#but my lower back and kidneys are pounding

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 3061

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, kidnapping, cannibalism, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, ignoring of sexual boundaries, dub-con bordering on non-con, (mostly humorous) gore, (mostly humorous) body horror

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

12. Tenderize

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

Steve:

Bucky spends the afternoon doing what he calls "meat prep." Steve tries not to look, he really does, but the House Hunters show he puts on the television doesn’t really hold a candle to the morbidly fascinating process that is Bucky, "prepping" Melissa’s leg.

Bucky sends it up in the dumbwaiter after taking Erica her lunch. He washes his hands meticulously at the sink and dries them, picks the leg up and plops it down onto the counter with a flourish. It’s the lower leg. Left or right, Steve doesn’t take note, he just sees the painted toenails, the tattoo on the ankle that he can’t quite make out. He sits on the couch and peers over the back of it, watching Bucky work.

Bucky moves with a sort of glee, almost like a dance, as if he can hear music that Steve can’t. He looks very in his element, and very handsome and capable as he works. Steve would probably spend more time admiring that, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s also watching the man slicing pieces off of a woman’s calf.

“I usually take the non-dominant forearm, first,” Bucky tells him as he’s working. “This was Melissa’s … third cut? Anyway, it’s all I’ve got left of her now. I defrosted it a couple days ago. There’s this Italian guy who always orders shank, specifically.”

Jesus fuck, Steve thinks. "Shank." He actually calls it that.

“I send it with everything he needs for my grandma’s osso buco,” Bucky declares. “Herbs, wine, specifically-curated olive oil. All that and like, some hair or some panties or something. Because, you know: perverts.” He rolls his eyes and Steve has to suppress a horrible urge to laugh. Bucky looks up and catches sight of his twitching mouth, and he smiles back. “Yeah, I know. Good ol’ Gammy made hers with beef. But trust me,” he points his knife at Steve. “This way is so much better.”

Steve chews his lip. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You-don’t-have-to,” Bucky sing-songs from the kitchen, in his element, happy. “You’re welcome to try any cut you want, anytime.” He produces a meat tenderizer and starts pounding away at the slices of meat he’s produced.

Steve winces as the hammer comes down hard, and then lighter in a series of almost loving taps. Christ. “I’ll pass for now,” he murmurs, unsure if Bucky’s heard him or not. He continues to watch the macabre display for a bit, but goes back to the television once Bucky is vacuum packing the meat with the herbs and spices.

He's very surprised (and honestly a bit grossed out with himself) that he doesn’t get more upset from watching the actual process. He doesn’t even get nauseous. Oh, it’s weird for sure. Downright shocking when he very first sees the leg lifted out of the dumbwaiter and plopped onto the countertop, the pedicured foot still attached, Bucky slicing away and hacking through bone. But Steve doesn’t retch and get sick like he thought he would. His stomach doesn’t once roil or threaten to turn. It’s like he’s already been desensitized to it, just from the sheer amount of stuff he’s imagined, from what Bucky’s told him and shown him so far, eating kidneys and ‘other-bacon’ right in front of him.

He thinks of Clint and watching Midsommar with him, asking him how he could stomach all the gore.

“It’s not real. Just movie magic, dude.”

His own lack of a physical reaction to this actual gore is what disturbs Steve the most, so he forces himself to sit back on the couch facing the tv, and actually pay attention to the show. The young married couple is searching for a house in Toronto. They need to upsize because they’re having another baby. Steve watches the show. He hopes they pick the middle house. They wind up picking the last one.

Absently, Steve wonders what osso buco is.

Bucky:

“What’s osso buco?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s just finished with his meat prep and woken Steve up from his nap on the couch. He’d been so sweet lying there, looking so peaceful. Bucky hadn’t wanted to wake him, but it's getting late, and he’s already started chilling the wines for dinner.

He smiles at Steve and sits at the opposite end of the couch from him, tangling their feet together in the middle. He describes what osso buco is. “I was surprised you watched,” he tells him gently, honestly. He rubs his socked foot against Steve’s bare one. “What’d you think?”

Steve is quiet for a long time. When he finally answers, he simply says, “You were right. We do look a lot like beef.”

Bucky busts out in a laugh and leans forward to slap him on the thigh. “Told ya!” He gets up to go and finish the final elements of their dinner. “You ready for date night, my dear?”

Steve watches him from over the back of the couch again. “Mmhm. What’re we doing?”

Bucky beams at him. He’s been looking forward to this all day. “First, we have our appetizer: La Pissaladiere.” He’s begun speaking in a very fake French accent, and Steve scoffs.

"That's terrible."

"Yeah it was kinda terrible, huh?”

Steve laughs, and then Bucky laughs with him, and for a second it feels just like one of those genuine, laughing stupidly together moments that they used to have. And it makes Bucky’s heart squeeze painfully as the brief moment fizzles out. He can see it in Steve’s face too, how it hurts.

Bucky looks down, clearing his throat. “Um, yeah. And then we’ve got this salad, pretty simple. And the main, which is …” he does a drumroll on the countertop. “Osso Buco!” He does that one in an equally terrible Italian accent, but Steve is not amused.

"What?! No! No fucking way!" he cries, tiny and furious and kneeling up higher on the couch cushions. Bucky marvels at him and has such a strong urge to tackle him into submission and sex right then and there, that he has to look away. “Bucky,” Steve growls. “You promised you wouldn’t make me—”

“Calm down, babe,” Bucky hurries, not wanting Steve’s temper to ruin their date night. “It’s the two version meal again, don’t worry. Yours is 'vegetarian'.”

Steve deflates some, but Bucky can see that he’s still wary. “Prove it,” he says, and Bucky sighs dramatically to cover up the disappointment he feels at Steve not being able to trust him yet.

“Okay, come here.” He unlocks Steve’s tether at the couch and brings him over to the island countertop, locks him there. “Look.” He points to each crockpot that’s been braising the meat for hours. He’d put tape on each one to label them. The right one reads “Vegetarian,” the left one reads “Melissa.”

He's pleased as punch when Steve rolls his eyes and even laughs a little. “This is so crazy,” he mutters. “Why can’t you just enjoy cow like everybody else?” He’s asking in a good enough natured way, so Bucky indulges him,

“I told you, Honey. We’re just better.”

“Yeah yeah, I remember. ‘Tastes like roadkill in comparison’.”

“It does,” Bucky insists, though he can see Steve rolling his eyes. “Only one way to prove me wrong,” he challenges, leaning over the counter with a smirk. Steve scowls and says no way, and Bucky backs off. Instead, he tries to explain it to him, musing, “And you know, it also just makes the whole meal more of a … a spiritual experience.” He meets Steve’s eyes, and they’re riveted on him. Bucky licks his bottom lip slowly, eager to explain, to make Steve see. “When it’s not just an animal? When it's us? Well then you’re not just eating. It's so much more than that. You’re taking someone else inside yourself. You’re consuming them. It’s …” he inhales deeply. “It’s heady. It’s meaningful.” He sees Steve gulp and knows he’s playing with fire here, but he pushes onwards, taking Steve’s small hand from over the counter and covering it with his own. “No matter what they did in their life, they’re still a person. And a person matters. In a way an animal never can.” He watches the movement of Steve's closed lips, the nervous rise and fall of his Adam's apple. Bucky shivers and breathes, “It’s a very powerful thing.”

Steve pulls his hand back slowly, never looking away from Bucky’s eyes. Bucky can’t tell if he’s terrified, or fascinated, or both. He’d take both.

He breaks the tension of the moment by pulling back and standing up straight again, giving Steve some breathing room after that—admittedly impassioned—speech. “And then of course, we have Dessert: le tarte tatìn—with fennel ice cream, though I think the French would arrest me for serving it à la mode.” He moves away to go check on the crock pots and then the oven where the Pissaladiere is baking. “Almost ready,” he says brightly, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go set the table!”

Steve:

After dinner, they decide to finish watching The Hunger Games. They’ve only got the last movie to go. Bucky puts it on and they snuggle up close together on the couch. Steve is left untethered to any cord or chain, and he spends at least the first ten minutes of the movie eyeing up every solid object in the near vicinity, imagining what would or would not be suitable for bludgeoning Bucky with.

It’s a dreadful train of thought, and when Bucky pulls him in cozily against his side and kisses his hair and whispers that he’s so happy to have Steve back with him like this, Steve almost feels guilty for his scheming. He knows he has to stay strong, though. He just sat through an entire—admittedly delicious—dinner service where he watched the other man consume wine and salad and human shank.

Excuse him, he means osso buco.

Steve’s "vegetarian" version had been delicious. Bucky is an excellent cook and Steve really, really wishes he was just a normal boyfriend. Because cute little cooking-at-home-together dinner dates are so much fun with him. If only, if only. It’s so horrible that it’s laughable, and that’s what Steve’s found himself doing more often than not. Laughing about the absurdity of the situation in which he finds himself. He tells himself that it’s okay, that it’s a coping mechanism, and not him becoming used to anything. God forbid.

In the end, Steve concedes that Bucky was right: Peeta is a much better match for Katniss. “But only due to their circumstances,” he argues, as they’re eating their dessert on the couch, the credits and soundtrack music still rolling up the tv screen. “I mean, they’re just bonded through PTSD, basically. If things had gone differently, Gale would’ve been the one to know her better, deeper.” He shrugs. “Plus, he’s cuter. And taller.”

Bucky counters by pointing out that it’s always about your circumstances. “You can’t play that ‘what if’ game,” he says. “We live through what we live through. And it changes us, and that’s okay. Life doesn't always turn out the way we planned. Happiness comes from acceptance of that.”

He’s staring straight at Steve as he says it, and Steve finds his next mouthful of tarte tatìn going down with some difficulty. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I guess so." Does Bucky really expect him to accept all of this? He shifts uncomfortably and holds out his bowl. "I ah, I think I'm done with mine.”

Bucky takes it with gentle fingers and a soft expression. “I hope you liked everything,” he says. “I wanted to make this special for you. A real treat.”

"Oh." Steve flounders with his heart in his throat. “It ... it was.”

“Mm.” Bucky sets both of their bowls on the coffee table, then he comes back and crawls over to Steve on the couch, crowding him back, and back, until Steve is lying down and Bucky's over top of him. Steve shudders, parts his lips to say something in protest, but Bucky kisses him before he can.

It’s not just the kiss, is the thing. It’s the way that Bucky’s elbows and forearms box him in. It’s the way his hands slide up Steve’s shoulders, how they trace his neck and his jaw. It’s how his full body lies atop him, how his weight pushes down, sinking Steve into the cushions as good as any restraint could. It’s how he fits so perfectly between Steve’s legs, and how his hips roll, slow and purposeful, while he kisses him.

Without meaning to, Steve moans, and the moment his hands come up to hold Bucky’s shoulders, he knows it’s game over: He's lost, tonight.

He still protests the loss, of course. Tries to stop it on the couch, and then in the hallway, and in the bedroom. But Bucky hushes him endlessly, kisses away his whimpers and licks his moans into existence, taking them as permission, as Steve conceding his loss.

Steve really, really doesn’t mean it that way, but there’s only so much he can do, and so much he can take. He’s been alone and scared for weeks now, and every time Bucky touches him it’s like a dagger in his guts, a sharp and painful reminder of how they used to make love before all this happened. How good Bucky used to make him feel, how well he’d played his body and taken him apart and made him come and cry. Steve wants that again, god damn him. He wants to feel good again.

So, somewhere in-between the leather couch and the luxury bedcovers, he really does give in.

The second he stops squirming and starts really kissing back—not just accepting it, but participating—Bucky moans louder. He bites Steve’s lip and says, “Yes, baby. Come on. Let me make you feel good.”

And isn’t that just what Steve wants? It’s certainly the best he can have, in his present situation. He shivers full-body as Bucky undresses them both, then lies out over him, warm and naked. They’re both hard, and Steve pants when Bucky slots one of those thick, firm thighs between his legs and pushes, rocks his hips so his own cock drags against Steve’s belly. “Fuck, Honey,” he breathes, kissing him. Hot kiss after hot kiss, that dominating tongue rolling in and keeping Steve’s thoughts short and disjointed.

Steve keens sharply at a particularly good roll of their hips. “Oh, oh, yeah …”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, nipping his chin. “What do you want, baby? You want my fingers? Want Daddy to make love to you?”

Steve groans and turns his cheek into the pillow to escape it, the kisses and the words, both. Bucky just hums knowingly and takes up residence at his throat instead, sucking and licking and biting at the skin. Even after all that’s happened between them, he’s still remembered that one slip Steve had, when he'd let the word tumble out of his mouth: Daddy. He squeezes his eyes shut and writhes against Bucky’s larger body, dick blurting out precum at the way Bucky touches him and treats him and talks to him. He’s so fucking perfect. ... Well, except for the whole cannibalism th—

Bucky wraps a hand around his cock and starts stroking just in time to put an end to that train of thought, and Steve gasps, his belly tightening in such sharp pleasure that he thinks he might come. “Sl-slow down!” he gasps, unable to stop his hips from jolting up. “I-I can’t. Wait, wait ..."

Bucky listens, cooing apologies and praise at him and petting his dick back down against his belly. His hand is slick. Where the hell did he get lube? Steve stops wondering when the hand ventures further back. “Tilt up for me, Honey,” Bucky murmurs, kissing his collarbone, humming an approving sound when Steve listens. “There you go. Good boy.”

Steve squirms harder at his embarrassing reaction to being praised. But it’s something he’s always gone for, and hearing Bucky say it in his gorgeous voice, from his gorgeous lips, makes it hit even harder. He feels a finger go in, and Bucky finds it easily, just like he always had before. He strokes over his prostate, never too rough, always gentle, letting the pleasure and pressure build inside Steve at his own pace.

“Shit,” Steve curses, gritting his teeth and rolling his hips against Bucky’s hand. Another finger joins the first, so easy, and Steve humps down harder against it. “Bucky,” he chokes, gasping. “W-wait, wait.”

“So sensitive, baby.” Bucky eases his fingers out and kisses at the corner of Steve's mouth, speaking smugly against his lips. “So wound up. What’s the matter, Stevie? Haven’t you been getting laid?” Steve grits his teeth and snarls a half-hearted “fuck you” at him, but it only makes Bucky laugh and slick his cock up and fit the head right to Steve’s entrance. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, propping himself up with his other arm, pushing in just a little, so slow, letting Steve’s body suck him in. “I’ll be gentle.”

He is. He pushes in so incredibly slow. So slow that it becomes torturous, makes Steve wrap his arms around his shoulders and hook his feet over the backs of his thighs, pulling him in closer. “Fuck,” he exhales against Bucky’s ear, dragging his lips over it. “Oh, Bucky.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck me.”

Bucky starts rolling his hips, rocking into him and pulling out just a little, just enough. It’s like he doesn’t want to get too far away from Steve, doesn’t want to separate from him long enough to make their sex anything but close and deep. Steve cries out and moans and makes all sorts of shameful noises, because it feels amazing. Grinding down against Bucky and slipping a hand between their bodies to stroke himself off, it feels so goddamn good that he cries.

He tells himself that they’re tears of pleasure, of ecstasy. But that’s not entirely true. Bucky seems to know that by the tender way he kisses them off his cheeks, by the way he whispers "it’s okay, it’s okay" to him as he fucks him, and by the way he holds him so tightly once it’s over and they’ve both spent all over Steve’s stomach. “Shh sh sh,” he calms him, forcing him still once he starts to panic and cry out and pull. “Shhh. It’s okay.” He kisses his hair and holds fast until Steve collapses, giving up the struggle, exhausted. Steve cries sluggish tears, and Bucky hugs him and says quiet things into his hair for a long time. One of them might be "I love you," but Steve isn’t sure.

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[idkbroimjusthere]

The Path I Chose | Part One

I've never posted on anything but I decided to finally write down the story I've had in my head for a while now. I have no idea when or if I will post the next chapter but I probably will if this gets some attention.

Summary: I'm a freelance CIA agent. That's not really a thing but that's what I call it. I'm working for a woman named Kate laswell on some off the books investigating. We've been searching for Information on a child trafficking ring that has connections to ultra nationalist groups through europe. I don't get to know the details, but I know enough to do my job. I know what I'm doing is dangerous, but I'm staying away from the worst of it, Right?

Edit

Content Warning: This is going to be pretty dark, cannon typical violence and all that, some implied SA, and forced proximity I guess? so no minors and read at your own risk. Also there will probably be sex cause I'm a perv

How the fuck did I get here? It was never supposed to go this far. If I knew I'd be here at the end, dying, alone, I don't think I would have ever signed that contract.

I'm standing, chained to a wall, peeing my pants because I can't hold it any more. Sharp pain shoots through my lower back and I can feel my kidneys throbbing. The combination of whatever fucking drugs they're feeding me and the fact that I've been trying to controll my bladder for what feels like, fuck, I don't even know anymore, it's really making me want to give up. I wonder if it would be that easy, if I could just decide I'm done, that I'm too tired for this shit, and die. No. I'm probably going to have to wait until these peices of shit decide they're done with me, and pray that it's soon. My head hurts. It's not bleeding like my limbs, but it is pounding, endlessly, like my heart has somehow been moved by all the shoving and kicking, and it now rests heavily in my skull. A door opens somewhere to my right and I try to lift my head to see but a wave of nausea rolls through me and I drop my eyes back to the blood slowly dripping from my body into a puddle on the floor

Maybe that will kill me, blood loss would explain the brain fog. But so would the drugs. I experimented with things in my early adult years and I'm pretty sure it's some combination of psychedelics. Everything feels far away and the cement floor is swirling under me in Van Gogh-esque patterns. It's not pretty though, it feels cold and harsh under me.

The men that I've learned to recognize since the beginning of my imprisonment have come back to try to get me to tell them answers that I don't have to questions I don't quite understand. They have every reason to believe I might know the answers, I work for the fuckin united states government after all, and for a woman I'm pretty sure has more power in these matters than she tells me she does, they probably saw that and assumed I had information about some weapons dealer's death. I don't, but I don't think that matters anymore. I was an easy target to them. I came right to them. They won't let me live, I'm sure of it. If they were going to let me go the men torturing me wouldn't have shown me there faces. One man has tattoos that I took note of In The begining, but I don't think knowing that there is an ugly looking spider inked on the bigger man's hand is going to do me any good anymore. I hate spiders. And pain. All I feel is pain. No hope of getting away anymore.

I hear someone talking but it's muffled by the ringing in my ears. My knees buckle as something solid hits my in the ribs shooting pain through my chest and spine. My guess is it's the bat that the smaller man seems to love swinging. I'm hanging by my wrists from the wall, unable to sit down because of the metal digging into me and leaving what I know will be dark bruises by tomorrow, if I'm still alive by then. They then take a step back and I hear something familiar. Something I can't quite place as I slip in and out of consciousness. The men tasked with getting answers from me shout at each other, or me, I can't tell.

They're gunshots, I think. The sound rings through the air and hits my ears with a sharp ping. My brain tries to focus as my head spins and I see the men looking out into the hallway. Before the door can even open all the way, both men are shot. Clean kills by the sound of it, just two shots. The sound echoes in my ears as my eyes close and open slowly.

Someone steps into the room, they seem to be studying me. I would be self conscious if I had any ounce of pride left, but right now, I don't care.

This person is large, taller than me but I am half on the floor right now. This guy looks huge from here. I try to stand and it takes me a moment. He watches without moving an inch, I realize his assault rifle is aimed at me.

"Who are you"

The question barely registers as I try to breathe more evenly

"I'm with, I'm a-an American, I work for the CIA" I stutter out stumbling through the words like I've never said them before.

"Please, I can't, I'm not supposed to be here, I don't know what they want from me" that's only sort of a lie, right?

He doesn't shoot me, yet. I guess somewhere in my mind I do want to live because I'm begging for help. The man says something to a radio strapped to his chest and starts rummaging around in the pockets of the two men who have been torturing and drugging me for what I can only assume is weeks now. He cuts off the bat guy's badge and pulls the key card for my room out from his pocket. He pulls both bodies into the room, like they weigh nothing, and closes the door.

He turns towards me and I shudder, adrenaline and panic shoot through me. His face is covered and I can't see very well so I have no idea what he's thinking. I'm going to assume it's bad though, this man feels dangerous, like he's one wrong word away from bashing my head in.

I try to stand up straighter and look him in the eyes but my body aches and I feel weak. I can't feel my hands anymore everything feels fuzzy.

He walks up to me and grabs my wrist. I feel the restraint fall off my wristand my arm drops to my side. As I try to bite back the pain of the blood I have left rushing back to my fingertips my other wrist falls.

The combination of all my ailments rolls through my body like a wave and I stumble. The man in front of me grabs my shoulders and sets me on the floor a foot or two to the left of the spot I had been standing in for way too long.

My head falls forward and my vision gets dark around the edges

"Hey, it's ok, I'm not going to hurt you."

I shake my head as he grabs onto my arms again. Fear of what this man could do to me if he wanted to rattles my bones

"N-no, don't touch me, please" I say, tears now falling down my face.

"You're ok, I'm going to help you, we're going to go somewhere safer" he says in low, calm voice.

I hear muffled words from an earpiece he's wearing. He holds his radio and replies "copy, I've got the key card" he leans me back against the wall and stands, heading towards the door. He swipes the card and it opens, letting in another man. He looks at me and I blink dumbly at him.

He says something to the masked guy and takes a step towards me. I cower away and try to scoot back into the corner

"It's alright dear, I'm not going to hurt you, you can trust me" he says in a light, kind tone.

I'm not sure I have a choice here, if I say no, tell them to get away from me, I'm stuck here. I don't think I can stand, let alone walk and my best chance of getting out of here is going along with this. My judgement may be clouded but something about his voice seems to make me relax. That could also be the blood loss.

"Please, I just want to go home." I'm still crying, looking up at these men from the floor in my broken, battered state.

"You'll be alright with us, we will get you out of here"

That sounds great, I'm in. I try to give a response but my mouth is so dry and it comes out as a sort of croak.

"Here, I have water" he kneels down to open a canteen on his side but it doesn't slosh when he shakes it.

"Fuck, Ghost, bring your's" he says, but the man is already stepping towards me and crouching down, bringing the open bottle to my mouth. He carefully holds the water, tipping it up slowly, and I drink as much as I can. He pulls it back and screws on the cap. I whine a little. I haven't had much food or water since I've been here and I don't feel satisfied by the quick drink at all

"Thats enough for now, we need to move."

"Yeah, captains waiting for us with the truck on the east side, building's clear to the exit"

I look between them as they speak and they both look at me.

"Ready love, we've got you, don't worry." Says the man who's name I don't know. The one called ghost picks me up again and sets me sort of over his shoulder. Pain once again floods through my body and I feel myself start to slip out of counciousness.

