#Dirt Platoon

[murkymentalistmusic]

#dirt platoon #ruste juxx #kyo itachi #ld #dirty work #hiphop #rap #underground #boom bap #gangsta #youtube

[vivid-ink]

'The Love Shack' Epilogue - Silwey's Reaction

Relationship: Neteyam(23) x fem!Omatikaya reader(21) Series warnings: 18+ MDNI Word count: 1,563

Read the entire completed series in my masterlist HERE

Author's Note: Because so many of you asked - here is a little epilogue drabble with Silwey's reaction to the news of Neteyam & Neyomi's betrothal. 😁 It's short and simple entertainment with a little bit of fluff at the end. I hope ya'll find this satisfying, enjoy!

***~~~***

Neteyam watched as the last of the wagons, laden with their kills, was carted off to the clan’s cooks and butchers. The hunters had triumphed again today and the butchers would be kept busy for the next day skinning, carving and preserving the meat from their very successful hunt. As with most jobs that his hunter-warrior profession demanded, success often brought with it tired and aching muscles at the day’s end, as well as skin caked in the natural grime of sweat and dirt.

Rolling his neck and stretching it from side to side, he heard the vertebrae in his neck give a few satisfying pops. His skin felt clammy and itchy from the drying mud in places and he couldn’t wait to settle into the hot spring with you later for some rest and relaxation. He caught sight of you warming down with your hunting platoon off to his left in the near distance. Your stance was confident and you effortlessly commanded the attention of your platoon while you debriefed them for the day. He smiled to himself. You were so beautiful and so capable. It made him proud to have you at his side.

As your commanding officer, he outranked you and you reported to him in all things work during the day, but at night, he was completely at your mercy. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to have your body against his, over him, under him and around him. It had been a blissful week since the night you’d confronted each other and admitted your faults, since you’d made love to each other and pledged yourselves as each other’s intendeds. The news was still formally under wraps, but the tsahìk would be making a formal announcement and performing a blessing on you both on the clan’s next day of rest, which was in two days.

Betrothal aside, you’d both agreed that things would not change work-wise. There would be no biases and there would be no public displays of affection; work was work. Given the good amount of ‘practise’ you’d both had in the last three moons in the lead up to the present, pretending there was nothing going on and ignoring the personal turmoil you’d both been stubbornly suffering, keeping things professional was a piece of cake.

A few of the men from Neteyam’s platoon yauped in farewell, waving at him as they departed for the day. One of them, Entu, called out as they passed, “It’s good to have you back, bro! The olo’eyktan really made us work for our meals the other day!”

Neteyam’s deep laugh rang out and he fixed the young warrior with a mocking grin, “Are you saying I’m too soft on all of you?”

“No, but you’re more reasonable. At least I can still feel my legs today!”

“Good work today, boys! Kìyevame (see you again soon)!” Neteyam called in return, stooping to scoop his woven satchel from the foot of the rock he’d left it against. He slung the satchel across his shoulders and spied a pair of slender feet and legs approaching him in his peripheral vision. They strolled into view as he straightened up and he was greeted by a lovely face, just not the one he expected.

“I’m glad you’re back too.” Silwey’s voice was sweet as it usually was when she wanted to endear herself to him. She flashed him an alluring smile and cocked her head to the side, peering up at him through playful eyes.

“Why? Your legs less sore today too, are they?” Neteyam remarked, adjusting the strap of his satchel across his front.

Silwey’s chuckle bubbled melodiously up her throat and her expression turned frisky, “Not sore, no. My legs are good today, good enough that they’d be keen to take a ride later if you catch my meaning.”

Oh, her meaning was clear.

The insinuation of the sensual ride she had in mind was made even more unambiguous when she reached out with a bold hand to curl her fingers into the top edge of his cummerbund to pull him closer.

Neteyam stopped her with a gentle hand around her wrist, “Look, this needs to stop-”

“I was disappointed when you didn’t come back to me the other night after your family emergency.” Silwey interrupted, stepping up to him and eyeing him coquettishly, “And then when you didn’t show up for patrol the next day, I was worried.”

“Worried for my wellbeing?” Neteyam pursed his lips, his patience beginning to wear thin as Silwey ran her other hand up the smooth muscle of one his pectorals despite his earlier attempt at a rebuff.

“Mm yes, and also worried that I wouldn’t get another taste of you.” Silwey said in a sultry purr and she swiped a daring finger against his chest before lifting it to her mouth to suck it clean.

Neteyam grasped both of her hands and removed them from his person, not unkindly but firmly enough to get his point across, “Please stop. Look, you’re a beautiful woman and I enjoyed your company, but I’m spoken for now and this behaviour needs to stop. Anything more after this and you’ll be breaking the bounds of propriety.”

Silwey retreated in surprise, pulling her hands from his hold, “Spoken for? You’re betrothed?”

“Yes.”

She gave a caustic laugh then, still reeling from her shock, “That’s a surprise, considering you were perfectly willing just last week to spend your time in my company before your brother abruptly called you away.”

Neteyam scratched the back of his head uncomfortably, trying to find a way to explain the situation without too much detail, “It’s a fairly recent development, but entirely genuine. The tsahìk will make an announcement in two days. I’d appreciate your confidentiality around the matter in the meantime.”

“Oh now Neteyam, you can’t just leave it at that.” Silwey wheedled, her irritation bleeding into her tone despite her attempt to come off as casual, “Who is this lucky woman?”

Before Neteyam could respond with another dismissive excuse, the sound of a gently cleared throat came from behind him and he turned his head to find you standing there. Meeting your eyes, he grinned warmly at you. Speak of the devil.

“Sorry Neteyam, a word?” You interposed, shooting a half-hearted smile of apology at the other woman.

Silwey was less than welcoming of your interjection. Her plump lips tightened sternly and she huffed at you, “You know, these interruptions of yours are becoming a rather untimely habit. I was having an important discussion with Neteyam.”

In truth you’d overheard the bit of their conversation prior to your interruption, but you feigned innocence nonetheless, “Oh, sorry. Was it about today’s hunt?”

Silwey’s initial expression was one of annoyance that you were nosy enough to pry, but then her countenance turned cunning and she graced Neteyam with a sly look before declaring, “No, actually. Neteyam has just shared with me his happy news of being recently betrothed. He was just about to tell me who she is.” She sneered at him, clearly thinking she was being clever for having outed his secret, “Come on, tell us. I’m sure Neyomi would like to know too.”

Ordinarily, Neteyam would have growled out a warning at Silwey’s nerve, but he simply smirked at her today.

Reaching out to lace the fingers of one of his hands with yours, Neteyam pulled you to his side and planted a lingering kiss to your temple, before responding to Silwey, “Well, since you asked, you’re looking at her.”

Silwey’s eyes darted between Neteyam and you, her large golden eyes widening a fraction as realisation set in. Her mouth popped open next and she sucked in a stunned breath, sputtering, “O-Oh! Ah, congratulations t-to you b-both. Have a good evening, I’ll see you around.”

You had to press your lips together hard to keep yourself from laughing. Silwey’s retreat was clumsy and her embarrassment was apparent. It was the most inelegant you’d ever seen her, considering she was normally incredibly self-assured.

“Guess our secret’s out.” You remarked to Neteyam, “You know, she’s not going to keep it to herself.”

“I don’t think there’s any point.” Neteyam observed.

Silwey had withdrawn hastily to a small group of warrior women who appeared to have been watching on with equally wide eyes at the entire exchange. They were muttering amongst themselves now, Silwey in the middle, with raised eyebrows and gesturing hands.

“Shall we give them a bit of a show?” You suggested puckishly, looking up at Neteyam who was already leaning down towards you.

“First, you make me commit sacrilege under my parents’ roof and now you’re breaking clan protocol before the tsahìk’s announcement.” Neteyam’s warm lips moulded to yours and you instinctively looped an arm about his neck to draw yourself closure. His tongue swept against yours and you opened your mouth to allow him to deepen the kiss, completely uncaring of your public audience. He separated from you with a sucking pop, “I wonder if my family realises how much of a rule-breaker you are.”

“Your mother broke all the rules. She became a warrior, abandoned her duty to be tsahìk and mated your father.”

Neteyam chortled at your quick quip, his quiet laughter rumbling against your lips, “And it appears I am my father’s son, with the same taste for rule-breaking warrior women.”

***~~~***

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#neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fluff #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #neteyam x you #atwow neteyam #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam sully #neteyam #avatar neteyam #neteyam fic #neteyam fanfic #neteyam avatar #atwow

[porcelainseashore]

The Lost Tapes (2)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

General Note: One-shots for my series Where We’ve Left Our Love. Encapsulated moments within the past and future lives of Leon x Reader in no particular order. Follows the Resident Evil Remake timeline.

Chapter Summary: Leon traded in his life for Sherry’s. Now, he has to deal with his past trauma and the harshness of military training under Krauser. He finds strength in his memories of you, but will that last for long?

Content Warnings: Hurt no comfort, angst, swearing, psychological trauma, suicidal thoughts, blood and violence, minor Jack Krauser.

Shoutout to RainyKennedy for suggesting the topic of Leon going radio silent for this one-shot!

AO3 Link

Chapter 2: Things We Lost in the Fire

Splosh.

He fell head-first into the mud for the umpteenth time to the roars of laughter of his platoon mates. They despised him, and they made sure he knew that.

What the hell was a baby-faced rookie, with his cherubic blonde hair and blue eyes, doing in special forces training? No prior military experience, not even basic training, but fast-tracked into the program because he had survived Raccoon City.

He just got lucky, they all said.

A brawny, well-built man hulked over Leon imposingly. He wore a red beret and sported a striking scar on his face. His thick soled boots squelched in the soggy earth, leaving behind a defined imprint, as he tutted mockingly, “What a disappointment.”

“Get up,” he ordered, without a hint of sympathy for the boy who lay exhausted in the puddle of dirt, mingled with his own blood and sweat.

Leon gritted his teeth, attempting to push himself up to his knees but his arms gave way, as they collapsed from fatigue, causing him to fall back with another splash.

“Looks like he’s just not cut out for it, Major Krauser,” one of the soldiers jeered.

Krauser ignored the comment, but his right eye twitched in impatience. With lightning speed, he hurled the knife Leon had lost in the previous sparring match. It landed with a schnk, embedding itself upright in the ground directly in front of the boy.

Leon flinched, dread sinking in as he understood what was coming next.

“Listen up, rookie,” Krauser called out, pacing back and forth like a predator marking its prey. “I’m gonna count to three. If you aren’t on your feet by then…” He trailed off with a veiled threat.

Get up. He tried to command his limbs to move, but they weren’t listening.

“1…”

Get up! It resounded in his eardrums. Every single time those two words were used to direct him to do something against his will. 

Derisive. 

Contemptuous. 

Scathing.

He heard it now, as if it were a tarnished stain that could not be rubbed away from his mind. Get up! But his body remained motionless, like a broken doll on its side.

“2…”

What was the point? He was fucked either way. 

Fucked the minute he had turned his back on you and headed to Raccoon City. Fucked the moment he had set eyes on Ada. Fucked when he had convinced Claire to leave Sherry with him.

Closing his eyes, he braced himself for the worst. Except, there was silence and then, your voice - tiny, unassuming, but so distinctly you. Leon. 

Tender.

Caring.

Sweet. 

Just as he remembered it. Leon.

He imagined your warm, radiant smile illuminating the shithole he was in. You were reaching out with the palm of your hand, coaxing him gently, Get up.

Slipping his hand in yours, he found renewed strength to pull himself to a standing position, just as Krauser counted, “3…”

The vision Leon had of you disappeared, just as quickly as it came. And once again, he was left alone, surrounded by the people who were charged with toughening him up, through means of brutality and humiliation.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” Krauser remarked. Without hesitation, he barked out another order, “Again!”

One of the soldiers from the squad stepped forward, licking his lips and leering at him while he brandished his sharpened weapon menacingly. The rest of the team nodded and grinned at each other in approval. In modern warfare, there was no such thing as a fair match.

Leon peered at his reflection in the cool, metallic blade of the knife he had grasped to support his weight on the way up. Staring back at him was a boy resigned to his fate.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Soft.

Careless.

Sloppy.

Leon was used to the criticisms doled out to him on a regular basis. That, along with the taunts about his pretty boy appearance and how he was too naive for own good. They spared no effort to stamp out his idealism, which was treated as a weakness, unlike back in the days with you, where you saw it as his greatest strength.

Naive. He couldn’t argue with that one. He was naive to a fault. Naive to the point where it cost him his life.

As he lay on the scratchy bunk bed, with a cut lip and his ribs swollen and bruised, the recent events that had come to pass replayed incessantly in his head. 

How could he have fallen for her, that lady in red, who was a total stranger? Why did he still feel something for her, even though she had betrayed him?

The guilt and shame festered within him, eating away at his conscience. Did his relationship with you mean nothing at all? 

No, that wasn’t it. Like you, Ada was there for him when he needed her. Like you, she had a rebelliousness about her that was thrilling and kept him on his toes. It was almost as if he was trying to find you again in every woman he met, from the day he had left you. But he shouldn’t have left. He should’ve stayed there beside you.

When he’d been trapped in the city rubble, he wasn’t sure if he’d make it out alive. So, he clung on to any source of comfort he could get. Someone who would understand what he had been through. A fellow survivor. Except, she had played him like a fiddle.

Maybe all of these reasons he had come up with for going after Ada were just pitiful excuses to make himself feel better. He was a fucking asshole and deserved the treatment he got now. Every insult and every blow. He deserved all of it.

As his thoughts swam around endlessly, he beat himself up internally again and again, before silently crying himself to sleep. However, it never lasted long. He dreamed of buildings engulfed in flames, frenzied creatures ripping and tearing at flesh still fresh and steaming from the bones, putting bullets through the heads of innocents, and yet failing to save each and every one of them, time and time again.

Waking up in cold sweat from the night terrors, he trembled uncontrollably and nothing would help, save for the small photo he had of you hidden in his wallet. He fished for it, holding the edges delicately between his fingers as he traced your face, your jaw and your lips, hoping to feel your presence next to him. You were the only sense of normalcy he had left to go on these days.

You reminded him of the sultry Indian summers and bitter piercing winters of the Midwest. Eating cotton candy on dates to the town fair. Competing in sporting events and basking in the crowd’s jubilant cheering, where you’d winked at him flirtatiously in your cute little outfit, and he wanted to take you right there and then. Trawling through old record shops and frequenting the local drive-in cinema. All these things he cherished and lost. But you reminded him of home.

His breathing calmed and he stopped shaking. Sometimes, he prayed to you like a mythical being when it got too much, where he was tempted to splatter his brains out and end it all.

You’re a good person. Remember that, he’d hear you say. And he knew he had to keep going, for his sake, and the sake of others.

It made him think of Sherry. Poor Sherry. A little girl caught between a conflict of arrogance, filthy profits and coverups. She had no one, except him and Claire. He needed to be a good person for her. It was his fault he had trusted the government too much. 

One couldn’t fathom the embarrassment and devastation he felt in that instance, when he had surrendered their lives over to them. Especially after he had promised Sherry that they would take care of her, only for them to turn the tables around and say, Checkmate.

They always took what they wanted. If they had to raze the ground, trample on and exploit the vulnerable, so be it. He had been utterly blind to their indiscretions all this while.

Despite that, there was no question about it, when they’d asked him to work for them. It was a done deal from the start. He would sign away his life for hers willingly like a goddamned martyr. His performance would ensure her safety, or rather, how well they treated her.

Would you have been proud of him now? Seeing him in this state? He often wondered about that, as he was no longer the bright-eyed rookie cop you had made him out to be.

Did you still think of him? Or had you left his corpse behind, moving on happily to a new start in a foreign country?

He didn’t know anymore and frankly, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that he missed you, to the point where it was driving him crazy. It had been months since he last saw you. Even though his last memory of you was when your eyes were red and puffy from the tears streaming down your face, you still looked beautiful as ever. If he could, he would take it all back and hold you in his arms.

God, what he would give just to hear your voice again. Even if it was a simple “Hello.”

However, his wish couldn’t have been granted sooner. As an incentive, the higher-ups had offered him a phone call to anyone he wanted if he showed improvements. Up until then, he hadn’t been allowed any form of contact for valid reasons. For now, it was a choice between you or his parents, though ultimately, he decided on you. You’d understand him, you always did. You’d know what to do and relay this on to them. He trusted you fully.

In the most excruciating month of his training, he endured an infinite amount of grueling drills under the scorching heat of the sun. Sweat dripped from his brow and his lips were parched and chapped. It was punishing, and the thirst and hunger nearly got to him, but he continued on. He had to, for you.

It wasn’t long before the changes started to show. In what could be considered an astonishing turn of events to his military peers, he rose up and fought back. Instead of “Weak!”, “Poor!”, “That's all you got?”, like he had been so accustomed to hearing, Krauser rewarded him one day with a “Not bad.”

He didn’t know he had it in him, but then again it wasn’t exactly a surprise. When he put his mind to it, he caught on quickly. After all, he was a survivor through and through.

Swish. This time, it wasn’t his neck that was pressed against the other end of the blade.

His opponent dropped his knife in defeat and Leon let go, stumbling backwards as he heaved a heavy sigh of relief. He couldn’t believe it at first, that he’d finally emerged victorious in a match.

Air escaped his lungs as Krauser gave him a firm pat on the back. “Guess you really wanted that call, huh?” He huffed. “Well, you earned it, rookie.”

As he stalked off, he turned around briefly to face Leon with a smirk. “Wonder who’s the lucky gal?”

Before Leon could raise any questions, the older man had already disengaged, retreating into the background like a shadow.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Leon’s hands were quivering again. He’d received a token for the payphone in the building for that special call. Anxiety and nervousness gnawed at his insides. If he wasn’t careful, the token might slip from his hands, which were wet with perspiration. Every step he took was tense and jittery, but finally, he had made his way to the plain, black phone installed against a blank wall.

As he inserted the token into the coin slot, he exhaled deeply, recalling your home phone number from the recesses of his mind. Punching them in, he waited for the tone to ring. It felt as if time had slowed down and he was experiencing tunnel vision as he listened to the familiar Brrring.

What if you weren’t in? What if you didn’t pick up? Would he get a second chance? He pushed away those thoughts and swallowed thickly. 

And then he heard something odd. There was a constant buzzing sound during the call, reminiscent of static feedback from an amplifier, or as though a fly had been trapped in the machine. It irritated him and gave him a slight headache.

