#pls like a dozen of us ship this

[trashmancer]

A sketch I did a while back. Maybe Gale wouldn't mind Minthara stepping on him...

[marc-spectorr]

come alive

pairing: poe dameron x reader

kiss prompt: #22 …in a rush of adrenaline

warnings: 2.0k wc. mentions of violence, shooting, weapons. curse words.

notes: thank you to the lovely anon for submitting this prompt! i decided to make this its own post bc i wrote quite a lot. also i haven't watched star wars/written for poe in a hot minute so pls be nice to me lol. hope you like it!

—

“What’s the escape plan?”

At the question, Poe shoots you an odd look that is quite concerning. “Escape plan?”

“Yeah, the escape pla—oh my god,” you say in a hushed whisper, blinking at him. “You don’t have one.”

“I don’t have one yet. Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something quick and then—”

“—and then we get captured, locked up behind bars to rot or until they decide to—”

Your ramblings are cut short when Poe puts a hand over your mouth, gently shushing you. Three stormtroopers approach the stack of oversized crates, shrouded in darkness due to the absence of sun at this late hour.

You freeze and hold your breath, waiting for them to pass. Fortunately, they march right by without problem, oblivious to the fact that you two are hiding behind them.

As happy and relieved as you were when Poe first showed up to free you, you’re now back to thinking that you will die at the hands of the First Order. It’ll only be a matter of time until someone realizes their imprisoned Resistance spy has escaped. You’ll never get out of here, especially without a plan. You’re doomed.

You swallow thickly and try to distract yourself from the dread and panic clawing inside of you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating. Glancing around wildly, you need to focus on something else. Anything.

Eventually, you have no choice but to settle on having your attention on the pilot’s stupidly handsome face. You keep your eyes on him, inhaling and exhaling deeply to gather your composure. All the while, you wonder— has he always been this good-looking up close? You have never realized how pretty of a shade his dark eyes are or how much they sparkle in the low light. You’ve never seen such thick and curly hair like his, and you have the biggest urge to card your fingers through it.

“Sweetheart, hey—relax,” Poe murmurs when you grow quiet on him, his watchful gaze flickering every now and then to check your surroundings. “Breathe. We got this.”

Poe has long dropped his hand from your mouth, but it remains on your face, cupping your cheek as he assesses you for any injuries. You feel your pulse pick up a beat. You’re sure it’s mainly from the threat of danger you’ve found yourself in. Certainly not because of Poe, your good friend, and crush ever since the day you joined the Resistance.

No, it definitely cannot be that.

“Okay,” you sigh out, nodding. You take a quick glance at the perimeter yourself this time, mostly to hide away from his gaze. “Now what? We can’t stay and hide here forever.”

“You’re right,” Poe agrees. He steps closer to you, his chest brushing against your back as he scans the area with you. “My ship’s past the tree line. Best course of action is to sneak out without alerting anyone. But if things don’t go our way, we use these.”

Slipped into your hand is a blaster. You take a deep breath and tighten your fingers around the grip. You hope it doesn’t come down to a shootout between you, Poe, and the dozens of armed guards patrolling the place. Violence isn’t really your strong suit. That’s why you preferred missions that involved laying low and gathering intel. Too bad your cover got blown on this assignment.

(And yes, you are still sore about that).

“I’m a shit shot, just a heads up,” you warn Poe. You turn around and bump into him, forgetting that there’s barely any space between you. He doesn’t make an effort to step away, and surprisingly, you don’t either.

Poe’s lips curl into a smug grin. He holds up his own weapon in his hand. “And I’m very much not. See, we’re a perfect match. On a scale of 1 to 10, how’d you rate my spur-of-the-moment escape plan?”

You bite back a chuckle and shake your head. Leave it to Poe to distract you from your worries, even if it only lasts a minute. In all seriousness, you have faith in him. He can be overly cocky sometimes, but he’s smart and skillful. You’ve seen and heard what he’s capable of. There’s a reason why you and plenty of others admire the hell out of him.

“I’d give it a 7.5, mainly ’cause I trust in your confidence too much. Plus, it’s not like we have other options.”

“That’s the spirit,” Poe beams. “Sorry if I worried you about not really thinking this through earlier. Once I found out you were being held out here, I kinda just... went for it, y’know? I didn’t have time to waste. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

You smile at him, ignoring how your cheeks are warming up against the crisp nighttime air. You’re touched by Poe’s statement. Grateful that you’ve crossed paths with someone like him. Who else would be this reckless and determined to dive into an impromptu rescue—or insane enough to risk their life to save yours?

The thought has your heart feeling tender, but you can’t get caught up in it at this moment. You and Poe need to make it out alive first. Fuck, now the nerves are starting to creep back in.

“Thank you. If we come back to the base both in one piece, dinner’s on me.”

“You mean when we get back,” he corrects. He holds his hand out for yours. “Deal. It’s a date. Alright, you ready?”

Poe’s question almost doesn’t register in your head after he refers to your dinner offer as a date. He doesn’t seem to be joking around. He sounds serious, and you don’t question it. You find yourself more than okay with calling it that.

Clearing your throat, you give Poe a slight nod, ready as you’ll ever be. Both of you have to get out of here alive. Your date depends on it.

Staying undetected as you move through the shadows was easy in the beginning. Few are out on patrol this evening, and when you do encounter someone, Poe manages to evade them. Surely this isn’t his first go-around at something like this.

You do your best not to allow your anxiety of getting caught to cause you to lose focus. The warmth of Poe’s hand in yours helps soothe you, an assurance that if anything goes wrong, you’re not alone.

When you spot your way out, relief floods over you. You tell yourself you’ll be home soon. That you’ll be back in your bed in no time, tucked under the covers, safe and sound. No longer would you be fearing for your life in the way you are right now.

You’re nearly there— the clearing is just within sight. Less than a hundred yards away more and…

Sirens suddenly blare. So loud that they ring in your ears and leave you disoriented for several seconds. The quiet of the night quickly descends into chaos as guards pour out from every which way. The radioed orders your ears pick up are clear and bone-chilling: they are searching for you, and if found, they want you gone permanently. 

“There you are, scum,” a trooper snarls from behind, weapon pointed at you. They’re about to pull down on the trigger, but Poe reacts much quicker. The blaster in his hand fires, and the man instantly drops to the ground.

You barely have time to process what happened when Poe grasps your hand tightly, holding onto it uncomfortably tight, but his touch is grounding. The two of you share a knowing look as the sound of distant voices and heavy footsteps grow closer.

“We gotta keep moving. Shoot anyone who’s chasing after us, got it?” He says, his voice a blur over the erratic pounding of your heart.

Poe doesn’t wait for your acknowledgment. He makes a mad dash towards the gate leading out of the compound. He wasn’t lying when he said he was not a shit shot, taking down a few men with such ease— they were no match for him.

Luck seems to be on your side tonight. The moment Poe tugs you past the gate, you run across the field and into the woodlands as fast as possible, the fastest you’ve ever moved. Your muscles are sore, and your head is dizzy. It feels like you can’t get enough air in your lungs.

Still, you run. You run and run, even if you’re starting to think that your legs will give out at any moment. You have to get as far away as you can from the place that has kept you captive. It’s your best bet if you want to survive.

Finally, Poe’s ship comes into view. He glances behind you, and you mirror his action, seeing that the guards have lost track of you in the dark. The relieved smile on your face remains for only a split-second, however. As soon as you turn your head back, you see the stormtrooper emerge from the thick bushes, aiming to shoot at an unsuspecting Poe.

It’s like everything is in slow motion. From you realizing that Poe is in imminent danger to the way you forcefully push him out of the line of fire and draw your blaster.

Adrenaline buzzes through your veins. Your chest rapidly rises and falls. You steady your hand even as it fights to tremble. Without thinking twice, you fire your weapon. The first shot narrowly misses the enemy, but the following two blasts hit them fatally, and they slump to the ground, unmoving.

Luck truly is on your side tonight.

You gasp a breath in surprise when a pair of solid arms suddenly wrap around you, your nerve endings still on high alert after all that has transpired. 

Poe’s gentle voice saying your name cuts through your foggy mind, and you meet his gaze. Your heartbeat continues to drum sharply against your ribcage as you stare at him for several moments, tracing the deep, worried lines etched on his face.

You don’t know what comes over you after. You’re unaware of what you’re doing until you’re right in the middle of it.

One second, you’re holding onto Poe—feeling some of the tension in your body seep out upon seeing that he’s okay, he’s unharmed— and the next, your lips are on his, soft and warm. Exactly the way you had imagined they would feel.

Poe doesn’t kiss you back right away; it is the only thing that snaps you out of this haze. Have you misread him all this time? He’s a major flirt, but you thought he was genuine with you. A knot of confusion and embarrassment forms in your stomach. How could you be so wrong? How could you have fucked things up?

You immediately pull away, taking a few stumbling steps back. Poe looks at you wide-eyed, mouth slightly open, but he doesn’t say a word. You glance down at your feet, not wanting to see his expression as you fumble out an apology.

“I-I’m sorry, Poe. I don’t know… I was just—”

You are interrupted when Poe lets out a breathless chuckle. He closes the short distance you had put between the two of you, his hands cupping your face, fingers stroking your cheeks ever so gently.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispers. “I wasn’t expecting you to do that. It did feel very nice, though.”

Poe’s breath fanning warm over your skin causes yours to hitch. Before you can respond, he slowly leans in and recaptures your lips in a sweet kiss. Your heart stutters and skips for a whole new reason now. Something more electrifying replaces the fight or flight sensation surging within you, making you light-headed in the best possible way.

The kiss abruptly ends at the sound of dried leaves rustling and branches snapping from different directions. You notice faraway lights becoming brighter, no doubt more stormtroopers closing in on you and Poe.

“I’d like to keep kissing you, but we gotta go,” he laughs, nodding towards the ship. “The sooner we get back, the sooner we can go on our date.”

You grin in agreement and place your hand into Poe’s hand. Being with him makes you feel alive, like you can handle almost anything the universe throws at you. You could get used to this.

“Take me home, flyboy.”

[ilguna]

Expired Medicine Pls! Bucky & #5?

☼ left behind but never forgotten (Bucky Barnes) ☼

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, gun use, grenade use, fighting, injuries.

wc; 3.5k

prompt; 5. "I'll come back for you, I promise."

notes; spoilers for captain america the winter soldier.

--

 The halls of the hospital are busy, swarming with doctors and nurses. They flip through pages of documents, some of them dodging in and out of rooms. If there’s any bad time to be on a mission, it’s now. In a place that’s supposed to be secure and safe from danger. 

You told Steve that you’d come inside by yourself to retrieve the flash drive, but he didn’t trust you, wanting to make sure that he got it, himself. So, you follow behind him, letting him lead the way. He has his navy blue hood pulled up to block the view of his blonde hair and to shadow some of his more notable features. You know that he wants to avoid drawing attention, but you think it makes him look more suspicious than not. 

His pace comes to a slow pace as he stops in front of the vending machine. On the way, he told you that he put the flash drive behind three sticks of bubblegum while the employee was stocking it. He wanted it here for safe keeping because he’d gone back with some of the SHIELD members. And with Fury’s warning, he didn’t want to take any chances. 

You come up beside him, looking over his shoulder. Your eyes search the entire machine, looking for the aforementioned bubblegum. You even take a step back to get a bigger picture, but you come up with nothing. 

You glance at Steve. “This is a problem.”

“I know.”

The sound of popping behind you makes you turn to see where it’s coming from. It’s Natasha, loudly chewing the pink gum, eyes switching between you and Steve. He lets out an annoyed sigh before he steps at her, placing a firm hand in the middle of her chest to push her into the empty room across the hall.

The door opens with a slam as the blinds rattle against the glass.

“So much for not drawing attention.” You mutter, reaching to close the door behind you.

Steve pushes Natasha against the nearest wall, trapping her with one hand as he pulls off his hood with the other. “Where is it?”

“Safe.” She says.

“Do better.” 

“Where did you get it?” She counters.

“Why would I tell you?”

You glance out the window, watching another medical staff member pass by, completely oblivious of the three of you.

“Fury gave it to you. Why?” Her eyebrows are drawn in.

“What’s on it?”

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head.

“Stop lying.” Steve tells her.

“I only act like I know everything, Rogers.” She says, as if it’s obvious.

Steve looks over his shoulder at you, maybe for assurance. Or to make sure that you’re standing nearby. When he looks back at Natasha, you step in closer. “I bet you knew Fury hired the pirates, didn’t you?”

Natasha’s mouth opens, no words coming out for a second while she thinks of a response. “Well, it makes sense. The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in, so do you.”

Steve grabs her shirt. “I’m not gonna ask you again.”

“I know who killed Fury.” She finally says, Steve’s grip loosens. “Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists. The ones that do call him the Winter Soldier. He’s credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

“So he’s a ghost story.” You say, shaking your head. 

“Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out. But the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer so he shot him straight through me.” She pulls up the bottom of her shirt, revealing a scar on her left side, a few inches away from her bellybutton. “Soviet slug. No rifling. Bye-bye, bikinis.”

“Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now.” Steve remarks.

She gives him a halfway smile before it drops. “Going after him is a dead end. I know, I’ve tried.” She pulls out the flash drive from her pocket, holding it up between them. “Like she said, he’s a ghost story.”

“Well, let’s find out what the ghost wants.” Steve backs off of her, moving so that you can see them both. “Are you still in?”

“‘Course I am.” You cross your arms over your chest. “This sounds like fun.”

—

If you’d known you’d end up in a car, squished between Natasha and a HYDRA agent, you think you might’ve told Steve that he could figure this out on his own. It probably wouldn’t have gone over well. He might’ve even begged you a little bit to change your mind, but with Sam here, there’s really no need for you to be.

“Natasha, why don’t we switch spots?” You ask, eyeing Sitwell for another moment before looking at her. “I don’t feel comfortable sitting next to him. I think this is more your specialty.”

She gives you an amused look. “I told you not to get in the car first.”

Sitwell blinks, drawing his attention from the cars passing you by on the freeway, to you. “Afraid all that training is going to fail you?”

Your eyes narrow, “No.”

He sighs. “HYDRA doesn’t like leaks.”

“Then why don’t you try sticking a cork in it?” Sam retorts, looking at him in the mirror.

