#Soft with a wee bit of whump

[scorpionyx9621]

More Soft Jason Todd x Reader Imagines Because Times Are Tough and We All Need Some Fluff

People tend to forget that before Under the Red Hood and even a bit after Jason was a hired gun and has had his fair share of assassinations. So I have no doubt Jason is sitting on at least a few million USD. He's absolutely nowhere close to Bruce in terms of wealth but Jason lives pretty comfortably off of his hit money. He'd keep it hidden from you of course, but not because he doesn't want to share it, but because Jason is still legally dead, and while Jason kills people he's certainly not above money laundering. To which I don't think he'd want you to get too involved.

Again, Jason is very independent by just the environment he grew up in. He'd want you to be the same. I don't think he'd be too emotionally attracted to someone who'd just say yes to everything he does. He'd really love brutal honesty and you questioning him/calling him out on his BS. Make him think about his actions and what he's done. Jason's certainly capable of deeper thought and analysis than most give him credit for.

A secret about Jason is that he's low-key the best at swimming in the family. He may be built like a hybrid between a linebacker and a gymnast but he has the technical side of swimming down.

Jason also loves taking you to the pool so you can stare at him and his muscles/body because he's low-key an attention wh*re and that's one of the best ways to satisfy his ego and vice-versa.

Physical touch is one of Jason's key love languages. If he loves you, you'll pretty much constantly either have him holding your hand or have his arm wrapped around you. Almost like he's afraid he'll lose you if he lets you go.

Just cuddle the man. Especially when he's sleeping. His favorite is when you rest your head against his chest/torso but spooning is perfectly acceptable to Jason as well. He loves being big and little spoon even though you're most likely just going to be jetpacking him if you're the big spoon.

You just gotta deal with the fact he's got the strongest and most noticeable BO of the family and that includes his morning breath.

But other than that he's a pretty unremarkable sleeper. He's doesn't snore like Dick does, he doesn't toss and turn like Tim & Damian. When he's ready for bed he just reads for a little bit to relax his mind and he just kind of falls asleep in whatever position he is and just kind of stays that way till he wakes up.

Jason isn't a bad cook, but he is lazy/not interested in cooking often. What he is excellent at cooking is grilling/cooking large cuts of meat. Jason loves a good summer poolside grill, and for Christmas Stephanie got him an apron that just says 'grill dad'. Jason wears it every time the family has a barbeque. Jason also mans the grill anytime the family goes out for Korean BBQ.

It takes a very long time for Jason to really emotionally open up to people. He'd literally consider being beaten to death by Joker again over being forced into a situation where he has to talk about his feelings to a stranger. So don't try to force him to come out of his shell, let him open up to you when he's ready. It'll be painfully slow but Jason opening up to you about his life means he values you so highly.

When Jason does eventually bring you around to the family the overwhelming vibe will be that you and him are walking on eggshells rigged with C4. Much to your surprise everyone is very pleasant and very nice around you. Even too blunt for his own good Damian is more inquisitive about why you chose Jason over a snarky comment he could make about your ineptitude.

Things would devolve around Bruce however, you'd see how the strong, confident, defiant Jason stays defiant and flippant but you see his shoulders tense up anytime Bruce is in the room and Jason almost makes himself smaller around Bruce. Comments would fly and Jason and Bruce would apologize and excuse themselves to another room where you would just hear muffled shouts.

Jason would eventually storm off telling Bruce to 'eff off old man.' barely even noticing you because he's so upset. You'd just see Bruce looking dejected but he'd notice you staring at him and would eventually come over to apologize for making a scene.

Bruce would want to get to know you briefly but would explain that he failed to save Jason during his time of need. And Jason's anger towards him is justified. He would want you to promise to keep Jason safe. While he's not happy about Jason's means and methods more than anything in this world, he just wants Jason to be safe and to be happy.

When you'd finally get back to the car you'd finally see Jason break down. When Jason cries he angry cries. He throws shit and screams. And Jason cries for hours. When he starts he can't stop until all the emotions are out of his system. To which case he'll physically proceed to sleep for 10-15 hours afterwards and pretend like nothing ever happened. Only when it's quiet would he admit he's thankful to you for staying by his side.

Jason likes to do laundry, surprisingly. It's his favorite chore. That and taking out the trash. They both have that good physical feeling of wiping away grime and dirt or taking out what's old and replacing it with what's new. Jason also lives exclusively off of Gain Moonlight Breeze laundry detergent and I cannot tell you why. He just loves the scent. Just don't ask Jason to do the dishes.

Jason also really likes lavender surprisingly! Lavender also has a really strong effect on him and helps him relax very easily. Like I'm pretty sure a twilight bath bomb from lush would put him to bed. Better yet wear some lavender perfume and you won't be able to keep his lips (and tongue too) off you.

Patience is key when dating Jason. I've said it before, him and Damian are the coconuts whereas Dick and Tim are peaches. With Dick and Tim they are very nice and sweet on the outside, but are very hard and dense and determined on the inside. Whereas Jason and Damian have very high and hard to penetrate walls but once you have broken through their defenses you have a soft, very loving and devoted person who will be at your side forever basically.

You're going to have to be comfortable with a very handsome very buff very shirtless man walking around your apartment at all times because second Jason's safe and comfortable it's tits and abs and guns out friends. And if he catches you staring he will call you out and laugh at you (and make you feel his muscles)

[ladyinsertnamehere]

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@whumptober Let’s get right into it! Fairy whump! Little guy whump! This one’s shorter but oh well!

FAIR WARNING: impalement (based on prompt), insect-related references, talk of a character’s insides briefly, a wee bit creepy but not...exactly???, everything that comes with being pinned to a display board

The peculiar man with the glasses-too-big-for-his-face tapped away at his computer. His hands occasionally left to bring his lukewarm tea to his mouth, or to scribble something in the tiny notepad he kept at his desk. The screen gave a soft glow, barely making a dent on the sunlight streaming through the window. Nigel always kept the curtains closed, however he felt it appropriate, today, to let the sunlight catch the wings of his new prize.

In a display box across the room, a pair of wings shimmered and glistened as they flitted and fluttered. Their owner was gasping and heaving, as breathing was hard with a pin in one's chest. Nigel had caught the fairy one late spring day, bringing her home in a jar and getting out his old butterfly specimen display board and insect pins. His careful hands had successfully - maybe even purposefully avoided all vital organs as the pin pierced right under the ribs. Which worked in Nigel's favor - he wanted to 'see her pretty wings shimmer' and kept her alive - but obviously was not favorable to his prisoner. Though her wings were beautiful, they weren't powerful enough to pull her tiny body from the foam. Even if she did pull herself free, the iron in the pin would very much inhibit any magic healing. The fairy would simply bleed out like any non-magical being. Nigel sipped at his tea and scratched at his pad, before going back to the rhythmic tapping of his clickety-clackety keyboard. He glanced over at the struggling creature for reassurance, smiled, and kept working away at...whatever Nigel did at this hour.

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 3

a wee bit shorter this time, I hope it satisfies! set immediately after Tomas gives Rowe a bath

Previous

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @oceanthesarcasamfox @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius (if you want to be added/taken off please let me know! thank you all <3)

CW: pet whumpee, general violence, swearing, dehumanisation

-

Tomas had just sunk into his old sofa, a mug of tea in his hand when he heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs behind him. Turning, he saw Rowe, dressed in the t-shirt and shorts Tomas had given him. His hair looked lighter, and softer, and although he was still covered head to toe in injuries, some of the colour had returned to his cheeks. Tomas could tell what was coming as Rowe cautiously approached him and knelt at his feet, his forehead on the floor.