But as he ruminated on it, an icy fear paralyzed him and his blood ran cold. The call was being tapped. Those bastards! He should’ve known. He had fallen for it again and led them straight to you. Life was playing a cruel joke on him and he was constantly being handed the role of the fool.

“Hello?”

Your voice snapped him out of his reverie. It was everything he had dreamed of. He’d almost given in then, opening his mouth to speak to you, but he caught himself before anything could spill out.

I love you.

No, he couldn’t implicate you in this. He had to protect you. 

“Who’s this?”

You sounded both sad and hopeful at the same time, and he knew you had waited for him. He just didn’t expect that this was how his first call to you would pan out. Tightening his grip on the phone, he closed his eyes, wishing it were just another nightmare, and that he’d wake up and find you in his embrace again. 

I love you.

He clenched his jaw, his mouth contorting in agony as he eventually hung up without saying a word. It felt like his heart had been wrenched out and all that lingered was a crushing weight against his chest.

“How did it go?” Krauser asked him, as he trudged back to the barracks dejectedly.

“Wrong number,” Leon mumbled out a reply without looking at him.

“Shame.”

It had only just begun to sink in that he’d never see you nor his parents again. Not if he wanted to keep all of you safe. He would have to pretend he didn’t know you, and that you had no shared history together. Nothing had prepared him for this moment, just like nothing had prepared him for what had happened over the course of the past few months. 

It’s just how life works out sometimes. He snorted cynically, suddenly struck by how true that statement he had made to you during the break up rang in his ears.

Whipping out a lighter, he burned the only picture he had left of you, just in case they searched his stuff at some point. Tears clouded his vision as he watched the yellowish flames lick at your face, and your image curled up and blackened into nothing but ash and soot.

I love you.

From a different wing in the building, a gravelly, baritone voice instructed, “Gather all information on the number he had called. I want details of everyone linked to him.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy angst #resident evil #porcelainscribbles

[theonevoice]

I've seen and read several iteration of the "Supreme Archangel Aziraphale finds Crowley imprisoned/tortured and steps in to save him and tend to his wounds" situation, which my sentimental ass appreciates intensely, but I wouldn't mind the opposite scenario.

Like, Aziraphale snaps in Heaven and an entire platoon of angels beats him up and summons demons to take him to Hell, when Crowley swoops in and miracles them to safety. And then, in some dark remote place, avoiding miracles to stay hidden as long as possible, as the angel breaks down in desperate sobs, the demon whips out a handkerchief and starts cleaning up the mess of dirt, blood and tears, his glasses still on but his jaw slightly softened, still not talking, only from time to time whispering "idiot".

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #good omens thoughts

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Nar Cyar’ika

Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

A/N: Thanks you so much to @starrylothcat and @a-single-tulip for going over this for me!

Prompts given: Telling someone you love them while you think they’re asleep and tentative kisses in the dark.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v (wrap it up irl), Crosshair being Crosshair, canon battles, violence, clone deaths 😭, if I’ve missed anything please @ me.

Word Count: 6.8k+

Tagging: @techs-feral-wife

“General! Look out!”

Upon hearing the warning, you automatically threw your hands up as the debris littered the ground around you. Casting the force shield as wide as you could to cover your troops, but still, the finer dirt rained down. The hiss of it was accompanied but the smell of burnt alloy, broken droids, and the freshness of the gauged earth.

“Captain?!” You called, choking on the fuel heavy air.

“All in one piece,” He responded wearily. He was feeling a little grim and tired but he was still there unharmed, as were the rest of the clones that held the line. A whole month you’d been out here. Fighting back droids in an endless barrage, constant casualties as men dropped around you, something you took personally.

Too many nights had been spent holding a dying man’s hand, trying to ease his passing and take away the pain of his wounds. You knew the name of every single one, taking a piece of their armour for their brothers, because that was all you were allowed. Your ship wasn’t built to carry home dead troopers, only the ones still breathing.

“Incoming!” A trooper’s yell alerted you to act. It was instinctive, reaching out with the force, directing the missile off to the side of your positions, and exploding in a shower of wood and earth. The trees groaned, crashing to the ground and taking out some advancing clankers under the thick trunks; starting a chain reaction of more explosions that beat the air around you.

“ETA on our reinforcements?” You had requested help, a few extra platoons would tip the scales in your favour and you hoped they were arriving in the next few minutes. You hefted your DC-17m and began to shoot some droids, the repeat blasts kicking back into your armour as you swept some bolts along the Separatist front line, picking your targets through the trees and hitting the mark every time.

Captain Wilco was shooting beside you, his helmet nodded and you knew he was talking on the internal com. It was frustrating that as a Jedi you didn’t have a helmet and only a com on your wrist. That was no good while you were shooting.

“ETA 2 minutes, General,” he relayed steadily.

“Do we know how many?” He hesitated at the question and you felt his faint emotion change through the force.

“Make me happy, Captain,” You ordered as you took out another B1 droid.

“Just a single Commando Squad…”

“Beexes! Heading straight for your position, General!” The warning came through the comlink this time and you lowered your blaster, hiding behind a wide tree trunk as Wilco slammed in beside you, blasters upright and pointing at the sky as he took a second to breathe. The swift thunk of bolts sounded loud, shedding some splinters of wood near your shoulder. You hated these droids.

“Hold this,” You said, holding out the deecee.

“Is it time to show off?” He asked, twirling his blasters and shoving them in their holsters before taking your blaster.

“Yeah, it’s time to show off.” Drawing your twin blades free was always an exhilarating moment. The yellow-green cast of the plasma was a beacon to your troops. When the lights were lit, it meant their General was getting personal with the clankers.

You could feel the fresh prick of adrenaline, spinning away from your cover and stabbing the first droid under the chin. The alloy melted, no match against your lightsaber and your nose wrinkled at this smell of ruined circuits.

Shedding the dead weight you bounced some bolts away, noticing three more heading straight for you. Three. You were tired, your shoulder ached and your entire body was being pushed to its limit but you soldiered on. Wilco fired from the cover you provided but they barely slowed the droids down.

Any second…any second. You could sense them, the squad that had been sent to help hold your position and now you knew why they had only sent one. At first, you’d expected Omega, maybe even Delta if they were ordered hard enough…no. They’d sent the squad you would take above all others.

You flowed through the motions, relying on the force to tell you what was headed your way a few seconds before it actually happened. A bolt aimed at your shoulder penetrating your armour, another coming to pierce your side. Your blades swung, reflecting the bolts away not having the time to direct them. The droids crossed paths, their legs easily picking over the uneven terrain as they jogged. Bringing your blades in an X, you clashed them together before wrenching them apart and pushing with the force.

To your annoyance they contorted, refusing to fall over and you felt a flash of anger. Spinning around you concentrated, letting go of your left saber to guide it in an arc slicing off the head of a droid.

Two down, two to go.

Now they were upon you, one constantly on the move as it shot at you while the other pulled a vibrosword from literally nowhere. Going toe to toe with a BX droid was not on your to-do list today, let alone four of them. It met you swing for swing, with the added distraction of the other one shooting at you, this really wasn’t a fair fight.

An explosion that made the earth roll beneath your feet caught you completely off-guard, and you stumbled. The tremor rocked through your body, jolting your sabers from your grip and the droid saw its chance. It lunged to grab you by the throat, lifting you as you clawed at the metal arm that had you in a vice-like grip.

“General!” You closed your eyes at the sound of Wilco’s desperate yell.

No, please no! Your mind was frantic and you did the only thing you could think of. Throwing your hand out, you pushed Wilco back. You didn’t need him coming to your recuse and getting himself killed. He was swept off his feet, landing heavily on his back. Your legs were kicking, trying not to succumb to the panic, but you couldn’t stop it. You weren’t a born soldier, all your years at the temple could not have prepared you for this side of war. You were a peacekeeper. That’s what they’d told you anyway.

You began to gasp, reaching into the force to try and find the strength to ease this droid’s grip but your concentration was slipping. Your body was failing and so was your mind as your lungs burned for some air.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Light flared across your blurred vision, the sound of your lightsaber cut through the fog in your mind and you felt yourself fall to the ground. Dragging the tainted air into your lungs you were finally able to take a breath. Hands grabbed you, hauling you to some cover and you were able to see who your saviour was.

Captain Wilco was shooting with your repeat blaster around the side of the tree, his shots sporadic to indicate fewer targets were in his line of sight. It was the other soldier that interested you right now, his black and red helmet thrown into stark relief in the light of your saber.

The light side of his helmet was a complete dichotomy to the dark tattoo that marked the same side of his face. He now cocked it as he peered at you from behind the wide visor. “You’ll be needing these.” He remarked, retracting the blade before depositing them firmly in your grip. Hunter yanked his knife free of his vambrace, staying in a crouched position, and peered around the tree. “Crosshair...” you heard him murmur through his vocoder and you knew he was talking via the comlink.

“The clankers are regrouping.” You smiled at the bite in the sniper’s voice. You couldn’t see him but you could feel him high up the side of the hill, his presence was always loud to you through the force. Even across the distance that had been between you the last five months, you’d always been able to reach out to him.

“Are you all right, General?” Wilco had that smooth tone to his voice, the one that told you he had shut down all his feelings and was reacting purely on instinct right now. This man was going through the motions.

“Fine. I’ll be sporting a new collar of bruises though. Now I know what Captain Rex was moaning about.”

“Orders?” Crosshair’s voice slithered through the com channel and Hunter turned to look at you as he waited.

“This is your party, Sarge. Go, do what you do.”

“You heard the General, boys. Let’s finish this.” Hunter melted away, prompting you to get up.

“Captain,” Wilco was by your side, letting you lean on him as your legs shook. “Let’s watch the show.”

“Not a single clanker left,” Wrecker announced loudly as they walked through the carnage to your position. Your robes were singed, and the armour you wore over the top was carbon scoured and would need a good clean. Your throat was still sore every time you swallowed but you wouldn’t let the medics near you. There were far worse injuries littering the field.

“I’m glad you boys decided to make it.”

“Sorry,” Hunter replied, pulling his helmet off and giving you a cocky smile. “Had to stop and ask some clankers for directions.”

“And there I was thinking we were making enough noise.” As you spoke your gaze drifted over the Sergeant’s shoulder to fix on the figure that was striding to join his squad. He was tall, his long legs picking their way easily over the droid shrapnel; the firepuncher pointing at the ground but held in a way you knew it could lift and take out a droid in less than a second.

“Your position was easy enough to triangulate. Plus, we sourced the coordinates directly from your ship when we answered the call.” Tech had his nose in his datapad, no doubt keeping an eye on the com chatter so he was alerted to any change in the GAR.

“What’s next?” Hunter asked.

“General.” You turned to face Wilco, he was holding a holodisk in his hand, depicting an image of your Admiral who was currently in orbit over the planet you stood on.

“Orders from Coruscant?” You queried and he nodded.

“We have been told to return immediately. The Fearless is coming to relieve us.”

“We do all the hard graft and then someone else sweeps in and just holds it for us.” Shaking your head you tried not to be tempted by the anger that loomed. You knew why they did it, you created results. The 71st made waves, they got things done and you all were a formidable force against the droids. “Say, you boys fancy some RnR? It’s been a while since we caught up.” You could feel Crosshair scrutinising you from under his helmet, you felt the jolt that your suggestion gave him except it wasn’t his decision.

Hunter cast his eye over the squad but it was Wrecker that answered. “Aw, yeah! Been a while since we had some decent food.”

“Plenty of that up top. What do you say?” Your offer hung in the air for a moment as they all exchanged glances with Hunter.

“Yeah, why not,” Hunter said slowly.

“Saves on fuel,” added Tech.

“Captain, contact the ship and let them know Clone Force 99 is going to dock with us. They’re going to need supplies and fuel if we can spare it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He turned away to the sound of the lartys as they landed.

“I need to accompany the wounded. See you on the flight deck.” Hunter gave you a salute, briefly touching his bandana and flicking his fingers away, but your gaze was settled on the sniper. He backed away, his attention clearly on you and it took all your concentration not to physically reach out to him.

So you used the force instead, stretching over the few metres that separated you, frustrated that he was so close and still so far away. A frown tugged on your brow when you felt he was…angry. It created heated spots in the force around him and he suddenly turned away, spinning abruptly and stalking after his squad mates.

Walking in the opposite direction you distracted yourself as you did after every battle, by concentrating on your clones.

You hated the aftermath. The way their adrenaline trickled away just left exhaustion and pain. The air in the gunship reeked of blood, dirt, sweat, and men. You were used to it, aware that you didn’t smell any better yourself. The whole battalion had been planetside for five days this round and they deserved a well-earned rest.

“Jumper…” you crouched beside a clone who was slumped in a brother's lap, barely able to hold his head up. There was a mark on his white chest plate, the red cross of no treatment, and tears sprang to your eyes.

“General,” He wheezed.

“Hang on soldier, we’re going home.” You took his hand and concentrated. Nothing you could do would stop the inevitable, all that was left was to ease his pain. “You fought bravely today,” you murmured. He sighed loudly and you hitched up a smile. “The meds working?”

“Yeah. Thanks, General…” You had no idea if he knew what you’d done or not. By the time you’d stood up and moved to the next soldier, he had taken his last breath.

You waited on the flight deck, supervising all the wounded being taken, giving a comforting word to the exhausted ones left behind. You were hurting, trying to keep your brave mask on until you could fall apart in your quarters. Attachment rules be damned, how could you not feel the ache with each life that was lost? When you personally felt their passing through the force and the void they left behind?

“Ship docking!” The Marauder glided effortlessly onto the flight deck, turning so tightly, it made some of the troopers watching hold their breaths but you’d seen Tech pilot this beauty before.

“Get a fuel line ready,” you ordered a clone and he jumped up to carry out the task.

The squad disembarked, casting uneasy glances around the matching faces that openly stared at them. You knew if any other Jedi had asked they would have refused the hospitality.

“Jet’ika! There she is!” Wrecker wasn’t one for protocol and acting appropriately and you didn’t care, letting the large clone pull you off the ground and into a bear hug that you so desperately needed.

“Wrecker, the regs are watching,” Tech murmured.

“What do I care?” He replied loudly and you grimaced as it echoed over the deck. “Wha’ you looking at?” He demanded from the nearest group.

“You’re embarrassing yourself, Wrecker.” Crosshair shoved past, his golden gaze avoiding yours. Something was up with him, maybe he was just pent up with frustration at not being able to greet you like Wrecker had. You wished he could, your entire body ached to be touched by him.

Five months was a long time.

“You boys hungry?” You asked when Wrecker finally put you down.

“I can guarantee one of us is,” Tech sighed as the big clone proclaimed he was starving again.

“No food fights this time,” You told Hunter, raising an eyebrow. “I had to do a lot of smooth-talking with the Admiral and Captain Wilco last time, not to mention the clean-up droid.”

“They’ll behave this time,” the Sergeant told you in a firm voice.

“Actually, I behaved last time,” Tech stated with a small frown on his face as they all followed you into the turbo lift.

“Only because you weren’t there,” Crosshair pointed out with an annoyed motion, pulling his toothpick out and flicking it at his brother.

Tech shrugged and barely flinched when the small stick bounced off his armour. “A minor detail.”

The doors opened and they stepped out, turning as one to face you. “Go relax, I need to get freshen up and then I’ll come and join you.” Hunter gave you a small nod of acknowledgement, Wrecker beamed, Tech gave you an absent wave and Crosshair didn’t even look at you. The door began to slide closed. Every fibre of your being wished Cross would look at you, so when his blazing, amber gaze finally locked with yours it felt like you’d been stunned, your breath stolen along with all the thoughts in your mind.

Five months was too long.

You went through the motions, raking your fingers through your hair and cleaning the grime of battle from your skin. Dirt and blood swilled away in the stream of water before the timer ran out and you sighed in the quiet space. It was never long enough but you understood the water had to be spread between an entire ship and everyone got the same amount of time in the shower.

You towelled yourself down and then wrapped up your body before stepping into your quarters. You had been so absorbed in what you were doing you didn’t expect someone to be standing by the door, leaning against the wall and you automatically threw your hands up.

“Jumpy,” He sneered.

“Well no one should be in here,” you snapped, still ashamed he’d managed to sneak up on you. Crosshair pushed away from the wall, uncrossing his arms to brush his fingertips against your grubby armour plates. You became acutely aware of how underdressed you were, clutching the towel tightly to your chest.

“You were reckless today.” With his words came a ripple of frustration, prickling at your senses and making you bristle in return.

“Isn’t that what we do on the battlefield?” Your answer made him scoff, dropping the armour with a clatter and looking up at the wall.

“You are not invincible,” he spoke with a sharp tone and his eyes held something hard and disclosed.

“I never said I was!” You gasped when he advanced on you, jabbing a finger into your bare shoulder, making you step back.

“I saw what you did!” He seethed in his icy voice. “For that…reg.” Drawing yourself up with as much dignity as you could muster while naked and only wrapped in a towel, you fixed a heavy glare on him.

“Captain Wilco is a fine soldier and I will not have you talk badly about any of my troopers.”

Crosshair straightened, crossing his arms as he regarded you with a displeased look on his face but that just wound you up more.

“Okay, you know what, Cross? I don’t have to listen to this. I have been down there for the past month watching men, your brothers, drop dead around me as they follow my orders.”

“They are not my brothers,” He spat, his gaze drifting away as though bored with the conversation. You sputtered angrily, the happy image of your long-awaited reunion was being replaced by this—anger and jealousy.

“No. You’ve never lost a brother, have you Crosshair?” Your voice had that hard edge you usually reserved for the Seps and you felt the briefest flash of doubt as it flickered through him before he squashed it.

“You are not one of them. No matter how hard you try.”

You laughed at his harsh statement but it held no joy.

“No? I may not have been pulled from a tank but I have no parents, I was holding a weapon that I knew how to use by the time I was 4 years old. I have seen as much, if not more death than your squad put together. Do you sense the moment a trooper passes? Do you feel it when they just…cease to be?”

His gaze flicked to your face, his eyes softening slightly when he saw the tears that sparkled in your eyes.

“I am not a clone, but they are a little pocket of family that I never had.” Turning away you grabbed your spare set of robes. “Now get out. That’s an order.”

The surge of anger from him was like a whip, making you flinch as he slammed a hand into the panel and shoved his way through the door before it had even fully opened. Your insides quivered as you tried to contain it all, but your shell was cracking, allowing the emotion of the last few weeks to finally show and you covered your face with shaking hands.

If only this wasn’t so hard.

“…and then, I picked him up by his neck.”

