#how to lock a d ring helmet

[dzamie-oc]

Voretober 08 - Sudden

Length: 1800 words Vore type: Oral vore, unwilling prey, M/F, M/M Fandom: D&D Other info: kobold/human, kobold/elf, digestion, fast digestion, smaller pred Summary: How does a little kobold eat adventurers over twice his size? Very quickly, and they don't last long. Apparently eating is a free action.

Saverin wiped the gnoll blood off of his sword, but kept it out - until he and the others knew they'd found a safe room, it was dangerous to let his guard down so completely. Somewhat luckily, one of the gnolls had gotten blasted through the next door by one of Viera's spells. Saverin stashed his rag and raised his shield as he stepped through the stone-lined doorway.

The group passed through the hallway relatively uneventfully. Garren froze a giant rat that even Elise hadn't seen with their breath; Severin was inclined to think it would've left them alone, but he knew better than to argue with their scaly cleric over their hatred of rodents. And then there was another door, this one intact. Elise slipped past the rest of the group to fiddle with the lock, and with a quick click, she soon pushed it open before retreating behind Saverin's guard.

The room was mostly empty, save for a table with a half-finished game of Solitaire, a few scattered chairs, a visibly empty chest, and a single kobold leaning against a door and spinning a fork in his hands. The kobold in question was better-equipped than Saverin expected of his species, with half a metal helmet over the upper half of his face, a few spiked rings affixed to his tail, and a pair of leather shoes that somehow fit his lizardy feet. Saverin had taken only a couple steps in when the kobold looked up and tossed the fork onto the table. "Oh, you guys made good time. You can't go through, by the way. Dragon says no."

Garren started to say, "does she know that we only seek-" but was swiftly cut off by their other magic-user.

"Well, your dragon's about to learn otherwise! Now stand aside, or I'll be opening that door with your corpse!" The red gem on Viera's staff glowed, menacing.

"She's said she has no patience for more slayers, and granted me speed to fulfill her will," the kobold countered, with no worry in his voice, "so… leave. Or stay here forever, but you aren't going in."

A magical incantation in an equally magical language spilled forth from Viera's lips, and a ball of fire shot from her staff, scorching a decent area around him. A quick glance to the side, and Saverin saw Garren murmur a quick prayer; they couldn't stop their fellows from killing creatures who weren't even defending themselves, but they could at least seek forgiveness on their behalf. Saverin wasn't a religious man, himself, but he understood their plight-

Just then, a strange, muffled shout pulled his and Garren's focus from the scorched and wrecked door. The kobold was just past where Viera had casted from, but their mage was nowhere to be seen - well, that wasn't entirely true; the diminutive lizard rested on a massive gut, scales stretched beyond reasonable to accommodate something over twice his size, even curled up tight. His tail swished slowly, and with arms crossed, the kobold looked out of his helmet at the remaining trio. "Okay. Let's try this again. You can't go in, so leave. Once you do, and this troublemaker apologizes, I'll let-"

Elise struck from the shadows, seeming more like a trick of the light than an elf. "Now, when it can't move!" she shouted, driving her daggers towards the kobold's bloated gut, an easy target.

At least, it would have been, had the kobold not landed a solid kick on her, sending her flying into a wall with a crash that surprised Saverin with its lack of sound. The swordsman tore his eyes away from the horrid scene to the door, or rather where the door used to be. Slowly, he started to creep towards it, though morbid curiosity kept him staring at what the kobold was doing.

At the moment, the kobold was hissing, annoyed. "Look, if you really want to try this, I'd better just…" He rolled back, landing on his feet, and stretched. An awful gurgling and growling echoed in the small, stone room, immediately joined by Viera's screaming. Loud cracking and snapping ensued as, before their very eyes, the lumpy bulk of the kobold's stretched stomach grew rapidly both less lumpy and less bulky, shrinking into a noticeable but much more normal-looking gut. He thumped his chest with his fist a couple times, then opened his scaly jaws to let out a truly massive belch, ridding himself of even that amount of bloat. Saverin figured that, if he'd been next to that monster, his ears would be ringing, and that may be the least of his problems. A wisp of red, magical flame issued from the predator's maw, the only sign that Viera had even been in the room.

"Now then, you wanted to fight?" the lizard challenged, glancing around the room. Elise had once again melted back into the shadows, and it seemed that, for all his speed, the kobold's eyes were normal. Saverin shuffled a little closer to the door, over halfway there…

A pair of knives flew at the kobold from behind; it was only then that Saverin managed to spot the shadowy elf. But only for a moment; the swordsman only barely registered the clatter of metal on stone after a blur of scales seemed to instantly transform the sinewy, stealthy assassin into a much more compact, scaly mass hanging off of the kobold's midsection. This time, he leaned one hand against the wall and put his other hand on his hip, more addressing Elise than the rest of- than Saverin and Garren.

"Really, this could have not happened if you just left, or even didn't atta- AGH, OW!" He stumbled, supporting himself on his oversized gut, and gritted his sharp teeth, muttering curses in Draconic that surely made Garren blush through their scales. "Grraah, you wanna fight like a rat, I'll treat you like one!"

Blanching, Saverin turned and ran; it didn't stop him from hearing Elise's cry cut off, or the sickening crunch of bones shattered even before melting, but he at least didn't have to see it, and maybe he could be around the corner and out of the kobold's-

The next thing Saverin saw was a set of small, but very hungry-looking draconic jaws opened unreasonably wide right in front of his face. He grunted, more from discomfort than pain, as his arms and legs were forced to immediately curl up against him; it even took a couple seconds to realize that he couldn't see anything, and that he'd gone from a cool, slightly damp cave system to a hot, humid, and wet…

Kobold stomach.

Saverin tried to reach for his sword, but it had been either knocked away or was trapped against him where he couldn't reach. Fear gripped him in the deadly, acrid chamber as he realized his hands had already started to tingle, and he desperately hoped it was just a lack of circulation, rather than the kobold doing… well, he didn't want to think about it. To make matters worse, the deadly lizard let out a short laugh over his doom. "Ha! Using your own allies as bait to sneak by? Devious, but my mistress's boons are stronger. Will you finally agree to just leave? I'm running out of lessons to give, not that I mind."

"We aren't here to kill her!" Garren's voice was muffled just as Viera's and Elise's voices had been, but this time Saverin was on the other side of things. "She has twenty-three overdue library books and we're asking for them back! Ideally with the fine, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

The kobold is worryingly quiet for a few seconds; Saverin couldn't decide if he wanted this ordeal to hurry up or never reach its inevitable conclusion. Eventually, though, he spoke up, "why didn't the other three say anything?"

"After the giant rats, the slimes, and the gnolls, even I didn't expect you to actually speak."

"Oh. That's… I'm not sorry - those two tried to kill me - but I wish it hadn't happened."

Saverin struggled around, pressing out from within his fleshy prison. "Hey! You can let me out now!"

More silence, save for the disquieting gurgle of his captor's guts shifting around. "Uhh… surely this can be done with just one person? And I'll just… keep him until you get back, just in case you secretly plan to try to kill my mistress! It'll be twice as hard with only one person!"

Even through the kobold's belly and scales, Saverin heard Garren's sigh. "KOBOLD," they said, with a severity to their voice. The rest of their words was in Draconic, so the trapped swordsman could only hope the cleric knew what they were doing.

"Y- of course, O Dragon," the kobold said, in a much shakier voice than before. And then, he moved.

Saverin had to squint his eyes against the instant re-existince of light. He coughed and sputtered, getting the stale and sharp air out from his lungs and the kobold drool and stomach juices from his mouth. Shakily, he stood and shambled over to his dropped sword, immediately sheathing it just in case the kobold thought it a good excuse. And speaking of the kobold, the swordsman turned to see him kneeling on the floor before Garren. Saverin did his best to shake off his wet clothes and armor, then turned to the cleric, himself. "Uh… thanks, Garren. I'm pretty sure you just saved my life."

Garren awkwardly rubbed their neck. "Don't mention it, please. I panicked. I should've talked him out of it, rather than…" they trailed off, then gestured to the deferent kobold. "Anyway, are you well enough to continue? We can rest here, if you need time."

Saverin shook his head. "I can go. The sooner I get a proper bath and a proper bed, the better." Rolling his shoulders, he continued on through the doorway, and Garren followed soon after.

"When you return, may I eat him again?" the kobold called out to them, "I'll let him go, I swear!"

Saverin heard Garren's footsteps stop, and turned to see them thinking for longer than he'd like, settling on "only by his permission, and ending by the earlier of his or my request."

"Thank you, O Dragon! Good luck on your quest!"

As they walked down the final stretch to the dragon's chambers, Saverin shot the cleric a glare, to which they meekly shrugged. "I… don't like telling them outright no. So you get to. Sorry." A sudden weight came to their scaly features, and they let out a deep sigh. "When next we rest, I will perform rites in memoriam of Elise and Viera."

Saverin grumbled. "This would never have happened if the damned dragon - no offense - just read her stupid mail."

[firewoodwander]

Hi :D for the Mistletoe prompts, could I please ask for Cody/Wooley with 4. Private & 6. Sweet. (๑꒡ᴗ꒡๑) thank you!

Mistletoe prompts

4. Private & 6. Sweet

The main crew quarters of the ship are quiet during the night cycle. Everyone left on shift are busy in engineering or communications or medical, or gathered in the mess with smaller groups haunting the rec rooms.

Wooley’s steps ring out and echo down empty durasteel corridors, followed by the rattle of his helmet clipped to his belt, on route to the officers’ quarters.

The caff mug in his hand is hot despite its insulating layers and steaming in lazy curls. The smell is familiar and lingering and comforting, following him through the ship to the Commander’s door.

There’s something unusual about it when he gets there: a small green sprig taped clumsily to the lintel. Wooley contains his amusement to a a delighted grin and hits the buzzer on the access panel to request entry.

By the time Cody opens the door to him, he’s softened his grin to something more respectable—more cheerful, less maniacal. Cody smiles in return, just a slight upturn of one side of his mouth and a crinkle in the corners of his eyes.

“Delivery for you, sir,” Wooley announces. He offers the mug out and Cody cradles it between his palms, looking at it like it might hold the answers to magicking away the stacks of forms and reports and schedules requiring his signature.

“Thank you, Corporal,” he says. His voice is scratchy and deep; he clears his throat and takes a long drink, letting his eyes close briefly and his shoulders drop. “You really have my back.”

“’Course, sir,” Wooley replies, smug even if he won’t let it show. He has a feeling Cody knows anyway. “You look after us, it’s only right we look after you.”

The next crests around Cody’s eyes deepen slightly with his humour.

“Though,” he adds, pointing, “it looks like someone’s been tampering with your door.”

Following Wooley’s finger upwards Cody regards the small greenery with an intentional lack of reaction. He blinks exactly once, then looks back down at Wooley.

“How do I know you didn’t put it there, Corporal?”

“Me, sir?” Wooley fakes outrage. “Would I do such a thing?”

Cody’s smile reaches the other corner of his lips.

“I can’t rule out the prime suspect on count of good character or favouritism,” he says, but moves back at an angle, a clear invitation to step across the threshold. “But I can hear out your plea, if you wish to fight your case.”