"You're alright yeah? We'll be out soon, just hold on" the man to our right says. It's the last thing I hear before sinking into the void of darkness that clouds my eyes.

[eldritchmoms]

Medical Intervention

(companion/followup to @umbralined's Divine Intervention) Rated: R (but mostly on F-bomb technicalities) Words: 1040 Content: Blood, detailed but non-graphic injury description, Dad Trauma, The Fuck Word

Renosos had felt the siren call of sleep that evening. Frequently, these days, he chose to meditate its place. Not true reverie, as elves experienced it, but for most practical purposes a close enough effect. As long as he was not physically or mentally exhausted it sufficed to keep him rested. And safer by far than allowing his soul to stray. It had terrified him, once. But now, in spite of its dangers, wandering a plane of death and shadow had a dark seduction to it. Feeling its power sink into his skin and join what was already there, feeling more whole than he could ever recall…

The effects on waking were a small price to pay. Most of the time. But not tonight.

Anything that had gone before, in dreams of of the comforting, thrilling, invasive embrace of shadows, blurred into a fog as he doubled over on the floor wracked with coughs that tore at the knot of scars in his lung and felt like they threatened to break ribs. The thick, foul shadowstuff they forced out of his mouth dissipated into nothing once it had splattered across the floorboards. He didn’t know how long it kept coming, but it was too long.

Something was wrong. Not with him, or not just with him. He could feel it in the air, pounding in his head, curling up from below, the approach of something that set all his nerves on edge and all he could do was fight violent coughs and limbs trembling from what felt like pure exhaustion.

He needed to get down to the shrine. He didn’t know why, but it was urgent and it was bad and it was burned across his mind and he had long since learned not to start second guessing. He reached out into the back of his mind for his spells as he forced himself to his feet. From how drained he felt, the type of drained, he had feared that he would find nothing at all. But to his relief he could feel the shape of them, and did not question that too closely either. If he was going to have to fight, he would not want to be without them.

Armour and weapons though, those would only slow him down. He bothered with no more than an undershirt and breeches, and the soft grey neckerchief at his throat.

Vivid impressions flashed across his mind as felt the fabric against his skin. Vision, or recollections of the dream that had woken him, too fragmentary to make sense of other than the scent of oiled leather and smoke and a voice that whispered and slid around his mind. One with the softest touch, that still held a power that left his ears feel like they were bleeding.

Well, I've done my part. Time for you to do yours, priest.

He didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, and he was sure as he descended the narrow stairs at a run that it would be a waste of time and spells to ask. He sensed the presence in the basement as soon as he threw the trapdoor open. He could hear wet, laboured breathing, and he smelled blood.

When he saw who it was leant against one wall, just outside a still open entrance to the passages under the city, a part of his mind froze.

Maledos.

Even in the dark, he could tell that the tiefling was far too pale. Renosos was across the space before he even realised he was moving, and Maledos went immediately from against the wall to slumped in his arms, mumbling incoherently.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck...

The paralysed, panicking part of his mind was rapidly sectioned off to deal with later. Now, he had a job to do. Severe blood loss, shock, delirium. Wound was in the back, small blade to lower back, kidney, no blade left in and in that location no bone to hit that could have broken the tip off. Nothing but the moderate tightness of the leathers to stem the bleeding. Magic was the only reasonable option, and even then there was a chance the damage could still scar and linger...

He felt the words on his tongue before he fully realised what they meant. No simple healing spell. One whose power flooded his soul and threatened to tear away at the edges, one at the very edge of his abilities.

One he had not asked for, but had been placed in his mind all the same.

As soon as it was out, the cool soothing numbness of its healing winding into Maledos’ flesh, the throbbing tension that had weighed down on Renosos faded away. It left a soft hum of satisfaction that retreated into nothingness, and he knew without being told that he need not prepare for whoever had done this to follow. It was over.

For now, anyway. He was beginning to feel Maledos’ dead weight in his arms. He wasn’t sure if he was unconscious or only barely so, but it didn’t matter. He needed to be moved. It should, under any other circumstances, have been to the spare bed above to get him out of dirty leathers and make certain the magic was doing its work. But when Renosos had him, with some effort, into a position to be carried, he did not find himself heading in that direction.

Instead he laid Maledos down on hard, polished stone. The candles that burned here did not so much shed light as throw the shadows into sharp, shifting relief. The one that fell across both of them from the back of the small room shifted lazily, as though it was rustled in a non-existent breeze.

Renosos took one last look at Maledos, shadow rippling over him like a living sheet, as he knelt beside him. The he turned, and looked up into inscrutable holes cut into cloth that nevertheless seemed to look back.

He was still on his knees, and wryly hoped that Mask would not take that the wrong way as he began to speak. Old words, in a tongue rarely heard in Evertide, but handed down to him held close.

“Lord of shadows, hear my words...”

[jodilin65]

I got my lab results, and not surprisingly, many of the numbers aren't good. I suspected my TSH was elevated, and it turns out I was right. Fortunately, it's just barely into the double digits at 10.34. I'll start taking my multivitamins daily. The question is, what's responsible for that? Is it connected to my gastro issues or something else? It explains why I've had some hypo symptoms but not why I'm having trouble falling asleep or why my weight is down a few pounds. Maybe I'm starting to lose muscle now that I'm getting old.

Surprisingly, my T4 was never tested, but that's always been normal. Liver and kidney function are fine, but my RBC and hematocrit are up a bit. That's easily explainable by dehydration. Sometime after getting back from the lab yesterday, I became very lightheaded and my blood pressure crashed to 100/59 because I was dehydrated.

My glucose was 107, and I'm officially pre-diabetic with an A1C of 6.0. Tom was as high as 6.2, but he's been pre-diabetic for over a decade, so hopefully, neither one of us will actually cross over into being diabetic. I still prefer happiness over misery, but I'm going to do my best to find a good balance to help keep me out of the diabetic range without killing myself and feeling overly deprived of anything.

Weight loss is out of the question with the way I have to cut my calories so low to compensate for my thyroid issues, and I don't want to spend the rest of my life hungry, grumpy, and adding to my fatigue. But I can eat healthier and lessen my sugar intake. The thing is that I'm not that big, I already eat healthy most of the time, and get more than the recommended 150 minutes a week of exercise, so I know it's mostly a genetic thing. My mother had it, her father had it, my sister has it, and I'm sure there are others too. Skinny athletes can get diabetes. Still, I've got to try to get it under control because I know I wouldn't be able to tolerate diabetes medication. I'm way too prone to side effects for that. I've heard all kinds of nasty things about diabetes medication, so if I can barely tolerate medications that rarely give anyone trouble, I can just imagine what I would be in for on diabetes medication. So I'm not going to put myself out and make myself miserable, but I'm going to do what I can to improve my health, including going back to strength training a couple of times a week, even if that means I have to squeeze myself into a crowded lanai to get at the Bowflex in 90-degree weather.

Last but not least, my total cholesterol, LDL, and non-HDL were through the roof. I was surprised to find my triglycerides were normal.

While I'm on the subject of medical stuff, every now and then I look up the reviews on some of my old doctors out of curiosity. My old ENT, whom I loved so much, is still widely hated, LOL. One woman even claims she mishandled something when working on her daughter's tonsils, which left her unable to feel her lower lip, and how the doctor won't take responsibility for malpractice, etc. Others say she's not “warm and fuzzy.” LOL. She started off on the serious side with me but quickly became one of the most friendly and personable doctors I ever knew.

I got the incense sticks I ordered today, and I can't say I'm that impressed. They're so old and dry it's almost like they’re blank sticks. Some of them I can smell, but half of them just smell like smoke. I ordered some hand-dipped patchouli through Walmart. Haven't gotten the incense matches yet.

The safety pins didn't hold the sheet snug on the waterbed, so we ran the straps we were using before underneath the bed frame, and we'll see if that helps keep them a bit taut, though I don't think it will.

My lovable but naughty little rat pulled the eyelashes off one of Bailey's eyes, so now we're looking into a suitable glue so I can put new eyelashes on her. Tinkerbella loves climbing the closet shelves, and the doll was sitting on it. She could use new ones, though, because the old ones were kind of bent out of shape with all the moving we've done over the years.

The honker announced that his daughter’s pregnant and his grandson was on the way. Good for him, and good for me too, hopefully, because now maybe she'll skip coming to Florida next winter and using his truck so he can annoy me more often with the motorcycle. I don't know how far along she is, but I would think that for most of the time he's down here, if she wasn't at the end of her pregnancy, then maybe she wouldn't want to travel with a kid so young.

The only dream I remember last night was owning a gas car again and being too broke to fill it up.

I connected ChatGPT to OneDrive and asked it to correct a 36-page story that had 12 chapters but it only corrected part of it. I ended up with just 5 very small chapters and 7 pages. So it's great for current stories and journals but not projects that are already done. It might have done a better job if I fed it one chapter at a time rather than uploading the entire document.

It's not really worth redoing old stories, though. At least not right now. I like how I can tell it not to omit swears or change them and it doesn't. I also like how I can tell it to put the current day, date, and time for when I copy it in Word since Word doesn't automatically timestamp entries like the blogging sites do. I have to add italics, though.

[kineretinindia]

Kineret for Rheumatoid Arthritis

What is KINERET used for? Kineret is a prescription medication named an interleukin-1 receptor antagonist (IL-1ra) used for reducing the signs/symptoms and slowing the damage of moderate/severe active RA in patients aged 18 years and older when one or more other medications for RA have failed. It is also used for the treatment of patients with a form of Cryopyrin-Associated Periodic Syndromes (CAPS) named Neonatal-Onset Multisystem Inflammatory Disease (NOMID). Treatment of kineret 100 mg is not prescribed for children with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis.

How should I use Kineret: Kineret should be used exactly as your healthcare professional tells you to. You may not have to use all of the liquid medication in the prefilled syringe. The kineret injection is administered under your skin. Inject this medication at about the same time every day. In case you have complications with kidney, your healthcare professional may need to change how often you administer your kineret dosage. In case you miss/forget a dose of Kineret injection, discuss with your doctor in order to determine when you can use your next injection.

What are the possible side effects of Kineret? Treatment with Kineret may be responsible for causing serious side effects, including: serious infections: Kineret therapy may lower your ability in order to fight infections. While on therapy with Kineret, call your doctor right away in case you:

get an infection

have any sign of an infection including a fever/chills

have any open sores on your body

You may get an infection in case you receive a live vaccine while on kineret dose. You should avoid receiving live vaccines while on therapy with Kineret. allergic reactions: Stop treatment with Kineret and call your doctor or seek emergency help promptly in case you have any of these signs or symptoms of an allergic reaction:

swelling of face/lips/mouth/tongue

trouble breathing

wheezing

severe itching

skin rash/redness/swelling outside of the injection site area dizziness or fainting

fast heartbeat or pounding in your chest (tachycardia) sweating

Reduced ability of the body to fight infections (immunosuppression): It is unspecified if the treatment with drugs that are responsible for causing immunosuppression, like kineret 100 mg, affects your risk of getting cancer.

Reduced white blood cell count (neutropenia): Kineret treatment may cause you to have a reduced number of white blood cells (neutrophils). Neutrophils are necessary in order to fight infections. You must have the blood tests prior to starting anakinra 100 mg therapy, then monthly for three months. After the initial three months you must have your blood tested every three months for up to one year. Apart from serious, certain most common side effects of Kineret (anakinra injection) also reported, which may include:

injection site skin reactions.

rheumatoid arthritis (RA) gets worse even with therapy, in case you already have RA

headache

nausea and vomiting

diarrhea

joint pain

fever

feeling like you have the flu

sore throat or runny nose

sinus infection

Report your healthcare professional in case you have any persistent side effects. These are not the entire possible side effects of Kineret. Who should not use a Kineret? Avoid using inj kineret 100 mg in case you are allergic to proteins made from bacteria named E.Coli or any of the other existing ingredients in Kineret. What should I tell my healthcare professional prior to using Kineret? Prior to using Kineret therapy, inform your healthcare professional if: you have an infection or a known history of infections that keep coming back or other complications that may increase your risk of getting infections.

you have kidney problems.

you want to receive any vaccines. Individuals using

kineret injection 100 mg should not receive live vaccines.

you are pregnant or want to become pregnant. Kineret therapy may harm your unborn baby.

you are breastfeeding or want to breastfeed. The drug kineret may pass into your breast milk. You and your doctor should decide in case you will use Kineret or breastfeed.

How should I store Kineret? Store Kineret in the refrigerator between 36°F to 46°F (2°C to 8°C). Avoid freezing or shaking Kineret. Keep the vials of Kineret in its original carton and away from the light. Keep it out of the reach of children.

Price: As with all medications, the kineret injection price can vary. To buy this medication at the best price, kindly contact us at - 9310090915.

NOTE: The piece of information provided in this article is intended to be helpful and educational, but it does not constitute an endorsement by us and is not meant to be a substitute for professional medical advice

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

2022

A Nothing Year

Stephen Jay Morris

12/24/2022

Scientific Morality©

Let’s see, what happened in the news this year? The Queen of England died. How old was she? 97 years old. Queen Elizabeth was around longer than I have been. That’s life! Oh, yeah. Russia invaded Ukraine. Another war! How unoriginal is that?! NASA sent a rocket and crew to circle the moon. Didn’t we do that in 1968? Kanye West spewed Anti-Semitic rhetoric. So did Farrakhan back in February 2018. The political Right in the USA wanted to install a Fascist regime. That almost happened during the FDR administration. Don’t believe me? Click here: Business Plot – Wikipedia. Then, there was the Covid pandemic. Still. That has shown me that a minority of Americans are, and always will be, in denial. Well, if you ask me, just let them suffer the consequences! What’s so tragically funny, however, is that their egos misled them to into this sort of bravado. It’s not because they are strong and tough but, in truth, they are just too indolent to put on a mask or click on a safety belt! “Fake patriots?” We got plenty o’ them, here in America! Other Americans in denial are Conservatives who say that racism no longer exists in the USA. Yeah, right! “We are the greatest county in the world!” Does that mean we are better than Israel? They’ve got Gay rights and affordable medicine. So on and so forth, ad nauseam!

My point is, nothing is new under the sun. America is not the best nation in the multiverse. Please don’t dole out the old ultimatum of love it or leave it! You know how much a passport costs? My passport expired over five years ago. It cost me 400 bucks! God knows how much it costs now! Well, I’ve got a slogan for you: “Woke America! Love it or leave it!”

America is great in one way: the way of making money here. You can make tons money by attacking your own people! Just sign up at some Conservative think tank. If you are Jewish, you attack Hollywood. If you are Black, you attack NBA fans. If you’re a pedophile, you accuse non-pedo’s of being child molesters. Man! I miss the days when the Conservatives accused everybody of being Communists! Now, they can’t think of any other insults, so they accuse their opponents of pedophilia.

How about Bitcoin? Do you remember the board game, “Monopoly?” Hasbro, the company who produced it, included fake money! Now, fake money is worth more than the Irish sweepstakes and Bitcoin is worth more than Confederate cash! It’s the 1970’s pyramid scheme all over again.

One good thing about 2022 is that MLB manager, Dusty Baker, won his first World Series Championship Ring at the age of 72! Too bad his team happened to be the Houston Astros.

So, how was 2022 for me? I had fun on the Internet. My health issues ranged from a lower abdominal hernia to chronic constipation. Every day, there’s something wrong with me! I always worry about having a second heart attack. Otherwise, I feel OK. We are experiencing a cold snap, here in the Catskills. Last night it hit bottom at minus 1 degree! Our upstairs toilet froze up. I hate that!

Our cats are 17½ years old! Both of them have kidney disease, however they are hanging in there. Nicky weighs less than 7 pounds! He vomits his breakfast sometimes. Out other cat, Sammy, has a slight heart murmur. He cares mainly about sleeping and eating. They are both very sweet.

One more, thing. If I were a betting man, I’d bet Trump will never see the inside of a jail. Too bad Trump wasn’t a Black man who was caught stealing bread for his starving family. If that were the case, he’d get the death penalty! Just remember, only the good die young. Trump will live to a ripe old age. Why? Don’t be stupid!

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!

[vvussyboy]

I feel like I should update the few of you who y'know, wanna know. So I mentioned a while ago that I started dating someone and turns out I fell in love with him. Really fucking fell in love with him.

Read more yknow yknow

He lives in Germany and he's coming here for Christmas and New Years and I'm flying back to Germany with him for two weeks. It's serious enough that I expedited and purchased 1-2 day shipping for my passport. It's real enough that I hired a travel agent. It's real enough that I fully intend and am okay with maxing out my credit cards to get three whole weeks with him.

Funny thing: I lived the first 18 years of my life in a town he's wanted to visit since he was 11 years old which is so funny because I didn't know anyone actually ever wanted to.

TW: GENDER AFFIRMING SURGERY

I also got my voice surgery consult, and I opted for more intensive, specialized voice therapy and MAYBE, if that doesn't work, surgery.

My facial surgery consult is late January 2024.

I got letters for lower and body surgery, was approved for one consult but wasn't told which one and am waiting on the decision on the second surgery consult.

TW: WEIGHT LOSS, ILLNESS

I lost roughly 33 pounds for these surgeries and I'm really excited about it. I have started to feel so much healthier. I wasn't eating well and it was making me ill, and while things aren't perfect right now, I'm not puking as much and I have a lot more energy. I did get a dehydration-caused kidney stone but I'm trying to drink a ton of water every day - I just struggle to drink anything.

I know being thin isn't necessary to live as my gender but with how I carry my weight, I know that, for me, I'll feel a lot better in my own skin dysphoria-wise with more hide-able hips and more defined muscle and that's just a fact for me atm. Being fat isn't some terrible thing and shouldn't be looked down upon so severely, but it just doesn't match with my internal sense of self.

Uhhhh the move to seattle is still on but currently postponed while I figure out what surgeries I'm eligible for because I don't think I'll have the same level of access in Seattle - but I can't be sure atm.

Anyway. Maybe I'll share some photos from Germany soon? Watch out, we're insufferable.

hey guys, sorry I keep fucking off but I seem to have found the beginnings of a life and I wanna live it so idk man I'll be 'round these parts every so often but I'm not as chronically bored as I used to be so the internet is mostly used for dramatically searching for flights to Germany and fuckin uhhhhhhhh working

[wh6res]

dreams come true | yuta

"soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks." — ny

[ part of the my bloody valentine collection ]

tw. gore, blood, murder, death, killings, mentions of illegal organ trafficking, violence, mentions of stalking, minor character deaths, weapons (a knife and a gun), almost (??) suggestive content but nothing happened

disc. this is rlly fucked up and yuta is unredeemable. i dont condone such acts. this is all a work of fiction and meant to entertain.

wc. 5k

every time you sleep, the void is sickening. it was all you could see, lightyears and lightyears away of pitch black that made your head dizzy and your stomach dry heave. you've always wondered when you'll start dreaming about your soulmate's memories. they were like little secrets, another way for two people to be intimate without even being together. their days were flashing before their soulmate's eyes in the form of a dream. it's as if you spent the day with them!

you loved it, the whole concept of it. it sounded so wholesome and sweet and jesus fucking christ, you've always been such a hopeless romantic.

it was sweet until it turned sour. you loved it until you hated it. it was romantic until it turned downright terrifying.

you wake up covered in cold sweat, panting and gasping as if you've run a whole marathon.

moonlight seeps through your glass window, slightly left ajar for the midnight breeze to pass through – you walk up to it, pull it shut, and draw your thick curtains together. you exhaled, breath shaking as you tried to anchor yourself back to the ground.

with the only source of your light disappearing, darkness envelops you whole. for once, you craved the void. you want that void back if it meant never seeing something like that again – something straight out of your worst nightmare.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"uhm, i think… i think i just witnessed a massacre."

you reiterate everything you saw in the dream – the mahogany door, paint chipping off the drywalls. the doorknob was rusty, so were the hinges, and it made an ominous creak when pushed open. the light switches on, the first you see was a bunch of dirty ice coolers in what should've been the living room, it wasn't even the slightest bit organized. they were everywhere, and the floor looked grimy and disgusting, like there's a stain they can't seem to scrub off. only when your soulmate has stalked closer did you see the labels haphazardly taped on top of the ice coolers.

kidneys. livers. lungs. pancreas. intestines – you nearly vomited on the floor, trying to relay everything you saw to the operator on the other end of the call.

then came the gruesome parts.

their deaths.

they were five people in total. men clad in cheap t-shirts and pants, wearing all these similar leather jackets. some were well-built, ripped in the arms and thighs, but some were skinny, the jackets hanging on their small frames.

they never stood a chance against him.

your soulmate is agile, quick on his feet with outstanding eye-hand coordination. only equipped with a butcher's knife, but it was all he needed to take them down and send them knocking on inferno's gates. he was skilled, knowing when to pounce and where to slash his knife to maim but never to kill. by the time your soulmate was through with them, everything is bloody red. all the victims' eyes widened as they sputtered and choked on their blood – not dead, but dying...

because your soulmate wasn't done yet.

a killer should have a modus operandi, should they not? so he took out a desert eagle, stood before the bleeding bodies, and shot two bullets straight into their eyes. the finishing touch? carving a frown on their faces with his butcher's knife.

the operator only told you one thing after she's made you describe the place for them to track the crime scene down.

"double-check all your windows and doors."

because you couldn't be too sure, not when you have been granted a front seat to the sad face slayer's most recent endeavors.

the detective eyes you with a certain pity. maybe that's why you don't bother meeting his eyes. you sit still on a chair, camera blinking red behind him, the interrogation room is freezing even with the thick jacket you're wearing.

seven billion people in the world and you're soulmate's a ruthless serial killer who took it upon himself to purge the world of evildoers – he was playing god, no wonder the detective is looking at you like that.

"uhh…" he's awkward, fidgeting in his seat. "and you saw this all in a dream?"

"yes."

you've known him only minutes ago. mark lee was his name and he seems to be a subordinate of a higher, more experienced detective named kim doyoung. you don't know whether to feel offended or not for having a doe-eyed newbie taking care of the case, but you pushed it at the back of your mind, knowing his superior is watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"did you have, like, other past instances where you dreamt of him? of what he…" mark looked like he was going to throw up. "what he does to his other victims?"

you shook your head. no. "i've mostly just heard of him on the news. i don't think i have the stomach to find out in-depth what the killer does."

mark takes out a folder, features walking the fine white line between looking apologetic or wanting to say me too. "i'm, uhh, really sorry to hear that."

there's a sudden pregnant silence encapsulating the interrogation room. it felt like you were mourning for something, the chains of dread dragging your heart to the ground as it pounded against your ribcage. mark looked like he wanted to say something, but you swore his eyes darted towards the camera in the corner and decided otherwise.