“What did Rex do?” Your eyes were wide as you nursed a cup of caf at the table with three members of the Bad Batch. Hunter was eyeing anyone that came too close, he was on edge here and you didn’t blame him. Your troops eyed them just as suspiciously. Tech was splicing some data he’d acquired from the Seps, you weren’t entirely sure and you didn’t have it in you to ask this time. Wrecker was doing a great job of distracting you from dwelling on the fact Crosshair wasn’t here. You could sense Hunter’s focus on you every now and again but you ignored it.

“The Cap couldn’t do much, but Crosshair took on that medic.”

“Kix?” You nudged Tech’s arm. “What did you do?”

“I asked Wrecker to put Jesse down. He didn’t listen.”

“Then I ruined all their fun,” Hunter said. “We can't afford to quarrel amongst ourselves. Crosshair needs that reminder more than most at the moment.”

“Where is he?” Tech looked up from his datapad. “Have you seen him?”

It was such a direct question and for a moment you panicked over what to say before shaking your head.

“He’s probably back at the ship.” Hunter pushed away his tray and went to stand up. Tech instantly followed but Wrecker moaned.

“Is it time to go already?”

“Not quite yet,” Hunter reassured him. “The General here is letting us go before they reach triple zero.”

Tech pushed his goggles up his nose as he looked at his brother. “I need to do some maintenance on the ship before we leave and I could us your assistance, Wrecker.”

“Take food with you,” You told the larger clone, pushing your own untouched tray in his direction.

“Bonus! Thanks, Jet’ika.” You grinned at the nickname. Wrecker had donned you with it the first time he saw you a couple of years ago. He followed Tech out of the food area, chomping happily on the extra food but your attention drifted to Hunter who paused.

“If you see him,” You said in a low voice.

“I’ll tell him.” This time you returned the salute and watched them all leave before making a move yourself.

You visited the medbay, checked on the injured clones, and had a chat with them as your ship sped through hyperspace. Keeping their spirits high was easier because they were heading for some leave. They certainly deserved it. Wandering the almost empty halls you debated heading to the bridge. Casting your senses you tried to get a feel for your ship. It lived and breathed like a living creature, the sheer amount of people in this flying city made it so. But one signature stood out. And he was back in your room.

You followed a familiar path, sensing his inner turmoil even as he slept, drawn towards it like a moth to a flame.

The first time you and Cross had given in, it gave you a thrill. Smoothing out the frustrated ripples in such a clone gave you a deluded sense of power. Not that you had any control over him, that wasn’t what you sought out, it was being needed by someone in a way you’d never been needed before.

You had life experience, more than most of your troops put together but it wasn’t something that was encouraged within the temple. You had seen, felt, and witnessed things that blew your mind. Love, you assumed, was a feeling reserved for civvies, not for Jedi. Compassion, a sense of caring was encouraged but love, raw passion. That was shut down.

And then you met Crosshair.

You had sensed his interest, the curiosity had been hard to ignore and he intrigued you just as much. It had taken you spending months with the Batch on a covert mission for the stoic clone to finally give in. And when it did, it opened your eyes to a feeling that encompassed you both completely. An all-consuming fire that burned whenever you were together.

Except this time. Because you had risked your life to save that of your Captain.

The door opened quietly and you slipped into the dark room. His armour was stacked up at the end of your bed and his breathing was even and steady telling you he was asleep. Crosshair was pressed up against the wall, a pillow of yours held close to his body and you felt a pang of guilt that you had spoken to him in such a way earlier. Sitting on the edge of the bed you sighed, plucking at your Jedi robes.

“This was not how I imagined my day going,” You whispered. This was a cheap move and you knew it, but if you told him now then maybe it would be easier to repeat when he was actually awake. “I’m breaking all the rules,” You confessed into the dark. “I feel like when I’m not with you I’m losing myself but when I am with you…I am not who I should be.” Biting your lower lip you stood up. “I love you, Crosshair. I’m aware I shouldn’t, I know that…but I can’t stop.” Glancing over your shoulder you saw he hadn’t moved, still curled around the pillow that smelled like you with his legs tucked up. “I hope I’m brave enough to say it to you when you’re awake.”

You debated going to find somewhere else to sleep, yet you knew this was the last time you’d probably see him for months and you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Shedding your robes you carefully slipped in beside him and stared at the ceiling. He shifted and you froze. Crosshair uncoiled, rolling over to face you with the tiniest sigh.

“Look at me.” His was soft, whispering over your skin like the lightest of touches.

You obeyed, turning your face to catch his expression in the lights of hyperspace from the viewport in your room.

“Cross…” You stopped when he put a finger across your lips.

“It’s my turn.”

Your heart was pounding, you hadn’t paid attention to if he’d been awake or not, just assuming he was sleeping because of how even his breathing was. At least he was still here.

Crosshair’s eyes traced the way his finger trailed over your lips, rolling your bottom lip a little and your body responded instantly. He had so much to say, it crowded all inside him but he was never good at expressing how he felt with words and you saw his brow furrow. His fingers ghosted over your cheek, hooking around the curve of your neck and he dared to bring you closer. Your hand shot up to cover his, desperate to be close, to feel him everywhere at once.

Your eyes fluttered when his nose brushed yours, lips parting in a minute gasp when his breath pillowed against your cheeks. Maker help you, but you wanted him. You needed him right now and it coursed through you like the light of a supernova.

His lips were tentative, touches light as he gauged how you were responding to his hesitant advance. Both your mouths were open, neither of you wanting to break the delicate string that held you both suspended on this fine ledge. Anticipation swirled in your chest, it made each breath ache and your limbs tremble as the moment built to an almost perceptible hum in the force.

Your fingers tightened over his, giving him the permission he needed to close that gap between you both and sealing his mouth over yours.

The fall was glorious. Throwing you headlong into the taste of him as he crowded you against the bed. His body half covered you, pressing against your leg and letting you know he was there. A soft moan tumbled from your throat, succumbing to the sensations you had denied yourself for so long.

His mouth never stopped, burying his tongue deep into you and he manoeuvred over you completely, his arms on either side of your head as he swept his hands the sides of your face. Bringing your legs up he settled heavily between them, his body responding to the heat of yours as he rutted gently into you.

Your hips flexed, the friction against your clothed core was enough to make you moan again when you felt how hard he was through his blacks. His mouth left yours to trail wet kisses and nips along your jaw, making you arch into him, exposing your neck. He swept his tongue along your pulse point, pausing to lavish some attention on that place that made you shiver.

Your hands roamed up his muscular back, scraping your nails over the crop of short grey hairs, making him groan into your neck. You felt his lips draw back, the feel of his teeth pressing into your skin made you tense, only to surrender yourself to him completely.

He pulled down your vest top, letting out a warm breath that danced over your clavicle, making goosebumps erupt all over your body. He felt so good in your arms, his weight a comfort you realised you had missed as he slipped down. His hands were urgent, now rucking up your top to expose your heaving chest to him and he wasted no time in taking a nipple into his hot mouth.

Crosshair took his time, making sure you were writhing beneath him, whimpering with need before he moved on to the next part of your body. You pulled your own top off, glancing down to see him watching you with those eyes that almost glowed with the fire that burned within him.

His long fingers curled over the waistband of your pants, exposing your hip which he gently kissed, his gaze drawn to the way your stomach contracted at the teasing contact. Crosshair always noticed everything about your body, the way you moved, how you reacted in a certain way, and he used that to figure out your weaknesses. Of course, you’d never admit he was your ultimate weakness, all he had to do was look at you.

He moved over to repeat the motion on your other hip, tugging your pants down to expose you completely, finally rearing up to detangle you from your clothes. You hooked your legs around his slim waist and ran his hands along the line of your thighs, curling you up as he leaned forward to give you a kiss that had you gasping for air.

You knew what was coming next, Crosshair hardly ever deviated, wanting to get the most out of your encounter every time because neither of you knew when it was going to happen again.

His touch was slow but firm, dipping between your bodies as he leaned over you, supporting himself on one hand, his eyes watching your face when he gifted you with a teasing touch along your slit.

You heard the deep growl in his chest and his eyes closed. Long fingers deftly parted your lips and he brushed against your clit making your hips buck into his hand. When he pushed a finger into you it made your back leave the mattress. Your cunt fluttered around his touch, grasping desperately as he added another finger. He buried them deeply, pushing up and into you with a moan, his shoulders flexing from the motion and you leaned back against the pillow.

Your hands held onto him, legs quivering as he tortured you by drawing his fingers out of your wetness, making sure he was completely coated before shoving back into you, ripping a blissful cry from your chest.

He set a steady pace, dragging his fingers against the clenching walls of your sex, his need to feel every inch of you was something you were used to but never prepared for. Cross stroked that tender spot inside you, his fingertips winding up the coil in your lower belly that would have you eventually melting into the mattress.

His eyes intently watched your expression, his lips parted when he felt you shake around him, he knew you were close, he could feel it. And he pushed you over the edge. His breathing became ragged as you fell apart, his fingers not letting up, carrying you through the pleasure. Finally relenting when you hooked a hand around his tense neck and passionately kissed him.

Crosshair planted a hand on your shoulder, pushing you back onto the bed as he moved further back. His eyes devoured you, fingers sweeping up your inner thighs to collect the wetness that had leaked onto your skin. You watched, your body still thrumming with bliss as he put his fingers into his mouth, lifting his predatory gaze to lock with yours.

“You’re as sticky as uj’ayl,” He murmured.

“Cross…” you whimpered.

“Patience, nar cyar’ika.” His lips connected with your inner thigh, once more dragging his teeth against the softness of your skin, enjoying the way you gasped, hips undulating in a shamelessly desperate motion. He directed his attention to your core, using the flat of his tongue, slowly, teasingly, swirling around your clit.

You felt his fingers there once again, exposing you to his warm breath as he sighed. His mouth covered your entrance and you curled your fists in the covers. His tongue delved deeply, tasting you with a satisfied hum that vibrated up your spine, making you tremble.

Crosshair let you use him, grinding your hips against his face as you moaned desperately. One hand travelled up your body, pressing along your stomach to settle between your breasts, fingers spread so he could feel the throb of your heart as it beat in your chest.

It was gathering again, liquid fire searing through your veins and creating a reaction you had no control over. Your legs came up either side of his head, trying not to crush him so you settled your feet on his back. Your fingers slipped through the short, tough strands of his hair as your whole body flexed.

Your cries filled the room, a hand clenching in the pillow behind your head and your back arched wildly. Still, Crosshair persisted, his tongue stroking you into a blaze that only he could handle. His hips pressed into the mattress, his cock needy and aching to be buried inside you, but he could wait.

He groaned when you flooded his mouth, licking up every drop as your pleasure stole every basic function from your body. Each muscle contorted, holding you in a suspended state as the seal broke on the flames that licked across your sweaty skin.

Eventually, he released you, letting you flop bonelessly among the sheets. You protested weakly when he kneeled between your legs, only to shed his blacks before falling back into your arms.

He kissed you fervently, licking as deeply into your mouth as he had your cunt. He wasted no time in lining himself with your weeping entrance, his cock twitching in anticipation, dragging along the seam between your thighs and notching right where you wanted him the most.

Your hands slid down his back, following the lines of his tense muscles to hook in the plushness of his backside. You left him in no doubt of your intentions, not breaking a motion in the kiss as you widened your hips and used your arms to pull him forcefully into you.

He gasped when you clenched around him, seating himself to the hilt in your slick as his face rested on top of yours. His breath was strained and lust laden, his tongue coming out to lick at your lips making you whine as you did the same.

Crosshair filled you, creating a pressure inside you that was unrivalled, and it made your body quiver. Your grip on him relaxed when he began to move, pulling free until only the pulsing head of his cock was nestled comfortably inside you.

The snap of his hips was loud and you cried out together, breaking apart his resolve. There was urgency in his movements, a neediness that transcended words as he worked you both to the point of no return.

It didn’t take him long, already working himself into a state of desperation that he was finally feeding as he rutted into you. “I want to watch you,” He snarled into your lips, pushing up from the bed to kneel again. He lifted one of your legs, holding it up against his flushed chest, and worked his hips, hitting that spot that made your eyes roll. He planted a kiss on your ankle, his ferocious gaze magnetised to yours.

Your body was rung out and taut at the same. Your throat hurt, torn from the cries he pushed from you with each thrust. You knew you were going to ache all over for the next few days but it would have been worth it. Crosshair’s fingers imprinted on your skin, the sweat of his body dripped with yours creating a heady cocktail that sent your senses soaring. He was everywhere, suffocating you in the most desirable way as he began to lead you to the precipice once more.

His thrusts became sloppy, his cock pulsed inside you, eyelids fluttering as he tried to keep his attention on your face. A faint roar sounded in your ears as your blood flushed. Lightning shattered under your skin, electrifying your body to the point where you became hyper-aware of every nerve ending.

Crosshair bared his teeth, sweat beaded on his temple and he picked up the pace to bring you both drastically to a catastrophic end. His spine curled toward you when he came, his form juddering as he growled, pushing his hips into you and exploding deep in your cunt.

You were incoherent, only able to scream his name from the pressure, your nails dragging along the firmness of his sides. Your vision faded out, your heart was fit to burst with every slight thrust that sent intense shockwaves through your body.

He released your leg, letting it flop down and he fell on your lips once more, heaving in your scent and coming down from his high. His arms slid under you, gathering you into his embrace as you both listened to the knock of each other's hearts.

You lay entangled together, your face tucked against his chest and he rested his chin on the top of your head. Your fingers were tracing lazy patterns on his cooling skin, trying not to dwell on the fact he was leaving soon.

“Did you mean it?”

You froze at the question, suddenly remembering what had started this whole encounter.

“Mean what?” You focussed on the way his throat tensed, frustration coming through the turbulent calm because you were forcing him to explain.

“What you said.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

He sighed.

“I’m not anymore.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant and you risked leaning back to look into his face. His gaze roamed openly over your features, almost as though he was committing you to his memory and so you did the same.

Using your fingertips you followed the cut of his jaw, feeling the stubble that was starting to shadow his face. You brushed a thumb over the darkness of his tattoo, knowing what resided behind such a mark. It didn’t matter how many times this man tried to push you away, or how strongly he believed he wasn’t good enough for you, nothing could stop you from wanting him.

“Yes, I meant it.” There was a wave of warmth, tinged with surprise, he hadn’t expected you to admit outright. “I don’t care about the consequences,” You whispered.

“You might.”

You shook your head, fingertips delicately tracing the curve of his ear.

“Not when it comes to you.”

His arms tensed, pulling you back into his chest and you curled willingly against him, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax. He hadn’t said the words, he didn’t need to. You could sense that he loved you too. He wanted to voice them, you could sense that as well, but he knew the ramifications of what such a declaration meant.

And he was willing to protect you for as long as he had to.

#the bad batch crosshair #crosshair x jedi!reader #tbb crosshair x you #crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #crosshair x f!reader #the bad batch

[baby-jaguar]

John Price; Drop Everything Now.

Part 2

CW: PTSD, Songfic inspired by "Sparks Fly" (Not in a cringe way I promise)

GN!Reader who is a sergeant on TF141. WC: 2,262

AN: I needed to post this before I completely tore it apart (again) and decided to scrap it. LMK if you'd like a part two because I have a good chunk of it but unsure if I'd like to continue this since I want the PTSD to linger and not be just diminished because reader is love of his life (I'd like to at least try to have some realism, rip). This was actually created for a test run of writing PTSD so I am happy to take any constructive criticism or tips for writing it. Hope you enjoy!

Being stationed in the Middle East meant that you weren't used to much besides the hot sun baring down on every activity you did and dust storms that would blow over, which effectively made you shut your mouth to not breathe in the dirt. However, that didn’t mean that Mother Nature would not bless the dry lands with an ounce of rain every once in a while. 

You wouldn’t know about the rain usually unless you were outside training or on a mission when the dark clouds would roll in, giving you a rare break from the sun. Other times, the clouds would cover the stars and moon in the night sky, but you wouldn't be able to tell just what kind of clouds they were. 

And that, unfortunately, is how tonight is going without your knowledge.

The rain was never an issue on base, its greatest hindrance being the lack of vision, the annoyance of getting wet, and the general time it would take to wait it out. However, there was always the unspoken thought of the thunderstorms that could arise. 

You’ve served two years within TF141 as a sergeant, having been recruited and transferred to be on base under Price’s command. Now having some experience under your belt, you’ve seen a thing or two- but nothing compared to your superiors.

From an external point of view and reflection on yourself, it brings a possibility that your mind has yet to realize if the memories are getting trapped within yourself. Your nervous system may have gotten stuck in the past at a few points in time, but while you remain living in the action, your biggest symptom is nightmares and anxiety that you brush off each time.

The same can’t be said for your Captain.

Price, with his two decades of service, has lived through more than you could ever imagine and things he wishes to not recall. He plays the classic tough guy act, brushing his emotions off as something he can deal with when he’s home and not deployed- nor does he want to even believe they are necessary to process, his ways still being a bit old-fashioned.

When you were recruited, his viewpoint shifted a bit. Price wasn’t sure that you would be a good fit within the team, and debated putting you on a platoon further down the branch that he still oversaw from time to time. Yet, during your grace period, he would check up on you- being sure to debrief with you after long days of training exercises or drills that were getting harder and harder. When you had proven your worth to him and the team, an unspoken agreement between you two was formed. You would casually reside in his presence but keep it under the notion of him offering guidance to the rookie. This often resulted in you filling out reports or paperwork on your laptop in his office while he worked at his desk.

Price was not a sharer of his inner turmoil. But, sometimes, you would confide in him and he would allow a sliver of a softer man to peak out in the late hours of the night.

That's how the deeper part of your relationship worked with him. Hard-ass by day, and a mildly reserved man by late night. You’re close with the entirety of the team, but you’ve always had an attraction to Price, classically never trying to show it or verbalize it to anyone. Yet, you had a good hunch that he already knew from your softened behavior towards him when the veil of superior and subordinate came down to friends in the dark glow of his office.

You knew it was a bad idea to ever indulge yourself in having his attention and reciprocating it, but now you over-indulged for the last year and find yourself with a cavity at the sweetness you suck from his words. Your mind is always left in a trance on any touch he unknowingly spoiled you with; a hand to the small of your back, adjusting your elbows if you were using a heavier loadout during training, or a pat on the head after a job well done.

Tonight, the storm rolls in with thunder chasing right behind it. 

It's late in the evening as you stand in the common room, having had dinner late, and washing the dishes while quietly humming to yourself. The subconscious part of your mind notices the flashes of lightning and deep thunder that penetrate the barriers of the base but leaving it as a non-threat. You wash your dinner plate, moving the sponge around, but before you can put the plate down to dry, your phone rings with a call from Price. 