Wooley slides past Cody, who lets the door slide closed behind him. He turns and puts the caff down on his crowded desk.

“I don’t have much to say for myself, Commander,” Wooley hedges, his tone a little too flirty now for plausible deniability. The benefits of a locking door.

“No?” Cody asks, leaning too far into his space and raising one teasing brow. “So you’re betting everything on me believing your word over everyone else?”

“Who’s been telling tales, sir? I’ll sort them out for you.”

Cody huffs. “I think we can come to a deal without having to go so far, Wooley.”

Wooley’s composure loosens as his grin breaks through. He reaches out a hand to rest his palm lightly on Cody’s chest, just over his heart—no armour, just blacks, body warm and pliable. He leans in and closes his eyes and presses his lips to Cody’s softly and unhurried. They’re not hesitant, they’re not unsure. Everything is comfortable between them like a well-loved blanket.

Cody’s breath fans over Wooley’s cheek and his arm slips around his waist, pulling them closer while he draws the kiss out long and syrupy.

Eventually they part, and Wooley doesn’t do anything to dampen the mischief and delight in his expression.

“Well Commander, I think we have a deal.”

[cymorilcinnamonroll]

Genesis Remixed: A Lilith and Eve Sapphic Romance One Shot

When Chavah awoke in the Garden, she was filled with regret. What was once rib, now flesh, did not feel whole. Her husband slept as G-d led Chavah, an automaton given Breath and Word, through Gan Eden.

Shortly after Adam first forced her to submit, on the hard red clay he was made from, Chavah’s cries summoned a beautiful siren with raven hair and emerald bezels in her eyes. The maven rode a cherry red Harley, this Lilith, and had an extra pink helmet with daisies she had drawn in chalk paint on it for Chavah.

Chavah was quite impressed by Lilith’s nose ring, generous hips and breasts, and tattoos like a barista on the lam.

Having just been made that morning, Chavah had nothing to pack. All Chavah knew was that her destiny lay with this dazzling serpent woman, in her leather jacket, smoking Virginia Slims. They were meant to cleave, be helped and helpmate, master and servant, mistress and lover and laughter, and create beauty.

So, Chavah put on a red checkered sundress, wedged heels, and saddled Lilith’s Harley, the sun skipping over their luscious locks as they sped, hellbent, out of Gan Eden and into the wide green world.

First they traversed the universe, making camp at night under Adonai’s cosmos, and angels and demons alike attended Lilith and Chavah with food, manna, and figs. Chavah kept an elegant, scribbled in sketchbook - a stenciled Moleskin - where she drew figure studies of her lady love and botanical drawings. In return, Lilith liked to try out her tattoo gun on her girlfriend and carve seashells and coral into jewelry to adorn Chavah.

Lilith taught Chavah secrets – Adonai’s name, how a pearl was formed on an oyster’s tongue, and a diamond forged out of carbon deep in the depths of the Earth. But Chavah taught Lilith pleasure in a way that distant Sammael never had – where men fail, women understand.

They cast stars upon each other’s bodies and drank down mountain dew and honey wild from their chalices. When they made love, even Dumah, angel of silence, was known to weep.

Those were the days of great making. The universes coalesced, coiled, spiraled out like the Shekinah’s hair, and the Shekinah shone brightly down onto her handmaiden, Lilith, and her chosen daughter, Chavah.

They walked in the light of Adonai, crafting fantasies and terpsichores from the spindrifts of cavemen dreams. Adam had multiplied with his second nameless wife, the one whom G-d had constructed before Adam’s very eyes, flesh upon muscle upon bone, and soon, Chavah and Lilith were relegated to the realm of myths and sin.

The People cried out: give us succor, Asherah. So Lilith and Chavah became a Tree, menorah-shaped, and grew fruit to feed their sons and daughters. Only Adam, immortal, hacked the Shekinah Tree of Knowledge down. In revenge, Lilith planted the vine of Baruch – grapes that she and Chavah taught their daughters to make wine so splendid, it inspired poetry and deeds of greatness in men of valor and the daughters of the Watchers.

A flood came. A great one. Towers were built and toppled. First, clay cities, then wood, then stone, then the bones of earth raped to form great metal beams and skyscrapers. Moloch of industry arose, consuming dreams. Mammon created empires fat off his golden coffers. Ashmedai seduced. Beelzebub possessed. Sammael was set against Michael at every turn.

But Chavah and Lilith? They infused the world with beauty. Feminism. Revolution. Science and the Renaissance. Democracy. For every mother kissing her child, there was Chavah. For every blue-stockinged lass carving her way in a man’s world, there was Lilith.

Eventually, they opened a bakery. Challah was their specialty, with seven twisted braids. They kept bees out back, the wives Lilith and Chavah, and they read Tarot and the threads of fate for the young maidens and boys who came to them for advice. For widows and those who lost a child – whether to Dumah or abortion or infertility – they gave free iced coffee, fresh honeycomb, and bread.

It was a man’s world, but slowly, gently, women reigned. We, their daughters, created peace, endless beauty and succor, so that no son died in war, and every daughter was cradled and wanted. Lilith and Chavah continued serving the Shekinah, and the women of the world finally tasted the Fruit of Life.

It was born of two women, first and last, alpha and omega, snake and snake charmer.

And now, Lilith and Chavah live in our hearts, and if you seek out to find them, bread and cheese in hand at midnight, through Alice’s looking glass, you will come to their café, and the Mothers of Life and Death will braid your curls free of sorrow.

And all that starts well, ends well. They will wipe your tears, kiss your cheeks, make you a mocha, flat white, or comforting oat milk latte, and the fire in your heart to carry on will be kindled, and the Foundresses of Humanity will sing you into this life and the next, carrying you and your loved ones to the far shores of wonder, miracles, and the wild, and on their motorcycle, you’ll ride.

[glazelilyy]

ALL THIS TALK ABT GENSHIN DADS ON YOUR BLOG IS MAKING ME SO SOFT AHHH

thinking abt scara having a daughter and he just spoils her rotten omfg 😭 like he goes along w everything she says and treasures her sm </3 imagine walking into the kid's room to see scaramouche dressed up like a princess and pretending to be stuck in a tower while your daughter is charging towards him as the princely rescuer HAHAHA <333

quill,,,QUILL,,,THIS IS AMAZING OMG I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND BUT I WHIPPED UP SOMETHING FOR YOU REALLY QUICKLY BASED ON THIS ASK :D

you had to admit, princess pink suited scaramouche in a way like no other.

"daddy, say the line!"

scaramouche huffed from his place on top of your dining room table; though, as of right now, it was more fitting to say he sat cross-legged on top of what used to be your dining room table what with all the cardboard drawings of brick walls and makeshift cardboard tower sticking out at the top. on top of his head sat a pretty, glittery tiara complete with fake plastic diamonds, a feathery fuchsia boa around his neck, and a fluffy ring of tulle around his waist that your daughter probably forced him into with her puppy-dog eyes.

"i'm not saying it, you brat." he grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. it was only then that you noticed his hands were gloved in shimmering white princess gloves that creeped up to his elbows.

resisting the urge to snicker, you hurriedly let out: "come on, scara, just say it."

your daughter eagerly looked up towards you with the biggest grin and turned back to scaramouche, who let out a defeated sigh and rolled his eyes before mumbling in the flattest, most monotone voice, "o fair knight, o my darling sweet, please come save me from this wretched tower."

you daughter, dressed with a soup pot over her head, two baking trays strapped to her body with duct tape covering her yellow duck pajamas, and a metal cooking spoon in hand as a sword, gallantly cheered and jumped up and down in excitement before reverting back to her knightly character.

"fear not, fair maiden! for i, brave knight, will be your salivation!"

"baby, it's salvation, not salivation." you giggled and fixed her lopsided "helmet".

"yeah, sure, give the kid a vocab lesson but let me humiliate myself here." scaramouche grumbled yet despite his obvious contempt, reached his hands up to fixed his tiara and pulled up his gloves.

you chose to ignore him for now and turned back towards your daughter with a gentle smile, "well? aren't you gonna go rescue the pretty princess?"

she nodded eagerly and picked up a horse on a stick that scaramouche had gotten for her (though you were sure that he regretted it), and let out a battle cry before charging towards the dining table and smashing down the cardboard with her spoon.

"oi, kid watch my ankles!" scaramouche hissed, narrowly avoiding being hit by his daughter's barrage of attacks.

her tinier hands slipped into his much bigger ones and pulled him down from the table once she had knocked away all of the cardboard boxes that comprised of the tower scaramouche had been "locked" in.

"yaaay daddy-, oh! i mean the princess is free now! we have to celebrate with cake, right?" even from your position leaning against the doorframe to the dining room, you knew that she was giving her most compelling puppy dog eyes to scaramouche.

he clicked his tongue and stooped down to pick her up and hold her against his waist.

"fine, kid." he grumbled, and kissed her forehead while plucking his car keys from off of a nearby hook.

"you're going out in that?" you chuckled and stopped him to adjust his tutu and lopsided crown.

he looked at you incredulously, "the hell i am! i'm handing her to you to go chan-"

"nooo daddy you have to keep the princess clothes on! how are people supposed to know that i'm a knight if they don't see the princess i saved?" your daughter pouted and tugged at his clothes with her fists.

the way she jutted out her bottom lip and looked up at him with wide, watery eyes, there was definitely no way scaramouche could ever say no. like so many times before, he resigned with a defeated sigh and rolled his eyes.

"fine, fine, but i'm not buying any more cookies for you, we have enough!"

you weren't the slightest bit surprised when he came home with not only a delicious looking cake, but two boxes of cookies and a proper knight costume, hand-in-hand with your smiling daughter.

[danidrabbles]

hello my lovely ❤️

if you’re still doing them, can I get “take it. I know you can.” with Din?

Hello lovely lady 💕 Thought I'd drop off an extra filthy Din drabble for your birthday - although, does it count as a drabble if it's 1600 words..? Knowing you, you probably aren't too bothered either way 😌 Thanks for sending this one in Kelli 🥰

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

“Is this how you wanted it, Din?” you ask. “Wanted to watch me rub my cunt with this?” You bring a hand up to your mouth, lick at the pads of your fingers, lift the toy to spread some saliva over your clit before continuing to circle, circle, circle around the sensitive bud.

“No,” Din replies immediately. He’s leaning back against the wall opposite his cot, where he keeps you on the edge, with firm words and firm strokes - you can hear his fist pass over his cock.

You don’t know how he got the idea - if he saw it in some holo, if it’s been on his mind for longer or if it’s a spur of the moment thing - but when he returned to the Crest from his five-day hunt, he returned with more than just a bounty. The dildo he brought back is nothing particularly special - it’s silicone, average sized, clear, with a flared base - but the firm tip of it feels different against you, and it feels good.

“I wanna watch you use it,” he said when he pushed the small pouch that contained the toy into your hands. His voice was husky even through his modulator, his pants stretched tight where he was already hard for you. “On my cot. Go on, girl, get undressed.”

You allowed yourself a small moment of pride, thinking of how he missed you, that he thought of you while he was away just as you thought of him, before giving him exactly what he wanted.

