#afraid of hurting the healer/medic any more than they’re already hurting

[letitbehurt]

When the healer or medic of the team is injured in a way that prevents them from doing what they’re good at, so they have to direct another team member to treat their wounds properly.

[triptuckers]

Come back to me - Jesper Fahey

Request: yes! "Hi, how are you? Would it be okay for me request a Jesper fic? Maybe something where the reader and Jesper are together and she is also part of the Crows. Since she has a set of skills quite similar to Inej, the two of you are usually paired up during crows missions. On this particular mission you are also paired up with Inej while the others are off somehwhere doing their part of the mission. But then when the two of you don’t appear at the rendezvous point on the agreed upon time Jesper grows extremely worried that something might’ve happened. What completly takes him over the edge is when a wounded Inej appears stating that something happened that resulted in you getting separated from each other and that she was hoping that maybe you arrived already and that’s she doesn’t know what state you might be in." Pairing: Jesper Fahey x reader Summary: When you don't show up at the rendezvous point in time, Jesper starts to worry about you, especially when Inej - your partner for the job - shows up without you Warnings:  angst, mentions of blood, death, vomiting, bruises, language Word count: 3.1K A/N: you ask for angst? I shall write angst TAG LIST (Jesper Fahey): @mufnasa @mmvi-cdxx @brick-by-brick553@treasureofmy-heart TAG LIST (grishaverse): @ayushmitadutta @mrs-brekker15 @dancingwith-sunflowers @thegirlwiththeimpala @parker-natasha @story-scribbler@romanoffstarkovs @daliareads @meiitanoia @itsnotquimey @sanktaesperanza@whymyparentscheckmyphone @aleksanderwh0r3 @ilovemarvelanne1@marlenaisnthappy @brekker-zenik @just-deka @graceknxwlson @the-very-tired-mess @sassybadqueen

There's an anxious feeling in the air. Everyone's feeling it, too nervous to talk. But no one is as nervous or anxious as Jesper.

All of them are waiting at the rendezvous point. All of them, except for you and Inej. Kaz had told them to meet at midnight sharp, and almost everyone was on time. Even Jesper was, which is rare.

He'd expected you to wait there for him, to wave happily at him. You were always smiling a lot when a job went well. He was ready to greet you and pull you in a tight hug, but when he arrived with Nina, only Kaz, Matthias and Wylan had returned.

Jesper figured you'd be there, but he'd just have to wait a little longer. There was still time until midnight. But as the minutes grow, and there's no sign of you or Inej, Jesper is getting more nervous.

After a while, he can't take it anymore, and starts to pace around. He's fidgeting with his fingers or twisting his guns in the air. Anything to help him stay focused.

'Jesper, stop being so twitchy.' snaps Kaz. 'You're making everyone nervous.'

'They should have been back fifteen minutes ago.' says Jesper, matching Kaz' irritated tone. 'We all know Y/N and Inej are always on time.'

'Then worry in silence.' says Kaz.

'How the fuck can you say that?' says Jesper, getting frustrated no one seems to be as stressed as he is. 'Did you not hear me? They are always on time.'

'Well maybe-'

Kaz' voice is cut off by a sharp gasp from Nina. Jesper whirls around to see what Nina's looking at. In the distance, they see someone emerge from the shadows.

Whoever it is, they appear to be hurt. They're pressing a hand to their side and leaning heavily to one side as they walk.

Jesper's heart begins to race. He senses everyone around him tenses up as well. His hand is on one of his guns in case it's a trap.

Then the figure emerges from the dark and they see it's Inej.

While he should be glad to see Inej is alive, this makes Jesper even more worried.

Inej showing up, alone. And hurt. What did that have to say about your state? And where are you?

Jesper stands rooted to the spot, but Nina rushes over to Inej. She helps her to walk the last bit to the others. Nina starts to go over Inej' injuries, but Inej only looks at Jesper.

'We got separated.' she says, looking utterly miserable. 'There were guards we didn't expect and we would have a bigger chance of getting away if we split up. We were supposed to meet up again, but I never saw Y/N. I would have waited longer, but I need a healer or a medic.'

Jesper forces a nod at Inej. 'At least you're safe.' he says before peering in the distance, looking for you. He can't be mad that Inej made it back and you didn't. It's not Inej' fault.

'I don't know where she is or if she's okay.' says Inej, voice breaking as she speaks. 'I'm so sorry Jesper.'

'Don't be.' says Jesper, voice tense with anxiety. 'It's not your fault.'

Kaz steps in front of Inej, looking at her bloodied side.

'Matthias, Wylan, get Inej back to the Slat. Find a healer or a medic. And fast.' says Kaz.

None of them move.

'I could heal her here.' offers Nina. 'Then we can all stay.'

Jesper knows they're al worried about you. They want you to come back. Everyone always comes back. So you have to come back as well.

'It's too risky.' says Kaz. 'I need you here in case we find Y/N and you can still heal her.'

'Don't say that.' mumbles Jesper.

'Don't say what?' says Kaz.

'In case we find her.' says Jesper, repeating Kaz' words. 'We'll find her. We're going to find her.'

'Then we have to get moving.' says Nina. 'And fast.'

After Inej tells them where she last saw you, Matthias and Wylan take her back to the Slat, leaving the others behind.

'We have to split up.' says Kaz. 'We haven't been made yet, but no doubt they're going to send more guards. So be quiet, but fast. Find a way to signal the others if- when we find her.'

Without waiting another second, Jesper takes off.

He walks through the dark, listening for any sound. His heart hammers in this chest, and he's afraid someone can hear it. He's not sure if he even wants to find you. The thought of finding you heavily injured - or worse - is almost unbearable.

Right before you and Inej said goodbye to the others, you'd winked at him. Told him that you'd buy the first round of drinks that night. He'd laughed and said he would buy the first round, insisted on being a gentleman for you.

He'd never even considered you might not make it back.

Jesper manoeuvres through the dark, a hand on his gun in case he ran into trouble.

He's listening for any sound of you, or a signal of Kaz or Nina. Then he thinks of Inej, who got hurt. She didn't say how she got hurt or who was responsible. He should have asked her when he had the chance.

His eyes notice something on the ground, glistering in the moonlight.

Jesper crouches down to take a closer look at it. He thought it was water at first, but one look at the dark liquid and he notices it is blood.

Fuck.

Could it belong to Inej? Or one of her attackers? And if it wasn't one of those, did it belong to you? Was this why you didn't show up at the rendezvous point?

Jesper looks further ahead and sees more drops of blood. Occasionally there's more, indicating whoever it was that was bleeding had stopped, then continued to walk.

With newfound hope, Jesper follow the trail.

He might not like what he'll find, but if it was you, he could help. He didn't know a lot about healing and treating injuries, but he could help stop the bleeding. He'd signal for Kaz or Nina, and Nina would be able to heal you.

His pace quickens and he doesn't care how much sound he makes or who might hear him. If that blood was yours, he had to find you. And he had to find you fast.

Jesper walks around a corner and spots a figure in the distance.

They're walking slowly, occasionally stopping to lean against the wall. Then they push themselves up to keep on walking.

Jesper slowly inches closer, a hand on his gun. Then the person in the distance walks through a stream of light of a street light, and he recognises the hair colour.

'Oh, fuck.' he murmurs. Then he takes off in a run.

When he's right behind you, you turn around, knife in your hand. But Jesper can tell you don't have enough strength left in your body to fight off someone.

Jesper's eyes widen when he sees your blood soaked clothes.

'No.' he says. 'Oh fuck, fuck, no.'

It seems like his voice brings you back to reality.

'Jes?' you say in a hoarse voice. 'What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the rendezvous point.'

'Oh, saints, Y/N, this is bad.' he mumbles.

'I think you need to buy the first round.' you manage to choke out. And then you collapse in his arms.

'No!' says Jesper, louder than he meant to. But he doesn't care who might hear him right now. He's still got his guns and his quick shooting skills.

Jesper pulls you in his lap, pressing a hand to your bleeding side.

'Sorry.' you say softly.

'What on earth do you have to apologise for?' mumbles Jesper as he focuses on your injuries.

'M bleeding all over your coat. I know it's your favourite.' you say, pouting slightly.

'I'll get a new one.' says Jesper. 'Save your strength. What happened?'

'Inej and I got jumped. We ran. Inej got stabbed. Then I got stabbed. And I got shot. I also got punched in the face so I'll be less pretty with a huge bruise on my face.' you say softly, feeling your eyes grow heavier.

Jesper seems to notice and gently pats your cheek.

'Stay awake for me, love.' he says, his voice slightly trembling. 'Still need to buy you that drink.'

'Hmm.' you hum, briefly closing your eyes. 'Did Inej make it back?'

'Yes, Wylan and Matthias took her back to the Slat, she'll be okay. Like you.' says Jesper. 'Help is on the way.

You reach out and grab one of Jesper's hands. You smile weakly and Jesper shakes his head.

'No, no, don't you dare.' he says, tears forming in his eyes. 'Don't you fucking dare say goodbye, Y/N. This is not goodbye.'

'Just in case.' you say softly. 'In case I don't make it.'

'Don't say that!' says Jesper, getting frustrated with you. 'You're not dying on me now, Y/N, just hold on a little longer.'

'M trying.' you say. 'It hurts.'

'I know it does, love, just stay awake for me. At least long enough until Nina comes.' says Jesper.

'You know I love you, right?' you say softly, voice barely louder than a whisper.

'Don't say goodbye.' says Jesper. 'Don't go.'

'Say it back.' you say.

Jesper shakes his head. 'I'll tell you when you're okay, when Nina's taking care of you.' he says.

'Jesper, please.' you say, almost begging him. 'Say it back.'

'When you're okay.' says Jesper, tears now falling down his cheeks.

You squeeze his hand with as much strength as you can gather, silently asking him again.

'I love you.' he says softly. 'I always have and I always will.'

You smile weakly and feel your eyes become heavier. 'Good to know.' you whisper.

And then you close your eyes.

Jesper's eyes widen. 'No.' he says, softly shaking you. 'No, no, fuck!'

His fingers quickly search for a pulse, but in his panicked state he can barely concentrate.

'No, no, no.' he keeps mumbling.

He looks up, desperate to see Nina or Kaz. But there's no one. No one but you laying in his arms, closed eyes and a shirt soaked with blood.

'Nina!' he yells. He doesn't care who can hear him. Friend or foe, he needs someone.

'Nina!' Jesper yells again. 'Nina! Over here! I found her! Nina!'

He keeps yelling until his voice is hoarse and his throat sore. He keeps on yelling and yelling until finally, someone runs toward him in the distance.

'Nina.' he says weakly. 'I- uh- I found her.'

Nina immediately flexes her fingers and starts to work on your injuries. Jesper wants to ask her if you're going to be okay, but he's afraid of the answer.

While Nina words on healing you, Kaz finds you as well. His expression is blank as he looks at your limp body in Jesper's arms. He tries not to show it, but he's terrified as well.

Finally, Nina turns to Jesper.

'I did the best I could.' she says softly. 'We have to take her back to the Slat, find a proper healer. She might still have a chance.'

'Okay.' says Jesper, suddenly feeling numb, as if he no longer has any emotion in his body.

'Can you carry her back to the Slat?' asks Nina.

Jesper nods, rising to his feet while clutching your body to his chest.

He walks back to the Slat as fast as he can, followed by Nina and Kaz. He's trying not to look down at your face, or think too much about you.

Instead, he forces himself to focus on Nina's words.

She might still have a chance.

It was going to be okay. They'd find a Grisha healer who could help you. Who could heal you where Nina couldn't. You were going to be okay.

Back at the Slat, it looks like Inej only had minor injuries. She's sitting in a chair, fresh bandages peeking out underneath her shirt. She jumps to her feet when she sees you in Jesper's arms, and winces at the sudden movement.

Jesper doesn't say anything, merely spares her a glance as he starts to walk up the stairs to your shared room.

He pushes open the door and gently places you on the bed.

Jesper sinks into a chair next to the bed and allows his tears to flow freely. You don't look like yourself. Your face is pale, your shirt still soaked with blood. You looked like a stranger to him. He doesn't want this to be his last memory of you.

He has no sense of time, and when Nina bursts through the door, he doesn't know how long it has been. She's closely followed by a boy Jesper doesn't know.

Nina quickly introduces him as a Grisha healer, and the boy gets to work.

Nina watches Jesper, who is watching you.

'Jes?' she says softly. 'Are you okay?'

Jesper shakes his head. 'I'm going to throw up.' he says, and then he rushes to the bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet. Nina rubs his back as he throws up.

He stays there, unable to look at you any longer and afraid he might throw up again. He's trembling all over and no matter how hard he tries it, he can't seem to make it stop. Nina stands between the door of the bathroom and the bed, watching both you and Jesper.

Finally, Jesper hears the healer speak up.

'That's it.' he says. 'I've healed her, she should wake up in a few days. Don't wake her, just wait for her to wake up on her own.' he says.

Jesper hears how the healer leaves, and Nina is back by his side.

'Jesper?' she says.

He looks over his shoulder at her, and is met by her smile but also her tear stained cheeks. Of course. You're their friend too.

'I'll change her shirt, okay? Maybe you can come back after that? Sit with her?' she says.

Jesper nods and pushes himself to his feet. 'There's clean shirts in the closet.' he says softly. 'Just grab one, doesn't matter if it belongs to me or her.'

He waits for a few minutes before entering the room again. Nina's changed your shirt and got rid of the bloodied shirt. Your hair is still messy and there's indeed a nasty bruise forming on your face.

But most of your wounds are covered in bandages. Jesper holds back new tears as he approaches you.

He slowly sits down in the chair and takes your hand in his. He's surprised by how warm it still is. He hopes that's a good sign.

'Y/N, love?' he says softly. 'Look, I don't know if you can hear me, but I need you to wake up, okay? Just come back to me. I still have to buy that first round of drinks. And I still need to take you to Novyi Zem to dad's farm. You still have to meet him.'

He reaches out to brush some of your hair out of your face.

'Come back to me, sweetheart. I need you. I can't do this without you.' says Jesper softly.

He sits with you for a while, just looking at you and holding your hand. Occasionally, someone comes in to check on you or Jesper. Eventually, sleep takes over.

Jesper wakes to the feeling of something on his cheek.

When he opens his eyes, he sees it's your hand. Your eyes are open and you're softly talking to someone who is standing behind him. When you notice he's awake, you offer a weak smile.

'Hey you.' you say softly.

At the sound of your voice, new tears roll down his cheek.

'Oh, saints.' he says, lifting his head and grabbing your hand with both of his, pressing kisses to your bruised knuckles. 'Fuck, I thought you weren't going to wake up.' he says.

'Can't get rid of me that easily.' you say. You look at the person standing behind Jesper. 'Thanks for the tea, Inej.' you say.

Jesper hears the door closing behind him. Though the didn't hear any footsteps, he knows Inej left the room.

You look at him again.

'Don't you ever fucking do that again, you hear me?' he says firmly. 'Never. Saints, that was awful.'

'Sorry.' you say. 'Your eyes are red.'

'Yeah, no shit. I thought you died in my arms. I threw up a lot.' he says.

'I thought I died in your arms.' you say. 'Next thing I know I wake up with Inej watching me so intensely I thought she was going to stare right through me.'

Jesper chuckles and pulls his chair closer to you.

'I'm serious, though.' he says. 'Don't do that again.'

'I won't.' you say. 'I asked Kaz to put me on some of the low risk jobs for a while. Just until I feel like I'm ready to handle more.'

'Smart.' says Jesper.

'I'm sorry, really.' you say. 'That you had to go through that. I can't imagine what if felt like.'

Jesper raises his eyebrows. 'You almost died and you're the one apologising to me?' he says.

'For almost dying in your arms, yes.' you correct him.

'Don't apologise.' says Jesper. 'Just tell me whoever did this so I can put a bullet in their head.'

This time, you raise your eyebrows. 'You think I let them get away?' you say.

'Well, I don't know. Maybe?' says Jesper. 'You could barely walk when I found you.'

'I did let them get away.' you say. 'But with at least three knives in their chest. There's a good change I hit a lung or some other vital organ.'

Jesper grins. 'That's my girl.' he says.

You smile at him. 'Now come here.' you say. 'As long as you don't lay your entire body weight on top of me, you can lay next to me.'

You carefully scoot over and make some room for him. Jesper climbs into the bed next to you and you rest your head on his chest.

'Thank you.' you say.

'For what?' says Jesper.

'Staying with me.' you say.

'Always.' says Jesper, and you feel how he kisses your forehead before you fall asleep.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[newswcanonprompts]

Slave Chips + Anakin Angst time

(who tf had this convo? whoever it was, all your body parts are going on the wall. kneecaps = TAKEN for making me fuckin cry)

The conversation started w/ a Anakin has chronic pain because of a very Loud force presence + all the fun stuff that comes from a childhood in slavery and formative years spent as a general in a war, and then talking about high vs low pain perception

And then Yui hops in with this:

what if Slave masters have technology in the slave chips where they can control their slaves pain perception--Low perception for when they work and high for when they get punished.

The jedi didn't know about it, Qui-gon forgot to mention the chip to the Council

and Watto " forgot " to turn it the high pain perception off as a way of getting back at the Jedi for “stealing” his investment

Oh my God what if anakin thinks they know and choose not to turn it off

WHAT IF HE THINKS THAT THEY'RE PUNISHING HIM FOR QUI-GON BEING QUI GON AND FOR THEM BEING FORCED TO TAKE HIM IN SO OLD

AND THAT FEEDS HIS BITTERNESS OF THEM

AND ALSO STOMPS HIS SELF ESTEEM

Because the pain NEVER stops.

So Anakin never says anything

It makes him think that he definitely cannot tell them about any injuries he has unless they make him unfit to work

And Obi-Wan constantly lectures him too and like he's already being punished he doesn't need to be verbally beaten down too

(note that it’s from Anakin perspective, the unreliable narrator of the year--Obi-wan actually has no idea about the chip)

And when he lashes out because it just HURTS and he can't contain it anymore, he’s berated AGAIN

Also, if the pain perception is controlled, that means the slave chip is still there, which makes the thought process he has about being punished for being taken so old even worse

And then, what if Kix one day finds a chip in Anakin's nervous system, he removes it, and Anakin begins crying with relief

And Kix goes "Sir Why WAS THIS TORTURE DEVICE IN YOU?"

He gets injured enough for emergency surgery and Kix finds the chip that way, meanwhile, Anakin can't have anesthesia for medical reasons, so he's dealing with the surgery awake and feels the moment the chip is detached.

WHAT IF ANAKIN IS FAKE NONCHALANT ABOUT IT BECAUSE ANGST

"Ah? Oh they didn't tell you? I thought it'd be in the brief. That's my slave chip. It's supposed to be there. It means they own me." And kix...kix is aghast.

the Jedi are all crying in a corner at the fact they let a CHILD be tortured for YEARS

Because Anakin admitted to a slave chip. Of being owned. And he calls obi-wan Master

Obi-Wan is absolutely devastated because he tortured the child who he was responsible for and he never wanted to do that and oh force, he's a monster (it’s obi wan so like. infinite sadness to the max)

The clones basically become Anakin's mother hens

WHAT IF THIS IS HOW THEY FIND THE CLONE CHIPS TOO

BC KIX GOES "IF THEIR JETII HAS A CHIP...ONE OF THEIR OWN... WHAT ABOUT US CLONES?"

Also the fact so if this is during the Clone Wars: they've sent Anakin in as a soldier without him even knowing he had a right to not fight

The Council decides immediately to take Anakin off the front and get to seeing a mind healer, before collectively drinking an entire bar under the table

Oh God did anyone ever explain to anakin. In depth. That just because they are called "Master" does not mean they own him?

AS A SLAVE, HE WAS ALLOWED HIS THOUGHTS AND EMOTIONS. HIS MASTERS BEFORE DID NOT OWN HIS MIND. BUT THAT'S NOT THE CASE WITH THE JEDI, IN HIS PERSPECTIVE

(again, Anakin’s perspective, the Jedi didn’t actually know. This somehow becomes an eventual fix it lol.)

Like LOGICALLY Anakin knows that Master to them means teacher but he thinks it doesn't apply to him because they won him and he is still a slave

What if that's the reason he kept his marriage to Padme a secret, not because he was afraid of being kicked out of the Order, but because he would be punished for loving a free person?

YEAH BC SLAVES DON'T GET MARRIED AND PADME WAS NOT ONLY A FREEBORN, BUT SHE IS ALSO, IN HIS EYES, SO FAR ABOVE HIS STATION ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY

Oh, with the removal of the chip and the pain, Anakin gets high from the huge levels of pain-relieving chemicals his body has been producing for years to compensate.

Anakin living in constant fear of punishments, and that's why he always seems so high strung and on a hair trigger

Like!! This whole thing is a web of miscommunication and assumptions

Anakin assumes that the Jedi and whatever know about the chip and chose to keep it in.

He assumes he is still a slave if not in name, then in status

He assumes the council is constantly punishing him for Qui-Gon essentially forcing them to take him in and for his failure to adhere to their code.

He assumes Obi-Wan feels the same, or perhaps he cannot risk going against the council bc they're his elders and he still loves Obi-Wan, bc he sees that Obi-Wan does care for him

(but not enough to free you, a voice whispers in his head that grows louder every day)

Him talking about things with Palpy, thinking the man would be nice enough to free him...

the entire temple is just full of people drinking and crying over Anakin and Anakin himself is currently the most functional person around, trying to convince everyone it wasn't that bad

He doesn't realize that that makes it so much worse. He's all "Really, compared to my other masters. And to masters I could have gone to... you all were kind. I was lucky."

And they despair.

Because how could they still be given that earnest smile, of beautiful blue eyes, shining still with trust and love, when they tormented him, albeit unknowingly, for over a decade?

Anakin is just very relieved to be pain free, and that they didn't know so it wasn't on purpose.

Anakin: You all treated me so well! I had food and water every day, shelter and good quality clothing. You never beat me and my punishments, while sometimes painful, were done with no tricks without cruelty.

“You’re the best masters I’ve had.”

Mace, upon being told this by a very earnest and 100% honest Anakin, knowing full well how he made life difficult for Anakin and didn't like him much, cleared a whole bar of alcohol on his own

While the Jedi are crying, the 501st is willing to go on a murder spree. The Hutts are DEAD.

Everyone say bye bye Gardulla and Jabba

Anakin is just happy and relieved.

Yes there will be talking. He will have to establish boundaries, the order will need to regain its footing.

But Anakin is free, and he has so much love to give.

And now he knows that they never meant for him to suffer.

And maybe he's still high on being free of pain, but now he knows they genuinely cared for him and none of their kindness was because they wanted him to perform well. They were genuine.

Obi-Wan at one point just breaking down and holding Anakin to his chest and sobbing because how did he fail him so badly

meanwhile Anakin's just like "Master, it's fine, I'm fine. Hey crying wastes water, if you're going to cry over something it's gotta be something more major than this. I mean everything's fine, everything's better than fine now, I'm free."

Anakin not quite processing why everything he says makes Obi-Wan cry harder.

Quinlan must be very glad that he never tried to touch Anakin directly.

Anakin's self-flagellation issues are through the ROOF

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 25

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader   CW: Language, implied sexual content, angst 

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 25: Theories of Emotions

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

April 30th, 1976

“HAHAHA!” Y/N let out a scream of mirth. She laughed so hard that her knees buckled, meeting the soft grass beneath and wand slipped from her grasp. Her eyes swam with heavy tears, gasping for air as she rocked back and forth, clutching her ribs. Nonplussed and unamused, Regulus gawked at her.

“You wart. You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

It was a passing joke, that she would teach Regulus how to swim but he took it a little too literally. Now, swimming — or attempting to swim in the shallow area of the black lake, wearing bright yellow floaties to keep him afloat, Regulus kept making large splashes; his arms failed around, legs unsynchronized as he kicked to propel his body.

“When you said your swimming skills were horrific, I thought you were being humble!”

Regulus’s face turned a dark pink, but he wore a sheepish grin. He doggy paddled his way out of the lake, which made her laugh even harder and waddled on land. Y/N got up, threw him a towel and ruffled his hair.

Regulus had been looking a little more lively lately, and Y/N was just happy that he seemed to be doing better.

“We can work with this!”

Regulus tossed her a dirty look, “Promise me you’ll never become a professor.”

“Whatever you say, Reggie —” “Hey!”

Once dry, they walked back to the castle and broke off into separate directions. Y/N promised to meet Remus a little earlier than usual at the library, but before then, she stepped into McGonagall’s office and sat in the chair opposite to her. Career meetings have been going on and her scheduled meeting had been weighing her down.

“Hello, Ms. L/N. Biscuit?” McGonagall gestured to the metal tin in front of her.

“No, it’s okay.” “Don’t be absurd.” Y/N was too afraid to reject again, so she took one.

“So, how are you feeling about the upcoming exams?”

“Nervous. Anxious.”

“I can imagine. You did struggle with the change of curriculum at the beginning of the year, but you’ve consistently improved.” McGonagall flipped through her stack of notes; her little glasses perched up high. She cleared her throat again. “You've always excelled in Defense, Potions and Transfigurations — and I’ve talked to Flitwick, he’s said you’ve improved drastically. Although, you struggle with History of Magic.”

Y/N sighed and nodded. Professor Binns wasn’t exactly helpful. “It’s never been a… strong suit of mine.”

“We all have our strengths and weaknesses, no? It doesn’t concern me much. I’ve heard you and Mr. Lupin are quite amicable — you two do study with each other..?”

“Yes, I attend his study sessions.”

McGonagall flashed her a rare smile and Y/N felt immense pride fill her. McGonagall smiling was almost as rare as getting a letter from her mother. “I can proudly say I have faith in you.”

“Thank you.”

“Then, I can assume you’ve given thought to what career you want to pursue?”

This was what she was dreading; thinking about her future. She’d give thought, loads, but it felt like there was such little time to decide the rest of her life. McGonagall waited for an answer as she watched Y/N struggle. “Do you have plans of continuing your education in America or..?”

She tried to make eye contact and her palms suddenly became damp. “I’m having doubts about working in the wizarding world.”

McGonagall pursed her lips.

“It’s not like I don’t want to — I do!” She explained, “I’ve thought about being a Healer. My mother is a Muggle Doctor.”

Professor McGonagall soaked in her words. “Are you struggling because you’re not sure if you want to become one, or do you feel pressured by your mother’s decisions?”

She sat straighter at this. “Er — Yes? No? That’s not my problem — honestly, I think my mom would discourage me from becoming one. It’s just… I mean…” She looked back to McGonagall who nodded encouragingly. “It’s just… the war… I’m not sure if I can…”

“What do you mean?” Her voice shifted, becoming brittle and it took Y/N by surprise. McGonagall wore a look so unlike her. Any trace of her firm, yet strict-kindness facade vanished. It was replaced with deep exhaustion.

“I’m a New — Muggleborn… most people — wizards — aren’t kind to someone like me… and I heard that they’re training them to be medics. I would be in the midst.”

McGonagall took off her spectacles, unveiling her red-rimmed eyes like she’d lost sleep or been crying. She sighed, so sorrowful and heavy that it even affected Y/N. “I won’t lie and say you’re wrong…” Her palms rubbed her tired eyes. “But you can’t let them win. Don’t let go of your dreams to submit to them. I won’t let my students diminish their talents and dreams.”

The professor took a long pause. “I know several institutes that transfer magical credits into Muggle credits if you’re seriously considering disconnecting from Magic. But, I urge you, think about it.”

She nodded gravely. There was already a considerable disconnect from her and the Muggle world that going back seemed impossible, but it was probably the safest.

McGonagall broke the silence, reshuffling her papers.

They continued to talk for some time, jumping from courses and mark requirements for NEWT level courses and Y/N left with a stack of papers and mock schedules. With a heavy heart, she headed towards the library. It seemed like every week when exams neared, the earlier group sessions would be.

Y/N flopped down on one of the couches near the back and let her head loll to rest on the cushion. She wasn’t alone for long before she felt the couch dip beside her. She peeked open one eye; Sirius in all his glory was there. In one hand, he held the Marauder’s map before she snatched it.

“Now you’re stalking me?”

His head made a funny gesture. “You know about the map?”

“... James.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I haven’t told anyone. I promise!”

He beamed and when Y/N flipped through the papers McGonagall gave her, she felt Sirius place a hand on her thigh, slowly inching up.

Snogging — shagging — it made life a lot more fun. Unresolved anger between each other? Broom closet with heated words between kisses. One of them was stressed? Take it out on the other. Wanted fun? Sneak up to Sirius’s dorm. Sirius being a fucking asshole? Kiss him and he’ll shut up (although, Y/N had a sneaking suspicion that he knew this and was purposely being a dick to get a reaction now). Their anger was slowly dwindling to extinction. Moreover, rather than brooding exchanges across the hall, there were one or two sly smiles.

