descriptions of blood, cuts, and needles, his name is din not djarin (i'm sorry he is 4ever din<3), razor crest lives forever, mando'a use, no grogu, reader is so in love with, din is a simp, mando's helmet comes off (i'm sorry), sexual tension, touching, groping, kissing, din begging to be fucked AN: I have had this request in my drafts forever because i kept re writing it so here is the final product. I want to clarify that Din Djarin is my #1 man, i know it's shocking because I write about Joel mostly. But Din is my soulmate and I'm a little embarrassed to share my thoughts about Din. Like my room color scheme is grey, silver, and black I re did my room back when The Mandalorian came out. That's my little secret<3 anyways enjoy my little fantasy<3333 masterlist

translations: cyar’ika- darling, beloved, sweetheart Udesii- "take it easy" Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum- "I love you/I know you forver"

Din could feel the sliced skin stretch with each step he took, all he could smell is blood, blaster smoke, and sweat. His breathing was uneven and his body trembling when he made it to the crest, falling to his knees as he heard your sweet honey voice calling out to him.

"Din! Maker! I don't know where you're bleeding from!" You slide to your knees taking the large Mandalorian into your arms, laying him against your chest, your hands working quickly removing his armor except for his helmet. His flight suit was torn on his left side at the waist, his flesh gashed, red bleeding into the meat of his skin. He needs bacta but the hard stuff. 

Din said he will only use it if you were the one hurt; your mind replayed that whole argument when you guys finally gave in and fell through the thin wire of tension cutting it when he thrust himself into your hot core.

You asked him, 'Why can't we use it on you if it ever comes down to it?'

'I will do whatever it takes to keep you alive...you're the one I can't lose.'

You scoffed at him and just spat 'So I can lose you and feel the exact same pain you would feel for me'

'You're so much stronger than me in every single way, cyar’ika' Din chokes up and it broke your heart seeing be so emotional. He was a cold-hearted person until you came along as another recuse he collected. You brought your sunshine and melted away the winter in his heart. 

The movie in your head clears when you grabbed the needle of bacta and pinched his skin near the gash and pushed the medicine into his muscles. Din's screams were so visceral and his hands grip your thighs, bruising them to a deep purple. "Udesii! Udesii!" You cry out as you throw the empty syringe across the hull.

His body jolts while the bacta runs through his body, you composed yourself and grab the medpack pulling out the field cauterizer. You laid him on his right side while you fused his skin back together. Burning flesh filled the air making your bile come up your throat burning it and leaving a sour taste in your mouth, your hands slick from sweating and his blood. 

Din going limp and taking shallows breaths submitting to you saving him. You wiped your hands on your pants and laying him on his back, you sobbed as you cupped the cheek of his helmet with your hands.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum" Din strangles to say holding your wrist in his hand, pressing your hand closer to the beskar. You collapsed on top of him, your body jerking from the hiccups and sobs leaving your mouth. Din wraps his arms around holding you like a child holding his favorite toy close so it won't leave his sight. 

"You're so dramatic, little girl" Din takes a deep breath and laughs it out. You craned your neck to him without his helmet. You quickly turned away, you panic and guilt slamming into your heart. "I want you to see me, cyar’ika" Din grabs your chin and tilts your head where your eyes are burning into his brown eyes.

You swallow as your eyes dance around his face, taking his eyes, the scruff on his face, patchy in a few spots, his mustache bringing attention to his plump lips, so pink and kissable. 

"You were crafted by the maker, din" You trace his nose with your fingertip, taking in how his skin feels on yours. "Kiss me, little girl, please" He whimpers while you thumb over his bottom lip. The need in his voice made you ache between your thighs. You carefully straddle his waist and bring your lips to his, Din sits up groaning while he licked in your mouth, his hands exploring up and down your back, his hands grabbing your ass and squeezing so hard. 

You gasp and moan "Din...you're h-" he cuts you off and bites your lip. He grabs your hand and places it on top of the outline of his hard cock. "C'mon baby, let's fuck," his words entice you as you tighten your grip around his clothed length, and he winces and whimpers and you remembered you're the stronger one and need to stop this so he could rest.

"Din, no you need to rest," he kisses your neck and bites at the thin skin. "Little girl, let's have fun..." That damn name made you want to say screw it. "Let's sleep, I'm tired and you have to be too," You helped Din to the steel slab that he calls a bed and lays down holding out his arms for you to be his human-weighted blanket. 