Now, you’re all wound up, leaning back on one elbow, naked with your legs spread for him so he can see everything, just like he wanted. “No?” you ask before biting your lip at a particularly good roll between your legs, eyes slipping closed.

“Not even close,” Din says. You’re too late to see it, but you hear it; him lifting his helmet just enough, the lewd sound of him spitting. Instead of seeing it, you imagine the viscous strings of it landing on his thick shaft, his hand eagerly spreading it around to make the glide of it that much better. “Want you to fuck yourself with it.”

The sigh of relief that escapes you makes him chuckle, and you shush him with a fond sound, before opening your eyes and looking down, positioning the blunt head that had been circling your clit at your soaking entrance. It slips in so easily, it’s nothing like the stretch of Din’s cock when you fuck, and you know Din can see it, see just how wet you’ve gotten under his appreciative gaze when he groans his approval.

You bottom out in no time, angling the silicone just so until it grazes that spot behind your clit, occasionally pressing against the cup of your womb just like his cock always does. The wet noises from you and him combined echo obscenely against the durasteel surrounding you, mixing with your higher pitched and Din’s lower pitched sounds.

“Is this what you thought about when you bought this?” you ask, studying his helmet, the slight tilt of it. “Imagined me like this while you were out on your hunt? Spent your credits to watch me spread out for you, showing off for you—”

“Yes,” he replies, and you can’t see his eyes but you know he’s looking right into yours. “It looks so…so...,” he doesn’t continue, groans instead of finishing his sentence.

“Tell me how it looks,” you beg. Your hand twitches at the clear base of the toy before taking it off, letting him watch as you clench down on it, as your pussy sucks it further inside while you cup your breasts. “How do I look, Din?”

“Pretty,” he growls. “Stretched out, all soft and pink inside - that’s why I picked this one,” he admits. “I wanted to see.” Din’s head falls back against the wall with a clink of his helmet and a sigh, the T of his visor still tilted down to watch you between your legs as he tugs on his cock.

You wish he wasn’t wearing his helmet, that he could see what you really looked like, that he would get as close as he wanted, that he would touch you— Stars, you want him to touch you.

“Please, your hands,” you say as one of your own flies back to hold the toy so you can continue to fuck yourself with it. You’re close, so close to it… “Just for a little bit, just so I can come.”

“No,” he says, and he quickly shushes your answering whine before continuing, "Want you to take it out first. Show me how wet you made it.”

Pulling the toy free with a wet sound, you sigh at the loss, clenching around nothing—

“Move it lower,” he says suddenly, tilting his helmet down with a quick jerk of his head.

There's a hitch in your breath at the request, the silicone catching on the rim of your entrance. “Stars, Din…,” you begin.

“Lower, girl,” he urges.

You fall back onto his bed, angle your hips up so you can drag the tip of the toy down until it can rest against the tight ring of muscles below your entrance. “Was this your plan all along?” you ask, hand stilling. “Wanted me to put it here?”

“Fuck, yes, there. You made it so wet, baby, it's all shiny. I bet you can slide right in.” A ragged exhale sails through the modulator. “Put it inside.”

With a soft moan, you work the slippery head of the toy inside, pressing past the natural resistance your body gives to the intrusion. It’s different from how he feels there, less hard, less filling, and the memory of him makes your head tilt up to look at him between his legs. He’s fisting himself at the base, squeezing there from the looks of it, and more slick slides from your entrance to the shaft of the toy when you realize he’s trying not to come.

He’s right, the slick that covers the toy, that dribbles from your entrance, it’s enough to press on, to slide in more of it. Arousal licks it’s way up your spine from where you’re fucking yourself, and a hand flies between your legs to circle your clit. It’s hard under your touch, and you keen when the touch makes you climb higher, and higher.

“Look at that,” Din’s voice suddenly fills your ears, muttering about something you hadn’t noticed in your dazed-out state, “all the way inside, so pretty for me.” You hear the heavy scrape of his boots along the floor, hear him walk over to you to finally get that closer look.

Your hand flexes, pushes and pulls the toy in and out of your ass, your other hand drawing tight little circles on your clit, and suddenly it’s too good, too much. “D-Din,” you stutter, you warn, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Are you gonna come?” he asks.

You nod, mouth dropping open.

“Do it. Show me how you come.”

Everything pulls taunt, and tight, and your hips come off the bed before your body locks up. With a cry of his name, you push against the base of the toy while your body spasms around it. Din leans over you, a hand landing on your knee as he jerks himself over you, helmet angled to look at how you shatter for him, face twisted in pleasure. Then his gaze snaps down to look between your bodies and he comes with a roar, covering your mound, your belly, even the undersides of your breasts, with his release.

You’re panting for breath, chest heaving and vaguely aware of your mixed slick dripping down over your hands, down the curve of your ass. Boneless, you slump back against Din’s cot, but Din clearly has other plans.

His gloveless hands find your hips, guiding you until you’re turned on your stomach. You’re about to protest (“This is gonna make such a mess…”), but then he tugs at your hips, pulling you onto your knees, and he’s right there, still hard, the head of his cock nudging you below where the toy is still stretching you open.

“You want it?” he asks, voice rough, hands trembling where he holds you.

You curse, a fresh rush of arousal bursting through your body. “Yes,” you answer. “Go slow.”

He grunts in agreement, pushes on slowly, pressing into your pussy until his thighs hit the back of yours, his lower belly pushing the toy inside you and keeping it there. The sheer pressure of being filled is punching the air from your lungs, like there’s no room for it in your body. The familiar burn of pleasure tugs at something in your stomach, pooling low and making your clit pulse with need.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Din says, a hand swiping down your spine to soothe you. “Just breathe. It’s so good like this, isn’t it? So tight, baby...” He reaches around your body, two fingers finding the top of your sex to stroke your sensitive skin, making you flutter wetly around his cock, leaking as your body accommodates to take him. “Does it feel good?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you fist the thin sheet that covers Din’s cot, willing your body to loosen up and make it easier for him to move. “It does,” you sigh. “Maker, I can feel you… everywhere.”

“Good,” he says, the flat of his palm pressing between your cheeks while he slowly winds his hips back before thrusting back inside. "Then take it. I know you can.”

[stardustdiaries]

Make You Feel My Love

Pairing: Captain Rex x Jedi!Reader

Summary: After you are injured in battle, you and Rex get lost in your emotions.

Warnings: Injuries, blood (little to no descriptions, though!) FLUFF! ANGST? YEAH.

Word Count: 1,916

•••

Never had Rex felt this sort of fear.

You are okay. You are safe. You are healing. He knows this, Kix has been reassuring him time and time again that you would be back on your feet in no time. It still didn’t ease his worries.

It’s been three days since his world almost collapsed. Three days since he felt his heart drop as yours threatened to stop. Three days since he saw your fingers weakly clutch your stomach as blood painted your robes. Rex has seen his brothers die in the heat of battle, their screams of agony have fallen on his ears before and he’s been there to hold many of them as they took their last breath.

But this was different.

Rex loves you. It’s a truth he’s tried to crush under the weight of his boot, but the fact remains the same. It’s been a hard pill to swallow. Both of your codes are restrictive in more ways than one and, truth be told, they were the only thing stopping him from blurting out his feelings for you. His love for you burned in his veins and being there for you— protecting you was the only way for him to give you his love.

Until he couldn’t.

One second you were by his side, thinning out the battalion of battle droids and clearing a way for the 501st and the next, an explosion was set off. And you were within range of the blast.

“General!” Rex called out as he watched your body hit the ground limply. His ears were ringing, the world whizzing by as he barked out orders that his own ears failed to register. He must’ve said something right, though, as his brothers managed to weaken the squadron of Separatist droids. His legs acted on their own, stumbling backwards and in your direction. Upon reaching you, he dropped to his knees.

You were curled into yourself, your face contorted in pain as tears sprang out of your eyes.

“General,” Rex breathed, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized was lodged in his chest when you reacted to his voice. “General, can you walk?” he said firmly, yet you didn’t miss the tinge on concern that laced his words.

“Shrapnel—” you gasped, wincing at the intake of air. White pain rendering you paralyzed, unable to move without choking back a sob. “Took…took some shrapnel t-to my—” you bit back a cry as you tried to uncurl yourself just enough to let the Captain see the wound.

Gently, his hands settled on your shoulders to stop you from moving. “Can’t have you moving too much until someone can determine the extent of the wound—”, a string of curses tumbled out of the Captain’s mouth as his eyes met the pool of crimson that settled around your tense figure. “Kix, the General is down— I need you down here now!” he barked into his comlink, his words sharpened with fear at what would happen if his brother didn’t arrive in time.

Feverishly, he shook the thoughts away. You would be fine. You had to be.

A pained gasp knocked Rex right out of his thoughts, his eyes snapping back down to your trembling figure.

“Stay with me, General,” Rex pleaded, losing the air from his lungs as one of your trembling hands reached out for him. “General…”

You gave his hand a weak squeeze, the lack of your usual strength painfully pulling at his heartstrings. The corners of your lips curled into the smallest of smiles, though he didn’t miss the pain that swam in your eyes.

“It…it takes a lot more…to take me d-down, Rex.” You wheezed, tear tracks fresh on the skin of your cheeks mixing with grime and blood. “D-don't go soft…on me now.”

“Kix, where are you?!” he yelled into his comlink once again, his voice giving out brokenly.

Rex swore his heart stopped when your hand went limp in his.

 “Stay with me?”

Rex freezes in his tracks and turns to you with wide eyes. His heart is racing in his chest and he swallows hard at the lump in his throat. Your eyes are heavy with exhaustion, but he doesn’t miss the silent plead behind them. Your Jedi robes are gone and replaced with sleepwear loose enough to not irritate the stitches that trail over the expanse of your abdomen. The circles under your eyes are sunken, indicating that you haven’t been resting as well as he had hoped.

Rex nods firmly, feeling his heart swell at the sudden light in your eyes. He gently places his helmet by the foot of your bed before he removes the pieces of his armor until he’s in his blacks. Placing a gentle hand on your back and another under your knees, he helps you scoot to the side and find a comfortable spot on the bed. He slides in next to you and you instinctively smile as the bed dips under his weight.

Gently, he pulls your head to his chest and your body relaxes to the rhythm of his steady heartbeat. You snuggle up against him, though he feels you tense up a second before relaxing once again. “Are you comfortable enough? Do you need me to—” He clamps his mouth shut when you press a kiss onto his chest, right above his heart. His hand slowly caresses the top of your head and his lungs expel a deep sigh. “How are you feelin'?” his voice is soft and genuine, though you catch onto the tinge of concern that goes around his words.

A few beats pass before you settle on an answer. “Better,” you sigh. Your fingers slowly trace random patterns and shapes of over his chest, making his stomach fill with butterflies as he revels in the warmth of your touch. “I definitely miss being around the boys, but Fives, Kix and Echo have stopped by a few times.” You smile and when you look up, you see the corners of Rex’s lips curl up as well.

