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tteokdoroki · 9 months

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☆༉ — KATSUKI BAKUGOU. baby talk.

about. you know how people raise their voices all high and squeal, and pout through their words when they talk to babies?…yeah? well imagine that with your husband, katsuki.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! sfw, fluff, baby talking (lots of w’s involved), cutesy speech, baby doesn’t have a name, new parents, reader is referred to as mommy, fem!reader, girl dad + pro hero!bakugou, uncle!deku.

you’ve always known your husband, bakugou, to be slightly rough around the edges. being the man that he is, and witnessing first hand every struggle he’s ever gone through, it’s hard to imagine him without his hardened outer shell. your katsuki has stood on the brink of death more than once — testing, fighting it… all while facing a world that saw him as good for nothing and evil.

how could you expect a man like that to be anything other than defensive, brash and bold? katsuki bakugou can be a little harsh, a little too mean at times but that’s never deterred you from giving him all the love he thinks he doesn’t deserve. you’d give him all the stars in the sky if you could, and he would give you the universe in turn.

he was far from cookie cutter perfect, yet, even with his bumps and sharp edges, katsuki tried to love you and let you in. still, you’d never thought you’d see the day when all of the blonde’s roughness, his bared fangs and callous tongue all melted away for another human being aside from you.

for your darling baby girl.

“who’s my ‘eepy lil’ girl? you are! yeah. you are, sweetheart. oh, what’s that? big yawn for daddy?” the blonde coos with a sunshine smile that lights up the entirety of his well-aged face. you’re still young, for parents of a eight month old but even you can see the way that his hair is slightly silvered at his undercut that’s growing out and there are finer lines under ruby framed eyes (the late nights and early starts are probably the reason for that).

still, with all of this, and even with your genetics throwing a spanner in the works — your daughter is the spitting image of bakugou and he loves her. he loves her pale blonde curls, big bambi red eyes and her all the parts about her that remind him of you.

pulling her from her crib to settle her on his hip, the bigger bakugou rubs the sleep from her eyes as she wakes up from her nap. “so freakin’ cute.” he hums, licking his thumb to wipe over the traces of tears on her cheeks.

ever since she was born, earlier and around spring time, bakugou has been absolutely obsessed with the tiny human version of him you'd blessed him with. he’ll be the first one up at the crack of dawn when she cries for her breakfast, he’s happy to carry around her dynamight themed baby bag and always apologises to you when you have to change her explosive diapers (or he just does it for you.).

baby dynamight goes everywhere with her daddy, she’d be on patrols if you’d let bakugou take her on them too. she’s absolutely spoiled as well, with more clothes and toys and itty bitty little shoes a baby of her age would need despite how often you tell your husband that she’ll just grow out everything. perhaps your little girl is more spoiled than you — not that you mind, because it only means you get to witness adorable moments like these each and every day.

“katsuki, she’s supposed to be lying down.” you remind him gently, stepping past the threshold of the nursery to be by his side. your daughter instantly reaches out to curl three of her tiny fingers around your index, drooling in content between both of her parents.

bakugou looks down at you with a distraught pout. “yeah… but she woke up cryin’ f’me so i came to check on my sweepy wittol pwincess.” you giggle at how high pitched katsuki makes his voice when he talks about your daughter, baby-talking her whilst waving her tiny little hand at you. “say hi to momma, sweet girl. say hi!”

the mini bakugou tucked into his bulky arms lets out an excited squeal — though she’s quickly distracted by mapping her hands up and down the squiggly lines (tattoos) on daddy’s arms.

“exactly,” you press, grabbing an uravity themed spit up cloth from the diaper station behind you moth. carefully, you mop up the drool tracks baby dynamight leaves on katsuki before dabbing at her chin as well. “we’re trying to get her to learn how to go back to sleep on her own. which means?”

“leavin’ her to cry until she falls back to sleep….”

“which is why?”

bakugou’s shoulders sag in defeat. you know how much he hates leaving her to cry, it’s been difficult for him to adjust to not just picking her up whenever she needs or he wants to. “you invited stupid deku over ‘n daddy has to have stupid drinks with his big stupid broccoli head, ain’t that right gorgeous?” your baby grins with her gums again and bakugou blows a raspberry at her. “oh yeah? yes it is! look at that pretty girl smilin’, just like momma.”

you know he’s trying to butter you up for more time with her — you’re a sucker for the father-daughter bond they have already, you fear that you might melt if you look at the two of them together any longer. they’re a sight for sore eyes, the two loves of your life cuddled up with each other, baby bakugou’s pudgy cheek resting on katsuki’s warm chest (no doubt lulling her back to sleep).

“katsuki please,” you plead weakly, ready to give up on being the rain on this baby parade so you can scoop your little girl up and shower her with kisses. “we have guests and she needs to go back to sleep. or she’ll be up in the middle of the night.”

the elder blonde can’t help the proud smile that illuminates his face as he watches his two girls together — the way you fiddle with her baby grow to make sure she’s cosy. “s’okay, daddy’ll wake up for you, won’t he?” bakugou sways from side to side, toying with all the tiny features on your daughter before catching your exasperated look. “alright, fine. back to sleep we go princess. don’t mind mommy, she’s jus’ bein’ meanie who won’t let me show you off.”

there’s a tender moment, where time stands still, while katsuki lowers his pride and joy back into her crib — fighting back what are probably tears as she clings onto every part of him, looking up at him with her matching big beautiful ruby eyes. he feels as though he’s looking into a mirror that reflects not only him but parts of you as well.

“night night princess, goodnight! daddy loves ya—“

said moment is lost when izuku stops by the nursery on his way back down stairs from the bathroom. “wait, kacchan baby-talks?”

“of course i do nerd!” bakugou’s head whips up faster than the speed of sound, and you have to refrain from laughing at how fast he goes from soft and tender father to deku’s public enemy number one. “she’s my fuckin’—” the blonde pauses after receiving a warning glance from you. no cursing in front of the baby. “freakin’ kid!”

the number one raises his hands in surrender, sheepish laughter spilling out of him. “relax kacchan! i was only teasing.”

“tease my ass! you go ‘nd have a kid with your partner ‘n see what it turns you into — in fact, ‘m surprised you don’t have a whole litter already. what with the way you two are fuckin’.”

“oh that’s rich coming from you, kacchan. you guys literally conceived at my family barbecue last year!”

“well you fucked on my desk. my desk. so it’s only right that we—!”

while the boys bicker, you make quick work of ensuring your daughter is safely tucked in and her pacifier is popped into her mouth just in case she wakes up again and needs to soothe herself. stroking back her peach fuzz curls, you press a kiss to the soft membrane of her skull and pull back with a wistful grin while she drifts off to sleep again. her unfairly long lashes flutter against your hand, mostly inherited from her father.

“alright boys, that’s enough!” you whisper yell, hands still on the bar of the crib to make “don’t you see that she’s sleeping again? we wouldn’t wanna wake her up, right?”

katsuki pouts. “you’re right, sorry, sweetness.”

midoriya nods along agreeably, taking a peek at his sleeping niece from the doorway.“right! otherwise we’d have to send daddy back in there to save baby girl’s day. he can’t resist his pwecious gwirl.”