"anyway…" he trails. flipping the folder open in one swift motion. "past sightings have given us the sad face slayer's name."

he slaps down a picture of a man, his hair raven and a permanent scowl etched on his face. the quality was shitty. it looked like it was a screenshot taken from zoomed-in cctv footage.

"nakamoto yuta, twenty-five, japanese, and has slipped one too many times past authorities that at this point, it's practically a talent."

and just like that, it made sense why you're here.

your lips pursed in contemplation, palms quaking as your fingers reach forward to inspect your soulmate's picture. "and… you want to use my soulmate connection –" you glowered. never had a sentence sounded so fucking cursed and utterly wrong. "– to catch him?"

mark can't look you in the eye. "yes. he's very elusive. his killings have been happening cross-country and, as you can see, have garnered national media attention. the police are hanging by a thread here. a month in his case and all we got is his MO, name, and that he has this weird god complex on him. if we can't catch him by the end of next month…" he shrugs. "the feds are going to interfere, sooner or later."

"so…" you trail, urging him to continue.

"so, we need as much information about him as we can get and your dreams about him will be able to provide that."

fucking great.

the much newer revelations of precisely who it was on the other end of the soulmate connection put a significant damper on your mood. you'd like to think your new little cop buddy who follows you around gives you the least bit sense of security, but alas, it doesn't. not when you've seen first hand how yuta took down five men all at once without breaking a fucking sweat – you absolutely refuse to call him your soulmate, you'd never accept a person with his nature as a soulmate.

you try to hide the bracelet mark handed you last two weeks ago, during your time spent in the precinct's interrogation room.

"please have this on you at all times until we catch him, okay? this is for extra measures, just in case something happens to the cop assigned to guard you. just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?"

considering you're now probably being hunted alive for snitching on a serial killer? mark lee, that was not funny at all.

"do you have to get inside the lecture with me?" you whine, shielding your face with your hair when you notice people shooting glances at the rather handsome cop they assigned to you. "it's not like he'll attack in broad daylight! and in a fucking classroom, for that matter."

jaehyun looks just about ready to hurl you out the window. "lower down your voice," he scolds. "serial killers don't pick a time and place, sweetheart. he kills when necessary and if it's fucking necessary to murder everyone in that classroom to get to you? he'll do it in a fucking heartbeat."

you sigh when the chair next to you screeches against the floor, the aforementioned male taking his seat right next to you. jaehyun felt more like a babysitter than a cop, who seems to have a habit of constantly inputting his not-even-needed opinions on the most superficial things.

are witness protection protocols like this?

it was a good thing that overgrown bat doesn't come hanging around in your apartment, but he does have the police car parked right across the building's entrance. judging by how meticulous and thorough he seems to be, he won't miss any face that comes in and out of the building.

you didn't forget exactly why you're under witness protection. for the cops to waste one good officer to follow you around, you needed to be valuable and being valuable meant sleeping through nightmare-induced dreams of what your soulmate does for a living. the scenes are so gruesome, so graphic and utterly gory, that you dart towards the bathroom first thing after waking up in cold sweat, draining all of dinner down the toilet bowl.

after dreaming of him in action a few times, you've now completely understood what detective lee had said regarding yuta's god complex. it was unsightly, yet there was a twisted sense of heroism to it. if there's one thing, he only gutted the bad guys – but that didn't make nakamoto yuta any less of a bad guy, himself.

i need to ask you a favor [sent 2:05am]

JJH: what? [received 2:10am]

often the nightmares were too much. too much that you thought of escaping its horrors by never getting a wink of sleep ever again – until you realized you're a witness and is probably the only chance for the seoul police department to catch that bastard.

buy me sleeping pills? [read 2:08am]

when you peep out of the window, you find an empty spot across the road where jaehyun usually parks the police car. twenty minutes later, you answer the knocking on your door. he used that little "code" he did for you to know it was him. jaehyun was glowering and muttering about how he wasn't some errand boy when he shoved the plastic bottle in your hand yet, you still thanked him nonetheless.

the pills worked like a charm. you managed to stay asleep throughout the whole night, ceasing those episodes of yours where you jolt awake in the middle of dreaming about the sad face slayer's memories.

life continued for you. it became a little bearable, but that didn't mean the horrific murders you see in your dreams are something you can get used to – you don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of him slashing his victims, the blood trickling like a goddamned waterfall.

today the dreams were different. anticlimactic, per se, if you compare it to the violence so utterly present in his memories.

the first you see were black gates, then it shifted to him ordering coffee in a café (amazing what a simple black mask can hide). it switched to him walking on a sidewalk, then he arrives at his destination, an apartment building – it wasn't too rundown, nor was it extravagant.

the serial killer takes the elevator and walks up to a mahogany door –

your room number is a blaring sight.

you couldn't be wrong, not when the 506 with the missing zero in the middle was a sight you saw every day, going and coming home from university.

that was your front door.

he was at your front door.

you jolt awake, ignoring the icky feel of sweat making your clothes cling onto your skin. ice creeps up your spine and freezes you over when you notice with a sinking realization.

those black gates are from the university you attended. that café is your favorite study nook. and that sidewalk is a route you take every day.

you clamp your hands on your mouth as tears roll down your cheeks in rivulets. you pull the comforters up above your head, fear gripping onto you with a vice-like grip as you sob.

it was in the dead of night, moonlight grazing the confines of your room and hours away from dusk. you finally utter those three words in a frightened whisper.

"he's stalking me."

as if having the overgrown bat jaehyun following and annoying you around wasn't enough, you now have another person keeping watch over you. mark lee, unlike jaehyun, may not be as ripped with muscle, but you heard from your cop buddy that the young detective has a few black belts under him. people at the precinct said that if they have to choose one person who can ever come close to the sad face slayer's agility, mark lee's your guy.

"you gotta be shitting me," you mutter, leaning close to jaehyun to whisper like high school girls talking about gossip. "he doesn't look the type!"

jaehyun, in turn, plays along and copies you. "yeah, true. he gets that a lot, i think,"

"guys, i'm literally in the back seat. i can hear everything."

the change hadn't been too drastic. at least mark was there when jaehyun proved to be difficult, pulling him towards the other way when the older male tried waltzing into your class again. "you don't need to sit next to her in her class! are you serious? there's one exit and entrance and we're on the fifth floor. breaking into that classroom will be the end of nakamoto's serial killer career!"

you shoot mark an appreciative smile, one he quickly returned before hauling jaehyun around the hallway. "we'll just be at the canteen, okay? press the 'lil button on your bracelet and we'll be right there!"

shaking your head with a slight smile on your face, you entered the classroom, sat in your usual spot, and did some of your readings from our other class to kill time. you hardly hear the screech of the chair next to you as it was pulled back. not like you cared much for whoever sat down next to you, but you can't deny there's that feeling of missing jaehyun when he used to force his way into the lecture.

"settle down! settle down, people!"

the professor enters and the class begins.

you were meticulous with your note-taking system. it's thorough, leaving no room for information to slip you. having already printed hard copies of the powerpoint presentation and simply jotting down some extra key points mentioned by your professor.

you were just about to raise your hand for a question when you feel something warm graze past your arm. you absentmindedly look down.

the breath is sucked right out of your lungs.

hi, soulmate

there, scribbled with an ominous red crayon on a small piece of paper. it was almost laughable how innocent it looked but when you follow the ring-clad hand, up the black hoodie he's wearing, and finally to his face—

"hi! i'm yuta."

his cheshire smile spikes up your heartbeat. it makes you want to throw up, makes you want to slam your head against the desk. the fight or flight hormone you have is making you restless, eyes pinned on the serial killer sitting next to you, scared that if you avert your gaze, he's going to take out that desert eagle and shoot you until your skull caves in and the bullets in his magazine empties.

"but judging by your reaction, i don't think introductions are needed, hm?" his tone is easy, conversational even and it shoots a freezing jolt of fear right up your spine. it makes you sweat profusely because you don't fucking know what to do, your thoughts in complete and utter disarray.

"just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?" you swallow, sneakily pressing the button without breaking eye contact with the serial killer sitting in front of you.

"look upfront. now." yuta orders and you nearly snap your neck as you turn your head with lightning speed.

"i thought i was above the soulmate rules, but here we are. my soul is either too tainted or too great to be tied to such trivial things, but oh well, we learn to work with what we have. surprisingly, i learned to like dreaming about how your day went."

you feel something sharp poking at your thigh and when you look down, he has a silver butterfly knife pointed against you. the precision of the angle he held it with doesn't slip your notice. one slice of that knife, no matter how small, and he'll be spilling your guts in this classroom.

a fat tear rolls down your face.

"can you imagine how much my heart broke when i learned you were spying on me? leaking information to that snobby detective? to those incompetent cops? bad baby, that was very bad of you."

"yuta—"

"you think the cops can save you from me?"

his other hand comes in contact with the nape of your neck, holding your head in place as he leaned down to invade your space. he scoffs, and you can picture that terrifying cheshire grin you've seen one too many times in your dreams.

the knife digs through your coat, the tip hardly poking your skin only because he doesn't want to drive it into you yet. how did he even manage to get inside the university? not to mention the weapons he possessed? shouldn't anyone be suspicious when they see a man dressed in all black, clad in jeans and a hoodie, into a university—

he even dressed the part. with that hood drawn up and carrying that one notebook, he looked fairly normal. someone who can easily blend in with the crowd.

you eye your professor, willing him to look at you but your soulmate is having none of that. you squirm when he drives the knife further, at the base of your stomach. with his other hand, he twirls a lock of hair around his finger. "now, now, soulmate. you don't want half the people here to get hurt, do you? unless... that can easily be arranged—"

"no!" you whisper, head jerking to the side to look at him humming in satisfaction. damn. out of all the faces he's seen contorted with fear, yours is his absolute favorite. with those pleading, glassy eyes and parted lips, yuta is tenting in his sweats.

"thought so," he chuckles. "let's get up. we're leaving. that old crook doesn't care if students just up and went in the middle of his lecture."

you don't want to think about how he even knew that because it implied attending the lectures a good amount of times. it's with sinking realization that jaehyun was right. if it weren't for him insisting to sit next to you, nakamoto yuta would've long gotten you in his claws.

you tried gathering your things until he purred into your ear.

"ah, ah, ah. you wouldn't be needing those with where we're going."

the hallways were empty, not that you had much time to scream for help when he had a knife pointed up your back, shoving you into the fire escape stairs. within the tranquil confines of the staircases, the sad face slayer couldn't fucking care less for your personal space.

he disgusts you greatly, he needn't do anything but stand there in front of you but you can already smell the long blood trail from his path. it reeks of rotting flesh and that infuriating god complex he had left a sour aftertaste.

"you know, i genuinely wanted to get to know you," yuta pouts, shaking the hoodie off his head. his hair raven, it's ends kissing the nape of his neck. he looked like he came right out of a shounen manga but the bloodlust in his eyes is something that can never be masked. "i detested the soulmate connection at first, i thought i should just kill you off because you could be my loose end."

his humorless smile is enough to give you nightmares.

"but seeing how sweetly normal and untainted you are made me hold back," the butterfly knife appears before your line of sight, yuta teasingly dragging the tip right down your cheek to trace your tears. "so, why did you snitch, baby?"

you shiver when he noses the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as his other hand hooks underneath your top, freezing fingers making you jolt. when you don't reply, his patience starts to dwindle. then again, he was never a patient man.

"answer me, you bitch. why did you rat me out?" gone is the playful lilt in his voice. the vibrations surge through you as his deep, demanding voice scares you shitless.

you feel, hear, and smell him everywhere. this wasn't like any nightmare. this is real, and you won't magically wake up on your bed, sighing in relief, knowing he isn't there, that it was all just in your head. no, this was very much real and there's absolutely no escape.

"i didn't," your voice cracks. "i didn't mean to—"

"bullshit!" he yells. you wail in pain when he slams you against the wall, head aching as it came in contact with concrete. "because of you betraying me, i nearly fucking got caught, and i never get caught!"

you were full out sobbing at this point, noisy and unsightly as the snot mixes with your tears. your only hope now is he gives you a quick, painless death and that he doesn't carve and mutilate your face like what he always does to his other poor victims. "i'm sorry! please... i'm so sorry. i was scared—"

he coos mockingly, tilting his head to the side as he inched his face closer. "aw, scared? my sweet little soulmate was scared?" he places the blade flat against your neck. as humiliating and degrading as it was, you almost peed on your clothes. "how about now? i'm sure as hell that you're fucking terrified for your useless life right now."

you cringe when his hand abandons the expanse of your stomach, no longer inching higher, finding its purchase on the hair sitting at the crown of your head. he holds you in place like that, forcing your head parallel against the wall, with his whole body pressing up to you that it's nearly suffocating.

"just one quick little slice," he taunts. you hiccuped when you feel the feathery light scrape of the blade moving against your skin. "you won't even have time to scream… but i'm sure we don't want that, do we?"

you forgot how to speak. forgot how to breathe. whenever your mind wanders, you've always thought about how you'll give this killer a piece of your mind, with the amount of fear and sorrow he inflicts upon other people. but you guess realities were a lot more different than expectations. the yuta you dreamed of meeting is in handcuffs, but fate is a fickle little thing.

"do we?" he repeats, slicing ever so slightly at your skin. enough to draw blood in droplets, never a waterfall.

"n – no."

he smiles. "you can make it up to me. do you want to make it up to me?"

the butterfly knife digs even further. a warning. and if you value your useless life, you should be smart enough to know what to answer. drawing a shaky breath, you tried forcing the ends of your lips up to a smile. "of course, yuta."

your voice breaks as your sobbing grips your body whole. the fear consuming your entire being like a parasite consuming the host. you would've shut down altogether if it weren't for the calloused hands gently gripping your face. "i know, i know. i see how regretful you are, baby. don't worry, i won't hurt you. you'll make it up to me."

anyone would be fucking stupid if you believe those words coming from a serial killer.

in your wrecked state, you barely register that he's pushing you down to your knees. skin coming in contact with the freezing linoleum floor as you refuse to look at what his hands are doing. yuta has pocketed his knife. the sound of a belt unbuckling in itself added insult to injury.

you stare blankly at his shoes as he shoves his bottoms down enough for his cock to show. if you squint hard enough, you'll see tiny splatters of blood in the shoelaces. whether or not he feels you're unresponsive, he doesn't show. maybe he doesn't care entirely. he takes one of your hands and used it to wrap around himself. he gasps, sharp, followed by a hiss.

you feel it throbbing and it strengthens the disgust you feel. no way you're going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact when you're already forced to blow this psycho.

"eyes up."

you sniffled, vulnerability present in the tone you speak. "i don't want to. please, don't make me."

if words alone aren't enough for you to follow orders, maybe you'll feel more motivated if held at gunpoint. it's unmistakable, the infamous desert eagle you've only seen in your nightmares. the last thing you ever expected is to be on the side where the bullet comes out.

the barrel is freezing as he digs it into the crown of your head. "soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks."

your eyes looked up then. glaring as the tears rolled down your face. "you're a monster," you mutter under your breath. where you got the confidence to fight back is unknown.

"i've heard that before, be more creative next time," he holds your hair tight in one grip, shoving you forward, eye-level to his throbbing dick. "now… suck, baby."

"freeze!"

you knew that voice, you've been hearing it for the last two weeks. "jaehyun–!"

yuta cuts you off, shoving the gun into your mouth. the safety clicking off resonating in the tranquil room. it's deafening, and it makes you immobile.

"hands up. step away from the civilian." whether or not mark is nervous as he points the gun at the serial killer, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

yuta sighs, exasperated as he throws his head back. his raised arms came down to tuck himself back in his jeans, and the action made jaehyun's calm exterior crack. "i said, hands up, asshole!"

"chill out, motherfucker. i'm just trying to wear my pants." the serial killer hisses, glaring at jaehyun over his shoulder.

"mark, call back up already. what are you doing?" jaehyun mutters, side-eyeing the young detective whose gun shakes as he holds it up. the taller cop takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the notorious killer as he addresses you curtly. "(name), come here."

just as you plant your palms to the ground to push yourself up, one of yuta's hands shoves you down quick as lightning. "no. she stays here, with me."

jaehyun scowls, takes another step forward. "and what makes you think i'm going to let that happen?"

"i don't think. i know."

there's a constant ring in your ear as the gunshot temporarily renders you deaf. you've shut your eyes in utter fright, hands shooting up to cover your ears but it was too late. you refuse to open your eyes, you didn't want to see a dead body lying before you, even if it belonged to a heartless serial killer.

but when your eyes fluttered open, it's not yuta bleeding out on the ground.

"no, this can't be – jaehyun!"

it was a bullet straight to the head, no one could've survived a shot like that. his eyes are empty as he stares at you, unblinking, stoic. the color is yet to drown away from his milky complexion. but you can't even manipulate yourself into thinking that jaehyun's still alive. not when his eyes are empty, not when he just looks so lifeless.

it couldn't have been yuta who pulled the trigger.

his weapons were on the ground and the shot rang too fast. the sad face slayer couldn't have crouched down for his gun to shoot the cop, it would've taken too much time. and among the three men, there's only another person holding a weapon, and that was –

"great shot, mark."

the detective smiles, but with the blood splattered on his face, it looked cold. "told ya i've been practicing."

yuta hauls you up by the arms, addicted to how frail your body feels as it collapses against him. he's finally got his little soulmate in his arms. and he will never, ever let you go.

the cops lost – you've lost.

yuta, with a sense of victory coursing through his veins, took the liberty of trailing little pecks down your neck as he mutters, "mine, mine, mine!" but you couldn't care less about his display of mocked affection. not when the other person meant to protect you, turned out to be everything you think he wasn't.

mark must've felt the gravity of your stare as he crouches before jaehyun's bleeding body. grabbing the fallen cop's gun, he took it upon himself to empty the magazine. the lopsided grin he sends you broke your resolve more than yuta ever could.

"i'm sorry. it's nothing personal."

jenoluck (c) all rights reserved

[on-a-lucky-tide]

16 or 19 kissing prompt for Geralt/Eskel 🥰

16. Kissing Scars

CW: Witcher 3: Wild Hunt Spoilers; reference to canonical character death; Eskel/Geralt

After Eskel had told Geralt about the Manticore attack, Geralt couldn't stop thinking about the scar it must have left behind. Eskel had brushed it off in his usual way—

"Jumped out of the undergrowth so fast my medallion didn’t have time to give me so much as one twitch. Won’t show you the scar—too big a boy for that."

—as if it was nothing. But manticores weren't nothing. They were thousands of pounds of muscle, fur and teeth that could move faster than a galloping horse and strike harder than old Speartip on a bad day. One had speared the very first witcher through the chest and nearly killed him, a story with which they were both very familiar. If Eskel didn’t want to show Geralt—boast about how he had survived such a gnarly encounter—that meant it had spooked him. He had come close to that one misstep that every witcher knew would happen eventually; the one that claimed his life.

In the immediate aftermath of removing the curse from Uma, Geralt’s mind was wholly occupied by getting to Ciri, and then there was the battles that followed. One witcher did pay the ultimate price, but it wasn’t a misstep. It was a deliberate sacrifice that bought Ciri valuable moments. They stood by the pyre and watched their mentor, their teacher—the closest thing Ciri had to a grandfather—burn to ash. Lambert left with Kiera, and Eskel said he was leaving, but Geralt knew he wouldn't be able to depart without saying a proper goodbye.

Eskel would walk the halls of Kaer Morhen, carefully filing away decades of memories, hoping to imprint them firmly enough that they would not fade. Even the painful ones. The ones that woke him in a cold sweat at night and made him wary of smiling before strangers. Everything Eskel had ever known had died the day the Wild Hunt attacked, and even if he had seen the writing on the wall, the end of his way of life, for many winters before, he would still be uncertain about the future. He would return home to find enough stability to plan ahead.

That's where Geralt found him. Stood in the bedroom he had adopted as his own after the sacking and the tournament had taken everything from them. He hadn't heard Geralt's approach. Ciri's scream of anguish had exploded one of his ear drums and it would take weeks to heal, if it even fully healed at all. Eskel startled as the door opened, reaching for the sword lying over his bed. "Geralt," he said, the traces of that boisterous laugh trying to rally through his obvious sadness.

"Wintering elsewhere, huh?" Geralt stepped into the room, his gaze focused on Eskel's back. He was shirtless, busy packing away his most valuable belongings, intending to lock the door and never return. The scar that sliced across his lower back was livid and raw. The skin was raised in places, smooth and glossy in others. The cut would have been deep, perhaps it had shattered some ribs, torn a kidney.

Now that Ciri was safe, Geralt was left with the broken pieces of his family and the Path. Tomorrow yawned out in front of him, and he realised he didn't want to face it alone. Not anymore. He had almost lost Eskel without even realising. How many years could have gone by without knowing? No body to bury. Not even a medallion to salvage.

"Just collecting some stuff, you know how it is. Shirts, braies, too expensive to stay here and rot." Eskel wasn't looking at Geralt but busying himself with rolling his shirts into tight bundles to better fit into his saddlebags. Eskel avoided eye contact when he was hiding; shame, shyness, boredom. Geralt moved closer, tugging one glove off with his teeth. Close enough to smell Eskel's body-warm scent.

"Where you going from here?"

"Hills, probably. Then head down to the coast, Geralt - !" Eskel straightened as Geralt's fingertips brushed the scar as it began to wrap his ribs. Goosebumps erupted over his skin, the hairs on his arms stood on end.

"This nearly killed you, didn't it?"

"Wild Hunt nearly killed me. Shit nearly kills me every day. Part of the job." A light tremor sat in the bass of Eskel's voice as Geralt's fingers swept towards his spine. "What are you - ?"

"Least we would've all died together here. Not alone," Geralt said. Eskel hadn't pushed him away. Hadn't rejected him, so Geralt continued. He flattened his palm and felt the heat of Eskel's bronze skin beneath it, swept down and slowly around the front the trail of hair on his belly. They had touched each other like this as young men. Fleeting, curious, shivering in their cots. Too inexperienced to do anything and too frightened to try. "We should stay together from now on."

"Two witchers for the price of one," Eskel said. "You know we wouldn't survive long. No one would pay for - "

And then Geralt kissed him. Not on the mouth. His head was tilted away, he was flapping at a hundred miles a minute. On the back of his shoulder. His lips were warm, his eyes closed. Eskel could hear Geralt's heart and Geralt could hear his. They beat in rhythm as they always had; faster, nervous.

