#thinking about offering some comms here maybe

[blade-that-was-broken]

@endlesspaint

[b33zlebubz]

RECKLESS ABANDON--------

CHAPTER EIGHT - campfire stories

TASK FORCE 141 X READER (PLATONIC)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || AO3 LINK || NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, slow burn found family, PTSD, trauma bonding, kidnapping, reader is a foster kid in high school, family drama, blood, violence, guns

"After your life falls apart at the seams very early on, you work hard to keep the small amount of peace you still have. Foster care is rough, work is draining, school is a drag...but you eventually find yourself in a good place. All of that quickly goes to waste, however, when your family's unfinished business finally finds its way back to you."

By the time Ghost finds solid shelter, it's snowing.

You're in and out of consciousness the whole time he's walking, your mind fuzzy to the point where you're not sure how far Ghost treks from the lake you fell into.  His breathing, steady footsteps, and the feeling of his heartbeat thudding underneath where your freezing hands clutch around his thermal jacket help ease the cold, stubborn hold of panic on your mind.  Price checks in on you both occasionally as well, sounding frazzled as he rants to Ghost about the shitshow that was everything that's happened through the comms.  With the adrenaline gone, you're exhausted and freezing, and it feels like your heartbeat is pounding in your head as you drift in and out of sleep.

But he does find somewhere safe eventually; setting up a small camp under a small ridge in the forest to ensure you both won't be spotted by the helicopters and planes that buzz above.  You think, maybe, he doesn't realize he's doing it, but Ghost says the name of each aircraft that passes under his breath.  He does it enough that you're able to identify some of them on your own by the volume of the buzzing in the distance.

“Graves likes his F-16s,” you mutter after one passes overhead, and you smile smugly as he pauses in cleaning your head wound.  He huffs a breath, shaking his head at your antics.

“Smart kid.”

He gathers enough firewood around the area to last you the night and sets out his mask to dry whenever the fire's started; and it's then you notice the trail of blood that speckles the snow with his uneven footsteps.

"You're bleeding," you say, your voice still quiet and unsteady as he curses and fiddles with his lighter that doesn't seem to want to light.  

"S'fine," he breathes.  His hair is starting to freeze to his forehead—and the eye black on his face is smudged to hell across his crooked nose and on the gloves of his hands.  He covers the lighter with his hand to block the breeze that carries snow into your shelter.  "Just a graze.  It can wait."

Still, his lighter doesn't light.

Slowly, you shift your pack off of your shoulders.  You dig around inside it until your hands come into contact with cold metal, and you take it out.  

"Here," you flick your dad's lighter to show him it works, emitting yellow light that spans across your face before you shut it again and offer it to him.  "This one works."

He grunts his appreciation before taking the lighter.  Then, his brow furrows.  He doesn't immediately reach to light the fire, suddenly interested by the small device in his hand.  You watch as he turns it over.  He studies what's scratched into the bottom as something flickers in his eyes—confusion, maybe.  When he looks up at you again, you can't read his expression.

"Mutt," he says, slowly.  He holds the lighter up.  "Where'd you get this?"

Your brow pinches at his almost accusatory tone. 

"Dad had it," you tell him.  "Why?"

His eyes flicker back down to the piece of metal.  He flicks it open and presses the small flame to the tent of sticks and evergreen needles.  He doesn't answer, not right away, and it's impossible to tell what he's thinking as he successfully lights the fire before flicking the cap shut and sliding it into his pocket.  He doesn’t meet your gaze.

Your mouth opens to protest, but it shuts again as a small realization crosses your mind.  Your eyes widen as you come to the only conclusion you can even fathom—and even still, it's hard to believe.

"It's your's," you say slowly, searching his expression for any hint of emotion other than practiced indifference.  "Isn't it?"

He grunts, finally settling to sit.  He lifts his leg to inspect the bloody rip in his tactical pants, "It was.”

“So you're Riley?"

"I'm Ghost."

"That doesn't answer my question."

“Then Riley's dead," he deadpans.  "You happy?"

“No.  Far from it.  Why does my dad have his lighter?  Did he steal it?  Or—holy shit—" Your eyebrows raise at the realization.  "Is Riley my mom?"

He huffs, “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Because nobody gives me answers,” you retort quickly.

A stare down commences.  Ghost’s eyes narrow at you, but he doesn’t have a response.  Then, he just shakes his head and continues his work.  He pulls his pant leg up and takes a knife from his belt, testing the grip in his hand.

“Turn around.  Go to sleep,” he tells you.  He grabs his mask from the side of the fire and slides it back on, causing his voice to be more muffled when he speaks.  “Gotta take the bullet out and I don’t want you watching.  You've seen enough today as is."

You're about to argue, but you fall short.  Your head hurts too bad to think of a proper response.  A huff leaves you before you roll over—pulling the thick S.A.S. coat he had lent you further over your shoulders.  It's still damp, but it's enough to quell your incessant shivering for the time being.

It's silent aside for the crackle of the fire and the sounds of Ghost performing impromptu surgery on his own leg.  Another surge of contempt fills you whenever he doesn't make so much as a grunt.  You envy his pain tolerance.  

You also can't sleep. 

It feels like all the mental progress you made recovering after the other week has been shattered and stomped on.  At this point, you're unsure if your shivering is due to the cold or not, because you can't help but flinch every time another aircraft flies overhead or when the fire makes a particularly loud pop.  Every time you drift off it's like you're falling through the air again, and you flinch awake.

It's the sound of Ghost cocking his gun after he's stitched himself up that does you in.

You jump upright, your breath gasping as you scan the area for danger.  Your eyes land on nothing except Ghost sitting at the other end of your shelter with his gun in hand, and you let out a breath.

"Fucking…don't do that again," you hate the way your voice cracks as you speak.  You roll over, facing the wall again.  This time, you're sure you're shaking from anxiety rather than the cold.

You feel his eyes on you, as you lay there; studying you.  You count the seconds, waiting for him to grunt and move outside to keep watch.  Outside, the breeze howls against the overhang, bringing powdery snow with it that stirs your blanket.  The fire cracks and you desperately want to turn over to warm your hands and your face; but you don’t.

Then, he sighs.  "Fuckin' hell…"

You hear him shift.  Suddenly, he's near you—sitting by your feet with his elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the fire.  There's a bloody bandage around his leg, now, and his gloves are gone, leaving his hands stained with his own blood.  He scratches at the back of his neck as a few moments of silence pass and he seems to be hesitant about something.

Then, after a handful of minutes, he speaks.

“I was there,” he admits. “In Mexico.”

Your eyes open, but you don't look at him.

"He was already there when I showed up.  At that…cartel base.  Got the shit beat out of us together, you know."  He huffs a breath like he might almost be nostalgic for it.  "Hard to forget the man who was forced to bury you."

The fire crackles to your right and you clutch the jacket over your shoulders a little tighter.

"I don't know how much Price told you, but…he had this journal with 'em.  Would always talk about some kid.  Kept 'em going, I think.  Could go longer without beggin' for mercy like the rest of us…and it gave him the courage to try and escape, too."

Another pause.  The wind whistles over the overhang.  When he speaks next, his tone is grave.  Solemn.

"He set that place ablaze with the lighter I lent 'em," Ghost says.  "But he got stuck, told me to run.  I almost didn't…but he told me he wanted someone he trusted alive to keep an eye out for you.  Told me to look for you if he disappeared one day."

You let his words hang in the air for a second.  You don't realize you've been crying until your voice wavers when you speak.

"He didn't die that day," you mutter.

"He didn't," Ghost nods in agreement, his gaze still locked on the fire.  "And when he did go down, here in Russia, and Price came to me with this mission—I figured this was the perfect opportunity to return the favor for saving my life n' all.  'Tried to convince Price to keep you out of this, made him promise you wouldn't end up dead, but…'guess I should've tried a little harder, eh?"

Suddenly, Price's words from earlier that day make sense—and you rethink every interaction you've had with Ghost up until this point.  His subtle avoidance, his hesitancy when you first met, sparring in the training room…the irony of it all.  The first person you've met so far that knew your dad personally—and the only one you were scared shitless of.

You sniff and wipe at your face.

"You guys are the closest thing to answers I've gotten since he left," you say, meeting his gaze.  "So no, I'm glad I met you.  I'm glad I stayed.  Even if you are all assholes."

A moment passes where you both just look at each other.  He's even harder to read under his mask, and you think he's about to say something before Soap's voice cuts through the comms.

"L.t."

You sit up, holding your breath.  Ghost places his hand on the button to speak immediately,  "Soap."

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

A head with a mohawk pokes itself around the side of the cave, smiling as he continues to talk into the comms, “You’re favorite boy.”

Relief hits your body so hard you physically sigh, letting your head fall forwards into your hands at the thought of being saved.  Your previous conversation forgotten, Ghost chuckles, shaking his head before he stands to his feet.  “Took you long enough.”

@brokenpieces-72 @warenai @karurururu @pertinentpostmortem @kaoyamamegami @hayleybarnesx @nostalgialeech @scuftryo @0alk0msan @synthe4u @stunkbiggu @bebobeboben @enfppixie @lyd14k4y @tlkonthestr33t @raye2000 @shinchanboi @orkwardx0

[writingtraumaforever]

Uncontrolled Chaos: Chapter 30

Notes: Sorry if this sucks and isn’t my best but my brain is going brrr right now because IM SEEING THE MOVIE TOMORROW AHH—

Summary: Shadow receives one too many alerts for his liking..

UC Masterpost!

Link to my AO3!

Start:

“Did you hear that??”

“I absolutely did.”

Shadow eyes are wide on his wrist, slowly lifting his wrist to pull his glove up just enough to reveal the watch underneath.

The ‘no signal’ symbol at the top has changed to one bar. From red to green. His lips part with a small gasp, immediately holding the watch to his face and pressing the button on the side to speak.

“Tails??? Tails, do you copy???”

More static.

The Tails from this world perks up at the sound of his name, turning his attention from Knuckles and the others back to Shadow and Rouge who are staring at Shadow’s watch..

“You say something, Shadow??”

Shadow ignores him, trying again to press down the button and speak, “Tails??? Tails, come in, this is Shadow!”

Releases the button. More static..

He frowns and tries to swipe his finger along the screen of the watch for other options. He turns on his distress signal, hoping to have his location somehow locked on— but the watch informs him of an ‘error’ and doesn’t connect. Instead, he switches over to vitals. All Amy, Knuckle, Tails and Sonic are connected. They must all be together, he assumes—

Until Sonic’s vitals suddenly go high and a distress signal alerts across the screen.

Shadow’s heart drops.

Switching back to the communicator, he presses the button down and tries again, “Tails!! Tails! Answer me! Where’s Sonic?!”

“I’m right here!” Sonic answers with a curious quirk of his brow as he waltzes over to Shads; Amy, Knuckles and Tails following behind with equal amounts of confusion in their eyes, “Dude, you good??”

“Not you!” Shadow snaps out of panic, staring at the one green signal bar at the top of the tiny screen, “Sonic—my Sonic!”

“Huh???” Sonic’s eyes widen, it finally clicking what’s happening, “You’re communicating with them???”

“No exactly,” shadow mutters a bit hurriedly, tapping on his screen to switch back to vitals and look at Sonic’s again— still high. Still distressed. Why is he the only one distressed?? Is no one else with him??? Just as he thinks it, Amy’s heart rate starts to pick up on the screen..

His communicator beeps for an incoming message, Shadow instantly switching back to the comms screen.

“Shadow?? Shadow, can you hear me??”

“Is he able to— *krrrrch* —it??”

There’s two voices now. Shadow recognizes them as Tails and Knuckles immediately.

“*Krrrsh* —don’t know. It says he’s receivi— *krrrrch* —ou can hear us, send us a sign— *krrrshh*”

Shadow feels panicked. Rushed. Worried. His mind blanks, only able to think about his Sonic’s distress signal and not much else as he turns to the others with desperate eyes, “Help me send them a signal!”

“On it!” Tails jumps into action, moving to grab some tools from his workbench, “We don’t have a chaos emerald to power this thing enough to traverse time and space and communicate properly,” the kit explains, the others looming over him to watch as he works.

Sonic’s hand reaches without thought to rest on Shadow’s back, Shadow not taking notice but Sonic’s eyes are watching him. How scared he looks. How worried. It’s like nothing else in the world exists anymore, Shads’ full focus being on that watch.

“But maybe I can put enough juice in it to send them a signal of some sort—“

“We have a locations setting,” Shadow quickly offers, already taking his watch off to hand over to Tails, “Perhaps we can send them a quick enough signal to let them see it turn on then off??”

“That could work,” Tails nods, already opening the back of the watch with a tiny screwdriver. Tails is immediately intrigued by how similar yet different the schematics of the watch are on the inside, becoming temporarily overwhelmed. His need to dig and investigate and study takes over for only a moment before he takes a deep breath and gathers himself.

Not now. Nerd out later.

Locking back onto the task at hand, he reaches for a couple of tiny wires in his toolbox and begins attaching them to the inside of the watch, “We need a power source.”

“Will this work???” Shadow asks, pulling the fake emerald from his quills.

“That’s what got us into this mess!” Knuckles argues immediately as though the very thought of using the gem again is outrageous.

Tails grabs it without a second thought—

“Yup.”

“What!?”

Tails ignores Knuckles’ protesting, hooking the gem up immediately by attaching the wires with little sticky pads of some sort—

“Alright, let’s light this candle,” Tails says, passing the open watch carefully back to Shadow. Shadow nods and swipes back to the locator screen. He taps the ‘send location’ button. Error. He tries again. Another error.

“It’s not working,” Shadow growls out in frustration.

“Keep trying, it might take a second,” Tails replies, brows knitting as he watches Shadow repeatedly receive the error sign on the watch.

Shadow’s brows are knit tight, eyes panicked and mind racing with what could be happening. Why is Sonic’s distress signal being sent out??? Is no one with him?? He assumes Amy is since her own vitals are going up, but why is Sonic the one hurt??? That dumb idiot better not have gotten himself hurt pulling the sacrifice card—

The watch flashes green, locations turned on for a split moment and sending to all retrieving devices. And then it shuts off, losing signal again.

Shadow’s eyes widen, hoping it was enough for Tails to see and realize it’s him trying to contact them.

Switching back to the comms, he hears Knuckles speaking in the background of the staticky message,

“Did you see that?? His— *krrrch*”

“Hold on, Knuckles! I can only deal with one thing at a— *krrrch*”

“—deal with Sonic. You focus on getting that signal strong— *krrrch*”

The mention of ‘dealing with Sonic’ makes Shadow’s chest ache uncomfortably. Makes bile rise in his throat, burning when he swallows it down hard and holds the communicator up to speak again, “Tails! Tails, I’m here! Can you hear me???”

More static.

Shadow groans in frustration, his eyes shimmering red at the annoyance and anxiety all this is causing him.

“Damnit!” he yells, slamming his fist on the table when the signal reads red again and the green bars go away..

Everyone watches him in silence, unsure of how to comfort him or respond to what the heck just happened..

“…Shadow?” Sonic’s voice comes behind him, quiet and gentle as a gloved hand rests on his shoulder.

Shadow doesn’t respond. Just stares at the watch with gritted teeth, newfound determination rising inside him as he takes a breath and closes his eyes. He needs to control his emotions.. he can’t lose control now. Not here..

When he opens them again, the red glow is gone. He turns to look to Tails now, handing him the watch, “We need emeralds.”

“Yes,” Tails confirms with a hesitant nod, slowly taking the watch from him.

“Then let’s not waste anymore time,” he grunts, turning towards the others, “Tails, stay here get that signal back up..”

Sonic’s brows are knitted up, watching Shadow with concern and empathy clear on his face. But Shadow doesn’t look at him. He won’t look at him, Sonic notices. His eyes go right over him as if to avoid him, in fact. It makes something inside him burn, something worried and pained. Like loss.

“Rouge and I can go to Eggman’s Lair to retrieve any information we can find on the Time Eater and how Eggman managed to use its powers to hop through time and space. Knuckles, Sonic and Amy?? Find the emeralds. I don’t care how, just do it.”

“We can use the chaos energy reader??” Amy suggests, not questioning Shadow’s wishes a single time. And Sonic notices how she moves to rest a reassuring hand on Shadow’s arm. Like she knows something..

“Tails, you have two at the ready, right??”

“Yeah, if you count the one attached to the Tornado,” the fox says with a rub to the back of his neck.

“I can fly it,” Sonic assures, “I may be a little rusty, but I can do it.”

“You’re sure??” Tails frowns, eyeing his brother a bit nervously.

