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valliesworld · 1 year

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You Mean Something

masterlist

simon “ghost” riley x reader, mentions of other task force 141 members

genre: angst

warnings; she/her pronouns, mature content, standard call of duty violence, cursing, kidnapping, mentions of self harm and suicide, mentions of torture, starvation

synopsis; after a failed mission that left you in the hands of the enemy, you finally realise how much Ghost cares for you

Distractions came easy to you, even if you tried your hardest to stay focused, to stay alive and awake, your mind still thought of him while you were being subjected to such torture. You think about his eyes a lot, how in his eyes his his humanity was shown, the person he really was. There were times it got lost, when he would that mask and military vest, when he would become the man the army demanded of him. But you saw it in his eyes that day in the sunshine, waiting for the cadets to finish training. You saw the humour that burned there too, the sort that stays for an eternity. There was something in his spirit that danced when he trains, like a fire giving just the right amount of warmth. You have seen it die too, the flames almost extinguished, when he was under the gun of guilt, shame and fear after a particularly hard mission. You know that isn't him, not the real version, the person you’ve grown to love with everything that is yourself. That's why you had to see his eyes before you go, to see the real him before you decided to give up and let death win. You wanted him to see you too, the girl who messes up, but would do anything in her power to keep him and the squad safe, to keep him emotionally healthy, no matter how deep his scars go. So when you think of him, you see a cheeky man who made cadets run laps til they turned green and hope to god he thinks of the vulnerable version of you, the one beneath the soldier.

In moments of silence, when your captors would leave you be, you would remembered the last conversation you had with your family. She had wished you well with tears in her eyes, making you promise you’d come back to her. Your father had been busting himself with house work, refusing to acknowledge that his youngest child was off to another suicide mission, just like he always did before you left. You had kissed your mother on the cheek as a goodbye, not promising a thing but granting her a smile, just in case that was the last time she’d ever see you again. Death wasn’t scary for you, you had accepted that you would die young, in your line of work death was not something that could be prevented, no matter how hard you might try. What did scare you though, was your nieces and nephews growing up without you, only seeing you in photos, it was your mother and father having to bury their youngest, it was your older brother and sister living without you. Death didn’t scare you, but the impact of yours on your family did.

You didn't know how long you had been held captive for, it could have been weeks, months, even years, at that point. What you did know was that the starvation they subjected you to as one last punishment had began to take it's toll on your body, your weight had dropped rapidly, leaving those metal cuffs loose around your wrists and ankles. At first it had been small strands of hair falling out from stress, then slowly it became more and more til you were left with thin strands to cover your head. Your body was always shivering, cold to touch, and you didn't know whether it was because you were forced to sleep on freezing concrete or if hypothermia was beginning. to settle within your bones.

Makarov had captured you for one thing, he had seen potential in you, wanted you on his side, and the only way he believed he could do that was if he broke you down into nothing, just to rebuild you as the soldier he always desired. He had watched from afar as you had taken down men three times your size, as you cleared bases by yourself, and how you lived up to your callsign. He knew you were young, younger than the other task force members, and with being young came being naive and impressionable, Makarov wanted to use those attributes and swing them to his favour.

In some of your exhausted delusions, you dreamt of your team, of your family. You had dreamt of your first Christmas with the task force, how you had sat in your room with the computer screen on, talking and listening to your family on the other line, wishing to be back home and apart of their celebrations, that was, until Gaz barged into your room and dragging you out for a Christmas surprise with your chosen family. You had dreamt of the day you accepted death, how you leant up against that brick wall, the rain pouring from above and mixing with your blood; red water sweeping the street. You had accepted your fate that afternoon, dying alone, until you knight in a shining skull mask whisked you off your feet and to survival. You dreamt of the day your nephew was born, how his tiny hands wrapped around your finger, chosing you to be his favourite person in that moment. You dreamt of many things, but one always kept returning. The delusion that Ghost would save you one last time.

"Fear is part of being human, Redback, it's the precursor to bravery. We need it, it wakes us up to what needs to be done. So feel it, own it, let it ignite your thoughts," Gaz's words echo in your mind constantly, they were one of the first words he ever spoke to you, and they resonated with her throughout her short years with the task force. They kept you alive at that point, they told you no matter how inhuman you felt, you were still alive, still breathing, still ready to fight.

Your cell was a hollow cube of concrete, one way in, no windows. In there you could have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could forget their own name in there, and you were beginning to. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind.

You could hear the sound of feet slamming against concrete, though your eyes never opened, refusing to see what was coming to torment you that time. They had stripped you of everything, they took your weapons, and your dignity. They had left you to rot in the cell in cotton underwear and a white undershirt, though both items were caked in dirt, grim, and stained with your own blood.

The sound of keys jingling had caught your attention, and when you opened your eyes you kept your gaze away from the intruder. Instead, you found the bruises and dried blood on your ankles far more interesting. The person had unlocked your hands first, fumbling with the keys as if he were nervous, as if something had gone wrong, and that had been his first mistake. When your hands were greeted freedom, you finally looked over at the man, your knife, the one they had stolen from you, sat perched on his hip. They had stolen your gear just to use it against you, and that fact gave you more motivation than anything previously, you wanted your things back.

Without a second of hesitation, your hands wrapped around the knife, plucking it from his tactical belt, your tactical belt, and plunged it into his thigh. He cried out in pain, something you never gave them the satisfaction of hearing, as he doubled over from the fiery sensation in his leg you pulled the knife out again and plunged it into his neck, blood that was not yours finally coating your body again. As you let out all your frustration on the man, pulling the knife out just to slam it back in over and over again, you began to register the sound of gunfire, the sound of Russian shouting, and the feeling of panic the base you were trapped within was beginning to feel.

Once you were positive the man below you was dead, you began stripping him as they had once stripped you. You took the keys from his cold, dead hands, and unlocked your feet from the shackles, your ankles screaming in relief. You then took his clothing, albeit they were far too large for you, they were better than what you had been forced to stay in for your time as a prisoner. Tightening the pants around your waist with your belt, you felt somewhat okay, you didn't feel helpless or hopeless, you felt determined, determined to get out of there yourself, since there would be no rescue party for you.

Gripping onto the rifle, one that wasn't yours originally, you began your escape. As you made your way through the base, leaving a trail of bodies behind you, you felt like yourself again, you felt like the soldier once were. You had reminded yourself of things that were facts; you were one of the youngest ever recorded female members to join the SAS, you were an accomplished soldier, a sergeant before your twenty first birthday, you were a force to be reckoned with; those facts kept you motivated throughout your escape, you were all those things, and more, and you could get yourself out of any situation.

Sticking to the shadows, you took down over twenty soldiers, cornering them til they were alone, and that tactic had worked well enough, til your luck ran out. The corner you took was one of bad judgement, over fifteen men resided there, all on high alert for your whereabouts, and with no shadows to conceal yourself, you had no other option but to simply turn back around, though when you did so, you found yourself face with thirty other men, ready to pounce. Weighing your options, you knew that to surrender was your only choice, if you wanted to stay alive. Letting the rifle hang from your shoulder, you held your hands up, defeat running thick through your veins.

They didn't make a move though, not one soldier stood out of line, all of them waiting for you to make the first move, to do something unpredictable, until he sauntered out of the crowd. Makarov's second in charge, Yuri, grinned like a mad man as he gripped you roughly, pulling you in the direction of another room and dismissing the men on guard. You were no longer deemed as a threat as he led you into the room, far nicer than the cell you had grown accustomed to.

He stripped you of your weapons, though he was not thorough, leaving your bloodied knife within your waistband as he took the rifle and pistol from your body, turning the safety on and throwing them across the room.

"I thought we beat the need to escape out of you," he tsked, hands feeling your body in a way far less appropriate than simply looking for weapons. "But I now see that you have to be broken in a different way to get you to comply with our rules."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as the five other men walked through the door, dragging their bodies with them. Three had a grip on Ghost's sluggish body, and two were struggling against Soap's protests. The men forced Ghost and Soap to their knees, Ghost having to steady himself by placing his hands in front of him to keep him from falling foreword. They had drugged him, most likely using the same one they had used to keep you compliant in the first weeks of your capture.

"Redback?" Ghost questioned softly as he looked towards you, confusion running through his mind.

"These two were found sneaking around our base," Yuri revealed, toying with a piece of your hair as he forced you to look at them. Soap held a look of distraught as he looked over at you, like he had just seen a real ghost, while Ghost's eyes held a look of resentment within them. You weren't sure who the resentment was pointed towards, but you had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't directed at you. "And now you'll watch them die."

Yuri stepped foreword, his own pistol raised, pressing the barrel against Soap's head as he looked back at you. With a clenched jaw, you pulled the knife from your waistband and pressed it against your wrist. The sharpness of it caused a small speck of blood to dribble down your arm and drip to the floor, but despite the sting you kept it in place.

"Makarov wants me, you kill them and I'll die with them," You spoke clearly, despite your voice being hoarse from not speaking for days on end. "How would that look for you? Under your watch, his prized possession dies because you can't do your fucking job right."

Yuri let out a dry chuckle, "so loyal," he commented, looking towards the men knelt before him, "and where are your pleas? When she was taken from you, you left her. Maybe you two would rather her blood spill to cover your sins."

"Shut up," You hissed, their silence to his words were deafening, a heartbreaking scene as Ghost looked anywhere but at you.

"I want you to memorise this moment, they weren't here to rescue you," Yuri growled, "They were completing another mission, and you so happen to be here as well."

Ghost's eyes, despite hooded with the effects of the drug, widened slightly, struggling even harder against the three men that held him in place. Soap on the other hand, used the distraction as an ample time to escape. Taking the gun from Yuri, Soap pointed it towards the men holding him down and left off two shots, killing them quickly. You had taken this opportunity to throw the knife, watching with a sickening smile as it lodged itself into Yuri's chest. Ghost, regardless of being under the influence of a drug, took down two of the men holding him hostage while Soap let off another shot into the final man.

Ignoring the two men, you walked over towards Yuri, watching as he spluttered out in pain. Hovering over him, you crouched down, twisting the knife deeper into his chest. Pulling it out, you relished in the pool of blood that began to form.

"I want you to memorise this moment," You repeated his words to him as you dragged the bloodied knife down his cheek, smearing his own blood on his face, "that nobody is here to rescue you." and with that, you plunged the knife up through his bottom jaw.

Months had come and gone, and you had not spoken a word to anyone on Task Force 141 since you had been brought back to the. safety of your base. The wounds, the injuries to your flesh would heal long before you're able to heal your brain. You had gone through a lot, many scars now littered your body, your ankles and wrists having a permanent red line from the rubbing of your shackles, and your mind was in shambles. Laswell had told you that they hadn't looked for you once, that they assumed you were dead and had even informed your family of you being killed in action. You felt almost betrayed that they didn't even bother to look for you, that the mission was more important to them, to Ghost, than to see you still breathing.

The doctors had gotten you healthy again, gave you the fluids and sustenance you had been deprived on before setting you up with a physiotherapist. That man had retaught you how to do simple tasks, explaining to you that the only reason you were capable of such things during your escape was because of the adrenaline coursing through your veins. It had taken you four months to get back to doing things on your own, and an additional three months before you were back to your usual abilities, and still within all that time, you refused to look at the men that had left you in the hands of the enemy. They had offered you leave, to go home and spend time with family, but if the mission was as important as leaving behind a team member, it only made sense to stay and complete it before gifting yourself with seeing your parents relieved faces.

The gym was quiet at three am, sleep no longer a need for you as it only plagued your mind with unwanted memories. The sound of your knuckles coming in contact with the rubber punching bag silenced your mind, created an inner peace within you as you assaulted the equipment. Nobody else resided inside as you continued to push your abilities, seeing just how long you could do this before getting tired. You used to be able to go for hours, but now, it seemed that you could only do half of that.

Your inner peace was quickly ruined by the sound of heavy footsteps, and before you could even register what was happening, his hands wrapped around your waist and pushed you against the closest wall. He turned you to face him, the hard skull plate from his mask was gone, his balaclava the only thing separating them from each other. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were hooded from lack of sleep, the black war paint he usually sported was not there, leaving his expressions easier to read.

"You never threaten to kill yourself to save me again," His voice was rough, reminding you of a hot long black in the early of the morning, bitter and abrasive, burning your tongue. "I'd rather get shot ten times over than ever see you do that again."

Scoffing, you looked at him with a frown, "A few months too late for this revelation, Lieutenant."

"I don't care," He huffed, grip on your waist loosening, "You don't get to do that shit, not anymore."

"And you don't get too care, why do you even care? Huh?" You spluttered out, words dripping with venom, "You left me there to die, Laswell told me everything, told me how you all didn't even give me a second thought, told my fucking family I was dead."

"I watched you die," He growled out, "I watched as that bullet went through your chest, as you fell to the ground."

"And you didn't think to check? The mission that important to you that you can't go over to a wounded soldier and check if their heart is still beating?" You all but screamed at him, if you were anyone else, your yelling at a superior would go severly punished, "I was wearing a fucking chest plate, you saw me put it on, you checked I had it on before we started that fucking mission, and you still left me for dead."

"You don't think I don't remember that now?" He yelled back. at you, voice booming throughout the gym, "You don't think I wasn't awake every night wondering about you? Thinking of things I could have done differently? I completed that mission and went back for you, you were gone."

"Why do you care so much?" You hissed at him, "The first time we met you told me that I'd be another dead body at the edge of your boot because you didn't think I was good enough, why care now?"

"Because you mean something to me," He revealed, though his words were sweet his tone wasn't, it was like he resented the fact that you meant something to him, "you mean more to me every single day, that's why I care."

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marvelstars · 5 months

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The fact fandom sees Obi-Wan as an uwu baby at 25 years old while also considering that Anakin should have got his feelings over his mother together at 9 show how bad it can get when we infantilize the characters to suit our vision of them imo.

At 25 Obi-Wan was a grown young adult when he started taking care of Anakin, in fact many people in real life marry and have children at that age, in light of that his hurt feelings and jealousy over Qui-Gon asking him to be knighted, which is supposed to be a good thing, a recognition of his skills, so he could take care of Anakin, show Qui-Gon was right in that Obi-Wan still had some maduration to go but that he was ready to be a Jedi Knight.

ObiWan defeating Maul sealed the deal for the council but it also presents a very problematic precedent, it wasn´t his emotional maturity and wiseness the thing that made Obi-Wan a knight but his dueling skills in his combat with Maul after his master was killed.

In Anakin´s case at 9 he was old to be introduced to the Jedi because he isn´t 4 or 5 but he is very young to be made a padawan, they usually start at 13 or 14 like Ahsoka did. So given Obi-Wan wish to train him to make a reality Qui-Gon´s dying wish, Anakin was made a padawan sooner than when he was supposed to be one, not because he was a kind child who worried about others and wanted to make a lasting change in the galaxy for the slaves, he was made a padawan because of his power potential and the Jedi Order didn´t try to make adecuations to the fact he was old enough to remember seeing slaves being blow up by their masters and the fact his mother was still a slave and in constant danger of this happening to her as well. Nothing of this was addressed with Anakin, he was told in no uncertain terms that his responsibility and compromise with the Jedi Order, which he made at 9, didn´t involve him thinking about his mother or seeing her ever again. Anakin obeyed this dictate until his mother was tortured killed and he had his first fall to the dark side by taking revenge on the tuskens for the murder of his mother.

Later at 19 he is made a Knight not because he had shown a grown in his control over the force or his own feelings but because he was an able soldier with leadership skills which served him well to survive a war in which the majority of the padawans of his generation were killed , at 20 he was made a Jedi master for Ahsoka during war time, he was responsible of teaching her how to be a Jedi while also making sure she didn´t die while also taking care of his troops and giving victories to the Republic all of which he did, even when his padawan was expelled, even when his men were killed for knowing too much like in Fives case and at 23 he was a general and one of the leading Jedi in the war, married to Padme with a child on the way, so Anakin was two years younger than Obi-Wan was when he was still a padawan and meet Anakin for the first time. Anakin fell to the darkside and became Vader when he was 23 years old, two years younger than padawan Obi-Wan.