But, they had four unspoken rules they followed:

Never talk about whatever they were,

Because surely, neither meant anything to the other,

If they were with anyone else, they would have to tell the other,

And most importantly; never, ever, tell anyone.

“You look ravishing.”

Y/N felt her face heat. “I wish I could say the same about you."

Sirius smirked, his fingers trailing dangerously close to her inner thigh.

“Here?" She hissed, "What are you doing?"

“The thrill is the fun part.” He pressed a few sneaky kisses to her jaw, “You spend too much time here with Lupin and not enough time with me.”

“Jealous?” Y/N’s brow rose and she turned to look at him. “Of Lupin?”

Sirius didn’t answer but momentarily pulls away. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

She rolled her eyes. “Slag.”

“You know French?”

“Second official language in Canada.”

Sirius nodded. “Well, I’m a slag… for you.” She teasingly smacked him on the head with her papers.

“I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Feelings mutual, princess.”

Y/N hid a smirk, resuming to ignore him as she flicked through the stack of papers. There was a dreadful feeling settled deep within. Everything was moving too fast and she felt like she had nowhere to turn. Overwhelmed, she pressed herself into the couch further and groaned out, “Fuck —”

“Maybe we can do that later?”

An involuntary chuckle slipped out which had Sirius grinningly like a fool. There it was again, that Sirius Black grin… it made her heart do wild flips. “You’re a literal dog.”

“And aren’t you a lovely witch?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, flipped him off and went to tug on Sirius’ hair to pull him off before a loud moan ripped from him and echoed throughout the library. Y/N’s eyes grew large, mouth agape. Sirius was unapologetic though; his smile grew bigger.

“I promise I’ll let you slap me, lightly,” he winked and wiggled his brows. “Or hard, whatever you want.”

She shook her head and shoved her things into her bag and pulled Sirius to his feet before he led her up to his dorm. His name spewed from her lips like a prayer and consumed every thought.

At some point, they flopped down on Sirius’ bed as they breathed in deeply, catching their breaths. Y/N was filled with content and went to turn on her side, facing Sirius and cuddling up to him. Gently and mindlessly, pressed a series of light kisses to his forehead while massaging his scalp.

The sun made one last feeble appearance before being engulfed by dusk. Rays of golden glow spilled in as she embraced him. Her hands ran feather-light touches up and down his bare skin and Sirius’ head hugged close to her chest. The soft touches were filled with nothing but her (not so) hidden affection and calm peace. She didn’t think much about her actions.

Something she’d come to learn during their stolen kisses and nights under white satin sheets; Sirius was beautiful in a wild, carefree way. He was wild like how wind sweeps through the branches of willows trees and meadows on a cool summer's eve or carefree in the way waves from the ocean crashed upon rocks. He was hauntingly beautiful in a turbulent, pliable way — wild in not just beauty, but essence too.

And it hurt. What were they doing?

Everything moved so quickly. Not even a month ago, she was supposed to be hating Sirius — now their limbs were tangled together. The ever-present war crept up during the worst times and she and Lily hadn’t spoken since their fight.

Lily…

Y/N tried to be indirect, catching her eyes during class or in their dorms, but nothing. She would always re-direct her gaze. It’d grown awkward in the dorms; Marlene and Dorcas caught in the crossfire.

She really missed Lily. Their late night talks, silly games, Lily keeping her in line and Y/N getting Lily to let loose; everything and more.

Usually, once she and Sirius were done with each other, they would leave, peel off each other but Y/N was so tired of — well, everything.

Trapped in thoughts, she hadn’t noticed Sirius’ body go rigid until his body began to tremble. Sirius made a small strangled noise that she originally mistaken as a laugh or snore until she felt wet droplets fall on her skin.

Y/N pulled back to find Sirius silently crying. She watched him, thinking that she should comfort him but was rooted in place and eyes drifted to the door, thinking of leaving. It felt like an intrusion being there with him and comforting someone was not on her list.

“Er — Sirius?” She whispered, alarmed. Her smile fading and his breath hitched. She awkwardly patted him before going to stiffly stroke his arm, but it only seemed to make him cry harder. She quickly ripped back her hand and put distance between them. Her mind raced a mile a minute as she listened to him. “Sirius? Hey — what’s wrong?”

“Get out.”

She froze and looked back at him. “Do you want me to get someone —”

“GET OUT!” He yelled. It scared her so much that her body jolted and Sirius hid his face with his hands. Sirius crying and screaming at her unprovoked made her panic and recline. He stayed quiet after that, rolling over, pulling his blankets above his head.

She chewed on her bottom lip so hard that a metallic taste flooded her mouth. In a rush, she quickly threw on her clothes and grabbed her bag. She shuffled towards the door but then looked back at Sirius; he looked so small and his cries made her fill with immense sadness. She debated; should she leave and respect his wishes? But the way he was crying, so hysterically and abruptly — she worried he might’ve done something impulsive and stupid.

She decided on leaving and sat right outside the door just in case. She listened to his sobs that managed to seep through the walls.

She waited there for a very, very long time that she almost fell asleep before she heard his muffled voice and swore he said her name.

She knocked twice, “You okay?”

There was a knock back.

“Was I that bad of a kisser?” She tried to joke after some time. Luckily, she heard Sirius choke out a heartbroken giggle. This time there were two knocks. A no, she assumed. 

Silence crept back in and Y/N leaned against the door and looked around the hall. Nobody else was there, but just in case put up a spell for any prying ears.

“Do you still want me to leave?” She asked. “Just say the word.” Communication with him felt weird.

Sirius remained quiet but then she heard him hop off his bed, feet coming closer to the door. She then felt a small nudge against the door as Sirius slid down to sit on the opposite side.  

“You can talk to me,” Y/N said nervously, not wanting him to blow up again. “Did I do something? I promise I didn’t mean it.” She remained still, listening to his quiet sniffling.

Two knocks. 

“Er — I won't push and you don’t need to tell me but — um, I promise I won’t tell a soul. Not even the other Marauders. It’ll be our little secret.”

It takes a long time before Sirius eventually stops sniffling and she listens to his uneven breaths; she's extremely uncomfortable and baffled. He tries to speak several times but ends up cutting himself off.

A sharp exhale came from him, shallow and irregular. In a small, weak voice that made it feel like an invisible weight pressed against her chest, he finally spoke.

“Je suis —” Sirius started before switching to another foreign language. Y/N was able to pick up on a few words: it was Italian.

“Nessuno dei miei amanti mi ha toccato così senza volere qualcosa in cambio. Non mi fai sentire usato e ne ho he terrorizza.”

More silence ensues; Y/N thinks that he might’ve walked away until he speaks again.

“Il modo in cui mi fai sentire mi spaventa e non riesco a gestirlo.” Sirius stops, taking a shaky inhale, “Non sono ancora pronto.”

Then, she hears the door click open and the knob turns. She backs away until it opens and her head peaks in. Sirius is staring at the ground to avoid her eyes, hair acting as a curtain to hide his face. She shuffles in, Sirius leans against the door and shuts it. Y/N shifts to sit in front of him. He’s dressed again, but the sleeves of his shirt were damp with tears.

She inches closer to place an encouraging hand on his but stops, remembering earlier. “Can I touch you?”

He closes his eyes — like the question was a mental battle before he nods. Y/N reaches up, pushing back the strands of fallen hair, revealing his red, puffy eyes. Her thumb strokes over his skin tenderly — intimately, but it causes a broken whimper to escape him, but leans into the touch.

“Whatever you said,” Y/N mutters, “Thank you for telling me.”

Pink floods his cheeks and he hesitantly reaches out, his arms going around her waist to pull her into a hug.

“Mi sbagliavo su di te.” He mumbled to her shoulder and Y/N was left to think.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

They both missed the study group and dinner. Eventually, Sirius fell asleep and Y/N snuck out of his room before the Marauders came in. She didn’t want to go back to her dorm to face Lily and was extremely hungry. She then thought back to Sirius before going to grab food for both of them.

She slipped out into the night, being accompanied by Nearly Headless Nick who had a worried expression on his face. Y/N didn’t think much of it, if anything, she was rather annoyed; after the day she’s had, she wanted to be alone for a while.

The house-elves helped to line a large platter of food before she thanked them, making her way out of the kitchens. Nearly Headless Nick floated close, urging her to speed up.

“Sir Nick, I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you following me?”

“Making sure you get back to Gryffindor’s tower safely.”

That caught her attention. “Safely?”

Sir Nick’s eyes widened. “My poor girl, haven’t you heard?”

She and Sirius missed a lot when they were together. Nobody was quite sure what happened to Mary; she wouldn’t speak a word of it, not even to Marlene. All anyone knew was that Mary was a victim of Dark Magic and was found in a torpid state by Hufflepuff’s Head Girl; used as an initiation for Mulciber for the Death Eater ranks.

Word ran wild around the school of Mulciber’s expulsion and everyone was left on edge. Rumours went around of the Imperius curse. Mary was fine physically, Sir Nick told her, but mentally…

Y/N’s blood ran cold while Nick had a sorrowful smile of reassurance. “You’ll be fine — your friend will be fine but you need to come with me, now.”

But out of the corner of her eye, she’d seen a shadowy figure peek out from the shadows and Y/N drew her wand, Sir Nick floating right behind her.

“Lumos!”

There, tall and unwavering was Snape.

He marched up to her, but Y/N began to quickly walk away until he reached out and yanked her back by her shoulder with bone-crushing strength.

“Lay your hands off!” Sir Nick cut in.

Snape ignored him, “What did you say to her?!” His cheeks were tear-stained; eyes glowing with something dangerous and Y/N wanted to run. “She won’t even talk to me!”

Lily must’ve finally confronted him.

“Let go of her! Let go, let go!” Sir Nick chanted, wisping through Snape until he stumbled back.

Y/N turned around, and heard Snape mutter darkly, running off. A cold wave embalmed her as every hair on the back of her neck rose.

“Come with me now,” the ghost said. She didn’t need to be told twice.

The moment she stepped inside the common room, Y/N felt every bone in her body relax. Her footsteps were quiet and rounded into the main area when she saw everyone there. James and Lily were pacing back and forth. James tugged down on his hair; Peter was by Dorcas and Remus, Marlene looked deathly pale, the two Head Boy and Girls were there. Sirius sat in a chair, his arms cradling Toulouse as he nervously swallowed, face imprinted with distress.

Remus was the first to notice, his head snapping up once he sensed her presence. He stood, “Y/N!”

Everyone’s head snapped towards her. James shouted, running up to her. “Are you okay?” His hands went straight to her face and handled her like a doll. “My Godric! We were so worried — we were about to go and search for you!”

Sirius abruptly stood up; chair screeching, eyes wide but then quickly took a seat as everyone tossed him an odd look.

“I’m fine! I’m fine! I just missed dinner and wanted to get food!”

James tackled her into a hug and she almost dropped the plate of food.

Her eyes then travelled to Lily, who looked like she was on the verge of tears. Lily made a move to go up to her, hand slightly outstretched before stopping and quickly ran up the staircase. Everyone noticed but didn’t mention it. Then the Head Girl and Boy exited wordlessly.

Lily leaving fucking hurt.

“I heard from Headless Nick, how’s Mary?”

There was a collective sigh. Marlene got up, going over to her and pulled her into another hug and pulled back. Her usually smooth skin was now littered with furrowed lines. “She’s with Madam Pomfrey, I’m going to sneak into her room now. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Should any of us come?” Peter interjected.

“No… I don’t think she even wants me there. It might overwhelm her.”

“Be safe,” Dorcas said, her eyes wide with worry. And then she left.

Y/N made her way to sit down, James practically glued himself onto her as she plopped down next to Sirius, but still far enough to avoid suspicion.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Remus said. “When you didn’t show up for the study sessions and dinner we all… thought the worst.”

“Sorry…” Then her eyes wandered to the staircase, thinking about Lily again.

Dorcas stirred in her seat. “Don’t take Lily’s absence as offence. She was really worried.”

“She suggested we go out to find you,” Peter said. “Also had a nasty row with Snape in the courtyards too. Everyone saw it. What a bell end, Snape.”

“I think, for now, we all ought to start pairing up,” came Remus. A solemn noise of agreement went around. Nobody talked for a while and Y/N placed the large metal tray of food on the table, no longer having the appetite to eat.

James was the one who broke the silence. “Where were you?”

Sirius stopped petting Toulouse and listened carefully. “I was busy talking to McGonagall. Something about careers. Then I just got tired and ended up sleeping through dinner.”

It technically wasn’t a lie and everyone seemed to believe it.

The air was tense and James wouldn’t stop fretting. Ultimately, Dorcas began to talk to Peter, Remus had a pensive look before going to crack open his book but seemed tense. It was only until she felt Sirius nudge her foot. She shifted her head gradually to examine him.

‘You okay?’ He mouthed, searching for any kind of lie or injury. His eyes were still puffy but overall looked better.

She shook her head. ‘I’m okay, you?’

A nod.

His reaction earlier had new questions arising but she saved that for another time. Her eyes darted to the plate of food and then to him. ‘It’s for you.’

But then she peered up and saw Remus watching their interaction. He seemed to be deep in thought and took a large inhale. She swore his eyes flashed a golden glow. Worried he was catching on, she initiated a conversation. “Moony?” She teased.

When he wore a judicious look during times like these, Y/N is reminded just how smart and intimidating he could be. It was like he knew everything before anyone else did.

“Sorry — thinking ‘bout something. Anyway —”

While occupied with Remus, Sirius glanced shyly over to Y/N and bent over to take a treacle tart, biting into it. The gesture was so heartbreakingly touching to him; so unexpected coming from her.

Sirius was left in a transitional phase. A lot of the inner turmoil he held — or thought he had — was released today and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Whatever irritation he held towards Y/N vanished. He looked forward to their bickering, shy forehead kisses and the feeling he got that was the opposite of dread or disgust after being with someone.

It felt nice, doing something he truly wanted for once — not engaging in intimacy out of coping rather than genuine interest.

But then, it unleashed everything else he wasn’t ready to deal with yet. His reaction to touch earlier had set off a bomb buried so deep within him but Merlin — he hadn’t realized it would’ve affected him that much.

Truth be told, now all he wanted to do was ruin her to bits and pieces but he was getting too ahead of himself — becoming attached too quickly and he already felt himself disconnecting. The only thought that lapsed in his mind was: run, boy, run.

It echoed through his head again, love wasn’t — isn’t a magic potion, far from it. So what was he doing? He needed to make a decision; continue doing whatever they were doing, work on himself or run.

Running away is easy. It’s always been easy. But he was tired of it.

And after the intense fear that paralyzed him, that made his mouth go dry and heart pound in his chest when nobody could find her when she left — after knowing what happened to Mary; it almost caused Sirius to spike and go into a panic attack.

Sirius wasn’t afraid of many things. After all, he’d already gone through so much that there wasn’t much to be afraid of anymore. But if he had to choose, and it was at the forefront of his mind, it would’ve been her.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Y/N headed to bed early as Dorcas waited for Marlene to return to the common room. It left her alone with Lily.

It was already dark, aside from a small lit candle that seeped through the cracks of Lily’s bed drapes. She did her evening routine before slipping into bed, listening to Lily faintly scribble in her diary. Only when Y/N felt herself relax, she heard Lily get out of bed and drew closer to her.

“Y/N?” Her voice was apprehensive. Y/N’s back faced her. She pretended to be asleep. “Psst… hey?”

Lily sighed before she sat down on the edge of the bed and didn't move for a long time. When they heard footsteps coming to their dorm was when she rose and uttered, “I’m glad you’re alright…Gave me a bit of a fright there… I’m sorry.”

Lily rushed back to her bed, drawing her curtains together when Marlene and Dorcas entered.

Y/N finally exhaled heavily, balling her blankets tightly. A thousand words, questions and thoughts were left unsaid. But, when she knew everyone finally was asleep, she uttered out an inaudible, I’m sorry too, and shut her eyes.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Translations

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?

Do you want to sleep with me?

Nessuno dei miei amanti mi ha toccato così senza volere qualcosa in cambio. Non mi fai sentire usato e ne ho he terrorizza.

None of my lovers have touched me like this without wanting something in return. You don't make me feel used and I'm terrified (of it).

Il modo in cui mi fai sentire mi spaventa e non riesco a gestirlo. / Non sono ancora pronto.

The way you make me feel scares me and I can't handle it. / I'm not ready yet.

Mi sbagliavo su di te.

I was wrong about you.

[ragewerthers]

To Defeat A Dragon

Summary: With the 100 year war behind them and the battles now lying more in the council room then on the battlefield, Sokka and Zuko take a moment to reminisce over the last few years.

However, reminiscing comes with a few surprises for Zuko when he forgets something rather important about the spars he used to have with Sokka.  But no worries... Sokka is more than happy to remind him.

A/n: Hello and Merry christmas, my friend!!!  I am the secret santa for @calmturquoise​ for the Squealing Santa 2020!  Thank you for giving me the chance to write something so sweet for these two and getting to join in on the fun of ATLA again!

I also want to thank @ticklygiggles​ for hosting this event again!  You're amazing and I’m so happy I got to participate in this once more!

The prompt was for some sweet, platonic Sokka and Zuko and I was so excited to get the chance to write these two!!!

You can also read on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28308495

Enjoy! :) 

Word Count: 2941

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

“I think they’re deliberately starting to make those Council meetings longer,” Zuko grumbled, shifting uncomfortably where he now rested.  Currently, he was sat at the edge of the small turtleduck pond in the middle of the royal gardens.  Attempting to alleviate the ache in his back he went to sit up a little straighter.  The result was his back cracking in a way that was probably unhealthy for someone who was only twenty-three, but really he should’ve known this would be par for the course.�� Growing up a child warrior really isn’t kind to the bones in the long run.  Wincing at the dull ache it left behind it wasn’t enough to distract him from the snort of his less than empathetic friend.

“No, buddy.  You’re just finally starting to become the cranky old man you always were inside,”  Sokka teased, practically laying beside Zuko as he reclined back on his elbows… before promptly collapsing next to the Firelord with a yelp.  A charlie ostrihorse had aggressively decided to seize the muscles in his shoulders and neck and all he could do was roll around in the grass like a crazy person.  Apparently, Zuko wasn’t the only one starting to feel the effects of those long meetings. 

Zuko instantly smirked at the reaction, happy to see Sokka getting a taste of the elderly lifestyle they now lived in apparently.  

“First of all, you deserve all of what’s happening to you right now,” Zuko said, waving his hand in the direction of Sokka’s prone form. “Second of all, what do you mean cranky?!  I’m a ray of sunshine.”

The words were spoken so deadpan that Sokka instantly snorted with a bit of pained laughter, still clutching the side of his neck as he lay on the ground.  “Don’t d-do thahat!  Can’t you s-see I’m hurting?!” he whined, though his smile still remained as he looked over at his best friend.  “But yes… how could I forget, oh great Firelord, that the sun is literally supposed to shine out of your butt?”

Zuko finally broke into a more open smile, sitting up a little straighter and nodding.  “And don’t you forget it,” he joked, getting another ridiculous giggle from Sokka.

After a few more minutes, the pain finally seemed to subside as the water tribesman was able to sit up with a wince.  Rolling his shoulder a bit to try and work out the last of the kink he couldn’t stop himself from letting out an almost wistful sigh.  “But isn’t it a bit sad?  I didn’t think it was possible to get aches and pains from just sitting!  Remember the good old days of our youth when we could spar for hours and hours and we wouldn’t even be phased?”

“What do you mean ‘the good old days of our youth’?  You’re only a year younger than me,” Zuko said with a little roll of his eyes as he began to remove his crown.  With no further meetings scheduled for the day he figured he might as well be comfortable. Setting it beside himself on the grass he settled back against the tree, ignoring the look Sokka was giving him.

“Hey!  We’re older than we were back then, right?  So… those are the days of our youth!  And you ignored the question,” he huffed.

“Oh… you were actually looking for an answer to your ramblings?” Zuko teased, a small smile fighting to quirk up the corners of his lips as he tried to ignore Sokka puffing his cheeks up like a toddler.  Oh yeah… the man obviously had matured so much since those days.  “Okay, okay.  I do remember.  I still consider myself proficient with the dual dao, but I think you’re right.  With sitting most of our days away, I’m sure it hasn’t done our skills any favors.”

Sokka’s pout instantly retreated, replaced with a light smile as Zuko agreed with him.  “Right?  Not to mention that it was always super satisfying every time I won which, I mean, was almost always after our first few spars,” he said smugly, causing the Firelord to instantly focus on him.

“I’m sorry… what?” Zuko asked, his eyes narrowed and voice almost dangerously low.

Sadly, enough time and shared moments between them meant that Sokka no longer feared the ‘fire scowl’.  Instead, his smug smile only grew.  “You heard me.  You may have handed my ass to me the first few times we spared, but after that I almost never lost another fight against you.”

“.... did that cramp do something to your memory?” Zuko wondered aloud.  “It must’ve because if memory serves, you almost never won against me.  You came close a number of times, but I was almost always the victor.”

However, regardless of how insistent his statement, that smug smile still remained on Sokka’s face as the Southern Water Tribesman sat up beside his friend.  “Nope.  I’m afraid old age has started to rust up those memories of yours, Sifu Hotman.  I won almost all of our spars and I can’t believe you’ve forgotten.”

“......... did you drink one of Uncle’s experimental teas again?  You know he almost killed himself doing that once!” Zuko warned, because that was the only way that Sokka could possibly think that he had won so many of their duels.

But something akin to worry grew in Zuko’s chest when he saw Sokka’s smile turning from smug to something a little more dangerous.

“Oh my dear Jerkbender.  I think you’ve forgotten that while you may have had the upperhand most of the time when we were dueling, I found out a secret move.  Because I remembered a universal truth about dragons.”

Oh yeah… Sokka definitely drank the experimental teas.  He’d warned uncle that cactus juice wasn’t to be messed with!

Zuko quirked an eyebrow at the comment before closing his eyes to calm his temper.  Taking in a deep breath before letting it out slowly, he turned once more to look at his friend.  “Okay, buddy.  Let’s get you to the healers,” he began gently, carefully reaching forward to rest his hand on Sokka’s shoulder.  “I think they have a remedy for thi-HIHIS?!”

Immediately his arm moved back from Sokka to cover his side as an electric feeling zipped through his veins.

Sokka was only just keeping himself from laughing beside him, his fingers still poised from where they’d managed a small nibbling pinch against the Firelord's lower ribs.  “The thing about dragons…,” Sokka continued, ignoring Zuko’s insistence on getting him medical attention.  “... is that all of them have a soft spot.  Once you find it… you can defeat it.  And I was lucky enough to find a dragon with more weak spots then most.”

Suddenly Zuko remembered almost every one of his spars with Sokka… and with it the memory of an evil, horrible truth.  Sokka had indeed won most of their spars after the first few.  Because that cheating dunderhead had accidentally found out that Zuko… was horrendously ticklish.

And judging from the look Sokka was leveling him with his friend was looking to make sure he definitely remembered this little fact.

“S-Sokka!  Sokka, listen to me… don’t you da-AH!” he shouted, rolling away just in time as Sokka attempted to tackle him into the grass.  Quickly, Zuko managed to get up onto his knees, trying to get his feet underneath him to stand, but fate decided to deal him a cruel hand once more.  His Fire nation robes for all the brilliance and regality they offered him to onlookers were far from practical.  Long and flowing silks were seen as traditional and although he’d made many reforms in his time already on the throne, fashion hadn’t quite made it to the table yet.  Thus, as he attempted to flee from his friend, his feet only managed to step on the front of his robes, stopping his movements and pausing him just long enough to land himself in Sokka’s clutches.

Before he knew it, two strong arms were already locked around his waist and Zuko attempted to use his words once more to try and plead his case for freedom.

Of course… when had that ever played out in his favor? “Sokka!  S-Sokka, I remember, okay?  You…. y-you don’t have to do this!” Zuko attempted to sound reasonable and less nervous then he felt, though he realized stuttering over his words lost a little bit of that authoritative tone he was aiming for.

“Oh, I realize I don’t have to do this,” Sokka teased, crooking the fingers of his left hand to press in just a little bit more against Zuko’s side making the young Firelord gasp and bite his lower lip to stay quiet.  “But at this point I feel it is my duty to remind Lord Jerkbender about this so he doesn’t forget who the number one spar master is.”

“Spar master isn’t even a thing!  You can’t just give yourself titles like th-ahahat!  Ah!  Nonono!” Zuko’s small diatribe instantly died on his lips as Sokka’s fingers began to wriggle against his side, a few rather unbecoming giggles already breaking free before he reined himself in again.

“What was that?  Were you backsassing Sokka the mighty dragon slayer?!” Sokka teased, though he couldn’t help smiling as he already heard the familiar rasp of Zuko’s laughter.  This was going to be far too entertaining.  How could he pass up this opportunity?

“Dragon slayer?!  You’re ridiculous!  Let me gohohoahahaha!  Stahp it!  Stahahahap!” Zuko felt the flutter of Sokka’s other hand where it rested against his lower ribs on the opposite side.  Immediately the jolt of ticklish sensations raced through him and he felt his knees already starting to turn to jelly beneath him.  Of all of the things he could be weak against, something as silly as tickling was more than enough to sap his strength. Sokka’s smirk came back as he heard that, his fingers, scribbling lightly over both the Firelord’s sides.  Working in tandem his fingers lightly brushed along the vulnerable area before massaging quickly into his lower ribs.  If memory served, this had been one of the better weak spots of this particular dragon.

“WAHAIT!” Zuko cried out, his laughter finally breaking free from those raspy giggles to something lighter and more carefree.  Honestly, it was something Sokka had been so proud to draw out all those years ago when Zuko was still that broody teenager who had joined their gaang.  He had been so awkward and to be fair, their dear jerkbender still kinda was, but after attempting through sheer bullheadedness to forge a friendship with him, Sokka honestly couldn’t have been prouder to call him his best friend.

And what kind of best friend would he be if he didn’t tease and taunt Zuko into never forgetting his super awesome new title that he just came up with?  A terrible one… and Sokka refused to be a terrible friend.

“Wait?  Wait for what?  Oh!  Were you going to finally call me by my proper title?” Sokka teased as he moved one of his hands down to squeeze along Zuko’s right hip.

Zuko instantly jumped at the sensation, feeling his legs finally starting to cave under him as he attempted to curl up in Sokka’s hold to escape the sensations.  He could feel his cheeks and ears heating up as his laugh bubbled up unbidden, the noise still slightly foreign to him even after all these years.  However, Sokka had never seemed to have a problem drawing it out of him.  He just wished he had remembered that before drawing out the ‘dragon slayer’ once more.

“Nehehehever!” Zuko growled out between his laughter, his hands weakly attempting to push away Sokka’s to no avail.  “Ihihit’s a… a stuhupid naha-EHEHEHE!  STAHAHP IT Y-YOU AHAHAHASS!”  Zuko’s strength finally gave out as his legs buckled beneath him, though with Sokka’s arms around him he was easily lowered to the ground.  Sadly this did nothing for his current situation as Sokka had seemed to remember another one of his worst spots.

His stomach.

“Doth my ears deceive me?  Did you just call my regal and totally awesome title stupid?!  How dare you, good sir!” Sokka teased, his arm braced carefully around Zuko as his other vibrated quickly right against the center of Zuko’s stomach.  He’d learned very early on that the easiest way to break Zuko’s concentration and resolve was a nice little attack on this particular area.  “You know how to get this to stop, Zuko!  Admit that I am the best dragon slayer in the world!”

Zuko snorted as Sokka’s hand began to scribble all around the hyper ticklish spot, trying to shimmy this way and that out of the man's hold to get away from the maddening touch.  However, practically sitting on the ground with a tickle monster clung to your back really didn’t leave much wiggle room and Zuko realized his chances of freedom were slim.  But his pride just wouldn’t allow for him to admit defeat just yet!

“Thahahaha’ts not e-even a thihihing!  I re-refuhuhuse to gihihive in t-to yo-AHAHA!  STAHP IT!  STAHPSTAHPSTAHAHAHAP!” Zuko instantly broke into the most wild and ridiculous laughter as Sokka snuck one of his hands under his arm, his fingers spidering quickly against Zuko’s underarm in a way that drove the firebender crazy with ticklish laughter.  Zuko instantly snapped his arms to his sides, trapping Sokka’s hand against his armpit while the man's other hand continued to scribble and send nibbling pinches all along his stomach.

