#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!

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[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.

[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."

[garden-of-joy]

Mistake| Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x reader

Summary: Gaz felt from the begging something about the mission was awry. But he didn't expect this...

I totally forgot about Gazfest! I hope I'm not too late @glitterypirateduck

Warnings: Angst, death

Gaz could feel it even before you left the base. Something about the mission was off. It rubbed him the wrong way when Laswell had her hands tied and forced out of the briefing room for "undisclosed reasons". The person that was in her stead seemed shifty and untrustworthy. His eyes were constantly jumping between the 141, never focusing on anyone in particular. The informat never regarded anyone by name. It was always "Captain" this, "Lieutenant" that, "Sergeant" third. Kyle never trusted that CIA informat.

What takes him out of his train of thoughts is you nudging him on the knee. "Kyle? Are you with us?" You whisper to him, making sure to not disrupt the meeting.

"Yeah love. But that skeezy guy doesn't look... Right. Something's off." He whispers back, leaning closer to you with his body.

"Relax, it's not like it's our first time without Laswell babysitting us." You reassure him, trying to be rational. Yeah sure, the replacement CIA guy doesn't look like the most trustworthy person out there, but to trust someone from the CIA fully is straight up stupid. Even with someone as close as Laswell, you still have to take everything with a grain of salt.

"I know, I just don't know if everything is right. Something is wrong." He keeps insisting, bouncing his leg nervously.

You put a hand on his thigh and press it down. "Relax, you're just being paranoid. Come on, we've gotta focus up on the brief." You move your hand up from his thigh and hold his hand, resting it between the two of you.

"You're probably right. Sorry love." Kyle shakes his head, feeling his bones pop a little and focuses on the briefing.

And even then, everything about the informat was wrong. From the way he didn't seem to look at anyone for too long, to how he never stopped changin his posture, but always had an anxious and hostile body language... What really sent him was when Price began strategizing how **his** team should go in, the CIA agent shot down his offer and gave a completely ridiculous idea. That they should all split up. And enter from four different sides, while Ghost keeps overwatch. The mission is a simple warehouse sweep, just go through it quickly, find what you need and get the hell out of dodge. It sounds painfully compromising, to send them alone like that so nobody has their six, having to comb through a warehouse with lots of potential flank routes and ambush spots.

And now here he is, two weeks later, pinned by what he assumes is dozens of russian mercenaries, taking turns to fire at his position. Some have already tried to flank him, but he picked them off, so now they just wait for him to come out, firing at him mostly to make a point. Kyle knows he can't stay here forever, or he'll eventually be caught off guard. He looks around himself, trying to find the nearest exist, his heart beating all the way up in his ears as bullets fly by, too close to his head for it to be safe. Comms are jammed, so he can't even call anyone to come help him, even though his squadmates have definitely heard the gunfire.

The exit to the north of him will take him to a more close quarters part of the warehouse. Maybe he can lose them there? Try and get any news from the team, maybe even find his comrades? At any rate, he'll have to get the hell out of dodge first, and then think about comms and whatnot.

He waits for the enemies to stop firing, just for a second, immediately springing off towards the exit, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his breathing heavy as he barrels towards the door. A bullet grazes his cheek, missing him by barely an inch, but he slams his entire bodyweight on the door, swinging it wide open. He doesn't stop sprinting, feeling the air going through his hair a mile an hour as he rounds corner after corner, in a frenzied sprint to get away. He stops after a minute, panting heavily, but catching his breath, securing his rifle.

"No doubt they'll go after me. I need to be ready. I need to-" is all he can manage to think, before he hears rushed footsteps coming in his direction. Footsteps, laboured by battle gear.

Gaz readies his rifle, setting it to full auto. His mind is going a mile an hour, Kyle can feel his hands itching to exact his flight or flight instinct, as his vision blurs around him. He doesn't quite realise what he's doing, adrenaline pumping through his veins with such intensity it can almost make them burst. He only comes to when a body hits the ground with a muted thump, all the rifles and punctured body armour clanking loudly to accompany the thump.