“I was flying that thing when you were still in diapers, pal,” Sonic smirks with a thumbs up, “I’ll figure it out.”

Tails hums a moment, seeming a bit reluctant to let Sonic take his baby like that before he eventually nods since he doesn’t have much of a choice, “Alright. You and Amy take the Tornado. She’s a good co-pilot,” Tails assures, looking to Amy who nods in response. She’s learned a lot sitting in the backseat on their adventures. He trusts her more than most with his plane at this point.

“I’ll take the handheld reader and search the zones,” Knuckles adds, “Between that and being able to naturally sense the chaos energy, I should be able to pick up on something.”

“Good,” Shadow nods, looking at the echidna before looking at the others— except Sonic. He once again lets his gaze jump right over Sonic.

Sonic sighs a bit at this, glancing to Amy who is still holding onto Shadow’s arm. Shadow is even leaning into her a little now.

Oh yeah. He’s gonna interrogate the shit out of her on this flight.

“Alright, gang,” Sonic throws on his signature confident smirk, amplifying the positivity and spirit of the group with that alone. Faking his happy-go-lucky attitude or not, it works. They all look to him for hope, and he never fails to give it,

“Let’s show this Shadow how Mobius 1.0 gets things done!”

“Yeah!” They all cheer in unison and oh man it’s so nice to have everyone together again..

Tails grabs the handheld reader for Knuckles, making sure it’s working properly before handing it off to him. Knuckles leaves immediately for his search, only pausing to take Rouge by her elbow and have her look him in the eye with a very intimate “Be safe” to which she smirked and replied “Too boring.” He just smirked right back and headed out.

Amy and Sonic load up in the Tornado, Sonic taking a few minutes to re-familiarize himself with the controls but after looking it all over, he’s confident he’s got this no problem. It’s his plane he built after all. New tech or not, the mechanics are still the same for the most part.

Shadow walks to Rouge, about to run over some infiltration plans with the bat only for her to pause him with a hand on his chest.

“Hold up there, Hot Topic.”

Shadow quirks a brow at her, “We don’t have time to hold up—“

“But you have time to tell him bye,” Rouge says simply, her eyes looking at Shadow’s knowingly..

Shadow’s brows knit a bit at this..

She knows..

“…You may not be my Shadow, but you’re still Shadow,” she smirks with a shrug, “And I know when you care for someone..”

Shadow sighs a bit at this, glancing over to Sonic who is letting Amy explain how the chaos energy reader works..

After a moment, he approaches the two, walking up to the ladder to the plane and climbing up two steps before leaning against the side of it and looking at Sonic.

Sonic’s eyes shift to his.

Finally, he thinks..

What he sees throws him off. How vulnerable Shadow looks. How shaken up..

He knows this Shadow has a very much different and closer relationship with his Sonic than his own Shadow does with him, but to see it all firsthand..? To see how triggered Shadow has gotten over his Sonic potentially being in danger..? It’s.. jolting, honestly.

“…Be careful,” Shadow says quiet but stern, “I’ve already got one Sonic to be worrying about, I don’t need two.”

Sonic smiles a bit at this, “You got it, buddy. Not a single quill on my precious head will be out of place by the time I get back.”

Shadow smirks slightly at this, but the worry in his eyes is still very present..

Sonic sighs a bit at this and offers, “He’s gonna be okay.. I’m sure he just ran into some trouble. But he’ll be fine. Any version of myself can handle anything life throws at him..”

Shadow chuckles breathily at this, “…You have no idea.”

“I think I do, actually,” Sonic smirks with a wink, Shadow smiling a bit more at that.

“…Yeah, you do, don’t you..”

They share a silent and knowing look for a few more moments before Shadow begins climbing back down with a ‘hmph’.

“Just be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks mom,” Sonic teases to which Shadow rolls his eyes.

He better be safe..

Or Shadow will just have to kill him.

[heademptie]

Ghoap x Comms!Reader continued...

Reader avoids Ghost as much as they can, not wanting to stir things up more than they already have, but they're only successful because Ghost allows it. And Ghost only allows it so he can better observe them. He's tried pulling strings, using his rank and reputation to try and find out more about reader. But it comes up short. He gets access to their file, but its all fluff inside, lots of it confidential or just blank. Their name isnt even on the file, just the callsign (to keep reader anonymous) Laswell gave out. He asked her too, but she didn't have the answers he wanted.

"Tell me about them." "Not much to tell, I'm afraid. Why? You think they're a threat?" "Don't know yet." "Should I be worried, Ghost?" He pauses, thinking it over. But Laswell knows well enough, that if there was a threat, Ghost wouldn't hesitate. So she sighs and hands over the lackluster file. "They work behind the scenes, no field record. They were brought here-" Her voice drowns out with information Ghost already knows, the extent of Laswells knowledge on the matter. On first glance the file looks fine, personal information left blank or blacked out, a brief service record. Nothing in the field, like Laswell said, but a few listings for assistence with signal decoding. But most of their work is as a mundane office drone, 'A temp,' Ghost thinks amused.

So he skulks around base and observes.

Johnny is confused. He's been able to read Ghost for some time now, their connection and dynamic so intertwined, so in tune with each other, thriving since Las Almas. He notices almost immediately, the sudden hostility and caution Ghost displays on base, it takes him a bit longer to find the target.

He tries to ask outright, of course he does because why wouldn't Ghost talk to him, but he gets shut down. A gruff response. "Don't know what you're talking about Johnny."

Soap pushes, of course, but he gets repeatedly shut out. He moaps a bit, like a kicked puppy, before he catches on to who has made Ghost like this. He's surprised when he cathes the critical look of Ghost when Reader walks by, and he doesnt miss the quick glance they flick over Ghost. Then that glance jumps to him and reader gives a small smile and nod, one that looks a little too nervous to be oblivious to Ghost's scrutiny.

So he finds them the next evening, Reader is leaving tomorrow, going back to wherever they were before, so they went out for a drink. He slides up next to them easily, and gives a bright, syrup sweet smile to ease into things. Reader is a bit tense to begin with but relaxs just a bit once conversation starts. Soap starts slow and vague, idle chat morphing into talking about readers time on base before eventually reaching his desired point of discussion.

Immediately, the mood shifts. Reader is subtle with it, smile becoming a little tighter at the corners, and eyes scanning over him with an increased intensity. They play dumb, not lying to him but repeating his words, asking thier own questions, faux confusion furrowing their brows.

'They're good at this,' Johnny thinks as reader gives another vague answer, easing him in the direction to make a false assmunption. He's not mad, a little annoyed, but mostly he thinks that they're clever. 'Maybe this is why Simon is suspicious,' reader is still on guard, but as Johnny relaxes into the back and forth, so do they. Its like a game now. 'A simple desk worker shouldn't be this good'.

The night comes to an end and Johnny insists on walking them back to base. He'll bring it up to Ghost again, mention how reader easily navigated the pseudo interrorgation, get him to talk. Its on the walk back that reader looks over to Soap, eyes kind yet critical and sighs. He looks over and reader offers a smile. Theres something in that smile he doesnt have the chance to decipher before they've caught him off guard.

"It's his business to tell you what's going on. I don't want to step on any more toes, especially since im out of here in a few hours."

Soap goes to ask more, opens his mouth, ready to launch into his questions, eager to finally get answers. But they put a hand on his shoulder and he falters.

"But for gods sake just tell him already."

He's confused, but the look they give speaks volumes. Oh. Oh. Johnny understands now. The hostility, the caution, the observation. Just as they saw through Johnny and cupped his weakness in their gentle hold, they had done the same to Simon.

Oh. This is...

Reader is gone the next day, as was expected, but Ghost is only slighty eased, and Soap finds himself a little on edge. It's not till weeks later, with readers voice nagging at him with that kind exasperation, that Soap (a little liquored up) is in Ghosts barrack.

They're shouting at each other, fear turning into misplaced anger before it goes quiet in the small room. They're both breathing heavy, Ghost, Simon in this moment, breaks it.

"I'll kill anyone who hurts you. And I'd be pleased to." He follows closely, closing the gap until uncovered hands grasp Johnny's face, as gentle as Simon can manage. "If you're mine, no one, no one, can touch you." Johnny is thrilled.

As the sun rises, the two are twisted together in the sheets of Ghosts too small bed, Johnny wears a tooth rotting smile. They think, seperately, offhandedly, that they really should thank that too clever reader.

[uwingdispatch]

From the Very First Night

From the Very First Night

Notes: Ezra Bridger/Reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, post-rebellion/post-war, hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader

CW: light discussion of past traumas/implied PTSD

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

The day you met Ezra Bridger you laughed when he told you his name. 

“Forgive me,” you told him, “but you’re not the first man on Lothal to try and pick me up while claiming to be the guy in the mural on the wall outside.”

“Well that’s new,” he said. “I tell you my full government name and you think it’s a ruse. Maybe I should have used one of my old aliases.”  

You’d been finishing up some work in what had come to be your favorite caf bar in town, a few blocks from your home on Lothal. And you were thinking about leaving when a man approached with a look in his eyes that, on another day, might have prompted you to pick up your comms and fake an emergency call from a friend.

But now he was reaching for his wallet, pulling out an ID. “You can check my chain code if you want. I didn’t realize I had so many doppelgängers.”  

You quirked an eyebrow. None of the other “Ezras” you’d met had offered ID but, as soon as you saw it, you felt heat rush to your cheeks. “Okay,” you said. “This is embarrassing. ”

He smiled warmly as he put his wallet away. “To be fair, most of the stuff in town depicts me as a kid, and I didn’t have this handsome beard back then. But I can appreciate a skeptic.”

You put away your datapad, your instincts still split between staying where you were and running out the side door. Surprising yourself, you say, “But I’m not hearing you say that you're not trying to pick me up.”

“Well…maybe. That depends, I guess, on whether you mind if I join you.”

You nodded, and he sat opposite you, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling when he smiled. Up close, you could almost see the teenage boy from the mural. But his hair was longer, dark curls falling soft around his face, and he had a short beard that he did wear quite well.

You wondered if his nerves had caught up with him as he ran a hand through his hair, the late afternoon light coming in through the window catching a streak of silver at his temple.

“Sometimes it feels like I know everyone in this city. Or at least that everyone in this city feels like they know me.” he said. “But you’re new, aren’t you?”

“What gave me away?” you asked.

“Well, I could never forget such a lovely face.” 

“Are you serious right now?”

“I really am.”

There was something sincere about him, despite the flirtations. Something about the way he moved was honest. Welcoming. A server brought him a cup of caf and Ezra exchanged a few words with him in Rodian. 

“So how long have you been in town?” He asked.

“About eight months,” you said. “I just hit this point where I felt like a fresh start might be nice. I don’t usually abandon ship when things get rough, but I thought maybe this one time…I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

He winked. “I used a Jedi mind trick.” 

“Right,” you said, fairly certain he was kidding.

He shrugged. “And somehow you landed on Lothal.”

“I narrowed it down to the places where I’d be able to have my astromech serviced.”

“Must be a special astromech.”

“She’s a therapy droid.”

“Ah,” he said. “There are several mechanics in Capital City who work with that program.”

You were a bit taken aback at how unfazed he was at the mention of your therapy droid—issued by the New Republic. Similar programs had been available to injured veterans before, but the civilian program was newer. And he not only knew about the program, but didn’t seem bothered by the fact that you had a condition that required this kind of aid.

“We had a lot of options,” you said. “But Ceetoo and I decided Lothal seemed nice. So…I’m here.” 

“Glad you are,” he said, both hands cupping his caf mug.

“You just met me and the first thing I did was call you a liar.”

“That’s what I like about you.”

A day would come when you’d realize what he meant then. That when you saw him you weren’t thinking about all the war stories, about the way Lothal had memorialized him when they’d thought he was dead. That he had a chance, at least for a moment, to show someone who he was without the burden of their assumptions and expectations. 

You would also come to realize that from the first time Ezra smiled at you, there was no coming back. He had you, melting like chocolate in the palm of his hand. Because he saw you too, like no one else ever had before.

***

It’s late afternoon when C2-B35 comes in from the garage bleeping about the line at the pharmacy. She’d gone with Ezra to pick up your medication after getting your doctor to call in something new for your joint pain. Ezra could have gone by himself but, because of an incident early in your dating history when there’d been a mix-up, Ceetoo almost always insists on going with him—and he learned a long time ago not to fight a stubborn astromech.

Ezra finds you on the sofa where you’ve been trying to relax, the pain in your back making it hard to even lie still. He knows better by now than to tell you that you’ve been working too hard, that you should take more breaks. He knows to help you up, taking you gently into his arms and kissing your hair. By the time he hands you the tablets, you’re already feeling a bit of relief.

You take the medicine and let out a heavy sigh, resting your head on Ezra’s chest before whispering a thank you. 

“I wish I could heal,” he says.

“We still don’t know if that kind of healing would help me,” you say. “Genetic condition.”

It’s a dance you dance every time you have a flare like this, bad enough that Ceetoo insists on contacting your doctor. 

“I met a kid once who could do it. His dad said he could nullify the effects of a neurotoxin. Close a wound like it had never been there at all.”

“What did the kid say about it?”

“The kid doesn’t talk much. Still working through some things, I think.”

He gets quiet, and from the look in his eyes you know that he’s gone somewhere in his mind lost you can’t follow. It’s been 25 years since he last saw his adoptive father, the man who’d trained him in the Force, and there are some wounds that time never quite heals. Ezra is still working through some things, too.

“Hey,” you say. “Come back to me.”

He smiles, his eyes bright as he gently squeezes your arm. “I’m right here, sunshine.” 

The medication starts to hit, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You reach for his face, the sharp line of his bearded jaw, the parallel scars on his left cheek. “Just as you are, you’re enough, Ezra. I don’t need a Jedi. I just need you.”

C2-B35 beeps irritably before retiring to her room, reminding you that you haven’t eaten since breakfast. 

“Thank you, Ceetoo,” you call, with a promise that you’ll have a proper dinner.

“Is it helping?” Ezra asks. “The medicine?”

“It is,” you say. “Finally.”

“Have you really not eaten all day?”

Your face tells him everything. 

“Right,” he says. “Dinner. I could make some quick dumplings? I think I froze some last time to fry later…I’d just have to make the sauce, really.”

He’s up and in the kitchen, pulling jars of spices out of the pantry, and you know he can already taste this comfort dish, and so can you.

So much of his life had been unstable after Ezra’s parents disappeared. He was on his own at such a young age, and then after a few short years in the Rebellion he ended up in exile on Peridea. Now, everything he had felt like a luxury to him: a permanent home, a pair of naughty indoor loth-cats, soft clothes he wore without consideration for armor. He’d told you about learning to cook when he came back to Lothal and, now that he has access to just about any ingredient for any dinner in the galaxy, he has every intention of not only enjoying the luxury of any hot meal he can dream up, but to make sure you enjoy food as well. When Ezra offers to cook, you never say no.

“Ezra?”

“What do you need, love?”

“I need you to kiss me.”

And he does, pulling you up from the sofa, taking your face in his hands as he presses his lips to yours, his neatly trimmed beard soft against your skin. You’re lacing your fingers through his dark curls when he pulls away to look right into your eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whisper.

And he replies, “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.” 

***

It was night before you left the caf bar and, at this realization, Ezra insisted on walking you home. “Unless you don’t feel comfortable with that,” he’d said. “I would understand. It’s just dark out and…”

And something about being with Ezra just made you feel safe. Even on that first night. You’d never let a strange man walk you home before—it was on its face a bad idea. But you’d stayed out much later than you normally would, and the idea of being alone felt far more unsafe than being with this charming man.

“I don’t normally do things like this,” you told him, the words coming out way too fast, just a block from your building.

“I figured,” he said. “For what it’s worth…I haven’t done anything like this in quite a while.

This did surprise you. “Walked someone home?”

There was a playful tone to his voice when he replied, “Approached a beautiful stranger in a caf bar.” 

“You sure are bold for someone who doesn’t regularly…do whatever this is.”

“I just…” he started and paused, taking a breath. “This is going to sound like a line, but I just felt so drawn to you.”

“In the Force?”

“Maybe.”

“It does sound like a line,” you said. “But somehow I believe you. Jedi mind trick?”

“I’d never actually—”

“I know.”

You were both standing outside your door, a cool evening breeze in the air. You took all of him in—his firm chest beneath the deep v of his tunic, his dark hair catching on the wind, those blue eyes that seemed to see right past all of your walls. You’d met this man just a few hours ago but, beyond all reason, you so wanted to—

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, the words falling from his lips as if he hadn’t considered the consequences.