So If I use the age argument it wasn´t Obi-Wan the one who got pushed into a situation he could not have managed on his own for his age but Anakin definitely was, because of his particular power and skills even if the popular take is that Obi-Wan was a baby at 25 taking care of an ungrateful, unstable almost teenager Anakin as a 9 year old, for many fans Anakin never was a child but he was, the fact he didn´t had an actual childhood is another thing.

But well if we take this in consideration then it makes all the sense in the world Yoda choose to let Anakin´s twins grow up with their families, train Luke when he was an adult and not make him a Knight at 23 if he didn´t deal with his inner conflict over his father but it was Luke´s choice of not wanting to fight or kill his father but rather ask him to come back to him, to the person he used to be, the thing that made the difference. Anakin came back to save his child from his master, himself and the Empire, he gave up his life to give Luke and Luke´s dreams a chance.

So while age certainly is a factor it isn´t everything when it´s about a character grow and choices imo.

#anakin skywalker #star wars #darth vader #obi wan kenobi #star wars meta #sw rant

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ghouljams · 9 months

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After consuming a lot of demon content I have come to present a question

How was Fetch born? Which one of the demons are hell-born and which are (as the clones from Star Wars say) nat-born? Is it any different for them and how their powers work?

(Can I be 🧪 anon if that isn't taken?)

No difference in powers between differently born demons! I like to think that the thing that really determines a demon's power cap is how creative they are with what they can do. Fetch has what could be considered a really weak power(retrieval is kinda specific y'know) but if you're creative and can bend the rules a little it becomes more powerful. Die on the other hand has what on the surface is a really strong power(the ability to kill people) but without knowing how to use it, it kinda loses its punch.

As far as hell-born/nat-born/human-born status is treated, I don't think demons give much of a shit. A demon is a demon is a demon, y'know? As long as you serve hell, you're valid (thumbs up)

Anywayyyyy, here's the "nat-born" status of the current demons

Fetch is a natural born demon! Or as close as a demon can get I guess. I like to think she emerged like aphrodite from the lavas of ill-advised lust and just sauntered into the recruiting office to ask for a job. Born and raised in hell, she has nothing that could be considered a "human" moral code. Which is what sets her apart from other weapon grade demons like Die.

Die is human born, a cursed child born as a demon. For the most part she was raised (as best she could be) by a human mother until she was deemed old enough to join Hell's forces. Hell didn't give her a fucked up moral code or anything, Mares come pre-programmed with that. If anything her mom fucked her up by giving her things like feelings(gross)

Luck is a special case. Another anon(I gotta dig up the ask) suggested she might be a fallen angel, and I love that idea. I think luck is a weird specialty with a lot of crossover, and her propensity for bending the rules didn't really jive with heaven so she was booted to hell. She's been a demon for a long time though and didn't really like being an angel anyway, so don't feel too bad for her.

I imagine Hush is the youngest of the bunch, and probably was a soldier that died and was recruited to Hell's army. Formerly human, now demon. (I think this is also why the other demons like Hush so much, he still smells kinda human)

Price.... Honestly I don't think anyone knows. Price has been around for a looooong time, perhaps as long as humans have wanted things. I think having a handler is new for them, having one they care about anyway. Crazy how humans grow on you...

#ghoul speaks #demon!darlings au #oc: fetch #oc: luck #oc: die #oc: hush #oc: price #🧪 anon #oc talk

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much-obliged-timothy · 7 months

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Whumptober #13

Day 13 - Baldur's Gate 3 - "I don't feel so good"

I apologize for this being a day late, but I was away for a few days! This prompt is based on a note I found in game!

They stumbled back into camp, exhausted and ready to just eat and sleep. They’d gotten into a final fight on their way back to camp, draining the last of their energy.

“Astarion?” Tav asked as the man beside him staggered and nearly lost his balance. Tav caught his arm, holding on until he was certain Astarion was steady.

“Just need to rest, darling,” Astarion said.

Tav’s frown deepened. “I can smell food. Someone must already be cooking for us.”

Astarion waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m not hungry. I’m just going to…” He turned away, letting out an alarming cough into the crook of his elbow. He pushed his hair back, trying to shake the coughing attack off. “I’m just going to get some rest. Go eat, my love. I’m too tired to put myself on the menu for you tonight.”

Tav didn’t even dignify that with an eyeroll, because it sounded forced and strained. “Are you alright, Astarion?”

“Fine,” he said, a little impatiently. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

With that, he promptly turned and headed for his tent. That sent another spark of concern through Tav, because Astarion always slept out by the fire with the rest of them. He liked to be next to Tav, especially as their list of enemies grew.

Tav started after him, but Karlach caught his arm. “Leave him for a bit, soldier. You need to eat and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“But Astarion is-” Tav started.

Karlach dragged him towards the fire, where the scent of a meal was growing stronger. “You’re checking on him after, obviously. Fangs is off tonight. But you haven’t eaten since this morning since you insisted on running errands while we got lunch. The more you complain, the longer it’ll take you to go check on him.”

That got Tav to reluctantly snap his mouth shut. He let Karlach guide him to the fire, where, sure enough, Wyll was making stew for them. Thankfully, it was done within minutes, and Tav sat around the fire with the others as he ate, his mind drifting to Astarion.

When he’d finished, he grabbed an extra helping to bring Astarion and headed for his tent, Karlach nodding in approval as he went. He approached the tent quietly in case Astarion was asleep, but heard that same alarming cough from inside.

He knelt in the entrance and peeked in. Astarion was on his bedroll, curled up with his arms wrapped around his stomach and his body shaking.

“Astarion,” Tav said in concern, reaching out.

Astarion slapped his hand away. “Leave me alone.”

Tav set his shoulders, refusing to back down. “No. Something is wrong. Let me help. I thought we were past this, love.”

That seemed to take some of the fight out of Astarion. He’d been working to be more open with Tav since they’d defeated Cazador, but it was a slow process.

“That…” He had to stop to cough more, groaning a little and holding his stomach again. “Dammit. I don’t feel so good. That’s all.”

Tav didn’t know enough about vampires to know if they got sick. “How can I help?”

“You can’t,” Astarion said, a little bitterly. “It’s my own fault. That man whose blood I drank during the battle…” He grimaced.

“His blood made you ill?” Tav asked, crawling into the tent and sitting next to Astarion. He guided Astarion’s head onto his lap, running his fingers through Astarion’s curls to try and soothe him.

“Stop that. I’m not a child,” Astarion said, but either didn’t have the strength to pull away or didn’t actually want to. “He must’ve had a blood disease. They make vampires ill, and while it’s miserable, it’s not for long. I’ll be fine by the morning.”

“Well, you’re not fine right now. Let me stay with you tonight,” Tav said. “I mean, if you’d like me to.”

“And have you see me like this all night?” Astarion scoffed.

Tav ran his hand through Astarion’s curls again, but this time stopped to cup the back of his head gently. He bent down and pressed a kiss to Astarion’s temple. “You’ve seen me in much worse shape, love. Even if I can’t help, at least you don’t have to suffer alone.”

Astarion closed his eyes for a long moment before tilting his head a little. Tav resumed running his fingers through his hair, relieved that Astarion wasn’t going to fight him on this.

He looked absolutely miserable as he suffered through his sickness, but there was nothing to be done for it. All Tav could do was stay with him and offer him what comfort he could until the episode passed. He knew he couldn’t physically help Astarion, but he hoped his presence was enough to make the whole awful ordeal just a little more tolerable.

#whumptober2023 #no.13 #i don't feel so good #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fic writing #astarion #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #jtdoeswhumptober

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grace-nakimura · 6 months

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title: time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it rating: pg-13 for mentions of sexual situations and some light disturbing imagery. pairing: grace nakimura/gabirel knight. also brief mentions of malia gedde/gabriel knight and fredrich von glower/gabriel knight. trigger warning: pregnancy mention. slight sexual situations. disturbing imagery. threat of harm to a child (but thwarted). mental health issues. not beta'd bc it's against my gremlin religion, but can you guess how tswift inspired this? bc she totally did. summary: gabriel's point of view from whoops, in which he buries ghosts, admits that he does have feelings (just no brain cells!), and somehow doesn't run from fatherhood kicking and screaming. (jane jensen i am looking at you GIVE US A BONE TELL ACTIVISION TO GIVE US SOMETHING!)

Time moved slowly. Not for anyone else, but for him it did.

Seasons came and went, but there he stood, the last Schattenjager, holding down Schloss Ritter like a soldier overrun in battle who didn’t know how to surrender.

It seemed everyone had a life. They were all making moves, growing, and changing while he still felt stagnant.

Gerde had gotten married. He didn’t attend the service, didn’t think he could stomach it, but he sent the bride and groom a generous gift of money and beer. Seeing as how Gerde, like most German’s, didn’t trust Gabriel, an American, when it came to beer, she sent it back with a thank you note.

Mosely was even seeing someone—he didn’t know if he should tell them a good job or that poor woman, so he decided on both when he got the news, only to be hung up on—too. A widower with two sons for the past five months or so. “Still too early to be thinkin’ ‘bout this an’ all, but” Moseley had said over the phone, relaxing at the station in New Orleans while Gabriel nursed his Tennessee Whiskey near his typewriter. “Hell, Knight. Can you imagine me being a dad? Hell, I’m hardly a good enough uncle to my sister’s kids.”

He could, actually; one of those picket fence type of fathers who wore a fanny-pack with snacks, always complaining about the thermostat, and grilled burgers and hot dogs on Sunday evenings. The sort that Gabriel used to dream about when he was a kid. Like hell he’d ever admit it, though, so instead he went with, “at least they won’t get your looks.”

“Ass.”

“Still got a better one than you, Mostly.”

And he stayed still, all alone in Schloss Ritter, surrounded by mountains and trees, more of a ghost most days than a person.

Gran was another one he worried about. Her mind was sharper than a whip, but her body began to fall behind, little by little. Pretty soon she wouldn’t be able to live by herself, something she took so much pride in, and when he had to tell her that the hitch in her breath broke his heart.

“We all grow old sometime, Gabriel,” she had told him over the phone, keeping good cheer and forcing a smile that never met her eyes. He knew that smile. That was his girl. His world. He hated ever being the reason for her to have that look.

“You ain’t ever getting' old, Gran,” he said, in an attempt of levity. “Besides, ain’t for a while, yet. It’s just something we gotta look after. I’ll be by to visit you soon. Got so many stories to tell you about Granddaddy’s family.”

He also missed her more than anything.

She had laughed and if he could imagine it, he would be able to see how her eyes would roll heavenward good-naturedly, but at least her eyes were smiling along with her mouth this time. “I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart.” And then, as always, “I love you, dear. Take care.”

When he wasn’t being a Schattenjager, or a writer with the largest bout of writer’s block known to man, he would lay on his back spread eagle and stare at the ceiling in his study. Sometimes he would think of Grace.

Depending on how sober he was, or how lonely, he mostly just thought of the things he wanted to tell her. Whenever he had a new idea for a book, or a breakthrough on a case, or just a thought in general, his first instinct always was, I’ve gotta tell Gracie. Only to remember, oh, she was on another continent. Unreachable. Gone.

When he was really, really drunk, he would think of that night. If it was only once, they would both brush it off as adrenaline, but they slept with each other more than once. No matter what he’d tell anyone in the light of day, once wasn’t enough that night, and considering his back was covered with the markings of her nails the next morning, it was the same for her.

Three whole times that night.

He was thirty-five. While there wasn’t much thinking involved, he had to admit that he was damn impressed with his stamina. Mostly with Grace, who was every bit of the firecracker he had imagined. She was all fire and consumed every inch of him that, if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he was being possessed.

Morning had come, as it always would, and everything changed.

Now she was miles away with only a note. He didn’t remember what it said, didn’t bother keeping it when he crumbled it up, but he got the jest: she outgrew him, she needed more, and wished him the best.

He could focus on how angry, how hurt, he had been, but what really haunted him was how hurt she looked that morning.

“Ass,” he said to the ether, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“You do have a good one,” a silky voice spoke. When he turned around, Malia sat—or an apparition, or just his mind playing tricks on him, or both—on the sofa in his study, legs crossed, looking every bit the same she did when he first saw her. Ebony curls framed her face, and those deep brown that held flecks of gold made her eyes almost seem ethereal. “That was my first thought when I saw you with the Detective—damn, that man has a nice ass.”

A chuckle bubbled from Gabriel, his eyes growing misty, even if he didn’t want them to. Didn’t deserve to cry over her. He sat up but remained where he was. He didn’t dare stand. He also didn’t dare to walk over to her. He wanted to keep Malia Gedde, forever thirty-something, forever lovely, in his mind as she was.

“I wish I could’ve saved you,” he hated to make that bright smile falter, but he needed her to know that. She was the first woman he’d ever could imagine a future with. They had known each other for a handful of days, sure, but his parents were a whirlwind romance, too. That future went to ash just when she did. “I always save you when I dream.”

It was her who moved off the sofa, who sat by him, this phantom of Malia Gedde, the first woman he ever loved, and cupped his face with both of her hands so he could look at her. “You did, Gabriel,” a ghost of a kiss was pressed on his lips, “I didn’t have much of a life before you; I was Lazarus, and you gave me life. Now let me return the favor.” She rubbed her nose against his, and his eyes fell shut as did hers, willing time to continue to slow for this moment. “Live.”

“Ain’t that what I’m doin’?” He sounded petulant, which made her huff out a laugh, but he kept on. “Might have a great ass, but not exactly a great person to be around.”

She pressed her lips against his forehead, almost an atonement, almost a benediction. “Fight a little while longer, Mr. Knight,” her lips moved against his forehead, and he was brought back to the few nights in his room at the bookshop, entwined together as his hands roamed up and down her dark skin, entwining in those ebony curls of hers as she straddled his lap at a furious pace.

After, she always placed a kiss on his forehead, once the two came down from their heights and settled back on earth.

“I’ll always be with you, my love.”

He woke up, back acting up something awful for sleeping on the floor, still feeling the lips against his forehead.

***

Gran fell in her kitchen one Saturday afternoon. It took him no time at all to book the quickest flight to New Orleans, and within the handful of hours from Munich to the states, he onboarded the plane from Louis Armstrong International and took the first Taxi he saw to the hospital.

“It was just a little fall,” Gran had soothed him as he sat by her bed, holding her smaller, wrinkled hand in his. “Got a few bruises, is all. I’m fine.”

For all the times she’d narrow her eyes to his bold-faced lies, he returned the favor, placing a kiss on that hand of hers reverently. “This time it’s a few bruises, Gran. What about the next?”

His life was already full of shadows. The day Rebecca Knight would go gently into that good night, and he knew she would, all that was warm and bright would go with her. She had raised him. Loved him. Accepted him with open arms. He knew she had reservations on how he lived his life, mostly out of coming from a different time when most men his age were married, settled, with scours of little ones, but she never made a fuss. She always listened to him and encouraged him to follow his heart.

“We’ll pick out someone to come and see you regularly,” Gabriel began before she could say anything else, “someone that you like. Don’t worry ‘bout the cost; nothin’ but the best for my girl.”

She snorted, shaking her head as she lay on the hospital bed, smiling up at him as if he were nine and told her of his day, mostly about making mischief with Mosely. He had always left out the things that would get him in big trouble, though, but he figured she knew of them all the same. “And what about you, dear?”

“What about me?”

That smile turned sad, and the hand he had been holding snuck out of his grasp to run his hands through his unruly strawberry-blond hair. The red came from his mama, just like his eyes; the rest came from his daddy. Gran always said that his daddy lived on in his smile. “I know you’re a grown man, but sometimes I look at you, and I still see that little boy.” Gran looked wistful. “You’re lonely, aren’t you?”

He made a face, but she ignored him. She knew his tells more than anyone else. “It’s your life, you know, I just... I just know how long life can be, if you’re lucky, but also how lonely it could be with no one, if you’re unlucky.”

A thought came to him, “were you lonely, Gran?”

She shook her head, swallowing hard, “never, not when I had you, even miles away from you—not lonely. Never lonely. I only want you to feel like that someday. Whole.”

***

He stayed for a week, or maybe edging on for a week and a half, meeting client after client. She eventually decided on a redhead who was studying for her Nursing degree at Tulane. The girl looked younger than she probably was, proudly showing her engagement ring to Gran who cooed and tittered, and that was that. Her name was Rose. Cute kid, bit of an old soul, and out of the fifty candidates she was the only one to make his Gran laugh so hard her whole-body shook.