Eskel lifted a shaking hand from where it had bunched in one of his folder shirts. His fingers curled around Geralt's palm and pressed it to his skin harder. Geralt's other arm curled around his chest, and it was unclear who was holding who as they swayed together on the spot.

There was nothing left for them here. Eskel had come back to collect what was important to him, and Geralt had done the same. The realisation melted through Eskel like the warmth of Geralt's body. "Yeah," Eskel rasped. "Together then."

Geralt hummed and squeezed a little tighter.

Tomorrow yawned out before him, but now he would have Eskel at his side. As it should be. As it should always have been.

[bimswritings]

Armorer x Reder Pt. 2/2

Pt.1

Kofi

Ao3

Warnings: Typical Canon Type Violence

A/N: Part two for my love! Now that I've finished this, you can expect part three of the Savage fic, with the outline already nearly finished! Hope you enjoy, and until next time!~Bim

________________________________________

“What is the meaning of this?”

She had been expecting Paz to have come to her earlier, seeking answers for what had just transpired . It could be considered nothing short of a blessing from her ancestors that she had been allowed the time she was, for if he had arrived not five minutes earlier she surely would have not been able to answer him. Even now she found it hard to find her voice, swallowing thickly as she tried to dispel the invisible grip that held her. It was as if the dust from the rubble had infiltrated the filter of her helmet, invading her senses and clogging every sense with a layer of dust.

“The empire sent TIE bombers.” The vecoder of her helmet masked the cracking of her voice from the large warrior in front of her, lest she appear anything but unyielding even in such a moment. It did nothing to dampen the way it reverberated within however, and the echo fact was like a hit to the chest plate all over again.

“Were there any other survivors.”

A light shake of her head gave him his answer. Even if they were strangers to her, the carnage she had witnessed would have been a shock to anyone.

None had been spared from the Empire’s wrath. Not a single structure nor person was left standing, and at places there were little more than scorch marks burned into the ground, the only testament of what was once there. The burns matched those marring the flesh of the scattered bodies, which there was no shortage of. Most were too burned and damaged to tell age or gender and she had no doubts that there were more victims, either buried or bodies completely destroyed in the initial blast and still burning flames.

“How did they make it?” He questioned further, and unsurprisingly.

“Their house was located further outside the village. It received the least of the blast, though there is still no home to return to.”

Yet again she was thankful for your reclusive behavior. It was only thanks to your distance, and the armor she found you buried in, did you survive, though you weren't without injury.

As soon as she received your transmission she had turned back mid flight, making it there in record time. Having never used the transmitter before, the fact that you did so now expelled any worry she might have had over your previous encounter.

When she arrived to find what had happened, she had immediately started digging. Using every tool and ounce of strength at her disposal to move the rubble, looking for at least a body to confirm her fears.

At long last she had found you, body bloodied and arm twisted at an unnatural angle. It was a shock to her system, heart nearly stopping as she took in your still form, thinking you were surely dead. Gloved hands ghosted over your exposed skin and still attached armor, which itself was badly damaged. As well made as it was by your own hand and her careful guidance it still had trouble holding up to the immense weight and damage it took. The metal surface was marred with countless scratches and dents, even completely caved in at places. There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that you were already gone. There was no telling how long you had been under the rubble before she had arrived, and even if she had gotten there minutes after, your wounds were so numerous it would have been close.

Raw pain ripped through her as emotion broke through her carefully crafted dam, spilling out all at once over it’s months of accumulating, effectively taking grip over her entire being. She did not cry however. The ability to do such had been lost to her years before and would never come back. Instead, she simply held your body close as she knelt in the dirt, mourning what she had never had the chance of claiming. She had been so close. Her helmet showed that your heat signature had not even grown cold.

Taking her glove off, she reached for your own hand. Even if it was just once, she wanted to feel your skin against hers, without the barrier of metal or leather you both consistently wore. Fingers lacing your own, it once again brought a wave of sorrow crashing over her.

Your hands, strong and calloused from years of work, felt better pure Naboo silk to her own. They remained loose and unmoving, even as her own knuckles turned pale at the strength with which she grasped them. A silent plea to her ancestors, the maker; anyone who would answer the questions she herself didn’t know. Never having been one to believe that those unseen could have much of an influence on the living, she didn’t expect an answer. Only someone to shift the unbearable grief to.

Yet, as she lay mottionless over your corps, she received one. If her own hand hadn’t been so tightly clenched she may have missed it, and in her stay she thought she was imagining it. But then it happened. Again. Then again.

Your pulse, weak and uneven, but there.

Throwing herself back, she quickly changed the viewing mode on her helmet as she tried in vain to keep her hopes from rising. She knew very well it could just be her own that she was feeling and until there was concrete proof then-

There.

In the corner of her visor read your heart rate weak and uneven, just as she had felt before, but there.

She wasted no time pulling you from the rubble and nothing short of sprinting back to her ship, keeping in mind there were undoubtedly unseen and internal injuries as she did her best not to jostle around. She could only thank whatever force there was out there that she had taken the one ship of the coven that had a med chamber in it. Though it was well worn and outdated at best in comparison to the newer ones, it would serve her purpose until she could do something better.

The machine’s light humming reached through the air as it began working on your more severe wounds, the steady drone of the machinery a stark contrast to her own shaky hands as she piloted the ship off the cursed planet, making sure to keep an eye out for any lingering ships of the empire. It would only make your situation worse if you were to be caught in the middle of a firefight as your wounds were tended, though she did not even know if she would be able to gain enough control of herself to fly away from such an endeavor unharmed.

Once certain that there was no one following and they were out of range of the planet, she set the craft to autopilot and was back by your side immediately. The droid had just finished removing the armor from your body and tending to the majority of life-threatening wounds, moving on to what it could finish with the limited supplies it had. She had to resist grabbing your hand, instead putting the energy into pulling the medical log. Reading over it, her heart sized at the vast number and varying severity of each listing as she read further and further on.

Oblique-displaced fracture-R/Humorous, Transverse Fracture-R/Tibia, Hairline fractures of Ribs-R/arm/leg, Bruising of Kidney/Lungs/Liver, Puncture of R/Lung-Bone Frag. Removed-Origin-twelfth intercostal rib, Sever Grade four concussion, Multiple lacerations

She had no idea what had been fixed and what had not, but the number of bacta patches missing from the supply put a small ease on her, and the sight and sound of your slowly steady vitals was enough to keep her from jumping to extremes. She had no particular love for droids, though certainly not hating them as much as the young Din, the money spent to install the machinery was well used, even if the original purpose had been to heal warriors after missions with wounds that needed immediate attention.

That did not mean she found any time to rest on the way home, constantly watching for the slightest sign of life other than the low beeping of the monitor, and the ever so faint rise and fall of your chest as she counted each breath you took. The flight seemed to take double the amount of time it normally did, each second dragging on for eternity, until finally the landing gear of the Starjumper touched the surface of Nevarro. Thankfully it was night, and she had no issues once again lifting you into her arms and carrying you through the deserted streets to the coven. Its familiar coolness encompassed her as soon as she emerged from the stairs into the lower levels. The deathly silent halls were a stark contrast to her own panic.

Ignoring the guards, who’s attention faltered as they caught sight of her haul, she brushed past and headed straight to the only person who could help.

Olia, their healer, answered the door in her sleeping clothes, helmet clearly having been shoved on in her haste to answer the Armorer’s loud and incessant pounding on the door.

“What in the stars do you want this late..at..” Her sentence tapered off as she saw it wasn’t just a random idiotic warrior who had injured themselves, but her Alor, holding someone who clearly wasn’t Mandalorian.

“Fix them.”

The next few hours were a flurry of activity as Olia fixed what the med unit had not, resetting your afflicted arm which had been simply bandaged before and trying not to flinch at the nasty noises it made while doing so. Each thread of the needle to close skin together felt as if it were digging into her own flesh. Still, she watched, unable to tear herself away even as she knew in the back of her mind that rumor had already spread about her return. They would be looking for answers, and she would give them in due time. For now, they would have to practice patience just as she was.

Finally, two hours later, Olia was done. Wiping the sweat from the back of her neck as she admired her work, she explained the situation to the Armorer as she approached your bedside on stiff legs. She simply stared, not daring to touch when you looked so fragile. She hated it, the way your skin had lost its beautiful tone. The once powerful and proud posture she had seen stepping around the forge like a wild loth was nowhere to be seen. Your body seemed to have sunken in on itself, defensive even now.

“Her body is keeping itself under for now. Not surprising given the amount of trauma and injuries sustained, but if she does start to come around, I’ll give her something that should keep her under, or at least enough that she won’t register what’s going on. I would recommend it for as long as we can so that her wounds have time to heal without issue.”

She looked back over your still body, letting out a sympathetic sigh as she moved to do so.

“Even then, she’s not going to be moving around on her own too much any time soon. Wherever she came from, I hope they aren’t expecting her back anytime soon.”

The Armorer could feel the underlying question in her words, and for what she had done the women had earned her answer.

“That won’t be an issue. There is nowhere to go back to.” She looked away from your form for the first time, something that did not go unnoticed by the observant healer.

“She’s ours now. Treat her as you would any warrior, for she has fought just as bravely.”

She nodded solemnly. The Alor was know to always be serious and straight laced, but the way she was acting now gave way to more than words could ever tell. Tentatively, she rested a hand on her pauldron.

“Go. Get some rest. I can watch over her for now.”

The Armorer hesitated, feeling the lack of rest catching up as the adrenaline finally began to wear from her system. But to leave now would only leave her mind to wonder instead of knowing what was happening at every moment.

Olia sensed her hesitation, pushing her more firmly in the direction of the door.

“Once she’s more stable I will move her to a more comfortable bed. If there’s any changes then I’ll alert you but until then there’s nothing for you to do, and the others are bound to be wanting answers.”

Rod straight shoulders dropper slightly at her words, and a smile tore its way across the old woman’s face as she realized she had won.

Guiding her further out, she made sure the smith was out and well on her way to her own space before closing the door. What she didn’t see was that, instead of turning down the hall that led to individual dwellings, she instead turned right, down the path that would lead her to the only place she could think, to feel less powerless than she was right now. Her forge, where she fell heavily onto her work bench, unmoving as she stared blankly into the once comforting blue flames of the fire. Now they only acted as a painful reminder, thinking back to the times back in your own dwelling. She had yet to move, and Paz found her in the same position when he entered, leading to their current situation.

“I would never doubt your commitment to the tribe, but I must doubt the wisdom of bringing an outsider here! Into the heart of our tribe!”

Had she been in any other situation, she would have no hesitation in putting him back in his place. Heavy infantry expert and lead warrior or not, he had no right to speak in such a way to her. The only thing that saved him from her hammer and tongue was the fact her mind was still filled with thoughts of you. In this moment she even found herself thankful for his questioning. It meant that there was at least one person still thinking straight enough to be an effective leader in her stead.

“It’s her.”

“It's her?” he parroted the words, twisted with their own sense of confusion. “What do you mean it’s h-“ The words stuck mid-sentence as the wheels turned in his head, slowly putting the pieces together. From where he knew she was going, the small glimpse and rumors he had gotten from the others describing you, and the way his Alor was acting now, he was able to come up with his own relatively accurate assumption.

“The Smith.”

Her silence was his only answer, but it was all he needed.

Moving slowly, he settled his own large frame next to hers on the bench, which creaked under the weight. It felt odd, seeing her look so deflated and almost small. Even after years of putting on muscle from the forge and training, she still had nothing on him size wise. Though he was still positive she could beat him in a fight if it came to it, and she had countless times before.

His voice took on a softer, more rumbling tone.

“How did it happen?”

“The Empire. I only got there after they were gone, though there was really nothing left to go back to.”

He wanted to ask more, what they were doing there, why they chose such an outlandish, insignificant town, but he already knew. They both knew. It was because of them. While tolerated by the empire, both sides knew the other would wipe them out if given the chance. With so many going to one town multiple times, it was bound to draw attention. They had just been willing to believe that the Empire would turn a blind eye to it, just like they had with Nevarro.

How foolish of them.

Now they had dragged an innocent bystander, who had done nothing but help them and expecting nothing in return, into their fight, costing them not only their home but almost their life.

Though Paz was more akin to fighting than feelings himself, he could see the turbulence going on within her. Years of being what one might consider confidents let him know everything he needed to.

“She’ll pull through. From what you’ve told me, she’s strong. Not to mention she has Olia looking after her. And besides,” he stood up, walking out to give her space to do what she did best. To think, and come up with the next best plan of action for them to take.

“I still have yet to meet this mysterious smith.”

_______________________________________________

You had never been much of a morning person. Waking up bright and early just to face the scorching heat of your planet's twin suns combined with that of your forge didn’t make for a promising work day. Alas, that was when a majority of customers would come looking for wears and weapons, as well as to hire your services. Even though you preferred working during the marginally cooler nights, you still braved the day, gritting your teeth and dragging your feet as you forced your body into motion. As hard as it had always been then, it was nothing compared to how you were feeling now.

Every fiber of your being felt as if it had been run over by a Loshev, then further trampled on. Not even in the early times of your apprenticeship, when you had gone to bed with the inability of even being able to lift your arms to fold back the blankets after lifting your hammer an immeasurable amount of times, had you ever felt this sore. Everything from head to toe hurt, and the thought of moving at all was enough to fill your body with a sense of dread.

Instead of doing so, you settled on just getting your eyes open, which itself proved to be a difficult task. They felt as if the skin itself was welded together; made of Kiern metal as they dragged open painfully.

Darkness was the first thing you saw. Shapes and colors only came along after a few moments as your eyes adjusted. Blurred objects slowly came into focus as you took in your surroundings.

You were in a dimly lit room, the only source of light coming from a small lantern hanging from the wall. It’s glow cast drastic shadows on each object, giving the unfamiliar space a touch of comfort with its warm light. The furnishings themselves were rather bare, consisting of only a few boxes stacked on top of one another with small trinkets of one kind or another littered around, and the bed which you currently resided on.

Pulling the blankets aside, you hissed at the way your body groaned in protest, feeling as if every nerve were on fire. It appeared that the lantern also provided the only source of heat because as soon as the surprisingly quality blanket left you were subjugated to the cool air of the small space. You noted areas of bandages scattered all over your body, covering most of your arm and spilling across your torso. The scratchy material could also be felt under your pants, catching on the material and rubbing uncomfortably at your temples.

Pushing yourself into a sitting position, your head swam as the pounding from within increased, leaving you gasping for breath. As much as it hurt, you had to keep moving. You didn’t know where you were, or who was around. The last thing you remember was the walls of your home coming down around you as fighters screamed overhead. For all you knew, you were being held by some backworld smuggler who intended to use you for profit, working to make weapons or using your body for other means. Bandaged wounds or not, you had to get out before the choice was taken away.

Getting to your feet was, unexageratly, one of the most difficult things you had ever done. Your legs gave out as soon as they touched the ground, forcing you to use a majority of upper body strength to drag your way across the room to the door on the opposite wall. It was far from graceful, and there was even a point where you bumped into one of the various stacks of crates. It was nothing more than a little bump, but enough to knock a precariously placed holoboard from its perch on the edge.

Clattering to the floor loudly, it only prompted you to move faster, the fear of someone having heard the ruckus and coming to investigate. You prayed to the maker that wasn’t the case, but with the luck you had been having lately it should have been no surprise when the door opened with a loud creak. A shadow fell over your crawling form, and you looked up expecting the worst. Someone like a pirate or scavenger, maybe even an enforcer. What you weren’t expecting was a child, or what you assumed was one at least.

The person standing in the doorway was small. They were just shy of reaching halfway up the frame, lithe frame hunched in on itself from what you could see peeking around the opening. It was hard to tell their exact age, due to the achingly familiar helmet they wore. While far from being a replica, it was still close enough to that of your beloved Armorer to send a pang through your already aching body. The polished metal reflected the new light of the hall in an almost blinding manor. An owlish visor stared down at your form, just as frozen as you were.

Then, before you could react, they were gone. Light footsteps echoed down the corridors, growing more and more faint until they disappeared completely, leaving you in silence once again. There was only a moment of hesitation before you were on the move once again, now with a reinvigorated urgency.

Finally making it to the door, you used the frame to pull yourself up, gasping all the while as sharp jolts of pain stemmed from every part of your body. Emerging from the room you were met with the sight of similar metal walls as the room. They extended in both directions, the one to your left extending into darkness while there were two branching paths on the right. While having no idea where exactly you were and no reference on how to get out, you still pushed forward.

Heading right, your path was lit by only the occasional light on the wall. Some were the normal low lights that could be found on virtually any planet, while others were a more archaic version using oil and gas were scattered in between. You could tell you were most likely somewhere underground judging from the cool, damp feel the air carried. Either that or you were on an already cold planet, as judging from the state of the room you woke in, it was doubtable that you were in such a place that would waste resources on high quality cooling.

Reaching the split path, you paused, giving yourself a moment to breathe and recuperate as you listened carefully down each. The left was dead silent, almost unnervingly so, and for a moment you thought the second was the same. However, the light flicker of the nearest flame caught your attention. It moved consistently back in the direction you came, not like how it would normally; and with how much of your life had been spent staring and carefully watching such flames it was almost childs play to tell it was being manipulated by something else. Listening closer once again, you could hear it. The slight whisper of the wind. It’s draft was light, almost undetectable, but if you enough it was there. Gently caressing your skin and whispering promises of a way out.

It was a slow go, and painful the entire time. Your body gave not a moment of relief, in just as much pain as when you woke up if not more. It was hard to even take a full breath. Your lungs felt as if they would burst with each inhale. It was as if the air itself was made of fire. The pain didn’t leave much room for thought, but those that you did have were for the armored warrior you had been so abruptly reminded of earlier.

You had no idea where she was now, or if she even knew what had happened. The message may have never even gotten through, and while the Mandalorians were always well informed of the events going on around the galaxy you had no idea how long you had been here. It could be just a night or day; maybe even a week. She only visited every thirty rotations, so she could only find out when she came by for her next visit, only to find nothing but ash.

Would she mourn your supposed death, or would it be more so due to the loss of a weapons provider and face they could use to get supplies and information without knowing who it was really going to? Maybe it would be a relief not to have to worry about any information about them being uncovered. A loose end tied up without them having to do any of the work.

The thought of her throwing whatever connection you thought you had away, especially after having fallen so hard for the strong woman, hurt your heart almost as much as your body. It was a mortifying thought, and one that distracted you from not only the pain for a moment, but also caused a lapse in judgment that allowed your pursuers to get so close. It was only too late that you heard their footsteps echoing behind you in the dimly lit hall. A new wave of fear coursed through your body, pushing you further as they got closer to you, and yourself finally emerging into a larger section of the hall. This one had alcoves lining the top of the wall, allowing the moonlight and cool night air from outside to filter in and drain the hope from your body. The entire time you thought you were getting closer to a way out, you had just been losing yourself deeper in the maze of the unfamiliar compound. It was cruel for fate to do so, but there was nothing to be done now. Not when your pursuers were getting so close.

Your eyes darted around the small area, locking for a place to hide or at least a weapon to defend yourself with, before settling on one of the many alcoves. It was under the small windows that allowed the traitorous light and breeze in, leaving it bathed in darkness.

Thinking quickly, you limped over and forced yourself into the narrow space. It was plenty tall, but so thin it forced your shoulders straight and grated on your exposed skin as you slipped in. Here, your breaths sounded even louder and more labored, forcing you to muffle them with your hand and making it even harder to breathe. It wasn’t the best spot, and quite obvious now that you thought about it, but there was no time to find a new one as a group burst in through the arch you had emerged from seconds prior.

It was hard to see with your eyes still adjusting to the dimness of your little space combined with the light blur they still held, and you simply squeezed them shut, unable to watch as you listened to them get closer to your hiding spot, and focused on remaining as silent as possible. One hand clamped over your mouth, the other wrapped around your body as it squeezed as tightly as possible, as if it were the only thing keeping you together.

You could hear them talking. Their voices sounded muffled even as they bounced off the cold stone walls, and they spoke in low tones that made it nearly impossible to hear. A few still made their way through however.

‘Escaped’ ‘gone far’ ‘Find them-’ ‘kill’

The last word sent a shiver down your spine. It was only made worse as one of the group got closer than any had yet stopped mere feet away. The rough, damp stone dug into your skin as you pushed yourself further back, duly noting the itching pull of your wounds as they grew heated.

They were going to find you, and once they did they were going to kill you, or worse.

A moment passed. Then two. Then several more, all waited out with tension so thick it would put any ship hull to shame, before the shadowy figure retreated. Their own footsteps faded in with the others as they moved on in search of their present target of you, continuing to head down the maze of halls.

Even once they were gone you didn’t allow yourself to relax for a full minute, too fearful of them coming back. But as the momentarily spike in adrenaline wore off and your current position became increasingly uncomfortable, you allowed yourself to relax. Greedily gulping in as much air as your recovering lungs would allow, you were doubled over as you tried to recover. That position, combined with the increasingly loud pounding in your ears, left you unaware of your surroundings and defenseless against the shadow that unknowingly approached.

Their arm reached in, easily pulling you from your hiding place and out into the open.

“N-no! Stop!” You fought back weakly, pushing away at the figure that held you in an iron grip, not yet painful but refusing to budge as you clawed at it uselessly.

“Please.” It was a whimpering, pathetic sounding plea. One born of desperation and fear. Never in your life would you think yourself to sink to such levels, yet here you were, bracing for the pain you knew would come. They would drag you back, either to that little room or somewhere even more secluded, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You braced as the person shifted, recoiling as they brought their free hand up. You expected a hit, a slap. Something that would daze if not knock you completely out. What you weren’t expecting was the gentle caress of fingers along the skin, tracing along your cheek and following its slope up, where it gently rested, silently urging you to open your eyes and raise your gaze.

There was hardly a chance to be confused by the action before a sense of familiarity hit. Worn leather, softer than porg fur and just as warm despite the chilly environment, was stained with the smell of oil and sharp tang of metal. It was a scent that you had thought of many times, haunting your thoughts at night as you wished to be nothing more than wrapped in its comfort.

With a shuddering breath, you forced yourself to look up into the visor of your captor.

The gold of her helmet seems even brighter now as the light of the moon causes it to practically radiate under its glow, starkly contrasting the inky darkness of the owlish visor as it tilts in a way that gives away her concern.

There’s a moment of silence as you simply stare at one another, an exchange of silent emotion as you take each other in.

“Tracinya’ika…” The voice that flows from her helmet is akin to a whisper, seeming almost impossibly soft for such a warrior. However quiet, it’s enough to break the last of your resolve. The Armorer catches you as your legs give out, exhaustion finally catching up. She doesn’t say a thing, simply letting you bury your face in the warm fur covering clasped over her shoulders as you silently hiccup and stutter.