You nodded and he took a step closer, cupping your face in his hands, his nose brushing yours as he leaned in to press the most delicate kiss to your lips. And you felt his smile just as you felt that joy in yourself—a spark of something unlike anything you’d felt before. Maybe it was the Force, but every inch of your being wanted to be close to this man as you reached for his face, drawing him nearer, slipping a hand into his hair as the kiss deepened.

“I should go,” Ezra said, breathless into your ear.

“Why?” you asked.

“I have an appointment.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Then stay.”

Nervously you fumbled with your keys, dropping them not once but twice as you tried to open your door, Ezra eventually placing them steadily into your hand, and just the touch of his fingertips against your palm sent a pleasant shiver through you. Quickly you shooed an alarmed Ceetoo away as you entered. Unlike you, her memories included files from the war, and she recognized Ezra as soon as she saw him. Beeped out something along the lines of this one’s mostly trustworthy and I’m going to charge.

“Mostly?” Ezra said, almost in a whisper. “I wonder what she’s heard.”

You bite back a laugh. “I just need you to know I don’t normally do this either.”

“Okay.”

“I could make some tea.”

“Sure.”

But his arms were around you again and you both stumbled toward the sofa, falling into the cushions wrapped in each other like teenagers, wholly unworried about anything else in the galaxy.

That tea didn’t get made for hours. And it was nearly dawn when you retired to your bedroom and Ezra fell asleep on your sofa, your loth-cat sitting at his feet. When you woke, he was gone, a note left on your kitchen counter: Had to work this morning, but I hope you’ll call me. You traced your finger over the comms code left in scratchy handwriting below, wondering for a split second if this could be real. But if you closed your eyes you could still feel the sensation of his fingertips ghosting over your cheek when you’d handed him a blanket the night before. His voice when he’d whispered in your ear, “Sleep well, sunshine.” 

★★★★★★★★

Thank you so much for reading! They really gave us Hot!Ezra in the Ahsoka series and I'm just here to be a gremlin about it. I hope this fic made you feel seen and loved.

I have a taglist now! Sign up here if you want to be tagged in future fics. (And choose if you only want to be tagged for certain characters.) In the meantime, I’m tagging my taglist as well as some folks who have been reblogging my fics. Love y’all!

@writingbylee @waterpancakeao3 @princessxkenobi @zinzinina @aerynwrites @belfry-bat@phoenixhalliwell @r1-sw-lover @laserbrains @darthanakn @lovedbyth3sun @usernamesarebitches @maul-ologue @operation-spot @writeforfandoms @akgracemk @littlemousedroid @strwrs @saveatruckrideoptimusprime @galaxtic-writings @mintpurplemnm @againstacecilia @elasticreality @zombiedixon89 @forresway @sith-as-heck @alistocats @favficss @themandadolorian @ginger-swag-rapunzel @iamsuchanasshat @vvpoisonous @saradika @islandfrogeery @boba-brasso-bee @groguspawbeans @fluffyprettykitty @mischiefqueer @wretchedmo @wyn-n-tonic @dystopicjumpsuit

[drurrito]

Welcome Aboard

A/N: Cranked out my first fic for Carol. All mistakes are mine.

Pairings: Carol Danvers x Reader

Warnings: A little bit of angst and alcohol use

----------------

Carol never has visitors.

When the boarding request pops up on her communications system, she almost blows it to bits, it's a sound she hasn't heard in years. It takes her a few seconds to finally press the button to speak to whoever is waiting on the other side.

"Who's there?" she finally asks.

"Captain Marvel?" a voice responds, "I'm agent y/n, I'm here from S.A.B.E.R. Our comms are down indefinitely, so Fury sent me over to do a briefing."

Carol looks over at Goose, who's stretched out across the navigation station, unbothered by the news of an unexpected guest. Carol tries to emulate the same attitude, striding over to the door to greet you like she's done this plenty of times. She used to at some point, that has to count for something, right?

She loses her bravado as soon as she finds you standing in the entryway.

"Captain Marvel, it's a pleasure to meet you," you stick your hand out and Carol takes it after a beat too long. You don't take offense, Fury gave you the rundown on how long Carol has been isolated. It only took a few minutes to conclude that being a multi-galactic hero is a lonely job.

Carol doesn't stand around for too long, she hurries into the ship after inviting you in.

"Excuse the mess, been a while since someone's been aboard," she apologizes, tossing a single loose shirt into a hamper in the corner and tidying a pillow that was definitely knocked over by Goose.

"It's no problem, are you ready to start the briefing?"

"Sure, you want a drink or anything? Besides water, I think there's a few bottles of brew from Aladna hiding in the back of the fridge," Carol is already halfway to the kitchen, oblivious to the quizzical look on your face.

"I'm okay, Captain, honest," you flash her a friendly smile, and she feels the air escape her lungs. Her shoulders descend from her ears as she walks over to the chair across from you. You're too busy pulling up the agenda to notice.

Carol gingerly takes a seat, her hands rubbing vigorously against her thighs. She might be the first person to grate their hands on denim jeans at this rate. You're still looking for the agenda when Carol springs up from her seat, "are you sure you're not hungry? I'm so sorry, I should have offered before-"

"Captain?"

"Yes?" Her eyebrows were about to launch into orbit, she was already a few paces away from the kitchen, scraping the farthest corners of her mind for that recipe she learned from a family she helped a few galaxies ago.

"I'm okay, really."

"Right," she hurries over to the chair again and lets her body unceremoniously drop into it, vowing to herself she'll never get up from this spot unless she absolutely needs to. She looks up to see you waiting patiently for her go-ahead. Despite traveling to the furthest edges of the universe, she's never seen anything like the color of your eyes.

She collects herself quickly before saying, "let's get started."

---------------

The briefing was mostly successful. Turns out your agenda was outdated, the correct one must have been wiped out from the surge that knocked out the comms. You had to ad-lib everything that was left out and corrected anything that was no longer relevant. Carol watched you intently the whole time, like the fate of the universe depended on scheduled ship maintenances and admin tasks.

"There's still one thing, it was from a meeting last week," you stand, pacing back and forth trying to jog your memory.

"I'm sure it's in there somewhere, maybe we can take a look with these?" Carol is holding two memory dive devices. You've never had to use them before, but you know everything there is to know about how they work.

"Good idea Captain."

"You can call me Carol, agent, it's alright," she hands you one of the devices.

"Thank you," you just nod and take the device, Carol pretends the way your fingers brushed against hers for a fleeting second didn't just make her spine tingle. She lets you take her bed while she sits in the tattered recliner she's been meaning to get rid of.

----------------

It all happens so fast.

One second you're watching the memory of you sitting in a briefing room with Fury and your colleagues, the next, you're watching Carol's memory of Maria telling her to take Goose.

"The cancer came back."

You can only watch a few more blurs of Carol's memory before you jolt upright. Your body is so tense, all you can do is let out a shuddering breath and a few tears.

"Y/n?" Carol is already by your side, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen."

Her voice is distant, like she's calling to you from the other end of the galaxy in the deepest cave. You're still trying to get your bearings, that was far too much pain packed into what was only seconds with the mind dive.

"Can you look at me? Please?"

She sounds much closer now, you turn to look at her and suddenly remember where you are. Your breath is still unsteady as you wipe the half-dried tears on your cheeks, embarrassed over being reduced to tears.

"That...those were your memories," you finally speak, Carol sighs in relief. Her hands have been hovering between your shoulders and face this whole time, unsure if touching you was the best idea.

"Yeah, they were," she straightens up, taking the device from your hands and tossing both aside.

"I've been trying to remember everything...before, well, everything," Carol starts again, looking at anything but you, "I'm so sorry, if I knew that was going to happen I wouldn't have-"

She's cut off by the feeling of your arms pulling her against you. She almost forgot how much she loves hugs, almost.

Carol returns the favor and wraps her arms around you. You both stay like that for a while. Loss is one of the first lessons a hero learns, but it doesn't mean they're impervious to its effects, especially with how often it happens. Carol is trying to convey how sorry she is with every circle she rubs into your back. You only part when it seems like the dust has finally settled.

"I think I'll take that beer now," you say after heavy sigh. Carol gives you a sympathetic smile before heading to the fridge.

----------------

Carol explains everything that you saw.

She also tells you stories about her life before this one, and her adventures from roaming the galaxies. You did a poor job of trying to stifle your giggling when she mentioned being married to Aladna's prince to resolve a "legal issue." That earned you some side eye and an eventual smirk.

Carol swears she's mostly made peace with everything that happened, but you both know it weighs heavy on her from time to time.

Especially during long stretches of solitude like this one.

Goose saunters over to you and spills over your feet belly-up with a lazy "meow," a prime position for scratches.

"Goose is probably stoked to get scritches from someone other than me," Carol quips into the mouth of her beer.

"I could do this all day," you say without a second thought and Carol's smile reaches her eyes.

"Carol, I want my agent back," Fury chimes in over comms.

"I'll think about it," Carol says coolly as she takes a swig from her beer, you stand up out of habit from hearing Fury's voice.

"He's right, I should probably go, there's going to be million things to do now that comms are back up."

"Of course, let me walk you out," Carol sets her bottle down and leads you to the doorway. Seems like you only walked through there a few minutes ago. Time is playing tricks on you, it seems.

"Stay safe out there," Carol says.

"You too, Carol," you trade smiles, committing hers to memory by the time she pulls you in for a hug.

"Thank you," she whispers, hugging you tighter for a few seconds before finally letting you go.

----------------

"So?" Fury is the first to greet you when you arrive at the station.

"Pretending comms is down just to give her human interaction is kind of evil...yet genius," you shake your head with a smile.

"I know she gets lonely out there, she'll never admit it. This is the least I can do," he shrugs before turning on his heel. He walks a few steps before turning to you again.

"Same time next month, agent y/n?"

"Of course sir."

He gives you a curt nod with a knowing smirk before finally leaving.

[dameronswife]

Summary: Poe makes a trip to Nar Shadda to recruit Nim to the Resistance Word Count: 1,085 Warnings: none apply, except maybe some suggestiveness (flirting and also nar shaddaa is like that) 🫶💜 just finally got a proper fic written out for my new self insert!

~⟡⟡⟡~

Nar Shaddaa was a migraine waiting to happen as far as Poe was concerned; the Smuggler’s Moon was a sprawling city blitzed out with more neon advertisements than Hosnian Prime or Coruscant could dream of, except what Nar Shaddaa had to offer was usually more lewd, evidenced by the third suggestive outline of a Twi’lek woman swaying her hips tantalizingly that he passed.

He really couldn’t believe that this was where Nim Antilles had settled down.

Except, as he shouldered into the cantina Snap said she frequented most, he could believe it. A long time ago, before he ever deserted the navy, Nim had admitted she didn’t just want to live a life as a stunt pilot or a racer, but Poe had seen a thirst for adventure in her eyes that he was all too familiar with, too.

And when you were a pilot, there were only so many legitimate career paths you could make. 

Sneaking into Hutt territory — as little sway as they held nowadays — wasn’t high on the Resistance’s priority list, but when Leia assigned him to go looking for Skywalker, Poe had thought back to the youngest Antilles child. Who better to help find a lost Jedi, than another lost Jedi?

Nim was in the very back of the cantina, pressed up against a back nook like her life depended on it, a bright pink drink in front of her. It didn’t look like she��d touched it at all, so as Poe dropped down in the seat in front of her, he snagged the drink and took a sip, appreciating the brief start of her body before she relaxed slightly at the realization of who he was.

“So,” Poe began, apropos of nothing, “swoop racing, huh?”

The lights of the cantina reflected and bounced off Nim’s dark brown eyes as they narrowed at him, clearly anticipating him to point out the self hypocrisy, but when Poe didn’t say anything further, she leaned forward in her seat. “It pays the bills,” Nim replied guardedly. Poe doubted it paid for much of anything, expensive as Nar Shaddaa could be, especially if you didn’t want to find yourself entangled with any of its numerous gangs. Then, continuing in a mimicry of his tone, “So, the Resistance, huh?”

“Snap comm you before I got here?”

She rolled her eyes. “I keep tabs on my family, and keeping tabs on Snap Wexley usually involves keeping tabs on you. Not that you’re doing a very good job of staying anonymous.” Nim leaned forward abruptly, eyes glittering with curiosity and glee. “You know, you’ve got a reputation on this planet.”

Oh boy. Poe took another much needed sip of his stolen drink. “Yeah?”

“Something about taking down a criminal syndicate at the age of seventeen?” Nim asked. And it didn’t hurt, her bringing it up, because she asked it in a way that made Poe feel like they were sharing an inside joke. It helped that she then smiled and added, “You know most people were just doing their studies at seventeen.”

“You weren’t.” She graduated earlier than most, before throwing herself at the New Republic Flight Academy.

“Neither were you, evidently,” Nim retorted, swiping the glass from his hand with a look of annoyance. “So why are you here, Poe Dameron?”

Poe settled back against his seat. “The Resistance.”

Nim’s face screwed up quizzically. “Organa could’ve sent Snap to ask me to join. Why send you?”

“My pretty face?”

“Poe.”

He held his hands up in supplication. “Okay, okay -” pausing, Poe glanced around. The din of the bar would cover the sound of their conversation, but he still felt uncomfortably exposed. Lowering his voice, he continued, “Leia assigned me to a top secret mission.”

“So you came to Nar Shaddaa full of classified information?”

“I came to you full of classified information,” Poe corrected. “‘Cause I think you could help me, and Leia agrees.”

Nim appraised him for a minute. “You don’t mean with my skills as a pilot.”

Poe smiled apologetically. “Afraid not.”

She huffed a sigh and slumped backwards. “You do remember I have had next to no training, right? I’ve read the texts Luke gave me, but I’m not a Jedi. If you need someone to swing a lightsaber, it’s not going to be me.”

“I don’t need someone to swing a lightsaber,” Poe assured her. “I just need someone who understands the Jedi - and understands Luke.”

Nim lifted her gaze back up to him, the puzzle pieces falling together. “Poe, reading a handful of his Jedi texts doesn’t make me an expert on Luke Skywalker. If you want an expert on Luke Skywalker, look for that friend of Snap’s — Jessika. She’s got a special interest in the guy. Or ask my dad, he fought in a war with Luke. What value am I to the Resistance, or for the search for Skywalker?”

Poe went quiet for a minute. When he spoke again, his tone was quiet but serious. “Everyone has value. Even if you don’t see it or even if you don’t believe me. And I know you Nim, I know you’re someone who doesn’t like turning her back on people in need.” He gave a little shrug. “I think we need you, so I came to ask.”

Her face softened. “That was a very nonanswer,” she said, but there was no acidity behind it.

Poe smiled. “But it was the truth.”

“Leia could’ve sent Snap to say all of that.”

“Like I said. Pretty face.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a lot more than a pretty face.” She tapped her fingers on the table. “When are you heading out?”

“A couple days,” Poe answered. “I figured I’d give you time to think on it.”

Nim’s lips quirked up into a smile, the edges of it cutting into her soft cheeks. “Not gonna apply the pressure to get me to join?”

“What use is that?” Poe asked genuinely.

She shrugged. “It’s how most things work here.”

“Well…it’s not how I operate. And it isn’t how the Resistance operates either.”

Nim rolled her glass between her hands, eyes flitting up past Poe and to the rest of the cantina behind them. Even from across the table, Poe could hear how loudly she was thinking — considering, analyzing. And his heart leapt when he saw resolve bloom behind her eyes. She drained her glass, and sat it down on the table. “Hope you have room for two in your X-Wing, flyboy.”

Poe grinned. “You know it.”

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC (Batfamily)

Birdwatch11 by smilebackwards

Tim hadn’t actually meant to start a popular Batwatch blog.

He hadn’t meant to start a blog at all honestly but by the time he turned eleven he’d accumulated hundreds of pictures of Batman and Robin on his Nikon DSLR and it had just seemed inefficient to go through the trouble of printing them and storing them in a box under his bed when BlogSphere had a perfectly adequate platform.

lost treasure by adelfie

"Dad, I don’t want to do this.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want. This is why we brought you here,” Jack hisses. “So we can get paid.”

Or: When a cozy night out with his parents turns into a night of captivity and torture, Tim is forced to seek protection from his worst nightmare - the Red Hood.

Hey There Demons by hitthedeck

Treating magical threats lightly is never an option, especially when that threat tears holes in realities. To combat this danger, a good hero must remain vigilant and in peak physical condition at all times.

Too bad Red Robin never got that message.

Or, in which even demons can't comprehend why Tim Drake is Like That.