“Call me when you can, dear,” she had told him and given him one of those bone crushing hugs that he’d missed more than he’d like to admit. He even returned it, causing her to chuckle. “Also, tell that Grace to call, too. I’ve missed her stories.”

If she noticed how his body went frigid at the mention of Grace, she said nothing, but with leaving a kiss on her rouge covered cheek he got his things and left. Not after telling her, he loved her, and that he would call as soon as he could.

He even met with Mosely. Met his girlfriend, Daniella, and immediately gave her condolences. Her boys were with her late husband’s parents for the weekend, but he promised to return soon to meet them, too.

Her oldest, Antonio, was a fan of his books, even though he was only fourteen years old. Hadn’t he read Dracula at eleven? He couldn’t judge.

He left New Orleans feeling a little lighter, anyway.

It just made returning to Rittersberg bearable, knowing he did right by at least one person in his life.

Imagine his surprise when he saw Gerde’s car where it usually was. Imagine his surprise when he went into the ancestral castle to hear two voices, female, whispering over a roaring fire.

The blonde with the curls was Gerde. Bright eyed and happier than she had been in some time, making peace with his Uncle Wolfgang’s death, while moving on with her life with the sort of uncanny humility and grace many of those who had plenty of years on her would never be able to do. The sort of resilience many never write stories about, or wax poetic about, or even consider to be a strength, when it was the utmost example of true strength that a human being could possess.

“— if I were you, I would focus on telling Gabriel—,”

That caught his attention, and suddenly he made his presence known, “Tellin’ me what?”

It was then he noticed the woman Gerde was speaking to. Almost hard to, since it’s been months since he had seen her. Every time he thought about her, he thought of that face she made when he dismissed her, how it was the first time he ever made her face crumble like a house of cards that he knew of, and it was a lance to his heart every time he imagined it. She began to cough, Gerde patting her back encouragingly, and once she waved the blonde woman off Gabriel noticed how quickly she scurried out of the room, leaving a cup of cocoa behind.

“Grace?” This wasn’t an apparition, right? Gerde was talking to her, who wasn’t in his mind since she had bumped into me in her attempt to leave—quickly—and even avoiding eye contact while doing so. She stood up slowly, pushing herself as if she were a guilty child, being prepared for the scolding of a lifetime, and slowly turned around.

Her hair had gotten longer. He liked it. It fell in a loose brain that she wore on the side, her dark bangs wispy, always said she liked them because it covered her large forehead. She looked fuller, skin aglow from the firelight, and the first thought was, hell, why did I never notice how beautiful she was? Oh, she was attractive, but beautiful?

It almost took his breath away.

When he noticed how she absent-mindedly rubbed her stomach—her rather round stomach, and not a product of eating well but something else—his breath did leave him.

“Hi, Gabe.”

She sounded younger. Five years his junior, sure, but now she just sounded so...small. She, who always seemed like a giant by way of her personality, suddenly didn’t seem so big anymore.

It killed him.

He made his way in front of her and there they stood, illuminated by the flames in the fireplace, no more than five feet apart and looked everywhere but each other.

It sounded like the worst thing to ever ask, and he knew he had no right to ask, “is it mine?” It didn’t matter the answer. He’d offer her all he could no matter what. She nodded, and he felt his stomach drop. Shit. “Right. Well, damn, Gracie. You keepin’ it?”

Not his business. Right, but the question slipped out none the less.

“Her,” and despite himself, his breath catches. Her. A girl. A little girl that, if Grace never made her way back to Rittersberg, he’d never know about. “I wanted to tell you in person. I, um, I don’t want anything, or I don’t want to make you do anything...”

He nodded. He kept nodding with every word she said like an idiot. “No, no, I get it,” but there she was giving him that look, “I do.” And then, because this was so much—he's going to be a daddy to a little girl that has been living for, what, six months, without his knowledge. He and Grace had made a little girl that night. He, a fatherless child, was going to be a father! —he blurted out, “well, um, your room is still yours. Nice to see you, Grace.”

He stumbled as he ran up the winding stairs, doing his best to ignore the sound of Grace’s sobbing.

***

“If you had chosen me,” a heavily accented voice told him in his ear, a firm hand placed on his shoulder almost gently, “you would’ve never been in this predicament.”

“And more lives lost than saved,” he told the phantom, shrugging off Fredrich’s hand as if it burnt him. More ghosts in the night, always hovering near him, and his bare feet made their way toward his window. A full moon. Sometimes if he imagined it hard enough, he would hear wolves howling.

He never missed how his heart clenched at the memory.

“Do you hate me that much, Gabriel, that you can’t even look at me?”

It’s because I don’t hate you that I can’t, he thought with a grimace, swallowing. “I told you to go before.” He hated how his voice broke.

Ever so dominant, full of confidence that Gabriel only played pretend at, he moved to where Gabriel had to face him anyway. He looked just like he did on the night he spent at his estate, sitting across from him, drinking and laughing together, being pulled in with those rich brown eyes. Christ. He had a type. “We would have made such beautiful memories, my friend,” his thumb traced Gabriel’s bottom lip, causing the man to open his mouth without thinking.

He never thought about men before. After, he only ever thought of one. Then Fredrich spoke, and the spell ended. “I only wished that you chose me.”

And since this had to be all in his head, he had a chance to be honest, “if only you wanted me as I was,” Gabriel replied. “I wanted you as you were.”

Or, well, maybe somewhat honest. Did he want him as he really was, or who he was presented as?

All Gabriel knew was that he wanted him. All he knew was that much like Malia, if things had been different, there could’ve been a future.

The smile the baron made was rueful, catching the uncertainty of his last statement, but instead of when he haunted him before his brown eyes weren’t so hard. “Sad, isn’t it? You kill me so you can live,” Gabriel’s heart clenched painfully, “but you are hardly living. Not even for your little one, growing in the belly of your assistant in a room not too far from you—do you hear how she cries, Gabriel? How scared she is while you hide in your room?”

He said nothing.

Still, the man went on, “do you know how lucky you are to be given such a gift? If I had a chance to experience a family, a family of my own choosing without being chained to what is considered traditional, I would’ve taken it without thought.” Regardless of his words earlier, Gabriel heard nothing but raw honesty. “Fought and killed for it with all my power.”

“Kill me or kiss me,” because he was at the end of his rope. Fredrich von Glower was dead and gone and he didn’t need to think of some fantasy where he and Grace and the black fucking wolf played house. It hurt enough to have him here when it wasn’t really him. “Just shut the hell up.”

Funny how the first kiss, their first kiss, would be in his head. All teeth and aggression, mixed with a pining he had never known. Fredrich von Glower had seduced him, who usually was the one who seduced, flawlessly, and even in death he had him in his web. Never slept with the man, but God, if he were alive, if he were here right now—

Air. There was nothing but air when he came too, leaning against the cold window of his room, breathing harshly.

***

Talking with Grace was...something. He couldn’t avoid it, push it under the rug, because the evidence of what they both did grew and grew little by little. She waddled about, rubbing her lower back herself, sporting mostly maternity overalls over a sweater because, even if she was raised in New York, New Orleans spoiled me with its heat. It’s too damn cold here, Knight. He’d almost grown fond of hearing the shuffling of her house shoes because, well, only white people walk around in a home with their shoes on, ass.

“That baby in there is half-white, you know,” the cheek came so easy, like coming home in some ways.

Grace gave as good as she got, “oh, I know. It’s why the only spices I’ve been able to handle are salt and pepper.”

He laughed. Oh, how he laughed, and oh how he missed her. The best thing about it? She laughed, too, and he missed that even more.

She wasn’t a ghost. She was there, in front of him, her eyes darker than Fredrich’s and Malia’s combined, but they twinkled like tiny diamonds whenever she laughed. No glasses, still, only contacts. Too much maintenance, she had told him when he had asked about the change.

He went with her to Munich to on check-ups, peering at a blurry, black and white blob on the screen as the baby’s heartbeat filled the room; couldn’t really tell that there was a baby, besides the heartbeat and Grace’s expanded stomach, but something made his heart skip, nonetheless. “You guys sure it’s gonna be a girl?” Hell, its technology, after all. It wasn’t perfect.

“Ja, Herr Knight,” the assistant replied with a laugh, “see here?” She pointed with the hand that wasn’t controlling the wand on Grace’s stomach and he leaned over to take a closer look, “that is just an arm, and there is a leg, and—oh, it looks like she’s tired of us looking! She’s turning around.”

“I don’t blame her,” Grace said, and Gabriel didn’t miss the note of fondness in her voice.

Blood work was fine. The scans were fine. Everything was fine, but something began to claw at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

After the appointment—to which she needed to pee as soon as she was dressed—they ate at McDonalds. It was cheap, near the clinic, and it had a restroom.

It seemed most of what Grace did was pee.

They ordered an extra pair of fries to go on the way back to Schloss Ritter, and when she wasn’t stuffing her face with fries—he was able to steal a few with only a glare that had no heat to it when caught—they made small talk. Safe topics. “I need to ask you something. Don’t be mad, okay?”

Well, mostly safe topics.

“Shoot,” he turned right, keeping his eyes on the road. He missed his bike, drove better on it, but when he suggested he could install a little seat beside him as he drove since she couldn’t exactly straddle a bike anymore, the groan she made sounded like she was being tortured.

“Are we having a Whoops, or just a black-and-white blob?”

He barked out a laugh. She laughed, too, and suddenly they both physically could not stop laughing. “I thought it was only me!” She shook her head and when she snorted, she quickly covered her mouth. “Maybe that can be another name for her? Gabrielle Whoops Heartburn Blob. Nobles always have more than one name.”

Settling just a bit, she shook her head, before suddenly her face fell. “I have to pee again.”

Of course.

Like always, as soon as they entered the castle, he went up to his study to check his messages while he heard Grace flush the toilet in the distance.

That itch came back tenfold when Scotland Yard contacted him.

***

It hit too fucking close to home.

A little girl had been kidnapped. Some occult group not unlike the old lady he met months ago, were said to have been kidnapping people in the Highlands for years. Scotland Yard was called when the child taken was the only daughter of Prime Minister hopeful.

The mother was beside herself, of course. Face gaunt with circles under her eyes. Devastated.

The father? The father appeared disinterested. Put out. As if this was all a waste of time. He was normally shit at reading people, but after all he’d been through, and maybe it was just paranoia, something at the back of his head sent out a warning. Could be something, could be nothing; he could be involved, or he could be a righteous prick that didn’t deserve to be a father, less a politician.

And you deserve to be one? a voice asked.

No, he said, but that doesn’t stop me from being one in a few months.

The mother, Wendy, was a frail thing, only a little older than he was, and said they had two older boys. James, Rory, and their little girl, Abigail. If things were different, he’d save the name as a possibility for Grace. He’d always liked that name, come to think about it. His first-grade teacher’s name was Abigial Lewis and she had great, big—

Maybe not Abigail, then.

He brought along a laptop. A compromise so when Grace was back in Germany, safe in Schloss Ritter with Gerde, he would contact her through SIDNEY, and she him.

That first time was quiet. He didn’t dawdle to get a feel of the scene like he usually did. Not even when Prince James’ son was missing did he ever feel this much anxiety. A little girl, only four, her survival depended all on him.

That could be my little girl, was what kept him going.

That night he was in a Cathedral. Everyone was dressed in black. His parents were there, just as he remembered them, staring ahead. Gran and Grandaddy were there, too, and so was Wolfgang beside them. In front of him at the end of the aisle was a closed casket.

Go, someone urged him, and he listened.

His boots were the only thing he would be able to hear as he made his way toward the closed casket. Something told him to open it. Something urged him to, so he listened, but instead of a corpse that rested inside the coffin was a very much alive, with bright eyes and a gummy grin, infant looking up at him.

He knew who she was.

A shy grin broke out on his face, and he stared, just stared at her, flailing her fists and making sounds just because she could. She wore a white dress, the sort people dressed their babies for baptisms, that bunched up when those tiny hands of hers fisted the fabric. “What’cha’ doin’ there, sweetheart?”

He bent down to pick her up, holding her where her chubby cheek was near his stubbled one, swaying from side to side. In this serenity, this sense of peace he hadn’t felt in so long, he had almost forgotten that he shouldn’t be so at ease holding a baby since he hadn’t held many. And yet, it didn’t matter; her tiny hands on his face, those eyes of hers staring at him like he’s the real wonder and not her, or that dimpled, gummy grin that made his heart flutter in his chest were the only thing in the universe he cared about.

“Hey,” he whispered, bouncing her like he had seen Mosely bounce his nieces when they were babies.

If something was too good to be true, it usually was.

The scene shifted. Instead of his arms, the infant lay on her back on slab, and a man in a dark rob was behind her, holding a knife in the air dramatically.

“Don’t you fucking—”

He lowered the knife and Gabriel plunged at the figure, only for Gabriel to jolt himself awake, drenched in sweat.

It was late, he knew that, but he had to know—had to! Grace picked up, voice hoarse with disuse, “this is Grace.”

“Hey, Gracie.”

“Gabe?” Her voice more alert, and by the rustling in the background he could imagine her sitting up in bed, “Are you alright?”

He said nothing. He was still trembling. She gave him a moment, only a moment, before, “What’s wrong?”

“Is Whoops okay?”

They really needed to call her something other than Whoops.

A soft exhale, before, “yes, she’s fine. My ribs and bladder aren’t, though.”

That made him laugh. It was weak, but still a laugh. “Good.” And then, “Are you?”

“Besides my bladder and ribs? I’m fine.” There was a pause, a comfortable pause of two people enjoying each other’s company, even if they were miles away. “Go to bed. You need your rest.”

He didn’t. Couldn’t.

No jokes were had, no flirtations, but an earnest need to find out what was happening. Besides Wendy’s kindness, the emails and calls he received from Grace either about the case or Whoops, he’d discovered allies in the very beings he was sent to investigate. White Witches, at that.

“Not every being you hunt deserves to be hunted, shadow hunter,” one had told him, not unkindly. “Men are different, so are we.”

And humans are usually the worst kinds of monsters alive, Grace had told him once.

Four days of nightmares. Four days of playing cat-and-mouse, toying with his psyche about his looming fatherhood as if it knew, whatever it was, only to find out the Witch they were looking for all along had been the girl’s father. Just like his dream, only besides his own little girl, the brown haired and blue eyed four-year-old lay bound on the stone alter, while her father, clad in a black coat, spoke an incantation—a summoning spell—but before he raised the blade to complete it, Gabriel had knocked him out cold.

He thought turning into a werewolf brought out his aggression; this was much worse. All he had seen was red.

He would’ve killed that man. That portly man who spent the four days on his black cell, checking his pager boredly, and looking down his nose at him whenever he tried to pick his brain in an effort to help. Hell, he’d even broach the comment about being a father himself, even if his own daughter wasn’t yet born, and all he got was a look of boredom.

Sobbing broke him from his trance.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he did his best to soothe the little girl, who still wore her clothes form when she was abducted, and untied her to draw her in his arms. She stank. Her clothes were soiled, too, but he didn’t mind. He picked up the small girl in his arms and began to leave the ruined and abandoned home. “You’re gonna be just fine, alright? Just close your eyes and hang on real tight.”

Wendy, who had been nothing but lovely and helpful, was found dead with her throat slit in her hotel room. Scotland Yard was called, arrests were made, and that little girl who clung to him so tightly when the ambulance rolled up was sent to her grandparents, along with her two older brothers. Nice kids. A hefty age gape since the eldest, James, looked to be around sixteen, while Rory couldn’t have been no more than twelve. After he spoke to Grace on the phone about what happened, all of it, he spent the rest of the time with little Abby.

If he didn’t already have one on the way, well, he would’ve entertained the brief thought of being a father. Regardless of the horrors she saw, she smiled, told jokes, and spoke to him about all the stuffed animals she had at home. In turn, he’d tell her about his bike, his Gran, and the doofus of a friend he had named Mosely. Apparently making fun of his lack of hair was a winner, because it sent her to a giggle frenzy.

“Is mummy alright, Misser Knight?”

He just smiled and said nothing, opting to turn her attention back to her stuffed animals. Not his place to tell her, anyway.