Gaz takes a cautious step to his fresh kill, to confirm it, but he freezes when he hears you. Or rather, the pained, blood-soaked croak you barely manage to let out. It pierces his ears like a thousand gunshots never could. Kyle lunges over to you and collapses to his knees, hoping that he misheard, but no. It is YOU. Your face, your attire, everything. Just like he remembers it. Except that now, every detail is getting bathed in blood, faster than anyone can help.

"Y/N, I... I..." He tries to find the words but he can't speak. His stomach is turning, making him squeamish. He can feel something rising up his asophagous, forming a lump in his throat as all he can do is gasp.

"I-I can fix this! I-I just need to call a medic." Gaz talks to you, clasping his palms around your wounds, desperately trying to stop the crimson fluid from seeping out of you, taking your life with it.

It's when he looks over at your face, a faint smile curled on your lips, that he feels it all. Death is staring back at him, its cold, boney hands dragging you away from where you need to be. In Gaz's arms, carrying you out of the goddamn warehouse. He stares back at your empty eyes, somehow so full of tenderness, transfixed on a place far beyond Kyle's reach.

His rationale is screaming for him to go, to at the very least save himself, but how can he? You're dead. Gone. Perished. And why? Because of him. It's his fault.

**I should have noticed your attire, your signature weapons, your fucking face!** His mind curses up a storm, drilling into him the severity of the situation. His gloves feel disgustingly warm, caked in something that isn't his, coated by something he wrongfully took. It's HIS rifle that shot HIS bullets that made it to YOUR stomach.

He takes your lifeless corpse in his trembling hands, his usual relaxed yet no-no sense attitude gone. Tears stream down his face as he presses you close, the salty drops finding their way into his mouth, painfully contorted as he tries not to cry. Gaz's ears begin to ring, but all sounds feel so distant now, as if coming from another planet. Everything feels distant and foreign to him, everything, except you. Kyle knows full well there's no going back. No amount of blood transfusions, stitches, resuscitation attempts, NOTHING, will ever help you. Because. Of. Him.

"Please Y/N forgive me, please..." He barely whimpers between stifled sobs, burying his head into the crook of your neck, your scent just like he remembers it. He wants to lose himself in you. He can't imagine a life without his one true love, especially knowing that you died by his own hands. All those dreadful, sorrowed sounds leave him, filling the room with unparalleled anguish, reverberating between the walls and drilling back into his head. It's too thick for him to move, too thick for him to hear the rapidly approaching footsteps and loud voices. It's too thick for him to see the bright red laser from a rifle, trained onto his head.

[cacowhistle]

everything, everything

fandom: hermitcraft/life series smps relationships: grian/scar wc: 2255

written for @salemoleander for the @mcytblrholidayexchange!!

read it on ao3 or below the cut!

Season Nine is ending. It’s a little sad, Scar will admit. He’s grown so used to these surroundings, and the memories within them. He’s familiar—intimate, even—with the way the hills roll and the buildings and monuments rise above the horizon. And right now, familiarity is important. At least, it is for him.

Secret Life ended with a bang, and Scar woke up with his heart pounding and the feeling of blood beneath his fingernails. He woke up safe and secure in bed, like nothing had ever happened. The only sign of it was a few new scars to his name, and the memories burned into the back of his mind. The memories that he had lost, for a while there, before his victory. He threw himself into work, for about a week, but time is running thin and he doesn’t have the time or materials to dedicate to another project, and there’s only so many hermits around, and—

Well, one thing at a time. Scar breathes in deep, grip tightening on his cane. He just needs… something. A distraction, for now.

He’s sorting out the whole death game thing at his own pace. Pearl had messaged him a day after they’d all gotten back to offer him a shoulder to lean on. It sort of stung a bit that Grian didn’t extend a hand, too.