Stranger Things

Tell Me "Don't", So I Can Crawl Back In by KiaraMGrey

When Steve finds himself alone and without friends, following his breakup with Nancy, he decides what he needs is a distraction. Maybe some new friends who don't remind him of the bullshit life he gave up. When he literally runs into Eddie Munson, school drug dealer and self proclaimed freak, an idea begins to form. Who better to show him what life outside popularity can be like, than someone who doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks?

And Eddie? Well, Eddie is just bracing for impact.

Everybody's Friend by AmethystUnarmed

"Hey Harrington,” Eddie calls, as Steve books it to the Beamer.

Steve stops, and is only the slightest bit nervous when he says, “Yeah?”

It almost makes Eddie feel bad.

Almost.

“How’s the character creation going?”

The absolute dread on Steve’s face confirms Eddie's worst fears.

“I... I'm not going to be able to play Thursday.”

God. Dammit.

~~~

Steve's budding friendship with the Hellfire Club hits a few snags and Eddie wonders if all of this was even worth it.

Clone Wars

Standards of Professionality by Trixree

"Are we going to pretend I didn’t just find you fucking your General, vod?” Rex hisses over private-comm.

Cody doesn’t even turn his head to look at him. Rex can hear the smile in Cody’s voice when he replies, “No, because I am not fucking my General, Rex’ika. I am fucking Obi-Wan. We are professionals.”

5 times Cody and Obi-Wan struggled to maintain plausible deniability regarding their affections for one another + 1 time they decidedly Did Not

Shadowhunters

prosper matrimonium by smilebackwards

"Gorgeous, sweet, community-oriented,” Magnus ticks off the positive attributes on his fingers. And he’s sure he’ll find plenty more to like about Alexander Lightwood. “I imagine suitors are beating down his door. Please tell me he’s not actually dating Lorenzo.”

Cat hesitates. “Well, if you’re really interested in Alec, you have interesting timing to say the least.”

“How do you mean?” Magnus asks.

“Alec just put his name in for the prosper matrimonium.”

Or: The disaster with the Circle swings the Clave a little more progressive. And if Magnus wants Alec’s heart, he’s going to have to compete for it

The Umbrella Academy

To Be Where You Are (So Very Far) by bobee

He'd thought he'd seen it all.

Forty-Five years in a wasteland and two weeks saving the world, only to be taken for a year by a man guided by his own self-interest. He'd seen the horrors of what this life has to offer. It's all he's ever seen.

He just hadn't known that there was one out there meant for him.

(or, Number Five, the end of the end of the world, and the start of a new one.)

On My Terms by CivilBores

"I did what you asked,” he tells her. “Now, the briefcase.”

Her eyebrows raise in mock-surprise, red lips curling up her face in a sadistic smile.

“You didn’t think that was all, did you?” she asks.

AU: The Handler gives Five a slightly different deal.

[legacygirlingreen]

"Tag" (A flashback) || Captain Rex x OFC Mae || Clone x OC Week 2025

Pairing: Captain Rex x OC Mae Killough (Bio HERE)

Word Count: 5.7k+

Rating: SFW

Warnings: honestly... can't think of anything. Tooth rotting fluff maybe?"

Author's Note: Day 2, let's go! This is a flash back to Rex's second trip to Pabu in which he spends some quality time with our favorite doctor. I hope this little fluffy moment before the Captain slips into denial over his feelings is a nice reprieve! Thanks again to @clonexocweek for organizing this event! Reminder this all exists within @leenathegreengirl 's Pabu AU! ~ M

Previous work | Chronological Next Work || Masterlist

Echo decided to take a last-minute detour. He couldn’t entirely blame him, though. Aiko had sounded distinctly unsettled over the transmitter, and while the issue might seem trivial to some, Echo wasn’t the type to let things slide. Rex didn’t mind the change of plans. After his first trip to the island, he’d found himself unexpectedly charmed by many things: the temperate climate, the stunning scenery, the peaceful atmosphere. And of course, the captivating doctor—

Ever since his first visit to Pabu, her kindness had quietly lingered in his thoughts. It even found its way into his daily life, hanging around his neck. That little piece of glass she’d given him? He’d never been able to take it off. Something about it just fit. Maybe it was the color, which reminded him of 501 blue. Or maybe it was simply the fact that it was the first gift he’d ever received that had nothing to do with his life as a soldier. Rex wasn’t entirely sure. But one thing was clear: he liked it. And he enjoyed her company even more.

When he’d given her his comm channel, he hadn’t expected her to actually use it. But she did—frequently. And soon enough, he discovered she was just as quick-witted as she was kind. She opened up about the little details of her life, and in turn, he shared his. She vented about long days at work—he couldn’t help but offer a similar complaint, albeit with the unfortunate addition of being shot at. There was something about the way she mixed playful banter with a deep sense of respect that felt refreshing. In her, he found a kindred spirit.

That said, he hadn’t quite found the time to visit again. Despite his best intentions, he’d been pulled into the whirlwind of responsibilities following Senator Organa’s agreement to join their cause. The senator’s connections and resources were proving invaluable in his mission to save as many of his brothers as possible. But all those new opportunities came at a cost: time. Time he didn’t have to spare for trips to distant islands or for the company of pretty doctors, no matter how much he wanted to.

Still, there was something comforting about the thought of her. Even in the midst of his increasingly hectic life, he couldn’t deny the small moments he spent conversing with her over com had become a much-needed reprieve. In her, he’d found more than just someone to talk to. She had become a friend—a rare connection he could hold on to in a world that often felt overwhelmingly solitary.

He couldn’t really fault Echo for insisting on stopping by to check on Aiko. In fact, it gave him a legitimate excuse to see his friend. He didn’t think anyone knew they were on the island, especially since he was able to navigate the streets without Omega’s excited cheers or the familiar presence of their brothers. Echo had made his way back to the house, but Rex knew Mae would likely still be at the clinic. For some reason, her work always seemed endless, as if she never truly left it behind.

The only light in the building came from the office, leaving the main area shrouded in darkness, still and empty. As Rex quietly slipped inside, a wave of uncertainty washed over him. He hoped his presence wouldn’t be unwelcome, but suddenly, he felt… nervous. There was no real reason to be, of course. But something about seeing her in person again felt like a daunting task. Despite having shared much information about him, including the trauma of Umbara—the darkest chapter of their deployments—there was still a certain comfort in communicating across distance. It was easier, less complicated. The idea of standing face-to-face with her again, however, felt weighty, almost overwhelming.

Before he could fully process his own hesitations, the door to the office swung open, and in an instant, panic set in. He instinctively took a step back, heart pounding, but then—chaos.

"Halt, intruder!" came the mechanical shout, followed by a flash of metal. It was AZI. Rex froze. He knew the Kaminonian droid had been assisting Mae, but he hadn’t anticipated being assaulted by a flying heap of circuits and gears, especially not while preparing to knock.

As AZI whizzed past him, Rex ducked instinctively, narrowly avoiding the droid’s enthusiastic attack. His heart raced, but just as he thought things couldn’t get more chaotic, Mae's voice rang out from the office.

“AZI, did you get em’?” Her tone was concerned and slightly frightened. Rex watched as she peaked her head out into the hall. In her arms was a large stick. Soon her eyes settled onto him, shifting from fear to surprise. The droid promptly stopped in midair, hovering awkwardly, as if unsure whether to continue its assault or obey.

Mae’s gaze shifted back to Rex, her lips parting in surprise. “Rex?” Her voice was softer than usual, a little more vulnerable. “What—what are you doing here?”

For a moment, Rex was taken aback by the genuine warmth in her expression. He’d half-expected a more formal greeting, but instead, she looked relieved—as if seeing him was a pleasant, unexpected surprise. The tension that had been tight in his chest loosened just a little.

“I… uh, I- Well Echo was checking on Aiko so I thought I’d give them space, and thought why not come check on how you’ve been…” he explained, his words still a little rushed, but the nervousness in his voice fading with each second he spent in her presence.

Mae blinked, the surprise quickly transforming into a soft, bright smile that lit up her face. “You came all the way here just to check in on me?” She took a step forward, her surprise giving way to an evident happiness, the lines of her face relaxing as she scanned him. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” she admitted, her voice light, almost teasing, but her eyes sparkled with genuine warmth.

Rex wasn’t sure why it made him feel lighter, but it did. The weight that had settled in his chest when he first arrived seemed to lift, replaced by something comforting, something warmer. She was happy to see him. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in the way her voice softened when she spoke.

He scratched the back of his neck, a half-hearted attempt to seem casual. “I know, I didn’t plan on interrupting anything, certainly not scaring you. I just thought it might be better to see you in person instead of just… over a screen or transmission.”

Her smile only widened at that, and she took another step closer, almost closing the distance between them. “Well, I’m glad you did,” she said, her tone gentle and full of sincerity. “It’s a nice surprise.”

Rex didn’t realize how much he’d been hoping for that until the moment it happened. A genuine smile, an unspoken warmth between them. It felt easier, this time, to be here. Standing in the same room. Facing her.

“You’ve been working late?” he asked, gesturing to the office behind her, where the dim light was still on.

Mae nodded, running a hand through her hair, looking a little sheepish. “Yeah, it’s been a long day.” She paused for a second, her smile shifting to something more thoughtful. “I didn’t expect you to drop by like this.”

“I can always come back another time,” Rex started, hesitant, as he thought about the disruption his visit might have caused. “I’m sure Echo will stay for the night—”

“No, don’t be silly.” Mae quickly dismissed his concern with a soft smile. “I was planning to make some caf and settle in for a quiet evening anyway. But… these reports can wait until tomorrow.” She paused, tapping the edge of the stick she’d been holding against the wall, her gaze thoughtful. “It’s not a problem at all.”

Rex hesitated, his voice sincere. “Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you from something important.”

Mae met his eyes, her expression firm and reassuring. “It can wait,” she assured him, setting the stick down and flicking the light switch before stepping into the hall. “So, Echo came to check on Aiko?”

Rex nodded, his brow furrowed in concern. “Yes, he was worried about her. She seems—”

“Stressed?” Mae finished for him, her tone soft, understanding. “She’s been carrying a lot lately. It’s not really my place to get into their business, but I’m glad Echo came. I don’t think anything I could’ve said would’ve eased her mind. Having him here will help.” She paused for a moment, then offered him a smile that was warm, but a little wistful. “That said, maybe we should give them some space... How about a walk by the water?”

Rex considered her suggestion, the idea of spending time with Mae alone weighing on him in unexpected ways. It was already dark by the time they’d reach the shoreline, and the thought of walking down by the ocean with her, when most of the island was silent and asleep, stirred something deep in him. On one hand, it was exactly what he needed—a quiet moment away from everything.

But on the other hand, the solitude of the night brought a kind of vulnerability he wasn’t used to. Being with her felt like a balance between longing and caution, the kind of tension that made him feel both alive and uneasy. He could already imagine the silence between them, the gentle rush of the waves in the background, and how they might both slip into that unspoken intimacy without the distractions of the world around them. His pulse quickened, both excited by the prospect of being alone with her and apprehensive about how easily things could shift. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for whatever might come of it, but the pull to be with her was undeniable.

He glanced at Mae, trying to gauge if she felt the same way. Her expression was relaxed, almost expectant, as though this wasn’t a big deal for her. She seemed so at ease with the whole idea, which made Rex’s apprehension all the more pronounced. He wasn’t used to letting down his guard so easily, especially not with someone he was starting to care about in ways he couldn’t fully understand.

"I guess a walk could be nice," he said, his voice a little rougher than he'd intended. "Quiet, though. Just... the ocean and us." His words hung in the air, and for a moment, he wondered if he had sounded too eager or too uncertain.

Mae smiled at him, and for a second, it was as if the world outside of them didn’t matter. Her eyes held a spark of something—curiosity, maybe, or maybe it was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite read. "Sounds nice," she replied softly, her gaze meeting his brown eyes with a knowing warmth that made his chest tighten. 

He felt a little foolish for worrying at all. This was just a walk. But as he stood there, facing her, the anticipation of it—the closeness they would share—felt like something more. The tension between them was palpable now, even if it wasn’t acknowledged out loud. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little excited. Despite the uncertainty that simmered beneath the surface, something about being with her felt like it might be exactly what he needed.

"Alright then," Rex said, managing a half-smile, even as his heart picked up its pace. "Let’s go."

As they walked toward the path leading down to the water, the sound of the waves growing louder with each step, Rex’s thoughts settled into a strange, quiet place. This was uncharted territory for him. But for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t afraid to see where it might lead.

They fell into step beside each other, the soft crunch of sand beneath their feet the only sound accompanying their walk. The night air was cool, and a faint breeze ruffled the edges of Mae’s hair, the strands catching in the low light of the moon. Rex found himself stealing glances at her—at the way she moved, so effortlessly calm, as though she had all the time in the world. The silence between them was comfortable, but Rex could feel the weight of the moments stretching out in front of him.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The ocean waves lapped at the shore, rhythmic and soothing, and Rex’s thoughts wandered. He couldn’t deny the pull he felt, how he was drawn to her with every step they took closer to the water.

But still, there was something unsettling about it all—the quiet, the intimacy of the walk, the way his heart kept picking up speed every time Mae’s gaze flickered toward him. He wanted to say something, to break the tension, but his mind stumbled over the words. The idea of being with her felt like it could tip into something more, something he wasn’t sure he was ready for, and that uncertainty gnawed at him.

Mae must’ve sensed his internal struggle. Without looking at him, she spoke, her voice soft and even, as though she were testing the waters. "You know, I think sometimes we forget how much we need moments like this. Just… time to breathe."

Rex nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah. It’s easy to forget, with everything going on. But... this feels different, in a good way."

Her eyes met his then, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. "I’m glad."

The words were simple, but they settled over him like a warm blanket. Despite the apprehension swirling in his chest, something in her smile made him feel… seen. Not just for who he was in the moment, but for all the things he had buried under layers of stress and distance. He felt a shift then—like the weight of the world had lifted just a little. Maybe he didn’t need to figure everything out all at once. Maybe he didn’t have to have all the answers. Tonight wasn’t about solving anything. It was just about being. 

A soft laugh escaped him before he could stop it, surprising himself. "Funny. I’ve been running around trying to fix everything, and all I needed was this." He gestured around them, toward the night sky, the quiet beach, and most of all, her.

Mae’s smile widened at that, her eyes softening with something that almost looked like understanding. "Sometimes, all we need is to stop running. Let ourselves just… be."

They walked in silence again, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind this time. It was a silence that felt easy, the kind you shared with someone when you didn’t need words to fill the space between you. For the first time in what felt like forever, Rex let himself relax, the weight of his thoughts drifting away as they walked side by side.

The night stretched out before them, vast and full of possibilities, and in this moment, Rex found himself wondering if he was ready to stop running from whatever this—whatever they—could be.

Rex took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs in a way that was both calming and grounding. The sound of the ocean seemed to match the rhythm of his thoughts, steady and soothing. Mae was walking beside him, and for the first time in a while, he allowed himself to let go of the constant hum of responsibility that usually occupied his mind.

Still, there was a nervous energy inside him, an unease that didn’t quite dissipate. His heart would pick up speed every time their shoulders brushed, every time her gaze flickered toward him. He wanted to fill the space with words, something to lighten the tension, but he couldn’t find the right thing to say. The quiet between them felt more intimate than it should have, and yet, it was strangely comforting.

Mae seemed to sense his internal struggle again. She glanced at him, her expression a little softer this time. “You ever notice how the hardest part isn’t even the work or the responsibilities? It’s just... giving yourself a break, actually letting yourself take it.”

Rex let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that. We’re so used to running, we forget how to walk... slow down.”

She smiled, the kind of smile that made him feel like she really understood. He glanced over at her, hesitant, but then something in him shifted. Maybe it was the weight of the evening, the stillness, the way the stars seemed to blink down at them like silent witnesses. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t pressing him to open up, just walking beside him, letting him take his time.

He decided to give it a shot, let a little of the tension in his chest slip out.