Turned out, little Abby was what the prick needed to ensure he’d become England’s next Prime Minister. A deal with a demon years ago; his firstborn daughter for all the power he could wield.

He should’ve killed him.

He didn’t.

He didn’t leave Abby or her brothers until she was discharged from the hospital. Her grandparents, Wendy’s parents, were just as lovely as their daughter had been. The English were said to be stand-off-ish with affection, but all he received were hugs of gratitude and pats on the back.

“We’ll never be able to repay you,” the grandfather, Phillip, which made his heart skip a beat, told him in earnest.

“Just make sure those kids are fine, and we’ll be square,” he had answered.

When he got back to the hotel, all the bravery he had vanished.

***

Schloss Ritter was subdued. He didn’t really eat, only when his stomach began to churn and ache and his blood sugar would drop low, and he certainly didn’t shower. When he slept, he would dream of nothing but gore.

He saved little Abby.

He didn’t save her mother.

Just like he didn’t save Fredrich, or Malia, or Wolfgang.

“My death isn’t your fault, Gabriel.”

In the corner of his eye, as he sat in the corner with his knees to his chest, he saw the kind face of his great-uncle. The same long, dark overcoat with his hair in a low ponytail.

“I lost a son,” he admitted, walking toward him languidly, before dropping to his knees. Considering it was his head and nothing more, he didn’t wince as he bent down. “A parent should never have to bury their child.”

Why are you telling me this?

He knew why, though.

He lost his parents when he was young. Left a hole in his heart so big that he tried to fill it with faceless conquests. There wasn’t a guarantee that he’d live long enough to see Whoops reach ten, or twenty, or thirty. There wasn’t even a guarantee that Grace wouldn’t come to her senses and leave him as soon as the baby was born, and he’d never get a chance to see if he would. He wouldn’t blame her. His life wasn’t exactly safe. Hell, even before, his life wasn’t exactly ideal, because he wasn’t exactly ideal.

The fear that gripped him, though, that made him crawl to the furthest corner of his study, was the possibility of having to outlive his child.

That...that made it hard to breathe. Hard to think. He thought the prospect of losing his Gran was terrifying, but Whoops? Unthinkable.

“You love her, don’t you?” Wolfgang asked.

“She ain’t even here and it hurts,” he responded.

“You love her mother, too, yes?”

He hitched a breath, his heart stammering, but it was with perfect clarity he answered, “yes.”

Grace wasn’t his first love. Grace wasn’t the love that awoke something inside him that he never knew existed. Grace was the sort of love that one might overlook, mostly because they weren’t ready to see it for what it really was, and for the few that would double back to take a closer look at what they missed, they would find something no words could name. The sort of love that pulled the rug from under you and screamed, got ya! For all the flirting, all the banter, all the tension he never expected Grace. Never expected the conservatively dressed college student who was overqualified for the position that waltzed into St. George’s to apply for a job to be the mother of his child.

And he didn’t love her because of Whoops, either; resting his head against the cool stone of the castle, he thought back—really thought back—to the small moments. It was after Fredrich and Malia, of course, the two living together at Schloss Ritter and going through the motions. How he would always want to talk to her about the first ridiculous thought he had, and this time out of genuine want and not a need to pester her, to just hear her opinions on anything and everything.

It crept up on him and, when it finally clicked that he might feel something, she left.

“She returned,” Wolfgang reminded him, as if he could read his thoughts.

“’Cause I knocked her up,” Gabriel groused petulantly. “Not for me.”

He made a tsking noise, shaking his head disapprovingly, “my boy, for one so smart, you see so little.”

***

It turned out he’d been blind for a bit. He normally hated to be wrong, because he did like to think he had some smarts under his belt, but this time? This time it was fine. More than fine. This time when Grace was in his bed, not a stitch on her body or his, he knew there would be no awkward deflections in the morning.

She loved him.

Not just because of the baby, but because of him.

And he had yet to tell her how he felt. Words were caught in his throat whenever he attempted, so he did his best to show her. Oh, there was still the cheeky banter; sarcasm was his first language and Grace wouldn’t be Grace without her sassing him to kingdom come. And so, with the cheek came back rubs, foot rubs, full body rubs that often led to something else. Oh, he received just as he gave; little conservative Grace may have appeared to be a librarian outside the bedroom, but inside? Well, his memories of that night were a pale imitation, because damn.

Mostly, it was good—damn good—because he loved her, too. Just like it was good with Malia because he loved her.

And if he had a chance with Fredrich? It would’ve been good, too.

He loved them, but they were gone. Grace was beside him, spent, her chest—which, not to be a total neanderthal, but damn did he appreciate what pregnancy did for her chest—heaving up and down just as his was. Both were worn out. Sex this late in pregnancy was tricky, but Grace was a diligent researcher, after all. Sometimes, like tonight, it ended with the two in euphoria and covered with sweat; sometimes it ended in a blunder, but laughter, nonetheless.

“Should take you out on a date,” he murmured, rolling on his side when he finally caught his breath to look at her. She was blissed out, dazed, with a small smile on her face. “Come to think ‘bout it, we never went on a date.”

She snorted, but he went on. “How ‘bout it, Gracie? Once that baby pops out,” she made a face at his choice of words, but he ignored it. “You and me, just the two of us, somewhere real fancy, too.”

“Let me guess, Burger King?”

“Stuff it, Grace.”

“You already did,” Grace parried slyly, turning her head over to face him with a smug grin, parroting what he had said earlier word-for-word. “Unless you’d like to try again? After all, you’re all—what? Thirty-six? You might need more rest for round three.”

Yes, the sass did not die out, but fondness only grew with every retort she’d make.

The night after, when he finally told her of how he felt, and then suggested a proper name for Whoops, their daughter decided to make her way into the world.

***

Rebecca Chiyo Knight. He thought they’d give her Grace’s last name, but she insisted. At first, she thought Rebecca—Bex, which was a lot better than Whoops—would be a Ritter. “I might have Ritter blood,” Gabriel had told her, “But I’m a Knight. If she’s gonna have my name, I want her to be a Knight, not a Ritter.”

He thought he knew love. He thought he had loved Bex when she was still growing in Grace’s stomach. He was dead wrong. Again, this was a time when he wasn’t so put out on being wrong. He only wished his Gran, Grace’s parents, or even Mosely could be there to see the first few days of Bex’s life.

They probably would’ve been there to begin with, if they, both Grace and Gabriel, hadn’t waited so long to tell them. Oh, when they did tell them, weeks before the birth, they both got an earful.

“My dad is going to want to know your intentions with me,” Grace had told him, looking pained. “If he pressures you into popping the question, just pretend all you can hear is white noise. It’s what I do.”

If it were possible, he’d fallen in love with her all over again.

When he had told Mosely he had laughed so hard, so damn hard, before going, “Wait, really? You’re shitting me, Knight. You? A daddy?”

But the love he felt for Bex? Still undefinable. Without limits. Oh, the fear was there; the sort of fear that gripped him by the neck and made it hard to breathe. The worry about his family being doomed to raise orphans after orphans, or even worse, outliving the little girl that seemed to illuminate his shadows with the brightest of lights. To even think of having that light snuffed out was unimaginable.

He wouldn’t be able to go on. How Wolfgang did it, he’d never know, and he hoped to God he’d never find out.

He wasn’t comfortable holding her as he walked up and down Schloss Ritter when Grace needed her rest. She squirmed and he would do his best to keep calm, tell himself he wouldn’t drop her, and did his best to soothe her. He learned earlier he shouldn’t sing if he wanted to keep her calm; that made her cry louder. After a month, though, he somewhat got the hand of it. Late night feedings came in shifts, but he grew to enjoy the times when it was his turn, because it was just him and Bex.

The nursery was finished, but she was too small to go into the crib, so the small cradle at the side of the bed in Grace’s room was where she slept. Not that she approved of sleeping there. She enjoyed it best sleeping on someone’s chest, her head tucked under the chin, drooling as she snored softly.

In the morning they would make their way to New Orleans to visit Gran. Grace’s parents would be there, too, which had Grace’s nerves shot. She needed the rest after wearing a hole in the ground going repeatedly on what not to say to her parents, how to greet them, and please, for the love of God, do not mention that she was Fuji in his story.

Apparently, her mom was a fan of his books.

He’ll never let Grace live that down, much to her annoyance.

And it was that night, where Bex was tucked under his chin, laying on his chest, as he rested on the couch in front of a dying fire in the lounge area, where, for once, no ghosts came to guilt him or give him benediction. The night was quiet, save the soft snores of his daughter, and when the sun rose, illuminating the world with light, he noticed his daughter’s gaze, and how if he squinted, he’d probably see galaxies dancing in those eyes of hers. All babies' eyes were pale at birth, but hers remained, if not slowly changing to another vibrant hue. “She’s gonna have your eyes,” Grace had promised on the drive home from the hospital.

He was going to have the time of his life fighting dragons alongside her. “I think you’re gonna be the best adventure I’ll ever get to have, kiddo,” and Bex smiled up at him, even if it was probably gas, he’d still swear up and down that it was a smile. “What about it? Ready to raise hell?”

As if considering his request, even if it was unlikely because she didn’t even know her own name just yet, she stared at him with those discerning eyes. Maybe his color of eyes, or will be, but her mother’s all the same. When she made her decision, whatever it was, she gave a loud yawn and closed her eyes, a thumb going back in her mouth to soothe into another long rest.

And the world still turned.

#myfic #gk #otp: if i loved you less; i might be able to talk about it more #otp: you said i killed you (haunt me then)#need an otp tag for malia/gabriel #but i really - while this is more gabriel/grace - wanted to honor all of his LI #especially malia #gabriel knight series #the gabriel knight series #gabriel knight #grace nakimura #malia gedde #rebecca knight #mosely #lmao #i stayedd up all night bc hyperfixation Be Like That

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clowngags · 1 year

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The Joker && The Death of Jason Todd

There is no DCEU canon for Jason Todd, only an allusion in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. The above Robin costume is in a display case in the Batcave for Batman to gaze at with intensity. There is no dialogue or follow up to this detail, but the implication is that Joker had something to do with Robin’s death.

Given my inclination to avoid comic canon, I wrote my own version of the death of Jason Todd. This is my blog’s canon in the absence of DCEU content. It is also the only real detail I pull from a source other than TDK or SS (2016). It is a joint headcanon with @comicbooksans.

Upon discovering the secret identity of Robin, Joker enacted a plan to turn him against Batman. The first part of her plan was staging a fake shoot out where some of her men posed as Black Mask’s men in which Jason Todd would come across her being brutalized and be forced to intervene out of costume in order to save her life. Pretending that she had no idea who her savior was, Joker would then rely on her savior to get home, showing a side of vulnerability that Jason had not previously seen in her.

After inviting him into her home and forming a personal connection with him as Jason rather than Robin, Joker would insist on repaying his kindness, insisting that he saved her life and that she always pays her debts (a deliberately crafted line designed not only to remind him of his father’s debts as a child growing up in an abusive household, but also to instill a sense of nobility and integrity as the Joker). She makes this offer knowing that Jason will be forced to decline on principle, allowing her to continue to pursue him under the guise of her apparent gratitude.

This instills the beginning of a dichotomy between Jason’s relationship with the Joker versus Robin’s relationship to the Joker. She reinforces this dichotomy by treating Jason kindly and being candid with him, especially when the subject of the Batman inevitably comes up. Joker pretends to think that Robin is Batman’s son in order to put more pressure on Jason’s issues with his own father, and offhandedly says that she feels bad for Robin because he’s caught in his father’s fight, and no kid deserves to be conscripted for someone else’s reasons.

At the same time, she turns up the heat on Batman by goading him into more violent reactions toward her in order to create more cognitive dissonance in Jason’s mind and further undermine his relationship with Batman. She continues the relationship with Jason outside of his identity as Robin until she’s sure that he’s in love with her and his issues with Batman have come to a boil. Then, she pretends to discover Jason’s secret identity as Robin. She feigns horror and betrayal at this discovery, telling Jason that they can’t be together now that she knows who he is because she’ll never be able to trust him now. How does she know he isn’t in this relationship at Batman’s behest? How does she know he didn’t stage everything in order to manipulate her into turning herself in to Batman?

This forces Jason to choose between his love for her and Batman, whom she’s convinced Jason is another abuser that took advantage of his disenfranchised childhood in order to recruit and mold him into a soldier to fight in a war against the crimes of Gotham City that Batman declared for his own purposes. Faced with this conflict, Jason decides that the only way to prove his love and loyalty to Joker is to kill Batman. This, of course, was the Joker’s hope all along, knowing that Jason could never best his mentor in combat and that he would not give up when his heart and integrity were at stake. Sending him into an unwinnable fight which would eventually, whether deliberately or accidentally, force Batman to kill Jason Todd.

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moralesispunk · 2 years

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The Fire Between Us Chapter Three Update

Chapter Three: Kindle (sneak peek)

[Series masterlist]

A/n: The full of chapter three was meant to be posted today but I have come down with a bug and haven’t been able to fully edit the chapter yet! I didn’t want to leave you all hanging after the Chapter Two cliffhanger (or post the full chapter that hadn’t been edited) and so here is a sneak peek at the start of Chapter Three that I did manage to edit (1k word snippet) but I will put under the cut in case you don’t want to read! The full chapter will be posted Tuesday 24/5

Din wasn’t sure why he ran.

The second he had stepped off the ramp and his boots sank into the wet soil, he was already fighting down the urge to turn back and listen to your apology. He couldn’t help the way his whole body went rigid when your tired call of his name reached his ears, every single piece of him wanting to pull you into his arms until you were better, until he knew for certain that you would be okay, but that is exactly why he had to run.

Your body was too tired to follow up but it didn’t stop your call of his name bouncing between the trees until suddenly Din found himself running - as fast as he had the day before when he heard your screams of pain - only now he was running from you. It was too risky to stay this close to you for a second longer and it was all because of a promise he had made himself years ago.

It had been four years ago now when Din had sat in his room and came up with a plan.

The Armorer had confided in him that she had always considered arranging unions between Mandalorians to grow the Covert and make it as strong as it once had been. Din had shown no signs of protest, the ever dutiful soldier nodding along to what his Commander said, but after a night of tossing and turning he sought the Armorer out the very next day.

He had told her that he agreed it would be a good idea but only to be used when she was truly desperate and he had agreed to help all unwed Mandalorians get onside with it so long as she never forced him into a union, especially not with you.

She had, of course, questioned him, the room falling silent as Din thought of the real reason why.

Din loved you and for that reason he could not marry you. He loved you but he didn’t want to love you and while it would rip him to his very core if he ever had to lose you - if you were killed like so many Mandalorians are, especially as of late - Din would destroy the whole galaxy if you were his riddur, if he got to know you on a level closer than anyone else, and then you were killed and he did not want to see himself become like that.

He was being a coward and he knew it. A brave, strong warrior who also had a coward’s heart was not who the Armorer wanted, or needed, as her right-hand man and so Din told a lie.

“There are plenty of others who can grow the Covert, there should be at least one solely focused on protecting it along with you.”

She accepted it, however hesitantly, but when the next union happened and shortly after they told the Armorer that she was with child, Din never heard the Armorer speak of the arranged unions again. He knew it was possible that the subject would be brought up in the future and so he continued being his best to stay as her next in Command.

It didn’t stop the love he had for you spreading throughout his whole body, rendering him less than useless when you were in a room together and he couldn’t focus on anything other than you, but forcing that wall up that you would never be his riddur made it slightly easier to handle.

He knew it was likely he would have to watch you take another as your riddur, grow a family and flaunt it in front of him each day, but as the Armorer’s second in command he could spend the rest of his life protecting you and knowing you were safe.

Now that was ruined too. Din had been too close to opening up, telling you how much he loved you, and now he had to run.

Your shouts of his name were still finding him as he scrambled up the ramp, his hands catching himself before his body could fall as he threw himself inside and slammed the door shut behind him.

Only then did silence from you come, his vision blurring with tears and heavy breaths that were fogging up his visor as his heart was beating heavy in his ears and he ripped his helmet from his head with shaky hands, letting it fall to the ground with a crash. It didn’t take long for another crash to come, his legs giving out and his knees hitting the ground as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes until he saw stars - forcing the images of you from his mind.