It's not unusual for him to call when he decides he’d like your presence while completing paperwork, yet your eyebrows furrow as you see the time to be later in the night than his usual request.

Before you can even speak into the phone after answering, your ear is polluted with the sound of his ragged breaths; the sound of rain hitting the ground is amplified more than what you hear while being inside. It sends a roll of skin-prickling anxiety down your spine as your eyes widen. “Price?” You ask after a blink, trying to understand what this call could be.

You hear it when he speaks, a tremor in the back of his throat and you can imagine the adrenaline-crazed look on his face. The sound of your name is called from him, and it almost sounds questioning, as if he isn't sure it's you, even though he called.

“I- I don’t know where I am…” He pants out, sounding choked up, trying to swallow air and the lack of saliva in his throat while in the pouring rain.

Drop everything now

Without a second thought, you drop the plate, the clatter of it breaking once hitting the ground echoes in the common room and snaps everyone's attention on you. Not having any need for apologies or reason, your body is already supplying the adrenaline needed to set into a dead sprint out of the common room as you weave past the other bodies to push through the hallway and enter the stairwell with the clamor of the metal doors swinging open.

“John, where are you- tell me what you see.” You call out as your body gets set on autopilot, practically flying down the stairs of the barracks and onto the ground floor moving into the hallways. “Do you see the training yard or do you see a road?” You pant out while pushing to find the exit door of the base.

It's here and now, that you now actively recognize the roll and clap of thunder as if it's taunting you to hurry up and find Price before it does.

But it seems it already has.

Each door, person, and corner you pass feels like a deliberate obstacle, frustrating you as you try to get outside faster.

“I- I see a road and the-” He’s interrupted by a bright flash, a strong shake of thunder following right after, and you hear him grunt in aggravation at the sound he lacks control over. With a call of your name, he makes a quiet plea. “Please, I need you here. Now.” He manages to ground out with a sharp breath, causing you to almost second guess yourself at what he said. 

You bank a hard left, towards the East entrance, finding the door to take you outside towards the main road that leads to the base's entrance. Shouldering the large door, you grit your teeth while taking the metal harshly against yourself, but almost come to a halt when you feel the pouring rain pelt on your body.

Meet me in the pouring rain

“Please.” His voice shakes again through the phone, and the rasp from his panting re-escalates the adrenaline through your body.

It breaks your heart to hear him sound like this as if he’s succumbing to his demons. “John, I’m gonna find you but you need to help me, ok?” You ask as your legs begin to burn from the force that you run through the damp earth with. “-you see the flag pole? ” You bark out while another flash of lightning crosses the sky, closing your eyes as you wince. “Hey- listen to me, focus on me.” You command, praying that he isn’t locked inside his memories.

After a moment, “Y- Yes, I see it. The- the rains comin’ down hard- won't fucking stop.”

The shake in his voice is back; he’s shivering and his irritability is beginning to build up faster as it makes itself evident the longer he stays held within the turmoil of his nervous system.

Running and finally entering the main yard after having had to cut through the detached buildings to make it to the front, you place your free hand over your eyes to try and gain some semblance of visibility while the flashes of lightning aid for a moment.

“Meet me there. It’ll be just you and me, only us.” You pleaded with a hint of firmness, needing to direct him as you move with haste towards the lit flagpole, the light being a beacon through the pelting rain.

While running in the dark and wet ground, you lose footing and slide your foot into loose gravel; your right elbow is now scraped while you clatter to the ground with a “Fuck-” Your voice breaks through the night air, as your yelp of pain staccatos out in the silence between the flash of light and complimenting rumble of thunder. 

In a moment before you can stand up, you hear your name being yelled out, whipping your head up in response. The raw tenacity of his voice through the thrumming of rainfall hits when there is no other force of the storm that can distract either of you.

Your gazes find each other; he looks frozen for a moment, then immediately runs to you.

“John-“ falls past your lips in a cry when you spot him. His fatigues stick to his body, his hair wet and bucket hat long gone. Making his way hurriedly, his body slows with unexpected grace as he helps you to your feet. Almost as if in a hurried frenzy, you latch onto him by his arms, blinking through the falling rain as you look up and search his face. 

The expression he wears, as he makes sure you’re alright, contradicts the voice he had just seconds earlier; his eyebrows furrowed with worry as he checks over you, quickly placing his large hands on your ribs to stand you upright as if you are a toddler who has just taken a tumble.

“Bloody- You alrigh’ sweetheart?” He asks as the warmth of his panting breath fans across your face while pulling you up against him.

“I’m ok, I just slipped from the rain. Thank you.” You speak while still holding him tight, latching onto him. Your heart aches at seeing him care for you no matter where his mind places him, always putting others before himself.

John nods, letting out a small sigh. The feeling of your warmth against his chest brings him back down as he looks over you, trying to blink the anxiety and rain from his eyes. The feeling of his hands, cold and now gentle, glides up to move the wet hair from your eyes. It surprises you for a moment as he stays completely silent besides the tremoring breaths he takes.

At the silence, you let a small huff of laughter escape before closing your eyes and giving a smile in relief at having him in your sight and arms, before fluttering your eyes open to gaze up at him. 

You return the gesture when you move your hand to wipe his hair off of his forehead, the rain having matted it down to his skin. “With me as I’m with you. Always with you, John.” The lull of your voice surprises both of you as it can be heard perfectly in the rain, with no sign of thunder or lightning interrupting your words. 

John cups the base of your skull, looking at the raindrops that fall in small splashes and trails along your face. His eyes dilate when focused on you, the sight of him this close and his icy blue eyes keep steadfast on you, leaving a haunting mark on your memory and heart.

He moves his head down to meet yours; pausing for a moment as if he isn't sure this is real- he isn’t sure that this isn’t a dream and his mind is granting him a wish. Is this a true trick of his mind? This can't be a memory, surely-

He looks as if he’s in pain, so you take the last leap of faith for him.

The new and added warmth of his lips on yours is tender. It contrasts the rough environment of where you stand, the life you both live and the constant battles faced within. Your arms and his alike move to wrap around each other in a harsh and tight embrace.

As the raindrops fall all over both your faces, you feel as if you’re in a movie and the climax has just hit when the lovers are united.

You both are soaking wet, but neither of you seems to mind. He pulls you back into him, deepening the kiss with a determined and desperate force.

Kiss me on the sidewalk

Take away the pain.

#task force 141 #call of duty #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #captain jonathan price #jonathan price #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #captain price x reader #captain price mw2 #cod price #price x reader #captain price #141

[matthew-pasquarello]

all these ghosts swaying in time with the clothesline. the faint radio news from another country's cul-de-sac scares the plastic platoon i've placed strategically in the dirt and i should've known better, i should've burned all the letters but when i'm strapped for material there's always mutilated love and expired hard candy

#poetry #lit #poem #poems #writing #creative writing #alt lit #literary #literature #prose #words #art #poetryriot #writerscreed #twcpoetry

[gravysside]

More info on my Swapped AU

CUT OFF HERE ___VVV

Philip Ojomo

In this universe Philip takes Funanya's words to heart. And chooses to not act on his rage. Never killing the platoon he finds asleep. And thus never being burned- so no scars. Unfortunately he only comes to this conclusion after her death and the death of his peers. And instead of killing her out of mercy he instead sits with her, holding her hand until she goes silent. Then continuing to roam. While he's roaming he develops a breathing problem from inhaling the smoke. 

His time at Autohaven plays out differently. The moment he catches a hint that something is wrong he panics and runs. Disappearing into the woods and into the fog.

He prefers to hide rather than running. And he has the sharpest eyes in the fog. So what he usually does in trials is see the smallest movement and vanish into a locker or a shrub. 

His perks-

Prey: Hold your breath for 10/15/20 seconds and make no sounds. Be warned, when these seconds are up you will cough. 

Old English: Bleed 5% more for a bonus 5% in healing. 

Shadow born: Increased field of view by 9/12/15

Philip needs glasses to read.

Max Thompson Jr.

In this new telling of the story. Max is loved by his parents. The problem is that the town- not so much. Being from the 50's 'freaks' were never acknowledged by the public. Often looked down at and ridiculed. So instead of suffering abuse from his family he suffered abuse from the public. His parents instead choosing to withdraw him from his life in the town instead keeping him strictly to the farm. And he never had a problem with that.

Because his parents were wealthy they used some of that corn money on quality of life improvements for their son. Giving him surgeries to give him a full range of movement without discomfort. 

However when the town remembered the existence of Max they ran him out of town. The last anyone had seen of him he was running down the dirt roads towards the woods.

In trials he's the first to run at the sign of danger. He is blind in one eye, the medicine at the time failing to save it. So he usually needs the threat to be closer than comfortable for him to notice. 

His perks-

Enduring: Cries of pain are reduced by 10%/12%/14%

Fanatic: You've seen this before. The Killer's red stain is 50% bigger and does not disappear. 

Tinkerer: When the generator is 70% complete, mute all of its sounds for 12/14/16 seconds. 

Max can speak! Though sometimes he chokes on his words and has to stop.

#dbd au #dead by daylight au #the wraith #philip ojomo #the hillbilly #max thompson jr #dbd killer #dbd fanart #alternate universe #dbd #DBDswapped

[the-whispers-of-death]

*Cracks knuckles* Let's go, tactical field care. I want to add, this is the standard training for the German army. Also, I'm not a medic, this is just the standard training all new recruts receive.

It follows this pattern: CABCDE

Critical bleeding: Here we have care under fire, which is in an active combat situation, if you're being shot at. Soldier got shot in a limb, tourniquet. Pull it as tight as possible. Soldier got shot in not limb, apply pressure. They will most likely scream. That's good. As long as they can scream, they are conscious. Write the time you put the tourniquet on on it. Bring wounded soldier away from the battle situation, then we go over to tactical field care.

After ten minutes max, the tourniquet will hurt. A lot. Believe me. It does. The wounded will try to get it off. Don't let them. Give them a shot of morphine if you can. Then the wound needs to be packed with quick clot gauze. Basically a combat tampon, a long cotton strip with a medication on it that lets the blood clot quickly. Then a pressure bandage on it.

Airway: Make sure the woundeds airway is free, oftentimes they have blood, vomit or dirt in their mouths. Get it out.

Breathing: Chest has to be clear, every piece of clothing comes off. Check the thorax if they breathe normally. If not, this is an indicator of for example a tension pneumothorax. (I don't want this summary to be an essay, so I'm not gonna explain this one, if you want I can write a summary about that too)

Circulation: Do a blood sweep. This means checking the whole body (Yes, all of it) for other minor wounds. Check the pulse.

Disability: This is to check if there's damage to the brain. This can either be judged based on the Glasgow coma scale or, how I learned it, if they react to verbal or pain stimuli, if they know where, when and who they are, what happened and so on.

Enviroment: Wrap them up like a burrito in a shock blanket. That it this metal looking, silver blanket. It protects them from losing body heat.

CPR: Regarding cpr, in an active combat situation, you do not revive. Otherwise, hands on each other, on the chest, in the middle, slightly to the left. And press. Hard. You heard a crack? That was a rib. Happens. Keep going. At around 120bpm (Sargeant made the whole platoon sing "Staying alive". Fun times)

If you are interested in this, I can highly recommend UF PRO. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cUNSDvBIMA8 They use another pattern (MARCH algorithm), but the essentials are the same. https://www.youtube.com/shorts/yBtxqMTG3O4 This one is a paramedic from Germany, but he also has videos in English.

Important: As I said, I am not a medic. This is combat first aid, Stone would have more training that he'd be allowed to do things as, for example, release a tension pneumothorax. But the basic things are the same. Also, English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any errors. If you have any other questions, I'm always happy to answer questions. Cheers!

~ E

First of all, your English is perfect. Second of all, huge thank you for taking your time to give me a summary AND videos to watch. You're so real for that.

Definitely going to be using this information in the future. Don't how or when, but it will be used. So thank you so much again for this.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod #task force 141 #task force 141 oc #cod oc #call of duty oc #task force 141 oc: stone #call of duty oc: stone #cod oc: stone #tyler's asks #e anon #you're so real for doing this #wondering if I should redo the Reader taking a bullet for Stone post now and use this information #definitely going to watch those videos #thank you for this information #you're a godsend #resources for oc things #:)

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! - 9th Part (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Hi everyone, I feel like I should give up on this story lol, it's just going on forever, and mostly it's just for my enjoyment. I am still only in Bastogne and I want to follow the storyline of the HBO show to the last ep. But omg I just keep thinking of things I want to add. I feel bad leaving the story unfinished if people are actually reading it, but I don't think anyone is anymore. So maybe I can just stop posting. Anyway this is a sad chapter, got in my feels a bit and I have become a bit obsessed with Babe, ugh I just love him so much, so I had to give him and Em a little moment. As always this is based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the men, no hate to anyone actually involved.

Please let me know if anyone wants me to keep up with this story, if not, I might just let it die. Thanks!

I bounce in the jeep beside Gene as we drive into Bastogne. The grey war torn town is overrun with soldiers and their artillery. The driver yells over the engine telling us that everyone has pulled back here and that beyond this town we have no back-up. The 326th medical platoon was captured, that is why there is no aid station and no medical help. Snow covered bodies line the street all stacked on one another. I look away trying to focus on the task at hand, I help lift Skinny, who took a mortar hit to the leg, onto the stretcher to get him into the makeshift hospital. The driver tells us they are giving the men hooch, which I assume is a type of liquor, to help with the pain. I follow behind Gene as the soldiers carry Skinny into the church. The hospital is full to the brim with people, the smell of blood and infection permeating the air. A nurse orders the men on where to put the injured as they come in. She is a tall woman with soft features, a blue head scarf wrapped around her head to keep her hair out of her face. Gene hands Skinny over to her stating the situation, informing her no morphine had been used on the man. I follow the nurse with my eyes watching her go to the next room to help the other nurse with a patient. Gene asks a soldier beside us why the injured men haven’t been evacuated. 

“We can’t evacuate, we’re cut off.” The man informs us. The sounds of the nurse’s voice travels through the church as she speaks French to her colleague, her voice warm and comforting. Then men here seem to calm as she touches and speaks to them. I watch her enamoured, I haven’t seen another woman in a long time, so it feels comforting. She approaches Skinny with a bottle of alcohol pouring him a glass for the pain, as he drinks she strokes his hair in a gentle manner. The man sighs as if relieved of pain by her touch. 

“I’m in heaven Doc.” Skinny smiles as the two nurses tend to him. I laugh, shaking my head. The nurse’s eyes land on me, she tilts her head seemingly recognising me as another female. I’m sure I don’t look very pretty, swamped in as many clothes I can fit onto my body, dirt and sweat caked to my face and skin, my hair loosely tied under my helmet. At a glance I would look like another soldier. Gene proceeds to ask the nurse for any supplies she can spare. I follow along to help. She gives Gene a box filling it with supplies, Gene pulls out odd looking bandages, “What’s this?” he asks the nurse, looking confused. 

“From the bed.” She replies, still stocking the box.

“Sheets?” Gene clarifies. The nurse nods, putting the last of the equipment into the box. They exchange thank you’s in french. The nurse turns on her heel walking off to her next task, Gene is hot on her tail, as I tag behind. Gene asks her a question in French which I don’t understand, but she replies with her name. 

“My name is Renee.” She replies as she moves quickly to the next room. Gene follows her continuing the conversation. I go to follow when my hand is captured. I look down as a soldier grasps my hand, his eyes swollen shut. I kneel down beside him. My eyes scan over his body. He has other injuries scattered around his body. He moans in pain, still holding my hand.

“Nurse?” The man whispers quietly. I take my free hand cupping his cheek, so he knows I’m here. 

“What do you need?” I ask the man, my thumb absentmindedly stroking over his skin. A sob escapes his lips, his grip on my hand tightening. 

“I’m scared.” The man chokes out. I look around seeing the alcohol they used to help with pain perched on a counter just out of reach. I stand to grab it but the man still clings to me. 

“No, please don’t go.” The soldier cries. I kneel back down so that I am closer to the bed.

“I’m right here, I’m not leaving.” I console the man as I run my fingers through his hair in a soothing manner. His sobs grow quieter, I sit with him continuing to comfort the soldier. His breathing turns even, his grip on my hand becomes looser. A soft snore leaves his lips. I sat with him for a while more in case he woke up. I see Gene peer around the corner, signalling his head to me that we are leaving. I stand from my position, placing a soft kiss to the man’s head, before following Gene back to the jeep to return back to the front. Gene grabs a pair of boots from one of the dead soldier's feet, I look away, I don’t want to see him have to yank the shoes off of the man. Renee appears from the church calling for Gene, throwing him some chocolate, they share a smile between them. I take my place in the jeep, as Gene sits in the front. We drive away, as we do I turn back to the church watching it grow smaller as we travel. My mind lingers on the man I sat with, I didn’t even know his name, but I wonder when he will be able to go home and be treated properly for his injuries. 

We arrive back on the front to see a group of men gathered in front of a jeep. A soldier stands in front of them blessing the men. We hop out of the car making our way over, as the man finishes his prayer. 

“Reconnaissance mission, Kraut hunting.” Spina informs us. I nod at Gene who hands over the box of supplies we got from the hospital. 

“We’ll go.” Gene tells Spina as I start to trail behind the men. Johnny approaches us, stopping us in our path. 

“Doc and Lane, it's a combat patrol. How about you two hang back. Stay out of trouble.” He smiles, giving us a nod as we silently agree with the man, stopping in our place. He follows the soldiers, telling Hobbs to hurry up, yelling for them to form tactical columns. 

I sit by Gene as we stare into the fog. We lost sight of them after they had walked for a bit. We hear distant shouts and chatter. I squint trying to see anything. But we wait in silence. My stomach clenches, anxiety gnaws at my insides. I bounce my leg, jittery with anticipation. I hope that the mission goes well. I look over to Gene again. He perches himself against the tree, staring into the distance. He seems off, more distant. I’ve seen that look countless times now, it pains me to see it on his face. I nudge his knee, his eyes glance over to me.

“Hey Gene, are you ok?” I tilt my head, showing my concern on my face. He nods, focussing his eyes back onto the scene in front of us. 

“You can talk to me Gene.” I offer, “You and I are in the same boat, you know. I’m here for you.” I can’t tell if he is listening to me or not but I continue. 

