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ireadwithmyears · 6 months

Text

address the letters: “to the holes in my butterfly wings”

pairing: Kix and GN padawan reader (platonic)

Word count, guys it’s basically 10 K 💀bc apparently I am in capable of writing anything short.

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of blood and injury, medical procedures

summary:

In which, the CMO of Torrent Company discovers that you, a Padawan under his care have been hiding injuries and skipping medical checks, and now must take care of you as you suffer the consequences of your actions.

Also known as

Why you should never hide an injury from Kix. he will find out, and he will drag you off to the medbay so that he can take care of whatever mess you’ve made of yourself, scolding you all the wile.

“Look what I found on my bunk.”

You’re interrupted from eating your sandwich in the Cantina when Fives plops down beside you at the table, setting down a tray of food and waving a pink slip of paper in your face.

You’re about to tell him that “Can’t you see that you’re eating and get this paper out of my face,” when your eyes catch on three words written in bold text across the top of the page.

Mandatory vaccination updates.

The sandwich, that up until this point has been the absolute centre of your attention, listen, you’re fighting a war and you have to appreciate any opportunity that you get to eat food that isn’t bland ration bars, drops out of your suddenly limp hand as you snatch up the paper, now very interested in the contents.

“When did you get this?” you ask slowly, you’re voice distracted, beginning to chew on your lower lip, already feeling the nervous coil in your stomach.

“When I came back to my bunk after the debriefing we had this afternoon. Apparently everyone got one. I bet you 10 credits that your master is going to pretend that he didn’t see it, and try and avoid it until Kix has to tear apart the ship looking for him and drag him to the medbay.” Fives chuckles.

Master Skywalker’s reputation for trying to avoid the medbay at all costs is widely known throughout Torrent Company..

“Kix is going to have a field day. I’ll give it to general Skywalker, he has some creative hiding places,” he continues, eyes lighting up at the memory of Anakin, half hazardously crammed into a supply closet, folded in an impressive, yet uncomfortable looking position as he forced his unwitting tall limbs to fit in the cramped space.

Unfortunately for Kix, your masters habit of avoiding the medbay whenever possible has rubbed off on you, though, you don’t think it’s for the same reason. Your avoidance stems from a place of fear, and, okay, a stubborn insistence that you can take care of yourself, which yes, definitely like master, like apprentice.

But that also stems from a fear. You’re determined to prove yourself, especially being a young Padawan working with those who are much more experienced than you. You don’t want to risk being taken off the field because of some stupid injury, and letting those who rely on you down, especially your master, who’s always bouncing back and getting up and ready to take on whatever is next regardless of what kind of peril he’s just come out of. You want, you need, to prove that just because you’re a Padawan, you’re not a liability, but an asset. You can be strong and resilient like master Skywalker.

So, you avoid. You dodge and you ignore and you pretend not to notice when the routine medical check dates come and go without your attendance. You know it’s only a matter of time before Kix gets on your ass about it. You’re surprised that you’ve kept it up this long. But, this only bolsters your confidence in being able to avoid another successfully.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, setting the paper back down on the table before you run off into the crowd.

Sure enough, there is an identical slip of paper that’s been placed on your bunk. But conveniently, Jedi master Aayla Secura is going on a diplomatic mission to amid rim planet in a last ditch effort to try and convince them not to secede from the republic during the date that’s listed on the page when you’re scheduled for your vaccinations.

Earlier this morning, master Skywalker had asked if you had wanted to join this mission, saying that it would give you a break from being on the frontlines, and it would be easy enough to arrange, as master Secura would rendezvous with the 501st before she departed.

This morning, you had turned him down, listing several reasons as to why you needed to stay with the 501st. Your troops needed you, diplomatic missions were boring anyways, and you didn’t think that you would be of much help to the experienced and capable master Secura, who was a formidable diplomat in her own right. You didn’t think you would be able to add anything of particular value to the conversation, at least nothing that master Secura wouldn’t be able to say much more eloquently and better.

Now though, the only thing that’s running through your mind is the fear of needles and the dread of going into the medbay and that’s enough to make you reconsider everything you had said.

When you tell master Skywalker that you’ve changed your mind, and would actually like to accompany Aayla on her mission, he’s slightly confused considering you had been so adamant that you were needed here only just a few hours ago.

But, he knows that as a Jedi, you need diplomatic experience. Experience that, before the war, would be very easy for Padawan’s to come by. He knows that you don’t have nearly as much as you should.

These are unprecedented times, though, and Padawan’s being trained during an active war is not ideal. He wants for you to be well-rounded. He has hope that your future won’t always involve war at the centre of it, and any opportunity that you get to learn how to be a keeper of peace should always be encouraged, especially during these times.

So he gives in pretty easily, and when master Secura arrives, you happily join her. When the ramp of the ship seals behind you and you’re sitting with her in the cockpit, the warm relief that flows through your bones is palpable.

“Success,” you think to yourself triumphantly.

Your triumph, however glorious it might have felt in the moment, is short-lived.

In spite of the fact that some old injuries, that you honestly thought you had done a pretty good job at taking care of yourself, were starting to aggravate you again, the unexpected joy and relief that weaved itself through the force, openly shared between you and master Secura, surrounded you like a warm blanket, protecting you from feeling the things that hurt you.

The planet you had just visited had agreed to stay with the republic, after a tense three days of debate between its political factions. The victory Was a surprise, considering how vehemently the opposition pushed to secede, but it was not unwelcome.

Aayla’s T-6 shuttle docks in the hanger bay of the much larger 501st transport. As you wait for the doors to open and the ramp to fold down before you, you’re still riding on that high, feeling, for the first time in a long time, the thrill of a success. One that you are unable to feel on the frontlines, because even when your battles result in a victory, you are surrounded by so much death and violence that in the end, you don’t really feel like celebrating.

You’ll never admit it to your master, but privately, you think to yourself that maybe diplomatic missions aren’t as boring as you thought they were. You were able to help resolve a conflict, peacefully, without even having to brush your fingers against the hilt of your lightsaber, which, nowadays, is becoming more and more of a rare occurrence. But it’s what Jedi do, or at least, what they’re supposed to do, so you have to embrace the gratitude of the experience you just had, and try and take it with you going forward.

Your thoughts are preoccupied with these ideas swirling around your head, so you don’t see him until you’re stepping out onto the ramp of the T-6, descending into the hectic and busy as usual crowds of the hanger bay.

When you do, though, you stop dead, and your heart begins to race.

Shit.

Directly in front of you, at the bottom of the ramp, stands Kix.

One look at his expression, and your stomach flips.

His lips are set in a thin, unreadable line, his brow creased as he observes you with pinpoint focus. Stern, brown eyes observe your every movement. There’s no question that the second you step off the ramp, he’s going to pounce on you like a cat seizing a mouse.

He stands at attention, body forced into an unbending straight line, such positions you mostly see on the shiny’s, new troopers who are freshly trained during their first days out on the field. His hands are placed on his hips, the position that he assumes before he’s about to give someone, it’s usually your master who you’ve seen it directed at, the lecture of their life.

“Keep moving,” your brain supplies. “Act nonchalant, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll be fine.”

You feel your feet hit solid ground, and your speed picks up, all along, your brain is screaming at you to move. It’s weird how now that he’s standing in front of you, every injury you’ve accumulated over the past weeks is beginning to hit you, all comfort and protection that the force has been giving you to keep you going rapidly vanishing with each step you take.

The uncomfortable angle that your shoulder is sitting at, the pulling of stitches in your leg as you increase your speed. It throbs and aches with sudden abandon. But your fists clench, and you do your best not to falter under Kix’s unwavering scrutiny, just knowing that he’s looking for any flicker of weakness, any sign of pain that registers on your face.

“Just keep going, and maybe, you’ll be able to slip past...”

He steps in front of you, reaching an arm out to easily intercept your path. He says your name, in a tone that breaches absolutely no room for trying to ignore it.

You jump, startled in spite of yourself. He’s effectively got you cornered, and seeing that there’s no way out of this, Your nerves begin to skyrocket, raising like the sound of alarm bells in your head. You look up, eyes meeting his unwaveringly stern expression, And suddenly, you wish that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

He looks down at you, and he must see something in your disposition that belies your true feelings, because though his face remains set, his eyes somewhat soften, and when he next speaks, his voice is quiet but firm.

“Come with me, please. I need to see you in the medbay.” Though he’s phrased it as a request, you know that it is an order, and one that you must follow.

As a medic for the GAR, and this is something that you’ve heard him say to many a complaining troopers being escorted to the medbay when they don’t want to go, it is well within his rights to exercise such authority and make these orders. Because when it comes to the health and safety of every 501st personnel, whether you’re a Jedi general, commander, or Padawan, Kix immediately outranks you.

You look down at the floor, suddenly finding the marks that are speckled across it very interesting, and mumble a defeated and quiet “Yes sir.”

When he turns, and you hesitate to follow, he lets out a gentle sigh, moving to place a hand on the small of your back. His voice is low, but reassuring as he ushers you forward.

“Come on, kid, you’re okay,” he breathes, and in spite of the fact that you’re still thinking that jumping out of an airlock would be better than this, your feet, still unwilling, but the slightest bit reassured, begin to move.

Coric giving you a subtle pitying glance as he’s reading over a patient’s chart when Kix escorts you into the medbay makes you want to vomit.

Between the two medics, Kix has the reputation of being a hardass because he’s the CMO. Make no mistake, you do not want to get on either of their bad sides. But, given the choice between the two right now, you think you’re more equipped to handle Coric, who can usually be counted on to soften the blow a bit, with enough pleading glances and apologies.

Your eyes flit to the door that you’ve just passed through, because stupidly, your brain is still trying to make the calculations that if you can just duck out of Kix’s grasp for two seconds, you’d be able to make a run for it.

Unbeknownst to you, however, both medics have been carefully observing your every movement since you’ve entered. Coric, remaining completely calm and at ease, rises to his feet, moving swiftly to stand in the doorway in several long strides. He casually leans against the frame, arms folded.

“Don’t even think about it, baby Jedi. Your master has attempted the same thing you are considering, and he has always failed,” he says, keeping his voice light and non-threatening, making it clear that you need to give up on your fantasy of bolting out of here, but also not trying to scare you off..

You’re just beginning to wonder how the kriff they were able to read you so easily, with one covert glance determining that you were about to bolt when Kix removes his hand from the small of your back, instead, fingers coming to gently grip your shoulder.

The change in his hold is obvious. He is fully prepared for if you try to run. He gives your shoulder a squeeze, in what you interpret as a warning not to.

Unfortunately, he’s just touched on an injury, you’re not entirely sure what you did, but you messed up your shoulder the last time you were on the field, and even the slight pressure elicits a sharp intake of breath that you’re unable to stop from escaping your lips, and that immediately has the attention of both medics laser focussed on you.

Kix’s anticipation evaporates and quickly melts into concern. Carefully, so carefully, he turns you to face him, keen eyes sharp as they analyze your face.

“Hey,” he calls softly, waiting for you to look at him. “Tell me where it hurts,” he says, so gently that it makes your eyes burn with shame. You look down at your feet.

“That’s uh... that’s, a loaded question,” you admit sheepishly, trying to keep your tone light and joking, in spite of the fact that now that you’re thinking about it, the list of injuries you’ve sustained without reporting to the medbay is a lengthy one, and might make Kix have a stroke.

Kix lets out a controlled, slow breath, eyes momentarily finding the ceiling as he silently begs the stars to give him strength.

“Kaysh Mirsh solus,” he mutters to himself.

You’ve heard Kix toss that phrase around the medbay on multiple occasions, and though you’re uncertain of what it actually means, he usually brings it out when one of his brothers has done something that he would consider incredibly stupid, which is often.

Coric makes a noise of agreement. “It appears that our stupidly self-sacrificing general has passed on his stupid self sacrificing behaviour onto his apprentice,” he groans. “Will we ever know a day of peace?”

Kix looks back down at you, his expression calm and restrained. “Come on, then, let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” moving his hand to your uninjured shoulder, he steers you both further into the medbay.

Your eyes don’t leave the ground, but you can hear the sound of a privacy curtain being pulled shut around the cubicle that Kix has brought you to.

When an eerily familiar pink slip of paper is being held up in front of your downcast eyes, you cringe, Arms wrapping around yourself in defence

You can’t even pretend that you haven’t seen it before, because the words mandatory vaccination updates have been circling around your brain the whole time you were out on your last mission.

“Do you know why the GAR enforces these?” Kix begins, and his voice is too measured and calm.

You lift a brow, questioning. Does he seriously expect you to answer this? Isn’t the answer obvious?

“Uh... so that we don’t get sick?” You answer, uncertain as to what he’s getting at.

He nods, his face displaying a slight flicker of approval. “Yes, that is one reason as to why, and it’s an acceptable one,” he acknowledges. His frown deepens as he continues. “However, one must look at the much larger picture, at every personnel aboard this ship. The most important reason why mandatory vaccinations are enforced is so that we can avoid many people getting sick and spreading illness to the rest of the crew, so that we may remain fully functional and operational, continuing to serve and protect the people of the republic.”

You squirm beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. You’re starting to see where he’s going with this, and it’s incredibly discomforting.

“I would’ve thought, that as a Jedi, you would be able to more easily see this bigger picture than most others,” he observes mildly. “After all, I know, and I’m sure everyone who spends a considerable amount of time with you can see that there is so much compassion and care for others within your very nature.”

His voice is so genuine, laced with such real kindness in his tone that it makes your eyes sting. Your heart constricts, because he’s just pointed out something that you hadn’t even considered in your selfish haste to avoid this.

By avoiding your vaccinations, you have put every member of the 501st who works with you in danger.

Your arms wrap tighter around yourself, and you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere but at the pristine white floor beneath your feet.

Kix senses that he’s hit a mark, and his voice gentles considerably. “I also understand that you are young, and still learning to see the bigger picture and how your actions can affect those around you.”

“I, I didn’t, I was scared and I just I didn’t think about...” your voice trembles as you try to answer, tumbling out in a rush of words that race as quickly as your heart.

“I understand, and it is perfectly reasonable for you to feel that way,” he keeps his voice level and measured. “However,” he continues, and you know what he’s about to say even before he says it. “We still have to face the things that scare us. If you had simply told me how you were feeling, we would have figured out a way to navigate it.” His face is reassuring when you dare to glance up from the floor that you’ve been resolutely staring at for this whole conversation.

“We still will figure out the best way to proceed. However, these vaccination updates are very low on my priority list of concerns when it comes to you, compared to this,” and he holds up a datapad, displaying medical records with your name typed neatly across the top.

The last several appointment entries are highlighted in red, indicating that you did not attend any of them.

“Do I need to remind you that these appointments are not optional. Any member of Torrent Company who goes out on the field must report to the medbay upon return for examination, as well as attend our regular medical checks to ensure that you are fit for active duty.” It’s clear from the tone of his voice that this is a lecture that he is very practised in delivering.

You lift your head, finally looking directly at him. He’s already made you admit a fear that you desperately wanted to keep to yourself. You try and summon what remains of your dignity.

“What do you want me to say, Kix?” There’s a hint of defiance in your voice.

“Do you want me to admit that I avoided these because I had injuries that I didn’t want you to know about? Because yes, the truth is that I did.” Your eyes level with his as you try to make him understand.

“I was scared of the medical procedures, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” You snap, not particularly annoyed with him, but more annoyed at the fact that your answers sound so stupid out loud.

“But I was more scared of the fact that you were probably going to take me off the field, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t let that happen. My master was relying on me. Everyone was relying on me, and I couldn’t let them down.” You try to shrug off his concern with a dismissive wave of your hand. “Besides, I’ve been doing fine,” you say evasively.

Kix does not rise to the bate of your seeming anger. He’s much too practised and controlled to let it affect him. He also has the uncanny ability to look at someone, and see everything, read through their feelings, whether they’ve been acknowledged or not, and understand them. So, even though you’re trying to push him away, with what at first glance appears to be frustration, underneath it all, he can tell that it’s just as plainly fear.

He meets your storm filled eyes unflinchingly, levelling you with a look that is equal parts stern and unwavering, and equal parts concerned and filled with compassion. It makes your insides twist with guilt, and you want to look away, but you can’t bring yourself to as he speaks, his voice calm but steely.

“Are you fine?” he asks, an eyebrow raising as he tilts his head to look at you, his gaze clinical, assessing, even as you just stand there in front of him.

. “I already know that there’s something wrong with your shoulder. But aside from that, I’ve been observing you since you got off your transport. The way you move is slow and careful, not at all like the usual way you dash around the ship. Even now, you’re hesitating to put much weight on your right leg.” He ticks off the things he’s noticed on his fingers like a list.

“Apart from the fact that skipping these mandatory appointments have consequences. If you had kept this up, I would’ve had to bring this to our superiors, that includes the Jedi council,” he gives you a pointed look, even the mention of the high Council makes you shiver. in your experience, whenever you and your master have been summoned to speak with the council, it’s always to be reprimanded, and never good.

. “You could have been Court-martialed,” he says, knowing that his words will hit the severity of the situation home.

You falter, stepping back as you feel your eyes go wide. “Court-martialed?” you breathe, feeling the blood draining from your face.

He gently takes your arm, guiding you to sit on a bed as he continues, voice softening. “It is very clear that you are hiding injuries, and though I can understand why, in premise, You did this, the reality is that this will begin to affect your performance in battle. It will not just affect you. You will put yourself, as well as the entirety of the people you are leading, in danger. People could get hurt. You could get hurt. Because you would be putting not just yourself, but others, in unnecessary danger, your ability to be in the position of a commander could be called into serious question by your superiors, and for good reason”

As much as he keeps his voice low and calm, you can sense that he’s disappointed in the way that you’ve handled yourself. Your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek, forcing the tears that prick at the back of your eyes to not fall. You hate disappointing people, and the fact that you’ve managed to disappoint Kix, one of the kindest people you know, makes you want to curl up into a ball and never show your face in public again.

“And that, the safety of yourself, and everyone aboard this ship, is my priority. It is much more important to me than having to report to any superior. The fact that you hold your safety, and by extension, the safety of those around you, with such blatant disregard, is what concerns me the most, and that is what I need you to understand.”

There’s a certain gravity in his voice that you’ve never heard before, but it slams into your chest and hits you like a ton of bricks. The implications of what you’ve been doing, of what could have happened to those around you, to his brothers, because of your inability to face your fears begin to swirl around your head with a rapidity that makes your heart race.

These thoughts come unbidden, and too fast for you to process. The tears, that you’ve been so desperately trying to push back, spring free and begin to fall down your cheeks, unprompted, slowly, and silently. You don’t have time to stop them from coming.

Kix knows that he’s been very direct, and very blunt with you, deciding that this would be the only way to get through to you. He hates having to do it, though. Kix considers himself to be a fairly good judge of character, and he knows that you have such a caring, gentle heart and strong presence wherever you go. So, watching you break in front of him like this pains him.

Your breath hitches in an unsteady gasp as you look up at him, tears blurring your vision.

“I’m sorry, Ori’vod,” your lip trembles as your voice breaks, wanting to curl in on yourself. “Ni ceta,” you get out in barely a choked whisper.

But he hears you, and it breaks him.

You’ve never referred to him as ori’vod before, and the idea that you consider him as such, as a big brother, awakens his protective, instinctive nature to gather you close and keep you safe from harm.

His Vod, mostly his batchmate, Jesse, calls it his mother hen instincts.

He can’t help it, though. Your voice, sounding so much smaller than he’s ever heard it, trembling and filled with tears, has broken what’s left of his resolve, and gently, very gently, mindful of the fact that you’re injured, he takes you into his arms, holding you close to him. Your head buries against his shoulder, and he easily cradles you there, feeling every sharp intake of breath as you cry.

“Oh, adika, shh,” he soothes, hand coming up to gently stroke your hair as he continues to speak softly to you. “You’re okay, I promise, everything is going to be alright. I’ve got you, we are going to sort this out.”

“Well,” he says, reading over the results of the medical scan he’s just performed. Would you believe me if I told you that a dislocated shoulder is the least of your concerns?”

Your eyes find the ceiling, and you exhale a slow breath before asking, “how bad?”

He keeps his voice neutral as he relays the results of the scan to you. “According to your last medical check, you were diagnosed with Iron deficiency anemia, not incredibly uncommon, what with our limited access to rations and food with the proper nutrients,” his brow creases as he continues. “However, preliminary scans indicate that your haemoglobin levels haven’t much improved.”

He gives you a look.“You have been taking the supplement you were prescribed?” he asks, in a way that makes you suspicious that he already knows that the answer is no.

You avoid looking at him. “I was, but they kept making my stomach feel queasy all day, so I stopped.”

Kix Lets out a long suffering sigh. “An issue that we easily could have rectified by changing your treatment plan if you had just let us know,” he scolds. “Nonetheless, I’d like to do a blood test to get exact confirmation of those levels and see how bad the numbers are so that we can Start getting them back up to baseline.”

Your stomach does a flip and you cringe silently at the mention of a blood test.

Kix continues, consulting the scan results that are displayed on a datapad. “You’ve got untreated burns on your fingers.” He raises a curious eyebrow at you and your cheeks flush.

“They weren’t entirely untreated, I put them under running water,” you try to argue. The unimpressed look he gives you stops you dead in your tracks.

“It wasn’t entirely my fault,” you defend. “I was fixing one of the starfighters that got hit during our last airstrike. I got R2 to help me with the repairs but he wasn’t listening to my instructions. He crossed two of the wrong wires and caused the circuitboard to spark.”

“And that is why you should never ask R2 for help,” he says with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Those burns weren’t given time to heal, and the fact that you’re constantly wielding a lightsaber has exacerbated them. I will apply a burn ointment to them that should take away the pain and speed the process of healing.”

He fixes you with a look.

“The most concerning thing is The blaster wound on the front of your right calf. Really, vod, you should know that injuries being treated and stitched up on the field, especially when not done by a medic, always should be looked over by a medic as soon as possible, due to the unsanitary environment that they were performed in.”

“Tup did his best to stitch it,” you say, feeling the need to defend the brother who, in spite of the fact that he was not a medic, sutured you up as you took cover from separatist battle droids.

“I don’t doubt that he did. I was the instructor who took every single one of the troopers on this ship through their mandatory medical courses, and I did not let them pass without proving that they were adequately able to handle emergency first aid on the field. However, it still remains that you’ve picked up an infection, and to treat it, the sutures will have to be removed, the wound reopened, and extraction of the infected tissue, as well as a course of both IV and oral antibiotics to clear up anything that remains.”

You stare at him, your eyes growing wide with horror as he explains. “How?” You ask, alarmed.

He senses your nerves and leans forward, taking your hand and running his thumb along the back of it reassuringly. “This is a surgical procedure, performed under general anesthesia.”

You flinch at his words, and your fingers tighten around his with anxiety, needing something to hold onto.

“I know that sounds scary, especially if you’ve never been put under before. But I promise, this is a fairly common operation. Me and Coric will both be here making sure that you’re okay the whole time.” he continues to stroke his thumb along the backs of your knuckles.

“Let’s take this one step at a time, though. We’ll take care of the things that are manageable, first,” he says, giving you an encouraging smile.

“Hey uh...” you say nervously, watching with anxiety fluttering in your stomach as Kix ties a band just above your elbow, prepping you for the blood draw. The way the band tightens, restricts and squeezes around your arm Makes you feel trapped. You hate it.

“I have... I’ve had, issues in the past when it comes to these,” you say awkwardly, not knowing how to explain.

Kix only looks up at you, raising a perceptive brow. “Are you referring to your predisposition of fainting whenever a blood draw is performed?” he asks, completely unfazed.

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows in questioning. “Don’t worry, Coric already has this listed in your file. I’m going to get you to lie down when we do it.”

He has the sensitivity and grace not to mention the fact that he also knows this because he walked into the medbay to find Coric absolutely tearing into a junior medic for letting you leave too soon after you had gotten a blood draw, resulting in you crumpling to the floor in a faint right outside of the medbay doors.

At your continued staring, he adds, his voice softening. “It’s a normal reaction, that likely is exacerbated because of your low haemoglobin levels. There’s nothing wrong with you, Vod’ika.” he reassures, gently guiding you to lay down on the bed. “Now, just lay down for me, and we’ll get this over with quickly, and if you faint, you faint. It happens, no big deal, I’ll be right here regardless.”

And because you’re you, you do faint.

The needle itself is always not as bad as you anticipate it being. The Sting, though prominent, is small and quick and over before you have time to fixate on it.

It’s only when he’s pressing a cotton swab into the crook of your arm, encouraging you to keep it in place while he puts a Band-Aid over top, that you register the familiar feeling of drowsiness, vision blurring and ears beginning to ring, that always comes before you pass out.

You think that you might give him some indication, some warning, because he’s removing your hand from where it’s been pressing against the cotton round, replacing it with his own, much more steady one. Everything around you is muffled, and it’s jarring, but in a way that is too far away from your immediate concerns to really react to it.

When you come to, he’s pressing a cool, damp cloth to the back of your neck, other hand gently stroking hair away from your forehead. His voice fades back into your consciousness, a stream of gentle, soothing words as your eyes flutter open.

The feeling of the cloth cools your heated skin, and the hand gently running through your hair brings your senses back to focus, grounding you.

“Easy, adika, i’m right here, you’re safe,” he brushes his fingers against your cheek, and when you react, leaning into his touch, he gives you a small smile. “That’s it, there we go, you’re back. Everything’s good,” he soothes, gently stalling your movement when you attempt to sit up.

“Not right now, vod, stay down for a few more minutes. I’ve already got the blood work running through the scanner, and we should have its results quickly, okay.” You give him a small nod, still not really having the energy to do much else. You close your eyes, taking deep breaths as you come back to yourself, and when the scanner beeps, indicating that it completed its diagnostics, you jump slightly.

Kix moves over to check it as you slowly sit up. “Okay, so, your numbers are definitely not nearly where they should be he says, clearly unimpressed.