"Thank you for this kindness, Master."

Tomas patted Rowe’s head gently. It had seemed to go down well last time. "You’re welcome. You may sit up, if you want."

Rowe straightened his back, but made no move to sit on the sofa with Tomas. Pets probably weren’t allowed on furniture, he realised.

"You look a lot better now. I’m glad we got you a bath."

Rowe positively glowed at this, and Tomas felt as if he’d just unlocked another Rowe cheat code.

"Thank you so much, Master."

"Do you remember the man who dropped you off here yesterday? That was my friend, Kasia, and he’s coming over soon. I want you to stay in your bedroom until he leaves. There are plenty of books in there, if you start to get bored."

"Of course, Master. I, uh… I’m afraid I can’t read."

"Oh. Is that a common thing with Pets?"

"I think so, Master. I’m sorry for displeasing you."

"You haven’t. If you look on the bottom most shelf you’ll find some photography books. They should be fun to look through."

"Thank you, Master Tomas," Rowe said, folding over again and nosing the floor. Tomas gave him another pat on the head.

"I’ll let you know when he’s left, alright? Up you go."

Rowe had no sooner drifted upstairs than Tomas heard his front door unlocking.

"I’d forgotten you have a bloody key," he said as Kasia appeared in the doorway.

"You alright, Tomas?"

"Never better," he said drily. "Thanks for coming."

He realised how good it felt to speak normally to another person. Kasia settled down in the chair opposite him and cracked a smile.

"I can’t believe you thought we rehomed animals. You are a seriously bad listener sometimes."

"I have half a mind to accuse you of intentionally misleading me," he retorted. Kasia’s smile only widened. "But listen, how do I… how do I handle a Pet? I won’t lie, I have no idea what I’m doing."

"Well, what’s he like? Is he being good?"

"Oh, totally. But he kind of freaks me out. He’s so scared of me, and everything takes twenty times longer to do because I’m constantly walking on eggshells or listening to him apologise."

Kasia listened sympathetically as Tomas unloaded- he could hardly believe he’d only had Rowe for a day. It felt like so much longer.

"…and I don’t want to hurt him, you know? The whole idea of Pets weirds me out, really. I’d feel bad asking him to do stuff for me. But sometimes I think he’s gonna totally crumble if I don’t give him a bit of stability."

Kasia leaned forward and knitted his hands together.

"It sounds like you could do with a coffee break. Want me to fetch you something from the place down the street?"

"No, no, I’ll go. That’s a good idea- I haven’t got out yet today."

"I’ll watch the house ‘til you get back?"

"Cheers, man."

. . .

Rowe heard the front door close, and footsteps track up the stairs. His Master must be coming to get him. He hoped that he would be assigned some chores to do.

He couldn’t hide the confusion on his face when a vaguely familiar man walked through the door instead. Rowe realised this must be Master Tomas’s friend.

"Wh-where’s Master To-"

"Shut up," he ordered, slapping Rowe hard across the face. He gasped in surprise as his face began to throb painfully. "It seems like your Master has been having some problems with you, is that right? Waking him up, crying, being a general annoyance?"

Rowe felt his stomach drop. He thought he was being good. Master had seemed so pleased after he’d washed and changed into his new clothes. "I- I’m sorry, I didn’t-"

"And now you’re talking back? You need to be taught some new manners, since Tomas is clearly being too soft on you."

Although everything in him told him to shut up, Rowe replied desperately, "I-I thought, only m-my Master is allowed to pun- to punish me."

The slap came quicker and harder than the first one, almost knocking him to the floor. Before he could even right himself he felt the man grab a fistful of his hair and bring the two of them nose to nose. "You have some fucking nerve. You’re a Pet, you think that can argue with me? Your Master isn’t going to find out about this."

Rowe’s mind was racing. What should he do? Where was his Master? He could only hang limply, his body becoming pliable as his conditioning kicked in.

The man smiled, tightened his grip on Rowe’s hair and wrenched him suddenly, bringing his nose down on the bedframe with a horrifying crack. He howled in pain until a kick in the stomach knocked the wind out of him.

"I’m sick of you fucking Pets being given one ounce of kindness and thinking you are somebody."

The man crouched beside him and Rowe crawled away, one hand holding his bleeding nose. It was staining the new shirt his Master had given him, he realised with a sinking heart. He would be in so much trouble.

"Now listen to me," said the man, placing a hand tightly around Rowe’s neck. He squirmed weakly, which only seemed to amuse him. "You tripped, okay? I’m doing you a favour here, reminding you of your place. I want you to make my buddy happy. If I find out that you’ve told him about our little session here, or you’re causing more problems, I’ll be back. Understood?"

His grip tightened and Rowe could only kick his legs pathetically, his vision swimming.

"Understood?"

"Y-yes, sir," Rowe whined. "I tr- I tripped."

The hand on his neck relented, only to give him one final smack as Rowe tried to catch his breath.

"Right."

The door slammed and Rowe could only lie there, too scared to move, too scared to make a single noise. He was dimly aware of the front door opening again, and the sound of laughter, until finally, finally, he heard Master Tomas bidding the man goodbye, and then there was silence.

Next

[legobiwan]

Whumptober #2

“pick who dies”

Notes: This got out of control. I was going to add an Obi-wan + Anakin section but I had to cut myself off as I do have other things I need to get to today. This is less whump than...a set of pretentious character studies with THE LINEAGE (including Rael) and an excuse to explore the trolley problem within a Star Wars setting. I blame my recent Hannibal obsession for what you see below. First part here, rest under the cut. Note, I am a musician, not a philosophy student, so allow for some creative interpretation here. 