“I remember something from my time in the war,” Rex began, his voice casual, as if he were talking about an old story. He couldn’t help the way the past sometimes resurfaced when he least expected it. “We’d been stuck in this remote outpost for days. No real breaks, no downtime. Just... constant motion. You’d think it’d be a bad thing, right? But one night, the whole unit got permission to just... sit by the fire. No orders, no targets, nothing but the fire and the night.”

Mae’s gaze softened, her full attention on him now. “That sounds rare.”

“It was,” Rex said with a nod. “We were used to working at full speed, and then, for once, we were told to take a breath. And I’ll tell you, it felt strange at first. Like I didn’t know how to just... exist. You’re so used to going all the time that the quiet, when it hits, feels like something you have to fight against.”

Mae’s brow furrowed a little, curiosity piqued. “What did you do?”

Rex smirked slightly. “Well, we sat there. No one said anything for a long time. Then one of the guys pulled out a radio. I don’t know where it came from—they weren’t allowed in the field. But he started playing the long range clone broadcast, and the rest of us just listened to whatever songs play, just laughing and talking, forgetting about the war for a bit.” He let out a small, almost surprised laugh at the memory. “We weren’t in combat, we weren’t worried about what was coming next. We were just there. And it felt... good. Really good.”

Mae’s expression softened, and her voice was gentle when she spoke. “Sounds like you needed that. A moment just to... breathe.”

“I did,” Rex said, the smile lingering as he looked at the ocean, as though he could still hear the echoes of that long-forgotten night. 

Mae nodded, her eyes thoughtful. “Me too,”

Her words settled in his chest like a quiet promise. Rex let the silence stretch between them once more, this time without the anxiety he usually carried. He didn’t need to fill it with anything.

After a few moments, Mae broke the silence with a playful smack to his bicep. Before he could even react, she broke into a run, her laughter floating back to him. “Tag, you’re it!” Rex blinked, surprised at the sudden burst of energy. Tag? He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or protest, but he found himself caught up in the playfulness of it all.

Mae was quick—surprisingly quick—but Rex knew he wasn’t going to have much trouble catching her. The sand made it harder to get any real speed, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve.

He started after her, and it wasn’t long before he was closing the gap. Mae’s laughter rang out as she zigzagged through the sand, trying to throw him off. But Rex had been trained for speed. His long legs carried him easily, his body slipping into an effortless rhythm. Mae glanced back over her shoulder, clearly underestimating how fast he could move. “You’re not even trying!” she called, already out of breath.

Rex’s chuckle rumbled through the air, light and teasing. “I’m just warming up.”

Before Mae could even react, he closed the distance in two long strides, his boots kicking up sand as his eyes fixed on her, tracking every movement. He could practically sense the moment she realized how much ground she had lost—the sudden shift in her pace, the hesitation in her step. But it was too late.

In an instant, Rex reached out, his hands sliding effortlessly around her waist from behind. He didn’t even hesitate as he lifted her off the ground. His grip was sure, his arms strong, and in one fluid motion, he had her swept up into his embrace, her feet dangling in midair. It was as if time slowed for just a heartbeat, her body pressed against his with an ease that made her gasp in surprise.

“Gotcha,” Rex murmured, his voice warm with amusement as he looked down at her, his playful grin never wavering. Mae let out a surprised yelp, her laughter blending with her mild shock. The thrill of the chase still thrummed in his chest, his heart beating fast from the rush, but the feel of her in his arms, this close, added a whole new layer to the excitement.

Mae squirmed in his arms, half-laughing, half-annoyed. “No fair! I was winning!” she protested, but her smile was wide, her breath coming in quick bursts as she tried to squirm away.

“You started it,” he teased, his voice low and playful, the thrill of the chase still lingering in the air between them. His heart hammered in his chest, but it wasn’t from exertion. It was something else, something deeper that he couldn’t quite put into words.

Mae gave him a mock pout, the corners of her lips curling in that adorable way he always found irresistible. “You’re a cheater.”

Rex couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face, his gaze softening as he looked down at her. Her words were playful, but there was something else there—something unspoken in her eyes. His grin softened too, just a bit, as he let his thumb trace the outline of her side through the fabric of her shirt.

“I’m just fast. There’s a difference,” he said with a wink, his voice teasing but affectionate. The playful tone lingered between them, but there was a quiet warmth in the air as their gazes met.

Mae’s squirming slowed as she relaxed into his hold, a breathless laugh slipping from her lips. Her hands came to rest lightly against his forearms, her fingers curling slightly in the fabric of his sleeve, as though grounding herself in the moment. “Fine, fine. You win this time,” she said, her voice light, surrendering to the game.

For a moment, Rex held her there, his heart still racing, but his mind slowing down as he took in the feel of her in his arms. She was warm, close, her scent—the soft fragrance of jasmine and something sweeter—clinging to the air between them. He didn’t want to let go just yet.

Slowly, he began to lower her down, his hands lingering on her waist as he gently set her feet back on the sand. But he didn’t release her immediately. He kept her there for a second longer, feeling the steady thrum of her pulse beneath his fingertips, the subtle rhythm that matched his own. It wasn’t just the chase he had won—it was the moment.

When he finally let her go, his fingers lingered for a heartbeat too long before dropping to his sides. He took a slow breath, noticing the faint trace of her perfume still lingering in the air, the scent mixing with the cool night breeze. It made the moment feel even more intimate, a quiet connection between them that neither of them had spoken aloud.

Rex met her gaze, his smile lingering as he stepped back just enough to give her space. “Next time, I’ll let you have a head start,” he teased, but the underlying sincerity in his tone was unmistakable. Something had shifted between them, and he wasn’t sure what it meant, but he didn’t mind.

Mae’s smile softened, her eyes gleaming with something unspoken, before she scoffed playfully. “I don’t need a head start…” she said, her voice light, but there was a knowing undertone to it. The admission was wrapped in childlike defiance, and it made Rex’s heart skip a beat. Something about that vulnerability, the way she danced around the truth but still let him in, made him smile without even thinking.

Rex raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling upward in that mischievous way she was beginning to find endearing. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night,” he teased, his voice warm and light.

Mae gave him an exaggerated roll of her eyes, a grin tugging at her lips as she turned toward the water, the sound of the waves adding a peaceful backdrop to their exchange. “Speaking of sleep…” she hummed, her voice trailing off as she gazed out over the shimmering ocean, her thoughts clearly drifting. “You think we should head back, or…?”

For a moment, Rex didn’t answer, simply taking in the sight of her—her posture relaxed, her hair tousled from the game, the way the soft moonlight bathed her face. He didn’t want to rush the moment, and yet, he wasn’t ready to leave just yet either.

He stepped a little closer, his voice soft but sincere. “I don’t know... I’m actually enjoying this,” he admitted, the words surprising even him as they slipped out. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something about the quiet night, the solitude of being with her, that made everything feel... right. “Spending time with you,” he added, letting his gaze linger on her profile, as though trying to convey what he couldn’t put into words.

Mae’s gaze softened at his words, her smile turning more tender as she turned to face him. She didn’t say anything at first, simply meeting his eyes with that same unspoken understanding, the kind that seemed to fill the spaces between their words. Before she could respond, the soft beep of Rex’s comm broke the quiet tension between them, cutting through the moment with a sharpness that felt almost jarring. He frowned slightly, reluctantly pulling his wrist up to answer.

"Yeah?" Rex said, his voice a little less steady, as though he didn’t want to break the connection between them just yet.

“Rex, where are you?” Echo’s voice came through, faint but clearly laced with concern. “It’s getting dark, and you haven’t checked in. And, uh... you know Mae hasn’t come home either—” Echo’s voice faltered for a second, clearly not used to being the one on the other end of an unspoken silence. “You two alright?”

Rex sighed softly, glancing at Mae before giving her a small, apologetic smile. He was still hesitant, unwilling to pull away from this quiet moment with her. “Yeah, we’re fine,” Rex replied, his voice casual. "We're out here... just on the beach. Nothing to worry about." He didn’t want to say too much, not with the warmth of the moment still hanging between them.

Echo’s voice came back, quieter this time, but still laced with a subtle mix of concern and irritation. “Look, you don’t have to avoid the house or anything, but…  It’s getting late, and someone needs to find Ma—” Echo suddenly stopped himself. Rex could hear the realization clicking into place. The silence stretched for a second, and Rex could practically feel the shift in the air.

"Wait," Echo continued, his tone now tinged with something else. “...You're with Mae. Alone. On the beach.” There was a brief pause before he added, “You know what? Never mind. You two have fun.”

The sharp click of the call ending was almost immediate, and Rex stood there, staring at the now-silent comm, the weight of Echo’s implications settling in. He looked up at Mae, his heart still pounding a little faster than it probably should be.

“That went well,” Rex muttered, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, even as a faint blush crept up his neck.

Mae’s expression was a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something playful and knowing. She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms loosely over her chest. “Well, I guess we’ve officially been caught.”

Rex chuckled, stepping a little closer, though he didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he allowed the moment to settle again, the hum of the waves and the soft moonlight wrapping around them both. He found himself unwilling to break the silence too quickly this time, as though letting the sound of the ocean could fill in the spaces where words didn’t need to go.

“I guess we should head back,” Mae said after a beat, the hint of a smile still playing at her lips. But there was something different in the way she said it this time, something a little less certain than before, as though she wasn’t so sure about leaving just yet either.

Rex’s gaze softened, the playful grin still present, though it was tempered by the sincerity in his voice. “Yeah, I think we should... But I’m in no rush.”

Mae’s smile widened, and she took a small step closer to him. “Neither am I.”

The ocean breeze suddenly picked up, a strong gust that whipped through the night air, carrying with it a hint of chill that caught Mae off guard. She shivered slightly, her arms folding across herself instinctively. Rex noticed the subtle change in her posture—the way she had grown just a little more distant, her body reacting to the unexpected cold.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice soft, the concern there before he could even think twice.

“A little,” she admitted, her voice trailing off as she gave a half-smile, still feeling the bite of the wind. Before she could even consider moving away, Rex reached out. His arm encircled her waist, drawing her a little closer to him. The warmth of his touch was instant, and Mae felt her body relax slightly, the chill receding in the softness of his embrace.

When she didn’t pull away, Rex let his hold loosen just a fraction, wanting to make sure she felt comfortable. “Better?” he asked, his voice lower now, just above a whisper, as though any louder might break the sweetness of the moment.

Mae nodded, her smile softening. “Much better.”

The cool evening air no longer seemed as biting, but something else shifted in the space between them, something that felt like it went beyond the mere proximity of their bodies. The breeze seemed to carry a charge of its own, mingling with the unspoken understanding that lingered between them. There was a subtle tension, a sweet uncertainty in the air, like a question that hadn’t yet been asked but was sitting there, waiting to be acknowledged.

Rex could feel the steady rise and fall of her breath against him, the warmth of her presence making him want to hold on to the moment for just a little longer. The moonlight softened her features, casting a glow on her face that made her seem almost ethereal. His fingers tingled, wanting to reach out and maybe get a better hold on her, but instead, he leaned in slightly, drawn by the pull of the moment. 

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it either. It’s not like he’d ever really attempted to do it previously. At least in this context. The more sweet, and wholesome pretense of showing appreciation and care, and not conveying a need or a want. His lips brushed against her cheek, just next to her ear, a playful, quick kiss that lingered only for a second. But in that instant, something in Rex’s chest fluttered, and he pulled back just enough to look at her, the air between them suddenly feeling impossibly delicate. His lips curved into a teasing smile, but there was something deeper in his eyes now—a warmth, an earnestness that hadn’t been there before.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a sincerity he hadn’t intended. “It’s been... a pleasant evening.”

Mae blinked at him, the playful spark still present in her eyes, but now softened with something else—something that spoke volumes in the way she gazed at him. She reached up, her fingertips brushing the spot where his lips had just touched her cheek, as though to keep the moment with her.

Her voice dropped lower, the usual lighthearted tone replaced by something sweeter, more intimate. “I’m glad,” she said, her gaze unwavering, and for a split second, it felt as though time itself slowed down around them. “Thank you for getting me out from behind that desk,”

The silence between them lingered for just a moment longer, a comfortable, easy space where words weren’t necessary. Rex couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he glanced at Mae, the feeling of contentment settling over him like a warm blanket. He let out a soft, almost relieved chuckle as he finally spoke, his voice light but affectionate. “Alright, I guess we should really head back before Echo gets any ideas.”

Mae’s laugh, light and musical, filled the air between them. It was the kind of sound that seemed to harmonize perfectly with the rhythm of the waves, the breeze, the calm of the night. “Yeah, we don’t want to give him more ammunition,” she teased, her voice still carrying that easy, playful tone.

Rex smiled even wider, the warmth of the moment seeping into him as they began walking side by side. The air between them, charged just moments ago with something unspoken, now felt simple, familiar. Just two friends, walking together after a night that felt effortless—peaceful, genuine, with no expectations. He didn’t feel the need to analyze it, not now. There was something beautiful in the quiet company of someone you enjoyed being around, and for tonight, that was enough.

And in that simple truth, he couldn’t help but feel grateful.

[desdemonafictional]

Welcome, Everything is Fine: After Credit Scene

Hi all, I thought everyone might enjoy a brief visit back to a part of the GPAU concept that never made it onto the page--the last missing piece in Starscream's backstory, you could say.

So here we go, one more scene for the road.

---

They get all kinds at Thundercracker’s bar.

Regulars from the neighborhood, sure, and trucks passing through after deliveries, and of course the endless trickle of slummers. Some of those come in bold as brass, take up a table all to themselves, and order the waitstaff around like personal drones. Some of them come in hunched up in temporary paint, looking over their shoulders. Regulars are maybe 30-70 on whether they want a handjob in the back along with their engex on draft. The tourists, though, nine times out of ten, that’s why they’re even here.

The big son of a bitch ducks through the doors like he won’t even fit under the lintel, and Starscream has to do a double take, because that is not a truck. He’s seen trucks that big, but never shaped like that.

Starscream props himself up on the hostess stand, giving the guy a blatant once-over as he comes marching up with steps like minor seismic events.

“Hello there, big bot,” Starscream says, “never seen you in here before. Table for one? Or are you hiding the rest of your party behind those thunder thighs?”

The big silver mech gives him a kind of unimpressed half-smile. “I’m looking for Starscream of Vos,” he says.

Can’t stop the wings from flicking, but other than that, Starscream plays it cool. “You a friend of his?”

“Not yet,” the mech says. “But I could be.”

“Uhuh. Well, Starscream isn’t serving today, but you can still sit down if you want to.”

He holds still until the big galoot is seated in a booth on the other side of the room before opening the group comm.

:Skywarp, take table seven. If that absolute tank of a mech turns out to be bad at taking no for an answer, I want someone who can disengage fast.:

:No slag. You think he’s a tourist? He’s got an accent, but I don’t know where from.:

Thundercracker cuts in, :He looks like manual labor to me. I’ve never known manual class to get vacation days.:

:He’s probably just out on delivery,: Starscream interrupts. :Look alive, some idiot is trying to climb the bar again.:

It’s not so much that he forgets about the mysterious patron as he firmly convinces himself it’s Not His Problem and moves on. That lasts for a bit, until Skywarp comms him again.

:Screamer, he’s asking about you.:

:Tell him I’m beautiful and brilliant and you don’t know me.:

:Uhuh. Sure.:

The comm line is quiet, and then, with much more unease, Skywarp adds, :He’s asking about the show.:

Starscream stands there, grimacing at the door, for a long moment. :Skywarp, take over hostess.:

He leaves the stand and stalks across the floor to the booth where the big mech is waiting, as if he expected this, with a shotglass of something rich and purple in his hand. Starscream slides into the seat across from him and flattens his hands on the table.

“Alright, you’ve got my attention,” Starscream says, narrowing his optics.

“And you have mine,” the mech replies. “Starscream, I presume?”

“Who wants to know?”

A smirk plays around the shape of that mouth. “Should I be less cautious with my identity than you are?"