The picture of you clinging onto consciousness outside of your ship; of when you writhed in pain as he tried to stop the bleeding; of your small body lying across his lap - an image he had dreamt of many times before, imagining you both on a fruitful green planet minus your helmets, but now he was counting each breath and begging you to stay alive; of your body that even smaller when he stormed from the ship, your voice even weaker when you called after him.

This… had been exactly what he had wanted, was it not?

He wanted you to push him away as much as he had pushed you, forcing a wall between you that allowed him to believe he didn’t want you. Then why did it hurt so much when he realized that this is exactly what had happened? After nearly twenty years you were now holding him at as much of a distance as he had held you.

The unwarranted grief weighed heavy in his chest as he pulled himself up from the ground, his legs stumbling as he walked towards the cockpit and carelessly climbed the ladder until he was slumped in the pilot’s chair. His hands were still shaking as he searched for the furthest planet he could find from Nevarro before setting course for there.

tags

@phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @bison-writes @queridopascal @sfr99 @rosiefridayrogersunday @tintinn16 @pilothusband @voteforpedro09 @dihra-vesa @frankiecatfish @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @transias @peoniarose @pjkimrn @fangirl-316 @niki-xie @potted–ivy @phandoz @janebby @athalien @xocalliexo @amneris21 @lavenderluna10 @iamskyereads @spacenerdpascal @mswarriorbabe80 @dumplinshee @jitterbugs927 @gracie7209 @lovesbiggerthanpride @lowlights @notabotiswear @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @bport76 @fangirl-316 @1andthesame @pedrostories @nyfeeer @seasonschange-butpeopledont @morenoswife @nolanell @agingerindenial @hb8301 @blub-senpai @darnitdraco @dragonsondragons @mysteriouslyfuzzypeach @lovesbiggerthanpride @girlofchaos @dinsangelx @hallway5 @stardust-galaxies @joelsflannel @nolanell @buckybarneshairpullingkink @llilithmademedoit @quicksilvermad @kirsteng42 @mandos-riduur-reading @dins-cyare @Magickfanatic @tortor-mcgee @torchbearerkyle @dheet

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fic #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x oc #din djarin x foc #din djarin #din djarin fanfic #mando #mandalorian #the mandalorian

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nicholas-wolfwood · 2 years

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What are some of nick’s fears? :3

Oh boy, this'll be fun to answer! This boy's a walking basket case of trauma, despite the macho attitude he uses to try and hide it.

While most things slimy and bug-eyed that you normally wouldn't see on Gunsmoke (frogs and squid, to name a couple) gross him out, he's not genuinely AFRAID of them. Deep water, on the other hand, DOES make him legitimately anxious, since he's never been in water deep enough to learn how to swim.

Of course, with how messed up of a childhood he’s had (abuse, molestation, violence, being turned into a child soldier), he’s got quite a few triggers when stressed as well, but I’m not sure if these could as FEARS, since he’s not explicitly afraid of these things, they just trigger a reaction to times where he WAS afraid. These can include nightmares, sudden movements towards him, being touched, loud noises, flashes, etc. but these aren’t consistent and more often than not won’t elicit an outward reaction from him.

As for the more specific, deep-seated fears that wake him up at night?

His fear of death. Particularly a violent one. Living on Gunsmoke, and having been raised in a death cult of assassins, he knows that even as a supersoldier the possibility of a gruesome death is around every corner, and for someone like him it’s almost certainly coming sooner rather than later. Being a religious person (despite his... lax nature as a priest), Wolfwood is convinced he’s going to hell when he dies, and his death is going to be a painful one, but if it means keeping his loved ones from dirtying their own hands, then he’ll deal with it. That doesn’t mean the idea doesn’t terrify him, though.

He's afraid of people with control over him. Knives, Legato, and Chapel in particular; that sense of helplessness he's been drowning in since he was taken from the orphanage, knowing they could destroy him and his family on a whim, and knowing if he doesn't follow orders, then he's not the only one that will suffer the consequences.

This leads to another one that is fairly universal, but a very REAL one for his position; the death of his family. One of his biggest motivators is the safety of his family (the orphanage) and loved ones, which is often used against him by the people above. It's led to him crossing almost every moral line he has, including executing innocents (including other children), betraying his friends, and allowing himself to be turned into a killing machine by a death cult of child soldiers. He knows if he steps out of line, his family will be butchered, and he'll be forced to watch.

Another intense fear of his concerning his family is their rejection. Wolfwood is fully convinced that they would hate him for what he's allowed himself to be turned into, for what he's had to do to ensure their safety, and is TERRIFIED of being rejected by the only family he's ever known. This is to the point where- even if he had free reign to visit them safely, he wouldn't risk it and only sends the occasional care package with no return address. As much as he misses them, if they never see him again, then they can't tell him he's no longer welcome, right? This applies to most people he grows close to, but it's especially intense for his family.

And finally, rounding all that up is his fear of FAILURE. Particularly in his mission to protect Vash and get him ready to take out Knives and prevent the genocidal maniac from completing his goal of wiping out the human race. This, obviously, includes himself and his family, as well as everyone he's ever cared about (including Vash himself because if he fails, Knives will likely kill him too). The end of the world would be considered a pretty universal fear as well, but he knows all too well how REAL this possibility is. If he says one wrong thing. Makes one wrong move. Makes one too many mistakes, then the deception he's build up as a triple-agent will crumble, his family will be killed, he'll be executed, Vash will be defeated by Knives, and the human race on Gunsmoke will be annihilated, and he’s running out of time.

But no pressure.

#diversehearts #ask #headcanon #simple ask; get an essay in response #XDD #he's actually afraid of quite a few things #he just uses his attitude to try and hide it

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brexiiton · 10 months

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Recruitment of children by armed groups in Syria is on the rise, even as fighting subsides

Posted Wed 28 Jun 2023 at 9:12pm, updated Wed 28 Jun 2023 at 9:12pm

Hamrin Alouji's daughter was recruited into a militant group at age 13. (AP: Baderkhan Ahmad)

When a 13-year-old Kurdish girl went missing on her way home from a school exam last month, after being approached by a man from an armed group, her parents immediately feared the worst - that she had been persuaded to join the group and was taken to one of its training camps.

The girl, Peyal Aqil, was with friends when she encountered the man, who turned out to be a recruiter for a group known as the Revolutionary Youth.

She followed him to one of the group's centres in the city of Qamishli in north-east Syria. Her friends waited for her outside, but she never emerged.

Peyal's mother, Hamrin Alouji, said she and her husband complained to local authorities, to no avail.

The group later said Peyal joined willingly, a claim rejected by Alouji.

"We consider that at this age, she cannot give consent, even if she was convinced," by the group's program, Alouji said, sitting for an interview in her daughter's room, filled with stuffed animals and school texts.

Armed groups have recruited children throughout the past 12 years of conflict and civil war in Syria.

A new United Nations report on recruitment says the use of child soldiers in Syria is growing even as fighting in most parts of Syria is winding down.

The number of children recruited by armed groups in Syria has risen steadily over the past three years - from 813 in 2020 to 1,296 in 2021 and 1,696 in 2022, the UN says.

Among those allegedly recruiting children is a US ally in the battle against Islamic State extremists - the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), according to the UN.

In 2022, the UN attributed half the cases, or 637 , to the SDF and associated groups in north-east Syria.

The report also said the UN had confirmed 611 recruitment cases by the Turkish-backed Syrian National Army, which has clashed with the SDF in the past, and 383 by the Al Qaeda-linked Hayat Tahrir al Sham in north-west Syria.

The report cited 25 cases of child recruitment by Syrian government forces and pro-government militias.

Children are being recruited across Syria, said Bassam Alahmad, executive director of Syrians for Truth and Justice, an independent civil society organisation.

In some cases, children are forcibly conscripted, he said. In others, minors sign up because they or their families need the salary.

Some join for ideological reasons, or because of family and tribal loyalties. In some cases, children are sent out of Syria to fight as mercenaries in other conflicts.

Attempts to end such recruitment have been complicated by the patchwork of armed groups operating in each part of Syria.

Mechanisms in place to prevent child recruitment

In 2019, the SDF signed an agreement with the UN promising to end the enlistment of children younger than 18 and set up a number of child protection offices in its area.

The US State Department defended its ally in a statement, saying that the SDF:"Is the only armed actor in Syria to respond to the UN's call to end the use of child soldiers."

Nodem Shero, a spokesperson for one of the child protection offices run by the SDF-affiliated local administration, acknowledged that children continued to be recruited in areas under SDF control.

However, the complaint mechanism was working, she said. Her office received 20 complaints in the first five months of the year, she said.

Four minors were found in the SDF armed forces and were returned to their families. The others were not with the SDF, she said.

In some cases, she said, parents assumed their children have been taken by the SDF when they were actually with another group.

Alahmad said recruitment by the group decreased after the 2019 agreement, but that the SDF had not intervened as other groups in its area continued to target children.

Among the groups is the Revolutionary Youth, a group linked to the Kurdistan Worker's Party, or PKK, a Kurdish separatist movement banned in Turkey.

The Revolutionary Youth is licensed by the local government linked to the SDF - although both groups deny any connection beyond that.

The UN report attributed 10 cases to the Revolutionary Youth in 2022, but others say the numbers are higher.

In a January report, Alahmad's group said Revolutionary Youth was responsible for 45 of 49 child recruitment cases it documented in northern-eastern Syria in 2022.

Alahmad said the SDF-affiliated administration was looking the other way. He called on it to "assume its responsibilities in order to stop these operations".

An official was the Revolutionary Youth acknowledged that the group recruited minors but denied that it forcibly conscripted them.

"We do not kidnap anyone, and we do not force anyone to join us." he said, speaking on condition of anonymity in line with his group's rules.

"They themselves come to us and tell us their intention to join the service of the nation," he said, "We do not take minors if they are indecisive or unsure."

Minors are not immediately sent to armed service, he says.

Rather, they initially take part in educational training courses and other activities, after which "they are sent to the mountain if they want," he says, referring to the PKK's headquarters in the Qandil mountains of northern Iraq.

Asked about Peyal, he said the girl had complained of being unhappy at home and that her parents forced her to wear the hijab.

Alouji said her daughter had given no signs of being unhappy at home, and the night before her disappearance had said she planned to study to be a lawyer.

A month after her May 21 disappearance, Peyal came home. She had run away from one of the group's training camps, her mother said.

Since her daughter's return, "her psychological condition has been difficult because she ... was subjected to harsh training," Alouji said.

The family no longer felt safe, she said, and was looking for a way to get out of Syria.

#terror wave #terrorwave #terror #news #abc #abc news #alouji #syria #child recruitment

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probably-haven · 3 years

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I’ve been thinking about Childe a lot recently- because my friends slander him relentlessly and other than one person who kinda semi-likes him I’m the only one who actually likes his character.... and I know I’ve slandered him a fair amount myself but just-

He was a child.

A child - No ‘e’. No puns. No jokes. Not this time.

He was only fourteen.

His story described him as “frightened and hesitant” prior to his time in the abyss. All he wanted was an adventure of his own. To make an adventurer of himself, the likes of which he had heard so many times in the stories of his father. To be like him. He didn’t even go seeking the abyss or any kind of grave danger or incredible power, he was just a naïve little boy, running away from home with almost nothing in chase of a story of his own.

And yet he was fated to fail, and everything went south almost immediately. Lost in the freezing cold forest environments of Snezhnaya, he was completely alone save for the wild animals on his trail. And by an unlucky roll of the dice - or perhaps because in that moment, his desire and drive to survive, to live, to get back to his family, was so strong that even the abyss itself took notice - the world he knew was stripped away.

Scared and vulnerable with only a shortsword for protection, Ajax was torn from what already would have served to be traumatizing enough for the child, and thrust into something immeasurably worse.

Described as “a bottomless crack in the earth’s surface,” “the endless possibilities of another ancient world,” and “the darkest corners of the universe;” the abyss is not a place that ordinary people are meant to survive. Now I could go on about what the abyss may be or who the swordswoman might be or what might have happened to him, but the point is: it doesn’t matter what happened, his trauma is trauma nonetheless and its not in his control nor is it his fault how his brain decided to process it. Regardless, I think “endless possibilities” within the “darkest corners of the universe” speaks well enough for the severity.

Even without this however, it is important to note that for three months of what logically would have driven anyone to or past the brink, he had one consistent point of relative safety in the form of the swordswoman, a person who while training him for destruction, was also deliberately manipulating into him “the ability to stir up endless havoc.”

Placed in an extremely traumatic situation like this and being manipulated by one he would have been forced to see as an anchor of sorts, simultaneously holding him together and molding him into the twisted version of himself that she wanted him to be; Realistically, Childe is more a victim than anything else.

And he returned - still only a fourteen year old child - to his home.

Now an interesting point: based on the wording of his character story, it seems as though when he came out from the abyss, his new demeanor actually unnervingly reflects his hopes when he ran away, implying that the swordswoman very well could have used his own ambition as a cruel mirror to shape him based off, or used them merely as an additional manipulation tactic. “He acted as if this world revolved around him, and as if battle existed for his sake.” Almost as though he were truly the protagonist in an adventure story of his own, just like his father before- or perhaps that’s what he was made to believe.

Regardless, Childe quickly gained a reputation for havoc, chaos, and violence, as it followed him and he spread it wherever he went, just as he had learnt to do during his time in the abyss, constantly seeking that unpredictability, the thrill of combat.

And this continued until he went too far, and in response to this, the father that he admired so greatly sent Ajax away into the strict military environment of the Fatui. The idea was that the highly strict environment of training for the literal military, would “hone his son’s temper.” Not dampen, or control, or reduce in any way, but “hone” - to sharpen it, to refine and perfect it. And he watched “fully-armed troops getting the stuffing beaten out of them by a mere child.“

He was only a child.

Everything he went through in the abyss and all the changes he went through himself, only to be shipped into military by the family who could no longer handle dealing with the effects of what he experienced...

And he was just a kid.

oh but they honed his temper alright. Not only was he entered in this military training like his father had planned originally, but soon after, the young child was selected and placed within the official ranks of the Fatui themselves under the guise of being a punishment.

Told to work his way up the ranks from the bottom, the Fatui “honed” his temper and penchant for combat towards the purpose of serving the Tsaritsa, encouraging these tendencies that would only continue to grow stronger and more apparent with time as a result of their actions, which was exactly their intent. These, psychologically and neurologically, were the key years for his mental development.

And once again the young Ajax found himself the victim of another’s subtle manipulation. Until he was Ajax no more.

Childe has been under the constant task of further proving himself since enlisting in the Fatui, and once he gained the recognition of the Tsaritsa, the only next possible way of doing that was by comparing his skills to others. And thus far, he has exceed in this time and time again, so with the evidence before him his arrogant confidence in his abilities is by no means unreasonable. Nor is his tendency to express friendship and varied other things through combat, it’s only natural after besting others in battle became his main source of acknowledgement throughout his younger years.

He’s fiercely loyal as well, to the point where - were his sense of loyalty not so shrouded in his delusion of what loyalty is meant to be - it would likely border on codependency. He also doesn’t seem to have the greatest understanding of social cues, as expected with his combat-oriented upbringing, and tends to have an unnerving aura to a lot of the things he says that he doesn’t seem aware of.

His loyalty to the Tsaritsa rings true, and seems to be his highest priority above all others, an ideology that, once again has been drilled into him since the age of 14. However, despite this, he is disliked and avoided even by his fellow harbingers, and often kept out of their true plans in a way that clearly shows what low opinions they have of his abilities in certain areas.

And yet, through it all, he still maintains his own set of values and seeks to make genuine connections which people, which while these efforts may be unsuccessful in most cases, and these values far in between - It still firmly shows the strength of his character which, though in fragments, managed to remain as a part of who he is in spite of his circumstance.

And i get that he’s memeable and slanderable and easy for a lot of people to just hate outright, i really do but sometimes it feels like a lot of people only ever see him at surface value and a lot of people dont even know his story and even fewer still actually consider the implications of that background. He was literally a child soldier - that and even more; “endless possibilities” more.

I have nothing against Childe slander, genuinely - but eventually, when it reaches a certain extent...

It’s not bad, I’m just tired.