General Whumptober tag

Whumptober 2020 #1

~~~~~~~

(excerpt from “The Padawan’s Guide to Philosophy.” Eds. Masters Thrife-Foran & Ugaaalich. 616th e. Coruscant, 940 ARR. Holobook.)

Premise:

You are out for an afternoon walk in the outer regions of Thymilla, a moderately-populated city on the planet Ungar. On your walk, you pass by a set of hovertrain tracks, which branch into two separate arms - one an extension of the main track, the other a smaller offshoot which leads to a cargo loading zone, about fifty clicks south of where you are. (Diagram 3)

As a hovertrain approaches from the north, you hear screaming, the words of the driver becoming clearer as the hovertrain barrels towards the switch. The brakes of the train have failed and there is no chance of repair. If the train continues on its current path, it will kill five workers making repairs on the track. If you pull a switch, the hovertrain will divert to the offshoot, where it will kill one worker at the cargo loading zone.

Because of an anomaly in Ungar’s atmosphere, you cannot access the Force.

Do you pull the switch or do nothing and allow the train to speed forward?

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan.”

Dooku shifted on his meditation pod, the firm material groaning as he uncrossed his legs from the lotus position, gingerly setting both his bare feet to the cool, tiled floor of his Master’s chambers. The young man allowed himself a small wince with the action. Yoda might have been able to keep that damnable position for hours, probably days on end, but Dooku was just a few months shy of his eighteenth life day, and another recent growth spurt seemingly focused all on his legs made sitting for any long amount of time…uncomfortable, to say the least.

Which was likely why Yoda had had him trapped him here for the past three hours, running through one ethical thought experiment after the other, poking his literal and metaphorical gimmer stick precisely at each gnarled and swollen joint in both his body and thoughts.

To act - to pull the switch - would mean to commit premeditated murder, even if it were for the greater good. Hardly a Jedi-like action. But then again, they had been taught - indoctrinated, really - with the idea that is was acceptable to sacrifice one life for the lives of many. A supposedly fair trade-off, although Dooku had seen enough of the Jedi’s relationship to the Senate, had seen enough of the Council’s internal politics, to know that two lives did not necessarily hold equal weight.

But to not act - to let the train barrel through, to leave it up to the will of the Force...Dooku clenched his teeth. That seemed more in line with the Order he was coming to know, was consistent with the Council’s lack of action on Protobranch, when Sifo-Diyas had seen the calamity that was to befall the planet and yet the Council, his Master, had done too little, too late, preferring to allow events to transpire as they would, the Jedi only impassive bystanders.

What was the point of their abilities, their training, their place in the universe, if they weren’t able to change the course of events for the better?

“I suppose,” Dooku began slowly, coming to stand, suddenly not caring if he was maintaining his proper meditation position. The young man padded towards the slightly shuttered windows on the other side of the room.

“I suppose it depends on the relative worth of each life,” he said, turning away from Yoda as to not see the subtle moue of distaste Dooku was certain would cross the old Master’s face.

“Is not all life sacred, Padawan?”

Dooku barely bit back the dark chuckle threatening to escape from his chest. Only in the holos and classrooms and the empty rhetoric of the Council was all life sacred. The Jedi could do so much more, he could do so much more to change the galaxy and yet the Order allowed itself to be chained to politicians, leashed like akk-dogs until receiving command.

No, Dooku thought. There was no balance - not here and not in the Force.

“From the information you’ve provided,” Dooku said, ignoring Yoda’s question. He peered through the slits of the rotor blinds into the watery illumination of Coruscant’s night sky. The dome of the Senate building rose through the rain like an oddly-shaped umbrella, shielding those in power with its wide beadth. “We can assume both parties of victims are of equal social standing, being manual laborers. Because of this, we must find other ways of determining their worth, their ability to enact change in the galaxy.”

Dooku clasped his hands behind his back, daring to turn to face his Master’s displeasure.

“The question becomes whether you want to hold sway over the transit network of a forgettable city, or the imports and exports that may go off-world. Exports which might include valuable resources or even smuggled goods. Items which could affect the governance of our imagined city and therefore, by extension, an even larger part of the populace.”

“Which is why, in this case,” Dooku concluded, his posture straightening, “I would choose to allow the hovertrain to continue its course and save the cargo worker.”

Yoda folded both claws over his gimmer stick, frowning. After a moment, he let out a small grunt, his features now inscrutable.

“And see yourself as the final arbiter of worth, do you, my young apprentice? Stand you above all others holding a golden scale, you do?”

Don’t we, as Jedi, hold these scales every day and yet choose to ignore them? Dooku thought.

“Someone,” the young man replied, “will make the judgment regardless. Is it not better for the Jedi to use our powers to make such decisions?”

This time Yoda did let out a wet sigh, shaking his head.

“Dangerous, these thoughts are, my Padawan,” Yoda grumbled, gesturing at the meditation pod. “Sit, young Dooku. Much we have to discuss.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Rael.”

Rael Averross slung an arm over the back of Dooku’s couch, sleeves of his Master’s borrowed robe hanging long near the tips of his fingers. It had been the third time that month Rael had “misplaced” his own robe, his Master’s foisted upon him in the wee hours of the morning, Dooku grunting something about “Jedi propriety” before shoving Rael out the door. (The things were a damned inconvenience, and made him look like something straight out of a space station ghost story, to boot. Was it so surprising he showed up to Dooku’s quarters in a state which his Master referred to as “half-naked?”)

Rael bit his lip, trying to not think of all the times he had actually been half-naked in the Temple. Those were fun times. Unfortunately, Dooku could probably mind read them out of him right now if he weren’t so concentrated on this thought experiment.

“Why not save them both?” Rael drawled amiably, scratching at the beginnings of a beard with his other hand as he hoped to distract his Master from any hint of his past indiscretions. It was about time, too, he thought. Never going to look my age going around all smooth-faced like a transparisteel window surface.

Dooku gave a small smile. “You cannot, Rael. Those are the rules of the scenario.”

“Rules,” Rael scoffed, picking at the hem of Dooku’s overly-fancy robe before suddenly launching to his feet, unable to contain his restlessness. The younger Jedi paced up and down the length of Dooku’s couch, grateful his usually strict Master was allowing him this indulgence. Not that Dooku had any problem sitting still for what felt like forever - stiff as a board, that one - but Rael was too jittery, too full potential energy to keep his thoughts in neat line with his body. “Rules are meant to be broken, Master,” Rael gave a swift chop with his hand in illustration. “You’re the first one to tell me that.”

Rael heard his Master let out a soft snort in response. Only Dooku could make such a noise sound dignified. “I suppose I did,” the older man answered evenly.

“So there you go! Blow up the train and everyone’s fine.”

“And kill the driver?”

Rael spun to face Dooku, the other man’s eyebrows raised not in condemnation, but genuine interest. It was days like this Rael truly appreciated having Dooku as a Master. Sure, he was as pretentious as any big-city Senator, a hard taskmaster in his lessons, and an even tougher dueling trainer - but at the end of the day, Dooku only expected Rael to follow Dooku’s rules, and not the Order’s.

And as much as Rael chaffed under any collar, he’d take Dooku’s version of the Code over the Council’s any day.

“I mean, the driver is the one in control of the train,” Rael shrugged. “Sure, it’s an accident, but the they were going to be dead either way once they hit those other bodies. Probably would go flying through the window and bash their skull in. This way, you save six lives,” Rael gave his best used speeder salesman grin. “Buy five, get one free.”

That little addition did cause his Master to roll his eyes.

“You are…” Dooku pressed his lips together, sitting back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. It was as close as Dooku ever got to a casual posture. “Colorful rhetoric aside, you are essentially advocating for pre-emptive action. Very interesting, Rael.”

“Interesting as in,” Rael pulled a sour face, imitating Dooku’s proper Serennian accent, “‘And now I will assign you five Jedi moral precepts to memorize and write a five-page essay about’ or interesting as in ‘I will now have you learn the complete codified law of the Umbargans, whose entire military strategy revolved around non-preemptive attacks.”