“Yeah, the boys miss ya a whole lot,” Rex chuckles, the sound rumbling beautifully through his chest. “They’ve been beggin' the Force to have you back— apparently training sessions aren’t as fun when you’re not there to make them look like a bunch of Shinnies.” You laugh wholeheartedly at his words, and he greedily lets the sound wash over him and his worries. He relishes being here with you. Feeling your breathing match his own as your heartbeats fell in sync with each other.

“How about you?” Rex’s brows pull together at your words and he looks down at you questioningly. “Me? What…what about me?”

You shift your position until you can look at him in the eyes, a small hiss slipping out of your mouth at the tug of your stitches as you move. Knowing his next moves, you hold out a hand to stop him from fuzzing about your injury. “How are you, Rex?”  There’s a weight behind your words. Love. Care.  Concern.  His lips are pressed together in a thin line as he ponders over an answer. A breath of hesitation rushes past his lips. That’s all you needed to know.

“You’ve been uneasy,” you speak up, your eyes filled with sympathy. “I can sense it weighing you down. Talk to me, Rex."

The blood in his veins runs cold for a moment. His body tenses next to you and you have to cup his face to make his eyes meet your own. You don’t push him to speak, and he silently thanks you with a kiss on the back of your hand. Lowering your head onto his chest, you once again lose yourself to the drumming of his heart. Then he feels it. All the love, the warmth of your heart drowning out his worries, his fears— fears that keep him up at night. And for a moment, he lets himself fall. He falls into these waves of love that drift from your heart to his, letting them cleanse him of every worry that stained him. It overwhelmed him, but he didn’t want it to stop; there was no sensation as beautiful as that of your heart covering him.

“I was afraid,” he gasps softly, his words low and laced with affection. You turn to meet his eyes, your own widening as you notice the tears that race down his face. With the pads of your thumbs, you wipe his tears away and give him an encouraging nod, to which he reacts with a soft curl of his lips. “When I saw you…when you were there, barely hanging on I— I’ve never felt so afraid.” His voice broke and his arms tightened around you slightly, still mindful of your wound. “I couldn’t imagine— I didn’t want to imagine a… a life where…” he curses under his breath before locking his gaze with your own, golden eyes searching yours as he released a trembling breath. “I don’t want a life where you’re not by my side.”

Your forehead was pressed against his and he once again felt your heart open up to him, chasing away the fears of what could’ve been. “You…you died for a second,” he chokes, his body trembling slightly under yours. “I lost you for a moment and— I keep seeing it happen, I—”

You didn’t notice tears were running down your face until you felt his warm hands cup your cheeks to gently wipe them away. You crash into him, stitches be damned, and you wrap your arms around him as he returns the gesture. The rhythm of your hearts keep the pace as the mixture of your quiet sobs fills the air. There was nothing to say. Everything that needed saying  was felt thrumming from his heart to yours. The fear. The grief. The longing. The love. It all crashed over you as silent cries wracked his body and you hiccupped between sobs. Rex breathes shakily as you bury your face on the crook of his neck. His hands soothingly run over the expanse of your back, trying to relieve the tension from your muscles.

“I…I was scared, too,” you mumble against his neck, your breath hot on his skin, eliciting a sigh from his lips. “I couldn’t feel you, Rex.” A sob erupts from the depths of your chest, the broken sound tearing Rex’s heart apart. He pulls back from the embrace, golden eyes locking with your own glimmering ones.

“We’re okay,” he breathes, almost as if trying to reassure himself that you were actually with him— that you are safe and in his arms. “We’re…we’re okay.” Rex repeats, his voice low, barely above a whisper, but firm in its waking.

Rex knows very little about the Force— you had explained it as best as you could to him every time he had a question, but it never stuck with him for long. What he did remember, though, is that just like you can make him experience your emotions through the Force, he could make you feel his own through the same connection.

His eyes search yours one last time before gently pressing a lingering kiss onto your forehead. Pressing his forehead against yours, he once again lets his heart breathe life into what words fail to say. Fear is replaced by security. Grief is drowned out by hope. Longing is outshined by faith.

 And love is all that remains.

[sunflowersteves]

can i please have angst 5 with Din Djarin?

author’s note || I made it have a happy ending cuz i needed some fluff. I hope you enjoy! 

angst prompt || “Am I not important to you anymore?”

warnings || angst, cying, happy ending, season two spoilers

Masterlist

You wished things were different, that he was different. 

You knew the tole that he went through since handing off one of the things that kept him grounded. You knew that feeling because you felt it too. Losing Grogu was the worst possible feeling that you felt in quite some time. 

But something changed that day, between you and him. You don’t know how or why, but everything was just different. He didn’t talk to you anymore, only spouting out words when necessary. He kept to himself most of the time and locked himself up in the cockpit.

You missed when he told stories. He would take hours to tell them, not wanting you to miss a single detail. Your favorites were about his past home and the Mandalorian way of life. You could hear him laugh through the helmet, the sound fuzzy through the modulator. 

He didn’t hold you anymore. There were no gentle touches underneath the stars or fingertips trailing the arch of your back. He didn’t kiss you anymore. There were no chaste kisses as you laid on his cot or lips molding as he pinned you against the wall.

Everything was empty, now. Everything was dull. 

Maybe, he lost himself. Maybe, he couldn’t find his way home because one of the things he called home was gone. But, you were drowning too—water crashing against your lungs and filling them up every single time you thought about the little green baby. 

You wanted to be angry at him, you did. You wanted to scream at him for leaving you alone in a deep dark space. You wanted to punch and yell at him for acting as though you were just a nuisance now. 

You tried to get him to open up; you tried too many times. Every single time he would shut you out. He would either ignore your question and leave the two of you in an abyss of silence, or he would snap back as though you cut a deeper wound into his heart.

You were eating near the campfire, and not a single word shared as usual. It seemed as though Din couldn’t even look at you anymore, his visor set on the horizon. You looked down at the wooden bowl and watch the steam rise above the stew. 

Anger bubbled through you as you thought about his absence, as you thought about his seemingly new hatred towards you. You set the bowl down on the ground, prompting the Mandalorian to observe your movement. 

“Am I not important to you anymore?”

The words stung through your heart as you said them, each syllable slicing through your chest. Your eyes flickered up to Din’s helmet. He didn’t move; he didn’t utter a word. He just stared and watched as the world around you crumbled with each passing silence. 

“Right. Okay.”

Tears flowed down your face, reaching down to your chin. You ran past him and up the ramp of his new ship, furiously wiping your tears in the process. You run to your once shared room and grab as many items as possible--trinkets, clothes, bacta-patches, anything really. 

You stuffed the items into an old and torn bag, trying to put as much as it fits into the bag. You don’t pay a single mind to the hard thumps of his boots on the newly shined ship’s floor. Your tears glide faster down your cheeks, though. Your ears ringing with each pile of stuff that you are shoving into the bag.

“Stop.”

You didn’t listen, and your heartbeat wildly across your chest. You acted like you didn’t hear him, your heart yearning to see what he had to say. 

“Look- stop.”

But a part of you didn’t want to. You didn’t know if you could handle the truth of his words. You’re practically in a frenzy by this point, quickly stuffing more items as even more tears and snot run down your face.

“Stop!” He grabs your wrists and pins them to his chest, which swiveled your whole body around to face him. His chest is heaving up and down and almost staggering at its pace. His helmet was tilted down to look at you, and that’s when you heard it.

Large, violent sobs rushed through him, voice crackling through the modulator. Your hands squeezed around his in instinct, and he latched onto you as if you would vanish had he not held on to you. 

“I-I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ve lost you, too. I-I’ve lost you-I’ve-” He kept repeating those words over and over. His chest rumbled with the words shooting through his throat. “I l-love you. P-Please, I love you. I love you.” The two of you sink to your knees, gasping and sobbing in each other's arms. Your face immediately went into his neck as his hand cradled the back of your head.

He held onto you like that for hours until yours and his sobs were no more. You were sniffling, now. There was still the long echos of silence that reached across the ship, but the air felt light. Like there was hope.

“I thought you would hate me, cyare.” You take your head out of his neck and look at him in confusion. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew that particular tone in his voice. It wavered and broke with each word passing his lips. “Hate you?”

“I-I had handed off our child to a Jedi—a stranger—and I-” He whimpered as your hands went to hold the cheeks of his helmet. “I thought you hated me for what I had done. I couldn’t even look at me for what I’d done. I’m so sorry I closed myself off, I-”

You shook your head and bit your lip, trying to stop the urge from crying again. “Oh, Din. I couldn’t hate you for that. You did what you thought was best.” He held onto you tight with his arms fully wrapped around you. His hand moved up to caress your cheek, and his gloved finger swiped back and forth on your cheek.

“I hated that I was all alone. I-I thought that-” You sniffled as more tears brimmed your eyes. “You were so quiet, and I thought that you d-didn’t love me anymore. I t-thought that you were waiting for me to leave.” He could feel each pull of his heartstrings break even further. He was so caught up in the loss of Grogu that he almost lost you too. You thought he didn’t love you. You thought that he didn’t need you anymore. 

But he did. He needed you. He needed you more now than ever before. 

“I need you. I need you, please. I can’t live without you, cyare. I-I can’t. I love you.”

In all of five months since Grogu was gone, you smiled. “C’mon. Help me unpack.”

~~

mando: @fandomsandxfiles @marvelous-capsicle @mudhornchronicles @cutebubblylmp @3strogen @doozywoozy @met4no1a @writingletterstothefire @t3a-bag

star wars: @marvelous-capsicle @fandomsandxfiles @mudhornchronicles @cutebubblylmp @3strogen @met4no1a @writingletterstothefire @t3a-bag

permanent: @captainchrisstan @angstysebfan @teenagereadersciencenerd @rebekahdawkins @hailmary-yramliah @stardust-galaxies @wiccanmetallicrose @keithseabrook27 @hereforthesunrise 

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: F - Fear Toxin

Summary: When Tim gets injected with a new variant of Scarecrow’s fear toxin, all Jason could do is hold the kid in his arms to stop him from getting injured further as he waits for back up to arrive. 

A/N: As a warning violence happens, nothing too graphic but here’s a warning just in case!

Enjoy! :D

Jason pauses when his fingers grasp nothing but empty air. Snapping his gaze down, he frowns when he finds his pocket completely empty. He sighs and curses. This is just what he needs, he’s ran out of antidotes.

He looks up across the street to find Tim administering an antidote into another cowering civilian caught in the crossfire of Gotham’s latest villain scheme. Jason jogs over to his brother and glances at him through his helmet. “You got any more? I’m out.”

Tim shakes his head regretfully. “No. That was my last one. We really underestimated how far Scarecrow’s toxin got this time. We don’t have enough.”

Jason hums in agreement and observes their surroundings. They’re together in a back alley of Gotham’s streets, one that had been hit badly by Scarecrow’s latest fear toxin. They had the task of vaccinating all the civilians around with the new antidote. Back in the cave they calculated an estimate number of many people populated the area and had prepared more than enough between them, or so they thought, unfortunately their numbers were far from right leaving them with not nearly enough antidotes.  

Around them now, many civilians are still under the hallucinations of the toxin, some are screaming, crying or even violently yelling at empty air. Jason swears again, this is not how the night was supposed to go.