“But, Once we have taken care of your more serious injuries, will start you with an iron infusion delivered through an IV before transitioning back to pills. Don’t worry, we’ll have you on a much smaller dosage so that we can hopefully circumvent the discomfort you had in your stomach,” he says with optimism, which makes you feel slightly better about the fact that he’s just mentioned an IV. You’re not given much time to fixate on it, though, because he’s already turning away from the scanner, moving back to you.

“Let’s not worry about that right now, though. We have enough problems having to deal with the mess That you’ve made of yourself. I will do my best to resist calling you a di’kut as much as possible,” he says, hands on his hips, and in spite of yourself, it actually makes you laugh.

You didn’t realize how sore and irritated the burns on your hands were until you couldn’t hold back the audible sigh of relief that fell from your lips as soon as Kix began applying the burn cream to them. The pain instantly vanished, leaving a pleasant, cooling sensation behind. He wrapped small bacta patches around your injured fingers, explaining that it would make sure that the healing process was unimpeded by the outside environment.

That was easy, quick, painless.

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a completely different matter. As soon as Kix touches it, as gentle as he can be, it flares with pain, and your muscles tense, which just makes it worse.

“I don’t know how you’ve been functioning with this for as long as you have,” he comments dryly. When his fingers press against the bone, assessing the damage with a practised familiarity, you cry out, eyes squeezing shut.

“Haar’chak,” you grit out, as behind you, Kix preps a syringe with local anesthetic.

“Which one of my di’kut brothers taught you curse words in Mandoa?” he asks, beginning to disinfect the injection site.

You flinch at the cold and your cheeks flush. “Shit, you weren’t supposed to hear that. I can’t tell you that, I made a promise.”

“Did you now?” he asks, fighting the amused smirk that plays on his lips. “Well, whoever it was, you might as well put your skills that they taught you to use.”

You look at him from over your shoulder, eyebrows raising in confusion.

He explains, “I need to give you an injection of local anaesthetic so that it takes the edge off of resetting your shoulder correctly. I know those aren’t your favourite , so, I am making a deal with you. Let me do this, and I give you free rein to throw whatever Mandoa insult my brothers have taught you at me, no consequences. Is that fair?”

The unimpressed look you’re giving at the syringe turns to surprise, then, slowly, a smile spreads across your face and you nod, quickly looking away from it. “Deal,” you accept, your voice still shaky with nerves but determined.

“Okay, deep breath for me,” He waits for you to inhale. “Perfect, now, on the exhale, give me that insult with all of your might. Ready?”

He waits for you to nod, then prompts you to exhale as he administers the anaesthetic into the back of your shoulder.

“Osi’yaim, that hurt, you di’kut,” what should be just a little pinch to your already injured shoulder makes you cry out the words, and you swear you can hear the familiar sound of Coric laughing from the other side of the medbay.

Your cheeks flush, you did not intend to be that loud. But you don’t apologize, either, and Kix only gives you a rueful grin, nodding in understanding.

As you wait for the anaesthetic to settle, Kix warns, “I’m gonna be honest, kid, because of how long you’ve left this injury to sit, even with the anesthetic, setting it is still going to hurt.”

You close your eyes, grimacing, before nodding with a sigh. “Do your worst,” you say, bracing yourself.

He lays a reassuring hand on your uninjured shoulder. “I need you relaxed, adika,” he says gently. “Trust me, it will only hurt more if you tense like that,” he continues, gently encouraging your shoulder downward with his hand.

“Easy, now. I want you to give me some good deep breath’s. In,” he inhales deeply, holding for a few seconds, “and out,” he lets his breath go in a controlled, slow stream of air.

He waits for you to copy, giving you a few breaths to settle into it as he prepares himself. “Perfect, just like that, keep it up, you’ve got this,” he keeps up the stream of encouraging words as carefully, but firmly, he rotates your arm, guiding your dislocated shoulder back into its proper place with one precise movement.

The sudden flare of pain, even dulled as it is by the anesthetic, takes your breath away momentarily, your vision instantly blurring with tears. When it clears,Kix has shifted to standing in front of you, gently wiping them away with his thumbs.

“Well done, vod’ika, you were so brave,” his words make you want to cry more, because you didn’t think you were brave. You thought that being brave meant confidence, at all times, and not letting other people see your vulnerability. You can’t fully understand it, but, now, you’re beginning to think that maybe your initial idea of bravery was wrong.

Your lip wobbles as you speak, “W what now?” you look up at him with wide, still watery eyes.

He gently strokes your hair. “Now, I’m going to get Coric, and you,” he playfully taps your nose, “are going to take a much-needed nap, if the bags under your eyes are any indication, while we take care of that leg wound.”

It sounds simple enough.

Kix explains the procedure while Coric preps you for surgery, making sure all your vitals are stable. As he wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, he tells you that that’s essentially his job while he’s in here. Throughout the surgery, he will monitor your vitals and make sure that they remain at safe levels.

“I’m going to remove the sutures, clean the wound, remove the infected tissue, pack the wound with saline soaked dressings, then bandage it back up so that it can heal. It goes without saying that you’re going to be off the field for at least a week. You’ll need to stay here so that we can continue to monitor your recovery as well as change the dressings often. You will also need to undergo a course of IV antibiotics to kill off any lingering infection. This will also give us time to get your haemoglobin levels back up with an infusion.”

Your eyes close tightly as anxiety knots your stomach. “Oh, force, a week? But, my master needs me,” you protest.

When your eyes open again, both medics are fixing you with equally stern looks. “Your master needs you to be safe, and healthy,” says Coric, frowning, as he carefully attaches a pulse oximeter to one of your fingers.

“If you want to be back on the field as soon as possible, you will take this week of recovery. If you want to argue with me about it, I will make it longer. A week is the absolute minimum,” Kix says, arms folded across his chest, wearing his signature “i’m the chief medical officer, you have no authority here,” expression.

You visibly deflate, reminding yourself that you pick and choose your battles, and picking and choosing a battle with two medics who are very competent at dealing with very stubborn Jedi would be a very stupid idea.

You can’t help yourself, and in spite of the fact that you shouldn’t, you stare as Kix preps your wrist for an IV line.

Sensing you’re mounting anxiety as your eyes nervously flit around, watching Kix’s Every move, Coric gently takes your other hand, squeezing when your eyes don’t immediately look at him. When you finally tear your eyes away from what Kix is doing, Coric is wearing a mischievous smile on his face. “So, Vod’ika, who taught you how to curse in Mandoa?” he asks, raising a curious brow.

You only scoff, rolling your eyes. “Kix already tried to find out. What makes you think that I’m going to tell that secret to you?”

“I’ve already got my suspicions. My moneys on Echo or Fives.” he gives you a wounded look, “I thought you would tell me, because I’m obviously your favourite.”

Kix uses this conversation to quickly insert the IV into a vein on your wrist. Reacting to the small pinch, your fingers instinctively tighten around Coric’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“You’re definitely my favourite now,” you grumble, giving Kix a sidelong glare.

He gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Vod, i’m going to run the medication through the line now. It will act quickly, and when you wake up, this will be all done with.”

You nod, biting your lip nervously. Coric notices, giving your hand another gentle squeeze. “Hey, kid, I know you’ve heard Kix say kaysh mirsh solus all the time. Do you know what it means?”

You look at him with curiosity, shaking your head.

“Well, essentially it means they are stupid or foolish. But, the literal translation is even more direct .” Coric gives you a conspiratorial smile.

“What is it?” You ask as he leans forward.

“The literal translation means their braincell is lonely,” he says, completely serious.

You feel a smile pulling up the corners of your lips and a surprised laugh falls from them.

You feel the medication beginning to enter your system, but you’re so busy laughing that you can’t bring yourself to care. “You better not be bullshitting me,” you threaten,“or I...” you let out a yawn.

“I swear to the force, I,” your eyes begin to flutter and you yawn again, shrugging.

“I’ll think about it later,” you mumble sleepily, before promptly passing out, smile still lighting up your face.

Your leg hurts.

That’s the first thing you become aware of as Kix is gently encouraging you to open your eyes.

“Come on, adika, open your eyes for me,” he says softly, fingers gently brushing against your cheek to bring you back to awareness.

“But it hurts, and I wanna go back to sleep,” you wine, blinking sleepily up at him.

“Ni ceta, vod’ika,” he soothes, fingers gently caressing your forehead in an apology. “I know it hurts, and you can go back to sleep soon, I promise,”

He glances at something that you can’t see, giving a small nod,“Vitals look good, the anaesthesia is wearing off nicely, and it doesn’t appear to have affected them too much. Let’s up that IV dosage,” Kix speaks to Coric, who moves to adjust your IV out of your eyeline.

Your leg throbs, and you let out a stifled whimper, hand reaching down, trying to at least find the source of your pain when Kix catches it in his, gently stalling your movements. “Let’s leave that alone for now, vod’ika. Coric is just increasing your pain med intake, that will make it better. Then you can sleep,”

At the continued expression of pain on your face, he lets go of your hand, fingers gently playing with your hair as he instructs, “nice and easy, adika, deep breath‘s for me, everything’s okay.”

You don’t believe him at first, but slowly, things become okay. The pain quickly fades and dulls , breathing becomes easier, and your eyes begin to flutter. All the while, Kix continues holding his vigil at your bedside, fingers continuing to gently run through your hair until you fall into a natural sleep.

When you properly wake up next, the first thing you notice is that your leg doesn’t hurt anymore.

Whatever pain meds Kix has got you hooked up to are very effective, and your lips pull into a relieved smile.

The second thing you notice, when you glance around to get your bearings, is the face of your very concerned captain, Rex, at your bedside. You blink slowly, yawning. Although the anaesthetic has worn off, the pain meds still have you feeling like you’re in a fog, and your brain is working pretty slowly.

“When did you get here?” you ask, confused.

“I came straight here after you never reported to the bridge for today’s debriefing. The general said that you would be back today, and it’s unlike you to miss or forget about meetings,” he explains, looking at you, relieved to see you awake, but a flicker of concern still lingering in his eyes.

“Osik, sorry, Rex, I got myself into a bit of a bind over here,” you gesture to the IV that you’re hooked up to, chuckling a little.

“So I heard, don’t worry about it, kid. There wasn’t much to report, anyways.” His head tilts, and he raises a questioning eyebrow.“Who taught you how to curse in Mandoa, vod’ika?” he asks, keeping his voice light.

If you weren’t under the influence of pretty heavy duty pain medication‘s, you would have restraint, you would have thought before you opened your mouth. But for Rex, it was his lucky day.

you smirk, “good old Hardcase taught me everything I know,” you say with pride, smiling fondly at the memory.

Rex carefully files that information away so that he can scold Hardcase for that once he leaves. But he carefully keeps his face neutral.

His face grows serious. “Kix told me about all the medical appointments you’ve missed and the injuries that you’ve been covering up,” his voice is stern, every bit the commanding officer that he is in front of the troops. It makes you nervous, and you swallow, looking away from him.

“I swear to the force, if you ever pull something like that again, I will find out about it, and I’ll drag you to the medbay myself, even if it means chasing you around the ship and stunning you if I have to. do you realize how much danger you were in? How much danger you put others in? That was extremely reckless of you, commander. I’m very disappointed in your actions, and it will not happen again, do you understand?”

Your hazy memory recalls the conversation you had with Kix earlier, about this very thing, and for some reason, it hits even harder seeing the disappointment, worry and concern etched on the face of the normally composed captain.

Without prompting, you find yourself bursting into tears.

Later, you’ll blame the pain meds on your inability to keep a grip on your emotions. But right now, all you can do is think about the people, the brothers, you could have hurt, the things that could’ve happened because of you, and the tears just fall down your face, streaming from your eyes, falling down your cheeks, into your ears, dampening your hair.

.“I I’m sorry Captain I I didn’t I,” you gasp out, trying to explain, but your brain is still foggy, only clinging onto the hazy images of loss and pain due to your inability to act fast enough.

There’s a reason why people are convinced that Kix has eyes on the back of his head. Working as the highest ranking medic in the 501st has trained him to be hyper observant of all of his patients, even if he isn’t at their bedside.

So, even though he’s been taking the time to update your file on a datapad, unbeknownst to either you or Rex, he’s also been watching you like a hawk, and the minute you begin to show that you’re overwhelmed, he’s swooping in on the two of you, protective mother hen mode fully activated by the tears falling down your cheeks.

He steps in front of you, broad shoulders immediately blocking your view of your commanding officer. “Captain,” he says, and his voice is still respectful, but there’s a hard edge beneath it, something stern that you haven’t heard before, even during the worst of him lecturing you.

“You are causing undue stress to my patient, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir,” he continues, physically ushering Rex to the door.

More quietly, out of your earshot, he says,“I have already harshly reprimanded the commander. Trust me, this experience will ensure that the lesson will not be forgotten. Now, if you want to be of use, get the general and bring him to me, please. I need to speak with him. Between you and me, Rex, I’m blaming this ordeal on him.”

Rex begins to make an objection, but Kix is already turning away, folding his arms. “I don’t care if you have to drag him out of council meetings. His Padawan is more important,” he shoots back, before quickly moving back to your side, all of his hard lines instantly fading at the sight of your tear streaked face.

He’s all gentleness and soft reassurances uttered as he cups your face, wiping away your tears. When you struggle into a sitting position, falling against his chest as your arms clumsily reach for him, his arms easily pull you close to him and you sob, trying to explain.

“Kix, I, I didn’t mean to, I never wanted to hurt anyone,” you whisper, clutching at him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, wanting to disappear, feeling his body shift, one hand splayed out, rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles, the other coming up to cradle your head, holding you against his warmth, sheltering you.

“Oh, adika, shh, I know. You didn’t hurt anyone, vod’ika, nothing happened,” he coos, tightening his arms around you. Lips press against your hair briefly, and you continue to cry, letting your emotions run their course as he cradles you to him, gently rocking you back-and-forth, as if you were a much smaller child.

In this moment, you certainly feel like you are, and it’s comforting, the way he holds and settles you against him , making gentle shushing noises and speaking in low, soothing tones, the words eventually losing their meaning as sleep, yet again, gently pulls at your consciousness.

The last thing you’re aware of is him gently guiding you to lie back down, another medic, you think it’s Coric, passing him a freshly warmed blanket that he tucks around you, and a hand gently brushing through your hair as you drift back to sleep, your storm settled and calmed by his words and his presence.

Anakin Skywalker had been in meetings with the Jedi high Council all day, was running on his 3rd cup of caff, and still found himself stifling a yawn every five minutes. So, when Rex silently slipped into the room, politely interrupting the meeting to request that Anakin report to the medbay, he instinctively rolled his eyes, grumbling that he would go later.

But when Rex stated that this wasn’t actually about him, and was in regards to his Padawan, Anakin was out of his seat in an instant, hastily making his excuses to the council before leaving the room, legs carrying him to the medbay faster than he ever had moved there before.

He doesn’t even stop to look as behind him, Rex calls to a group of troopers in a booming voice, “Hardcase, get Over here right now, you di’kut, I need to talk to you regarding professionalism when it comes to working with young Padawan’s .”

When he’s escorted into a cubicle, his eyes grow wide with alarm at the sight of you, peacefully asleep, but your face looks exhausted and worn out. You’re hooked up to an IV and monitors, there’s a thick bandage that’s been secured to the bottom half of your right leg.

Kix keeps his voice low and quiet, so as not to disturb you, but he fixes your master with a hard look as he takes him through an overview of your current health status.

“Iron deficiency anemia, burns, a dislocated shoulder, a blaster wound that had to be surgically operated on due to an untreated infection that had grown quite severe and needed to be manually removed, as well as several muscle strains and bruised ribs that can be healed with proper rest.”

His mouth falls open at the growing list, but Kix only folds his arms, continuing to speak. “General, sir, your Padawan looks to you with the highest regard, and you lead the way by example. All of these issues could have been caught much earlier and treated without having to deal with all this,” he gestures at everything you’re hooked up to.

“This behaviour was learned, and when I pressed, I found that at the root of the problem was fear of disappointing you and letting you down,” he waits for these words to sink in, and when they do, Anakin Skywalker, Jedi general who is known for his strength and recklessness on the field, hangs his head with shame, eyes finding the floor and refusing to look at Kix directly.

His meaning is clear, you are his Padawan, and as your master, it’s his responsibility to set a good example for you, and in this regard, watching pain medication flow through the IV line attached to your wrist, he knows he has failed to do so.

“So, just maybe, the next time you decide that are mandatory medical checks are optional and you can manage on your own, maybe just, consider this,” Kix gestures to you, still deeply asleep.

Before your master can respond, not that he really has any words to do so, Kix turns on his heel, quickly exiting the room before he can be reprimanded for speaking to his superior that way, not that he really cares, anyway.

If he had stayed, though, he would have seen Anakin tentatively move to your side, gently sitting on the edge of your bed as he strokes back your hair and adjusts the blankets that are tucked around you, properly shamefaced as he looks down at you and says in a voice that is soft and rarely heard coming out of him, “I’m sorry, kiddo, this one’s on me.”

“And this,” says Kix, quickly injecting the third and final mandatory vaccination into your arm, “is your ticket out of here.”

The week of recovery has come and gone, And you have finally been cleared to head back onto the field, as long as you continue to follow a regimen of oral antibiotics for the next week, and, more excitingly in your opinion, get out of the medbay.

“There you go, you did it,” Fives, who’s been sitting across from you, happily agreeing to be your emotional support/cheerleader, ready with a damp cloth if you need it, does a little celebratory dance that makes you laugh, even as Kix, sensing that you’re feeling unsteady, gets you to lay down.

Fives gently places the cool cloth against your skin, and it’s enough to ground you, pulling you back from the edge.

“That’s it, Vod’ika, well done, you did great,” Kix says encouragingly, giving your shoulder a warm squeeze. “Now, wait 15 minutes, and as long as you’re feeling back to normal, you can get out of here,” he smiles down at you, patting your head affectionately before moving out of the cubicle.

As soon as he’s gone, Fives liens in conspiratorially, face lighting up with mischievousness sparkling in his eyes. “Hey, kid, I bet you 10 credits that I could easily sneak you out right now and we could make this 15 minutes go a lot faster,” he grins.

In spite of the fact that you smile back at him and laugh lightly, you give your head a small shake and throw a cautious look over your shoulder.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been here for a whole week, and the biggest thing I’ve learned is that Kix and Coric do, in fact, have eyes in the back of their heads. We wouldn’t even make it out of the door.”

It’s true, you’ve seen several different troopers trying to carefully sneak out of the medbay when they think that no one is watching.

What you’ve learned, though, is that the medics of Torrent Company are always watching. Nothing gets past their keen eyes or ears, and no one successfully sneaks out undetected.

You grimace, “besides, I’ve just gotten off of Kix’s bad side, and I have no desire to go back there.”

“So,” Fives says, resignedly coming to sit on the edge of your bed with a sigh. “We’re waiting the 15 minutes?”

You carefully sit up, giving him a nod and a decisive look as you lean your head against his shoulder..

“Yes, Fives,” you affirm, letting out a small sigh of your own. “We are waiting the 15 minutes.”

************************* thank you so much for reading. Comments and re-blogs are always appreciated here.are always appreciated here.

Mandoa translations. Kaysh mirsh solus, they are stupid/foolish. Ori’vod: Big Brother (in this instance) can also be used as big sister or big sibling. Ni ceta: i’m sorry. Vod: Brother/ sister/ sibling. Adika: little one. Vod’ika: Little sister, little brother, or little sibling Haar’chak: damm it. Di’kut: Fool (literal translation is underwear forgeter) which kills me. Osi’yaim: shithead. Osik: shit.

#star wars x reader #kix x reader #platonic #reader insert #gn reader #padawan reader #fives x reader #anakin x reader #rex x reader #kix #clone medic kix #arc trooper fives #captain rex #Anakin Skywalker #the clone wars fanfiction #platonic imagine #tcw fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

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thequeenofthewinter · 1 year

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Fic Friday

Hello fine gentlepeople of TESblr! 'tis I, Winter, peddling off my fic again as it is Friday, and I have updated.

In a review by the lovely @oblivions-dawn it is: "Excellent . . . Emotional . . . Effervescent . . . . . . Yes"

The author herself describes it as, "Politics, some boats, emotions, and metaphors. Please someone take this chapter away from me so I don't add any more to it."

A random person I found on the street has said, "Eh? Who are you, and why are you bothering me while I am eating my lunch?"

So, there you have it! Reviews are generally positive! Go read it now!

Rating: E (canon-typical violence, explicit content, check the tags)

Genre: Romance, action, adventure, drama

Pairing: Dahlia Wintersnow (OC Dragonborn)/Ulfric Stormcloak

Link to AO3: An Invincible Summer

Snippet:

While the news is no surprise to Lydia, this is the first time Dahlia has opened up to her personally. It is only logical for gossip like this to spread quickly, especially with Dahlia and Ulfric’s frequent visits to a small grave which bears no name—only a sad inscription. Loose tongues and morbid curiosity did the rest of the work to assure that it has been publicized across the population. How else would Elisif been able to hit Dahlia where it hurts the most?

Both Dahlia and Ulfric had expected it to catch up to them at some point in time; however, at least on her part, Dahlia did not expect the cruelty which came with it—the speculations, the rumors, and the pointed digging. For the most part, she has tried to ignore it as best she can while finding solace in Ulfric’s arms. But, no matter how much she runs and tries and ignore it, it always come back to her, haunting her like the hazy nightmares which leave mentally and physically tired, even if she refuses to show it.

Slowly, Dahlia is learning better than to expect kindness from any but those who are closest to her. She’ll shut herself away and patch up all the exposed holes on her leaking ship if she must to preserve herself.

Lydia smiles at her sadly as Dahlia looks at her with uncertainty in her gaze. She isn’t sure what hurts her more: the fact that her friends has been suffering with this information and the weight of it for weeks or that she thinks that she would judge her for it.

“It’s okay, Dahlia.” Her housecarl sighs, “I mean—no, it isn’t okay. That isn’t what I meant. What I mean is that you’re safe here, and I know you wouldn’t ever intentionally do anything to hurt anyone, and it’s not your fault and—“

Tears make their way down Dahlia’s face. How long had it been since she had spoken to Lydia? And how long has she been holding this in and putting on a brave face for the rest of the world?

“I—if we are talking about technical blame, it is my fault. I was the one who—”

Lydia stops her yet again. She has heard so many versions of what had happened: Dahlia sacrificed their child to Sithis to bring Ulfric back, she dabbles in necromancy, she speaks to Talos directly—that she can make a pretty good guess at what actually happened, but with better results. “You didn’t know, and you had a choice. One that is unspeakable, impossible, and one that no one should ever have to make. They don’t understand you, and they are not you. Only Akatosh can judge you, and it seems to me he has deemed you worthy, so you should forgive yourself.”

For a moment, all she does is blink. Dahlia isn’t sure what she expected, but it should not have been anything less than this. Lydia’s own thoughts echo Ulfric’s.

I cannot pretend to know what you felt, and I was not the one in your shoes. I cannot tell you what was right and wrong, and while it hurts me just as much as it hurts you, I would have made the exact same choice if I had been in your situation. We can try again when you’re ready.

And isn’t that what life is all about? There is pain, but there is joy. Darkness and light. Winter and Summer. You cannot have balance without both. Fus ro dah. You will push the world harder than it pushes back. Now is when she should push because after the rain is when the plants start their new growth.

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #ulfric stormcloak #ulfric x dragonborn #dahlia wintersnow #who I guess has actually been Dahlia Stormcloak for two chapters now #winter writes #fic friday #tw: pregnancy loss

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balladwind · 2 years

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↘ independent && private VENTI from GENSHIN IMPACT ↘ headcanon heavy ↘ multi - para, multi - ship, ship friendly ↘ mun is 21↑ runs on a GMT +8 timezone

GUIDELINES.

01. this is an independent, selective and private blog. i will only interact with mutuals and will be extremely selective with who i follow due to the chaotic nature of this fandom. i won't follow first since i made this blog to roleplay with friends only but if you catch me on a time where i am more free, i'll follow back.

Please softblock / hardblock if you do not wish to interact anymore. There’ll be no hard feelings, of course. You do what you have to do but please just soft / hardblock to make it clear. Thank you !

credit for icon border:venuscommissions credit for theme base code: soldierholiic

THREADS

02. one-liners, multipara are all okay. i lean more towards the latter but i wouldn’t mind doing one-liners either for fun.

03. usually, i match length. but i can also write a lot. i write a hecking lot, especially when it comes to meme in askbox. i ramble a lot. but don’t feel stressed over matching lengths - just give me something to reply to.

04. if you wish to continue a thread from asks, feel free to create a new post and tag me in it.

05. i’m known as a bit of a muse bicycle so i can roleplay any side characters to spice things up on and complement the threads.

06. i will drop threads if i don’t feel it anymore but i will try my best to let you know about it beforehand and maybe we can either discuss another plot or shake hands and walk away like mature adults if nothing else works. there’s no pressure to continue interacting with me if there isn’t chemistry between the mun either !

SHIPPING

07. multi-ship, and is generally alright with most ships. feel free to chat me up if you find that our muse has chemistry / has potential to develop good chemistry. naturally, i will not write romantic ships with muns or characters under the age of 18. i won't write xiaoven, cynonari or zhongchi. platonic is fine.

08. please note that i will require sufficient threads and ooc discussions to start a ship with anyone but that goes for everybody, yeah?

NSFW

09. yes, i am over 20 but i most likely will not be writing sex stuff with just anyone off the bat. main reason being i am pretty bad with it and i wouldn’t want to accidentally give anyone’s character a derection or anything. i do like to write the foreplay though but anything that comes after is pretty hard to interest me unless it’s with a shipping partner. also, i make a lot of sex innuendos joke because unfortunately that’s my main comedy go to but it doesn’t mean that i want to write smut.