“i said shut the fuck up, izuku!” your husband snarls, cheeks burning fire truck red.

“yes daddy!” izuku bats his eyelashes at him.

“i’ll kill you, nerd.”

“i’d like to see you try, daddy!”

“boys!”

you do try your best to intercept, but your daughter beats you to it — waking up with a fresh set of tears and a wail so loud it has two big, burly pro heroes baby-talking her in an attempt to get her right back to sleep.

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eatsleepcrap · 1 year

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some malaphors for your perusal

pushing up oopsie daisies

we're putting our best foot in our mouth

time flies by the seat of its pants

beating the dead horse to water

you can't have your humble pie and eat it too

dropped the ball in your court

a bird in the hand is worth two killed with one stone

sleeping with the other fish in the sea

sweeping water under the bridge

to get on like a bridge on fire

to have their head in the silver linings

to throw your spanner into the ring

fuck around and fuck up

#please add your own creations #malaphors #idioms

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pwlanier · 10 months

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A MULTI-BLADE PENKNIFE FOR EXHIBITION

with over one hundred folding blades and accessories including awls, borers, saws, corkscrews, tweezers, scissors, pincers, scribes, bodkins, needles, nail files, bradawls, and spanners, fitted at each side with mother-of-pearl scales (small cracks) retained by five minute screws and with elaborately writhen German silver borders at the top and bottom.

Olympia Auctions

#knives #knife #dagger #pocket knives

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 1 month

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Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)

Chapter 10: Like A Hurt, Lost and Blinded Fool

Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the shape of your former best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.

You can’t afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you’ve missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same

Chapter 9 // Masterlist // AO3 Version // Chapter 11

You awoke to your alarm, your arms tucked beneath the blankets you’d fallen asleep atop of. Without any dexterity, you slapped it off then turned your head over on the pillow.

A dream was slipping from your mind. It’d felt so real, as all dreams did. As if, when you reached out, you could feel the weight of a wedding ring on your left hand and smell an English fry-up in a newly installed kitchen – your kitchen - John cooking in an apron with Michaelangelo’s David on the front. Sizzling and smoking over your eyes, you remembered there was also a cow in the sitting room. Every wall had been painted an ugly green that profoundly distressed you. There may have been some symbolism in that but your soporific mind could not begin to fathom what on Earth that pertained to you.

Your chest felt concave and your sluggish memory recalled why. Its remembrance had dug out your innards and nestled there. Face stiff, it seems last night’s tears had turned to plaster with the echoes of kisses on your cheeks. Your quiet comprehension of how much time you and John both had wasted dithering around the point, a decade beside each other, another apart, it was becoming too much for this early. You reached the same point you had last night just before drifting away from consciousness.

Trying to get over it all in one go, acting like it was ok, wouldn’t work. Shouldn’t’ve taken you trying to fuck him to figure that out, but at least you knew now for certain. Nostalgia wouldn’t trick you like that again.

Forgiveness still flickered at one end of a Route 66 trek and you weren’t even in the same country that the road started in, your logician approach to emotions setting you back miles.

But getting dressed? That was doable.

Hacking yourself free from the enveloping ivy sentiments that trapped you in this bed in the first place was the toughest part.Soon enough, you were under the trickle of the showerhead. Its tepid touch filtered across your skin akin to the torrential downpour of tears from the previous night.The same thought played behind your eyelids on a loop to distract yourself from any others. Upon the instant your mind tried to stray to unsavoury memories, you wrangled it back under control, scouring soap into your being as if to cleanse these unpleasantries.

Plum mottled around your ribs as the only thing marring your body that could be seen and you hid it beneath your shirt – the only fresh one left in your bag that you always saved for the trip home. Nothing worse than going home in stinking uniform. Scanning down your body and containing your emotions once again, your hand grasped the door handle firmly and guided you into the remembered route to the mess hall.

In silver platters were eggs of all kinds for the Easter weekend, lining up at the far end under almost amber lights. Your stomach coveted a fry-up of some description but duty held you back, guiding your gaze to find your team. Excited uproar meant your ears latched onto their seating plan first. They were with the 141 still, and you believed you were catching the tail end of an arm wrestling competition. Your presence was felt from a fifteen metre radius by everyone except the person you wanted to talk to – wilful ignorance going a long way.

“Good morning all. Crash, a word?”

Crash’s face recovered before it had dropped a substantial amount. You still caught how the delight in her eyes was snuffed out, now barely a flicker of a flame as she followed you swiftly around the corner to a more discrete location.

The second you turned around to begin, Crash assumed the kicked puppy position of holding your eye with a lip that was desperate to tremble and back ironed straight to hide her linked shaking hands.

“I’m putting you on desk duty for two months,” You said, your folded arms hiding how you gripped at your shirt beneath your shoulders.

“Yes, Captain,” Crash replied in a hollow voice.

Counting to three, you continued, “You reminded me you’re capable. Put me in that position again and I’ll take you off the team, you hear?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Have you told them?” You nodded behind her at the mess hall entrance.

The corners of Crash’s mouth twitched, “They figured it out themselves.”

Letting out a hum of neither interest nor dismissal, you nodded again, “Go on then. We leave in 20.”

She seemed to take that as your approval of the couple, powering back to the table after she rounded the corner and not realising you were watching how Gaz stared at her, his shoulders only relaxing when she was back at the table and was smiling back at him.

You counted again, using your breaths to time your strides across the hall. Your breakfast was packed between two slices of toast and feasted upon its mediocrity en route to the meeting room. Not once did you think about how it would make your breath reek before the meeting

Stood by the giant blank screen, before an audience of chairs that threatened to groan under any weight, John - hatless – was sipping from a mug that said “Best Captain” in an unruly font on its face. He barely met your eye over the rim between sips while you spoke with Laswell and Fernandez on the laptop.

Ultimately, the debrief was short. Almost everything had been covered the night before, and the final necessary steps would be in the form of paperwork – something you could do from your own base. Your breakfast didn’t have time to settle in your stomach by the time Joh closed the laptop lid.

“Is there anything else?” You asked before his hand released the piece of tech.

“No,” He placed the coffee mug down, “You’re free to go.”

John strode alongside you to the heli, stopping only to collect your bag on the way. Except he waited outside whilst you collected it. Still, he refused to meet your eye. You couldn’t decide if you were grateful for that or not.

On the tarmac, your team was waiting, as was Price’s. Fist bumps and firm shakes were already being exchanged. You joined the end of your line and began swapping dialogue.

“Keep fighting the good fight.”

“I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

“If not for a court case, out on the field.”

Each sentiment was intended with the utmost respect, an honesty that was forged in the worst of situations. You felt it burning under your skin by the time you made it to John.His hand outstretched for a simple handshake to act as the final period on your story.

You spoke first, “Take care of yourself.” Then your hand found his.

“You too,” John said gruffly, a little quieter than before. His grip slackened.

But you countered him with your fingers tightened over his gloved hand, praying he’d catch onto your last request, “I’ll try.”