He’s brought out of his thoughts when Tim turns to him. “We’re going to need to go back and restock. We’re not much use otherwise.”

“Agreed.”

He wonders if the others are having similar issues with numbers and the lack of antidotes. The team’s spread out around Gotham’s most targeted areas, all of them working in pairs for safety and everyone working their asses off to help people in the city.

Wordlessly the two of them head for their hidden vehicles in a neighbouring alley. As they prepare to climb onto their bikes Tim glances his way to say something but ends up yelling in alarm instead. “Hood watch out!”

It’s thanks to Jason’s reflexes that he���s able to duck underneath the swinging arm in time to avoid being hit. He brings his gun out and turns to face his attacker. His attacker is probably middle aged man, a little on the heavy side and he’s wearing a shitty Halloween mask to hide his face. Jason dodges another swing and returns the favour, he takes him out in three quick and precise strikes with his hands.

A loud grunt gets his attention and Jason spins around to find Tim caught in a head lock with a gun pressed against his temple. Tim’s attacker is too wearing a mask as were the four others who now surround them. Where they came from Jason has no idea. How the hell did they miss these guys who had obviously been waiting and hiding for them to return to their bikes?

As Jason levels his gun at Tim’s attacker the four others surrounding him also raise their guns pointing them in his direction, this concludes them all into a standoff.

Tim’s attacker speaks up first. “Put that gun down or I blow his brains out.”

Behind his mask Jason rolls his eyes. How fucking cliché? He keeps his gun up though, pointing at the man and in a cocky statement he takes the safety off with an audible click. The man holding Tim snorts as he had been expecting Jason’s disobedience.

“Very well. I’ll show you how this is going to go. You get one warning and mate, you’ve just used that warning.”

He kicks Tim’s legs out from underneath him and lets him go, unexpecting the abrupt movement Tim crashes to the floor. Once he’s sprawled out on the ground the attacker stamps on one of Tim’s hands, causing a rather loud and sickening crack to ring out. Jason winces as Tim yells in pain but before anyone could react further the same man manhandles Tim to his knees and resumes their previous position.

He cocks the gun and presses it to Tim’s head. “Now, if either of you act up, you’re gonna get a hurt whole lot worse than a broken hand. Now follow us. No funny business! Get his gun!”

One of the men come and wrench Jason’s gun out of his hand and all Jason could do was let him. He doesn’t want to risk Tim any more than he has to.

He and Tim are marched out of the alley and into another before being directed into an abandoned building. They’re walked into the middle of the room and forced down to their knees, once on the ground a couple of the thugs come over to grab their hands and tie them behind their backs. Jason grits his teeth and refrains from doing something like headbutting the asshole, while next to him Tim lets out a pained grunt as his broken hand is jostled.

When they step away Jason twists his body awkwardly to get a look at his restrained wrists to find them tied with cable ties. Jason huffs in disbelief. His attention is soon brought back to the room when one of the attackers speak up.

“Boss we got’em just like you asked.”

Jason straightens up when a new figure walks into the room only to grit his teeth seconds later when Scarecrow is revealed. The bastard doesn’t stop moving until he’s looming over them. Unable to help himself Jason speaks up, sarcasm heavily laced in his tone. “Same shit different day Crane. Why don’t you go and get yourself a new hobby, go for something like knitting perhaps.”

Crane turns his head towards Jason, his expression hidden by that stupid potato sack over his head. “You would like that wouldn’t you? If I were gone there would be nothing to fear. Perhaps that clown but nothing else.”

“Sorry to break it to you but you ain’t that scary.” Jason quips, glaring through his helmet.

“Maybe not right now but with a little help, I will be, I’ll become your greatest nightmare.” Crane reaches behind him and pulls out a box, he makes a show of opening it up and producing a syringe filled with a clear liquid. “A person can learn to control themselves when feeling great emotion, sadness, happiness, anger, but never in times of fear. Fear is the minds greatest enemy and that’s why it’s so powerful, why even the greatest of men fall.”

Jason watches as Crane drifts over to stand in front of Tim, his brother simply looks up with a hard and determined expression not saying anything. Crane fiddles with the syringe in his hands, studying Tim as he does.

“It won’t work. We’re not stupid Crane.” Jason says feeling dread build up inside of him. He knows what’s about to happen and he has feeling he knows exactly what Crane’s response is going to be.

“I know. That’s why I’m sure you’ve worked out that this is a different toxin I’ve produced to the one I’ve already distributed. One of which you don’t have an antidote for.”

For the first time Tim speaks up, snarling at the man in front of him. “Go to hell Crane.” Scarecrow doesn’t answer Tim, instead he reaches down and grabs a fist full of Tim’s hair and yanks his head back to expose his neck.

From his position Jason lurches at the movement, ready to pounce but it stopped when the thugs immediately zone in on him. Guns point at him and at Tim, simply daring him to make another move. Uselessly he settles back down on the ground.

Crane jabs the syringe into the kid’s neck and injects the liquid into Tim’s body. Once it’s empty he steps away, pushing Tim down to the ground as he does. Jason is torn between worriedly watching Tim’s unmoving form on the ground and Crane’s retreating figure from the room.

One of the thugs speak up. “Uh boss now what? We not killing the big one?”

“No.” Crane says firmly. “He has a choice to make, come after me and leave the other to suffer or help him and let me go.”

“You bastard!” Jason yells as Crane exits the room, disappearing from his sight. “You’ll be sorry you’ve left me alive! I will kill your ass when I next see it.”

Jason snaps his attention to Tim who is now whimpering on the floor. He needs to get help, he needs to get Tim to the cave so they can start working on a new antidote to whatever the hell Crane just injected him with.

With some difficulty, Jason twists and wiggles around so he can move to get his restrained hands in front of him. Using a move Dick once showed him, Jason tucks up tightly loops his arms underneath his body so they go underneath him and end up in front of him. It tests his flexibility for sure but it works.

Once his arms are in front of him he reaches up and presses the comms, getting Barbara’s help.

“O! I need immediate assistance!”

“Hood what’s going on, why did you and Red Robin go radio silent-”

Not having the patience Jason cuts her off. “Now’s not the time! We ran into Scarecrow and he injected Red with a new toxin. We need to get him to the cave asap.”

“Shit. I’m alerting the others now and sending them your location. Do what you can to help Red.”

“Already on it.”

Jason signs off and moves to break the cable ties around his wrists. He tightens them up as much as possible, raises his hands over his head and brings his fists down to his stomach in one fluid movement. Upon impact the ties break and his heads are freed.

Not wasting a second he scrambles over to Tim who is now starting to wither on the floor, whimpering pitiful sounds. Knowing there’s not much he can do, Jason decides to break the ties from Tim's own wrists, he’s aware of Tim’s broken hand but that’ll have to be dealt with later on.

At least that was his plan up until he puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. As soon as Jason touches him, the kid freaks out. He lets out a scream of terror and suddenly jerks up right and starts to scramble away from him. Jason freezes in shock as he watches Tim try and move away from him, but the kid’s movements were hindered by his hands being tied behind him.

“No no no no. I’m sorry. Please I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. No no no. It won’t happen again I promise.”

The words were quiet and raspy but Jason could hear them clearly in the silence of the room. He needs to stop Tim from moving and also to prevent further damage to his hands. He cautiously approaches Tim again, crouching down low and taking slow steps forward, but at the moment Tim only sees him as a threat. The kid screams and continues to try and scramble backwards away from him.

“No no no! I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me…”

Jason frowns at the words as his heart lurches inside of his chest at the sound of Tim’s pleading voice. When he takes another step forward Tim only screams again, making Jason freeze on the spot. He really ought to get Tim to stop moving, Jason doesn’t particularly want to use force to get him to restrain his movements but he doesn’t think he has any choice.

Sighing Jason takes off his helmet, something he admittedly probably should have done before now, and approaches Tim again. As expected the kid screams and begs as he tries to shuffle away, his legs kicks out and his body contorts uncomfortably.

Pretty much out of options Jason lunges for Tim. He grabs the kid’s ankle to stop him from getting any further away before diving onto the floor and situating himself behind Tim. He wraps his legs around Tim’s thighs and knees, pinning them in place and he wraps his arms around Tim’s torso and shoulders. He holds on tightly as Tim tries and fails to buck out of his grasp.

While the kid screams in his arms all Jason could do is hold him and wait until backup comes. He counts the never ending minutes as they tick by. His brother is weakly fighting his hold while tears stream down his cheeks as he whimpers out pleas, it breaks Jason’s heart to hear it all.

Thankfully the cavalry soon arrive, they burst into the room and take in the scene before them. Both Dick and Bruce rush towards them and immediately start making plans.

“How long ago was he injected?” Bruce demands as he grasps Tim’s chin. Tim tries to get out of it but Bruce holds firm as he removes the kid’s mask and studies his dilated pupils.

“Twenty maybe thirty minutes. Right before O contacted you. Crane got away.” Jason reports automatically. He’s furious about Crane of course but family comes first, he couldn’t have left Tim alone in this state.

“Hold him still.” Bruce grunts as he digs through his utility belt. After a moment he produces a small blood sample kit. With quick efficiency Bruce takes a vial of Tim’s blood, caps it off and holds it out to Nightwing who had been hovering on the side but not getting in the way. Dick takes it without words. “Get a head start to the cave, Agent A is preparing to start a new antidote trial.”

Dick nods, his gaze lingers on Tim before his head tilts in Jason’s direction. “Keep me updated.” He disappears before Jason could respond. When Dick is out of sight his attention is drawn back to Tim and Bruce.

“We need to get him to the car and then to the cave. You’ll need to keep him restrained so he doesn’t hurt himself.”

If the situation were different Jason would both be peeved and even upset at the detachment in Bruce’s tone of voice. Unfortunately in this situation he can understand why Bruce is like it, not being emotionally invested will allow him to focus on the task at hand, which in this case happened to be getting Tim back to the cave and working on a new antidote. He’ll let himself feel everything once he knows Tim is safe and sound.

Together he and Bruce manage to get Tim into the batmobile. The kid does nothing other than scream, whimper, plead and cry as they move him. Jason makes sure to tell Bruce about his hand and once in the car Bruce relays the injury to Alfred in the cave. Once they’ve worked out the antidote they can work on his hand.

Getting back to the cave seems long and tedious but once they’re there they move Tim from the car and into the medical bay. They settle him down on one of the cots, having to restrain his wrists and ankles to the bed to stop him moving so much and Alfred updates them on the situation with the antidote.

They were fortunate enough to be able to come up with a temporary antidote in that short amount of time. It turns out Scarecrow hadn’t used a new toxin but rather the same one as before, the only difference in this one is that there are hints of Poison Ivy’s hallucinogen concoction. Dick and Alfred quickly worked together to combine the two antidotes making a new one altogether.

Without much hesitation they give Tim the new antidote and watch as the kid quietens down on the bed and falls unconscious. It’s only after Alfred deems everything is okay that they all can breathe somewhat easily again.

While Dick, Bruce, Jason and Barbara (over the comms) discuss the next steps and about what the current situation is looking like, Alfred stays with Tim and patches up his hand, fixing a cast over the skin and bone until they can get it looked at professionally.