NO-NOs

10. please don’t come to my dms with passive aggressiveness and uppity in regards to how i write my character. i don’t care that much about sticking to canon to a tee. i love to bend the lore, twist the rules around and entertain to the best of my creative abilities. i only focus on making myself a very happy writer and hopefully someone a very happy writing partner.

11. mun =/= muse, this goes without saying. but if my muses becomes a bit too much, just let me know nicely and i’ll try and dial them down. your comfort is important but don’t be a jerk about it.

12. i will block anyone who engage in senseless drama or discourse. i will also not follow anyone whose headcanons or takes i am uncomfortable with that sprung up due to sinophobia, have incited sinophobia or any misinterpreted romanticization of my culture at that sort in this fandom. we sure live in a wild time, huh.

13. i portray the chinese version of the game when it comes to characterization of the characters and lore.

14. no god-modding, obviously. and try not to have your muse know things that my muse wouldn’t tell anyone.

15. I have massive social anxiety, coupled with a lot of other shit with my mental health so I will be selective with who I will continue to thread with. If something bothers me, I’ll let you know nicely and gently. If we still don’t click, I’ll have to drop threads or plotting ( though I will still be open with working things out ) but again, I’ll let you know nicely and gently. Please be open to that possibility!

i have discord and i’m all willing to share with mutuals. just hit me up!

#pinned.

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babbushka · 3 years

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hey mrs z! for sinday, could I possibly request a lil something something about kylo having a praise kink?

1.4k, NSFW, (subby Supreme Leader Kylo, PIV, praise kink); mild angst (kylo just has a lot of feelings)

It isn't easy, being the Supreme Leader. If he thinks about it for longer than two seconds, it really isn't easy being Kylo in general. He's the commander of the galaxy, he's the leader of millions -- billions -- and that comes with a heavy price. The long hours, the late nights, the war, bloodshed, murder. He's used to those, however exhausting they can become, he's been trained through those fires. But it's the tactical negotiations and treaties and diplomacy that Kylo's not so keen on. He's lived his life killing to get his way, and now, that isn't so simple.

There's always been someone there to help him along the way. For a moment it was his parents before they abandoned him. Then it was Snoke, before he betrayed him. And then for a long time he was alone, ruling the galaxy pitifully, painfully alone. No one to guide him through his decisions, no one to let him know if he was doing well.

Kylo had always had a desire to please. He struggled with it, struggled with the failure that was disappointment. Everyone demanded so much from him all the time, his family, his mentors, the galaxy. He worked so hard to meet expectations, doing everything he could, and it always seemed to fall short.

Until there's you, and everything changes.

Praise flows freely from your tongue, for the first time in Kylo's life. For the first time, he doesn't have to beat himself raw for validation and gratification of his actions. You just...give it to him, for everything, and it flips a switch in Kylo's brain in a way he's never felt before.

He's never gotten the words before, at best it was only a nod of approval. So when the words do come, he finds they hit him deeply, make him melt straight through the floor. You give them to him in bed, when he's pleasuring you with his hands, his mouth, his tongue his lips his cock oh how you gasp for him on his cock! He chases the feeling of your happiness as it surges through the Force, praise in its own kind when you cry out his name and come so hard that he can feel it in his own body.

You’re crying out for him now, beneath him in the plush bed of your shared quarters. He’s married you, fallen so deep into his love for you that he’s sure this is where he’s meant to be. You give him more power than the Dark Side ever could, simply by carding your fingers through his hair and gasping moans and shouts of pleasure that he gives you.

“More Kylo, please, please your cock is so big, it feels so good -- give me more!” You’re clinging to him, clutching at him, your hands digging deep dark bruises into his body that Kylo will put on display, he’ll wear them proudly, because you put them there, a gift.

The feedback loop from your bond has the hair on Kylo’s arms standing up, on the back of his neck, he’s electric from the way your pussy clenches and spasms around him, the way your hands clutch at the muscled flesh of his back as his hips thrust and thrust and thrust into you. His eyes are wide open, staring at your face, drinking in the way you whine and moan and cry and gasp for him, a litany of pleas, of praise falling from your mouth.

“Stars! Kylo, darling, I’m going to come, make me come please!” Your chest is heaving and your toes are curling as your body writhes beneath him, breath catching in your throat as he bites at the corner of your mouth, “Fuck! Oh it’s so good.”

Kylo drinks it up, he thinks he’s drunk as he loses himself in the warm tight embrace of your cunt. He’s drooling, he’s sweating, droplets of both falling onto your chest as your tits bounce underneath him, the harsh slap of his skin on yours filling the air, masking the sounds of his pants.

He could cry he’s so overwhelmed, so in love, desperate to come inside you for the fifth time today, desperate to fill you up and have him tell you how happy you are that he did it. Every day he thanks the stars that they brought him to you, he will prove his worth for you as long as you will let him, and you’re letting him now.

“Almost there almost there almost there -- yes!” Your body snaps up in a tense moment, before going completely limp, limbs twitching and shaking and the Force is singing and Kylo’s mind is reeling as he fucks you through your orgasm, unable to take his eyes off of you for a moment, unable to look away for an instant.

You’re so loud, he’s certain half the ship can hear you, and that’s another kind of praise too, isn’t it? You screaming his name as your pussy throbs on his achingly hard cock, come gushing between your legs and slicking him up as he grinds himself deep against your gspot, fingers rubbing fast fast fast on your clit to milk your pleasure for as long as he can.

He can’t hold back any longer, not with you so pliant and warm and wet under him, and he comes with a shout so loud, a burst of energy so strong that it sets off alarms down in the sector below your quarters, and delirious from your own orgasm, you’re chuckling. Kylo’s arms give out from underneath him, he’s been fucking you for close to two hours now, and he lands with a sweaty thud against your breast. Immediately, your weak hands find themselves through his hair, and he shuts his eyes against the wave of emotion that simmers in his chest, the intimacy that warms him through your bond.

“Thank you darling.” You say softly, panting shallowly as you gulp down air enough to give him this that he so desires, “You really did a number on me, didn’t you sweet boy?”

“I love you.” He’s too tired to really say much else. He had just landed from a mission earlier that morning, one that kept him away from you for ten entire days. Ten days of torturous distance that he endured, all with the knowledge that soon he’d be back to you -- and now he is.

“I love you too handsome.” You smile at him, tired in your own right. You’re covered in marks and sweat and come and spit, your hair is a mess and you’ve never looked more beautiful to Kylo, but he can’t really think of any of that, because all he can think of right now is the way your praise makes his cock twitch and leak more come inside you when you continue, “That’s what you are, so strong and handsome. Look how well you did for me, look how long you lasted. I’m proud of you, did you like it too?”

“I loved it, I love you.” His mind is a pleasant buzz, he feels safe, always feels safe when he’s with you. He pushes his hips deeper against yours, a steady stream of come filling you up so much that he knows it’ll overflow when -- if -- he pulls out.

“We’re staying here tonight, just you and me. I’ll call to send dinner up for us, I just want to be close to you.” You say, and sometimes Kylo wonders if you’re a mind reader too.

“Good.” He rolls you over so that you’re resting atop his body, his arms caging you in, holding you tight. Kylo doesn’t think he’s letting you go anywhere for a long fucking time, not with the way you make him feel.

And maybe you are a mindreader, because you smile at him then, reaching up to place the softest, gentlest kiss to his plush lips, before snuggling against his body. With the Force, Kylo pulls the blankets over you so that you don’t get cold, and clings to you, grateful that no matter what, he’s got you here beside him, forever.

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

Tagging some Kylo lovin' friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @lovinghufflepuffgirl @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @schopenhauerdeathsquad @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @kylo-ren-is-alive @caitlin-was-here @icarusinthesea

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #supreme leader kylo ren #kylo ren smut #adam driver fanfic #adcu #my writing

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folklorefairyy · 3 years

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* my all time faves!

celebration post !

this list could be so much longer and there are some amazing moots i have that i havent included or haven’t had the chance to read for (namely bucky since that list is so big dhdhd) and so check out the moots tagged on my celebration post and go check out all their works because they are genuinely amazing)

i might do another of these one day so that i can get more fics on but just know if you’re a moot and i havent included a fic of yours i love your work and i love you and i just think ur amazing

➱ Bucky Barnes

wakanda by @buckybarnesdiaries *

Steve gives you Bucky's dog tags for a reason.

froot loops by @burninmatches // more than just destruction *

bucky helps you during a tough time and maybe your relationship is not just mentor and student.

drunk in love by @burninmatches

you got infected by the love serum and now you’ve fallen in love with one of your closests friends, peter parker. what happens to your boyfriend, bucky barnes?

as long as i’m here, no one can hurt you by @blackberrybucky *

bucky holds you through the sadness

i’d never hurt you by @cap-n-stuff *

bucky x short!civilian!fem!reader who meet in Bucharest with reader as a tourist and as Bucky’s getting his plums reader trips and catches her - a relationship ensues yet the fairytale comes crashing down when Bucky is framed for the UN bombing and Steve and Sam come to get him

innocence by @extremelyblackandwhite

bucky barnes, recently retired avenger, is hired as a bodyguard for an innocent upcoming actress.

warm by @revengingbarnes *

“The fire alarm in our building went off and you rushed out without a coat. Wanna share my blanket?”

period. by @greyslytherin

Bucky Barnes taking care of the reader while she’s on her period

bucky having a nightmare by @cap-n-stuff

imagine bucky having a nightmare and walking into the readers room with a blanket and waking her up asking to be the small spoon

➱ Peter Maximoff

the coolest twinkie by @amourtentiaa *

where the reader discovers they have a mutation and is lowkey panicking and Peter is just there like “BUT THIS IS AWESOME!” and just generally full of encouragement while trying to calm you tf down

adventures in parenting 101: nightmares by @milkytheholy

peter maximoff x reader being new parents and raising a kid in the mansion

ivy by @sunflowergirl522 *

Your mutation is controlling and growing plants. Peter spots you one day while he’s running and makes it his mission to get close to you. You then use flowers to tell him what you think of him without actually saying it.

(just check out zoe’s full peter maximoff masterlist because she’s bloody incredible at writing peter and i need to read more of them!!)

bad behaviour by @free-pool-trash *

Peter x Reader where they’re in the sitcom reality and Billy and/or Tommy get in trouble in school so they ask them to pretend to be their parents so Wanda and Vision don’t find out

convenience store by @quicksilverownsmysoul

you work at the local convenience store, everyday the same, that is until someone speeds by. Someone brings a little more excitement to your life than you bargained for

➱ Pietro Maximoff

the other half by @burninmatches

You and Pietro have been walking through the fine line past friends and before… something else. Perhaps a handful of moments, though the domestic bliss of sharing food to the boiling feelings under your skin, would change everything.

double sided recipe card by @vanillann *

where the reader tries to cook sokovian food for him because he’s homesick

kiss of life by @dem-obscure-imagines

You are an Avenger with the power to heal. However, you didn’t expect to catch feelings for the man you brought back from the dead.

➱ Peter Parker

sweater weather by @beskar-tano *

You spend a cozy evening by the bonfire with the Avengers and your boyfriend, Peter Parker.

the ship by @itsapeterthing *

you and your best friend and teammate, peter parker, go to a costume party only to discover that everyone believes that you and peter’s alternate super-hero identities are dating.

stuck in my brain by @felicityparkers

whatever music that is stuck in your head is stuck in your soulmate’s head too.

i have them too by @tom-holland-is-spiderman

A headcanon of Peter Parker comforting the reader with stretch marks and they get ashamed of them so they hide their body from Peter making him feel sad.

by the elevator by @peterbenjiparker * (there are two parts to this and the second is linked on the op)

You break your hand after punching the elevator door. But luckily the cute boy is there to help out. You thought you would never see him again but you both keep running into each other by the same elevator.

➱ Thor Odinson

totally not a date by @superficialstark *

in which you go on a double date with tony and pepper expecting steve to show up as a mate date and instead being met with thor who you can’t help but be charmed by

but i just wanna hear your voice by @blackberrybucky

thor comes back after they defeat thanos and tries to make things right with you.

➱ Wanda Maximoff

of taunts and tickles by @beskar-tano *

Wanda spent the past few days trying to cheer you up and bring you out of your dreadful slump. After trying almost everything, she resorted to her last hopeful idea: a tickle fight.

➱ Natasha Romanoff

my girl by @beskar-tano

Natasha surprises you with a romantic date by the lake, surrounded by the beautiful scenery as fall takes its toll on the changing leaves.

➱ i’d love for you guys to suggest some fics for steve, sam and loki because i apparently don’t know of any in this dodgy brain of mine (she’s not working as i make this dhdhd) - you can also send some in for any i’ve not got too many fics on so far!

i havent written or read for star wars in so long (dw i am still a sw account and i love my sw moots ive just been on a marvel kick and haven’t had time to read many moots fics recently so they’re all piling up lol) and so i don’t think i could come up with a comprehensive enough list given the fact that there’s so many amazing fics coming out each day!

so instead i thought i’d direct you to some accounts that have some phenomenal work that i instantly fall in love with each time!!

➱ @etherealsanakin

poe dameron, anakin skywalker

➱ @xwing-baby

din djarin, poe dameron, star wars oc

➱ @dindjarindiaries

din djarin

➱ @sunsetkenobi

obi-wan kenobi, anakin skywalker, boba fett, din djarin, padmé amidala, rey, luke skywalker

➱ @artiza-n

anakin skywalker, marvel! (namely bucky)

➱ @beskar-tano

anakin skywalker, obi-wan kenobi, boba fett, din djarin, luke skywalker, fennec shand, poe dameron

➱ @anakinswhore

anakin skywalker

➱ @anakinlove

anakin skywalker

➱ @betweentwopines

din djarin, anakin skywalker, padmé amidala etc.

these are just some accounts that i have read regularly or some moots who post for these characters (and i need to get around reading for) but there’s so many more incredible writers for sw on here, some that i’m moots with too, that can self plug here if they want!! (my brain isn’t working today so i can’t think of everyone)

#fic recs #marvel #mcu #star wars #peter maximoff x reader #bucky barnes x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #sam wilson x reader #peter parker x reader #steve rogers x reader #thor odinson x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #poe dameron x reader #din djarin x reader #boba fett x reader

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chidoroki · 3 years

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Isabella - 73584

I had a serious debate with myself over whether or not I wanted to sit down and spend my weekend writing another one of these praise posts. I was content with just doing one for each of the Fullscore Trio kids and ending it there.. but apparently I love this woman too much to just ignore her on her birthday. So here were are on September 9th with a list of all her best and my personal favorite moments as to why I believe she’s such a great character, antagonist and mother (yeah you heard me right). Considering she only shows up in the beginning and very end of the story, this post ended up longer than I originally anticipated, which just goes to show how many thoughts I really have about this woman. (for real, this rivals Ray’s post in terms of points but there’s far more words)

Since she also has some backstory and certain events differ between manga and anime (thanks to the second season), I’ll try to go in chronological order between both timelines instead of chapter by chapter, which might be a bit confusing as we’ll jump around the story a lot but just to bear with me as I try to makes sense of it all.

(spoilers for the entirety of The Promised Neverland & ch181.7, so if you haven’t read/completed the manga yet, consider this your first warning, because I’m literally going from start to finish with this one last time. I promise.)

- I’m not sure how well she compares to Emma when it comes to athleticism, but Isabella seemed to have no trouble climbing up and down trees when she was younger.

- Not only that, but she managed to scale the wall by herself using a method that requires a fairly impressive jump. It’s also implied that this is how she climbs the wall again so many years later when chasing the soon-to-be escapees, which helps prove that even at an older age, she hasn’t lost her touch.

- Was chosen to undergo training to become a Mom, which required high test scores and the current mother’s recommendation. She accepted the offer in order to keep living and survive as human the demons couldn’t eat.

- Based on Sienna’s comment, is it fair to say Isabella is on par with the full score trio? I mean, the woman is basically flawless.

- She was practically untouchable during her time at headquarters while training too apparently. Mom positions are scarce so the environment where these ladies fight (physically/mentally/emotionally) to even snag that job is highly competitive, and yet Isabella never let anyone deter her from her goal of becoming a Mom, which probably led to the “Iron Lady” nickname she received now that I think about it.

- She was the youngest ever to be granted the Mom position at..what, 19? 20? Somewhere around there, but impressive nonetheless considering they’re forced to have a child, build up a strong, emotionless exterior and endure so much fear. (but my goodness, the woman doesn’t age at all. she looks just as good when the story actually starts as she did her when she was a bit younger)

- It became common knowledge among the Sisters that she was also very successful in the way she raised her children.

- Her success greatly benefited the farm, as she offered up countless high quality goods, which sounds terrible, I know, but believe me when I say she gave her best effort for her children. Even though she held the Mom position, the amount of power she actually had in this system was pretty minimal, especially with how much she valued her own life. She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes or risky changes, so she settled with doing the most with what she was capable of. She provided her children with a normal lifestyle, not only to keep up the orphanage facade, but knowing that their lives would all be cut shorter than they anticipate. She gave them love in hopes that no one would ever have to feel the dread she felt after Leslie’s death and/or finding out the truth. She tried to delay that horrific fate by encouraging them to learn all they can (like teaching the trio about strategy and chess) so they could achieve higher tests scores and (unknowingly to them) add a couple more months or years onto their lives. Yes it was her job to raise these children to such high standards but she excelled at it for their sake too.

- And I know y’all will just throw Ray in my face like, “oh but he was her actual child and she treated him horribly/different.” Okay but deep down I don’t think she actually wanted to? When they both realized they were truly mother and son, Isabella couldn’t just dote on him and start treating him as such. I’m sure Ray wasn’t too fond of Isabella at this point in his life either, knowing that she sent several of his siblings away to get killed. They probably would’ve gotten along just fine in a perfect world, but since they were both aware of the hell they’re trapped living in, they emotionally distanced themselves and formed a business-like relationship as a result of Ray’s deal, which benefited them both in different ways. For Ray, it was more practical, with the obvious notion of living as long as possible along with obtaining various rewards and knowledge of the outside world. For Isabella, it helped emotionally by simply just ignoring their true relation. I believe if she clung to that realization, it would break the orphanage illusion and eventually wear down her “Iron Lady” exterior that she relies so heavily on.

- Like can you imagine how much you would have to harden your heart in order to quite literally walk children to their death every couple months for years on end and just move on like it’s completely normal? Now imagine how earth shattering it must be to think about doing the same to your actual child. All those years spent perfecting a fake smile and emotionless exterior like she was trained to have and her son shatters it in an instant. She becomes completely terrified about how he’s actually alive and in front of her right now and there’s nothing she can do to truly save him.. and yet she still recovers so damn quickly I can’t even comprehend it! But there’s still some sadness in those eyes. You can’t tell me otherwise. That one moment of weakness speaks volumes to me.

- So now with her general backstory FINALLY out of the way, we can finally start with ch01/ep01 and how her laugh is sweet and innocent. I say that because (all hidden emotions and motives aside) that’s exactly how she’s supposed to sound in this moment, not only to us but to the children as well.

- She of course checks Emma’s tracker a moment later but other than that I still think it’s a pretty genuine moment between the two.

- As previously stated, her ability to raise high quality children is unmatched, which is clear as day thanks to the fullscore trio.

- Despite their crazy level of intelligence, the trio has yet to win a simple game of chess against Isabella, even when teamed up.

- She treasures everything about the kids.

- She really cares about them, even when it’s time to send them off with a smile, which we know is thanks to her strong facade.

- But mother dearest isn’t really fine. She doesn’t like walking kids to their death, especially so young. But she can’t let them (or even herself) know that. She can’t show weakness, so she hums Leslie’s song, which is a tool she’s used for years in order to give herself strength.

- Don’t worry, I disliked her this moment happened too, just as the story intended. And here’s where her fantastic antagonist role begins for all the world to see.

- A true champ at jump scares.

- Acts completely calm the night after a couple of kids found out the secret of the farm.

- She uses the tracker in plain sight, sending whomever went to the gate last night a threatening but silent message.

- Correct Norman, that’s the “Iron Lady” for ya. Also the name of ch03 for us. Well, “The Iron Woman” but same difference.

- She switches from calculating and manipulative breeder to sweet and pleasant mother so quickly and effortlessly it’s incredible. Isabella even checked Emma’s pulse in this scene to see if she was acting normal.

- At this point she still had no idea who went to the gate (Ray didn’t tip her off yet, at least I don’t think so) but her guess couldn’t have been more precise. The level of fear she drives into both Emma and Norman was great too, but then again her presence is enough in any scene to give us chills.

- Notices her watchdog isn’t at his usual post and starts to get suspicious.

- Not only of him, Emma and Norman, but Don and Gilda as well, thus giving the five extra chores to finish in an attempt to slow down any escape planning, such as cleaning vacant rooms, organizing the pantry and inspecting spare linen.

- While the trio believes Isabella was being too soft and patient in finding her targets, she effectively catches them off guard by bringing in Krone for assistance. The trio soon realize they were actually preparing the sister’s new room and those mundane chores were just an excuse to buy time.

- Look at her, all smug. Checkmate indeed. (and totally not important, but her eyes are such pretty shades of purple)

- The sass and her no nonsense attitude.

- Immediately puts Krone in her place the moment she even thinks about shipping out the targets. Of course holding off on shipping the targets would benefit the farm, as it would produce higher quality merchandise as time passes, but plant 3 is run by Isabella and she’ll be damned if an assistant thinks they could waltz right in and decide her children’s fate.

- She check’s Emma tracker again despite her claim of knowing exactly who the targets might be. You can never be too careful.

- Her precious children managed to win a game of tag against Krone, which is still impressive considering the kind of training the sister has gone through, so kudos to her teachings.

- Knows right away that Krone was trying to take advantage, which allows Krone to realize that the opening she had to learn more about the children was all planned by Isabella herself. Her intimidating nature is enough to scare adults too.

- Reveals that Krone was mostly summoned in order to keep Ray in check after his failure.

- Despite the trust issue, Isabella still keeps up her end of the deal by requesting the items Ray asked for, thanks to the odd perks she had under Grandma Sarah which allowed her to order goods that weren’t on the supply list.

- This hug between her and Phil is just too cute not to mention.

- I imagine she makes this comment because she knows exactly how long a rope must be based off her own almost-escape.

- It’s just something about how this scene is framed alongside this dialogue that makes me think “oh, like mother, like son.”

- I blame her very thoughtful planning for my first big freak out when I watched season 1 blind, like ma’am that’s my favorite boy, please don’t.

- She conspires with Grandma Sarah in order to get rid of Krone for good, which renders the evidence sister just found out about the children’s escape completely useless. Sarah believes there might be some truth to it, but ultimately ignores it and puts her faith in Isabella’s ability of controlling the children & the situation.

- She then cuts Ray off and ends their six-year long deal, opting to control the situation herself from now on. Also, how she wanted to keep him around until the very end is kinda bittersweet. Does she mean as merchandise? Or because she wanted him to live as long as possible? Ah such a tricky little comment.

- She also tosses him across the room like a rag doll.

- Thank god for this panel existing and actually being adapted into the anime so I could hear it because I had absolutely no memory of her laughing in this moment.

- “She says it so nonchalantly,” Norman said once upon a time, and it’s still so frightening.

- As insane as her ideals seem given the circumstances, nothing she says here is really a lie.

- She has the strength to quite literally break a leg and that cracking noise still haunts me to this day.

- It wasn’t even a spur of the moment thing either. Isabella came fully prepared with bandages to fix up any injury she was willing to inflict and that thought alone is terrifying.

- Not only that, but she broke it so cleanly that Emma’s leg does indeed heal perfectly in the exact time frame she estimates. This entire moment is so unfairly impressive, like ma’am how dare you do this to Emma of all people.. like why couldn’t you at least use that kind of force to snap Peter’s neck instead or something?

- To make matters worse, she then reveals Norman’s shipment date. And it’s the following day, which sends the kids into a very understandable panic.

- Needless to say, November 2nd, 2045 was a very successful day in the life of Isabella. Woman was putting everyone in checkmate in ep08 and my anger on full blast.

- This sly smile she sends Ray’s way after announcing Norman’s shipment to the younger kids is so cruel.. it’s perfect.

- I can only imagine she asked about Ray’s whereabouts because she knew the boys were close friends and she hoped they would at least say goodbye to one another, but that’s just me.

- Puts an end to Norman’s parting words in such a simple and chilling matter.

- The way she just openly threatens Emma with others just out of earshot.

- Norman out here asking the real questions. If anything, I say she’s more “content” rather than happy. I don’t think she’s ever really thought about her own happiness, at least not often enough, hence the slight pause. This entire time she’s been focusing on how to make her children’s lives perfect, but for herself she just wants to survive in this hellish world they’re all living in.

- I’m honestly still not sure who’s final decision it is to send people to Lambda, either Isabella, Peter or someone else (honestly never bothered to check), but whether or not Isabella had any say in the matter, I’m sure she’s at least a little glad that Norman gets to live a bit longer? Perhaps that’s a stretch, but I’m putting the idea here anyway.

- I say this because I believe that’s part of the reason why she offered Emma a Mom recommendation, not only because our girl’s high test scores, but in hopes that she could live a longer life.

- Although she really stresses in an intimidation fashion how pointless Emma’s efforts are now that Norman’s “dead,” the cliff remains a major hazard and her leg is still bandaged up, Isabella still tries so hard to convince her to give up, like Ray has, in order for Emma to end her own suffering. It was the first instance during my blind watch-through were I started to get the hint that Isabella might actually care about her kids, and of course I know now it’s because she didn’t want Emma to experience the same pain she did after Leslie’s death.

- With Emma and Ray both broken, things went by rather smoothly for Isabella those last two months, though she continued to keep a close eye on them.

- Her humming is so soothing. And why it took me this long to bring up “Isabella’s Lullaby” is beyond me, but oh my god, that song and any other soundtrack that uses its melody is absolute perfection.

- Had enough sense to not let her guard down the final night, even though her efforts were ultimately unsuccessful, but the idea counts.