#genshin impact #genshin childe #genshin analysis #genshin tartaglia #genshin ajax #genshin lore #please- what else can i tag this- i feel like i should have more tags for this one but idk what

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

Don't Bleed Me Then Push Me Away

Kyle Rayner x Batbrother One-Shot

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: Based off this ask about Batbro being a Lantern! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

He burst through the door leading out to the roof, one arm wrapped around the man’s back, the other slamming the door shut. Huffing, he set him against one of the overhead vents before hurrying back to the door, yanking something from his belt. He shoved it against the door frame, just at face height and clicked a button, watching a red-light flicker on.

Sprinting back over, he knelt in front of the man who was moaning lowly, pawing at his side; he grabbed the hand. “Kyle, babe, don’t.”

“It hurts,” he moaned, dropping his head; he tugged the jacket away from his side, eyes widening at the crimson blooming larger and larger. “Oh God, I’m gonna bleed out.” He looked up, meeting his eyes. “(Y/N), I’m bleeding out.”

(Y/N) shook his head. “You’re gonna be okay.” Pressing a finger to his ear, he shoved the other against Kyle’s side. “Black Ops to Batman, come in.”

I read you, Black Ops. What’s your status?

“Not good. Green Lantern’s down and I’m not looking too hot either.” A blast sounded from below, on one of the floors beneath them. “We’ve got incoming enemies from the lower floors.” (Y/N) craned his neck, peeking over the side of the building before ducking again. “Tanks are in the courtyard.”

I’m sending the Batplane to your position.

“Negative Batman, anti-aircraft missiles were spotted earlier.” He breathed heavily, mind working in overdrive as he tried to think of a plan, but nothing was coming to him. Kyle’s blood was warm underneath his fingers and with how wounded the Lantern was, not even his ring could heal his injury.

—ack Ops. Black Ops. (Y/N)!

He shook himself from his stupor. “I’m here.”

I’m sending the Batplane.

“You can’t!” he yelled. “It’ll get shot down!”

I’m willing to take that chance if I get you and Kyle out.

“Dad I—” another blast sounded, this time from the rooftop door and he spun, listening to the screams of the men who’d taken a C4 charge straight to the face. (Y/N) yanked out his side arm, dropping the few who managed to survive and come out. He pulled the trigger one more time but all it did was click. Empty. He started hyperventilating, unable to decide if Kyle needed his attention more or if he should worry about getting them to safety.

But where could he take them? They were on the rooftop surrounded by tanks and soldiers. There was nowhere to run. They were at the end of the line.

(Y/N) looked back at Kyle. Sweat dripped down his face, his black hair clinging to his forehead; he looked clammy and ready to pass out. He glanced down at their hands pressed together, Kyle’s atop (Y/N)’s, and his eyes widened. The power ring.

He grabbed Kyle’s hand. “Kyle, gimme your ring.”

“What?” the Lantern moaned weakly. “My ring?”

(Y/N) nodded, slipping it off; he put his hand to his mouth, yanking the strap with his teeth before biting the tip of the middle finger, tugging it off. He slipped the ring on his finger and waited. He swallowed thickly, muttering, “Come on. Come on. Come on.”

“(Y/N),” Kyle whispered, and he looked at his lover. “It’s not working.”

“It has to,” he retorted, tears stinging the corner of his eyes. “I don’t wanna die here.” He leaned forward, one hand coming up to clasp the side of Kyle’s neck, his thumb brushing his cheek as he pressed his forehead to the man’s. “I don’t want us to die here.”

Kyle swallowed, a ghost of a grin on his lips. “I love you, (Y/N).”

He shook his head. “No. Don’t say that now.”

“I don’t know if we’ll get another chance,” he countered, nosing the soldier. “If we die here, then I want you to know that I love you.”

(Y/N)’s jaw tightened. “We’re not dying. Not now. Not today.” A wave of power surged through him, crashing against his soul like a tidal wave. “I refuse to give in. I won’t.” he shut his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Kyle’s skin against his own. “I’ll get us to the other side.”

A flash of green light burst across the sky, followed by an other worldly voice. (Y/N) Wayne of Earth. You have the ability to protect the ones you care for without fear. Welcome to The Green Lantern Corps.

He opened his eyes, the suit of green flooding his vision; a breathless laugh passed his lips and he gazed at Kyle. “I told you.”

Kyle snorted pitifully. “Yeah, yeah.”

(Y/N) grinned. “How do I work this thing?”

“Anything you can think of. If you can will it, it’ll come to life.”

He stood, looking down at the soldiers in the distance. “Any qualms against killing?”

Kyle shook his head. “Rules have been rewritten. Lethal force against enemies of the Green Lanterns has been authorized.” He gasped, leaning down to the ground and (Y/N) held out his arms.

“You need medical attention.”

“I’ll be fine,” he wheezed, shaking his head. “Go.”

(Y/N) knelt. “I’m not taking any chances.” He looked around. “I know who to call.”

“Who?”

He leaned forward, pulling Kyle into his arms. “Try not to move.” (Y/N) stood to his feet, eyes directed to the sky as he shouted, “Supergirl!”

A rush of wind gusted over them, almost knocking him off his feet and he looked over, seeing her red cape billowing above them. “(Y/N)?” she questioned. “You’re a Green Lantern?”

“For the moment,” he answered, holding Kyle up. “I need you to get Kyle to the Batcave back in Gotham City. Now.”

She glanced at the wounded man. “Oh my God, what happened?”

“Mission gone bad,” (Y/N) said. “Kara, please. Hurry.”

Kara nodded, lowering down to take Kyle from (Y/N); he grasped at (Y/N)’s shoulders. “I’m not leaving you.”

He shook his head. “You need to get to a hospital, or you’ll die.” He smiled. “I can take care of this.” (Y/N) met Kara’s gaze. “Go.”

She took off, ignoring how Kyle screamed at her to take him back.

(Y/N) flew to the ledge, standing atop it, and a gun went off; he raised a hand, imagining an aegis and sparks flew when the bullet ricochet off the bright green shield. He felt a renewed sense of strength and took a single step off the ledge, raising his hands high above his head; and the soldiers along the ground all gaped in terror as thousands of glowing arrows appeared in the sky, all the sudden coming down in a fury of green hellfire.

***

Kyle came to with wide eyes, sitting straight up on the med bay bed, though it proved to be a terrible decision as pain swelled through his side and ebbed outwards every which way. He gripped his abdomen, hissing with displeasure.

“Hey, take it easy,” someone commanded, pressing a hand to his shoulder and he cocked his head up, Jason coming into focus beside him.

“(Y/N),” he blurted out. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

Jason shook his head. “He hasn’t come back yet.” Kyle’s face dropped and Jason was quick to reassure, “But he didn’t send the code-word, so we know he isn’t dead yet.”

“What?”

“We’ve got a code-word we’re only allowed to use if we know for certain we’re not going to make it.” Jason leveled Kyle with a firm stare. “(Y/N)’s still out there somewhere.”

Kyle shoved his arm off. “Then I need to be up helping.”

“With what? He’s got your ring.” Jason put his hand back on the other’s shoulder and this time pushed him back on the bed. “You just lay right here and recover. We’ll do everything.”

“I can’t just lie here, Jay,” he retorted, though he made no move to get up. “I need to help you.”

“(Y/N) would want you to rest,” Jason shot back, and Kyle scowled.

“Screw you for using him against me.”

He snickered. “I’m just saying what you know you should be doing.” Jason reached over, pressing a button, and Kyle felt the world slow down, his vision growing dark as sleep washed over him. “There you go. Let the morphine lull you back to sleep.”

“Gonna…kick your…ass,” Kyle slurred before his head dropped down, eyes slipping shut as his consciousness faded, Jason’s amused hum echoing in his ears.

***

Kyle liked to be touched. He found physical measures of affection just as important as verbal ones. And (Y/N) liked to touch. A hand on a thigh, a kiss on a temple, a finger looped through a belt-loop, a toe brushing an ankle, digits carding through hair; he was content to simply be in contact. His favorite way was to touch was when he and Kyle were laying in bed, the latter’s back pressed to (Y/N)’s chest, one of the soldier’s arms wrapped around the Lantern’s waist, the other arm under Kyle’s head, folded back so he could brush through his lover’s hair.

It was uniquely intimate and sweet at the same time, and (Y/N) would simply lie there, breathing in the scent of Kyle’s minty shampoo, brushing the dark strands until they felt like silk beneath his fingers. And Kyle would hum contently like a cat, grunting if (Y/N) stopped. On the rare cases that he did, the Lantern would pout like a child and turn over in (Y/N)’s arms, burying his face in the soldier’s throat, nose brushing his lover’s Adam’s apple, breath warm against his skin. (Y/N) would chuckle, the vibrations rumbling through Kyle as the soldier’s arms twisted, cocooning the Lantern to his chest, legs tangling like ribbon.

It’s the feeling that Kyle had at the very moment, and he blinked blearily, inhaling deeply as he forced his mind to rise above the sleep clouding his brain. The comforting scent of cedarwood and gun metal wafted up his nose, a hint of tobacco hidden within. Warmth spread across his body, hot air puffing against his temple, as he finally felt the pressure over the left side of his body.

He opened his eyes, seeing a familiar set of dog tags and he tried to jerk up when someone’s hand rested on his chest, a comforting deep voice murmuring, “Easy, babe.”

Tears stung Kyle’s eyes and he fumbled for the hand over his heart, clenching the fingers through his own as he whispered, “Fuck you.”

“Hmm,” (Y/N) chuckled lowly. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“You sent me away,” he hissed, barely restraining the tears. “I thought you were going to die.”

“Not yet.” He retorted, kissing Kyle’s temple. “Go back to sleep.”

“No. I’m mad.”

“Mmm, no, you’re actually relived I’m back alive and spooning you on a crappy med bay bed.”

“Don’t try to change my mind,” Kyle shot back, trying to wiggle, but (Y/N) had him in a tight grip. “I want to yell at you.”

(Y/N) sighed and pulled away, gazing at the Lantern; Kyle opened his mouth to start berating him and he merely leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lover’s lips. Kyle’s eyes went wide as he made a noise of complaint, but it quickly faded as heat flooded his system.

They pulled away and (Y/N) patted his cheek. “You can yell at me in the morning. Go to sleep.”

Kyle glared at him, though he let his head fall to (Y/N)’s shoulder. “I’m going to kick you in the crotch.”

“Yep.”

“And yell at you for leaving me.”

“Uh huh.”

“Mock me at your own peril, Wayne. I’ll fight you.”

“Ooo, I’m so scared of the green space ranger with fancy boots.”

“You are a major douche.”

(Y/N) nuzzled his head. “I know. You love me though.”

Kyle swallowed the lump in his throat, and he turned, burying his face in (Y/N)’s throat as he whispered, “Don’t ever send me away from you like that ever again.”

He smiled, carding his hand through the Lantern’s hair. “Never again.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” (Y/N) kissed Kyle’s head. “Go to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

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nev3rfound · 3 years

Text

someone i once knew : b.b - p.2

now that everyone has returned to the compound, bucky can confide in his oldest friend about you being here and what it could possibly mean. (2k)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

masterlist / permanent taglist

PART ONE . PART TWO . PART THREE . PART FOUR . PART FIVE . PART SIX

“Stevie? You down here?” You hesitantly walk down the dark alley, hearing squeaks from the rats in their homes. “It’s only me, I promise.” You add as you scan the area.

You pause at the sight of a bin lid rising, and Steve peers over the brim to see you smiling weakly at him. “Hey, Y/n.” Steve mutters, now standing upright, sporting a black eye for the third time this month.

“Hey,” You walk over, holding out a hand and help him out of the bin with some difficulty as the lid slams into the concrete, the rattling sound echoing upwards. “I won’t ask, don’t worry.”

Steve manages to smile at that, you never asked him about his ventures into alleyways or how he ends up with some injury each time until he was ready to talk about it. He knows that’s why you’re such a good friend, the opposite of Bucky whose route is more direct and to the point.

Walking out of the alleyway, you turn the corner only to see Bucky leaning against the wall, leg resting against it as his arms remain crossed. “And here I thought you would’ve come alone.” Steve comments to you, looking up to see your evident surprise.

“I did.” You remark, stepping forward and hit Bucky’s arm. “I told you, James, not to follow me!” You groan in frustration whilst Bucky simply smirks and winks to Steve who remains equally unimpressed.

“Well, I thought about it, and decided it’d be best just in case there was any trouble like last time.” Bucky states, pushing himself off the wall and walks after you. “You can’t be mad at me, seriously, doll?”

You quickly turn around, glaring at Bucky who steps back. “Do you remember what happened last time, huh?” You question, looking over to Steve who nods.

“You slammed a bin lid against that punks head.” Steve comments and the anger in your expression eases.

“Thank you, Steve.” You glance past Bucky to Steve. “I can fend for myself just fine, James.”

Bucky sighs and glances over to Steve with his shoulders slumped forward, but Steve simply shakes his head. “You’re on your own, pal.” Steve chuckles, watching as Bucky jogs to be by your side and wraps his arm around your waist and kisses your cheek.

Walking in behind Thor, Steve spots Bucky in the far corner of the conference room.

“So, how’d you manage then? See you didn’t burn the place down which I call a success.” Steve jokes as he pulls out the chair beside Bucky who barely reacts, his eyes focused on the files placed on the table with his name neatly written on the top. “Buck?” Steve speaks up, and Bucky slowly lifts his head up.

“It was fine.” Bucky remarks as he sits upright, his arms remaining crossed over his chest. “But it’s good to see you.” A half-smile forms on the soldier's lips and Steve curtly nods.

“Did Tony’s assistant show her face much?” Steve asks, his attention averting to the files in front of him, missing how Bucky tenses upon mentioning you.

“About that,” Bucky starts, but the door slams open and Tony walks in, making a grand entrance as always whilst you follow in quietly, closing the door softly whilst your back faces the Avengers.

“Damn,” Sam mutters, holding back a whistle as you turn to face the Avengers, trying your hardest to remain composed as all eyes are on you.

“Sam,” Tony calls him out whilst you busy yourself with some of the files and take a seat at the table beside Natasha who smiles at you. “anyway, this is my new assistant, Y/n.”

Steve suddenly snaps up to see you give everyone a small wave. “Hi, it’s lovely to finally meet you all.”

Yet, Steve’s eyes only widen as he turns to Bucky who buries his head into the files, ignoring you completely.

“So, Y/n’s new, she’s living here so please, don’t be weird.” Tony sighs before carrying on with his presentation and remains unaware of Steve looking at you closely in disbelief at how it can be.

"Like any of us would be weird, it's a pleasure, Lady Y/n." Thor comments and Steve listens as you chuckle at the God's remark.

“Seriously, James, just let him do it.” You huff as the three of you stand outside of the registering office once again.

Bucky tears his eyes from you as he removes his hat, holding it in his hands as fireworks sound behind you. It was his final night before he left, he wanted it to be perfect.

“Why’d you wanna do it so bad, huh?” Bucky asks, facing Steve who stands tall whilst Bucky looks down on him, you behind him with a supportive look in your eyes.

“I wanna serve my country, Buck, just like every other guy.” Steve states, repeating himself for the umpteenth time.

Stepping forward, you take a hold of Bucky’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his and squeeze lightly. Even without words, Bucky could understand you perfectly and sighs under his breath.

“Alright.” Bucky gives in with great difficulty and releases his hand from yours as he hugs Steve. “Just, don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

Steve breathes out a laugh as he hugs his oldest friend, but can see tears forming in your eyes as you watch the pair.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Steve retorts as Bucky backs away. “Don’t win the war until I get there, okay?”

Nodding to Steve, Bucky salutes him before returning to your side, uttering promises of a final dance and a night together, knowing it could potentially be his last.

“Earth to Steve?” Sam waves his hand in front of Steve’s face, snapping him from the buried memory as you close your folders and follow behind Tony, everyone else now rising to their feet and departing. “You coming, Cap?” Sam asks, seeing everyone gone besides him and Bucky.

“I’ll follow you out in a minute.” Steve states and Sam exits without asking any questions, leaving the old friends alone with an impossible elephant in the room.

“Steve,” Bucky starts, but Steve clears his throat and rests his arm on the table.

“What is going on here, Buck?” Steve questions, still in disbelief as he witnessed you walk in with the same shy energy you once had as a child and sat quietly beside Natasha. “That, that can’t be Y/n.” Steve scoffs, but Bucky raises a brow.