Scar had taken Pearl up on that offer, though. They’d talked. He had a little bit better of an understanding than he’d had before. But now…

Scar shivers, an involuntary thing. Ugh. Distraction. He pulls up his comm with one smooth motion, eyes narrowing as he checks to see who’s online. Quite a few names come up—the last week of the server is upon them, after all—but his attention is caught by one in particular. One he, of course, was going to be drawn to. Grian is online, and Scar knows he doesn’t have many last-minute projects to be working on. Maybe he can wrangle the pesky thing into helping him with something small. It would be nice to at least ease back into talking about regular things again.

Though Grian would loathe to admit it, Scar is certain that he’s missed hanging out. And… well, of course Scar has missed him. They’re still friends. (Maybe more than that.) Mysterious entities beyond his understanding aside, Scar still cares about Grian. Even when Grian… creates a death game to appease some—not godlike, he’s not a god, Pearl had been very adamant about that, but… some kind of. Need, almost? He needs to stop thinking about it, before he gets too confused again. It was hard enough to parse the first time Pearl explained it all to him. Maybe he’ll ask Grian to explain it again, from his own point of view. Not now, of course, it’s far too soon for that, but… maybe once they’ve settled into the next season. For now, Scar flicks open his elytra, typing away on his comm.

> GoodTimeWithScar: Hey G where are you?

> Grian: base

> Grian: whats up

Shoot. He could’ve checked there without asking in chat. Now Grian will be expecting him. What if he’d wanted to prank him? Stupid. Scar checks his inventory for any goat horns, or anything else he can use. He’s got one, but he doesn’t know what sound it’ll make. A few eggs sit beside it. He’s… not sure where those came from. Maybe he can throw them at Grian from above?

Well, now he’s just stalling. Scar throws himself into the air, letting his cane drop into his inventory. The elytra do most of the work for him, carrying him along through the sky. He’s gotten much better at controlling them, though, and the skill shines through as he does a few loops around Scarland, just for himself. He has plans, however, and so he soars over the exit, pitching upwards and landing on one of the boulders that make up Grian’s base. The bird is somewhere around here, Scar thinks as he braces himself against the stone. He just has to find him.

It’s not that hard, all things considered. His feathers stand out, bright and colorful, against the earthy tones of his base.

Scar grins, snatching up an egg from his inventory, holding the goat horn with his other hand. He pushes off from the rock, gliding down toward Grian, who keeps looking down at his comm, none-the-wiser.

It is so, so easy to crack the egg and drop it on Grian’s head. At the same time, Scar blows into the horn, and the sound echoes, reverberates in his bones. Even from here, Scar can see Grian’s feathers all stand on end, and then his shoulders hike up to his ears as the raw egg lands in his hair. He yells—wordless and disgusted, shivering and shaking the egg out of his hair, feathers ruffling with displeasure as Scar cackles, quickening his descent.

“Scar!” Grian shouts up at him, scowling good-naturedly. “What is wrong with you?”

“It wasn’t me!” Scar lands in the grass a few feet away, pulling his cane out of his inventory to balance himself. “It was Poultry Man. You know how his tricks are.”

Grian wipes some more egg off of his shoulder, grimacing as he does so. “You know full well it was not.”

Scar shrugs. “I guess it’ll just be a mystery, then.”

“Right.” Grian flicks the last of the egg from his fingers. “Was that all you wanted to do, then?”

Well, shoot. He didn’t think this far ahead. Scar reaches for any idea, any project he needs help with—and comes up fairly empty. “Uh,” he says, floundering, “well, no, you see, I wanted to—or, well, I thought maybe you could—we could—”

Grian raises his eyebrows, looking more than a little confused.

“—hang out, or something,” Scar finishes lamely.

“Or something,” Grian repeats, frowning. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course!” Scar smiles. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

They both know the answer to that. Scar looks at Grian, all wide-eyed and nervous, and Grian just stares back, eyes flat. Scar fidgets with his cane, finally averting his eyes.

“If this is about the games,” Grian starts, voice gone somber, “I—I understand if you have some words for me. If you’re upset with me.”

Scar looks up, startled. “Why would I be upset with you, G?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Grian echoes, eyes wide. “Scar, I made you and our friends fight to the death for weeks. I’ve done it multiple times. And you—you know all that, now. You remember it all.”