Dooku chuckled - actually chuckled - at Rael’s minor impertinent outburst. “Neither, Rael. Although, I must say you have provided me the perfect means by which I may punish you later on.” Damn, dug my own grave with that one, thought Rael. 

“No,” Dooku continued, “I merely find your stance on this matter to be refreshingly…original.”

“You mean the Council wouldn’t approve?”

It took his Master a full minute to answer, his gaze shifting beyond Rael, beyond the confines of their shared quarters, Dooku seeming lost in some memory.

“Hardly,” he finally said. “And that is for the best.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan?”

Qui-gon Jinn sat motionless on the small patch of grass, listening to the susurrations of the light breeze in the Room of a Thousand Fountains finger through a nearby thicket of Borto reeds. Across from him, Master Dooku sat in a mirrored pose, long legs crossed over the other in the lotus position, expression unreadable, his presence in the Force - or, his effect on the Force presence on the vegetation around him - one of controlled expectancy, a single blade of grass erect and ready despite the buffeting winds.

“We shouldn’t have to choose, Master,” Qui-gon replied, trying to steady his own uneven thoughts and emotions. Although he had been Dooku’s Padawan for almost five years now, Qui-gon still found himself worrying his responses to thought experiments like these would not pass his Master’s high and stringent intellectual standards.

“In an ideal world, Qui-gon, we wouldn’t. But as you have learned - as I have shown you - the status quo rarely measures up to our ideals.”

The status quo, Qui-gon thought. Code for the Senate, for the Council, for the Republic at large. That much he had figured out, had learned from Rael, whose ability to translate Dooku’s sometimes opaque rhetoric to something more digestible never ceased to amaze Qui-gon.

The status quo. The more years he spent with Dooku - with Rael, when the younger man was around - the more Qui-gon understood. Perhaps he always had a predilection to question, to challenge what was “known,” the dictums etched in stone handed down from the Council to the Council’s Masters to its Padawans. But with Dooku’s guidance, and with his own exploration of the Jedi prophecies, Qui-gon had developed his own sense of right and wrong, of how the galaxy ought to work in consonance with the ideals of the Jedi Code and his own moral compass.

“In that case, I would ask the Force for guidance,” Qui-gon replied, thoughts slipping back to the many hours he had spent in the Archives, poring over ancient holocrons. The Force had provided for the seers of old, why shouldn’t it provide now?

“Perhaps the Force cannot provide all the answers,” Dooku countered, as if reading his mind.

Qui-gon frowned, tilting his head. “Is that not what the Jedi teach, Master? What you teach? To follow the Force?”

“To a degree,” Dooku assented, rare amusement curling the side of his lips. “But the Jedi work in symbiosis with the Force, and even that is within a certain self-imposed definition of what the Force may or may not be capable of.”

Self-imposed definition? Qui-gon ran his hands through the soft grass at his sides, no longer able to keep that perfect stillness now that Dooku had so upset his equilibrium. Had his study of the prophecies not proven that exact point? That the Jedi of now no longer regarded the Force with as open a mind those of millennia ago?

“The Force is more infinite, has more potentialities than the confines of what we could possibly hope to study in a thousand lifetimes,” Qui-gon hedged.

“And so you hope to use prophecy to save these doomed beings?” Dooku retorted with a small wave of his hand. Ah yes, the hovertrain problem, Qui-gon grimaced. He had almost quite forgotten about the whole reason for this conversation.

“I would hope to…” Qui-gon cocked his head, watching a pair of butterflies flutter over a Byrsonima crassifolia, fragile leaves fluttering in their wake. An action - or a lack of action. If he saved one life or saved five. What would the repercussions be? How could he know he was making the right choice? How could the Order know, if not for guidance from the Force, in all its possible iterations?

And yet, the study prophecy of was considered at best, an esoteric hobby - at worst, a dangerous arm of mysticism by much of the Council.

Which is why your Master encourages you to think beyond the dictates of the Council, Qui-gon concluded.

“Yes, then,” Qui-gon stated, suddenly more confident in his answers. “I would hope to ameliorate the situation by using a similar mindset of the prophets. One of openness, wonder, and possibility - to find my way in this situation.”

“And just how far would you be willing to take supposed,” Dooku trained him with an enigmatic expression, “openness?” The word weighed heavy with implication.

Qui-gon started. What exactly is Dooku trying to get at here? Hadn’t it been his Master who had introduced him to the prophecies, to the Force beyond the dictates of the Code? So far, Dooku had not steered him wrong, and yet just as the nearby Byrsonima crassifolia cast a long shadow over the open grass, so did Dooku’s unspoken entreaty.

But before Qui-gon could cobble together an answer, Dooku seemed to break out of his trance, chuckling slightly as he got to his feet. He extended a long arm to Qui-gon, who took it without hesitation, coming to stand at his Master’s side.

“Meditate on the answer, Qui-gon. For now, I believe it is past time for dinner.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan.”

Obi-wan Kenobi shifted in the overly-large, overly-plush velvet chair which threatened to swallow him whole. He and Qui-gon had been dispatched to Barstovia, a little-known desert mining planet in the Mid-Rim. A simple mission, really, overseeing a trade deal between Barstovia and Ord Mantell, opening up some shipping lines of the rare fermenium mineral to the Republic. A wholly forgettable mission, if Obi-wan were being honest, except for the fact the diminutive race of Barstovia seemed to prize, of all the unlikely things, oversized, over-upholstered furniture.

While Obi-wan struggled with a crimson throw pillow the size of his torso, his master, Qui-gon Jinn, sat across from him, perfectly serene in his eight-foot tall, royal blue armchair.

“Well, Master,” Obi-wan said, words strained as he punched the pillow to his side with un-Jedi-like ferocity. Of all times for Qui-gon to pull out a thought experiment.

“The prevailing wisdom would say to sacrifice one life to save five - a utilitarian outlook and the most practical, at least on the surface.” Obi-wan pushed down on the seat of his chair, trying in vain to straighten his posture, to lend his answer some form of credence beyond his words. Inevitably, Qui-gon would hold the exact opposite opinion from Obi-wan’s, and while Obi-wan had often kept his feelings to himself under the guise of “picking his battles,” he preferred to express his thoughts while at least looking the part of an almost eighteen-year-old Padawan, and not some child stuck in a chair too large for him.  He struck at the recalcitrant cushion one last time. “But as Jedi, we often prioritize a single being or beings if they hold an important role.” 

“In the short-term,” Obi-wan grimaced suddenly, pulling an impossible second pillow from under his right thigh, “we would lose four lives over one, granted. But in the long-term, that single life lost might mean the eventual deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands.”

“But you do not have this information, Padawan,” Qui-gon replied, a crease of annoyance in his brow. Obi-wan noted there was no accompanying crease in the cushion of his Master’s chair. “All you know is the number of beings.”

Obi-wan bit down on a caustic reply. Yes, I know that, Master. I hadn’t gotten to my point yet. But when did Qui-gon actually ever listen to him?

“Yes, Master, this is true,” the younger Jedi answered, Obi-wan impressed with the evenness of his own response despite his increasing irritation. “Which is why I would endeavor to save them all.”

A beat. a raised eyebrow coupled with a subtle sigh. “Quite the feat, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon finally said, his words laced with skepticism. “How would you accomplish such a thing?”

How in the world is he not drowning in that chair? Obi-wan thought, distracted by his Master’s impenetrability, despite the audacious situation. There was Qui-gon, halfway across the room, composed and neat - well, as neat as Qui-gon ever got - against the regal backdrop of the humorously-sized chair while Obi-wan floundered in a sea of crimson, just out of his Master’s reach.

And wasn’t that the perfect metaphor for their troubled partnership?

Obi-wan wiped at his brow. “It’s quite simple, Master. The hovertrain could be diverted, or at least impeded by a third party inserting themselves into the equation.”

Something in Qui-gon’s expression shifted at the statement, earlier annoyance now melting into something closer to concern. The older man leaned forward in his chair, for the first time exhibiting a pang of discomfort as he battled the voluminous material.