"You'll have to be, if you want to get anywhere with this," Starscream sniffs. He sits back, feigns boredom. "This is my territory, which means you play by my rules."

Red eyes, a cruel mouth. There's a glinting there that speaks of plans already forming, the machinery of ambition already trying to slot Starscream into the spot he'll fit best. It would be flattering, if Starscream cared what some pushy rando thought about him. Which he doesn't. Obviously.

The mech slides his drink aside and offers his hand. "They call me Megatron," he says. “I hear you play a wonderful villain. And for what I’m going to need done, that will be important.”

[dustofwarfare]

Deleted Scenes from S&V (Kinda)

For the one-year anniversary of when I started this monstrosity (I got sober in May 2024, if you've ever done that, you know it's a lot of mental work to simply not do a thing, because of course, addiction isn't that simple but! Best decision I ever made :DDD) here are some scenes I did not put in the fic! I found these in a gdoc called "Cut scenes" and had no idea what they were.

First one is an alternate version of the Petrov's party, the one Makarov and Graves attend in Moscow where they end up in a gunfight and then in bed :D I ended up re-writing this for a few reasons but I did like Graves dragging Makarov up the stairs to kiss him as a way to pretend he wasn't snooping around for a safe. I shall call it...SAFE!

The second one, I wrote in Makarov's POV before I decided to keep the whole fic in Graves's POV, so Graves hears this story the night after the Petrov's party, when Makarov finds out Milena has again betrayed him. It's him thinking about getting out of prison, going to her house in Plutus (I know that doesn't work with the game timeline but like...what are these timelines, do they simply travel by breaking the time barrier or???) and turning down her offer of spending the night with her. I liked it as a contrast to how Makarov is with Graves. Anyway, idk it seemed like maybe someone might like them, so, pls enjoy (caveat they are unedited cut scenes, obvs, and are probably messy \o/ )

Safe

The safe is in the walk-in closet, tucked behind Mrs. Petrov’s collection of designer handbags. Graves reports this on comm, and Piotr gives him the date of the Petrovs wedding – the tenth of July, 1994. Graves gets it wrong twice, realizing he’s using the American date format and gives a soft hiss of satisfaction when he switches it and the safe opens smoothly. 

Inside is money – a lot of money – several passports that show both Petrovs but have different names and nationalities, something that looks like a legit black velvet bag full of diamonds, and a small black address book with the tabs, the sort that went out of fashion once day planners and smartphones came into fashion. He thumbs through it, sees there are all sorts of names – and they have accompanying notes in the roman alphabet, things like travel thru Dubai and contact for America, and others that make it clear this list of contacts is very specifically for moving things – people, cargo, whatever – in and out of countries without penalties, taxes or law enforcement. 

If someone wanted to facilitate entering or leaving a country without anyone knowing about it, this entire book is a list of names to see it done. He shoves it in his pocket, thinks about taking the diamonds – hey, he’s gonna need to get out of Russia at some point and he’s not sure if Makarov’s temporary allies package includes exfil home or not – but in the end, he doesn’t, simply closes the safe and ducks out of the closet, heading back down to the party. He gets to the staircase before his luck runs out, because there’s someone there – 

Fuck, fuck, isn’t Piotr supposed to be on overwatch? This fucking place is nothing but goddamn windows – 

“There you are,” a voice says, and Graves hisses out a breath, relieved to see it’s Makarov who’s heading up the stairs and not someone with a dog, or a gun, or both.

“Yeah, sorry, but I –” 

“Vladimir?” 

That’s a woman’s voice, and Makarov and Graves stare at each other for half a second, because that’s all they have – and Graves reaches out, grabs Makarov by the wrist and hauls him bodily up the stairs. This only works because it’s a surprise, but it’s still gratifying, because Graves likes winning and he’s going to count it. “Play along, comrade,” he hisses, then, just as the clicking heels of whoever is looking for Makarov round the corner…Graves shoves him up against the wall and kisses him. 

Makarov, who doesn’t understand obvious ploy to explain our absence, bites him. Hard. Really hard, enough that Graves’s mouth fills with copper and he puts a hand on Makarov’s shoulder, pushing him against the wall even more, like that will work. He’ll apologize later, but this is all he can think of to do to explain why they’re halfway up (or halfway down) the back staircase. 

“Oh,” the woman – Petrov’s wife, and what the fuck is she looking for Makarov for anyway? – says, and then – she laughs, saying something he can’t translate because his fucking mouth hurts and Makarov is not going to win any contests for his acting, fuck. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” he says, pulling back, pretending like his mouth isn’t bloody and the man he’s kissing isn’t furious. He puts all his natural submission in his voice. “You can’t blame me thought, right? Thought we might find an empty bedroom.” 

Mrs. Petrov is staring at him, her head tilted. Makarov’s still as fucking death where Graves pushed him against the wall, and he turns to say something to her, surprisingly not moving away though Graves is certain he probably wants to. Whatever, he’ll apologize later. 

“There is, ah. Guest room. Second door from left,” she says, a little frown between her brows, her smile more puzzled than genuine. But she doesn’t think he’s a spec ops agent snooping for intel, just a dumb American who can’t keep his hands off his date, so. Yeah. Great. 

“I apologize, Anushka,” Makarov says, and it’s about as believable as it would be if Graves went to apply for the 141. 

She says something in Russian that makes Makarov smile, his eyes as empty and cold as the dark glass windows. He grabs Graves’s wrist in a strong grip and pulls him in sharply, but it’s just so he can whisper, “We’re leaving,” in his ear before he turns to go. 

“Sorry,” Graves says, gruffly, and he’s a little…he feels weird, bad, like he did something wrong. It’s irritating, because Makarov said to talk his way out of shit if he got caught, and that’s what he did, isn’t it? He’s not sure why he’s apologizing, the intel’s good and his dumb, clueless American act worked. 

“Alpha 2-1 this is Czar 9-0 Actual, ready for exfil,” Makarov says, in English, probably for Graves’s benefit. 

Graves can’t tell if he’s angry or just his usual low-level of simmering menace, but he thanks the person who hands him his coat and waves at the girl who told him where the bathroom was, heading out into the chilly night. “Quick exit,” he says, while they stand at the foot of the entryway stairs, waiting for the car to pull through the circle drive. 

“There’s the car,” is Makarov’s answer, and Graves is really not enjoying feeling like he’s been chastised and as soon as he can be angry, he’s gonna be, fucking hell he got the goddamn intel and it’s not like – 

They’re almost to the car when he sees it. A red dot, from somewhere over Makarov’s shoulder. 

Graves doesn’t think. He grabs for the weapon he has holstered under his coat, shoves Makarov and says in a tight voice, “Check your six,” and sights the location of the shooter really only visible because of the outside air being foggy with heavy, cold moisture. 

Graves takes his shot. He’s always been a good marksman. Makarov has his own weapon out, and he shoves Graves into the car as they hear someone shout. 

“We got out of the house first,” Graves says, sliding into the back as Piotr throws the car into drive and peels out. Graves flips onto his back and braces his feet, head low so it’s not near the windows of the car, as a bullet hits the tire and the car careens wildly before Piotr gets it steady again. “Before the gun fight.” He pokes his head up, winces as a bullet shatters the glass, and says, “What the fuck, they are not shooting at us because I kissed you on a staircase.” 

“They are shooting us,” Makarov says, shattering the back window out with three quick shots, “Because Petrov decided I was worth more to him dead than alive.” 

“What the  —” Graves snarls, turning so he can shoot out the window to his left. The glass shatters and Piotr swears and turns the car sharply, sending him half-rolling on the back seat and knocking into Makarov.

-----

Silence

It’s the silence that wakes him. 

Prison was never quiet. It wasn’t really the weather, either, or the endless and constant slam of the waves against the rock – that was distant enough through the thick walls that it was hard to remember there was anything beyond the drab gray stone at all. The noises that you couldn’t ignore were from the inside – other prisoners, the guards, a thousand little sounds that meant danger or pay attention and were rarely anything pleasant. Too many people in too small a space, miserable, constantly looking for a way out no matter if it was metaphorically or literally – and it wasn’t just the prisoners, either. 

Anyone who goes on about the inherent goodness of humanity should spend a year or two in a Russian gulag. An easy enough notion to disabuse. 

Even for him, a man who wielded almost more power in prison than out of it, there was the undeniable fact that he couldn’t leave until an outside force arranged it on his behalf. That was infuriating enough, a constant chafe against his dominance, reminding him in small subtle ways you are not in control when you are in here, no matter how much money you offer or cigarettes you smuggle, how many bones you break, how many people you put on their backs on their knees for you. 

Silence is a luxury, as is privacy. 

It’s silent outside when he blinks his eyes open, and a glance at his watch shows him it’s barely three in the morning. There’s very little light shining through the tacky curtains, and it’s cold in the room, the comforter having been tossed to the floor and the black silk sheets cool against bare skin. Graves is warm as a furnace, though, and he takes up more room than he needs – typical American – so that’s fine, he’s used to discomfort, temperatures that are either too hot or too cold. 

What he’s not used to, however, is sharing a bed with another person. And this is the second time in so many days, though he hadn’t really slept any when he put Graves on his knees back in the mountains. Hen paced and chain-smoked while Graves slept, under and unaware that at one point, Makarov had the gun again, loaded this time, aimed right at his head. 

This will save us both so much trouble in the end, he thought, but he put the gun away and that was that. 

And now, Graves is in bed with him again, and Makarov actually slept for a few hours. He turns his head, taking in Graves as he’s sleeping – his eyes are moving under his eyelids. Makarov wonders what he’s dreaming about. 

He must dream, everyone does. But Makarov doesn’t remember a single one of his since he found his father hanging by a rope when he was twelve. Some Russian army psych doctor once referred to his lack of dreams as a result of having no empathy for other people. It’s likely why they sent him to Urzikstan. 

He slips out of bed and ignores the cold air on his naked skin as he heads to the bathroom. When his eyes adjust to the dark he can barely make out the shape of his own reflection in the mirror, another little unexpected shock – they take mirrors out of prisons because of the glass, but it’s also another tactic to dehumanize and institutionalize. 

The closet off the bathroom has a few items of clothing, so he grabs a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of sweats, feeling somewhat less unsettled when he’s dressed. He finds a pack of cigarettes and goes back into the bedroom. He doesn’t bother going outside – it’s snowing again, anyway – just sits on the ridiculous couch by the dark fireplace and smokes a cigarette. He’s not sure why he’s even awake, or if he wants to go back to bed or not. The cigarette smoke burns, the nicotine sparking and chasing away the lingering fog of sleep. 

His eyes go to the bed again. It seems incomprehensible to him that he’d been there an hour ago, just as asleep. There’s a sense of vulnerability with that thought he doesn’t like, but it is what it is. 

It’s not fucking someone that’s strange to him, he’s spent his life in the military, special forces, rogue militias and prison – his encounters are primarily stress relief or for establishing dominance. Prison, especially, is a bit like releasing warring packs of wild dogs in a junkyard. It isn’t conducive to the kind of encounter that makes you want to cuddle when you’re finished. 

The only other person who’s tried to initiate anything with him was Milena, shortly after his release from prison. He’d gone to her island house for a few weeks to get things in order, and one night, they’d had a glass of wine on the terrace. She’d been fairly obvious about it, but he wasn’t quite sure why – he’d taken care of her husband for her, so perhaps she felt like she owed him, but that wasn’t why he’d done it and he can’t imagine her thinking it was. 

Which is what he told her, there with the sun sinking below the sea, quiet and blue in a way the turbulent waters around Zordaya never were. 

“It isn’t that,” she said, pushing her wind-tossed hair out of her face. She was lovely, smart, ruthless, but he had no interest in taking her to bed, and had nothing to do with her also being a dom. “You’ve been in prison, Volodya. You should have something nice.” 

“This is very nice,” he said, lifting the glass. What he wanted was money, power, and firearms. Privacy and a shower. A bed with sheets that weren’t moldy and thin and scratchy as newsprint. “Nice view. Nice company.” He did like her – at that point he did, anyway – and he couldn’t deny the warm tropical breeze and soft, sea-scented air were relaxing. 

She likely was offering for the same reason he had prisoners want to kneel for him – and more than a few guards – the second he’d been processed and taken to his cell. Protection was a powerful motivator, and it was one thing to control the finances of his organization when he was in prison. Now that he wasn’t, she likely wanted to secure her place and her safety in the simplest way she knew how. 

“You’ve done good work,” he praised, and she’d smiled, sipping her wine, clearly enjoying the praise more than she would his hands on her. “You don’t need to try and seduce me for me to tell you that, Mila.” 

“That isn’t why, Volodya, of course not,” she said, but there was something in her gaze that gave him pause, a look that said clearly I am lying, that is why. Or at least that was partly why. She moved in, pressed up close, in a way that made him immediately tense and want to shove her back. She smelled like clean linen and expensive perfume and fresh air, which would have been nice if he’d wanted her this close, which he did not. When she leaned up, a hand on his chest, her breath smelled a bit like wine. “You’re very attractive.” 

He might have laughed at that. He was not the sort of person Milena liked – her lovers were typically wealthy, younger, and absolutely did not have a criminal background. He could, he supposed, go to bed with her and go through the motions enough to settle whatever concerns led her to make this offer – but the thought did nothing for him, and since this was before she gave up intel to Price’s men about his location, he considered her an ally. 

So he shifted slightly when she went to kiss him and put his mouth very close to her temple. “You won’t like it,” he assured her, honest in a way he almost never was. “So take my appreciation as I’ve given it, and let it be, hmm?”  

Some people might like that he was dangerous, that he was covered in prison tattoos and the blood of too many people to count. She liked having her security force of dangerous ex-military types with guns that did what she told them, on her private little island paradise, but she didn’t really understand any of it beyond her spreadsheets and numerous bank accounts.  If he fucked her he doubted she’d look him in the eyes again, and in that moment, he needed her loyalty more than he needed a quick fuck in a soft bed. 

Now, of course, he wants to know if she’s the one behind his being sold out to Petrov – rich men who hired protection for a party didn’t typically choose to employ snipers with military-grade guns, or anyone who’d give chase after several people were left dead – as well as the situation with Graves, which it seems quite likely she is and is now getting desperate. If she’s in collusion with Shepherd in some way, it’s financially motivated. Which doesn’t mean he won’t fix the problem, because he will. He should have back when she betrayed him the first time over money. 

His eyes flicker over to the bed, thinking about Graves. He figured out early on about Graves’s kink for danger and threat, he hadn’t even tried to hide it all that much. And it wasn’t the first time he’d come across someone who got it up for the same reasons – he’d seen men being tortured to death get hard, some fucked up biological impulse related to their alignment or not, he wasn’t sure and didn’t much care. Graves seemed to have a remarkable ability to compartmentalize – he hates Makarov’s convictions, yet has no problem working alongside him or shooting unarmed party guests – that is strangely fascinating, like a train wreck, to be around. He’s had some soldiers in his unit or under his command who are very similar, who want to be pushed around and settled through violence, and maybe even a few where it was the threat itself, but he supposes the difference is they were eager enough to let him do it. 

Graves took longer to ask to be settled than he did to form an alliance, which is the thing Makarov finds both compelling and vaguely funny, that he’s fought harder to deny his attraction than his own moral code, though perhaps his moral code really is the ends justify the means. He remembers what Graves said to his colleague on comms the day they agreed to work together, about how many Shadows does that asshole get to kill before I put him down? 

Makarov inhales, ashes the cigarette in an empty water glass on the table. It’d been him, this time, who’d been wound up, and he can at least admit that. Something about watching Graves kill for him – not even the sniper, though that’d been impressive – the way he’d so easily shot that young man who’d called for backup, made him so hot for it, he could barely think straight. He might have fucked Graves in the car on the way back if he wasn’t thinking about stragglers who were sent after them, or even before that, in the smoking remains of the shootout, glass and rubber all around, the air thick with sulfur and danger. 

He made his offer to Graves at first to ensure he would stay loyal for the duration of their proposed alliance, thinking it couldn’t hurt to put him under and get him kneeling a few times. That wasn’t what he was thinking, tonight, when he’d practically dragged him up to bed. 

He’s not a man given to passion, at least when it comes to sex – has never been, and he knows it, has heard his men talking about how funny it is that Graves seems to think they all want to fuck their commander. 

“Is that how they do things, in Shadow Company?” Masha asked him, when he was arranging for the helo. “He’s relentless about it, sir.” 