He glances away, tucking his hands into his pockets. His wings fidget against his back. “You remember the win, and the losses, too.”

The sun blazes down and Scar sees sand and red behind his eyes when he closes them. It had hurt, to leave Grian on his own—to give his life and let him win, to abandon any chance of a happy, red life together, just the two of them—domestic and devoted in the desert. He does remember, now, nights shared in the same bed, feathers between his fingers and warmth against his back. It had hurt more when Grian had left him. He hadn’t known why it hurt, at the time, when Last Life began and any hope of companionship died that first night. And then Double Life—

Scar’s grip tightens on his cane. “Yeah,” he says, and it comes out tenser than he’d have liked. “Yeah, I remember. But G—”

“You’re upset,” Grian says, miserably, “it’s okay, Scar. I deserve it.”

“I’m a little upset,” Scar admits, “but I missed you, Grian. I’m not mad at you.”

They stand there for a few moments, quiet settling over them like a heavy, tense shroud. Scar shifts his weight from foot to foot, before clearing his throat. “I’m not, really. I just—I want to understand why.”

Why Grian had done any of it. The games, the desert—why he had stayed by Scar’s side even after he died the first time, when he didn’t have to at all. Why he’d refused to do so afterwards, why he left him in the cold on the mountain by his lonesome. Why he’d been so angry about being tied to him, why he’d fled and made new friends and a new home in the arms of other men—

Okay, he’s a little mad. Maybe. “Why’d you leave?”

Grian seems to freeze, wings stilling against his back. He looks up at Scar with wide eyes. “What?”

“Why,” Scar repeats, slowly, “did you leave, G? I would’ve stayed by you.”

“Well, I’m not you,” Grian retorts, pulling away. “And if you were really in my position I think you would’ve understood why. Just because you finally won doesn’t mean you get it, Scar.”

“Okay, so explain it to me.” Scar spreads his hands out, palms up, fingers outstretched. “What don’t I get? It feels a little bit like I’m being stabbed in the back, here, G. We had something in that desert, and you know it. So why did you abandon it that fast?”

“Because I didn’t want to have to kill you again!”

It comes out sharp and biting, like talons piercing flesh. Scar flinches back from the outburst, Grian’s wings splaying wide, feathers all puffed up. He stares up at Scar, looking more earnest and angry and heartbroken than Scar’s ever seen him. He steps forward, jabbing a finger into Scar’s chest.

“You try being in that position,” he bites out, “having to kill the man you love, and then just act like it never happened. Would you want to just do that all over again? Do all that grief again? I didn’t want to watch you die again, Scar. But yeah, sorry that you missed me, even though we saw each other all the time.”

“Just like you saw Joel and Tim all the time,” Scar mutters.

Grian’s feathers ruffle. “Excuse me?”

He waves a hand. “No, it’s fine. Go on.”

“We aren’t even together, Scar,” Grian says, eyes narrowing. “You cannot hold them against me when we aren’t even in a relationship.”

To be fair, he’s not wrong. Scar isn’t even really upset about that, truth be told. It just—well, he’s just feeling petty, he supposes. He shrugs, leaning in a bit. Grian leans back.

“Well,” Scar says, “do you want to be?”

He says it slow and sly, in that way that makes Grian shiver. He’ll admit: he sort of likes this. Even when they’re arguing, he can still find a way to make Grian speechless, and it seems he’s just hit the bullseye. Grian flounders, mouth opening and closing wordlessly for a moment, before he finally squawks out a response.

“You are ridiculous,” he gasps.

Scar grins, cocking an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a no?”

Grian splutters again, before throwing his hands up. “Yes, I want to be with you, Scar. What is wrong with you?”

He pulls Grian into a hug. Grian tenses, just for a moment, before relaxing into it with a sigh. Scar threads fingers between feathers, resting his chin on top of Grian’s head, staring beyond him at grass and moss and stone. He just holds him, for a minute, closing his eyes.