- Though her caretaker side is focused on more during the fire, some motherly instincts do kick in as she instructs Gilda to get the babies from her room and lead everyone outside to safety. She was also concerned for Emma’s well being, hoping all the smoke didn’t get to her when the girl vanished. (i know you can argue “she’s only worried because they’re merchandise” which is fair but c’mon, i swear she’s not completely heartless)

- Took a hot minute (ahha) but Isabella eventually realized that the kids were actually escaping solely based on what they were wearing on their feet. I’m sure Emma’s discarded left ear was a big tip off too but to come to that conclusion by noticing the shoes they had on during all that chaos is surprising.

- She looks completely insane here but I always thought this shot of her was nicely animated with all the fire (or embers? sparks? whatever they are) flying around. The laugh she does before this is also a nice bonus. Oh, and she somehow managed to secure a radio from the room Don had locked.

- Figured the fifteen kids would head towards the bridge and called in headquarters to block it off.

- But when the children didn’t appear at the bridge, she just happened to know exactly where else they might try to cross the cliff.

- In the anime’s case, Isabella climbed the wall and ran there quick enough to engage in a stare down with Emma before she finally slid down.

- The moment I knew I was doomed.

- After the 15 kids successfully escaped, Isabella admits defeat, for she couldn’t really see how much her children have grown to outsmart her.

- This iconic quote, which conveys so much truth and sincerity. There were multiple occasions where she had to distance and restrain herself due to the system that controlled her, but the love she was able to show the children was genuine. If she wasn’t held back by the strict rules enforced by Mom position, I don’t doubt she would’ve treated Ray better or became far more emotional whenever a child had to leave for good or seriously injured, instead of donning a fake smile and being closed off.

- She realizes with this unspeakable loss in merchandise, the reputation she worked so hard to build up is meaningless now and that the farm no longer has any use for such an incompetent caretaker. She figures she’s as good as dead anyway now, so she wastes no time in actually helping the escapees by reclaiming the ropes to hide their exact method and route of escape, if only to grant the kids some extra time before the pursuers really locate them.

- She doesn’t act bitter as a result of her loss, instead choosing to wish the escapees luck with the future they grasped for themselves and care for the children that were left behind.

- She’s just so pretty y’all. Thank you anime.

- She was named “Best Antagonist” (and rightfully so!) back during the 2020 Crunchyroll Anime Awards, winning over Askeladd (Vinland Saga), Overhaul, (My Hero Academia), Garoua (One Punch Man,) & others.

(Post-season 1 spoilers ahead, even though the anime is completely finished at this point, but will be touching upon her special chapter more as well.)

- Completely owns up to her mistakes that caused the farm a massive loss in profitable goods and is ready to received whatever punishment necessary, which she expects to be death.

- Only.. she’s not being killed, she’s actually being promoted to Grandma. Though Isabella was directly responsible for the children’s escape, the blame ultimately falls on Sarah who couldn’t correctly control Isabella, thus leading the old lady to be shipped out in place of the goods Isabella lost.

- Peter also notes that the farm found more worth in Isabella than Sarah, so her past merits also played a part in sparing her life, as having a woman like Isabella in charge would surely produce the level of quality the farm needs.

- Isabella eventually accepts the promotion, though she can’t help but feel hesitant and shocked about the whole deal. This woman was ready to embrace death and finally be free from this cruel world, but now she has to witness not only more kids being shipped off, but moms and sisters in training as well (yay old chapter reviews coming in clutch).

- She could have very well just refused Peter’s offer, but we all know how much Isabella originally wanted to survive, so she doesn’t just accept because this man dangled a sense of freedom in her face, she also agreed so she could have the opportunity to help her children in any way her newfound power would allow her.

- Of course, her transition to Grandma happens a bit differently in the second season, but I will give some bittersweet thanks to the anime once more for the obvious but curse them for also having this entire scene dark as hell. Let me see her beauty darn it! I can only fix the lighting so much until it looks overexposed and bad again.

Anyways, Sarah is still alive at this point and taunts Isabella with the escapee’s lives just to see how she would react, which gave her a small sense of hope. Then some demons pay a visit later on and also ask if she would want to see the children one last time, but Isabella tells them that not only would she be too ashamed to face them but that they would manage to survive Grandma’s capture plan, which involved several men blowing up their shelter. It’s now clear to the demons that these children are special, and while Isabella agrees, it’s not for the same reason the demons think so. The demons believe the kids are special because of how they were raised to such a high quality. Isabella calls them special simply because they’re her children, just as any mother would.

- In the anime, it’s the demons who offer Isabella the Grandma deal if Sarah’s current plan were to fail (which it does) and she takes it and the freedom from Grace Field House without question. Do I still believe she had similar intentions to help out the children like she did in manga at this point? Of course.

- Not even a full month into her new job did she start preparing to help Emma & the others by considering who from the current Sisters she wanted to recruit to personally assist her destroy the farm entirely.

- A month later and Isabella had already decreased the number of shipments that took place at Grace Field, which obviously helps raise the quality of the children by default, but it also means less death and gives those kids a chance to live longer.

- She completely anticipated that Matilda, Jessica, Sienna & Scarlet were conspiring against her and caught them quite easily, as they were among the top scorers.

- Each had a fair chance at becoming Moms but with those positions limited, it was obvious to figure out they were trying to force Isabella’s seat open by creating some suspicious activity to place on her almost perfect record. Unfortunately for the girls, our new Grandma is too smart for her own good and I love it.

- The four women are apprehensive to join her insane plan to go against the farm, but Isabella assures them there’s no freedom if they follow the system’s rules and betray her. The harsh reality they’re all living in will continue unless they stop competing with one another and combine forces to defeat the true enemy.

- To persuade them further, Isabella mentions the children they all gave birth to are still alive, bringing out an array of emotions from the women that they each thought they had buried deep down.

- THIS! Just all of this is wonderful and shows just how much Isabella learned from her children who once defeated her.

- To fully gain the women’s trust, she gives them Ray’s farewell note that he originally left in order to bait Krone, as proof she won’t double-cross them at any point.

- I love the fact that she kept the note close to her because it acts just like all the other various toys and items she saved in her secret room back at plant 3. The original owners were all precious to her so she kept a piece of them behind to remember them in a place only she knew about. As I said before when mentioning her “I wish I could have just loved them normally” quote, all the love she had for her children had to be suppressed when she was under the system’s control, but that doesn’t mean she never cared. Because she did, and if I haven’t made at least that clear by now then I’m failing.

- Can her intentions and love for her children be any more clear? (possibly, i’m not done with this darn post yet. how you guys holding up? i’m going a little insane at this point.)

- Anyways! Second season didn’t make the rest of the story easy so apologies for any timeline mishaps as I switch between both anime and manga events from here on out.. like how in manga Isabella is informed of the escapee’s return to Grace Field via Peter, while the in the anime it’s her who helps lures them back with a fake transmission via the radio they stole.

- Just before Emma & the others do return to Grace Field on November 13, Isabella finally reaches out to the farm’s many other Sisters to recruit them. She waited until the right moment to inform them of her crazy takeover plan so Peter wouldn’t become suspicious from all of headquarters acting/thinking differently (you know, like how Emma kept the jailbreak plan under wraps until the night of). These ladies also feel a bit wary and even think of Isabella’s offer as a joke, but with some real, heartfelt encouragement, she manages to win over every single woman to her side.

- The moment when it was first revealed to us that she was not only still alive but was also promoted to Grandma is still so powerful.

- She snaps Nat’s finger back into place after Peter broke it. (and considering emma’s group infiltrates the farm right after this, i’m pretty sure that ch170 with rallying the sisters took place before this..i think?)

- Gave me a minor heart attack.

- *CLAPS FRANTICALLY!!!* The moment she truly won me over. 

- While her betrayal against Peter in the manga is fantastic and quite possibly one of my favorite moments, the anime did give us a little something too. It shows Peter spewing utter nonsense to Emma about how she’s destined to fail, only for best girl to bite back with such a fantastic quote, and then Isabella drops the act and switches sides. While I agree Emma’s comeback is “wonderful,” it’s the English dub that completely wins me over in this scene by having Isabella comment “Now that’s my girl” instead, like bro.. hearing that makes me so happy.

- For real dude, you have several highly skilled women pointing guns at you, I think her betrayal is crystal clear.

- This is like the perfect example of how she had to conceal her feelings while bound by the system. She just misses these kids so much y’all but she can’t let her true emotions show yet.

- Having her call Peter a boy is beyond hilarious to me. Also, how she disagrees with him on so many levels is excellent, like how he believes in experimenting on kids and having the right to call yourself their parent just because you created them, while Isabella believes in raising and loving children normally and that you earn that parent title by actually being part of their lives. To be fair they both inflicted pain on kids (Nat’s finger/Emma’s leg) but Peter’s action was a mistake in itself. Isabella got frustrated back when Krone even threatened to ship out the kids who discovered the secret, so you can bet she’s probably pissed off at this boy for harming one of her kids on purpose.

- The best mother-daughter moment ever! It’s such a shame it never got truly animated since the second season decided not to give the children guns, but we get to see a small smile from Isabella after Emma decided to still call her “mom.”

- The anime never gave Peter the chance to run away, like he (somehow) managed to do in manga, so we had the chance to see someone actually shoot at him. Well, in his general direction at least. Isabella lands a perfect shot not even a full second after he pulls out that disc. Accuracy on point.

- Said this once or twice in the past in manga so I’m glad the anime brought it back.

- Remains cautious and keeps her gun raised at Peter when Emma approaches him and rightfully so considering he still had his knife hidden at this point.

- Refuses Emma’s offer to join the kids in the human world at first because she knows that her (& the sister’s) actions shouldn’t be forgiven so easily, but with some rather blunt sympathy from Ray and encouragement from her other children, she finally gives in.

- This entire post summed up in one image.

- She apologizes even though distancing herself from her kids and preparing them for death were just required of her role as a caretaker. She wouldn’t have done any of that in a normal world. (do i sound like a broken record yet? probably)

- The emotion you hear in her voice during this entire dub scene hits my heart in all the right places.

- She still thinks of Leslie after all this time and I think that’s real cute.

- Her protective nature is on full display when she protects Emma from this bastard of a demon. A truly surprising and heartbreaking moment, considering this is the woman who’s survival used to be her top and only priority in the past, but now doesn’t hesitate to give her life in order to save her kid (and by extension that small girl emma saved. also, major heart attack for me).

- Despite being critically injured, this woman still possess enough strength to hold back a demon twice her size. She doesn’t even pay any mind to its nonsense. Like the demon, people often think this is when redemption arc starts but I believe it started way back in ch37 when Isabella retrieved and hid the ropes the kids used to escape. Ever since she admitted defeat on the wall that night, she threw caution to the wind and began cheating the system in hopes to one day assist the kids achieve a brighter future. Despite all the work she’s done behind the scenes, Isabella believes there’s still so much more she can do to atone, so even though she’s already received the children’s forgiveness, she continues to assist them by jumping in and saving them directly from demons for once in her life.

- Ma’am it’s sweet you’re so concerned with their safety, but we should be asking you that question ya know? (but then again emma was the same way after she woke up from her coma).

- Knows that just apologizing and saving Emma isn’t enough to suddenly forgive all her actions and wants to do so much more for the children as a result. Even though I already acknowledged all her subtle and hidden moments, I wish we got to see her care for them more openly.

- I simply can not read through ch177 and not get emotional. No matter how hard I try, I always feel tears start to form in my eyes. Oh my god, how cruel that death can be this beautiful. It’s so unfair.

- *uses old chapter review because I’m too upset right now* “She apologizes for everything. For not treating him right and loving him as a mother normally would her own son. For making him despise his life so much and enduring so much pain that he thought the only escape was suicide.”

- “She leaves him with one last wish to protect everyone, and that completely breaks me because you know exactly how much they both care for their family. Not only would they literally die for their family, but they would live for them too if someone asked. Truly like mother, like son.” (aaaaaahhhhh)

- Her, umm.. ghost (along with Conny’s & Yuugo’s) help Ray reunite with Emma in 2049.

- All my tears aside, the anime did something right by actually keeping her ALIVE!

- Have you ever seen something so GODDAMN BEAUTIFUL in all your life?? This image is so powerful it literally tossed aside any salty feelings I had that night with how the second season ended. Seeing her like this grants me so much happiness y’all, it’s truly unbelievable. I still can’t get over it and hopefully I never will.

Okay, now I’m done, thank god. Sorry this is like ridiculously long, especially since she’s absent for sooo many chapters. Also find it so hilarious how drastic my opinion of her changed from the beginning to now, from “bitch” to “oh my god I love her so much.” I know people will always have opposing opinions whether she’s actually a good mother or not and that’s totally fine. Wasn’t trying to convince y’all of that either because yes, some of her actions are real unforgivable, but she was suffering under the farm system too and just followed through with what she was trained to do in order to survive, but while other Sisters fought to climb ranks and help themselves survive, Isabella ultimately wanted the best for her children. The more power she gained, the more risks she took and once the system crashed so did her facade.

An absolute queen.

#the promised neverland #mother isabella #tpn isabella #tpn manga #tpn anime #chidoroki used chatter

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sistervirtue · 2 years

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Genuine question, though- why exactly is art being easily consumable a bad thing? I do think it’d be better phrased as “let people enjoy things so long as that enjoyment isn’t at the expense of others”

Also imo hcing the mains kissing is fine just tag it so people who /don’t/ want to see it can avoid it but ik that can be debated

Okay so in part that post was unclear with what i meant

I don't think art should be gatekept from people. I do believe that the idea of "high art" and elitism in who decides what is art leads to more harm than good and as someone who spent a very large portion of the last few years preparing for a career in art and studying art history i think the idea has a few large aspects we need to tackle

1) the commodification. art is pumped out for the masses to be SOLD to the masses. the worst offender of this i think is NFT's; the art of deceased artist, ai-generated asset mixes, etc all being sold as status symbols BECAUSE of the concept of scarcity and the fact that they Cost A Lot Of Money.

2) because of this commodification, art is becoming increasingly sanitized. especially with the internet, and the phenomenon of people's attention spans (and personal time! we cannot discount how capitalist labor has destroyed people's ability to spend time on the things they love) getting increasingly shorter, companies are pushing out shorter, "emptier" content to catch attention quickly. This trend then trickles down to fandom through the use of algorithms; tiktok, instagram, etc all promote very shortform content en masse, and when you produce things en masse to be profitable, you have to cut corners. a lot of artists have said they can ONLY make a following by making fandom content that appeals to the widest audiences possible, and things like "aesthetic sketchbooks" continue to perpetuate the idea that all art has to be clean and easy to digest. we see much less willingness from both companies and fans to engage with dirty, messy, emotional art, and i think as a whole culture suffers from it.

not only that, but especially online, this rapid-fire cycle of consumption leads to echochambers;;; which leads to things like racism on fandomwide scales, misogyny, grooming-- etc. by enforcing the idea that you do not have to THINK about the art and the implications of what you are ingesting and then spitting out, you enforce the idea that what you are doing can never be harmful to other people.

and this is what i mean by the devaluing of art-- while the entertainment industry booms, and fandom has become more relevant and widespread than ever, people don't VALUE what it means for someone to be MAKING art. people dont VALUE the deeper themes that art could be presenting.

and i won't say fandom content cant be deeper art, too. i will never say you can put it on the level of entirely original works, but i would be a hypocrite if i didnt admit ive even used shows i dont think are particularly good to explore a theme they presented in a way that was deeply personal to myself (such as my cult background) because having a base there made it easier to hone in on those details.

and i dont have an issue with individuals headcanoning things and having ships; it is when those things overtake the basic themes, context, or even the PLOT of the story that i find them to be an offense, especially on a large scale. when i initially watched devilman crybaby, i was severely mislead by dozens upon dozens of people about the actual content of the show because of how cutesy-fying akira and ryo's relationship was the norm, and that's just one of many examples. same with this phenomenon of encanto-- this is a disney movie about family. it is made for children and tries to deliver the themes of generational trauma in a way that introduces the concept of healing for generational audiences. (and the criticisms of disney for encanto are not mine to tell but they are out there and are very interesting reads if ur interested, but this is about fandom) but people are obsessed with finding some sort of ship or headcanon to slap on top, in a way that feels like a shallow non-engagement of the text. which is not particularly hard to engage with, given that it is a CHILDRENS MOVIE

#nyc knacks #long post #sorry! its a fascinating topic to me #ok to rb btw #media consumption

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firelxdykatara · 3 years

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gods, ok, apparently i’m not done.

atla fandom? we need to have a chat.

(....ok that made me sound pretentious as fuck. and maybe i am, but this needs to be said, cause i’m getting....real, real tired of a Certain Corner of this fandom and as a result, this is gonna be a discourse-heavy post so feel free to scroll past if that’s not your bag. as always, my salt posts all carry the catch-all #salt for ts tag, which you’re free to blacklist/filter at your leisure. i’m Very Annoyed at the moment, which will probably come through in the following post, so just. yknow. be prepared for that. or ignore it, that’s perfectly valid too.)

under a cut bc i do care for my followers and their sanity i swear lmao

there’s a real serious issue in this fandom with not understanding what queer terminology actually means or implies, especially when applied to a fictional narrative.

i’m specifically talking about ‘coding’, here. (if i were in a more meme-y mood, i might have said ‘the atla fandom found out about the term “gay-coding” and haven’t shut up since’.)

to the people who say ‘zuko is gay-coded’, i have this to say: you keep using that word. i do not think it means what you think it means. because he isn’t. i’m sorry, but he’s not! and the fact that this is such a prevalent claim in this fandom is distressing, bc it says to me that none of y’all know what gay-coding is or when and how to apply it! please, i’m begging you, go and look up these terms and what they mean and when they should be used before actually trying to plug them into your critical analysis, because when you misuse them and then call other people delusional for disagreeing with you it casts a pall over the entire fandom and is, i think, the root of some of the worst toxicity this fandom has to offer.

and the thing is, there are cases where gay-coding would apply--for instance, a couple series that are famous for queerbaiting their audience by coding their main characters as being attracted to one another (sometimes even despite their openly stated sexualities) come to mind, but those shows bare no similarities at all to atla and how zuko was written and portrayed! (and it would be funny, if it weren’t so obnoxious and infuriatingly wide-spread throughout the fandom, because the only queer couple we actually seen on-screen in either show wasn’t even queer-coded in any respect, and they’re canonically bi! [yes, i’m shading korrasami, or more accurately i’m shading bryke for refusing to give ka the build-up and development they deserved].)

this absolutely isn’t to say that headcanoning zuko as gay is a bad thing or invalid in any respect. (although the tendency for zukka shippers to do this specifically to keep zuko away from katara and/or invalidate his canon relationship/attraction to girls is more than a little eyebrow raising. especially since sokka is usually allowed to be bi, bc fans have no problem letting sukka stay in the background bc it’s no real threat, while jetko shippers are happy to have both boys be bi. [possibly bc katara is less a threat to jetko bc jetkotara is every bit as valid as any single ship between the three, but zukka can’t exactly let katara join in, and if the potential exists for zuko to be attracted to her then canon giving them the far deeper emotional bond becomes a threat to zukka’s existence? idk for sure--you be the judge.]) i prefer to hc zuko as bi (and always have, long before the atla renaissance), bc i don’t think zuko being attracted to boys is outside the realm of possibility, and it isn’t a threat to my ship since zuko&katara had a deep and emotional bond in canon that is very easy to develop further into something that becomes explicitly romantic--but the headcanon itself isn’t really the problem (although what it’s often in service to can be).

it’s the strange insistence that this is the only way to read his character, bc he was coded that way and so anyone who doesn’t see it must be too straight to understand--and i really shouldn’t have to say why and how that is so incredibly fucking insulting. (the ‘hetero lenses’ comment wasn’t cute when it came from bryke six years ago, and the same sentiment being repackaged and delivered by zukka shippers ain’t cute now.)

calling zuko gay-coded not only demonstrates ignorance as to what the term actually means, and how to usefully apply it in critical analysis, but also validates the frankly bullshit insertion of institutionalized homophobia in the world of atla where it was neither needed, nor wanted, nor ever hinted at in canon. as a queer woman i’m still infuriated by one fucking comic panel shoving institutionalized and systemic homophobia into a world where it was entirely unnecessary (and doing this in the first installment of the franchise showcasing a queer relationship??? making korra and asami worried about ‘coming out’ when they could have just gone on to have cute adventures together and tell people ‘hey we’re dating’ and have everyone else be ‘that’s awesome =DDD’ [because it is, in fact, possible to just have a world without homophobia i promise!!!!!] double yikes, i’m still pissed at bryke about it), and i doubly hate that ‘zuko is gay coded’ has become so widespread that ‘ozai hates him bc he’s gay’ has become a staple in that part of the fandom.

not only does making zuko gay and implying (or outright stating) that ozai hated and abused him because of it completely undermine zuko’s character arc by making his abuse about his sexuality rather than ozai’s toxic pride and anger at seeing himself reflected in his ‘weak’ son, but it comes very close to outright stating that abuse and trauma are inherently gay experiences, and they aren’t!!! they really aren’t, i promise!!!

abuse and trauma narratives exist outside of ‘my dad hates me because i’m gay’. and, quite frankly, there are MORE THAN ENOUGH queer trauma narratives out in the world. we do not need to start trying to retroactively make them canon in a series where they didn’t exist! if you’re gay and see yourself in zuko and project your own experiences on him, that’s understandable and valid. that does not make zuko gay-coded. and honestly, the insistence that he is makes very little sense to me, because you’re essentially trying to give the show credit for work you put into interpreting the characters! why would you want to do that? why not own your own headcanons and take credit for them, rather than insisting they are canon and everyone else is wrong for not seeing them??? like, i’ve said before that i’ve always headcanoned zuko (and katara) as bi, and even support it with my interpretations of evidence from the show, but the difference between ‘i think zuko is bi’ and ‘zuko is definitely gay-coded’ is that i know that bi zuko is my interpretation of canon, and that it is work i’m putting into the show that wasn’t actually intended by the creators/writers, no matter how much sexual tension i read into the jetko swordfight.

and like, zuko’s character arc doesn’t actually parallel a queer one all that well to begin with. it’s easy enough to do the work and twist it sideways just enough to make the general points fit, but the fact is, zuko’s arc is not one of self-discovery. it’s not one of coming to understand something fundamental about himself that he can’t change, that he was hated for, and coming out to his father in a dramatic confrontation where he shows that he understands himself and doesn’t need his father’s acceptance to be fulfilled.

zuko’s arc is actually one of trauma and healing. and those can (and often are--like i said, there are more than enough queer trauma narratives in the world, atla really doesn’t need to be one of them) be part of queer narratives, for sure! but they aren’t uniquely queer. and zuko’s confrontation with ozai during the eclipse doesn’t read like a ‘coming out’ at all. (yes, i’ve seen that post. yes, i rolled my eyes and moved on, bc unlike some people, i’m capable of not clowning on correctly tagged posts i disagree with.) zuko is specifically confronting ozai over his abuse, because his arc wasn’t about discovering anything fundamental about himself (and therefore realizing that ozai was hating him for something he couldn’t change)--it was about realizing that he was not at fault for the way his father treated him. it was also about realizing that the fire nation was broken and corrupt at its core, and that his father was an aspect of that he needed to break away from so that he could help the world begin to heal.

he says it himself:

Zuko: No, I've learned everything! And I've had to learn it on my own! Growing up, we were taught that the Fire Nation was the greatest civilization in history. And somehow, the War was our way of sharing our greatness with the rest of the world. What an amazing lie that was. The people of the world are terrified by the Fire Nation. They don't see our greatness. They hate us! And we deserve it! We've created an era of fear in the world. And if we don't want the world to destroy itself, we need to replace it with an era of peace and kindness.

making this about zuko being gay and rejecting ozai’s homophobia, rather than zuko learning fundamental truths about the world and about his home and about how there was something deeply wrong with his nation that needed to be fixed in order for the world to heal (and, no, ‘homophobia’ is not the answer to ‘what is wrong with the fire nation’, i’m still fucking pissed at bryke about that), misses the entire point of his character arc. this is the culmination of zuko realizing that he should never have had to earn his father’s love, because that should have been unconditional from the start. this is zuko realizing that he was not at fault for his father’s abuse--that speaking out of turn in a war meeting in no way justified fighting a duel with a child.

is that first realization (that a parent’s love should be unconditional, and if it isn’t, then that is the parent’s fault and not the child’s) something that queer kids in homophobic households/families can relate to? of course it is. but it’s also something that every other abused kid, straight kids and even queer kids who were abused for other reasons before they even knew they were anything other than cishet, can relate to as well. in that respect, it is not a uniquely queer experience, nor is it a uniquely queer story, and zuko not being attracted to girls (which is what a lot of it seems to boil down to, at the end of the day--cutting down zuko’s potential ships so that only zukka and a few far more niche ships are left standing) is not necessary to his character arc. nor does it particularly make sense.

(and before anyone brings up his date with jin--a) he enjoyed it when she kissed him, and b) he was a traumatized, abused child going out on a first date. of course he was fucking awkward. have you ever met a teenage boy????)

anyway, uh, that was a lot of words, so have a tl;dr: zuko is not gay-coded. there is nothing uniquely gay (or even uniquely queer) about his character arc or characterization, and he was certainly not coded gay in an attempt to sneak a queer character past the censors. if anyone involved with atla was gonna try that, it would’ve been in lok, and as established, they didn’t even manage to queer-code the actual queer relationship before the last few minutes of the final episode. headcanoning zuko as gay is absolutely fine (though if it’s only done to keep him away from female characters he may otherwise be attracted to, that smells more like misogyny than anything else), but insisting that this reading is the only one that makes sense, and anyone who doesn’t agree must be straight (hello, queer woman here making this insanely long thinkpiece) is very much not.

ship what you like, but stop trying to invalidate other ships and other interpretations of characters just to make your ship seem more plausible. it’s really not a good look.