Natasha leans over you to speak to Steve, who’s sitting in the passenger seat. This pushes you closer to Sitwell. “Insight’s launching in sixteen hours. We’re cutting it a little bit close here.”

“I know. We’ll use him to bypass the DNA scans and access the helicarriers directly.”

“What? Are you crazy?” Sitwell asks, eyes wide. “That is a terrible, terrible idea.”

A loud thud on the roof of the car makes it cave in a little. You only have enough time to glance up, before the window shatters next to Sitwell, sending glass flying all over the interior of the car. You shield your face, feeling the glass pelt your jacket and jeans, before landing on the now-empty leather seat.

Sitwell is gone, he screams briefly as he’s thrown into oncoming traffic on the other side of the concrete barrier, where he’s hit by a honking truck. You watch as a gun appears in front of the open window, the safety being turned off, before being pulled away.

Natasha leaps from the back seat to the front, landing in Steve’s lap as she pulls his head down. A bullet pierces the leather where she had just been, you slide there as another bullet slams in your seat. With two hands on the back of your head, you duck, listening as two more shots are fired.

When you raise your head, you catch Steve reaching forward to the emergency brake, yanking it back. The brakes screech against the asphalt, slamming the car to a hard stop. The man that had been on top of the car flies from the roof, somersaulting in the air so that he lands on a knee pad and a singular arm. A metal arm.

“What the fuck.” You breathe, watching as he dislodges his hands from the asphalt to rise to his feet. 

For a few seconds, it’s a stand-off, as the cars around you weave in and out of the lanes to avoid hitting the car you’re in. Natasha tries to whip out her gun to shoot at him, but an armored truck hits you from behind, making you jerk forward, forcing the car in his direction.

He jumps, landing back on the roof. Sam slams on the brakes, trying to stop, but the truck is too strong. A metal arm comes flying through the windshield, fingers wrapping around the steering wheel, breaking it off.

“Shit!” Sam screams.

Natasha tries shooting at the roof, but the Winter Soldier jumps off, onto the truck behind you. You turn, wanting to keep your eyes on the threat, and find him on the hood of the armored vehicle. 

“He’s accelerating!” You shout.

The trunk crumples further as you’re rammed again, this time throwing the car off course. It turns, wheel running up the side of the barrier, before forcing you back on the freeway. The car begins to wobble from side to side, growing more violent by the second.

Steve pulls up his shield, placing it on the passenger door. “Hang on!” He shouts, grabbing Natasha. 

The car begins to twist, you reach for the window that Sitwell had been forced out of, grabbing the edges and pulling up as you go airborne. Steve, Natasha and Sam must escape together out of the door, because when you look down to launch yourself out, they’re gone.

And so are you.

You cross your arms over your chest with fists, holding on tightly to the body of your jacket while you’re thrown into the air. You gain several more feet, and in that time, you duck your head, ankles locked together, until you come crashing down to Earth.

With the world being one giant dizzying blur, you have to guess how far away you are from the freeway. You hesitate, waiting for the best possible moment to land without hurting yourself. Unfortunately, it’s a second too long, because when you throw out your left foot to throw you into a roll, you land on it sideways.

The pain is immediate, but it takes up the back of your mind as you hit the concrete, rolling for several feet. When the momentum is gone, you sit upright, clutching at your ankle, eyes searching for your friends.

You find the overturned car, and then Natasha and Steve, who are still sitting on his Captain America shield. Beside you is Sam, who’s eyeing your ankle, worried. You’re more focused on the Hydra vehicle, and the fact that the Winter Soldier now holds a grenade launcher.

In one solid move, you grab the front of Sam’s shirt, throwing him down as a grenade is sent in your direction. Steve holds up his shield, intending to deflect the explosion, but he ends up triggering it instead. The blast sends him ricocheting off of a car behind him, and over the side of the overpass.

You jump to your feet while you can, ignoring the piercing pain in your ankle as you try to run to hide behind the van. Sam is right beside you, you can feel his hand on your lower back, but then it’s gone, as he goes to hide behind the silver car a few feet back. 

Natasha glances at you, gun in her hand. “Got any tricks up your sleeve?”

“Not really.” You tell her.

She pops up, shooting back at the HYDRA agents that are slowly advancing in your direction. You look back at Sam, and watch as he makes a run for it down the freeway. You suck in a breath, springing up to hurl yourself over the side of the barrier. A car whizzes by, and Natasha lands next to you.

You swear the whole bridge shakes when another grenade explodes. 

She grabs your hand, passing one of her guns over. “I’ll distract him, you shoot when you get the chance.”

“Just to be clear, this is the Winter Soldier, right?” You ask.

Natasha makes a grave face, nodding. When there’s a break in the gunfire, she crosses three lanes of traffic, rolls over a car, only to be thrown off the side of the bridge when he launches a bomb.

A car comes to a screeching halt a foot or so away from you, inadvertently shielding you from the enemy. You turn to the left, climbing on your hands and knees while you try to get a better spot to shoot. It’s eerily quiet for several seconds, you slowly creep up to look over the wall, finding him aiming below the bridge.

When you’re sure that the HYDRA agents aren’t watching, you stand up, popping the safety off. You hold up the gun, aiming for the back of the Winter Soldier’s head. And right as you go to pull the trigger, a shot is fired, his head whipping to the side. When he turns to drop down, you can see that Natasha got him in the goggles.

He pulls them off, fist tightening around the black material. Then, he gets back up, spraying bullets at Natasha in response, pissed. They get into a brief gunfight, where you wait for the better opportunity to shoot.

As soon as the other HYDRA agents get to their feet, you fire. They’re solid shots on all three of them. So solid and precise, that they’re dead as soon as the bullets hit their bodies. You let out a breathy laugh, surprised that you still have that in you, but the celebration is gone when the Winter Soldier begins to turn.

You hit the cement, but you must be the least of his worries, because he doesn’t come after you. When you’re sure of this, you get back to your feet and over the barrier to retrieve one of the HYDRA guns from the bodies. You find a hook embedded into the hood of a car, attached to a thick black wire that hangs over the side of the overpass.

First, you check to make sure that there’s not an agent attached at the bottom. Then, you attach the gun to your body with the strap to keep it on you. After you’ve pulled your jacket sleeves over your hands, you slide down the wire, joining Steve, Natasha and the Winter Soldier below.

Except, there is no one.

You stand in the middle of the street, eyes sweeping the area, but all you’re coming up with are civilians running away. You head toward the anger to start, keeping a sharp eye out for any of the HYDRA agents that might be lurking around nearby. 

There’s a distant sound of gunfire, followed by an explosion. You pick up the pace, jogging down three blocks before you’re met with a busy intersection. You hoist the gun up, one eye peering through the scope before you pull the trigger.

The Winter Soldier moves, making you miss by barely an inch. Steve runs at him to keep him from shooting back at you, swinging the shield up in time to block his punch, causing the metal to sound like a gong. Steve gets kicked off of the car, landing on the road, where he covers himself with the shield. 

The enemy rolls off the car, pulling out a machine gun to shoot at Steve. When the bullets run out, Steve swings himself over the top of the car, foot knocking the gun out of his hand. You reload the rifle, waiting for the right moment to shoot, while they engage in hand-to-hand combat. 

He shoots, they go back and forth with the punches, and block. The gun is put away, Steve is twisted out of the shield, now in the Winter Soldier’s grasp. It’s placed between them to keep a distance, but eventually yanked from Steve’s rip as the HYDRA assassin uses it to his advantage.

When there’s a pause, you go to pull the trigger, until the shield comes flying in your direction.

You jerk to the side, watching as the shield lodges into the back door of a white van behind you. With wide eyes, you look back at Steve, only to find him fighting once more. You reach, yanking the shield free, and also retrieving your gun as you move closer.

Steve seems to have a knife now. He tries to take multiple stabs, but ultimately it’s taken from him, and he ends up dodging once more. The Winter Soldier makes the mistake of swinging over Steve twice, allowing him to counter with a hook and a kick. The soldier slams back into a car, Steve runs at him, slamming him into it further, causing the door to dent and the glass to break.

He goes in for a punch once again, but the Winter Soldier blocks it, backing Steve away as he tries to fight back. Steve flips him over, standing over him for just a second, before the Winter Soldier grabs Steve’s neck, squeezing.

You let the gun hang against your chest, fixing the shield in your hand. You swing back, and then launch it forward. Steve’s eyes dart to it, ticking off the Winter Soldier, so he throws Steve over the hood of a car, turning just in time to grab the shield before it hits him. By then, you’re firing bullets, watching as they bounce off of the metal.

The gun jams.

“Shit.” You pull it off of you, hurling it in his direction. He catches it in his metal hand, clenching his fist around the material, breaking it.

He turns his attention back to Steve, who’s on the other side of the car. They go back to fighting, you continue to advance, a little annoyed that he doesn’t see you as a threat enough. He pulls out a knife, going to stab Steve, but the metal pieces a grey van, slicing the paint vertically.

Steve grabs the Winter Soldier, throwing him back to get him off, and swiping the shield in the process. The enemy swings, hits metal. He swings again with the knife, hitting metal. The Winter Soldier punches Steve successfully, trying to kick but he’s met with the shield, so he swings again.

Steve slams the shield into the metal arm of the Winter Soldier, and then forces it up, hitting him in the face. Steve wraps his hand around the mask, flipping him over backward, but it's too much momentum, because the Winter Soldier somersaults.

You walk around the truck, going to join Steve, finding the black mask lying on the asphalt. The Winter Soldier rises, back to you at first, until he slowly turns his head, allowing you to see what he looks like.

The blood runs from your face, lips parting as your eyes lock on. 

Bucky.

He looks… different, but not in the bad sense. His dark hair is messily long, just barely reaching his shoulders. When in the past he’s kept it shorter, cleaner. There’s a shadow of a beard forming on the lower half of his face. And there’s this emotionless void in his eyes, as if he’s looking right through you.

This can’t be him, though. The last time you saw him… 

Steve stands up, panting through his teeth. “Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” He asks, turning toward the two of you fully. 

He pulls up his gun to shoot at either of you, but Sam kicks him over, sending him tumbling over the asphalt. That small move does basically nothing, as Bucky gets back to his feet, you take a step toward him, even when he goes to shoot again, but you’re interrupted by a grenade flying over Steve’s shoulder.

A red truck explodes. You look behind you to see Natasha, barely holding herself up against a car with the grenade launcher. Bucky is nowhere to be seen.

There’s sirens approaching, presumably the police, a firetruck, a couple of ambulances, but all you see are black SUV’s approaching. Your eyes catch a figure disappearing into an alleyway.

“I’m going after him.” You dig into your pants pocket, pulling out the singular smoke bomb that you’d brought with you.

Before Steve can stop you, you pull out the pin, tossing the bomb in the middle of the intersection. In the matter of seconds, the grey haze is taking over the street, concealing your escape. Either Steve is too shocked or knows better than to go after you, because he stays there with your other two friends, letting you run off.

Your ankle is slowing you down, but that doesn’t make you stop. You chase Bucky down several streets until he jumps out from behind a car, fist swinging at your face. You catch it, fingers wrapping around his hand, eyes boring into his.

The two of you stand like this for a very long second. If he knows who you are, he’s doing a very good job of hiding it, because you’re none the wiser. If you had to guess what happened to him, you’d say Zola experimented on him. And you think that Steve would even agree with you.

He tries to punch you with his metal arm, but you block it with your forearm, holding him there for a second longer. You can’t do this, not here. He’s not stable enough to have a conversation, especially since he was trying to kill you. He is trying to kill you.

“I’ll come back for you, I promise.” You tell him, despite knowing that this means nothing to him. “I’m not letting you go so easily, Bucky.”

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

[xayspancakeee]

so I just finished Voyage of the Outcast and—

WHAT. THE. HELL???? (҂ ꒦ິヮ꒦ິ)

*spoilers ahead warning*

the branch was sooooo good???? what the heck. just, everything about it was gut wrenching and I was left a ugly crying mess.

we had xavier back in the main story, huzzah! good lord I have missed him so.

going undercover as students and re-living our school days with xavier in this current present time line (interacting with students, attending class and just being in the school together the whole jazz - immaculate) he was sooo attractive when asked about astrology. 🥰

xavier being more open with us regarding backtrackers and his homeland (even though it was because of the situation that we were in story wise but ngeh, I’ll take it)

with how they were able to escape the protofield, it has left me scared for baby because! it’s confirmed that the spaceship’s other source of fuel is the usage of a person’s evol and xavier has definitely done this before (multiple times I’m sure) which could most likely be the reason why he’s always sleepy having done it so many times (with him being in this present timeline for the 214th time/ spring on earth) and it’s slowly eating away at him? It’s basically him using his life source to power up the space ship. Nooooooo!!! ( ༎ຶ⌓༎ຶ)

we see xavier’s fears of the possibility of having to witness us disappear again through manipulation of his memories being in starfall forest and the desperation??? AHHHHH LET ME HUG THIS BABY. eat dirt and die Soren when I catch you— you’ll taste my boot.👊🏻

in 3rd party POV, we see that MC is just as reckless when it comes to xavier’s safety and well being. *this is where I ugly cried*

the whole chapter having to do with the backtrackers spaceship *more ugly cries here*

this was the piece de resistance of the ugly crying. BABY MY SWEET DARLING MY UNIVERSE PLS IF I COULD JUMP IN AND KISS YOU SILLY OOOOOOO—

new partner requirement unlocked: you need to be a backtracker captain with dozens of credentials. man, I’ll be single forever.

all in all, this was a doozy. thankful that we were able to get though this whole ordeal together (despite having my heart and soul go through a roller coaster, but hey it’s xavier 💜) WE��RE GOOD FAM, BUNNY IS FINE 😘💖

i’m excited for the next story branch update as there are still questions that need answers personally not for a certain someone that’s probably hinted to come back? but hey, that’s just me.

I’m still a crying wet mess from finishing this and my thoughts and feelings are all over the shop but yeah. I LOVE THIS. with that, I am tired from crying. I’ll need to go on medical leave for 1 week at least to recover from this. infold, the next banner had better be bunny’s solo banner that’s so fluffy and sweet that i’d become diabetic or else I’m going to have to as the kids say these days SQUARE UP WITH YOU. 👊🏻👊🏻

[stawpny]

I’m bored and ao3 is kinda dry (atleast for the wttt ny tag)

so here are some NY ships I NEED to see more of 🙏

—

MassYork: ok, I used to be almost totally opposed to this, seeing them having more of a brotherly relationship but with history n stuff it’s kinda not possible. But anyway, probably my main ship for now, bc OHMYGOD “nobody can kill you but me”? GET OUT, GET MARRIED, PLEASE.

like if it’s Mass/Cali/York or Mass/Jersey/York I will eat it up.

no questions, it is already in my mouth. I am eating the fuck outta this.

