#she keeps weaponizing soup

[mediumsizedfountain]

It's been years, but I'm back on my Star Wars shit.

I think the thing I love most about Oshamir as a ship is how much of a female power fantasy it is, and the show unapologetically leans into that aspect.

Like, Qimir as an undeniably powerful and dangerous man, but he very rapidly started shifting into the more submissive person in the relationship.

He's not a tyrant or a fascist or a warlord or anything like that which could be triggering and icky. He's a lone wolf committed to his own freedom and making his own path as he sees fit. He's a killer, but only when those deaths either protect/defend his freedom and independence, or advance the cause of his power and his personal journey.

HOWEVER, bro is also clearly lonely and touch starved, and willing to take on fake personas in order to find something resembling friendship.

This is where the female power fantasy comes in.

The minute he meets Osha, he's so immediately taken with her that he drops his fake persona and nearly reveals himself. Then when he is ready to kill everyone else to protect himself, he goes out of his way to avoid killing Osha, flirts with her mid battle, keeps checking that she's paying attention when he's talking. The man is crushing on her big time. He even seems impressed every time she fights against him.

By the end of the battle, when he finds her unconscious in the forest, our boy is already halfway in love.

What better power fantasy could there be? Not only does the most deadly man in the galaxy not want to hurt her, but he's totally smitten when all she's done is point weapons at him.

The fantasy only gets more intoxicating from there. Not only does he tuck her into bed and tend her wound, this guy COOKS HER SOUP and respectfully sets up his makeshift bed across the room.

From the moment she picks up his lightsaber, Osha starts losing her fear of him, because it's obvious this dweeb is just peacocking by showing off his nice body and his artfully arranged tendrils of hair and flirting non stop.

The way he literally puts his life in her hands and remains unflinchingly honest and straightforward with her while helping her work through her complicated emotions is only icing on the cake. Not to mention he keeps inviting her to join him, but every time she rejects him he just quietly pouts and respectfully backs down.

I'm not going into detail about how he follows her around like a devoted puppy for the rest of the season while also respecting her personal boundaries.

The bottom line is: Leslye Headland created the ultimate female power fantasy by giving Osha an overpowered monster who instantly falls for her, willingly and eagerly defangs himself, devoted himself to her needs, and submits himself to her choices.

It's also perfectly clear that he can still transform into a monster, but now he's OSHA'S monster. And he's also Osha's biggest fanboy and her eager emotional support person.

Leslye just knows what the girlies like and served it up to us on a platter.

We are so fed. Now just hoping Disney has the guts to keep trying something new by giving us a second season.

[theminecraftbee]

okay, okay, superhero au concept of the day: soup group identity shenanigans au. the soup group all rent a house together, they became friends... i don't know when, still figuring this out, but they're all buddies. however, they're all involved in the hero scene in their own way, and everyone's levels of knowing how involved in the hero scene they are is varied.

impulse is a relatively new hero (name pending), after an accident at his desk job somehow left him with electricity-based powers. he's kind of awkward and new at the whole gig, but he is determined to do his best! he is keeping his identity secret to keep what he thinks are his two civilian housemates safe, as well as to keep his other friends safe. he's a bit over his head but he mostly fights low-level villains at the moment anyway. he knows the least information of everybody but he's ALSO the most likely to have a crisis if he learns anything about his housemates.

pearl is a vigilante known as the cleaning lady. she's not so much an active combatant most of the time as someone who takes advantage of existing fights and crime scenes for her own ends, helping to make sure she puts down criminals and collects information from the aftermath. she'll help either side in order to meet her goal of cleaning up the city from the chaos it's currently in, and she dislikes most serious crime, she just... goes about it in a way most heroes do not agree with. she's figured out impulse's identity and avoids him in her night work because she's certain he'd clock her immediately. as for the red deer... she's worked with her once or twice and is kind of terrified, but doesn't know her identity at all.

gem is the soup group's mysteriously rich friend who is the one helping them rent the house together. really it would be suspicious she was renting with the kind of money her job makes and how much she can afford with what she supposedly actually makes if both pearl and impulse weren't so busy hiding their identities. and gem's glad! she's excited to have friends she can play civilian with--that doesn't normally last this long! because gem is the terrifying mercenary and hitman for hire, the red deer. compared to both impulse and pearl (who are normally considered small-time), gem is considered a "if you are not specifically pseudo-hawk, do not engage" level threat. she's particularly known for, if her job is to take down someone interesting, handing them a weapon and letting them have a "fair fight" back. only pseudo-hawk (real name false symmetry) has held her off before. the rest of her targets go home in body bags, and she gets her money. she rarely actually kills someone who ISN'T a target, but she still hurts them enough to keep them out of the way if they try to interfere.

and gem... gem knows EXACTLY who her housemates are. she's keeping an eye on the chatter about them, too. right now, no one who wants their head is offering the kind of money the red deer is worth, of course, so she doesn't have to worry. her status as one of the most dangerous villains in the city remains safe, and she can have her civilian friends, especially since she's pretty sure they don't know who she is! but if any of that falls apart. if they find her identity. if impulse manages to piss off an actually powerful villain, or pearl finally steps on the toes of a gang that can do something about her... well. well. gem... doesn't miss a target. and it would be fun! it would be... something, at least. she's starting to not be sure what she'd do, and that's... dangerous, in her line of work.

but the thing is, it's nice sharing a house, the three of them. surely, the weight of everyone's respective secrets and allegiances won't collapse around them!

...right?

[ironmandeficiency]

the fellowship + romance

characters included: aragorn, boromir, gimli, legolas, pippin

word count: 1177

summary: just some soft shit bc these men are all sappier than any tree in the greenwood

a/n: there’s still an overwhelming lack of gimli content that needs to be fixed and i will do my part

aragorn 🗡️

aragorn’s quiet presence is the warmest blanket on a cold night, the first bite of a meal you slaved over for hours, every comfort you’ve ever experienced

he’s never been one for overwhelming displays of his affections; instead, he shows you in simple ways that add up - giving you the more full bowls of broth, laying his blanket over you if he notices you shivering during night watch, sharpening your weapons (this one had gimli nearly brought to tears by the devotion it spoke of), anything that helps your days pass easier

he grew up around stories of elves who committed astounding feats in the name of those they loved, fighting wars and risking their lives with alarming frequency. but none of them ever talked about the everyday ways they showed love. his mother taught him what she could about those things, stories of his father’s steady presence and stalwart love for his family. a young aragorn took these lessons to heart and used them when the time was right

it was why, when he caught his heart skipping beats around you, he let his actions do the speaking for him. without fail you would thank him with a soft smile, slowly coming to realize that aragorn felt something much deeper for you than camaraderie. when you woke up early one morning to find your weapons sharper than they were the day before (not for the first time), you went straight to aragorn and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. he nearly dropped your bowl of stew in his flustered state

having your affections secured didn’t mean he stopped his small acts of kindness, it did quite the opposite. it just made him bolder and more confident in his actions

boromir 🍻

this man is so damn tactile it’s ridiculous

if you’re the cuddly type like he is, it makes him all the more eager to always have some form of physical contact with you, no matter where you may be

unless you tell him to back off, he is always touching you one way or another. a gentle hand on the small of your back, your pinkies interlocked, an arm wrapped around your shoulder, anything to keep you close to him

his favorite time of day eventually becomes the end of it, because that’s when he can hold you close and whisper soft words of love in your ear while he holds you. he makes it his goal to give you a goodnight kiss every night you spend together

the best cuddle position in his mind is you leaning your back against his chest, one of his hands resting on your hip where his thumb rubs small circles above the bone, and his chin resting on your shoulder just right to where he can turn his head to kiss your cheek or burrow his face into your neck

gimli 🛡️

valiantly is the best way to describe how gimli approaches any situation he comes upon, including (and especially) matters of the heart

this is a dwarf who says what he means & means what he says, who does nothing that he wouldn’t be proud of the next day. because of this, you couldn’t find it in you to not believe him when he professed his love for you with such unwavering confidence you were nearly brought to tears. gimli never said anything just because his lips could move so you simply had to believe him

will do you favors big and small simply because he wants to help you however possible. you can’t remember the last time you carried your own pack or made your own bowl of soup. if you encouraged him (which you wouldn’t), this romantic fool would not let you lift another finger for as long as you both live

he grew up watching his parents with keen eyes, his adad showing him by example how a true dwarf treats their one. he embodies these lessons with every interaction with you, striving to be the one you deserve him to be. it ranges from the ferocity of his protection to opening doors for you. may mahal strike him down if he ever hurts you

he just wants to be a dwarf you’re proud to love, proud to call yours

legolas 🏹

physical affection can be difficult for him, but one thing legolas is good at doing is speaking his mind and his heart

if you thought his regular speaking pattern was overflowing with poetic descriptors, you’ve heard nothing compared to when he’s being truly romantic. no one you’d been with before had ever described you with such beautiful prose, never whispered soft poetry about your eyes to lull you to sleep

and he’s a cheeky bastard about it too! it’ll be a regular conversation between friends, nothing important, then BAM! he’s making quippy one-liners about your overwhelming skill/beauty/personality that catch you off guard and has your friends cackling at your flustered reaction to his flattery

even better, his praise will often include sindarin and on the off chance you don’t speak it, you’ll have to gauge the meaning from the silent looks shared between your dear elf and aragorn (doesn’t really work). eventually legolas tells you what some of them mean; after all, he needs to have an element of intrigue about him or his name isn’t legolas thranduillion

he carries a lot of pride for you and will brag about you to anyone who listens, his melleth being one of unparalleled skill and beauty and bright laughter that carries his soul on great wings

pippin 🥕

his already strong need to be silly and foolish grows exponentially when he finds out how happy it makes you

pip doesn’t care what it is you ask of him, he will do anything to hear your laugh. he’ll put baby carrots in his nostrils, respond to conversations exclusively in farm animal noises, he will even do his spot-on impressions of the rest of the fellowship and make them say all sorts of silly things

the best one to date is him doing an aragorn impression that consists of all the different ways he says legolas’s name

you’ve never heard such astounding colloquialisms from anyone until you met pippin - “don’t eat half the berries and say the pie shell’s too big,” “his cornbread isn’t done in the middle,” “if brains were leather, he wouldn't have enough to saddle a junebug” - and each time he says one, there’s always a not-so-subtle look to you so he can see your reaction. the ones that get the most laughs are used a little bit more, just enough to not lose their appeal but enough to hear your laughter all the more often

there is a single-minded determination to hear your snort when you laugh at something he says, and he will not rest until you do. his personal goal to do this resets each time you do actually snort, him now aiming for the next joke or prank that will bring it out again

[stonegoldsxcrxt]

Ah, Star Wars fans. Once again perpetuating the Draco in Leather Pants trope to the point where we're all sick of it. Do I have to beat someone with the 'He's-Supposed-To-Be-Evil' Stick or something?

yeah. the acolyte itself as a show is straddling a line right now that, I'm sorry, I kind of don't think the Star Wars fandom at large is media literate enough to understand.

I've already seen a number of tiktoks and tumblr posts saying, "omg now I understand reylos," which besides being exhausting and annoying, immediately proves my point. There's obviously some differences between reylo and whatever osha/qimir is called within both production and the narrative, but overall what I'm baffled by every. single. time. is how weirdly everyone in the star wars fandom reacts to an attractive male villain blatantly manipulating a young woman.

I think the acolyte is clearly aiming for us to see and understand that Qimir is manipulating Osha. We know Qimir is clever. We saw him successfully worm his way out of being caught by the Jedi by playing up the "quirky sidekick" shtick. What I don't think a lot of the audience picks up on is just how smart he is. During one of his and Osha's conversations, he lets her suggest things and make assumptions, ie:

Osha: Where’d you get that scar?

Qimir: How do you think I got it?

Osha: Looks like someone stabbed you in the back.

Qimir: Someone who threw me away.

Osha: Your Jedi Master?

And then he doesn't correct her or elaborate. He lets her assume the worst. He lets her imagination wander. He's not interested in explaining because he knows the real story, whatever it may be, doesn't make him look as favorable as her idea. It's exchanges like that that are subtle examples of his manipulation, less obvious than the outright goading he uses against her when he gets her to admit she thinks of herself as a failure and that's why she left the Jedi.

There's also the earlier exchange:

Osha: He’s found me before, and his strength in the Force is very powerful.

Qimir: You think that’s his strength? That’s your strength in the Force, Osha. Someone ought to teach you that.

To a lot of people, that sounds like a compliment. But it isn't. Qimir makes a statement vague enough that successfully implies the Jedi have been lying to Osha about her own strength in the Force while also keeping just enough information to himself that he knows Osha will stick around to find out what he meant, instead of swimming to the ship he points out to her right after. And she does exactly that, continues to follow and engage in argument and conversation with him.

In fact, Qimir knows the more Osha talks to him, the more Osha even entertains the idea of talking to him instead of leaving, the more he can get inside her head. His naked swimming jaunt isn't him flaunting or showing off for Osha in some genuinely romantic way– it's yet another manipulation tactic. Though, if she is seduced, that helps him too.

Qimir purposefully makes himself into a vulnerable state in front of her to lull her into a false sense of security. He leaves his weapon with his clothes so she has the opportunity to take it; he is signalling to her that he is "completely" disarmed, though that is not true, since we know he is far stronger in the Force and in combat, and, perhaps, more cunning than Osha. His nudity forces Osha to acknowledge he is human, and Qimir benefits from Osha thinking of him as just a quirky, charming loner who's the victim of the Jedi, who offers her soup and disrobes in front of her.

The reason I know that none of this is genuine is simple. He goes back and forth between flat out acting as if he pities Osha ("Why do you love people who can only go so far?") but that doesn't get him the reaction he's looking for, so he bounces back to antagonizing her ("Why aren’t you a Jedi, Osha?) to finally, convincing her that she is similar to him ("I understand.") None of these things are actually Qimir trying to get to know Osha. Sure, he needs to understand her to manipulate her, but he'd do or say anything to get her to stick around and allow him to corrupt her further.

to me, Qimir is kind of the Star Wars equivalent to like a mimic species in the animal world. He's smart enough to know that in order to get what he wants, he has to act a certain way that isn't necessarily his real personality, and he can exploit Osha's (and anyone else's, for that matter) feelings by molding his personality and actions to achieve his goals so his victims are less likely to notice that he's using them.

The problem is that a big portion of the audience doesn't appear to recognize it, either. We know the rules of the Star Wars universe very well by now. Force Users this deep in the Dark Side cannot actually love someone. Sure, they can be obsessed with someone, but they cannot actually reciprocate feelings as the Dark Side corrupts them.

I've come to the conclusion that the majority of people watching Star Wars are not watching with the intention of picking up on any of this, despite the fact that the acolyte is actually doing it quite masterfully. They are paying attention to Manny Jacinto's muscles, and little else. You cannot argue or convince people who do not want to listen. They did not want to listen in 2017, when the reddest of red flags "You're nothing, but not to me," line was delivered, which had all the subtlety of being hit over the head with an anvil, and they are not listening now. If people are able to be gaslit by Kylo Ren into believing his victim card was validated, they will certainly and inevitably be gaslit by Qimir, who, so far, is much more cunning.

the acolyte even *plans* for this though, deliberately and suddenly cutting to the scene of Jecki's lifeless body, reminding the audience that Qimir is not the quirky, charming, harmless loner who he presents himself to be, but actually a man who we know to be capable of unspeakable acts of violence towards even children. at this point, I can't actually see any reason why the fandom continues to act like he is in love with Osha in any kind of genuine manner when it's so mind-blowingly obvious that he is male manipulator #1.

I think does a huge disservice to the story the acolyte seems to be trying to present at this point to be so blind with lust or whatever it is the fandom feels towards this guy that his own tactics have begun to work on them. it's actually so incredible that it makes me a bit ill. they may find him hot all they want, but for the love of Leia Organa's Star Wars at least recognize his tactics for what they are instead of also allowing yourself to be fooled!!

[peachesofteal]

First Sight

Chapter 1 of 2. Part five of the Sassy series. Reblogs, comments, likes, interactions, etc are cherished by me. 🖤

Simon Riley/female reader 5.9k words - AO3

Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnant reader, PTSD, thigh riding, Simon talks you through it, praise kink, explicit sex, jealousy, possessive Simon, angst, tenderness, mentions of blood and violence, nightmares, childbirth, medical procedures, Simon is bad at feelings; Simon is learning how to have his feelings. Simon has felt this before.