#atla #zuko #zukka salt #more like zukka shipper salt #atla fandom salt #salt for ts #zuko is not gay coded and im so so tired of seeing that argument in this fandom #it's fine as a hc but it's not canon and was never remotely intended and his arc isn't particularly evocative of a gay narrative #long post #queer things

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neon-junkie · 3 years

Text

Hey everyone,

This will be my final post addressing the fandom conflict that has quite frankly gotten out of hand. Although it’s very likely this post will be picked apart, no matter how well intended it is, I will no longer be addressing, interacting, or responding to any further accusations made against me. Of course, if people have questions from a genuine place of interest, I will be happy to clarify anything for you, either via DM’s or non-anon asks. I will not be answering anonymous asks on this, as I do not want anything else posted on this topic.

As a side note: For anyone tempted to wade into the debate, I sincerely ask you not to get involved. Do not make yourself a target, do not feel you need to ‘pick a side’, and please do not think you have an obligation to reason with either side. It seems to be well past the point of that, so please find people you get along with in this fandom and curate a space for yourself away from all this conflict.

Warning: This post will contain uncensored slurs, mentions of racism, paedophilia, transphobia, LGBTQ+ phobia, death threats, threats of violence, targeted harassment, and abusive language.

To start off, I want to apologise to everyone who has somehow gotten drawn into this mess by either defending me, following me, or interacting with my content. This whole situation with me began well over a year ago when I wrote a crack-smut fic featuring Javier/Micah, posted back in August 2019. A crack fic is defined as “a work of fan fiction that is absurd, surprising or ridiculous, often intentionally.” It was inspired by a camp interaction between Micah and Javier, and like many other fanfiction writers, I decided to write smut about it. The fic was titled ‘Dirty Fucking Greaser’, and if that shocks you, I’m sure you can imagine how shocked I was to be informed afterwards that ‘Greaser’ was in fact a very serious 19th century slur for a Mexican individual. My first encounter with this word as insult was via RDR2, where it was used like a very casual insult. My only prior knowledge of this term was in regards to the greasers youth subculture, so the severity was lost on me. This obviously does not excuse my ignorance, and I should have researched the term better, but this is just again to apologize for that oversight, the insensitivity, and to highlight that my use of this term was not meant maliciously. Following this being pointed out, I proceeded to make 3 separate apology posts [Unfortunately I can only find the third one: HERE], renamed the fic, and added slur warnings in both the tags and the fic description. When I continued to receive complaints and increasingly aggressive abuse (which included being told my apologies weren’t good enough and I should delete my account and even kill myself), I attempted to delete the fic and mistakenly abandoned it instead. I contacted AO3 to see if it could be removed, but they said there was nothing they could do. I contacted their DMCA takedown team, who also said they couldn't remove it. Please note that all this happened 7-8 months ago, and has been dragged on for almost a year.

So, from this one unfortunate incident, I’ve been branded a racist, and someone who attacks POC, when all I have done is tried to defend myself and correct my past mistakes. I could have done this more gracefully in the past, but frankly when you’re suddenly the target of unrelenting callout posts and nasty anons, it’s very hard to be open to criticism of this sort, but this is what I’m trying to move past.

Over the course of the year, this one mistake has spiralled, and the crusade against me has somehow coincided with moral conflicts over certain characters and ships. This has devolved into dehumanizing abuse, witch hunts, death threats, doxxing, anon hate, and much more unpleasant behaviour.

I have been in fandom for a very long time, and at the heart of all fandom circles is the fear of censorship and subsequent purges, so the ‘ship and let ship’ mentality was more or less the pinnacle of fandom philosophy. And yes, this can be problematic in some contexts. People have their right to be uncomfortable with content, have a right to be offended by content, but that is not content meant for you. This argument has devolved into ‘what material is morally right to engage with’ and that is a mentality in which fandom will not survive, because for every person who is telling me I’m an awful person for writing about Micah, there are three other people telling me how much they appreciate me making that content. For every fic in which I characterize Javier and Flaco a certain way, some people are made uncomfortable by it and others tell me they enjoy it. And this isn’t just white people, but POC too, which makes it very difficult to know whether I am genuinely in the right or the wrong, especially when it comes to the concept of ‘fetishization’ which I have been made aware I need to educate myself on. I intend to do so, but I disagree with the common accusation that finding non-white men romantically and sexually attractive is inherently fetishistic and makes me racist. It’s pushing a catch-22; don’t find POC sexually attractive? Racist. Find POC sexually attractive? Racist.

I am always willing to be (politely) approached about anything my readers may be concerned about, but if it’s something I’ve specifically tagged for (such as themes, scenarios, etc.) I’m afraid you consented to reading it and with that I cannot help you. You are just as responsible for curating your space and what you see/read just as much as I am responsible for tagging it appropriately.

On the topic of racism, I want to bring up my prior use of ‘white racism’ which has obviously been a point of contention among both white and people of colour. The (literal) black vs white concept of racism is incredibly American-centric, and as someone from Europe, which has a history of oppression against white cultures and those of people of colour, it feels inaccurate. However, this has recently been discussed with me and I came to the realization that while growing up, especially in the UK, ‘xenophobia’ and ‘racism’ were marketed as one and the same. So, with this little revelation in mind, I will no longer be using ‘white racism’ (Or ‘reverse racism’) to identify the abuse I have been receiving, but will instead call it by what it really is; dehumanizing, debasing, xenophobic, puritanical.

Very briefly, I will also touch on the NewAustin situation, which has also been dredged into this. I did not ‘chase a POC from tumblr’. NA was a minor who for some reason was on my 18+ blog and took issue with me, likely from the ongoing discourse regarding my fic and initial mistake, as well as my interest in Micah. They were subsequently harassed into deleting their account by anonymous hate following various conflicts with other users for their support of me or their ships in general. I have never encouraged my followers to target anyone, and have always asked to be blocked and blacklisted by those who do not like me or my content. When NewAustin messaged me following the deletion of their blog, I was admittedly indifferent to the point of being unkind, and accused them of sending the hate themselves. This was based on the anon hate being racially-driven without there being any prior knowledge or publication that NA was a person of colour. This aside, I should have at the time, whether I believed it was my followers or not, condemned this behaviour. Regardless of the issues I’ve had with these people, it is never ever ok to send hate to anyone, no matter the motivation behind it, and that should have been stated at the time.

All I can do at this point is acknowledged and apologize for my past mistakes, and try to improve myself going forward.

It is not my place to dictate the morals of the character/ship-aspect of this argument, and I am not interested in waging a war of opinion. This post is simply to clarify how I am involved in this, and why I am so viscerally targeted. You can draw your own conclusions, but I am no longer interested in this endless back and forth.

To my mutuals/followers, I stand by my request to not interact and to block and move on, as this is what I’ll be doing too.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope it makes things from my perspective a little clearer.

-RAT <3

EDIT: Just after this post was made, the fic in question was finally removed. I had to go through a DMCA take down, which can take months, since I originally abandoned the fic, thinking that meant delete. I explain this in more detail above. Said fic is gone, and has been gone since this post has been around.

#the tea #apology #long post

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jessiebanethedragon · 3 years

Text

White Sands Warm The Cold Sea (pt 11)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter ten

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter eleven: The Fires of Kashyyyk

It was supposed to be so easy, the mission was so effortless all members of Clone Force 99 had grumbled about it being assigned to them.

Why the jedi were wasting resources maintaining the hold on the forests of Kashyyyk was a mystery. The separatists were in retreat according to recent intel and if they kept pushing them to the opposite coast there wouldn't be a reason to evacuate.

Not to mention that Wookies were stubborn as banthas and trying to talk them into leaving their homes was difficult even without having to go through brain numbing translator droids.

Hunter had felt the rumbling of artillery machinery before he or anyone else could’ve heard it. But even with his enhanced senses, there simply was not enough time to get to safety before the barrage started. It was cruelly timed, and maliciously targeted. Taking out the bridge that connected the schoolhouse to the rest of the community. Before lazily picking off those who tried to escape or reach their children.

“Get back to the ship!” Hunter all but screams at Crosshair, Wrecker and Tech. It is as if on cue that the heavens open up to send rain down in massive quantities. And what isn't on fire becomes mush under his feet.

“We ain't leaving you.” Wrecker calls as droids begin their assault.

“Get back to the ship-”

“Hunter…” Tech starts

“THAT'S AN ORDER” Hunter screams when the trees catch fire, from artillery or the lightning he cannot tell. He tries to dig his boots into the mud, but the wetter it gets the less traction there is. As the sky darkens, the separatists cut all power to the city.

Crosshair meets Hunter’s eyes and with a single nod the sniper yanks his brothers towards the Havoc Marauder. With one hand tight on his viroblade, and the other on the barrel of his blaster, Hunter takes off towards the school.

It’s a mess of rain, mud, and fire. He loses count of how many times his feet slip, and by the time he reaches the bridge to the school, Hunter is the only person left standing. Injured Wookies groan in the mud and when he calls into his com for medics an abandoned crackle replies to him. No one is coming to their aid, the separatists had them trapped.

Hunter can feel the young Wookies cry for help, his enhanced senses feel the wails in his bones.

The last bridge suspends itself precariously in the wind, and the thunder, or cannons, he can’t tell which, shake the ground. The schoolhouse sits in the strongest tree of the Kashyyykian woods. Like ewoks they live happily away from the ground, even the built up mud rests on wooden slats and clay bricks. The circular building cuts into the tree itself, housing the young ones protectively. The sturdy bridge sits unyielding in the storm. And by the time Hunter reaches the schoolhouse, he has to kick aside the steaming droids that lay in his wake. Soft calls of Wookies spur him on, but with the cut of electricity, the door doesn't budge, wedging his vibroblade where the latch meets the wall it cracks open, only to slam shut again as he dodges a blaster bolt from behind him.

More droids hit the wood with a resounding thunk.

And with his whole body weight thrown in between the wall and the door Hunter gets it open. And like a stream of water the kids run out and across the bridge towards the beach. One stays and calls to him while pointing back inside. And his rusty Shyriiwook understands there's someone else still trapped. Ripping off his helmet, he wedges that between the door and the latch to keep it open.

Inside the school house it’s dark, satchels and materials lay strewn about, and focusing himself, Hunter hears a faint call.

“scrascra, akraakra!” The child calls for his parents. “acwoanak cooscwooowhwo akanworacwo acwoanak!”

help someone please help!

Hunter has never moved faster in his life. And he finds the fawn coloured Wookie in the last room with their wrist caught under a fallen durasteel beem. Legs kicking feebly as they try to right themselves.

“It’s okay.” Hunter tells them. “I’m here to save you.” and with one arm under the shoulder blades of the child and the other yanking on the beam he lifts.

The small fuzzy child clings to him for dear life as they are freed. And even more so when another shell makes contact with the building.

Making his way back through the rounded hallways he shields the child from the dropping cracks in the wood. As he rounds the last corner, there is a man in an unmistakable separatist uniform looking down at the helmet that has allowed his entrance into the school house.

He’s young, too young to be wearing the general uniform that sits on angry shoulders. But the chopped hair and figure matches with legends and ghost stories that regular clones insist on repeating.

Volim Nython turns towards Hunter and the child with a sick grin. With a disgusting click and slurp of his tongue and mouth, he spits on the once pristine floor.

“I would suppose I have you to thank for the disappearance of my bartering tools.” He comments. Watching as the clone in front of him tightens his grip on the Wookie child.

“Children are not bartering tools.” He seethes.

“Of course they are, and I should commend your efficacy of dismantling the droids, but I'm guessing from the armour you’re no average clone.” If Nython was one thing, he was smart, wickedly so. Hunter braces himself as another bomb shakes the building.

“General, we’ve pushed the republic forces onto the beach, awaiting your order.” The comlink sparks to life.

“Pull back,” He says calmly, turning away from Hunter. “But torch the forest, I don't want anyone left.”

“Rodger rodger.” Comes the reply and Hunter hears the shells fire at an even faster pace now.

“Lovely meeting you.” Nython says, pulling a flame detonator from his pocket. “Tell me, was it worth it? Giving those kids the illusion of salvation for what? A few moments?” Hunter's jaw twitches in anger.

“I guess not then.” The monster says dropping the detonator and calmly sliding through the gap in the door, watching the clone dash into cover as the tree lights up. And he waits just long enough to see the tattooed man pick himself and the kid up again. He wants to look in the clone's eye, through the flames, when he leans down to pick the helmet up. And he wants to hear the man scream through the storm when the door slides shut.

Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu

@logina6 @wondergal2001 @lafy-taffy @lafy-taffy @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

@starskenobiwan @lordellbell @kaetavlos @violetjedisylveon @vergol @Lackofhonor

#tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter #tbb sergeant hunter #sergreant hunter x you #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch series #sergeant hunter #hunter x reader #hunter clone #hunter x you #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #jessiebanethedragon #white sands warm the cold sea

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cloudninetonine · 3 years

Text

Cogito, ergo sum

Chapter: 2

Pairing: Connor (RK800) x fem!reader

A/N: Hey guys! I want to apologise for the long wait between chpaters but seeing as I’m on my last year of college my school work is coming before everything else so it’s a little hard working between them! Don’t worry, I’m not dropping this series or anything just expect chapters to take a little long to be loaded and everything! Also, this chapter seems a little too far paced for me, so sorry about that as well!

Tags at the bottom once again!

I do not own Detroit become human this is merely fanficion

Warnings: Bad language, physical assault, threats (?), hints of abuse, (Name) being weird like always, also angry (Name), mentions of drugs, there’s a bit of slander against drug abusers that I do not condone!

Undercut babes!

It’s fascinating, it really is, the way her beautiful gaze follows you as you round her, studying her feverishly, your eyes wide and bright.

She’s...well, words cannot describe her. Her beauty lies beyond your imagination and you’re not quite equipped to say anything that her magnificent ears deserve to hear, your words are below her and she’s just-

Wow.

“Ms (Last), please-”

You raise your hand towards the younger engineer, silencing with a small utter of ‘hush’ and he’s shutting his mouth, falling back to the side of your desk with not much else to say.

The android you’ve been un-shamelessly ogling for the past 10 solid minutes is still very quiet, she’s just watching you in her manufactured attire, shy, nervous, scared- everything you really wish she wasn’t right now because there is no way you want her to see you as some sort of threat, far from it.

“Henry” Turning back towards the engineer, he stiffs up like a board, sweat forming on his brow “Why didn’t you dismantle her?”

It’s rude, it’s horrible to say and it sours your mouth when you form those words, but it’s an honest question, you want to know why someone would do this, keep her alive, see her for all her glory.

The public spoke strongly about their opinions of androids, like toys to be played with, slaves to be worked, not the thing you so desperately wanted people to see them as. The masterpieces that stood beyond human comprehension.

The android lets out a noise similar to a whimper as Henry stammers out.

“I-I couldn’t she- um- I-” Finally, he sighs with frustration, Henry makes eye contact with you “She said was scared and...I couldn’t”

You snap back to face her.

“Is that true?”

She hesitates, one second, two seconds, three seconds, four- it takes a whole 30 seconds before she’s finally responding. “Yes…”

Your chest bursts in excitement.

“You’re incredible” Henry deflates in relief, placing a hand against your desk while you grasp her cheeks, her warm grey eyes glancing between your two hands then meet your own stare, confused. “Amazing, beautiful, fantastic, so, so much more”

“...thank you”

You sniff, then you’re pulling away, trying to keep your tears abay. You really can’t believe that your work has gone so far, that new forms of sentient are evolving from a human’s hand, you’re so overjoyed by it all but you’re also kind of realising how weird you’re being.

“Sorry, I’m becoming the creepy stereotypical scientist, let me just-” Pulling off your lab coat, you throw it over her shoulders, pulling it tighter around her for her dainty hands to grasp and hold, a smile growing on her face in gratitude. You’re really still in awe of it all but send her a giddy smile back “Henry get Kamski I’m sure he’s gonna love this”

When the man disappears, closing the office door behind him, you guide her to a chair, kneeling before her kindly.

“Tell me” She waits patiently for you to continue “What’s your name?”

When she opens her mouth, you interrupt her, grasping her hands “No, not the name you were given, the name you have chosen. What is your name?”

You’re at the beginning of history right here, you can already see the books that are yet to be written, all starting at this very moment, with you and her. This android, this amazing, piece of living metal, is the start of something great and you can’t wait to be a part of it.

“My name is….”

-----------

“(Name), I’m sorry, but there isn’t really anything I can do”

Your hands come down on the desk, expression unbelieving.

“But he attacked Ortiz in self defence, it’s not fair for him to be shipped to Cyberlife! That hellhole already has enough test subjects with other deviants, why can’t he be let go!?” Pushing yourself back up, you drag your hands down your face in exasperation “He’s a victim! He was defending himself, why can’t we let him off with a lesser offence?”

Billie sighs, shutting the file softly. “Because in the eyes of the law, he’s not a victim. He’s property and there isn’t much we can do about that. Besides, because Ortiz is dead, his ownership basically goes back to Cyberlife, so they have the authority to take him back”

Billie’s right, you know that they’re right, but it’s just so frustrating, so vexing that this is the case. An android, in the eyes of society, is nothing more than their components, why should they be given the same privilege as those who eat, shit and breathe?

Billie may be a judge, but they didn’t make the law.

You remember years ago, when something like this would have been seen as detestable, that the masses would have stood up to fight this kind of horror, but for some reason, with age came stupidity and ignorance it seemed. What the fuck had happened to you all?

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again before huffing, taking the file from their desk and ripping your coat off the hanger.

“I’m sorry, (Name)!” Billie calls and you wave them off, shouting back a ‘Don’t worry about it’ then close their office.

The courthouse is only a few blocks away from the precinct, a good walk away, a good way to calm yourself down until you’re having to face the frustration that comes in with having to work in such a high strung place. It’s funny really, you used to say ACAB when you were younger, still believed it too, so it’s really a wonder as to why you joined, but then again sometimes to make change you have to become the very thing you hate-

“Detective (Last)-”

You scream, almost dropping your files and jumping a meter within the air. Passerbys don’t even spare you a glance, a generation raised on the weirdest websites like Vine, Tiktok, Youtube and god forbid, Tumblr, have them desensitised to whatever shit people like to play at now-a-days.

“Oh my God, Inspector Gadget” A hand falls to your chest, checking your racing heartbeat “You can’t just sneak up on a bitch like that”

Connor, the big old puppy, tilts his head in mild confusion “But I called your name twice, detective”

Oh.

“What are you doing here, Connor?”

The android joins your side and you continue your way. “Lieutenant Anderson informed me that you were heading to the courthouse, so I decided to come and brief you about a new case”

A new case, of course a new case, deviancy keeps popping up all over the country rapidly but you can’t hold your surprise about the fact that it’s been a few days and there’s already a new case.

“Deadass?”

Wait, you hadn’t mean to say that-

His eyes narrow “Deadass?”

A snort escapes you “Oh my God I can’t believe you just said that, it sounds so cursed coming from your mouth. I meant, seriously?”

You swear on your life, on everything that may be above and so much more, that the android lets out a laugh when he continues, explaining the details as you finally enter the office.

You realise, as he talks, you feel a whole lot lighter than you had earlier.

-----------

“This guy is as scummy as it gets”

Unfortunately, you can’t help but agree. Todd Williams is about as charismatic as a dumpster fire, messy hair, messy face, stained clothing and the stench of alcohol clung when you finally met him, having to hold back a wince of disgust.

You don’t usually speak ill of others, but you know his type, from the way he carries himself to the way he speaks. You’ve had to face men like him before, his whole demeanor brings back bad memories and you’re so glad that you’re not the one having to get details from him, to have to speak to him.

One thing’s for sure though, you don’t blame whatever deviant decided to book it from him.

“Why doesn’t he just...get a refund from Cyberlife?” You take a sip of your milkshake, staring at Hank, Connor and Mr Williams who looked to be ending off their conversation. “They do that for deviants, don’t they?”

Yes, if you remember, the new flashy CEO of the hell corp spoke it for all to see, that deviance is guaranteed to offer you your cash back.

How inhumane it all sounded.

Gavin scoffs, drinking his coffee “You think a guy like that cares about refunds?”

No. You know why he’s doing it. It’s all about power for fuckers like that.

Mr Williams leaves, Hank is looking through his notes, Connor is heading your way, probably to refer all the information back to you and Gavin is taking in a breath to start his bullshit again, despite your civilness that you had been sharing.

Eh, peace was never an option-

“Your metal boyfriend is heading this way”

The noise you make isn’t human, it’s a mix of a wheeze and scream, like you’ve just choked on the air your breathing and in all honesty, you have, but you’re not letting that mother fucker get away with catching you off guard, especially when he starts laughing.

“Shut up, furry”

Your actually feel the air from his head snapping towards you. “I’m not a fucking furry, quit fucking saying it!”

You pat his shoulder “It’s alright, Reed, we all know you wrote yiff fiction in your spare time-”

You dodge his fist, running away from his red, angered face and petty insults, dragging Connor away from the break room to the side, all while laughing up a storm.

Having your attention on the android again brings back Gavin’s words, his tease of ‘boyfriend’ which makes your face heat up, in what? You’re not quite sure, but it’s enough to make Connor notice your oddity.

“What were you and Detective Reed-”

“Nothing” You cackle, patting down his shoulders to distract yourself “He’s just being an arsehole again, nothing to worry yourself over”

And worry himself he didn’t, because he couldn’t of course, android and all.

Connor was quick to fill you in, an AX400 by the name of Kara had stolen (the word kidnapped comes to mind but you know that the robot detective will just ‘correct’ you on your wording) another android, Mr William’s ‘daughter’, model YK500 named Alice after assaulting him the night before. Mr Williams had been knocked out after the ordeal, as to why it had taken him so long to report it.

“Were there any signs of assault that you could see? Ones that could lead to a potential take down or unconsciousness?” Connor takes a moment before shaking his head “Yeah, I didn’t think so”

What a lying fuck.

“Let’s head to the briefing room”

Hank is there, as well as a whole group of other police officers, talking amongst themselves as you situate yourself behind the podium, screen remote in hand and smiling brightly. Your partners are at your side, Connor in his usual stoic stance while the old fart has his arms crossed, bored as always and you’re ready to debrief the many uniforms but they keep talking, even after you clear your throat.

You’re not one to get angry at being talked over, annoyed, yes, but anger leads you nowhere with a crowd, so instead, you use your most favourite tactic to date

“Pay attention to me or I am gonna start screaming people” You sing. Not a threat, but a promise. “And you all know I will screech like mother fucker”

The room is silent in the next second.

“Great! So-”

The door to the room bursts open.

“Fucking really-”

“Detective (Last)'' It's the front office assistant and by the looks of it, he is panicked, worried even, as he addresses you. You suddenly feel your stomach knot up “I’m sorry, but there’s been an emergency with your relative Carl Manfred”

You swallow, hard. “What?”

The meeting ends right then and there.

-----------

Hank hurls to a stop right outside the entrance. You’re already halfway out of the car when he shuts off the vehicle, Connor is taking off his seatbelt and you’re already racing down the soaked concrete path to the front door, rain pelting down on you.

You barely feel it though.

You startle the receptionist when you slam your hands down, eyes wide in panic, breathing coming out in fast, short pants and just looking as though you faced the masses to make it to this spot, right in front of her.

“Carl Manfred, he was brought here about an hour ago is he-”

She interrupts “Are you family?”

“Yes, please, I-”

“In what relation do you have to the patient?”

Is she really fucking serious right now? You debated leaning over and strangling your answer out of her, letting her know what kind of fucking pain you could put her through in this very moment-

But the hand that is placed against your back keeps you still. It’s warm and comforting and keeps you from mauling the fucker right out of her chair, though it doesn’t calm your anxiety, no, but at least it’s there.

You turn to see Connor, who nods towards you politely.

Huh, what a twist of events.

Hank leans over from your other side, looking just as angry as you feel, though he keeps his voice civil when he speaks “Listen, her old man’s just had a heart attack, could you drop the formal shit so she can see him?”

Her voice is sharp, just like her stupid fucking face and she snaps back “I can’t let you in unless I know your relation, unless you’d like to be escorted out by security”

Damn, she’s playing with fire and you’re ready to throw oil all fucking over her.

“I don’t fucking think so-” Pulling out your badge, you slam it against the desk, with nothing short of a growl “Police. Now, tell me where my fucking dad is or you’ll regret the next words that come out of your mouth”

You never abuse your power as a cop, it’s inhumane and back in your younger days you sneered at the disgusting police who would use their authority for their own gain, so you hate to admit but the nervous look that crosses her face when she sees your badge and Hank’s when he pulls it out for extra effect scratches an itch you begged to be scratched.

“Floor 3, the front desk will inform you what room”

“Thanks” You spit, already rushing to the elevator, the other two following.

Connor is quiet, to your surprise. Honestly, you expected him to speak out about your behaviour, your attitude, your unprofessionalism, but he says nothing, just trails after the two of you in silence, obediently, just like he was made for.

It’s comforting having him here, even if he’s just following orders.

The next receptionist is kinder than the last (she even scowls at the mention of her coworker) and points down the hallway, to where two officers stand with cups of coffee within their hands. They stiffen in surprise at your arrival, but you pay them no mind, pushing your way into the room where you finally pause, taking in the scene of your beloved father figure, laid still within the bed, pale, heart monitor beeping occasionally.

The doctor by Carl’s side looks up at you. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

Hank and Connor wait outside.

“(Name) (Last), Carl’s daughter and emergency contact” You explain, walking further into the room “Is he- Can I-”

“He’s fine” She explains with a comforting smile “And yes, you can come closer, though the medication has him knocked unconscious so he won’t be talking any time soon”

The relief almost has you collapsing, brings you back from the panic attack that threatens to kick your arse right in front of everyone and you finally breathe normally.

“Thank you, and you are?”