“Admit it!  Admit that I’m the best!” Sokka called over Zuko’s loud laughter, the sound of it making him smile like an idiot even as a few chuckles escaped him.  Spirits, it really had been far too long since he’d seen Zuko let loose like this even just a bit.  Maybe this was something they needed  in their lives a bit more?  It definitely wouldn’t hurt after all the droll and intense meetings they were forced to go to day in and day out.

Meanwhile, Zuko was dying.  The Kiyoshi warriors were going to show up here to see that their poor Firelord had met his end at the hands of a ridiculous man who had a pension for coming up with truly terrible titles for things!  Sadly he couldn’t dwell on his dramatic end as Sokka’s fingers were still attacking two of his worst spots.  Zuko knew that there really was only one way out of this. “OKAHAHAY!  O-OKAY I AHAHADMIT IHIHIT!” Zuko cried out with unrestrained laughter, feeling the tickling slowing down just a little to keep him giggling ridiculously.

“What was that?  Are you trying to tell me something, buddy?” Sokka teased, his fingers wriggling lightly against Zuko’s armpit as the other hand focused on a particularly sensitive spot on the side of the firebenders stomach.

Zuko snorted and kicked his legs out weakly before nodding.  “Y-yes!  You… you’re the behehehest gah!  Not thehehere!  Not there plehehease!  Agnihihi why-hehehe?!” Zuko giggled hysterically as Sokka found that spot on his stomach.  Taking as deep a breath as possible he tried to once more to make his bid for freedom!  “Y-You’re the behehehest drahagon slahahahayer!  Plehehehase!”

Sokka’s fingers immediately stopped their torment, chuckling a bit to himself.  “See?  That wasn’t so hard was it?” he teased, patting Zuko’s back as he helped the man sit up, watching the firebender wiping away tears of mirth from his eyes as residual giggles still managed to escape.

“Yes.  Y-yes it was,” Zuko shot back, though as he turned to look at his friend, the smile on his face was more relaxed, even after the mini battle he’d just had to endure.  “I can’t believe I… forgot what a… giant pain in the ass you were after you figured that out.”

It was Sokka’s turn to laugh as he heard that and he felt his smile growing all the more fond.  “It was probably one of my greatest discoveries and I will cherish it forever!  Not many people can say they bested the Firelord,” Sokka teased, lightly nudging Zuko with his elbow and getting a chuckle in response.

“That’s fair.  But really?  Dragon slayer?” Zuko asked, trying to earn back a bit of dignity as he attempted to straighten out his traitorous robes.

“What?  It makes me sound so cool!” Sokka cried out dramatically, making it incredibly hard for Zuko not to roll his eyes.

“I’m still not convinced you didn’t try one of uncle’s teas,” Zuko murmured, though he smiled regardless.  “And I hope you know that this is the last time the mighty ‘dragon slayer’ is going to win.  I won’t be caught with my guard down like that again.”

“Oh?  Is that a challenge, Jerkbender?” Sokka teased, leaning closer and wiggling his fingers threateningly.

Zuko couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter as he pushed Sokka’s face away gently with his palm.  “I’m too old for your nonsense,” he joked, making Sokka laugh brightly.

“Nah.  We’re still young at heart.  That’s all that matters,” Sokka said with a fond smile.  “And if you ever forget that as well, I’m more than happy to remind you again about the days of our youth.”

Shaking his head, but with a fond smile on his lips, Zuko couldn’t help feeling that familiar warmth build in his chest.  The world may be changing.  They may still be working to right the wrongs and suffer through countless meetings and council members, but… with friends like Sokka there to remind him it was okay to let loose, laugh and remember that they really were still young at heart, he knew he could face anything.

Even dragon slayers.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 18.5

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 3.2k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

act two ➻ part 8.5

​​​

Jongho doesn’t need to be told what’s going on. He senses it before Yeosang even comes to the door, feels Yeosang’s presence outside the door, the heat of his emotions, and the slight panic that courses through his veins. He doesn’t need to be told that Mingi is having an episode because he can feel it. Which is why when Yeosang goes to knock on the door, Jongho opens it a breath too soon, and Yeosang nearly topples forward and trips over the air. Jongho doesn’t need to reach out and catch him – Yeosang stays on his two feet just fine – but he does regardless, rough hands hitting the much smaller man square in the chest to keep him from falling forward. He doesn’t need to ask, yet he does.

“Mingi?”

“Mess hall.”

“Okay. Did he hurt anyone?” Jongho has the questions memorized. No matter how many times he says them, the answers rarely change, and he knows Yeosang well enough to pick up on the emotional cues. That’s how he knows Wooyoung is fine before Yeosang even opens his mouth to tell him so.

“No, I got Wooyoung out of there before he could.”

“Hongjoong?”

“Tried already.”

“Yunho?”

“Couldn’t help.”

“Ah,” Jongho exhales, even though he already knew the answers to those questions before asking them. He’s the last resort. He always is. Hongjoong demands priority – he needs to feel useful somehow, but it always backfires and hurts him in the end. Then comes Yunho, the ever desperate healer, the arrogance that drives him to believe that he can fix everything and everyone – including Mingi. The reality, however harsh and cruel it may be, is that none of them are Jongho. None of them understand Mingi the way he does. None of them are Berserkers. It’s just a simple fact, but one that they can’t seem to wrap their minds around, which is why Jongho is always the last resort.

He pushes past Yeosang to step into the corridor. His steps are hurried but not frantic; there is no panic or worry in his bones as he walks towards the mess hall. It’s routine almost. Perhaps someone else might feel bitterness or some sort of resentment towards this system they have. Not Jongho though. He bears no hatred or thinly veiled anger about the arrangement they carry out. Part of him feels the tuggings of responsibility when he looks at Mingi. When he looks at Mingi and sees… something. Something different, something painful, something raw and broken.

When Mingi first joined the crew, the others all expected Jongho to understand him. To read him like a book and take him apart with ease. He hadn’t been able to do that at any point in time. Because he and Mingi are not the same, never have been and never will be. Jongho was raised by a loving mother and father. A mother who was a Berserker just like him, who took care of him and looked after him without any hesitation. Taught him everything there was to know about what it meant to be a Berserker. Mingi, on the other hand, was not given that luxury. His father never loved him; he loved money. Power. Blood. And that’s what Mingi gave him, because it was the only thing he knew.

The mess hall is quiet when he steps inside. Not empty, but quiet. Hongjoong stands at the edge of the room, leaning up against the frame of the entrance with arms crossed over his chest. Disappointment radiates off him in waves, but not directed at anyone except himself. Yunho stands beside him with a similar stance, although he can’t look at Mingi’s curled form. The room is otherwise empty, and that’s probably for the best. And Mingi. Mingi lies on the floor, not near the center but somewhere off to the side between a few tables. He’s on his hands and knees, back curved in a way that is painful to look at, and as Jongho draws nearer, he can see the tremble in his shoulders. He doesn’t think to ask what happened. It wouldn’t be necessary anyway. He barely notices that Yeosang is no longer hot on his heels and following his steps.

“It’s too much of a burden to put on his shoulders.”

Hongjoong doesn’t verbalize the words, but he can feel them regardless. Words that have been muttered and whispered against hot ears when they think Jongho can’t hear them. None spoken with malice or hatred. Just… concern. Worry. Fear.

“He’s so young. Why do we push this onto him?”

Because Jongho understands him. Knows Mingi better than Mingi knows himself. Feels the things he feels, even if they were raised differently and experience it differently. He understands the control, the taut thread keeping Mingi tied to sanity, and how it threatens to snap. And when it wavers and trembles — that is where these episodes find him.

“I’m the captain. I should handle this myself.”

Hongjoong doesn’t understand it. The things that he wishes to understand are things that he can never hope to grasp.

“I’m a healer. A medic. This is my job.”

Yunho fails to realize that it isn’t his responsibility. It is his job, but not his burden to bear. He sees Mingi as something broken, when Mingi isn’t broken at all. Mingi is a bird that never learned to fly, a slave without a master, a boy robbed of his innocence too young. Not broken.

Jongho hesitates near Mingi. The older man doesn’t shift or make any indication of acknowledging him. The emotions are there though, and that’s how Jongho knows that Mingi is fully aware of his lingering presence behind him.

“Mingi,” he starts, tone so soft and quiet that he can barely hear it himself. Ever so slowly, he lets himself squat down beside Mingi’s body. Heat. It radiates off him in waves. Then in the corner, concern from Yunho, the lingering taste of disappointment from Hongjoong, and nothing else. Patience is a challenging game to play, even harder when it comes to Mingi, but necessary. Thus, Jongho waits. Watches the way Mingi’s shoulders tremble from effort, the tethered thread in his mind wavering but never breaking. He’s fighting it so hard. “Mingi, can you hear me?”

“I-I… can’t. Can’t. Need. N-Need it.” His tone is desperate and fragile. Nothing like the cruel and heartless killing monster he seems to be. Mingi brings a hand up to clasp the back of his neck. His nails tear at the skin in attempts to break it and draw blood.

“No, you don’t.” Mingi’s fingers falter. He hesitates. For a moment, his nails cease their warpath on his skin.

“I want to – want to k-kill.” Mingi lifts his chin a little. He doesn’t look up quite yet, and Jongho knows it’s because he can feel the lingering emotions at the other side of the room. He is more afraid of losing control than he should be. The danger is minimal. Mingi won’t kill either of them. Hongjoong knows it, as does Yunho, and Jongho as well. Mingi is the only one who doesn’t trust it.

“You don’t want to, Mingi,” Jongho insists, letting his elbows find purchase on his knees. Jongho gets it on occasion. The sudden urgings that Mingi suffers from – the need to take control over all the emotions hitting him from all sides. It manifests itself differently for every Berserker. For Jongho, it takes the form of guilt. Brings all his wrongdoings to life and places them before his eyes in a way that’s almost tangible. He can never overcome it alone, and that fact almost makes him feel weak. Yunho’s soft hands in his hair, San’s mellifluous voice in his ears, Seonghwa’s mint-like scent that permeates his senses until the hallucinations pass, Hongjoong’s emotions hitting him square in the chest and reminding him that this is real. It isn’t violent. Emotional, yes. Painful for himself and only himself. But for Mingi, it manifests in violence. Anger and every emotion on the spectrum of rage.

Mingi’s fingers draw away from his neck, but he brings the hand down to his other arm a second later. His nails dig deep, he’s desperate to break skin, he’s burning for the red that will flow from his flesh. Jongho can’t let him have it. If he does, then that thin thread of sanity will snap. Years of progress down the drain. A hard reset. He reaches out, hand brushing against Mingi’s shoulder blades.

Mingi jerks at the touch, almost as though he’s been burned. He doesn’t verbally cry out, but Jongho hears the pained cry in his movements and emotions. It hurts every time. A small and nagging sensation that never leaves Jongho alone, one he will think about for hours if not days after this. Mingi cries out for help and support but pushes it away at the same time. Desires help but doesn’t know how to ask for it.

“Mingi,” Jongho exhales as he brings his hand down on the man’s shoulder blades again. Mingi jolts at the touch, hand drawing up but not coming down on Jongho. He prepares himself for a hit and everything, but it never comes. Instead, Mingi brings his closed fist down on his own head, smacks his skull with too much force, an expression of pure anguish on his features. He’s fighting it. Jongho knows that Mingi’s mind is screaming for blood. To close his hands around Jongho’s throat and try to end it. The desire to kill… it’s not Mingi, but rather the Brute of Kebos. The monster his father created. It’s not Mingi. Jongho has to remind himself of that over and over again. It’s the only way he can look Mingi in the eye every day. His tone softens as he speaks. “They’re loud, aren’t they?”

“So loud. S-So loud. Can’t think. C-Cant–” Mingi cuts himself off, unable to finish the thought. Yunho once told Jongho that Mingi didn’t feel emotions. Just didn’t have the proper mind for it, and that he would have to be taught how to handle things. Jongho dared to tell Yunho to his face that he was wrong. Mingi feels emotions. He has them. It isn’t that his brain is wired the wrong way. It’s that he was never taught how to understand them. Mingi doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings because of that. Jongho can read him like a book, feel the heat radiating off him in waves and know what’s going through his head even if he blocks it out. Mingi’s emotions are overwhelming, even with Jongho’s resilience and restraint. All that to say – the pain Mingi is in now is enough to cripple Jongho and bring him fully to the ground. The aura is overwhelming, and for a breath of a moment, Jongho isn’t sure he can do what he’s supposed to do. The face of his mother taunts him at the edge of the room. He responds by closing his fingers around Mingi’s wrist, stopping the hallucination from blossoming as well as stopping Mingi from hitting himself any more.

“It’s okay, Mingi. They can’t hurt you here,” Jongho murmurs even though he knows that isn’t the brunt of the issue. Mingi’s wrist goes slack in his grip. For a second, Jongho thinks that the episode has passed, but then weight slams against him, and pain blooms in his chest. He falls back against one of the metal tables. Metal scrapes against metal, creating a loud and abrasive screech, then the floor disappears out from under Jongho. He doesn’t have time to defend himself. Mingi’s fingers close around his ankle, yanking back harshly until Jongho hits the floor. Pressure hits his chest. Jongho doesn’t even process it at first. Mingi’s knee stabs into his chest and pins him to the floor with little effort. However, Jongho is stronger than Mingi. They both know it. Jongho could flip their positions and have Mingi facedown on the floor in seconds. That isn’t what this is about though.

Progress.

“Mingi!”

Steps forward.

“Stop!”

Steps backward.

Yunho and Hongjoong are shouting, voices getting louder as they move closer, but Jongho manages to bring a hand up to stop them. They have zero reason to listen to him and no incentive either, especially because Mingi has one knee square in the middle of Jongho’s chest, the other pinning his right arm down, and both hands wrapped tight around Jongho’s throat. Perhaps he should be scared of what might happen next. Afraid that Mingi tightens his grip and chokes him to death. Both Yunho and Hongjoong are exuding so much fear and panic that it clogs Jongho’s senses, and if it’s affecting him that badly, then that means that Mingi is having a much worse time with it.

Yet despite having his life dangled before his eyes like this, Jongho isn’t afraid that Mingi might kill him. Maybe he’s psychotic for that, or perhaps he just trusts the fact that Mingi doesn’t want to do this that much. Yes, it has to be the latter. He lets Mingi keep him pinned to the floor, hand still raised in Hongjoong and Yunho’s direction and keeping them warded off for the time being. Mingi’s nails dig into the flesh of his throat.

Pain.

Pain, but not from the small crescents Mingi leaves in his neck.

The pain radiates off Mingi’s shoulders. He’s fighting himself so hard, fighting the instinct to kill, the urge to kill, the need to kill. He’s fighting the other part of himself, the one his father forged in blood and dark arenas. Mingi doesn’t know that he’s feeling pain necessarily; he merely knows that he’s hurting. He knows the strain hurts and burns, makes his skin crawl and itch, makes even breathing become a laborious task. Jongho lets his free hand move towards Mingi – each inch breached is slow and calculated as not to scare the man – and lays it atop the ones clasped over his throat.

“You can’t hurt me, Mingi,” he whispers. Mingi’s resolve flickers. For the briefest moment, he believes Jongho, eyes trailing over his own hands like they don’t belong to him.

“It… it hurts.”

“I know it does. Everything hurts, right? They’re loud in your head, telling you to kill.”

“Blood. They w-want blood.” Mingi’s fingers twitch around his neck. His nails dig a bit deeper, and Jongho feels them breach skin. It isn’t deep enough to draw blood, which is for the best because the second the first drop falls, Mingi will fly into a rampage.

“You don’t have to give it to them, Mingi.”

“They’ll hurt me if I don’t.”

“You’ll hurt me if you do.”

Mingi freezes at his words. His hands loosen a bit but don’t move away from Jongho’s body. It’s the last thing he wants, because as cruel and heartless and merciless as Mingi is, he doesn’t want to hurt Jongho. Doesn’t want to hurt Hongjoong or Yunho. Any of the crew. He wants to protect them; he just doesn’t understand how to do that because of the war that goes on in his mind.

“I… did I not already hurt you?” Mingi inquires, gaze curious as he tilts his head to the side. “Your emotions… they – they feel – I hurt you.”

“You didn’t. Tell me what you feel.”

“I don’t know what I feel!” Mingi argues, a spike of anger shooting out towards Jongho. He can barely choke out his next words thanks to the sudden clench of Mingi’s fingers around his throat.

“What I feel. M-Mingi, tell me – tell me what you feel from me.” He’s pushing hard, and perhaps it’s too much of a burden to put on Mingi’s shoulders like this, but at the same time, it’s not enough. Mingi is caught off-guard long enough for Jongho to gasp several deep breaths of air.

“You’re… warm.”

“Does it hurt?” This is the only way Jongho knows how to communicate with Mingi. He can’t name the emotions off one by one because Mingi wouldn’t understand what any of it means, but he does know how to talk about how he’s feeling without naming anything directly.

“N-No.”

“So, are you hurting me?”

Mingi shakes his head ever so slightly. Denial. This time, he believes it for more than a second. Mingi withdraws his hands from Jongho’s neck, letting him fully breathe again, and Jongho rolls out from under the taller Berserker before he can be pinned once more. He doesn’t move because he fears having his life in Mingi’s hands. He would gladly give his life over to the man time and time again if it meant protecting the others from harm. The storm that swirls in Mingi’s dark red eyes calms for the time being. The waters are peaceful. The voices are quiet. And Mingi… Mingi cries. Not for the first time, and not for the last, but he cries nonetheless, hands trembling as he holds them close to his chest. Behind them, the panic and fear radiating off Hongjoong and Yunho slowly dissipates. It grows calm again.

Jongho draws closer to Mingi, kneeling beside him and pressing a hand again Mingi’s shaking ones. It doesn’t stop the trembling or offer any comfort in the slightest. Jongho doesn’t expect it to. Mingi doesn’t understand comfort, only the need for it. But they’ll just keep trying until they find something that works. Like what Hongjoong does next. The short captain walks towards where Jongho and Mingi are and squats down in front of ashy-haired Berserker.

“You pulled yourself out of it, Mingi,” he says, tone quiet but clear. It carries weight with it, one that Mingi picks up on within an instant.

“I al-almost–”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t kill anyone. Didn’t hurt anyone.” A smile twitches across Hongjoong’s lips, soft and gentle as he gazes down at Mingi’s slumped form. “I’m proud of you.”

The simple four words hold more than should be humanly possible, but Jongho supposes that it makes sense since he and Mingi aren’t wholly human. Mingi’s tears halt only long enough for him to offer an awkward yet grateful smile. Hongjoong eats it right up. He reaches across the gap between him and Mingi, not concerned for a second that Mingi could snap his arm in half at the slightest trigger, and drops his hand to the mop of hair atop his head. A small ruffle of the locks, fingers gently combing over Mingi’s scalp, then pulling away. Jongho wants to imagine that Mingi leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut as an overwhelming sense of peace washed over his body.

✧✧✧ a/n: surprise?? this is definitely one that was unexpected for me but i was struck with a sudden realization and plan for mingi’s character progression and how he functions as a character, and this idea wouldn’t leave me alone so i just had to write it and post it today because we’ve got regular chapter tomorrow osidjafoidj but i hope you guys like it!! i think this is the most important interim chapter and has a lot of impact on mingi’s character in the main plot sooo yee lemme know what you think!

if you would like to, you can take the survey here!

taglist: @faeriewoobin​​ @sugarrimajins​​ @atinyinwonderland​​ @2504-life @hanseggroll​​ @sparklychangbin​​ @jeong-uwu​​ @jeonartemis​​ @anothershorthuman​​ @xxbluestrifexx​​ @burberrylucas​​ @haotheheckk​​ @noonawriter​​ @lostscenarios​​ @nlost21​​ @mirror-juliet​​ @okokokok123-45​ @purple-aeon​ @theoinkypiglet​ @toothlessshiber​ @atinyarmyx1​

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[clonecest-bin-account]

Hurt/Comfort: Wolffe/Cody (Maybe during Rebels???) Wolffe and Gregor decided to help Rex and the Ghost crew with a little mission given to them by the Rebels, what they didn't know was that the Empire sent a purge trooper after them. The the three instantly recognize the actions of the vid but there was something familiar to all of them that they couldn't quite tell. So, they decided to help him get free from the chip but when the helmet finally came off they froze to see Cody, they instantly became even more determined and tried their hardest to make Cody remember them and fight the chip.

Then Wolffe became all fluffy and acted like how he was before the war 🤗

(Boy I don’t know what to say. This is the longest prompt I’ve ever written. It kinda too a life on its own lmao. Hope you like it!)

Another day, another war to fight. Wolffe should be used to it, but to be honest every day feels harder that the previous one, even though now he has weekly appointments with a mind healer; he’s been told that it’s normal, that progress isn’t always about going up, but he’s tired of this nonetheless.

It’s during these moments of particular weakness that he allows himself to imagine Cody sitting beside him, calling him a di’kut and a chakaar; he has to bite his tongue not to reply to him, knowing that if someone saw him talking to nothing it wouldn’t be pretty.

It hurts, hurts like nothing else, but it also brings him a strange sense of comfort to imagine his lost love. In Wolffe’s mind, he hasn’t aged a day since the last time they saw each other: his hair isn’t white, no wrinkles adorn his face, his gaze is still fiery and determined, body toned and ready to jump to action if the situation requires it.

 In moments of even greater weakness, Wolffe wishes he were there with him.

He’s failed him, he’s failed him so bad: instead of trying to rescue him, he’s decided to hide, broken and afraid. Now he doesn’t even know if he’s alive or not; deep down inside, he hopes he’s dead, knowing that Cody would hate what the Empire has done to him and the rest of the vode.

 Even deeper down he really must want him to be alive, because as soon as the news of the Empire having sent a squad of purge troopers after them, he immediately begins to hope that he’d find a familiar face behind one of the buckets.

By the footage they’ve gathered of this squad, one of them does appear to move like one of them; it’s not a feeling that can be described, a sort of sixth sense that makes him, Rex and Gregor understand immediately that it’s a brother.

Now comes the hard question: what should they do about the mysterious vod? Trying to free him would be a tedious task, but if Wolffe has learned something about the Ghost company - he can’t speak for all the Rebel Alliance cause he still doesn’t trust the organization as a whole - is that if there’s a chance that they might get to save even just one life, they’ll take it with no hesitation.

So they ask, almost beg even - if only their pride didn’t stop them before they could - to help, and are all relieved when they agree to help them free their vod.

 “Wolffe, do you think…”

“I don’t know.”

He was about to chew Rex out for having had enough courage to say what Wolffe himself has been thinking for a while, but he supposes he should at least be grateful of the fact that he’s been sensible enough to wait until he and Wolffe were alone to talk about it.

Rex sighs, sitting beside him. They weren’t built to sustain being alone for too long, meaning that the closeness is now much appreciated.

“I don’t want to believe it,” Wolffe admits in the end. “Because if it’s not him, then…”

“I know,” Rex nods, understandingly. “I know…”

They remain silent, knowing that it’s best to close this discussion before they can begin making theories that would only result into them getting hurt once they find out the truth.

It must seem pretty gloomy from an outside perspective, because when Gregor finally gets to join them, he too doesn’t say anything; he just walks up to them, settling on the other side of Wolffe and immediately closing his arms around his brothers.

Even as old men, they’d never say no to a good ol’ cuddle pile.

 The plan is simple: they need to isolate the clone from his companions, so that they can drag him away and have his chip removed. Ghost company will take care of the other troopers, while Wolffe, Rex and Gregor will take care of the clone.

All three of them have been granted a tranquilizer syringe that they will use to get the vod to sleep; it doesn’t feel good having to do something like this, but it’s necessary.

Wolffe’s so nervous…

 This feeling of uneasiness accompanies him throughout the entire mission. He and his brothers are supposed to pretend that they’re on a recon mission, and that they haven’t noticed they’ve been followed, thus convincing the purge team to strike and ambush them, only to be then ambushed by the rest of the Ghost team.

Well, it doesn’t sound like a professional tactic at all, but it’s not like Wolffe isn’t familiar with unconventional tactics at all; his Jedi - traitor, no, Jedi… no! - might’ve been more reasonable than Skywalker, but he’s winged it many times as well, with Wolffe that had to chase after him to keep him alive.

Honestly, as long as it works…

 Somehow, it does work.

Wolffe will have to thank whatever cosmic entity governs the universe that it did, but not now. Now he needs to focus on the task at hand.

They have surrounded the vod, though he doesn’t seem intimidated by the situation. Wolffe wonders if he’s capable of feeling anything at all.

Just hang on, brother. You’ll be free soon.

 Despite being flanked, the trooper’s holding his own: he’s knocked the blaster right out Wolffe’s hands, and the two of them are stuck into a hand-to-hand combat. Wolffe isn’t as young as he used to be, and it’s hard for him to keep up; just what the hell have they given to this trooper? He should be as old as Wolffe and yet he moves faster and hits harder than he should be able to do.

The worst thing is how familiar this all feels to Wolffe: he’s spent so many sparring sessions dancing around like this with…

He gets kicked to the face by a powerful roundhouse kick, which makes him stumble, but after shaking his head slightly, Wolffe recovers immediately, knowing that even a moment of distraction could be fatal in situations like this one.

There’s no time for hesitation, and after yelling his heart out he rushes at him, tackling him to the ground in one go. The trooper immediately tries to free himself, kicking and screaming, but no matter how much he’s hurting him, Wolffe doesn’t let him go. He’ll be damned before he does that.

 Immediately Rex and Gregor rush to him, Gregor going to remove the bucket while Rex prepares the tranquillizer.

As soon as the helmet’s removed, Wolffe feels the bile rising in his stomach - he’s so close to vomiting. There’s no mistaking that brow scar: indeed the trooper that has been sent after them is Cody.

“Cody…” Wolffe can’t help but to mutter.

Cody doesn’t stop struggling; it’s like he doesn’t even recognize his name. It hurts watching him like this, it hurts so much, but soon he’ll be free.

Even with him pinned it’s hard for Rex to get him tranquillized: not seeing any alternative, Cody has begun biting. Wolffe’s gotta give it to him, he still has his combative spirit.

 Once Cody goes limp, eyes closing as unconsciousness takes over, Wolffe can finally relax.

He should pull away, get up and take Cody to the ship, but he still doesn’t move, curled protectively around Cody, his Cody, who is back to him, or well, he will be hopefully.

“Wolffe, we need to go!” It’s Rex the one who brings him back to reality. Right, Gregor’s cover fire can protect them only for so long.

“Right…” he mutters, only now getting up. He’s still the first one who reaches for Cody, resting his body on his shoulder as they begin to make their retreat, leaving the Ghost crew to deal with the rest of Cody’s squadmates.

Wolffe would feel bad about leaving them on their own, if not for the fact that they need to bring Cody to safety. This is his priority, now.

 “It’s going to be alright.”

Wolffe knows Rex is saying it more to reassure himself than to reassure him, so he stays silent. On the other side of the wall, Cody is undergoing to chip removal surgery.

He has no idea about what he’ll find after it’s over: first of all there’s not even the certainty that it’ll work, secondly, if it does, will Cody be the same Cody Wolffe knew and loved, or will he be different? Just how much of his old self will be in there? Wolffe’s afraid to find out.

In an attempt to distract himself from those thoughts, he focuses on how Cody looked when they’ve found him; his hair has gotten completely white as well, and it’s shorter than his usual cut. What caught his attention however isn’t that, nor the wrinkles or anything else that he already sees on his own old face, but the new scars he had at the corner of his mouth and on his right eyebrow, which makes him wonder how he got those; if he finds the cause of them, he swears to the Force itself…

 He gets pulled away from those thoughts when the medic comes out of the room.

“How did it go?” Wolffe immediately asks, worried. Please let him be fine please let him be fine please let him be fine--

“The chip has been removed successfully, but… He doesn’t remember anything.”

Wolffe freezes in his place, what does he…

“It’s still too early to discern if it’s just a momentary condition or not. For now let him rest and recuperate from the surgery, then I’ll see that you can visit him.”

Wolffe almost drops to his knees as the news comes crashing down upon him.

Have they really lost Cody then? Just right when they thought they had gotten him back?

Why? Why did this have to happen to him?

 “Wolffe? Wolffe!”

Rex shakes his vod, who only then comes back to his sense.

“Y-Yeah? What is it?”

“You need to calm down, vod. Get some rest.”

“I can’t, Cody… He’s in there,” Wolffe replies. He must be so pathetic, but he doesn’t have the energy to put himself together at the moment. This is all so confusing and painful it makes him want to scream.

“And he’d want you to get some rest,” Rex retorts, gently - but firmly - grabbing Wolffe by the shoulders. “I want to stay too, but I know Cody wouldn’t want us to neglect our health for him.”