“It’s ok to ask for help, I know as someone whose job is to help others, it’s hard to ask for help back. But I’m here Gene, I will listen. I can be a shoulder to cry on if you need. I know it’s hard when all you see is pain. It takes its toll. The soldier’s get to share their victories of missions, but most of the time we don’t get that satisfaction. It’s hard to tell if we are winning or not when all we see is the aftermath of it all.” I ramble on, unsure if he is paying attention, but I want him to know I’m someone he can come too. 

“I’m fine Lane, but I think you should take some of your own advice.” He states coldly. “You don’t ask for help either. Last time I saw you, you were nearly dead in a hole.” I scoff, going to protest that it was different, “Just because you didn’t ask for someone to come with you.” I sigh, guess he has a point, he and I are the same. 

“Fine, how about we both take the advice then?” I offer my solution. He gives me a curt nod. Rapid gunfire sounds, the yelling increases, pulling out focus back to the forest in front of us. I sit forward straining my ears to hear what they’re yelling. My heartbeat accelerates, as I shift to a crouched position, readying myself to run. I look to Gene who has the same position. I almost leap out of my skin when a soldier appears from the fog. 

“What’s happening, sir?” Gene asks the man who puffs from his run. I recognise Peacock who runs past us. 

“We’re pulling back. We made contact. I gotta get to CP.” Peacock disappears into the tree line. Leaving us glaring into the distance waiting for the rest of the men to pull back. 

I watch silhouettes of the men running back towards us, I get to my feet. They yell confused at each other as they sprint through the trees. One of the men falls to the ground as a bullet hits him. Gene rushes forward, I wait to see if anyone else needs any help. I scan the men as they run past. They hold the line, lying down and readying their weapons as Gene aids the fallen soldier. Lewis appears by my side asking Johnny what happened. 

“We lost Julian.” Yells Martin, Babe looks distressed. He yells that Julian is still alive. I move forward to go and find him out of instinct. But I don’t get far, Lew’s hand grasps my bicep, stopping me in my tracks. 

“We have to fall back.” Martin yells arguing with the persistent Babe who wants to save his foxhole companion. Gene and Christenson move the man back from the line to the awaiting jeep. I fall back with the rest of the men, I turn my head as I run, looking into the foggy forest, my mind wanders to the dying man they had to leave behind. 

After we get back to safety the men seem disheartened, losing such a young life has taken its toll. They sit in a large circle, the normally banterful chatter is dead, coughing fills the silence along with murmurs of the men having quiet conversations. Babe seems to be taking it the hardest, my eyes wander over to him every now and then. He hunches over into himself, hugging his arms around his body. His stare is glazed over, like he isn’t here. Winters tries to bring morale to the men joining them in their circle, having soft conversations with them. It’s apparent that Babe isn’t listening. Too caught up in his own thoughts. 

The cold night falls quickly. I wrap my jacket closer to my body, how I wish I had a portable heater, oh or one of those heat packs you take skiing, that would be heavenly. I sigh, my breath showing in the freezing air. I get up from my empty foxhole, I need another person or I will literally die from hypothermia. I stand from my hole running from one to the other. I know who I want to find. I stumble across Babe, shivering alone in a foxhole that isn’t his. My heart clenches, remembering that his foxhole buddy had just died this afternoon. I slip in beside him, his shivering chattering his teeth. “Babe, you’re freezing.” I wrap my arm around his shoulders pulling him closer to me. He leans against me. I rummage around in my bag pulling out my blanket, I wrap it around his legs and chest. I shake my head, this isn’t enough. I stand, his hand shoots out, grabbing at my pant leg. 

“Don’t leave.” He begs, grasping firmly at the material. 

“I’m just going to try and find more blankets. I will be right back, promise.” He nods, hesitantly letting go of me. I move quickly, keeping low to the ground as I run. Asking in the holes for spare blankets. I got one from Luz and one from Perco. I promise them I will give them back in the morning. They smile at me, telling me not to worry. I thank them. Grateful for their generosity. 

I jump back in next to Babe, who doesn’t appear to be any warmer than the last time I saw him. I put one of the blankets over the foxhole to shelter us from the snow and wind, hoping it will trap some of the heat in with us. I pull him close again, wrapping a blanket over the both of us. He sighs, I rest my head on his, I rub my hand up and down his arm trying to create some warmth. We don’t speak, I let him grieve quietly. 

“You’re warm.” He whispers barely audible. I hum, “My mother used to say the same thing.” 

“Used to?” He asks. My chest constricts, I don’t talk about my mother often, it’s a subject that hurts too much, but I feel I can share with Babe. 

“My mother died when I was 18, from cancer.” I tell him. Tears well in my eyes, but he faces away from me. “After that I was on my own, being 18 I was considered an adult. I don’t have any other family, my father wasn’t in the picture and my grandmother had died a couple years earlier.” He doesn’t speak, just listens to me talk, “My mom when she was really sick always got really cold. I would stay with her, she always said I was like her hot water bottle.” I chuckle thinking of all the times she would latch onto my side, as I protested that she was too cold. She would laugh and touch me with her cold hands and feet. I would shriek, trying to get away playfully. She would always fall asleep first, I would lie in bed listening to her soft breaths, cherishing her while I could. I would bask in her scent, and her thin arms that wrapped around me. When she got really bad she would have to stay in hospital, she would try and fit me in her bed but it was too small. I would sit by her bed and hold her hand while she slept. After she had passed I had to grow up, I was on my own, no one to love or care for me. Kind of like how I am here. I didn't exist, no family, no friends. I often thought if I were to die what would happen. Would I be found, would someone be able to identify my body, would anyone come to my funeral. A tear slips from my eye, I hastily brush it away with my free hand. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Em.” He says after I stop talking. I don’t speak, worried my voice will crack if I continue. Not only was I alone, but I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I wasn’t able to process my grief, I had to move on, move forward. Pretend like it didn’t happen, that I was fine and capable of being by myself. No one I could share fond memories with about my mother. I often visited her grave. I would talk to her about my life, what I was doing, but even to her headstone I lied. I put up a front that I was alright. Was it stupid I didn’t want to worry her even if she wasn’t here. Did a part of me wish just to pass too, life was so hard, even harder without her. I had no one. I guess it wouldn’t make a difference if I did die here, no one would realise I was gone. Babe had stopped shivering, still nestled into my side with my arm wrapped around him. I wiped the stray tears from my cheeks before he realised I had been crying. We sat in silence listening to the world around us. I let my mind wander, I slipped into thoughts of my beloved mother, but the memories were faded and tattered at the edges, not as crisp as they were before. Her laugh was not quite like how it used to be, I was forgetting. That hurt the most, I have these memories of her but I don’t know how long they will last, I’m so scared I will forget. I have forgotten her smell, the clothes I took of hers now smell of me and not her. I don’t want to forget her, but it’s hard to maintain by myself. If I had someone who had known her to share them with, maybe they would last. 

I’m pulled from my mind when the blanket moves from above us, and Gene sits beside Babe. He doesn’t move from his position to look up, Gene smiles warmly at him. “Got you.” His smile fades when Babe doesn’t answer, I give him a worried look. He russells through his bag, pulling out a chocolate bar, “Heffron,” he offers Babe the sweet, still Babe is unmoving from his position pressed to me. Gene unwraps the bar exposing the chocolate, breaking a piece from the top. “Edward.” He holds the chocolate in front of his face, Babe sits up slightly looking at it. Gene places it in his gloved hand, “Eat it.” Babe snaps off a piece with his teeth, “Good.” Gene says to him pleased. He chews slowly. “Perfect.” Gene sniffs, pleased that Babe is eating. 

“I promised him if he got hit, I’d get his stuff and bring it to his ma, you know.” Babe blurts tearfully, his voice cracking as he speaks. “Now the fucking krauts will strip him.” 

“Hey, no. It’s okay.” Gene tries to reassure Babe, not really knowing what to say. But it’s not okay really, it’s awful and now Babe has this weight on his shoulders, that he couldn’t uphold the promise they had made to each other. The guilt he must hold will be eating him alive. 

“It’s not. It’s not okay. We should’ve got to him.” It’s silent for a beat, as his words hang in the air. We have nothing to say that will make him feel better, he did try, for all that counts he tried his best. Babe coughs, as he again presses himself to me, I wriggle getting comfortable, holding him closer. Gene gets under the blankets as well, sandwiching Babe between us, hopefully keeping him somewhat warm. 

#band of brothers #donald malarkey #band of brothers fanfic #joe toye #fanfic #hbo war #bill guarnere #dick winters #I hope you enjoy #my oc #fem oc #my story #reading #oc writing #original story #original fiction

[poledancingdinos]

Hostile Territory - Chapter 6

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 3.3K

Warnings: none for this chapter

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha​ @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena

Masterlist

Day 76

It was a particularly hot summer day, even for Iraq. Ben made sure to remind everyone to drink water every hour while the platoon traveled back towards base. They had left early morning while the temperature was still tolerable but, with the midday sun, it had quickly reached triple digits.

Leah was grateful to be on the turret just to have the added relief of the wind on her sweat slicked face. They had one more stop before returning to Warhorse and Leah would finally be able to change out of her drenched clothes. The guys kept complaining about their sweaty balls but boob sweat was no picnic either.

The four vehicles moved quickly down the dirt road, heading for an abandoned hamlet. They were going in as a reconnaissance team to ensure there were no hostiles hiding after an airstrike damaged most of the infrastructure. The survivors—what little there were—had already fled, leaving it open to anyone wanting to use it as a temporary base of operations while they regrouped. The proximity to Warhorse and to the main road made it particularly worrisome.

Leah kept her eyes peeled and her head on a swivel as Rohan maneuvered through what was left of the hamlet. After their initial sweep came up clean, they exited the humvees and split up to clear the few buildings still partially standing.

Gun drawn and moving on the balls of her feet, Leah followed Benjie with Ethan on her six. After clearing the northern side, Rohan radioed the other teams over the comms and received matching reports.

“I say we dig into our MREs before driving back,” Jeremiah declared as they walked back to their humvee.

“Do you ever think about anything other than food?” Leah turned to face Jeremiah, walking backwards.

“Sure, sometimes I think about my baby back home. The love of my life, that one.”

“I’d find that cute,” she said, turning forward again, “except I know your ‘baby’ is a car.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” he replied, putting his hand over his heart and shaking his head solemnly.

They had almost made it back to the convoy when a single gunshot was fired, the distinctive bang sending them all rushing for cover.

“This is Valkyrie One-Three, interrogative: who the fuck is shooting at us? Over.”

Benjie was crouched behind a pile of rubble, peeking over in hopes of determining the status of the situation.

“That was friendly,” Leah asserted, taking aim in the direction of the sound. “Get Cap on the comms, that was his sector.”

Before they had time to ask more questions, BJ’s voice interrupted their panic. “Hold your fire, Newbie panicked when a stray pup barked at him. Over.”

“Ooh, someone’s about to be in trouble,” Ethan sing-songed, getting back to his feet.

“One bullet won’t win us a war, I highly doubt Cap will make a fuss over it.”

The ‘Newbie’ in question, Carlos Vega, had taken Leah’s place as the base rookie. The poor guy was still young and his inexperience was already showing. With Nielsen and his men on a short leash, he hadn’t had that hard of a time yet but his frequent fuck ups were getting on some of the guys’ nerves.

“Oh, Sy won’t be pissed because of the wasted bullet, he’ll be pissed about aiming at the dog. The only thing that has ever put a smile on his grumpy mug was a dog.”

Surely, that couldn’t be true. Sy had the reputation of being a surly hardass but that wasn’t Leah’s experience with him. Then again, maybe he wasn’t as hard on her as he was with the men in the unit.

When they finally made it back to the humvee, most of the others had settled on the ground, chatting happily as they ate their MRE. The new private who’d apparently incurred Sy’s wrath, however, was sitting alone in the back of his humvee. He looked like he was struggling to unpack and heat his own meal. Hopefully they’d spent more time in training teaching him how to stay alive than they had on heating an MRE.

“Where’s Cap?” Benjie asked, dropping down next to Pat and immediately reaching over to snatch a discarded milkshake packet. Benjie was friendly with just about everyone on base, something that gave him special privilege when it came to trading snacks.

“‘Bout two-hundred feet that way, fixing to lose a hand,” BJ answered. A few of the men snorted or shook their heads in amusement but Leah only frowned, looking off where BJ had tipped his chin.

She pulled her water and meal from the vehicle before making her way towards Sy but when she reached the area BJ had indicated, he was nowhere to be found.

At first she thought he must have gone off in a different direction but the sound of his voice drew her attention to a small metal structure that looked to be some sort of shed. “Come on, it’s peanut butter. Don’t dogs love this shit?” There was nothing but a growl in response followed by a panicked curse.

“Come on, it’s like a hundred and thirty degrees in this box, just have a bit of water,” he pleaded. This time, his words earned a loud bark and a vicious snarl which sent Sy stumbling backwards out of the shed.

“Hey, Cap.”

Sy startled, his head shooting up and his eyes landing on Leah.

“What are ya doin’ here, Coleman? You should be with your unit.”

“I figured I’d save you from doing something foolish like say… trying to hand feed a rabid dog?”

The Captain’s defenses fell and he sighed, hanging his head in defeat.

“He’s just a pup, can’t be more than a few months old…” Sy’s gaze went back to the inside of the shed. From where she stood, Leah couldn’t see the interior but she knew he must have locked eyes with the poor dog.

“What was your plan? Even if you feed it, it likely won’t survive out here.”

There was nothing for miles around the hamlet. Any source of food or water that had been around before was now nothing but ash.

Sy swallowed, tossing the packet of peanut butter back in his MRE bag.

“You’re right. Let’s go. They’ll probably be done eatin’ by now.”

He waited for Leah to turn back so he could follow her but the expression on Sy’s face kept her locked in place. He appeared gutted at the idea of leaving the starving canine behind to die.

“Let me try something,” Leah eventually said, kneeling to rip open her MRE. She searched their surroundings, finding a warped piece of scrap metal. Being mindful of the sharp edges, she picked it up before moving toward the door.

When she stepped inside, Leah sat right by the door with her back to the wall then lifted a finger to her lips and tipped her head, motioning for Sy to mirror her position on the opposite side of the frame.

Leah placed the metal piece on the dirt in front of her and poured some of her water in the makeshift bowl. She put the cap back on the bottle and dug into her bag to find the beef stew packet, adding a few chunks of meat to the water. Finally, she looked at Sy and held out her hand expectantly.

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a small smile as he fished the peanut butter packet back out of his MRE pack. Once the platter was fully loaded with all the peanut butter squeezed onto the edge, she pushed it as far forward as she could reach.

Without another glance towards the filthy pup hiding under a set of fallen shelves in the far corner of the room, they began to eat the remaining food. By the time they both finished, the dog hadn’t moved but it had stopped growling at them.

As quietly and slowly as they could, they cleared their trash and returned to the convoy. Leah expected some sort of teasing upon their return—maybe a ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven’ joke or something along those lines—but nothing came. Apparently the men were well and truly on their way to accepting her presence on base. Or more likely, they didn’t have the balls to say anything in front of the Captain. Either way, she took her position at the turret and the platoon moved out without a word.

“Mail call!”

The mess hall went from moderately noisy to a cacophony in seconds. There hadn’t been a mail call in over a month. Someone started calling names and letters were passed down the room.

“Holy shit, my kid is walking!”

“My girl is dumping me for some fuckboy called Kyle.”

“My mom sent me a picture of the ducks in her backyard.”

“What? Why?”

“Man, I have no clue.”

Leah ignored the excited chatter, keeping her head down as she moved the food around on her plate. She was still hung up on that dog they’d left at the village. Sy sat a little ways down on the opposite side of the table and from the looks of him, he was thinking the exact same thing. It was strange seeing the big scary captain turned upside down by a small pup but she could completely understand why.

An elbow to the ribs, forced Leah’s face up from her powdered potatoes.

“They called your name like four times, didn’t you hear?” True to his word, Benjie placed a small box on the table next to Leah’s tray.

“I never get mail,” she argued, too stunned to say anything else. Her grip tightened on her fork as she stared at the brown package as if waiting for something to pop out and scare her.

“All I got was a Christmas card,” Ethan said, turning the picture towards them. “I’m not sure ‘better late than never’ includes family portraits with matching ugly sweaters. Look at this, even the pug has one.”

“What are you waiting for?” Rohan asked, bumping his shoulder into hers. 

She was waiting to figure out what could possibly be inside the box. She had no idea what to expect. She didn’t even know for sure who had sent it since she didn’t recognize the return address.

“Aren’t you even the least bit curious to see what’s inside?” Jeremiah goaded when Leah didn’t answer, pushing the box closer to her.

Curious was not the right word. Worried or apprehensive, sure. Curious, no. Since enlisting, Leah had not received a single piece of mail and she had never expected any either.

“If you’re so hyped, why don’t you open it?”

Jeremiah didn’t need more encouragement, ripping into the box with his knife, but his face dropped when he saw what was inside. His reaction did nothing to quell her worries.

“I see now why you didn’t care.” He pulled an item out of the box, frowning as he studied it. “Whatever happened to the classics like snacks or baby wipes?”

Leah looked up, a fond smile spreading over her face as she extended her hand to take the box of brand name permanent markers from Jeremiah. It had been decorated with a red bow and a post-it note stuck on the front read: “A promise is a promise <3”

It was the stupidest thing but the note made tears threaten to pour from her eyes.

“Leah, I’m not taking your half! I’ll get student loans. It’ll be fine, it’s what everyone does.”

“What the fuck am I gonna do with it? Do you know of a good ATM in the middle of the Iraqi desert?”

“You could buy a house of your own or take a trip or use it for your wedding one day.”

“I’m enlisting, Caleb, if I bought a house it would just sit here and be empty and there’s no way I would ever burn that much money on a wedding. Please, just use it for school.”

They’d been having the same fight for the past week. Neither of them had seemed to be willing to give even an inch. Until then.

“Fine,” Caleb finally said with a sigh, pulling Leah into a tight hug. “But I’m only doing this because I don’t want to spend the rest of your time at home fighting about money.”

Leah closed her eyes, sinking into the familiar comfort of her big brother’s embrace. In a few days, she was going off to basic training. After that there was no telling where she would end up and she knew it had Caleb worried.

“What can I do instead?” he asked when they finally pulled apart. “What do you want?”

Leah shoved a few more items into her bag and looked around her room. It was plastered with her artwork and various posters.

The money they were fighting about had always been earmarked for school. For the most part, they had lived a very minimalistic life and Leah had rarely spent more than the bare minimum on anything that wasn’t essential.

“Buy me a set of markers that aren’t from the dollar store and we’ll call it even.”

“There’s two envelopes in here too,” Benjie pointed out, bridging Leah back to the present moment. “One of them seems to have pictures in it.”