“We’re here, Steve.” Bucky remarks. “Can’t say anything is impossible anymore.”

“But, but how? I, I’ve visited her grave. Bucky, Y/n died in 2005.” Steve sadly admits, having seen your name etched in stone as flowers lay beneath it.

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know Steve, I’ve been trying to figure it out but Y/n has had a life, a childhood that she remembers.”

After his initial interaction with you, Bucky scrolled through the internet with great difficulty (with FRIDAY’s assistance) and found records of your birth date, parents names and their death certificates. You exist in the now according to the government records, and so does a family that isn’t one Bucky knew.

“So she has no idea who we are? I, she wasn’t taken or,” Steve trails off, not wanting to think about you being another victim of HYDRA’s.

“She has these memories,” Bucky begins to explain, but he looks up to ensure no one is eavesdropping. “I, she remembers pieces of her life growing up with us, but she doesn’t know it’s us.”

“How is that even possible?” Steve leans back in his chair, struggling to comprehend it as Bucky simply shrugs his shoulders. “So what? All this is just happening by chance, huh? Tony just hired our oldest friend, your-”

“Don’t say it.” Bucky cuts Steve off, his blue eyes hardening and his jaw clenches shut.

“Look, all I’m saying is we should talk to Tony, see if we can make any sense of this.” Steve suggests and pushes his chair back. “I know this isn’t easy, Bucky.”

Bucky scoffs under his breath. “You have no idea, pal.” Bucky remarks as he follows Steve out from the conference room and toward the elevator.

“Can you hold it please!” You call out and rush down the corridor, seeing the pair waiting. As you slip inside, you smile up to Steve who nods back whilst Bucky keeps his eyes locked on his feet. “Thank you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.” Steve tries his hardest to remain composed as you fidget with the hem of your shirt, something you used to do with dresses instead.

As the doors open, you nod to Steve and exit, leaving the pair alone once more and Bucky exhales deeply.

“Real smooth, Buck.” Steve jokes and Bucky’s shoulders fall forward. “What happened between you two whilst we were gone, huh?”

“I, I don’t know.” Bucky mutters as the elevator rises further up the compound.

Walking through the corridor to your suite, tears form in your eyes once more. “Again?” You ask yourself as you dab your eyes, an overwhelming sense of sadness forming in your heart.

Standing proudly alongside many others, you wave as the soldiers board the trains. “Don’t cry, doll.” Bucky wipes your eyes, his hands resting on your cheeks as he takes you in, unsure if he’ll ever have the joy of seeing your bright smile ever again.

“I can’t help it, James.” You admit, sniffling as the whistle sounds. “I love you, and please, don’t do anything dumb, you idiot.” You chuckle as Bucky leans closer, capturing your lips with his, saying more than words could as tears fall from your eyes as he pulls away.

“This isn’t goodbye, Y/n.” Bucky assures you as he boards the train, blending in with the rest of the soldiers as you do with the worried lovers bidding farewell.

Forcing back the sob in your throat, you watch as he disappears out of sight, leaving you alone with the realisation; he might never come home.

“Hey, Y/n?” Natasha taps your shoulder, and you discreetly wipe your eyes before facing her.

“Hi, Natasha, can I help at all?” You ask, forcing a smile that Natasha can see right through.

She hums before motioning for you to follow her. “Listen, I know Barnes can be, well, Barnes,” You nod along, unsure where she’s going with it. “but he means well under all that. I, I just want to make sure you’re comfortable here, and if you ever need me, I’m just above.” Natasha motions to the floor above, and you nod along.

“Thanks, Natasha. Bucky’s fine, I promise. He just, he reminds me of someone I once knew.” You state, unsure of your own words as they leave your lips.

“Ah, we’ve all been there.” Natasha remarks, seeing an unease across your face. “You okay in there?” She asks, but you immediately perk up.

“Yeah, I should,” You point down to your phone. “I should go sort Tony’s meetings, I, I’ll see you later.”

Before Natasha can ask anything else, you rush off to your suite, locking the door behind you.

Leaning against your door, you can feel your heart drumming against your chest, threatening to burst through. “Hey, FRIDAY?” You ask as your eyes remain tightly closed, images of Bucky crossing your mind, but a version you’ve never met.

“Yes, Ms Y/l/n?” FRIDAY answers.

“Where is the nearest Doctor?” Your voice remains uneasy as silence follows.

“Is something wrong Ms Y/l/n? Would you like me to inform Tony?”

“Erm, no, I, I don’t want to worry him.” You state, but three knocks on your door interrupt you.

Stepping back, you unlock the door and pause as Tony stands before you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, don’t you think?” Tony asks as you breathe heavily and step aside, knowing this would be a long conversation ahead.

PART THREE

(thank you to the following for all the love in the first part! if you’d like to be tagged in this mini series do let me know) (or equally do not want to be tagged - i am just mentioning all those who left comments in part 1 :) )

@mggpleasedontlookhere @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @16boyfriends-and-me @sarge-barnes-sir @lilysgarden @sarcasticallywitty15 @buckyandsteveimagines @sassy-pelican @decaffeinated--fangirl @amywinehouseisgod @tearsinparadise @just-dreaming-marvel-2 @tcc-gizmachine @newyork47

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mwolf0epsilon · 2 years

Text

A Moment of Genetic Reflection

Summary: While on shore-leave, an attempt to figure out why Fox has been so evasive as of late leads to Cody and the rest of his batch to make a rather gruesome discovery pertaining the Coruscant Guard...

Warning: Body Horror!

[This is set in my Species Swap AU where the clones mirror and slowly change into other sentient species based on how much exposure they have to that species. For the Coruscant Guard who are surrounded by hundreds of other species, things are a little more complicated...]

[THIS STORY IS NOW ON AO3]

---

Rare were the times that Cody got to meet up with his batchmates at the same time. The war was a brutal affair, the battalions never quite had the time to sit still and rest, and it took a particularly fortunate alignment of the stars to host such outings when compatible shore-leave rotations presented themselves.

Tonight was one such rare occurrence.

The one point in time in their collective breaks where every single Commander of his particular lot was readily available to meet up.

And meet up they did.

Dex's Diner was a welcoming sight after months of crawling in muddy trenches, flying stormy skies and beating back the Separatists' army of cybernetic annoyances.

It was much calmer than 79's, and one of the few places that accepted clone patronage. It helped that Cody's general was quite familiar with the owner of the establishment, and that Cody himself had frequented various times in the past.

Overall it was the one place he could think that he and his brothers wouldn't be disturbed.

Especially now that many of them had begun their Change.

The Change was an inevitability. All clones went through the process at some point in their service, as it was the most beneficial ability they had been engineered with. It helped them interact more openly with their Jetii, as one often found it easier to talk to another of their species than to talk to a glorified weapon or tool.

It also greatly enhanced their capabilities as soldiers, provided the Jetii they mirrored was of a species with natural abilities that gave them specific advantages.

Cody's general was Stewjoni.

A human male that, without the use of the Force, was endowed with the wit and charisma of a scholar as well as the physicality and discipline of a martial artist. Attributes which Cody already possessed.

Obi-wan Kenobi's humanity also meant that Cody and his 212th too remained quite human.

Barring the gradual appearance of Togruti markings that came from frequent enough run-ins with General Kenobi's grandpadawan, or Waxer's and Boil's acquisition of Twi'lek splotches left behind by the very strong impression a young child had left upon them.

The point being that, other than the pale lines reminiscent of his sun-flares, Cody looked very much the same as he'd done when he was a cadet.

Which was not the case for many of his brothers…

"Slow down Rex." Bacara's commandeering tone cut through the idle chatter among the CC vode, as he looked in mild disgust towards the singular CT of the group. "Your food isn't going to sprout limbs and run away from you. Try to savour it first."

"I can't help it… I'm starving!" Rex talks through a mouthful of a very large and concerningly rare nerf steak burger. His third in a row, as the final stages of his Change are very energy intensive and leave him constantly hungry. Cody can see his vod'ika's sharp fangs glint in the Diner's soft lighting, but the more eye-catching features are definitely his still growing montrals. They're quite intricate and large, and still not quite finished in their growth.

"Tell me about it…" Wolffe taps his claws against the sealed glass container he's drinking from. There is an attachment on his helmet that allows a special straw to be fitted in, so that he can consume his liquid meals without the new danger of oxygen poisoning. "I miss being able to chew outside of my quarters… Liquid diets suck bantha poodoo…"

"Well, try not to ruin everyone else's appetite… You're not the only one going through the Change, and my head is killing me…" Bacara grumbled as he massaged his temples. His skull had only just begun to elongate, but it certainly seemed to be the cause of his most recent disagreeable moods.

"Sorry…" Rex had the decency to look embarrassed. The way he kept eyeing the pile of food on his plate was still nothing short of the predatory hunger Cody had seen on Commander Tano's face when they got to actually catch their food out on longer campaigns.

It was strange.

Cody hadn't ever really considered the Change when he was a cadet. It was something all clones knew would eventually come for them, but he'd never imagined that he'd be sitting around watching it happen to his brothers while he remained fairly untouched.

He wasn't alone in his humanity of course.

Neyo, Ponds, Faie and Grey all shared his bemused curiosity as they observed their more altered brothers try to pile up as much carb intake as possible for the next couple of days.

Their generals were human, of various different backgrounds, and Cody wondered if they felt the same sort of curiosity (and minor tinge of disappointment) that he did in regards to any of this…

What with how they couldn't share any advice on how to keep lek, tentacles and other such long tendrils out of the way.

Or how they couldn't quite relate to the pains of hardening skin, or growing in new teeth or even a set of horns…

Cody wondered if Fox shared in their predicament, considering that he was stationed away from the great variety of Jetii the rest of them worked with.

Speaking of which…

"Did Fox seem a little off to any of you recently?" Off was putting it lightly. Avoidant and unnecessarily surly would be much more fitting. Come to think of it, most of their recent communications were quite clipped and unusually passive aggressive.

"Wouldn't know." Bly frowned as he looked towards Cody. His brow was furrowed with obvious concern, the pale blue of his skin contrasting heavily with the yellow tattoos on his cheeks. "We haven't really talked much recently."

"You haven't?" Ponds glanced towards Bly and then Cody. "That's odd. He seemed fine a week ago. Grouchy, but fine…"

"He responded to you? Di'kut's been ignoring mine, Doom's, Gree's and Mohnk's comms…" Bacara grumbled.

"To be fair you and Fox haven't ever really gotten along Bac, but ignoring Doom, Gree and Mohnk IS a little odd…" Wolffe tilted his head in that way he did whenever he rolled his eyes. Cody was glad that even with his bucket on, it was easy to recognize his body language. "I'll admit he's been a little evasive, our Fox'ika… But he has talked to me on a few occasions."

"But did he seem off?" Cody repeated his question. "Because he certainly seemed off to me when he told me he couldn't catch up tonight…"

To tell the truth, Cody hadn't seen Fox in quite some time. The 212th and the 501st were two of the most active battalions of the GAR, and Shore-leave was either spent getting absolutely pissed in a bar or catching up on sleep.

Cody avoided the former, opting to stay on base recuperating and using up both his library and shower privileges.

In the few times he'd had nothing to do, it had seemingly never occurred to him to visit his youngest batchmate.

A thought that, in hindsight, should be quite disturbing to him.

He wasn't the sort to allow estrangement between himself and his brothers. So why had his Fox'ika slipped his mind until now?

And why was Fox behaving so… Dodgy?

Had Cody given him the impression his company was undesirable?

Had the others done the same?

It was to be noted that the 501st was infamously a nuisance to the Guard whenever they were on planet, so maybe Fox had wanted to avoid awkwardness between him and Rex?

But then why had he avoided talking to Bly, Bacara, Doom, Gree or Mohnk? Why had he been so dismissive of his invitation?

"You know, there was something a little strange about Fox, last we spoke…" Wolffe suddenly spoke up as he tapped on his helmet, just about where his chin should be. "My hands were a little busy so we used live feed to talk, instead of typing up replies."

"And this is strange how?" Neyo asked, one eyebrow raised in question.

"He kept his bucket on. The whole time." Wolffe replied, crossing his arms and tapping his claws against his biceps. "Didn't move a lot either. Just sat there as stiff as a board, talking... And his armour looked a little bulky too, like he'd altered it recently… I can't explain it, but it caught my eye."

"You make it sound like he's…" Bly frowned as he let the words die down.

"Like he's what?" Wolffe looked towards the newly changed Twi'lek-clone.

"Honestly? Disgusted." Bacara commented. "What do I and the others have in common?"

"Not much besides a genetic template." Rex murmured, which got him a glare from Bacara.

"We recently underwent the Change. Fek, I'm still going through mine… and Fox is avoiding us specifically."

"Are you insinuating Fox is ignoring your comms because of some kind of prejudice?!" Ponds looked outraged. So did Neyo and Faie who weren't looking too happy with Bacara.

"That's ridiculous, in case you haven't noticed Wolffe's also gone through the Change and Fox had no issue talking to him…" Rex pointed out.

"Wolffe had his bucket on. The entire time." Bacara retorted. "If he can't see it he can just pretend Wolffe's still human…"

"Bacara!" Ponds barked out angrily.

"Fox is not a racist, and you know it!" Cody growled, growing exasperated with this ridiculous train of thought.

There had to be some more logical explanation.

If only Fox were here to clarify…

An idea quickly surged right there and then. They'd just go to Fox and ask him directly!

That should clarify any ridiculous doubts Bacara had gotten into his thick skull…

"I think it's about time we went to see our Fox'ika." The commander of the 212th got up from his seat and motioned to Dex that they'd be leaving.

The Besalisk nodded politely.

"Seriously?" Rex sighed exasperatedly. "Why is it every time I'm on Coruscant, that I inevitably end up having to go to the Guard's headquarters?"

"Look on the bright side Rex'ika. Tonight you're not picking up any of your boys from the Drunk Tank!" Bly chuckled.

"Yet. You forgot to say yet…" Rex rolled his eyes, finishing the last bites of his very last burger.

"When the call arrives you'll already be there." Faie dismissed the concern, as the CCs and their lone CT brother began to make their way outside and towards the Coruscant Guard's headquarters.

They had a brother to catch up with.

And hopefully answers would be awaiting them…

The way Wolffe had described Fox only truly struck as odd once they'd arrived and kindly negotiated entry into the Guard's barracks. Not because they'd been met with the man himself, but because every single Corrie certainly fit the bill.

Unlike most other clones, duty did not end for the Guardsmen when they roamed Coruscant's streets.

They were stationed on the vast city planet, fully armoured and near indistinguishable in every way imaginable.

Same armour, same paint, same unbearably stiff posture, same lack of any visible movement… And this wasn't limited to their posts. The barracks were very much the same.

Stiffly positioned clones in full armour just watching them silently, as they were escorted towards the commanding officers's quarters.

Although, calling it quarters was putting it too kindly. Cramped cubicle was much more befitting of a moniker.

Thorn was waiting for them.

Standing there ramrod straight and completely unmoving.

They couldn't even see him breathe through the strangely thick plastoid armour he wore. That the entire guard wore actually…

"What business do you have here?" Thorn's tone was, honestly, very sharp. Almost like he was hissing at them through his teeth, despite trying (and failing) to sound polite. The tension all over his body was so visible it made Cody's own shoulders ache.

"We're here to see Fox." Wolffe responded before he could, but Cody noted the sudden sharp movement of Thorn's bucket turning to look at him. It was like watching a bird or perhaps even an insect suddenly turn to focus on their prey. Too jerky and sudden to be human.

"That won't be possible. Marshal Commander Fox is currently unavailable." Thorn replied in what was obviously a rehearsed tone that he likely used with his natborn superiors. Friendly and helpful, but to the point. Talking to them as if they weren't vode.

"I'm sure he's very busy playing secretary…" Bacara huffed in annoyance. "But we're here to see him nonetheless and we're not leaving until we do."

Another jerky turn of the head, this time at an unnatural angle. Like Thorn's neck wasn't quite segmented the way a typical human's neck should be… The vertebrae shouldn't allow for that kind of movement.

The silent stare he was casting at Bacara felt hostile. Contained, but hostile.