It was almost imperceptible but you caught John’s nod and the lines by his eyes creasing for a split second as he said, “Okay.”

No doubt his team picked up on his expression too, but you ignored them. Too busy was your mind, processing how your fingerless gloves let your calluses drag against his when you parted ways, closing the book for now.

Never had you felt not daft doing the light jog up the runway, and today was no exception. Yet your team beamed at your return to their side and you strapped in tight beside Crash after a swift visual confirming all was ready for you to do so.

That promise you made to yourself? Broken with a glance back, just as the door closed. Through the bleak morning sun, you saw John staring right at you. The door sealed with your fate inside.

“You good, Captain?” Crash asked tentatively.

You looked back at her, and you knew she was already missing Gaz. Her eyes were like a kicked puppy’s

“I am.”

You kept your head loose against the rumble, instead of fighting to remain rigid. Dizzying, a headache built out of emotional fatigue and annoyance brewed by your neck. Deep breaths sought to get you through it, one rush of air through your nose at a time.

This was not the ending you wanted. So it wouldn’t end with today.

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

AN: One chapter to go! To be honest, you could end it here if you're more of the hurt/no comfort fan. The final chapter is a bit of a cop out from that for those of us who prefer a more hopeful ending. Can't promise it'll bring comfort, but it may bring something close to it.

Also, if you haven't checked out my new interactive Price fic, here's a link to the one-shot the universe is based on: Purchase Your Time!

Tag-list: @mockerycrow and @algor-babe

#john price x reader #john price fanfic #captain john price x reader #captain john price fanfic #john price x you #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod x you #my writing #series #wc: 1k>#r: gn

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asknarashikari · 2 months

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I fear for Gotchard... the PV actually has him wear a golden ring with a red gem on it... and only Greyon is the other one who wore the same ring.

Uh... there's one other person wearing a gold ring with a red gem, and he's definitely not Geryon

Rinne's dad, Fuga, also has a gold ring with a red gem. Between the two of them, who do you think Houtaro is more likely to take after?

The red gem indicates one is a high-ranking alchemist, as opposed to the blue that represents a student (which is what Houtaro currently has) and the green of an advanced level (which is what Spanner had prior to him becoming a Rider).

While we don't really know what's the difference between having the gold as opposed to the silver version (which is what Minato has), the fact that the only ones who have it are two most powerful alchemists we've seen thus far ought to mean something for whoever else gets one. Considering they're also sort of the leaders for each side of the conflict, I wonder if this means Houtaro has to step up and become that leader for their side, since Kudo Fuga is still MIA, and can't actively take part- making it a symbolic passing of the torch, maybe.

It would be interesting to see the implications of Houtaro basically skipping a level and then some- not to mention the look on Spanner's face when he realizes what happens, lol.

#kamen rider gotchard #ask #pulaasul

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theoutcastrogue · 10 months

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Old school multitools

mid-19th/early 20th century, Sheffield

Gold-mounted penknife by Joseph Rodgers & Sons, Sheffield, last quarter of the 19th century. With twelve folding blades and accessories, including bodkin, borer, hoof pick, and corkscrew, stamped with the maker’s details and mark of a star and cross, fitted with rounded mother-of-pearl scales retained by four gold-capped rivets, four finely engraved gold terminals, and vacant gold shield-shaped escutcheons, 11.3 cm (closed)

Folding pocket knife by John Petty & sons, Sheffield, late 19th century. With nine folding blades and accessories, including pen blade and button hook, gilt fillets, filed details including gilt spring backs inlaid with engraved mother-of-pearl plaques, and tortoiseshell scales inlaid with engraved copper alloy flowers, 11.7 cm (closed)

Sportsman 'Wharncliffe' knife by Rodgers, Sheffield, early 20th century. With folding blade stamped ‘Wharncliffe’, saw, corkscrew, awl, shaped farrier’s hook, inlet picker and tweezers, natural staghorn scales, brass fillets, and vacant German silver escutcheon, 10.4 cm (closed)

Multi-blade penknife for exhibition. With over one hundred folding blades and accessories including awls, borers, saw, scribes and bodkins, the main blade marked with a pair of crossed spurs at the base, fitted at each side with tortoise shell scales each retained by five minute German silver screws, and fitted with horn pick and German silver tweezers,12.0 cm (closed)

Coachman's knife, James Rodgers, Sheffield, mid-19th century. With eleven folding elements including signed blade, saw, farriers hook, fleam, trace borer, and corkscrew, iron fillets and natural staghorn scales with concealed tweezers, pick and concealed knife, 9.5 cm (closed)

Watts pattent cycle knife, Sheffield, late 19th/early 20th century. With four folding elements including tyre lever, pincer and blade screw driver, and nickel plated body stamped ‘Watts Patent’, 10.7 cm (closed).

Motoring knife. Probably by John Milner & Co., with ten folding elements including blades, screw drivers, bottle opener, spanner, corkscrew and trace borer, nickel-plated body, and steel loop.

Stand knife, 20th century. With four folding elements including button hook anGold-mounted penknife by Joseph Rodgers & Sons, Sheffield, last quarter of the 19th century. With twelve folding blades and accessories, including bodkin, borer, hoof pick, and corkscrew, stamped with the maker’s details and mark of a star and cross, fitted with rounded mother-of-pearl scales retained by four gold-capped rivets, four finely engraved gold terminals, and vacant gold shield-shaped escutcheons, 11.3 cm (closed)d gouge, nickel-plated body stamped ‘Celebrated “Stand” army knife’, with loop, 10.7 cm.

Engineer's knife, by W. Mills & Son, Sheffield. With four folding elements comprising three differing blades and a ruler, the body with a continuation of the ruler on one face, inscribed ‘Bristol’ and with an F2 biplane.

Sportsman's knife, by Rawson Brothers, Sheffield, late 19th/early 20th century. With eleven folding elements including large blade, saw, trace borer, bodkin and farriers hook, copper alloy fillets, mother-of-pearl scales, and vacant German silver escutcheon, 11.7 cm (closed)

Coachman's knife, Wilkinson, London and Shefflield, late 19th century. With eight folding elements including signed blades, farrier’s hook, scoop borer, corkscrew and cartridge extractor, copper alloy fillets, nickel silver body stamped ‘Par-a-gon’ on each face and loop, 12.7 cm (closed)

tinyurl.com/yr4hd4pr

#tools of the trade #folding knife #multitool #sheffield #england

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year

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The North Star - Part Seven: The Heist - Terry Bruno x Reader (Feat Mike Duarte)

Welcome to mine and @the-hinky-panda The Bronx universe featuring our favs Terry Bruno & Mike Duarte.

This story takes place several years after 'Blood Out'. Terry still lives in the Bronx and works in Manhatten SVU.

Following on from @the-hinky-panda story 'The Dog' Mike has retired from the NYPD on medical grounds due to seizures causes by the attack. He has a therapy dog called Bono and lives with @the-hinky-panda character Meredith.