“And you are?” 

“I’m her… I’m the baby’s father. We had her information updated two weeks ago, at the office. I’m listed as her emergency contact.” The doctor looks skeptical but taps a few keys on her laptop before she glances back to him. 

“Last name?” 

“Riley.”

“Sorry, Mr. Riley. She’s been my patient for nearly seven months, and I’ve never seen or heard of you.” Bloody hell. His jaw clenches together so hard he thinks his teeth might shatter. 

“I’ve been overseas.” The lights and sounds are scratching under his skin, making him tense, priming him for a fight. “I came in on the ambulance with her... I have to be with her. She can’t be alone when she wakes up. She’ll be scared. She won’t… she has P-.” 

“I am aware of her history.” The doctor snipes and his fist tightens, tendons curling until his hand becomes a weapon, not thing the of comfort it was a mere ten minutes ago. 

“Look. I’m on her list. So you can let me back there or-“ She holds her hand up to silence him and the vein in his forehead pulses. 

“I’ve already paged a tech to bring you to her room, Mr. Riley. It’s just going to be a few minutes.” She gives him a reproachful look before she says something about coming by to check on you shortly, and he lets out a long breath.

You’re somewhere else. Your eyes are trained on the e-reader in your hand, but they’re not moving across the screen. You’re not blinking. Your breathing is even, and deep, but your fingers are fisted in the blanket, and your gaze is burning a hole through the bed, through the floor, possibly right down to the core of the earth.

It makes Simon nervous.

Not because he is afraid of your PTSD.

He is afraid of you slipping away. Sometimes, you leave and come back a different girl, the guarded one, the one that hasn’t tried to forgive him, the one who is reliving the pain he caused her every second. The one who takes your place when you disappear right in front of him, who’s memories burn too bright.

He knows he may never be fully absolved in your mind, but you still show him mercy. You still let him in, still let him have you, except in the moments when you fall through his fingers like tiny grains of sand. Those moments may have been earned, but it doesn’t make their sting any less painful, and he struggles in throes of them.

“Sass?” He calls, cautiously, reaching for where your hand is clenched. His fingers graze the sheets, the softness of the fabric much like your skin. They must be expensive, he figures, the cotton luxurious against the rough scrape of his palm. He thinks he likes the color, the soft green that matches the chair and the trim in the baby’s room. “Glacial green,” you correct him every time he calls it light green, or blue green, or pea soup. It’s a natural tone, earthy, and you seem to gravitate towards it, always telling him you think the color is ‘soothing’ or ‘calming’. You have a few shirts and sweaters in the same palette too, and an old, faded sweatshirt that you used to wear when you were with the 141, worn out lettering stitched across the chest. It was too big for you then, always drooping below the flare of your hips, the hem stretched out and curled. Now, it pulls snugly across your middle while you lay in bed beside him, where the e-reader sits in your dainty fingers. He doesn’t know how you’ve done it, keep your fingers so velvet and smooth, even after your years in the desert. “Sass.” He tries again, louder, squeezing with the lightest bit of pressure until you blink.

“I’m here.”

“I know.” You turn your face up towards him with a sleepy smile, and he reaches for you without hesitation. “Tired?” He murmurs into your hair, your nose just slightly smashed into his neck.

“Mmm. Yeah, sleep sounds nice.” He finds the light easily, pulling the room into darkness with a flick of the chain, and returns to press his face to yours before succumbing to the pull of sleep.

“I mean, did you get a good look at her?”

“Shit. I’d bury my face in that ass. EOD is air force, right? Think she’s got a landing strip?”

“Dunno but I’d be coming in for a landing all the time if she was on my squad.” The table of privates laugh to each other, and Simon’s fingers curl around the bottom of the beer bottle in front of him. He briefly considers, for a moment, if Price would dismiss him if he broke it over one of their heads and then used the shards to slit the rest of their throats. Bleed ‘em out right there on the table. 

He shifts on the stool. Johnny gives him a skeptical look. One of them, says something else. Sounds a little like ‘tight’ and ‘pussy’ strung together. Another one snickers. 

He’s on his feet behind them before anyone realizes. The low drone of rage pressurizes inside his skull. 

“Want to share what’s so funny, private?” The table falls silent immediately, all of them staring up at him, dumbfounded.

“N-nothing’s funny, sir.”

“Ya sure about that?” Johnny chimes in before Simon can say anything. 

“The bomb tech, we were just… appreciating her. Saying how nice it must be nice, having something like that to look at all the time.” Simon can feel the heat of Johnny’s gaze on the nape of his neck.

“The bomb tech outranks you, private. You will address her as Sergeant.”

“Y- yes, sir.”

When he gets back to the base and little house the 141 is crammed into, you’re already asleep in your room. Sprawled across the shitty thin mattress, your shirt rucked up around your stomach, little boyshorts riding the curve of your hips. The scar from Belize is still shiny across your ribs, peachy and puckered. The sight of you safe and sleeping soothes the raw buzzing of anger in the back of his head. 

His girl. His. 

He’s already got his hands all over you by the time he gets his boots off, and you shift a little when he presses his face into the top of your ass. 

“Simon?” you mumble. “Y’okay?” Simon, Simon, Simon. It’s always Simon with you now. You’re constantly stripping him bare with it, and he doesn’t even know your name.

He teases a hand across your skin, over the scar and up under the peak of your breast to your nipple, where he rolls the already hardening bud between his fingers. You shudder with a moan, shoulders twisting to turn yourself on your back, but he stops you. His teeth find the swell of your ass, and he sinks them deep. You squeak. 

“Can you hold still?” He says, your body answering for you with a shiver. The bite woke you sharply, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye. 

He pulls the underwear down your legs until they disappear, and then sinks his fingers into your cheeks. The glisten of your cunt shimmers, already wet, already waiting for him. 

“Scoot back, sweet girl. Up on your knees.” You do as he says, shimmying down until you’re pressing against his thigh, clit ghosting against the fabric of his jeans, just barely. Your hips are shifting, slowly, and he knows you’re trying to get just a little bit more friction. He leans over you, gloved hand in your hair. “Now be good for me and rub your desperate little clit on my leg until you come.” You shake your head no and he rears back, pulling off his shirt and gloves, leaving the mask and his jeans the only thing on his body. He slaps you across your ass, just hard enough to watch the skin turn under his palm, and you jolt with a moan, cunt pushing back against his leg. “Do you want me to give you my cock, Sass?” you nod frantically. “Then ride my thigh until you’re coming on it.” The curve of a smile, a smirk, pushes at your cheek, and you start to move your hips, slowly at first, and then fevered, chasing your high while he watches. “That’s my girl, just like that.” 

You start to jerk erratically, your face screwing up into the little pout and he knows you’re close. “You going to come Sass?” You mewl pathetically, mouth making desperate sounds and he watches you rub yourself all over him. “Sweet girl. That’s it, just a little more. There you go.” Your gasps reach a fever pitch, and he groans. “Ride it out, good girl. Come all over me.” His jeans are smeared with you, but he praises you, telling you how good you were, how much he likes that you made a mess on him. Once you come down from it, he strips and presses himself along your back, rucking the balaclava up to his nose to pull the skin beneath your ear between his teeth. He wants to mark you, hard. Leave an impression of himself on your body, brand you down to your bones. Tomorrow, when those fuckwit privates line up for brief, he wants them to know. 

He sinks into you as deep as he can, little noises coming from your mouth as he splits you open on his cock, your cunt so tight it feels like it’s choking him.

“Si-Simon.” It’s his name, again. You’re flaying him alive with it. When you say it, it feels like he’s not wearing the mask, it feels like he is Simon, and not Ghost. He’s becoming addicted to it, consumed by it. It makes his head foggy, makes him do things that he’s never done, like approach a table of infantry and scare them out of running their mouths, or mark you like you belong to him. You cloud his judgement. You make him want things, things he doesn’t deserve, things he could never have. You make him soft, and desperate, and when you turn and look over your shoulder as he slams himself to the hilt, your gaze burns into him like you’re seeing him. Like you know. 

“Please, don’t.” Your voice breaks as you beg, clutching the baby to your chest. Your face is bruised, nose probably broken, and tears stream down your cheeks. You’re trembling, eyes desperate as you plead. “Simon. Simon, get up. Please, get up.” He tries, but he can’t. He is beaten. His body is broken, bones shattered, organs bleeding out slowly inside him. The cool metal kiss of a barrel presses to your temple and you scream at him, for him, he’s not sure anymore. “SIMON GET UP.” His body weighs a thousand pounds, and cannot lift himself to help you, to save either of you. The gun cocks, and you close your eyes right before the finger on the trigger moves, the bang echoing across the room and your-

He jerks awake, immediately seeking the warmth of your body next to him in bed. When he feels you, his chest loosens, and you shift onto your side, cracking an eye open.

“Hey.” Your voice is thick with sleep, but still sweet as honey, and he takes your hand in his. Your pulse flutters under his palm. Strong. Stable.

“Hey.”

“Nightmare?” He nods.

“Go back to sleep.” You roll your eyes, flicking on the light that sits at your bedside table.

“I’ve been sleeping forever, I am practically sleeping beauty at this point.” You stroke through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. “Wanna talk about it?” you whisper, and he shakes his head. Yeah, Sass. Want to hear all about how I keep dreaming of your bloody corpse? Or about how I keep seeing you and our son being murdered right in front of me, over and over and I’m powerless to stop it? That’ll do real well for your stress level. Instead, he smooths his hand over the swell of your belly, where the baby sleeps, warm and protected, safe from everything out here that might hurt him. “You promised.” You needle, and the slight push is all that’s needed to relent.

“I keep… dreaming of you dying. Or being killed, in front of me. You and the baby.” You sit up a little and he immediately pulls the second pillow down behind the small of your back for support.

“Dying how?” He swallows.

“Someone’s holdin’ a gun to your head and you’re begging me to save you, but I can’t. I’m lying on the floor, bleeding out.”

“Sounds pretty scary.” There are a lot of things, that he hasn’t found the courage to say out loud to you yet. Promises and pledges, thoughts about being grateful and feelings of adoration. He wants to tell you how much he appreciates that you listen to him, that you validate him, but the words never come out, so he presses a kiss to your forehead before sliding down so his head is resting on the side of your belly.

The memory of the dream skips across the forefront of his mind, and he can still see you lying in a pool of blood, little boy lifeless in your arms. The blood, that looks just like the blood that covered the walls and the floor of his family’s house. His mom’s blood. Tommy and Beth’s. Joseph’s. The blood, that looks just the same as it did when he found you unconscious a few weeks ago, smells the same as when it poured out of the wound in your stomach in Belize. The blood, the blood, the-

“Simon.” He doesn’t even realize he’s breathing harshly until he hears you saying his name. “Hey, Si. Simon, it’s alright.” You stroke up and down his arm, tracing a faded pattern in his sleeve. “You’re here, in my house. In my bed. With me. There is no danger.”  

“With you.”

“With me. And the baby. We’re here, together. We’re safe.” He turns his head, pressing his ear to your skin. Swoosh swoosh swoosh. The heartbeat soothes the frayed edges of his nerves, and the two of you sit just like that for a while, content. “Shit.” You groan, the sound a low whisper, and anxiously rub your belly. He waits for what he knows is coming, the pure, sweet melody that you hum when you try to settle the baby. The once guilty pleasure, when he would stand just out of sight so he could hear it, is now a full indulgence, as he’s able to lay beside you and rub circles into your skin while you hum softly.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, you gasp in surprise.

“Sass? What is it?”

“I… I think I peed myself.”  

“Hey!” No. How did you find him so fast? “Simon, wait.” When you say his name, it jams into his brain, scrambling the signal, and forcing his steps to falter. It’s just enough for you to catch him. “Look. I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up.” You’re breathing heavily, probably from sprinting down the row of tents that he had ducked past, and you push your hands out in front of you like you’re trying to cage him in. “But I made sure Gaz was alright, and I still had a job to do! Those charges were my priority, I wouldn’t have split up otherwise. Simon, I understand-“ He cuts you off swiftly.

“You can address me by my call sign, Sergeant.” You startle. He looks away, looks anywhere else but your face, where your gaze waits to peel him open. 

“What?”

“You will address me as Ghost, or Lieutenant.” 

You’re guarded now, expression wary, but there’s still something hopeful in your eyes, something that’s calling him home to you.

He has to get away. Now. 

You take an uneasy step forward, hand extended like you’re going to touch him. 

“Simon.” You whisper. 

He steps back. 

Your face falls. 

He’s tactical about it. The bag, the extra pillow, your shoes. A phone charger, the collection of snacks you’ve been hoarding recently, like a dragon hoards their gold. He remembers everything.

Almost everything.

His phone rings when he’s buckling his seatbelt.

“So, should I like, call an uber or are you going to help me get in the truck?” Bloody hell. He nearly beats his head against the steering wheel before he’s unbuckling and running towards the door. You’re standing in the living room, hands on your hips, unimpressed, with a hint of a smile on your lips.

“I’m sorry, I-“ you wave him off, reaching for his arm.

“Come on, you gotta boost me up.”

His eyes dart back and forth from the road, to where you sit, stone-faced in the passenger seat. You’ve been quiet since he pulled out of the driveway, the silence an uneasy thing that rests heavily between the two of you, and he reaches for your hand that lays limp on the seat.

“How’s the pain?”

“Not too bad.” You’re chewing on your lip, still lost in thought for a moment before you speak again. “Simon. If something happens…” his blood freezes.

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“We’ve never discussed it though. What to do if something goes wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Something has already gone wrong. Everything has gone wrong. It can’t get worse. It can’t. 

“Well, if there are complications and we have to choose…” He almost pulls the truck over, his heart seizing in his chest like he’s been electrocuted. A million scenarios slam through his brain at record speed, flipping open in front of him like a picture book. Everything he’s imagined before, but worse. This time, it’s not mercs, or a stray bullet, or shadowed government assassins that take you away from him, but your own body, or a doctor, or-

No. He would not be without you if there was a choice. Not again. 

“There is no choice, Sass.” His voice is gruff, and you palm your belly with a gulp. “We… I, would choose you. A million times. A million and one. There is no other choice… for me.”

“Okay.” You whisper. A tear rolls down your cheek before it’s hastily wiped away, and you turn to him with wide eyes.

“Okay.” He echoes, taking your hand in his.

You almost died. You almost died, and he wasn’t there. Johnny almost died, and you almost died, and he can’t stop thinking about the two of you wandering around trying to find the 141, trying to escape without a weapon, or comms, or anything. He can’t stop thinking about how vulnerable you were, how close you came to being dead. Being gone. Like everyone else. Like his family. 

The feeling fills his body with ice. It paralyzes him before panic seizes his nervous system, pouring fear into every synapse flitting through his brain. 

His family. You could have been lost, like his family.

He barges through the door of the office, eyes wild behind the mask.

“I need her gone.” Price looks up at him, perplexed.

“Who?”

“Sass. Transfer her. Put her on leave. Anything.”

“What are you on about?”

“I can’t… I can’t have her here. She’s fuckin’ with my head.” His chest feels tight, like there’s a thousand pounds sitting on his ribcage. It’s terror that is pumping through his veins right now, unbridled, and raw, threatening to wreck him where he stands.

“Ghost, calm down.”

“I can’t!” It’s practically a shout. He’s losing it. The empty echo of the dead radio replays over and over in his head. The image of Johnny, bleeding out, slumped against your small frame, the panic on your face, the two of you covered in blood loops repeatedly every time he closes his eyes. It melts into the memories of finding his family dead and then twists together, over and over until he thinks he might be hallucinating. 

“Tell me what’s going on.” Price is standing now, voice calm, gesturing to the other chair. He’s not a loose cannon, not anymore, but it’s been a long time since he’s raised his voice at the captain. Guilt swells inside him.

“I’m fuckin’ her.” He paces in front of Price’s desk. “And it’s… She’s messing me up. Can’t think clearly.”

“You’re what now?”

“I’ve never… I’ve never asked you for anything-”

“Simon-“

“and I know this is unfair. She’s great at her job, Price I know that. But I have the seniority. And I need ya to do this for me.”

“I can’t just dismiss her. I brought her here, asked her myself.” He grits his teeth.