"We will talk about the bacta when we wake up" Din mumbles as sleep takes over him and relaxes with you on top of him. 

[raccoonfallsharder]

What if in the movie everyone except lylla dies in the flashback scene?

don't make me write another fanfic lol.

cw for angst, medical trauma, animal cruelty, child abuse, and a severe lack of editing.

when i first read this, i thought you meant that lylla survives instead of rocket. now i think you might mean that rocket thinks lylla is dead, but perhaps — unbeknownst to him — she does survive, or is somehow revived. so everything we see in the mcu has unfolded just as the movies have shown, except this crucial piece of information.

there are terrible versions of this story. versions where, in his bitterness and hatred for 89P13, the high evolutionary orders a barely-breathing lylla revived — in retaliation. nearly all of her becomes mechanical at this point — a hodge-podge of surgeries meant to ensure her survival without a thought to her pain. versions where, inspired by rocket's violence against his maker, wyndham uses her as the first of his experiments in a new project, and she becomes known in the labs as the mother of the hellspawn.

i don't think lylla loses or hides her soft nature, though. her way of surviving is different from rocket's. i suspect she truly cares for the wounded animal-cyborgs in her new unit, and that it breaks her heart every time one of them dies.

and they all die at some point, whether due to experimentation or battle.

maybe in that world, rocket finds her aboard the arete before it's destroyed, but i don't think she has much time left on this plane. maybe just long enough to tell him how much she loves him, and encourage him to live — to be happy. and to tell him she doesn't regret a thing, and to ask him to care for whatever hellspawn are left. they're able to be rehabilitated, after all. they've had lylla for their mother.

but to be honest, i don't really like that story. as hopeful as it is, it's still too sad for me, and neither of these babies deserves any new sadness in their life.

so perhaps, instead — in the chaos of rocket's escape — perhaps lylla is able to drag herself into hiding somewhere. perhaps the laser-shot missed her major organs, or wasn't able to damage them as much as expected because so many of parts of her had already been replaced with stronger and fancier manufactured pieces. perhaps one of wyndham's other recorders — lifeforms the high evolutionary regards as interchangeable, never sparing them a second glance — had not yet had the pity fully-bred out of them, and saw that lylla's soft chest was still moving. perhaps they reported her as being incinerated with her brother and sister, when that hadn't been the case at all.

i think that recorder — rebelling for the first time, maybe, and uncertain what to do next — might have bandaged her up as well as they could, and given her some rations, and stowed her away on an outgoing supply freighter. who knows? maybe they’d even be able to give her a medpack. stay quiet, they would have told her, even if she was barely conscious at the time. stay hidden.

she would have been too tired to do otherwise at first, and then too frightened by the recorder's warning. the crew actually probably would have liked her — who could have helped themselves? — but she never finds that out because she's too busy resting and hiding in the ventilation shafts, mourning her lost siblings and praying for rocket's safety. then, one day, there's some sort of altercation amongst the crew. some new transmission has come through — some new piece of information. she doesn't know what. but she can smell their fear, their anxiety. some of them are arguing that they should flee, seek help from other allied planets. but more of them are saying they should go directly home instead: to try and save their parents, their siblings, their children and lovers.

how can we save them? one demands, their voice shrill and agonized. we aren't fighters! none of our people are!

but the decision is made: no stops until they get back to their own planet. no stops until they land on zen-whoberi.

unfortunately, they never get to land at all. countless fleets of warships ring the planet and the supply freighter is docked and boarded by black order before it ever breaks atmosphere. lylla is fast, though, and while you might think her metal forepaws would clink too loudly against the metal gratings, the sounds of her travel are hidden under blaster-fire and screaming.

she hides in the ventilation shafts again — of a new ship, this time. the sanctuary ii. and when the little zen-whoberian is brought on board, lylla’s heart aches for her. she watches the child from the vent shafts for a full quarter, listening to her occasionally cry and sniffle for her mother in muted, muffled tones. the purple monster — thanos, they call him — speaks to the zen-whoberian only in gentle, quiet tones, patient and kind.

but lylla has been spoken to kindly before — by other men who ended up being monsters.

and she doesn’t trust this titan — not when his people had so callously executed the crew on the supply-freighter, as remorselessly as her own sire had shot her — as easily as the guards and recorders had attacked her siblings.