GeoYork: in my mind they have a cute dynamic. I feel they would be best friends as younger colonies and then have a very complicated relationship until they finally get together. Slowburn kinda, also kinda they have been in relationships dozens of times but something always happens. and isn’t Georgia called the “Empire State of the South”? or am I just hearing things

peach + apple? cobbler + pie? idek but I love them

TexYork: guys pls. southern gentleman and city boy? literally perfect for each other. they would make fun of each other endlessly. accents, vocabulary, actions, plus so much more because they’re very different.

TX taking York to his ranch to meet bro’s cows??? yes please. I’d like to meet Betsy too .

^TexaCaliYork: also a fire ship (see what I did there?) like the ship above, but with the hipster in it aswell. Texas and Cal constantly bicker like children and York sorts it out like a teacher would.

NY: you hurt his feelin’s, go apologize.

TX, scoffing: fine, but don’t expect me to get along with him after.

(spoiler alert!! York forces them into a cuddle pile afterwards to get over there lifelong beef)

IlliYork: they’re enemies, they’re lovers, the whole kit-and-caboodle. they’d switch hats sometimes and hold each others hand when they’re in their cities. they’re idiots and the Midwest and the Northeast hate them for it. It’s kinda gross but in a good way.

they’d be the couple who like hold hands in public but not make a single move other than that to show that they love the other. absolutely no kissing in public, they would just sit there in silence with a death grip on the other’s hand. they would totally insult each other to the face and then say, “Love you, tho.”

FloYork: fun fact: they are absolutely insane together. They influence each other and constantly say stupid shit. Florida would force York outta his comfort zone from time to time but the inner extrovert masked by New York’s fake introvert personality will do it almost willingly. he puts up a “fight” but he would deadass do it bc he thinks this shit is hilarious.

NY would be a little like Florida even if they weren’t dating. like NYC is absolutely batshit so that would mean York would have to be a little too.

NY/CA/TX/FL/LA: little crazy, ik, but I remember reading fics abt these five (including gov, but I’m still questioning if he would be in here or not) and absolutely devouring them. spectacular ship. it’s like a little bit of everything, except the Midwest and the other western states, but almost everything. I would love to see more of them.

they would def fight over each other. (who got to hold hands with who, who got to sleep/cuddle with who, etc.)

—

I’m not forcing you to give into my opinions, but if u like these, I like you 😼

some of these hc’s are not entirely mine, some were influenced, tho most are from the rotting part of my brain

I hope u use these ships in the future or I might spontaneously combust

(spoiler alert 2!! I will still explode [out of love] if u write about them)

ily guys

[necrotic-nephilim]

"How else am I supposed to learn if you don't punish me?" With Jason x Bruce ship pls 🙏

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

fucked up BruJay my beloved. this is. honestly more emotional whump than physical and the romance is implied, but i do like this piece a lot, even if i struggled with it a bit. have 2.2k of Bruce and Jason struggling to get along. enjoy <3

Sometimes, Jason did it on purpose.

He knew Bruce’s patrol route better than anyone. Which was by design. Jason wanted to know where Bruce was, what he was doing, and who he was doing it with at all times. And really, Bruce didn’t seem to be stopping Jason from keeping tabs. None of Jason’s carefully placed trackers were removed, and Jason knew better than to assume Bruce had lost his touch. Bruce knew they were there, and he knew they were Jason’s.

So if Jason wanted to avoid Bruce, he knew how to do it. And when he really did want to get work done under Bruce’s nose, it was easy for Jason to dance around Bruce’s schedule and send him tail spinning just trying to keep up with Jason.

But some days, Jason didn’t want to avoid Bruce. He wanted the thrill of the chase.

So he got caught on purpose.

He picked a gang on the side of town Bruce always patrolled at this hour. He used the loudest guns he had with no silencers. He started the messiest brawl he could.

And he waited.

Jason didn’t have to wait long.

Like it always was with Bruce, the entrance was dramatic. Shattering glass as a large form with an unfurled cape descended from the skylight. Jason smiled under his helmet.

There were already at least half a dozen dead. The rest were running around like ants, either trying to get away from Jason or futilely trying to fight him.

“You’re late!” Jason shouted over his shoulder. He dodged a batarang thrown in his general direction. “I expected you to get here at least five minutes earlier.”

“Robbery a block away,” Bruce said brusquely. He turned to a few gang members with tire irons and shivs lifted, ready to charge Jason. “Run. Now.”

They didn’t need to be told twice.

Jason raised his gun to shoot one. He wasn’t particular about who he picked. He knew it didn’t matter. The bullet wouldn’t actually hit them.

Because just on time as Jason squeezed the trigger, a batarang buried into his hand. He swore and dropped the gun.

“Enough, Hood,” Bruce said coldly.

Jason smiled under his mask. “Someone’s gotta clean up this city.” He lunged for another thug.

Bruce’s body was like a battering ram, slamming into Jason. He was heavy enough to knock the wind out of Jason, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Jason groaned, trying to throw Bruce off of him. When that didn’t work, he went for his belt, grabbing his kris dagger and flipping it around.

“Do you hold any value for human life?” Bruce demanded. He grabbed Jason’s wrist and pinned it against the ground. “These aren’t supervillains, they’re normal people down on their luck-”

Before Bruce could finish talking, one of the gang members bashed him over the head with a wooden plank. Bruce’s cowl was reinforced, but the little bastard had managed to hit hard enough to snap the plank clean in half. A grunt was forced out of Bruce and his whole body buckled.

Now that was just rude. Bruce was Jason’s meat, not some stupid punk’s. Possessive jealousy flared through Jason, watching Bruce wince in pain to a wound Jason didn’t give him.

“Yeah, they seem real grateful to their savior,” Jason sneered. He threw Bruce off of him and grabbed the gang member. A wiry thing, probably still a teenager. Jason twisted them around to hold his dagger against their throat with his fingers buried into their hair, holding them still. A horrified noise came out of them. Not that Jason particularly cared. He wasn’t the one stupid enough to try beaning Batman with some plywood.

Bruce was on one knee, looking up at Jason. “Don’t.” His fingers twitched toward his utility belt.

“You can’t stop me,” Jason taunted, pressing the blade against tender flesh until the person was squirming in his grasp and blubbering out incoherent pleas for mercy. “Hands where I can see ‘em, B.”

If Jason was anyone else, Bruce would’ve stopped him by now. A quick flick of his wrist to hit Jason with a tranq dart, was how he guessed Bruce would do it.

But he wasn’t just some rogue. He was Jason. And that made Bruce go still, actually listening to Jason’s demands.

“You’re just doing this for attention,” Bruce said carefully, keeping his whole body tense, but not moving it. “Let them go.”

“It’s working.” Jason shrugged, adjusting his hold on the stranger. “So can you blame me?”

“There are other ways to do it without-” Bruce briefly looked around the room at the bodies littered everywhere- “casualties. And innocent hostages.”

“Innocent?” Jason laughed. He turned to address the person he was holding. “Do you think you’re innocent? Why don’t you tell the Batman where these drugs were getting funneled.”

“I don’t- please, I just help packaging- I didn’t-”

Jason huffed in annoyance. “I’ll tell him for you. The middle school down the street. And if there was extra supply, the youth center just around the corner from it too. You remember that youth center don’t you, B? I slept there sometimes as a kid. It was warmer than the streets.”

Bruce’s mouth faintly twitched. His jaw was set. Jason could see him grappling with the rage of knowing exactly who these low lives were dealing to, while still wanting to tell Jason off for all the ugly murder.

How contradictory that nasty little moral code of his could be.

“Let them go,” Bruce spoke slowly, “and we’ll work together to figure out how-”

“Oh don’t even pretend,” Jason laughed. “Don’t pretend you would work with me for a second.”

“Let them go,” Bruce repeated. He seemed to pointedly avoid admitting to Jason’s point.

Jason let out a long hum like he was thinking about it. “I don’t know. What’s one more to my body count?” He started to press the blade.

Bruce moved inhumanely fast. He kicked up, knocking the knife out of Jason’s hand without hitting the gang member. His hands went for Jason’s throat and he managed to get Jason back on the ground. The gang member ran off, footsteps echoing until they were gone while Jason and Bruce grappled, trading punches and kicks until Bruce managed to pin Jason down. Blood was pouring from Jason’s nose and Bruce had human claw marks across his cheek.

Rough. Animalistic. Just the way Jason liked it.

“Why do you do this?” Bruce spoke through grit teeth. “Why do you make me do this?”

“Like you said,” Jason grunted, trying to twist out from Bruce. “I like the attention.” His struggles only got him pinned harder. Bruce forced Jason facedown against the concrete, with an arm twisted behind his back. Jason’s helmet was torn off and tossed to the side.

“I never want to hurt you,” Bruce actually sounded choked up about it. “Why do you have to take it too far every time?”

Jason would give anything to see his face, right now.

“Maybe I want you to hurt me,” Jason said. He looked at his hand resting against the concrete, blood still pouring out of the wound the batarang left. it was a bright, pulsing pain that danced across his reality, making his blood sing. He hoped it would scar. Another to add to the collection of ones he’d goaded Bruce into giving him.

“Why?” Bruce’s voice broke on the word. It was an ironic thing. How badly Bruce wanted to show Jason his mercy. His gentle side. And how badly Jason wanted Bruce’s violence. He wanted Bruce to fight Jason until Bruce’s knuckles were bloody and Jason was barely conscious. He wanted to feel Bruce’s violence down to the marrow.

Jason craned his head back to look at Bruce and smiled. “How else am I supposed to learn if you don’t punish me?”

Bruce stared. For a long moment, he was silent. Jason listened to his breathing like a lifeline. “You don’t actually believe that.” his voice was soft and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to concern.

Sentimental bastard.

“No,” Jason admitted. “We both know I’ll never learn.”

To prove his point, Jason grabbed a stray piece of glass from the ground and stabbed it into one of the weak spots on Bruce’s armor. It made Bruce’s grip loosen enough for Jason to roll free and try to kick Bruce in the face.

Bruce wasn’t fighting him. He only blocked Jason’s blows, and even then, let some of them hit. It was like fighting a brick wall. Hard and unrelenting.

It was starting to piss Jason off.

“Don’t be afraid to hurt me now, Bruce,” Jason said through grit teeth, throwing another punch. It sailed uselessly over Bruce’s shoulder when Bruce easily dodged.

“No.” Bruce’s expression was unreadable under his mask. “I’m not playing your game, Jason.”

“Damnit!” Jason could feel his anger threatening to take control. He kicked Bruce hard in the shin, forcing the man to his knees. Jason ripped Bruce’s cowl off. He wasn’t stopped by Bruce. Hard blue eyes stared up at him. Practically emotionless. “I know you hate me. I know you’re itching to rip my head off for…” Jason spread his arms, gesturing to all the bodies. “For this! For everything I’ve done.”

Bruce shook his head, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. “I don’t hate you, Jason. I could never-” He doubled over when Jason’s knee connected with his stomach.

“Well you definitely don’t love me,” Jason snapped, ice dripping from his tone. “If you did… if you loved me, you would let me have this.”

“Killing people?”

“Hurting me,” Jason corrected. He snatched his kris off the floor from where it’d fallen to. He stared at the blade. “I’m sick of your pacificism. I’m sick of you pretending you don’t crave hurting someone and pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“I’ve never pretended,” Bruce looked at Jason through careful, hooded eyes. “That want… that need has always been a part of me. I take too much pleasure in hurting people. Pleasure in believing they deserve it.” He studied Jason for a moment. “I never wanted it to consume you the way it consumes me. Because I know it’s something you can’t come back from, once it takes root.”

Jason hated it when Bruce waxed poetic. It was a whole lot of bullshit that meant nothing to Jason. It did nothing to fight the roar of rage building in Jason’s chest.

“Do you want to hurt me?” Jason asked.

He needed Bruce to say yes.

He knew Bruce wouldn’t.

Even if it was the truth. Which now, Jason wasn’t so sure.

Bruce was silent. He didn’t give Jason any answer, not even a change in expression. Bruce just pushed himself to his feet and looked at his cowl that Jason was still holding.

“I love you, Jason,” Bruce said. He grabbed the cowl, but Jason didn’t let go. “I want to help you. Please let me help you in any other way that’s not… this.” Bruce’s thumb brushed over the still bleeding gash on Jason’s hand.

Jason tightened his grip on the cowl. “I’m not giving you the free pass to sleep easy at night,” he hissed. “You can’t take back any of the scars you’ve given me. And we both know sooner or later, there will be new ones.”

Bruce tore the cowl out of Jason’s hand. Before putting it on, he started to reach out for Jason’s face, but seemed to think against it, hand abruptly dropping. He opened his mouth to say something. An apology, probably.

A muffled, crackly voice came from inside the cowl. A police scanner, by the sounds of it. Jason only caught the words bomb threat and hostages.

So much for Bruce’s attention.

“Come with me?” Bruce offered, pulling his cowl on.

Jason shook his head. “You know you don’t want me there.”

“I always want you-” Bruce cut himself off, seeming to realize how dangerously vulnerable his words were. “The offer to come to me will always be open, Jason. You know that.”

Jason’s fist curled and his blood dripped onto the concrete. “Go to hell.”

Like that, the intimacy was gone. Bruce put his emotional mask back on to go with his physical one and turned heel, walking away. Jason just watched him go, some part of him foolishly waiting for Bruce to turn back and say something. Anything. He could get any other hero to handle the bomb threat. He could spare Jason just a few more moments of arguing and fighting. Maybe even something more.

But of course, he didn’t.

[theimportantnone]

Prompt: Aliens discover goodie bags.