“Price…  she….” His lungs are screaming now, his breath coming in short gasps but there’s no oxygen in this room. “It’s not… I can’t. It’s not safe.” 

“Simon, sit down.” It’s an order, and he complies, slumping into the chair and cradling his head in his hands. “Now. Start from the beginning.”

“I know you’re disappointed.”

“You said I would be able to try.” You doctor is sitting on a chair at your bedside, across from Simon. She’s wearing a very serious expression, and you’re wearing your ‘don’t fuck with me face’, the one he’s seen time and time again, before and during ops. You open your mouth to argue with her again, but a contraction steals your breath, your nails sinking into his skin like tiny razorblades.

“Just breathe.” He soothes, stroking over the crown of your head until you fall back onto your pillow, tense lines of your forehead relaxing as your eyes close.

“If the placenta separates any further from the wall of the uterus during the rest of your labor, it could be life threatening for both you and the baby.” She doesn’t handle you with kid gloves, and you lift a lid to glare at her. He swallows the chuckle in his throat. Surefire way to catch a fist in the jaw. 

“Fine.”  The word is hissed through clenched teeth, and she pats your hand reassuringly.

“They’ll be some paperwork to sign, and then we’ll get you prepped. Nothing to eat or drink in the last six hours, right?”

“I’ve been in labor for the last seven and a half hours, so no.” you deadpan, before looking longingly over to your bag of snacks. The doctor glances at him with a gentle smile.

“Mr. Riley, you’ll need to change, we can… hopefully, provide you with scrubs that fit. We’ll also give you a surgical mask, and a cap. Sound good?” He nods in thanks as she leaves, and he turns back to you, pulling the mask down to his chin to rest his cheek against your palm. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not gonna pass out in there, right?”

“Me?”

“Well, they are going to pull my guts out.” What?  You giggle, just a little, and heave a sigh. “But seriously. Don’t faint. I don’t think they have gurneys big enough for you.”

“I’ve seen plenty of guts, Sass.”

“Yeah…but not mine.”

Price announces his presence with a knock. “Heli’s almost here.” Simon says nothing. His elbows dig into his knees, fingers rolling the elastic band between his thumb and forefinger, strands of your hair wrapping around and around the tie until they become tight, little strings that make indentations. “Ghost.” He knows what Price wants. What he wants to hear. He still says nothing. “I did this for you against my better judgement.” Price says, like he doesn’t already know. When Simon looks at him, he sees the weight of their decision. The shame. The guilt. And he feels it, too. “You should say goodbye, Simon.” 

His voice is rough, on the verge of a scream, or something worse when he finally speaks. 

“I can’t.”

“So, when you get in the room, you’ll notice she’s lying on a table, and there’s a drape that’s a visual barrier between her chest and the rest of her body.” The nurse, the super friendly one that you said you liked, is talking him through what’s happening while he walks down the hallway next to her. Her shoes squeak a little bit against the linoleum, and he focuses on the pattern of the sound. Step squeak, step squeak, step- “Now, she can’t feel anything, but C-sections can be nerve-wracking, and she got a little anxious when we got into the OR.” He nods. Of course you’re nervous. You’re strapped to a table where they’re about to cut a hole in your abdomen. “She’s asked for you a few times, I promised I’d deliver.” She gives him a wink and pushes open a door. “Here he is!” She calls cheerily, and you turn to look, eyes finding his within a second, like always.

“Simon.” You wiggle your fingers towards him, and he wastes no time, sitting in the chair that the nurse pointed to and bringing your hand to the mask, right where his lips are.

“Hi sweet girl. You alright?” You nod.

“I think I’m a little high.”

“She had just a bit of midazolam, for the nerves.” Your doctor says from the other side of the drape.

“That’s alright.” He smoothes some hair from your face and tries to remember to breathe. Everything about this room sets him on the edge, and there’s a live wire running through his bones, all the way down to where his hand holds yours. There are too many people, too many lights, machines, and his skin is crawling, the desire to snatch you from the table and disappear down the hall repeating in the back of his mind, again and again. He can’t stop thinking about what could go wrong, terrible scenarios that leave you dead or the baby dead, or both. They push and pull at the logical side of his brain, fighting to get through, desperate to derail him, insistent and-

You smile up at him, all sweet, a little daft from the drugs, and everything feels quiet again. The tension between his shoulder blades lets out like air from a balloon, fast and easy.

“You ready?” He thumbs at a tear escaping from the corner of your eye. You’re looking at him, looking beneath the mask, kicking and tearing past the pieces of Ghost until you strike true, until you reach Simon. You always do.

He pushes his forehead against yours, and breathes you in, the stench of sterile hospital and all.

“Yeah, Sass. I’m ready.”

He’s pulling the balaclava back over his face when you bust through the door and ram right into him. He recoils, the reaction second nature, and his eyes find yours in the little bathroom mirror immediately. You step away, the room stretching too big all the sudden, the distance between his body and yours too far, and his brain stumbles over the realization. Something stutters in his chest, his breath catching when he looks at you, watching as you flail before you look away. 

“Shit! Fuck. Sorry.” You glance at the wall, then the floor, then turn to run before he figures out how to make his mouth work. 

“You’re alright, Sass. I’m finished.” You’re standing half in the hall, half in the bathroom, bleeding, and something twists in his gut. Blood and injury are not uncommon in the 141, but he’s surprised at how unsettled he feels when he sees the trickle of red on your shoulder. 

“Get that cleaned up.” It comes out rough, like an order, and your throat bobs with a swallow.

“Okay a little bit of pressure and then you’re going to feel a lot of relief.” The doctor says and you nod, fingers pressed into his palm.

“Simon.” Your voice wavers.

“I’m right here. I got you.” He keeps his eyes trained on yours, willing himself to get lost in the hue of your irises, tuning out everything else in the room until-

A baby cries.

“Congratulations mom and dad!” Someone calls and the room spins. Mom and dad. 

“Can I see him?” your fingers are still entrenched in his, the words watery and light.

“Breath sounds are good.” A voice says, and then there’s a squalling baby next to him. A baby. Your baby. His. 

“Oh. Oh.” You’re in shock, he thinks. He’s not sure, because he might be too, and he blinks rapidly as you place a few fingers on the baby’s cheek. “Hi, Theo.” You coo and cry, smiling through the tears that dot your face. The nurse says something to you, and then she places the baby on your chest, where you cradle him with your other arm, pulling Simon’s hand up towards Theo’s back for support, holding it against his skin. You glance up at him for a second, teary happiness morphing into concern, and then back before your finger lifts from Theo’s cheek to his, swiping along his cheekbone. He presses your palm to his face with his free hand, over the mask, and closes his eyes for a second.

When you pull away, your fingers shimmer under the white lights of the operating room, and the tips of them shine with something wet.

His tears.

“I don’t see cabbage. What about romaine?” 

“No. It has to be cabbage. Or kale! But I really prefer cabbage, and so does your kid, you know. Romaine is totally different.” You babble, and he stares at the heads of green leafed things underneath the misters, eyes scanning for the label that says cabbage. 

“I don’t see any cabbage, Sass.” A woman who’s inspecting a shiny red pepper a few feet away from him looks over, curiously. 

“It’s a staple food, Si. It never sells out; it has to be there.” 

“It’s not.” 

“Ask someone.” Irritation is bleeding into your voice now, and the idea of approaching a store employee makes his skin itch. Maybe he can just buy the romaine and ask for forgiveness, or go to a different supermarket. It’s not quite midnight yet, something else could be open. 

The woman inspecting the peppers has sidled closer to him, close enough that he can see her face turned upwards towards his, eyes studying the balaclava before she clears her throat. 

“Excuse me?” He turns, eyes narrowed. 

“Who is that?” your voice rings through the speaker. “Is that a woman? Ask her where the cabbage is!” He pulls the phone away from his ear and blinks down at her. 

“The cabbage is up here.” She says politely, pointing to the top row of light green, rounded vegetables. Nearly in front of his face. 

“Thanks.” He says roughly, but she smiles at him all the same, while you call his name over and over on the phone. “I got it.” 

“Yes! Oh my god thank you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Bloody lucky I love you.” 

The line is silent. His heart lurches, thundering into a frantic beat that thrums through his entire body. His limbs feel numb, and he doesn’t say anything else, just holds his breath. He can hear you breathing, just barely, through the phone, but it sounds like you’re trying to hold your breath, too. Like you’re listening for him. 

“Simon-“

“I still gotta get the potatoes. See you in a bit.” The line goes dead.

“Okay, sit here.” The nurse instructs and he forces his legs to move, makes his knees bend so he can lower himself in the chair. He can’t look away from what she’s holding in her arms, the infant, the baby that is his and yours. His kid. “Skin to skin is very important for newborns. It helps regulate their heartbeat and breathing and can help maintain their temperature.” She continues, motioning for him to relax against the backrest.

“Skin to skin?”

“Yes. You’ll need to take off your shirt.” He shakes his head. He can’t do this. You should be doing this. You’re his mother. He’s… he’s not you. Theo won’t want him, he’ll want you. He- “Mr. Riley? You don’t have to, but while we wait for her to get back, it’s a good opportunity for it.”

“What do I do?” The idea of holding Theo to his scarred chest makes him feel sick.

“Once you take off your shirt, I’ll put Theo in your arms and cover you both with a blanket.”

“I don’t think…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to hold him if that’s what you’re worried about.” Theo cries out, a sharp, shrill sound that draws her attention downwards before she looks back up at him with an expectant expression. Skin to skin is very important for newborns. He knows you would want him to do this. He knows that you would understand too, if it was too much, if he felt too exposed. But it’s important. Theo needs this. He needs… his dad. 

He pulls the scrub top over his head, careful to keep the mask in place, and leans back slowly against the chair.

“You’re going to support his head just like this-“ she moves him into the crook of his elbow, positioning his little legs and arms so that he’s laying flush against his chest. “and his body will just rest right here in this space… and there you go.” Simon doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t move, he can hardly think. He doesn’t even feel her place a blanket over his body, curling it beneath where he cradles the baby. All he can see is Theo in his arms, so tiny, his eyes scrunched shut and small hand curled into a fist.

The lights in the room go dim, and he looks up, realizing that the nurse is by the door. “I’m going to give you some privacy. They should be finishing up with mom soon but there’s a button right there, next to the bed. The red one. Press it if you need anything and one of us will be here right away. Okay?” She gives him another encouraging smile and he nods.

“Okay.” When the door clicks shut, he finally lets out the shakiest breath of his life and reaches up to pull the surgical mask from his face. Theo’s eyes aren’t open, but his chest rises and falls, soothing some of the fear that has a grip on his heart. He gently touches Theo’s hand, and his tiny fingers curl around Simon’s giant one. He gets lost, staring down at the small boy. Looking at every single feature, his ears, his nose, the bow of his lips. He tries to memorize it all, the way the tuft of his hair sits, the creases of his skin around his elbows and knees, the soft pant of his breath. It fills him with emotion, so much he’s afraid it might overwhelm him, bury him beneath its weight. He knows this feeling, has felt it grow inside him since the very first day he laid eyes on you. Has watched it fight through a forest of dark and snarled roots, cutting and biting away at the things that have died and festered inside him. He knows it better than he knows himself now, knows the truth, cannot deny this knowledge that he would lay down and die for you, for Theo. He understands the pure terror that has blazed within him since that day in Belize, and he knows that he would spend the rest of his life, waiting in agony with bated breath, just to kiss you once more, or hold his child in his arms.

It terrifies him, but he knows its name.  

He knows it’s love.

Simon leans down and brushes his lips across his son’s forehead, gentle and light, before murmuring to him as softly as he can manage.

“Hey, Theo. I’m your dad."

The next fic in this series is here.

[cultofdixon]

People change, it takes time to prove that

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Not every Savior is bad. Some were stuck in the Sanctuary because of Negan’s manipulative ways. You wiggled your way into the archer’s heart and understood why he didn’t trust you right away. But when the war was over, he would do his best to get his family to accept you • ANGST/SFW • TW: Canon Violence / Injuries / Scars / Suicide Mentioned

Requested by: Anon

“I met someone”

The declaration only brought a confused expression onto Carol’s face when her best friend said such. Met someone? In the middle of a war?

“Who is this…someone?”

“Her name is Y/N” Daryl picked at the soup that Carol made for him when he came to check on her in the house given by King Ezekiel. “She is…something. Definitely another made for a world like this”

“Like you?” Carol smiles resting her head in her hands. “So she’s a perfect match for you already. Tell me more”

“She’s a savior”

That was pretty much the end of that conversation because who wants to hear Carol tell Daryl how wrong that is? Or that she could be manipulating him for Negan’s gain? He’s going to hear this from more than just Carol so it doesn’t need to be told now.

When the final fight came and the Saviors were lined up on one side of the field with their weapons full of ammunition made by Eugene. The second they triggered their guns, the ammunition backfired against the few. Daryl immediately tensed to the action searching through their lineup for her and noticed Eugene quickly helping Y/N to her feet as she noticed Negan booking it.

“Eugene someone—-“

“No one is going anywhere” Rosita caught the two off guard by pressing a gun to Y/N’s back after taking out a few saviors to save Eugene.

“Rosita. She ain’t a threat”

“You’re on thin ice, Eugene. But I know you, I don’t know her” Rosita frowns debating on taking out the Savior for what she indirectly has done.

“Drop it.”

The stern gravely voice that came from the archer took all three off guard to the point that Rosita listened. But to the degree that she knocked Y/N onto her knees making her crawl to the other Saviors they were holding hostage until Negan met his end. Even then, some expected to bring out revenge on the saviors that caused them trouble but they were met with a second chance.

Especially…Negan.

When the crowd dispersed back into the communities for the night knowing tomorrow will be the start of the rebuild for every community. The Sanctuary especially.

Before Daryl could even think about making his way to Y/N, Jesus had stopped him asking to come with him and Maggie back to the Hilltop to talk about the decision Rick made that is supported by Michonne and a few others but not immediately.

“I have to check on someone”

“The Savior?” Jesus questioned only for confirmation by a nod. “I know what she did for you, but tonight is a lot. Especially on Maggie and you’re the closest thing she has to a brother. For now just. Please stick with your family”

The archer didn’t even give it another thought, but that didn’t mean she left his. Just meant that late in the night when Y/N found herself in the loading dock of the Sanctuary taking care of another pile of dead walkers, she didn’t expect to hear his bike rolling in. Daryl brought his bike closer to the building to avoid the fire pit that the now ex-Savior had made to contain the blaze keeping it from catching onto the main building.

“Why’re you up?” Daryl asks as Y/N fiddles with a matchbox but her hands were shaking too much. “Hey…I’ve got it” he reaches to take the box noticing her wounds from before weren’t treated. He tosses the box down quickly making her turn toward him to find she bled through the bandages that were covering the shrapnel pieces that embedded in her when the ammunition backfired. “Why haven’t you changed your bandages? How’d yea even—“

“Please stop asking a lot of questions…I’ll just tell you what you want if you re-dress it” She sounded defeated and granted she was. That day was a lot and not just for the victors.

As Daryl got out his bandages that he started carrying on his person, Y/N started to talk about what happened after Rick practically dismissed everyone.

Those from the Sanctuary returned home, but as for those who were more of the civilian variety were given the opportunity to disperse into the other communities. Some stayed to help rebuild it, given Rick checked on the place once Siddiq and Jerry took Negan back to Alexandria with Michonne’s supervision. He’s going to have to have one of his own watch the Sanctuary and it’s rejuvenation because he doesn’t trust any of the soldiers of the Sanctuary. He even snapped at Y/N when he heard about her association from Carol, because she offered to watch the rejuvenation but he took that as her possibly becoming the next Negan.

But she left out that part when telling Daryl. Rick is his brother who already made a terrible decision by letting Negan live and that took a toll on his image. She didn’t want to make it worse, though she’s still a bit confused on why he cares so much for her.

She may have not done any of the killing…but she was still a part of the wrong side.

Daryl tossed the lit match onto the pit watching it burn for a moment before returning to his spot right beside Y/N. He kept his eyes on the fire for a moment longer before bringing his attention to Y/N who seemed to be watching him.

“Somethin’ on my face?”

“Besides sadness? No”

“I ain’t sad” He scoffs. “Disappointed more so.”