“How much are we betting someone sent Leah a polaroid of his dick?” Jeremiah smirked, pointing around the table at each of the guys who simply shook their heads in exasperation.

Leah clutched the box of markers to her chest, making no move to open either envelope so Jeremiah took the packet of pictures while Benjie opened the other. Ethan leaned over the sergeant’s shoulder, reading the revealed letter aloud.

“‘You can expect two grand in your bank account every month going forward. It’s not an error and I’m not taking no for an answer this time.’ Holy shit, Coleman’s got a Sugar Daddy!”

Multiple heads turned around the room but Leah was so focused on the words of the note that she didn’t notice Sy’s envious scowl at the wild declaration.

Dammit. Leah was willing to bet that two thousand dollars a month was a typical student loan payment for medical residents. It seemed Caleb was going to force her to take her half one way or another.

“Wow, Coleman, full homo your man is hot. And he’s a doctor? How much dick do I have to suck to get in on that deal? My girl needs new rims.”

From a few seats away, Sy pretended not to be eavesdropping on the conversation but he couldn’t help sneaking a look at the picture the boys had passed down the table at BJ’s request. 

BJ released a low whistle, studying the picture. “Nicely done, Coleman. Why are we just now hearing about this guy? And what the fuck are you doing out here with us if this guy is dropping some serious cash on you every month?”

“That’s Caleb.” She retrieved the various pictures, looking through them for the first time. “He’s my brother,” she clarified, quickly glancing at Sy who’s shoulders visibly relaxed. Interesting. “When I enlisted I made him take my half of the college fund. Apparently he wants to pay me back.”

Amongst the pictures, Caleb had sent a shot of the two of them. She clung to his back like a koala and they were both laughing hysterically. It had been taken the day she deployed.

There was also a series of goofy selfies, illustrating how Caleb had spent the last few years since they’d been apart. One was of a midnight coffee break, undoubtedly taken while he was cramming for exams. A few others showed him in scrubs with CPR and medical practice dummies.

The last one was taken at the lake where she and Caleb had spent much of their childhood. It was most likely the one the guys had been joking about, showing Caleb passed out on a lounge chair in his bathing suit with a book held loosely on his lap. Yeah, that was typical Caleb, she thought. He had always preferred a good book to a hunting or fishing trip but he worked out regularly to keep sane—his words not hers—and it showed.

“Now that you mention it, I see the family resemblance,” Rohan said, looking at the pictures again.

“Yeah, the drop dead good looks,” Ethan pitched in with a flirty wink that made Leah roll her eyes.

Sy stood from the table, clearing his tray then heading out in the direction of his office. Leah gathered her gifts, mumbling a quick excuse about having forgotten to hand in some paperwork, and ran out after Sy.

“Cap!”

Sy stopped in his tracks, turning to face Leah who stood just a foot away from him. Leah checked over her shoulder to make sure the hallway was empty then looked up at the Captain.

“Can I use the sat phone?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I know everyone misses home when the mail comes in but you know I can’t do that. We have a usage schedule for a reason.” It was a shitty, robotic response but it was what he had to say as her officer.

“I haven’t used it once since I got here. I just…” Leah rubbed the back of her hand over her nose as it started to prickle. She was trying really hard not to cry in front of Sy because then he would think she was just trying to manipulate him and he would never give in to her request. “Caleb promised he’d buy me these once he started his residency. The fact that he sent them means he graduated medical school and I just want to tell him that I’m proud of him.”

Sy had four siblings of his own. He couldn’t remember the last time one of them had said they loved him in more than a perfunctory manner, much less that they were genuinely proud of him. Truth be told, he’d never been very open with them either so maybe he was partly at fault for the strained relationship. Leah’s brother was lucky that she cared that much for him.

“You get ten minutes.”

“That’s all I need,” she promised.

Day 78

Leah and the guys were sent out on a quick prisoner transport mission. It was over and done without a hitch and Rohan now steered the humvee onto the road leading back to base. From her position at the turret, Leah spotted the destroyed hamlet far up the road.

On an impulse, she reached down, patting Ethan on the shoulder. “Get Rohan to radio One-One and request to pull into the hamlet for lunch!” she shouted over the noise of the motor.

“We don’t know if any rebels have moved in there since we cleared it and we’re almost back at Warhorse!”

Leah cursed internally and gave Jeremiah a small shove with her foot.

“Come on… I know you’re hungry!”

“I could eat,” he agreed before leaning forward and saying something to Benjie who then radioed who she assumed was BJ in Victor One.

Leah didn’t know exactly what was said during the exchange but as they came up to the narrow dirt path, the convoy slowed then turned into the hamlet. After performing a quick sweep, they parked the humvees out of sight of the main road.

Jumping off the roof of the humvee, Leah beelined for the ruin of the metal shed.

“Where are you going, Princess?”

After hearing the little nickname so much around base, it sometimes slipped out when the boys were in a teasing mood. Though they weren’t thrilled with the way she got it, they couldn’t deny it was pretty funny. Rohan especially found it hilarious.

“Just taking a piss Han Solo!”

“Then why are you taking your MRE with you?” Benjie called back with a knowing smirk.

“I don’t want Chewie over there to eat it before I get back!”

She didn’t turn around but she heard Jeremiah’s offended squawk from fifty feet away. Oh yeah, if the boys wanted to play, who was she to deny them?

Chapter 7

#captain syverson #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson fanfiction #cpt syverson #captain syverson x ofc #cpt syverson x ofc

[ladyhoneydee]

With Your Hand in My Hand

zelink | multi-game | 5.7k

“Hey, Zelda?” She stills, finger pausing in the air. “Hm?” He swallows. “Do you ever feel like…your past lives were all leading towards this moment?” She turns off her slate and places it on the pillow beside her before wriggling around in his arms to face him. “Mm…maybe sometimes? But I don’t really know if I believe in those. So mostly…”  She trails off. He waits patiently.  “Mostly, I feel like I want to live all of this one with you. Everything it has to offer.”

Sometimes, a soulmate is the person whose hand you reach for, over and over again. A collection of vignettes exploring one love over the course of many lifetimes.

Written for the @zelinkcommunity Zelink Week event! Day 4: Hand in Hand.

Read it on AO3, FFN, or under the cut!

The predawn air was chilly on his face, but Link had seldom felt warmer.

Epona took the trail at a trot, navigating the loose dirt and stones with her footfalls sure despite the darkness of the path ahead, barely lit by the last dregs of light left by the moonset at their backs. Her quiet trustiness gave Link the security needed for him to examine the dark crevices in the cliff face to their left; to listen to the wind whispering through the foliage and conifers on their right; to tip his head back so carefully to look up at the stars as they gently faded along with the sky’s lightening. 

And it left him free to bask in the warmth of Zelda’s embrace. 

Hours before, as they finalized their plans to set out overnight for Zora’s Domain and the political summit Prince Ralis had so excitedly written of in his invitation, they had agreed that it would be wise to share Epona rather than riding separately, given the likelihood that either might fall asleep while in the saddle. Zelda, usually stoic, had been almost giddy at the thought of doing something so uncharacteristic: a midnight excursion, rather than waiting for a safe departure at noon; the company of her lover instead of a platoon of guards. And yet, despite her exuberance earlier in the journey, as she pointed out constellations above their heads and they traded stories about the same stars, she had been the one to drift off first, lulled by Epona’s gentle sway. 

Her chin rested on his shoulder, a slightly pointed weight he wouldn’t trade for anything else. Neither Master Sword, his chosen and fated partner in destiny—or the Ordon Sword, with its sentimental meaning of the village that was his family—had laid upon that shoulder so sweetly. Her arms wrapped around his waist, a precaution against falling off that had the secondary purpose of making his heart skip a beat at least once per minute. Her torso rested flush against his back as she slumped forward to rest on him, with no breath of air between their bodies.

They were so close, and the world so quiet, that Link could count her every heartbeat as it pulsed steadily against his back. 

Above them, the damask sky lightened to a shade of dusky, deep purple that would be the envy of any royal clothier, shot through with bands of hazy red. And as the trail they followed twisted more east than south to round the cliff’s bend, the horizon opened before them over Hyrule.

The only light more beautiful than the rising sun was the light Link saw every morning in Zelda’s eyes. 

Epona seemed to be heartened by the breaking dawn as well, her trot increasing in speed and jaunt ever so slightly. Link smiled at the mare’s simple joy. 

Yet the change in pace had an unexpected effect. From where their bodies pressed together like muscle memory, Link felt Zelda’s frame stiffen briefly, and then relax. Her head tilted just a bit, pressing her left cheekbone further into his neck. The soft puffing of her breaths strengthened and sped up so subtly that the change would’ve been imperceptible had he not been so close and captivated by the feeling of her. 

And then, with a soft, wordless mumble, Zelda truly woke. 

“Mm…what a blessing, to see a sunrise like that.”

She stretched, a move that Link could feel with every nerve in his back as it set them all alight. Not trusting himself to speak, he soundlessly nodded, knowing Zelda would feel the motion where her head rested against the muscles of his neck. 

“You should have woken me to see it sooner, darling.” Her words softened and lightened with sleepiness as she spoke, until the pet name came out as little more than an affectionate exhale. Still, it was one he could recognize anywhere.

“It would have been a waste to wake you before. It was hidden by the cliff,” he murmured. 

“No dawn with you could ever be a waste.”

Her right hand slipped free from his waist, and he felt it glide over him until it came to rest atop his own hand, where it clutched the reins against his thigh. Her fingers settled in the gaps between his own, and then slipped between them to hold him gently.

Link’s heart sang. “You’re right, as always.”

He pressed a kiss to Zelda’s hair, and urged Epona onward, towards the diamond glittering of dawn on the waters of Lake Hylia. 

I would go anywhere you want to go, with your hand in my hand.

--

Zelda squeezed her knees together gently and clung just a bit tighter to the leather harness in anticipation. Below her, Jabun took the hint. His wings beat once, twice, thrice—and they went shooting out past Link and Valoo, who had been holding steadily neck-and-neck to their left. 

“Keep up, sleepyhead!” Zelda shouted. “If you can’t get that red terror of yours to beat me, you’re gonna have a big storm coming in the Wing Ceremony!” 

If Link could’ve seen her face, there was no way he would have missed the enormous grin stretching across it. He must’ve picked up on it in her voice, regardless, because—

“You wish!”

With a whoop from Link and an excited cry from Valoo, Zelda watched proudly (and a bit jealously, but could you blame her?) as a crimson streak soared above and overtook her and her own loftwing. Zelda patted Jabun’s azure feathers with one hand, and leaned even further forward in the saddle until they were a singular, streamlined form. 

“Let’s show them how we fly, aera!”

Whether it was the customary endearment Skyloftians gave their soul partners, or the encouragement in her voice, something in her urging filled him with delight. She felt the sensation bloom in her own chest, creating a feedback loop with her own excitement. With a shriek of his own, Jabun rushed forward once again. 

Link must have sensed their approach—or heard it, she supposed—because he shot them a look over his shoulder. His excited, open-mouthed grin mirrored Zelda’s own. She watched suspiciously as it took on just a hint of mischief in the split second before he turned back around. 

Whoa! Suddenly, Valoo banked to the right, curving into Jabun’s own flight path, and Zelda was forced to waste her bird’s precious energy by urging him up above the sudden obstacle. 

“Cheater!” she hollered. Oh, she’d show him!

She leaned even closer in the saddle, her torso now hovering only millimeters above her bird. What had Professor Owlan said, in that last lesson with her, Pipit, and Karane, the newest members of the senior class?

Get close. Check. Make sure to hold tightly to the safety loops—falling off your bird is not part of a successful application of this technique. Zelda hooked her ankles fully into the straps by her feet, and clung to the ones for her hands. Check. Remember that the acceleration effect will last much longer than anything else you’ve ever tried. Maintaining stable flight can be tricky. Zelda took a deep breath, matched her center of balance to Jabun’s, and exhaled. Check. And DO NOT practice this move without an instructor present! Very much not check. Sorry, Professor Owlan.

Zelda screwed her eyes shut in preparation, and then pressed her heels and the meat of her palms down into Jabun’s back simultaneously. 

Below her, every muscle in Jabun coiled and sprang all at once. Zelda held on for dear life as he tucked in his wings and threw himself into a tight corkscrew that only increased in speed as his momentum built. Suddenly, the bird snapped his wings back out again, and they caught the wind of his own making like a sail, launching them even further forward at a mind-melting speed. 

Eyes still sealed shut, feeling nothing but wind above and feathers below at a speed she and her partner had never reached before, Zelda let out an elated yell of her own. 

When the air on her face finally slowed down to a more reasonable pressure, Zelda cracked her eyes open. No crimson loftwing or cream-tunicked rider in front of her, only blue sky. She flipped her head around. Far, far behind her, Link sat on a glowering Valoo, his mouth gaping open. 

“Th-that was incredible, how’d you even—” he shouted. “Wait! Was that an advanced move!?”

Zelda let her self-congratulatory grin do the talking for her, and allowed Jabun to relax a bit in his pace.

“And you called me a cheater!” Link complained. With a shallow dive, he and Valoo swept forward to keep pace beside Zelda and Jabun. “Totally unfair to use techniques I’m not allowed to even learn yet.”

“Well, if you win the Wing Ceremony, you’ll be able to!” Zelda teased. Link rolled his eyes at her. 

She faced forward again for a moment, checking that there weren’t any sky islands or debris they’d need to avoid. Far below them was the Lumpy Pumpkin and its surrounding farmland, but fortunately, there was nothing in their flight path—just open sky and peach-hued clouds. 

“Hey, look–!” Link said suddenly, pointing downwards. “Plumers!”

Zelda didn’t know how she’d missed them, but Link was right. A small herd of the colorful creatures had come into view in the sky below them. Named for their colorful plumage—each group often contained at least one of every shade of the rainbow—as well as their penchant for plummeting down through the sky in a form of play, the creatures were beloved around Skyloft, but Zelda hadn’t seen any in moons. Then again, she’d been cooped up working on the Sailcloth and her costume for the upcoming Wing Ceremony for moons, too. 

“Guess the octoroks didn’t get to this year’s hatchlings like we thought! They look like they’re all doing well now.”

Zelda’s gaze returned to Link, and she smiled warmly at the delight on his face as he craned his neck down to watch the plumers. She loved seeing him happy. She loved hi—

Nope! Not getting into that!

“Hey, let’s dive for them!” she suggested brightly. “I haven’t done that in ages.”

Link looked unsure. “I dunno…”

Zelda grinned. “Don’t be a scaredy-cat, sleepyhead! How are you ever going to be a successful knight if you don’t practice falling, too?” 

Without hesitation, she slipped her hands and feet free of the harness, and rolled right off her bird. 

“Hey!” Link said, startled. 

“Come and get me, silly! You know Valoo will catch you.”

“Fiiiiine,” Link groaned, and launched himself into the air. 

Zelda had been descending in a picture-perfect skydive, with her limbs spread to catch the air and slow her plummet. Link had to tuck his limbs in and angle his body to catch back up to her, his face screwed up in concentration, but catch her he did. 

“Okay, sleepyhead, you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Link grumbled. Still, she could see the pleased twist to his lips that he was trying so hard to hide. 

“Perfect.” She reached out across the sky between them, and took his hands, ignoring the butterflies the gesture set aflutter in her stomach. “We fall together, okay?” I wish we were both falling together. “Remember, we just have to tap them, and they’ll join right along with us!”

“Together,” he repeated, and gave her hands a squeeze. 

Wind rushed past their faces and cushioned their bodies, holding them in a summer hug. Zelda couldn’t tear her eyes from Link’s laughing face as they brushed into rainbow-hued feathers from every angle and more and more plumers circled them, twittering with shared glee. His happiness was beautiful. He was beautiful. 

Maybe soon, she’d tell him. For now, she contented herself with the sensation of how his fingers felt when intertwined with hers. 

I would go anywhere you want to go, with your hand in my hand.

--

Sometimes, the isolation of the crow’s nest was a good thing.

Usually, Link hated it. Knowing the rest of the crew was below, on the deck or in the hold or prepping dinner in the galley or heck, even swabbing the poop deck, sharing jokes and smiles that he couldn’t be privy to, stung. But today, after waving goodbye to Grandma and Aryll until his arm ached and they disappeared into the horizon, Link was pretty sad. And he was pretty sure he did not want to be around anyone at all. 

Sure, it was a privilege to work on Tetra’s crew after all these years and adventures; to help her in her search for new land that could support the peoples of the Great Sea. And at sixteen, four years after he’d first met her in the Forbidden Forest, Link could confidently say there was no one’s side he’d rather be at. But leaving his family behind always hurt just as much as that first time, when he was twelve and still in shock, chasing a stolen sister and waving, tear-sodden, to where the only family he had left stood alone on the Outset dock. 

Thank the goddesses Grandma wasn’t alone anymore, anyway. And at twelve, Aryll now had enough personality to cover for the both of them. 

But Link was still sad. And so he was going up to the crow’s nest, even though it wasn’t his shift. Maybe if he begged whoever was up there, they’d let him take over so he could wallow without an audience.

Link pushed himself up into the crow’s nest with a grunt, gaze on the weatherbeaten wood to make sure his feet would land safely on the planks and not tangle in the rigging. When he looked up, his eyes met amused brown ones. 

“Four years, and you’re still scared of climbing up here?” Tetra teased. “Guess you’ll never outgrow that.”

“Hey, at least I know what the word ‘safety’ means. You wouldn’t know it if it bit you in the ass,” Link parried, but it was half-hearted at best. He sat down heavily beside her.

Tetra’s eyes narrowed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m—” Link cut himself off as Tetra aimed a fiery glare at him. “Not really.”

“Was it the goodbye?”

“...yeah. It’s hard every time.”

Tetra nodded, her gaze slipping from his face to stare up at the sky. “I get that. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to farewell any family of mine, but…” She trailed off, and Link knew she was thinking of her mother. “Sometimes, I wonder how you can bear to leave them.”

“I think Grandma would throw her sandal at me if I tried to stay,” Link said, straight-faced. Tetra laughed. “I mean it! She knows that I’m happiest at sea. She doesn’t want me to stay just to stick around her. And Aryll would be upset for sure. She wants to work on your ship too, you know. She’d probably kill me in my sleep for giving up her dream job.”

“Well, I’m glad they support you.” Tetra scooted forward to put some space between herself and the back of the crow’s nest, and then laid down on the deck. “That’s worth more than a lot of treasure.”

“The Pirate Queen of the Great Sea, saying something is more valuable than treasure?” Link gasped dramatically. 