“H-how did I get here? The last thing I remember is-” your unable to finish, screams of the villagers mingling with tie fighters coming to the surface along with a crushing, constricting feeling gripping your chest, as if you were trapped under the rubble once again.

Seeming to sense your thoughts, the Armorer places a comforting hand on your lower back to lead you away. When it becomes apparent that there’s no way you’ll be walking on your own, she pauses a moment, before bending down and sweeping you off your feet to carry you bridal style down the hall, past the other Mandalorians that had appeared without a sound. They were silent as she passed, though their curiosity was almost tangible. She paid them no mind however, easily carrying you through the dim halls and allowing you to once again bury your face into the fur of her cowl. If she minds she says nothing of it.

“There is much to explain.” Her voice rumbles, vibrating through her chest and against your cheek. “But you have been through much. For now, rest. When you awake, you can ask as many questions as you like.”

You wanted to argue, to protest, but there was no energy left to do so. Your escape attempt had left you drained. Instead, you simply let your head rest against the chilled metal of her armor, allowing the gentle sway of her walk to lull you back to sleep without the fear of what was to come, knowing you were safe as long as she was around.

____________________________________

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

You froze, the crate of rations you were about to hand to the man next to you blocking your vision from the worst of the glare you could already feel. That barrier was shortly removed, leaving you exposed to the cross Mandalorian.

It had been foolish to think you would be able to sneak off without her knowing. Nothing went on in these tunnels that she didn’t know about. If you didn’t know any better you may think that she had monitors hidden around the place, or maybe even a tracking device to keep tabs on you. It was more likely someone had mentioned your whereabouts in passing, or she had come for one of her usual check-ins throughout the day.

“You should not be up and about, none the less moving supplies.” Her gaze snaps to the others, who were all similarly frozen as they watched. You felt slightly guilty, knowing they didn’t deserve her wrath.

“Why would you let her in here? If the cold doesn’t make her sick then the labor will only make her recovery that much longer.”

The man visibly flinched at her tone, her attention now focused on him as the others slowly back away, letting him take the blame.

“Well, I just thought-”

“You clearly did not, else she would not be working herself to the bone.”

She takes a step closer to the man, sending him into a panic as he quickly backpedals, stammering.

“Hey.” You grab her arm, instantly shifting her attention back to you. Unlike the others, you don’t shrink back or even flinch. Instead you stare back into the darkness of her helmet. “It’s not his fault. I told him it was alright, that I was fine to work.”

The Armorer stares a moment longer, glancing back once more at the others before grabbing you by the hand, shoving the crutch you had been using since your leg healed enough to put weight on into your hand and dragging you away. She continues to scold you as she walks, never pausing in her climb from the lower levels as she continues to make you feel more and more like a child.

“There is no reason for you to have to work in your condition. Olia said rest would do you best.”

“That was weeks ago.” You huff, using the wall to stabilize yourself a bit better as you attempt to keep up with her quick pace. “And it’s only right that I do something to pull my own weight, especially after all that you and the others have done for me.”

“You have already done enough for us, and once you are fully healed I know you will continue to help. Until then I implore you to rest.”

The concern she held made you blush, her complimenting words nearly winning you over. Too stubborn for your own good however, your tongue speaks your thoughts before you can stop it.

“I know, but I can’t help but feel that I’m taking advantage of you. I just want to be, you know, useful.”

Your words cause her to pause, nearly causing you to collide with her back, sending a glance over her shoulder to your deflated figure. Logically she knows that there’s nothing wrong with wanting to help out, even sending a streak of pride through her at your eagerness to help her people, but the small voice constantly hounding her and leading to her protectiveness was too loud to ignore.

To your surprise, instead of heading down the left hall to what you knew would lead to the room you had been set up in since arriving, she turned to the right. Following cautiously, you looked about with wide eyes, having never been down this way before despite being her for weeks now. There were still many parts of the tunnels you didn’t know, mainly memorizing the paths to important places such as the communal area, storage rooms(which were the easiest to sneak off to help in), and of course the forge.

Soon enough you enter another section. The smell of metal and oil hits as soon as you step over the threshold, taking you by surprise. It was even stronger here than the forge, which was saying something. Though with the number of weapons and armor lining the walls it was to be expected. Every inch of the room, from the ceiling to the floor and even laying in piles were weapons. The order with which they were all organized in was impressive, not a single piece out of place in the organized chaos. And there, in the middle of it all, was one of the biggest men you had ever seen.

Your own father had been large, standing at six five, and while this man seemed to be slightly shorter he more than made up for it with width. Shoulders like a rancore, with hands so large they made you jealous of the potential grip strength, he looked as if he could snap you without a second thought. It’s not as if you were some petite thing in your own right, yet you felt dwarfed for one of the first times in your life.

As soon as he noticed you enter, he stood, his head bowing in acknowledgement.

“Alor.” He helmet shifted towards you, unconsciously forcing you further behind your bronze protector. “How can I help you?”

She shifts to the side, exposing you further as her hand gently rests against the small of your back, pushing you further towards the giant.

“It seems our newest friend can’t sit still. Unfortunately I can not watch them at all times to ensure they do not sneak off, but I know I can trust you to watch and keep them entertained.”

His head tilts, studying you closer as your heart jumps to your throat. In the process of trying to pull your own weight, you were now nothing this man with having to babysit you.

“I’m sure he has better things to do. If we just go back I could-”

“No. You will stay with Paz until I come for you. He will keep you from sneaking to the lower levels and lifting boxes.” A warning lay under her tone, both for you and Paz. His helmet dips in a nod once again, silently accepting his new instructions as she lightly ruffles your hair, pulling back only when your hand swats at hers.

“Do not worry. I am sure you two will get along just fine. I’ve had enough trouble keeping him away as it is.” Before you could try and argue once again she was gone, turning on heel and heading back down the passage. Great. Now you were alone with a giant and potentially grumpy Mandalorian while surrounded by weapons, which was both potentially good and bad.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage and turned back to Paz, as he had been called. He was still standing, watching as you cautiously approached.

“H-hello there.” You mentally cursed yourself for stuttering, only imagining what he might think of you now. Still, you powered on. “You’re name is Paz, right? I’m-”

“I know who you are.” He cuts you off, flopping back down into his seat as he picks up the weapon he had previously been inspecting.

“Oh….You do?”

He snorts. “Everyone knows who you are. You made quite the entrance.”

You flush, still embarrassed you had made such a spectacle arriving. Definitely not how you had hoped to meet such esteemed warriors, bloody and defeated. He seemed to sense your embarrassment.

“No matter. I’ve known about you before then.” He twirled the blaster in his hand, one that you now recognized as your own craft. “Been a fan of your work for a while.”

Gesturing to the bench across from him, you soon found yourself becoming comfortable with the blue man. Within the hour you had relaxed completely, joking around with him as he answered any questions you had about the location of rooms or the odd Mandalorian you had yet to talk with. The conversation quickly shifts to, of course, weapons, as you talk about the ups and downs of each design.

“It’s good to have someone to talk with like this. Nobody back on Quilon were interested in the craft of weapons. They just cared if they shot or not.” He took the weapon you had just finished checking, looking for nicks or spots needing maintenance, and handed you another. It was a small mercy he had granted you. While not a physically demanding task it was enough to keep you busy and feeling useful. There was a lot to get through after all, and he surmised there was no one better to check weapons then one who knows their ins and outs.

“While many like to use the weapons, they don’t get too familiar with their inner workings.”

“That’s why we’re here though.” You point out, only causing him to sigh.

“Yes, but if I have to fix one more blaster that simply has a residue build up that could be solved with a good cleaning I’m going to strangle them.”

“I’m glad she brought me here. What she’s done, what you’ve all done, is amazing. If I could spend my life working alongside her it would be more than enough.

He pauses, in the middle of sharpening a skinning knife, his helmet tilting up before going back to his work. “I’m sure she would be delighted to hear so. You should tell her yourself.”

You pause, confused. “What do you mean? She already knows that I want to continue making weapons for you all.”

Now you had his full attention, staring back at one another across the small gap as you both tried to discern the others thoughts. His words made no sense. She knew your intentions to stay, so why would you need to explain any further? You wanted to stay, more specifically just for her, but there was no way you could just tell her that. To risk ruining everything you had built between the two of you? Just for some silly little crush? No thank you. You were content being as useful to her as you could now, relishing in the little crumbs of affection you received now.

“You have to be kidding me.” He finally says, breaking the silence. “She literally calls you ‘ni tracinya’!”

You blink owlishly, still not understanding. Your Mandoa was still coming along. As of now you only knew a few words, mostly greetings and curse words, much to the amusement of the clan and the disdain of the Armorer.

He throws his hands in exasperation, head practically slamming back into the wall behind him. “It means ‘my flame’ for makers sake! Listen,” He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees as his voice takes on a more serious tone. “Think real hard, back to when you first came here. You’re telling me you haven’t noticed anything?”

Now that he mentions it, you do remember some odd things that you had never really put into question before now.

When you had first been cleared to move out of bed by Olia, the Armorer had insisted on moving you to a room closer to the forge, claiming its warmth would do you better then the cooler parts of the tunnels where the injured normally stayed. You had been cautious, unsure of being so close to the center of the tribe space and felt as if you were being invasive. She had assured you it was only temporary, to sooth your concerns you suspected, though that was quickly thrown out the window as the small space quickly collected a number of trinkets thanks to the little ones. After overcoming their initial hesitancy and fear of being an outsider, they were constantly bringing small objects and bits of easily bent and cut pieces of metal for you to make things out of, trading your creations for their own crude versions. The majority were from the Armorer however, and you treasured those the most. They were nothing extravagant, certainly not to the level of detail you would go into, but you wouldn’t have expected her to. Her focus was always more on practicality, though that’s not to say her works weren’t beautiful in their own right. Your own just placed more emphasis on the small details, and you were allowed the time and pleasure of putting them there.

She had brought you all your meals during that time, eventually evolving to the point where you would enjoy them together in her forge when you were well enough, your backs pressed to one another with a covering tightly wrapped around your eyes. Hardly was there a time when you weren’t greeted with the warm shine of her armor, the fur she wore brushing your skin and sending shivers down your spine with how close she stood at times. Her hand would constantly be touching your back or shoulder, holding your wrist as she led you through the halls even when you knew the way. There were many nights you would fall asleep in the forge, lulled by it’s warmth and the familiar sound to metal striking metal. It both soothed and made the itch to work once more that much worse.

The memory brought on a shy smile, accompanied by a light flush across your skin. It was times like that when you could allow yourself to wish, to hope, that you might mean something more than just a friend or fellow smith.

Just as soon as the thought arrived you were quick to banish it. Dreaming of the impossible would only bring more disappointment. And so, with a small laugh and roll of your eyes, you implored Paz to put it to rest; and to his credit, he did. The thought still lingered on your mind however, and you wanted to curse him for putting it there.

You continue to check and clean the weapons in peace, avoiding any and all conversation surrounding the previous topic until dinner. Or what you thought was around the right time. It seemed that even with all the time spent in the dark tunnels you had yet to gain the innate ability to just tell what time it was without looking at a clock. Paz sure knew though, racking his weapon with you following his lead.

“Your company wasn’t as annoying as others, and your weapons knowledge and appreciation is respectable, though I would expect nothing else from someone in your situation.” He reached his hand out, watching as you realized he wanted you to shake it. His hands were just as strong as you had thought, firmly grasping your own as you got into a small battle trying to squeeze the other. “Feel free to find me any time you’re bored. Keep Alor from getting frustrated and who knows, once you heal enough I might be able to teach you how to fight for the next time you run into any imperial troops.”

“That sounds...great.” He dropped his arm, handing you your walking stick and leading you back through the tunnels to the communal area as you added the new path to your mental map. His large strides were hard to keep up with, and though you suspected he had adjusted his pace you were still out of breath by the time you reached your destination. Inside the circular space there were a number of mandalorians lounging around. Children ran amuck, some helmed some not, weaving between the adults and ignoring their complaints. As soon as you entered a crowded space they descended like a swarm. Small hands pulled at your clothes, climbing up your non injured leg. After the scolding they had received last time they made sure to give your injuries a wide berth.

They were clamoring, all trying to be first to show you the small projects that had been working on or made that day. The others looked on with mild amusement, or so you assumed that's what was shown behind their visors. There were many jokes passed around that you were turning their young warriors into inventors and thinkers, though you hardly saw it as a problem. Exploring bright minds and exercising critical thinking skills would only make them that much better in any tight situations. It’s not like they couldn’t do both after all.

Your eyes scanned the crowd, bouncing over the family colors painted in intricate patterns on armor as you looked for one in particular.

“She’s still in the forge.” You jumped, causing your current passengers to squeal as they were nearly thrown from your elevation to the ground. Olia stepped closer, shooing the children away, causing a ruckus of groans and complaints, but nevertheless did as they were told. They knew better than to disrespect an elder, and their medic at that. Placing two ration portions into your hands, she’s already pushing you down the main hall.

“Never a moment of rest for that one.” She jokes, turning on her heel and heading back into the common area before you even have a chance to speak.With nothing more than a shrug, you continue on, walking the by now familiar path to deliver the food.

Warmth is the first thing that greets you, a heavenly contrast to the otherwise cold and damp dwelling. Not that you hated it, but growing up on a planet with two suns and working in a forge for the majority of your life made anything below blazing feel like Hoth. The clang of metal striking metal rings clear and crisp, but as owled eyes catch your movement, the hammer pauses mid strike, afloat for just a moment before quickly being deposited back into her belt.

Holding up the ration packs for her to see, she’s already moving, fluidly packing up her project and clearing a space as you pull the bench from the wall, settling on the wood with a light creak. Not long after, gloved hands found your skin, briefly brushing over your cheeks and causing butterflies to erupt throughout your body, setting every nerve on fire as the soft fabric of the blindfold replaced her hands. It wasn’t something you ever questioned or protested, simply content being allowed the level of trust such an action required, though you would often question what you had done to earn such an honor from an esteemed figure such as herself. The tools along her belt clicked softly, the only thing telling her location as she closed the shutters to the forge.

Not a word was said the entire time, and you didn’t need any. The practice had been born after she had gotten on your back about finishing meals, only to have you express your awkwardness of eating alone while she watched, combined with your own concern with her eating enough. She was always working, crafting new armor and weapons, or meeting with elders and warriors to discuss and organize the smaller aspects of clan life. The disregard she had for her own health when she always put so much work into that of others was both adermable and frustrating. It became one of the few things you could do during the day, making sure she had eaten and stayed hydrated in the heat of the forge. Dinner was the only time she sat down however, enjoying whatever rations or food had been chosen for the night.

After the blindfold was on and your own ration pack was in hand, it wasn’t long before you felt her warmth at your back as she too settled down on the bench. The fur of her cowl tickled your skin, telling you of how close she sat. Then you just talk. Telling her about your day and the new things you had learned.

“Introducing me to Paz almost makes up for the scene earlier.” You joke “His knowledge of weapons and their care is amazing. I can see myself getting closer with him.”

You could have imagined it, but you could swear you felt her tense behind you.

“Not too close I would imagine. Olia has informed me that you should be cleared to go back to work within a week or two.”

Perking at her words, you grew excited. It had been so long that you had begun to think you would never craft again.

“I’m glad to hear that. I already worry about the muscle mass I’ve lost since being laid up.” Laughing, you bump your shoulders against hers. “I feel like my shoulders are only half their size now, everything all atrophied and squishy.”

She’s silent, and you think the joke just fell flat, or she’s simply tired from the day.

“So you enjoyed staying with Paz today. I can assume that means I won’t have to worry about you sneaking off if I leave you with him again?”

“No.” Chuckling, you set down the now empty ration container. There’s no rush for her to finish, as you enjoy these small moments. It’s easy to pretend to be something more, something closer.

It may have been the comforting warmth of her body combined with that of the forges own heat and scents, or simply the exhaustion that came with having been able to do actual work for the first time in weeks. Either way, your tongue was loose and words flowed without thought.

“It’s hard to believe I’m here. I never thought I would ever go anywhere besides Quilon. It’s where my family has lived since forever. My mother and father, my grandparents, their parents and so on. We’ve all come from the same planet. After they died I was scared to even think about traveling. I thought that if I left I would be alone. The forge was the only thing I had left even close to family.”

Losing it had been hard. When you had first heard the news after waking it had felt like you were crushed by its foundation all over again. Olia and the Armorer had to practically force you to eat, not having the energy to do even want to get out of bed. Recovery had been slow, especially when there was nothing to go back to. It was around the time she let the children into your room, tasking them with keeping an eye on you while she tended to the clan duties she had been neglecting. It was the young ones, so bright and full of energy, that pulled you from the slump. As soon as your crafting skills were discovered after absentmindedly making a flower out of paper scraps they had all but demanded you show them more. Leading you through the tunnels and teaching you games had come after. Soon enough you were almost back to normal, able to smile and laugh once again.

It had nearly broken her to see you in such a state. The fire your eyes had once held had been reduced to little more than smoldering ash, while the glow that radiated seemed to radiate from your skin itself had dimmed. You had lost everything to the empire, but Maker be damned if she wasn’t going to do her best to give it back and then some.

“Would it be wrong of me to say it was a good thing?” She jerked at your words, taken by surprise.

“And why would that be?”

“Well, I got to meet all of you. Olia, Paz, even the young ones. You’ve all been so kind to me.” A slight hesitation, unsure if the next words would be stepping over boundaries.

No. You had come this far, and knowing her she would only pry in that aloof way of hers until you divulged a proper answer.

“Even if none of you feel the same way, I like to think that you’ve become something of a family to me. It’s been so long since I've known what it's been like to be a part of a family, so that’s what I think this feeling is at least.” A deep breath, pushing the words that seemed to catch. You can’t live feeling like this anymore, Paz’s words coming back to you once again and giving you a small amount of confidence.

“I would like to be a part of your family. With you, that is.”

With bated breath, you wait. She’s silent, but not in the way she normally is. It’s more calculated, the air itself charged. Heart pounding in your ears, you're not sure if you would have even heard her answer. Instead of any words however, you find yourself blinded by the light of the flames as your blindfold is practically ripped off, revealing the cause of your emotional rollercoaster herself, helmet back on yet with a gaze more intense than you’ve experienced yet.

“I have always been content with my deal in life. I provide for my clan, do my best to lead and keep them safe. True leaders are those that are selfless, however,” her hand grasps yours, pulling you closer. The cool feel of her helmet sends shivers down your spine; a stark contrast to your own burning skin. “But since I have met you, I have been nothing but selfish. I want everything that you are; from your body to your soul.”

Getting up, she leads you to the far corner of her forge. A small strike of disappointment hits as she lets go of your hand to dig through one of the storage compartments. It quickly dissipates as she emerges with an all too familiar item.

You gasp. It was a helmet, just like the one you had been working on and lost on Quilon. The real one was lost, but the one before you took many of the elements you had worked into your own and combined them with a more traditional Mandoan style. The eyes had the same wider vision you had been incorporating. A combination of the classic t-visor with the more elegant swooped eyes that females seemed to favor. The jawline was also slightly more convex then normal, allowing for greater range of the head and felt less claustraphobic. Other than that, it seemed she had taken her own creative liberties and upon closer inspection you saw it was eerily similar to her own. Instead of bronze it was a silvery blue, the same three lines running down the forehead with only two horns, looking as if they were coated in the bronze color as her own. Etched into each of the cheek recesses was a hammer and tongs respectively, done in the same elegant etching found on many of your own weapons.

“I will not push you to make a decision, but I do wish you to know; if you pledge yourself to the creed, to the tribe, to me, you will never find yourself alone again. I will personally make sure of it.” Her voice barely makes its way past the vecoder. Never before had she spoken in such a gentle tone, even to yourself.

“You will be mine as I will be yours.”

Taking the helmet in your own hands, the surprising lightness of such a large metal object nearly causes you to throw it. Turning it over and inspecting every inch, you know you’re only delaying the inevitable. For so long you wanted to be part of a family, to help and be more than just a weapons crafter. Furthermore, the very person you wished, no, yearned, to spend the rest of your life with was the one to ask.

“To spend the rest of my life by your side, providing for the tribe, would be all too short.” Smiling, you pull the helmet, your helmet, closer.

For a second you think she’s short circuited, frozen in place. Then, quick as a blaster shot, she grabs your arm and drags you from the forge, all but throwing the shutter open and practically running down the hall as you struggle to keep up with your still sore leg. Briefly you catch a flash of familiar blue armor, but it's gone before you can get a good look. Instead you focus on keeping pace with the bronze warrior.

“Wh-where are we going.”

Others are watching as you pass, moving out of your path as their Alor continues her war path.

“The elders.” She says without stopping and, not winded in the slightest as, in one fell swoop, you find yourself swept into her arms and being carried bridal style as her pace continues to pick up speed. An impressive move if you hadn’t been so shocked.

“We have much to prepare.”

[waitimcomingtoo]

I Thought This Was A Closet Party

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter helps you with a favor that brings you closer than ever. Like, stuck in a closet together type of close

Masterlist

“Hello Peter.” You greeted him stiffly. “You look very sexy today.”

Peter swiveled in his chair to look at you, perched in his door way with a look on your face that he knew all too well.

“Oh God.” He groaned. “What do you want?”

“What makes you think I want something, my delectable best friend?” You asked as you walked into his room and shut the door behind you. Peter his earbuds out and looked up at you, giving you his full attention.

“Maybe because called me “delectable”.” He said pointedly and you waved your hand in dismissal.

“Haha.” You faked laughed and draped yourself over his lap, making him adjust himself in the chair to catch you. “You are just as funny as you are handsome.”

“Fake flirting?” He raised an eyebrow at you as he secured his arms around your waist to keep you from falling off the chair. “What do want? My kidney?”

“Oh, Peter. You are so silly. Your sense of humor is unmatched.” You laughed again as you patted his chest. “Have I mentioned I love this flannel? It’s so rugged and lesbian chic. You fill it out really well. Is it Gucci?”

“It’s from Goodwill and I’m not giving you anything. Flattery gets you nowhere-“

“Hold on.” You interrupted before sighing dramatically. “Sorry. I just got lost in your eyes. They remind me of the ocean.”

“My eyes are brown.” Peter shut you down instantly.

“I know. Water pollution is so devastating. I bet you could end it with just a smile and a wink.” You flirted around you walked your fingers up his chest and booped his nose.

“That’s one of the weirder come on’s I’ve heard.” He laughed at you. Even thought he knew you were only kidding, it didn’t stop his heart from pounding when you flirted with him. He did his best to keep a straight face as you toyed with the collar of his shirt. You looked up suddenly and your face softened, almost like you were being genuine for a moment.