something shifts after the quarter-mark. thanos still talks to the child — gamora, lylla has learned — in tender tones. but the girl is brutalized — daily — in “training sessions” that make lylla’s blood run cold. the first night that gamora is sent back to her bunk with a bleeding wound across her brow, lylla decides she can’t stay quiet anymore.

it’s okay, friend, she says softly, and her voice echoes in the tiny room. don’t be scared.

cautiously, she shows herself, and the child watches her with big dark eyes as she eases her way out from behind the grate, dropping gently to the thin cot. she winces at the blood on gamora’s brow, and lifts a corner of the stiff, uncomfortable bedsheet — wetting it with her tongue before using it to dab at the congealing blood.

that night, lylla whispers stories to the zen-whoberian: stories about her brothers and sister, and stories they’d used to tell each other about freedom and stars and skies, and shining cities just beyond their reach. the next rotation, gamora brings her little scraps of her own rations, though lylla is loathe to take them. and when thanos forces gamora to kill someone for the first time, the zen-whoberian doesn’t cry at all — not till she’s safe in her bunk, holding onto her strange fur-covered friend.

lylla strokes her metal hand over the child’s head, and her heart aches and aches. she knows what gamora is feeling, deeper than any wound on her body — deeper than anything the zen-whoberian can give voice to.

hurts.

another quarter later, when the luphomoid child shows up in the bunk, lylla stays hidden until gamora can swear the younger girl to secrecy. nebula’s big dark eyes remind lylla of floor’s, and the otter can’t look away.

a few rotations later, both girls come to bed with bruises, and nebula sobs.

i don’t want to fight you, she cries into lylla’s fur, squinting at the older girl with tear-drenched eyes. i just want a sister.

gamora stares at the luphomoid helplessly. she’s still only a tiny thing herself. i don’t know how to be a sister, she admits in a forlorn, childish voice.

lylla strokes nebula’s dark hair, and opens her other thin metal arm in an offering to gamora.

i do, she offers tentatively. to be honest, i think being a sister is the thing i’m best at.

gamora’s lower lip trembles, and she throws herself into lylla’s embrace, wrapping an arm around each of her bunkmates.

it’s strange, how the presence of one quiet soul can still change so much. as thanos grows crueler in his methods, the girls attempt to trade off their wins for each other. unfortunately, he catches on quickly. if nebula loses, he replaces part of her body. if he suspects gamora has let nebula win, he still replaces part of the younger girl’s body. the luphomoid is riddled with painful, unnecessary prosthetics by the time she’s thirteen.

gamora has her own mods, of course, though they’re nowhere near as rampant as her sister’s. and after every surgery, their secret third bunkmate cares for them. and though she never says it, they’ve learned to tell from the look in lylla’s soft eyes — not to mention her quietly-held nightmares — that she knows the terror and hurt of unwanted surgeries too.

they take care of lylla, and keep her hidden. and in turn, she takes care of them, and keeps the best parts of them safe.

when gamora runs off to find the orb, she does it with nebula’s and lylla’s blessing. she’ll send word once she’s somewhere safe with the units, and they’ll escape and meet up on an unnoticeable little planet called tarka. then they’ll head to shi’ar territory, as far away from thanos as they can get.

of course, it doesn’t quite work out that way. gamora can’t sell the orb after all — not once she realizes how dangerous it is — and nebula is trapped playing double-agent between thanos and ronan until after the latter is killed on xandar.

that’s when she takes her fur-sleek sister from sanctuary ii and runs.

of course nebula fills lylla in as much as she can — as much as she knows — about their sister and the guardians. but unfortunately, all she knows is that there is an idiot-terran and a worse-idiot-kylosian, and a tree, and a fox. and some dancing.

meet us on sovereign turns into meet us on berhert turns into wait, we’re leaving to visit peter’s father; i’ll tell you where it’s safe to meet us next. nebula makes lylla promise to stay on their little ship while she lands them on berhert anyway. the youngest of the sisters — bald, now, and more than half-robotic — helps the fox stop a ravager mutiny, and finds out where her older sister was headed.

ego.

there’s some arguing between them — some trust-issues, you could say. because, well, the fox and the ravager captain only know nebula as ronan’s lackey. it doesn’t help that nebula insists on stopping at her own ship before they leave berhert, but won’t let them on.

she’s too used to keeping her third sister a secret, you see.