Y/N frowns bringing herself closer to him and gently taking his hand feeling him squeeze it instantly. She brought both hands to hold his one gently tracing her fingers against his knuckles.

“I’m sorry”

“None of this is your fault, sunshine” Daryl reassures with a squeeze of her hand. “I just…wish for a few things and time can only really make them happen”

“Anything I can help you with? Any wish to make come true” Y/N chuckles lightly, being taken by surprise a bit when Daryl pulled gently on their conjoined hands bringing her close enough to bring his lips softly onto hers.

It lasted for just for a second and as Daryl slowly pulls away he couldn’t help the small smile to grace his lips when hers finally returned to her features with a hint of a blush to her cheeks.

“Let me take care of yea, like you’ve taken care of me”

________

“Y/N? The fuck are you doing here?”

“Was asked by Negan to check on his new prisoner. To make sure you haven’t killed him”

“That son of a bitch has zero faith in me” Dwight scoffs as Y/N rolls her eyes to his words. “I haven’t even touched the man. All I did was do the usual for our prisoners. Hose them down and strip them”

“That’s…we do that?”

“You’re lucky you’re not that important”

Y/N was struck by such but it doesn’t entirely matter. She wished she was the one to die at her line up. Instead Negan took her as collateral that eventually had her become one of his men and her old group perished.

“Negan is the one that asked me to check his injuries given our doctor is currently with one of his wives” Y/N gestures to the medical bag she had as Dwight’s expression fell instantly.

“You can handle this by yourself?”

“I knocked Negan on his ass once, yeah I got socked after but I think I can handle myself”

Dwight gave her a certain unreadable look before swinging “his” crossbow over his chest. “I’ll be back”

The second he left, Y/N approached the door unlocking it from her end as she opens the door she noticed the naked man flinch to the sound.

“I’m sorry” She frowns hesitantly approaching setting her bag on the floor and while she knelt by her stuff she pulled out a pair of clothes which Dwight didn’t know about.

Daryl didn’t say a word only grunted when this woman he barely knew asked if she could take a look at the bullet wound amongst others. He felt a bit exposed half way through the whole check up but Y/N kept her attention where it needed to be.

Once he was patched up, he noticed her quickly glance back outside before reaching into her bag for a few more things. A water bottle and a sandwich wrapped it paper.

“I’ll come back in after thirty minutes to clean up so it looks like I didn’t give you these. The clothes are also meant to be spray painted, I can’t control that”

“Why are you doing this?” He finally spoke in a whisper loud enough for Y/N to hear.

“Because I can. And I’m going to help you out of here” She whispered the last part and with that took a step out closing the door but left a crack for him to be able to see what was in his cell.

________

It’s been about a little over a week since the war ended.

Y/N stood outside the Sanctuary amongst other Saviors listening to Rick’s list of items from their place and where they were going into the other communities. Hence the three cars behind the man. A few of the people protested but he of course offered sanctuary in the other communities as long as they help with their rebuilds just like they were doing with this community. It honestly felt like they were purging the Sanctuary and who could blame them? Who else would want a physical reminder of where the dictator used to call home? Well then you remember all the places your history teacher talked about and it’s really saying nowhere is a good place for most glorified individuals.

“Y/N.” Rick caught her a bit off guard and granted a few of the men that Negan had favored as well. “You’ll be in charge of seeing everything on the list make it to the trucks while I scout out the place with a few others”

“Seriously trusting this woman?”

“Yeah she could never follow an order correctly back during the Savior days” Savior days…gross.

“Negan only had her in his arsenal of command for the woman vote type shit” a third made the final comment as Y/N was both tensed and defeated, but she was feeling the second one already today.

She was supposed to go hunting with Daryl but Michonne and Carol had asked to join him when they came with Rick to the Sanctuary, where he’s been staying. He told them he already had Y/N, but Michonne argued saying it could benefit the other communities if they caught more game and Carol added the “you need people you can trust to watch your back” hence why Y/N didn’t go. Daryl trusted her, but Y/N knew they didn’t.

“I don’t trust her with my life but I trust her enough to get this shit done and since y’all seem to like to poke the bear—-You’re comin’ with me to see the integrity of your gates and scope out what y’all have to add to the place” Rick gestures for them to follow and of course they did, meanwhile the others followed Y/N’s lead hesitantly.

A couple hours went by and Y/N found herself in their infirmary putting away what was almost ransacked when they came through. It really did feel like they were purging when 90% of the equipment is gone to replace most of Alexandria’s and give one to the Kingdom. 80% of their pantry and artillery was split between the communities. Then a few more people left entirely or into another community.

Daryl had returned to the Sanctuary in hopes of finding her but instead found Rick loading up the last vehicle, the Alexandria one.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Giving back to the communities. What else would I be doing? I told you this the other night”

“Yeah but looks like you’re liquidating”

“Five dollar word coming from the man that barely shared more than three words with me when we first met” Rick jokes and it obviously didn’t reach. “They’ve lost a lot of their people to the other communities. For the most part it’s those who have grown to live in the sanctuary or ex-Saviors that need to be monitored if things go south”

“Is Y/N still here?”

“Who? The ex-Savior that a lot of the men don’t like?”

“Who doesn’t like Y/N.” Daryl said with a bit of sternness in his tone taking that more as they are messing with her. And he’s not far off on that note. “You’re dodging—-“

“She’s still here. Cleaning up the mess we made when shifting shit around.” Rick states shutting the trunk. “You coming with or what?”

“Or what” Daryl scoffs about to head inside when he heard Rick mumble to himself. “What’d yea say?”

“Carol told me you fell for a Savior and I’m sorry that my immediate thought was she manipulated yea”

“Are you—-Is she fucking endorsing that thought when she’s never met the girl completely?! How’d yea think I got out of this fucking hell hole?”

“I’m sorry Daryl, but you keep comin’ back cuz she’s here. You sure she’s not trying to make you into the next Ne—-“

“I’m not”

Y/N just had to walk into the wrong moment of the conversation as she held herself with this disappointed look on her face toward the retired sheriff and a bit toward the archer but more in a different sense.

“Daryl doesn’t have to be here if he doesn’t want to. Besides, you should’ve tried harder to get him out instead of sitting on your hands.”

“Are you seriously gonna go that route with me? You have no idea how much we’ve lost because of that bitch dog you called a leader”

“Rick—-“ Daryl was about to cut in when he watches Y/N hop down from the platform she stood on bringing herself up in Rick’s business. Then suddenly her fist met his jaw knocking him off balance as he quickly collects himself. The shock stunning him.

“HE KILLED THE ONLY FAMILY I HAD LEFT TO BEAT ME INTO SUBMISSION IN THE BEGINNING. KILLED MY ONLY BROTHER IN OUR LINE UP. TORTURED MY FATHER TO HIS BREAKING POINT AND HE GAVE UP ON HIS LIFE. HE DID UNTHINKABLE THINGS TO MY BEST FRIEND THAT SHE DIDNT WANT TO LIVE ON THIS FUCKING EARTH ANYMORE” Y/N shouted in Rick’s face making him retract but she kept on. “HE BROKE MY NOSE—-BROKE MY RIBS—-…” she hesitated and fell the hot tears get the better of her. “I wouldn’t let him use me and he wanted to kill me because of it. Instead I watched his prisoners, made sure they were taken care of while their main watcher did all the dirty work. I never killed a single person while as a savior, expect for another savior when it came to getting Daryl to escape….Ive lost enough and I lost myself.”

Daryl felt the blade dig deeper in his chest hearing all of that come from her as she’s never shared so much all at once. He tried to bring himself to her and all he wanted was to engulf her in his embrace but Y/N stepped away wiping away the tears that just continued to fall.

“I wasn’t going to let him kill another of your family…and I wasn’t going to let Daryl never see his again.” Y/N frowns turning to Daryl and feeling the tears come on strong. “You don’t have to keep coming here. Trust me I get what it’s like stepping in that building…It’s just been my home for too long. I can’t go anywhere else without being labeled a monster”

And with that she headed back inside but after cleaning up the mess, Y/N went outside with her pack and lighter to have a smoke before turning in when she noticed Daryl sitting on the platform in the loading dock with his pack beside him. She brought herself to sit beside him at a respectable distance but he closed the space between them bringing his full attention onto her as she didn’t utter a word only felt more tears spring on feeling his rough calloused hands gently brush away the tears.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re a part of my family now whether you like it or not” He states feeling a small smile grace his features when he heard her laugh escape her lips. “Rick’s gonna talk to the others about yea and thinks you’d be more comfortable in Alexandria…plus you can stay with me”

“Daryl…I…“

“You saved me, and…I love you for that” Daryl gently pressed his forehead against hers. “It’ll take time for them to get used to yea, yeah. But they’ll eventually love you almost as much as I do”

Y/N felt an old warmth return in her chest after so long of not feeling it as she brought her arms around his neck pulling herself into his embrace feeling him pull her into his lap keeping her close as humanely possible.

“I love you too, Daryl”

[raconteur-wanpi]

ONE PIECE 1123

Dear lord I have so many thoughts I don't even know where to begin. This was a pretty short and lower stakes chapter compared to all the chaos and the bombs that came before it, but I think despite that, it gave me more revelations and thoughts than some of those ones did. It's all vague stuff like, it's soup in my brain but it just keeps getting more interesting.

Starting off with S-Snake continuously showcasing normal human behavior. I really like the insistence of the story of honing in that the Seraphim are, in fact, people. They are children. Their existence is horrific and it IS supposed to make you feel uneasy, especially comparing them to the rest of MADS' history of experiments. I do think, in a story about freedom, that these authority-chip-ridden-kids will eventually seek out their own freedom and independence to be people instead of weapons. Alber himself was a victim of MADS' experimentation, so was Kuma, Sanji, Mocha, every victim of the Smile fruits, hell- Bonney was a victim of the science of the Gorosei / Saturn. It's very interesting to continuously see Stella's role in all of this, and how Oda showcases that you could put the nicest guy alive into the same system as the most wretched monsters, and they will produce the same results. Which does bring me to this realization moving forward:

Sanji is in fact the person that was closest to the events of Vegapunk's death. He is specifically chosen out of all the strawhats to be the one to grapple with Vegapunks decision and sacrifice, and he is the only member of the strawhats to have experienced the horrors of MADS firsthand. I find that very interesting, it's looking at that dilemma of morality again. How do you judge a person who has spent years creating weapons of war, even if it's been the result of his naivete? How does a person who realizes what he has done, redeem himself? Death? Sacrifice? Admitting you can only throw your life away to undo the damage, to the face of someone who you know understands the horrors of such science? I don't know, it's interesting.

Going back a bit however, I think my favorite page in the chapter, is this. My god. Luffy thanking Emeth, full of joy, smile across his face in his Nika form, juxtaposed to the Iron Giant's dark unresponsive face. It's so moving and joyful and sad, genuinely. The brightness of the sun against the shadow of a sacrifice. Emeth in his "death" looks somehow both content and saddened. Luffy's recognition and gratitude towards him. OK. I'm fine. Damn.

Back to Vegapunk, this has been wild to see said textually when I've seen many people, myself included, discuss it. "Evil" and "Greed" being the two things Stella ended up leaving behind, despite his best efforts to do good. He recognizes greed was his downfall, his desire to continue building and discovering, without thinking about the consequences of it; just what we discussed earlier. It's also interesting that they all suspected Lilith at first, but she turned out not only to be innocent, but also a valuable ally in the battle and the only other survivor. Lilith leaving the garden, Stella being the forbidden apple (of knowledge) that brought about the downfall, the Gorosei being demonic entities that entered that space, it definitely is all very biblical. I wonder if Lilith will see a path towards becoming a more complete person, rather than, as Stella says here, a compartmentalized personification of "Evil". Similar to what I hoped for earlier with the Seraphim and Kuma (or even the Vinsmokes if you want to go there), a manifestation of full (rather than artificially partial or removed) personhood.

This is something I've been thinking about the entire time as well! Is Vegapunk really dead? Is it just his body? What does it mean to be able to keep your consciousness separate from said body? Within other people, even? Is he really dead as long Lilith and York are around? Is Stella himself, still in there, in Punk Records? Could you bring him back? Much to think about.

Aaaand closing in with my second favorite moment from this chapter. The confirmation we're going to Elbaf! Usopp being help up by the giants! His arc begins! I am so so giddy. I know I'm biased considering he's, well, my favorite One Piece character but, god. I am as nervous as hyped. I am so, so excited. This is delightful, he deserves this!

[m1d-45]

divine favor

summary: so, they’re your favorite vessel. how do they react? includes yae miko, itto, kazuha, kaeya, chongyun, and noelle, in that order

word count: ~800

-> warnings: like one swear word?

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me

< masterlist >

yae miko — out and proud

uses her connection to the divine as leverage almost every chance she gets, showing off the extra gleam to her vision eagerly. occasionally teases ei over the fact that she’s the favorite, not the literal archon. she’s maybe a bit surprised herself at that fact at first, but she’s not about to let that show when using it for her wants is so much more interesting.

“Please, of course I know what I’m doing. I wasn’t chosen by the divine for nothing.”

itto — show off

literally the moment you log off after wishing him for the first time he meets up with the gang to celebrate. it doesn’t matter if you only brought him to level 20 or instantly fully leveled him, he goes on about it for hours. any changes to his weapon would be shown off, and if you get his signature then he’s incredibly proud of it. sometimes he pokes fun at kujou sara because of his glider, but shinobu usually keeps it quiet enough nothing bad really happens. it’s not like sara can do much since he’s a favored vessel, but the gang doesn’t have to know that.

“Guys, come here! No, it’s not an onikabuto this time, look! I got a new sword today, isn’t it cool?”

kazuha — doesn’t exactly hide it

kazuha never gloats or tells stories when they aren’t wanted, but… instead of climbing down the mast when returning from the crow’s nest, he’s more commonly seen jumping from the side, letting his glider catch him. despite being an inazuman native, his time with you has made him an expert at gliding, a fact typically seen in the delicate fold of his glider every time his feet touch the deck. he makes sure to take care of it, running his fingers through the soft, feather-like mechanisms on its surface partly to remove any salt built up, but also because he likes the feeling.

“It was the chance of fate that allowed me to become so close to my god. Nothing more, nothing less.”

kaeya — flashy in the front, “what the fuck” in the back

he hadn’t expected to become a vessel so soon in your journey, but adapted quickly. you were early in your journey throughout teyvat, so he honestly expected you to drop him once you got someone more powerful, someone you surely liked more. and then you didn’t. and then he’s suddenly fighting with impossible speed and strength, his vision a sharp, glittering blue, and with every day that passes where he’s still the subject of your favor, the shock sets in a bit more. he doesn’t even go to the angels share the night he’s triple crowned, too dazed to try and interact with people, instead laying in his bed and staring at the ceiling.

“Why would i be their favorite? …Don’t tell me you’ve gone and started questioning the divine now, have you?”

chongyun — disbelieving

literally in shock the entire day after he’s been wished. also doesn’t matter how much you prepared for him, he’s stunned. he can feel his power grow, his claymore something new and so much sharper, a glider he doesn’t quite know how to use yet now at his disposal. once the shock wears off he has to take a few hours to calm himself down and keep from overheating, most likely with the help of xingqiu, xiangling, and the cool breeze by the ocean.

“I-I don’t know what I did… I’ve never even properly exorcised a demon—am I really worthy of this?”

noelle — oh jeez oh god oh wait oh jeez-

similar to kaeya, she was surprised that she was chosen so quickly, but rationalized it just as fast. she was to be a stepping stone, someone to protect you early on, a transient phase while you got your standing in teyvat. yes you leveled her, yes you took her with you to liyue, but that’s just because you hadn’t gotten anybody better, right? you didn’t… she wasn’t really your favorite, right..? poor noelle, it takes you fully ascending her for her to finally acknowledge your favoritism. though she doesn’t know what she’s done to earn this spot, she’s more than proud of it, taking the badge of her vision more seriously than her duties to the knights.

“It doesn’t matter what I’ve done to earn this place, what matters is that I do my very best to keep it.”

[ohraicodoll]

Prompt request from the angst portion of that list: “you can’t be bitter now, this was your decision.”

I’m mostly just ill for both Joel and your writing so do with this as you please but bonus points if you make it hurt. 🥲 🖤

You and your angst 😂 You asked for it!