Story one

Xek had been invited to a human birthday party. He did not understand the hubbub around coming closer to death but to promote unity between the crew he accepted the invitation. Coming from a frugal race it had been hard to adjust to the abundance of quantity **and** quality prevelent in human culture as he would be described as a "lick the plate clean" kinda person. But he found solace in that meals where prepared for a number of people in mind and made accordingly large. What he did not expect was careless quantity as he saw them, so called goodie bags. A whole table was layed out of small plastic bags full of sweets and meal cubes, what a horrid waste. He knew that even if everyone invited took one there would still be dozens left to waste. This would not do, perhaps more people had been invited that he first though, friends and family on the next planet they where stopping on, as he was just helping with party prep. Once they landed he found he was wrong. Xek panicked, a primal urge to consume even to his own detriment so nothing would be wasted. He counted out every bag and every guest, and took what remained. Once the party started he heard complaints about a lack of goodie bags that apperently were promised by the hosts. Xeks stomach nearly inverted (something that only happens when his kind went into labor, it's very painful.) Apparently, the bags where not for just eating right away, but where also for giving from host to guest to guests relatives. No wonder there where sweets instead of just meal cubes, they where gifts back to the community! A thanks for being with the one who aged. Xek admitted that he ate the rest of the bags (plastic and all, he knew this was "abnormal" but his stomach was built for heavy duty eating and no waste meant no waste,) but much to his relief he was forgiven, as even more gift bags were prepared, "just cause."

Story two

Iizikiel (pronounced Ezekiel) was tasked with observing human traditions for first contact prep. "These humans are such a young species," it thought, floating above its spy console, theyre small pod invisible to all but the most advanced eyes (which thankfully on this planet belonged to a specific crustacean living far away from iizikiel's ship.)

"I must give them merit for their rapid technological development but it is clear their socio-political development is far behind, if I could choose if bar these bipeds from the union until they could find us first."

"Negative, Iizi (pronounced easy) , the councle feels their spirit would bring a wondrous boost of productivity to the union," booped his bio-mechanical companion, 2hr+d. "Shut it," replied Iizi with a frustrated belch. Being a floating jellyfish like blob wasn't always great compared to a half mech half anthropomorphic beetleish creature, but at least Iizi had electrosis and could shut up (tw-hr-pl-d, or twerpd) for real if it wanted.

Today Iizi was witnessed two humans promise monogamy for each other under their home government, known as "marriage." a large ensemble of people gathered in rows in front of the couple, as a religious figured blessed their union. "So odd that they feel the need for a higher power to allow for a union, feels very-" "insecure?" clicked twerpd. "I was going to say, superfluous, " retorted Iizi.

But then something caught Iizi's eye, little bundles of edibles, being handed out to leaving attendees. Up until now he had only witnessed eating immediately after food was presented to its recipients, extras being taken only after an initial digging in. This was something entirely different, as some people where eating the contents right away while others stuffed them in their pockets or vehicles. He would have understood that behavior if their had been a feat prior but no, it seemed these seemingly needy eaters where intentionally waiting to eat.

"What do you make of this Twerpd?"

"Iizi, this is only our 4th local rotation in tandem with this continent, maybe they we've only ever seen them hunger, perhaps they don't always need to eat when presented with food."

"But if that's true, why do so many eat to unhealthy levels, and why is food such a large industry when it's clear that knowledge of self sufficient food production is commonly available? The likely conclusion is that humans are unable to not eat when presented with food and only stop when full, normally saving leftovers or making sure no one else gets said left overs by tossing them into trash recepticals. It also explains why roundness is common place, at least on this continent. "

"we still have more to learn, as evidence also suggests that there are a multitude of cultures present here and beyond, Iizi, save your rambling conclusions for our first revolution of their home star."

Authors note

To be so honest I was three paragraphs deep into a five part story but I forgot to save and lost all of it, so I thought up these two, more hastily written stories as a replacement. Who know gift bags would be a struggle to write about.

[bcntbouquet]

1. Who has been your favorite muse to play?

2. Do you listen to music while you write? If so, what do you like to listen to?

10. Do you like stylized icons and formatted text or do you prefer to keep things simple?

14. What are five of your favorite ships? (In the rp community or otherwise)

15. What sort of muses do you tend to write?

16. Do you like to queue your replies or just post them when you finish?

17. Do you prefer winging it or plotting everything out?

20. If you could tell your muse something, what would it be?

1. Who has been your favorite muse to play?

I think my first-ever legit rp muse was Herbert West (Re-Animator) and once upon a time, I didn’t really have the urge to write other characters (can’t you even imagine ME writing ONE character now, lmao). The first OC I really got into was my dude Gideon Brady, so he was my favourite for years—Then I found my way to Supernatural and Dean Winchester was the most at-home I’d probably ever felt in ANY muse ever to that point. Probably stayed that way until some time in 2023. I’ve created dozens of ocs and even quite a number of canon muses since then, but late last year I started writing Brian (Brain Damage) and Aylmer (Brain Damage) and I became very attached very quickly; around the same time, I decided to explore my under-used oc Derward (created c. 2022) and I find he’s easiest to write at this particular time in my life. I also enjoy playing Wonka a whole lot—because he’s so positive and optimistic—but it’s been brought to my attention that Derward and I share a lot of similarities—Which, I suppose, explains why he's become my default muse these days.

2. Do you listen to music while you write? If so, what do you like to listen to?

Yes, I listen to music about 50% of the time that I write. A lot of 80s pop, rock, and new wave ngl. But there's other kinds I listen to, of course. The rest of the time I watch movies while writing… I know, you’d think it would distract me from the text, but most of the time films get me in that creative zone with any combination of setting, music, story, cast, etc.

10. Do you like stylized icons and formatted text or do you prefer to keep things simple?

To quote Slugworth— “A good chocolate should be SIMPLE. Un-complicated.” I will admit I have a hard time reading/seeing (highly) formatted text. Bold, italics, colours, and certain fonts; those are all find by me. As for stylized icons… What’s even the point? Frankly, it’s lost on me. A visual should be just that. Any image or gif that takes interpretation in order to figure out what’s being presented doesn’t really belong… as it serves no purpose to enrich either the details of the narrative or the muse being portrayed. Granted, this is only my personal opinion. If stylized iconography somehow makes your creative juices flow, fellow writers... go for it. You do you. The rpc should always be an inclusive place.

14. What are five of your favorite ships? (In the rp community or otherwise)

Call me biased or indecisive af, but I hold all my ships dear. Romantic or platonic. I just love all my ships- as well as my shipping partners. Lil' shout out to @cvpidswings, @everyoneismytoy, @smolcuriouskitten, @rawbutprecious, and @frcsttitan. Everybody else I ship with, love you too.

'nother lil' shout to @cursedvessels and @miidnighters—Shimi and Callisto are one of my favourite duos in the rpc atp and I love reading about their joint antics. A canon ship I love is Zed and Addison from Zombies.

15. What sort of muses do you tend to write?

Difficult to say... I don't find myself defining any of my muses by type. If I had to take a guess, I'd say kindhearted people with emotional trauma? Again, IDK.

16. Do you like to queue your replies or just post them when you finish?

I'm a slow writer, so I usually post when I've finished a draft. I already keep people waiting a while for a reply due to my inherent speed, so a regular queue would just make things even slower.

17. Do you prefer winging it or plotting everything out?

It just depends on the situation in the rp; during a lot of threads, I do well with a mix of winging it and plotting. 90% of the time, though, it's winging it. My muses are all control freaks in that they're usually more cooperative when I don't involve myself XD

20. If you could tell your muse something, what would it be?

Derward hasn't felt much love in his life, or support. He isn't the type to give up in any situation, but he probably really needs to hear that he's both wanted and needed. I think little compliments would serve him well, too. Maybe tell him that he's cute or that his hair/clothes are nice. He wouldn't always believe me about his clothes, 'cause he tends to wear tattered stuff throughout his various verses, but... If I could give him a big hug, I would. I'd give him a nice smooch on the cheek, too. Maybe wrap a blanket around his shoulders. That said, he should allow himself to put his burdens down from time to time. He's strong, and he knows this. What he doesn't know, however, is that he CAN be weak. He CAN be vulnerable. I would, hopefully, convince himself to free himself of such pressure. Dude needs a good cry five minutes ago.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Bakers Dozen: Liscensed Ships I want in Star Trek Online

Welcome back to Bakers Dozen! This time we return to Star Trek Online ships, but instead of canon, its liscensed. Simply put, 12 ships (and one honorable mention) I want in STO, that aren’t canon, but appeared in an offical Star Trek Product (Books, Comics, Games, Ect.)

1.Premonition Class 

Hailing from Star Trek Armada, The U.S.S. Premonition went back in time to warn the Enterprise E of an impeding borg invasion. I never had the full game, but I played the demo countless times. Just look at her. She aleady looks like an Sto ship. One of the most iconic Star Trek Video games ships, I think she would be a great ship to appear in the current arc time/multiverse themed arc.

2.Yorktown Class (ENT Era)

Long before Captain Seven of Nine commanded the enterprise, and even long before STO. There was a Yorktown Class Starship in Star Trek Legacy. Star Trek legacy was the first star trek game I owned, and the Yorktown was a favorite of mine. The battleship to the NX Cruiser, the Yorktown was a powerhouse in the 22nd century. She’d need a new name, as the current Enterprise in STO is a very different Yorktown Class, but we could always use more Enterprise era ships.

3.Belknap/Ascension Class

Quite possibly my favorite TMP Era design (yes including the refit) The Belknap from  Ships of the Star Fleet Vol. 1 is the Constitution Refit’s smaller agile cousin. Stripped of diplomatic suites and scientic labratories, the Belknap posseses the Constituion’s firepower in a more compact and agile frame.

A “Dreadnoght” version exists, the Ascension class, but it’s literally a Belnap with the third nacelle of a Federation classs refit, maybe to give her longer warp sustainability?

4.Andor Class

This TMP era missle cruiser was introduced with FASA, and I loved this odd ball. I could see her functioning as a TMP era defiant, a small ship darting in with heavy torpedo fire. Also more TMP is always a win

5.Archer Class

Apperaing in the Star Trek Vangaurd Novels, this was a tiny tos scout ship, with only a crew of 14, and still didn’t have enough room for personal bunks. Incredibly fast and agile, she was too small for turbolifts, instead only having ladders.  Pls let me 1v1 a cube with this smol ship. Also TOS Ships are always a win.

6. Aegis Class

The U.S.S. Aegis is the hero ship of Star Trek Bridge Crew, and my god what a gorgeous ship. STO needs more Kelvin ships, and what better one than a proper Hero ship that has her own games, and looks this good?

7.Romulan Warbird, Unknown Class

This Stormbird (Romulan D7) esk dreadnought appeared in the DC Star Trek Comics in the 80s. Decades later, younger me would find the comics as a kid, and fall in love with this oship. Romulan TMP Warbird? Sign me up! Pls?

Also this comic has this awesome shot

8.USS Dorothy Garrod

From the IDW Dicovery Comic, this Federation science vessel looks cool. Thats it. Thats all I know. Discovery rep is always a win.

9.D-18 Gull Class

A Klingon ship from Fasa, this is a troop transport. Its weird and I love it. I had a fried who 3d prints move the neck to the top of the secondary hull and flip the bridge module upside down for a more traditional look, but I dont have any good pics of her on hand.

10. Chandley Class

Speaking of troop transports, The Chandley is perhaps Fasa’s most popular ship, and its not hard to see why. Maybe Sto, could give her a boarding console. 

11.Saladin/Hermes

Orginally appearing in the Star Fleet Technical Manual by Franz Joseph, this ship has TOS and TMP varaints, as well as a Kelving timeline version from both the comics and Star Trek Fleet Command. Simple yet iconic, with so many flavors. Legendary Discovery Variant?

12.Insignia Class

This gorgeous ship originally was a fan design, then was included in the Ships of the Line calender. It later appeared in the TNG Waypoint comics as the ‘Chimer’ class...USS ENTERPRISE???

This version of the Enterprise served at the same time as the Enteprise E (ummmm?) and was commanded by Geordi La Forge.

The Chimer name sucks though. Insignia class is a way better name.

Honorable Mention:

Locknar class

Another Fasa Ship, this is an honorable mention bc it is kinda...maybe...canon?

In Lower Decks we she the USS Titan’s lineage wall...including what was confirmed to be a Locknar class USS Titan?

Yes I am a TOS/TMP nerd, how can you tell?

[andallthatmerrymishigas]

Numbers 1 through 25 for my darling Ruth Evershed? Pls? 😊

Oof this was a journey, thank you friend! Here we go...

1. Why do you like or dislike this character?

I adore Ruth because she is clever and kind and so strong. Her strength comes through her kindness and vulnerability. She's got this sweet humor that I just love, too.

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

Her mind. She's quick and she knows everything. She can translate a dozen languages and make jokes while she does it and she takes the initiative to create spook taxis.

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

Despite her strength and convictions in pushing through and doing what is right, she runs scared. She lets her fear overtake her in everything other than the job. She lets her guilt combine with that fear to paralyze her. She spends so much time being less happy than she could be, and it's tragic and frustrating as hell.

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

Oh I would love movies with Ruth. I wanted to say book but I've lowkey written like 3 books worth of content about her and what I really want is to see Nicola as Ruth do more things.

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

I've got multiple playlists of HR inspiration but the number one for me is Sky Full of Song by Florence + the Machine

6. What's something you have in common with this character?

Oof I don't know what I could feel comfortable admitting to. I want to say intelligence but that feels like hubris. I think her shy awkwardness is a part of me. I'll go with that.

7. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

There is a great respect for the pain and grief and depression that is so inherent in her character.

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

I've read some absolute nonsense when it comes to this fandom and one of my least favorite things is turning her into some kind of cold badass. She has her moments of that but she never approaches any situation from that perspective and I don't appreciate any depiction of her that jumps right to that.

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

Absolutely. I think we'd get along famously. She seems to live very similarly to how I do.

10. Could you be best friends with this character?

I would love to be. I think she'd like me and I would love to be close with her.

11. Would you date this character?

No, I don't think we'd blend well romantically. I am attracted to confidence and a somewhat dominant personality and Ruth certainly doesn't have that.

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

Oh man so many that I don't even fully know what's headcanon and what's actual canon. But I do like writing her as being very prone to clutter (which I am as well) and that it drives Harry nuts. I also like to think she tries to be an ambitious cook but things never really turn out. Like making Christmas dinner and having everything be edible but also slightly burned and slightly cold.

13. What's an emoji, an emoticon and/or any symbol that reminds you of this character or you think the character would use a lot?

I'm on my laptop but I'll go with the dark blue heart. I don't know if she'd use emojis much but that's one that makes me think of her.