nevertheless, eventually, nebula decides to leave with the eclector, and they let her come with them. it isn’t until after the war with ego — after the funeral for yondu, with all the colors of ogord dazzling up the void of space — that nebula and gamora are able to sit down and explain everything to the rest of the guardians of the galaxy.

which is also when the sisters explain that they need to make a stop on berhert. soon — before they go anywhere else.

they need to pick up their secret third sister, and bring her with them on all their future adventures in the wide-open sky.

the fox, at first, is resistant. the cyborg, and the bug-girl? and now somebody else? he demands rudely. how many new crew-members does the guardians frickin’ need?

but then he hears her name.

there’s no hope on his face — how could there be? — but his ears flutter. he seems to take it as some sort of sign: to shut his mouth and lean back, and let the future unfold as it will. if nebula or gamora are paying enough attention to him, perhaps they’ll notice it: the way his mouth moves when he thinks no-one is looking, rolling the two syllables between his teeth — like something sweet he’d long forgotten the flavor of. perhaps they’ll furrow their brow when they see the way his whiskers twitch, and how his ears flatten with something heavy and unnameable and wistful amongst the stars. again, he mouths the words against the shadow and sky, like a line from a favorite song.

lylla. lylla.

lylla.

headcanons & imagines | navigation

[omegafett99]

Whumptober day twenty

Whumptober 2024 - day 20 - Prompt: “it’s not your fault”

“Hunter!”

Hunter woke up with a start, Omega!

“Hunter! Wake up! We’re here!” He heard Wrecker call from the cockpit right.

It had been 5 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days since Omega had been captured, and they were going to every place they thought Hemlock might be, they were now going to Florrum, he knew it was unlikely, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Hunter swallowed back a sob as he thought about his lost Daughter, Wrecker must have seen him because he started to say

“You know, this is ’Gonna be the one!” always optimistic, Hunter sighed, this planet had as much of a chance as the last 99, He couldn't bear the thought that Omega was going through everything he promised wasn't going to happen.

He thought about everything that had happened since Plan 99, and anger bubbled up, and, in a blind fit of rage, he yelled in anger and punched the hard durasteel interior of the marauder.

Hunter gasped in pain and swore under his breath, cradling his hand

“Sarge!” Wrecker exclaimed and rushed over to look at his quickly bruised hand, grabbing the medpack on his way, he made him sit down on the nearby bunk and cut a piece of gauze.

Hunter winced as Wrecker tightly wrapped his hand in the white bandage

“Sorry,” Wrecker muttered.

“Don’t be, you didn’t make me punch the wall” Hunter assured him

“Yeah bu-“Wrecker.” Hunter interrupted “It’s not your fault” and Wrecker knew that he wasn’t talking about his hand

“I’m supposed to be the strong one” Wrecker whispered 

“I’m supposed to protect you, I was supposed to protect THEM” Wrecker looked away, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Let’s just scout the area and see what we find” Wrecker stood up and briskly walked away and Hunter sighed, he knew that Wrecker blamed himself even more than him, and he was determined to not let his Brother drown in his grief.

@kybercrystals94 @heidnspeak @dreamsight73

[mangoxsago]

TYRANT - By Beyoncé & Dolly

Mansk x Fem-Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS - Violence and war imagery (combat scenes, civilian deaths) Death of a main character. Emotional and psychological trauma. Moral conflict and identity crisis. Romantic tragedy. Themes of manipulation, loss, and grief.

3rd person view / short story

{I was listening to some music in my car, and this song from my playlist popped up. I liked this part of the lyrics so why not}

“One-one-one by one, you hang them high.”

The squad moved like shadows through the jungle.

Colonel Quaritch led the way, towering over the underbrush, rifle raised and eyes scanning. The others followed, precise, silent, obedient. Y/n trailed behind, carrying no weapon, only her scanner and medpack. She wasn't here to fight — just to observe.

But the air smelled of gunpowder and blood.

She flinched as she saw Mansk fire his rifle. A Na’vi boy fell from a tree. Another shot, this time a father shielding his daughter. Then another shoot.

Y/n stared at Mansk’s face.

His sunglasses covering his eyes, but she can see right through them.

One by one, he shot them in cold blood.

The jungle fell silent again. And Y/n couldn’t feel her hands.

“Your hands are steady and you sleep at night.”

That evening back at Bridgehead, Mansk laughed over a game of cards with Lyle and Prager. All of them joked about ammo counts and the Na’vi people. Mansk had a small smile on his face while he listened to them, like nothing haunted him.