Tagging: @mysoulisasunflower @legit9thlunaticwarrior @bbyxoo @the-adzukibean @xoxabs88xox @crazy4chickennuggets @beardedbarba @wooshwastaken @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @storiesofsvu @anime-weeb-4-life

Part One: Moments

It was three quarters of the way through your appraisal of the room that you spotted him. That familiar dark hair neatly slicked back from his grizzled features, a black waistcoat over white shirt and black trousers. He was dressed like one of the caterers, a large silver whipped cream canister tucked under his arm as he pulled aside a discreet black velvet curtain at the back of the room and slipped behind it.

Are you fucking kidding me? You thought exasperated. Every time you thought this case couldn’t get any more complicated; something threw a spanner in the works.

A Degas and now a Duarte. Christ, Terry was going to get a kick out of this.

Paul was still occupied on the opposite side of the gallery, his head bent low as he talked with Arthur Munson, the fence and host for the evening. You followed Mike’s footsteps, disappearing behind the curtain before anyone could realise that you were missing.

It took you a second to realise that the room was set up for the auction later tonight. Over a dozen chairs facing a stage that included a podium and a gavel. It was old school, compared to the way it was done these days with computers and electronics. Paul had mentioned that Arthur Munson was a traditionalist. The walls were littered with artwork, a blatant display of the man’s proclivities. You didn’t recognise any of the pieces, but you assumed they were each worth a small fortune. This event tonight was an opportunity to show off, to fortify his reputation as a collector and procurer. A decadent marketing campaign that put his competition to shame.

At the end of the front row, near the stage stood Mike Duarte, his scarred hands covered with black latex gloves as he clasped the frame in front of him and tried to pull it from the wall. It stuck fast, unrelenting as he yanked at it again before huffing with irritation.

“Mike.” You hissed as your gaze came to land on him. “Tell me you aren’t trying to steal that painting.”

“I’m not trying.” He snorted, inclining his head towards you for a moment before turning his attention back to the task at hand. “And I consider it a liberation.”

You stepped up to the painting as he withdrew a scalpel from his waistcoat pocket. It glinted wickedly in the dim light above.

“Is that…” You trailed off as you studied the painting in front of you.

The photographs you’d viewed on Meredith’s coffee table didn’t do it justice. It was vibrant and evocative, all plush greens and vivid blues. A sprawling hillside near Medellin, Colombia, a miniscule white picnic blanket had been added in such beautiful, perfect detail, you could see the tiny red poppies embroidered into the fabric. There was life in this work, it emitted through the thin layer of canvas vibrating through your bones as you stood entranced.

“Carrillo’s work is stunning. Nobody knew he painted, only that he put the fear of God into Escobar.” Mike informed you as he took a second to survey it.

“Mike, I can’t let you...”

“Yes you can.” He said firmly, turning to face you. His eyes fixated on yours, you saw the ferocity in his gaze, the ire and the passion. “His family deserve to have this back; it’s not meant for anybody else’s eyes. He painted it for his wife, to remind her of what they were fighting for before the Narcos killed her. That man sacrificed everything for what he believed in and I’ll be damned if I let this sit in some cartel shithead’s mansion like a fucking trophy.”

There was a viciousness in his voice, an undercurrent of anguish and understanding because Mike had done something similar. He had given everything for the neighbourhood, his heart, his soul and almost his life. He’d lived a lonely existence before Meredith had come along, he had told you one night in front of the fireplace, sharing a bottle of 19 Crimes. Meredith’s head had been resting on a cushion in his lap where she’d fallen asleep, his fingertips were brushing through her hair tenderly. You discussed his life prior to the attack, how isolated he had become, how he had simply been surviving instead of living. It had been years since he’d actually been able to breath, and with Meredith he thought he’d found a home, someone to love, someone who loved him in return. He couldn’t believe it most days, sometimes he thought he was dreaming, that he’d wake up and the bubble would burst but then Bono would greet him with a cold enquiring nose, Shasta would lick his face and Meredith would laugh and his heart felt like it would explode in his chest.

You recognised that feeling, the one where you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. You had it in the dead of night while Terry slept beside you, his face buried in the curve of your throat, his soft breath ghosting over your skin. There was nothing quite as perfect as being wrapped up in his arms, feeling his heartbeat steadily against yours.

“It’s getting shipped out tomorrow.” Mike told you; he lifted the scalpel to the painting before sucking in a breath and hesitating. “That fucking asshole Munson wanted everyone to get one good look before it disappeared. It’s meant to be his piece de la resistance, proof he can get absolutely anything.” He paused, the scalpel wavering as he tried to select the right place to cut. “Go back to the party, I’ll be gone before you make your bust.”

You reached for the scalpel instead, your fingers wrapping around the handle and removing it from his grasp. Mike let you, your hands were steadier than his, these days. He moved to allow you more space to work.

“We can use the scalpel to break the frame instead.” You informed him, driving the slender blade between a minuscule space in the corner of the wooden panel before leveraging it from side to side. “That way you won’t be compromising the painting.”

Mike cleared his throat as a low crack resounded through the air, the lacquered wood beginning to separate at the joint.

“Meredith’s dad used to do carpentry.” You explained, hooking your finger under the lip of the frame and gently working it away from the painting. “It’s why I like upcycling so much. Do you have something to put the painting in once I’m done?”

Mike picked up the metal whipped cream cannister from the seat where it resided before unscrewing the top and revealing an empty vessel.

“Should I be concerned about how good you are this?” You asked him as you pulled away the side panel of the frame and set it down upon the floor. Mike picked removed a folded handkerchief from his pocket and wiped down the glossy surface as you tactfully slid canvas from its prison.

“I should be asking you the same thing Sergeant.” He said as he took the artwork from your hands with the utmost care before rolling it up gently and placing it inside the container. You took the handkerchief from his outstretched hand and wiped down the rest of the frame before depositing it and the scalpel into your clutch. “How long do I have?”

You removed your phone from your purse, your thumb flicking over the unlock screen.

“I’m about to call in the FBI.” You told him, your thumb hoovering over your text chain with Sinclair. “So, I’d get out of here as soon as possible.”

Mike rose an eyebrow.

“There’s a Degas out there.”

A smile twitched at his lips, and you found yourself returning it, a burst of laughter beginning to bubble in your chest as the sheer ridiculousness of this situation. You had to look away because you knew that it would erupt from your mouth if you held his gaze any longer.

“Bruno is gonna love this.” He said, tucking the cannister back under his arm.

“I think he’s gonna ban me from watching Ocean’s Eight after this.” You told him, typing out your message to Sinclair.

‘There’s a fucking Degas.’ with three head exploding emojis. ‘Five Dancing Women (Ballerinas)’

He’d know what to do, Sinclair had been your right-hand man ever since you’d made Sergeant and transferred into the Bronx Homicide Unit. He was the one you trusted the most out of all the detectives you supervised.

“You probably have ten minutes after I send this message.” You informed Mike as the two of you strode back towards the black velvet curtain obscuring the doorway. “Head out the service exit. I’ve got Sinclair covering the back and he knows your face.”

Mike nodded his head, before straightening his shoulders and schooling his features into polite boredom before stepping out from behind the curtain and back into the main gallery. You hit the send button on your message as the curtain closed behind him.