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

Lmao poor Ruth doesn't have much of an aesthetic. But I guess just like professional/demure? I like to think that in another world where she continue to work for the Home Secretary and develop her career further, she would dress like Hannah on The Split.

15. What's your favorite ship for this character? (Doesn't matter if it's canon or not.)

Harry and Ruth are literally the only reason I watch the show.

16. What's your least favorite ship for this character?

I don't know that I've really seen anything else? I guess I'd be very pissed off if she ever got paired with Tom or Adam or Lucas. Any of the women or any of the male junior agents I wouldn't really mind. But the 'leading men' are all trash and don't deserve her.

17. What's a ship for this character you don't hate but it's not your favorite that you're fine with?

Has anyone put Ruth and Jo together? I wouldn't hate that.

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

Ruth's relationship with Malcolm is very important to me.

19. How about a relationship they have in canon that you don't like?

The entire history of Ruth and her shithead brother bums me out. But I appreciate that it's very important to her character.

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

They never get to be onscreen together but I desperately wish we could have had Ruth and Connie be buddies.

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

Asdfghjkl I have written so much for Ruth and I love to write her being a little playful. She has a sense of humor and I think she has the capacity to be a bit naughty and I love getting to show that. Something I don't like is having to dig into that cowardice she has because I want her to be happy and she won't let me sometimes.

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to this character? Something you don't like?

I will be honest, I only read my own fic at this point. When I get into a new ship, I read a lot of fic but then once I start writing my own, I focus on that. I am my own target audience so I write things that I want to read. So in my own stories, I love reading domestic fluff with Ruth and Harry. I don't like reading them fighting (even though it leads to such good stuff and I appreciate the necessity of it).

23. Favorite picture of this character?

S8 is the most beautiful she looks and I adore her hair so much

24. What other character from another fandom of yours that reminds you of them?

Dr. Ruth Galloway from the Ruth Galloway Mysteries by Elly Griffiths (who also ends up with a gruff man named Harry) is similar to our Ruth, I think.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

I found her adorable. Still do. But the depth of her that we see in the later seasons just expands my love of her so very much.

[raouwul]

Do proshippers interact with you often? And how do you deal with them?

Only once luckily! They only managed to send one message and I blocked them. I’ve still seen like a dozen pop up on my feed because the majority of those douche bags don’t put any goddamn tags or warnings- but uh more useful-ish stuff is whenever I see some blog I consider following cause hey? same fandom! Or cool art I go through these steps

Filter out said offending tags and words in my settings (doesn’t work like 60% of the time because again, they don’t usually tag their shit or it’s spotted the word on someone who said ‘hey I don’t like ‘pro shit pls leave me alone’ and you don’t know if it’s going to be a dni or that sorta content until you click see post)

Look through the prospective blog’s posts since some don’t have ‘pro ship’ or ‘antis dni’ in their bio

I see a post that IS that sorta content! I go through the notes and I block them all along with the original poster

I don’t see anything suspicious but y’know I’ve been burned before so maybe send in an anon ask about it?

Pray to the universe or whatever the hell you believe in.

This doesn’t work all the time and it is a hassle! I’ve yet to try step 3 yet since I just thought about it recently but I hope this helps! I’ve only been on this site for a few months so idk if there are any other ways but that’s what I’ve been doing 🙏🏽

[xocasper]

hey!! i was wondering if u could mayb do a ray toro smut w fem!reader? so like the readers in the band and she kisses someone on stage (like how gee and frank used to) and basically ray gets jealous because he has a thing for her and after the show they are sharing a hotel room bc they have to (one bed trope oml). ray blurts out smth abt how he cant believe she kissed however shes like why and he kisses her and one thing leads to another... can u pls make ray the dom? like rough but still loving?

i love ur work sm <333

Wrecked and Jealous

Pairing: Ray Toro x Fem!Reader Summary: You share a heat-of-the-moment kiss with Frank on stage, and it sets Ray off. After the show, you have to share a bed with Ray, and he has little choice but to tell you the truth. Warnings: NSFW content Tags: mild angst, jealous sex, nipple play, rough sex Word Count: 2858 A/N: I have written so much within the past four days. It's been insane. After having awful writer's block, I'm abusing my passion for writing while I have it. Also, the reader is basically Matt Cortez in this. I love Matt.

For as long as you’d known the band, you never thought you’d be playing on stage with them for thousands of adoring fans, listening from a few feet away as they screamed lyrics back to Gerard as he pranced around the stage. You’d seen dozens of their shows, but playing one was a different story. When Mikey got married and decided to take a break, their choice for a substitute was unanimous, picking their very own guitar tech–you.

Of course, you were flattered, and with a bit of convincing, you decided to join them on stage, feeling more grateful than ever that you had bothered to learn bass. Even though they were told to pick a touring musician, or at least someone with “a little more experience,” the band stood firm, insisting that it had to be you. They felt more comfortable having a friend on stage, especially after knowing you for several years already, though one of them pushed harder than the others.

Ray had convinced not only their manager, but you, that you were a perfect substitute, swearing up and down that the fans would love you–and they did. Admittedly, you moved a bit more than Mikey did, and while you didn’t have Frank’s level of energy, you still put on a show like the rest of them. You didn’t have to do much to get them screaming, and if you didn’t have them at the start, you’d have them hooked with Give ‘Em Hell, Kid.

Playing aside, any interaction with Frank sent them into a frenzy. Not that either of you minded; working with Frank for so long had made you pretty close friends, and he had a blast messing around with you. When he wasn’t rolling around on stage, he was brushing up against you like a cat and resting his head on your shoulder, practically hanging off of you while you played.

People loved it, and it didn’t take long for them to start shipping you guys, much to Ray’s dismay. From across the stage, he’d watch as you fooled around with Frank, how he made you laugh any time he’d try to pick you up, and the way you’d kick your legs with a wide smile on your face as he dragged you around. Occasionally, your skirt would ride up, exposing your bare thighs and a little more curve than what’s appropriate, riling up the teenage crowd as they saw a nearly half-naked girl for the first time. Ray had to side with the crowd, getting flustered at the sight, though he felt a pang of jealousy that Frank was the cause of it.

It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle, trying to keep in mind that you and Frank were just friends. This worked for a little while, until one particular show when Frank got one hell of an adrenaline rush and made a rash decision. Between two songs, he ran up to you at full speed, hands planted firmly on your waist as he pulled you in, his lips crashing against yours in a heat-of-the-moment kiss. This wasn’t a light peck either; your arms wrapped around his neck, almost immediately–as if it were a common occurrence, Ray noted–passionately tugging him closer.

As anyone could’ve guessed, the fans lost their minds, hooting and hollering as you pulled away, giving him a smile and a playful shove. Gerard was shocked, giving the two of you a look while the next song started up, one of surprise rather than annoyance. Ray, on the other hand, had an obvious look of distaste, trying to ignore the very steamy kiss he had to witness between the girl he liked and his bandmate.

He played the rest of the show in a bitter mood; you and Frank got along swell though, making his jealousy increase tenfold. Thankfully, the show ended soon after, and Ray wanted nothing more than to hide away in his hotel room and hopefully not think of you. Tonight was not in his favor though, because all he could do was think about you, watching you closely on the way there while you chatted with Gerard–and still, not him.

You weren’t intentionally ignoring him, he just seemed upset and distant, and you didn’t want to ask about it with the guys around. The trip back to the hotel wasn’t long, so you’d be able to sit him down sooner or later.

When you entered the lobby, Ray went up right away to get the keys, mentally drained and seeking solace in the form of a warm bed. This seemed fine at first, the rest of you standing around chatting about the show, only to be interrupted with some unfortunate news.

“They overbooked,” Ray announced, a bit frustrated at the situation. “They can give us three rooms, which means someone will be alone, and the rest of us have to share.”

Bob immediately piped up, “Dibs on the single.”

No one bothered to argue, save for a sigh from Ray. Frank was next to speak, “I’ll share with Gerard.”

That was fair, the two of them shrugging casually, leaving you and Ray to share as well. He gave you a tight-lipped smile, trying to hide his annoyance as he handed you a key, the rest of the guys already piling into the elevator.

“There are two beds, right?” you asked, trying to be conscious of his comfortability, but he took it to heart, giving a hostile shrug. Okay, weird. He was usually optimistic, and he never cared about having to share a bed with anyone else–maybe it was because of you.

He fumbled nervously with the key as you reached the door, and you offered to try, only seeming to annoy him more. He ignored you and pushed the door open a bit too hard, guilt flashing in his eyes as you jumped from the bang it made as it hit the wall. A soft apology was on the tip of his tongue, but so was an envious outburst, so he kept his mouth shut and walked inside.

Your eyes widened as you stepped in, “Oh shit.”

One bed. No futon, no couch, and not even a large bed at that–a double, with four stiff pillows and a slim chance that you wouldn’t be touching. He let out an exasperated sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as if there would be another place to sleep when they opened. To make matters worse, it was freezing, which meant you’d have little choice but to huddle together.

You let Ray dwell on his misfortune for a moment, leaving him to check the closet for extra blankets while you changed in the bathroom. You could hear him curse through the wall, and you hustled to see what was wrong this time.

“The thermostat doesn’t work,” he told you, and sure enough, it wouldn’t budge. Of course, you had only packed shorts and t-shirts to sleep in, so you miserably accepted an icy death. You sighed in disappointment, climbing under the covers as he undressed in front of you. Flushing, you stared up at him, a bit shocked at his shamelessness. He only raised his eyebrows at you, shucking off his jeans and reaching into his bag for a pair of sweatpants. Your eyes flickered down to his waist, and then a little further, unabashedly tracing the prominent outline in his boxers.

Ray pretended not to notice, not after the stunt that Frank pulled earlier. Maybe he would have made a sly comment about it on another day, but he was still overcome with hurt and jealousy, getting into bed and staying as far away from you as possible. He managed to make the already chilly room colder, his pessimism starting to get to you as you turned around, your back to his.

The room was dark, and though you couldn’t see him, you could feel each of his movements. Ray wouldn’t stop shifting around, tugging the blanket off of you as he tried to get comfortable. After about five minutes of tug of war, you finally snapped. “What is your problem?”

Your tone surprised him, but he continued to ignore you, not in the mood to have a heart-to-heart–especially not with you. Annoyed, you sat up and flicked the table lamp on, receiving a huff from him.

“Ray.”

“What?” he answered flatly.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, trying to hide the impatience in your voice, although you were genuinely concerned about him.

He sighed, “Nothing.”

You tried again, voice more stern. “Ray.”

Finally, he sat up against the headboard, eyes darting down to where you had your arms crossed, incidentally pushing your chest up–you weren’t wearing a bra either, making him wonder if your shirt was that tight earlier or just now. This wasn’t the time to be checking you out though, and he gave another stubborn, “What?”

You didn’t give in, eyes narrowed as you waited for him to answer. One staring contest later, he heaved a sigh and ran a hand down his face.

“I can’t believe you kissed him.”

Your expression softened, “What do you mean?”

“Frank,” he said. “You kissed him.”

Shaking your head in confusion, you tried to figure out what the issue was. “Why do you care?”

“Because I–”

The words got caught in his throat from there, shutting his eyes and sighing softly before cupping your cheek and pulling you in for a heated kiss. It didn’t last long, his common sense kicking in quick, and he broke away. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, looking at you worriedly.

You didn’t answer–not verbally, anyway–bringing him back in by the nape of his neck. His lips were soft, clashing perfectly with the way they moved, fierce and biting, his grip on your jaw unwavering. You gave a soft gasp when he pulled away, gently tugging on your bottom lip before swiping his tongue across it. He sighed against your lips as you slid your hands down his bare chest, delicately running your nails over his skin. Languidly, your tongue slipped past the seam of his lips, your light movements soon corrupted by his more fervent ones.

Ray’s fingers danced across the hem of your shirt, caressing the sliver of skin below it before gliding his hands under the thin fabric. His hands were warm, and slightly calloused, contrasting against your skin, smooth and cold from the frigid room.

“You’re cold,” he mumbled, pulling away.

You nodded, grinning like a minx. “Warm me up then.”

Eagerly, he complied, tugging you down against the pillows. His lips latched onto your neck, leaving wet kisses galore, with a periodic nip at your clear skin, soon to house faint marks that would remind you of Ray for days to come. His hands cupped your breasts beneath your shirt while his mouth trailed down your collarbones, thumbs sweeping across your nipples eliciting a quiet gasp from you.

The minute he pulled away, you tugged your shirt off, craving his touch once more. His lips landed back on yours, kissing you hot and messy before ducking back down to your chest, staring breathlessly at your bare skin, on display for him alone. He wasted no time kissing across the newly exposed skin, hands planted on your waist while his lips ghosted across one of your nipples, his warm breath making you shiver.

He wet his lips, holding your gaze as he swirled his tongue around it, missing the mark every time in a way that was almost impressive. In a single broad stroke, he ran his tongue flat against it, making you arch, pushing yourself further against him. His hands pushed you back down as he continued to work his tongue against you, unforgiving and just shy of overwhelming, closing his lips around the bud and coming off almost as quick.

He didn’t stop there, swapping sides and lapping at your nipple once more, each moan and sigh going straight to his dick as he worked his tongue against you. His hands dug into your sides, holding you against the mattress in an authoritative way, arousal seeping through your panties. With the way he used his mouth, you could only imagine how it’d feel between your legs, but that was a task for another time.

Slowly, he pulled off, your grip on his shoulders tightening and he stared down at you, eyes wide and lips slick with saliva. His expression alone had you wanting more, needing to see the look in his eyes as he fucked you, his grip tight and thrusts harsh as he pounded you into the mattress.

Ray tugged down your sleep shorts, watching your expression for uneasiness, but only finding desperation. You had seen him play a million times, eyes transfixed on his hands during shows, and just the thought of him using them on you sent arousal flooding through you. He ran the pads of his fingertips across your panties, damp from where you had soaked through, nearly moaning knowing you were this wet for him, not for Frank or Gerard, or anyone else–just for him.

Hastily, he pulled those down too, and you let out a hiss as you were fully exposed to the cool air. Ray had no problem warming you up as instructed earlier, one hand on your jaw to keep you from looking away, the other sweeping through your wet folds. He savored every sound you made, fueling his desires as he pushed his fingers inside of you. They were thicker than yours, filling you nicely as he worked them, stretching you out before you tried to take him. If his fingers were anything to go by, you were in for a long night.