Y/n sat in the corner of the mess hall, her untouched tray in front of her. Her hands trembled slightly from the memory of the boy’s scream.

Mansk caught her eye.

He smiled at her, acting like everything was the same.

She didn’t smile back.

“How did you turn your heart to stone?”

Y/n found him in the weapons bay.

“Mansk,” she said quietly.

He turned, checking the barrel of his rifle. “Y/n. You okay?”

“You used to be different. You used to… hesitate.”

He paused. “Things change.”

“You changed,” she said, stepping closer. “They put you in that body, and then ripped out your soul.”

Mansk looked up slowly. “You think I wanted this?”

“I think I want the man I knew back.”

Mansk’s jaw clenched. But he said nothing.

“I don’t want him back, but I can’t let go.”

That night Y/n watched old footage on one of the monitors here. Mansk, back when he was human, laughing at her in a science tent. Messing with her while she worked, making her laugh.

She buried her face in her hands.

“He’s gone,” she whispered to herself. “And I still love him.” She silently let out the tears that threatened to spill earlier.

She didn’t want him back. Not this hollowed version. Not this killer.

But every time he looked at her, something inside still burned.

“Hangman, answer me now.”

Y/n stood in front of General Ardmore’s desk, fists clenched, and towering over her desk. Her Na’vi size making her more intimidating.

“You used me to keep him obedient,” she said, voice shaking. They brought her back only to use her to get at Mansk.

Ardmore raised a brow. “We needed emotional anchors. You were one.”

“You had no right.”

“You volunteered to come back, the both of you...”

“I volunteered to help science. Not to be his leash.”

Ardmore leaned forward.

“You knew him better than anyone. Maybe he was never who you thought he was.”

Y/n’s heart cracked.

“General,” she said softly. “Answer me now.”

There was no answer.

“You owe me a debt. You stole him from me.”

Later, alone in a lab, she stared at Mansk memory logs. Looking at Mansk, back when he was human, when he was different until now.

Y/n watched him die in old battle footage, also looking at her log as well when she died along in that battle. A man named ‘max’ who worked in the Avatar program took a construction vehicle and crashed it into the building she was in.

RDA brung them back.

But they stole him from her. Stole his soul, his softness, his life.

“You owe me a debt,” she said to herself.

“You stole him from me.”

And the worst part?

They never even said thank you.

“I hated you once.”

Weeks passed. Y/n barely spoke to him.

Mansk noticing the change.

One day, after a mission, he followed her.

“You hate me now?” Mansk asked.

“I do,” she replied. “When you shot these innocent Na’vi people. I hate you so much. I wanted to run back to them and never look back at you.” Y/n’s eyes grew teary, a few tears running down her cheeks.

Mansk looked away, jaw tight. Oh how he hated seeing her like that.

“But,” she added quietly, “I also remember when you carried me five miles through the forest after I twisted my ankle.” Mansk looked at her again, he remembered that day when you and a few others had to go out to grab samples. He and a few other marines had been assigned to protect y’all. But he said nothing.

Silence stretched between them.

“I envy you now.”

Mansk slept peacefully that night.

Y/n laid awake, staring at the ceiling of her quarters. She thought of her parents, who had passed away on earth. The place she used to study at to be able to step foot on Pandora. The sound of her family who’d she’d never see it again.

And she thought of Mansk.

So at peace. So untouched.

“I envy you,” she whispered.

“Because you don’t feel any of this anymore.”

“Just tell me how. Tell me how.”

On one mission.

It was supposed to be simple. They retrieve abandon files at an old RDA base about Na’vi test subjects.

But they were ambushed by a group of Na’vi. Arrows flying at them, barely missing her and the others.

Y/n was dragging a wounded Fike to cover, when an arrow came flying at her. Fike hurt from the wounds panicked and got on the comms.

She was in their line of sight.

The arrow piercing her body.

She collapsed.

The rest of the guys quickly took care of the Na’vi, while Ja helped Fike out.

Mansk got to her in seconds before Ja did, scooping her up with shaking hands.

“No, no, no. Not you, not now!”

Y/n breath was shallow. Eyes fluttering.

“I kept asking…” she rasped, coughing. “How do I let go of someone… who doesn’t exist anymore?”

Mansk throat tightened.

“I wish I could’ve been the man you needed,” he whispered.

She smiled faintly.

“Just tell me how,” she breathed, struggling to get the words out. “Tell me how I…” Y/n body went limp.