He’s right, damn it, he’s right, Wolffe knows it, but… He sighs. Fine.

“Alright, let’s go…”

 There have been only a couple of times in which Wolffe has felt this defeated, and yet, in the bleakness of it all, there’s still a ray of hope: Cody’s condition might not be permanent, and even if it were, Wolffe swears he’ll still stay by his side.

It’s the least he can do, as a penance for not being able to save him sooner.

 “Did it really happen?”

“Of course it did! Would I lie to you about it?”

“Well…”

Wolffe should be mad, but there’s a smile on Cody’s face as he speaks, so he can’t really bring himself to do it, even at the cost of his own dignity.

 He’s gotten used, by now, to Cody not remembering. It was painful during their first visits - he couldn’t even stay in his presence for too long or else it would’ve become too much - but they’ve made progress.

Cody’s still in forced rest, and Wolffe does whatever he can to remain by his side. He might’ve reverted to some old habits he had before everything went to shit, but he still tries to keep his distance, since he can’t be certain that Cody would want him to act like he used to, not while he doesn’t remember him.

One thing that surprised him the most is that Cody asked him - and not just him, but Rex too since they were close as well - to tell him stories of their past. Wolffe has no idea if it’s just so that he can distract himself from everything else that is going on around them, or if he genuinely wants to remember. Nonetheless, he’s more than happy do to it, which brings us to the present.

 “You’re telling me that you pushed me forward when Alpha asked for a volunteer to show off a grappling move, that I got my ass kicked, but then I used the same move on you on our next sparring match?”

It pains Wolffe that he sounds so doubtful of his skills, or of anything else about him. He’s familiar with how it feels like not knowing who you are anymore - he’s gone through the same things, and he’s not even sure he’s over it now. This Cody has no idea about how great of a person he used to be, which makes it Wolffe’s job to remind him.

“Yeah, you whooped my shebs,” he replies. “Somehow you’ve managed to pull that move off after being subjected to it only once. It was infuriatingly impressive.”

A light smirk appears on Cody’s face.

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

Despite everything, Cody still teases him like he used to do when he was himself. Maybe this isn’t such a lost battle after all.

 Days pass, then weeks. Wolffe still doesn’t stop visiting Cody and staying by his side, alternating with Rex since Cody himself seemed quite unhappy about the fact that he was neglecting his health for him - Rex was right about that.

His memory still hasn’t come back completely, but he’s beginning to remember some small things, especially names, which might’ve not been that great, since now he must also carry the weight of the knowledge that, of all his old friends and acquaintances, very few remain.

Even though sometimes Wolffe can’t help but to feel hopeless about this whole deal - what if Cody never comes back? What if he doesn’t want him anymore? - he still keeps going, pushing himself for him.

Until…

 “Oh, Wolffe…”

“What is it, Cody?”

Cody stretches a trembling hand towards him; he’s shaking.

“Wolffe, I remember…”

A chocked sob escapes his lips, and Wolffe’s immediately beside him, keeping him tight in his arms, whispering that everything’s fine, that he’s safe.

“I-- We… We kissed, I remember,” Cody continues. “It was right before Utapau. You told me that I’d better come back alive or that you would’ve killed me again.”

At those words, even Wolffe can’t hold back some tears. What Cody just said really happened: it was the last time they saw each other before the Republic fell. The fact that Cody remembers it now is… great.

“Yes, we did,” he says then, knowing that Cody needs a confirmation that yes, it’s all real.

 Silence falls between the two, before Cody reaches a realization.

“Shit,” he mutters, eyes wide and a horrified expression on his face. “Wolffe, I’m so sorry--”

“Nothing about this is your fault,” Wolffe interrupts him before he can say some really di’kutla shit. “You didn’t ask for this, and don’t you think that I blame you for this, because I don’t.”

Cody nods, not saying anything about it. Nobody mentions the fact that they’re both crying.

 They must be such a pathetic view, two old fucks crying their eyes out like a bunch of shinies, but that’s not what matters.

“Do you want me to stay here?” Wolffe asks, afraid that, now that he’s beginning remembering things, his presence might be too much for Cody. He doesn’t want to leave him, but if he needs a moment - or more of them - alone, he’d be willing to grant him that.

At those words, however, Cody grabs his arm, keeping it tight in his own.

“Please,” he says, sounding so vulnerable that he breaks Wolffe’s heart.

 They make some space on the cot to accommodate both of them. It’s a tight fit but it works just fine.

Things are still pretty bleak but there’s still hope.

Who knows, maybe it’s really beginning to get better.

[piratesfromspace]

Five Times Din and Cobb protected you - and one time they didn’t have to

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Cobb Vanth x Reader

Summary: The title says it all. Five Times Din and Cobb protected you, saved you, or just cared for you - and one time they didn’t have to. It's just self-indulgent fluff to make you feel safe and loved, enjoy!

Those small stories represent part 2 of my series “A Mandalorian, a Marshal, and some complicated feelings”. You can read part 1 here: “Two saviors and some hope”. I strongly advise you read it first!

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: canon-typical violence, alcohol, brief mention of past abuse, sexual harassment, depiction of PTSD

A/N: Neutral pronouns for reader. English is not my native language, please be kind. Fic also available on ao3.

Part 1 ✧ ☽ Chapter 1: The Bruises ☽✧ 

The first time is the day after Din and Cobb saved you from the slaver in the market of Mos Pelgo. The Marshal had already noticed the bruises left on your upper arm by the mean grip of your captor’s hand. He too was a slave once, and he knows. Worse than the pain, is the actual humiliation of seeing on one’s own body the bruises and cuts inflicted by a tormentor. In the afternoon, he comes home with some sort of ointment he bought off of an old lady that is kind of a healer. He offers to apply it for you. The swelling wraps all around your arm, making it difficult for you to reach on your own. You agree.

He’s quick and focused on the task, and you guess it’s not the first time he has to do something like this. His gentleness is almost startling, such a contrast with the faceless authoritarian figure he was just the day before, when you first encountered him. When he’s done, you can already feel the balm starting to soothe the pain. Although you’re not so sure whether it’s thanks to the actual ointment or the calming warmth of his hands against your abused flesh.

He wants to give you the small bottle containing the medication, but you explain you don’t have any credit to pay him back, cheeks hot with shame. His smile is bright and honest, and he assures you you don’t owe him anything. You thank him in a whisper. And you thank the Maker as well for sending him on your path.

✧ ☽ Chapter 2: The Cantina ☽✧ 

The second time happened during a weekday night. The bartender of the local cantina had an errand to run and asked you to replace him. Him being a dear friend of Cobb, you have accepted. Being a barmaid is one of the many previous jobs you have already done, and it is actually a nice distraction. It also is a nice way to earn some credits, let’s be honest.

As the evening unrolls pretty peacefully, a group of very loud male Devaronians enter the cantina, and you can smell trouble as soon they step a foot inside. You’ve already seen them around town for the past couple days, they seem to be resting here for a while before travelling further into the desert. Although their stay is temporary, they’ve managed to make themselves known to the local population as pretty annoying, searching to start a scrap more often than not.

They settle at the bar, ordering a round of spotchka, before one of them starts speaking about you like you weren’t there. “Hey what a pretty human we have here… I’ve heard humans are all soft and light, ‘wonder what they could taste like!” He follows the declaration by an obscene sound of mouth and an exaggerated lick of his giant tongue on his lips. His friends let out silly sneers at the dirty joke. You roll your eyes, when another expands: “Ugh, I don’t think it’s a good idea to eat humans, you know, I’ve heard they’re all bones and no meat.” “No, not like this Kard’ye, Kriff, you’re so stupid.” The whole group laughs loudly, while the aforementioned Kard’ye struggles to understand the innuendo of his camrade. You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or a natural lack of intelligence, but they indeed all look pretty dumb.

Lucky for you, they let you out of their next conversations, and you tend to the rare other clients, praying for the Devaronians to leave soon. The night goes on, and you’re preparing to close the bar. All the patrons quickly leave, except for the bunch of Devaronians, of course. Just before you can tell them to go somewhere else, they order a whole round of the strongest - and most expensive - alcohol you have. You consider refusing, but you don’t want to be the one explaining to your employer why you let so many credits go away.

“This is your very last round, ok?” you finally say, not even trying to hide the exasperation in your voice.

As you’re serving them, you have a short moment of absence and the heavy bottle of alcohol escapes your hands. You try to catch it back with a gasp, but the brown thick drink ends up all over the counter and on the jacket of one of the Devaronians. “I’m so sorry! Let me cl…” you don’t have the time to end your apology that the thug grabs your faulty arm and pulls it toward him, your ribs hitting violently the countertop in the movement. You freeze, the memory of a similar situation suddenly invading your mind. The cruel hand of your captor. The burning sand beneath your feet. The feeling of despair. It’s all back at the front of your mind. The world is shutting down around you, it’s like you’re floating and being stuck at the same time.

“You stupid human, look at the mess you’ve made! You need a correction, maybe Kard’ye is right, I should actually take a bite, just to try…” the creature growls with a vicious smile, revealing two sets of sharp teeth. He tugs your hand closer, like he’s really gonna bite your fingers off. You can feel his lukewarm and disgusting breath on your skin but you’re incapable to move, completely frozen.

“Actually you shouldn’t” the familiar filtered voice takes you out of your paralysis. There is the sound of a blaster getting armed. “Or you won’t have any teeth left.” Din adds while pressing his blaster’s barrel up against the jaw of your aggressor.

There is a little bit of mayhem as the group of Devaronians pull out their own weapons, stepping back and shouting in surprise. Your attacker lets go of your arm, and turns slowly to face the Mandalorian. The threat of a fight is floating in the air as the orange-skinned alien is deciding whether to take offense or not.

His smile gets bigger and he raises both his hands in a mockery of surrender. “A Mandalorian, what a surprise! Are you a Marshal as well? Or maybe you just happen to share the same closet...” his drunk friends giggle at the implication.

“I’m no Marshal. And I make my own justice. Wanna try it?” He says, his blaster sinking a little deeper into the creature’s cheek. His voice is so steady and emotionless it’s borderline scary. “And if you think you’re insulting me by implying the actual Marshal of this town, the most brave man that I know, is my partner, then you’re even stupider than what I thought.”

The tension is thick as the smile on the Devaronian’s face disappears. He snorts loudly and spits on the floor, in a pathetic attempt to regain some stature.

“Well guys, let’s go out of this rat hole, the spotchka wasn’t even good anyway.” he says aloud for the whole group to hear. His companions grumble last threats while leaving the place.

Mando’s blaster is still aiming at their back as they walk out of the cantina, and as soon as the last one of them is in the street, he walks behind the counter and seals the door behind them with the push of a button. You watch him act, but you’re still stuck in the same position, your mind blank.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” you can hear the worry in his voice this time. You want to answer but you can’t, you open your mouth but you’re unable to produce a sound. You’re slowly coming back to your senses, tears of fear prickling in your eyes after the fact, like your emotions are just now catching up with what happened.

You’re desperately looking at Mando’s visor, searching for something, anything that would help you ease the wave of terror that’s preventing you from speaking. “Hey, you’re safe now, I’m here, they’re gone” he whispers, closing prudently the distance between you two, before pulling you gently in his embrace.

You wince when your injured ribs bump into the beskar of his breastplate, but at least the physical pain helps you get back to the here and now. He lets go immediately, startled, taking a step back.

“I… I’m gonna be fine.” you finally find the strength to speak to reassure him. “You’re a strong one, I’m sure you will.” There is no irony in his voice. His visor tips slightly down, toward your ribs. “Let’s go home and have Cobb take a look at this, okay?” You nod in agreement.

“I’ll come back and clean this mess.�� he adds finally, while looking at the drink spilled all over the counter. Then his voice gets lower, laced with threat “And after that, I think I also have a few things to clean with some Devaronians.”

✧ ☽ Chapter 3: The Language ☽✧ 

The third time is all about a misunderstanding.

You go on your day, out in the streets of Mos Pelgo to buy some food. You still avoid the marketplace since it has a few brutal memories attached to it that are still too fresh, but it’s okay because you usually find what you want in the small shop next to the cantina.

As you make your way out, arms full of supplies, you miss a step and accidentally bump into a Tusken. Your groceries fell on the ground as you try to catch your footing, and you apologize while picking everything up, too embarrassed to look up at the stranger you just pushed. But the language barrier is not working in your favor, and the Tusken is quite upset. You know their tribe is not always welcome in town and the tensions were already pretty high long before you arrived.

You try desperately to remember the few gestures Din taught you, but you’re panicking and afraid to sign something wrong, making the situation even worse. The angry grunts of the Tusken are not stopping, and you try to apologize again, but to no avail. The loud quarrel doesn’t go unnoticed. More and more bystanders are stopping to look at the scene, and soon, there are quite a handful of villagers and Tusken around you both. Some of them start to take sides, humans insulting the Tusken, and Tuskens raising threatening fists at the town inhabitants.

It’s all going down pretty quickly, until you catch the shining glimpse of a beskar armor, and the rumble of a deep modulated voice. Mando parts the crowd, plants himself in front of the Tusken and signs in annoyed short gestures. He seems tired of this. Playing the peace keeper and the translator for two opposing sides was an honorable mission at first, but it begins to be more troublesome and repetitive those days. You can’t really blame Mando, when the townsfolk are not making the slightest efforts to include the Tusken tribe - and the desert warriors are not really helpful either. Nonetheless, you watch as Din tries his best to avoid a fight and calm the tensions. After a few back and forth, the offended Tusken finally shakes his head, weary, and signals to his group it’s time to leave. You’re relieved, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

The crowd is dispersed, and Din helps you pick up the last of the food supply still on the ground. After a while, Mando finally breaks the silence between you.

“I’m sorry.

He answers your surprised look with a heavy sigh.

“Sorry you had to end up in the middle of this nonsense while you had nothing to do with it in the first place.”

“I am sorry too, I mean, I failed you. You taught me how to sign their language and I couldn’t even remember how to say sorry. I’m a bad student... Or maybe you’re a bad teacher?” you let out a half-hearted giggle, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Din’s visor drops slightly and you swear you've heard a chuckle.

At least you still remember how to make him smile.

✧ ☽ Chapter 4: The Scar ☽✧ 

The fourth time is a night when the pain in your back wakes you up.

Again.

You know you need to find a competent medical droid to fix what has become a chronic pain, but it’s easier said than done when you live in a small town lost in the desert on Tatooine. You turn in your bed, trying to find a more comfortable position, but after a few minutes of unsuccessful attempts you give up. With an exasperated sigh, you get up. The call from the painkillers still stored in your roommate's bedroom and the promise of an oblivious sleep is too strong. With some luck, you might even be able to sneak under Cobb’s blanket (you know he sleeps alone tonight) and cuddle against his warm chest without waking him up.

With silent steps, you sneak into his room, and quickly find what you’re looking for. It would be way convenient to have the medication stored elsewhere, but you suspect he deliberately keeps it there, so he can keep a tab of your consumption. Was he afraid of you getting addicted to the drug? And wasn’t he right to be so?

A voice interrupts your train of thoughts before you can step outside of the room.

“Leave the pills. And come here.”

You feel like a kid caught with their hands in the sweet-sand cookie jar.

“Please, sweetheart. Don’t make me get up.” you guess a smile behind the voice hoarse with sleep.

But you’re annoyed, your back hurts and he has no rights giving you order, he’s definitely not your dad or anything.

“I’m hurting, Cobb, and I can’t sleep, let me have that.” your answer is more curt than you want to.

“I’ll rub your back.” he offers. “Come here”.

He’s being really patient with you, and it’s even more annoying because now you can’t say no.

You lay on your stomach next to him and he straddles you, one leg on each side of your body, resting ever so lightly on your hips. He asks if you’d prefer to remove your top, and you fumble to push it over your head. Big hands are splayed on your back and you suddenly feel so small under the giant Marshal. It’s like he could cover your entire back with just his two palms. He gently massages your shoulders before going lower, working the knots out of your contracted muscles. The slightly callused skin of his hands feels like heaven against yours. Until he touches your spine and pain courses through your nerves like a lightning bolt. You jerk and let out a repressed whimper.

“Sorry, dear.” he whispers, worried. “should I stop?”

“Don’t you dare.”

He starts again, careful, and despite some occasional - but weaker and weaker - surges of pain, you feel your entire body relax, and your eyelids getting heavier. The grounding feeling of Cobb’s body pressing against yours, the repetitive rhythm of his massage, the soft pillow under your cheek that smells like him: it doesn’t take long for your breath to get steadier as you slowly fall asleep. Before you’re totally gone, you feel Cobb’s lips leaving a gentle kiss on the scar on your back - the one you’re glad you kept as proof of the battles you’ve won.

✧ ☽ Chapter 5: The Desert ☽✧ 

The fifth time involves the desert and a storm.

In retrospect you really wonder what was going through your mind when you thought this was a good idea. Leaving the safety of the town to go out in the desert.

Alone.

Just a couple hours before a sandstorm - a storm you knew where coming.

But after another sleepless night due to the pain, and somewhat of a fight with Din (for stupid reasons you can barely remember now), you were more than upset. On edge, even.  And a quick trip out in the open would clear your mind, you thought. You would totally have time to come back before the announced sandstorm.

Yeah sure .

Except you hadn’t planned for the nav computer of the speeder bike you stole in Cobb’s frontyard to break.

In the middle of nowhere.

Just dunes, and dunes, and more kriffing dunes all over.

The sky was cloudy, announcing the storm, so there was no way you could use the position of the two suns to help you figure out in which direction the town was. You tried to reboot the thing, even to disassemble it. Your attempts were useless. Fixing this computer was beyond your abilities.

And here you were, sitting on a speeder bike with no idea where to go. Which would be scary enough. If a sandstorm wasn’t coming.

You’re used to joke about your poor sense of direction, but right now you’re just angry at your inaptitude and your carelessness. There is very little you can do. As far as you see, there is just sand. Not even an isolated farm, or some sort of rocky valley where you could hide. Nothing, but sand. On your right, you can see the horizon slowly darkening, the sandstorm inexorably moving towards you.

So this is how I die , you think, on my own, in the desert of some forsaken planet, because of a kriffing nav computer. I’ve survived some of the worst things this galaxy can throw at you, and THIS is it?

You don’t know if you want to laugh or scream or cry, so you just walk around the speeder bike for a few minutes to try and calm yourself before sitting down in the sand, your back against the useless vehicle. Your only chance of survival would be someone travelling through the area. But with the storm, any reasonable beings - that excludes you - would stay in their village and not go out. Cobb is probably too busy preparing the town for the tempest to notice your absence. And Din, well, with your little quarrel, he surely isn’t gonna come check on you, not realizing you were gone either. Even if they eventually notice it, it’s probably too late.

You let your head fall back against the cold metal of the bike. The wind is getting clearly stronger by the minute, already picking up some dust. Soon it will become hard to keep your eyes open. Even hard to breathe.  You pull your scarf up on your mouth and nose. Silent tears briefly roll on your cheeks before getting trapped by the fabric. The last hope you had to cross someone’s path was dwindling with every second.  You look at the sky, swirls of brown dust staining the clear grey canvas above you. And then you notice a star, it’s weak at first, but it shines brighter and brighter. A deep tone, something too loud to be the sound of the wind, intensifies with it.

It’s coming towards you real quick and it’s not a star. It’s the flames of a jetpack. And attached to said jetpack is the Mandalorian. You get on your feet, your heart racing, and for a moment you wonder if you’re hallucinating. But he lands gracefully on the dune’s crest, muscular figure all clad in beskar, impressive as always. You run in his embrace, the earlier fight forgotten.

You want to explain, to apologize, to thank him, but there’s no time to lose.

“You need to keep this scarf on your face, to grab me and to hang on strong. Don’t let go whatever happens, got it?” You nod, tears of relief clouding your vision.  “It may be a bumpy ride.”

He takes you into his arms, clutching you against him with all his strength and you’re both going up in the sky. His jetpack is at full power, trying to outrun the sandstorm. You can feel him straining against the wind, trying to protect you as best as he can from the flying grains of sand scraping your exposed skin. Unlike him, you’re not wearing any gloves or helmet, there’s no beskar between you and the world.

Through squinting eyes, you can finally see Mos Pelgo in the distance, and as you approach the town, you’re joined by another jetpack wearer. You recognize the red and green of Cobb’s armor. They were both looking for you.

It’s a matter of minutes, seconds almost, but you all reach the safety of Cobb’s home before the sandstorm fully hits the streets of Mos Pelgo. The door is closed in a hurry, all three of you tumbling in the small hall. The Mandalorian finally let you go, and you can feel his arms slightly shaking, muscles spasming after the long and grueling effort. The heavy jetpack is discarded on the ground with little care. His chest is rising quickly, his ragged breath creating weird sounds through the modulator of his helmet, a hand on the wall for support.

You don’t really know what to say and you stand in the hallway, trying to catch your breath as well. You can hear Cobb fumbling to remove his armor and helmet, and as soon as he’s free, he hugs you, whispering reassuring words, although you’re not sure if he’s speaking to you or to himself. And when he lets go of his embrace, he turns to Din and hugs him as well, slightly lowering his head down and placing his forehead on his helmet, a sign you know of affection and love.

“Let’s get you out of your armor, cyar'ika” Cobb’s husky voice is warm but your heart stings at the word. It’s Mando’a and while you don’t know the exact translation, you’re sure it carries a lot of meaning with it. It dawns on you at that moment, your foolishness may have caused one of them to be injured or worse .

You try to hide your self-loathing behind a blank face, and you start helping Cobb. You work in silence, removing every piece of beskar armor from The Mandalorian’s body. When you’re done, Din heads toward the refresher without a word.  You want to cry, he’s obviously mad at you - if it isn’t for the trivial fight from earlier in the day, it’s obviously because you almost killed yourself and put his and Cobb’s lives at risk. You can’t hide your feelings anymore. An overwhelming wave of raw emotions hits you and you rush to your bedroom. Outside, the weather matches the storm inside your head.

A deep soothing voice shakes you out of your thoughts. You can’t really say how long you’ve stayed huddled on your bed. Maybe minutes, maybe hours.

“Hey, you know he’s not mad at you, right?”

Cobb is leaning against the doorframe of your room. He knows when to leave you space, but also when to check on you. You raise red eyes and a runny nose toward him.

“Actually I think he’s mad at himself.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s mad because he upset you and you left, because you got lost and he almost failed to protect you.” He pauses, crosses his arms on his chest. “Actually I’m also mad at myself, for not fixing that damn speeder bike earlier.”

You gasp, you’ve almost forgotten that part. The stolen bike is likely buried in sand as you speak. And if it’s still in one piece at the end of the storm, it should not take long before some jawas find it.

“I’m so sorry about that, Cobb, I… I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“It’s ok, it was a rusty scrap of metal anyway.”

Cobb lets out a chuckle, mischief back in his eyes.

“Although I may have to arrest you, you know, since I’m a Marshal and you’re a thief. Let me find my handcuffs!” he concludes with a wink, and you can’t help but smile at how corny he sometimes is.

“Now let’s see Din, he needs us I think.”

He grabs your hand to help you get up, and leads you to his room. The storm is still raging outside, and it’s dark, probably early in the night. He knocks on the door, opens it slowly, and in the very dim ray of light that flows into the room, you can guess Din’s back and a glimpse of his soft brown hair. He’s sitting on the bed, facing the opposite wall. Cobb shuts the door behind you both, casting the room into darkness.

“I’m sorry…”

“Please forgive me…”

Din and you both start speaking at the same time.  There is a second of silence, before he resumes.

“No need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re here and safe now.”

His voice is unusually soft, a little less deep than through the modulator, more vulnerable, more human . It’s always a bit weird to hear his real voice, but at the same time you’re grateful to be able to hear it in the first place.

You climb on the bed, and you carefully reach for him, hugging him from behind. He grabs your hands and brings them to his lips, leaving kisses on your scuffed knuckles. You melt into his touch, and you both stay silent, but there is no discomfort between you. The sound of the wind outside is strangely comforting, some sort of a peculiar lullaby. The whole pressure of the day is finally released, and the only thing left is your gratitude and love for the two warriors in your life.

✧ ☽ Chapter 6: The Chiss ☽✧ 

And then there is the time when you can save yourself.

As the weeks pass by, you spend your days taking care of Cobb’s home, or working odd jobs here and there in Mos Pelgo, helping townsfolk with their businesses, trying to make some credits. You don’t really have a plan for your professional future right now. But regarding your freetime, you do have a plan. You’ve asked Din to train you in close combat. At first, he was reluctant, but you convinced him it was about guaranteeing your own safety and not becoming a bounty hunter or some sort of hitman like him.

His lessons were not the easiest to follow. He was patient, but he treated you with no special privileges, barely restraining his force when throwing you on the ground if you failed to escape his attack. He saw no point in playing soft or fair since a real-life aggressor would not be. You learned how to dodge and duck, how to aim for the weakest points of your opponent, and how to use your speed and lightness as a strength against what would likely be a bigger and stronger enemy. It was not about defeating an attacker. The spirit of the lessons were more about how to escape, run and hide efficiently.

You dreaded his lessons as much as you waited impatiently for them. You were pretty sure Din voluntarily over-played his toughness for the first couples of training sessions in order to test your will to really learn those techniques. But you could almost hear the proudness in his voice after each particularly grueling practice. Of course, your body was not spared, and more often than not you ended up with bruises and scratches in unexpected places. You had to reassure him quite a handful of times you were okay with this, because his guilt and fear of really hurting you was ever so present. He always took a moment after your lessons to take care of you, applying soothing balm over your bruises or bacta on your cuts, and those rare instances made you feel like you virtually were his equal, a warrior as well, not afraid of getting hurt in a fight. Of course Cobb always looked at the both of you with concern and suspicion, because he knew too well he was the one who would end up going shopping for medication and handling your healing process in the long run.

But Cobb was also an integral part of your plan. You couldn’t live with one of the best gunslingers in the area and not ask him to teach you how to use a blaster. The lessons were definitely easier to follow, and way less demanding. Cobb was a fun teacher, and while he was serious when sharing his knowledge, he made sure your training stayed enjoyable. Cracking jokes and delivering corny punchlines, calling you all sorts of outdated cute nicknames and cheering on you when you would finally shoot in the middle of the makeshift target of the day. Besides teaching you how to aim, he also showed you how to pull your gun faster than an adversary, the key to winning any fight according to him. When he was too tired after a long day of work to take you out, he would stay home and show you basic blaster maintenance. You would watch, mesmerized as he methodically disassembled his own gun before cleaning it, and re-assembling it with a speed you would not believe possible. Din would usually scoff at his little manly and self-indulgent demonstration, but you bet he was also impressed because you could clearly see the way his visor kept focusing on Cobb’s large and skillful hands. With their guidance, it took only a handful of weeks for you to feel more confident about your chances of survival in a fight.

While you suspected Din and Cobb both knew what motivated you to ask for their training, they never pushed you for any answers. It was about claiming your independence back, claiming your body back, and also a little bit about being prepared in the eventuality you’ll cross paths again with a certain Chiss slaver.

And then, one day, this eventuality becomes reality.

Din, Cobb and you, as well as a couple of other villagers have made the trip to Mos Eisley for a few days, in order to gather needed rare supplies, from mechanical parts to special medicine or new droids.

It’s your first day in the big town when you catch a glimpse of him, in the market. A flash of bright-blue in your peripheral vision. At first, you dismiss the alarm signal your brain sends you. It’s not because the alien is a Chiss, that it was this Chiss. But when he turns his face ever so slightly, you recognize him with no room for doubt. You try to stay calm and act like it’s nothing even though your mind is on a code-red alert.

You spend the rest of the day on edge, and you’re pretty sure Din and Cobb have noticed. As you all three settle in the small room you’re renting for the time of your stay, your suspicion is confirmed when Mando finally let out the question that was on his mind all day long.

“About who we saw in the market today, what do you want us to do about it?”

The tone is severe, no emotion in it, like a soldier ready to take any order. You left a moment of silence.

“I want to handle this myself.” you answer with a surprisingly determined voice.

Cobb’s brows furrow, he runs a hand on his face, and lets himself fall on one of the small beds. He lets out a sigh before adding an ominous “That’s what I feared.”.

You cut short to the discussion, because even if a Marshal and a Mandalorian want to discourage you to go on with this idea for your own safety, you’re still your own person. It’s your choice to make. They don’t push it, and you go to sleep with a very clear objective in your mind.