Bitter Joel Miller x f!Reader/OC The Last of Us 3.2k Words Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: Joel makes a decision for all of them when they finally find Tommy in Jackson. Part 2

There were only a few minutes in Jackson where Joel was actually happy. That initial reunion with his brother, where he had hugged him and smiled so big it had eclipsed the sun, had been the happiest he’d ever been. She’d never seen Joel smile. Smirk, yes, but it was never joy that turned his lips. Reluctant humor, small satisfaction, but joy wasn’t an emotion she had seen on Joel Miller’s face in the time she’d been with him and Ellie. It lit his whole features up, took years off his face, turned his usually dark eyes brighter where you could see the hints of hazel. She watched from the horse, never feeling more like an outsider. But that only lasted a short while.

The hesitance, the discomfort, caution all sank back in as the reality that he had found his brother who hadn’t been in danger at all settled in. They’d offered them food. The soup from the older couple had reawakened her taste buds after months of eating questionably aged canned goods or whatever small animal they’d managed to kill. Her mouth practically flooded at the warmth of the meal put in front of them.  She knew how they looked. Ellie barely breathed, she was shoveling food into her mouth so fast and even Joel was having a hard time, standing on the border of looking respectable and desperately sating the hunger they’d felt for weeks. She didn’t bother and had long since given up caring about what looked respectable. But that didn’t stop her from eyeing their hosts, keeping track of everyone around them, feeling the eyes on their backs. 

Tommy hadn’t outright questioned Ellie or her presence but there was a hint of one towards her when he introduced himself. A prodding that made her itch as to what her relationship was with the gruff man next to her and the kid between them. “I keep the kid safe,” was the answer. Nothing more, nothing less. She had joined them because of Ellie and Joel had made it clear he let her come along because of Ellie’s attachment. It hadn’t been his choice exactly. But there was no need to delve further into her and Joel’s connection. 

They’d butt heads from the start and continued to even after that night where he’d helped her relax to sleep, making her come on his fingers and then on him, and then subsequently had done so frequently after in the small private moments they could get. There was hardly anything gentle between them. They weren’t anything. She watched his back and he watched hers, both dragging each other along through life against the other's wishes. 

She knew about Tess. Ellie had caught her up, told her of the smuggler who had been Joel’s partner and how she was no longer around. In the spaces between her words, she could see exactly what Tess had been to Joel and how that role, in a way, had switched to her reluctantly. Someone to have his back, help release the tension and satisfy that need for another person even if it was only through sex and her presence. But the woman whose ghost lingered had been smart, calculated, using Joel as a battering ram rather than get her own hands dirty but wasn’t against doing so. That wasn’t her. She wasn’t clever. She was nothing but instinct and claws and rage. So often it was Joel pulling her back, leashing her, telling her what to do even while she gnashed her teeth even at him. It was him in control. She was a weapon but somehow one he so often didn’t want to use. He yelled at her for her recklessness, for each scrape and bruise and cut she received like it was his job to keep her safe as well as Ellie. Each morning he checked her over, making sure her weapons were in the correct spot, the straps of her bag secure, enough bullets in her cartridge. And now, she noticed Joel’s back stiffening at her answer and the obvious lack of connection to him. Caught his eye and the furrow of his brow. They’d learned to read each other so well over the months and could communicate silently and she could see the slight flicker of anger in the line of his jaw. Maybe it had been the wrong answer. Maybe she shouldn’t have answered at all, had put too much emphasis on Ellie or downplayed Joel’s role as the protector and escort. People weren’t her expertise and she was already on edge from there being so many of them and having Joel’s brother of all people staring down at her. She didn’t know what she was to him, but could at least define what she was to Ellie. And that’s what she answered. She wasn’t sure why that tick of anger was on his face and wasn’t going to get into it with him while Maria was staring them down, particularly Joel. Especially after he tried to excuse the woman, saying the conversation he wanted to have was for family. Except he didn’t excuse Ellie or her from the table as if it didn’t register that they weren’t.  Then Tommy shared the news that Maria did, in fact, fit in that category. More so than she did.

Somehow Ellie was the most cordial of the three of them, nudging Joel into congratulating them with gritted teeth. She kept eating, head down, ignoring the itch of too many eyes.

Throughout the tour of Jackson she could see the wall that had been slowly unraveling around Joel come back up. He stayed behind with his brother, brow furrowed, distance between him and the two girls with him. She watched Ellie take everything in, laughing at the sheep, loving on the horse, but her companion only seemed to withdraw more.

That silent communication they had was gone, cut off.

Maria had suggested they get cleaned up, giving the boys the opportunity to split off and catch up. Instinctually, her eyes went to Joel to see what he thought of the suggestion. They never split up, were never far from each other, and now this woman she didn’t know wanted to take her somewhere else away from him. Ellie was hesitant too, looking at the man as well.

But his eyes stayed on the ground and he walked away.

She didn’t see him for a while after being carted away by Maria.

They both took a shower, a hot shower, and the girl in the mirror staring back at her afterwards was unrecognizable. No longer a girl, but a woman in her middle age. Twenty years, come and gone. Scars, so many scars, and spots dotted her skin all over. Her eyes were a little dull and hair lackluster, a bit too long. There was a faint fading bruise on her collar bone under the stars tattooed there from where Joel’s teeth had bit days before. Buried underneath that flesh had once been a girl who was shy and smiled at strangers for no reason and was warm. A rose, all blushing and bright, who only worried about her military family’s approval and writing down her songs in her journal. Now she was all thorns and crumbled petals. Meant to draw blood and nothing else. She’d gotten dressed quickly before she could shatter the mirror. Finding out about Sarah from Maria…a part of the picture that made up Joel snapped into place and things began to make sense. He was a dad, was always going to be a dad because it was engraved in him, and the young teenager traveling with them was a constant splinter in an open wound. No matter how much he pushed and yelled and raged, he always made sure Ellie was okay. She’d caught him on more than one occasion staying up to keep watch when the girl was anxious. He taught her to make a fire, how to use and take care of her gun properly, what to look out for. Joel Miller was a dad to the very foundation of his being and he was terrified because he’d already lost one daughter. The panic attacks were making sense. They would flare up at the possibility of danger, of uncertainty, not for him but for them. All the close calls. After the older couple’s house. The infected that almost got her in the woods. All had triggered one and she hadn’t known why, only that she had to calm him down and be there to center him. If anything, the knowledge made her feel more protective of him and their small group. It was a vulnerability and that meant something she had to guard it. It’s what it meant to watch each other’s backs. She didn’t miss the way Maria didn’t trust him and accused him of being a bad person. The things she had heard were probably no different than what she still did. Survival was ugly and Maria knew that from the bodies scattered alongside the river, but couldn’t seem to let that go for Joel.

If Maria only knew what she was capable of doing, the blood that covered her own hands. Killing meant so little to her now. The movie theater made her skin crawl, filled with sound and laughter and too many bodies. Ellie was the one to give her permission this time, telling her she was okay to go back to the house where it was quiet. She’d fought hard with herself over that. Joel was who knows where and letting someone else watch Ellie felt like blasphemy, but her heart was in her throat and she couldn’t focus with so much sound. 

So she’d gone back, huddling on the worn dusty couch with her knees against her chest, and unable to stop feeling her clean skin as if it were someone else’s. Her mind didn’t stop imagining every awful situation that could happen while she was gone. Ellie came back first and barely managed a nod at her, mouth tightly pressed together and silent as she climbed the stairs to the room that had once belonged to another teenage girl. Another dead one. She tried not to think about that, how Ellie always seemed to inhabit the echo of another dead daughter. First Sarah and now the room’s owner.

Even for her, Ellie was an echo of her younger sister.

She understood that. Inhabiting the shadow of a dead Tess herself. 

Joel came back next. He stopped, looking at her still with her knees drawn up. His face was darker, more heavy, like he had aged five years in the time she’d last seen him. Grief and pain and indecision lined the crow’s feet around his eyes and her fingers tightened, feeling like a bomb was about to drop. “She good?” he asked in a voice that was all gravel. “She’s whole. Upstairs in the room on the right,” she replied, eyes on the ground. He nodded, hands on his hips, and silence took over. Joel’s presence always felt like a cold fire. She could feel where he was in the room constantly. “You're gonna stick by her, right? Protect her?” Joel’s voice was harsh but not angry, just tired. 

She frowned, brow furrowed, and looked at him fully. There was a look on his face that she had only seen during his panic attacks. Like the weight of the world was crashing down on his shoulders and he was a second from not being able to hold it up, about to be crushed from it. “Is that really a question?”

“Just answer me, Red.”

His eyes were dark and he looked so tired and she was overwhelmed by this place. So she nodded, sighing out a simple, “Yes.”

He seemed to chew on the word, rolled it around his mind before nodding in answer, “Good.”

His steps were loud drum beats in her ears as he ascended, a door opening a bit later followed by the distant sound of Ellie and his voices.

She didn’t know if she should follow. Didn’t know if she’d be climbing into his bed that night or take the separate room on the first floor so far away from them both. Finding Joel’s brother had been the goal, was supposed to be a good thing, but all three of them only appeared to be in worse moods.

The bomb dropped a few moments later.

Ellie and Joel’s voices raising drew her from her spot on the couch and up the stairs. She could hear them arguing and hear the pain in the kid’s voice.

Joel was handing them over to Tommy.

Joel was handing both of them over.

Joel was leaving. 

It felt like a limb had been chopped from her. The ghost of where it was still there, a phantom pain, but its absence felt even stronger. He was leaving them. When he rushed out the door of Ellie’s room, he stopped abruptly at seeing her in the hallway standing stock still. The air had frozen around them dangerously, her anger a silent thing poised to strike and his own tinged in grief. “Just like that, huh?” she bit out, face blank and voice eerily emotionless. A muscle in his jaw ticked, teeth clenched as he spit out, “Just like that.” He moved to go to his room across the hall but something had snapped, urging her to follow like a shark scenting blood. She slammed the door behind them and it reverberated throughout the house, enclosing them in the room together. Something like betrayal coated her tongue and in the back of her mind she wondered at it, wondered if it was her trust or the trust of the teenager across the hall. “Are you really that fucking stupid, Miller?” she hissed at him, “She’s followed you for months and you’re just going to kick her out the door at the first chance? We were supposed to get her to the Fireflies-” He whipped around to face her in the dark, taking an angry step towards her, “I’m sending her with Tommy! That was the job! He knows where he’s going, he can take you both, but there’s no we. Never was.” The smile that slid onto her face was aggressive, canines showing, and he was reminded of those images of wolves snarling and licking their fangs, “Wouldn’t have pegged you as being a quitter, Tex, but glad you cleared that up.” “What’d you think was gonna happen, Starshine? A happy fucking ending?” His tone was mocking, condescending, and it was one of the few times he used his height on her to his advantage to look down his nose, “You, me, and the girl settling down somewhere while the Fireflies cure the world?” She had never thought that far, never allowed herself to think that far, because she hadn’t wanted to think about what the end of the journey would mean. For years it had been surviving one day to the next, long term plans were meaningless. But she knew enough that she wasn’t ready for this to be over and it made her angry. Because Tommy wasn’t Joel. Tommy was good and cared about being good and that wasn’t her. Joel chuckled bitterly, “You that girl’s protector? Then go protect her with Tommy. It ain’t got nothing to do with me. Jobs done.”

“So that’s it?” her fists were clenched so hard her nails made cuts in her skin, “You pass her off and leave me with your brother and simply walk away? Wipe your hands clean of us?” “You don’t get to be bitter, it was your choice to come along and watch that girl,” Joel put his hands on his hands, teeth grinding, “That’s what you wanted. I didn’t ask you to join us. I didn’t want you.” She huffed a laugh, mouth twisted in a bitter smile, “That’s ironic.” His features darkened and she knew she was touching something they didn’t talk about out loud. They never really discussed those moments in the dark, acting like they didn’t happen during the day and especially around Ellie. But they’d happened. Over and over again. “What? You think because I put my dick in you this means something? You ain’t-” “Tess?” In the darkness of the room, the walls felt like they were pressing into them. Both their rage filled the space around them and settled in the air but she could almost see the heat coming off of him. She knew it was dangerous grounds, especially after the conversation with Ellie, but this was it. This was the last bit between her and Joel Miller and if he was making her hurt, she wanted to hurt him right back. His nose wrinkled, voice low and quiet as he hissed out, “You shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you.” Joel was so close, almost nose to nose, but spitting mad and muscles tense. She almost wanted him to hit her, give her an excuse to fight him and deal with this invisible pain she was feeling and didn’t know how to cope with. It hurt. Him leaving them hurt and she hated that he had somehow managed to wound her without even trying. “You’re right, Tex,” she spit the words out like they were covered in blood, “This didn’t mean anything. I didn’t ask for you. It was you that crawled into my bed.” A laugh left her as if mocking him would make her feel better, “This how you want it to be? Fine. But don’t you lie and say that girl means nothing to you because that’s a pile of shit no one is going to swallow.” His eyes were black in the darkness, but she could feel them as he snarled, “We’re done.” With a smile that was more a grimace and rage lining her face, she backed up, “Fine. Have fun in that hole you’re going to sink into, Miller.” The door shook as she slammed it behind her, pausing to breathe in the space of the hallway between both rooms. She was shaking. From anger, pain, sadness, adrenaline, she wasn’t sure, but she stared down at her hands as they shook unsteadily and the tiny cuts shone red with blood. He was making a mistake. She knew that but words weren’t her forte, violence was, so it was hopeless to try and convince him otherwise. The ghosts of Joel Miller’s past loved ones had haunted them for so long, she should have known he would choose them in the end. That didn’t keep the reality of it from hurting any less. She knocked softly on Ellie’s door, opening it upon hearing her tentative reply. They didn’t speak. Ellie only silently scooted over on the bed, giving her some of her space. In the darkness of the room, she tried to ignore the pain in her chest and hold onto the rage she felt. Because it was better than feeling the alternative, than acknowledging the feeling of abandonment. When the young girl curled into her and held her tightly that night, she didn’t say anything about it later or when she felt her shoulders shake quietly. She simply held her back and tried to ignore the empty space on her left where Joel usually occupied. ______________________ Feral Tag List: @alouise20

[cressidagrey]

Welcome to the World - Chapter 3

Summary:

The quickest turnaround time between finding your mate and having a kid anybody in the history of Prythian has ever managed

Warnings:

Rhys bashing, Mention of Domestic Violence, Mention of Miscarriage, Mention of Child Murder, Mention of Adult Murder, Mention of Stabbing, Childbirth, Labour, a disgruntled Donkey named Thistle

(super pretty dividers thanks to @saradika)

To say that he had tried to stay busy was an understatement. 

For cauldron’s sake, Azriel had pulled out his mother’s bedraggled Recipe book from its place in the kitchen and was making chicken soup. 

And it was definitely not like he normally cooked. He left that to Cassian, the only one of the three of them who had any talent in the kitchen. 

Though putting a chicken in a pot, covering it with water and cutting up an assortment of vegetables to go along with it…he could do that. 

So he had. 

He had split up enough wood in the shed outside that his mother had enough wood for the rest of the winter. 

He had brought the same wood inside and tidily stacked it next to the fireplace. 

He had started sharpening Truthteller with the whetstone he always had with him, sharpening his weapon to keep his hands busy. 

Azriel had tried to concentrate on the feel of the blade on the stone. There was something soothing about a task that required just a single set of movements. He could do this. 

But where it normally soothed him…tonight it did not. 

He had done all of this, trying desperately not to listen to the voices coming from upstairs and failing. 

His ears strained without his want, listening to every noise Ciara made. 

The sounds of her steps, her moans that steadily escalated throughout the night…the quiet assurances of his mother that she was doing so well, that it would be over soon…

and on and on it dragged. 

Azriel had absolutely no clue how long a birth should take, what was normal. Was it normal that she had been at it since late afternoon, and now it was pitch black outside, stars gleaming? 

Was it normal that the moans seemed to get louder with every minute, sometimes turning into choked-off groans or a gasp for air? 

She was in pain. In so much pain, and there was nothing he could do as he sat there at his mother’s kitchen table, a hand harshly gripping Truthteller's hilt, the whetstone forgotten in his other. 

It was…

He could feel her anxiety, her pure fear through the inkling of a bond they had. She seemingly screamed it down the bond at him, the terror that gripped her. 

And then there was another groan, louder choked off…

“Your water broke. She will be here soon, sweetheart,” his mother cooed. 