Love Terry Bruno? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#detective terry bruno #terry bruno fic #terry bruno x you #terry bruno x reader #terry bruno

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pink-pone · 7 months

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pirate crew is complete 😎 let's go!!!

#pirate crew #my oc #gingerverse #bruce ironjaw #silver spanner #ruby cutlass #tiger lily #sandy skye #nana peppermint #oc #mlp oc #my art #mlp art #mlp #my little pony #mlpfim #my little pony friendship is magic #mlp:fim

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divinexchaos22 · 8 months

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Fanfiction Through The Eyes Of Muzan Kibutsuji

Author's note: I wrote this out of boredom and simple curiosity. The concept is simple; in a modern au, how would the King of Demons react to the fandom ships online? Honestly, this is pure, self-indulgent crack. I hope you enjoy it. Ten points to whoever spots the other fandom Easter eggs in here.

It all started the way most wars and conquests began: revenge.

As much as humans likened themselves to virtuous beings of compassion and sincerity, the truth behind their sinful, deceptive nature was all too apparent beneath Muzan Kibutsuji’s apathetic gaze. There were many a times when the King of Demons often pondered about the complex, sinister nature of the human condition as he witnessed the many atrocities of the Land of the Rising Sun and its descendants. From the blood-soaked battles of the Warring States Period to the political strife that led to the Menji Period, the raven-haired male had observed humanity tear itself apart and rebuild itself countless times. Humanity’s thirst for power and control was only elevated by their darker streaks of emotion: anger, lust, envy and greed, resulting in pain, suffering and oppression that only sustained the vicious cycle of destruction and rebirth.

This was partially why he despised humans and desired immortality, disregarding mortals as a lower subspecies not worthy of his attention or respect. However, he hadn’t fully comprehended precisely why he abhorred humanity with such a vengeance.

That is, until he stumbled across that.

Muzan’s lips curled in a snarl of disgust, his revulsion etching deep lines upon his features as he scowled at the very thought of what he decided was humanity’s ultimate and most heinous of crimes. How human beings could even ponder such vile, depraved thoughts was beyond him and he was the ruler of a legion of cannibalistic immortal creatures of the night. However, when the relatively younger of his Upper Moons, Daki and Gyutaro, shed light on the collective thoughts and views found on the internet on the Demonslayer world and pointed out the ‘fanart’ and ‘fanfiction’ created by anonymous humans, he was aghast. Why?

Because humans dared to fucking ‘ship’ him with his Upper Moons, Kagaya Ubuyashiki and even that brat Tanjiro Kamado.

Since when he had gone from being the feared and aloof King of Demons to being a sexual deviant pimp who molested his Upper Moons, possessed carnal feelings of desire towards his most hated enemy and even dabbled in paedophilia on the side, Muzan did not know and did not care. All that he did care about was that he was furious: superbly so. He desired retribution and it would be bloody.

Unfortunately, there was a spanner in the works of his cruel acts of vengeance.

“Muzan-sama, I get that you’re pissed but you can’t go hunting down every crazy fangirl on the internet,” Daki had dryly remarked, the silver-haired beauty having mostly mollified her intense crush upon her Master after moving into the realm of Infinity Castle permanently, although the remnants remained within the permanent heat lingering in her cheeks. That heat, however, quickly abated when her pale eyes glanced at her phone, leaving her wincing when her Pinterest feed revealed rather suggestive art of Douma and Akaza. “Oh God, why? I just saw Douma x Akaza rape fetish art. I need bleach.”

“Wait, WHAT?!” Akaza was suitably mortified and repulsed at this disturbing phenomenon, the fiery-haired demon’s skin blanching as he snatched away Daki's phone as if to verify the authenticity of the image itself. Judging from the manner in which his gilded eyes blanked over and his jaw clenched as he bared his teeth like a rabid wolf, the silver-haired woman’s statement was undeniably true. He looked ready to break the device. “Are you fucking kidding me?! What kind of sicko thinks this?! I’m going to puke.”

“Be glad. At least you haven’t witnessed art of yourself in romantic relations with your brother.” Kokushibo’s tone was flat and emotionless, his six eyes still locked in the thousand-yard-stare it had adopted from the moment morbid curiosity had gotten the better of him and he had asked Gyutaro whom he was ‘shipped’ with. In his defence, the stoic swordsman held up rather well in the beginning, not at all reacting to the lurid pairings of him and Douma, him and Akaza etc. Hell, even the art of him and Muzan didn’t faze Kokushibo. No, it was the plethora of sensual artwork depicting Kokushibo with his brother, Yoriichi, that activated his deep-rooted PTSD and left him paralysed in place.

Gyutaro had spent the last fifteen minutes awkwardly patting his shoulder in sympathy, desperately attempting to assuage whatever traumatic wound had been afflicted on his soul. Fuck, Master Muzan would kill him if he managed to break his strongest Kizuki.

Douma, being Douma, on the other hand, was utterly enjoying every minute of this.

“Ooh, let me see!” The platinum-haired demon crooned, plucking the phone from Akaza’s numb fingers as he merrily scrolled through Pinterest without a care in the world. His opal eyes positively danced with delight as he laughed and offered running commentary on whatever he happened to see. “Akaza, you look so cute with a little collar and bell around your neck. We should get you one. Oh, here’s me and Master Muzan –ooh, Master, I didn’t know you were such a dom. Here’s Akaza and that Flame Hashira –I guess nothing says ‘I want to fuck you’ like a hole in the sternum…”

“Good for you, you're more depraved than Dazai,” Gyutaro confessed blithely, mentally apologizing to the suicidal maniac from an entirely separate fandom.

“Oi, Biwa Woman. If I give you the chance, promise you’ll kill me quick?” Akaza flatly queried, his tone of utmost dire gravity when his attention focused on the sullen and detached Nakime.

"Very well." The Biwa woman never hesitated, her expression as cold as stone as she reverently stroked the strings of her instrument and took Akaza's request in stride as if he had asked about the weather rather than imminent death.

“When will the sun come up so I can die?” Kokushibo asked no one in particular, his gaze still locked on the endless void of crippling pain and suffering.

“…Remind me precisely why I shouldn’t punish these insufferable ‘fangirls’ again?” Muzan enunciated through gritted teeth, the paper-thin threads of his temper drawing tighter by the moment as he grew increasingly closer to snapping. Forget the Blue Spider Lilly, he’d send his demons to devour each and every one of these abhorrent humans who dared to besmirch his name and reputation. The world would be a better place without them.

“Because it would be impossible to track down every single fangirl behind these ships and even if you did, it wouldn’t stop any of it,” Gyutaro enlightened him justly, the acid-green-haired pausing in his half-assed means of reassuring Kokushibo to arch a critical brow at Muzan. He could practically taste the sardonic venom oozing off of his unseemly form as Gyutaro scowled darkly and grimaced. “Besides, everyone in Demonslayer has to deal with these crazy ships. I get shipped with my own sister.”

“Hold your tongue,” Muzan growled menacingly, his tone low and dangerous, his tolerance and patience for this ridiculous situation depleting at astronomical rates.