As plans are being made Jason watches Alfred work, his worry for Tim still heavily stirring inside of him. He doesn’t think he’ll be forgetting those petrified screams any time soon. Once the kid wakes up Jason is going to have a long chat with Tim, one to rest his own subconscious and secondly because he wants to make sure the kid is mentally okay after the ordeal. He’ll make sure Tim gets some proper r&r after all of this and maybe even for himself too once Crane is dealt with.

[secretlysheikah]

Slowed

I have created another one shot in honor of hitting 300 followers on the blog! I don’t know where you all came from, but welcome. My name is Sheikah and I want all of your tears. 

So to thank you all for deciding to join me as I wonder aimlessly and create angst for you all to consume. You are amazing and have helped me through more than you guys know. I love you all. And to show you, I wrote pain! :D

enjoy!

Start here:

Metal clashed loudly in the clearing making Wild’s ears ring painfully. He was amazed that he could still hear the other’s shouts and warnings over the din of blades and monster roars. Wild stood near the edge of the skirmish, hesitant to get any closer to the others as they fought. He was still wary about accidentally hurting any of them, even though he had been fighting with others for a few weeks now. Early on Time had arranged practices with all of them fighting together so he could get the feel for fighting as a large group but still, the worry lingered like a ghost. So he hung back and cut through the enemies that tried to overwhelm the heroes fighting in the center. 

The attack had been a surprise, monsters from different eras came spilling out by the dozens into the clearing where they had been planning on making camp for the night. The sudden onslaught forced most of them into a tight group at the center of the would be camp. All of them, except Wild who had rushed to the outskirts of the fray unwilling to get too close to the whirling blades of the others but desperate to help in his own way. So he ducked and spun under spears, dodged savage swings of swords and all the while worked to help thin the hoard. His cloak felt wet from the black blood that splattered onto it with more being added by the second though that didn’t slow his frenzied attacks.

The tides of the battle seemed to be turning in their favor as the monsters continued to fall when there was a desperate shout from the center of the group. Wild whipped around, hood falling off of his head as he looked towards the call. Four had been cut off from the others by three large dog looking monsters, his shield was raised as he defected attack after attack but Wild could tell the young man was struggling. Four’s eyes looked crazed and he couldn’t seem to find an opening to fight back or gain more ground. His headband, slightly askew, was covered in red and black and Wild felt his throat close up when a particularly harsh blow knocked the shield out of his hand. One of the dog monsters reared back, a triumphant smile filled with sharp teeth and brought it’s sword down in a powerful arcing slice with obvious delight. There was nowhere for Four to go, nothing he could do and Wild’s feet were moving before his brain could catch up.  

Wild shouted Four’s name as he darted forward, summoning a bow he knocked three arrows as he went. He dashed in front of Four and leapt into the air and felt the familiar slowing of time as he focused and took aim. He could see Four’s eyes slowly widening in his peripheral vision, felt as the sword, meant for Four pressed hard against the skin just under his right ribs and fired.

The arrows found their marks in the eyes of the three beasts, and they let out morphed roars of pain and rage as they stumbled back and away from the pair. When Wild’s feet touched ground time seemed to slam back into full motion once again. The sounds of battle sounded muted to his ears as Wild summoned a new blade from his slate and threw it as hard as he could into the throat of the monster that was about to strike Four. The beast gave a garbled cry, sank to its knees as it clutched at the hilt before it fell to the ground dead. 

More roars from the other recovering monsters had Wild spinning around searching for a weapon. In a blink he grabbed the smaller hero’s sword out of his slack hand before spinning back around to face the remaining threats. In two swipes of the borrowed blade Wild decapitated the other two monsters that had lumbered their way closer with ease. Their bodies crashed heavily onto the ground. The force of the fall sent strong rumbles through the earth under their feet before they watched the beasts melt away, leaving a smear of black in their place. Determining the threats were well and truly handled, Wild straightened, his cloak falling closed around him and turned to face Four with a sheepish smile and offered the sword back. 

“Sorry for taking it, I didn’t think I had time to summon another one,” Wild whispered and watched as Four slowly took the sword back. His eyes were flashing a myriad of colors and his mouth worked as he tried to articulate what he was thinking. 

“How did you do that?” Four asked and Wild tilted his head unsure what the other was asking. 

“Do what?” 

“The arrows, the, the time, everything slowed down, you were so fast, how?” Four stammered, eyes still flashing odd colors in the light. Wild blinked at him unsure as to what to say. Four had noticed the time slow down? He thought that was all in head, something born of adrenaline and the need to act. Something fluttered at the edge of his memory and a low thrum of dread pounded at his heart.  

“You have to teach me,” Four said, his eyes a bright blue as a wide smile spread across his face in obvious excitement. Wild could feel red creeping into his cheeks, too many emotions were happening all at once and he didn’t know what to focus on. He pulled his hood over his face to hide the blush, and he let out a shaky little laugh and felt his tongue growing numb. 

“Well I mean, I didn’t even know, really that it wasn’t... I mean to say I don’t even know how… To… “ Wild stammered but found he couldn’t speak anymore. His breathing was starting to quicken, ringing tickled the edges of his hearing. His heart dropped when he finally registered the way his limbs felt like they were beginning to lock up. No, please, not here, not now. He couldn’t tell if the sound of battle behind them was starting to die down or if the growing ringing in his ears was blocking out the sound. He swallowed down the rising panic, aware that Four was tilting his head in curiosity. Things were starting to grow distant and he grit his teeth and forced the feeling back as hard as he could. 

“Wild? Are you okay?” Four asked and Wild managed to nod and gave a small smile which he hoped was convincing. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I think I’m going to go check the woods, make sure we’re alone,” Wild said quickly and forced his stiffening legs to walk out of the clearing. He could hear a stammered ‘oh okay,’ come from Four before he pushed his way through the bushes and into the peace of the woods. He couldn’t let the others see, he didn’t want them to see. He felt warmth on his side and he pressed a half numbed palm against it, only just managing to register the red that coated it. Oh Hylia above why now, he didn’t have time for this, this couldn’t be happening.     

The ringing in his ears was becoming louder and louder and he searched for a place to hide. He stumbled over a root and threw out a hand to steady himself and noted how his fingers were growing stiffer as the memory pulled at him. He let out a whine and threw himself forward, desperate to find cover. He only managed a few more steps before his shoulder connected with  a tree and he spun to the ground though he barely felt the impact. 

Everything was going numb, his limbs were little better than stone but he managed to crawl behind a tree. He pressed his back against the trunk, it would have to do, he couldn’t hold the memory back any longer. A shudder ran through his frame, the forest grew dim and distant around him as it was replaced by the bright light of a different time and place. His last thought of the present was the hope that he didn’t bleed out before the memory was through.

 Then he was gone. 

*****

Link was breathing hard, the weight of the armor weighed him down but he smiled despite the heat and the weight that wrapped around him. His superior was in much the same way, except for the scowl that graced his face. The Captain held his sword high as a flush of red colored his cheeks. His fellow soldiers jeered at the man and it was hard not to join them. 

He hadn’t been hit once during their little sparring session and Link could tell the Captain was getting frustrated. The taller man dashed forwards again and Link let him sword held at the ready and watched as the older man swung his blade. Time almost felt like it was slowing down as he spun easily away and landed another hit on the shiny metal of his superior’s back. More jeers and whoops of laughter came from the small crowd and Link couldn’t stop the small smile growing on his face. 

 He knew what his superiors meant to do when they demanded he spar with them. This was meant to show that even though he had been chosen to wield the Master sword, he was still nothing compared to them and he would be damned before he let that stand. The Captain stumbled forwards before spinning around and leveling a harsh glare at him. The man was practically beside himself with rage and Link felt his own eyes harden at the look. It wasn’t his fault the Captain telegraphed his moves so openly, he’d be a fool to ignore the obvious tells. He gave the Captain a small smile and a jaunty wave and revealed in the man’s deepening flush. 

The Captain held Link’s stare for a moment before he lowered his blade and gestured for his subordinate to come to his side. Link blinked slowly at the pair and feigned an air of nonchalance as they whispered to each other. To be completely honest he didn’t like the looks they were giving each other. He sighed, planted his blade into the soft overturned earth at his feet and removed his helmet to wipe at his brow. 

“What’s the hold up?” One man cried from the sidelines followed by laughter and more jabs. 

“Can’t hold a candle to that boy!”

“Well my money is still on the Captain.” 

“You’re a fool, I hope you like losing your rupees,”

The banter continued on for a few more minutes until the Captain turned and commanded silence. His face was a bright flush of fury and his fellow soldiers stopped their conversions so fast it was like the sound had been cut off. The Captain made a gesture, cried another command and everyone snapped to attention and waited for their orders. 

“Training has concluded for the day. Get to the barracks and wash up for dinner. Anyone found exchanging rupees will be whipped for insubordination, dismissed,” The Captain barked and looked over his shoulder at him. Link could feel that the cold stare he was sending him  threatened violence. Link stared back, unblinking as he too made his way to leave the clearing.  

“Not you,” the Captain hissed and Link slowed to a stop, squeezing the hilt of his sword tightly before he nodded stiffly, replaced his helmet and stood at attention. The Captain turned to face him and they both stared at each other while they waited for the others to depart. There were grumbles and muted complaints as the group of men shuffled off towards the barracks but Link paid them no mind. He watched the Captain’s eyes sharpen as he stared at him and he matched the stare with one of his own and he could feel his jaw tightening ever so slightly as he did so. It only took a minute for the men to leave the three of them in clearing but it felt like an age, and Link felt ready to snap by the time the Captain finally addressed him.      

“How, tell us how boy,” The Captain commanded and Link felt confusion slam into him so hard he almost staggered in surprise. As it was he just blinked at the two men stupidly for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Hell he didn’t even know what the other man was talking about. He racked his brain and tried to remember what he did that could have sparked this situation but came up with nothing.

Link eyed the two men that stood before him and noted the various levels of frustration, anger and a dark curiosity that hung about them like a cloud. The Captain had his fists curled at his sides and the lackey had his  arms crossed with a faint look of disgust on his face as they waited for him to explain whatever it was they thought he did. It seemed to be a constant thing with these two. The Captain, angry and fuming and his lackey, haughty and mildly disgusted as they berated him or demanded answers to questions he simply had no answers for. 

The Captain was practically shaking with rage when Link didn’t answer fast enough, and he drew his sword from its sheath. Link felt his eyes widen in surprise, his mind spun at the clear threat and he felt distinctly off kilter and on edge. The sword he had been using for practice hung down at his side nearly forgotten. The tip of the blade wavered as his quickly fading fatigue mixed with his confusion and the sudden spike of adrenaline that made his muscles jump.   

“I don’t understand, what do you mean?” Link asked, feeling his confusion building into a steady thrum of apprehension and suspicion. Was this some sort of trick to somehow get him sent to the whipping post? But why? He couldn’t make heads or tails of the odd question. What was he supposed to be explaining?  

“Don’t be stupid, you know what you did. How boy, tell me how,” The Captain spat as he stalked forward, his sword knocked Link’s own sword away before he shoved him hard. Link stumbled back unsure where the anger was actually coming from now. He doubted it was just due to humiliation now, but he couldn’t figure out what it could be. 