Oh. 

Soon. It would be over soon. 

He tried hanging on to these words. It would be over soon. The pain would end for her…she would have her daughter in her arms. And she would be fine…she needed to be fine. 

“Could you fill the bathtub, Esmeray?” the midwife asked, her voice low but Azriel could still hear her…the bathtub? Why…would she take a bath now? Was the baby already going to be born in the next few minutes and needed a bath afterwards? But why would she do that now? 

“What’s wrong?” Ciara gasped, and the sound of her voice, pain-filled, had him on his feet, pacing. 

“Nothing is wrong, Ciara,” the midwife soothed. 

“You didn’t think I would need the water because the baby isn’t that big,” Ciara whimpered. 

She was going to give birth in the water? Was there a problem? Was the baby not coming?

“She’s not. It will help you,” the midwife assured Ciara. “You’ll have less pain and could heal quicker.”

Oh. 

He could hear steps again, 

“In the tub with you," the midwife said calmly… more steps…more pain-filled moans from Ciara. 

And then…“I can’t get in there.”

“You can and you will.”

Splashing of water…Her moans quieted right down. He could still listen to them, could still hear every movement from her because he was so attuned to what was happening in the cottage right now. 

Still…shouldn’t she be louder? Shouldn’t she be screaming? 

 She was being so quiet, he feared that it was going to be another day or two before the baby would arrive… Ciara spent and exhausted by then.

Even more than she already was…

He forced himself to sit back down, return to his blade and his whetstone…and nearly dropped it when he heard Ciara vomit. 

Fuck, that wasn’t normal, right? Was that normal? How should he know?!

“That’s alright, Ciara. Your body knows what to do. It's getting rid of the food so it can work harder.”

Harder? 

Hadn’t the last few hours been enough? Hadn’t…

And then he heard her sobbing, the sound cutting him to the marrow of his bones. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” pure desperation bled from every word that left her mouth. 

This wasn’t…this didn’t sound well.

He was back to pacing. 

“Yes, you can. You’re doing so well,” the midwife assured her. 

“If I die, can you get her out?” 

And he was done. He was fucking done. 

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t listen to that. 

He was up the stairs before he could reason with himself, bursting into her room without a second thought. 

He ignored the shocked look from his mother as he ended up on his knees in front of that cauldron-forsaken bathtub…Ciara draped over the side of that, sobbing, her skin pale, hands biting into the white porcelain. 

He reached out to touch her, to push the hair away from her face, cupping her cheek, wet with tears and sweat. 

“You are not going to die,” he snarled. That was not going to happen. That was fucking unacceptable. He just got her. He was not going to lose her. “Listen to me. You are not going to die,” he gentled his voice, but still held her face…her eyes, still filled with tears…and the utter exhaustion he saw in them. “ You are going to do this.” 

“I can’t…” she whimpered. 

“Yes, you can,” he disagreed. “You can do this, Ciara,” he promised. “You are going to do this and I’ll be there every step of the way.” 

“You are nearly there. You just need to push,” Nora said quietly. “Just a few good pushes and she will be here.” 

“Come on, Ciara.” He helped her move so that she was kneeling, holding one of his hands with her… somehow worming the other one behind her shoulders, so that he could be the one holding her up and she could use all her strength for bringing her child into the world…her head ended up lolling against his shoulder, face pressed against his neck, panting against him. 

Her wings weakly twitched behind her, and he closed his eyes, for one moment just breathing in nutmeg and clementines. 

She was still there, she was alive, she was breathing. 

And they were going to do this. Together.

“When the next pain comes, listen to your body. Push down,” Nora said calmly. He had no idea what the midwife was doing and didn’t think he wanted to know, but he felt the muscles in Ciara’s body tighten, pain clearly mounting. “There we go.”

And for the first time, a shout broke free out of her throat. 

***

The unwavering strength of him, the smell of cedar and mist was the only thing that kept her calm. The only thing that kept her hanging on…against the fiery hot pain…

She screamed like she had never screamed before, clawing herself into his hand and into Esmeray’s, every bit of strength as she had concentrated on pushing . 

“Good! You are doing so good, Ciara!” Nora assured her. “Another one just like that.”

Another scream ripped out of her throat, another pain lancing her, another…and then she could feel the baby’s head break free, “Now the wings and it’s over.” 

Wha…

“Ciara. Ciara, reach down,” Azriel whispered and she listened, Nora guiding her hand…and with one more push, one slick slide…she had her baby right in her waiting hands. 

A quiet panting sob escaped her throat, as she blinked open her eyes, both hands reaching out to grab her baby under the arms,  using her fingers to support the neck and head as she brought her baby immediately up out of the water. 

“Oh,” she whispered. A gasp and then a quiet cough…and then a loud cry of surprise and Ciara brought her baby to her chest as her own sobs of relief overtook the baby’s.

Her warm little body pressed against her chest sent an instant flush of heat and relief through her entire being, body and soul.

She could feel her heartbeat right against her chest, could feel the fluttering of her wings…little black, perfect wings…

And Ciara cried her eyes out because she was finally there. 

Finally there in her arms and she was crying and she was alright and it was over and…

“You did so well,” Azriel whispered against her temple and she leaned against the arm that was still holding her up, feeling him shift…ready to leave her alone, ready to give her distance…but she didn’t want distance.  

“No, don’t,” she whispered hoarsely. “Stay. Please.”

He pressed a kiss against her temple, and she looked to watch him look down at her daughter, an expression on his face…that she could only describe as wonder. 

“She’s beautiful,” he breathed, one single scarred finger reaching out to touch the dark curls covering her head. The touch was whisper soft, nearly reverently. Like her daughter was the most precious thing he had ever had the privilege to even look at…

She fell like a ton of bricks for him right at that moment. 

At the care, he showed to both her and her daughter...that steadfast presence...that gentleness that she would have never expected from a male like him, but still was there, so very obvious... 

“Is it a girl?” Nora asked quietly.

Oh. She hadn’t even checked.  Ciara reached around her daughter and felt between her legs, pushing the still pulsing cord out of the way.

“Yes,” she said softly. “it’s a girl.” 

A girl. Just like she had thought. 

“You were right. Mother’s intuition,” Esmeray said softly. “Congratulations. She’s perfect.”

She was. She was perfect. 

Ciara gasped as another pain ran through her. 

“What’s wrong?” Azriel demanded and she clenched her teeth, pushing once again. 

“She’s fine, it’s just the afterbirth,” Nora assured him, calmly. It was the work of moments until Nora severed the cord. “Can you let her go?” she asked Ciara calmly and she hesitated for a moment before she turned to Azriel. 

“Will you…” she asked and he stared at her wide-eyed, even as Esmeray handed him a towel to wrap around her daughter. 

“You want me to hold her?” he asked her, swallowing, looking so hesitant. 

“Yes,” she agreed. Safe. Her daughter would be safe. 

So she handed her to him, pressing a kiss against her forehead...and watched as he lifted her into massive, muscular arms, softly murmuring to her as he left the bathing chamber.

Somehow, letting her go, meant that her body started shaking in the earnest as Nora and Esmeray helped clean her up. 

Her arms physically ached for her baby as much as the rest of her body throbbed with pain, exhausted and weak…shivering with something…

The water in the tub was suddenly too hot, even when she was shaking. “Oh, Ciara,” Esmeray crooned softly as she helped her stand, holding her in a warm, comforting grip. "You're alright.” 

“Don’t be scared, a lot of new mothers have this,” Nora promised her as they fished her out of the tub, wrapped her into a towel…and then into a clean nightgown, and helped her to the soft comfort of the bed…

“I need her,” she whispered, her arms aching…the pain so very present. 

“One moment, then you can have her,” Nora promised her, leaning over her, still in Azriel's arms. “I just want to check her over, then you can have all the cuddle time you two need.”

Every second seemed too long, even when Azriel finally handed her over to her again, and suddenly her little girl was in her arms again, her warm weight instantly chasing away the ache building within her…

She was wrapped into a blanket Ciara had made for her and she carefully pulled it back to look her over, memorising every detail from her little fingernails to the way her hair curled…her olive skin glowed in the first rays of the sun that just came over the horizon… admiring her until tears blurred her vision and she brought her baby back to nestle against the warmth of her chest, skin to skin. 

“She has a name yet?” Esmeray asked her softly, as she pulled up a blanket to cover both of them.   “You had a few options the last time we spoke about it,” she said with a smile to the little baby, sitting down on the edge of the bed, tucking the blanket tighter around them. 

Ciara wondered if she still knew who her mother was…if she would have done the same thing. 

She had had a few options for names…but she really only could imagine one. “Aurora,” Ciara said softly. “It means Dawn.”

“A new day breaking,” Esmeray said, smiling. “It’s beautiful. A very fitting choice, Sweetheart. Well done. Do you want a middle name?” She asked curiously. 

“Oh, I had one in mind,” Ciara agreed, a smile stealing over her face. “Though that she deciding to come today of all days worked out just perfectly…Aurora Esmeray,” she said softly. There hadn’t really been a choice in that matter. Not when Esmeray had been the one to save her life and to give her a home, to keep her safe and cared for and had never expected anything in return. “Happy Birthday.”

[hmshermitcraft]

Nobody on the server knows how to react when Etho gets ill. Mostly because they're still under the impression that he's rather independent, that because he usually bases a little farther away than most and his quiet nature means that he prefers to handle things by himself.

His neighbors would beg to differ.

Xisuma got a taste of it in season seven, early on when Etho's monstrosity didn't have any roofs (rooves??) it rained and Etho caught a cold. Xisuma woke the next day with Etho standing at the door of his bed, wrapped in a blankie, "mom i frew up" look on his face. Poor guy was miserable!! X made him some chicken soup and let him crash in his base for a while.

Then in season eight iskall got a helping of ethosick before the moon went to shit. Iskall still doesn't know what he caught, but not night Etho woke him up shivering and asking if he could take them up on the cuddling. He was cold, which was odd since they live in the savannah, but iskall would never turn down some nice casual intimacy so they curled up together for the whole night and far into the day. When it got warm enough they took Etho outside and sat him on some warm grass and some fresh baked bread.

Season nine Etho got very ill during decked out and so everyone got a little taste of taking care of the slab, letting him nap on the spawn bed in-between his runs, asking simple yes/no questions so he wouldn't have to speak, keeping the volume down so his head wouldn't hurt so bad, the works.

Now in season ten Etho's chosen victim is Gem. He keeps visiting, day after day, not for very long, just to talk for a little and hang out, but she still finds it odd. Eventually she asks him what's up, and he admits that he's feeling homesick.

Etho's an arctic fox, Gem is a red fox. Etho's been deprived of having an actual packmate, another fox who understands him, ever since he joined the server.

"awh, you poor thing,"

"don't make funna me!"

"nah cmon, ok. C'mere then."

They dig out a den to stay in for the night, Gem learns that Etho's elbows could be classed as lethal weapons. Maybe after they wake up she'll teach him how to use them in combat.

-carrie

Etho is a cutie, really, is Gem's verdict. A big ol' softie who hates to be called one. She's always been pretty independent herself, but it's still nice to have somebody to den with and sleep the night away (and sometimes a fair amount of daytime too!)

Just don't expect her to read any bedtime stories! That's where she draws the line!

(She'd probably still do it if Etho asked.)

[igncrxntripley]

Would you mind doing headcannons for when secret weapon gets sick, like damn near fever coma sick?

headcanons: in sickness and in health

A/N: i was so excited when i saw this we love fluffy judgement day

tags: poly!judgement day, fem!reader, illness, brief mention of medicine

mentions: @babybatlover @ripleyswhore

y/n knew something was wrong when she woke up and had little to no energy to move

not only was she shivering to no end laying against damian (a human furnace) but she was sweating like she just finished working out

he's the first to notice something is wrong and starts making a to-do list of how to make their baby feel better

"finn, we need chicken noodle soup asap" "dom, check what medicine we have and run to the store if we don't have anything" "rhea, set up the couch and the living room"

no one wastes any time for their babygirl; dominik is already taking inventory of medicine and going to the drugstore for more, rhea has the best blankets and pillows on the couch with y/n's favorite movies and shows, and finn is slaving over a hot stove making soup

damian starts by getting y/n changed into new pajamas and braids her hair way from her face, which proves to all be somewhat of a challenge because y/n has latched herself onto his body and won't let go

eventually he finishes and brings her downstairs to get comfy with rhea but since y/n won't let go, he gives in and brings both girls to his chest to cuddle

rhea's usually pretty tough but she's most definitely concerned when y/n can barely keep her eyes open; damian's spending just as much time calming rhea down and making her feel better as he is y/n

"she can't even fuckin' keep her eyes open, what if something's wrong?" "she'll be fine once dominik gets some medicine"

dominik is easily taking way too much time at the store, because not only is he getting medicine but he's getting all of the juice and anything to make y/n feel better

but once he gets home he's playing nurse; rhea practically has to hold y/n up to get her to take medicine and drink something

finn manages to leave his soup long enough to bring out a damp towel and hopefully start breaking y/n's fever

eventually all five people are on the couch, damian and rhea being the main cuddlers on duty while dominik and finn are the runners for anything they need

they manage to keep y/n awake long enough to finally eat something even though finn is spoon-feeding her like a baby

each one of them is amazing with taking care of y/n, and when she's finally feeling better she apologizes

"you wasted your whole day taking care of me and now you're probably all going to get sick!"

not a single one of them cares, because they know they would all do it for one another

[eatommo]

Like Real People Do [d.d]

Summary: You and Mando have a history of broken hearts and are both looking for a place to land in the galaxy you live in, but you'll always have each other.

A/n: Not beta'd! mistakes are my own! and look a Hozier song to a Pedro fic what's new! I love this. I hope you do too! 6.2k

Cw: Canon typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, use of weapons, mutual pining, discussions of loss, discussions of war, brief mentions of grief, Reader is from Alderaan (trauma that comes from that), the reader has some of my tattoos because we love a self-insert, broken glass, pubic hair?, unprotected p in v, mentions of marking, hickeys, mentions of oral sex m/f receiving, fingering, the helmet stays on, breeding kink if you squint, as always touched starved Din, themes involving depression and loss, takes place post season 3 but has a flash back to season 1, I probably missed something but let me know!

It had been ages since you’d seen him. You’re not sure how many rotations, but not a day has passed that you didn’t think about him.  But there, just passing the entrance to the trading post, his shiny beskar helmet flashes over the crowd.  

You put your head down, looking at the spare parts you were hoping to auction off for some measly credits at a holiday festival for some caf and to help you hopefully buy some piece of junk craft to get you off this dusty and dry planet.  

Maybe you’ll be lucky and you can slink away, and evade an awkward reunion all altogether.  You found an outcropping and a small table covered in different smoked meats and small roasted animals.  

You try to sell the fact that you look busy while you think about the last time you spoke to him.  Your conversation about the rebel symbol marred into your skin with black ink, Cara had done it herself, and you’d helped her put the very same symbol on her cheek. The pain felt good, it mirrored the grief that felt immeasurable and it almost felt like a release of all of the terrible thoughts of your family’s final moments.  Had your family suffered? Did they even know what was coming for them?  

You were young and had just gotten off the planet in search of something greater, a higher purpose. Something to believe in, and the empire stole everything you’d ever known in one simple explosion. 

It had handed you a purpose, for a time. Working with the rebellion, standing with your Princess, and fighting and punishing the Empire for the loss of Alderaan.  Cara and you were hiding out on Sorgan after leaving your post as shock troopers. You were in the fresher when they started to tousle outside, you expected some gruff Klatoonian who she sharked in a bet, as it often was.  Instead, she lies on her belly, a blaster pointed at a chrome-covered Mandalorian, who is lying on his back with a weapon drawn.

The only thing that holds your attention is a little green baby holding a cup of soup, mirroring your amusement waddling up next to you.  

He coos, looking between you and his companion like he expects you to save him.  “Sorry bud, I’m with her.” 

An aggravated harsh pant cuts you off, “Stay away from him.” The blaster shifts to you, but you raise your hands and keep an even temper.  He looks between the two of you, who clearly have no intention or idea what he is in possession of, and offers to buy the two of your dinner.  

He didn’t speak much at first, but as you and Cara drank away a flagon of spotchka and you shared your interest in his ship, having to grow up around the rebel's fleet and wanting to see such an old military craft, he offered to show you.  