“Your face looks scrumptious in the moonlight.” You deadpanned, making Peter groan loudly and rub his tired eyes.

“I need you to stop.” Peter whined as you laughed at yourself.

“I fantasize about us being in love to fall asleep.” You continued your charade as you wrapped your arms around his neck. That one hit a little too close to home for Peter and he blew out a breath.

“Just take it. Take my kidney. This is unbearable.”

“I really like your personality.” You tried again.

“Not gonna happen.” Peter insisted.

“You butt looks good in those jeans?” You phrased it as more of a question as you looked at him with hope.

“You got me.” He sighed. “You know my butt is a direct pathway to my heart. What do you need from me?”

You smiled with pride as you finally broke him down and climbed off his lap.

“I need an interview with Cleatus Kassidy for an article.” You told him as you clasped your hands under your chin.

“Okay.” Peter nodded. “Where is he?”

You took a step towards Peter and brushed a curl behind his ear, letting your hand rest in the back of his neck and and tangle in his curls. He knew this was just another step in your scheme to get him to help you, but he couldn’t help from leaning into your touch.

“Queensboro Correctional facility.” You said sheepishly, and Peter finally understood what all the flirtatious precautions were for.

“He’s in jail?” Peter nearly screamed when you broke the news.

“No.” You said and Peter relaxed. “He’s in prison.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Peter dismissed you and held out the scissors again. “I’d rather you take the kidney.”

“Please?” You pleaded and tilted his chin up to look at you. “I can’t be a criminal investigator without any experience and I’m already behind since my stupid professor doesn’t like me. Which is insane, by the way, since I’m adorable and charming.”

“Yeah, I cant imagine why he wouldn’t like you, you being so humble and all.” He replied. 

“Right?” You answered, unaware of his sarcasm. “I need this to prove I belong in his class. This is the break I’ve been waiting for.”

“What do you need from me?” Peter sighed. “That doesn’t mean I’m helping, I just want an estimation on how stupid this plan is before I put an offer down.”

“I need you to help me break into the prison so I can put my name in his visitors list.” You said all in one breath.

“You want to break into jail?” Peter whispered harshly so his aunt wouldn’t hear.

“No.” You said bluntly. “I want to break into prison.”

“Nope. Not happening.” Peter held up his hands in defense and swiveled back to face his desk.

“Peter, please?” You begged as you turned his chair around. “Do you understand how much this means to me?”

“And do you understand that people typically try to break out of prison? Not in?” Peter sassed you.

“But this is the only way to get on his visitors list.” You whined. “I’ve tried calling everyday for the three weeks but he keeps getting his phone privileges taken away for behavioral misconducts.”

“What kind of behavior misconducts?” Peter lowered his eyebrows skeptically. You looked down at your hands and timidly picked at your chipping nail polish.

“The stabbing kind.” You mumbled and Peters jaw dropped.

“That’s a bad kind!” He exclaimed.

“But no one ever finds a knife!” You retorted. “The victims always have deep puncture wounds but no knife. And the guards once found bite marks.”

“Oh, great. So he takes a little nibble after puncturing his victims.” Peter clasped his hands together on his lap. “Can’t wait to meet him. Should I bake him some cornbread as a gift?”

“That’d be nice.” You ignored his sarcasm and answered honestly.

“I was being sarcastic.” Peter snapped and got out of his chair.

“Good for you!” You said back. “No one investigated the bite marks even though they didn’t match Cleatus’s dental records. Not to mention, his MO has completely changed since getting into prison. He used to go after blonde women in their 40’s-

“Karen’s.” Peter cut in.

“Exactly.” You nodded. “And now he goes after men who are in for non violent crimes with no previous records. Something weird is going and no one is investigating it. That’s why I need to get in there and see what’s up but I need your help to do that. You owe me since you got me thinking about how much I want cornbread.”

Peter leaned on his hand and stared at you, trying to decipher his next move. You folded your arms and stared back, trying to look serious.

“People are dying, Peter.” You said softly, making him sigh.

“I also want cornbread.” He said quietly as he kept his gaze down.

“Peter, I will bake you all the cornbread you can eat until you’re too heavy to swing from your webs if you help me.” You told him as you sat back on his lap. Peter squeezed your hip gently and pursed his lips.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “We could get in a lot of trouble.”

“Your ass is bigger than Captain America’s.” You started up again with the compliments, making a smile tug at Peters lips. 

“I’m in.”

“Yay! Thank you so much.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “When I win the Pulitzer Prize for my work you’ll be the first one I thank.”

“All right, all right.” Peter chuckled softly as he rubbed your back. “What’s the first step of the plan?”

“You have your suit, so it’s only fair I get a disguise of my own.” You began.

“Does that mean...”

“Yep.” You smiled. “Road trip to Goodwill.”

“You treat me so well.” Peter beamed.

~

A day later, you stood outside Queensboro Correctional facility in a makeshift guard next to Peter in his Spiderman suit.

“This is it?” Peter asked as he looked at the building. It’s height alone made him feel small, and the fact he was the reason a few of those inmates were in there didn’t make him feel any better.

“This is it.” You confirmed as you adjusted your tie.

“How do we get in?” Peter looked to you.

“The computer room is the only one with a window that opens since you need a key to get in. It locks automatically so you have to stay there while I do my part of the plan. Once my name is on the list, we can meet back at the computer room.”

“And then we get cornbread?” Peter asked.

“And then we get cornbread.” You nodded.

“Awesome. You ready?”

“Ready.” You secured yourself to Peters side but stopped him before he could swing away. “Oh wait. Hang on.” You took out your phone and quickly dialed a number.

“Who are you calling?” Peter wondered as you held your phone to your ear.

“Remember that thing we talked about? Awesome. Yeah, you can do it now.” You said into the phone as you looked to the sky. Right as Peter looked up in the same direction, a hot blue lightning rod struck the power lines, sending a wave of sparks to rain down. The lights inside the prison flickered for a moment before coming back on.

“You got Thor involved?” Peter asked in shock.

“I needed him to knock out the security cameras so we didn’t get caught.” You shrugged. “Unless, of course, you wanted to join Cleatus in there.”

“Just grab on.” Peter huffed and wrapped his arm around your waist. He shot a web towards the fifth floor and swung you up there with ease. He stuck to the side of the building as he opened the window, pushing you inside before going in himself.

“You didn’t have to roll me in like I’m a bowling ball.” You grumbled as you dusted yourself off.

“You’re just mad because I always beat you at Wii bowling.” Peter shrugged as he brushed some dust off your shoulder.

“Okay, but which one of us cried because they lost at Wii tennis last week?” You asked as you peered out the window in the door for any guards.

“Me, but I wasn’t crying because I lost.” Peter insisted.

“Sure you weren't.” You quipped as you fixed your uniform.

“You hit me in the face with your controller!” Peter whispered harshly, not wanting to alert anyone to his presence.

“The past can hurt us, but we have to chose to run from it or learn from it.” You said causally as you continued to look out the window.

“Do not quote Lion King right now, I swear to God.” Peter grumbled as he took a seat at one of the computers.

“You’re not being very Hakuna matata right now.” You said quietly and Peter glared at you, piercing you through his mask.

“I just feel like you’re being a little too slimy and not enough satisfying.” You added and he balled his hands into a fist.

“We are in a correctional facility right now and unless you’d like to write your next exposition from a cell in a women’s prison, I suggest you get on with your part of the plan.” Peter said with superficial calmness.

“Right. Sorry. I’ll go find a guard.” You hung your head in shame and left the room. You tried to blend in as you walked through the halls, smiling tightly at any guards you passed. Coming behind a corner, you found a single guard by an open window and took the next step of the plan. You ducked behind the wall and held your fingers against the intercom in your ear.

“Eagle 1, do you copy? Eagle 1, over.” You whispered.

“Who’s Eagle 1? Don’t even tell me you got Sam in on the plan.” Peters voice filled your ear.

“You’re Eagle 1!” You whispered abrasively. “We can’t have a heist without code names.”

“I’m thinking of a lot of code names I’d like you call you right now.” Peter mumbled.

“Are you in position?” You asked him.

“Yes, I am in position.” Peter confirmed as he stuck to the side of the building.

“I found a guard.” You told him. “I’m on the west side of the fifth floor. Do you see me?”

“I see you.” Peter responded.

“Okay. Do your thing.”

You watched Peter swing back and forth between the buildings outside of the window where you were positioned. When the guard didn’t look up, you had to step in.

“Wow! Is that Spider-Man?” You asked dramatically as you came around the corner. The guard barely glanced up at the window and looked at you.

“Yeah.” He sighed.

“That’s so cool. He’s like a celebrity.” You gushed.

“Yeah.” He said again.

“Boy, wouldn’t it be awesome to get a picture with him? You’d be the coolest guy ever if you could get a picture.” You forced a laugh, beginning to panic when the guard wasn’t responding the way you hoped.

“Eh.” He shrugged unenthusiastically.

“Why don’t you give me your phone and I’ll take your picture? I’m sure Spiderman wouldn’t mind.” You looked at Peter and gave him a thumbs up, which he reciprocated.

“Meh.” He said and began to walk away, making your heart race with fear.

“Okay, um, wait!” You called after him, still needing the code from him.

“What?” He turned around, growing frustrated with you. Your eyes darted across his face before landing on his name tag.

“Sebastian.” You faked a smile. “I really need to get onto one of the computers but I left my phone as home. Do you think you could tell me the passcode?”

Sebastian cocked his head to the side and looked at you sideways for a moment, making you shift uncomfortably. You were sure you were caught just from his look.

“Where’s your name tag?” He questioned. You looked down at where your name tag should be and gulped. The uniform was pretty easy to make out of miscellaneous items from Goodwill, but you’d forgotten about a name tag.

“An inmate…swallowed it.” You lied, hoping he would somehow believe you with your pithy excuse.

“Which inmate?” Sebastian asked, making you suck in a breath. You raked your brain for the most generic name you could think of.

“Josh?” It came out as more of question as a bead of sweat rolled down your forehead. To your surprise, Sebastians face softened and he let out a laugh.

“Damn. That is so Josh.” He chuckled. “The code is 877-393-4448. If you talk to Sheila at the front desk, she can get you another name tag. This is the ninth one Josh has swallowed.”

You gave Sebastian a gentle smile, surprised he was so eager to help you.

“Thank you.” You said sincerely. Sebastian nodded and returned the smile.

“And between you and me, Captain America is way cooler.” He said behind his hand, like it was a secret.

“Totally.” You laughed before he walked away.

“I heard that.” Peter grumbled into your intercom.

“I was just playing along to keep my cover.” You defended yourself as you wrote the code down in your notes.

“Eagle 1, the recipe has been downloaded. I repeat, the recipe had been downloaded.” You whispered so only Peter could hear.

“What recipe?”

“The code!” You almost yelled. “I got the code, you ninny. Are you back in the computer room?”

“I just got in.” He told you.

“Okay. I’m texting you the code. Tell me when you get it.”

“I got it.” He confirmed.

“Go to inmate information.” You walked him through the steps.

“Yep.”

“Find inmate 24601.” You said, Cleatus’s number.

“Getting scared at how much you know about the prison computer system.” Peter laughed nervously as he did what you asked.

“Go to visitors.” You ignored his comment.

“Okay.”

“And put my full name.” You instructed. Your heart raced as you waited for him to complete the most important part of the plan.

“You’re on.” Peter told you, making you sigh in relief.

“Yes! I love you.” You cheered. “You’re the best best friend in the world.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Peter said quietly, still reeling from you saying you loved him.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” You gushed as you walked back towards the computer room. You were flooded with excitement and appreciation for Peter that was pouring out of you.

“And Thor, apparently.” He commented as he got out of the computer chair.

“Shut up.” You teased. “All we need to do now is get out of here without being seen. Think you can do that?”

“You’re talking to Spiderman, baby.” Peter quipped. “I can do anything.”

“Except put the toilet seat down after using it, apparently.” You shrugged, biting your tongue so you wouldn’t laugh as you passed a guard.

“I told you I was sorry for that.”

“Do you know what it’s like to fall into a toilet, Peter?” You asked him. “My knees hit my shoulders.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic.” He insisted.

“I could’ve drowned.” You snapped as you came around a corner. Your eyes widened in shock as Peter, still in his suit, met you in the hallway.

“Could you really, though?” He sassed as he approached you. Your throat went dry at the sight of him and you struggled to find the words to say.

“What are you doing here?” You whispered as you pulled him back around the corner.

“Oh, didn’t you hear? We broke in. You know, like a crime.” Peter said casually, making you groan loudly.

“Do not rehash John Mulaney jokes right now.” You demanded. “Why are you here? You left the computer room?”

“You said we were gonna meet up.” He said, beginning to see how panicked you were.

“Yes! Inside the computer room! So we can escape out the window.” You had to keep yourself from yelling so you frantically paced back and forth. There was no explanation for why or how Spider-Man was inside the prison and all it would take was a quick search of your name to reveal you didn’t actually work there.

“All right, so we’ll just go back in there.” Peter said calmly, trying to address the situation.

“We can’t just go back in there. It locks automatically.” You told him. “That’s why you were supposed to wait in there to let me in.”

“Oh.” Peter said meekly.

“Yeah. Oh.” You poked him angrily.

“What do we do now?” He asked, his panic levels rising to match your own. You opened your mouth to speak until the sound of keys jingling caught your attention.

“Wait, someone’s coming. We can’t get caught.” You gripped his shoulders and looked at him in fear.

“What’s the big deal? You have your guard costume on. Plus, everyone love the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” Peter tried to calm you down but it only made you worse.

“Unless you want to become the friendly cell block inmate, we need to hide.” You whispered as you looked around. You spotted a janitors closet down the hall and tugged Peter towards it. “Get in here.”

You scrambled inside the closet, not realizing how cramped it would be with two people and a prisons worth of cleaning supplies. Your back was pressed against shelves and the front of you was pressed against Peter, someone he wasn’t complaining about. You rested your hands on his chest and looked through the slits in the door vent as Sebastian walked by the closet.

“He looks mean.” Peter gulped. “He looks like a biter.”

“Don’t judge him.” You whispered. “He was actually very nice to me.”

“Why are you getting friendly with the correctional officers?” Peter looked down at you, feeling a familiar sense of jealously bubble in his tummy.

“Why are you so doo doo at following directions?” You shot back.

“Your adjectives never fail to blow my mind.” Peter shook his head as he slipped his mask off.

“yOuR aDjeCtiVes nEVer fAil”, you mimicked his voice as you moved your hand like a puppet, “yeah okay School House Rock.”

“Keep it coming with the obscure references.” Peter leaned closer to taunt you. “Keep it coming please.”

You continued to berate Peter until his attention snapped towards the door and he put a gloved hand over your mouth.

“Wait, shhh!” He silenced you as he squinted through the vents in the door.

“Ew. When was the last time you washed your hands? We’re in a prison! You touched the doorknobs.” You grimaced as your took his hand off your mouth.

“You don’t like my doorknob hands? You don’t like my grimy doorknobs hands?” Peter asked as he rubbed his hands all over your face while you gagged.

“Might I remind you our personal freedoms are at stake? Do you want to go to jail?” You asked as you held his hands tightly in place to keep them off of you. Peter looked down guilty when he remembered where you were and put his hands down.

“I’ll be quiet.” He said sheepishly. You both stood in silence as another guard walked by, the only sounds coming from your heartbeats. Being this close to you was one thing, but Peters heightened senses was giving him gateway to a whole other experience. He could literally smell your fear, as well as your strawberry shampoo.

“I cannot believe we’re hiding in a supply closet.” He laughed a little to distract himself. “What’s next, we’re forced to share a bed?”

“I know. Or like, my mom can’t pay the bills so she sells me to your family.” You added, laughing along with him until you heard footsteps. “Oh, shh.”

You pressed yourself even closer to Peter as a group of guards walked past, trying to breathe as quietly as possible so they didn’t hear you. Peters has tightened with you this close, placing his hand on the small of your back to keep you in place. Your ear was flush against his heartbeat and you could hear it beating like a drum as you clung to him for safety.

“This is ridiculous. I am never going along with one of your plans again. They always put us in the most uncomfortable positions.” Peter grumbled, trying to act like having you this close wasn’t the greatest thing to happen to him.

“No they don’t.” You scoffed and continued to look out the vents for guards.

“Remember your fantastic movie night plan when you convinced me to watch 365 Days? How did that turn out, huh?” He reminded you making your whole face go white as you remembered that movie.

“I don’t want to talk about that.” You avoided his eyes as your cheeks flamed.

“Exactly.” Peter argued. “We couldn’t even look at each other. We were too frozen from shock to turn it off.”

“Every time I hear the word “boat” I get flashbacks.” You shuddered.

“Okay let’s not talk about the boat scene when we’re this close.” Peter squeezed his eyes shut to keep himself calm.

All of him.

“Why?” You asked curiously, not understanding what was going through Peters mind.

“I’m gonna shish kebab you, that’s why.” Peter said with embarrassment, suddenly wishing he had left the mask on to keep you from seeing how flushed he was. The wheels turned in your brain and a sheepish smile came on your face as you realized what he was worried about. You opened your mouth to speak but quickly shut it when a janitor and a guard stopped outside your closet.

“Kassidy again? What now?” The janitor asked with a sigh. You listened closely as you clung to Peter. He could barely focus on the conversation as your heartbeat fell into rhythm with him.

“Another stabbing.” The guard said. “If this guy gets one more shot, he’s getting moved to max.”

“All right. I’ll grab a mop.” The janitor said, making you and Peter look at each other in a panic.

“Shit.” You whispered with wide eyes.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Either you’re shish kebab-ing me from the back or the mop he’s looking for is right behind me.” You explained. Peter peered behind you and saw the handle of a mop leaning against the shelves and felt his heart race.

“Oh God. I can’t go to prison! I’m too soft and wholesome.” Peter began to freak out, feeling his forehead drip with sweat.

“Yeah, I hear that defense works really well in court.” You said sarcastically.

“Do not sass me, woman! This is your fault!” He exclaimed and you knew he was right. It was your fault.

“Let’s not play the blame game.” You said timidly. “And calling me “woman” like that is demeaning.”

“I know. Sorry women.” Peter said sincerely as he looked up. You looked up too but saw nothing but a water stain.

“Who are you apologizing to?” You asked.

“Captain Marvel.” He said sheepishly.

“What are we gonna do? We can’t get caught.” You whined quietly as you anxiously clutched Peters arms. Peter cleared his throat as another wave of your shampoo was scent his way.

“On the one hand, we could explain to them what we’re doing here and hope they have a sense of humor and sympathy for college students.” Peter chuckled shortly. “On the other hand, you smell like strawberries.”

“Wait, shh.” You stepped even closer to him when the janitor came closer to the closet door.

“Come here.” Peter said as he turned you around. He wrapped his arm firmly around your shoulders and held you flushed against himself as the janitor opened the door. You both held your breath and you pressed your back as close to Peters chest as you possibly could as the janitor grabbed the mop you were previously leaning against and left the closet. You waited a few seconds before sighing in relief, staying in Peters arms as you relaxed.

“I cannot believe that worked.” You breathed, still scared to talk too loudly in case he came back.

“I know. My friend Drax taught me how to do it. If you stand perfectly still, you become invisible to the human eye.” Peter spoke in a hushed tone as he panted.

“Wow.” You swallowed, your mouth having gone dry from fear.

“I know.” Peter nodded, resting his chin on top of your head. You had finally collected yourself when you felt something pressed against your leg.

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I leaning on another mop?”

More silence filled the closet as that something continued to press against you.

“I wish I could say yes.” Peter said after a minute. You hung your head and tried to keep your laughter to yourself.

“Oh my God.” You sputtered. “Peter!”

“I’m sorry.” He said sincerely. “I have no control over him.”

“Him?!” You craned your neck to look at him in shock.

“If you must know, I call him Samuel L. Jackson.” Peter said sheepishly.

“Why?” You looked at him over your shoulder and he looked down in shame.

“Because he’s in everything.” Peter admitted, making you look up at the ceiling and count to ten in your head.

“You belong here.” You nodded. “You belong in prison.”

“I’m sorry!” Peter exclaimed. “Don’t get mad at me. It’ll only make it worse.”

“Everything I’m learning about you right now is against my will.” You grimaced.

“Wait, Karen isn’t picking up any heat signatures near us.” Peter said as he slipped his mask back on.

“Now he changes the subject.” You muttered to yourself.

“The coast is clear. We gotta go.” Peter scooped you up and opened the closet door. “And I’m not waiting for your little slow ass.”

“This is not how I imagined my Saturday.” You commented as Peter carried you back to the computer room as fast as he could.

“That makes three of us.” Peter said as he rounded the corner.

“Three?”

“Can’t forget about Samuel.” He gulped, knowing you’d get mad at him for what he said. You shook your head as he set you down in front of the the computer room door.

“We can’t go out this way. The door is locked, remember?” You put your hands on your hips and looked at him.

“Maybe, but it won’t be unlocked when we use this key I stole from the janitor.” Peter said as he smugly held up a key. “Even has a cute little label on it that says ‘computer room.’ How convenient.”

A smile lit up your face as you took the key from him, wasting no time in unlocking the door and pulled him inside. Once you were hidden from view, you pulled him into a long hug.

“I’m glad you came along.” You murmured in his ear. Peter smiled as he hugged you back, nuzzling into your hair. “Lets go.”

Two hours later, you were back in Peters apartment in your regular clothes. Peter could hear you talking on the phone after you stepped out take a call. After all the romantic moments, he really didn’t want to go back to being just friends.

Peter snapped out of his trance when you came back from his balcony, a giddy smile on your face.

“I just got off the phone with Queensboro.” You beamed. “I have a 2 pm appointment tomorrow with Cleatus.”

You punctuated your sentence by breaking out in a happy dance, grabbing Peters hand and twirling yourself with it.

“So our little plan worked.” He chuckled as you moved back and forth, dancing to music that wasn’t there.

“Couldn’t have done it without you.” You said as you took your head off his shoulder to look at him fondly. “Love you.”

“Ew. Whatever.” Peter pretended to gag to distract from his blush.

“You know”, you smiled coyly at Peter, “I’m gonna be pretty hungry after my interview tomorrow. All that criminal investigating is sure to work up an appetite.”

“I’m sure it will.” He responded, not knowing where you were going with that statement. You rested your head back on his shoulder as you continued to sway.

“Maybe you can take me on that date you’ve been dying to ask me on.”

Tag List 🏷

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[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding VII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - Part II - - - Part III - - - Part IV - - - Part V - - - Part VI

CONTENT WARNING: Please be advised this chapter may contain triggering material. More detail available in tags. 