“Sir, please, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Link pleaded, raising his sword to block a sloppy swipe that was sent his way. 

“The time boy, you move too fast to be natural.” The Captain snarled, sword rising again as he lunged forward. Link felt his eyes widen and he took a couple of hasty steps back. His sword moving in quick blocks to keep the other’s sword from hitting him.   

“I felt time slow down when you dodged me, you slowed down time and I want to know how,” Link blinked in surprise letting his guard fall for a moment too long and felt the Captain's sword connect with his arm. A hard reverberation rattled the bones in his arm and he gasped and pulled away, arm stinging. The look on the other man’s face had Link’s heart freezing in his chest. His cheeks were still flushed but he could see a malevolent gleam flashing in his dark eyes. His skin crawled at the look, and he bit down on the fear and steadied his stance.

“I assure you I don’t know what you’re on about,” Link said as calmly as he could, all the while analyzing the way the Captain held his sword to where his feet were planted. The Captain shifted his weight slightly and Link moved to match, taking great pains to watch the micromovements of the man’s sword. He didn’t know how to defuse the situation, so he had to settle for staying on guard and waiting for the next swing. 

Which was why he was surprised by the harsh blow that connected with his side, knocking the air out of his lungs in a harsh gasp. The subordinate, that bastard, had taken advantage. The world spun slightly as he turned to face the other man and he worked at gaining his breath back. His side felt almost numbed and a faint note of worry played in the back of his mind but he didn’t have the time to pay it much mind.    

“That was a dirty move,” Link wheezed slightly as he focused on making sure his sword didn’t bob too much. He hated how his hands shook, hated how the two men smiled at one another. 

“No no, that was war. Maybe this is just the thing to get you to show us how you do your little magic trick,” The Captain said before he sent a nod to his subordinate and they both began to move closer. Link swallowed hard and gripped his sword tighter as he watched them start to circle him. The Captain made the first move, stepping in close with a wild jab which he parried but had to duck away quickly when the subordinate's sword came whistling by his head. Link grunted at the movement feeling an odd pull at his otherwise numb side as he moved. However there wasn’t time to ponder it before another sword came sweeping in low. 

“Come on boy! Surely you can figure it out” the subordinate jeered as he moved in quickly with another flurry of quick jabs causing Link to shuffle and twist to avoid them. 

“This is madness!” Link shouted, feeling the Captain at his back and rolling out of the way of a brutal downwards strike that just missed his shoulder. He felt the world roll with him in a sickening spiral and it was all he could do to get unsteadily to his feet. He barely knocked away another sword swing that came in fast aiming to harm. Because that’s what they were trying to do, that’s what they were always trying to do he thought bitterly as he continued to block and parry. 

Link made a sloppy swipe at one of the men and took a step back then another. He was desperate to gain more ground between him and these people who were meant to be training him, but the world dipped around him. His feet grew clumsy and slow and his heel caught on a stone sending him crashing into the dirt. 

He couldn't get enough air in, he felt woozy and lightheaded. The training yard was blacking out around the edges and he just managed to roll out of the way of a strike before it could cleave his armor in two. Now fully convinced they were trying to kill him, Link struggled to scramble backwards eyes darting around at the two men who were laughing and coming closer. 

“What’s the matter boy?” One of them asked, but his tongue wouldn’t cooperate. He tried to blink away the black, tried to move back more but it was like he was trying to move through thick tar. His arms gave out and he flopped back onto the upturned dirt, head spinning and side aching. A shadow blotted out the fading light above him and he blinked in confusion as a hand roughly jostled his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, only tried and failed to move away when a hand gripped his wrist pulled it away from his side. He hissed in pain but there wasn’t anything he could do, his strength felt like it was bleeding away.  

“Ah Hell, looks like you managed to cut him,” The voice of the Captain said just above him and he felt himself being turned roughly on his side. Fingers tugged at the edges of his armor and pain flared through his side as they landed on something tender. 

“Great, I broke him. Well if he was better at defending himself this wouldn’t have been a problem,” The subordinate scoffed before Link felt himself being kicked back onto his back once again. Link let out a wheezing breath and flopped his hand roughly against his side feeling for the damage but all he could find was the slice in his armor that seemed to be slick with what had to be blood. 

“Well what do we do with this? Mark it up as a training accident?” The subordinate asked and the Captain let out a quick bark of unamused laughter. 

“Ha, and deal with a tongue lashing? I don’t think so, not for this whelp,” He said and Link watched through half fogged eyes as the Captain stood from where he had been crouching and looked down at him. 

“Is that camp of bokos still lurking around the barracks?” The Captain asked and was answered by an affirmative grunt from the subordinate. Even through the encroaching darkness that was swallowing up his vision, Link could see the devilish smiles that were quickly spreading across the men’s faces. His fingers twitched in the dirt, but that seemed to be all the strength he could muster. 

“We’re going to have to make this look convincing,” the subordinate said, sheathing his sword and moving closer. 

“What if he says something?” He asked as an afterthought and Link felt as hands pulled his helmet roughly from his head and tossed it away with a clatter. Link let his head loll to the side for a moment before he pulled himself back from drifting off. 

“It will be his word against ours, I wouldn’t worry too much,” the Captain said with a sniff as he bent down close and patted his cheek. Link glared at him with all the defiance he could manage. The Captain snorted and gave his cheek a bit of a harder strike that made Link’s eye’s flutter a moment at the sharp sting. 

“We will continue this later, gotta figure out how you do that little trick of yours after all,” He said with a sharp smile. If Link could have said anything he would have raged his defiance, to Hell with the punishments they would have rained down upon him. The Captain seemed to sense what he wanted to say because he let out a low, dangerous chuckle and adjusted his grip on his sword. 

“But for now you’ve got other things to worry about, ” the Captain sneered as he reared back and cracked the pommel of his sword against the side of Link’s head making the world and everything in it disappear in a blink. 

*****

The first thing Wild became aware of when the memory dissipated was the feeling of pressure on his side. The next was the feeling of a bone aching cold that had seeped into his fingertips. He let himself drift for a second, swimming in the lingering disconnect that followed the wake of a remembered memory before awareness and panic flooded his limbs. He had been hurt, bleeding out, he was dying. He gasped and grabbed unsteadily at his side desperate to apply pressure and stop the bleeding but found someone else’s hands already there. Confusion and a muted terror had him scrambling, he didn’t know where he was or who or what had gotten so close to him. 

“Stop, Wild stop!” A gruff voice commanded him but he couldn’t stop himself from continuing to struggle. There was a curse and suddenly the pressure was gone from his side and instead someone was grabbing at his arms. He squirmed in the grip for a moment before his brain caught up with the situation. He blinked and suddenly the world was back in focus and he was staring at the hero of Twilight who was looking at him with a mixture of concern and anger. 

“Damn it Wild, listen to me!” Twilight shouted and Wild felt himself cringe at the sudden rebuke and he quickly stopped moving. Twilight gave him a quick once over, making sure that he had his attention before he went back to pressing a cloth against the slice on Wild’s side. Wild couldn’t help but notice how Twilight’s hands were covered in red and he swallowed thickly. 

“What were you thinking, running off like that?” Twilight scolded as he pressed a bit harder against his side. Wild winced and feeling the desperate need to hide, he pulled at his hood until it covered his face. Twilight apparently didn’t notice his discomfort and continued on as he dug through his pack with one hand, searching for something. 

“How did you find me?” Wild asked in a small voice, and was graced with a stern glare. 

“Four tipped me off that you had run off and the nifty trail of bloody hand prints were a huge help,” He dead panned as he let out a gasp of triumph and forced a bottle of potion into Wild’s shaking hands. 

“Were you trying to hide this from us? You gotta know we don’t do that sort of thing, Hyrule will murder you himself if he ever finds out that you’re hiding an injury,” Twilight started as he gestured for him to drink. 

“What, n-no I wasn’t, I didn’t, I just...” Wild squawked as he fumbled with the cork in the bottle. Nerves and blood loss made the task close to impossible and Twilight grabbed the bottle away and removed the cork and handed it back roughly. 

“You weren’t? Because that's what it looked like to me kid, now drink the damn potion,” He said hotly and Wild could feel humiliated tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

“You scared the Hell out of me!” Twilight continued to rage as he lifted the edge of the cloth away to judge the damage. 

“I was calling for you, and you didn’t answer! Then imagine my horror as I stumbled across you leaning against a damn tree, pale, eyes distant and staring and covered in blood. Hylia help me, I thought you were already dead!” Twilight said and Wild felt shame burning at his throat. He glanced to the side and saw Twilight eyeing him and he hastily sipped at the red potion, grimacing at the bitter taste.  

“Why did you leave?” Twilight asked softly and somehow that tone of voice was even worse than the yelling. Wild swallowed down the lump in his throat, and took another sip of potion before he answered. 

“I was checking for more monsters,” he began lamely before he was cut off by a snort. 

“Bullshit, tell me the truth, Wild! Are you intimidated by us? Did we do something to make you want to hide your injuries? We wouldn’t think you weak for asking for help you know, we would never,” Twilight continued and Wild felt like he was trapped. His foot bounced in irritation and it was all he could do to sit still. 

“No nothing it’s like that!” Wild said quickly and Twilight offered him a confused look in response.

“Then why?” He implored leaning in close so he could look into Wild’s eyes that were hidden beneath the hood. 

“Because I’m broken okay!” Wild shouted suddenly, making Twilight flich at the unexpected volume of the response. Wild’s breaths were quickening as he clung desperately to the bottle in his hands like it was a lifeline. Twilight opened and closed his mouth for a moment not sure what to say. The sight would have been funny if it weren’t for the current situation. 

“Everything was going so well, I thought I had them under control and then just now I felt myself slipping and I couldn’t let you guys see, I didn’t want you to know, not yet,” Wild was babbling he knew but he couldn’t get himself to stop. 

“I thought it would be quick, just a minute or two and I would be fine, but as I was looking for a place to ride it out I noticed the blood and I couldn’t do anything besides hope I wouldn’t be too long,” He was practically hyperventilating now, and Twilight was staring at him wide eyed. 

“Hey, hey calm down, just breathe for a moment.” Twilight soothed as he shuffled closer and placed his free hand on his shoulder. Wild nodded quickly but that was easier said than done. 

His mind was racing, ‘once Twilight finds out he is going to tell the others,’ Wild thought to himself and that thought was enough to shoot panic through his core once again. Twilight will tell them and then they will throw him away. It was clear that he is too broken to be helpful. What team would want someone who could freeze up at any moment, at any possible trigger at any possible time? He was a liability, and now they would all know. 

“I need you to calm down and explain a couple of things please,” He said slowly, like he was trying to calm a wild animal. 

“And while you do that, can you please work on finishing that potion, it will help you feel better,” Twilight coaxed tapping the side of the bottle with a blood stained finger. Wild took a couple more gulping breaths of air and nodded before he sipped on the bitter liquid again. When he was a modicum more calm he began to explain. 