The next day, you see him again. He’s still in the marketplace and he’s accompanied by a couple of twi’leks in chains he seems to be trying to sell. It’s easy to forget what’s going on outside of the safe haven of Mos Pelgo, but here in Mos Eisley slavery is still a thing and the Republic isn’t in any rush to make it stop. It disgusts you, and your resolution only strengthens. You don’t have any specific plan about how you want to do it but everything falls into place when you spot him in a Cantina later that day.

The suns are already setting when your little group decides to go grab a drink. The Cantina is crowded with travelers and local inhabitants, but the tall Chiss is hard to miss. Of course, you two bodyguards have noticed him as well. As the night goes on, your eyes never cease to dart out of your booth and you have trouble focusing on what your lovers are discussing. Cobb is sipping on his third beer, relaxed. Din is playfully grazing his hand on Cobb’s knees while speaking, getting drunk in his own way. You, you barely touch your drink, too focused on your target.

Then everything happens really fast. You see the Chiss getting up from his stool and leaving, but Cobb and Din are now sitting at the very back of your booth and can’t see what’s happening. You smile at them and say you just need to use the bathroom before slowly walking out of their visual field with a calculated casualness. As soon as you reach the other side of the cantina, you slip out of the place amongst a few other clients. The night is clear, and the freshness of the air is welcome after the moist and warm atmosphere of the cantina. Your heart beats so fast in your chest it’s the only thing you can hear. Adrenaline is flowing through your veins like the most powerful drug in the galaxy, and you feel invincible.

The Chiss is walking further in the main street, and you start following him, your hand resting on the blaster on your hip, hidden under your long jacket. He’s alone, and as you silently creep behind him while he turns into smaller and smaller streets, there is no one left around you.

Suddenly, he stops in the middle of the alley. Without even turning back, he starts speaking.

“How long are you gonna follow me like this? You missed me?” you can hear the smirk in his voice. You’re a bit taken aback.

“You know who I am?”

He finally turns to face you.

“I had a doubt when I saw you earlier but then, I recognized the Mandalorian sitting at the cantina. Quite hard to hide such shiny armor.” he seems very amused by the situation. “I hope you had fun removing that chip, can’t wait to put a new one in your brain. And maybe I should have you branded. So no one will steal my property this time. I have to warn you though, it might be a bit painful.” He’s obviously getting high on his own cruelty.

“Stop it.” you growl through gritted teeth, barely recognizing your own voice.

But he goes on.

“Don’t worry, my crew will also take care of your two boyfriends. I’m sure they will greatly enjoy the little noises you’ll make when I’ll carve my mark into your skin in front of them, and then...”  

“I said stop it .”

If there was any doubt left in you before this encounter, now it is clearer than ever: you need to end this. You need to end him .

Your hand reaches for your blaster but he’s quicker and he’s on you before you can do anything. He runs into you with all his strength, his right shoulder in your ribs, and you both fall on the ground. Your blood is already so full of adrenaline, the usual flashbacks don’t even have the chance to cloud your mind. The pain in your chest doesn’t register either. Your body reacts almost on its own, the long hours training with Din have you move on instinct. Your fist flies up into his nose which breaks into an awful noise, then to his eyes, while you try to kick him in the guts with your knee. He’s taken by surprise but not ressourceless and he has the time to hit your cheek before you manage to crawl from under him. He lets out a grunt of pain and tries to get back up on his feet, but it’s too late. The red lasers of the blaster blinds you. You fire once, twice, more times than you care to count. The Chiss in front of you falls flat on his face, finally silent.

You’re panting, on your knees, a steaming blaster in your hands. The cold air of the night useless to soothe your thrumming body, skin hot like flames were lapping at you, head spinning. The hurried footsteps suddenly stopping behind you take you out of your frenzy.

“Told you.” Cobb says with a shove into Mando’s side, before prudently crouching beside you, gently taking the blaster out of your hands.

“I’ve got you sweetheart.” he whispers softly while he helps you get fully up. “Are you hurt?” You shake your head, still high on adrenaline, not feeling the swelling of your cheek, your scratched palms and what is probably a cracked rib. Cobb is not convinced.

“Well, I doubt that, but we need to go now. Don’t want anyone to find us near this corpse.”

“No, wait!” you clear your throat and lower your voice “We need to take his access cylinder, and check out his ship, make sure there’s no one left chained in there.”

“Then we move now.” Din speaks at last, tone flat, and it’s hard for you to tell what he thinks of this whole mess. He sees you have a moment of hesitation, not really in a rush to search a dead body, and he spares you the gritty work, turning the corpse on his back and rummaging in the pockets and satchels of the dead Chiss to find what you’ll need.

You all leave the crime scene silently, running straight to the spaceport to find his ship. It’s empty, except for quite a few credits Din is happy to steal. The way back to your inn seems incredibly long, but you need the lengthy walk in the fresh air to let the pressure go down. You can hear Din and Cobb talk to each other behind you with low and concerned voices, but you don’t really care. Their conversation doesn’t last though, they catch up with your pace, and The Marshal slips a protective arm around your shoulder, which stays here for the rest of the way.

When you finally reach your room, dawn is only a couple of hours away, and exhaustion is hitting you like a wall. You crash on your bed, barely taking the time to kick off your shoes before rolling on your back and passing out, not even bothering to slip under the sheets.

The two suns are already pretty high in the sky when you wake up the next day. Most of your clothes are folded on the foot of your bed and there is a blanket drawn onto you. You guess Din and Cobb couldn’t let you sleep in your leather jacket and dusty cargo pants. Thinking of them , you don’t know where they are because the room is empty. You sit up, and you let out a groan of pain. Your ribs hurt like hell, your head aches from dehydration and overall you feel like you were hit by a running bantha. You manage to make it to the refresher, and you gulp long sips of water directly from the tap of the washbasin, consciously avoiding the reflection of your bruised cheek in the mirror. The water tastes like sand with an aftertaste of bleach but at least it’s potable - it is, right? You chose to believe it’s clean and settle under the thin water spray of the shower, trying to wash away the dirt of the past night.

With fresh clothes on and a clean face, you feel a little bit better, but there is still no trace of Mando and the Marshal. You don’t have to wonder where they are for very long though, because you soon hear their voices echoing in the hallway before the door slides open.

“Hello sunshine” Cobb’s grin could almost be enough to make you smile. “How are ya’ feeling? You must be hungry.” He gestures at Din and a little box full of steaming food is delivered on your knees.

“Thanks.”

The street food is not the most appetizing you ever saw, probably too greasy and too salty, but your belly rumbles in anticipation and you start eating without any further ado.

There is an awkward moment of silence between the three of you, no one really knows what to say regarding the fact you murdered someone for the first time of your life a few hours ago.

“He saw it coming and he deserved it.”

Din finally breaks the silence, voice steady through the modulator, and it’s like he’s reading your mind. Can Mandalorians even do that?

“You don’t have to feel guilty. Now the only thing that matters is you and your future.”

“And that broken rib we need to heal.” Cobb’s sounds amused “don’t try to fool me by saying you’re okay” he adds with a smirk, his own way of dealing with the situation.

You chuckle and you immediately regret it because it makes you wince.

“You got a point, Cobb.” you admit.

The couple next days are so uneventful, if it wasn’t for the pain still lingering in your chest, you could swear you dreamed what happened that egregious night. Nobody is really bothered by another random slaver missing after a party night at a cantina, especially not the local authorities. The streets are still full of busy travelers, the market full of loud merchants, the bars full of singing drunks. Mos Eisley is the same, even if you’re not anymore.

Nevertheless the trip back to Mos Pelgo still feels like relief.

You’re sitting between the Marshal and the Mandalorian in the transport, neatly tucked between a warm shoulder and cold beskar. Cobb’s fingers are absent-mindedly rubbing circles into your thigh, and you can hear the regular breathing of Din through his modulator. Combined with the soft buzzing of the ship, you feel like you could almost fall asleep.

You’re glad to be coming back to the small desert town. Glad to set foot on its dusty streets. Even glad to find again your tiny bedroom in Cobb’s house.

You realize the trip back to Mos Pelgo does not only feel like relief.

It feels like more than that.

It feels like finally coming home.

And no matter how many times the two warriors who crossed your path a few months ago had to save you, no matter how many more times they will have to, you now know you can also be your own savior.

You now know you can also be your own hope.

[alabasterswriting]

Gone With the Rest of Me

Writing this because Chapter 7 of Men of Power is not cooperating, so I need to redirect before coming back to it. Also @jasontoddiefor‘s Medical Trauma Time Travel AU is eating away at my brain. So here you go!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25050571

Anakin screams.

He screams because his skin is on fire and his lungs won’t work and there’s a man above him with tears on his cheeks as flames burn the sight from his eyes. He screams because the man has wrinkles and the pain is old and his lightsaber cleaves out a piece of his soul as it cuts the man in half. Satisfaction is agony; a cold pit of apathy, like the loss of a mechanical limb. It should matter, but it doesn’t when he’s long convinced himself the original didn’t either.

Something jostles him. There’s a presence in his head and it doesn’t belong there. It stings like new skin, and aches like a muscle freshly used, and no matter what shields he throws at it, it slips through them all like sand through fingers. It’s dug into Anakin’s mind as if it didn’t burn with all the others, and nothing makes sense.

“Stop, stop,” he begs. It’s too deep. Far too deep. It smells of sapir tea and sulfur, home-cooked meals and burning flesh. His voice is a whisper because his throat is scorched and he can’t speak any louder, even though there’s no pain except for the phantom of what was. The presence recedes as if burned and Anakin wants to laugh except he hasn’t laughed in twenty years, and something is wrong. Something is so wrong and he just wants the galaxy to stop so he can get off and fix it.

Hands touch him. They’re gentle and pressing and he doesn’t understand because there’s no pain. There’s no pain even though he feels it as vividly as lightning dancing across flesh. Each touch stings; the hand on his head is like lava on his scalp. It sets flames to hair he shouldn’t have anymore, each follicle a tendril of unrelenting agony, and he doesn’t even know why he leans into it so desperately.

Someone somewhere is shouting. He thinks he hears his name, but that isn’t right because his name belongs to a dead man and remembering the dead is a fool’s errand. There are questions - he thinks they’re directed at him - and a light in his eyes that is bright, bright, oh Force, it’s so bright.

He’s screaming again even though he never actually stopped. White, it’s white. Blinding, horrible white, like the inside of his Qabbrat. Only, it’s not his chamber because he’s laying down and he can’t breathe and the hands are everywhere and - doctors.

They’re doctors. A heart monitor beeps its familiar tune and a droid rattles off the confusing diagnostics that make sense only to healers. He’s surrounded by medical equipment, but it’s too busy, too bright to be the droids and nurses he knows. They shout and touch him with hurried hands and worried voices, and it doesn’t make sense because the nurses don’t touch and the droids aren’t gentle and neither are ever worried. This isn’t familiar. He doesn’t want to be here. He can’t be here. This is wrong, so wrong and he needs to get out.

Something crashes behind him and there’s a sound like crumpling metal close to his ear. It’s loud, horribly so, and it doesn’t make sense because there’s no static and his helmet is off and why is it loud?

Shouts erupt from the people around him. Metal groans and the table he’s on shudders, and suddenly there are more hands. There are more hands and he hates it. He hates them and he hates their concern and he wants them off! A great cry rises up around him from a cacophony of bodies thrown into walls. It splits ear drums that have long melted away, and Anakin cries.

He cries and the table shakes and he doesn’t care if the room collapses around him because at least then there will be silence. Silence and darkness and he’ll know where phantom pain ends and real pain begins. He doesn’t notice as the overhead lights flicker and die. He doesn’t notice as machines warp around him. He shakes on the table as full of agony as he was on that day two decades ago. Arms - weightless and sensitive and foreign - reach to grasp hold of his ears in an effort to block out the world.

It doesn’t work. The world keeps spinning and he spins with it. For the first time he notices the Force’s screams. It’s screaming and shouting and crying, and he doesn’t know if it’s echoing him or he’s echoing it, but it doesn’t matter because he feels like a sun inside and it’s been so long. So, so long since he heard it like this. It’s light and bright, but shadows - familiar and terrible - follow in its wake like vornskers hunting a meal. He hates it. He wants to pull away but he remembers this. This feeling of impending implosion within his own power and it scares him. It scares him and he hates that and there’s nothing left to temper it. He can’t temper it; he never could and -

There’s a hand on his head. It’s callused and steady and warm like sunshine on Naboo. Anakin’s forgotten what that felt like. He hungers for it, head tilting like a babe suckling for milk. Desperately, he struggles for more of that warmth, more of that comfort. It’s been so long since he’s felt either and he doesn’t deserve it, but Anakin Skywalker has always been a selfish bastard.

The hand seems to understand as it cups the back of his head and lifts it up. It’s gentle - oh so strangely gentle - as if Anakin will shatter otherwise, and he’s not so foolish anymore as to say that isn’t possible. Another arm carefully wraps around his chest. It freezes him in place because why isn’t it crushing him? Why isn’t it hurting him? He braces himself for the impact of whatever attack this is, but nothing comes.

Instead, there’s a moment of breathless weightlessness before he feels himself settle against a torso. A heartbeat pounds in his ear, loud and clear and scared, but the body is steady, holding him as if he were a child. He’s not. He’s a monster and monster don’t get held like this, but he’s too tired to fight. Everything is too much - too much sound, too much touch, too much sight - and if these are his last moments, well it’s not the worst way to go. He settles, shaking and gasping against the body, burrowing into it like a bygone memory. He thinks there’s something wet on his cheeks, but that’s impossible because he hasn’t been able to cry real tears in decades.

The arms tighten. They hold him steady as the person bends over, encompassing him fully in an embrace that should feel like a trap, but doesn’t. A voice whispers in his ear, choked with an emotion he thinks he should know but can’t remember, urging him on, telling him to do something, but he can’t concentrate. His mind is a mess, like his Master just gouged out a piece of his brain and set it on fire.

He chokes. He chokes and there’s nothing there to help him breathe and oh Force, where’s his respirator? His body is suddenly alert, flailing about in the embrace struggling for air. So this is what they’re doing. Clever. Let the monster suffocate. They took his respirator and are suffocating him and he can’t breathe and -

“-kin! Bre-! Ana- you have - breathe!” The person yells. Anakin can feel the rumble against his cheek, but the person doesn’t understand. He can’t breathe. “You have to - in! Ana-in. Breathe. Listen, -me. Anak-. An-! In, one, -wo, thre-. Hold. Out, one, two, -ee. Again. In..” the voice continues, but Anakin doesn’t listen. He can’t. He can’t do it. He can’t breathe. Why don’t they just give him his respirator?

“General!” Another voice, also familiar, shouts nearby and Anakin flinches. The arms tighten reflexively, but the pain he should feel never comes. Instead, a sound like pressurized oxygen enters his space, and everything else ceases to matter. A mask is placed over his mouth, forcing oxygen into his damaged lungs and he feels himself sag back into the stranger’s embrace. He can breathe. Oh Force, he can breathe.

The hand on his head cards through his hair and he doesn’t have the energy to question that. All he cares about is the air. Glorious, glorious air and the sunshine warmth of the stranger. A torso bends just slightly further around him, and he can sense the person’s head as they lean towards him. Bristles, pointed and sharp poke at his sensitive skin, and the sensation of soft fingers against his cheek is almost enough to make him sob. It’s electric. His nerves are fit to explode. Every brush against his skin is like liquid fire, but he welcomes it like the pathetic fool he is. It’s gentle. He’d forgotten what gentle felt like.

The stranger’s touch is enough to calm the Force into a manageable screech, and if he concentrates hard enough he can almost drown out the sound of the doctors scurrying around. Almost. Not quite. But he’s too tired now to bother retaliating. Whatever they want to do to him can’t be worse than what’s already been done.

He focuses instead on the crisp voice of the stranger. They murmur softly into his ringing ears, calm and soothing as if afraid to spook him, and it’s familiar in a way that makes his stomach lurch and his heart break. The bristles tickle his nose and he wants to reach out. Wants to see. But his mask is off and it’s too bright and he’s blind without it.

A thumb wipes something from his face. He can’t tell what it might be but a nail clips against his eyelids, sending a burning sting through his head that forces his eyes open. Funny, he doesn’t know when he’d closed them if they’d ever been open in the first place.

Light from a window greets him. It spears through him like a bolt to the brain and he hears something whimper nearby. The stranger cups his cheek again and Anakin marvels at the way the man’s hair catches fire. Anakin hates fire, but it’s a dull hate. Old, and one he doesn’t have the strength to call upon.

But it’s that hate that gives him time to pause. Because the room is bright but there’s color. There’s gold in that fire-hair, and it’s been so long since he’s seen gold he almost can’t believe it. Gold. In copper hair, against a pale face and blue-

Luke? But no. It’s not Luke.

The face that meets his belongs to a dead man. He tries to reach out but his arms won’t move and he only ends up sending a shudder of phantom pain down the length of his spine. It’s agony and he bites his lip to keep quiet, but the dead-man doesn’t care. The hand leaves his cheek and reaches out to clasp hold of his fingers. It’s feather light, but Anakin feels every callus, every scar, every groove. The nails need cutting, but he welcomes the pins and needles they cause.

He knows this hand. He dreamed of cutting it off for years. He dreamed of it reaching out to him for years. There’s a scar from a repair job gone wrong on the inside of his thumb and a burn from a cooking incident on his forefinger. They should be wrinkled, but they’re not; smooth with youth, and leathery with experience.

Fire-hair dances and he can’t stop staring. He knows that healers are bustling around him - knows that they’re touching him, but they’re meaningless next to the dead-man. The man’s face is young, with only the beginnings of laugh lines, and his blue-grey eyes have not yet clouded with age.

Anakin wants to sob. He wants to rage. Because this is the face he’s dreamed of killing. For twenty years, this face wreathed in flames is the one he wanted dead. Dead, for not loving him enough to put Anakin out of his misery when he had the chance. The hunched old-man colored in nothing but the red of his suit’s lenses was a poor substitute.

But the man’s arms are warm. His voice is soothing. He smells like sapir tea and regulation caff. The fingers that hold Anakin’s are gentle and the beard against his cheek is scratchy from days left untrimmed. When he leaves here, he’ll probably trim it. He’ll shower and make caff that Anakin will steal, and then he’ll shake his head ruefully before turning around to make the tea he’s already had in preparation. Maybe he’ll do paperwork. Maybe he’ll nap. It varies depending on the day and Anakin finds himself shaking at the thought.

Because it doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t understand. The galaxy is spinning and the Force is booming. He can’t tell up from down, and bonds long dead are thrumming with energy. He’s going to be sick. He has to be dreaming. This can’t be real and yet all he wants is to curl up into the embrace of the man who haunts his nightmares and beg him to finally end it.

“Please.” He doesn’t know if he says it out loud or in his mind, but the dead man holds him close and quietly shushes him.    

Someone tugs on his arm, and he feels the familiar sensation of needles piercing his skin. He doesn’t want it, but he never does. There’s a brush against his mind and he doesn’t recoil. Master does it all the time. The trick is not to fight, even when he digs.

But the dead-man doesn’t dig. He brushes his presence over Anakin’s forehead as gently as a parent does their child. The world grows fuzzy and he thinks he hears the crisp accent say, “Sleep, Anakin. You’ll be okay,” before his eyes begin to close and his head tilts to press against the dead-man’s chest. Someone injects him with something else, but he’s too far gone to care. 

He falls asleep to the sound of Obi-Wan’s heartbeat and the knowledge that he’ll still be gone when Anakin wakes up. 

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hey Steph! I wanted to know if you knew of any fics that dealt with the topic of consent, and very explicit consent, and not even necessarily for sex, but just, explicit consent and conversations of boundaries in a relationship. "hay can I kiss you? it's ok if I hold your hand? can I hold your hand when we're outside?" people talking boundaries, that type of thing... you know anything like that?

Hey Nonny!!

You know, I ABSOLUTELY KNOW that I do, but I didn’t have the foresight to pre-tag all of them as I read them, so I can’t give you ALL of the ones I have in my bookmarks, but I can definitely give you the fics I do have tagged with “Consent” or “Negotiation”, so I hope that’s okay!!

If any of my Lovelies have any that they remember or have their own fics, PLEASE add them!!

CONSENT AND RELATIONSHIP NEGOTIATION

Personal Space by probablyquantum (T, 1,814 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Cuddles, Nightmares, Awkwardness) – John and Sherlock renegotiate the rules governing personal space. Pre-Slash.

Husband by jinglebell (E, 2,003 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., PWP, Anal, Multiple Orgasms, Fluff, Toplock) – Sherlock orgasms when John refers to him as ‘husband’.

The Marriage Proposal Negotiation by Goddess_of_the_Night (G, 2,161 w., 1 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Possessive Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Fluff, First Kiss, Post Mary) – Sherlock hasn’t ever really done anything the traditional way, so of course it wouldn’t bother him to propose to John even though they’re not even dating. And the fact that John is already on a date with someone else when he decides to do it? Tedious.

Perfect Solo by Itsallfine (E, 2,384 w., 1 Ch., || PWP, Solo Kink, Fantasy, Pining, Dirty Talk, Sex Toys) – Sherlock couldn’t decide how he wanted to have John that night. (The one where Sherlock uses his box of sex toys to take himself apart in every way John might have him.)

Everything by patternofdefiance (E, 4,409 w., 1 Ch. || Snuggles and Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Frottage, Vulnerable Sherlock) – John wakes up with an armful of Sherlock. This – situation – is unusual, yes, and definitely unfamiliar, but in no way does it feel wrong. Rather, it feels the exact opposite. Part 13 of I Blame Tumblr

Uninhibited by 221b_hound (M, 4,293 w., 1 Ch. || Bathing/Washing, Naked Cuddling, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Big Brother Mycroft, Relationship Negotiation, Massage, Sherlock Has a Low Libido, Pet Names) – Sherlock and John have been apart for the first time since Sherlock returned from the dead. Neither of them has had a good day. John’s gets worse when Mycroft comes to Baker Street in Sherlock’s absence to warn John Watson against disappointing his brother by expecting things to change. Mycroft has misjudged things rather badly. But finally he sods off and leaves John and Sherlock to reconnect, to give and receive comfort, and show each other that they are, indeed, perfectly matched. Part 15 of Unkissed

Beg for Mercy (Twice) by Solitary_Endeavor (E, 7,060 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Bottomlock, Bearded John, Edging, Rough Sex, Idiots in Love, Canon Compliant) – Sherlock hasn’t left the flat in four days, the itch of impatience beneath his skin too great to allow him to suffer interaction with any human being who isn’t John. This is probably a mercy that goes both ways, as he’s driving even himself mad. Sherlock supposes there is a lesson to be learned here about having himself to blame, but of course he blames Mycroft.

The doctor is in by PlainJane (E, 7,581 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Sex Therapist, Anal, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock is a young alpha with an aversion to his cycle. John is a gender medicine specialist. Nothing could possibly go wrong… Part 1 of Doctors and detectives

Caves in the Mountains Are Seldom Unoccupied by starrysummernights & TheMadKatter13 (E, 7,925 w., 1 Ch. || Were-Creatures, Werebear John, Pseudo Bestiality, Rimming, Dub Con, Rough Sex, Come Inflation / Eating, Size Kink, PWP, Bratty Sherlock, Rutting) – “This isn’t something to play at, Sherlock,” he snapped. “If it doesn’t work out- what you’re asking of me- we can’t shrug and say ‘oh well, at least we tried’. If we do this… I could seriously hurt you. Do you understand? I could lose control. I could… I could kill you.” (This one is… REALLY REALLY kinky, heavy dub-con warning)

Just Like That by sussexbound (E, 8,442 w., 1 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, French Kissing, Anal, Emotional Lovemaking, Enthusiastic Consent, Tenderness, Crying John, Bathing/Washing, Insecure John, Toplock) – John doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants. Oh dear god, how he wants. For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.

Evening Ride by LapisLazuli (E, 8,632 w., 1 Ch. || Public Sex, Alternate First Meeting, Humiliation Kink, Groping, Frottage, Consent Issues, Come Play) – John has a series of unexpected meetings with a stranger on the Tube.

C. sapiens by patternofdefiance (E, 8,813 w., 1 Ch. || Tentacles Porn, Magical Realism, Bottomlock, Anal / Tentacle Sex, Pheremones) – “A few weeks ago I would have thought you were impossible,” Sherlock begins, walking into the kitchen in his blue robe, and John – not quite catching on – wants to scoff and argue, No, actually, you are impossible, but then Sherlock continues: “But now I’d say you are improbable.” John thinks this might be flattering, if he could wrap his head around it, but he can’t – Sherlock is standing near, steaming his sun-baked-clean-sand smell, like the beach after rain, an alive smell, an other smell. It’s intoxicating, and John has been studiously avoiding it, but he can’t shift away now it’s so near. Now Sherlock’s so near. And then Sherlock ruins the probable-loveliness of his words and the definite-beauty of his presence by saying: “And by ‘improbable’ I mean ‘not yet scientifically acknowledged.’” Part 1 of Gifts from the Sea

John Watson’s Moon by patternofdefiance (E, 11,314 w., 1 Ch. || Werewolf John, First Time, BAMF John, First Time, Anal, Fleeting Depictions of Violence) – Sherlock finds out John is a werewolf and wants to see the transformation. It, uh, gets really kinky.

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world’s only consulting detective will be on his own once again…or will he?

Lacuna by coloredink (E, 15,607 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Consent Issues, Drama, Amnesia) – God, it must have been terrible, to think that he would never have this again.

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It’s a lot less cracky than you’re probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

In the Dark Hours by hubblegleeflower (E, 51,639 w., 12 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Unreliable Narrator, Closeted Bi John, Angst, Miscommunications, Slow Burn, First Time, John’s Blog / Epistolary, Selective Mutism) – John, wounded and silent, drifts back to Baker Street for healing…and then goes home again. He visits, gets more upbeat, chattier, smiles, jokes… and still goes home again. Sherlock wants him to move back in - it just makes sense - but John shows no signs of doing so. This is the story of how John and Sherlock learn to say what needs to be said when they’re both so very, very rubbish at talking.

Coventry by standbygo (E, 52,020 w., 26 Ch. || Dollhouse AU || Case Fic, Slow Burn, Sci-Fi / Fantasy, First Kiss / Time, Attempted Rape, BAMF John, Falling in Love) – “Let me get this straight,” John said, wondering when his life had become a science fiction film. “Some guy orders up a personality, a person, to his specifications, and they program this into a real live person, who has consented to do this, and she goes to this person and acts as his wife, or lawyer, or Royal Marine, or Navy Seal or what have you, and she has all the skills, all the knowledge, everything? Then you say the magic words, and she follows you back to The House, and they erase it all until her next appointment?”

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal, Autistic Sherlock) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

A Cure For Boredom by emmagrant01 (E, 81,665 w., 8 Ch. || Dirty Talk, Threesomes, Light Dom/Sub, Sex Club, Experiments, Anal, Mildly Dubious Consent) – They’d never talked about sex in the year they’d known each other. Well, that wasn’t quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater /  Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John “Five Oceans” Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Rape/Sexual Assault, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock First Person POV, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Love Making, Possessiveness, Depression, PTSD, Kidnapping, Virgin Sherlock, Eventual Happy Ending) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.” Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w., 23 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Genie/Djinn AU || Magical Realism, Kidnapping, Genie Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Case Fic, H/C, Angst, Clubs, John Whump, Mild DubCon, Hand / Blow Jobs, Torture) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more.

The Gilded Cage by BeautifulFiction (E, 326,887 w., 31 Ch. || Omegaverse || Omega Sherlock / Alpha John, Friends to Lovers, Dub Con, Reproductive Rights) – In a world where Omegas are the property of the elite Alphas, locked away and treasured by those wealthy enough to buy them, John never questioned his flatmate’s secondary gender. Sherlock Holmes was an Alpha through-and through. Wasn’t he? A chance discovery turns the world on its head, and John is left grappling to come to terms with Sherlock’s past as events conspire to threaten their future.

[reliciron]

Decided to write out the important bit of my jedi consular’s backstory. 

It should be noted that he doesn’t technically want to die, he’s just very scared of his master and doesn’t see any way to escape. 

That said, at the end of the day he does try (and fail) to die by throwing himself at some jedi, so please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with that.

Go to the northern reaches of Brentaal IV. There you will find a small Jedi temple: the place where Grand Master Satele Shan first trained.

It has enjoyed relative anonymity since, but this must change.

Infiltrate the temple. Slaughter everyone within. Show the Jedi that nothing is safe from the Sith.

Do this, my clever acolyte, and I will raise you from the shadows.

You will be my apprentice.

Dust kicks up as he races across the northern plateaus on his stolen speeder bike. It will take hours to track properly, with the damage he left behind. But by then he’ll have either completed his mission…

Or he’d be dead.