“And who might that be?” Qui-gon asked, batting at the tsunami of beige woven blanket at his side.

“Myself, of course.”

Dead silence met Obi-wan’s words.

Wrong answer, Kenobi. Absolutely the wrong answer. Disappointment was written all over Qui-gon’s body language, even emanating from his usually controlled Force signature. Obi-wan fell back into the chair, not bothering to fight the dunes and valleys of velvet threatening to overtake him, averting his gaze to some preposterously-sized side-table and vase. Hopefully, his failure to provide the correct response would be the end of this increasingly uncomfortable conversation. Qui-gon would assign him some reading and meditation, and let the matter rest until they returned to Coruscant.

But Qui-gon only peered at Obi-wan with a piercing stare, apparently not ready to give up on the exchange.

“You would sacrifice yourself to save the others?”

Obi-wan found himself mirroring his master’s movements.

“Isn’t that what it means to be a Jedi?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “We are servants of the Republic, of the Force - if our actions can save lives so that Republic may continue in peace - “ Obi-wan’s mouth opened and closed, trying to form the words that would express his devotion to the Order, the Code, his own sense of honor - but found himself gaping like an Ithorian cuttlefish.

Once again, Qui-gon fell into contemplation, back arching against tall, bulbous pillows, brushing his mustache with a single finger. A minute, then two went by, the only sound the clicks of a nearby chrono. Over eighteen feet tall, the clicks sounded more like the steps of a lurking gundark than a timepiece, doing nothing for Obi-wan’s nerves.

Finally, Qui-gon broke the uncomfortable semi-silence. “Don’t be so hasty to throw away your own life, Padawan. As you rightly said, the death of a monarch may cause the deaths of many others down the road. But you cannot know how many lives would remain unsaved if you were to treat your own so lightly.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows rose. That had not been the reaction he was expecting.

“But how am I to know when that sacrifice is necessary?” he asked automatically. Obi-wan would make that sacrifice gladly, although...to be perfectly honest, he would prefer not to die as a seventeen-year-old Padawan. 

“The better question is how you can work to reach a more productive option rather than coming to such a dire conclusion.” Qui-gon’s voice softened. “I am serious, Obi-wan. You have much to offer the galaxy. Don’t let your strict adherence to Jedi ideals extinguish your star too early. Not only would the Republic be at a loss, but…” Qui-gon looked away, staring down at some invisible pattern in the corner of the room. “I would, as well.”

Obi-wan’s mouth dropped open. “Master, I - “

“Ah, Master Jedi!” A new voice squeaked from the gargantuan entranceway. “Thank you so much for waiting,” proclaimed the three-foot Minister of Commerce, Parhary Hatch, bedecked in a long, flowery robe whose velvet train stretched back several feet. “Please, if you would,” he gestured towards the tall archway.

“Yes, of course, Minister Hatch,” Qui-gon replied in his diplomatic voice, jumping neatly off the chair, his landing as elegant as a Coruscanti ice skater.

Obi-wan frowned, joining his Master in a slightly less dignified, but no less effective maneuver. They had been on the verge of…something, some kind of understanding, or at least a truce. Whatever words had remained unsaid between would likely stay so, the moment gone, the trip back to Coruscant, and then to a Hutt outpost taking priority over these types of conversations.

Another time, then, Obi-wan sighed to himself, following the slinking violet trail of the Bartovian minister and his Master into the long corridors of the palace.

[green-eyed-whumpster]

My OC Universe: Rowan 76

Chapter 76 Summary: Rowan gets a nice little bath. (Taggle: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @much-ado-about-whumping, @abitefullofeverything, @whump-me-all-night-long, @sky-or-something-idfk and @tears-and-lilies)

Trigger Warnings: PTSD Whumpee

By the time the bath was full, Rowan had finished his food and drained his tea before Peter appeared with an armful of towels and a small bag of soaps and bath salts.

“If you are good to come with me,” He asked softly and Rowan nodded, sliding uncomfortably from his chair to follow Peter into the cool air of outside, where the bathtub was steaming violently at the end of the veranda. “Don’t worry, nobody will come through in this weather,” Peter soothed as he spread out a few of the towels beneath the tub for Rowan to stand on. “So you can take your time, and if you want to you can dressed out here, too, or just come through and get dressed in your room, whatever you want to do.” Rowan watched in silence as Peter fussed over the semantics of his bathing. “Thank you.” He said once the hunter seemed to have finished, and glanced at him through his eyelashes. “Listen, I know you aren’t really comfortable with me at the moment,” Peter began, looking at him softly. “But I really am glad that you’re back, and that you’re safe. I never forgave myself for letting those monsters take you away.” Rowan glanced up to him and swallowed heavily. 

He hesitantly stepped closer to Peter and held his arms out, inviting the man to move forward and envelope the boy tightly. Rowan rested his head against Peter’s torso and felt the man’s heavy arms encircling him, holding him tight against the familiar form. “I missed you, too,” He whispered into Peter’s stomach and felt the embrace squeeze gently. After a moment he pulled away and Peter smiled at him, Rowan could feel the warmth of the bath behind him and turned his head, remembering the purpose of being outside. “Oh, sorry,” Peter grinned when he realised the same thing as Rowan. “I’ll…I’ll let you get to it. Just, come inside when you’re finished.” The boy nodded softly and forced a weak smile to his lips. “Thank you,” He whispered and Peter nodded as he moved back to the door. “It’s no trouble, Rowan,” He assured. “Anything for you.” ~ A soft sigh slipped from his lips as Rowan slid into the warm, slightly too hot, water, the pain soaked into his skin, flushing his skin bright red. The bath was slightly rough, but it was big enough for Rowan to curl up in and he could rest with the water lapping at his chin. William always had a stupid step in his baths, meaning the water only came up to my chest. And I was too short to stand at the bottom. He always liked that. He liked having me stranded in the one area while he could move freely. After the temperature became bearable he reached for the soap Peter had left on the side of the bath, it smelled like oranges and lavender. He quite liked it. The sharpness of the orange didn’t make the floral scent so cloying and heavy. Rowan had always liked lavender, he would find small bushes of it in the courtyards during spring, usually beside the rosemary. William would sometimes scent his clothes with it. Rowan had watched the servants make the potpourri for the King’s wardrobe, and he had always been enamoured by the containers of dried petals and the muslin cloth. It was a strange thing to be fond of, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe it was because it reminded him of Peter, who would wrap pine needles in bandages to cover the scent of his workspace, because Rowan didn’t like the smell of the dead animals. He really did care about me. And I’ve been so ungrateful and detached. And he’s still being so kind to me. Rowan got out when he began to feel sick, the warmth that had been comforting a few minutes ago had turned clinging and poisonous. The cool air was almost comforting on his skin, and he could see the steam drifting off of his skin in wispy tendrils. As he dried off his skin the cold became more soothing and he could dress easily. The baths at the palace didn’t have a well-ventilated changing room, so a thin layer of damp remained on your skin every time you left. He hated it when he felt that sticky feeling on his back. And the rain was a very welcome ambient sound. It was so nice that Rowan stayed outside for a while, crouched on the wooden deck, watching as the grey filter dripped water down onto the edge of the structure, the smell of wet dirt and smoke from the fireplace filtering into his lungs. “Oh, you’ve finished?” Rowan’s head whipped to the doorway where Peter was standing, a steaming bucket in his hand. “I’m sorry, I thought you were still in the bath, I was just going to help warm up the water a wee bit,” He explained and Rowan shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I was just enjoying the rain,” He murmured in reply. “That’s all right. Would you like a blanket or a coat or something like that? You aren’t cold?” Peter said kindly. “No, no thank you, I’ll come inside,” Rowan whispered, pushing himself to him feet.

[readbeneaththelines]

The Bough That Broke Pt. 4

Synopsis: Jin is injured from an avoidable accident, leaving him partially paralyzed from the waist down. Reader is the nurse that is hired to take care of him once he gets back to the dorms and begins the physically and emotionally painful road to recovery. Will she have what it takes to spark determination in him to get back on the stage?