Tetra reached up and whacked him in the side. “Shut up. That’s Captain Pirate Queen of the Great Sea, to you.”

Link laughed lightly and joined Tetra in lying back. The wood of the crow’s nest felt hard, sturdy, and dependable beneath his shoulder blades, even though both he and Tetra knew just how far down solid ground actually was. 

“I don’t think I need to take this from someone who used to be a rock.” He poked her in the side, which fortunately felt just like the flesh and blood she was, and not the marble statue she’d been cursed into when they had been set adrift in the waters of the Ocean King. 

Tetra snatched at his hand, and Link expected her to throw it back at his own face or something, but instead she held it by the wrist. And kept holding it. 

Link turned to face her, confused. “Tetra…?”

“Shut up. I’m thinking.”

“Okay?” 

He turned back. Above them, the sky churned with grey clouds. Link stared at the steely mass dubiously. It was definitely going to rain, but probably not storm—not something they needed to warn the crew about. 

Tetra’s grip was warm around his wrist, a shackle he didn’t ever want to be free of. They were friends, and adventure partners, and the longer he spent in her company, the more sure he was that he wanted to be part of her life in some way until the day he finally died. 

Rain speckled his cheeks. Link went to turn his head again so that none of it would get in his eyes, and it was as his gaze met Tetra’s that she made her decision. 

Link froze at the feeling of her fingers releasing his wrist and, instead, entwining with his own. He opened his mouth to speak—

“Don’t. Don’t…say anything. Let’s just lay here until Nudge comes up and tells us that it’s time for dinner or that you need to empty out the latrines or something. Can we just lay here?”

In response, Link squeezed Tetra’s fingers. 

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. You can talk, okay? I just didn’t want you to…say no, I guess.”

“I definitely don’t want to say no.”

“Well, good.”

“Good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, until Link spoke up again. “Tetra…thanks.”

He didn’t need to say for what. She already knew. 

“Any time.” 

The rain showered on down.

I would go anywhere you want to go, with your hand in my hand.

--

It was a sight Sheik had seen a hundred times before. Gowns in a rainbow of shades swept across the floor in unison, their silks and satins and brocades and damasks and the finest of linens collecting nary a hint of dust at the hems, a result of the standard of cleanliness the floors were polished to. Courtiers and commoners alike stood up straight in dress tunics they were debuting that night and weren’t quite comfortable in yet. Smiling staff—genuine in their glee, Sheik imagined, from the happiness of the occasion as well as the promised time off and bonuses in their wages after the event’s completion—slipped surreptitiously among the guests with trays of refreshments. 

And yet everything was different, because Sheik was dancing with the new King of Hyrule. 

He had scarcely seen his son so happy. Even before the crown—still warm from resting on Sheik’s own head—was placed atop his auburn curls, the man was smiling. Proud of himself and of the thirty-two years he’d spent learning from his predecessors; proud of his country and the citizens that had come to watch this momentous occasion; proud of the parent who, with tears in his eyes, had passed the crown and scepter over after long, hard decades of service. Now, Daphnes smiled at him as Sheik spun him out and guided him back in for the final steps of their waltz.

“I love you, Yaya,” the new king said, and kissed his hand. Ever the gentleman. “Please enjoy the rest of the night. All eyes will be on me, so…you’ll finally be able to rest.”

“I love you too, my son,” Sheik answered, and stretched up on tiptoe to reach his forehead for a kiss, before stepping back and into the crowd, searching. He found what he was looking for after only a moment.

His son was almost correct. There was one pair of eyes that would always linger on Sheik, no matter how much time passed.

“Link,” Sheik breathed.

His lover smiled. Handsome still at fifty, even with his blond hair beginning to grey, he still filled out his leaf-green dress tunic as well as he always had.

Link held out a hand. “Come away with me?”

Sheik felt his facade shift for just a moment, weakened by the gentle adoration in Link’s gaze. Hot tears swam in eyes, blurring Link’s face, before he blinked them back. “Gladly.”

Link led them carefully across the crowded ballroom floor, through a doorway on the side of the room, and out into the castle gardens. The dull roar of conversation muted as the door closed behind them, leaving only a distant murmur and the whisper of an orchestral melody. 

Even with the din of the ballroom removed, Sheik felt his body trembling, overstimulated. The evening had just been…so much. So much, to see his son crowned. So much, to remember how Sheik’s first husband had looked in that crown, before Sheik had learned how happy he could be with the space to be himself and the right partner at his side. So much, in this sapphire dress tunic and trousers that matched his blue eye and contrasted handsomely with his red, that he had been so proud of and felt so right only hours ago, but were starting to feel too tight in all the old familiar ways. 

“Thank you for that,” Sheik said, feeling the hot tears from before stream from the corners of their eyes. They stood there, inhaling one sobbing breath, two, as Link rubbed their back gently. 

“Always,” Link said quietly, as Sheik dried their tears and let out a final shaky breath.

Sheik knew he meant it. Even before they’d married, back when Sheik was another man’s spouse and Link was still warming Malon’s bed, they had been the closest of friends. He had never faltered in his care. He never would. 

“Dance with me?” Link asked. He smiled gently, as if to say, You can always say no.

No way in hell did Sheik want to say no. 

They took the hand Link offered, and spun away once again into a waltz. 

A good waltz was slow and close, and Sheik never danced more slowly or closely with anyone than they did Link. Their waist tingled under the weight of Link’s hand, even after all this time, and Sheik could tell from the way his eyes glimmered that he felt the same. 

Link spun Sheik out, and when they returned to his arms, they smiled at him. “So, my dearest one, where would you like to go for our first getaway in years? Now that we’re free of any and all responsibility.”

The slightly smoldering stare Link gave them made something inside Sheik quiver. “Untrue, my love. I still have one responsibility.”

“And what would that be?”

“Making you see stars.”

Sheik’s heart skipped a beat, and they felt a flush rise to their cheeks that had nothing to do with the way their trousers increasingly felt like they were constricting all blood flow to their legs—how they longed for a skirt!—and everything to do with thinking about all the ways Link had made them see stars in the past. 

Sheik fixed him with a heated stare as they edged in closer to Link than would be proper for a waltz. “And are you willing to take responsibility now?”

“Always,” Link breathed.

“Take me upstairs, then,” Sheik murmured, staring into the eyes of the person she loved more than anything. “I need to get myself into a nightgown, and we can—ah!” She broke off as a grinning Link took her literally and began to tug her along in the direction of their chambers. “We can, aha, get started on our…getaway.”

Truthfully, Sheik already had stars in her eyes whenever she looked at Link. But she certainly wouldn’t say no to anything else he wanted to show her, too.

I would go anywhere you want to go, with your hand in my hand.

--

Link didn’t think he would ever be tired of this view.

Well, yes, the vantage point from the summit of Satori Mountain was pretty nice. He couldn’t deny that looking out over Central Hyrule like this, with all its hills and valleys and rivers and caves to explore in a million earthy shades, didn’t make his heart want to soar right out of his chest. But none of it compared to her.

“Come over here, Link! Isn’t it so strange that the blossoms on this tree are still blooming even though it’s almost autumn? I want to take a picture—you have the Sheikah Slate, right? Can you bring it over, please?”

Zelda scampered over the twisted roots of Satori Mountain’s crowning glory like a mountain goat. She was halfway up the trunk before he could blink. She really had come a long way since the defeat of Ganon, and those hard first days where her atrophied muscles could hardly hold her up, Link thought proudly.

“Link?”

She was beautiful. A nature spirit, up there surrounded by whirling pink petals, the light blue of her climbing tunic not dissimilar to the ghost blue of the Lord of the Mountain himself. Green eyes that mixed excitement for the world with fondness for him with mild concern at how long he was taking, that never failed to leave him brainless at her radiance. The deep tan of her skin—the only thing she had inherited from that deadbeat dad of hers—and how she nearly seemed to meld with the tree if his gaze unfocused. The gold of her hair as her braid dangled off her shoulder and winked in the late afternoon sunlight as if to give new meaning to the phrase ‘golden hour’. The scrapes across her bare shin from when they’d taken a tumble during their hike up to the peak. The overstuffed pack on her back, full of research materials and specimens. Her smile. Her. 

Zelda.

“Hello? Link?”

Spellbound, he slipped the Sheikah Slate from its well-worn pouch at his hip, and raised it to his face.

Click.

“Link? Did you just take a picture of me?” 

The Slate lowered. Link realized all of a sudden what he had done, and his face flushed a deeper pink than the flower petals.

“I–I–yes, I did, I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, you just looked so—”

“Silly, if you’re going to take a picture of something other than this tree, it should be of us together.” 

Zelda smiled at him, and Link felt his heart combust. 

“C’mere.” She patted the tree branch beside her invitingly.

Link had never climbed a tree so quickly in his life. The branch rocked beneath their combined weight, but held firmly. He held up the Slate…and then kept holding it up. Turned it around in his hand. How…was he supposed to take a picture if the screen that showed the image was on the other side of the Slate from the camera?

Zelda laughed, but not meanly. “Link, have you never used the selfie function?”

Selfie function?

She plucked the Slate from his hand, and pressed an icon he’d never taken notice of before. The display, which had been capturing the view from Satori Mountain, instantly changed to one of the two of them. 

“It has a front camera,” she explained cheerfully. “Here, I’ll press the button. Smile, Link!”

How could he not? For her, he would do most anything.

With his gaze on the Zelda smiling on the screen of the Sheikah Slate, a shy grin bubbled to his lips. He prepared for the picture, and then—

The warm of a hand suddenly taking his own—

The press of lips, slightly chapped from mountain air, against his cheek—

Click.

“Oh Link, look! It turned out so nicely!” Zelda grinned down at the Slate, and then held it in front of his face. “Look, the lighting is so flattering! And you can see half of Hyrule past us! It even captured the Satori blossoms—I’m going to call them Satori blossoms, I think, for the name of the mountain—”

She continued her lovely rambling, and Link tried to listen to every word. Truly, he did. But…it was a bit hard to take in her words when his brain was so full. 

Because now he had a picture of Zelda kissing his cheek and holding his hand on the Sheikah Slate that they shared, and he knew what her lips felt like, and she was even now right there, next to him, so beautiful and present and alive, alive, alive. 

And he, besides being alive, alive, alive, was…hers. Forever, probably. 

I would go anywhere you want to go, with your hand in my hand.

--

“Link, are you awake?”

Zelda’s whisper broke through the still air of the Spirit Train. For hours, she had been hovering quietly in the aisle of the passenger car, listening to the sound of the metal wheels and engine groaning quietly as they cooled from the day’s travels, watching her companion’s chest rise and fall under the blanket as she slept on one of the plush red velvet seats. It was her nightly distraction—after all, she hadn’t been able to sleep in moons, since she last had a body—but tonight, it wasn’t enough. 

Link shifted, and cracked one eye open to stare at Zelda’s dimly-glowing silhouette. “No.”

“Funny.”

Link yawned, and if Zelda had a heart, it would have squeezed in her chest like a squeaky toy at the cuteness of it. “What’s wrong, Zel?”

“Can’t sleep,” she joked, yet melancholy soaked through her tone despite the levity of her words.

Link’s eyes softened. Zelda didn’t like her pity ever, didn’t even want her sympathy most days, but tonight, she needed this from her—the acknowledgement of her pain, of how deeply it ached to be so unrooted from herself and the world around her. 

“I know,” she whispered. “Well, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows what it’s like to be you except you. And by that I mean what it’s like to be a ghost—” she waved his hands in front of her rambling face exasperatedly. “Or what it’s like to be you! Only you can be you.” She huffed. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

“That’s okay. Me too.” 

Link bit her lip, and Zelda watched curiously. Obviously she was going to say something new, maybe a little uncomfortable. It was unlike Link to be unsure. After all, it took a certain amount of foolish, optimistic self-confidence to drive a train as a newly-minted teenager, or to sneak past a company of royal guards because of one letter from a princess, or to follow said princess on a trek around the country to save everyone in it. 

“Do you…wanna cuddle with me? I know you can’t sleep. And I know you can’t…feel anything.” Link winced. “Maybe it’s a stupid idea. I just thought it might be…nice. A change of pace.”

Zelda’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “That is a stupid idea.”

“Oh.” Link grimaced.

“And it’s also so, so sweet. I accept.”

Zelda floated over to Link’s preferred bunk/bench, and hovered there hesitantly. It was wide enough for Link, of course, but for two…?

Oh. That’s right. She was a ghost. She didn’t need to have something to lay down on—the whole world was her cushion. She bedded down on the air between Link’s bench and the back of the bench in front of them, snuggling close enough that she could just barely feel the tingling of whatever weird ectoplasm light particles she was made of now as they phased into Link’s own flesh and blood. For good measure, she flung one arm over (and slightly into, but she wasn’t thinking about that part) Link’s back in a loose hug.

Link stretched out a hand in offering: the same one Zelda’s own hand had sunk a full inch into when they had attempted to high-five in the final rail map room of the Tower of Spirits. At the time, she’d frozen in midair, shocked and disappointed by the sensation, until Byrne had forcibly broken into their moment of celebration. Now, Zelda looked at Link’s hand, took a trepidatious breath that her lungs didn’t need, but her soul did, and tried to hold it.

She couldn’t, of course. But Link’s answering smile as she closed her eyes again and snuggled further down into the bench made Zelda almost feel warm. 

I would go anywhere you want to go, with your hand in my hand. 

--

One night, Link wakes.

He has no clue what time it is. It’s pitch black in their room. Zelda, ever the insomniac, lies awake in his arms, on her slate. She’s watching a news video with the audio muted and subtitles on. Still, he doesn’t think the light from the screen is what woke him up.

He remembers—

a strong grip around his hand, hauling him up a cliff—

a smile brighter than the sun—

a berry-flavored first kiss—

saltwater spray and laughter in his face—

the sanctuary of her arms—

runningflyingrushingdancingholdingreaching—

A hand slips into his. 

“You okay?” Her eyes glitter in the darkness. “You never wake up like this.”

“I think…it was a dream?” he whispers. “It felt so real, but there’s only flashes…”

“Hey, it’s okay. Just a dream.” 

“No, it was a good one…”

“Go back to sleep then. Maybe it’ll still be there.”

His arms tighten around her. “I think it will be.” 

Zelda turns back around and snuggles more deeply into his back. Her finger extends to press the play button on her video again. 

“Hey, Zelda?”

She stills, finger pausing in the air. “Hm?”

He swallows. “Do you ever feel like…your past lives were all leading towards this moment?”

She turns off her slate and places it on the pillow beside her before wriggling around in his arms to face him. “Mm…maybe sometimes? But I don’t really know if I believe in those. So mostly…” 

She trails off. He waits patiently. 

“Mostly, I feel like I want to live all of this one with you. Everything it has to offer.”

He brings her palm up to his smiling lips. “That’s…yes. That’s exactly right.” A kiss, a second, a third. He maps the lines of her palm like a cartographer. “I love you.”

He releases her hand eventually, but she doesn’t lift it from his mouth. Instead, she takes his other hand, and holds it between their chests. “I love you too.”

Link closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of her. He drifts back to sleep. 

I would go anywhere you want to go, with your hand in my hand.

#legend of zelda #zelink #shink #telink #wind waker #twilight princess #skyward sword #ocarina of time #spirit tracks #soulmates #zelink week 2023 #hand in hand

[aggressivelyaverage21]

Chapter 2: Red Coat Marine with the lovely @kloperslegend

She's an exhausted senior, she's a... ground intelligence officer?

They’d picked her out early. Day one, as soon as they’d been separated into their platoons. The tall, bulky man she’d come to know as Sergeant Instructor Walters skimmed down the list as he paced up and down the line of presenting candidates. When he got to her, he squinted at his clipboard before snapping his small eyes up as he walked past. “Harvard huh… You’re not too good for us, are you, Harvard? This ain’t the fucking Ivy League. ” 

And then Beatrice had opened her mouth. A simple, “No, Staff Sergeant,” had the hulking man spinning on his heel and coming back to her. 

His face inches from hers. “You fucking with me, Harvard? What the hell kind of accent is that?” 

“No, Sir. I grew up in London, Sir.” 

“Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like we got a regular Benedict Arnold.” Beatrice knew better than to correct the Sergeant. She really, really did. It didn’t mean she didn’t want to, though. She’d been called worse by her parents, but being singled out like this didn’t sit well with her. “And I’m not a Sir! Get on your face.” 

She had listened, immediately dropping into the increasingly familiar pushup position as she yelled, “Aye, Staff Sergeant!” at the top of her lungs . 

This particular morning, there hadn’t been any ‘ pushing ’ yet, though Beatrice was sure there would be at some point. She hadn’t done so many pushups in her life, and she’d only been here for three days. 

But the running part? This part, right now? She looked forward to it.

In less than a mile they came to a stop in the worn, patchy grass in front of the old line of pull-up bars, with their yellowing stale tape and rust. It was hardly a warm-up, but that didn’t stop several of her classmates from needing to catch their breath with their hands on their knees, only to get scolded.

Though ‘scolded’ was maybe a bit mild for, “Have you never gone for a fucking jog , candidate? Are you telling me you can’t lug your fat body here from the squad bay without wheezing like a little pig, candidate? Don’t worry. We’ll fix it.”

Beatrice had no idea how the Sergeant Instructors still had voices, considering how much they yelled. Come to think of it, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d yet heard something that wasn’t yelling. She’d even heard one of the candidates whispering something about how they practice yelling at trees… an entirely unhelpful image to have in her mind as she tried to keep her ‘military bearing.’ 

Noise was something she was starting to learn to tune out to a degree. If the yelling wasn’t at her, she found a way to let her mind wander, usually to other things they needed to know, what she needed to be doing, material they needed to be reviewing—with what little sleep they were getting, even seconds of memorization review was priceless. 

While her classmates were getting smoked in the grass next to her she looked at the aged pull up bars. A distinct path had been worn through the grass between the pavement and the bars themselves, and the concave impression in the dirt beneath the bars betrayed the passage of many feet. 

How many Marines had used them? Certainly every officer since at least Vietnam, maybe even before that. And then the line from that to the legends they had already been getting told about, like some sort of combination between service folklore, bedtime stories, and genuine awe at the individuals. Those legends must have touched these, too, or ones like these. People many hailed as heroes had stood where she stood. Done the same things she was doing. 

She’d naively thought her parents' expectations were impossible shoes to fill. They couldn’t even be measured on the same scale of the expectations she was facing now. 

And these expectations had purpose.