His impatience got to him, and even though he had a lovely view watching you writhe and moan from just his fingers, he would kill to see you fall apart on his cock. You were in no way opposed to it, bucking your hips into his hand as his thumb rubbed your swollen clit, needing more with each passing second.

“Please,” you mumbled out, moaning against his lips as he kissed you.

He understood, not needing more than a small plea to take his fingers back, the whine you let out playing on repeat as he wriggled out of his sweatpants and boxers, kicking them off as his cock stood proud before you. God, was he a sight for sore eyes, looking like he walked straight out of an erotica novel, dribbling precum as you wrapped your hand around him, stroking him while he lined himself up between your legs.

Before he pushed in, he paused, knowing this was an inopportune moment to bring it up, but he craved reassurance. “You’re not… there’s no one else, right?”

You shook your head, shooting him a small grin, “Nope, just you.”

A sweet smile graced his face, kissing you once before thrusting in. He gave you a moment as he pushed in completely, waiting for a sign to keep going. A gentle nod and he kicked into gear, his hips snapping roughly against yours. His hands migrated to your hips, his grip firm as he pounded into you at a ruthless pace. Despite the powerful force he used, his eyes were gentle, making sure that you still wanted this.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled, gaze lingering on your half-lidded eyes and kiss-bitten lips, slick and swollen as he kissed you.

Struggling to find words through your lust drunk haze, you pulled him closer, arms slung around his neck as you moaned against him, muscles winding tight from his relentless rhythm. Reluctantly, he pulled away, watching in awe as you came undone below him, breath stalling as he gave a few strong thrusts and slid out, coating your stomach in pure sin.

Exhaustion hung heavy in the room, the low temperature getting to you once more as you reached over to Ray, who laid flat on his back as he caught his breath.

“You okay?” he asked faintly, handing you a tissue from the nightstand to clean up the mess. You mumbled a small ‘thanks,’ unsure of how to answer.

You’d always been fond of him, typically talking to him more than the other guys, and spending as much time around him as you could. Your feelings hit you like a brick, realizing all the little things you did for him, unaware that it was because you were interested in him. Sure, you knew you felt differently about him compared to everyone else, but you never dwelled on it too much. You liked him, and he liked you too, which sounded pretty damn good in your opinion, smiling softly as you looked over at him.

“Is this a dream?” you asked, curling into his chest.

“If it is, I hope I never wake up,” he told you, pressing a sleepy goodnight kiss to the top of your head, holding you close just in case he woke up in the morning and you were gone. You didn’t mind, arms wrapped tightly around him as you slipped away into a peaceful slumber, happy to be held in the dark of the night.

taglist: @lubbockshusband @yachiiko @newgirlinhell @blackberryblossom @whothefuckisfranklero @griffinfinity @heaveaux @aliceblxck @ce-ci @halloweenbitch2764 @saywhaaaa

[swtorramblings]

The Soldier and the Storm-???: Life Day on Alderaan

Festive Vaylin by @fleeting-sanity​

The mission successful and the Sith Academy demolished once again, they fled Korriban, a number of the “students” going with them. Akharo and Jorgan were having to coral a number of children on board the command ship, since it was where they had the most space. The boy that had been thrown at her, Uzani, had been cleared by the ship’s medical droid and followed the General the entire trip.

Vaylin returned willingly to her meditation chamber, little more than another cage. Akharo thought that was odd, but also probably wise. The dozen or so youngling force sensitives they had on the command ship was not something she thought the former Empress should be around. Even though she was following orders, there was always that feeling like a timer was counting down when she was nearby. Eventually, they landed on Alderaan, where the Alliance had allies, though the Republic disavowed the attack, some members of the Senate outright condemning it. The young adults were taken to be processed separately, possibly to find new homes, possibly to enter training. It had been their choice to leave the Academy, it had to be their choice what they wanted to do next, too. The youngsters, though, had been left with the Alliance forces for now. Two score Force sensitive children all told, barely in control of their abilities, was not something that could be handled just now. They were happily playing outside the city where their ships had landed. It was nearly Life Day, and some small gifts and food were being brought up from a generous nearby village. They seemed to be enjoying the festivities. Akharo assumed this was new to them, but who could know? She had no idea if it was celebrated in the Empire. That’s when she noticed that a few had separated from the rest, sitting nearby in a desolate area, and went to see why. Oh. She was out. “Hello, younglings, are you bothering our friend, here?” The Storm looked up at her from the rocky ground she was sitting on. “They’re fine. They just decided they wanted to sit with me. Don’t ask me why.” Well, whatever Akharo thought of her, she had brought the Academy crashing down and freed them. Were they grateful? “Because you’re powerful and we want to be powerful, too.” Vaylin tried to interrupt. “You don’t want…” “Because you can break anything that tries to hurt us again.” “Well, yes, but…” Uzani, who had followed Akharo up here, said, “And because we know you will.” It didn’t take the Force to see the thoughts going through Vaylin’s mind, or the emotions. Eventually she turned away, saying, “If you’re too weak to break them yourselves, why do you think I’d do it for you?” “Because you wanted someone to do it for you.” Did the boy have a death wish? This was Vaylin he was talking back to. Or did he know something Akharo didn’t? That’s when the snowball streaked toward Vaylin’s head. Much faster than the boy could have thrown it. He must be using his talents. Vaylin just caught it with her own power, leaving it hovering there, half a meter from her face. She turned with that predatory grin and said, “What was this supposed to do?” Akharo had seen decorated soldiers blanch at that smile. Uzani, though, just said, “Distract you.” That’s when snowballs started flying at the Storm from all directions as the younglings demonstrated why they were here. Mostly, she caught them like she had the first or dodged them, but there were so many she was eventually pelted by several at once and knocked into a snowbank. For several moments, there was just the sound of children’s laughter. Akharo both wished she had her blaster cannon and knew it would do no good. There was steam coming from where Vaylin had fallen, and some sparks. And then, an unnatural sound, a sound that hadn’t been heard in over a decade. Vaylin’s laughter. Not the laughter of the broken thing that had emerged from Nathema, not the laughter of a spirit being broken, but almost the laughter of a child. Laughter from a place something like joy. She scrambled back to her feet, and the fight was on. One snowball sped toward Akharo, which she almost knocked from the air with her gauntleted hand, but she knew it was no threat and she let it hit her in the face. Let them have their fun, and it gave her an excuse to join in.

Later, with the children in bed and Vaylin still sitting on that same rocky outcropping, Akharo approached her again and asked, “Were you actually enjoying yourself?” Vaylin shrugged and said, “Maybe. Or maybe I just went along because I didn’t want the Alliance to kill me if I hurt the children. Or to make you trust me a bit. How could you be sure?” Akharo thought about that for a moment, then went and sat down next to her former enemy, looked out over the mountains to the stars as Vaylin did. “I don’t think you’re that good an actor.” She looked over and saw Vaylin’s grin. “I think you’d be surprised.” Maybe she would at that. But, for now, Vaylin had helped them make this day possible, and also to comfort children that had left the only life they’d ever known, horrible as it was. And that would be enough. “Happy Life Day.” Then they sat in silence and watched the snow and the stars.

[asexualone]

(pls take the time to read)

Signs I should have known I was aro: Disney edition

I think this topic has been stressed a lot already. But here is my take, anyway.

Of course, romantic love had been, is and will always be one of the main themes in kids' movies. Why, I can never fully understand. I'll explain below how I like other themes more.

Some time ago, I did a post on the kiss/hug scenes in Rapunzel which depicts how much more I value acts of showing love that don't include kissing.

Not only those two. I have a history of hating Disney on-screen smooches. As a kid, I thought, "Well, maybe, I don't like seeing these characters kiss because it's a grownup thing."

Could you blame me? When my parents were in the room and a kissing scene appeared on the screen, they changed the channel. So my toddler brain concluded that the reason I didn't like watching kisses was because I wasn't of age to like it. Or something.

At the time, I had no idea that I was hand-picking my favorite movies by the level of romance they had in. Or lack thereof. And I was a very judgemental kid. Let's go through my original thoughts on some Disney classics.

Snow White — No. Just no. She's a child, fourteen. Marrying an older guy she doesn't even know. After he kisses her corpse. NO.

Cinderella — The age difference is a little better, I guess. So is the age of consent. But they only talked one (1) night and he relied on that slipper to find her instead of asking to meet all women and see for himself. Fairytale logic I guess. I didn't like how she called it love immediately and kissed the prince at least once that same night. Or how they got married immediately.

The Sleeping Beauty — Must I even explain? Aurora didn't even know Philip that much, had only met him once (if you exclude the "dreams"). And yet, he's her true love, the only one who can revive her corpse. Ridiculous. And yes, kissing a comatose body, ew. Also, the arranged marriage trope pisses me off, royalty or not. Aurora was engaged as a newborn baby, come on.

Mulan — Cinematic gold. I didn't know it back then, but the fact that romantic love is such a pushed-aside aspect in this movie gives me life. The songs give me life. Especially when the trio dresses as concubines and "Be a Man" plays in the background. An absolute gem, lmao. The sequel however ruined the story somewhat for me, too much lovey-dovey stuff. I like Mulan more when she's fighting than when she's acting all sappy towards Shang, sorry not sorry.

Peter Pan — Loved it, still do. But I did dislike the mermaids, the image of fangirls who are petty towards other girls. And Pan's brief "relationship" with Tiger Lily was nauseating to me. I couldn't explain it but when Pan blushed at her nose-nuzzling thing, I always pulled a face.

The Princess and the Frog — In my opinion, (remember, always my opinion): Tiana, this hard-working girl who doesn't belong to anyone, was lost to love. Well, not lost. But falling for Naveen in the course of three days? Unrealistic and kinda unnecessary. Sweet, but still. I adored the "relationship" between Ray and Evangeline more. Either way, it's a movie that I enjoyed when love wasn't that prominent on screen.

Aladdin — I love this movie because of the Genie. The relationship between Jasmine and Aladdin is meh. She forgot his face and didn't recognize him until later. Their coming together is a lot like that trope "first guy who treats her right sets the expectations and wins her heart". Usually that's a thing, not only in Disney movies but media in general. The female lead settles for the first guy that treats her right because the bar is that low. A good movie, all in all. Love how Jasmine stands up for herself at least. Not a lot of princesses fight against the objectification of women.

Pocahontas — I used to hate this movie. I didn't sit right with me: the racism in it, the manipulation, the murders. And the romance, yes. Pocahontas fell for the strange man who tickled her curiosity in the span of two days. I also hated how her father just sold her to marry Kocoum like that. I know it's tradition. Heck, that's a tradition that still goes on in my country. Maybe that's why I didn't like seeing it on screen. And Pocahontas doesn't even end up with John Smith. The second movie definitely ruined the story. So yes, she's the first princess who fell for a man in three days, TWICE. Needless to say, only the songs kept me from blacklisting the movie entirely.

The Little Mermaid — I actually loved this movie for some reason. I can't explain why, maybe it was my obsession with mermaids. Yeah, that was probably it. But I was pissed when Ariel exchanged her tail for legs. Not to mention human periods and overall, all the bad in the world, for a man she'd only seen once. As I grew up I realized just how f*cked up that story was: Ariel giving her entire lifestyle, family and identity up for a guy she hadn't even spoken to. I don't know why I loved that movie, alright? Hell I still do a little. The sequel too. Say what you want.

Brave — (I know this is technically Pixar, shut up) Much like the paradox with Ariel, I didn't like this movie. I can't explain it. Maybe because Merida wasn't the typical Disney princess I had been used to seeing. Now though, I ADORE that story. No, it's not because Merida knows archery... Okay, yes maybe a little. I love the aro-arrow word play, alright? Anyway, the way Merida fights against being shipped to a husband like the "tradition" I aforementioned asks her to, has always had my heart, even when I didn't like the movie. The focus on the mother-daughter relationship is special, I love it. Stellar movie.

Tangled — One of my favorite Disney movies, my favorite princess. But her relationship with Eugene.... Well. Again, three days. That's all it takes to fall in love. Classic of Disney. Not only that, but Eugene is literally the first man person Raps has ever since, besides Gothel. The bar is nonexistent for her, she would have fallen for anyone. He lied to her and she still... Well, I won't stress that any longer. Their relationship in the end is sweet, one of the few cases where we are actually shown that they would risk their lives to save each other. Respect that. Mostly, I love her magical hair and Pascal. And the guys of Snuggly Duckling.

Moana — EPIC MOVIE. The story, the culture, the character growth, the plot twist, everything! Loved it at first sight, at second and forever. Even more when I became aware that there's no romance in it. I don't think I need to say more.

Frozen — My opinions on this movie have always been changing, accompanied by mixed feelings. So the relationship between sisters was cute, but Lilo and Stitch made that more realistic. Anna's relationship with Hans, ugh. I think that for a long time I used the fact that he was the antagonist to justify my absolute hate for the way Anna "fell" for him in one evening. Again, Anna sweetheart. This is the first man you've met. The bar is nonexistent for you too. God bless Elsa for forbidding her to marry Hans. And while it's cute to think Elsa as a lesbian, she has aromantic vibes. Sorry not sorry, but she's also a God by the end of Frozen 2. Gods are beyond attraction, I said what I said.

Raya and the Last Dragon — Loved it, still do. Say what you will about "dragon Elsa". Sisu is her own character, and I adore her. And yes, I love the lack of romance in the movie. Make no mistake, I shipped Raya and Namaari from the first moment they smiled at each other. I swear on my name that I paused the movie and screamed, GAYYYY, at the top of my lungs. Luckily, I was home alone. If only Disney directors would do the right fcking thing and give me a queer main couple!! I swear I wouldn't mind the lovey-dovey romance one bit.

Of course, I've left dozens of movies out. This post is already way longer than I wanted it to be. But I think that was enough to make a point.

While I'm not romance-repulsed, seeing animated kisses (and unnecessary relationships) on screen makes me uncomfortable. As a child and as a grownup. It just doesn't sit right with me. Not to mention all these princesses who identify with their princes and specifically their relationships with said princes when they're perfect on their. Wreck it Ralph 2 made them a favor, I think, by making them work together and showing their strengths. Another movie I love.