He’s pretty sure that it wasn’t, which is what he told her. “No. Commander Graves has a specific alignment that I believe I satisfy, and he’s an American, so he can’t fathom anyone else isn’t just like him.”

------

I can't decide if I should put these on AO3 so for now they shall live here! :D

EDIT wait there's another one that is actually from the fic where Makarov tattoos Graves, where he's talking to Wraith, but the only part that I recall liking was the bit where Wraith apologies that none of them knew it was Makarov's birthday, to which he responds that's fine because he doesn't know any of theirs.

[foap-enjoyer]

Drugging | Sick | Poisoned

Sick.

'Soap thinks he's got just a simple cold. Nope. Anyway, cue blizzard safehouse one bed trope because I'm lazy'

Trigger warnings for this prompt: Vomit. Ships for this prompt: Sort of the start of Ghoap? Ghost is very affectionate, more or less.

The one my lovely tumblr people voted on all those days ago! :)

Read it here, on AO3: Ouch. - Chapter 5 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

~

Missions in Russian mountains were becoming way too common. 

At least, that’s what Soap thought.

There were positives to mountain missions, he supposed. There were positives to everything. A beautiful view; clean, fresh, untouched air. Sometimes, on long missions, he would even see rare wildlife, animals which had never seen a human before. They would peer at him through the brush, eyes bright and curious. Sometimes, some would even come over, eat a bite of whatever he had on offer before scrambling away. He liked those pros.

But the cons? Well those fucking sucked. The cold, firstly. The cold sucked- oh, and don’t forget the lack of signal, which meant no far-lined comms, no phones, no nada. Just him, his team, and a shit ton of snow, usually for days at a time. It could drive even the most social of men insane.

Oh, and to top it off, as a little added bonus for this mission, because that’s just how he rolls- he was sick. Not super sick, mind you. It’d started off as a cold, when he’d woken up pre-mission. At least, he assumed it was. Itchy throat, ugly cough, his usual first symptoms. 

In his childhood, he would have curled up into a tiny, sniffling ball and let his mammy hold him, and soothe the pain away just with her touch. But now, he was a fully grown man. A grown man who worked in a job that, unlike being a student in school, would not tolerate a day off. Especially for something as small as a cold.

So, brushing his teeth, tying his laces, and grabbing his bag, he went out to face the day head on. Like a soldier would.

~

He really wished he was still seven, still at home with his mum.

This… cold was no fucking cold. This was a parasite worming its way into every orifice of his body, a disease spreading through his blood, an alien forcing itself inside his chest, taking control of every nerve and joint and muscle until he was nothing but mush.

Fucking cold his ass. If this was a cold, maybe it was time to retire, because he clearly was getting too old for this shit.

The harshness of the Russian wilderness didn’t help his case one bit. 

They’d landed at their respective drop-off points. Price and Gaz were on the complete opposite side of the mountains to him and Ghost, and the plan was to meet in the middle, where he and Gaz would infiltrate the government-owned set of buildings as Price and Ghost ran overwatch on the outskirts. A simple enough plan, until the blizzard hit.

“You’re telling me that higher-ups can plan entire wars to a T, if they wanted to, but they can’t check the fucking weather?”

That was Gaz, voice static-y through the comms. He sounded pissed, and of course he was, he was allowed to, given their situation. Hell, Soap was too. Price sighed, and Soap could imagine him rolling his eyes at the younger man, “There’s nothing we can do about it, Sergeant, so quit whining. Ghost?”

Ghost was behind him, using his path through the heaps of snow surrounding them to guide himself, and his sniper-kit through the rocky terrain. He could hear the man grunt as he lugged the heavy bag over a large rock in their path. “Yeah, Cap?”

“There should be a little safehouse just a few klicks North of your position. Fancy taking a wander over there? Can’t do shit if this storm keeps up like this.”

Ghost grasped Soap’s shoulder, altering his course slightly up the hill, rather than downwards. Soap’s knees wobbled with exhaustion, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Back up they go. “We’ll take a look. What’re you two doing?”

“Cap’s looking now, says there’s a cave nearby.” Gaz huffed out a laugh, “At least you guys get an actual house.”

Soap chuckled softly, his teeth chattering together like a talkative parrot, “Send me a pic if you find a bear in there, Kyle, would you? You know they’re my favourite animal.”

“Will do, prick.”

The comms silenced soon after. Soap assumed it was because, like them, Gaz and Price were having to hike a while to get to their location. The mountains weren’t the steepest, deadliest of mountains, but in a blizzard as bad as this one, you needed full concentration. 

The wind was at its peak now, whistling through the canyons of the snowy wilderness, spiking him right through his clothing with its cold crystals of air and ice. If it weren’t for his deathly grip onto the passing uncovered roots of mountain-grown trees, he’s certain he would have fallen right off of the cliff-face by now. 

He felt numb, his whole body was ice-cold. He was trembling, at least, which was a good thing. Meant his body was still working. Ghost was still behind him, lagging behind slightly, preoccupied with lugging his bags as well as checking their location. When he’d last trusted himself enough to look back, the man had been busy checking a little grey piece of technology, the blue light reflecting in his snow-white mask. 

He knew that the little ipod-like thing hadn’t initially been supposed to be used to find this supposed safehouse, but rather help Ghost angle himself correctly when it came to overwatch protection. For later in the mission. At least higher-ups had been courteous enough to give them some form of direction in case of an emergency.

“Should be over this last hill!” Ghost startled him with his shout, even if he barely heard it over the wind. A hand clasped his shoulder when he stumbled, startled, and he could see a gloved finger in his peripheral, pointing in said direction. When Ghost spoke next, his voice was in his ear. “Through those trees.”

He nodded.

Another twenty, maybe thirty minutes, and they finally, finally came upon the house. If he was honest, it was more of a glorified shed, maybe. At least from a distance. No windows, one door, a little wooden building sat nestled between a few cut-down stumps of previous trees. Maybe the wood used to make it? Probably. 

The door had been locked, but a sharp boot to the lock had solved that issue. Their fingers were too numb to pick the lock anyway. 

Inside, it wasn’t too bad. There was a little fireplace, a sofa- actually no, it was a pullout sofa-bed, actually. In the other room, the only other room, a tiny kitchen. That was it, really. It wasn’t the worst safehouse he’d seen (he’d give that to the one he’d stumbled into, half stabbed, in Romania a few years back), but it wasn’t the best either. It didn’t even have a bathroom!

Ghost got to work as soon as the door was closed behind them. He shuffled forward, dumping his kit on the floor as he began shedding his clothes piece-by-piece, dumping them onto the back of the sofa-bed. He was in the middle of taking his shoes off before he peered up at Soap, confused. “Johnny?”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Clothes.”

He blinked again, before nodding, fingers trembling, fumbling for his coat’s zipper, “Yeah, gotcha.”

“No inappropriate joke today, Sergeant?”

He shook his head tiredly, “Too fuckin’ cold, LT.”

A soft huff of a laugh, and Ghost placed his boots against a nearby wall, tugging his soggy, icy mask off. Frost clung to his eyelashes, and calloused fingers rubbed at them. Once the majority of the white was gone from the hairs, Ghost’s eyes were on him again, eyebrow curled, “Soap?”

Oh. He was staring again. He shook his head, going back to fumbling with his stuff. “Sorry.”

If Ghost was worried, he didn’t say anything about it. “I’m gonna go look at the kitchen for some food.” He said instead, “You get the fire going when you can. You’re right, it’s fucking freezing.”

He watched as the man turned his back and waltzed into the kitchen. Which, technically, was simply an extension of the living room. All that separated them was a tiny archway, after all.

Once he finally got his coat off, and tossed onto the floor, was when his body began to fail him.

“Ghost…?”

“Yeah?” Ghost turned, peering at him from the other room, his eyes dark in the dim lighting of the safehouse. “What’s up?”

“I don’t…” He swallowed harshly. The room was beginning to spin violently, and he reached a hand out desperately to clutch onto the nearest object, that being the sofa. “I don’t feel so good…”

“Johnny?” Ghost’s voice was starting to fade out as he fought to keep himself upright. 

Something was buzzing under his skin, warm and itchy. Sweat pooled against his neck. He had been cold only a moment ago, freezing, even… What was wrong with him? “Simon?”

A hand on his shoulder, “I’m here.”

“I think…” His stomach coiled, and he squeezed his eyes shut with a soft hiccup, “‘m gonna be sick.”

“Alright, alright.” Simon’s hands wrapped around him, guiding him forward, towards the small kitchen. But as soon as his hand released its deathly grip on the sofa, Soap’s knees gave in. 

He would have hit the floor if it weren’t for Simon, who took his weight with a grunt, barely managing to move them forward off of carpet and onto tile before Soap vomited.

“Easy, Johnny,” He could hear Simon attempt to soothe as he retched, fully held up in the older man’s arms. He felt limp, boneless, “Easy.”

His world continued to spin violently as he heaved, the cold tile on his knees sharply contrasting the horrible burning sensation consuming him whole. He whimpered, trying to squirm away from the heat inside him. Simon just held him tighter. “It’ll be over soon.”

“I-” He retched again, dry heaving over a steadily growing pile of vomit. His eyes stung, and he choked on a sob. “Fuck-”

A hand pressed into his forehead. “You’re burning up…” Simon muttered softly, “Fuck, Johnny, why didn’t you tell me?”

He hiccuped, turning to press his head under the crook of Simon’s neck. He was crying, he could feel the familiar wet warmth soaking into the fabric of Simon’s shirt. He wanted to apologise, but breathing was hard enough at the minute. His hands, trembling, clutched onto Simon wherever he could get a good grip, circling around the man’s back, holding tight. 

He swore a kiss pressed into his hair. He swore it. “You’re alright, I got you.” Simon’s voice was firm, and yet it was laced with worry. They were both hardened soldiers, he shouldn’t be sobbing like this over a simple sickness. It had to be something more, right? After a moment,  “Do you still feel sick?”

He shook his head.

“Okay.” Simon took a moment to think, to breathe. Soap. “Okay. I’m going to move you to the sofa, and then clean this up. Think you can move?”

He shook his head again. His knees felt like jelly, if he got up, he’d most definitely fall right back down.

“It’s alright,” Simon murmured, “I’ll carry you.”

With a quick rearrange of arms, followed by a soft grunt, Simon lifted him up. Instinctively, Soap clutched close, squeezing his eyes shut once more as his head spun. As soon as Simon settled him onto the sofa only inches away, he brought a hand up to his mouth, dry heaving into his palm once more. No vomit, this time.

A hand rubbed at his back. “Easy.” A hand in his hair. He leaned against it tiredly as Simon helped him lean backwards onto the old cushions. “Just breathe. It’ll help.”

As soon as he was sitting comfortably, the hands were gone. His eyes cracked open, looking around. Simon had just… disappeared.

“Si’?” He croaked, anxiety coiling. He hadn’t heard him leave, where was he? “Right here.” A damp cloth touched his forehead, and moments later the man was back in view, kneeling down in front of him. A bowl was given to Soap, settled in his lap neatly. “If you’re sick again.”

“Oh.” He rasped. Yeah, of course Simon would think to go grab something. 

A glass of water was offered next. His hands reached out shakily to take it, but Simon didn’t let go, instead holding the glass steady as Soap brought it to his lips, taking small sips. He pulled it away a moment later. “Not too much.” He reminded Soap, “It’ll make you throw up.”

He hummed tiredly. “I know.”

“Now you’re not puking your guts up.” The glass was placed onto a nearby old, dusty coffee table. Simon’s eyes were on him not long after. “Care to explain why you thought it was a good idea to come out on a mission when you were feeling like shit?”

“I didn’t feel bad this morning.” Which was true. Sort of. It’d, mostly, come on suddenly. “Once I felt sick, we were already off.”

“You could’ve still told someone.” Simon’s voice was soft, but firm. “Price, Gaz, me, hell, even the pilots. Anyone, Soap.”

“Sorry.” He whispered tiredly. “Wasn’t thinking.”

“I can’t get a hold of Price.” That woke him a little. “Signal’s shit. Blizzard is practically snowing us in, I think.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Simon sighed, hand reaching up to brush some blonde, stray strands behind his ear. “But we’ve got a while before we’ll need to check back in. So, we’ll just hunker down. Feel like eating?”

He shook his head. Simon’s eyes softened. “You need to, Johnny.”

He shook his head again, eyes drooping slightly. “‘M tired.”

“Alright.” Simon relented, biting his lip. “Alright. I’ll… We can eat later?”

He nodded. That worked. 

“You take the sofa,” Simon went to move, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

He reached out, grasping his wrist. “We can share.” He murmured, exhausted. “It’s a sofa-bed.”

“Yeah, like a single bed.” The older man huffed, “I can take the floor.”

He didn’t let go of the man’s wrist. Simon didn’t pull away, either. “Just sleep here.” He yawned, “‘S easier.”

There was a pause, before a soft; “You’re not gonna puke on me, are you?”

He chuckled, eyes already closed, “Only if you snore.”

[britcision]

Alright, not a lot for you this WIP Wednesday, I have been doing a lot of spring cleaning! But here you go, just a lil Jason getting out there to keep an eye on his family

Featuring Harper Row for the first actual time, cuz she’s great and she deserves to be here!

First part of chapter 13, the rest is, as always, in the tags. Title is subject to change

———————

Hello Crime Lord My Old Friend

About twenty minutes after dropping Danny off at his dorm, Jason was suited up and ready to go.

Well, he’d stayed outside until he’d seen Danny shut the door behind him first. Jason had some fucking manners, though if pressed he couldn’t name who’d taught him them.

Danny’s dorm was about fifteen minutes from one of Jason’s better safe houses, as it happened. Jason had never been to a dorm, but from Danny’s stories?

A step below Teen Titans’ bunks, and those had sucked. Less privacy, smaller rooms, and more people? Who weren’t even part of the same team?

Maybe next semester Jason could offer to let Danny move in. He didn’t need need the safe house.

Red Hood could always buy the building. There were other apartments and while they weren’t luxurious, they beat half his other spots. The neighbourhood wasn’t bad either.

It’d be nice to pay Danny back a bit. Not have him closer. Just. Repay some of the debt by giving him a place to stay, rent free.

And maybe, just a little bit, the part of Jason that enjoyed the romanticism of his period novels kinda liked the idea. An estate for the king on your lands was a big deal back then.

A slightly more modern part of him thought being a landlord for his ruler would also be pretty funny. He figured Danny would enjoy that side too.

And it wasn’t like the guy could complain, since he’d literally given Jason back himself. Yeah, Jason was gonna pull that one out if Danny tried any familiar “oh I can’t accept this” on him.

Fixing his core was pretty damn god level on the favours spectrum. Jason could do whatever the hell he liked and Danny would just have to deal with it.

It cheered him up a little more, kept him in a good mood on the ride back to his safe house. It was more time where he couldn’t help Cass, but seriously?

Danny could change in a matter of seconds and be at her side not much slower. Walls, cars, goons, Jason had this feeling that none of it would slow Danny down.

And yeah, knowing that helped, but there was still a piece of him that only unknotted as he slid his helmet on and headed to the window.

“Hey, Black Bat. Busy?” He asked as the comms switched from earpiece to helmet display.

Of course he wore both. People kept trying to steal his damn helmet. That was also what the internal explosives were for.

The others all piped up when they heard him, Harper and Steph calling cheerful greetings around an ongoing conversation.

“Shit, Hood’s in, this mean I can go back to bed?” Bluebird teased. Spoiler cut her off immediately.

“Hell no, it can’t be a school night, Robin’s here! Great timing though Hood, we’re planning Red Robin’s eulogy and you have some experience there,” Spoiler chirped brightly, and Jason hesitated.

Sucked in a breath. He wasn’t gonna judge anyone else’s coping mechanisms until they got past “heads in a bag” levels.

Best to ignore it, since she wasn’t actually trying to set him off.

What the hell had Tim done since they’d left the manor?

Shaking his head, Jason settled into Red Hood and hopped onto the fire escape, scaling easily to the roof.

“Black Bat?” He repeated instead of answering, and half smiled when Spoiler groaned dramatically.

Black Bat answered in the considerate group pause.

“Not busy. Why?” She sounded amused, not even particularly tired, and Jason relaxed enough to slip all the way in.

“Thinking of going a little out of my way tonight. Wondered if you’d mind a tagalong?” Red Hood asked, hoping he sounded casual.

It wasn’t like he’d been planning to patrol the Alley anyway; his guys had already been told to handle it. He’d have to run around tomorrow night to keep the creepers scared, but he could have a couple off.

The tiny pause before her answer didn’t quite feel like judgement, but Jason muted before blowing out the sigh as she did. It wasn’t like the others needed to know he’d been stressing.

“Sure. Meet at the library?” She’d had his tracker up. Hood nodded, turning and running for the edge of the roof.

“Sounds good.” And they’d probably wound Spoiler up enough, she’d start plotting vengeance for being ignored soon. “So what the hell did Little Red do?”

“Brought Too Fine to the Bat Cave,” Spoiler told him with relish, not noticeably put out by the delay.

Not necessarily a good sign, since she was also this enthusiastic while actively plotting against him.

Wait.

Too Fine was Tucker’s hacker name.

“But he doesn’t know about us,” Red Hood said with a frown, catching an outcropping and swinging on.

“Oh, now you tell me,” Tim groused while the others snickered, “what a shame you didn’t think to when it’d have actually been helpful!”

News to Hood that he was on, probably still in the cave.

“He knows now,” Nightwing chimed in brightly, probably also travelling from the slight strain in his voice.

Hood paused for a moment, letting that sink in before attempting the next jump.