Characters: Idol!Jin x Nurse!Reader

Genre: Whump, Angst, Itty Bittyamount of crack, itty bitty amount of fluff, maybeeeeeee some smut

Warnings: a bit of crack, cocky Jin, a wee bit of angst

Word Count: 2k ish

that hair flip thoooo!!!

One you got Jin back in bed, you massaged his legs carefully. You knew that overdoing it could be just as detrimental as not doing anything at all. When you finished you sat up to ask him a question. Just as you were about to speak, his soft snores alerted you they he had fallen asleep. Getting your things together, you headed into the main room where the others were busy doing their own things.

"He's asleep. I'll let him rest, then when he wakes up, we're going to try a shower. Did you all out the shower chair in the bathroom?" 

Namjoon nodded, leading the way. You set about getting all the items needed, so when he was awake you could get straight to work. After that, paperwork had to be filled out, his medications needed to be checked, and you still had to finish getting him enrolled. So much to do, so very little time.

Over an hour later, you rose from your seat at the table, stretching already tired limbs. Jin called out from his bedroom, the others jumping to their feet.

"Hold on." You stood in front of them. "He is going to have to learn they we are not going to just jump and run. Eventually, he will have to learn how to do some things on his own. He needs to have his phone by him to text if he really needs something. Things such as sitting up, readjusting, getting his glass from the bedside table, those he can do for himself. For now, I'll go check on him." 

You made your way to guys room, cracking the door open slightly before peeking your head around the corner. "You need something?" 

Jin looked at you with an almost death glare. 

"What took you so long? I'm ready to get up." 

"Okay then. Sit yourself up first. I know you can do that much for yourself." You stood in the doorway, not giving him the satisfaction that you would be at his beck and call. The look of disgust on his face told you it was about to start. The anger and frustration. It happened every time, and you wanted to get it out of the way and nip it in the bud just as fast as it started.

"If you haven't noticed, Nurse Y/N, I'm kind of limited as to what I can do. If you aren't going to help me, I'll get one of the guys to." He crossed his arms over his chest before turning away from you.

"Yes, your very right, you're limited, but not completely uncle to do anything for yourself. That is, unless you want to stay tethered to a bed for the rest of your life. Now, either you work hard at getting better and found certain things for yourself, or you can just waste away while others get tired of always doing everything for you." 

Jin side-eyed you, the angry look all but gone from his eyes. While you waited, he finally pressed his hands on the mattress and scored himself up on the bed. With a pleased smile on your face, you entered the room at last.

" Now, using your hands, swing your legs over the side of the bed. Perfect. Now, you always need to be sure your chair is close to the bed. When we get you to the point, you roll be able to get yourself up without help." 

You came to send beside the bed, working the safety belt around his waist. As your usual routine, you helped him up and into the chair.

"Okay, now. Shower time!" The shocked intake of breath from him had you laughing. Apologizing, you explained that you promised to keep it as modest as possible. "I will still repeat your privacy as much as possible Jin, but unfortunately, you will have to get in there naked." 

The soft blush in his cheeks was endearing. He may be an idol, with millions of girls fawning all over him, but he still had his modesty. In the end, he was just as human as the next person, and deserved the same respect. Entering the bathroom, you grabbed a sheet from the back of the shower chair draping it over his shoulders. You let him pull his shirt off first, wrapping the sheet around his body. 

"Okay then. I want you to let yourself up with your arms. I'm going to reach under the sheet and slide your shorts down.” 

“You’re what? You’re going to do what with my shorts?” The utter surprise on his face, at the fact that you would be undressing him! “Can’t-can’t we get one of them to do it? Seriously?”

“Jin. I’m not going to be seeing anything. You are going to take them off the rest of the way. Next time you will no better and get them off and cover with a sheet before you get up. Right? Besides, you’re going in with the sheet around you. You can start your shower, bathe yourself, dry off, and re-wrap yourself with the sheet. I will only be here if you need something. Trust me Jin, looking at you naked in not on my bucket list.” Feigned shock etched his brow, then his smile crept up slowly until you were both smiling. 

“Ya! Fine, but you would be the envy of many of our fans. Undressing me and stuff.” 

“Kim Seokjin! Honestly, you are going to keep my hands full!” You practically threw his wash cloth and towel at him. In all seriousness, he did what he was told, holding himself up long enough for you to blind reach around and pull his shorts down to his knees. You turned your back while he finished undressing, only turning back around when he cleared his throat. You placed his clothes on the floor and helped to push him into the shower stall area. You closed the door behind you, taking a seat in front of the counter. 

Jin took an eternity to shower. It had been so long since he was able to, that he just let the hot water run over his body, working hard to release the tense muscles that had been present since the accident. Using the washcloth amd soap you had laid out for him, he scrubbed his body until his skin was red. When he got to his legs, he had to stop. Looking down, fear suddenly struck deep in his mind. He would have to bend down to get his legs, but the would be nearly impossible with the way his spine was. It was still stiff and being held together with pins and rods. Bending over was going to be a chore and it scared him. He froze at the idea of possibly falling out of the chair. He looked at the glass door, seeing your frame sitting on the floor. 

Damnit. Just his luck.

“Y/N?” he spoke over the running water. “I, umm, I need some help. Please?”

Your ears perked up at the sound of his voice. You had noticed that he was not bathing, waiting  cautiously to make sure he had not done something. When he had asked you for help, a smile grew on your face. He sounded nice, no anger in his tone this time. You stood up, going over to the door, leaning against the frame, but not opening the door.

“What’s up?”

Jin debated asking you to open the door and help him, knowing full well that you were going to see him in his most vulnerable state, naked and fully exposed. “I need so help getting my legs. I’m-I’m afraid I might fall if I bend over.”

You cracked the door open, handing him a large towel through the small opening. “Cover yourself with this first as best you can.” You waited until he said he was ready, then opened the door. You took hold of the chair, carefully pulling to you. When he was in front of the door, towel draped over his upper thighs and waist, you held out your hand. For a moment he just looked at had you, until he realized you wanted the washcloth. He handed it over, cheeks and chest a darker shade of red than the rest of his freshly scrubbed body. Keeping your eyes averted to his lower legs, you silent set about washing his legs for him. He held tightly to the arms of the chair, the sensation of something moving over them odd. Sure he had gotten some feeling back, but to feel something run over them gave him a sensation of his legs being asleep and separated from his body. 

You had finished washing his legs, holding the washcloth up for him to take back. When he didn’t, you ventured to look up at him. The myriad of emotions in his feature pulled at your heart strings. 

“Jin. What are you thinking?” You straightened yourself to be eye level with him, garnering his attention.

“Huh? Oh, nothing really. I was just thinking, I was able to feel achiness earlier, but now, they fell like I don’t have them attached to my body anymore. They have the same tingle about them. It’s just. I don’t know, it’s frustrating.”

You sat back on your heels, try to figure out how to explain the coming and going of sensations.

“Finish the shower, and when you dry off, I will help you finish and get you dressed. Then we can meet with the others and talk about what exactly you should expect. It’s going to be a long road, Jin. I’m sorry, but don’t give up hope.” You closed the door, only to open it to hand his a dry towel. When he was as dry as he could get himself, you helped him back out. Making sure his back was dry, you asked for the towel and rubbed it over his back and shoulders when he leaned forward. Until then, you hadn’t really noticed just how wide and broad his back and shoulders were. The muscle there were still strong and taut under his skin. You instructed him to lean to one side, using the towel to dry of the back of his legs and the seat of the chair. When he was finally fully dry, and fairly exhausted, you slid his boxers and lounge pants on. You pulled them up to his knees, then stood back.