“Speaking of tongue, Akaza, you sure do like sticking yours out a lot, don’t you?” Douma drawled smugly, his expression utterly devious as he showed Akaza the particular art he was viewing. It featured a rather lewd sketch of Akaza’s face covered in–

“I SWEAR TO MUZAN, I WILL END YOU DOUMA!”

“Look, if you really want to get revenge, why not try writing some fanfiction of your own, Master?” Daki suggested caustically, watching on indifferently as Akaza proceeded to lunge at a gleefully laughing Douma, earnestly attempting to kick the latter's head off. Having successfully regained her phone in the process, her glass-green gaze refocused on the screen and narrowed at whatever inappropriate artwork Douma had been scrutinizing. “Jeez, I’m going to have to scrub my eyeballs to get rid of that image. Anyway, like I was saying, if fans want to make you the pimp daddy of Infinity Castle–”

“I never want to hear those words out of your mouth again.” Muzan didn’t miss a beat.

Daki continued without hesitation, “—then why not make revenge fanfiction? If you want to make Kagaya Ubuyashiki the sultan of his own harem.”

“Or make Yoriichi an immortal sex addict with a brother fetish,” Gyutaro suggested darkly, his expression not at all a jest as he was obviously still repulsed by the implied incest between him and his sister and seeking an outlet for his frustration. When Kokushibo shivered violently at the mention of his brother's name, Gyutaro huffed and proceeded absently increase the volume his shoulder pats, his tone as dry as sawdust. “It’s okay. Your brother is dead and he died in the funniest way possible. You'll be fine.”

“It’s all entirely up to you,” Daki finished with a half-smile, completely ignoring the fact that her brother just chalked the number One Upper Moon’s trauma up to funny karma. Instead, she logged onto some fantasy game she enjoyed playing. Her face lit up immediately. “Hey, I got a summoning ticket! Let’s try a yolo roll.”

“Pray to Muzan that you don't fucking get a CE," Gyutaro muttered bitterly, his rugged features pinched with inexpressible chagrin as he gave up on consoling Upper Moon One entirely. At this point, Kokushibo’s head was flat on the table as he grumbled indistinguishably to himself.

Now, Muzan was no fool. He was well aware that this entire concept was expressed as a means of a joke, so to speak. It was entirely facetious simply because the very concept of a Demon King lowering himself to write petty fanfiction as vengeance was improbable. Nevertheless…

“Fanfiction, hmm?” Muzan mused to himself, not at all paying heed to the fact that Akaza was presently attempting to murder Douma in the background (“Take that, you bastard!” “Ooh, hit me baby one more time!” “STOP ENJOYING THIS ALREADY!”) and Kokushibo was in the midst of an existential crisis. This was how the first seeds of discord were sown into Muzan Kibutsuji’s mind, unravelling into sinister plot of vengeance.

This marked the beginning of the popular fanfiction phenomena that was: Fifty Shades of the Demonslayer Corps…

In the Demonslayer Corps, there were many obstacles you had to face and overcome. It was part and parcel of what shaped each one of them into the fierce fighters they were, hardening and strengthening their bonds and souls like the folded steel of a katana.

When they trained: they trained themselves to death. Therefore, after dealing with Rengoku-san putting him through ‘warm-up’ endurance exercises from Hell for the past two hours, needless to say, Tanjiro was not in the best of moods.

Then Zenitsu had to make it worst.

“Tanjiro! It got updated again! I wonder what this chapter is about.” Zenitsu was all but bubbling with excitement, the blonde boy practically frying Tanjiro’s braincells with the sheer number of sparkles he exuded as he waited for the chapter to load on his laptop. Tanjiro understood that some people enjoyed reading fanfiction and he had to admit that there were some works that were really intriguing and well written. He found the fiction describing his and Nezuko’s role reversal being particularly moving.

However, the good always comes with the bad and when it came to the specific fiction Zenitsu was hooked on, it fell straight into the latter.

Sighing aloud, the russet-haired rookie demonslayer winced as he approached Zenitsu, absently massaging the back of his neck as he grimaced at his friend. “Honestly, Zenitsu, I don’t understand how you read this stuff.”

“Well, excuse you. Fifty Shades of Demonslayer Corps is a work of art meant for mature audiences… Besides, I love how Dark Lord made Uzui gay for Rengoku-san. It’s hilarious,” Zenitsu snickered beneath his breath, reaping far too much enjoyment from the suffering of his fellow corps members. Then again, Zenitsu did laugh so hard that he fell off his chair when Dark Lord (the author of the aforementioned popular fanfiction) posted a chapter featuring an Inosuke, Sanemi and Tomioka threesome. Tanjiro had to prevent Shinezagawa and Inosuke from smashing the laptop and poor Tomioka-san was depressed for an entire week.

After several similar incidents –namely, the crossdressing Master, Shinobu the naughty nurse and Mitsuri the dominatrix –that resulted in many near-death experiences, Tanjiro had taken a decided stance against this fanfiction. However, didn’t deter Zenitsu from reading it.

“Look, I get that you find this funny. But stories like these can be very insensitive to the people they’re written about,” Tanjiro explained as he began reading over his exuberant companion’s shoulder. “It’s completely twisted and makes everyone in the Demonslayer Corps out to be sadistic deviants who– Wait, is that smut of Nezuko and I?! DID THEY MAKE ME OUT TO HAVE A SISTER FETISH?!”

He was appalled. No, he was sickened to the very fibre of his being. How could anyone think of something so, so demented?! Nezuko was his sister. She was practically a child and people actually liked this… Oh God, no, he was going to be sick.

“EHHHH?! THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING. HOW DO I REPORT THIS?!”

Tanjiro desperately began scrolling through to find the report tab, determined to make this author pay somehow. Unfortunately, in his rush to seek retribution, he didn’t notice the way Zenitsu had fallen deadly quiet. At least, not until the air began to pulse and crackle with electricity.

Uh oh.

“Uhh, Zenitsu?” Tanjiro began.

“Tanjiro…have you been doing these things to my precious Nezuko?” Zenitsu’s voice was deadly calm, the deadly calm before the most vicious of storms.

“W-what?! Zenitsu, of course not! Nezuko is my sister! I would never –”

“Thunder Breathing: First Form.”

“ZENITSU, WAIT!”

“Muzan-sama, don’t you think this has gone far enough?” Kokushibo asked, half-exasperated, half-resigned to his words not being heeded as he observed his Master post the latest chapter of his popular fanfiction. If anything, he had to admit that he was impressed that Muzan managed to create such a wildly successful story as revenge for the traumatic fiction they had encountered previously. However, the Kamado sibling incest hit a bit too close to home for him (after his own traumatic experience with sibling incest fanfiction).

Muzan sipped his tea with an expression of utter satisfaction. He could cause chaos for the Demonslayers without even stepping a foot out of his office. It was a win-win for him.

“I regret nothing.”