“It’s a short walk, the kid is falling asleep in your lap anyway.”  You look down at the little wrinkled green monster, blinking slowly with his massive eyes as you stroke his ears, you can’t help but fawn over him.  

“I can’t believe they’re hunting a baby.”  Whispering, as you feel the warmth of his tiny body, heartbroken at the idea of an imperial remnant looking for children.  

“He is older than I am.” His surprisingly playful voice almost startled you, he’d been quietly walking by your side as you carried the little guy nestled into your chest.

“He’s” you struggle to find words, but you can feel an energy emanating from the little creature in your arms “magnificent.” 

The Mandalorian hums lowly, agreeing with you.   There’s a pause for a few moments while you look over at him, “Did you find a lot of purpose? With the rebellion?” 

It's your turn to be broody, “For a time.” Suddenly feeling subconscious you speak a little bit more quietly, “Just waiting for the next thing to believe in I guess.” You sigh, gazing down into the dark black ink just above your rebel stripes, “It feels like I could keep fighting forever, but hearing all this, seeing such a small child threatened by the same evil as I was, it feels like I already have.” You’re not sure if he understands you,  or even what side of the war he stood on.  

“You feel like there’s reasons to fight.” He looks down into the baby drifting to sleep in your clutches.  “But afraid that you have no fight left.”  You half expect him to be criticizing you.  Mandalorians have lost almost as much as you have, but are warriors by nature and have fought and continue to be feared across the galaxy as mercenaries and bounty hunters.  His voice is soft, and understanding, as if processing his words himself. 

 You spot the ship ahead, falling silent in your admiration you trudge through the leaves and sticks that have fallen from the ship clearing its landing.  The ramp hisses as it falls open to welcome its pilot, but you stop outside to admire the twin engines and their decades-long wear and tear.  

Walking around the ship to admire her heavy laser cannons and her yellow markings.  He watches you with a quiet but proud silence, as you eventually shuffle up the ramp to set the little one into a floating pram.  Your eye catches a glimpse of a carbonite freezing chamber, and a little anxious butterfly seems to stir in your belly, how much do you trust him?  

“I always thought I’d die looking for a bounty when I got too old, too slow, or just in plain luck.”  You turn heel to face him, heartbeat clipping unsteadily in your chest, but you raise an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.  He hesitates and sets himself on top of one of the shipping containers. “But protecting this child has made me dream of a life I never thought I could fight for.” 

You can feel your body soften at his confession, cursing yourself for thinking lowly of a man whose been nothing but kind and trusting of you.  “I’m sure it's lonely.” You take a small but calculated breath, “He is lucky to have you.” The smile is soft, and you try to reassure him despite yourself. 

He looks at you standing but a few steps away from him, and nods, “I’m just as lucky.” 

The bustle of the holiday market slows to accommodate him, traversing through the stalls as all shapes and sizes scurry out of his way.  You swear to yourself, turning away and buying some meat you can’t afford.  When you hear your modulated name fall out of his mouth like a prayer, soft and delicate.  He steers around the crowd, veering right into your path as a child walks in front of you blowing bubbles from the straw of a festive drink.  

The Mandalorian approaches you with purpose, his walk deliberate and commanding as if everyone in the vicinity answers to him.  “Mando.” you smile briefly, warmth heating your cheeks, and the never-fading crush you have on this man skipping around your belly.  “Hi.” 

His gaze stays fixed as he reaches for your arm, touching a patch of ink that not only is new to him but you completely forgot about.  His glove runs over it and when it doesn’t smear it might’ve made his knees buckle. “The Crest.” 

You peer into the helmet, glad to have him near you again, and realizing how much you missed hearing his voice, a rush of blood washes over your cheeks again.  “Yeah,” you fumble around doubting your reasons for getting that tattoo in the first place, “I’ve been adding a couple of ships that are important to me.” 

You hear a small noise but are unable to determine the emotion behind it, “I was hoping to see you on Nevarro,”  your heart rate picks up in your chest, and of course, his helmet picks it up, “the last few times.” 

“I’ve been moving around, looking for something new.” There’s a sleepy squeal coming from his satchel, “is that?” He swings it around to the front and opens the top of the bag to reveal your favorite green forehead. “Handsome man! I’ve missed you little mudscuffer.” 

Mando chuckles under his breath as you pull the baby from his confines and offer him a piece of the meat you just bought. He swallows it down greedily.  “I swear he eats. He just woke up.” 

You smile and give him a playful look, “Is daddy feeding you enough munchkin?” You hand the baby another strip, Mando is glad you don’t see him adjusting his pants as the word daddy slips between your lips innocently, “Don't worry I’ll get you something sweet too.” 

Mando rests his hands on his hips, and shakes his head in mock defeat, “He’s not gonna want to leave.” He follows at your back as you carry the child through the marketplace, sometimes letting his palm rest on your back to keep close to you.  

He would not be one to admit but seeing you carry the child around reminds him of the times on Sorgan, of the weeks you spent together and his floundering inability to court you.  Even now the way you look at him has him hiding behind his beskar helm like a foolish schoolgirl.  

“He doesn’t have to, are you here for business?” You cast a look over your shoulder, “He can stay with me while you take care of whatever you need.” You find a stall selling some fruity overpriced drink for the planetary holiday. 

You look into your bag, coming up just a few credits short, and cursing at yourself.  Starting to walk away, “I’ve got it.” He cuts in front of you while gripping your shoulder and standing over the top of you, handing more than enough credits to the man in exchange for two drinks.  

Yet another blush creeps into your cheeks, “No need to spoil me.”  You offer the child his drink and he snatches it away from you eagerly with a screech.

“I want to.” That causes your brows to knit together and a deep ache below your belt to settle and warm. 

You sip away at the luxuriously sweet drink, wishing you could at least share it with him. “I have a room at an inn,” you offer, “or we could go back to the Crest, and catch up.” 

You lean against one of the walls so that you don’t accidentally traverse even further from his bounty.  “I don’t have the crest.” 

Your drink turns to ash in your mouth, “What? Is she in disrepair? I’m sure Karga-“ 

“It’s rubble on the planet Tython.” He’s sad, of course he is, but his hand finds the mark on your skin again, and you can’t help but mull over the memories, the connection you shared on that ship eviscerated. 

“I’m so sorry.” You let your head hang low, remembering how many conversations you shared hoping he’d invite you aboard as crew.  “I loved that ship. I mean not as much as you I’m sure.” 

He chuckles, thumb brushing over the silhouette as he speaks, “You don’t happen to know how to rewire an N-1 starfighter engine?”  

“I’m sure I could look at it, but I don’t think I’d be much help. Where the hell did you find one?” You’re a bumbling mess, wanting so eagerly for him to scoop you off this planet like he had before, but also knowing your heart couldn’t bear to watch him leave a third time.  

“I didn’t think so but I have no idea what you’ve been up to and-“ he pauses, stopping himself to watch you take a sip of the drink after licking some whipped cream off of the straw.  

“And?” You prompt him to continue, but he stares between you and the child who have matching bright red tongues and are both sporting some whipped cream out of the corners of your mouths.  

You catch a hint of strain in his voice, “We can rest at your place for a while. He’s due for a nap.” You squint at him a little, easily reading his stiff body language and the change of subject.  

At the word nap, the baby babbles away while chewing on the straw of his drink, “There’s a lot of sugar in this, so we might have to wait it out.”  

Mando lets out an exasperated sigh, “What have you gotten us into.” You’re both sitting on the floor of a modest single room with the little one taking turns climbing up and over the two of you.  

“You bought it,” raising your hands in defense, smile splitting ear to ear,  “I was going to split one with him.”  You reach out to try to grab his surprisingly quick body but he darts away with a giggle.  

“He’ll crash, eventually.” You could hear him talk about the baby for hours,  to sit with him and watch the two of them play together always felt like a treat on its own. “Get down from there.” 

“He’s fine, this place is a dump anyway.” You smirk over your shoulder as he climbs up onto your bed, rolling around and giggling half to himself while chewing on the mythosaur skull pendant around his neck. 

“How did you end up here?” Your face falls a little, but he’s kind, and soft, and you can tell he doesn’t want to pry but his curiosity is getting the best of him.  

“I was tracking a bunch of smugglers, the republic got word that they were hauling children to Canto Bight, and exporting them maker knows where.” You continue, trying to keep your breath even, “Cara had asked me as a favor, but I had a run-in with a group of pirates who saw my stripes and stole my ship.” 

“Does she know?” He shuffles closer to you, folding his knees in so that he can run a hand soothingly across the skin of your leg.  

“I don’t know,” You clear the tightness in your throat, “At least I don’t think so.” You find the words pouring out of you as if he is comforting you into realizing something you’ve been fighting for a long time.  “I don’t think I can fight like this anymore, and I don’t know how to tell her that.” 

He is quiet, giving a simple solemn nod, before pulling the rising phoenix from his back, and laying it on the floor.  He scoots closer to you, settling next to you as you both lean against the foot of your bed.  His beskar shoulder plate is cold on your cheek, as you lean against him, seeking reassurance you haven’t felt in so long.  

Silently a tear falls down your face, and as if prompted by his little superpowers the baby, climbs into your lap nuzzling your cheek and touching your face gently with a warm hand.  There are a lot of things this child is capable of, things you can’t begin to understand, over a lifetime that is marred with more violence and confusion than you will likely ever know existed. When he touches you, you can feel his pain and loss, but he also shares with you a joy and unfathomable curiosity over the smallest things he remembers.  

“I can’t take you on the N-1,” his voice startles you out of your stupor with the baby, “but if you’ll give me a few days, I’ll be back to pick you up, and you can stay with us on Nevarro until you find somewhere else, something else to do.” 

Your breath is shaking, and you’re not even sure the last time you felt safe enough to cry.  A small piece of you wants to run because that's what you've been doing for these last 10 or so years of your life.  Running from the Empire, running after them, and then running from yourself.  “I don’t think I could.” 

“Why not?” he reaches for your shaking hand, setting his gloved hand on top of yours, driving the energy in the room with the ease of piloting a speeder bike.  

“You’re a family, he has a routine, you’ve settled into this beautiful life that you’ve worked tirelessly for.  I couldn’t impose.” You try your best to sound strong like you’ve got a plan ahead of you, and the idea of not being around the two of them doesn't make your heart ache. 

He hums, and for a moment your cry is less of confusion and more out of pain.  His hand is gone from yours, and the lack of his warmth feels like a slap into reality, as you pinch your eyes shut to stop yourself from being embarrassed even further. 

You jump.  There's a much larger warm hand caressing your cheek, and turning your head into the dark stare of his visor.  You can see the tanned skin of his wrist as he turns your face slightly, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “It is the greatest mistake of my life leaving you on Sorgan.” 

You sniffle, the words sorting through the emotional fog of your brain, searching the blank emotionless canvas of metal for a hint of human connection, a flutter of an eyelash, anything.  You can’t find anything, until you hear the faint sound of his breath from beneath his mask, stuttering and insecure, his chest rising and falling like he’s fighting a battle with his own emotions.  

You feel it again, a swell in your chest of love and admiration and then you feel the tiny claws digging into the skin of your bicep. You look down at the tiny man as he steps between where your chests are separated by mere inches, “Could I have her come and get us?” You’re quiet as a loth cat, voice heady and rough. “I don’t think I could watch you go.” 

He lets the little one settle into his lap after a moment, this time you can hear relief and a half-broken smile in his tone, “Let’s just wait until he falls asleep, I’ll go to the ship and send a transmission.  I’ll come back with his pram, and then where we go. You go.” 

You clear your throat again, wanting so desperately for this to be real and aching to touch him.  “Okay.” your voice barely makes a squeak, he pressed the cold beskar helm to your temple.  

Wondering if he feels as raw as you, you place your hand on top of his suppressing the need to comment on how large it is, and tangle your fingers with his.  You stare at his hand, tanned and massive and warm. Human. You fold your legs in on themselves and shift your body so that you may properly look at him. 

The glove sits in his lap, and he looks so imposing in this tiny half-furnished room, polished and chrome in the dingy and ill-lit space you've called ‘home’ for these last few cycles.  You take his other hand, and look up to see if he’s going to stop you, but he is still and silent, so you slip the glove off his hand.  You trace from the tip of his middle finger, down his palm and up towards the pulse point of his wrist. 

He shudders beneath your touch, thankful for the mask to hide the crimson flush of his cheeks. He’s never had the opportunity to enjoy a tenderness like this, to feel his pulse quicken and the nervous butterflies he’s heard described during love stories on a holodrama.  It’s terrifying, he feels like he could vomit, but the way your delicate fingers trace circles over the palm of his hand makes him want to run his hands over every last inch of your body until he knows it inside and out like his blaster. 

The child settles into his lap, leaning his head against your arm as his head and eyes grow heavier with sleep.  “Why don’t we walk to your ship together?”  

Your eyes are bright, and he can tell by your posture that you feel better, but he can’t stop the audible grumble, not ready to let you or even your hand slip from his.  He nods and swallows harshly to clear his throat, “Alright.”

You walk across the market again, and the crowd parts before the two of you except this time you are holding onto his hand, and rather than trying to avoid his gaze like every other soul walking the market, you cling to his him trying to suppress the smirk curling the corners of your mouth.  

Nevarro has changed so much, you spend the first few days just getting accustomed to the new layout of the town.  Dropping the child, ‘Grogu’ (it took a while but it grew on you) at school, and then going to spend time in the market picking up some rations and some of the seasonal veg you’ve been coaxing into the little one’s belly.  

The domestic bliss that comes with living with Mando is both welcome and intoxicating.  You’re awake at odd hours of the night, talking and sharing stories about Jawas and your run-ins with Ewoks,  and sharing your dreams and hopes for the galaxy.  

He shares stories about Mandalore, about visiting there for the first time and bathing in the healing waters, about Bo Katan seeing a Mythasaur alive. All things you heard about as a young child, and symbols that brought hope and purpose to the entire creed were real and were aiding to heal the planet and its inhabitants. 

Then there were times when you both laid on the floor, watching the little one interact with a metal sphere, using his magic to hover it just out of your grasp and giggling himself to a peaceful sleep.  You’d lay together, wrapped in the comfort and protection of his house, and stare at the little man as he sleeps occasionally peaking into the reflection of yourself in his helmet, and blushing when you catch your own heart racing.

You want to tell him how you crave to be with him, how addicting his presence and his mind are to you, but you’re afraid.  Afraid to move too fast, to step over his barriers, but also knowing that each second without knowing the softness of his mouth is torture. 

The first time you see him in his sleep clothes, a plain dark green shirt with three buttons on the top and loose-fitting black canvas pants, no metal aside from his helmet, you choke on your cup of Jawa juice.   He’s large even without the metal beefing up his silhouette, his back broad and the fabric thin enough for you to see his muscles move as he opens a drawer for silverware. Even treating yourself to a glimpse of his waist and the way it tapers to his ass and hips.  

It’s become more common, in fact when he gets home, he almost immediately strips out of the armor in favor of something more casual and comfortable.  

Tonight the energy is different. The kid passes out early and you’re soaking a pot you used for dinner in the sink when he emerges out of his room.  You hear his footsteps, but they’re muted and soft, he’s barefoot. As you glance over your shoulder as he offers you a glass from his bedroom you see he’s in briefs, (the house is admittedly warmer as the seasons change) but the shock is plain as day as you turn so quickly away the glass slips from your hand and shatters on the floor. But the image of his chest spattered with hair that trailed down his soft belly and into the top of his black undergarments. 

You both are silent for  a moment, hoping the noise isn’t loud enough to wake the baby, in his silence you swear, “Kriff, don’t move I’ll get a broom.” You shy away, looking to the ground for a safe path.  

He cuts you off arm darting in front of you to halt your movement,  “I’ll get it.” His hand comes to rest on your hip stalling your movements with his warm palm. 

His other hand reaches out and before you can grumble in discontent he's lifting you onto the counter. You sit there, flustered with your hands tucked between your thighs as he fiddles with the control of his helmet flicking through to see which would help him find the scattered pieces of glass the best.  

It's moments, but it feels like an eternity as he searches for a broom, sweeping the glass into a neat pile before discarding it into the bin silently.  He settles between your legs, silent as a mouse.  