“Dr Collins” Collins offers her hand and you shake it weakly. “Your father is going to be okay, (Name), but he’s going to need a lot of rest. Cardiac arrest at this age can be fatal, so we were lucky that he lived so close”

You nod, tiredly slinking to Carl’s side to drop into the cushion chair, taking his hand in yours. Kissing it lovingly, you place it close to you in comfort, in reassurance.

‘He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s going to be okay-’

“What are you doing here?”

Your anger shoots right back up, as does you head when you turn to look at the doorway.

“Leo” The name is dragged out of your mouth, it’s spoken with a heavy coat of venom and dirt and for all the participants who are about to see this wild shit show, is a clear indication that you’re far from happy to see the man that stood there. “The fuck are you doing here?”

He scoffs “I’m family, what else am I here for?”

“Oh I don’t know,” You’re standing, stalking closer to him with a raged gleam in your eye “To mooch off him a little bit more?”

The tension can be cut with a knife, everyone can see it, feel it, even Connor, who looks ready to intervene at any given moment.

“No, detective” One of the officiers starts, cutting in in hopes to keep you both calm. “He was there when it all happened, he saw everything-”

“He was there?” No, her words only add fuel to the fire and you’re glaring at your brother once again “You were there? The fuck were you there for? You did this?”

“No!”

“Please calm down” Collins cuts in “I understand the anger but the other patients-”

You ignore her, glancing around the area when a thought struck you.

“Where’s Markus?”

Connor’s the first to respond, “Who’s Markus, detective (Last)?”

“Dad’s care bot” A pin drops, no one is speaking, the two cops are quiet, Leo is scowling, but he’s not looking at you and your anger is quickly making room to fear, cold and stabbing when you push again, harsher, angrier “Where the fuck is Markus?”

The second officer speaks this time, hat in his hands and you know what happens next is not going to be good.

“He was leaning over your father when we walked in detective, Mr Leo Manfred told us he attacked him” The man gulps, hesitating. He’s not nervous for what he’s done, no, he’s nervous about the dark look that seems to be slowly taking over your eyes, “I shot him”

A beat goes by. Then another, another, another, another, another-

“Why were you there in the first place?” It’s soft, curious, but the rage behind it is big, your need for an answer is keeping it back “What was the call for?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Answer the question, officer”

His partner offers up the answer “....A break in, ma’am”

There’s silence, then you nod in understanding.

No one is quick enough to stop you from shoving Leo into the wall, hands wrapped tightly around the lapels of his jacket and holding him up so you can scream at him properly, face feeling hot from anger, eyes wild from rage, practically feral.

“You fucking did this! This is your fault, you good for nothing fuck!” You pull your hand back and punch him right in the face, he’s too in shock to react but everyone else is trying to pull you off “What?! Were you off your shit from snorting that fucking powder again, you damn druggie!? Huh!? HUH!? You high right now, too!?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, (Name), let go!” Hank yells but he’s fucking impressed by your resistance.

“He could have died because of you, you good for nothing cunt! Worthless piece of shit! Now, Markus is fucking dead because of you, the person who was actually fucking taking care of him! This is all your fault! He’s in that hospital bed, because of you! You! Did! This! All for those stupid drugs! You’re fucking pathetic!”

You’re finally tugged off by someone, their arms slipping under your own to stop you from going back at him again. The officers are acting as a wall between you and your brother, Dr Collin’s is checking his nose as blood drips down his face, Leo is still in shock and Hank is leaning over, hands propped onto his knees. That leaves...

“I’m sorry detective (Last), but I’m going to have to restrain you until you calm down”

You scream in frustration and try to fight against it, but damn, you have to admit in a moment of clarity, Connor is fucking strong.

“Lieutenant Anderson, if you could take her legs, we can escort her out of the building without much trouble” Hank huffs something under his breath probably a grunt of ‘fucking android’ but complies, glaring at you when he leans down.

“You kick me and I’ll kick your ass”

Your respect for him makes you comply, but the anger doesn’t stop you from cussing both him and the android out, naming every threat under the sun as they carry you out of the building, back to the car which you are shoved placed into.

“Let me out of this fucking car, Hank!” You bellow, glaring at the man with sharp eyes who stood outside the vehicle, leaning against it “I’ll break this fucking window, I swear to fucking God!”

“You can try, but we both know you won’t!”

Once again, you’re screaming, tugging frantically at the door’s handle that you know is locked, but are way too angered to care right now.

Connor sits by your side, a good distance away to not antagonise you, silent, waiting and watching as you slowly fall from angry to desperate, tears welling within your eyes and falling down your cheeks. It only takes a few more moments for you to stop altogether, your shoulders shaking as you sob, quietly but strong.

The android finally speaks “Detective (Last)-”

You’re on him in a moment, arms wrapped around his frame, face buried into his shoulder, wetting his suit jacket as you cry, shaking.

It’s a new one for Connor. An android built for detective work, to sniff out the bad deviants, to question suspects and actually built with a comforting feature for victims of crimes. But this is a first, a first he’s seen anyone to tears, more importantly, a first of seeing you so broken. Sure, he had seen you defeated those few days ago, but this is different, you’re not trying to hide conflicting feelings behind your bubbly smile and weird jokes, you’re just...crying. Nothing more, nothing less.

His arms are hovering at your sides, hesitant, unsure and it’s not until Hank gestures from outside the car to ‘fucking do something, you stupid machine’ that the protocol finally kicks in, his arms coming to wrap around you securely and comforting, reassuring you through your whimpers.

Connor is a robot, a machine that feels nothing.

But seeing you cry isn’t something he can just let happen.

Software instability.

-----------

Tags: @dillxpixkles @1950schick @pinkittwice @iris-suoh @loveflowsthroughme @thatlonelyalto @starcatcher-kay (ya’ll I’m half asleep if I forgot you in the taglist I am SORRY-)

#connor rk800 #dbh connor #detroit become human connor #dbh hank #detroit become human hank #dbh gavin #detroit become human gavin #dbh carl #detroit become human carl #connor rk800 x reader #connor rk800 imagine #dbh connor x reader #dbh x reader #dbh imagine #dbh #detroit become human #dbh leo #detroit become human leo #cogito ergo sum

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wickedscribbles · 3 years

Text

Come What May, Chapter Three

A/N: Thank you guys so much for the support! It means a lot. <3

Masterlist

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Original Female Character (Second Person Perspective)

Rating: Explicit

Tags: fluff, teasing, being in a relationship with Obi-Wan means witty banter, spoil Obi-Wan damn it the man is TIRED, fantasizing in places you shouldn’t, Obi-Wan being a bit of a tease, Jedi are touch-starved, loss of virginity (for both parties), cock riding

Word Count: 6.3 K

You're sure that all this sneaking around isn't part of the Code, either. But in the middle of a war, you and Obi-Wan take what you can get. With one or both of you needed off-planet more and more often, even being back at the Temple to sneak around with one another is welcome. Disputes between Republic and Separatist planets are only getting more tense. As Jedi, you both have your duties. Obi-Wan as a General, and you as a healer.

Life is busy, sometimes overwhelming and scary. Whether you’re on the front line, holding the hand of a soldier, or home on Coruscant tending to Jedi and low-level civilians. The thing that keeps your gut from gnawing itself to pieces with worry for Obi-Wan is your comm blinking with his encrypted message. One word; safe. He never forgets. Though you can’t feel through your bond off-planet, you can at least relax enough to sleep before typing your own reply. Safe. No matter where you are, he insists on knowing the same is true on your end.

So when you feel a flicker of him among the hundreds of other souls coming in and out of the Temple, you don’t hesitate to reach out in excitement. Obi-Wan hadn’t said when he’d arrive the last time you were able to speak, just that he would be back at the Temple soon. Forgetting yourself, you push out for his own life Force, a wordless wave of happiness. The colicky baby you’re comforting in the creche feels it too, going from the brink of a tantrum to a wide-eyed smile.

!!!!

Hello there, he says, answering with his own push of delight that you’ve found him, that you’re home too. Underneath it runs a silent warning in the form of his usual anxiety. However happy you both are, you must be quieter. You tell him you understand, duck your head though he’s not there in the room to admonish you.

Obi-Wan’s nerves fade, replaced by the usual rush of curiosity that bubbles up from both of you after an absence. There will be dozens of questions, when you're together to talk. It’s difficult to have a real conversation through the commlink without raising suspicion, so reunions are full of stories. For now, though, you ask only one.

Where are you?

Come and see, he says mysteriously. You can almost see the grin on his face. You roll your eyes at the unnecessary antics, but can’t bite back a smile. Negotiations must have gone well for him to be teasing you.

The baby fusses again in your arms, and you stroke his head to soothe him. “I know, Myn. We’ll get you to bed, then see where Master Kenobi is hiding. Now, let's help you feel better.”

----

He's not where you expect him to be.

After an unsuccessful visit to each of his favorite spots, you find the scoundrel sitting in the main refectory. In a room meant for hundreds, only around a dozen mill about or eat at this hour. Each long table has an average of only one or two occupants, and most of the holodisplays are buzzing on standby. Droids roll around, mopping tables and cleaning spills. The transparisteel windows are open, letting in a nice evening breeze. Obi-Wan is one of the few, looking out of place in armor. He must have really just gotten home, then.

Your breath catches to even recognize the back of his head. Between your conflicting schedules, a month has passed since you've seen him. Gods, you wish you could run over. Wish you could beam at him, in this public space, wrap him up and breathe him in. He'd smell a little strange, blaster fire and recycled air and foreign planets. But under it all, undeniably Obi-Wan. Jedi Master, War General, and secret giver of the best hugs.

Not just hugs, you sigh to yourself, thinking of the last time he was home. Every step you force yourself to walk over to him only makes the memory that much clearer. As inexperienced as the both of you'd started, Master Obi-Wan was proving to be an attentive and voracious partner. Seeming as eager to please as he was to learn, you never left disappointed. After his initial reluctance for intimacy, you'd watched him shyly blossom under the attention you gave him.

In return, your accidental Force bond positively shines, and being connected to another living being this way is an experience you wouldn't trade for anything -- sexual encounters or not. You find yourself similar to him in ways that surprise and delight you -- and your differences aren’t so monumental. After all, the most tender parts of your minds, your souls, are often laid bare for one another. Though you've only been together for a few months, and even then for a few stolen moments, you feel comfortable with him, and he with you. Any concerns or discomforts are hard or impossible to hide. In this way, the bond often forces honesty.

It doesn’t surprise you that Obi-Wan isn’t alone at his table. Seen as something of a celebrity among the younglings and Padawans, they tend to swarm him when they get an opportunity. He’s ever-patient about it, always managing to find time for them, which you find unbearably sweet. Sitting with him now is a familiar group of young Padawans. They seem intent on asking questions how to improve their saber technique at every turn, though they’ve only just built their own weapons.

Children their age aren’t exactly your specialty. It always makes your stomach roil with nerves when you think that soon you must take your own Padawan. But even you have to admit that they’re sweet, all nerf-tails and braids and wide eyes. They hang onto Master Kenobi’s every word. A check of your bond reveals that he’s in full lecture mode, and isn’t even aware that you’re behind him. He’s busy making sure that the way he explains the difference in lightsaber forms is easy for them to understand, while still being comprehensive.

It’s almost a shame when Master Windu locates his Padawan, the ringleader, and scolds the group away for bothering Obi-Wan when he’s trying to enjoy a late dinner. You were enjoying the explanation of the differences between Juyo and Vaapad. Though the topic was a little advanced for the group, Master Obi-Wan rarely turns away an honest question.

"Did you do that just to make me walk around the entire Temple?" you say after they’ve cleared out. "I checked the gardens, the library, the Fountain Room, the docking bay…"

Obi-Wan lights up when he hears you, turning with an easy smile that morphs into a look of mischief. This time he's the one to reach out through the bond, and you accept it as willingly as a full embrace. You take the seat across from him, keeping your body language casual though you can’t help beaming. Obi-Wan looks just as pleased -- arms crossed on the table though his Force tells you he’d love to take your hand. You know he’s right to worry; you can’t take bold chances. Everyone must be fooled into thinking that what’s developed between you is a friendship, and nothing more, if you’re to get away with this.

"I wasn't hiding. I really did come straight here. You've had what they serve on the clone ships." A wrinkle of displeasure travels mutually between you. Food served in the Temple couldn't exactly be called the height of luxury, but what they served the troops was downright flavorless. You've never heard a clone complain about it, bless them. In front of him sits an empty bowl and a half-finished cup of what has to be tea.

"Fine. I guess I'll forgive you." The look you give him is a little too cheeky, but no one's watching.

"Oh, a thousand thanks," he replies, every bit as taunting. He places his chin in his hand and smirks, looking far too cute in far too public of a setting. Maker, he’s starting to figure it out, isn’t he? The effect he has on you. He’s dangerous in many ways, but this might be the most threatening he’s ever been.

“Got you something,” you announce, changing the subject. You hope he doesn’t notice the deep breath you have to take to steady yourself. Before he can protest -- because you know without looking up that Obi-Wan will protest -- you untie a pouch from your belt.

Sure enough, he’s got the look. Normally reserved for Anakin, it’s all disapproval and scrunched brows. And of course, it’s still attractive. How does Anakin get anything done? Anakin doesn’t have the kind of daydreams you do. At least, he probably doesn’t.

“I thought we’d discussed this. It isn’t wise to --”

“Master,” you interrupt, unwrapping the package. The fancy paper crinkles under your fingers, and you're trying not to make a lot of noise. “I’m pretty sure that this won’t blow our cover.”

“Well, I still don’t --”

You peel back the plastic sleeve on the package, revealing half a dozen cookies. They’re an off-planet delicacy you’d discovered in a little tea shop in the mid-levels, each about as big around as your pinky finger is long. Each is a different flavor, with some sort of icing sandwiched between two halves of the confection. All you know for sure is that the sample you’d been coaxed into trying had melted like butter on your tongue. You were handing over credits before the Twi’lek behind the counter had to persuade you any further.

“ -- oh!” His reproach melts away in seconds. “You’ve brought biscuits. I - I suppose that’s fine.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” you tease, pulling one out and handing it to him. It looks like your hunch to bring this gift is right on the money; you’ve seen how keen he is to get to the refectory on the nights they serve desserts. A part of you -- a very un-Jedi part -- had been thinking of him. Had wanted to get him something, something that would sit on the desk in your room until he returned, something small enough that he wouldn't fuss over it. You'd wanted to spoil him in the tiniest of ways, knowing how hard he drives himself.

Obi-Wan takes it with barely disguised delight. You watch him bite into it, amused, thinking of all the times he and the other Masters have lectured you on the ways of a Jedi. Something about conquering curiosity would have been said, had the positions been flipped. “Do you like it?”

He nods happily, licking a crumb from the corner of his mouth. "'S good."

You try not to focus on the pink tip of his tongue, how quickly it slips over his lip and then disappears again. That tongue had been your undoing, when it had last touched your body. Stop thinking about that here!

His eyes dart down to the package, and you know he wants another one.

"Take one, I got them for you." You pry another loose, offering it easily. It makes you happy to see him let himself want something -- and to know that you can give it to him. The Code has its purposes, sure. But sometimes it's nice to detach from grace and serenity, and just...enjoy.

As long as you aren't devastating your own way of life, razing it to the ground as former Jedi-turned-Sith have done, you see no harm in feeding Obi-Wan Kenobi a cookie. Or doing other things with him, far from prying eyes.

He doesn't seem to see it as a capital offense either, and lets you feed him the second one with a happy hum. His eyes flutter closed for a moment as he savors the taste, far sweeter than anything they serve here in the refectory. When he finishes this one, a blue crumb sticks to his bottom lip.

"Master."

"Mm?" He tilts his head ever so slightly, blue crumb not budging.

"You've got something."

"Got -- got what?"

"On your face," you struggle to keep your tone even, hold in a laugh. He looks -- he looks silly. One eyebrow quirked, no idea what you're talking about though it should be obvious. Master Obi-Wan, cookie crumbs on his face, looking at you like you're the one two screws short of a saber hilt.

Predictably, when he puts a hand to his mouth to brush it away, he's nowhere near the actual crumb. This goes on for several frustrating seconds, until you finally look to see if anyone's watching and brush it away yourself. Your thumb lingers on his bottom lip.

"Gosh. You were a parsec away," you chuckle, savoring the memory of his very real confusion.

But something in his gaze has shifted. Obi-Wan looks right at you, your thumb still light on his bottom lip, and licks a slow stripe over the pad of it.

The bond, so carefully shielded after you greeted one another, breaks open like a crust. Desire builds on his end, warmth that soon becomes an unbearable heat. It feels like it's flooding you, a steady stream in your chest, your limbs, your feet. You spare a thought to sift through the Force for the others in the room, too captivated with what’s in front of you to look. No one feels shocked or surprised or even interested in you.

Parting his lips further, Obi-Wan takes your thumb into his mouth and sucks, only for a moment, but you shudder. This is so damn bold of him, this tiny thing, but it sends you spiraling.

Sometimes you don't make it easy to think clearly.

You pull your hand away, hearing him speak in your mind. Everything he's not saying, out loud or through the bond, swirls between you. How he's been aching for you since you realized he'd arrived back at the Temple. How hard it's been to hold back from doing all the things that you want to do, as soon as you laid eyes on one another. How he wants you, now.

"My room or yours?" you murmur.

"Mine." He answers, barely above a whisper. Though you know it's more logical to go there -- the Master's quarters are always less occupied -- a little thrill always runs through you. You watch his hands clench and unclench on the table, considering something.

"Wait an hour before you join me," he adds.

An hour? you whine.

Far less suspicious this way, he answers, though you can feel his returning tug of desire, of impatience.

"What do you say if you're found outside my quarters?"

"I'm watering Master Kenobi's plants while he's away," you recite. Not a lie in the slightest; you kept the growing collection in excellent health. And it gave you a reason to be in his room every few days, whether he was actually on-planet or not. Watering the plants...taking in the smell of Obi-Wan that still clung to the bedsheets and robes, leaving your own scent.

"Good girl," he says. Again, your mind darts to the last time he'd praised you that way -- where his mouth had been. Immediately, he seems to remember too; color floods his cheeks and he’s suddenly very interested in the tabletop.

You brighten at the words, even as he blushes to say it so publicly. Like he hadn't just been suckling your finger. Not exactly what a Master would say to a Padawan -- and you haven't been a Padawan in years. His blue eyes burn into yours with a hunger, and you feel one last little touch through the bond before he gets up from the table. He doesn’t look back.

Lingering a little longer, you head to the Fountain Room with a long sigh. Meditating away your arousal is not going to be easy.

The hour passes in uncomfortable slowness. You haven't been this unfocused in meditation since you were a youngling, but you're squirming for a different reason. It takes almost forty minutes for the roar of the fountains to lull you to relaxation, and once you realize that the hour has almost passed, you slip and have to start all over. Even Obi-Wan would scold you for the way you shift and fidget, the living Force all around you but your mind too disconnected to reach out.

So you resort to pretending. You remain in a meditative stance, but simply count in your head instead. It’s a Padawan trick, and part of you feels guilty, even though there’s no one around to watch. You almost expect Master Rancisis to slither up behind you, insisting that he was not angry, only disappointed.

When the hour finally trickles to an end, you get to your feet. It takes a fair amount of restraint not to break into a jog when you reach the end of the Temple where Knights and Masters live. Muscle memory takes you easily to the door of Obi-Wan’s room, though it’s identical to the others around it.

Knock knock, you say, bouncing on the balls of your feet outside the door. In response, the lock clicks open. You slide inside and close the door in one motion, locking it again behind you.

Obi-Wan’s room is structured much like every other Jedi’s quarters. It looks quite like your own. Each sports the same bed, wallpaper, desk. The differences are its inhabitant, and the rank of Master.

While your room is boxy, not leaving much space to move, Obi-Wan’s can easily be walked around in. Potted plants adorn the small windowsill, beginning to crowd it. He’s been able to get more since you started watering them. The short bookshelf next to the bed has watermarks on the end from how many times he’s placed a teacup there. In the corner, he even has an attached fresher -- the source of much envy when you first found out.

But all this would feel empty without Obi-Wan sitting cross-legged on the bed, out of his armor and looking freshly showered. His boots are tucked neatly at the foot of the bed, so he sits in his sock feet. An unguarded, toothy grin lights up his face as he lifts his arms for a hug. The bond slams together two seconds before you get there, mingling and tasting and feeling each other’s life Force without restraint. You embrace him tightly, burying your own smile in his neck as the two of you fall back on the mattress.

Missed you, you say, pressing a kiss to his jaw. It makes him squeeze you tighter, his sigh moving a few strands of your hair.

Your life Force is a little too jumbled right now, overwhelmed with his closeness, both in your mind and in your arms. Images roll from you in ways you don’t really mean to send them. Obi-Wan, head ducked between your legs, the last time he was home. Your own hands, plucking dead leaves from one of the plants on the sill. Bending over a clone trooper, gently encouraging his wound to close with the Force. The lowest, most-poverty stricken levels of Coruscant. Setting up a clinic tent there with a few other healers when you’re not occupied with other war efforts. A little girl squealing in excitement when she realized she got a sweet for being good during her treatment.

In return, Obi-Wan shows you his own line of thought, and where he’s been. The way your lip wobbled when he’d looked up from eating you out, pupils huge and eyes pleading. How that image had been enough to make him spill in his hand in one of the Resolute’s freshers, a week later. The sweaty-humid jungles of Felucia, the heat making his tunics stick to his skin. Anakin singing some shanty with the 501st on the ride home, in high spirits. Commander Cody shaking his head when his own boys started in, making the lyrics even dirtier. (Obi-Wan had held Ahsoka’s lekku tight so she didn’t hear anything after that.) How good you smell to him now, all vanilla and grass after a thunderstorm and something he can never identify.

“I’m willing to bet,” he says, shifting you both so that you lie side by side, “that I missed you far more.”

“Master,” you say innocently. “It’s not a competition.” You slide your thigh between his legs, pleased at how readily he allows it, how he draws you closer. His cock presses against you, almost fully hard. The pressure elicits a small gasp from him, and a smirk from you.

Obi-Wan thinks on your remark for a moment. “No,” he admits. “But there may be a struggle.”

And with that, he claims your mouth with his own. He feels so warm, so safe. Calloused fingers slide up to caress your face, and you melt even more.

Though both of you are wound tight with anticipation, his kisses drag slow over your lips, sweet and lingering. You let him lead, a little dazed when one of his hands starts trailing absently up and down your side. He tastes like the cookies you fed him. The dominant note of sugar overcomes the usual flavor of Obi-Wan that you're used to, though it's hard to complain.

You curl yourself closer, tighter into his chest, wanting as much contact as possible. Being with Obi-Wan makes you feel vulnerable in a way you never get to be otherwise. There's a part of you that wants to be tended to. Maybe it comes from being raised among dozens of other children in the creche, with no minder giving you specific care or attention beyond what was required. A lesson before the lesson, that Jedi were not supposed to form attachments this way. It's too late for you now -- no matter what you'd promised Obi-Wan, you are very much attached.

"Your thoughts betray you, dear one," Obi-Wan murmurs in the shell of your ear. You can hear his smile through the gentle scolding. Like he isn't just as fond of you.

"And your body betrays you," you shoot back, rubbing your thigh against his dick once more. It jerks at the attention, always eager to make itself known when you're involved.

He laughs a little at that, the sound low and conceding. "So it does."

"What will we do about it?" you ask. You lean in and place a string of kisses down his throat, teasing the sensitive place right below his ear. His shaky inhale and flash of excitement through the bond tell you all you need to know about how it affects him.

“Anything,” says Obi-Wan. "Anything you want." You hear him swallow, trying to keep it together. Collecting himself, using the patience that comes with the training of a Jedi Master. You can see him losing his grip, but it's not enough. You want him utterly lost.

But as luck would have it, you have a trick up your sleeve that might change things.

"I want this," you reach down and grab his dick, giving it a firm squeeze, "inside me."

His breathing grows harsher. "We -- I -- we can't." Even as he arches into your touch, wanting it. You can feel the damp spot through the thin material of his trousers, evidence of his excitement for you. Gods, he looks good like this. Not letting up, you cup Obi-Wan's erection harder, unable to bite back a whine of your own.

Obi-Wan had refused to enter you without guaranteed protection, which for him meant something more reliable than condoms. (Stars, no matter how much you begged.) An implant chip had been difficult, but not impossible, for you to get.

"We can. See?"

You flex the implanted arm, where the chip sits underneath the surface of the skin. His eyes track the movement, then a finger comes up to trace the tiny device.

"You really got it," he says, almost to himself. The finger presses gently into your arm, moving the chip in little circles. Like he's checking to make sure it's really there. "I didn't think…"

"Didn't think it would ever be a possibility?" you finish. "I have my connections, Master."

Obi-Wan sends a wave of suspicion through the bond, so you show him how it was obtained. As a Jedi healer, you keep in contact with other medical centers throughout Coruscant, trade resources and sometimes favors. It just so happens that you were able to stop by in plainclothes and receive the implant, off-record, from one of your colleagues. Paid for, of course. Evidence of your visit just happened to disappear from the data system after your friend inserted the chip.

"I can't say I entirely agree with your methods," he admits. "Still, I much prefer it to you risking one from the black market."

"I wouldn't take that kind of chance."

"I know." He kisses your cheek. "You're smarter than that. But desperation can drive us to do things we normally wouldn't."

You squirm, happy that he's okay with what you've done, but getting restless. In your hand, his cock hasn't softened a bit, but from the way he's speaking, you wouldn't think it. How does he do it? The Knights you'd been with before hadn't had a quarter of his self control. Then again, they aren't half the man that Obi-Wan is.

"Speaking of desperation." You let out a small laugh, half breathlessness, half embarrassment. Your pulse is racing, and you know he can tell how badly you want him. "Please, Master? Take me?"

And you feel the waver. His serenity shivering like a mirage in the sand. The physical proof of how hard he's trying to keep it together in your hand jolts again at your words, how politely you beg for him. You know he loves it.

"Little one." His voice is low in your ear, something about the tone strange and new and dangerous. "Are you sure you know what you're asking for?"