#demon slayer #i regret nothing #akaza #douma #muzan kibutsuji #kokushibo #demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer corps #hashira #upper moons #kizuki #gyutaro #kny daki #tanjiro kamado #zenitsu agatsuma #crack #kny crack #modern au #my writing

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zenmai--jikake--no--komoriuta · 2 months

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MiqoMarch'24, Day #16: - twilight -

Every now and then when he watches the sun slowly sink beyond horizon, he catches glimpses of a far-flung memory. A past life where he is not D'nyr, but Polydeuces, where he is whole and happy and surrounded by many friends… He is taller too (though not by much; he still appears shorter than most of his colleagues!), with slightly longer and more tousled hair, his fringe pinned back on one side by a silver circlet-- it seems he is forever destined to have one eye left beset by hair-- and when the light hits, his face appears almost softer without his signature X-shaped scar. Part of the Convocation of Fourteen, his title was Theidos* the Recordkeeper and his role was to maintain and safeguard mankind's accumulated wisdom, an accolade which paired well with his main vocation as the Chief Archivist of Anamnesis Anyder. During the early stages of the Final Days, he sought assistance from colleagues like The Watcher (as well as from Hythlodaeus, Chief of the Bureau of the Architect) to develop a mobile version of Anamnesis which could be used as a fortress and sanctuary both, one that could protect the treasures and knowledge of the current age and carry them on safely into the future; a concept he dubbed "Alexander". As time grew short he would entrust his position to his senior-most advisor and step down in order to fully pursue these plans, however the advent of Zodiark and the schism that ensued upon its summoning threw a spanner in the works, and not just for the loss of a friend and collaborator-- although not a part of it, he was of course well aware of Venat's group due to his ties to Anamnesis Anyder, and in agreement with their views he cast aside his title of Theidos. In response to this, his Convocation-related belongings were seized with the drafts along with them and, left powerless in the wake of cataclysm, he fled… (These designs were later repurposed by the Ascians for their own ends in ushering in the Rejoining, and fragments would find their way to others through mysterious means, inspiring the actualisation of Alexander and everything that entailed!)

*from the Greek thymámai (to memorize) + eîdos (form); my WoL's lore has no Azem as I drafted this all at the time of base-ShB expac release when we knew close to nothing about the Ancients, and I haven't got an interest in retconning it to fit :')

(yes there is a Castor out there somewhere but he'll have to be on a free day bc none of the upcoming prompts make sense to introduce him on)

#MiqoMarch2024 #MiqoMarch #ffxiv #d'nyr #d'nyr fellcrest #VERY late one today #my brain is actual mush rn-- busy day at work but I'm just feeling really blobby and boneless today #I have Thoughts but it's not coming out well when I try to put em on paper.. FINALLY trudged through writing this out (help)#I ended up spending half of the day on a wild goose chase trying to find if the watcher was actually the chief archivist or not-#-because of one wiki page which said so and it was the only one but I had to go cross-referencing everything just to be sure!!#I added onto his old ShB-launch lore when we got anamnesis in 5.2 but we still didn't have the whole picture back then so I wanted-#-to be sure I wasn't yoinking the watcher's job on account of Mush Brain... I have had this all half-written for 5 years so it was good to-#-go through and make it make sense with what we know now (except azem. I have no contingency for that. shoo)

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dropzone523 · 2 months

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Chapter Five: Decision Making

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Summary: AU/Canon Divergent~ Set around the middle-end of season 2 of Bad Batch and heading in between season 3 ~ After fleeing from a mission, Rex, Wolffe, and Gregor sustain heavy damage and crash land on a remote and uncharted moon. There, they discover a girl whose completely alone and who has remarkable abilities. To their surprise, Silver forms a strong connection with the clones, especially Rex, which leads her on a journey of discovering who she really is and what her true purpose means.

Rating: T, SFW

Days had passed since that night in the forest clearing, Silver's relationship with the three clones just went uphill from there. After that night, Silver started coming around everyday to see Rex, Wolffe and Gregor. She got to know them all quite well, and they all started forming their own relationships with one another. For the first time in a long time, Silver didn’t feel so alone anymore.

“Hey Silver, can you pass me that one part? It's the one next to the spanner.” Gregor asked from under the ship. “Yeah of course!” Silver jumps to grab the part and passes it to Gregor.

“Here you go!”

“Ah! Thanks hun. I really appreciate all your assistance this past week on the ship's repairs. You've been a fantastic asset to it getting fixed” Gregor exclaimed as he started putting the part back into the ship.

“Oh it's no trouble at all, I've really enjoyed helping you and learning all about the ship! I have found it quite interesting, and I have learned so much.” Silver bends down and peeks her head under the ship slightly to get a glimpse of how Gregor was putting the part into the ship. Her long dark hair slips to the one side of her head as she bends downwards to watch. She quickly blows small strands out of her pale freckled face “So, how many more repairs are left to be fixed on the ship?”

Gregor grabs the edge of the ship and quickly pulls himself out from under the ship, wiping his hands off and chuckling to himself “Well, that was actually the last part, if all goes well, we should have no issues taking off. I’ll run the maintenance check with Rex when he gets back, and then if it all passes, we should be ready to take off in the next day or so.” Silver’s green eyes widen at Gregor's remark, get ready to go?! She had gotten so accustomed to having them around the past little while that she almost forgot that they were only here because they crashed.

Silver felt her heart growing heavy at the thought of Rex, Wolffe, and Gregor leaving. She had grown quite fond of them in the short period of time that they were stranded here. The more she thought about it, the more Silver’s thoughts started to trouble her. She didn't want to lose them. She didn't want to be all alone again.

“Hey Silver, how's the repairs going with Gregor?” Wolffe’s question quickly pulled Silver from her mind. She was so caught up in the thought of them leaving that she didn't even realize Wolffe had walked over to them. “Oh, h-hi Wolffe, uh- yeah, the repairs are going well-” Silver hesitated before Gregor cut her off.

“Ha! Well? I'd say they are going better than well! They are finally finished” Gregor cackled loudly as Silver just stood there processing everything still.

“Finished? That is great- I will let Rex know, and we can get the maintenance check under way. Hopefully, by tomorrow afternoon, we can get off this rock.”

Silver stared at Wolffe with furrowed brows and worried eyes. She didn't know how to process all of this. She didn't want them to leave… “Tomorrow afternoon?” Silver’s voice cracked out quietly.

“Uh-Yeah, we have to get back to our base. We were finishing up a mission when we crashed. We were supposed to check in multiple rotations ago, but our comms have been down. It’s been long overdue, and our base is probably wondering what has gone wrong or happened to us.”

Silver ponders over what Wolffe just explained when Rex makes his way over, he had just got back from getting water from the cove when he calmly walks over to the three of them, clearing his throat, he makes his presence more known “What's all the commotion about over here?” Wolffe and Gregor face Rex, giving him their full attention. “We got the ship all up and running. You and I just need to run a maintenance check to make sure everything is operational. If all goes smoothly, Wolffe thinks we should be able to head out by tomorrow afternoon.” Rex nods over what Gregor just told him, but he feels a sudden conflict in himself. Of course, he was relieved the ship was fixed now, but he couldn't help the concern that washed over him. It was no longer him, Wolffe and Gregor, what about Silver?! He peers over to Silver, she had strayed away from them as they were discussing the maintenance check and he could see worry written on her face as she paced casually and fiddled with her small hands.