“I’m not upset,” he says, quietly, “about the death games. I know there’s something more complicated going on, and I don’t really understand it, but there’s a reason you do it. And I trust you, G. And sometimes, it’s actually kinda fun.”

Grian sighs into his shirt, leaning his cheek against Scar’s chest. “But,” Scar continues, “I am upset that you didn’t talk to me. That you didn’t try to keep us going. I—I think I get why you didn’t want to, but now…”

“We both remember,” Grian finishes, quiet. “So it’s less stakes when we get into a game.”

“You can team up with whoever,” Scar says. “I don’t really care about that. It’s good to hang out with other people. I just—want to know, I guess, that under all of that, there’s still us.”

“There’s always gonna be us.” Grian pulls back, looking up at Scar. “I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise. I just—I get scared, Scar, that I’m going to bring you down, or…”

“We kill each other all the time on Hermitcraft.” Scar shrugs. “Sometimes you just have to kill your friends dramatically.”

“I suppose it’s less harrowing when you know you’re just going to wake up on-server again,” Grian muses. Scar grins, letting his arms rest on Grian’s shoulders.

“Exactly,” he says.

“And you want this,” Grian says, running a hand along Scar’s arm. “Like, you really, truly want this. You want…” he swallows, not looking Scar in the eye.

“Whatever you want to give me,” Scar murmurs, low and sultry in Grian’s ear.

He snorts, swatting at Scar’s chest. “Stop that. I’m trying to be serious.”

“That was serious,” he protests.

Grian just giggles, leaning against him again. Scar looks down at him, running fingers through his hair. Grian gazes back at him with wide eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” He blurts, shifting in Scar’s arms.

Scar grins. “God,” he says, “please. I was waiting for you to ask.”

(It’s everything he was hoping it would be and more. When he wakes up the next morning, there’s feathers in his face and warmth pressed against his chest. It’s everything, everything, everything.

And it only gets better from there.)

[spectrechosts]

You Wouldn't Know Her

Fanfic for CaffeinatedOtter's Pilot Princess Soul Defender Moonstone. These two chapters (merged into one here) are the first things I ever wrote on Cohost.

Sabine awoke to the piercing ring of her cellphone. She pawed blindly at her nightstand, the irritating jingle an icepick to her hungover brain. Her fingers grazed the device and she considered flinging it across the room, but this was the ring. The "Official Pilot Princess Soul Defender business" ring. She swiped to pick up the call on speaker and retreated into her blanket.

"What?" She grumbled.

"Are you still sleeping?" Came the irritated voice of a boss who had to listen to the phone ring for slightly too long. "It's almost four."

"Yes, Sapphire, I'm still sleeping. What is it?"

"You know, evil doesn't wait to fit your schedule Moonstone. If you could try a little harder-"

"If there's nothing important I'm gonna hang up now."

"Wait! There's something going on at the pier. We've got a bunch of sailors calling in saying they can't get to work because of a horde of robots."

"Got it. On my way." Moonstone said, and hung up before Sapphire could say anything else. She downed a couple of ibuprofen, brushed her hair, and got dressed, then paced her room searching for wherever the fuck she had left her keys when she stumbled into bed the night before. She found them strewn on top of a rubber duck and sighed, snatching them up and heading out the door.

~

"You don't want him back?" She asked, holding out a rubber duck with a band-aid plastered across its side.

"No!" Hazel said, flinching at the intensity of her own voice. "It's nice that you saved him, but no. I'm making good progress and I can't-"

"-Can't risk having him around." Sabine finished for her. "Like you can't risk having me around."

Hazel couldn't look her in the eyes as she spoke. "It's not- I don't mean anything by it I just-" She stopped and took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before continuing. "Recompartmentalizing is difficult, and I'm trying to make it more stable than last time, and I can't do that if I'm surrounding myself with… With, um…"

"Old coping mechanisms?" Sabine offered.

"No! You're not an old coping mechanism you're a… Potential relapse trigger?" Hazel said, and winced as the words left her mouth. "I shouldn't even be here right now, but you figured it out and I couldn't just ignore you and I thought maybe just a quick visit would be okay as a test."