“Is he on comm?” He asked warily, because if Tim brought Tucker to the bat cave, it was entirely possible that they were all outed.

And that Tucker might tell Danny.

Shit, he still had to text Harley. Resolving to do it once he hit the library, he set back to running, throwing himself across another street.

Cass would probably take a little longer to get there.

“He’ll be back, he’s in the bathroom,” Tim explained with a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “It’s not all bad, he’s given me the full story on what happened in Amity Park. Witness account and all.”

“From a witness you let down to the bat cave~” Spoiler sang sweetly across the air.

Red Hood could hear Oracle rolling her eyes as she cut in.

“Tone it down, Batgirl. Bluebird, if you’re still thinking of heading in, could you swing past one last site on your way?” She said firmly, then lightening her tone for their current guest.

“Batgirl who? I’m Spoiler,” Spoiler grumbled, but didn’t push beyond that. None of them did when Oracle invoked the name she’d had second.

Bluebird snickered at her before answering the question, a hint of exertion suggesting she was on the move too.

“I’m not actually in a rush to go home, O, I got all dressed up so I might as well enjoy one last hurrah.”

Right, because she’d be going back to school probably when Danny did.

Harper had always been a damn good hero in Jason’s books, but she valued her retirement and none of them really wanted to ruin it. Unless, apparently, seven bats just had to stalk Jason’s new friends.

Hood would have apologized, but frankly if she’d said no, some of the others couldn’t have come to the gala to be a pain in his ass.

And then he couldn’t have had so much fun fucking with them.

Fine. One cool fruit basket for the Row household, and some rainbow cupcakes for Cullen. He needed practice on frosting roses anyway.

Although that also reminded him.

“Hey Bluebird, have the others filled you in on Phantom?” He asked, cutting off some more background chatter from Spoiler and Tim.

Nightwing and the girls had had hours by now.

“What, your new boyfriend?” Bluebird asked sweetly, and Hood rolled his eyes.

Probably hit the important shit then.

“Sent you a picture?” He asked instead, decidedly not entertaining that question.

Nightwing and Spoiler snickered. Hood flipped off their general directions, settling himself comfortably on the roof of the library to wait for Black Bat.

There was a short pause, the others now wondering what he was getting at. Good.

“In and out of suit,” Bluebird agreed, curiosity tinging with mild suspicion. Being out of retirement clearly wasn’t good for her.

Hood nodded, pulling out his phone and shooting Harley a quick text. It might be moot now, asking her not to mention Red Hood shit in front of Danny, but he might as well.

He still had to ask if Waylon knew. No reason not to do both, just in case. And see if Tucker knew when he got back.

“I know you’re outta the game, but keep the light show to a minimum if you see him around, okay?” He asked, scanning quickly over the list Danny’d cleared for public discussion.

He didn’t know if Tucker would have mentioned it, but he might as well. Cause of death was good, but Jason personally would veto “and the effects it may have now”.

Because fuck Bruce and his need for everyone to show him their weaknesses.

Bluebird definitely sounded curious now, and possibly like she was punching someone.

“Oh? He not big on the electricity?” She wondered aloud, and Hood grimaced.

Because if they were both at Gotham U in engineering… there was actually a chance Harper and Danny would run into each other.

Danny was older, but Harper skipped a couple years and he had no idea what year Danny was in. Fuck, they might be in the same classes. He couldn’t believe he’d never thought of that.

“Not exactly. You mighta seen him around actually, he’s a techie boy too. But he’s not a fan of the electricity flying around,” he explained, Nightwing making background noises that told Hood he hadn’t put the pieces together either.

Good. At least he wasn’t alone.

Bluebird made an interested hum, and probably a finishing blow considering the satisfaction when she spoke next.

“I thought he looked familiar. But then, he’s total Wayne-bait. Yeah, I can keep the good stuff under wraps if I see him around. Gonna guess he’s had some bad shocks in the line of work?”

Hood hesitated and in exactly the same instant Black Bat landed on the roof. Sam had given them all the warning about talking about a ghost’s death, so he could leave it at that.

But…

The way Danny had looked when he explained about Vlad. Yeah, he’d rather they took this seriously. He didn’t want any of his family to hurt Danny, even by accident.

“It’s how he died. He won’t spontaneously combust or anything, but it’s a bad memory.”

Silence reigned while the others absorbed that particular detail, Black Bat crossing to crouch on the roof beside him. Hood leaned over enough to bump their shoulders together.

He could almost feel concern radiating off her, which was an extra weird experience after literally feeling all of Danny’s emotions half the day.

Guess that was where Cass’s liminality was going. It made sense, kind of; despite her occasional trouble speaking, she was pretty much the clearest communicator in the family.

Having another back up way to make herself heard would only fit.

On a whim, he tried projecting comfort back to her.

—————

Tag list: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna

[wexhappyxfew]

Hi Shannon! For the prompts “We’re a package deal” with Bessie? - @lostloveletters

hey battie ( @lostloveletters )!!!! thanks so much for the prompt - i absolutely LOVED the idea of this prompt with my girl bessie!! :) let's just say, the ideas started flowing immediately and i loved where this prompt ended up taking me, so please enjoy bessie carlisle and carrie achterberg, the two peas in a pod! enjoy!

______________________________________________________________

package deal

"Oh god, I look horrific," Carrie muttered, shifting in the bed, face slick with sweat, her eyes half-open, "don't let Dougie come in here, I can't deal with that today." Bessie chuckled quietly and leaned back in her chair arms crossed.

"You really didn't miss much, he didn't mind subbing in today on the run," Bessie said with a grin her way, "I swear to ya. And he was a real sweetheart about it, too. Made sure not to be too finicky with your stuff you've set up and such."

"Well, I appreciate you keeping an eye on things," Carrie said with a small smile, "how'd things go?" Bessie shrugged.

"Business as usual," Bessie said quietly, "lost two forts."

"Who?"

"Glassmacher and Thompson." Bessie offered and Carrie nodded.

"Any chutes?" Bessie shook her head.

"Annie chewed Douglass out a bit," Bessie offered and she watched Carrie, cuddled against the pillow, raise a brow, "he started telling some, arguably, pretty bad jokes over comms, she kinda lost it on him, told him he oughta shut his trap if they're going to fly this metal box and back." Carrie smirked from behind the pillow.

"Annie Bradshaw, the woman you are. That's karma for him," she said with a wet laugh that turned into a cough, before she cleared up. Bessie reached over and grabbed the cup of stagnant water that had been persistent at her bedside and offered it to her.

"Thanks, Bes," Carrie murmured, taking down the water and then letting out a disgruntled sigh and falling back onto the bed, "God, I'm the worst patient." Bessie let out a light laugh and leaned forward.

"Just try and get yourself better before the next mission, was missing you today, and even though Dougie and you are carbon copies of each other, there was no replacing you up there," Bessie said, "Annie called him Bergie too many times to count." Carrie chuckled.

"When do you think this shit will go away?" sighed Carrie, staring at the ceiling, "I just have lied here and stared at the roof like a French painting."

"What type of French paintings do you look at?" a new voice chimed in and the duo looked up to find James Douglass there, a smile on his face, a cup of soup in his hands and a small smile on his face, "Probably pretty fucked up ones, huh?" Bessie looked from Douglass' face to Carries and watched as Carrie slowly smiled up at him, her sickness playing a bigger role than their usual bickering and sat up a bit.

"You could say that," she offered. Douglass grinned and then came forward and sat on the edge of the bed and held out the soup.

"Figured you'd want something warm," he said, and then reached into a pocket and pulled out a spoon and napkin, "maybe it'll stay down, too."

"Thanks, Dougie," she said quietly, moving to sit up a bit more, "kept down some crackers and water. Bes tried with some juice…didn't go too well." Douglass glanced towards Bessie, where Bessie offered a sad shrug of the shoulders.

"Well," Douglass said, pulling the top off the soup, "my Ma always made sure to try out soup if anything, even just the broth. Some protein, some liquid that's more than just water. Usually always does the trick."

"Your Ma must be a tough woman," Carrie said quietly and Bessie watched as Carrie gazed at him lazily, "dealing with you and your stubbornness." Douglass grinned.

"When she brought out the fucking soup, I knew she was serious," Douglass said softly with a chuckle. They fell quiet for a minute as Douglass stirred the soup and Carrie watched.

"Alright, c'mon, open up," Douglass said, "no way in hell am I playing the choo-choo train game with you." Carrie admonished and rolled her eyes.

"I'm not 5, Dougie," she murmured, before seeming to give up and sighing, the fact she was feeling less than good, taking over.

"C'mon," Douglass said quietly, raising a brow. Slowly, he brought broth to Carrie's lips and she took it and kept it down - at least half the cup of soup - and then she curled on her side and fell promptly asleep.

Bessie sat there for a while, Douglass there on the edge of the bed, the two of them in silence as some of the nurses bustled around, some of the other patients being taken care of or moved about the place. Bessie watched Douglass reach forward and brush some of the sweat-laden hair from Carrie's cheeks and away from her eyes, before slowly standing to his feet, leaving the soup at her bedside and then shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked to Bessie with a small smile and nodded at her.

"If you need to go and get some food, Bes, I'll stay with her," Douglass said, "I don't mind. You were working overtime up there." Bessie looked up at him quickly, crossing her arms and leaned back against the chair, a wide grin spreading on her face as she watched him.

"It's alright," Bessie said, looking towards Carrie curled up in the bed, "we're a package deal. One of us goes down, the other does what they can. And staying with her is what I can do now, so."

"Two peas in a pod," Douglass said with a grin, before tilting his head and nodding, "seriously, go get yourself something. I'll stay." Bessie smirked.

"She really didn't want you in here," Bessie said, slowly standing to her feet and watching as Douglass' eyes darted towards Carrie before looking back at Bessie, "being sick and all. She's a tough nut to crack so, she just doesn't want people having to worry for her." Douglass let out a soft chuckle.

"She's part of the crew, the 100th, I don't mind bunking out with her here," Douglass said with a soft smile that he only ever used around Carrie and about Carrie," plus….it's Carrie." Bessie tilted her head with a smirk and nodded.

"Alright, Mr. Chivalrous," Bessie said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "do you need me to grab you something? Coffee?"

"Just a coffee would be great, thanks," he said, before looking back at Carrie, "maybe grab a piece of toast with butter. Solid food and all, ya know?" Bessie smiled softly, her heart warming at how attentive he was being about Carrie.

"I'll make sure to butter it up real nice," Bessie said, "if she gets up, let her know where I am." Douglass smiled and gave a two-finger salute.

"Yes, ma'am," he said and she smiled, before giving a lasting look towards Carrie and heading out, a grin on her face.

"Oh James Douglass, the romantic," she whispered with a soft chuckle.

[sleepingtimber]

Hello critter internet, i am having emotions again so here is a wall of text under a cut. Rant about the desire to express myself here more vs my fear of being known and the struggles of an overly worried artist

I'm an artist. Art is My Thing and has been since a was very young (single digits young). It is my main mode of self expression in all areas of my life, but I struggle to share my alterhuman art here. I've been posting art online since I was 13, I by no means have a big following (if you can even say I have a following at all), but I feel by now at least some people could recognize my art if they happened upon it here and knew my art blog. And if I did post that art here you could definitely find who I am if you dig enough (I maybe don't hide as well as I should have). I don't mean this in a vain way, but i think my style is recognizable enough that it'd be an issue to post here...

But I want to be able to share my 'type art works, to show my fellow beings what I look like. It would be so nice to finally be seen fully by those in my community, share art together, maybe even offer 'type art trades/comms once in a while. But I just have this hurdle. This fear of my outward facing accounts and the me people know associated with something people like to ridicule. And I hate that I have to worry and feel like this because I shouldn't HAVE to.. and yet people are still nasty about alterhumans... People would also probably easily find out my fictotype because of it and ik it sounds silly but I am not ready for that either 😭

Despite all this worry I also haven't always hidden it well. I still don't. If someone tried hard enough they would be able to tell who I am even now. But it's well enough and I don't think it's an issue until I post art here (if I do, so far I won't). Idk. Just having a weird struggle and being overly anxious like usual. Idk if anyone is reading this at this point, but if you are and happen to be an artist with a main art acc who also posts art separately to an alterhuman acc, how is that for you? Tell me everything I am curious and trying to decide if it's worth biting the bullet.

[askbensolo]

Kashyyyk Travel Log #5: Ryloth

It was definitely a good thing I had Threepio with me, because while my Shyriiwook is—well—bad, I've never studied Twi'leki at all.

Still, most people on Ryloth know Basic, at least a little bit. And if you show up on Ryloth and you're a human like me, most people will just speak Basic to you automatically. (Amalia says she never wants to go to Shili, the Togruta homeworld, because everyone there would assume she can speak Togruti, and she can't.)

I actually had the coordinates of the Pentarra estate already, because before everything happened, Fannie and I had been talking about me visiting maybe in November or something. I had no idea how I was going to get in—it's not like a normal house—but, I figured I'd just cross that bridge when I got there.

It wasn't my first time on Ryloth. I've been a lot of places, having tagged along with my mom on a lot of diplomacy trips growing up. But it was my first time being there as an adult, and all by myself, and so I guess I was just a little nervous about it.

I took a landspeeder taxi there. On more developed planets, the taxis are all droid-operated, owned by big galacticorps—but on Ryloth, the taxi speeders are driven by people, and the people talk to you, and sometimes the people are nosy.

"Pentarra?" asked my taxi driver, with a thick Rylothian accent that made the "r"s sound kind of phlegm-y. "What's a kid like you going to see him for?"

"...I'm going to see his daughter," I said. I didn't know what else to say.

"Ah, so you're one of those," he said with a chuckle. "Lucky boy. Lucky boy." I didn't know what he meant by that, and I spent like ten minutes puzzling over it and trying to figure it out, until I finally gave up and let it go.

Pentarra's estate is located far away from any of the surrounding villages, distanced from them geographically as well as socioeconomically. The taxi driver dropped me off outside the gates of a massive sprawling property, one with a bright green, somehow-artificially-supported garden that looked so unnatural against the rough and rocky Rylothian landscape, and a massive manor in the backdrop, and that was when the thought finally occurred to me that—huh!—I just might be way in over my head.

Threepio and I stood outside the gates for a good solid minute, and I checked my holopod to kind of pretend like I knew what I was doing.

"There does appear to be a visitor's comm at the gate," Threepio offered helpfully. "Shall I ring?"

"Um...no," I said. "I don't know who would answer. Nobody here knows me, except for Fannie."

"Perhaps you could comm her?" Threepio suggested.

...You know, sometimes I think giving droids the ability to speak was kind of a mistake. Because, making droids feel like people makes it so that you can feel embarrassed in front of them, and—ya know? I don't think we should have given them that.

"I...I don't know," I sighed, and sat down on one of the decorative boulders outside the gate.

Some twenty minutes later, I heard voices coming from inside the gates, and I stood up, and I saw a girl that I thought I recognized from holos as one of Fannie's sisters, walking arm-in-arm with another Twi'lek guy. She was tall and shapely and had kind of bluish-green skin and she wasn't wearing a whole lot.

Thing was, I couldn't remember which sister it was. So I just started cycling through names. "Connie!" I shouted. "Ginnie! Pennie!"

The girl turned abruptly and looked me over like "who the hell is this guy?"

"Coneeyla," she said. "My name is Coneeyla. Who are you?"

"I'm Ben Solo," I told her. "Is Fannie home?"

"Fannie? You mean Fa’nakhra?"

"I...maybe? Yeah?"

Maybe I'm an idiot for this, but I had never once considered that "Fannie" might be a nickname.

Can you blame me, though? I mean. My name is Ben for crying out loud. That's literally just my given name. Every nickname that anyone has ever given me was longer than my real name.

So...wow! What a loser I was. I'd just showed up here, couldn't get in, and didn't even know my girlfriend-not-girlfriend's full first name—

But I didn't have any more time to beat myself up, because then Connie turned over her shoulder, and yelled, in the way that only a little sister can. (I have one. I should know.)

"Fa’nakhra! Nu'sola ke'vahl dosu ahk meeh! Va'cha dosu Ben Solo!"

Wait, Fannie was here? My heart started beating faster all of a sudden, and I wasn't sure if the feeling was good or bad.

Well, she was here. Because then, I heard her voice—and I kinda got the shivers, 'cause by this time it had been weeks since I'd last seen her face-to-face—

"Goodness, Connie! Nu'vaahn ti sehni, ahk'la ri meeh—"

And then...there was Fannie, coming from behind the trees, walking with another one of her sisters behind Connie and her beau.

We made eye contact at the same exact time, and she dropped the basket she was holding.

You know in cheesy romance flimsibacks, when the guy looks at the girl, and everything else fades to black 'cause she's the only thing he sees? Yeah. Super cringe, I know. But...that's how that felt.

"Ben...!" Fannie said. And I put an exclamation point on there, because she did exclaim it...but, also, her exclamation was as soft as a breath.

I waved a little and tried to smile.

"...Hey, Fan."