“I'm sorry.” You smile sheepishly, struggling to maintain eye contact as he hovers in front of you, inches separating your face, and if it were any cooler you would’ve fogged the front of his mask with your breath. 

He chuckles dryly, “Don’t be, I’ll take it as a compliment.”  His posture is full of confidence, but also comfortable and relaxed.  You long to touch him, to run your hand over his chest and abdomen, to feel the muscles shift in his back as he- “Mesh’la?” 

You blink yourself out of a daze, “You should, you’re so handsome.”  He braces his hands on the counter next to your hips and leans ever closer.

“Yeah?” His voice is hot like a pant, stroking a fire in the room that neither of you are able to ignore any longer. 

“Yeah.” You smirk at him, emboldened and smoothing your hands up the strong plains of his arms, squeezing lightly around the muscles of his biceps.  You let your foot run across his calf, urging him closer to your body, his hands find your waist, firm but careful as his thumbs stroke the skin just below your breasts.  You curse yourself for even bothering with a bra band.  

“I like having you here.” His head tilts, you can almost see the gears turning in his brain as he continues, “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” He uses his strength to pull you a little closer to him, so with each breath your chests touch and your core is flush to his abdomen.  “Having you in my kitchen, sitting on my counter looking so pretty, so-” He swipes the hair off your shoulder exposing your neck and throat, “edible.” 

Any chance you had of playing it cool is gone, you want nothing more than to bend to his will.  His hand disappears from your side, and he tangles it in your hair, using it to fix your eyes to his through the helm, as he strokes your cheek with his thumb.  You feel completely safe, but there’s something about him thats dangerous, hungry even, and it makes your skin damp with sweat.

He sounds like he’s in agony, like each passing moment without consuming you is torture, and you ache for him in a way that astonishes you, embarrasses you, not even sure that you could stand on your own two feet.  

“I need you.” He whispers, breath uneven almost a growl, “Tonight. Now.” He reaches between your legs, letting his fingers ghost over you ever so gently, as if asking, no begging, for permission.

You swallow hard, his helmet tilts, admiring you, and you hardly manage to stutter a yes.  Part of you expects him to be quick, tearing at your clothes and taking you right here in the kitchen. 

 He doesn’t.

 He goes slow, letting the crest of his helmet fall to rest on your forehead, taking his time to caress your hips, tracing up your sides and taking your shirt with it.  His hands are warm, but bring goosebumps to your skin as he touches you, hands squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipple.  You keen, pressing desperately against his hands.  You lean in, placing a kiss to his collarbone, gentle and moving slow so he may stop you if he wants, but he drops his shoulder and tilts his head to expose his neck.  

You kiss his collarbone again, letting your tongue dart out to taste his skin, he’s vibrating beneath you. Trembling as you kiss the hollow of his throat and nibble at the skin of his neck.  You run your hands down his chest, basking in the intimacy and living for the scent of his skin.

He lifts you in a fluid motion, whisking you out of the kitchen and into his modest bedroom.  Laying you on the bed, he runs his hands down your legs and removes your pants.  You blush, unable to hide your arousal but noticing the prominent tent in his briefs, your mouth waters and you get to consider getting on your knees for him briefly.  

He’s faster than you, and not thinking about himself.  Ripping your underwear from your body and running the tip of his index fingers through your folds. “All this for me?” He circles your entrance, gathering your slick before brushing across your clit with leg-shaking precision.  

You chase his touch, the pleasure coating your tongue and fogging your brain even more than you can put into words. You beg for him to get closer, to press your bodies together until you weren't sure you'd ever part.

You're expecting to feel shorted by the absence of his mouth on yours.  No taste of him, and not getting to hear his words directly from his mouth, but his touch is consuming.  Like he's worshiping and waking each cell with caresses and adoration that's as palpable in the air as his sheets were soft on your back.  

There are noises, words you think, that he is muttering between each supple squeeze and tease, words you've heard him say before but their meaning is only now defined by his actions.  

Love.  He loves you.  You can feel it in the heat of his hands as he spreads your legs apart and admires the way you part for him, and he sinks two fingers into your fluttering pussy, pushing up and stroking something dangerous. 

His erection is nestled against your leg, and he shifts his hips with every twist of his fingers for a few moments, pressed between your bodies he feels a glimmer of relief with a groan, as much as he wants to bathe you in attention, he thinks that if he waits any longer his heart might give out before the best part.  “Mesh’la,” he twists his fingers as if to be sure you're listening, “Please.” 

“Yes,” you nod, swallowing harshly as he slips free of his underwear, cock springing free of its confines.  You gawk, unabashedly, as he did to you just moments ago. He's large, intact, leaning slightly to his left, and the skin is tanned brown, slightly darker than the rest of his body, thick and weeping out of the brilliantly flushed pink tip, the base adorned with sparse but dark hair that trails up to his navel deliciously.   When he steps between your legs and lets it rest on your abdomen to press your forehead together again, you feel its heady weight against you and stoop so low as to beg, “Please.”

You're echoing each other's moans as he grinds against your folds, coating himself in your slick before sinking into you in a single brutally slow thrust. When he bottoms out, you do your best not to squeak as the girth of his member breaks you open, it doesn't hurt, rather it feels like you've both waited an eternity to come to this very moment, euphoric and fulfilling the needs of your body and soul.  

He grinds his pelvis against yours letting his hand shift to cup your cheek, staring at you, he hopes somehow you can sense it. How he is barely able to stop passing between the pout of your lips and the deep pleading look in your eyes, begging him for the same thing his heart is calling for.   He could weep, having finally shorn the armor to dedicate himself to you, because the truth is, all you needed was to ask. He would've dropped his creed, everything he had achieved, and the meek life he'd planned for himself to grovel at your feet for the rest of his human life.  

Devotion, that's what it was called.  He had felt at many moments of his life that he was in the right place, blessing along his journeys that started out as miracles, friends, familial bonds he didn't think he deserved.  It felt misplaced, the little blessings that had entered his life so quickly that he swore they had to have been accidents. It had taken losing the child and abandoning you on that god-forsaken planet, for him to reflect, and to realize that the life he deserved was not determined by some blasters and an army, nor his home planet.  He had the life he wanted in his palms once, and watched it slip through his fingers with the charred remains of his ship.  His grip tightened instinctively, twisting the sheet in his fist. 

It was you.  You were the representation of all of the things he wanted but never thought he deserved.  A family, a place to call home, and you even had committed something as passing as his ship to your skin with a permanence that scared him.  

Here your skin was warm, surrounding him, nurturing him, squeezing him, and his mind was trying so hard to be a person, not a machine, loving someone else for the first time.  

He found the words, he said it to you, over and over with his pelvis angled just right as he ground his hips into you.

He was throbbing inside of you, you could feel the slick slide and pulse of him with each thrust. The pleasure was so intense you were whimpering and mewling beneath him, wetness smearing onto your thighs and running on the sheets below.

You've had sex before of course, and now you seriously doubt you've been doing it right. You kiss at the hollow of his throat, and in response he hunches over you, arms on either side of your head, animalistic yet praising affirmations go straight to the building heat in your core.  

You let your hands, come up to his back digging your nails into his skin.  He moans in shock as his thrusts grow more frenzied, spurred on by the bite of pain at his back.  He reaches between you and circles your clit with his thumb, pulling you headfirst into your orgasm.  You're body goes taught and relaxes all at once, the pleasure blinding you as your vision goes white and each tilt of his hips makes you stutter out an overstimulated moan. 

The fluttering of your sex around him would be enough to send over the edge but as you catch your breath you begin to beg for him to finish inside you.  He does, still feeling you shivering through the after waves of your own, as he groans and revels through the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, complete with curled toes and a knuckle-popping grip on the sheets.  He’s still looking at you, the rise of fall of your chests bumping into each other and your breath fogging the front of his helmet so much that when you kissed right over his eye, he could see the imprint of your lips for just a passing moment. 

“I can’t believe we waited so long.”  You chuckle, all smiles but looking as dazed and spent as he felt. A shiver coming over him as the small sounds cause you to tighten slightly around him as he softens, his body incredible sensitive. 

“I’ll spend the rest of our life making up for it.”  You note the sound of him speaking through the grit of his teeth, and do your best to lie still, not wishing to be parted just yet.

Months later, you’re married in a private ceremony in front of friends and his brothers and sisters of the clan.  It's quick, and everything you had expected of a warrior’s wedding.  You get the mudhorn symbol tattooed into the skin nestled behind your ear, wearing it proudly and with your vows you are made a family, a clan of three in front of all the important people you care about. 

You’d be remiss if what had you most excited isn’t the filthy promises he’s made to you about that night, taking his helmet off and kissing you everywhere he can for as long as he wishes.  Promising to leave a mark over your new clan sigil as he marks the rest of your body for him, as you’ve done to him many times over. You get to admire his face and the most handsome man in the galaxy who kneels before you with reverence and vows to take care of you with more than just his words. 

[mocolococoffeesimp]

Giovanna and Nagoriyuki with a reader who fights with a comically large spoon for no other reason then I think it would be funny

Ah, we love good old vine here.

-Giovanna thought it was a prop at first. Just for some reason, she didn't know. But, the moment she saw you smack bad guys with the spoon... She was both impressed and curious where did you get the spoon.

-She was amused when she saw you actually using it for eating. Using it as a soup bowl, actual, a shovel etc. She had to admit it came into use in multiple situations. She still thought it was a horribly inefficient weapon in combat. But, hey it had its uses.

-She thought you used the spoon as a weapon, because of some bet or something. But, when you told her you use it for fun... She was slightly concerned. Any weapon would've been better than a giant spoon. But, it was a good enough reason for her.

-Similarly to Giovanna, Nagoruyuki was confused about your weapon of choice. In battle, he thought it wasn't suited for combat. He tried to gently ask you about your weapon of choice. Only for you to shrug, that you thought it was fun to use. He was quite baffled by it. Sure, you were efficient with it. So, he couldn't quite complain about it. But, still. It was still a first to him.

-The multiple ways the spoon came in handy was quite nice. Using it as a makeshift cooking pot, shovel etc. He was quite glad at times, you had it with you. Despite its usefulness, he would've preferred you to use an actual weapon in combat. It looked so flimsy and unreliable.

-He tried to use it once, only to find it so weird to use. It was too light for him, it felt flimsy and difficult to use. Almost like a flail with some heavy end. He decided to let you keep using it. He wasn't too hard on what weapon you wanted to use.

[obsessedwithlute]

What Hazbin Hotel Characters Are Doing In A CVS

Charlie - She's buying get well soon cards and Honey Nut Cheerios and she stops to wave and say hi to every. Single. Person. In the aisles. It's sweet but it also gets really annoying after a while. But you.... good intentions and all that

Vaggie - Stocking up for the apocalypse- canned soup, toilet paper, 100 boxes of Band-Aids, the works. She gets a lot of weird looks at the checkout aisle but she doesn't really care.

Angel Dust - He's buying makeup. In fact, he's become notorious at his local CVS for buying all the bright pink lipstick and eyeshadow. Although, he spends a lot more time at CVS than your average makeup lover...

Husk - He works at the CVS. Angel Dust only ever seems to show up on the days that he has a shift and for some reason, it always seems to be him going to help Angel in the makeup aisle. This went on for almost 2 years until one day Husk snapped and demanded to know why Angel was so goddamn obsessed with him. Eighteen months later, they're picking out the icing flowers for their wedding cake.

Lucifer - He is the CEO of CVS, the "big boss of hell himself".

Alastor - He is the CEO of Target and Lucifer's biggest rival.

Lute - She has been to CVS exactly twice in her life. Once was when she was six years old. She threw a tantrum within five seconds and was quickly ushered out of the store. The second time was thirteen years later and this was Adam's idea of a date. It was a blind date organized by their families because Lute had a shitty family trying to keep her in the closet. After that, she never entered a CVS again.

Adam - Adam is banned from CVS for screaming fuck in front of toddlers every time he goes to CVS. Lucifer has mailed his picture to every CVS and it must be tacked to the front door with the caption 'PERMISSION TO KILL IF HE ATTEMPTS TO ENTER'. There are theories that perhaps this rivalry is more personal than customer-service related...

Cherri - Cherri buys one thing from CVS and that is hairpins. Because they're the one weapon she can buy on discount AND sneak into Broadway theaters!

Sir Pentious - He loves Halloween candy, but he hates the holiday for a reason he tells not a soul. So he always buys those discount candies the day after Halloween and CVS loves him for it.

[radioisntdead]

Howdy, I was the first ask with adult child/Niece/Nephew.

So now that we've established how she is with family 👀 Extermination day. How would she react to them getting hurt or almost killed?

Good evening my dear! Thank you so much for being the first ask for Susan before! I know you asked for hurt or almost killed but I, may have taken it a step further, This will be angsty, leaning more towards being Susan's child in this one

Warnings!

Cannibalism, some angst, straight up angst, there is death here, not proofread so pardon any spelling mistakes, I got carried away here, Oops!

Susan did NOT survive this long only to get taken out during extermination day, she definitely took out several exorcists, I think she had an axe in one scene but I can't remember if that actually was a thing or if I'm misremembering and that just appeared in my brain munching on a few of them whenever she got the chance too.

She thought you would be good on your own, however she was surely mistaken when she spotted you getting slashed by a exorcist while trying to defend one of the younger cannibals, thankfully one of the others stepped in to help you, saving your life.

However that didn't undo the wound on your stomach, your recovery period was filled with Susan scolding you about getting injured, after all she was older then you and she didn't even get a scratch!

She would scold you if you dared get up, pushing you back down and covering you with a blanket, bringing you soup and tea until you were healed,

She'd never tell you about the genuine fear she felt when she saw you get slashed, many cannibals lost their lives that day, getting killed by angelic weapons meant that you were NOT coming back, she couldn't look at the clothes you were wearing that day the torn fabric and the now dried blood that covered it served as a cruel reminder that you could've died.

Susan may appear heartless, and she's an entitled grumpy old lady but she cared for you,

After all you were one of the only family members that truly cared for her.

Now this is if you keep your life, but what if you didn't?

Susan didn't know where you were, the exorcists had fled, Adam was dead, and many people had permanently lost their life that day.

Including you.

One of the other cannibals found you, spear still stuck in your chest, eyes glazed over and dried tears coating your face.

No one wanted to break the news to Susan but they didn't have too, a small group of your surviving friends surrounded you, mourning and trying to figure out what to do,

Susan broke through them, nothing could prepare anyone for the look of pure horror and heartbreak that appeared on her face.

She tapped your corpse gently with her cane, tell you to stop playing pranks and get up, swearing at you, once the small reality kicked in that you weren't getting up, She'd lean down beside you, gently placing a hand on your face and closing your eyelids,

With your eyes closed you almost looked like you were sleeping.

The aftermath was bad, the house she lived in was empty without you, and there were traces of you everywhere, the dirty dishes you left in the sink saying you'd do them once everything had passed, your clothing that was still in the closet forever waiting to be worn by someone who didn't exist anymore, the awful slippers you insisted on purchasing much to Susan's dismay still by the door way, a dent on the wall from you running into it, a small stain on the carpet from you spilling a smidge of grape juice onto it.

She was bad before but she became worse, more bitter, angry that you were gone, the young were supposed to outlive the old, not the other way around.

Did you think I was done? No.

Let's tweak that last bit,

Susan was capable no doubt, even if she was old,

But she was still an old lady, so you stayed close to her just in case, she handled her own well, but when that exorcist gunned for her, you didn't even think, you just moved infront of her taking the hit for her, angelic weapon stabbing you before being pulled back out, you swung your weapon taking out the exorcist but the damaged had been done, Susan scolded you as you bled out in her arms, calling you an imbecile, a reckless fool,

you laughed saying you were going to miss her scolding you, you told her that you'd do it again if it meant protecting her after all, she was family, she was your family and you loved her despite her faults.

Susan wasn't one for kind comforting words but the last words you heard made you smile, It took you dying to hear those words but it was nice.

You died with a smile on your face, You died saving someone dear to you, Saving her life at the expense of your own.

And that foolish, selfless, and love filled act of yours gave you a shiny Halo and a spot with Sir Pentious.

Good evening everyone! Thank you for tuning in! I hope you enjoyed this, I may have teared up while writing, I got one more request to go before I'm finished with all of em' so feel free to send in a request, I enjoy writing these!

have a wonderful night folks!