"I understand." Sabine said quietly, deciding to leave out "But this still hurts pretty fucking bad, Hazel."

"I'll be back."

"Okay."

"I will, I mean it." Hazel said, clearly unconvinced by the stoic badass act. She cautiously hugged Sabine, and gave the Professor a quick squeeze. "I just need a little more time."

"I get it, I do." Sabine said, gently hugging Hazel back. "I can see you're doing better, I'm just… I miss you."

"I miss you too."

~

Pilot Princess Soul Defender Moonstone rolled a cigarette as Amethyst's laughter drowned out the comms channel. The Soul Defenders had arrived at the pier and found themselves faced with hundreds of robot crustaceans about two feet long, all swaying their claws in the air in some sort of victory dance. Sapphire shushed her and attempted to take control of what was shaping up to be a complete waste of their time.

"So what do we think? Eco-terrorist?"

"It's crab rave, they're doing fucking crab rave-" Amethyst cackled, and was promptly muted by Sapphire.

"Anyone else?"

"I think," Moonstone said, lighting her cigarette, "I didn't need to get out of bed for this."

"Anyone who takes their job seriously?" Sapphire said, determined to remain heroically steadfast in the face of whatever the hell this was. "These robots are terrorizing the populace!"

"Terrorizing is a strong word. They're dancing at the populace."

"They were threatening people who tried to get past them, we can't just let them stay." Said Cinnabar.

"Right!" Said Sapphire. "We need to come up with a plan to disperse them without risking any-"

"I'm just gonna step on them." Moonstone interrupted.

"No! We don't know how they'll react-" Sapphire protested, but Moonstone had already stepped into the horde. The sea of robo-crustaceans parted to avoid being caught under her mechanical foot, and then reformed around it.

"INTRUDER! INTERLOPER!" The robots shrieked, ceasing their dance and snapping their claws in the air. "PINCH HER! FOR THE EMPRESS!" Those closest to her began snipping harmlessly at her mech's foot, while the rest simply kept clicking their claws. They didn't even advance to try attacking her other foot, just stayed where they were. Moonstone took a long drag and opened her cockpit, blowing smoke into the open air. "Yeah, I'm feeling pretty terrorized." She said, and swung herself over the side of the cockpit to slide down her mech's leg. She could hear Sapphire yelling something over comms, but that had never stopped her before. The robots didn't react to her landing on her mech's foot, and she lifted one out of the crowd by the tail and held it at arms length. It wiggled and screamed, but made no attempt to attack her.

"UNHAND ME! FIEND! HAVE YOU NO HONOR?"

"UNHAND HIM! FOOLISH MEATBAG!"

The rest of the swarm made a hell of a fuss, but none actually did anything, and so she did not unhand him.

"Alright, what's the deal?"

"WE CLAIM THESE LANDS FOR OUR EMPRESS, NONE MAY INTRUDE!"

"Well, I'm intruding." She said, and took another drag. "What're you going to do about it?"

"THAT WILL BE YOUR DOOM, INTERLOPER! OUR EMPRESS RULES THE SEA AND STARS! THE LAND WILL FALL TO HER AND ALL WILL BE HER DOMAIN!"

Moonstone's eyes widened and she choked on the cloud of smoke she was inhaling, dropping the robot as gears spun in her mind. She climbed back up to the cockpit with shaking hands and brought a robotic fist down into the swarm.

"RETREAT, BROTHERS! WE ARE OUTMATCHED! YOU HAVEN'T HEARD THE LAST OF US!!!" The robots cried, and scuttled off into the water. Sapphire sighed loudly over comms. "I guess that solves things. Good job team."

Amethyst's mic clicked back to life, and she was still giggling to herself.

"C'mon Amethyst," Cinnabar said, "It's not that funny."

"They're not even crabs," Added Onyx, "They're clearly lobsters."

"Crayfish." Moonstone said faintly.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm going home, don't call me out here for stupid shit like this." She snapped.