You nod vigorously. "Obi-Wan, I -- I've wanted this for so long. Yes."

A flicker of uncertainty shows in his eyes as his hand comes up to cup your cheek once more. "So have I. But if I were to...to hurt you, you must tell me immediately. We can stop as soon as you say. And --" His anxiety is running away, and you break in to stop it.

"Hey. Hey," you put a finger to his lips, and he frowns at the interruption. "Obi-Wan. Listen to the Force. Feel me."

With a shaky breath, he does. Trusting in the Force is something he's been doing his whole life, and asking him to do it now helps calm him down. His half of your bond reaches, nerves spread over his emotions like thorns. When all you have to show him is your eagerness, your excitement, your joy that you finally get to do this with him, much of it relaxes.

I very much want you, Master Kenobi. It will not hurt. Unless...I want it to.

He's silent for a long moment, contemplating your implication. Then, "Trousers off, sweetest."

Yes!

Obi-Wan chuckles at your mental cheering, while you get to your feet and struggle out of your pants and underwear. He follows suit, sitting up on the bed and making quick work of his own clothes. You pause in taking off your tunic, because stars.

If you think he's pretty with clothes on, it's nothing compared to him looking up at you naked. His toned body is covered in fine, coppery hair, and adorned with a scattering of scars. You love to hear him tell their stories. What you love most, though, are the freckles. Almost gold in color and not visible when he's wearing robes, you feel like there are thousands spanning across every inch of the normally hidden skin. Like they exist just for you to kiss and worship. Miniature sunspots, marking his time in the galaxy.

This is the first time he's been fully naked for you, and Obi-Wan seems shy about being on display while you're still half dressed. You are so gorgeous, you think. His cock arcs up toward his belly, leaking a little at the tip. You all but lick your lips, watching a drop of pre-come dribble down his shaft. You want it inside you.

"Then take it," he murmurs, eyes darting back up to yours. One hand pats his own naked thigh, an invitation. His legs spread further, and you moan. "Come here, darling."

You don't need any more persuading. Even if you're nervous, you can't see yourself waiting one second longer for this. So you cross the small distance, crawl toward him on the mattress, and let Obi-Wan wrap his arms around you.

At first, that's where it stays. He sighs into your chest, breathing in the scent of you. You squeak when he reaches around and squeezes your bare ass with one hand, giving you a wry smile. The look almost says, Well? Are you going to ride my dick or not? You’re overwhelmed with how much of him there is to touch, how fucking nice he looks, just sitting there waiting for you. Like he could do it all day, no matter what his dick is saying. Patient and perfect and kind.

So you scoot closer, brushing your wet slit against his length. His nails grip into your naked skin, holding on tight as he watches your face. You relish the idea of his neatly kept fingernails leaving little marks on your hips and ass, where no one will know but you. You take him in your hand, lining him up with your opening, and Obi-Wan bites his lip -- hard. Still not letting more than the softest of gasps leave his mouth.

But as you wrap your legs around his waist and bury his cockhead in your wet warmth, that changes fast. He's barely inside you, testing both of your limits. You rock your hips a little, adjusting to the feeling of having something so large there, though you know this is just the beginning. Obi-Wan looks up at you, eyes huge, stock-still. You can feel him holding back, that perfect composure crumbling.

"This -- alright?" he asks, voice strained as if it's taking everything in him not to push you down onto his entire length.

You run a hand over his chest, taking a moment to appreciate the situation.

"More than," you say, hitching your hips higher. His cock sinks further, only a little, but each of you responds to the sensation. When you try a shallow thrust, Obi-Wan makes a sound suspiciously like a growl.

"Then please," he bites out.

"Please what?" you pull back until his tip sits inside your slit, and you swear he whines. You clench on nothing, wanting him fully seated inside you as much as he does, but teasing him like this is getting both of you so worked up.

"More," he gasps. "need you deeper, gods, don't -- don't tease me --"

Finally. You grin down at him, glad that he's stopped trying to act so composed. His face is flushed with the embarrassment of saying such a thing out loud, but he's looking right at you, determined to make you understand how much he needs it. Obi-Wan tugs at your tunic, hands insisting that it come off and now. You raise your arms and let him strip you bare, not missing the hungry look he gives your tits.

"Of course. All you had to do was ask," you say, and sink onto him completely.

You see his eyes roll back, and he does nothing to stifle the moan of relief and pleasure that rises from his throat. It echoes in the small space, sending dual shivers of fear and excitement through you. He realizes his mistake, uneasiness bristling in his Force signature.

Kriff, you wish that you weren’t doing this in the Temple right now. Because as delicious as he is trying to keep quiet -- all round eyes and stifled whimpers -- you’re greedy. You want more; your name in his mouth, on a desperate cry as he comes. Obi-Wan’s always so loud in your mind, in his pleasure, you can’t imagine what it would be like if he was actually using his voice. Hopefully being with him somewhere less...populated is something you can do in the future. For now, you work with what you’ve got. Starting a shallow rhythm, you ride Obi-Wan’s cock.

“Fuck,” you hiss, hands turning to claws as you scramble for something to hold onto. One wraps around Obi-Wan’s shoulder while the other finds purchase against his chest, your nails digging hard in his skin. He covers the hand with his own, making yours look tiny in comparison.

“Lan --guage --” he says in the middle of a deeper thrust from you, caught off guard. You can only laugh, breathless, too focused on keeping a reasonable volume yourself. It’s like you can feel every single curve and vein of him, like his cock was made to fit snug against your walls. Obi-Wan’s starting to meet your hips with every thrust, chest heaving with his ragged breath. He yanks you closer, your bodies parallel now instead of you sitting on him.

His pupils are blown wide in those deep blue eyes as he fucks you harder, nearly lifting you off of him with the force of it. At this point, you don’t have to do anything but sit there and take it.

“Obi-wan,” you whine. Tension is coiling deep in your stomach, and you’re powerless to stop yourself from giving your throbbing clit attention. But when he realizes what you’re trying to do, he bats your hand away and does it himself, calloused fingers providing a rough stimulus to the most sensitive part of your body. He pinpoints it in seconds, caressing and stroking just the way you like it. You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the squeak you can’t bite back, spreading your legs further under his soaked fingers.

“If you’re coming,” he growls in your ear, not far off himself, “then I’m going to be the one responsible.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck --

Maybe it’s the expert way he’s manhandling your body. Maybe it’s the way he’s still thrusting inside you, breath getting higher and more ragged as you sense him getting closer to his orgasm. Maybe it’s the way his half of the bond is blown wide open, a door left open in a storm, banging against its hinges. Obi-Wan’s thoughts are a barrage on your mind, relentless, almost too much to handle in such a sensitive state.

Gods so beautiful could look at you all day -- you’re going to come for me, darling, aren’t you? -- I love the way you look you feel so amazing around me so tight so wet so perfect --

It’s too much. Hand still tight over your mouth, you sob and come, bucking against his fingers as the contractions wrack your body in pulse after pulse. He’s generous enough to thrust more gently as you shiver through it, his eyes glued to the curve of your throat, how you’ve thrown your head back. Your thoughts are a blaze of nothing but Obi-Wan.

When you catch your breath, you slide off of him in one motion, feeling slick drip down your thighs. The mix of confusion and panic that shoots through the bond would have made you laugh, if you weren’t so turned on and orgasm-fuzzy.

“Your turn, Master,” you say, sinking onto your back with your legs across his lap. You wiggle there, teasing. “On top. Come for me -- please?”

For a few seconds, he does nothing. Then the realization of what you want, what you’ve said, hits him. Obi-Wan rushes over you like a tsunami, caging you against the bed. His cockhead brushes your sensitive slit and you arch into it, not shy about how badly you want this. When he lines himself up and sinks deep inside you, he buries the sound he makes into your shoulder, teeth grazing your collarbone. He starts thrusting at a brutal pace, forcing your breath out of you with every push in. You scratch at his back, helpless to control yourself, and that only makes him fuck you harder.

“Little -- one,” he grits out, hot breath on your skin.

“Y--es?”

“This -- won’t last long.” Obi-Wan’s pace is getting erratic even as he says it. “Where do y-you want --?”

“Inside me,” you answer without hesitation. “Obi-Wan, please, inside, come for me, please --”

Oh my gods, sweetest, yes -- yes -- oh, oh, oh --!

He doesn’t need any more persuading. Three more thrusts and he’s spilling inside you, hot and deep, planted as far in as he can get. He bites down on your shoulder through it, chest flat against your own. You find yourself hoping he leaves a mark. You roll your hips, loving the broken moans it drives from his lips.

Obi-Wan stays inside you after it’s over, nestling his head on your shoulder. Contentment swirls in his life Force, an almost drunken sense of relief and euphoria making him drowsy. You twine your own through it, letting him know you’ve been equally satisfied. It feels so right to lie here with him, a tangle of limbs and Force, knowing one another in every way. He hums in your ear, one hand stroking your hair sleepily. Though you’ve lived in this Temple your whole life, you’ve never felt more at home.

“Darling,” he says, voice lilting. You feel him stirring inside you, starting to harden again already.

“Yes?”

“Let’s go again.”

That’s a surprise. You expected him to politely but firmly insist you clean up in the fresher and then make yourself scarce, lest someone get suspicious about where you’ve gone to. Your silence must confirm that you’re taken aback, because he continues.

“I ship out again tomorrow.”

When you curse this time, he only laughs. “Such is war, love. Are you up for it, or not?”

You can’t refuse him.

#come what may ao3 #wickedscribbles #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x you #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan x oc #obiwan smut #obi wan smut #ziva courtee #obi-wan x oc #obi-wan fanfic

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kingofkingdom-archive · 3 years

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Recovery [Ezra (Prospect) x Fem!Reader]

A/N: Hello all! This is my first Pedro Pascal work and the first to be posted here to this blog. If anyone has any requests, don’t hesitate to send them my way! As always, please read the tags/warnings, you are responsible for the media you choose to consume. Also posted to AO3 under the same username (kingofkingdom). I did not use “y/n” or anything similar in this story.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You were taken from your younger sister, Cee, ten years ago. When you answered a distress call from the Green, you didn’t expect to be reunited with her, and you certainly didn’t expect to meet a man like Ezra.

Warnings: mention of past violence/death, discussion of medical procedure, discussion of disability (amputation/loss of limb), family dynamics, abstract discussion of philosophy, small SW universe cameo :)

Tags: considerable amounts of fluff, size kink, daddy kink, hint of dd/lg, copious use of various pet names, p-in-v sex, some breast play/worship, some dom!ezra & sub!reader

Word count: 9552

You hadn't seen Cee since your mother died.

Her father had taken her and left you in the care of your aunt, a woman you didn't know, a woman who jumped at the chance to send you off to boarding school on the Ephrate the moment you were old enough. Most of your memories consisted of your host family there, with a younger "sister" who reminded you all too much of the one you had lost. In your mind, Cee was still a toddler, all wispy blonde hair and big blue eyes.

Cee's father had never liked you. You were the evidence of his wife's life before him, and you looked too much like your own deceased father for him to have any affection toward you. It didn't surprise you that he left you behind after your mother died, but at ten that didn't make it hurt any less.

Since then, ten years had passed. Now, your aunt was gone, and your studies on the Ephrate completed. You'd taken to a rather nomadic lifestyle, catching rides from planet to station to planet and picking up odd jobs here and there. It wasn't much, but you'd become a strong woman in your time on your own, and thoughts of your half-sister plagued you only some nights now.

Jobs you took ranged from helping the lone-wolf prospector on an excavation to ship repairs at major stations across the system. In one of your darker moments, you'd even carried out a hit against some low-level merc who'd pissed off the wrong people. Those people paid well, enough to fill your stomach for a few days and cover a ride far away from that moon. The right circles knew you could hold your own, and that's what mattered.

This particular station was on the outskirts of the system, a rough-and-tumble place frequented only by prospectors and the people that paid them. You'd taken a shift at the bar here a few weeks ago, and knew the locals pretty well. In a spot like this, people could often get more information at your humble establishment than they could from the officials. You were lying low, and you itched to get moving again, like the nomad you were.

Hence why you kept the radio channels on all the time during your shifts, quiet and unobtrusive where you stood at the bar.

You were thankful, looking back, that it had been a quiet afternoon, and that you'd been so vigilant in keeping track of job openings.

"This is Kilo-Romeo 12, calling from Green sector 608. In need of assistance pronto, rapid extraction A.S.A.P."

The voice is faint, but frantic - a masculine growl laced with an edge of panic. Your radio isn't the best, and you don't recognize the prospector's callsign, but you know he must be in deep shit. A call like this from the Green is a death sentence if someone doesn't act quickly.

As with most of your decisions, you act entirely on impulse. As you hit the button to close up the bar's doors, the radio is already in your hands.

"This is Juno B-390, responding to Kilo-Romeo 12. Do you copy?"

You're down the hall by now, rushing to your quarters to collect your meager belongings. Everything fits in a single pack, and you're just pulling your helmet onto your head when the radio crackles to life again.

"I copy, Juno B-390," the relief is evident in his voice, even through the static. "We need extraction and medical care."

Well, that wasn't in the initial signal. "We? How many are with you? And what kind of medical care are we talkin' here?"

"Just me and one other. Deep trauma to the abdomen, I'm afraid."

You swear under your breath. Nothing you can't handle, but this guy's timer's really running out. You grab the necessary supplies and dash to your small pod racer, which is just big enough with its three seats.

"Hang on, Kilo-Romeo. I'll be there as soon as I'm able. You'll need to direct me to your exact location, is that clear?"

There's a moment of silence before his voice echoes through your racer one last time.

"Clear."

You descend upon the Green as fast as the forces of physics and gravity allow you to. Sector 608, as it says on your map, is a stretch of deep woods and rolling terrain, nearly unexplored save for the last rush. You slow up as you approach, and call out to the prospector over the radio once again.

"Kilo-Romeo 12, this is Juno B-390. I am approaching your location. Do you copy?"

It's quiet. Much too quiet. You slow the racer even more, as your heart begins to race. Just as you begin to worry that you're too late, the radio awakens.

It's not the man, however, whose voice you hear.

"This is Ez-- I mean, this is Kilo-Romeo's... uh... companion. He's gotten worse."

It's a girl. A young teen, from the sound of it. Your heart clenches, thinking of how scared she must be out there.

"Okay, hey there. It's gonna be okay. Can you tell me what landmarks you see? Help me find you."

"Um, yeah. We're in a clearing, there's another ship right nearby. It's not operational, which is wh-- uh, yeah. Clearing, big ship. Also sort of a gulley nearby."

You're about to respond when she speaks again.

"Please, hurry."

"I will, kid. Just keep him alive."

It takes you longer than you would've liked to find this clearing, but once you do you see a scene that brings more questions than answers. Dead bodies litter the field and a half-blown excavation site sits in ruins. Discretion's always been a virtue of yours, though, so you file the information away in your brain and swiftly land your craft. As soon as you exit, you hear the girl's voice not too far away.

"Here! We're over here!"

You grab the field kit and run over to where she stands over a slumped figure. The man you'd spoken to is now unconscious, and not only does he have a nasty looking wound in his chest, he's missing an arm. You look up at the girl. Her brows are furrowed, eyes like steel. You like her already.

"Go to the racer and grab the stretcher that's behind the passenger seat. We'll have to move him onto that and carry him over."

She nods and runs off. Immediately, you turn to the man and take stock of his injuries. The arm has been gone for at least a little while, so that's not of immediate concern. You set to treating the chest wound, making sure to purge it and his suit of dust. Nasty stuff, that which floats around this planet. His filter is as good as gone, so you quickly connect your own.

You drain the wound with the juice the locals here produce, which is generally in stock in the station's field kits. It smells rank, but it works, and the man below you groans. Good, he's still vocal, at least. It doesn't sound like a lung's been punctured. You set up a highly temporary pocket over his wound and torn suit through which you can patch the injury. You take some foaming antiseptic and apply it to the wound before adhering a sticky bio-bandage over the top of it.

It'll do for now. He'll need further treatment at the station, but this should keep him alive, at least.

The girl returns with the stretcher then, and places it next to the man. You glance up at her, and see momentarily a young version of yourself. Eager to help. Eager to make things right.

You shake your head, collecting your thoughts. "Okay, so I'm going to tilt his body towards me, and you slide the stretcher as far as you can under him. Then we'll let him down on top of it and secure him for travel. Can you do that?"

She nods, and you give her a small smile. You hook one arm around the man's waist, the other supporting his neck and shoulder.

"On three, okay? One... two... three!"

Quickly, you roll him up onto his remaining arm as she slides the stretcher under him. As gently as possible, you let him back down, and just like that he's mostly on the stretcher. You set to arranging him properly and tying straps down.

The girl fidgets, and you look up to her.

"Do you know how to stow the back seat in a racer like that?" you ask, and she nods.

"Good, go do it."

She runs off, and is back by the time you've gotten the man secured to the stretcher.

"You take the handles at his feet and I'll take his head. We have to be careful not to tilt him too much, to keep the weight on the stretcher even. Did he suffer any head trauma?"

The girl shakes her head. "No, I don't think so."

You probably should have asked that before moving him onto the stretcher, but then again no one's ever known you for your excellence in trauma care. Your knowledge of first aid comes only from what you've picked up in the field, so sometimes the order of operations gets a bit jumbled.

Whatever. He'll be okay. You can't let yourself think otherwise.

The girl stoops to grab hold of the handles at his feet. You do the same at his head, and again you count backwards from three.

"Up!"

Together you stand, and twin groans echo from both of you. The girl huffs, clearly struggling a bit under the weight.

"Okay, let's go. Slowly, remember."

You walk backwards, feet taking cautious steps so as to keep the same pace as the young girl. Her face is screwed up in focus and concentration, hands in a vice grip on the handles.

"You're doing good, kid. Just a bit further."

Before you know it, you've reached the ship. Carefully, you set the stretcher in the racer, and then the two of you slide it in. There's just barely enough room for it. You quickly secure it, and then close the hatch.

The girl is looking at you, eyes wide and chest heaving. You reach out a gloved hand and set it on her shoulder, giving a firm squeeze.

"He'll be okay. I promise. Now go get in the passenger seat and I'll get us back up to the station."

She nods, and seems to relax a bit at that. You can't help but wonder what she's been through, out here in this rough, unforgiving environment. "Thank you."

You smile, and sincerely hope that this young girl finds a way to leave this life of prospecting behind. You don't know how she got here, but it's no place for someone so young. You know that all too well.

"Let's go, kid."

The trip was pretty quiet save for a single groan from the man in back. The girl glanced back to him when she heard that, and then looked at you, concerned.

"It's okay. He'll be in and out of consciousness until we get to the station. I'll pull up to the emergency med-bay so the doctors can start treating him properly right away."

You look over to her, and she nods.

"Does he have anyone they can contact? Any family?" you ask. "The doctors will need to know."

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure. I don't think so."

You sigh. "Okay. Well, we'll deal with that when we get there."

It's not long after that you arrive at the med-bay. It's a whirlwind of nurses and questions and forms, most of which you have to leave blank, since you don't know the guy and the girl seems not to know much more. She does, however, give you a name.

"His name's Ezra," she offers, when she sees you pause at the line on the top of the screen.

You look over at her. "Ezra? Spelled E-Z-R-A?"

She nods. "Never told me a last name though."

"That's alright. A first name's enough."

She sits next to you and helps where she can as you fill out the form. Once you're done, you go up to hand the tablet back to the receptionist. You then sit back down next to her, crossing your arms over your flight suit. The girl's fiddling with her fingers, bag tucked between her feet.

"Do you think we'll be able to see him when they're done?" she asks, clearly trying not to sound as worried as she is.

You shrug. "Probably. It might be a while, though. Do you want something to eat while we wait?"

She nods, and when you look over at her, she's smiling.

As it turns out, it does take a pretty long time for them to complete the operation. It feels like hours that you two are sitting there. You watch the people come and go from the waiting room while the girl writes in some notebook, headphones secure over her ears, absently eating a chocolate bar.

She can't be more than 13 or 14. You think back to when you were that age - in the middle of your time at the Ephrate, moody and angsty like all young teens. It makes you think of Cee. She'd be about that age by now. You look over to the girl sitting next to you, wondering what ever became of your sister. Maybe she's at the Ephrate by now, or perhaps her father has taken her to some peaceful planet with beaches and a nice home, a few pets running around.

Hopefully a better life than the one you've led. Somewhere far from thrower blasts and gemstones.

This girl seems nice enough, and you're sure she's seen her fair share of shit. It's clear this guy's not only not her father, but that they haven't known each other long at all. You can't help but wonder how they ended up traveling together.

Images of the clearing littered with bodies flashes in your mind. Something went down there, and it clearly got ugly fast. It's amazing that the girl emerged relatively unscathed. You've seen a fair share of shootouts and fights, and never did you escape completely uninjured. It takes cleverness and a strong sense of self-preservation, the latter of which you don't often have.

You're ruminating on the mystery sitting next to you when the doors to the operating rooms swing open. A nurse steps out and looks at both of you. You stand, and she follows suit.

"He's awake, and asking for you," the nurse says. You nudge the girl slightly with your elbow.

"Go on, go see hi--"

The nurse cuts in. "He's asking for both of you."

Oh. You're surprised. He doesn't even know you, so there's no reason he should be asking to see you. Despite your confusion, you follow behind the girl as she follows the nurse to his room.

The hallways are sterile and white, cleaner than anything you've seen in months. The doorway is the last on the right, and inside is a single bed, with a small window looking out to the stars.

The young girl enters first as the nurse stands to the side, and you hover in the doorway to watch, still not quite feeling entirely welcome. You can just see the man's - Ezra's - hair behind the girl, with an unusual shock of blonde in otherwise dark brown curls.

"I was wondering where you went, birdie. One minute I was on the ground and next thing I know I'm sitting here like a babe in a bassinet, right as rain," he says, voice melodic with an accent you can't quite place.

"Do you feel better, Ezra?" the girl asks, voice wavering just slightly.

"I do. Are you faring alright yourself?"

She nods, and crosses her arms. Silence fills the room for a moment, then Ezra speaks again.

"Who was so kind as to bring us here, birdie?" he asks. The girl turns to you and steps aside so Ezra can see you.

"She did," she replies, a soft look on her face.

You step forward and look at Ezra properly for the first time. You hadn't really paid much attention to his facial features back on the Green, so concerned as you were with getting him out of there.

His dark brown eyes are kind, and his lips tease at a smile. He's got stubble growing on his chin and a mustache on his lip. There's a thin white line in the shape of a crescent underneath his left eye, the silvery remnant of a deep cut sustained long ago. He's older than you, maybe 40 or so. For some reason, you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach, but you're quick to snuff those out best you can. Mirroring the girl, you cross your arms, and flip your braid over your shoulder.

"Yeah, that would be me," you say, as nonchalantly as you can manage.

"I recognize that voice from the radio," he notes, looking at you intently. "I can't hardly give you enough thanks for getting the two of us out of that... sticky situation. You really are somethin' else, sugar."

You shrug, unused to such praise, such immediate kindness. You feel your face heat up with a blush, and you clear your throat.

"Well, it sure sounded like you were in need of some help. I'm happy to see you're doing better."

Your voice is softer than you intend. Spending even three minutes with this guy seems to have thrown you off balance. You haven't met anyone that talks like him since you were in school, and it's like a breath of fresh air.

His face turns serious at your words. Ezra's gaze is as intense as it is gentle, burning into your own.

"Oh, much better," he assures you, giving you a look you can't quite decipher. A smile quickly returns to his features. "It's a shame they couldn't get my arm to grow back."

You laugh a little at that, happy to see that he's in good spirits. The nurse steps forward then, tablet in hand. The three of you turn to her.

"Ezra will likely be discharged tomorrow morning, given how much progress he's made just today. He will need somewhere to rest, however, for the next week or so. We can help to make boarding arrangeme--"

"No," you interrupt, surprising even yourself. "No, he can stay with me. I have quarters in the 4th wing." You turn to the girl. "You can stay with me too, if you'd like." You don't know what's come over yourself, but you find yourself drawn to this unlikely pair.

The girl nods once, just as Ezra speaks up. "You're too kind, sugar. Your hospitality and generosity are appreciated beyond measure. Do let us know if there's any way at all we can show our gratitude."

You shake your head immediately, waving a hand as if to wave away the notion.

"No need for that. Consider it a celebratory gift for parting with the Green."

Everyone laughs at that - even the nurse, who hides her grin behind her tablet.

The next morning, you and the girl - whose name you still don't know, and who still does not know yours - visit the med-bay first thing after breakfast. Your quarters are small, enough to fit two comfortably and three at most. The girl has decided to take the sofa, since Ezra will need to rest, and a bed is most ideal for that. It seems you both tend to rise early, so you gave her some oatmeal and a cup of coffee. She took both without hesitation, and it warmed your heart to see her eat after however long she and Ezra had been out there.

When you two arrive, Ezra is waiting in his room, dressed in clean loungewear with a bag on his lap. He is seated in a wheelchair. You and the girl greet him, happy to see that he is rested and ready to leave.

"I told the kind folks that I am more than able to walk unaided," he comments when you begin to push the chair from behind. "They insisted, however, and I am not one to ignore the advice and orders of my physicians."

You see the girl try to hide a smile. It seems as though he's grown on her, and she struggles to admit that to herself. Before you can think better of it, you give Ezra a pat on the right shoulder, a small attempt at reassurance.

"You'll be walking in no time, I'm sure," you reply.

You feel his left hand cover your own, and you nearly stumble as you push him along through the hallway. His palm is rough and callused, a signature trait of most prospectors. It's large, too, covering your own entirely. Its warmth soaks through the back of your hand and into your stomach.

"With kindness as bright as yours to guide me, that will certainly be the case."

You don't know what to say to that, so you give his shoulder a squeeze and retract your hand.

The 4th wing is not too far from the med-bay; the station itself is smaller than most, so the distance is blessedly short. Ezra does most of the talking while the three of you walk.