Her head falling against his chest. And her light went out.

“FUCK! Ja get over here!” Mansk yelled on his comm, but by the time Ja got there along with the others. She was done, Mansk held her body tight. Regrets about everything he had done, he wished he could have done something different for her…

[a-artist-a]

the light / your eyes / your scars

Written for genwork june! (More or less the prompts: affection, light, together/apart, home)

After coming home from an mission, Jedi Healer Vivian and Rha spend time together.

Shimmering light fell through the massive crystalline windows, straying an wide array of colors across the white walls. Vivian paused to watch. The hallways were near empty anyway, too many souls away to fight bloody, cursed war.

Was there anything quite like home? As an child she had chased the bright shards of light through the halls. As an adult she still caught them on her hands and allowed herself to feel delight. One must find joy where it grew. And there was not much on her long missions, healing people only to have them die the next day.

Vivian let out an sigh. This moodiness was unbecoming of an Jedi Master her age and training. The path took her left and further out, her apartments set behind one of the many gardens segmenting the temple in many smaller spaces. Even then, it took long before the paved path ended and turned into worn earth.

Softly slopped hills cascaded downwards, split by three streams and fed by the same water that rushed down the roaring waterfall not far away.

Once the walls of her little place were white, but over the years the many fallen leaves and fruits from the ancient tree curling around it, had colored it with dirt and algae. With an beep, the bioscanner acknowledged her.

It had been easy to get this apartment, too far away from anything important, too long of an walk. She did not mind the solitude – though she was not alone out here. Carved into the shadow of the mountain stood an second hut, covered in moss, vines and sweet blossoms.

And there was light in the windows.

Vivian dropped her hand baggage. Three steps out, she cursed and went back, taking her tea and medpack. Not only was Rha very determined to bleed out on her own floor, as experience had taught her, she also owned nothing to drink expect caf and that sugary abomination she called tasty.

Before she could lift her hand to the scanner, the door opened. Rha must have felt her presence – or maybe she did install sensors and cameras around her home. Shadows, she thought with an smile, it was truly an surprise that Rha had not a thousand different locks on her door.

Half of the kitchen table was full of armor, the other half still on Rha. Breastplate and helmet were off, as were gloves and bracers. The undersuit seemed whole nor was it molten to her flesh. Good. Burns liked to get infected and she had no wish to relieve the memory behind the scars Rha already wore.

Her friend lifted her head. She did have something of an disgruntled loth cat about her. A few strands of hair curl upwards, hair knotted in the back. The mission must have been long. Or, an episode. One never knew. The shadow under her working eye were not deep and the eye itself was an shade between green and blue. No recent brush with the dark side. She hoped that it was an good sign. There were not many records on Dark Jedi, especially not ones such as Rha, fluctuating and still very much on the side of their Order.

For now. Only ever for now. It was not something that Rha liked to acknowledge, never had out loud to her, but at heart her dearest friend was driven by devotion without ends. And despite years of separation and rarely ever seeing each other, she knew that Rha would follow her, if she ever asked. The same bright fervor burnt in her eyes as had when she but an small child, laying eyes on her for the first time. They had been inseparable, once.

“Did you sprint here?” She set her belt on the table next. “You could at least have taken the time to change.” Rha gestured at her clothing. Her robes were dirty with blood, after several washes an off-putting shade of not quite pink. She would dye them brown later.

“And get your blood on my fresh clothing?” Vivian raised an eyebrow. “Last time I had to heal you from an internal hemorrhage. And you broke your little finger and did not even notice.”

Rha looked ready to protest but then shook her head and laughed. “Fair. I promise it is just bruises today – maybe some cracks.”

“Ribs?” She asked while stepping closer but pausing before she touched her. Rha gave her an faint nod and she bent down to hug her.

“Maybe. Breathing feels strained but that might just be the bruises – or my damn chest vertebrae is out of place again.”

Vivian slowly placed her hands on the back of Rha's neck and traced her fingers down the spine. The muscles were tense. “Do you have an headache?”

“Always.” Rha gave an curt laugh. It was an bitter truth. Force-user often burnt through painkillers at an higher rate and Rha's metabolism ran even then unusually fast. Was it in-born or some side effect of shadow training? On missions, getting sedatives and force-suppressor out of your system faster was an big advantage.