But if the other Pilot Princesses had looked into her cockpit, they would've seen that she was beaming.

~~~

The Space Crayfish Universal Empress hadn't resurfaced since her legion's first foray onto the land, nor had Hazel made herself known. That wasn't how these things worked after all, you couldn't just flaunt the hero's words in their face and then take them by the hand and go "It's me! The person you said the thing to! I did it!". There had to be a chase, the hero had to find you because they understood. Because they cared.

And so, Sabine found herself lurking in the corner of the aquarium's crustacean exhibit, where she had been since they opened at eight that morning. The special guest of the day, Hazel (But not her Hazel) the marine biologist, eagerly explained each exhibit to groups of enraptured middle schoolers on a half-hour rotation, while Sabine watched hawkishly for any sign of her date.

Not that she was assuming this was a date. She was dressed casually, and there was no way for Hazel to have familiarized herself enough with her wardrobe to know that this was the nice leather jacket + band tee + ripped jeans ensemble that she typically wore to impress girls. Or to know that when the aquarium staff had approached her because people were complaining about the scary lady glaring at everyone, she had told them she was just waiting for her date to show up.

That had been almost five hours ago, and she was beginning to think that this lead was a dud. She fished her phone out of her pocket and crossed it off her list of places to look.

Snoop around the pier? Sapphire and Onyx searched for hours, no sign of her.

Her old apartment? Someone else moved in ages ago.

Check reservations at seafood restaurants? Romantic? Food sensitivities mean unlikely.

Museum lecture on aquatic life on other planets? Decent overlap with gimmick. No sign of her.

Crab expert named Hazel speaking at the aquarium? Picture's not her. Weirdly coincidental? Lesbians like aquarium dates???

She typed out 'No sign of her', and stepped out for a smoke.

"Excuse me, are you one of the Pilot Princess Soul Defenders?"

She snapped her head up, but it was the wrong Hazel, also out on a smoke break between tours.

"Oh. Uh, no." She said.

"Really? I've been wondering where I knew your face from all day, I could've sworn I had it."

"Nope, sorry."

"Aw, that's a shame. I've always had such a crush on Moonstone, you know." She said, smiling.

Moonstone narrowed her eyes. "Well, I'm not her. So…" She started putting together a roll-up. "Good luck with that, I guess."

"Whatever you say, scary corner girl." Wrong Hazel stamped out her cigarette and headed back inside. "If you change your mind, I'm here till six. Maybe I could do something about that permanent scowl you've got going on, hm?" She winked, and let the door close behind her. Sabine lit her cig and silently cursed the seductive power of the nice leather jacket.

"Wow, some people will just say anything to their celebrity crushes, huh?"

Sabine's heart skipped a beat.

"Hazel!" She said, nearly dropping her cigarette as she spun to face her. "Shit, you're really here!"

Hazel laughed, throwing her head back in a melodious cackle. "You've found me, Moonstone. I hope you weren't waiting too long."

"Nah." Sabine lied. She had been waiting for months, but what did it matter now? Hazel was back, and that was worth all the time in the world. "Was just worried I had the wrong place, is all."

"Ah. Yeah." Hazel cleared her throat, the confident cackling persona fading as she retreated into her hoodie. "I was pretty sure you'd get it but um, if you want I made a secure messaging app I can put on your phone so we can just… Make plans, next time."

"Next time?"

Hazel turned beet red. "I-If you want there to be a next time!"

Sabine flashed a smirk. "I just might. You wanna head in?"

"Yes." Hazel said, her posture relaxing. "Let's… not take the tour."

"You don't want to gloat?"

"God do I." Hazel said, and a wicked smile crossed her face. "But we're on a date and it would snowball and derail the whole thing, so no."

So this was a date. Sabine threw her arm around Hazel's shoulder and leaned towards her ear. "So I shouldn't tell you that I think it's really fucking cute when you get all supervillainous over me?" She purred.

Hazel stiffened and took a deep breath. "I won't be baited so easily, Soul Defender."