Cody couldn't tell with his helmet on, but the hairs of the back of his neck raised as he watched the Corrie Commander seemingly size up his vod.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Thorn spoke up once more.

"Fox is… Indisposed right now…" He sounded hesitant, but there was a hint of protectiveness to his tone. "It really isn't the best time for a social call…"

"Fox is sick…?" Ponds frowned. "Is he… Could we see him still? Just so he knows we are concerned?"

Thorn snorted. Loudly.

His body didn't move, and that was starting to really unsettle Cody for some reason.

Why was every single one of the Guardsmen so still?

"He's going to kill me for this…" Thorn grumbled. "Fine… I'll take you to the medical wing, but stay out of the medics's way! They run a tight ship, as the saying goes… Oh and don't make any loud or sudden sounds! The vode there spook easily and it's not a pretty sight when that happens…"

Cody and his brothers exchanged looks of confusion, unsure how to take that.

What did Thorn mean by that exactly?

They didn't bother to ask as the Corrie Commander began to lead them towards the medical wing.

In motion he still looked wrong somehow, and it was making the 212th's commander get goosebumps as he tried to discern why exactly that was.

He needn't have asked, honestly. Not when the answer was on full display in the medbay…

The first noteworthy thing was that the medics weren't wearing armour. There, as clear as day, were fully human clones in softshell medical uniforms.

Moving normally, breathing normally, looking and sounding completely normal.

Their patients on the other hand…

Cody couldn't lie, he flinched at the sight of what he could only assume were clones that went through the Change.

But something has definitely gone wrong.

There were just too many things that shouldn't be on one singular being.

Too many limbs, horns, eyes, tendrils, protrusions… Sith-hells the combos looked unstable and quite honestly very painful to transition into.

All human shapes had just been stripped off of them, and some looked to have devolved into primordial soup contained within a thin veil of translucent skin…

It was nauseatingly horrific, and the medics all carried this haunted and exhausted look.

Likely from witnessing this process underway.

"Karking sith-spit…" Neyo looked like he was going to be sick. So did Rex who'd wolfed down a huge meal prior to their arrival in this room of horrors.

"What happened to them…?" Ponds half asked half whispered as he looked all around in abject horror.

"The Change..." Thorn sighed sadly. "The Guard works with several hundreds of species of sentients… It is our duty to protect and defend the citizens if Coruscant, as well as defend the Senate and its representatives. As such we're exposed to… Many diverse genetic profiles that our body readily mirror…"

"Several hundreds of… That's…" Wolffe sounded horrified. "That's too much for just one clone! That can't possibly be safe…"

"No. No it's not…" Thorn reached up to remove his bucket. The mess of tendrils, teeth and horns covering his face had long since disfigured him beyond recognition, and Cody had the impression these genetic anomalies coated every inch of his skin beneath his gear. "The Senators find us far too horrifying to look at… Those of us that are fit for duty are to wear our armour on at all times. Even if it hurts."

"Where's Fox?" Cody finally dared ask. He was afraid of the answer he'd get. Especially considering the variety of horrifically twisted forms he was seeing being tended to by the medical staff.

Thorn simply lifted his right arm to point at a door that sectioned off the rest of the medical wing.

Likely some kind of isolation ward or something of the sort.

The group walked past several broken vode who wailed and moaned as they tried to adjust to their grotesque new bodies.

Ignored the way the less mutated of the bunch tried to comfort them to the best of their abilities.

Cody opened the door.

He nearly threw up at the sight that awaited them.

They knew it was Fox, even if there wasn't much to indicate what lay on a cot had been human at some point, and not just some kind of stretched mangy animal.

It's translucent skin and unstable body warped further as it moved in a way very reminiscent of bagged fluid.

Bones and organs were on full display, unable to hide beneath skin and muscle that were as transparent as transparisteel. The guts looked to just barely be contained by the shape of this creature.

The overload of genetic coding had clearly been too much, and the Marshal Commander had begun the transition into that primordial goo that most others in the rest of the medbay were turning into.

Yet, somehow, Fox desperately tried to keep some semblance of shape. Even if it was something that looked like roadkill.

Behind him, Cody could hear Rex vomit as the horror fully hit them all. The noise made the thing that had once been human jolt slightly.

Once they saw the one singular dark eye peering at them from the dark, it all but confirmed their horrors.

That was their Fox'ika.

What remained of him.

"D-don't look…" His voice was raspy and painful to the ear. Somehow dry and wet at the same time, and full of shame. "I'm h-hideous…"

"Oh Fox…" Ponds sounded heartbroken. Cody was frozen just staring, watching as tears began to form in that singular sad eye. "Vod'ika what's happened to you?"

Wolfed was patting Rex's back, trying to comfort him through the dry heaving.

Bly was approaching the cot, clearly struggling not to run to Fox to hold him. Likely scared he might startle or hurt their batchmates in his haste.

"Too much…" Fox moaned in clear agony. "S'just too much… Can't… Can't fight the Change…"

The Kaminoans had designed them to be the ultimate customer-service experience.

Their bodies mirrored other species to better provide their services.

Coruscant was no place for beings like them. Not when there were just too many sentients to imprint on. Not when it was near impossible to repress that instinct to fit in.

"You weren't ignoring us because we were changing…" Bacara had the decency to sound ashamed.

"N-never… Just… Just couldn't…" Fox flinched when Bly touched him. The way their brother's hand sunk into his flesh was sickening. "Was… Was jealous… It hurts so much and… And you… Yours doesn't hurt…"

It did.

The Change always hurt because it was a physically strenuous thing, but not in the way the Corries were clearly hurting.

Not in the way their Fox'ika was clearly hurting.

One by one they all slowly approached.

Bly hadn't been discouraged by the flinch or the flabbiness of Fox's consistency.

He scooped up as much as he could of their aching vod and held him.

Cody and the others followed his lead.

It felt gross and unnatural, but this was their batchmate, for crying out loud!

They weren't going to shy away from touching him just because it felt like hugging a bag full of jelly!

Fox squirmed slightly, clearly uncomfortable at first. But then, slowly, he leaned into the contact as best he could.

A sad pitiful whine escaped his distorted lips as he soaked in the comforting warmth of their hands.

They owed him this much, after letting him suffer in silence for so long…

They should have realized something was wrong much sooner than this. Cody should have realized.

Fox only ever withdrew when he was hurting.

He'd rectify his mistake, somehow.

He'd ask his Jetii. He'd ask a Jetii Healer. He'd ask all the Jetii honestly… Cody just wanted to make it right.

For now though, he'd sit here and gently hold his Fox'ika for as long as he could.

Something told him the rest of their batchmates, and their adopted CT would be doing the same.

It wasn't the picture perfect family reunion he'd imagined when he'd invited everyone to hang out, but at least they were all there. Together.

As it should always be.

#Eps Writes #Fanfic #Star Wars #The Clone Wars #Species Swap AU #Commander Cody #Commander Fox #Body Horror #Sorry Gaeasun Cody wouldn't be the only human so it's not 100% what you suggested #But you know who definitely would be the odd one out in the group?#Fox... For very tragic reasons...#But he'll be ok! The pain is a flare-up because of how much he works!#And at least now the others know...#Heck is this turning into a Fix-It AU? Heck I think it is...

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jennana501 · 4 years

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A Case for Rexsoka

I’ve been around the block when it comes to ships. I’ve seen people obsess over them, and I too have been driven mad by obsession. I was a hardcore original avatar fan and I was OBSESSED with shipping Toph and Sokka together. Any time they so much as made an interaction I over analyzed it and picked it apart looking for clues that somehow would prove that my hunches were correct. It was because I related with both characters, and I loved their chemistry. I wanted them to have a romantic relationship because it would feel like some sort of personal validation.

I’m an adult now and nothing has changed. But it has been a while since I’ve desperately shipped two characters together that are not obviously romantically involved with one another, or who could be romantic behind the scenes or beyond the story shown.

Until Rex and Ahsoka.

And I’ve seen people be adamantly against it.

“No no no it’s just a brother/sister relationship.”

“No it’s gross she is a child”.

And of course being disagreed with on the internet can drive a person crazy, and instead of individually arguing with dozens of people online, I’m making this post once and for all to explain why I think Rex and Ahsoka have romantic feelings for each other. Especially Rex.

The argument I’ve seen, that their deep passion, commitment, love, admiration, and respect for one another (which are all so obvious you’d have to be...silly to not see it) are felt in a platonic fashion. Which, for the first 6 seasons and 8 episodes, I would totally agree.

But then Ahsoka comes back. And let’s face it. She is a woman. Age wise, she’s around 17, but everything from the maturity of her Lekku (which weirdly don’t get all that longer, especially compared to other Tagrutan women) to her poise and confidence, to her prowess as a warrior, a user of the force, and her ability to command soldiers as well as control her emotions points to her being an adult woman. She’s no Snips anymore; she’s no child. She’s grown up. And how her peers react to her illustrates how they now view her as an adult.

First there is Obi-wan. Obi-wan has always been a mentor to her, a sort of second Master. Obi-wan never hesitated to guide and Ahsoka or offer his council. He is proud of her when she succeeds, and will admonish her when she makes mistakes. When she returns and he sees her as a woman, he changes the way he treats her. He acknowledges her maturity by addressing her as an equal. He doesn’t admonish her. Instead he discusses with her, challenging her ideas and letting her offer an argument for them instead of putting them down and telling her how she should think or act. He also comes to her in his time of need, trusting her to help him with Anakin.

Then there is Anakin. We all know of Anisoka shippers, and they are perfectly able to ship and enjoy said ship, but we can all acknowledge that it is a crack pairing with no basis in the canon. Anakin portrays the perfect kind of brotherly love. He is excited to see Ahsoka, and is stunned by her unexpected reappearance. Things are harder for Anakin because he is used to their fun banter and sibling-like companionship. He’s constantly shut down with her business like manner and he struggles with coming to terms with the fact that she isn’t a little kid sister anymore. She is an adult with a mission and a plan. When he looks at her, he is endearing. He loves her. Admires her. And he can’t wait to pick up where they left off. There’s joy and adoration in his face. He is proud of her and what she has become, but he also feels alienated and even hurt because of how her adulthood has changed their dynamic.

Then there is Rex. When he first sees her, he wants nothing more than to reassure her that she still belongs. The clones had accepted her into their family. As far as they were concerned, she was one of them. When he looks at her for the first time, he’s beaming with the same adoration as he had had for her before, but also with a solemn awe at what she has become and what she has grown into. He welcomes her back into his life without hesitation.

But then there is a moment things shift so drastically that I paused the show and re-watched it half a dozen times. We all know it and love it. This face he gives Ahsoka. The Look.

What we see here is something we have never, EVER seen in Rex for 7 whole seasons. And it is my opinion that this is the first time Rex has been able to feel and express that he is attracted to Ahsoka. In other words, Rex has a sexual awakening.

Up until this point, Rex has been a sexless character. Nothing he does is flirtatious, sexy, or at all suggestive that he has those feelings inside him at all. Every sexual being has a moment where they are first animalistically drawn to another being. Characters who have already had this moment are easy to pick out. Obi wan. Anakin. Ventress. These characters have already experienced their sexual awakening. Ahsoka has too. Lux was her first object of attraction.

But Rex has never had this moment. Until this reaction.

I know some of you might be thinking “but Ahsoka gives a very similar look to Anakin, does that mean she is sexually attracted to HIM?” It’s a very good point. Ahsoka and Anakin share some cheeky playful looks during “Old Friends Not Forgotten”. We see many characters give similar looks to other characters, but does this mean it means the same thing as when Rex does it? The short answer is no.

When animators design a character, they establish the “range of emotion” for that character. You can easily see this when you look back at how many times you see Rex break from his stoic, captain’s face. He rarely laughs, smiles, or emotes in any way. This is why when we see him emote it is exciting to us as an audience. A character like Ahsoka or Anakin commonly show a wide variety of expressions. Ahsoka is much more likely to give a cheeky look than Rex is. So “the look” for Rex, means a lot more when he is doing than it does when another character does it, say Fives or even Obi-Wan.

Which means the writers are trying to tell us something about this moment.

This moment has changed Rex’s and Ahsoka’s relationship.

Now does this mean that they are going to go bang each other immediately? Does this mean the second they are alone after “Victory and Death” they start an intense, sexual relationship? Of course not. That’s not what this ship is about at this time. But the reason many of us ship it is because suddenly they don’t feel like brother and sister anymore. It isn’t entirely platonic. And the show does a good job to further emphasize this as they come closer and closer both emotionally, and physically during the finale.

Blocking is a huge factor in visual storytelling. During the finale, Rex and Ahsoka are blocked in a way that makes them as close as physically possible on the screen. This communicates to the audience that they are closer now than they have ever been. As Jedi and Clone Trooper. As friends, and as companions, their bond forged in the fires of war, struggling to find meaning in life as soldiers.

In contrast, look how Ahsoka and Anakin are blocked in their scenes. There is nearly always a gap between them, illustrating that they are distanced from each other emotionally. Rex is even visually inserted into the gap between them in several instances. Anakin and Ahsoka are growing apart, but she and Rex are growing closer.

We get to experience Rex and Ahsoka engaging in actions and conversations that we had rarely seen before. From casual banter, to moments of intense intimacy, to emotional peaks, Rex and Ahsoka interact more in these four episodes than in the previous six seasons. Part of this is because their maturity gap has closed. Ahsoka is finally Rex’s equal in experience and maturity. It is also in part because it is a unique dynamic. No Obi-wan. No Anakin. Rex and Ahsoka are equal leaders of the 332nd. There’s also the fact that they are put into life threatening situations and have no one else but each other.

But there is that “look” that is given at the beginning of all this that suggests something else, that as their bond undoubtedly becomes strong as beskar, there is an element of it that takes their relationship from the platonic to the romantic.

I feel every detail, moment, and piece of dialogue in the finale tells the story of this bond.

Many instances of their strong emotional bond have been spread throughout the internet, with most ready to acknowledge that they have a connection unlike any other, one that may even be described as a “force” connection. These last four episodes are so exciting because we see two friends reunited, but then we get to watch as their relationship transforms.

Even disregarding their implied attraction to each other physically, they dive into each other and hold on tight. Ahsoka shares deep personal worries with Rex, and Rex and her are shown opening up to each other in ways they have never opened up before.

We were all floored and dumbfounded at scenes such as these that show these characters at their most vulnerable. But they decide to be vulnerable together. Is it because they are all that is left of their 501st family? It part, this is definitely true. But by being this vulnerable they transform their relationship into something very different from what they had before. It will never be the same again, and it will be near impossible to back out of the emotional intimacy that these two have participated in. Once you have formed that kind of an attachment with someone, there is no going back, and as is seen in rebels, these two maintain that strong connection even after years of being apart.

This goes beyond their sexual desires or needs. They’ve forged a bond that cannot be broken. They have shared minds, shared pain and agony that only the other can understand. They’ve been isolated from the world, and all they have left is each other.

And at the end of the series, when we have Rex and Ahsoka broken, their world flip upside down and everything they ever valued or cared about lies in ruins before them, the idea that they still have each other is that beautiful seed of hope Star Wars is so good at preserving. Those of us who believe that their relationship could be romantic want good things for Rex and Ahsoka. We want them to have that love and share it with each other. Maybe only for a few moments, but having known it would be better than both of them living and dying without having that experience.

When we see the two in Rebels, for me it confirms that these two love each other deeply. But their lives can never be lived in a normal fashion. They cannot even be together as partners in life. The Empire has stolen this from them. The tragedy of this ship is that it can never be the way we want it to be. Rex will age and die long before Ahsoka is even halfway through her own life. They cannot live with one another. They cannot wake each morning with each other, at least not at the point we see them in rebels.

But they continue to love each other. Even over distance, even knowing that mortality will claim them with only a fraction of the memories that they deserve with one another.

So please, the next time you see some art or a fic, or a post like this, think of what I had to say. Rexsoka is about two adults, their lives destroyed at the hands of Sidious, but in defiance they still forge a bond that he could never break or take from them. And that to me is beautiful and something to celebrate.

Side note: I spent a ton of time making gifs but they never would work and so I had to use screenshots instead :(

EDIT: At the request of the OG poster of a few gifs, I have replaced them have also made some grammatical changes.

#ahsoka #captain rex #rexsoka #rexsoka week #the clone wars #star wars

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