“Okay, now. I am going to lift you. I want you to reach down and grab your pants, pulling the up while I help you stand.”

“Uh, are you sure? I meant, the floor is wet, and I don’t want you to fall or anything. Maybe we can get Namjoon to help?”

You took a second and looked around. THe floor was littered with wet towels and dirty clothes. You could either take him to his room and finish dressing him there, or give him a sense of security and let him ask for he help.

“You want Namjoon?” He nodded, almost shyly. 

You peeked your head from the bathroom, calling out for Namjoon. He came running down the hall, a concerned look on his face.

“Everything okay?” He panted out, eyes wide.

“Yes, clam down. Jin asked for you to help me finish dressing him. I am going to clear this floor first and then we can get started.” You set all the items outside of the door, using the sheet to wipe the floor of any water. Satisfied that the area was now safe, you explained to Namjoon and Jin how to safely lift him and turn him once you had his pants up. 

“You do realize, that if I am doing the pulling up of your pants, I am going to have to be behind you, right? Which means, I am going to have to see your, umm, backside.” 

“Y/N, my ass is as handsome as my face. You should feel honored to get to see it.” 

“Aish, Jin hyung! Let the poor woman alone.” Namjoon scolded even though he had a smirk on his face.

The three of you had a laugh, then got serious. “Really, though. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Jin told you it was fine, and when everyone was ready, NAmjoon lifted him and you quickly pulled up his boxers and pants at the same time. Namjoon then swiveled him and set him in his chair.

“That was perfect Namjoon. Now I know who to call when he wears my back out.” You smiled at them both, telling them you were just joking. “Tomorrow we will teach you how to dress yourself in bed.But for now, let go have a meeting.”

You and Namjoon let first, Jin following behind in his chair. Thankfully he had a smaller, streamlined chair to maneuver around the dorm, making it easier to avoid bumping into things. The seven of them gathered in the television room, placing Jin between the couch and loveseat. You brought a chair from the kitchen to sit in. 

“Please sit on the couch.” Jimin offered, sitting in the chair before you could refuse his offer. 

Once you wer seated you look around the room at all their faces. There was fear, hurt, worry and frustration in every face. Your plan was to have an open and honest conversation about the expectations and fears of each member, working on how you expected them to handle things as they arose when you wouldn’t be there. 

What you heard from each of them, the worry, the fears, had told you that the closeness they shared went beyond just being members of a group. It was far more. It was a brotherhood, an intimate closeness that only a few will experience in their lifetime, if one was so lucky. Their friendship, it was more than that, it was stronger than that. THey looked after each other, wanted the best for each other. You knew then, that Jin was surrounded by brothers that would stand by his side and lift him up in every way. Any success Jin had with getting back on his feet would be with the love and strength he had in his friends.

@beautifulseoulliar  @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi @holy-yoongi @trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570​ @jeontaes-world​ @mtgforall​

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@kingsuckjin @flora-jimin

[ashintheairlikesnow]

if you want an idea for a specific continuation, maybe after Antoni is done showering, he can’t fall back asleep and Chris notices it and Antoni opens up a bit about his past while Chris comforts him? I just want him to be happy okay (also, “Get Up” was fantastic)

CW: Extensive discussion of scarring/scars, negative stimming (rocking, mostly, but it’s described in detail, just an fyi), references to past torture and PTSD. Noncon touching (nonsexual and not whumpy, but still)

Post-Get Up, this is pretty much just a wee little epilogue for it. Tagging my Antoni and Chris people:  @astrobly, @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, @oofowouchies, @orphceus, @pretty-face-breaker, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @thebirdsofgay, @whumpfigure, @doveotions, @newandfiguringitout,  @endless-whump, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump

“Why... why are you here, Chrisha?” Antoni’s voice trembles a little, leftovers from the cold shower. Chris’s fingers press over his skin, trail his neck to push into his pulse point and feel at the lymph nodes there. Every touch is too warm, burns him all over again, but he can’t move to push him away. He can barely breathe to speak.

Chris doesn’t answer him at first. He’s kneeling on the tile floor, water soaked through the knees of his jeans and half-drowning in one of Jake’s old t-shirts, rocking forward and back, his eyes narrowed and intensely focused in a way that Chris never is. The blue feather necklace he always has around his neck swings forward and bumps back into his chest with the force of his rocking, and Antoni’s eyes keep drifting there, caught by the rhythmic motion, feeling like he’s being hypnotized.

He feels a strange little urge to swipe his hand out, like a cat batting at a swinging mouse.

“F-for, for, for-for you, here for you,” Chris mumbles, in a voice Antoni has never heard him use. It’s flat and strange, like he’s speaking from a thousand miles inside his mind. The fingers run down over exposed collarbone, trail a tiny line of scars there, mark each one.

He’s lost in the change of texture, maybe, or maybe it’s just that pushing down how he wants to respond to this evidence of Antoni’s evil, his sin, is taking too much out of him and there isn’t enough left to show on the outside. 

“Chrisha-”

Chris just shakes his head, rocks a little harder. It’s in moments like this where Antoni can see the worry that Jake and Nat still have over him, these minutes ticking by where Chris is gone somewhere inside himself, buried in the stimuli that comes from pressing his fingers slowly over the way Antoni’s skin is slippery-wet here, and roughened there, again and again and again. Antoni has seen this only once or twice before - Chris just barely dancing around or avoiding panic by retreating into his own head, desperately chasing the safety there.

“Please-... please stop,” Antoni whispers. Chris doesn’t even seem to hear him.

It’s Antoni’s fault, really. 

He had stayed curled up in the bottom of the tub letting the water run over him in icy rivulets and streams for as long as he could stand it, until the shakes were too much for him and he’d only barely managed, with numb, fumbling fingers, to turn the water off. 

He hadn’t gotten out of the tub so much as he’d just draped himself over the side until gravity did the work for him and let him land with his body on the bathmat and his legs and head against cool tile, water dripping from his hair to pool and puddle beneath his cheek.

He looked like the chalk outline of a body at the beginning of a crime show. He felt a little more than halfway there, too. 

Chris had waited as patiently as he could but worry had overrun his deep respect for privacy and he had found Antoni like that, still naked and shuddering, and now... this.

Chris’s lips are moving without sound, and Antoni stares at them, breathing slowly and with effort, until he realizes that he is watching Chris count his scars. His mouth moves each time his finger presses against a roughened circle of skin.

“More than two hundred,” Antoni says, softly. It’s the strongest his voice has felt since he fell asleep.

“Wh-what?” Chris doesn’t look up, and the rocking pauses, briefly, but then starts up again. What matters, though, is that he pulls his hand back and away, and Antoni can breathe more easily at the lack of touch than he could at the trailing, skimming, light-fingered consideration of every mark he earned.

“I have... more than two hundred... of those. I had Dr. Masood count them when I first... came to live at Natalie’s house. Chrisha, I need you to help me up. I c-can’t... can’t stand.”

“All from him?” Chris asks it quickly, in a single breath. 

There is always a him, a her, a them.

“All,” Antoni says, as firmly as he can in a voice that still shakes. “Pl-please, Chrisha. I need you to come back to me, for a minute.”

Chris’s eyes flicker to his and they’re still gone, for a moment, before the fog in them recedes enough for him to nod and press his lips together. The rocking stills and he pushes himself back into  crouch, sliding his arms under Antoni’s.

Antoni hisses at the sudden burn of the warmth of him against skin that still feels like ice.

“W-why, why, why why why, why don’t you, why, why don’t I-”

“Know about them?” Antoni leans heavily on Chris, all but falls against him, and his attempts to walk are really just Chris dragging him across the floor with his feet only barely managing to occasionally move in time. 

“Um. Yes, I want-... why don’t you-... why don’t we, we know? Does Jake know?”

“No. No one knows.” Antoni’s forehead falls against the side of Chris’s neck and soft blue hair brushes him. He smiles, faintly. “Just you now, I guess.”

“So, so why-”