"Of course not." She smiled, and pulled Hazel closer. "Let's go look at some fish, Hazel."

~

Sabine was, admittedly, uninterested in the aquarium after overhearing the tour so many times while she waited. She was however quite content to admire Hazel as she flitted from tank to tank, observing the denizens and absorbing the information on the displays like a sponge. She lingered, predictably, on the crayfish.

"So… Crayfish?" Sabine asked. "I hadn't heard anything about… Crayfish, showing up in Canada."

Hazel quickly scanned their surroundings for anyone potentially listening. "You wouldn't have. The Empress is too… specific, for my tastes. No room to go where inspiration takes me."

"Then the pier, that was all for me?"

Hazel's face was tinged with red, and she pretended to focus harder on the exhibit. "Yes," She hissed, "I made hundreds of bumbling crayfish minions that I now have no idea what to do with, because I thought it might make you smile."

"It did." Sabine said, and it made her smile again hearing it. "So who are you normally then?"

Hazel opened her mouth to answer, and then clamped it shut as another aquarium-goer entered earshot.

"Not here." She said tersely. "But I'm settling in well. Good uh, work/life balance."

"Good. And your… Boss doesn't make you….. Work overtime? Fuck, I don't know." Sabine shook her head at the mangled metaphor.

"She calls, but I don't have to pick up the phone."

"That's-" Sabine started, and was cut off by her phone ringing. The ring. She sighed.

"I wish I could say the same."

"It's okay, I knew what I was getting into." Hazel smiled, and squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Go save the world, Soul Defender."

Sabine lingered in the moment, letting her phone ring just a little longer. Then she picked it up, and she was Pilot Princess Soul Defender Moonstone.

"What, goddammit? I'm on a date."

She stomped out, and Hazel noticed Biologist Hazel look away to pretend she hadn't been watching the two of them, and she felt unbearably smug. She walked out to her car, made sure the doors were locked and the windows rolled up, and let herself laugh, head swimming with taunts about her superior intellect and charm. By the time she finished she had six and a half ideas for how to make the entire city jealous of her for seducing the hottest pilot princess, which she promptly filed away under 'too risky' (subheading: high probability of getting dumped).

~

Sabine

made it back safe can't call, pilot princess "afterparty" at ihop

Hazel

Sounds fun. Glad you're okay. <3 Tell the Pilot Princesses that Robo-Grandmaster says hi. (Don't do that.)

Sabine

i wasn't going to lmao onyx still gives me shit about that i don't need any more

Hazel

Sorry...

Sabine

not your fault she refuses to understand nuance sorry i had to run out on our date

Hazel

It's okay! I had a nice time. :)

Sabine

me too you back in canada?

Hazel

Yeah.

Sabine

shame i was kinda hoping i could witness more what was it "empirical perfectionism"?

Hazel

*Hazel is typing...* *Hazel is typing.....* *Hazel is typing.......*

"Oh my god is that her? Are you texting your daaaaate???"

Moonstone stuffed her phone into her pocket as Amethyst cooed and tried to peek over her shoulder. "No. Fuck off."

"It issss! Guys she's texting her date! What are you talking about show us show us-" Amethyst was entirely within Moonstone's personal space now, and she bristled with a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

"Nothing." She hissed. "Fuck off, Am."

"Leave her alone, Amethyst." Said Onyx, and Moonstone would be happy for the reprieve if she didn't know it was going to be followed up with some absolute horseshit. "I'm just glad she's finally over her ex."

"Don't start."

"I'm just saying-"

"Don't. Don't say anything." She seethed.

"So what's her name?" Asked Sapphire, trying to steer the conversation away from a fight.

"Why do you need to know?" Snapped Moonstone.

Sapphire raised an eyebrow. "Why do I need to know… her name?"

The color drained from Moonstone's face. She had been too reluctant to talk and it was backfiring. Amethyst gasped.

"Is it someone we know?!" She squealed, and Moonstone scrambled to salvage the situation without exposing Hazel's identity.

"No! No, it's not. You wouldn't know her, she's…" Moonstone hesitated, realizing the stupid cliché she had backed herself into.

"She's from Canada."