Friendship just makes an overall better theme to apply to kids shows, my opinion. Family, work, self-discovery, mental health, happiness. These are all better themes to portray in media dedicated for children. Which is, again, my opinion.

And yes, Disney has been getting better. They've fixed the age difference and the age of consent. The female characters no longer depend on the male ones, at least not as often. They understand the assignment, alright. There are still many questionable things about Disney's reputation though, things we all choose to overlook for the sake of the good movies. But who knows? They might change. Hopefully soon we'll also have an obviously queer couple in a movie. Hope dies last.

[chokemeanakin]

could i pls request smth where the reader gets hurt on a mission or smth and hides it from anakin until it gets really bad? that trope is my favorite alskdfjk

Sister u have singlehandedly reawakened my whump side. Here you go, with a side of smut in part two ;)

A Helping Hand (part one) - Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader (whump + smut)

Masterlist

Read it on ao3

Wc: 3.4k

At first, you thought you had just slept on it weird. 

The pain had come out of nowhere one day, when you went to go throw your knife at the dummy’s head like usual. A sudden burst of fire erupted from your wrist, and the knife clattered to the floor as you cradled your arm to your chest. You rolled your wrist a couple times, willing the ache to go away. You thought you might have thrown the knife at an odd angle, and maybe sprained your wrist a little from exertion. You picked up your knife and resumed, but a constant sparking pain remained. 

An injured wrist wasn’t good-- especially since that was your good arm, your knife-throwing arm. That was your talent, after all; your skills were so precise, the Republic Army recruited you to help out in the war. You were thrust into the thick of things with the clones, serving alongside the Jedi Generals, which was how you met Anakin. Without your arm, you were useless.

You set aside time every night to ice it, and when that didn’t help, you switched to soaking it in warm water and stretching it. When there was no improvement after a week, you debated going to see someone for it. It certainly didn’t help that you were using it every day, training like normal and using it for daily activities. Twisting or bending your wrist in any way sent shooting sparks of pain up your arm, but you managed to hide it around everyone… including Anakin.

It’s not that you didn’t want help-- you just didn’t need it. You had seen clones blown to bits by blaster cannons in battle, members of the Republic Army drag themselves up a bank of debris with two broken legs to continue shooting at Separatist droids, friends that served alongside you shot down fighting until their last breath. You would hate yourself forever if you made a fuss out of a simple sprained wrist.

You were a little surprised when Anakin didn’t catch on, honestly. You began switching to your other hand to complete daily tasks, and you were clumsier and slower because of it. But Anakin was so bogged down by current war efforts you barely had time to see each other, and when you did, it was very quickly just in passing. He had other things to worry about than you, and you were okay with that. However, it didn’t stop the burst of excitement after receiving the order that deployed you to Ecadus-Z, a moon off the planet Leona, where a grand Separatist droid factory was in the making and had to be destroyed-- the same mission Anakin was being deployed on as well.

You were grateful for the time you would get to spend together, even if it was in the midst of a battle. But beggars can’t be choosers, so you met him at the transport ship in the starfighter bay bright and early the day of departure. 

He was just as happy to see you, and you sat together in the cabin on the way to Ecadus-Z. It was hard holding yourself back, as it had been far too long since you had gotten to be together alone. As in, really be together. You looked forward to when you got back, as the Council was talking about giving Anakin a short break.

For now, you felt content just being by his side-- even if most of the 501st was there as well.

Once the pilot came over the coms saying you were about to touch down, everyone got out of their seats and began to ready themselves for battle. You would be dropped off in the thick of battle, so you had to come out running if you wanted to make it. 

You slung the bag of explosives over your shoulder and clipped your belt around your waist, making sure you had all of your knives, as well as one already clasped in each of your fists. The ache of your bad wrist was dulled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins as the transport ship shuttered, scraping the ground, the clones bringing their blasters to their shoulders. Explosions and screams of dying clones could be heard outside, and Anakin activated his lightsaber, looking at you.

“See you on the other side.”

The doors opened, light spilling into the cabin. You didn’t think, just ran, and prayed with everything in your heart that you would see Anakin after this was all said and done. That you would both get out alive, and that his sidelong glance in the transport ship wasn’t the last you would see of him.

Thoughts like that were only a distraction. You pushed them to the furthest corners of your mind, zigzagging around blaster shots as you made your way to the factory. Your job was to plant the bombs all around the factory as Anakin and his troops cleared the way for you, and then you would meet at the bank of the surrounding river where you would watch the factory go up in flames from a distance. There, Republic ships would be waiting to take you back to Coruscant.

With that goal in your mind, you made it past the Dead Zone in a flat out sprint-- the space between Republic warships and the Separatist factory, where both sides met in a constant spray of fire. You jumped over fallen clones and coughed smoke out of your lungs, making it to the factory in one piece. You used one of your bombs to blow a hole in the east wall, bypassing the entrance where the blaster-fire was heaviest.

Of course, you climbed through the hole in the wall only to be met with a group of freshly manufactured droids. Your knife buried itself in the closest droid's head without hesitation, followed by another and another. The droids dropped to the ground around you like ants, a single blaster shot missing you by an inch. Your arm screamed with each snap of your wrist, but you pushed through the pain as you yanked your steel blades out of the metal of the droids, planting bombs as you hurried along the hallway.

This is the way it went for a while, steadying yourself against the walls as blaster-cannons shook the ground outside, sticking bombs to the structure every few feet, and running into the occasional group of droids that you took out in a similar way to the first batch.

By the time you finished the east wing and were heading to the south, your wrist was pounding with a vengeance. Every step travelled up your arm, intensifying the pain to the point where it was becoming overwhelming-- distracting. You secured another bomb to the wall, but your grasp on the other ones in your bad arm failed, and scattered all over the ground. You cursed and chased them around the hall, picking them up and shoving them back into your bag. 

As you reached the last one, something caught hold of your arm, yanking you forward. You landed on the ground, right on top of that arm, and you were sure you could hear something pop. You cried out in agony as white hot pain blinded your senses, rolling on the ground as tears were forced out of your eyes. A blaster shot skimmed your shoulder, and you used your non-injured arm to send a knife flying in the droids direction from your place on the ground. 

The throw was off. It hit the droid on the head with the butt of the knife, clinking off and clattering to the ground uselessly. You rolled to the side as another shot missed you by a hair, sweeping the droids legs out from underneath. You grasped its blaster in your uninjured hand, but it fought back, and you forced yourself to use your bad arm to join the other as you turned the blaster in on itself, shooting its head off. 

Gasping in pain, you allowed yourself to stumble backward until you hit the wall, sliding to the ground. Your breathing thickened as you assessed the damage, realizing just how bad the damage had gotten. Your entire arm was on fire, from your shoulder to the tips of your fingers. Angry red and purple splotches bloomed from the place you fell on it, swelling to the size of a baseball. You tried to roll your wrist, stretch it out, but even the slightest movement sent searing bursts of lightning through you, unwelcome tears pricking at your eyes. 

You blinked your sight clear, yanking the blaster from the droids grasp and hooking it into your belt before heading off again. You couldn’t believe the damn thing had grabbed you. Now, your arm was hurt to the point where you couldn’t ignore it. You clutched your wrist to your chest as you stuck more bombs to the walls, finishing off the south wing and heading toward the west wing. You could hear commotion from far away, and prepared yourself for a mess.

All hell had broken loose. There was barely a west wing to speak of anymore, as the walls had been blown out and droids and clones were fighting elbow to elbow within the carcass of the hall. You were sure that’s where all the explosions had come from, and now you weren’t sure where to even put the rest of the bombs. 

A blaster shot landed between your feet, kicking debris up into your eyes. You wrenched yourself out of your standstill, unclasping the blaster from your belt and dropping droids as you hurried to the blue light at the end of the hall. Anakin was being swarmed with droids, dozens of them targeting him from every direction. He was deflecting the shots sent toward him at lightning speed, but you knew he couldn’t keep it up forever. He sent a force pulse out, knocking the droids back into each other, but more replaced them.

The clones were preoccupied with their own battles, and no one was coming to the General’s aid. You fought your way to him, heart pounding in your ears, the pain in your arm pulsing with each beat. If something happened to Anakin before you could reach him--

“Y/n, no!” Anakin caught your eye from behind the swarm. He waved you back. “Don’t worry about me, finish the mission!”

He ducked right before a blast shot could catch him in the head, slashing away at the droids. They crumpled before him in masses, but there were so many. Your blaster shots joined his saber, crippling the droids in heaps around you. In the commotion, the blaster got knocked out of your hands, so you had to go back to your knives. It hurt beyond anything comparable, but you grit your teeth and forced yourself to throw the knives from your injured arm. There was barely any thinking put into it-- you’d rather go through this pain now than deal with a future without Anakin.

You were slow and clumsy, and quite honestly you were doing awful. Only about half of your throws did any damage, and your vision was beginning to spot with pain. Not to mention, your eyes were clouded with tears and smoke, so even if you could throw right, you couldn’t see in order to do so. You lashed out at random, setting knives loose in every direction, hoping they would provide at least some help. As you reached the end of your supply of knives, you couldn’t help but feel like you were failing Anakin. He needed help, but you were too weak to do anything. 

A droid’s arm caught on the bag around your shoulder, and you cried out, crumpling to the ground against your will. The pain was making you nauseous, and your vision swam as you forced yourself to breath. You could feel Anakin’s panic and fury as he sent another pulsing wave around him, droids flying back in every direction including the one that had gotten caught on you. Broken and splintered bits of droid whizzed past you as they collided with each other. The bombs from your bag had spilt out all around you again, when suddenly through your swimming head, you had an idea.

You scrambled to set each bomb to manual detonation, and then sent them flying into the crowds gathered around Anakin. They exploded, knocking dozens out at a time. You sent them forward, one after another, until you ran out and the pulsing in your arm had you clutching at your wrist in vain, praying for something to relieve the pain.

As the dust settled, you saw the blue light disappear. Anakin appeared from out of the smoke, covered in ash and dust. A few new cuts on his face bled freely, but he ignored them as he knelt beside you.

“What was that all about?” he scanned your body, deciding whether or not to move you. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or concerned, and the thought of him being unhappy with you was paralyzing. You had tried so hard, and you knew it wasn’t enough. Your arm had messed everything up, but at this point the pain outweighed any fears you had, and you really just needed help.

“I’m sorry Anakin, I hurt my arm and I think it’s really bad. I didn’t mean to mess up, I’m sorry--,” you choked. Anakin didn’t wait for you to finish before he was pulling you to your feet, a new wave of blaster shots speeding past your heads, and you realized he was trying to get you out of the line of fire. 

He supported most of your weight with his flesh arm, reactivating and deflecting blaster shots with his lightsaber in the other. You stumbled alongside him, legs ready to give out again at any moment. You’re sure that without his help, you wouldn’t have made it out.

As soon as you breached the Dead Zone, Anakin reached for his com and ordered the 501st back to the ships. He ushered you into the first one you saw, a simple model of a Republic cruiser, and helped you into the passenger’s chair before standing before the window, surveying the damage outside. 

Hands clasped behind his back, he stood in silence before the window for a long while. Your arm screamed at you, but you watched from your place in the seat as a swarm of clones broke out of the smoke from the droid factory, trickling into transport ships and taking off into the air. Anakin waited until he got word from Rex that everyone was out, and then reached for the detonator in his belt. With the press of a button, the entire factory as well as all of the droids inside erupted in flame, the explosion mushrooming up and out. You shielded your eyes from the brightness of the fire, shaking in your seat as the force of the explosion rattled the cruiser. 

Anakin didn’t stick around to watch. He got in the pilot’s seat, lifting the cruiser into the air and out into space. Once he was sure you were safe, surrounded by stars and darkness, he turned to you.

His face was grim, tired, and covered in blood and ash. He paid it no mind as he extended his arm out to you, wordlessy requesting your injured wrist. 

You hoped he wouldn’t notice its trembling as you forced yourself to release it from your death-grasp, the one that had sort of stuck to your chest as you ran through the Dead Zone with him. Fireworks erupted behind your eyes as your wrist made contact with his gloved hand. You’re sure he was trying his hardest to be gentle, especially while holding it in his metal hand, but any point of contact was going to hurt like a bitch.

You gnawed at your bottom lip as he carefully turned it this way and that, assessing the damage. His face was drawn down in concentration, that same angry-concerned pout on his face sparking a fear in the pit of your stomach. Was he mad at you?

He brought his other hand up, meaning to skim his fingers over the swelling of your wrist to gage your response. 

“Don’t touch it--” you snatched your wrist back to your chest, shrinking away from his touch. 

“That bad?” Anakin sighed quietly, meeting your eyes for the first time. Your lip wobbled as you lowered your head in shame. 

“I’m sorry.”

You felt his hand come up to cradle your cheek, rubbing some dirt away with his thumb. His voice was soft. “You have nothing to be sorry for; it’s not your fault. Just let me see what’s wrong with it.”

He reached for you again, but you flinched away.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Your trembling was noticeable this time as you lowered your wrist into his waiting hand again. He gently took each finger and wiggled them, asking if it hurt each time. You bit back your whimpers, hitching your breath sharply as sparks of pain travelled up your arm with each movement. He let go and asked if you could make a fist, but even that was too excruciating. 

You desperately blinked the new tears out of your eyes. It was beginning to annoy you, but you couldn’t help it. The ugly look of your wrist sat deranged and pathetic in Anakin’s gentle palm, and you could see the bad news in his eyes.

Yup. Definitely broken.

“How did all this happen?” he reached behind you to grab an emergency blanket from the shelf. He wrapped your arm in it and then carefully set it back on your lap. Then, he got to work peeling back the shirt from your shoulder where the blaster had skimmed you.

“My shoulder, I got shot,” you admitted, wincing as he pulled a bit of cloth back that was stuck to dried blood. “My wrist… well it’s been hurting for a while. But then a droid pulled on my arm and I fell on top of it.”

Anakin pulled back to look at you. “It’s been hurting for a while? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I had it under control.”

He sighed again, fingertips ghosting over the skin of your shoulder. 

“You got burned pretty bad, but it’s nothing some bacta can’t fix,” he said. His voice was reserved again, eyes not meeting yours. “The wrist, well, that’ll be a different story.”

“You’re mad at me.”

He was quiet, looking at the bundled wrist in your lap. You could see the conflict in his eyes-- he wanted to be mad, but he didn’t want to direct it toward you. He was searching for a way to figure out in his own head before saying something to you that he didn’t mean, something he’d regret.