KEEP READING

#warrior nun #sister beatrice #save warrior nun #wn #beatrice no last name #fic: la samba del diablo #la samba del diablo #special ops: lioness au #special ops: lioiness

[detectivelokis]

Playing Doctor

Words: 2.2 k

Warnings: Vague mentions of violence, injuries, and body horror.

A/N: My starter piece for the Horror Bang Exchange. Thank you to @sstewyhosseini for looking this over 🖤 @aceghosts including you since you asked to be tagged when this was posted.

Raccoon City was in ruins. 

After a week of, what felt like, hell on Earth, the city had been decimated. One single bomb extinguished the last flicker of light. Not that there was much left after the virus had taken hold of its occupants. Adults, children, hell, even animals gone in the blink of an eye, turned into nothing but snarling and lumbering husks of themselves.

Save for a few lucky survivors, one of them being Charlie. 

It had been a surprise to almost everyone, including herself, that she had managed to make it out in one piece. Her? The runt of her platoon?  It was more than luck that got her out of there, it was a goddamn miracle.

“How did you manage this?,” she asks herself, green eyes transfixed on the cascade of bubbles trailing down her bruised and reddened body. 

It’s not that Charlie isn’t a capable person, far from it in fact. But, throughout her life she has always been second best. Second best sharpshooter in Montana; the one always getting a participation trophy. There are no billboards proudly displaying her face for all to see, no parades to welcome her home.

She is no prodigal daughter.

It doesn’t matter to the rest of the world that she survived a catastrophic event well beyond what most people are capable of imagining. No, all that matters to anyone that’s in the know, and for all she knows that really could be anyone, is that she was an employee of Umbrella. An enemy of the state now.

But, at least she isn’t alone. She never really had many encounters with Carlos while they were both still mercenaries, both on different platoons and stationed in different locations, but she knew enough about him to know that going on the run with him wasn’t the worst thing she could do. Not anymore at least. 

Being on the run was lonely, though. For the first day Charlie had laid in her motel room, too stressed to sleep and too anxious to go visit her newfound ally. It didn’t stop her gaze from lingering on the connecting door that led to his room, constantly hoping that he would make the first move and come to her.

After just a few hours of solitude and trying to send signals with her mind to the room next door, Charlie had given up. How could she just sit around moping about when the one person who could understand what she’s going through is right there?

Which is how she now finds herself in his shower, her delicate fingers poking and prodding at the bruises littering her skin; blood and dirt pooling at her feet. Yes, she had lied and said her own was broken and only producing cold water, but she could tell from the look in his eyes that Carlos had wanted company too.

“Are you alright in there?,” the aforementioned man calls from behind the door, distracting her from injuring herself any further. “The water doesn’t stay hot for too long here either. Now the water pressure on the other hand, that’s -”

“I’m fine,” Charlie calls out, interrupting him. She chews on her lip as she thinks of what to say next. She doesn’t want to leave the comfort of the shower if she’s being honest with herself. Once she emerges from her cocoon of steam that means she has to go back to her own room and she doesn’t want that, as childish and dumb as it may seem.

She doesn’t want to be alone.

But she has to face her fears. She survived an onslaught of zombies that lasted a week, she should be able to leave the bathroom, not even her own bathroom, and see if Carlos actually does want her company or not.

After a few more moments of letting the water scorch her battered body, she finally emerges. As she dries herself off she eyes the oversized robe that she had found hidden in her room. She doesn’t know where it came from or who wore it before her, but she doesn’t have many options with her only clothes still covered in sewage and blood. 

“Wow,” Carlos says as she walks out of the steam-filled bathroom, dark eyes scanning her figure with a playful gleam. “You look refreshed.”

Charlie wants to roll her eyes, give her usual snarky reply to the comment, but she doesn’t. Instead she blushes; freckled cheeks turning a shade of crimson she didn’t even know was possible. 

“You were right about the water pressure. Felt like a nice trip to the spa.”

Sitting on the bed with a wince, Charlie notices the bags and containers of fast food laying about on the table her companion is currently sitting at, her stomach growling despite the pain.

“You okay there?”

Carlos stands as he sees her face contort in pain. Fuck. And here she was thinking she was being subtle.

“I’m fine,” she holds up a hand, trying to wave him away. “Is that,” she pauses, shooting him a soft smile in an attempt to distract him. “Is that the strawberry shake I asked for? You actually ordered it?”

Carlos sighs, eyes glancing back at the table before he picks up the drink. He looks like he’s about to hand it over to her, his arm outstretched and if she wasn’t in so much pain she could reach out and grab it. But he doesn’t. 

“How about we make a deal? You let me take a look at your injuries and I’ll give you your milkshake. Does that sound good?”

Charlie’s eyes linger on the drink, drool forming at just the thought of the creamy concoction hitting her taste buds. Jesus, she’s hungry. 

“Fine.” She lets out a huff as she undoes the belt of her robe, letting it fall open to expose her mess of a body. 

It doesn’t faze her when his eyes immediately spot the massive bruise that has made its home on the side of her torso. After working for Umbrella she’s gotten used to changing in front of her teammates, but she does almost jump out of her skin when his fingers tentatively touch the sore spot; both from pain and shock.

“Jesus.” 

Carlos lets out a low exhale as his calloused hand runs down her side, brow furrowed in concentration as he takes it all in. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner? Did this happen when you were thrown?”

“I dunno. I guess so?”

Charlie shrugs, trying to play it cool despite the agonizing pain she’s currently in. But the memories of the police station flood back to her in a wave. 

That creature outside the locker rooms, its skin inhumanly pale; almost translucent, and its brain matter partly exposed, had cornered them. It looked like one giant, disgusting hairless cat guarding its territory. When it noticed them it had lashed out, whipping her into the vending machines. 

She had hit it with such force that her body had left a dent, despite how tiny her frame is, and cans of soda came careening down upon her, one particular can of Sprite bursting and fizzing its contents all over her head. She’s pretty sure the scent of lime and shit will now be embedded into her skin for the rest of her life.

Except for now you smell like him.

The thought alone sends a shiver down her spine as she watches Carlos inspect the cuts and bruises on her arms and torso. She had come into his room and used his room and used his shampoo, his lotion. It feels way more intimate than she was expecting.

“Here.” Carlos holds up her shake for her to take before pushing himself to his feet. “Just wait here while I grab my first aid kit and I’ll patch you up.”

“Can’t I eat my chicken tenders first?”

Carlos laughs softly as she pouts up at him. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

Charlie bites down on the inside of her cheek at the pet name. Princess? Really? She knew some of the people she had worked with had thought of her as prissy and high-maintenance, but Carlos had only just met her this week. Unless…

Oh.

The realization that he’s flirting with her dawns on her suddenly and she perks up, as much as she can, at least. With everything that happened in Raccoon City she hadn’t even had time to process any type of emotions, let alone that she might be attracted to him. But, as Carlos comes back, first aid kit and supplies at the ready, Charlie realizes almost immediately that she is. 

She is very much attracted to him.

“Wow. You weren’t lying about playing doctor, were you.”

Charlie looks up at him through her lashes, milkshake cradled in her hands. She can see the corner of his lips quirk up at her words and she sucks on her straw to stifle her own smile. 

“Playing doctor, huh?” He lays everything next to her before he sits down, the bed creaking underneath his weight. “You make a terrible patient, you know that, right?,” he teases.

Moving the left half of her robe aside, Carlos begins to gently cleanse and disinfect the scattering of small cuts alongside her arms and torso. It burns more than she would care to admit and Charlie can’t help but hiss as he drags the gauze over her skin.

“Sorry.” 

He looks up at her sheepishly, dark eyes filled with a gentle kindness. It makes something inside of her stomach flutter. 

“I wish you had come to me sooner, so far it doesn’t seem like they’ll get infected. But this one,” he pauses, his fingers graze the bruise on her side as a frown starts to form on his face. “This one might need some extra attention.”

Charlie scoffs. No fucking way is she going to the hospital right now. Yes, she is in excruciating pain and yes, it hurts to both sit and stand. But going and getting it checked out after what happened in Raccoon City? Not a chance in hell.

“Go to the hospital and have the government catch up to us and question us about our affiliation with Umbrella or stay here and have you do your best to help me take care of it.” She holds up her hands as if weighing the options. “I think I choose the latter.”

Carlos sighs in response. Charlie knows he means well, and she does genuinely appreciate the concern, but their employers not expecting them to make it out of the city alive put them in quite the dangerous predicament. 

“It shouldn’t be us who’s on the run. Those motherfuckers need to pay for what they’ve done, what they’ve put us through.”

“I know.” 

Her voice is quiet and she bites her lip, inwardly wincing as her teeth connect with cut flesh. She doesn’t know what the future holds and she’s uncertain about how to feel about her past, but despite everything the present isn’t quite as bad as she imagined it would be.

“Listen, I want to be able to fix this,” he says, gesturing at her injuries. “But that doesn’t look good. You could -”.

Not wanting to hear anymore about the potential risks of not seeking medical attention, Charlie leans forward, cutting him off with a simple, chaste kiss. She wasn’t intending on doing that and pulls away almost immediately, mouth agape and cheeks flush from embarrassment.

“Oh, fuck. I don’t know what came over me.”

Carlos doesn’t let her get another word in, taking his chance to interrupt her, his hand cupping her cheek before leaning in to kiss her. Unlike hers it’s neither gentle nor soft. Instead, his lips greedily capture hers in a way that brings out a different hunger in her.

She whimpers as his teeth tug on her lower lip, a trickle of blood from her cut trailing out. It’s devouring and all consuming; exactly what she needed after everything that’s happened to her recently. After a few moments she pulls away. She wants more, she needs more, but she knows now isn’t the right time. 

“Wow.”

Charlie peeks up through her lashes at him, an innocent, almost girlish expression on her face. What has gotten into her?

“Yeah. Wow.”

Carlos rests his forehead against hers and for a couple of minutes the two just sit there, their breath heavy as his thumb strokes her cheek. Unable to handle the silence any longer, Charlie sighs exasperatedly. 

“Can we eat the chicken tenders now?,” she whispers, eliciting a chuckle out of Carlos.

Maybe this was always supposed to happen, their paths crossing despite all the horrors they’ve seen. It’s certainly a nice thought.

#gosh this one makes me nervous #going outside of my comfort zone with this one 🙃 #cutie Charlie? who is she? #oc: charlie berger #carlos oliveira #ship: like a cold shower on a hot night #resident evil #horror bang exchange 2023 #my fics

[thetruearchmagos]

The Commonwealth Calls

An Excerpt: First Blood

Hey folks, Arch here, with another little snippet fresh off the press. I've been meaning to work on my infantry centric, 'small unit tactics' sorta writing for a long while, but I've finally mustered enough sudden and unplanned for courage to get something done. It's... not great, but I knew it wasn't gonna be that anyhow.

Tagging @athenswrites @theprissythumbelina @hessdalen-globe @caxycreations @nerdexer @coffeexafterxmidnight @thatndginger

"Move, move, move!"

Thirty-odd figures burst from the tree line, dashing across the handful metres between that and the next bit of cover ahead. In ten seconds that felt like a lifetime they hit the dirt, going to ground under the shade of apple trees and the protection of a low stone wall.

And not a moment too soon. Second Lieutenant Gustav J. Schmidt had barely crept his head up and out of cover when the Ocrisian defenders opened fire, with rifles and machine guns blazing away from the assembly of farmhouses and barns up ahead. His objective, and all of a sudden it didn't seem like the job would be quite so easy.

Reaching to his right, Schmidt grabbed the handset off of the bulky pack of Signaller Stepan Kollovich, switching it to his Platoon's net before speaking in a voice on the edge of screaming.

"Light up the buildings, and clear the windows!"

Before the thirty millimetre autocannons of his four Farrier transports could send their reply, distant booms echoed from somewhere to his off even further behind, followed a heartbeat later by the sound of four one-twenty millimetre high-explosive shells whistling through the air before slamming into the buildings. One farmhouse simply caved in under three hits, and the last tore a great hole in another. The section of Conqueror armtrack's providing their overwatch from a kilometre and a half back spoke once and fell back into cover, but Gustav mentally thanked them for their timing.

With the defender's return fire slackening his own infanteers inched forwards where they could, making leaping bounds from one line of trees to the next. Gustav's transports added their cannon and machine guns to the fray from the treeline, joining his pair of machine guns closer in. Moving ahead himself to keep up, he could see things going mostly according to plan; Corporals Soult and Kumar's sections both creeping through the thick orchard, while Staff Sergeant Amadi and his third under Corporal Colt swung off to his right, and towards the main road that led to the farm.

His Platoon Sergeant's little venture would make for a nice surprise for the Ocri's, but right now the main event was bogging down as the defenders shook off their shock. Gesturing at Kollovich to stay behind the wall, Gustav breathed in and out to collect himself, then booked it at a half crouch to Soult's section.

#writeblr #writing #my writing #my wips #original writing #for a self declared military fiction writer I do suck at some aspects of it #though in my defence I can't remember the last time I read a techno thriller which bothered to detail combat from the view #of an infantry soldier on the ground- and now I remember White Horizon by TK Blackwood #great. Well time to read that one again and see how I compare #/ take lessons from it because comparing myself to a published author isn't a great idea methinks

[latibvles]

First off, happy one year! 🥳 How exciting! And a classic Poe ask game for the occasion? You know I'll be bothering you with both the girlies 🤭

Though you already know her, we're re-introducing Zenie McGlamery, a young, mixed-race Indigenous woman from the rural south who disguises herself as a man to join the paratroopers. Though Zenie herself is rather shy and reserved, her alter ego, Thomas Driver, allows her to become herself in more ways than she thought possible. Loyal until the end, Zenie is determined to make it through the war without losing anyone else that she cares about - and she just might find something more along the way. You can read about her in Like A Girl (Like A Man) on tumblr and AO3!

Thank you in advance beloved! ❤️

okay, I know we have made so many jokes about Daisy and Zenie being girlfriends however, they would be friends and no one can change my mind. Daisy knows a thing or two about keeping secrets (for better or for worse) and it's the sense of camaraderie and friendship that fuels their later actions. The foundations are there. That being said, you can all find Like A Girl (Like A Man) here on Tumblr and here on AO3! It's a great read. Now here's Zenie getting a certain combat nurse in her corner as well.

[ THE ONE YEAR INBOX GAME! ]

—

Shocked was Daisy’s immediate feeling, and then shortly thereafter, impressed.

It’d been one of her and Gene’s murmured secrets, the situation that “Tommy Driver” found himself in — like the ones she and Joe were more often likely to share within their foxholes. Although, this wasn’t a matter of late-night trysts and a lack thereof; rather the basis of someone’s identity. She grabbed extra tampons and health sponges at the hospital and said nothing of it when Ginny gave her a confused look and asked casually about heavy flow.

Sure, let’s go with that, is what she wants to say, but since this isn’t exactly the time for sarcastic quips, she just nods and pretends to look miserable about the whole affair.

Second Platoon’s outpost is easy to find, even if every bombed out building in Haguenau looks exactly the same. Scurrying along quickly to ensure she isn’t bombed to hell is her first priority, so when she reaches the door she slips inside without a second thought. Sitting in foxholes in the frigid cold waiting for another round of artillery to hail down upon them was hardly the environment for “shooting the shit” — so to see them sat in rickety old chairs with cigarettes and candy bars was a pleasant change of pace.

“Sergeant Driver?” Her voice has a few different gazes shifting to her, to which she waits, expectantly. As usual, Joe’s the first to be spurred into action, calling up the stairs with a ‘Tommy, you’ve got a visitor!’ that practically shakes the house.

It takes a few moments, but he, or rather, she, comes down the stairs, shaggy dark hair peeking through his cap, helmet discarded somewhere. She gives him a smile and a wave.

“Gene wanted to do a follow-up just to see how your stitches are holding up.” A safe enough lie, Gene told her that the rest of the guys thought Tommy was just “shy”, and wholly committed to not stripping in front of the men

That was definitely a way of looking at it. But Tommy looks at her, and then nods all the same, confusion only flashing across her face for a millisecond. Daisy gives her what she hopes is an easy smile.

“Shouldn’t be too long. You boys just move around way too damn much.” She’s turning on her heel, knowing he’ll follow, and walking briskly to a building only a few doors down which she knew to be empty.

Tommy keeps step with her, and they’re quick to enter the next building, its windows caked with dirt and dust, cracks spider-webbing across concrete walls and paint peeling. Daisy waits for the door to shut before taking in a measured breath, turning on her heel. Expectantly, Tommy’s looking around for Gene.

“Okay, there’s really no way to put it delicately so I’m uh… I’m just gonna say it.” Rummaging through her bag, eyes fixed on it, it’s something to do with her hands. “Gene told me about your… your thing,” Finding the bundle of toiletries, she holds them out. Tommy looks up at her, conflicted.

“He did?”  An echo, probably trying to scramble for words, an explanation probably. “I know it’s—”

“Brave,” Daisy finishes quickly, giving what she hopes is a supportive smile. “I mean it would’ve been nice to know earlier, of course. I probably would've done more. But it’s brave,” She presses the products into the other girl’s chest unceremoniously. “I also managed to snatch these from the field hospital. I don’t know how yours are fitting but they might be a little more comfortable.” The standard issue underwear that they gave to the combat nurses, which was probably a better fit.

Tommy takes those too, holding them in her hands and then lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, Lieutenant Clarke,” Something about her seems to shrink, and Daisy just smiles.

“Don’t you go getting shy on me now. It was Daisy all those days in the woods, none of that has to change.” She insists. Tommy lets out a small chuckle, like she’s loosening up again, which is a pleasant sight to bear witness to. He may not have been as loud about it as Bill or Joe — but she knew Tommy was there and keeping an eye on her like everybody else.

“Zena McGlamery. Or Zenie,” she says after a moment, when they lapse into an easier silence. “That’s my actual name.” And to that, Daisy smiles — a piece of her being given over voluntarily. Daisy mutters the name under her breath once, to commit it to memory, then nods before reaching to muss up some of Zenie’s hair.

“We’ll stick with Tommy ‘till it’s just us again.” And Zenie rolls her eyes, trying to duck out of Daisy’s hand. “Pretty name though.”

When Zenie smiles at the compliment, Daisy isn’t sure how she could’ve missed something like this before. But the more she dwells on it, she concludes that it doesn’t really matter — Tommy and Zenie were evidently, one in the same, and that’s all that really mattered to her.

#. sbt’s one year #poet’s mail box #*poet writes #ch: daisy clarke #yeah this was almost 1k words #can we tell im going a little buckwild? #shifty watch out before the nurse steals your girlfriend