"It would suit me just perfectly to never see that god-forsaken moon again so long as I live," he comments just as you reach the door to your quarters. You scan your ID card and the panel slides open, revealing a small but comfortable dwelling. "Forget the gems, forget the money. Prospecting is surely the most foolish endeavor of them all."

"The lust for wealth is stronger than the fear of death," you reply, almost without thinking.

Ezra looks up at you, smiling, a curious look on his face. "Asmolea. Ruminations, chapter seven. Color me impressed, sugar."

You look back, equally surprised. "You recognize that quote?"

"Why, yes, in fact, I do," he responds, and you notice the girl watching the two of you out of the corner of your eye. "I was an admirer of the great thinkers, long ago. When I was younger, and more -- well, more curious about such things, I suppose."

You wheel him into the small sitting area, arranged around a holo-screen. The walls are bare, lack of personality belying a short-lived residence here. You engage the wheelchair's brakes and take a seat yourself, across from him on an armchair. The girl sits on the sofa, where she slept last night.

"Philosophy is the sustenance of the mind," he continues, kicking his feet up to rest on the coffee table. He winces slightly at the motion, but keeps speaking nevertheless. "Without it, we decay. We risk succumbing to trivial errors of man. It is the sharpening stone to the blade of our intellect."

"What about literature?" the girl asks, her eyes firey and brow set. "I think that's much more valuable than what some ancient guy thought about a world we don't even know anymore."

You smile, pleased at this contribution. "I think great literature can convey philosophical ideas in the form of a modern narrative. You just have to keep an eye out for it, and understand its relevance to the story."

Ezra nods along. "I agree. Where did you read Asmolea, sugar?"

"At the Ephrate," you reply, and you see the girl perk up. You smile at her, hoping the two of you will have a chance to discuss that later. She seems entirely intrigued by you now. "I studied there for seven years, until I was eighteen."

"Why did you leave?" the girl asks.

You sigh, and bring your foot up to rest on the chair, so your thigh is pressed against your front. "Life there didn't suit me. I'm much happier on my own, not surrounded by stuffy academics and pretentious businessmen. The only ones I could stand there were the monks."

Ezra laughs at that. "The Neo-Carthusians?"

You nod, grinning. "Yeah. Considered joining, for about a month or so. I admire their lives of solitude and contemplation, but I couldn't imagine staying in one place for so long."

The conversation flows between the three of you so naturally you hardly notice the time flying by. They ask questions about you, and you return the favor by inquiring about their lives. The girl is quiet when it comes to her past, but you find out her father died on the Green. Both she and Ezra are hesitant to talk about it, which tells you all that you need to know.

Night falls quickly, or at least night according to standard time - on the station, there is no night or day, just a constant darkness visible out the windows interrupted by pinpricks of light. Everyone follows the standard clock, which runs according to time on the Ephrate.

You show Ezra to his room after the three of you have eaten dinner. It's a small space, just enough for a bed and a dresser. Carefully, he stands from the wheelchair, tosses his bag on the bed, and turns to look at you.

He's much taller than you are. The butterflies return as you look up at him, and a warm feeling radiates through the area below your stomach.

"Thank you again for the hospitality, sugar," he murmurs, voice low and deep. He moves the wheelchair out from between you, so there's nothing but air separating the two of you. "As I said, don't hesitate to ask if there is anything I can do to repay you. Anything at all."

You nod, at a loss for words. His hand comes up and gently brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face and tucks it behind your ear. You positively melt. This man is going to be the death of you.

"I'm just glad to see you safe, Ezra," you reply, and your eyes flutter at the way his fingers linger over the apple of your cheek. His lips look so soft, his eyes full of promises he intends to keep. You can feel yourself falling, as if in a dream.

You blink and lean back, away from him. This is a bad idea. For what reason, you can't say, but you dart to your room as soon as you begin to doubt yourself.

You shut the door and lean against it. There's no way, your mind whispers to you. He feels indebted. That's the only reason. You're too young, he just sees you as a kid.

In your haste, you didn't see the look in his eyes as you left so suddenly, or the way he stared at the door long after you shut it.

In the night, you dream of him. Dark eyes above you, heavenly, filthy moans filling the air around you, something thick and perfect filling the empty space inside you. His musical voice murmurs sweet words in your ear, and you hear the sound of your passion just as much as you feel it. Your hands grip his hair as he thrusts, your body trembling underneath him.

Your peak startles you awake, and you find your bedsheets soaked with the evidence of your fantasy.

Your bedside clock tells you it is the early hours of the morning. With a sigh, you toss back the blankets and emerge from your room quietly.

After a quick shower in the refresher, you step out and wrap a towel around yourself. You stare into the mirror, thinking about him.

You've never felt such an instant attraction to anyone before in your life. Sure, his looks contribute quite a bit, but it's much more than that. You and he seem to have a similar intellect, his passion and aptitude for prose matching your own knowledge and understanding of philosophy and the humanities. The girl is also equally respected by him as she is by you, and you both share a common want to see her thrive. You've known them both barely a day and a half, but they already feel more like family than anyone you've ever known.

You wonder if you're imagining his affections toward you. That could just be him, his way of communicating. You desperately hope it's more than that, but you also can't get your hopes up because of a silly dream.

A silly, beautiful dream.

Water drips from your hair, down your chest, and into the towel. As you begin to shiver, you decide to return to bed and try again for some uninterrupted sleep. You'll have to change the sheets, unfortunately, but that shouldn't take more than a few minutes.

You open the door and tiptoe back out into the hallway, quiet as a mouse. Just as you're about to sneak back into your room, towel clutched tightly in your fingers, you're startled by the door opposite your own sliding open.

And there he is. Dressed in little more than a pair of grey shorts, hair tousled and eyes weary with sleep.

He blinks a few times, and then his eyes widen, suddenly much more awake. You see him glance down, and his mouth parts ever so slightly before his gaze returns to your face.

You are frozen in place. Somewhere in your mind, you will your feet to dart away again, but the remnants of your dream still echo in your muscles, preventing you from leaving. Your hands tighten on your towel and despite yourself, you make note of his chest, his abdomen - the wound, which is an angry red line, held together with clear stitching, and which makes your heart clench at the thought of what would've happened had you not arrived - and finally, a rapid glance at his shorts, his thighs, before you find your sense and look back up at his face.

There's that intensity again, with considerably less gentleness. You inhale sharply, and spare a glance towards the sitting area, where the girl sleeps.

"She's quite the light sleeper, I'm afraid. I'd be mightily surprised if she didn't already hear --"

His voice is low, nearly inaudible to your ears as you look back at him. The tone of it causes the insides of your thighs to tremble, and your chest to heave with silent breaths. Ezra cuts himself off, clearly not having meant to say as much as he did.

Maybe it's the early hour that makes the words escape your lips with ease. Maybe it's the dream, the visions of which you can still see in your mind's eye as you look at him. Perhaps there's just something about Ezra that makes you bold, standing there with nothing more than thin terrycloth protecting your modesty.

"Hear what, Ezra?" you whisper, and set your jaw when his eyes widen ever so slightly.

Ezra reaches out, and his hand comes up to grip the back of your neck. His thumb strokes your jawline, behind your ear, and he steps forward. He's so close that you can feel the heat from his body on your own.

His lips press softly against your forehead, a surprisingly intimate gesture that makes you shiver. The hand that isn't clutching your towel moves to rest on his waist, golden skin warm under your cold fingers.

"Hear this, sweet thing," he murmurs against your skin, lips still pressed against you. "How strongly I feel for you. How deeply I know that it was divine providence that brought you to me. The ways I want to repay you for saving my life.”

His words are like molten gold, shimmering and hot as they slip over your skin and into your heart. You shiver, and your fingers curl gently into his side.

”I don’t - I don’t want you to feel obligated to... to do anything. With me. For me,” you whisper back, eyes closed, basking in the feeling of this quiet moment.

Ezra hums in dissent against your worries. “No... no...” he says, as his fingers slowly thread their way into your hair. “It isn't like that —“

He’s interrupted by a shuffling sound from the sitting room. You both freeze, wide-eyed, and look toward the room where the girl sleeps.

A moment passes, and then two. Enough that you know she is still asleep and there isn’t any risk of her finding you two like this.

It‘s like ice water thrown over you, the reminder of where and who you are. You look back up to Ezra, whose eyes are soft and knowing as they stare at you. His hand gently caresses the back of your neck, and then he brings it back to rest at his side.

"Go to bed, sweetheart," he murmurs, and then steps around you. He enters the refresher without another word.

You do as he says, but you find yourself struggling to fall back asleep once you return to clean, cool sheets. You watch the stars inch past outside your window as your mind races at the memory of his lips.

The next morning, you wake to sounds of movement coming from outside your door. For a moment you panic, before you remember your two visitors. And then you remember your encounter with one of those visitors last night, and the hushed words exchanged between you and him.

Beside you, the clock reads barely past 06:00, which is usually the time you wake up anyway. Today you have another shift at the bar, assuming you still have a job there after you ditched it the other day. With a groan, you pull yourself out from under the warm, soft covers and dress yourself.

The noise becomes more decipherable as you make your way down the hallway. Ezra and the girl are making small talk while something sizzles. You turn the corner and see Ezra standing at the stove with the girl sitting at the counter, the pleasing aromatic smell of pork bacon wafting through the air. You lean against the wall and watch the pair with a small smile, happy to see someone making use of a space normally reserved for microwave rations and alcohol snuck from the bar.

No one's ever accused you of being a particularly good bartender, that's for sure.

Ezra turns to look at you when he hears your footsteps, a bright smile lighting up his face.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he teases, and pushes the bacon around with a spatula. "I cannot emphasize enough how divine it was to wake up with a soft cushion beneath me rather than dirt. I could much too easily let myself get used to this, and I think Cee here agrees with me on that account. Don't you, birdie?"

The girl nods, but you don't notice it. The color has drained from your face and you feel a frantic, sinking feeling in your chest.

"What did you say?" you ask, pushing yourself off the wall and looking at Ezra with wide eyes.

He looks back, brow furrowed, confused. "I believe I said that I could get used to this...?"

You turn away from him and look at the girl. She's looking at you too, now, concern evident in her eyes.

"What did he say your name is?"

She blinks. "My name's Cee."

Your hand flies up to your mouth, and you feel tears gather at the corners of your eyes. It can't be. But she's the right age, and her hair's the same, and...

"What was your father's name?"

She looks even more confused now. "Um, it was Damon."

Oh my god. "Oh my god. You're Cee."

The two of them stare at you like you've grown a second head. You laugh, realizing how foolish you look.

And then you give her your name.

Cee's eyes light up like nothing you've ever seen before, and she nearly launches herself off of the counter stool to wrap you in the tightest hug you've ever been given. You laugh again, a loud and boisterous thing, as happy tears spring unbidden and flow onto your cheeks. Her hands grip the back of your shirt as you hold her head to your chest with both hands.

"I never thought I'd see you again," you mutter through the tears, pressing your nose against her hair. It's her. It's really her. Suddenly you think Ezra was right about divine providence, that the three of you were meant to find each other, the event arranged by some mighty cosmic force.

"Dad told me you were dead," she cries, as the two of you collapse to the floor. Propriety suddenly no longer concerns you, not now that you're cradling your long-lost little sister.

"I'm so sorry, Cee. I'm so sorry."

You can't say much more than that. There are simultaneously too many and not enough things to say to the last family you have left in the universe, to this girl who was so much like you even in the first moments of knowing one another.

Above you, Ezra clears his throat.

"While this is clearly an unexpected but happy reunion that I hate to interrupt, I do have to ask how you girls know one another, so that I might not be kept in the dark about your relation?"

You look up at him as you move backwards to rest your shoulders against the wall. His dark eyes look down at you from above, and though you've never felt so small, you've also never felt happier in your life.

"She's my sister," you answer with a smile. "Same mother, different father. We were separated when our mother died. She was hardly more than a baby."

Ezra's eyes grow soft at that, and he nods. You begin to think that maybe now you both have something to thank the other for. You may have saved his life, but his radio transmission brought you Cee.

You tighten your arms around her, and place a kiss on the crown of her head. You aren't sure how long you sit there - long enough to have surely lost your job when you don't show up for your shift, but you can't find it within yourself to care. This is all that matters to you right now.

The day passes with you and Cee doing most of the talking, for once. Ezra seems content to just sit and listen, though you catch him a few times looking at you like he did in the darkened hallway last night.

After lunch, he makes a point to sit next to you on the couch, arm draped across the cushions behind you.

If Cee notices, she doesn't say anything. You still aren't sure where your relationship with Ezra stands, but in the midst of sharing stories with Cee and learning about her life, you don't find time to sort that out.

Dinner comes and goes again, and the topic of the future comes up.

"When do you think you'll be healed enough to travel again, Ezra?" you ask, as the three of you work on cleaning the dishes.

He shrugs. "I'm fit to travel right now," he answers, and you give him a look. No, he isn't. He chuckles. "Alright, sugar. Maybe another day or so. The serum they gave me to apply daily has been working wonders, I must admit."

You nod, and look over at Cee. "Where do you want to go? The Ephrate? I have no doubt you could get into the school there."

She perks up at that. "You think so? Would you bring me?"

"Why not? I'm a traveler anyway, and I think it's high time I got out of this station. Ezra?" You look over to him, but he's already looking at you.

You feel his hand ghost over the small of your back. "I would be most honored to accompany you both to the Ephrate, if you'll have me."

"Yes, of course," you reply, leaning into his touch, and you turn back to the task at hand.

Later on, when Cee is in bed listening to her music, and Ezra's in his room, you sit on your bed thinking about what's to come. In order to apply to the school, Cee will need a guardian contact, and a record of education. You hope she can pass the entrance exam and submit a writing sample, and that that will be enough. Maybe you can talk some of your former professors into considering her.

It’s a pretty long trip from the station to the Ephrate, even with a ship that can travel at hyper speed. You can’t help but wonder what will become of Ezra after you get Cee set up in school.

The man captivates you, to put it plainly. His poetic manner of speaking and the gentle fire of his passion, when directed at you, gives you a feeling unlike any other you’ve experienced before. You’ve met plenty of men in your life. None have ever made you feel such a way.

Before you can think better of it, while the desire to see his sleep-ruffled hair still sits at the forefront of your mind, you get out of bed and leave your room. Quietly, so as to not disturb Cee, you knock on his door.

”Come in!” he calls out from somewhere within.

You slide the door open, slip inside, and close the door behind you. Ezra is sitting up in bed, looking at you.

”To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing such a beautiful woman enter my chamber in the night?” The question is teasing, good-natured, but the compliment still makes your stomach swoop.

You smile, and walk to where he lies in bed, leaning against the dresses. “I wanted to thank you, Ezra. You brought my sister back to me, which is something I’ll never be able to repay you for. Can we call it even?”

He laughs at that. “Sure we can, sweet thing. You know, when I first saw you in that recovery room, I thought I recognized you from somewhere, and that my brain had done me the disservice of erasing all memory of you. I now realize it was because you and Cee are so much alike. I haven’t known her for much longer than I’ve known you, and it remains a miracle that she has given me even a modicum of trust, but I see the relation between you clear as a bell now.”

You have to smile at that. It warms your heart to know you didn’t imagine it, that someone else noticed it too.

Ezra reaches out then, in the dim light, and you step forward. Thinking he's reaching for your hand, you extend yours - but he bypasses it completely and wraps his hand around the back of your upper thigh, thumb brushing against your sleep shorts. A giggle escapes your lips as he pulls you in even closer to him. Ezra leans forward and presses his face against your midsection, nose just next to your belly button.

Confused, but certainly pleasantly surprised, you place your hands on his head and thread your fingers through his dark curls. Gently you massage his scalp, not quite understanding this sudden show of affection. It's different than last night, though you can't exactly express how.

You decide you're really enjoying seeing these different sides of Ezra when the two of you are alone.

When you happen to massage a certain spot right behind his ear, Ezra groans, a low sound that ripples through your bones. His grip tightens, and you feel his next words more than you hear them.

"Come here, little one," he murmurs into your stomach, nosing at the hem of your shirt. The pet name makes you clench, desire flooding through your center.

He pulls you closer, shifting his face away so he can guide you down onto the bed. You swing one leg over his waist just as he slides his hand up to grip your ass, turning you further so you're on your back next to him. He's on his side, propped up by his elbow, leaning over you.

You're breathless, staring up into those infinite brown eyes.

"You have consumed my every waking thought since the moment I first saw you" he says softly, his voice a low purr that awakens some unknown part of yourself. You turn into him, resting a hand on his side, and he presses his nose against your cheek.

"I must have been a saint in a previous life to have earned this sweet embrace," he continues, breath warm against your face. "I want to learn you, to study you with the same vigor the ancients studied and examined the mind. I want to know you, sweet girl, in every way possible.

"But I must be truthful with you, because I could no longer live with myself if I were not. I am not a good man. I have lived a long life of violence and amorality, and death and deceit seem to follow me hand-in-hand. You are so young, little one, full of life and vitality, future bright ahead of you. I do not deserve you, and you certainly deserve better than me."

His words are like needles piercing your heart. You slide your hand up his chest to cup his face, tenderly stroking his cheekbone. You draw him away ever so slightly so you can look him in the eye.

"You and I are not so different, Ezra," you hum, making sure that he keeps the eye contact. "I have been on that same path, of death and violence, for years. I've lived for none but myself."

You slide your thumb across his lower lip, soft and pink and tempting.

"Let me live for you."

You punctuate your whispered plea by drawing him back down and pressing your lips to his. He gasps into the kiss before returning it with passion amplified twofold. His leg slides over your midsection to stabilize himself, knees pushing in between your own so your thighs stretch open around his.

Ezra deepens the kiss almost immediately. You surrender to his lips, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other tangles again in his hair. His mouth is hot, tasting faintly of mint but mostly a sweet flavor you attribute only to him. You let out a soft moan at the feeling building in your cunt, wet and warm and yearning for him, and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Ezra licks at your teeth, seemingly in an attempt to map out every part of you that he can.

All you're able to do is moan, melting into him like a candle to a flame.

You feel Ezra shift a little, followed by profanity muttered softly against your lips. He draws away, and you open your eyes to see him clenching his jaw.

"'M still not fully adjusted to not having a kriffing arm," he grumbles, frustration evident in his eyes. You hum, hurting for him, wanting to take his pain away.

"What do you need, Ezra?" you ask. "What can I do?"

He presses his forehead against yours and sighs. "I want to see you, sweet thing. I want to touch you."

You flush, understanding the meaning of his words and feeling your panties grow wetter at the implication.

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes." You push at his shoulders, urging him to sit back. He does so, sitting back. You rearrange your legs so that yours rest outside of his, and sit up. Your thighs are tucked against his hips in a position that feels much closer than before - you can just barely feel the heat of his groin against your own. A breath stumbles its way out of your lungs, chest heaving.

Before you can think any further on your insecurities, you grasp the hem of your shirt and draw it up and over your head. Ezra's eyes light up, glance at your face, darken considerably as he looks down again, and then he's on you once more.

His arm wraps around you tightly, hand pressing firmly into your ribs, and it's then that you really take in the size difference between you and him. As his head dips to press his lips against your breasts and nipples, you can't help but shudder at the way his body curls over your own. You feel distinctly small, in a way that would usually frighten you but instead makes you shiver.

This position is clearly more comfortable for Ezra, because he becomes more vocal as he lavishes your tits with attention.

"Gods, little one," he murmurs against the top of one of your breasts, tongue darting out to taste your peaked bud, "your body is divine, the sweetest fruit in the universe." He pauses to suck at your nipple, drawing it into his mouth, and the sight of it forces a whine from your throat. Something about it is so perfect, so perverse, for a man who's always been so sweet, that you can't help but press your clothed cunt down on his cock, the shape of which you can feel burning and hard like an iron through your clothes.

Ezra lets out a choked growl at that, a deep rumbling sound that you immediately commit to memory, in case of the unfortunate event that you're not blessed to ever hear it again. He releases your teat, now spit-soaked and throbbing, and looks at you with eyes so dark you hardly recognize them. His brows are drawn together, teeth bared like a feral animal.

"That's what you do to me," he growls, moving his hand down to cup your ass, squeezing harshly. You gasp, and press into him, bare chest to bare chest. "Feel my dick against your little pussy, baby? Think it can fit?"

You nod frantically, knowing your shorts are soaked through, as his filthy words send your mind reeling. You're not capable of thoughts beyond him and this any longer.

Ezra uses his grip on your ass to press your cunt against him once more, and he rolls his hips up into you in a mimicry of what he'd like to do you. You moan, completely unashamed, and drop your head to tuck your face against his shoulder.

"Please," you whine, nearly unaware of the words coming out of your mouth. It's quiet, hushed, this next utterance, and it's passed through your lips before you can think twice about it.

"Please fuck me, daddy."

Ezra freezes. It takes you a moment too long to realize what you've said.

"What did you say?" Ezra asks, the words rumbling from somewhere in his chest.

You get a frantic feeling in your limbs, panic crawling up your throat. Great, you think, I've messed it all up. He probably thinks I'm some freak, screwed up in the head.

You're broken from your spiraling thoughts by the feeling of his lips on your neck, teeth digging into the space beneath your jawline.

"I asked you a question, sweet girl."

You tremble in his grasp. He's not going to let it go. "Daddy..." you whimper, and he groans.

"You really are a perfect little girl for me," he mutters as his hand slides around from your ass to the front of your shorts. You tighten your grip on the back of his neck and lean forward, thinking he intends to pull your remaining clothes down your legs.

Instead, he clenches his fist and tears them, both your shorts and your panties, from your pussy. You yelp as he does so, and watch as the fabric goes flying somewhere off to the side.

"There you are, sweet thing," he murmurs, leaning back to look at you, hand back in position on your bare ass. "Look at you. Filthy and perfect for daddy, aren't you? A fantasy come to life, placed in my lap by the gods themselves."

You moan once more, pressing your bare cunt against the outline of his cock in his thin sleep pants. He reaches down to pull it free, and as you keep your balance against him, you look down and see perhaps the biggest dick you've ever laid eyes on. Ezra chuckles, watching your reaction.

"You ready, baby? Want me to fill you up, fuck you like you need?"

You nod, and lean in to press your face against the crook of his neck again. "Please," you whine. "I need your big cock in my pussy."

The words are completely unlike you - something about Ezra has awoken a completely submissive, unfiltered side of yourself you didn't know existed before. Sure, you knew you wanted him, and weren't a stranger to sex, but this is an entirely new personality, focused entirely on being his. It's almost like a dream, and for a moment you feel as though you're floating, with how relaxed you are in anticipation for --

Oh.

He's guided the head of his cock to your entrance, and is using his leverage on your ass to guide you slowly, slowly down. You gasp - he's certainly the biggest you've ever had, and the stretch is delicious. Ezra's restraining himself, going slow so he doesn't hurt you, but you have no such qualms.

You drop down in one fell swoop, and the way he fills you makes your eyes roll back in your head. His hand moves from your ass to around your waist, nearly encircling it entirely. He groans, loudly and deeply.

"You'll kill me like this, little one. You're just wrapped around my cock, aren't you? Desperate for it?"

You nod frantically. "Yes, daddy. Yes!"

Ezra moans at that. His hand grips your waist, teeth biting and sucking at your neck, as you push up on your thighs to lift off of him. The drag of his dick against the walls of your cunt is incredible, the head of it catching and pushing on hidden, sensitive ridges within you.

You drop down again, and begin to fuck yourself on Ezra's cock.

His hips piston up as you do so, finding and matching your rhythm with ease. His melodic voice mutters the dirtiest things you've ever heard as he slams his hips up into you.

"...That's it, sweet thing. You were made to fit on my cock, weren't you?..."

"...Wanted to do this that night in the hallway, take you right up against the wall..."

"...My strong, sweet girl, bouncing like a whore on daddy’s cock -- gods, look at your tits..."

You feel your climax building, rising like a fire about to consume you from the inside out. Ezra is close, too, from the way his hips stutter and his breathing becomes ragged.

"Sweet thing..." he groans, slowing his thrusts. "I can't... inside you..."

You shake your head. You know he's clean, since he was tested at the med-bay when he went in for the operation. And besides...

"I've got the implant, daddy. Come in me, please."

Ezra finishes with the most beautiful moan you've ever heard, and you come nearly at the same moment. It's an ethereal, heavenly experience, like the two of you have ascended and joined the gods who so graciously brought you together.

You fall asleep tucked into his chest, warm under his blanket, with the smell of him and you and both of you lulling you into the most peaceful sleep you've had in your life.

A month later, you and Ezra and Cee sit at a mahogany wood table, filling out a holo-tablet with the form for Cee's entrance into your alma mater on the Ephrate. Your sister is already taken with the place, and you couldn't be happier for her.

"Now it wants me to put in a parent or guardian's name," she says, stylus hovering over that section. The cursor blinks as it waits.

You're about to tell her to skip it, but Ezra speaks up before you can.

"Put my name down," he offers, and she looks over at him. "Is that okay with you?"

Cee nods, a genuine smile brightening her features. She turns back to the screen with haste.

"Ezra Stallard," he adds simply.

You look over to him, pleased with this revelation.

As you watch Cee enter Ezra's full name into the blank and select Guardian, you get a chill up your spine. Despite yourself, you think back to that night, and you know Ezra's thinking the same when his hand moves over to rest on your thigh.

You can't wait to have your ship to yourselves; the joy of seeing your sister thrive in a new setting is followed only by the anticipation of what is to come. You and Ezra have made no plans for the future yet - all you know is that he will be with you, and that's the only guarantee you need.

For the first time in a very long time, your heart sings.

#ezra x you #ezra (prospect)#ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x female reader #prospect #prospect fanfiction #prospect (2018)#ezra x reader smut #pedrp pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #ezra fic #ezra prospect x reader #canon compliant #wrote this while listening exclusively to grimes #take that as you will

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