It wasn’t until Anakin was staring at the hot sauce bottles and solitary mysterious green takeout container that he remembered they were at war, and therefore no longer in the habit of restocking the apartment’s cold stasis.

“Obi-Wan, there’s nothing to eat!” 

"I know!” came the call back. “I’m trying to meditate!”

Anakin closed the stasis door and walked back out to the common room. Obi-Wan sat crosslegged on the window sill.

“Do or do not, there is no try,” the knight quipped.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to look fondly at the man standing before him. Maybe tomorrow, when he woke alone in a dusty desert hovel, he would regret letting himself play pretend for so long. Maybe this whole day would fade from his memory like a dream.

But right now, he felt... peaceful. He wouldn’t claim to be satisfied by the explanations he imagined for Anakin, but it would have been far more disturbing if he somehow came up with an actually sympathetic justification for genocide. He got to say and hear a number of goodbyes. He even got to cry over Anakin with the comfort of his presence. 

Now he had to let go, to be there for Luke. (And he could always get more spice...)

“I guess if you need to meditate, I can go pick us up food from the Temple Tapcaf.” Anakin offered. 

“Thank you, Anakin. Today...helped. More than I can explain.” Obi-Wan said softly.

“I- I don’t really deserve that. Considering it was all my fault.” Anakin bowed his head, helpless for words, but uncomfortable with being praised.

“Not every terrible thing that has happened is your fault. You made a series of terrible choices, yes. But there were, there are, other dark forces at work and not a single Jedi in the order was able to stop them. At least for a short time today I was able to set that aside, so for what it’s worth, thank you.”

“Kriff.” Anakin said shocked. “Of course there’s more. Ok. That’s all right, we-” he was cut off by a growl from Obi-Wan’s stomach. 

A snort of laughter escaped before Anakin smacked a hand over his mouth. “Alright, I’m going to the Tapcaf, you just...meditate until I get back.”

Obi-Wan swallowed and nodded, “I love you so much.” 

“Force Obi-Wan, you’re going to make me start crying again.” He pulled him into a bear hug. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m not gone, ok? Just...meditate. And drink some water.”

"Hmm, I don’t know. Some of my best choices recently have been stupid,” Obi-Wan laughed. The words were light, but Anakin felt a prickle of unease, a hint of danger. There was no clear cause, and Obi-Wan seemed relaxed but...

Anakin gripped his Master’s shoulders, staring him dead in the eye. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

Obi-Wan sighed, “I promise.” He pulled Anakin down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Goodbye, Anakin.”

"I’ll be back in 20 minutes.” He paused, then mumbled, “i love you too” before speeding out the door.

Obi-Wan settled back into meditation, reaching inwards. Everything but his body and the light within faded. He magnified his hunger, his thirst, visualizing the pack of dried jerky in his hut, the precious jars of water in the basement. He could almost feel the heat that never quite abandoned Tatooine, even during the short nights. He opened his eyes

and saw the temple apartment.

He shut them again quickly. He was sure he could snap himself out of this. He sank deeper inward, careful to leave his shields perfectly intact. With the galaxy as dim as it was, a real show of force had the potential to grab attention across star systems. Force purging toxins, fortunately, was more a matter of internal concentration than outward power. It was one of the first skills Obi-Wan had truly mastered as a Jedi, thanks to numerous kidnappings at the start of his apprenticeship and hard drinking towards the end. 

It was uncomfortable to be that keenly aware of one’s kidneys, but Obi-Wan managed. It was less intense than a healing trance, anyway. His heart rate increased as various metabolic processes sped up- and almost immediately slowed down. Huh. The drug must of almost run its natural course, and now he 

still in the temple.

Kark. Shit. 

‘Breathe’ he thought. Stress was only going to increase his chances of a stroke. Alright, so meditation wasn’t working. Maybe he could try for longer, but part of him was nervous that if ‘Anakin’ returned he’d lose the willpower, and so far the passage of time had been extremely linear. He was too invested in the fantasy at this point for anything easy.

Remember your training. Your eyes can deceive you, do not trust them. 

Padawans were taught three main methodologies to move beyond mindtricks, hallucinations, visions, and the like. Looking In, Reaching Out, and Breaking Out. 

Looking in wasn’t working. That left the other two options. In the past, when his senses were lying to him he could always trust in the force, but now...it was just too much risk. Reaching out like that, with his whole self, meant the chance of finding someone.

That left breaking out. Obi-Wan jumped up, staring intensely at the details in the molding, the stains on the carpet, at everything. At no point today had he spotted objects fading to grey in the corner his vision, or ripple as memories from different time frames overlapped, but surely there must be some weak point.

Nothing. 

Shit, he really had stayed too long. Alright then, time for more uncivilized measures.

He walked to the kitchen and pulled their butcher’s vibroblade from its block, holding it to his neck, then hesitated.

This had to be done, but it didn’t make it any less unsettling. It was his own fault for lingering in the delusion so long; all the more palatable paths to escape had closed off, and after all he had been through he refused to die from a drug overdose. Gods, it might take years for someone to find the body.

He steeled himself, bringing the blade back up decisively only to drop it with a clatter. Pressing a hand to his throat, he was unnerved but not entirely surprised to find a stinging line of pain. His hand came away wet with blood. He instinctively pressed both hands to the cut, pulse rapid and heavy and slippery beneath his palms.

It’s just a hallucination. It’s just an extremely vivid hallucination.

A thought occurred to Obi-Wan then, and he felt something in the pit of his stomach drop in horror.

What if...what if the blade was real. What if he was actually moving around his home right now, hazily sleepwalking in a pantomime of the peaceful stroll and tender embraces he was imagining. It would explain the immediate relief from the water this morning...hadn’t he found his way to food and water even dazed from sleep-debt and blood-loss during the war?

He had a vibroblade in the desert too...

His pulse pounded harder beneath his hands. The cut wasn’t even that deep, but for the first time Obi-Wan felt the true existential horror of his current trap well up. If he didn’t know where the walls were...how could he escape.

He took a deep breath, acknowledging and letting go of his panic.

He had the force. He would just have to be delicate in his application. He picked up the bloodied tool from the floor but decided to simply to clip it to his belt for now. A force-null object would be harder to distinguish at first touch.

Obi-Wan walked to his temple bedroom and opened the barest crack in his shields, just enough to reach out, get a sense of existing currents in the force. He stirred at one until a small vortex of light formed. To anyone looking, it would appear a naturally occurring, low-powered whirlpool, common enough on Tattoine. Any gentle moves he made in the minutes before it fell apart would hopefully be obscured by its wake.

He hesitantly laid a hand on the lightsaber on his bedside table, lowering his shields a little further. His heart sunk when he realized that his memory had even recreated the perception of force-imbued temple walls in the periphery. The Kyber in his saber reverberated with a familiar song. He jerked his hand away. That felt too much like his real lightsaber. He couldn’t risk it. 

Before Obi-Wan truly began to panic again, he realized something missing. Anakin’s- Darth Vader’s saber. Since picking it up on Mustafar, the crystal in it had screamed at him, halfway to corruption. When he touched the blade he could almost feel... feel what horrors it had been bent to commit.

Most of the time he left it buried under a rock pile in his basement, too afraid to work on healing it.

He couldn’t hear it now- but he could feel the memory of what it used to be.

It sat innocently on his Anakin’s bedside table. There was a tinge of darkness to it of course- this saber had only ever known war. But when he rested a hand on the blade it was clear this belonged to the memory he had walked with today, not the tyranny of reality.

Grasping it firmly, he marched back to the windowsill and settled, intent on his choice. Sunsets here couldn’t compare to tattooine- they were just too different. The binary play transformed the infinite horizon. It was something on Tatooine he unabashedly marveled at.

Courasant, on the other hand, transformed the sun into a reflection of itself. Untold millions of transparisteel buildings refracted the star painfully at some points while casting shadows on the rest. The filter of light through constant smog resulted in strange shades of neon green and blood red. It was beautiful, but uncomfortable to look at too long.

He closed his eyes and pressed the saber to his chest.

---

Anakin was impatiently waiting in the hot service line when the urge to return to his apartment insistently welled up again. He pushed it back of course- Obi-Wan needed food and Anakin couldn’t keep putting his own selfish impulses in front of his Master’s wellbeing.

He held out for a few seconds, but the itch was getting stronger, sharper. He looked down at the tray- it already had most of Obi-Wan’s cold favorites, but he really wanted to get him his favorite soup if the line would just move a little faster. He jolted when, for the first time that day, Obi-Wan’s shielding thinned the slightest amount. Not enough to get anything clear, but the fact that there was movement at all...

He left the line; they could always come back together if Obi-Wan wanted. Hells, maybe they’d do a late night visit to Dex’s for some real comfort food. Anakin still couldn’t get a sense of what Obi-Wan was up to through their muffled bond. He felt a buzz in his ears, not unlike the moment before an enemy blow.

He picked up speed, tea sloshing in its thermoflask. An elder looked at him annoyed as darted around him.

He started speed walking in earnest as the feeling got more intense. A sandwich fell to the wayside.

Speed walking quickly switched to jogging, then running; there was a shout of complaint as he ditched the whole tray carelessly behind.

He took the last few hallways at a full-out force-assisted sprint, the Force itself screaming at him to move. A small part of his mind thought we’re safe inside the temple Obi-Wan promised not to do anything stupid i’m going to get such shit for freaking out over nothing. 

He sensed nothing from Obi-Wan over the bond; not a hint of fear or anger or surprise. He blurred around the last corner, feeling like he might throw up with his increasing, unexplained panic.

Not caringabout anything butgettingto Obi-Wan beforeitstoolate he smashed down the door at the same moment Obi-Wan, sitting peacefully by the window, turned on the lightsaber pointing directly at his heart.

Time seemed to slow. Splinters of the door frame hung in the air as Anakin desperately pulled the lightsaber away from Obi-Wan in the half-second between activation and ignition.

He wasn’t quite fast enough.

Blue plasma pierced Obi-Wan’s chest as time caught up. Pieces of the wall shattered like shrapnel as he turned, shocked to see Anakin. The saber flew away in a straight arrow. 

Anakin threw himself to Obi Wan’s side, wildly trying to draw heat away from the searing hole before it could vaporize the surrounding flesh. He couldn’t tell what the saber had pierced, or how far it had gone in considering its last second movement.

One hand trained on a hundred battle fields robotically reached for his comm-unit to call for emergency medical assistance. His mind however, had largely been left behind a few minutes ago, when he was trying to pick what Obi-Wan would want to eat for dinner.

What came out his mouth was more incoherent shrieking than anything else, but he had at least called the correct line for temple aid.

He threw down the comm, focus intent on controlling the smoldering burn. The air around them seemed to boil and Obi-Wan started struggling to get away. Anakin bodily held him down, finally finding words,

“What the FUCK, OBI-WAN! YOU LITERALLY JUST PROMISED NOT TO DO ANYTHING STUPID! YOU PROMISED!”

“that’s why- hkk I  have  to” Obi-Wan rasped.

“Karking Fuck.YOU- STOP MOVING!”

Anakin felt a twinge of danger come from the side but was too focused to do anything but shift his body as shield. A sharp pain pierced his gut but he ignored it. 

The air crackled with heat and power as the wound beneath him cooled. A faint trickle of dark blood oozed out, probably burns breaking from recent movement, considering the instant cauterization. He couldn’t see any light coming through, which meant he had moved the saber at least a quarter klick before it activated, Anakin thought semi hysterically.

Finally, someone showed up to investigate the disturbance. In truth, probably less than a minute had passed since Anakin entered the room, but he really didn’t care.

“HELP ME!” Anakin shouted.

“What happened?” Mace Windu asked grimly, falling to the ground next to them. Not waiting for an answer, he set his lit saber aside and placed his hand to Obi-Wan’s forehead, stilling the violent thrashing.

Anakin opened his mouth but he just didn’t have the words. He didn’t know. 

“General Skywalker, report.” Mace Windu commanded sharply. 

“I left him alone to get dinner for us. I ran back and when I broke open the door he was holding the lightsaber to his chest. I tried...to pull it away. It pierced him, and I’ve been trying to manage the initial burn risk. I called for medi but I don’t know their eta.”

“They’re behind me. How did you get stabbed?” the Master demanded.

“How did I what?” Anakin looked down to see a vibroblade sticking out from his left side. Right, the pain from before. Obi-Wan suddenly mustered up the energy to wake up despite his state and Windu’s compulsion. He looked around wildly before yanking the knife from Anakin’s side.

Anakin gasped, but managed to still his brother’s hand using the force before he could finish bringing it up to his neck, which Anakin just noticed was bloody.

“STOP TRYING TO DIE!” Anakin screeched.

“...I’m...not....I’m....trying.....to...” 

But before Obi-Wan could finish the sentence, the healers finally arrived, pushing Windu aside to grab hold of Anakin and Obi-Wan. He could feel a buzz of energy go through him, stopping at the growing damp patch at his side. He tried to push the man away but the heat in the room was starting to make him dizzy

“I’m fine! Focus on Obi-Wan.”

Mace placed a hand on his shoulder, and in the gentlest voice he had ever heard from the man, said, “You’ve been stabbed Anakin. Let the healers help both of you- you’ve done well looking out for him.”

Obi-Wan, still occasional thrashing was being loaded onto a hoverstrech for transport. A second stretcher waited next to it. 

“Master Windu! He’s fighting us,” Master Che called sharply. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Master Kenobi tried to kill himself,” Windu replied flatly. “His wounds are self inflicted and he’s violently fighting assistance” 

There was a beat as that information was processed. Knight Bant, who must have arrived at some point, said in slightly less flat voice, “He displayed erratic behavior earlier today, and I ruled out drug interactions.”

“Thank you, Knight Bant.” Master Che plunged a syringe of some kind into Obi-Wans thigh. He finally stopped attempting to fight, falling down onto the board. “Red team, with me. Orange, you have Skywalker,” She instructed sharply. 

Anakin numbly watched most of the healers leave with Obi-Wan through a hole in the wall. He slowly started to stand and somehow ended up guided into a seat on the hoverboard. Looking down, he was surprised to see his tunic cut away in favor of a large bacta patch. 

“Hey,” he protested. “Who stabbed me?”

“We can discuss that after you have surgery,” A Human healer replied. Master Covamos, he thought.

“This is my fault” Anakin said, suddenly urgent. “I shouldn’t have left him. He told me goodbye, he was saying goodbye all day, I should have...”

“You saved his life,” Windu interrupted. “You got to him just in time, don’t waste your energy on should-haves. Now sleep.”

Anakin wanted to argue more, but instead found himself laying down, vision blurring. His face felt damp, had he been stabbed more than once? Windu said a few more words he couldn’t quite make out. There was a brief stinging sensation, then everything faded away. 

----

Part VIII

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #6

xxx touch and go

Diego is sharpening the kitchen knives when Klaus comes shuffling in at four in the afternoon wearing sunglasses and a silk robe over a pair of tight black leather pants. He’s uncharacteristically quiet as he opens the fridge and pulls out a jug of orange juice.

Diego glances up with a smirk. He’d heard Klaus get back at half past five in the morning. He’s in rough shape, even for him. “You look great.”

Klaus turns and moves his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose just enough to make eye contact with Diego. “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm, Number Two?”

“Naw, man. I mean it. That pink looks good on you. What is that...flamingo?”

“Thank you,” Klaus says, pushing his sunglasses back up. “And it’s blush.”

“Blush is your color,” Diego says, reaching up and giving his brother a pat on the back.

Klaus lets out a cry and flinches so violently from Diego’s touch that his sunglasses fall off of his face and he drops the orange juice.

“Whoa!” Diego frowns as Klaus leans forward, grabbing the edge of the counter in a white-knuckled grip. “What the hell! You okay?”

Klaus doesn’t answer, just breathes heavily, eyes squeezed shut. His arms are trembling, mouth drawn into a thin line. Diego feels a stab of panic.

“I--I barely touched you. Klaus, you with me? You alright?”

Klaus nods, then changes his mind and shakes his head a second later.

“You hurt?”

Another nod.

“Let me see.”

“I don’t want to.” He doesn’t even whine it, just sounds miserable. That’s more worrying than anything.

“Klaus. Let me see!”

Klaus sighs. “God you’re annoying.” He straightens with a grimace, moving slowly, and undoes the tie on his bathrobe, shifting so that it slides back off of his shoulders and slips down, revealing his bare back. Diego feels the air pulled from his lungs.

There are three large, raised bruises, angry red and deep purple. One stretches from the top of his right shoulder, extending down toward the bottom of his left ribcage, with another below it. The third goes across his lower back. They’re a distinct pattern, long and darker around the edges, with a dark sliver in the center. Only a baseball bat could’ve left marks like this.

“Bad?” Klaus asks, looking over his shoulder.

“Definitely not great…You peed since that happened?”

Klaus makes a face. “What kind of a question is that?” Some of his usual sass is present in his voice. “...Yes.”

“Any blood?”

“No?”

Diego nods. “Good,” he mutters almost to himself. He sees the question on Klaus’s face and elaborates. “Your kidneys are probably okay. Any ribs feel broken?”

Klaus lets out a snort. “Everything feels broken, brother dear...But I don’t think so.”

“Good,” Diego says, though the situation is far from it. Even if he’d picked a fight, which is not out of the scope of possibility with Klaus, he’s not much of a threat. Not enough to warrant a baseball bat. And all of the bruising is on his back. If the other person had been acting out of self defense, surely Klaus would have injuries on his front, defensive wounds on his arms, bruising on his knuckles…

He opens the freezer and starts pulling out bags of frozen vegetables that have probably been in there for years. None of the Hargreeves are vegetable types, but they are makeshift ice pack types. “These’ll help with the swelling and pain.”

“I’m not eating that,” Klaus says, wrinkling his nose.

Diego rolls his eyes. “Come on. You should lay down.”

“That I agree with.”

Diego follows Klaus through the house. He can’t stop staring at his brother’s back, at the damage there, and he can feel his anger rising. Klaus flops facedown on a couch and Diego kneels on the floor beside him and carefully starts placing the bags of frozen veggies on the bruises. Klaus draws in a sharp breath.

“That’s cold.”

“Don’t be such a baby.” Diego waits a moment, and the silence is awkward with the unspoken question hanging in the air. He finally asks. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“Some sexually repressed men didn’t like my outfit.”

The anger grows, almost into a being of its own, and Diego’s heart pounds. Fucking bastards.

“It was my best bolero, too--you know, the designer one? Probably just jealous...”

“You get a good look at ‘em?” Diego tries to sound calm when he says it and fails miserably. His hands are getting the familiar itch they get when someone needs an ass kicking.

Klaus lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “No. Look, I know you’re a...vigilante or whatever but I don’t need you to fight my fights.”

“Well clearly you can’t do it.” He regrets it immediately, not wanting to start a fight but also not wanting to apologize, but Klaus just sighs.

“I spilled all the orange juice.”

“You don’t deserve this, you know.” Diego says it before he has a chance to stop himself. “You do know, right?”

One corner of Klaus’s mouth lifts into the ghost of a smile. “Sure, Diego.”

“I mean it, Klaus. I know--I know that…” He swallows. “I know sometimes...he made us feel otherwise. But you--I mean, you’re a pain in the ass but--You’re our pain in the ass, you know? And-and--I know I don’t always understand you but…” He trails off. Klaus’s eyes are shut. “Did you just fall asleep?”

Klaus doesn’t move and Diego sighs. “Typical.”

He stays seated on the floor. He’s going to have to take the ice packs off soon. In the meantime, he thinks.

And he plots.

xxx end

[tickly-trashcan]

Picture Perfect {MitsuKou}

A/N: i am,,, so excited to write for these two omfg. They’re such a big comfort for me, i hope i was able to capture them well in this fic! I also hope I managed to get enough tsundere mitsuba in it for ya hehe. Enjoy!

Summary: Kou and Mitsuba are out in the garden taking pictures when Mitsuba discovers something new about Kou.

Word Count: 1.7k (under the cut)

Mitsuba and Kou were walking together outside of the school near the gardens, Mitsuba with his camera in hand as he took pictures of everything around him, feeling rather inspired.

Insects, flowers, the fruits and veggies, nothing could escape Mitsuba’s lens. Finally he turned to Kou, who was leaning down in the flower patch and picking a few carnations. Mitsuba snapped his camera, a quick flash glaring in the corner of Kou’s eye as he turned, looking at Mitsuba who only smiled at him.

“How handsome did I look in that one?” Kou teased with a toothy grin, making Mitsuba blush.

“N-Not handsome at all!” Mitsuba quickly answered, huffing. Kou rolled his eyes. Typical Mitsuba…

Mitsuba clicked through the pictures on his camera, stopping at the one he had just taken of Kou. He smiled softly, zooming in a little bit. 

“I think I look pretty handsome, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kou quipped, now standing behind Mitsuba. Mitsuba screeched in surprise and jumped, not expecting Kou to suddenly be behind him and seeing him staring - no, checking Kou’s picture!

“D-Don’t sneak up on people like that, creep!” Mitsuba quickly snapped, pulling his camera closer to himself. Kou frowned at the insult and rubbed the back of his neck. Mitsuba huffed and Kou only chuckled softly, muttering out an apology.

“Hey, do you mind if I take a picture?” Kou asked, leaning to the side so that he was in Mitsuba’s peripheral vision again. Mitsuba’s cheeks warmed at the sight of the blonde boy, and he quickly shook his head to try and rid himself of the blush.

“Is that… a no?”

“No! I mean… yeah, you can take a picture. Just be careful with my camera!” Mitsuba quickly tacked on the last sentence, making Kou chuckle. He handed the camera to Kou, who was a bit shocked at its weight. He held the camera up to his face, looking through the lens as he followed a butterfly, quickly snapping a picture. 

He pulled it back and looked at it, groaning in annoyance. 

“It’s blurry.”

Mitsuba glanced over at the indeed blurry picture and chuckled. Kou looked at Mitsuba with a disappointed puppy look and Mitsuba felt his heart throb. 

“Can you help me?”

Mitsuba huffed, crossing his arms. Kou looked down dejectedly and kicked a rock. Mitsuba looked at Kou again and sighed, reaching his hand out.

“Give me the camera really quick.”

Kou immediately perked up and handed the camera to Mitsuba, who smiled at Kou. He held up the camera to his eye and followed the butterfly, snapping a quick picture. He showed it to Kou, who whistled.

“It’s not blurry,” He said, and Mitsuba scoffed.

“Of course it’s not. Congratulations, you have working eyes,” Mitsuba jeered, and Kou frowned, putting his hands on his hips.