Well, she had other tools to alleviate pain. Later, she would make Rha lay down and treat her headache properly but for now she simply numbed the pain with the Force. Another curiosity of the Force – her powers could affect Rha without issue, despite being of opposite alignment.

Yet, her powers did not work like dark-side healing. Watching Sith Healers in action was an rare gift, what with them being on opposite sides of the battlefield, and it made her ever curious what the differences were. Was it more painful? Did it require the healer to care about their patient? Did they power it with rage? Affection?

“So what did you do? – if you can tell me.” It would be more accurate to say 'if you want to tell me' for Rha had never cared to follow orders to keep an mission secret. Not from her.

“Eh, just started an bar fight, fist-fought an Sith Lord, killed another Sith and jumped out of an window. All very tame as you well know.”

Vivian shook her head in quiet amusement. “Our baselines are very different, but sure. Just another day for you. Did you at last have fun for all your bruises?”

“Yes. The battle was not over in the first minute.”

“Let me guess – it took a minute and half?” “Three.”

“Impressive.”

Despite what some (-certain masters she'd like to have an word with) thought, her enjoyment of battle was not some mark of the dark side. It was simply an innate part of Rha as she could well attest – in their early years she had been her sparring partner before Rha had moved on to more skilled targets.

Rha leaned against the table.

“Let me.” Vivian dropped to her knees and reached to the back of her thighs to unclasp the first piece, then the second. She put them aside and removed the greaves next.

“Lift your feet.” She put the boots under the table and stood back up.

Rha turned around. Vivian pulled the zipper of the undersuit down, one hand ready to steady her as she stepped out of it. As promised, her pale skin was littered with bruises, already healing, in green and yellow. Most of them were on her right side and back, weaved between scars.

“Did you land badly?”

“Hit an stone.”

Vivian took the scanner out of her medkit. “Ribs are fine. Anything else you want me to check?”

“No – I'll go shower now.” Rha pressed an kiss to her cheek.

“A shower would not be amiss.” Weeks in armor did not tend to make one smell good.

For an moment she considered preparing an drink – but Rha did not like to accept such, not even from her. The very fact that she was unsupervised in her kitchen was an show of trust. After all, one could simply poison the cups instead of the water.

Nothing but thoughts to pass the time, nothing but memories to haunt her. The blood stains on the floor were gone, yet remained in her mind's eye. The shattered window was repaired. Only the small shrine in the corner, dried flowers, an braid and one bright yellow stone. On the table was the lightsaber that carried the matching stone, the copper hilt glinting under the sunlight. And somewhere was the blade Rha kept hidden from searching eyes. Near, she assumed. Her friend was not one to let her weapons out of her eye for long.

Time together was rare. As an healer her very nature drew her all across the galaxy, sometimes by order, sometimes by her own will and ability to argue with the Council. What were they going to do, throw her out?

She allowed herself an bitter laugh. They had promoted Verax, she was an saint compared to him – and Rha. Not that it mattered now.

Rha came out of her fresher in only loose pants, black as usual. Dark hair dripped water down her flat chest and onto the floor. Even relaxed, her movement had an predator's grace. Not just the same fluidity that most Jedi shared, but an underlying tension, like she was merely lying in wait to pounce. Combat readiness, but more.

“Did you eat before coming home?”

“On the ship.”

But Rha did not complain about calling their little corner in the galaxy home and that made her smile. She let herself drop onto the couch in the corner of the room, placed so that she could always watch the outside. Vivian took the silent invitation and arranged herself around Rha. They did not fit together like they used to, but she made it work anyway. Her neck would hurt tomorrow but that was an low price to pay.

Rha rubbed her throat. It was an habit of hers, she had noted, gained after she got the subdermal implant to manipulate her voice in any way she liked. There should not be any sensation – the thing was meant to be undetectable after all – but the awareness of its existence must be enough.

Slowly she lowered her hand onto Rha's back and rubbed the seam of scar and skin. Despite the many years passed, the tissue's thickness had not lessened. Surgery could solve that but Rha had no desire for it. Somedays Vivian wanted to have an physical reminder, too.

But – today was not meant for dark memories. Simply time spent with an friend and the worries of the galaxy forgotten.

She blinked up at her, Vivian raised an eyebrow. Rha let her head drop on her shoulder and closed her eyes. Her breathing evened out and deepened.

With an smile, she consigned herself to being used as headrest for the next hours.