“Some scars are mine to keep.” He lets himself be put into bed, only vaguely aware he’s not in his own, but in Chris’s bed, in the bedroom they keep here for him where he sleeps on weekends when he’s not staying in his dorm or with Laken. “To make my body my own, I have to keep my scars my own. Do you understand?”

Some scars were mine to earn, they don’t belong to anyone but me. I am the one who made him put them there.

“No,” Chris says, covering Antoni up in his blankets, and the weighted one on top feels like a hand softly pressing Antoni into the mattress. A hand, or a body. His breath comes a little more easily, blinking slowly. “I don’t. They, they, they-they don’t... don’t-don’t give us scars, that’s-”

“They still give you scars.” Antoni grins, a faded shadow of a smile, and reaches up to press into the center of Chris’s forehead. “Yours are in here, Chrisha, and they are just a real. Mine are more visible, that is all. I am sorry I scared you. I haven’t felt well, I did not realize I was so sick so quickly...”

He hadn’t known he was dreaming, it had been so perfectly vivid. Hadn’t he heard once that you can’t smell in your dreams? But he had smelled the cloves, overwhelming, almost sweet. He hadn’t realized any of it was a dream.

“I’ll... I‘ll get you some medicine.” Chris all but vanishes out of the room - Antoni blinks and the blue-haired boy is gone when his eyes open again. He lays there, blinks again - and Chris is back, staring worriedly at him, fingers twisting at the feather he wears around his neck with one hand holding a small cup with a thick syrupy liquid in the other. 

“Did I... fall asleep?”

“I, I think so. I’m sorry, I-I poured out the liquid before I remembered you, you, you can take, um, pills.”

“That is just fine.” Antoni tried giving him a supportive smile, even if it wavered, and drank the disgusting sticky grape-y mess down in one gulp, like taking a shot of the world’s worst vodka. “Chrisha please-... do me a favor? Yes? I need... hot water and the raspberry jam I keep in the fridge. Mix together, to make a tea.”

“Um. Why?”

“I don’t know.” Antoni lays back against the pillow, closing his eyes again. “I just know it will help.” There’s a silence, and when he looks, Chris is rocking again, eyes focused on the curve of Antoni’s shoulder showing above the blankets, a tiny circle of scars there. “Chrisha.”

“Yes?” Chris blinks, broken out of his impending fog once more. “Oh, s-sorry, I’ll, I’ll get the, uh, the tea and-and, and, and the water... the water-tea...”

“Please.” He hesitates. “Would you... want to know about my him, Chris?”

Chris swallows, and slowly nods. “You, you, you-you know about mine. But, but, but-but you don’t have to-”

“You cannot understand my scars unless you understand why I hide them.” Antoni smiles, a little weakly. He can feel the warmth of the blankets around him but somehow they don’t seem to penetrate the first layers of skin, he is still cold, shivering. “The tea can wait. Come... come here, please.” 

He holds out a hand and Chris climbs immediately into the bed with him, laying on top and to the side with his arm across Antoni’s chest, tucking his head under his chin the way he does with Jake. He smells like the shampoo he uses at the dorms and a whisper of a different kind of scent Antoni thinks must be the gingery stuff Laken wears on their neck and wrists. Chris has smelled like that before.

But why is he here, smelling like Laken and still alone?

The answer can wait.

Instead, Antoni tightens his arm around Chris, letting fingers run lightly through the blue hair as though watching a waterfall part around them, and says softly, “My him had a first name, but I was not allowed to use it.”

[readbeneaththelines]

The Bough That Broke Pt. 5

Synopsis: Jin is injured from an avoidable accident, leaving him partially paralyzed from the waist down. Reader is the nurse that is hired to take care of him once he gets back to the dorms and begins the physically and emotionally painful road to recovery. Will she have what it takes to spark determination in him to get back on the stage?

Characters: Idol!Jin x Nurse!Reader

Genre: Whump, Angst, Itty Bitty amount of crack, itty bitty amount of fluff, maybeeeeeee some smut

Warnings: a bit of crack, cocky Jin, a wee bit of awkwardness

Word Count: 956-  this is a filler chapter mainly

adorable kisses!!!

You finished the meeting with a plan. You wrote out everything they had told you, what Jin expect rationally from his first week back home. Putting everything in his chart, you set it aside, then looked at them.

“I guess today has been a success. We need to each work one on one with Jin, seeing what each of you is comfortable with doing to help him when Jack or I aren’t here.”

Jin cleared his throat, getting your attention. He looked at you sheepishly, motioning with his head for you to come closer. You scooted to sit beside him, leaning in to get close to him.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” he whispered in your ear. You nodded then put your lips next to his ear. “Who do you want to help you?”

“Either Jungkook or Namjoon, I guess. They are the strongest and tallest of all of them.”

You pulled Namjoon and Jungkook aside. “He needs some help in the bathroom, can one of you help us? I’m sure he doesn’t want me in there for that.” You gave a weak smile and shrugged your shoulders. Namjoon spoke up first. 

“I’ll help him. I think being his leader, I need to set the example first that we will all be able to help in some way.”

You, Namjoon and Jin headed for the bathroom. Once inside the small space, you placed the braces on Jin’s legs that would aid in helping him stand while being held up. You explained how to help him get his pants down and get him seated. You stepped outside, waiting for Namjoon to come back out. A few minutes later, Namjoon joined you outside the door.

“I must say, I don’t know who this is going to be more awkward for, him or us.”

“It will get easier, and hopefully at some point, he will find a way to do it himself, until he is back on his feet.” you patted Namjoon’s shoulder, walking down the hallway a short distance, but still within earshot. Just as you were about to go back and knock on the door, Jin called out. Namjoon went back in and shortly they both reappeared. Jin’s cheeks were a soft pink and namjoon only chuckled.

“That was interesting.” Was all Jin could say when you looked at the both of them in curiosity. 

You helped Jimin and Taehyung fix lunch, setting the table for everyone. You all sat down to eat, talk about the group’s next ventures. Jin appeared forlorn, and you asked him what he was thinking.

“It’s just, I don;t know. Hearing about them doing things that I can’t do, it hurts. You know. I want to be there with them, in the studio, doing choreo. But I can’t, I’m stuck in this damn dorm.”

“Who said you were stuck in here? Yeah, you can’t just jump up and go, yet. But we have ways of getting you places if you want to go. You want to record? Let’s take you there. No one said you had to completely stop everything. You just need to do things in moderation, do it at your pace. You want to go to the choreography studio? We can go watch them. Hell I would love to see what you all can do. It’s up to you Jin, whatever you feel up to, you can do it.”

A smile beamed across Jin’s face. He had always thought that he would have to be confined in his current state. But to hear you say that he had some say so over what he can and can’t do, lifted his spirits for the first time since the accident.

“So how can we get there?” he asked.

“I have access to a specially equipped van that can accommodate your wheelchair. All I have to do is sign up for it and it will be ours for the day. So what do you say? Field trip tomorrow if your feeling up to it?” And enthusiastic nod had his head looking like a bobble-head doll. Laughter filled the space and each of them felt the happiness in the air. You made a few phone calls, setting up the van reservation for tomorrow. Yoongi and Hoseok made calls to BigHit, alerting them to Jin coming tomorrow. They wanted as much normalcy yet privacy for when everyone arrived. You had everything settled, and peering at your watch, you realized that you day was already over. Twelve hours flew by when you kept busy. You told them that they were on their on, but to call you if they needed you for anything.

“”I will be here at six a.m. in the morning. 

We will work on getting up and getting dressed by yourself. Jack will be here by seven to do therapy, then we will head  out after that, okay?”

They nodded in agreement, Jimin walking you to the door. Just before the door shut, Jimin popped his head out to talk to you. “Thank you, for everything you are doing and are going to do. I don’t know how we would manage without your help.” Without warning, He pulled you into a quick hug, releasing you just as quickly as he hugged you. 

“I’ll see you all in the morning/ Try to get some sleep tonight. I will set up a group text when  get home so you all can get in touch with if needed. Goodnight Jimin.” You turned and left, a heavy sigh escaping your lungs. You had to admit you were a bit worried that Jin would try to overdo it, but you both had to find his limit to see where he needed help and encouragement.

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