He clenches his teeth.

She was mad. She HAD to be.

No.

He shakes his head.

No. His master is many things, but not mad.

Just calculating. And he may be a mere acolyte, but he hadn’t survived this long without learning some of the game.

If her words were true, the Sith would send a platoon, or at least a full squad. Make a show of the massacre to demoralize the Republic and Jedi Order both.

One lone acolyte would not be enough to guarantee victory. Indeed, it was very likely that he would not survive the attempt at all, even with 6 years of careful training from his master.

He’d been her faithful servant. Her knife in the dark. She’d liberated him from Rattatak and kindly taken him under her wing as a boy. He’d learned to wear the Force like a shroud. Hide himself from sight and strike from the shadows.

She gave the word, and he carried out the sentence. A name, a picture, a place, and they’d be dead in a matter of days.

He couldn’t be her apprentice. No matter his talent, he was Rattataki. And as far as the anyone else knew, he didn’t exist.

He KNEW this. She’d said it so many times. But now she was offering it to him.

It wasn’t real.

And the impossibility of the task only affirmed his suspicions.

He was not MEANT to succeed.

He did not exist, yet as more Sith and Imperials fell before him it became harder and harder to keep his existence secret. And she would never let him go, not when he knew so much of her secrets.

He was a liability now. One she hoped would take care of itself in a pointless attack on a temple.

He should run. He SHOULD, but he CAN’T.

His throat goes tight and he slows down a bit as the temple’s coordinates loom on the navigation computer.

He’d tried to run once, before he’d truly understood how much of a PRIVILEGE it was to have been chosen by his mistress. He couldn’t recall the ‘how’s and ‘why’s anymore, but he remembered the punishment had gone on for well over a week.

Run and I’ll find you, little one. And I will not be so merciful the next time.

If he tries to abandon his duty, he’d die all the same, but she’d make sure to make it hurt. At least the Jedi would make it quick.

Yes.

If its one thing the soft-hearted fools abhorred, it was making a being suffer.

There was no way out for him, but an end by their sabers would be better than by her hand.

–

It had been laughably easy to enter the temple. The roomy interior had given him plenty of space to cloak himself and slip through without being noticed by the guardians. He’d made it all the way into the empty training room, where he’d entered a vent near the ceiling and used it to gain access to the meeting room.

Inside there were a handful of masters and their attending padawans, likely a collection of the strongest jedi in the temple. An incredibly foolish target.

But that was the point, wasn’t it.

He could have killed a great many by now. Picked off padawans one by one has he slithered through the building. Had he actually believed the lie his master had told him, he would have.

But he didn’t. And now these Jedi were his best chance for a swift end.

As he grips his lightsaber, he wonders, not for the first time, what his mother would have thought of him. He didn’t remember her, or much of Rattatak for that matter. But he hoped he’d grown to be a strong son, one who might have made her proud, had things been different.

He muffles the sound of the grate being opened, curls his toes over the edge of the vent frame, and leaps.

–

The creature had seemed to come from thin air.

A calm discussion with his fellow masters about possible changes to the curriculum one minute, and a whirl of dark robes and red light the next.

By the time he and the others managed to pull their lightsabers, 3 padawans lay crumpled on the floor with the attacker ready to strike again.

The battle had been vicious.

Master Evren nearly had a leg taken off, and Knight Balrus fell in a burst of lightning before Ixal finally got in under its guard to slice up through it’s hood.

It screamed, bringing its saber up in mindless defense as it clutched its smoking face, but it was a futile effort. He followed through, ducking its arm and spinning around behind to carve his saber deep across it’s back.

It folded like a house of cards, crashing to the floor in a heap of dark robes.

Not dead, but also not getting up any time soon.

Healers and medical droids are called, and to everyone’s relief no one was killed. But it still left them with a host of very injured jedi, and a deeply wounded assailant who should have never made it this far.

–

Once the others have been seen to, he and the few other jedi of rank gather in the assassin’s room.

The scans the droids provided them with were both enlightening… and disturbing.

A juvenile rattataki male, approximately16 years of age. Signs of extensive, long-term electrical trauma, 18 healed fractures, and general malnutrition. And that was all underneath the damage he himself had caused in the battle. Evidently he’d blinded the man - no, boy - in one eye, and his final strike had severed his spine. He was now paralyzed from the waist down.

Stars above.

It’s about an hour more before the boy comes to, numbed heavily around his injuries but not sedated.

They needed to speak with him, and it absolutely could not wait.

Even so, none of them are prepared for the tsunami of terror that all but knocks them off their feet.

He chokes and tugs desperately at his restraints, every inch a panicked child despite the destruction he’d wrought only a few hours ago.

It makes his stomach roil to know he’d not fought a man, but a boy.

“Peace, young one,” he says softly. And the single remaining eye fixes upon him.

A muscle jumps in the rattataki’s jaw before his face goes eerily blank, at odds with the fear still saturating the Force around them.

“My name is Master Ixal. I’m afraid you’ve committed some rather serious crimes here today, but I would like to talk, if you wouldn’t mind.” When all the boy does is stare at him, he smiles, “May I ask your name?”

There’s a long stretch of silence before the answer.

“Acolyte.”

His accent is Kaas-ian, but given that he’s an alien, there’s a very good chance that he was a slave.

“Is that your name, or the one you were given?”

He blinks, as if trying to parse the meaning.

“Did you ever have a different name?”

Something small and fragile flickers across the part of his face that is still visible.

“…. Faun.”

He sighs. Good. Not so far gone that he won’t answer questions entirely, “Faun then. Can you tell me why you’re here?”

“My master sent me.”

A sith then. Were they truly so desperate as to use children?

“They sent you to attack us?”

His eye closes and he seems resigned.

“Yes.”

“Who sent you? Are there more coming? Why is the temple being targ-?”

“It doesn’t matter, kill me and be done with it.”

“What-?”

“I killed your people and infiltrated your temple, is that not enough?!”

He seems desperate then, like a frightened animal, and the fear redoubles in the Force.

“Easy now,” he assures, “You killed no one, all those who were injured survived.” He frowns, “And you will not die for it. We certainly won’t be letting you go, but you will live and be treated fairly. But I can promise you, the more you help us now, the easier things will go for you in the future.”

Instead of being assured, the young man barks a harsh, bitter laugh.

“What, future?! I failed to die! Now my master will come for me to correct my failure!” He positively whimpers and shrinks in on himself, “She’ll be so angry! She’ll make it hurt! Why can’t you just kill me!”

They’re all taken aback by the outburst, but as his words start to sink in a sick feeling begins to settle in to Ixal’s stomach.

“What do you mean you ‘failed to die’?”

“You think I am a fool?!” he spits. “What else am I to believe when she gives me such an impossible task and promises rewards I knew could never be!” He sags onto the hospital bed. “I do not exist. She cannot allow me to be tied to her, and I was no longer worth the risk.”

He truly feared this master of his so much that he would willingly undertake a suicide mission? Stars above, what had this woman done to him?!

He shakes his head. They knew the why now, but not the how.

“How did you manage to make it all the way into the meeting room? You would have had to pass several guardians.”

The boy huffs, voice still raw and wavering, but evening out as they entered more neutral territory. “Your security is poor and my master trained me well. I cloaked myself in the Force, muffled my presence, and walked right passed them.”

A hint of pride threads through the fear in the air, but already a few of their number have left, unable to take such overpowering emotions.

Cloaking is a rare gift. That this young man is capable of doing so, well enough to fool full fledged jedi, is both dangerous and intriguing. Between that, his combat ability, and the hyper-projection of his emotions, they were dealing with a powerful force user, no matter his age.

It only occurs to him now that the young rattataki could have likely killed dozens of padawans and younglings before being discovered.

But he didn’t.

An idea starts to form but he’d need to consult his fellow masters first.

“Thank you, Faun, you’ve been very helpful. Please rest for now. We will speak again later.”

The boy looks wary as they leave, but more than likely the sedatives are already being administered through his drip. He won’t be conscious for much longer.

–

The discussion is heated, with several knights and masters arguing against it, but after consulting the Jedi Council, they finally come to an agreement.

They would attempt to rehabilitate Faun.

Turning a sith was notoriously difficult, but his youth would work in their favor.

The skills of an assassin, Force-cloaking especially, where nearly impossible to teach to jedi. Too close to the dark side for many to want to risk learning. But as much as they may wish otherwise, sometimes those skills were needed, and if they could earn Faun’s loyalty they’d have an invaluable ally.

It would be a long and delicate process. Mind healers would be needed to try and break the chains his master had instilled in his mind, and the physical reconstruction and recovery would be just as taxing.

There was no guarantee that it would work at all, but he genuinely believed it was worth a try.

The poor boy had been through so much. With a bit of work they might give him a second chance at a fulfilling life.

Dark-side or no, the Force practically hummed around him in a way Ixal had not seen since young Satele. He didn’t know what part this young man might play, but he had a feeling he may yet prove essential in the future.

This would not be the end the young man had sought, but a new beginning.

======

From there it takes a long time to deprogram him, and they need to install several internal cybernetic bypasses in his spine to get around the damage. At the end of it, he’s got a pretty serious scar that runs from right shoulder to left hip, a few numb patches on his lower back, and his eye is still blinded. He learns to hide his accent, too. And he’s somewhere in his late 20s-early 30s by the time the game starts.

He was sent to Tython as a fresh start for his padawan training, since no one there would know who he was, aside from the Council.

His companions don’t find out until they’re fighting the First Son and Syo tells them to try and get them to leave or turn on Faun. Zenith almost does leave afterwards, but after a long discussion they all stick with him.

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Whumptober Day 18: To Fix What Is Broken

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 18, follow-up to Day 12. Set after Httyd 2, not canon-compliant with THW. Years after their mistake, the Gang may need to force Hiccup to break down the wall he's constructed since then. It may not end as terribly as it did last time.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut

Pairing: None

Words: 5 187

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: "Panic Attack”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: NOTE: The rape/non-con elements in this fic are purely implied and referenced. Nothing is explicitly shown.

Not sure how much I've succeeded at portraying a panic attack in this one. I’ve only done it once before and it’s in an unposted one-shot. So I have no idea how well I’ve written a panic attack.

Might also be too long. I tried to look at what needed cutting, but I had no idea what.

Also written as a follow-up to Whumptober Day 12, which I will be linking.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3 to Whumptober Day 12

Ao3 To Whumptober Day 18

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

In the end, nothing got fixed. After his outburst in the Dragon Academy and doing "damage control" with his father, Hiccup somehow managed to convince him to let him go back to the Edge, and then it's like everything went back to normal.

Normal as in Hiccup pretending like nothing happened and continuing on as usual. Giving orders, prioritizing dragons and beating Dragon Hunters, sassing, the whole charade. He simply goes about his business, truly as if nothing happened that day, as if they hadn't hurt him and he hadn't hurt them.

A part of them is selfishly relieved and wants to go along with the pretend, but a slightly bigger part of them knows it isn't right, that Hiccup is simply ignoring the issue altogether in the hope that it will just go away.

So they've tried to bring it up with him. At dinner, during game night, during a patrol, any moment where he can sit down and have a talk. But he always shuts them down as soon as the subject is brought up, telling them not to make such a big deal out of something so stupid and small and to let it rest.

Sometimes they don't even get the chance to start talking before Hiccup would leave the room as soon as they sit down. There's just something about the way they sit down whenever they try to talk to him that tips him off to what they're planning on doing.

This whole thing has made him a hypocrite because he wouldn't just let this rest if the person suffering isn't him. Though to be fair, he would be a lot more sensitive about it than they have been.

The worst part is that their attempts at reaching him aren't only in vain, they make things worse between them and him, too. Though he and Toothless seem to be doing fine, the two of them go off together without the rest of the Dragon Riders a lot more than they used to even at the very beginning of the Dragon Academy.

Hiccup spends more time by himself, while game night often keeps going until the wee hours of the night, he only stays for an hour or two before retreating to his hut or forge to do whatever.

And then they get captured again. The Riders fight and fight to make their captivity end as soon as humanly possible, to save Hiccup from more hurt, but when they get home, Hiccup and Toothless disappeared for days.

So instead of suffering through this period of pain on the Edge, he was suffering through it somewhere else instead, with only Toothless there to see it.

It's so unhealthy. The way he avoids it altogether, pretends like nothing is wrong, like his head isn't full of what he's enduring. The way he runs from his second home, from his friends, to suffer completely on his own only to return and continue to act like nothing's happened and like he hasn't been gone.

So they let it rest, feeling like they have no other choice. After telling Stoick had been disastrous, after returning to the Edge, after attempt after attempt ends in failure, they decide to let it rest. Maybe them "letting it go" will, at the very least, urge Hiccup to stay home when he has these troubling episodes. That way, he's safe with them when he has them and not off to Odin knows where.

Unfortunately for Hiccup, life has a way of confronting someone with their traumas.

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

Years pass.

Drago Bludvist happens, Hiccup finds out his dead mother isn't actually dead, Stoick is killed, Hiccup becomes Chief of the Hooligan tribe at the young age of 20, and Eret joins the Dragon Riders. Once again his life is turned upsidedown, but besides a few references here and there, Viggo's criminal acts are never talked about.

Despite this, the Riders know that the former Dragon Hunter Chief is far from forgotten, even while dead.

Because Berk is a very handsy place and Berk doesn't know about Hiccup's ever-growing aversion to touch. They act around him as they always have, Hooligan friendly, and his friends have seen his discomfort that everyone else is either blind to or attributes to his awkwardness.

On that front, Eret is very observant, keeping it at friendly shoulder pats.

But it isn't just the "no touching", the Riders can see Viggo's influence on other aspects of Hiccup's life.

They can see when he's having a particularly bad episode by the bags under his eyes from a lack of sleep, by the weight he loses when eating becomes a problem, or when he suddenly and inexplicably needs to leave a room and won't be back for hours.

They've never disturbed him before, but they know he's at the cove with Toothless when he does this. So at least they know he's safe.

But Hiccup's wardrobe isn't lost on them either. Going from a simple tunic and somewhat plain armor to layers upon layers with armor on top and belts in more places than they need to be, one dagger strapped to an arm, and his Inferno strapped to his thigh,... the Riders aren't idiots.

Berk may think it's his taste for the dramatic, but they know that he's making up for a concerning lack of a sense of security. Viggo's death hasn't made him feel any safer and Stoick's has made that even less so.

It's all leather, too, all except for his tunic.

It always takes him minutes just to reach his main tunic and knowing Hiccup that is bound to bite him in the ass someday.

And it did.

Having allies means coming to their aid in their time of need and that can sometimes result in one of the Dragon Riders getting hurt. This time, it so happened to be Hiccup.

Aiding the Berserkers when an enemy tribe thought to raid them, the Dragon Riders came to help and in the ensuing battle, Hiccup got knocked off Toothless.

It is easier to down a disabled dragon than a fully-abled one, even with a rider, but throughout the years, their grace in the sky hasn't just grown, but their chances of being downed have lessened.

Unfortunately for Hiccup and Toothless, that means crashing just hurts more. As a dragon, Toothless is sturdy and can therefore shake a crash or two off, but as a mere human, Hiccup cannot.

Unable to just walk it off, he was taken to the healer to be looked at and treated. He'd been unconscious the whole way there, a blessing because that meant he didn't need to feel them move him and cause him more pain in the process, a curse because that meant he woke up in a stranger's home.

"He won't let me treat him," The healer had to tell the Riders and Heather, the Berserker Chieftess. Despite her many attempts at soothing him and telling him that he needs to be examined, he still won't let her.

The Riders, standing outside of her shack, all look at each other, knowing why Hiccup is refusing treatment and too afraid to say.

Heather places a hand on Astrid's shoulder, sharing her troubled mood. She, too, knows of Hiccup's fear, having lived on the Edge for a time and experienced his episodes for herself.

"Maybe it'll help if his friends are there? A familiar face can do wonders." She suggests, while Eret steps forward.

"This is so strange. The Chief has his reckless moments, but refusing treatment just seems... not like him." He says and he's right. This is beyond being reckless, this is endangering his own life.  And not just for some stunt, but for refusing treatment!

"We can go in and see what we can do, but you're going to have let Toothless in. Hiccup won't accept treatment without him in the room." Astrid tells the healer. It's not a plan that guarantees success, but it's better than forcing him to comply with something that triggers an old fear.

The healer sighs and nods. She's not particularly happy to have a Night Fury in her home and place of work, but she recognizes that she needs to allow it for her patient's sake.

Astrid turns to face Toothless, who was all but glued to the door of the shack, awaiting the moment he could join Hiccup's side again. Was because he's already entering after pawing the door open.

So she turns to Eret instead.

"Eret, I know you want to help, but I need to ask you to stay here." She tells him and Eret nods. It's not that she wants to exclude him, it's just that he probably doesn't know and Hiccup would probably like to keep it that way. Until he wants to talk about it himself, that is. They've learned their lesson about telling people something this personal, even if they think it's for his sake.

The rest of the Riders, they follow Toothless inside. What they find is Toothless and Hiccup having what can only be called a stand-off.

"Oh great, guys, can you tell Toothless to move? He's not letting me leave." Hiccup requests when he notices they aren't alone anymore, but quickly resumes his staring contest with the dragon, who is rumbling challengingly. In a "you just try to get past me" kind of way. His tail is swaying behind him.

"Leave? You need medical attention, you can't leave!" Astrid replies surprised.

"Which I can get plenty of back home. Berk isn't far by dragon." Hiccup passes Toothless and for all his bravado, he realizes that he can't actually stop him from leaving the healer's hut.

The Riders and Toothless watch him limp towards the door, holding his side. He still looks like just as much of a mess as when Eret brought him in, including the bloody pants that he has bandaged rather messily. As someone who knows at least a thing or two medically and knows of the importance of proper treatment, this only shows his urgency to get out of here.

Catching him trying to limp past them and out the door, Astrid comes to stand before him, effectively stopping him in his way. Blinking in surprise, Hiccup looks at her.

"Wow hey, you can't just leave. A few hours by dragon is still far when you have injured your ribs. Especially when you have healer and supplies right here." She tells him and Hiccup doesn't like what he's hearing. She's making sense to him as well, of course, but his high levels of discomfort are overruling his common sense.

"Astrid, I'm fine. I can breathe fine, albeit, with a little bit of pain, I can make the trip back to Berk."

"So you say and then, once we're over the ocean with no island for miles you discover that, oh no, you suddenly can't breathe out of one lung! You faint, you and Toothless crash, and you both drown." Astrid puts her foot down and crosses her arms, scolding him for his way of thinking. "A little bit of pain" does not equal "okay".

"But that's why I have you guys, to keep that from happening." He says.

"Oh yeah, because we can definitely fix a collapsed lung on the spot." Snotlout sides with Astrid and comes to stand next to her, obstructing Hiccup's way out further.

Hiccup sighs and a look of pain passes on his face, the too deep release of air hurting his side.

"Hiccup, why don't you want to be treated?" Astrid asks, having some idea, but not wanting to jump to conclusions.

"It's just... It doesn't feel good to have a stranger..." Touch me, he wants to say, but having put up a wall between the Riders and his "issues", he refuses to say it.

"To have a stranger what?" Astrid asks, suspicious of what he actually wants to say.

"I just trust Gothi's expertise more." A rude thing to say, especially for him. They're lucky the healer isn't here to hear him.

The Riders glare at him and Hiccup looks away, uncomfortable with how rude he's just been to a woman who simply wants to help him. The words had left him before he could stop them and he regrets them already.

"Okay, we'll stay." He finally decides, but keeps standing by the door because he doesn't actually feel like moving, more so because of how much it hurts to use his injured leg.

He doesn't know what he cut his thigh on, just that it bleeds enough to require stitches and be at risk for infection. Which makes his decision to leave seem even more foolish and unlike him.

But the Riders don't blame him because they know exactly what causes this out of character behavior.

Offering her hands, Hiccup lets her help him sit down on the bed behind him. He'd been lying on it before, when he woke up and the healer tried to examine him and he was being too difficult of a patient.

Hiccup wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, he's anxious and his friends notice. Astrid crouches down in front of him.

"We can stay if you want us to. Fishlegs knows how to heal, he can even do it while the healer watches and helps where needed. We already convinced her to let Toothless stay. If having a familiar face helps you get through this, we're here for you." She talks vaguely about him not needing to be touched by a stranger or being left alone with a stranger on an island full of strangers.

Hiccup mulls it over, thinking about her offer, but then shakes his head lightly.

"This is stupid, she's not even..." A man, like he was. But he doesn't say it, whispering more to himself than he is talking to Astrid. They don't need to know. As if they don't know already.

"You're really anxious, it's not stupid." It's Snotlout who says this as he's surprisingly sensitive about this forbidden topic.

Hiccup looks up at his friends, Toothless purring as he invites himself in their space and nudges his human's uninjured leg in support.

He's not ready for this. He can feel himself sweating, his heart is pounding so much in dread that it aches, his anxiety is already through the roof.

He doesn't want to do this, but Astrid is right, this could potentially be needlessly life-threatening and he would be dragging Toothless down with him.

He just has to stop being so stupid and let the woman do her job.

"Okay, call her back in." Hiccup requests and lies back down with some difficulty while Fishlegs leaves to get her.

It'll be fine, it'll be fine, it'll be fine. It doesn't matter how many times he'll be repeating that in his mind, he'll have to do it as many times as it takes.

The old healer enters her hut again and she wants to get to work.

Hiccup watches her move around, his eyes following her as he attempts to control his breathing, as hard as it is with his ribs aching. Every breath in and out hurts him and that some part of him wants to draw shorter and shallower breaths with his rising nerves doesn't help.

She takes everything she may need. Cloth, bandages, water, herbs, anything to treat his injuries with.

It'll be fine, it'll be fine.

Everything in hand, Fishlegs helping her carry her stuff, she approaches and sets it all down.

"It'll be fine." Astrid looks at him when she hears him mutter.

But the second he feels hands trying to undo his belts, he panics. He takes her hands and pulls them away from him before rushing to sit up and hurting himself in the process. A cry of pain leaves him, everyone jumps to attention.

"Hiccup, wait, it's okay." Astrid tries to tell him, grabbing a shoulder.

"No! Nope! None of this is okay! I'm not okay!" He tells her before he winces and has no choice but to fall back down, holding his side and jostling his leg, which has bled through the bandages by now.

The Riders and Toothless gaze at him, the healer keeping her distance as she can tell this is a rather personal matter and so doesn't involve herself.

They listen to him groaning in pain, see the expression of agony as well as the sweat already glistening on his skin in the candlelight. His air intake is ragged. It is shallow and too fast, which only hurts him more.

"Hiccup," Astrid speaks his name, he shivers beneath her hand.

"No, I can't I... I just can't. I can't let this happen." This is wrong. This feels so wrong to him. The hands of someone that he doesn't know on his body where they don't belong.

In the past few years, the only ones who have been able to infiltrate his personal space in such a close manner have been his father and Toothless, maybe occasionally the Dragon Riders. Though, the Dragons more than the Riders.

And Berk, of course, but that was beyond his control. He doesn't like any of it and that is already hard to suffer through. Doing this is more than he can bear. He wants out.

He can already feel it creeping onto him. The hands.

"Hiccup, you need a healer." Astrid gently reminds him.

"I can put you under a sedative if that makes this procedure easier on you." The healer offers Berk's Chief some peace, at least for the next few hours.

"What? No! No sedatives!"

"Not even painkillers? It might help." Ruffnut suggests.

"No, no painkillers either. I want nothing." He's breathing so fast, he's becoming lightheaded. Meanwhile, his ribs burn.

"Then what do you want us to do?" Astrid asks, hoping Hiccup can tell them what he thinks will help him get through this most.

They've already gone behind his back once and it had made everything worse for him, had made things terrible between them.

But Hiccup shakes his head, not even knowing the answer to that question himself.

Gods, he can feel them. Disembodied hands where they don't belong, touching him where they were never meant to touch.

He wants to cry.

Astrid offers him her hand and he takes it too quickly and squeezes too hard. He's dying for comfort.

But he knows he needs to go through with it.

"Just go ahead with it. Just do it." He tells them uncertainly and the healer steps forward again, hands moving to his belts to undo them.

This time he lets her, but his hyperventilation worsens and so does his trembling. His eyes close as if it'll help if he can't see her hands on him. Feeling them on him is already bad enough.

He can feel other hands creeping upon him. They're bigger with more callouses and they aren't actually there, which is why they creep.

They belong to a man that isn't even alive anymore and yet, with every unwanted touch forced upon him, he can feel him again.

"Shhh, it's okay. You'll get through this. Just breathe, Hiccup, breathe." Astrid tells him and he tries to keep a hold of himself to the best of his ability.

His vest is splayed upon and more wounds are made bare. Besides the aching of his ribs, there's a splotch of blood on the right side of his lower abdomen, close to the hem of his trousers.

"He's bleeding through his tunic." Snotlout mutters, bringing attention to it. The healer takes the hem of his tunic in order to take a look.

Hiccup can feel it, is too aware of her every move. Still squeezing Astrid's hand, he squeezes even tighter and she lets him. Tears wet his eyes and when she cautiously pulls it up, they slip free and he seizes her hands again, unable to bear any more of this.

"Hey, shhh, it's okay." Astrid holds all of their hands as she hushes him.

Toothless intervenes and headbutts his human's face, a gesture of affection that Hiccup returns.

"Yeah, it's okay, we're all here with you." Snotlout tells him, stepping forward, but not daring to go as far as Astrid is going. One of them is probably enough.

"Breathe, Hiccup. Breathe."

"I can't. I-I can't."

Fishlegs comes closer.

"Then maybe I can help! Try to follow along with me, okay?" Hiccup leaves Toothless to face him, who exaggerates his breathing in a slow and timely manner so he can keep up.

It's hard, but Hiccup tries his best to follow along until his breathing comes to a more natural pace and his lightheadedness doesn't turn to darkness.

Astrid manages to make Hiccup let go of the healer and hold onto her instead.

They don't like any of this, the panic attack, the sweat sticking his clothing to his skin, or the tears now sliding down his face. His lip is trembling, his everything is trembling.

This is what he hid from them after their damning talk with Stoick for so long, this is what Viggo has done to him. Their fearless leader rendered to this. The fact that they still don't know the details haunts them to this day.

He can still face any enemy, can stare down death itself if he has to, but he can't stand being touched, not even if it's for his own well-being.

"This is so stupid." They hear him mutter, something they've heard him repeat over and over again with whatever involves his issues. They don't know what he thinks is so stupid, but they've heard him say this so many times by now.

Astrid dares to take a seat on the bed next to him and lets go of his hand to cup his cheeks. He stares up at her with a wild look of panic. If he wants her to let go, she trusts that he'll let her know.

"Hiccup, please listen," She starts and hopes that's what he'll do.

"We're all here to protect you. I know we've failed you before, but no more. You're safe with us. Tonight, tomorrow, every day for the rest of your life, you're safe." She tells him and his hands take hers, but he doesn't pull them away. Her touch is light, so it wouldn't be hard to remove them, he wants them there.

"We love you. Please let us protect you." She requests with genuine emotion.

He nods.

"Okay," He says quietly, barely above a whisper as most of his voice is stuck in his throat. It's a miracle he even got that much out.

Toothless rumbles encouragingly and invites himself partially into the bed, pretty much wrapping his forelegs around his Rider, but staying mindful of his injuries.

Hiccup lets go of Astrid's hands, gaining some control over himself.

Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut take them, watching for any reaction that might tell them this is the wrong move to make. So far, there isn't any.

This might be it, the opening they've been waiting for. For years Hiccup has been completely closed off on this topic, he's locked his fears up tight and thrown away the key. But now, perhaps the door stands open on a creak and they're allowed a peek inside with a promise for more.

Whether this is what it is or not doesn't matter at the moment. What does matter, is helping him through tonight.

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

"Hey, how're you feeling?" Back on Berk, Astrid asks Hiccup this question as they enter his home a few days later.

Looking up from his blueprints, he watches them enter with a tired smile.

He's sitting on a chair, wearing a comfortable tunic to spare his bruised ribs the weight that comes with many layers. The stitched gash on his lower abdomen benefits from this, too. He doesn't like it, but Toothless is with him always and so is Sharpshot, who lies curled up on the table. His injured leg rests on another chair, the wound having been stitched closed and showing no signs of infection so far.

"Eh, tired. Maybe in need of some more painkillers. It's been a few hours and my everything hurts again." He answers as they walk further into the home, greeted by Toothless who croons their way happily. He's lying curled up around Hiccup's spot, helping him feel secure as he can't wear his "shield".