[honeypleasesugar]

Hiya! First of all, I love your writing style! It's so descriptive and it feels like being there. 💜

Second, I was so excited to see requests are open for that reason!

There's a request I would like to make and would enjoy reading if you feel like doing this one. What if the female reader was really moody and Rocket couldn't figure out why until he discovers she's on her period and tries to make her feel better? Would definitely help me this week to read about it. 😅

Thank you for your time, hun! ❤

Ugh my heart! Your too kind really, I have never seen Rocket react with someone on their period so I had a lot of fun figuring it out so hear you go a little something for your week. This is short but sweet kinda story I hope you enjoy.

Learn My Anatomy

Word count 766, Fluff to the nines Rocket x Fem Reader

You’ve just woken up from your girlfriend Y/N groaning in the bathroom, you can hear the sounds of plastic ruffles echo through the door, as you rub your crusted eyes open your curiosity peaks.

“You good Doll?” You ask in a raspy tone as you slowly sit up in the warm bed, removing the covers and grabbing your shirt as you walk to the bathroom door. She sighs as the door opens, she walks over to you to give you your daily quota or headscatches.

Her nails aren’t long but long enough to hit that sweet spot behind your ear, your tail swishes a bit as you smile up to her. “I’mma get food, want anything,” you ask, her head quips in agreement as she crawls back into bed.

You pull your shirt on and walk into the kitchen grabbing breakfast, some kind of blue egg and green bacon, along with coffee of course, cutersy of Drax and Mantis for getting up so early.

You wander back in to see her groaning as she takes pain meds? You place the food down pacing over to her where she sits, you place a hand on her thigh in worry. she looks like she just got stabbed with that scowl you thought.

“Rocket I can’t do anything today, just need a break day y'know,” she muttered as she gripped onto her stomach, you nodded in agreement asking if she needed a medpack?

All she did was chuckle, rubbing her thumb across your cheek. Every time she looked at you with that pain riddled smile it made your heart ache. You tried to kiss her but she angrily rejected you, you felt offended and left her to own devices for the day.

Besides you were busy, well when weren't you busy, Quill and Drax always broke something while Groot needed to annoy you in a new way. Then it hit you like a brick, didn’t Gamora and Mantis act similar recently maybe they know what’s happening.

You walked over to Gamora's room where they both sat holding up two different knives comparing them as girls did of course. You knocked on the open , they invite you in.

“Great timing Rocket who’s knife could kill more, mine or Gamoras?” Asked Mantis, Gamora huffed in agreement.

“Hmm probably Gamora's more sharp edges, anyway I didn’t come here to compare knives,” you said. They looked at you curiously, you rarely ask anything of them.

“Y/N is sick but I don’t know the cure, she’s acting how you two were a couple days ago, it looks like she got stabbed and she just really angry for no reason,” you explained worriedly, they look at each other giggling cracking up.

“Rocket, do you know about periods?” Gamora asks you, your head tilts in curiosity as she explains the horrific week she’s going through, the pounds of blood, the cramps and mood swings she and Mantis explained to their best abilities.

“So there ain’t no cure,”

“Nada”

“So how can I help her,”

Mantis retreats back to her room and Gamora gose her cupboard, she pulls out some Terran chocolates Quill got her and Mantis brings back an already hot water bottle.

“Give these to her and you’ll be her favourite forever,” Mantis says with Gamora agreeing.

“If she kills me im coming for you both,” You scowl at them, you quickly pace back to you room to see her curled up in her blanket groaning in pain watching her favourite show.

“You good Doll?” You ask rhetorically, she sits up ready to chew you out, she then sees the offereings and quickly snatches them to her side. Placing the hot water bottle on her stomach and nibbling on the chocolates she looks up to you gratefully.

You chuckle at her gremlin-like actions as you crawl next to her, in seconds she scoops you up into her embrace you now in your favourite seat, her lap. You turn your head to kiss her cheek but in seconds Quill bursts through the door.

“Hey why are you both being so lazy we’re got shit to do,” he demands you both get up. Y/N is about to kill him but you quickly stop her by throwing an empty water bottle at his head, you can hear it thunk off his head as he retreats scurrying out of the room.

Y/N can’t help but giggle at your tactics, while she hugs you arms wrapped around your chest she then plants a kiss on your cheek saying with a gentle smile.

“My Hero,” Y/N says praising you, your face can’t help but form a satisfied grin as you lean back into her arms.

My requests are still open if anyone has any ideas~