Rex was deep in his own thoughts when Gregor grabbed his shoulder slightly

“Alright Rex old boy! ready to run that maintenance check?” The sudden gesture and question got Rex’s attention abruptly. “Huh? Oh- uh, yeah Gregor i'm ready. Let's get on board and get things sorted.”

Gregor nods before heading up the steps onto the ship. Rex follows behind him, quickly pausing to look back at Silver before getting onboard.

*****

Rex’s POV

As Gregor and I entered the ship, my mind was still caught on Silver. It hadn’t crossed my mind what would happen to her once we got our ship all repaired. When we leave, Silver will be all alone again. I thought to myself. I started to grow more concerned for her the more I thought about it.

“Rex, are you ready to get this done? Rex-” I could hear Gregor's voice in the background but I was so preoccupied in my own thoughts that I didn't realize he was even talking to me.

Gregors sudden abruptness finally startled me out of my deep thoughts.

“Hey REX!!” Gregor shouted, emphasizing my name and snapping me out of my mind

“huh- oh, sorry Gregor..y- yeah, i'm ready. Let's get this done.”

Gregor and I began running the tests and ensuring everything was operational for us to travel, especially in hyperspace. The last thing I needed was us crash landing a second time.

The air felt a bit tense on the ship, and Gregor and I were quiet- which is unusual, especially for Gregor.

With my thoughts driving me crazy, I finally decided to break the silence.

“Hey Gregor, I've been thinking-” Gregor cut me off, “uh-oh, that's never a good thing..” he responded before letting out a loud chuckle. I furrowed my brows at him and shook my head. “I'm serious, Gregor..”

Gregor looked at me, giving me his proper attention now before I continued.

“I was thinking, when we finally leave this moon. Did it cross either you or Wolffe’s mind what may happen to Silver?”

Gregor paused at my question, the realization hitting him as his eyes widened. “Ah, Rex. I didn’t even think of that. That's a good question.” I paused at his reply before calling Wolffe into the ship, “Hey Wolffe! Get in here, we need to discuss something.”

Wolffe wasted no time responding to my request as he came right on board to join us. “What is it, Rex? Is the ship still not in order?”

“No. no, everything is running nicely, Wolffe. The maintenance check is going well, we're waiting on one last report to clear, and then we should be good for take-off tomorrow. But that's not why I called you in here.”

Wolffe gave me his full attention. Confusion evident in his eyes. I sighed deeply before continuing.

“Gregor and I, we were just discussing what would happen to Silver when we leave. We were so caught up in fixing the ship that…It hadn't occurred to me that when we leave, we'd technically be leaving her behind..”

Wolffe took a minute to process my comment. Realizing I was right. Silver would be left behind. His eyes closed and he shook his head “You're right Rex, she would be… what do you suggest we do?” I thought over wolffe’s question deeply. My brother’s giving me their full attention while they wait for my suggestion on what we should do. I had an idea, but whether or not Gregor and Wolffe got behind the idea was the main question.

I sigh deeply before pitching my thoughts to them, “okay.. Hear me out, but. What if we brought Silver with us when we leave?”

Wolffe and Gregor look at each other, both of them smirking before looking back at me and nodding in agreement. “What? Really?” disbelief in my voice. I thought it would have taken more convincing.

“Sure why not? I've gotten kind of used to having the little spitfire around. Not many people have the guts to try and sneak up on me and take me out.” Wolffe chuckled quietly at the remembrance of his and Silver’s first encounter, “I’d say she's already become like a part of this squad in the short time we've been stuck here. We can't leave her behind all by herself again.”

Wolffe’s remark caught me off guard. He typically wasn't the sentimental type, but I guess Silver had broken through that tough exterior of his a bit.

“Yeah I agree too, Cap. I, too, have grown quite fond of having her around. We can't leave her here on this rock. Plus, us four running through the galaxy together? I don’t know. it sounds like a good time.” Gregor chuckled at his own remark while running his hand over his head, shooting me a sly smirk and winking.

I sighed as relief flooded over me…which also caught me off guard. Relief? Was I THAT concerned that Silver was going to be left behind?

My brows furrowed at my own thoughts, I had grown quite attached to Silver while being here. Especially after our moment in that forest clearing. I had never really had an encounter like that with someone. But all I knew was that, at that moment, I just wanted to take all of her pain away.

Pulling myself from my thoughts, I finally replied to Gregor and Wolffe. “Alright, it's agreed then. Silver comes with us!”

End POV

*****

After running the maintenance check and getting confirmation from the diagnostics that everything was operational and ready to go. The three of them stepped off the ship.

Once off the ship, Rex saw silver sitting on the ground, legs crossed but slightly pulled into her chest. He paused in his tracks to take a moment to just really look at her, Silver was smaller in stature, and her frame was delicate but strong. Her long dark brown hair flowed down her body in waves. Her complexion was on the paler side, and small soft freckles dotted her face in the sunlight as it beamed down on her, And when she looked at you, you were met with her deep green eyes. Eyes that held the life of the forest she lived in them.

Rex quickly gathered his thoughts before approaching Silver. The second silver saw Rex walking over. She stood up to meet him.

Silver stood in front of Rex and looked up at him. Her deep green eyes met his golden ones. She expressed a small little smile when she realized Rex was just staring at her. Silver let out an innocent little chuckle, bringing Rex back to reality.

“Silver-” Rex paused, looking into her eyes again. Silver smiled sweetly at Rex before he continued “Silver- Wolffe, Gregor and I all talked about it and well. Now that the ship is all fixed we really have to leave by next rotation and get back to our base. We've been gone for too long and there will be people who will be wondering what happened to us.” Silver’s facial expression dropped at Rex’s words and she started fiddling with her hands again.

“But, we all had a discussion and we were wondering. Would you come with us?”

Silver’s eyes lifted to Rex again and her eyes widened. She pauses for a brief moment, taking in what Rex just asked her. She felt conflicted, she started to get attached and grow a deep care for the boys. But, at the same time this moon was her everything. It's all she knew and has ever known. It's where her family lived and were buried. Silver wanted to go but was scared to leave her home for the unknown.

Silver took a few moments to really process Rex’s question. For the first time in her life, she felt truly divided. Silver looked at the ground, watching her feet slide into the dark soil of the moon as she tried to decipher these unknown feelings.

“Rex.. I would love to go with you three but-” Rex suddenly cut her off mid sentence before she could mutter the words that he deep down, feared to hear. “Hey, we aren’t leaving until the next rotation. You have some time to think things through if you feel you need to. I know this isn’t a decision that you can come by lightly, I know this is your home, but please think about it?”

Silver pauses and stares up at Rex, taking in what he just requested. Her brows furrowed lightly as she looked up at him. She gave him a small nod before turning and walking away to gather her thoughts on her decision.

*****

Sorry about the long delay in posting Chapter 5, I took a small hiatus from writing, but here it is, finally! I hope you enjoy. We're starting to get a bit more into the story now ( it's kind of a slow burn 😅), but enjoy!

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