Ever since that night, something has changed in their group again. Talking with him, being around him, it's easier. It's as if there's been this tension for so long that nobody even noticed after a time, and now that it's finally gone and they can all feel that lack of weight.

"I'll go make some!" Fishlegs offers himself up and disappears into the kitchen.

"How is everything with the village outside?" Hiccup asks, hoping that his work isn't stacking up as he spends his time inside recovering. He is weirdly okay with staying indoors. So far, at least.

"We're managing things, the twins are actually fixing stuff more than they break it," Astrid informs him.

"Hey, we can be very good repair people." Ruffnut protests.

"Besides, just means there's more for us to break later," Tuffnut mutters to her, and the two snicker. Astrid and Snotlout both roll their eyes.

"We'll make sure they don't break stuff later." The latter promises with a deadpan. Hiccup smiles at him gratefully.

"Here it is!" Fishlegs returns with a painkilling, and possibly sleep-inducing, broth and hands it to Hiccup.

"Thanks," He says, taking it and then staring at it as he holds it in his hands. He's not exactly looking forward to it, these broths never taste that pleasant. This one doesn't even smell good.

He should take it, get rid of the pain, and maybe get some shut-eye. These blueprints can wait.

But first, there's been something that he's been contemplating as he waited for his friends' inevitable visit for the day. They always come by.

"Hey, um..." He starts, gaze still on the cup with the broth.

The Riders look at him, wait for him to talk, and say what's on his mind as there is clearly something.

They aren't quite prepared for the topic he's about to bring up, but the day they've been waiting for has finally arrived.

After some hesitation, Hiccup forces himself to say it.

"He never went all the way."

Surprised to hear him talk about it, the Gang listens.

"Vi-Viggo, he... He never..." Hiccup stops talking then and they don't interrupt or try to finish his sentence for him. They can tell it's taking him everything just to talk now, he's not even looking at them, hand coming up to hide most of his face from view.

Toothless purrs, sitting up to meet Hiccup at eye-level, but he's not looking at him either.

"It really did just stay with words and... and touches... Every time I got captured and taken to him, but... That's it, nothing else." It's not like they don't know that something's been done to him, but to actually hear him say it, to hear their suspicions be confirmed is something else entirely.

The twins share a saddened look, Fishlegs looks down at his hands, and Astrid and Snotlout both feel themselves tense up. It's been a good few years and still, it makes them so angry that any of it happened.

Back to the conversation, Snotlout wanted to remind him that that wasn't nothing, but Astrid stops him. Hiccup is finally talking, they should let him have his say before they comment.

Still unable to bear to look at his friends, Hiccup wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers.

"It-it-it... "It" never actually happened so-so it-so it just seemed so stupid to feel the way I did. The-the way I do. Like-like I was hurt when I wasn't." That was part of the problem, it wasn't as bad as it could've been and that made worrying about it seem so dumb to him.

He's lucky. That's what he's been telling himself. He's lucky.

"So stupid," He repeats, feeling like an attention seeker for something that was "not as bad as it could've been". So many people have suffered worse than him, he shouldn't complain.

He rocks nervously, trying to cope with the influx of memories that have festered over the years, with the shame welling up. Thus far they've only been dealt with by cramming them into the darkest corners of his mind, a fruitless effort that usually ends in frustration and anger. There they have continued to rot and chipped away at him piece by piece like an untreated infection.

Bringing it up now still hurts just as much as it would've hurt to bring up back then.

As a brief silence sets in, Astrid dares to take a step and sits down at the table on a seat next to him.

"I think you and I both know that he doesn't need to go "all the way" for this to hurt, Hiccup. What happened was so, so traumatizing, doesn't matter how far he did or didn't go. And it happened... It happened multiple times." Astrid has to swallow, feeling like she might throw up if she doesn't.

"If we were in each other's shoes, you would be telling me the exact same thing." She tells him and Hiccup finds that she has a point.

If this had happened to Astrid, to any of his friends, he wouldn't stand for them to call their reaction to being... to being... He wouldn't call them stupid, he wouldn't call them calls for attention.

"He hurt you and you have every right to be angry, even now." She continues.

"We all hurt you." Snotlout admits, coming to sit at the table as well. The others, they swiftly follow their example.

To hear them tell him that he has every right to be angry, to be hurt, is more relieving than he can ever express.

But there's a question Snotlout has been wondering about this whole time and he wonders if Hiccup will answer.

"How... I understand if you don't want to answer, but how far did he get?" If he's not ready to tell them yet, if he'll never be ready, then he'll understand.

Hiccup doesn't answer and while he's told them he never went "all the way", "not all the way" still seems to be pretty far.

He wants to cry again. The memories running rampant inside his mind, the non-existing hands that refuse to leave him, they make tears gather in his eyes.

He's in pain and has been for much too long. He feels like he's been on fire this entire time and that someone is finally putting out the fire.

It's with a mere cup, but it's a start.

Managing to look at his friends, Hiccup cautiously gazes at them all, fearing judgment as he finally bares it all.

Astrid reaches and takes his hand, squeezing it lightly. Perhaps, it's time to talk and let his family in.

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 15

A Lifting Fog

Ichigo sat patiently on the cot while Unohana poked and prodded him. He didn’t have a lot of injuries left. Mostly scrapes and bruises, but she was taking a very close look at his eyes, balance, and short term memory. .

Apparently laughing hysterically at the murder of 46 people was a sign of head trauma.

“You don’t seem to have any lasting damage,” she finally concluded. “Most of the injuries you sustained earlier have already healed.”

“That’s Hanataro,” Ichigo says with a smile. It fell quickly. “I mean, uh. I threatened him into helping me. He’s very talented.”

Unohana looked faintly amused under her serenity. “Of course you did. I’m sure you held your zanpakuto so close to his throat he couldn’t even use his shinten to knock you unconscious.”

Ichigo nodded solemnly. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. But anyways, I’m fine. Is Rukia doing better? She was really wiped out…”

“Both of Kuchiki’s are fine. I believe they’ve had a long overdue discussion, actually. That technique you used when she was fighting was certainly… unique. Who taught it to you?”

Ichigo considered his answers before he decided to tell her the truth. They were allies for now.

“I made it up on the spot.”

“You made it up one the spot.” She repeated. One eyebrow arched high. She looked young, but when she’d healed the last of his bad injuries up earlier he’d felt the dangerous undercurrent of her power. She was at least as old as Yamamoto. It was only a shiver of fear at the idea of calling her old that kept him from asking her the same question he’d asked him.  “You really are a very unique person, aren’t you?”

“It’s not that impressive,” Ichigo argued. He could feel his face turning red. “I did something similar as a human. I just pushed my energy into her. Although, as a human I could kinda heal with it…”

“Yes, that’s similar to how healing kido works,” she mused. “ Kaido is a method we use to insert our own energy inside of the body and manipulate the spirit particles, the reishi, that make up the body of the patient so we can put them back together again.”

“That makes sense,” Ichigo taps his fingers on his leg idly. His brows furrowed. With his mystic codes he’d been able to heal grievous wounds and keep people fighting, but he’d never been very good at doing it without. He could make due, he had with Uryu, but that was just jumping his natural healing into overdrive.

Ichigo looked up at her. “I get that I was your enemy not that long ago,” began the boy, “But is there a way for me to learn to heal while I’m here?”

Unohana looked surprised. “You want to heal? I was under the impression that your expertise was in combat.”

“It is,” Ichigo said honestly. “Orihime is a good healer, better than almost anyone I’ve ever seen. But we got seperated here. If it wasn’t for Hanataro, I might have been seriously screwed. Or I might have been fine, but Ganju could have been hurt. A lot of people could have been hurt. And what I can do is very basic. Humans have to study for years to be able to-”

“Yes,” she stepped in, holding up a hand to cut off his rampant justification. Ichigo couldn't help noticing the callouses on her palms and fingers. She was a fighter. She also smiled at him. “ I can teach you.”

Ichigo offered her a half of a grin. “Just so you know, I suck at spellwork.”

“I’m sure we can make due. Now, I’m going to clear you. Please behave while you’re in my division.”

Her smile turned tight at the edges and her eyes narrowed minutely. Fear shot striaght down his spine.

“Y-yes ma-am!” He said quickly. He made his escape quickly. He still wanted to see Rukia, and find out what her and her brother had been talking about. Of all the people to try to step in and protect them he could scarcely believe it was Byakuya. Maybe he’d misjudged him?

Or more likely he’d smacked some sense into him.

Typical.

Ichigo was just trying to figure out how to navigate his way out when he stumbled into someone. Which was weird, because he should have really felt them coming.

Pink kimono, straw had, wavy brown hair.

“Oh. Kyoraku, hey,” Ichigo waved at him.

The man smiled at him. He’d barely had any malice to him the last time they’d met, and now any he’d had ever is vanished behind a kind smile. His assistant, Nanao if Ichigo remembered right, was missing for once.

“Ichigo. It’s good to see you again.”

“You too,” Ichigo nodded to him. “What are you doing here? You didn’t get too banged up, did you?” He’d been worried. Those two had spirited away a man born before the human era, one who Ichigo had been informed was the strongest person in the Seireitei.

Ichigo had picked a fight with the strongest person in the entire dimension. And then started lecturing him on his morality.

  That... sounds right.  

“Just a few bruises,” Kyoraku clapped him on the shoulder and forcefully guided him down the hallway. “I’m here visiting Juushiro. Come along.”

It really wasn’t a question. Ichigo shot him a glower.

“I’m not a dog, you know.”

“Really? You look a little mangy…”

Ichigo elbowed him in the ribs. “Fuck you. Speaking of dogs, is that one guy okay? The werewolf.”

“Werewolf? You mean Komamura? He was in nasty shape, but he’ll recover. He’s a few doors down if you want to introduce yourself properly.”

“...Nah. I don’t think I should. He seemed pretty torn up about the whole betrayal thing and I was kinda just an enemy. It doesn’t really, I guess, feel right?” He struggled to find the right words. Even if he wasn’t the most eloquent, Kyoraku nodded along with him sympathetically.

“Anyways. You said you were here visiting Juushiro, like Ukitake? What happened? You don’t look charred around the edges.” Ichigo gave him a critical once over.

Kyoraku snickered at him and they entered a room. A private hospital room, where Ukitake was sitting up in the bed. Ichigo hadn’t noticed before, he’d been too busy assessing the man’s energy and fighting for his life and Rukia’s, but Ukitake was actually very thin. His wrist bones were too prominent, his cheeks were too thin, and with the low drop the hospital provided robes he could see his collar bones starkly.

If he was this strong sick, how strong would he be normally?

If ‘Ukitake notices Ichigo’s critical once over, he says nothing about it. Only smiles when they get closer.

“Well this is certainly a surprise. Kurosaki, it’s good to see you.”

“Just Ichigo is fine,” he waves his hand. “You helped me after all, and none of my friends call me by my last name.”

“Friends,” Ukitake repeats. His green eyes gentled. “Why don’t you sit for a while with us then. We were just visiting today.”

Ichigo doesn’t know what to do with the way they’re both looking at him. It’s friendly and kind but there’s something else there. Like they’re trying to see where his sharp edges are and where he folds and what will make him change his mind.

To be fair, they’d been enemies before.

Ichigo pulls up a chair and flips it around so he can straddle it and cross his arms over the back.

“How are you, Ichigo? We heard you didn’t very torn up during your confrontation with Aizen.”

“I’m fine. He had me locked in a kido for most of the fight. The worst things I had were some burns from where I broke out of it. Unohana took care of it for me. She’s… nice. Terrifying, but nice.”

“You asked about Ereshkigal before,” Ukitake pointed out. “Why did you-”

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by a rough coughing fit. Ichigo lurched for him immediately, with Kyoraku only twitching forwards before grabbing the water off the bedside table.

They waited for the coughing to slow down, a full minute later, before Kyoraku gave him the glass. Ichigo was frowning at him.

“Are you okay?” He asked, once he was done with the water. Ukitake nods and smiles crookedly.

“It’s been a frequent occurrence for most of my life, I’m afraid. Even Unohana can’t do anything about it. It’ll go away in a few days, I’m sure.”

Ichigo frowns at him, but nods all the same. A chronic cough could be about a billion things. If it started as a kid that might mean less. Honestly Ichigo is trained for field medicine. Emergencies and stopping bleeding. This kind of thing is beyond him.

Still, he grew up next to a family clinic.

“Have you ever tried human medicine?” he asks. Ukitake looks surprised, but shakes his head the negative.

“No. I can’t say I have. As I understand it isn’t always very effective.”

“Maybe not a couple hundred years ago,” he admits, thinking of battlefields and field hospitals, and how hard Nightingale had had to work to get people to wash their damn hands. “But it’s come a long way recently. Maybe you should give it a try? My dad and Uryu’s both run medical facilities.”

Ukitake eyes him for a long moment, the mention of his father catching his attention. Finally, he nods.

“I may look into that. Thank you.”

The conversation moves on, Ereshkigal forgotten under the feeling that Ichigo had just fucked himself somehow.

* *

Ichigo opened his eyes to grey skies and an amalgamated landscape.

Zangetsu and Nieve were leaning over him, one of them clearly irritated and the other just as calm looking as ever.

“Uh. Hi?”

“It’s about damn time!” Nieve barked at him. Ichigo sat up, slowly, and then stood. It still felt weird to be standing up on the side of a building like this. It was completely unnatural.

“Time for what? I’ve been busy, and I can’t just pop in here whenever I want you know. In case you missed it I’m still in potential enemy territory. I keep expecting to be arrested, whether they say I saved them from something or not. Which, again, I really didn’t. I didn’t even help them unearth that coup! It’s fucking stupid.”

“Are ya done yet?” Nieve asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“... Not even remotely, but go ahead.”

“Good. We’re bored in here and you’re an emotional disaster-”

“Hey!”

“-in the making. Just look at the sky!”

Ichigo did. It was grey, and cloudy this time.

“What does the weather have to do with anything?”

“The weather,” Zangetsu said in his deep, smooth voice, “is a reflection of you, as all things here are. It reflects your emotions. When you’re sad, it rains here.”

“And ya  are sad,” Nieve poked in.

Ichigo scowled at the both of them. “Yeah so what if I am? I just found out one of my friends is now an enemy, a traitor, and I don’t even know what else right now! I lost my chance to talk to him because I hesitated, and now he’s gone full megalomaniac and he’s going to go overthrow the king.”

He paused.

“Not that I’m against that part. But I like some of these shinigami. I don’t want to see them go to war with him over a king that doesn’t give a rats left tit about any of them.”

“Next time you shouldn’t hesitate,” Zangetsu said wisely. Ichigo nearly hit him.

“What next time?! How many friends do you think I have that forgot we knew each other two hundred years ago in a timeline that’s been erased because it was the end of the world?!”

“At least three,” nieve said without missing a beat. “Maybe four.”

“Okay you know what,” Ichigo pointed at him. “I’ve decided, I don’t like you.”

“No shit? I wonder why,” he rolled his yellow eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?” Ichigo barked. It felt good though, to speak so openly with people who already knew everything about him. How messed up was it that his best conversation basically happened with himself? He stalked toward nieve, “How did you even get here, huh? I was too busy to care before but I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to have a hollow in my head. That is what you are, isn’t it?”

Nieve froze for just a second, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He collected himself a second later with a loud scoff and a laugh in Ichigo’s face.

“If you wanna know so bad, maybe you should ask that shop keeper. He seems to be tied up in everything else bullshit in your life.”

“Okay. So maybe he is. I’m not asking him.” Ichigo stalked forwards, effectively cornering a piece of himself against a part of a sky scraper. “I’m asking you. You were pissed that I wasn’t listening to you before. Well I’m listening now, aren’t I?”

“I-” Nieve looked over Ichigo’s shoulder at Zangetsu. “I can’t tell ya, partner.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Can’t!” He snapped, glaring over Ichigo’s shoulder.

When Ichigo looked over it, Zangetsu was gone, and when he looked back Nieve was too.

* * *

Ichigo was getting really, really sick of running for his life. Shoudln’t the return home have been easier than the journey to get there?

It wasn’t, and the only thing that saved the five of them from tipping headfirst onto concrete was a timely save from Urahara.

Who apparently had a flying carpet.

Because why not.

He’s not even surprised anymore.

He catches the look in Urahara’s eyes when the man starts to turn around, but Ichigo catches his shoulder before he can do whatever he was planning on doing.

“You know where everyone lives, right?” he asks, perhaps a touch too quickly. “Once everyone’s been dropped off, I wanna talk to you.”

The others are silent. Urahara regards him from under the shadow of his hat before agreeing quietly.

Ichigo bids fond farewell to his friends and sort-of-cousin before their ride takes them back to the little shop that Urahara runs. They touch down in front and walk inside, with the blond in the lead. As soon as they are inside everyone else, even Yoruichi, makes themselves scarce.

Urahara takes Ichigo into one of the back rooms before he sweeps his hat off his head and kneels on the ground before him.  

It makes Ichigo's stomach twist in discomfort.

“I know by now you heard about me. I’m really, very sorry.” It’s the most genuine the man has ever sounded to Ichigo’s ears. Some of the last threads of anger melt away.

He drops to one knee in front of Urahara and knocks his head lightly with his knuckles.

“Cut that out. I’m barely even mad at you, you know.” Now that he’s had a few days to cool his temper.

“You should be,” Urahara looked up at him, his grey eyes searching and weary.

Ichigo shrugged. “I don’t really hold grudges. If anything, you should apologize to Rukia for putting her in harms way. You were trying to do the right thing, weren’t you? And the reason you didn’t tell me anything… It was because you thought I’d run off, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right. Can you honestly tell you wouldn’t have?”

“Yeah,” Ichigo stood up. “I can. If nothing else I would have still needed you to get that gate open. And I don’t run so easy, even from shady shop keepers. Now,” He offered Urahara a hand. “If you’re really that contrite you can make it up to me.”

Urahara eyed his hand before he took it and let Ichigo pull him to his feet. His hat found its rightful home.

“And would that entail, exactly?”

“Two things,” Ichigo held up two fingers. “One; next time you need my help for something, just tell me outright what’s going on. And two; I have two questions that I’d like the absolute truth to.”

“That seems fair. What’s the question?”

“In october, 1888, did you go to the human world?”

Urahara fell silent. He stared at Ichigo for a long, hard minute before he nodded once. “I did.”

Ichigo thought as much.

“Is that when you discovered your Hogyoku?”

Urahara looked like he’d been slapped with a living lobster.

“How could you possibly know that?” he asked, stepping right into Ichigo’s space. “I told everyone that I created it. Did Aizen-”

“He didn’t tell me,” Ichigo planted his hand on Urahara’s chest to keep him from coming in closer. “There were things happening in 1888 in the human world. Things that Chaldea was involved in.”

He hesitated.

“Things that I was involved in.”

Ichigo could see the gears turning in Urahara’s head. He was too smart for his own good.

“That’s impossible. Humans don’t live that long. You were only born a couple of decades ago.”

“Nothing is ever impossible,” Ichigo said frankly.

Urahara’s eyes narrowed minutely. “This has something to do with those friends of your Kon found, doesn’t it?”

Now it was Ichigo’s turn to stare at him. “Huh?”

Urahara changed on a dime. He snapped his fan open over his mouth and shadowed his eyes under his hat. “So you’re not omnipotent. I was worried for a minute there Ichigo!”

“Wouldn’t it be omnipresent? Or omniscient?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What were you talking about? What friends?”

“Not until you tell me how you knew about 1888. Everyone else I’ve ever told anything about the Hogyoku to I’ve always said I created it. Not discovered it. So it’s only fair for you to tell me,” he sang.

Ichigo scowled at him. “Would you cut that shit out? You’re so weird. Whatever, I’ll find out on my own.”

“Ichigo-”

“I’ll see you around, Kisuke.”

Ichigo gave his chest a light shove to get past him. Urahara didn’t try to stop him, for which he was grateful. He had too much on his mind. Was he really about to tell a guy he knew had played him like a fiddle once already a truth he’d never admitted to anyone who hadn’t been there with him?

Fuck, what was wrong with him?

He fled the shoten and made his way home under the pale light of the moon. When he carefully stepped through the front door (a trick he would never get used to ) he froze entirely.

In the living room, sleeping on the couch and up against a chair respectively, were two people he thought he’d never see again.

Medusa and Cu Chulainn.

He sprinted up the stairs as fast as he could move and without even a how-do-you-do to Kon he launched the mod soul out of his body and shoved himself inside of it. He left Kon sitting on his pillow before he bolted back down the stairs on light feet and skidded into the living room.

It was still enough noise and movement to have both of the legends up on their feet.

He stood there for a long beat, out of breath, eyes wild and bright.

“Ichigo?” Cu asked, slowly standing. They were both dressed like normal people. “Is that..?”

“It’s him,” was all Medusa said before decking him in the face.

Ichigo stumbled back but didn’t fall. He looked between the two of them. It was hard to see, his eyes were all blurry. How weird.

“You fool. You went rushing into danger without us,” she hissed. Her hair moved restlessly but he knew it was worry more than anger.

“Sorry, Medusa. I didn’t know you would be here. I still don’t. How are you here?” He searched her face. He touched his jaw. “I know I didn’t summon you.”

Cu touched his hand and turned it over so he could the red wings spread across the back of it. Command seals.

“You’re little friend did, using your body for it. We are yours again, master,” Cu said quietly. He didn’t move away when Ichigo’s head fell against his shoulders and when Ichigo’s hands started shaking Medusa’s arm draped over his shoulders.

“How?” He asked quietly. “Chealdeas and the grails supported eighty percent of your mana consumption. I thought there was no way anyone could support a servant outside of Grail Wars.”

“Ichigo,” Cu sounded amused. “How many of us did you have in Chealdeas?”

“Huh? I don’t know. Forty, fifty total?” He hadn’t been close with all of them, but there had been plenty of them.

“Right. So twenty percent of thirty servants equals the full upkeep of at least eight servants. Ichigo. You could have had us with you the entire time.”

Ichigo choked.

He’d been swallowing grief for so long, and he’d never had to.

Nimble fingers pulled through his bright hair.

“We’re here now. And there’s one more waiting for you. Kon didn’t have the fine control to summon someone so rawly powerful. But you do.”

“Tomorrow,” Medusa said firmly. “Tomorrow you can summon him, and tell us about your newest adventure. And,” her hair hissed with her, “You will take us with you on whatever your next one is.”

“Can I even do that? What I’m doing now is basically what Kyo was doing in North America. I know you have spirit forms, but that’s different from human souls. That’s-”

“I’ve never known you to think too much,” Cu mused. “You’re a creature of instinct, aren’t you? Rest. We’ll work it out.”

Ichigo still had questions, but he was such an emotional wreck he didn’t have it in him to fight when the pair bullied him up the stairs and into his old room. The bed was too soft.

The three of them camped out on the floor.

* * * *

Ichigo found, much to his amazement and amusement, that Medusa had basically adopted his sisters while he was gone.

She and Cu had told Isshin that they were Ichigo’s friends from Chaldeas and he’d agreed (much too easily) to let them stay in the livingroom while they were looking for a place to stay. Medusa explained that they’d been guarding his body for him as well.

The entire morning Ichigo felt warm and almost bubbling with excitement. He helped Karin with the table while Medusa and Yuzu puttered around the kitchen and Cu fed birds on the back porch.

It was the most surreal day of his entire life.

The trio left after breakfast and made their way towards Ichigo’s house. Once they were far enough to be overheard, Ichigo started to talk.

“Okay, so how do you expect to help me with what I’m doing now?”

“Well. You know that all heroic spirits have a physical form and a spirit form, yes?”

“Yeah. And that your spirit form isn’t the same as being an actual spirit, since your souls aren’t bound the way regular ones are. Instead of being a part of the cycle of reincarnation or the World, or even the time axis you’re connected to the Throne of heroes, and you manifest through a thaumaturgical anchor. In this case, me.”

“Yes. And it’s because you are our anchor that we’ll be able to do this. Any normal humans we would only be able to interact with them the way a regular human would,” Cu said cheerfully. “You leak power like a broken pipe. You always have. When we were in North America your influence started to take hold. You engraved a part of yourself on our souls, Ichigo. We can see the dead, we can interact with them.”

“We’re supposed to forget,” Medusa said suddenly. “We’re supposed to forget the events of Grail Wars we’re summoned to when we go back to the Throne. But you. You we remember. We all remember. You’re really something, Master.”

“Stop calling me that,” he said automatically, even while his mind turned over the information. He admitted to them. “I never knew I’d be fighting ghosts. I never thought anything like this would happen.”

“I doubt even that trouble maker Merlin could foresee this,” Cu laughed at him. Ichigo elbows his side.

“Quiet you.”

“Am I wrong?”

“... not even remotely. But he gave me back the two of your so I feel like I should be a little nicer to him than normal.”

Cu laughed at him again.

It was interesting, seeing the two of them outside of a war zone and outside of Chaldeas Cu was relaxed in a hawaiian shirt, with his silver earrings glinting in the mid-morning sunlight. Medusa looked smart in a black turtleneck with her hair braided back tightly.

The three made quite a sight.

They were about to make an even weirder one.

Ichigo let them into his house and headed for the basement, flanked on either side. He touched up the magic circle and gathered up two stones in the middle. One grey, one red.

“Is this a piece of your spear?” Ichigo asked, holding it up to Cu.

“A piece of an earring, actually.”

Ichigo’s fingers ran over the rune engraved in it.

“So it is. And this is a piece of your artwork right?” He held the grey stone up to Medusa, who smiled and nodded. That was morbid. Ichigo went to the cardboard box sitting on the table. The one he’d abandoned in his internal crisis. If he’d just opened his damn mail he could have taken Seireitei without any trouble at all.

“If I switch to my own spirit form, will you still be able to draw on my power?”

Cu hummed. “Normally I would say no. In your case? Probably.”

“Lucky me,” Ichigo said. For once he actually meant it.

He pulled out a soft orange scarf. It was tattered and torn, and utterly ancient. Over 3000 years old.

Ichigo laid it down delicately in the middle of the circle and stepped back. Medusa handed him a knife. He cut his palm across an old scar and stepped to the edge of the circle where he held his fist out and over the chalk circle. Blue light crawled across the floor and raced along the edges where it crackled and sparked.

“Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill. Repeat five times and after each is filled, destroy it,” The blue light turned red and lashed upwards.

“I shall become all the goodness of the heaven’s. I shall embody all evils of hell. My will creates your body, and your sword cleaves my destiny. If you obey this will and reason, heed my call! Let shut the four cardinal gates and open the three-forked road winding to the Root. Appear now, thou Guardian of the Scales.”  

Romani had told him once that each war used a different summoning chant in their rituals. Participants and factions tailored their to specific desires, ancestors, and faction colors in some cases. Ichigo’s was an amalgamation of a half a dozen.

It worked. Ichigo could feel the energy of life swelling up under his skin and filling his magic circuits as he drew it out of the planet and into himself. He was a conduit. The mana of the world rolled through his veins.

He poured it through the circle, filling it until the limits were fit to burst. His blood sang with power.

The light grew, rolling over and over until it was too bright to see beyond it.

Ichigo felt the world give way and shift as the atmosphere made room for someone new. Someone powerful.

“I ask you,” came a familiar voice, “Are you my master?”

“I ask you; stop calling me that already.”

The light parted light a curtain and Ichigo found himself yanked into a sudden, strong embrace. Powerful hands clapped his back firmly.

“I thought I heard your voice!”

“You said you would come whenever I called. No matter where or-”

“When, I remember. I do keep my promises when I’m able to, master.”

“I swear to god,” Ichigo smacked him and shoved the servant away. Green hair, tanned skin.

Achilles grinned down at him.

* * * * *

Before Kyo, before America, before the dark circle was printed on Ichigo’s chest, he stood in a city bathed in fog.  

It was thick and filled with the scent of sorrow.

From the second they landed they were in a fight. Dolls, a strange girl in armor, and homunculi. It was after the last one that Ichigo finally decided they needed to find a base of operations.

Ichigo touched Mash’s shoulder gently. “Let’s get a move on.”

There was something bothering her. She wouldn’t say what. She blamed it on the environment, but Ichigo had known her too long to buy into that.

They get blitzed by a servant before they can find a safe place to hunker down, but just as soon as the fight is over Ichigo forgets what they look like. Mash and Romani are the same. It’s a frightening power. How can they fight someone if they can’t remember anything about them as soon as they’re gone from sight?

They need back up. They need to find a Ley Line so he can summon Cu and Medusa to help them.

Help comes in the form of a brash spitfire of a blonde in knights armor. The same strange girl they’d met earlier.

Her name is Mordred, a knight of the round table. She has a safehouse, and a doctor.