“I’m not mad,” he chose his words carefully, then shook his head. “I just… I told you to leave me.”

“How could I have? You wouldn’t have left me if the roles were switched.”

“It’s different.”

“How is it different?” Anakin’s responding gaze was weary. You both knew what he wanted to say, but he knew it would hurt you. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he tucked some flyaway hairs behind your ear, letting his hand linger. “Let’s just drop this. I don’t want to argue.”

“As long as you’re not mad,” you made him promise.

“I’m not mad at you.”

You didn’t miss the last part he added. ‘At you.’ Of course, he’d be directing this at himself. You could see the guilt in his eyes, but it didn’t make any sense. You had chosen to stay behind and help him fight the droids off, and it was you who had broken your own damn wrist. In fact, he had saved your life today when he dragged you out of the crossfire. He had nothing to be guilty for, but you knew he was beating himself up for not doing more, for not getting to you faster, for not noticing your pain. 

“I’m not mad at you, either.” If your wrist wasn’t a huge site of concern, you would have hugged him. For now, you settled with gripping his flesh hand in yours and squeezing. He gave you the tiniest smile, and then returned his focus to piloting.

[jasonscaramel]

Positions - The Mandalorian

Din Djarin x unnamed female reader (credit to gif maker up there I just work here)

warnings include: i was inspired by ariana grande’s new album, i also haven’t written in forever (much less for din—that’s never), 2.9k words, heterosexual sex, slight cockwarming, slight dom!din (but that’s all you’ll ever get from me)

author’s note before we get started: i have more of these planned so if you’re interested in being tagged let me know! also it has been forever since I've written so if you like it pls let me know

Being a multi-faceted human being isn’t that difficult, especially growing up in the middle of an endless galaxy. You were taught many valuable lessons growing up: cooking, farming, smuggling, hand to hand combat—the necessities to keep you alive. So upon your first ever meeting with a Mandalorian, it was no shock that he deemed you useful almost straight away.

Growing up with defected Imperial parents, the intelligence training you received from your paranoid parents was better than the Empire could offer. You were sneaky, sly, and downright deceptive when you needed to be. Talking a bounty into walking straight into their death was easy, as was putting them down yourself if you needed to.

You’re also a damn good babysitter. And kids love you.

All around, it was a no brainer for Din—after promising you passage to a nearby planet that ended up being a six month journey—to keep you on board. You were all attached to each other at that point, especially the kid. He found maternal energy quite soothing, and even if you weren’t his mother, it seemed as though having a woman to counteract all the Boy going on eased the little one’s mind.

So now you’re here, the kid strapped to your chest and Din by your side, the only thing in your way of the Razor Crest is the man holding a knife to your throat. He’s trying, and failing, to get ahold of the kid in the process. Din pulls out his blaster in a move to protect the both of you, and the knife shoves further in your neck.

“Come any closer and they’re dead!” The man shouts in your ear, and a squeal comes from the makeshift baby carrier on your chest. You look at Din, hoping desperately he’s making eye contact with you. You give him a single nod, then stomp on the man’s foot as hard as you can, moving to grab the knife from your pocket. The blade at your throat is piercing, but you ignore it to stab the knife into the man’s thigh. He finally pulls away in agony as you rip it out, only to shove it into his throat seconds later. He hits the ground with a thump, choking on blood, and the kid lets out a relieved huff.

“Let’s go, it’s freezing,” you say as your teeth chatter, wrapping your arms the kid and snuggling for dear life. You can feel the sticky warm blood trickling ever so slowly down your neck, but the wound doesn’t hurt.

Upon entering the Razor Crest and shutting the hatch, Din turns his attention to you. “Does it hurt?”

You give a slight chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s fine, Din. You get us in hyperspace, I’ll put the kid to bed and get cleaned up.” You left no room for arguments as you made your way over to the baby’s pram and began unraveling him from your chest. You noticed Din hadn’t moved yet, but you didn’t really mind. He’s very protective of his son, so it doesn’t affect you to have him watch you coddle the kid, coo at him and sing him to sleep, if only it puts Din’s mind a little more at ease. With the lives you live, it’s hard for either of you to have trust in anyone. The only way is to prove yourself, and you intend to do it every day. Maybe for a little more than trust, but hey, you’re not complaining having Din stare at you all the time.

By the time the kid is ready to lay down, the ship is up and beginning its course. You shut the little guy in on himself so nothing bothers him and head to the refresher. Looking in the mirror, you have a sizable cut on your throat, but it’s only surface damage. You wipe off the blood, put on the first antiseptic you can find and head out. Apart from that little scuffle, your day had been relatively uneventful. You stopped on this planet to get groceries and fuel, for maker’s sake.

Settling into the co-pilot’s seat, you turn to look at Din and find him already facing you. You give him a soft smile, reaching over and giving him three light taps on the beskar on his thigh. It was something you always did; it always comforted him, even though he never really knew what you meant by it. “You alright?” He sounds genuinely worried, and you imagine if you could see his face his brows would be furrowed in the cutest expression.

“Definitely,” you reassure him, lifting your head to expose the cut a bit more. “It’s superficial, no harm done.” You drop your head to give him a bigger smile for added convincing. “What’s on your mind?” You know he’s concerned, but there’s something else underneath it. There always has been something else with you two. It lies beneath every conversation, making its way in through comfortable silences and soft touches. It pulls at your heartstrings at the oddest of moments, like when he’s cleaning up spit up with his cape or gazing out at the stars in hyperspace when he thinks you’re not there.

“I just don’t like to see you hurt, is all. But you handle yourself well, so it’s hard to worry for too long.” You hear his tone get lighter as he finishes his short explanation, giving you a slight chuckle when he’s finished. You return it easily.

“Please, you have nothing to worry about. As long as I have you as back up, I can do anything.” It started as a simple sentence, but the longer your silence sat the deeper the meaning became. Neither of you broke the spell, just stared at the general direction of each other’s faces and hoping you were making eye contact. It made you giggle, and when he cocked his head to the side, you just shook yours.

“Well, I wa-“ Din was interrupted by a beep on your wrist, indicating the child had been moving around. You turned on the speaker and gave him soft reassurances and cooed a small lullaby.

You didn’t hear anything after that, so you returned your attention back to him. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” You pulled your sleeve over the watch to show you were giving your undivided attention.

The words that come out of his mouth are so quiet you hardly hear them. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

A smile breaks out on your face, tears unwillingly welling in your eyes. “Me too, Din. Me too. I-“ You stopped yourself immediately. What were you going to say? Maker, you could think of a dozen. I love you. I want to touch you. I want to sit in your lap and feel safe.

You’re glad to hear the child crying from the speaker on your wrist.

It had been two months since your almost-talk with your favorite Mando. Since then, Din has parked on the edge of a rainy planet, leaving you and the child for the past week. Easy enough job, watching the ship and the kid, albeit incredibly boring. By day two you were considering what card games the child would understand. By day five, you took to cleaning the entire ship.

Din came back on day eight, the day where you decided to fix up whatever you could laying around. Granted, you’re not a mechanic, but you’ve hot wired enough ships in your day to know a thing or two. It’s basic things at first, fixing loose wires and buttons, tightening bolts. After poking around for long enough, you think you find a decent enough project in fixing the nest of wiring in the cockpit, so you get to work.

It’s not much more than busy work, so when the child started crying you let him sit in your lap and help you work. After doing more harm than good for a solid half hour, you began to try to teach him the task at hand. He couldn’t grasp the entire idea of what you were doing, but he was doing a great job at handing you the wires you needed.

It was a while before you heard the ship make it’s familiar noises as Din came onboard. You heard the bounty pleading, the whoosh of the carbonite, but you didn’t hear his footsteps come closer so you continued your task. The child was beginning to have enough, you could tell he was getting tired, but knowing Din was here you wanted to keep him up as long as possible. Give Din more of a break after working so hard.

“Hand me the blue one,” you paused, watching the child’s little hand reach for the wrong wire. “You don’t know colors, do you?” Sighing, you moved his hand a little to the left to put him back on course. “That’s blue.” He made a noise in acknowledgment, handing you the wire to clip underneath the control panel.

You heard Din finally making his way up as the child handed you another wire. “Red! Thanks, buddy.” He gave you a small, sweet sound before turning to look at Din. You followed suit, looking up from your seat on the floor. The child wrestled his way out of your arms, waddling over to his father and lifting his arms. Din picked him up, holding him tight and rocking back and forth slightly to soothe him. It was the cutest thing you’d ever seen, and you don’t even think he realized he was doing it.

“How’d it go? You alright?” You asked Din as you rose from the floor, dusting your hands on your pants. Giving him a once over, you don’t see any blood leaking from anywhere, so that’s a good sign.

“I’m fine, he just wasn’t that easy to track down.” Din kept his eyes on the little one, watching as his eyes drifted open and shut. He was fighting sleep, but Din could always get him to knock out quick.

“If you want to go put him down and get dried off, I’ll get us going to our next destination.” You could hear the rain beating down on the Razor Crest, so there’s no telling how much water snuck it’s way between skin and beskar. He gave you a gentle nod, turning and making his way down to the refresher. The baby’s pram was next to his cot, so he could do everything in one place.

As the ship began its kick into hyperspace, you heard Din’s heavy footsteps make their way closer to you. Turning on auto-pilot, you jump over to the co-pilot seat to give Din his back. When he sits, he double checks the coordinates, and once he realizes you’ve done it all right, he slumps into his chair. You reach over, tapping three times on his thigh.

“I can take care of this if you want to sleep,” your voice was soft, imagining him dozing off like the child was earlier under that helmet.

He tensed, shaking his head without looking at you. “I’m not tired.” His fingers twitched, reaching for a lever and gripping it hard. Reading him was always incredibly difficult, but the more you’re around him the more he lets out his emotions in physical cues. He seems frustrated, restless, was the bounty that bad?

“Then what can I do to help? You seem... tense.” The sharp intake of air was audible through the helmet, so you followed your gut and placed your hand on his thigh.

“Cyar’ika...” his voice trails off, as tense as his body. He’d never called you anything but your name, especially not something this soft, and you found yourself moving to situate on your knees, in between Din’s. Looking up at him, you could see the beskar of his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. You ran your hands up and down his thighs, gazing up into—what you hoped were—his eyes.

“Is this okay?”

He cleared his throat, nodding his head. “More than.” After you hear those beautiful, consenting words, you immediately get to work. You reach for the waistband of everything you could get your hands around and pull. Luckily, Din helps you and before you know it his pants around his ankles and his cock is right at eye level. You take a moment, eyes widening once you finally realize where you’re trying to fit that thing. Din shifts in his seat with nervous energy, and you remember he can actually see you, so you continue. Soft kisses up and down his thighs, the occasional bite soothed with your tongue, all while pumping him with your spit slicked hand. Making your way back up his thighs, you kiss up his balls and shaft, giving the tip a kitten lick before you take him in your mouth. The groan that emanates from the helmet drives you further, doing your best to get used to his size. You moan when he finally hits the back of your throat, and Din grabs your hair with a growl.

“I need—I want...” Din stops, panting, desperately trying to pull you off his dick by your hair. You comply, jerking him softly while looking up at him.

“Tell me what you want and it’s yours. Don’t hold back.” Your voice comes out raspier than normal, and you feel Din’s cock twitch in your palm.

“I need to fuck you.” You could feel his need even through the vocoder, so you let go of his cock and—after removing your clothing from the waist down, wearing nothing but a tunic—moved to sit on his lap. Din grabbed you by your hips, pulling you close and hovering over right where he wanted to. Slowly, fingertips digging deliciously into your skin, he guides you onto the tip of his cock. You share a moan as he stretches you, slowly but surely, as you feel like you’re going to split in half.

“Kriff, Din,” you whine, finally seating your hips against his. He runs his gloved hands up and down your sides in an attempt to soothe before resuming their iron grip on your hips. “You’re huge.” You smile when you hear a deep, gritty chuckle through his helmet, and once you feel his guiding pressure on your hips, you finally begin moving.

It’s slow at first; your hands doing all the touching as you got used to one another’s bodies. As Din got more comfortable, he began thrusting into you, taking over your pace and morphing it into something faster, yet equally close. He pulls you so close your chest is tight against his, your head moving to bury itself in his neck. As his pace grew, your hands gripped onto his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

It was the best sensation you’d ever felt in your life. The stretch was just enough for an extra sense of pleasure, and the way he kept hitting your g-spot on the way out had you seeing stars. You press your lips against the tiniest bit of skin you can find, your fingers desperately trying to find purchase on his shoulders.

“Maker, Din, please.” You didn’t even know what you were begging for—it sounded like your voice came from far away, like it wasn’t you. He felt so good and strong and sturdy and his soft grunts and groans were filling your ears solely to heighten your pleasure. Everything about him made you want to never let go, keep him just like this forever.

“You going to cum for me, cyar’ika?” His tone is playful as his thrusts get rougher and out of rhythm. You know you won’t last long and neither will he.

“Need it, Din. Please.” Your sobs of pleasure are almost drowned out by the beskar on his shoulder, but he hears you—he always does. His left hand leaves your hip and trails down to where the two of you meet. He traces his fingers over your pussy, and where it meets his cock, then moves to your clit and begins his wonderful torture.

You’re so close, and he’s so good, rubbing your clit just right while his cock splits you open. You hear him breathe your name from under the helmet, followed by a string of curses you can’t begin to comprehend, and you let go, squeezing tight around him as your thighs shake. Din thrusts once, twice more before he’s buried as deep as he possibly can be and comes inside of you. The warmth inside of you makes you shiver with the contrast of the coldness of the cockpit.

The both of you are out of breath, holding onto each other tightly as you try to regain your bearings. His hands reach around you, encompassing your body in a hug as he runs his hands up and down your back. Upon realizing your legs are still shaking, he moves his soothing motions to your thighs.

“You’re amazing.” Mumbling into his neck, you grab at one of his hands and hold on for dear life. “I don’t wanna move.”

“Did I wear you out that well?” Despite the vocoder, you could hear the smile in Din’s voice. You share a laugh, and upon mellowing out, you give his hand three little squeezes. “Alright, cyar’ika, just a little bit longer.”

His gaze stays on the streams of stars as he holds your hand, rubs your back, and whispers sweet nothings in your ear. A little bit longer with you could never hurt.