“Can you just show me how to take a better picture?”

Mitsuba nodded, smiling sweetly as he handed the camera back to Kou. He stood behind him and moved his hands so he was holding the camera up to his face. Both of their faces warmed as they stood in close proximity with each other, Kou shaking slightly from being nervous.

“Stop shaking! You’ll get a blurry picture again!” Mitsuba reprimanded, and Kou quickly straightened up, stopping his shaking.

Mitsuba pulled his hands back along Kou’s arms, making him shiver and huff as Mitsuba warned him again to hold still. Kou tried to hold still, but Mitsuba’s hands gently holding his upper bicep, so close to his underarm was making him nervous. He giggled softly out of anticipation and Mitsuba groaned.

“You’re so fidgety, what’s wrong?!”

“N-Nothing!”

Mitsuba huffed and gave his arms a light squeeze as a means of warning Kou to keep himself still. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was for Kou to squeak suddenly and pull his arms back, nearly dropping the camera. 

Mitsuba looked at Kou with a questioning look, and Kou froze, his face bright red. Mitsuba squeezed his hands again, and Kou jolted, though he had better control over his voice at this point.

“Kou, are you-”

“I’m not!” Kou immediately hissed, cutting Mitsuba off. The pink-haired boy chuckled, wiggling his fingers on Kou’s arms as he shrieked, jumping forward and away from Mitsuba, turning around to glare at him, face bright red.

“Are you sure you’re not? You seem pretty tick-”

“Don’t say it!” Kou whined. Mitsuba only grinned, raising his hands and wiggling his fingers in the air, making Kou giggle nervously in anticipation. He shoved the camera into Mitsuba’s chest, Mitsuba quickly scrambling to grab it before it could fall as Kou bolted in the other direction.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Mitsuba yelled, setting the camera down gently and chasing after Kou. 

Kou ran and ran, he was about to run off the school grounds when he tripped over the Confession Tree’s roots. He cursed as he fell flat on his face, scrambling to try and get up before Mitsuba could catch him, but he was too late.

MItsuba finally caught up to him, panting heavily as he quickly pinned Kou down by straddling his back, Kou wailing beneath him.

“Don’t you dare! Let me gooooo!” He yelled, throwing his hands around as he squirmed madly underneath Mitsuba. Mitsuba only chuckled, lowering his hands and pinching Kou’s ribs experimentally. He squeaked, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth.

Mitsuba grinned and dug in, tweaking Kou’s ribs with pinches and prods, his giggles filling the air despite him trying to keep them restrained. They were slightly muffled by his hand, though it didn’t remain covering his lips for very long when Mitsuba’s hands travelled up to Kou’s underarms, poking and scribbling in the hollows.

Kou hollered suddenly, clamping his arms down as he squirmed beneath Mitsuba, who laughed.

“Not thehehehehere! Mit-Mitsubahahaha!”

“Your laugh is so cute!” He said mindlessly. He quickly realized what exactly he had just said and blushed madly, correcting himself. “I-I mean, not cute! You sound like a shrieking monkey!”

Mitsuba… wasn’t necessarily wrong. Kou had quite the cackle, it was loud and bright and squeaky, with a few brief snorts mixed in between. He wanted to cover his mouth again, he thought his laugh was so embarrassing. But with Mitsuba tickling his underarms with such ease, he was finding that covering up his laugh was going to be difficult.

“Mitsubahahahaha! Dammit, stahahahahap!”

“No way, this is pure gold,” Mitsuba said eagerly, hungry to test out every spot of Kou’s and to hear every bit of laughter that would emerge from the blonde’s lips. 

He started to rub circles in his underarms with his thumb, making Kou screech as he tried to clamp his arms harder against his sides, squirming madly as he tried to shake Mitsuba off, but he wasn’t budging. 

“GYAHahaha, plehehease! Sohohomewhere else, not thehehehere!”

“Hmm, somewhere else? Alright, how about here?”

Mitsuba pinched Kou’s waist, making him screech as he shook more violently than before, pounding his fist into the ground.

“Nohohoho wait! Not thehehehere!”

“You said to switch spots, I choose here!”

Before Kou could protest further Mitsuba’s hands were around his waist, giving it a firm squeeze as he squawked, laughter flowing from his lips loudly as he cackled. He shook his head around, snorting and squealing as Mitsuba continued to tickle his waist, going up and down his sides as Kou could do nothing except pound his fists into the dirt and laugh.

“Mitsubahahaha! It’s bahahahad, plehehease no more!”

“How bad? Tell meeee~” Mitsuba teased, rubbing circles on Kou’s back, just below his kidneys as he cackled madly, shaking his head.

“BAHAhahahad!!” Was all Kou could formulate before dissolving into unintelligible hysterics. He could feel tears beginning to prick the corners of his eyes as he continued to howl. Mitsuba continued to explore Kou’s torso, digging into his ribs before going back to his sides and giving those a few more good squeezes and even pinching at his hips. 

“Boop, boop, boop,” Mitsuba chanted as he poked randomly at Kou’s torso, from his ribs down to his hips, making Kou jump and squeak with every touch as his giggles dispersed and he shook with quiet laughter. Mitsuba finally got off the poor boy, deciding that he had had enough.

Kou laid there for a minute, just trying to regain control of his breathing as Mitsuba frowned, worrying that he might’ve gone too far. It was never his intention to really tire Kou out, he was just excited to hear his laugh…

Kou sat up, a big, bright smile on his face as he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Wow, you really got me good!” He said, his voice full of glee as he turned to Mitsuba, who stared at him in shock.

“Wh-Why are you acting so happy right now? I just tickled you half to death,” Mitsuba said, slight concern in his voice as Kou blinked. He laughed suddenly and blushed a little bit, scooting a bit closer to Mitsuba.

“I’ve never really minded being tickled, and it was nice when you were the one doing it,” He said honestly, making Mitsuba’s face burn hotter than a volcano. He hit at Kou’s chest, pouding his hands against him as he whined.

“You - You can’t just say things like that! It’s embarrassing!” He wailed, and Kou only laughed, grabbing Mitsuba’s hands.

“I mean it though! You made it really fun…” Kou said, the last part closer to a whisper as the two blushed bright red. Mitsuba finally broke the silence, his voice squeaky as he barely managed to speak.

“I had fun too,” He said quietly, and Kou smiled. Mitsuba averted his gaze and turned his head, huffing. Kou chuckled, pressing a quick peck to Mitsuba’s cheek as he had his head turned, and he immediately snapped back around, Kou’s face still right next to Mitsuba’s as their noses touched. Mitsuba squeaked and fell backwards, yelling.

“D-Don’t do that! Stupid pervert!”

Kou laughed and fell down next to Mitsuba, looking over at him as Mitsuba rubbed his cheek with his hand, Mitsuba trying to muster a look of disgust despite the grin on his face.

“I have exorcist germs now, yuck!”

“You love me and you know it,” Kou teased, and Mitsuba narrowed his eyes at him, wiggling his fingers at him. Kou squeaked and tried to jump up, but Mitsuba already had his hands on him, scribbling over his tummy as Kou laughed even more, the two of them having plenty of fun in each other's company.

[hatterstan-shameblog]

💫✨💕send this to ten bloggers you think are wonderful. keep the game going 💕✨

You infected my brain with hatter stuff

You will be hearing from my attorneys

And by attorneys, I mean random thoughts that pop in my head

Good day!

That’s it, you’re getting

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Hatter Has Definitely Kissed Every Executive At Least Once And This Is How It Went:  Niragi Edition

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Rating: PG-13

Tags: violence, language, death threats, dubious consent (tagging that just to be safe), creative problem solving

Summary: Violence isn’t always the answer, but it’s usually some part of the equation (at least, it is in the Borderlands…)

“Ah, Mori, so nice of you to—“

“Shut the fuck up!”

There is an old adage—timing is everything in life—and that sentiment is truer today than ever before.

At least, it is for Aguni.

He has managed to show up in the meeting room just in time to witness Niragi holding a very loaded rifle right below Takeru’s jaw. The energy in the room hums tense and hot; one strike of a match and the whole place might explode.

“Put the gun down,” Aguni growls, mood shifting from ‘mildly annoyed’ to ‘enraged concern,’ “or I’ll snap your goddamn spine—“

“Now, now, there’s no need for all of that,” Takeru placates, “Our friend Niragi is just expressing himself.”

“I’m gonna express your brains all over the fucking wall if you don’t stop fucking talking,”

“Such a vivid description,” Takeru muses, cocking his head to one side and eyeing Niragi curiously, “is there something about the sight of blood that you find exciting? Not necessarily in a sexual way; although it’s perfectly fine if that’s the case—“

“Stop playing with him,” Aguni interrupts with an exasperated roll of his eyes. He turns his attention to Niragi and points an accusatory finger directly at his chest.

“And you,” Aguni seethes, “you’ve got until the count of three to put the gun down and step away before I snap your neck—“

“You will do no such thing,” Takeru gently chides, giving a soft smile, “I have everything under control.”

“Yeah,” Niragi taunts, sneering at Aguni, “this is none of your fucking business.”

“The hell it isn’t,” Aguni grumbles, clenching his fists at his sides and clenching his jaw. He’s just about to storm his way over and wrestle the gun from Niragi’s devious grip when Takeru holds up his hand in a bid to stop his approach.

“Do you remember our last trip to Sendai,” Takeru asks, furrowing his brow as he tries to remember the details, “it’s been…oh, a good five years since then. Maybe six, I can’t quite recall at the moment.”

“The fuck you talking about?”

“We stayed at that lovey little inn, just outside the city center,” Takeru reminisces, paying no mind to his confused assailant’s question, “we were lucky enough to catch the autumn leaves just before they began to fall. Magical experience, I so hope to go back some day…”

“Pretty sure the yakuza won’t let you back in,” Aguni adds, “barely got away as is.”

“But I did get away,” Takeru reminds him, sounding very pleased with himself, “And, if you can recall, I used a rather effective method of escape.”

“Whatever you did for those clowns won’t fucking work on me,” Niragi insists, pressing the barrel of the gun even harder against Takeru’s skin.

“I’m not so sure,” Takeru hums, “you seem like the type of man who’d be receptive to a…softer approach.”

To illustrate his point, Takeru puckers his lips and releases them with a an audible ‘pop’—an imitation of a kiss, complete with a cheeky wink thrown in at the end.

Niragi looks horrified.

“Did he,” Niragi asks, voice scratched thin as if on the verge of a screech, “fucking…make out with the goddamn yakuza?”

“Yes,” Aguni confirms solemnly, “yes, he did.”

“And it worked! Splendidly, too, I might add,” Takeru exclaims excitedly, “Almost as magical as the changing trees.”

“Takeru,” Aguni grits, “that’s not gonna work here…”

“You’re goddamn right it’s not,” Niragi spits, eyes narrowing into two knife-sharp slits, “ugly-ass motherfucker like you couldn’t even make me blink twice.”

“You’re a man who knows what he likes. I appreciate that,” Takeru says coolly, letting his gaze slip over the gun-wielding maniac in front of him, “just like I appreciate the occasional wager. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in that sort of thing, would you?”

“Takeru,” Aguni hisses, “he’s got you at gunpoint—“

“Shut the fuck up,” Niragi jabs in Aguni’s direction, before turning his attention to Takeru once more, “Gimme your terms. I wanna hear what kind of stupid-ass ideas you got.”

Takeru smirks.

“Nothing too complicated. You let me kiss you,” he explains, “and, if I don’t have you falling to your knees by the time I’m done, you can shoot me as many times as you like. I’ll even have Mori here give you his pocket knife so you can do some slicing, if you like. Could get some really unique blood spatters on the rug that way, like a Jackson Pollock.”

Takeru’s smirk tightens as Niragi imagines the scenario—no doubt in gory, brilliant technicolor, with all the drama and carnage a young man of his macabre inclinations could possibly dream of.

“Of course,” Takeru adds, “if I do manage to succeed, you let me go. No penalties, no petty revenge; we walk out of here as friendly as ever, and none shall be the wiser.”

Niragi snorts.

“Un-fucking-likely. But you know what? I’m feeling fucking generous.”

Niragi lowers the gun a smidge—just enough to allow Takeru some head movement—and shoots him a chilling smile.

“Give it your best shot, old man,” he says, “unless you’re too much of a fucking pussy…”

“I assure you, darling, that I most certainly am not,” Takeru replies.

He brings a hand up to Niragi’s face and very gently pushes a loose strand of hair behind his ear—a gesture which earns him a confused frown and furrowed, pierced brow.

“For fuck’s sake,” Aguni mumbles from the sidelines, watching as Takeru’s hand snakes around the nape of Niragi’s neck and cradles it like he would with any other lover, “are you seriously gonna—“

And, yes; apparently Takeru is ‘seriously gonna’ because he does. His opposite hand has wrapped around Niragi’s waist and pulls him sharply towards himself. The hand at Niragi’s nape performs a similar, albeit more tender, motion, guiding Niragi to kiss him fully and passionately on the mouth.

Niragi closes his eyes—whether instinctually or from the reluctant pleasure of being kissed by a man he had until this point considered his enemy, he can’t be sure. All he does is feel, letting Takeru slip his clever tongue between his lips and trying not to groan at the flush of heat flaring in his face.

A swift jab to his right kidney has him yelping out in pain, while a firm stomp to his foot has his knees buckling and his throat screeching in pain.

Niragi crashes to the floor in a messy, loose-limbed heap. His gun falls to the side and is quickly kicked just out of reach by a casual, flip-flopped foot.

Niragi looks up to see a smug-looking Takeru staring down at him.

“And that’s how we do it in Kabukicho, bitch.”

“Not fucking fair,” Niragi wheezes in protest, arm twisting so he can clutch at his aching back, “you…cheating bastard.”

Takeru picks up the discarded gun and hands it to Aguni, who snatches it from his grip with an angry grimace.

“I may be a bastard, but not a cheating one,” Takeru gloats as he watches Aguni unload the bullets from the gun’s chamber, “I kissed you, you fell to your knees, end of story. I won fair and square.”

Aguni hands the bullets to Takeru, who pockets them with a certain measure of glee.

“If it makes you feel better, I had a lovely time,” Takeru says, “I don’t often come across tongue piercings, so that was quite a treat.”

“I’ll…fucking…kill you!”

“Not today, you won’t,” Aguni says, kicking the unloaded gun back to the floor-dwelling man, “Meanwhile, I suggest you try to get some sleep while you’re down there; you just doubled your patrol duty for the next three nights, so you’ll need all the rest you can get.”

Niragi immediately dissolves into angry, breathless protests, even going so far as to pound his fist on the floor in rage. Aguni remains unswayed, and motions for Takeru to follow him out of the room.

“Brilliant addition, old friend,” Takeru commends Aguni, patting him on the shoulder thrice as they begin to make their way out of the room, “shall we do lunch?”

“Fine,” Aguni agrees, “but you and I are going to have a serious talk about risk management…”

And the two men exit the room, chatting as if they hadn’t just been part of a life-and-death experience, leaving Niragi to gather himself and his pride from the floor.

[kanonsarchivedblog]

Sleepless (Sleep Less)

Word Count: 1312 Rating: T Characters: Rengoku Kyōjurō, Rengoku Ruka; mentions of Rengoku Senjurō, Kamado Tanjiro Genre: Angst Trigger Warnings: Night terrors, canon-typical gore, anxiety, symptoms of PTSD Author's Notes: Rengoku survived, but with a lingering price that he can't seem to pay. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The air smelled of burnt rubber and flesh, thick with smoke from coal. It made his lungs burn as he breathed, made his eyes water as he stood atop the wreckage of the train. Train. Train? Why was he on top of the train? Brows furrowing, he turned on his heel, gaze drifting; passengers were mostly uninjured- good, good. That’s good. He nodded to himself before jumping off of the train car. Tanjiro- he needed to find Tanjiro, Inosuke, and Zenitsu. They were okay, weren’t they?

“Are they?” A voice murmured in his ear, soft, sweet. “Are they okay, Kyōjurō?” The voice was so familiar, yet he couldn’t place it. “Look to your left.” His head turned. Zenitsu- oh. Oh, no! He tried to walk, but found himself frozen in place. Why couldn’t he move? “He’s crushed! I think he has a broken leg. Maybe some ribs. He got lucky, didn’t he?” He did. His spine could have been broken, or his skull crushed.

“Ne, ne, Kyōjurō- look!” The voice whispered excitedly, causing his gaze to jerk to the right. There was a figure in the smoke. Wait- no. No, why was Senjurō here? He wasn’t a Demon Slayer! He could barely lift a sword! Why is he wearing the haori? “Look at him! He really did take after you, didn’t he? Following in his big brother’s footsteps.” The voice cooed, but Kyōjurō couldn’t take his eyes off of the scene.

“Run!” He yelled, eyes wide, heart pounding wildly in his chest. “Run, Senjurō! You can’t fight him! You have to run!” Try as he might, they couldn't hear him. Senjurō was bending over Tanjiro, laughing and helping him up. Telling him how to stop the bleeding by using his breathing technique. Inosuke was trying to get Zenitsu out, cursing at the rubble. “You all need to run! Please!” Kyōjurō begged, voice cracking as realization dawned upon him. “RUN, SENJURŌ!”

“What’s this?” The voice whispered as Upper Moon Three appeared. “Look at that! What a spectacle!”

He was- off-blue skin, dark blue lines, pink hair, golden eyes- he was a spectacle. One of death, of fear, of absolute chaos. He was talking, but the words didn’t reach Kyōjurō. Instead, they reached Senjurō, who stood tall, unwavering as he held up his sword. Kyōjurō’s sword.

Wait.

No.

No, no- Senjurō wasn’t the Flame Hashira. Why was he holding the sword? Why was he holding his sword?

“Oh! The fight’s starting!” The voice squealed- so familiar. Why couldn’t he place it? His chest heaved as he watched Senjurō fight Akaza, gaze tracking the movements that should have been far too difficult to track. Back and forth, the blows were traded, until Akaza blinded Senjurō in his right eye.

“Run!” Kyōjurō begged, voice cracking with the effort. “Please! Save yourself and run!” But Senjurō didn’t listen. Tanjiro was screaming, was trying to get up but he couldn't, too injured to fight, not after taking on Lower Moon One. “Fucking run! To hell with our family’s pride!”

“To hell with our pride?” The voice asked, and the fight froze. The scene froze. Everything froze. “To hell with our pride?” It asked again, and realization dawned upon Kyōjurō.

“Mother?” He asked softly, brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, what’s going on? Why are you here?”

“Watch the fight, Kyō.” She murmured, the feeling of her hands caressing his cheeks causing his head to turn, watching as the fight drew closer and closer to a close. “Look, this is my favorite part!” She whispered gleefully as Senjurō drew closer, raised his sword high, leaving his torso open.

Open torso.

It happened in slow motion, the phantom pain flaring up in his own abdomen as Akaza’s fist cleaved through Senjuro’s solar plexus, carving a hole through his middle, leaving his younger brother to simply hang on his arm as blood poured out of him like a grotesque waterfall. “NO!” Kyōjurō screamed, his voice mingling with Tanjiro’s. “SENJURŌ! NO!”

He couldn’t move from his spot. He sank to his knees, tears spilling down his cheeks as Senjurō was tossed aside. The sun was rising. Akaza would be running. “Not my brother, not my baby brother,” Kyōjurō whimpered, arms crossing over his chest as if to attempt to self-soothe, “not Senjurō, please don’t take Senjurō.”

“He’s already gone!” Ruka whispered, grabbing her son’s face to jerk his head up. “He’s already gone- and 𝙨𝙤 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚.” Her face began to melt, to decay, maggots crawling from her mouth, her nose, boring into her eyes. He couldn't pull away as he sobbed in horror, as skeletal hands gripped his face, digging into his cheeks. “We’re all dead!” She cackled, half of her face gone.

“No!” He yelled, shaking his head. “No! Senjurō- Senjurō didn’t die! I almost did! Not him!”

“LOOK AT HIM, BOY!” She screeched in his face, the sound nearly deafening as the scene moved rapidly. Senjurō’s body was beside him, the hole gaping, large; no spine in sight. His intestines were falling out- kidney, pancreas, small intestine, stomach. “LOOK AT HOW YOU'VE FAILED HIM!”

“I DIDN'T FAIL HIM!” Kyōjurō yelled, sobbing. “I did the best I could! Father wasn’t there for us! You left us!”

“YOU KILLED ME.”

"I DIDN'T KILL YOU!"

“YOU’VE FAILED THE RENGOKU NAME! YOU DIDN’T KILL UPPER MOON THREE!” She screamed back into his face. “YOU COULDN'T PROTECT US.”

“I tried!” Oh, he was going to be sick. “I tried to protect everyone! I’m only one man!”

“Your father was right.” Ruka’s voice was cold once more as she rose, reminding him of the deep winter. She stood over him, lip curled up in a snarl on her half-face. “You never were cut out to be the Flame Pillar. It should have died with him. You should have died.” She hissed as Kyōjurō sobbed, choking on his breaths. “You’re a pitiful disgrace. Look at you, sobbing. Disgusting.” She leaned down, leveling her face before his. “You’re a disgrace.” Her hand reared back, and he flinched, ready for the familiar sting-

Only to find himself sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat, blinking in the darkness of his bedroom. His chest was heaving- his chest. Frantically, he reached down, touching against the healed skin of the injury. Twisting scars, gnarled skin. Whole.

Home.

A night terror.

Alone.

A moment passed before a sob broke free- and just like that, the floodgates opened. His arms wrapped around himself, holding himself as he tried to muffle his own sobs to not wake anyone. Senjurō was safe. Ruka was dead- her body not having rotted. She’d been cremated. Her spirit was at rest.

The other Hashira were safe. It was safe.

Why didn’t he feel safe in his own bedroom? He felt as if he looked to the side, he’d see golden eyes peering at him in the dark. Quickly, he grabbed a yukata he’d discarded before bed and wrapped it around himself before all but throwing the shoji open. The night air was cool against his skin, tinted with the scent of wisteria. His hands were shaking as he settled down on the porch, feet dangling above the ground.

Alone. Mitsuri was with Obanai- he couldn’t bother her. Tengen was with his wives- he could bother them; they’d still be awake at this hour, but he didn’t want to impose. Sanemi didn’t like his space to be invaded; Shinobu wasn’t someone he could freely talk to. Gyomei would attempt to help him pray. Muichiro was much too young for him to even consider talking to of this. Giyuu…

Giyuu was an option. A possibly good option. Yet, something kept him rooted to that spot on the porch, as if invisible hands were pushing him down. No, this was his burden. He had to handle this on his own.

After all, the Flame Hashira could not show weakness.

Hashira could not show weakness.