There’s something about Jekyll that makes Ichigo’s skin prickle. He’s a sweet faced young man, with kind green eyes, but there’s something dangerous about him.

Ichigo peers out the window while he gently chides Mordred for revealing her name. The streets are full of ghosts here, that walk uninhibited and forlorn in the mists.

There’s a lot of blondes in this city.

* * * * * *

[mini-moongi]

Curse || Namjoon || t h r e e

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Fantasy

Summary: [Dragon! AU] [Namjoon x Knight! Reader]; Apparently there's been a dragon wreaking havoc in the nearby village, and so King Kim Seokjin asks you to deal with it as the newly appointed knight. When you arrive, it seems that the truth is not exactly as it appears. This is a Fem! reader.

Thank you to lovely @ahgassok​​ for the title pic!! I am very much in love with it (o´ω｀o)

curse masterlist

prev // t h r e e // next

────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ──────

The sun was starting to come up when you opened your eyes. You squint at the rays that blind you, letting the grogginess fade overtime. You stumble your way into the common room where you find the rest of the team awake and studying up on the curse. “Oh goody, the scooby gang’s all here.” Yoongi’s gravelly morning voice remarks at the sight of you.

“What time is it?” you mumble.

“Probably 7 am,” Yoongi responds immediately. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, but he continues on,” I’m joking; it’s dawn, you imbecile.” You laugh at his blunt remark as you shuffle down the hallway. 

When you look over to greet Namjoon good morning, you realize he’s not in the room. “...where’s Namjoon?”

“He’s out in the back,” Jimin replies nonchalantly,” Dragon things, I suppose.”

You take a seat in a plush chair, letting your body sink into the cushion. Minutes fly by as you pick up a book on herbology, intending to help the new recruits with gathering ingredients. Yoongi whispers into Taehyung’s ear, and you see him tense up. His eyes are wide as he searched into Yoongi’s sad ones. “...is there something wrong?” you say.

“I...” Taehyung falters. He’s choking on his words, unable to contain his sadness. “I have to-- I can’t say it, I’m sorry.” His hands are gripping the arms of his seat tightly. Yoongi squeezes his shoulder in comfort, and you watch Taehyung lean into his touch.

The sorcerer of the pack speaks with a solemn whisper,” In order for the spell to work, we’re going to have to rip King Kim’s heart out. Taehyung will have to rip his heart out. There’s just no way around it.” Yoongi swallows the lump forming in his throat. “I have to perform the spell, and with the time frame we have, the strength spell needed to rip his heart out won’t wear off in time to cast the one for Namjoon’s curse.”

“How does that work?” You ask, confused.

“It’s something to do with the magic code. It keeps people from constantly abusing its power, but with effects and stuff, rules vary.”

Despite how calm and indifferent he tries to act, it was at that point it really clicked with you. Taehyung has been living under Yoongi’s wing since childhood; their bond was just as sacred as any other flesh and blood and it’s no surprise to see Yoongi step in for him. You try to soak in this new information too, realizing that the end game means sacrificing their oldest brother.

Taehyung’s eyes are already welling up with a fresh set of tears. His voice is trembling,” ...Namjoon has to eat the heart of the one who cursed him; He has to eat his brother’s heart.” He cries.

“I have to what?” Namjoon’s rather large dragon body stomped down the hall.

The hushed chatter that floated around the room stopped, and your heart stills for a moment. Painful sobs racked Taehyung’s body, and it’s not long before Namjoon guzzles down a potion and rushes over to join him. It hurts to watch the two mourn their brother’s inevitable death, but King Kim’s tyranny has wrung out for far too long. 

“What’s worse is that since it’s an ancient pagan curse,” Yoongi continues,” I’m not even sure my magic is strong enough on its own to cast it.”

At this mention, Jimin speaks up. “When I was younger, I used to be a medical witch. A healer.” His soft voice soothes the room, but uncertainty still clung to your forms. “I’ll help when the time comes.”

“When we cast this undoing hoodoo,” Hoseok pipes up,” What’s the repercussion? We all know that book is going to want an eye for an eye.”

Yoongi leans forward, as if it made things more serious and grave than it already was. “A new species will be unleashed upon the world. Primordial creatures that were feared among many. Leviathans.”

By the late afternoon, a plan has been devised and by tomorrow’s nightfall, the King will have passed. “I know Sir Jungkook’s schedule like the back of my hand. If anyone on the inside is going to help us, it’ll be him.” You say confidently. You knew Jungkook when you were younger and he was just a mere bread boy. When you two grew of age, you both enlisted to be a knight, excitement stirring at the thought of serving the new King. Oh, how you were so naive. 

“Are we sure this is going to work?” Jimin asks.

“If it doesn’t we’ll be on trial for attempted assassination of the King.” You say,” I don’t think any plan is fool proof, but this is the only one we have.”

The next morning, you are up before the crack of dawn and standing right outside of the castle. The stars hang brightly in the darkness above you, and you breathe it all in as if it’ll be your last. Jungkook does his rounds during this time, and you’ve set out a signal to get his attention. It’s a personal one you two agreed upon that said to drop everything and look for each other.

The tip of the arrow glints in the moonlight, furthermore catching Jungkook’s attention. A single arrow covered in black tar lays in the soft soil in front of him. He looks at his surroundings, wary of his next moves. He walks towards the arrow and crouches down to inspect it. “Y/n?” He whispers into the open field, hoping for an answer.

Slowly, you come out of hiding and approach him. Relief washes over his body at the sight of you, and he goes in for a hug,”Lady y/n, I’ve missed you. I heard about your dragon mission, and I feared the worst.” He holds you tightly, not letting go for a few more minutes.

“Oh trust me Jungkook, what I’m about to tell you is far worse.”

------

“Your majesty!” You groan, bursting through the doors. He eyes your body up and down, seeing that it’s littered with cuts and bruises. You’re bleeding on the lush carpet leading up to his throne as you take each step. The walls of this room is exactly how you remembered it the last time; Cold, gray ones that confined your freedom the moment you signed your name on that damned list. “I’ve been attacked.... the dragon, he’s here..” Your voice falters and you hiss in agony.

“What?” He bellowed. Soon after, Jungkook bursts through the door, dragging in two cloaked men: One in deep wine and gold embellishments and one in an ominous black. Their hoods are covering their faces and they’re unresponsive to the panicked crowd rushing past them.

“Your royal majesty!” Jungkook calls out. He’s clad in his silver armor, but his helmet is off. He shoves the cloaked figures forward and speaks,” My Lord, the Kingdom is under attack. These two men ambushed Lady Y/n when she attacked the beast.”

King Kim Seokjin rises from his throne, shock and anger clouding his better judgement. “Leave them here for me to deal with. Take y/n to the infirmary.” He commands. 

“You there! Go and ready the army,” Seokjin shouts to a knight on standby. The man rushes out towards the left wing in fear. Meanwhile, you drop to your knees in pain for added effect. Jungkook rushes over in worry and concern.

 “Lady y/n, it’s going to be alright!” He yells. Sir Jungkook scoops you into his arms and runs out of the room. As soon as you’re out the King’s line of sight, he gently places you on the floor. “Here, let’s get Namjoon before they actually kill him.” He hands you a potion Yoongi had concocted earlier. You down it in one swift motion, letting your wounds heal up in a matter of seconds.

“State your names, heathens.” The king spits out the words like venom. A heavy and thick silence fills the air. White-hot anger struck him and fumes practically blew out of his ears. Seokjin’s patience wears thin as he practically shouted,” Your King demands your name.” He growls.

“Min Yoongi.”

“...Kim Taehyung.”

Before the name registers in Seokjin’s mind, Taehyung had teleported in front of him. King Kim staggers backwards in shock, almost stumbling onto the throne behind him. “No... it can’t be,” He stammers,”...Taehyung?”

The hood that covered his identity comes off to reveal his younger brother. Taehyung’s eyes are red and puffy, tears still dripping from his face. His hair is wet and clings to his forehead, and his expression shows only of remorse and guilt. “The years have not been kind to you, brother.” His voice is deep and sorrowful.

Taehyung reveals his arm from underneath his cloak. It’s black from the forearm to the tips of his fingertips where his nails have morphed into sharp claws. With his other, more human, arm, he grips onto Seokjin’s shoulder tightly. “Wh.. What are you doing?” he croaks.

“I’m sorry, Jin hyung.” He whispers before his bewitched hand plunges into his brother’s chest. He turns away, too afraid of seeing the light fade from Seokjin’s eyes. There was barely a grunt in pain before his body went limp in Taehyung’s arms. His hand trembles as he pulls the still-beating heart from his dead sibling. “...I’m so sorry.” He holds onto Jin’s body, grieving over the loss of his brother.

Outside, panic ensues. Knights crowd around Namjoon, firing arrows, spears, and whatever else they could get their grimy hands on. You grip the wand in your hand tightly, feeling weight on your shoulders. You recall Taehyung handing it to you and saying that he got it from some wizarding academy he attended. You and Jungkook rush over to stand in front of Namjoon, and you raise the wand in your hand. 

“Obliviate!”

Suddenly, the mass of armored men fall to the ground. Hoseok and Jimin pushes pass the bodies on the floor. “Do you know how hard it is to keep screaming until someone shows up?” Hoseok laughs. 

Jimin nudges Hoseok’s shoulder,”Tell me about it; you did great acting terrified though.”

“I don’t know if I was actually acting,” Hoseok huffs,” Namjoon, you’re actually really scary, you know that?” He playfully laughs as he hands Namjoon a potion. Once more did the dragon disappear, leaving only a man in the middle of smoke. As it dissipates, you motion for them to head back into the castle. 

“What took y’all so long?” Yoongi shouts as he opens the spell book. Jimin and Hoseok hurry over to the makeshift witch’s table and pours out the ingredients. The ritual is set, and Taehyung walks over weakly. Blood runs down the palm of his hand as he grips onto the heart. 

The gravity of the situation sinks in, and you see Namjoon’s face pale as Taehyung nears. “Please,” he weeps,” hurry.”

Yoongi quickly goes to work, starting the incantation. He sprinkles in the ingredients one by one, a glowing puff sparkling each time afterwards. Jimin joins into Yoongi’s citation of the spell, reinforcing the charm with the best of his abilities. Thunder booms overhead, the distant cry of rain seeping in. “Now, Namjoon!” They call quickly.

He closes his eyes in a vain attempt to disassociate himself from this situation. He’s holding the pulsating heart in his hand whilst tears prickle his eyes. You gag at the audible squish that follows when his teeth sinks into the bloody organ. Your own eyes are closed now, and you hear the storm picking up outside.

Yoongi and Jimin’s voice grow so deafeningly loud that you have to cover your ears. A final thunder roars, and lighting strikes the castle. Jungkook and Hoseok huddle together with you, shielding you from any harm that might come out of this. Your own heart pounds in your ribcage as it imagines being torn into. Pieces of the ceiling crack and cave in, but the spell finishes out before you have a chance to die by storm. You hear Namjoon’s muffled cry, but you don’t dare look at the gruesome sight in front of you. 

You don’t get to see the pain that courses through Namjoon’s veins, or how it starts to pump a glowing purple. You don’t get to see the crack of lightning shoot out from his body and into the pitch black sky all while he screams in agony. 

You don’t get to see the Leviathans being released.

All at once it is silent. The rain stops, and the sky clears. Softly and gingerly, Jungkook and Hoseok release their hold on you. You look out the window, and you see the sun start to rise again. If the spell failed, Namjoon could turn into a dragon at any given moment, yet when you look over, all you see is the shell of two men, who lost their only remaining family. 

The pyrrhic victory leaves you all wondering how much of this was worth it. Eventually, the scars of today will fade, but for them it may be a lifetime before they can accept the horrors they went through together. Even when the sun shines high amongst the clouds, Namjoon remains human and very much alive. 

The new heir will rise, but the journey will never be over.

────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ──────

Taglist (is open!):

@namjoonies-dimple​

@ahgassok​

@sugalarity 

[your-shield-of-love]

@shizuu-chann Here's part 3 of my VarricxInquisitor fic ^^

I'll sort a server soon and then invite you x

~~☆

Varric was hunched over, writing notes for ideas and conversations he had with his characters. He had also began writing about the Inquisition, being somewhat inspired by the chaos of Bubbles and how they had been a hero three times now.

The Inquisitor was off somewhere, with the Iron Bull, Dorian and Cole. Bubbles could stay at a place for weeks, travelling across that region to do all sorts of tasks. They were ambitious to help those in need but oddly only dealt with rifts if it was on their way to their objective. Varric theorised that Bubbles was afraid of them, with everything going on he couldn't blame them.

When the horns blew a certain tune throughout Skyhold, it meant the Inquisitor and their party had returned. Varric couldn't stop the smile on his face from growing, they had been gone for three weeks now and he missed their humourous company. He stood to walk towards the entrance, when the horns also played a smaller tune, meaning the party needed medical help asap. He felt himself speedily walking out the building and down the steps. He spotted the party, Iron Bull carrying Bubbles. At this Varric ran, underneath the stairs to go down more steps. Seeing the healers place Bubbles down on a blanket and checking them.

The Iron Bull spotted the look on Varric's face and smiled to himself. Good for the two of them. He looked down to the Boss, seeing their new open scars and their metal armour practically crumpled. He blamed himself for what happened. The party were fighting a high dragon and he charged at it, being at its feet while swinging away. Cole cleverly had stayed at its rear, attacking its ankles while Dorian used his magic from afar. They all had a tough time with it but the Boss got hurt near the end, badly hurt... The high dragon had flew around and was sky diving towards him when Boss shoved him as hard as they could out of the way. The damn dragon grabbed them and flew, the three chasing after. It landed on a cliff point nearby, dropping the unconscious down to its kids. It continued to fly at them, Dorian managing to finally put it down while he and Cole rushed in to stop its kids from feasting on Boss. Once they defeated the kids, they rushed to the Boss's side, noticing their armour was practically stabbing into them, they were scarred and their leg had been chomped on. Still unconscious. Iron Bull quickly carried the Boss to the nearby camp, while Cole and Dorian gathered the loot. They knew the Inquisitor loved their looting.

At the camp, the scouts and their sole healer did the best they could, stopping the bleeding and just waiting for the Inquisitor to wake up. The Iron Bull watched over their boss, they had done what he did for his chargers. Save them while taking a hit.

"The Iron Bull stood tall as the high dragon flew, I wouldn't lose him today. Running, the shove, a tightening grab, the fall and the hurt. At least they're safe." Cole spoke, "They don't blame us, they were scared for us. Fear of losing people, fear of losing, fear of failing. So much to carry, so many people to carry but he sees me as equal. A friend, my friend, The Iron Bull." Cole sat with him, he didn't know how to respond. Dorian came in eventually too, sitting on the other side of the Iron Bull. His fingers patting Iron Bull's. Eventually Dorian fell asleep, Cole taking a lot longer to sleep which Iron Bull didn't even realise he did. Eventually even he fell asleep.

The Inquisitor would wake up for intervals but would fall back asleep quite quickly. The healer saying how they had lost a lot of blood and although they received a bad sprain, they could travel back to Skyhold with support. So they prepared to travel back to Skyhold, the healer and a few scouts joining them to the end of the region, ensuring their safety. The Iron Bull carried Boss in his arms, Cole watching for any enemies while Dorian would use what little healing magic he had to ensure their friend was comfortable.

Heading up to Skyhold was tricky, the Boss kept waking from the cold, shivering into the Iron Bull. Their wounds had opened again, so Dorian did his best to heal them until reaching Skyhold.

Having heard The Iron Bull's tale, Varric stayed near but not in the way of the healers. He sat, his hand covering his mouth and sometimes combing his hand through his hair. He couldn't stop looking, stop worrying. He had checked the kid as well, he was mostly fine but the healer checked them over, after seeing to the Inquisitor. Varric was the first to enter the tent Bubbles lay in. They were covered in a blanket, their armour to the side. Their face pale and swollen, a new scar across their neck with a bandage covering it to stop the blood. Varric sat near Bubbles head, looking down at them. He was scared but wouldn't admit it. He decided to distract himself with how he would spin this in his novel.

Sometime later, Bubbles woke up, groaning and looking around, eyes stopping on Varric. "Hey, Varric." They said weakly, "I made friends with a high dragon." They laugh before groaning, holding on their lower leg, it had been bitten and Bubbles would have to rest for a few weeks.

Varric smiles at their joke, quickly moving their hand off the leg and holding their hand tightly. "How would you like me to spin this story?" He smirked, distracting himself and Bubbles, who grinned.

They hummed for a minute, "Say we fought courageously, the Iron Bull carrying the team while the rest of us followed his lead. He also shouted something Qun at it, might wanna ask him about it later." They sat up, patting at the bandage around their neck. Bubbles looked intensely at Varric, "Is everyone else alright?"

Varric laughs softly, "You're beaten to a pulp, almost eaten by baby high dragons and you ask how everyone else is?" He shakes his head, they really were his Hawke. "They're fine, few scrapes but mostly worried about you." They sighed in relief, looking at the hand Varric was holding still and back up to him.

They slowly grin, a blush growing on their bruised cheeks, "You too?"

"Shit, of course I'd be." Varric admitted, "Can't have the hero of my next book dying by high dragon babies. It's not realistic enough for a hero's tale."

The cough, pulling their hand to cover their mouth, their eyes showing shock. "Not realistic? What's realistic to you?"

Varric laughs, "Fighting at least three fully grown high dragons, then their Mother. Surviving and bringing their heads back as trophies." He smirks at the look on Bubbles face, "That's my first draft idea, thoughts?"

"I'm thinking, next time I'm off to fight a high dragon, I'm taking you with me!" They scoff, "Four high dragons, my ass!" They grumble, making Varric laugh, he was happy to see them still being themselves.

"Wait," Varric realised, "You planned to go and fight the high dragon, didn't tell me and you're actually going to fight another?" He stared.

The sat up and shrugged, "Yeah. It was a surprise for Bull and Dorian, Cole already said stuff about to me in private, thanked me for trusting him to help fight it." They smiled softly, mumbling something 'cute'. Looking back to Varric, "What, didn't Hawke fight a high dragon before?"

"Yes. One. With babies. Not more than one." He shook his head, "No matter how much they begged... No matter how much *you* begged." His eyes narrowed, he smirks, "That's why you didn't take me, cause you thought I'd stop you?"

Bubbles smiles, itching at their nose, "You wouldn't be able to stop me, not with the Iron Bull there." They laugh, "And anyway, you seemed busy when I was gonna ask you, so I didn't bother."

Varric gasps jokingly, "You left me to do paperwork over fighting a high dragon? I'm shocked, Hawke." He laughed before realising his mistake. They blinked at eachother for a moment, before Bubbles laughed and he joined in. It was true so why did he feel guilty? This was Hawke. Well, his written Hawke. Upon hearing shuffling away from the tent, he poked his head out of the tent, and spotted the Seeker quickly walking up the stairs. "Well, shit." He leaned back in, looking to Bubbles. "The seeker heard that, I think." At this, they sat up, looking like they were going to get up. "Hey, you need to rest. I'll handle it." He gently pushed them down, patting at their hand before leaving.

While Varric walked up the steps, he saw the Iron Bull entering Bubbles' tent. He spotted the Seeker at her training dummies and sighed to himself, however this conversation was going to end, it would be awkward and shit.

~~☆

Hope you liked this short ^^ I'll write Varric's and Cassandra's conversation next time! I hope you guys enjoyed xxx

[patchesc-137]

Only.

Summary: It takes a long time to love again after losing someone you held dear. No one knows this better than Thranduil. (This was a request from @anilynsworld with the two dialogue prompts “I’m right where I belong” and “I’m never letting you go”. yes , i got carried away.)

Word Count: 2094

Warnings: None

Requests: Open

Gif Credit: XXX

It’s widely thought that you are to have one great love in your lifetime; one person that knows your soul better than anyone else. Some find this early on. Some take time. And some lose this love far sooner than anyone could ever imagine, or predict. But this, my friends, isn’t always true. It is possible that you can lose someone important to you, and though you hurt and ache for them to return to you, you can find someone that could help mend that ache, once you are willing to open yourself up to love again. This is what happened to the King of the Woodland Realm.

We all know that he lost his wife long ago. And Thranduil was bitter. So bitter, that he was closed off to most things. Likely his kin would find him in his throne room, eyes on the wall in front of him, unblinking against the memories that clouded both his vision and his judgement. A King, heartbroken. She was his One, he was sure of it. There was no one as brave, as kind, as generous. No one has beautiful. 

And then, you came along.

You were not a replacement. You were not there to fill the hole in his heart. You were simply with the company, travelling to rescue Erebor, when you were captured by the elves there. Thorin first, the rest of the dwarves to follow, until all of you were taken into the dungeon to wait for a solution. Much to many of their dismay, you fell faint in your unit, the company calling for the guards to help you.

“It’s a trick,” said one to the other. You could barely hear, as if you were listening from a tunnel.

“Help her!” it’s Bilbo who calls out, trying to get a good look at you through the bars of his own personal prison. “Help her, now!”

They take you away, to their medical wing, with healers looking over you, putting together several different concoctions, as they were unsure of which would work on this mysterious illness. In the end, they realize you’ve been poisoned along the journey, the effects worsening as you travelled, and you’re taken care of fairly well (it seems some elves can put their differences aside, unlike their King). You awake hours later in an exquisitely furnished room. You notice immediately that your friends are not around. However, in the corner of the dimly lit space, you can see a tall being with cascading white hair.

“You’ve finally awakened,”

It’s strange, to see him for the first time. If you weren’t aware of what he’s done- or rather, hasn’t done- for the kingdom of Erebor, you’d pick out his smooth skin, his polished exterior, his slick locks and shining jewels and silver. His robes, that slide along the around as he moves slowly toward you where you lay on the bed, icy eyes glistening beautifully, despite the lack of light. But you couldn’t look past the cold heart you knew was inside of his chest. How could he simply look on while people died? You give him no reverence. Your chilly stare matches his own.

“I have. And I must admit, your highness- you are not the first thing I wanted to see when I did,” Your voice is filled with disdain. “Where are my friends?”

You think you catch a hint of surprise in his eyes, but the King covers it well. His hands remain behind his back as he stands at the side of your bed, staring down at you as if you meant nothing. “I assume you’re feeling better, since you can speak,” his tone is the same as yours- level, and as if there’s a bad taste in his mouth. “Though it may be beneficial for you not to,”

For your first meeting, it was not ideal. He tries to get answers out of you that you would not give him. What was even worse, was that you were not well enough to leave until he discovered that the dwarves had already fled- down the river, in barrels. Bilbo had left a speedily written apology letter, assuring you that they would find you again, give you your share, as soon as they succeeded. Despite your sorrow and sourness, you understood, and could not be mad at them. Thranduil is livid, finding his prisoners gone. And perhaps more so, that they had left the weakling there. You conveyed rather clearly that you wanted to be there just as much as he wanted you to be. 

“I’ll be gone as soon as I’m well enough to be,” you practically spat, finally able to sit up in the bed that suddenly seemed cold and unwelcoming. Still, there was barely any emotion in the King’s eyes as you addressed him aggressively.

Days go by, and something changes. It takes time- a lot of time. Maids check on you more and more, the visits growing consistent, as if someone was telling them to do so. In 3 weeks, you’re able to leave the bed, and as long as there’s a guard on either side of you, you’re told you can explore the kingdom. It’s never far. You find yourself in the main library more often than not, or in the beautiful gardens, sat with a freshly bound leather journal on your lap. You write unsent letters every day to your friends, letting them know you’re alright, and that you hope they have succeeded. You don’t know Thranduil has been watching you until much later.

The news of the war startles you. Thinking of Thorin, his nephews, Bilbo… will they all fight? Of course they will. And once again, Thranduil decides to do nothing? The guards cannot stop you from storming into the king’s throne rooms, running toward him with a loud and clear, “Coward!”

Head turns slowly toward you, pulling himself out of his normal and melancholic thoughts. He hadn’t expected this. One hand is held up, but it is not to stop you. The guards halt immediately, feet together, chins high, obeying their leader without question.

“You sit here while the dwarves ready for battle!” you scream, involuntary tears swelling in your eyes. You aren’t afraid of the King. You’re angry at him, and the fact that you could not be there beside your friends to fight. “You don’t even consider helping! Coward!”

Fists hit at his chest. They, of course, have no severe impact, and Thranduil, for a moment, does not even react. He watches you with a slightly furrowed brow, allowing you to relieve your fears and your sorrows. He thinks, for a flash of a moment, that you’re right. And not only that, but a fraction of his heart contracts in a way it has not in some time. You are brave. You are kind. You are generous. With tears streaming down your face, you’re almost beautiful.

Thranduil only reaches out when he sees you grow weak, the illness still feeding on bits and pieces of your system. Catching you and following you to the ground, you both find yourself on your knees. It takes effort, but you look up at Thranduil, staring into each other’s eyes for a few long moments before you can breathe or talk again.

“Please,” you beg, grabbing a handful of his robes. “They’re… they’re my friends,” you sniff, blinking away tears as you plead him with your eyes “They… they deserve to live. They deserve to win this war, Thranduil,”

It’s the first time you’ve used his name, without any hatred, or distaste. Nothing but sadness, begging him to save the company of misfit dwarves you now would call your family.

He searches that stare, and only when he finds what he’s looking for does he demand the guards take you away. You kick and scream, calling him names all the way out into the corridor and back to your rooms, but he’s starting to plan. Risking his people for this, it is not something he should do. He was asked once before, and couldn’t, but your words ring in his head. Is he a coward? Or was he a heartbroken fool who could not bare to lose anyone else?

Memories flood his vision, not just old, but now new- you sitting in the library, engrossed in a tale as he leaned around the corner to stare at you. Watching you laugh by the fountain as evey elf you came in contact with seemed to enjoy your company. A beautiful smile, glistening eyes, pushing through a sickness with hope and joy. He comes to a sudden realization, and this is the final determining factor that sets the King into motion. He would fight.

The Battle of the Five Armies ends in bloodshed, but a victory for the dwarves. The news of the deaths of The King and Princes stabs at your heart, but you are proud to hear that the others, that your friends, have succeeded in regaining Erebor, and defeating the Orcs. The night after you screamed for Thranduil to take action is when you heard of the Elves movement- an army to join an epic fight. You found yourself waiting at the gates, watching battered men and women return, bodies carried back on cots. You find yourself searching for his face in each one, but Thranduil rides high on his elk, covered in the dirt and blood of a war. Finding yourself tearing up, he spots you almost immediately, dismounting his mighty steed in favor of standing before you.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that it’s over,” he says stoically, staring down at you over a head held high. “Some of the dwarves were not spared, but they-”

He’s cut off by your next action. Mid torso high, you wrap your arms gratefully around him, head leant against his chest, eyes closed and watering. “I believe I was wrong about you, Thranduil,” you murmured softly, taking a deep breath, taking in his scent- smoke of battle, copper of blood. He’s surprised, almost leaning away before he remembers what you had previously convinced him of. None of the other elves would look over as the King slowly brought his own arms around you, holding you close as you cried for loss and victory. This was the start of something far deeper than taking care of a sick ward.

You’re feeling better. The poison is all but gone, and there is an option for you to leave. You’re offered an escort to Erebor, to Dale, to help rebuild and see those that have survived. Bilbo is still there, you’re assured. You could see him before he headed back to the Shire. Instead, you write new letters to each of your friends, and have them sent out. You stay in Mirkwood.

Despite his surprise, Thranduil would eventually admit that he was glad you did. The season changes rapidly, and day in and day out, once your image of him has changed, the two of you grow closer. He knows that the hole left by the death of his wife will never be thoroughly filled, but he finds himself happy, at least, with your hands in his, sitting side by side in the garden you loved so much, flowers blooming with the promise of Spring.

“You’ve returned sooner than I thought,” he mentions, looking regal in the rays of sun that shone down on you both.

You give a soft smile. “I told them I would visit again in a few months time,” the Dwarven Kingdom was starting to thrive once more. “Dain is a dutiful and fair king. And Bilbo sent word back. I am to come and see the Shire in late summer,”

Thranduil would hum, watching you with a fondness you would not have believed he could possess several months ago.

“And do you miss your home?”

He asks this often. You finally got the King to admit that he was afraid he was keeping you there, as if you were a prisoner. Several times, you have assured him that wasn’t the case, and you sigh now, placing a hand on his cheek.

“I’m right where I belong,”

The smile is small, and soft, and one you have grown to admire. In the privacy of your own world, the fountain gurgling and rushing in the background, the smell of pollen surrounding you, Thranduil leans down to press his forehead against yours. It’s the scene of a work of art, and both of your hearts swell. “I am never letting you go,”