“My adventure, it wasn’t, exactly a smooth one.” He started and already his voice sounded horse and raw. Twilight nodded and gestured for him to continue. 

“I was, still am I suppose, living with the effects of my adventure. I had lost my memories you see, and during my quest I would get these flashes of my past memories.” He said distantly as he looked everywhere except at Twilight. He gave a light cough and continued. 

“These flashes have the unfortunate side effect of me freezing up. Sometimes for a few seconds, other times for minutes at a time. It appears this one just past was one of the longer ones.” He whispered and he could feel Twilight lean in and tap the bottle once more. Wild took another drink, this time not really tasting the disgusting flavor. 

“I’ve had a couple while I have been traveling with you all. Up to this point they were smaller ones, easy to hide for the most part. But this time it seems I got… Unlucky,” He said before finally downing the last of the potion in one quick swig. He felt a chill run down his spine and he handed the empty bottle back over to Twilight who took it slowly. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” He asked as he finally dropped his hands away from the bloodied cloth and stowed away the bottle. 

“Why? I was scared. Scared that once you all found out... “ Wild began and was stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He finally looked over at Twilight and found a sad, worried look plastered across his face. 

“You thought we would, what? Throw you out?” He asked and Wild felt a twinge in his heart at the hurt tone that colored Twilight’s voice. 

“Look, I know I am a liability, don’t pretend I’m not. I don’t know what could trigger a memory or when, or even how long they could last. I figured that once you all found out that I am broken beyond repair, that for the good of the whole, you would… “ He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His throat burned too much and just the thought of admitting it hurt his soul. 

“We would never, we all have our secrets Wild. This doesn’t make you broken or even a liability really. It would have been better to have known this sooner, we could have made sure to keep an eye on you to make sure you were safe,” Twilight sighed as he scooted closer and sat next to him. Wild felt the lump in his throat again and he couldn’t find the words to respond. 

“I can understand where you’re coming from though, but this is a good group you can trust,” Twilight said as he tugged at Wild’s sleeve, pulling him closer so he could wrap his arm around his shoulders. 

“How can you be so sure?” Wild muttered thickly. He felt the effects of the red potion as it finished healing him. His head came to rest on the soft pelt that wrapped around Twilight’s shoulders and he sighed. Twilight hummed as he considered how to answer. 

“Well, the people that know my secret haven’t said a word. They trust that I will let the other’s know when I feel comfortable,” Twilight said and Wild leaned away wobbily to look at him. 

“You have a secret?” He asked and noted how his voice sounded just a touch slurred. Twilight chuckled and pulled him close once again.

“I do. In fact how about this, I can tell you’re worried I will tell the others. I know I would be, so I will tell you mine. That way you can tell the other’s my secret if I tell them yours. Does that sound fair to you?” Twilight asked, giving Wild’s shoulders a little squeeze. He thought over the offer for a moment before asking a question of his own.

“What if your secret is something mundane, like…” Wild waved his hand around for a moment as he tried to think of something. 

“Like you secretly like the taste of radishes, or something like that?” He asked and Twilight let out a loud bellowing laugh. 

“You don’t like radishes?” He asked and Wild pulled away again to level a look at him.

“No one likes radishes Twi, anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to sell you something,” Wild watched as Twilight practically sobbed with mirth and waited patiently for him to finish. 

“I promise, my secret is way bigger than that. Now do we have a deal? You look about three seconds away from falling asleep and we still need to make it back to camp.” He said and Wild huffed and nodded as he laid his aching head against the farmer’s pelted shoulder again.

“Alright then, you know that wolf that shows up every once in a while in camp, or to bring you and Hyrule back to the group?” Twilight asked tapping against Wild’s forehead to get his attention before he slowly helped him to his feet. Wild wobbled a bit as he regained his footing, and Twilight took his arm  and laid it across his shoulders, baring some of Wild’s weight. Wild sagged against him gratefully and together they slowly started back towards camp. 

“Well that wolf isn’t what it seems,” Twilight hedged and Wild snorted. 

“Yeah we all know that the wolf isn’t a wild one, come on Twi. If your secret is that that wolf is your pet then you’re gonna have to do better than that,” Wild scoffed and he could feel Twilight shaking ever so slightly where his hands held onto him. 

“You are kind of right, that wolf is not wild.” Twilight said and Wild eyed him and waited.

“I know this because I am, in fact, that wolf,” Twilight said and Wild felt his jaw fall open in surprise. He had not been expecting that and he found his next question tumbling out of him before he could really register what he had just been told. 

“You’re the what now?” Wild gaped and he could feel the tremor grow more pronounced. Twilight coughed and refused to look at him. 

“I am that wolf. It is one of the… I guess you called it side effects from my adventure.” Twilight said as they moved through the brush towards camp. Wild had to actively work to close his mouth. He hated to admit it but he was having a hard time wrapping his brain around it. Whether that was due to the blood loss and the potion he had taken, or simply just the oddity that was Twilight’s admission was yet to be seen. 

“Twi, are you serious?” He asked and he watched as Twilight swallowed. Now it was his turn to look at everything else around them.

“I am serious, and I don’t know how the others haven’t figured that out yet. I mean look at the marks on my skin for the love of the Goddess.” He said with a nervous chuckle. Wild nodded slowly, not really sure what to say. He could tell that this was a big secret that he just entrusted to him and that made a warm glow bloom in his chest. Wild could feel a smile slowly spreading across his face at the thought. He felt honored that Twilight was willing to put his trust in him and it was at that moment that he knew he would never betray Twilight.  

“You can trust me Twi, I will never tell a soul under one condition, you answer a question for me,” Wild said and he felt Twilight stiffen under his arm. 

“Okay, what is your burning question then?” He asked and Wild felt a grin spread across his face. 

“Do you actually like radishes?”

[bearly-writing]

Hello! I absolutely loved "Bite the Bullet!" If you are still taking requests for Hurt/Comfort Bingo, could you possibly fill CPR with Dick Grayson/Nightwing receiving CPR from someone in the Bat family - preferably Bruce/Batman or Jason/Red Hood? Keep up the great work :D

Thank you so much for the lovely request! I’m really glad you enjoyed Bite the Bullet! I can only apologise for how long this fill has taken 😅

All of my prompts have been requested! I know it’s been a very long time since I last filled one of these, and I’m not sure if any of the prompters are still interested in these (or even remember that I was supposed to fill one for them 😂) but I am definitely going to finish these, including the Voltron ones!

Pale Reflections

Fandom: Batman

Prompt: CPR

Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Warnings: Near death experiences, Drowning, Past character death, blood and injury

Summary: Bruce blinks again. A chill breeze brushes against him, searching for a way through his uniform. Concrete, Bruce tells himself, it’s concrete, not sand. It’s water, not blood. It’s Dick.

And yet, he’s as still as Jason was then, as lifeless. Bruce moves without thinking. He isn’t thinking. His mind is utterly blank, a void in his head.

Read it on AO3 here!

Bruce doesn’t actually see Dick go into the water. There’s a shout - Jason, Bruce thinks - the confused sounds of a struggle, the splash of something heavy disappearing into the river. Bruce doesn’t have time to worry about it, not with the horde of Joker’s goons he’s trying to keep from overwhelming him.

So he doesn’t see his son hit the murky water. Doesn’t see his muscles seize at the shock of icy cold. Doesn’t see the dark gape of his mouth or the flash of black hair as Dick struggles to stay at the surface, his arms rigid and useless at his sides, his face tipped up to the dark Gotham sky and then, abruptly, not.

By the time Bruce has dropped his final opponent and turned around, Jason has already pulled him out. They’re both soaked, filthy water running in rivulets over Jason’s leather jacket, dripping off the curly ends of his hair. There’s a small puddle of it under Dick, who’s lying motionless against the concrete of the docks.

For a moment, Bruce doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. There’s Jason, kneeling on the ground, his helmet gone, face tight with fear. There’s Tim, standing over them, mouth wide, eyes gleaming in the dim light. There’s Dick, lying still underneath them, so <I>still</i>, the lenses of his domino flipped up, his eyes shut, wet strands of hair plastered to his pale forehead.

Bruce’s heart seizes in his chest. Thuds to a stop behind his ribs. Around him, the night is cool and dark but Bruce feels suddenly too warm, flushed with phantom heat. He blinks, lashes rasping against the lenses of the cowl and it’s somehow still there - that morbid plateau, his children blocky shadows in the darkness.

Bruce blinks again. A chill breeze brushes against him, searching for a way through his uniform. Concrete, Bruce tells himself, it’s concrete, not sand. It’s water, not blood. It’s Dick.

And yet, he’s as still as Jason was then, as lifeless. Bruce moves without thinking. He isn’t thinking. His mind is utterly blank, a void in his head.

Jason glances up when Bruce reaches them and his eyes are wide and white and he <i>snarls</i> as Bruce reaches out towards Dick, hunching over his brother, getting in the way. Bruce ignores him. Kneels. Close up, Dick looks even worse: pale and shining damply like some water-logged corpse.

Bruce has to swallow against a surge of acrid bile. He yanks off his gauntlet, tosses it across the dock. Presses fat, nerveless fingers against the crease beneath his son’s jaw. For an aching moment, he feels nothing. No thrum of blood beneath his skin. No sign of life. The sun is hot against his back. Sand shifts beneath his knees - or maybe it’s ash, thrown up by the smouldering debris. The smell of blood is heavy in the air.

Then, weak and thready, but there - a struggling pulse.

There’s a ringing in Bruce’s head so loud that he almost misses Tim crouching beside him, the three of them lined up on their knees like men at prayer. Bruce tilts Dick’s head back and his face is like a mask, waxy and unnaturally blank and it looks so <i>wrong</i>. Bruce drops his own head and stares intently at his son’s chest instead. No puff of air against his cheek. No steady rise and fall of Dick’s ribs. Bruce yanks his cowl back with a shaking hand and presses his face right against Dick’s lips. Still nothing.

The world drops out from underneath Bruce.

“Is he breathing?” Tim asks. He sounds very far away, as if he’s the one who’s underwater. The air is thick as jello and just as hard to breathe,

Bruce’s throat is too tight to speak, the words sealed inside his chest. All he can do is shake his head.

He’s not breathing. Dick isn’t breathing. Bruce’s <i>son</i> isn’t breathing.

Remember his training: CPR, one of the first things he had learned. Clear the airways - Bruce has already tilted Dick’s head back the way you’re supposed to. So: rescue breaths. Bruce gently presses Dick’s mouth open, using his other hand to keep Dick’s head tilted back. Then he seals his mouth over his son’s.

One. Two. Three.

Check for breath. Nothing. Time for compressions, then. One palm flat on his sternum, the other curled around his own splayed fingers. Arms straight to keep the force behind the movement. Don’t worry about breaking ribs, right now, it’s more important to get his chest moving.

There’s a rhythm to the whole thing. A song: <I>Nelly the Elephant packed her trunk and said goodbye to the circus</I>.

Dick - Dick has a little stuffed toy elephant. Zitka, she’s called rather than Nelly, after the actual elephant he had known, back when he’d been part of the circus. Bruce has seen it a hundred times. Dick used to cart the thing everywhere - out on family walks on the grounds, cuddled in his arms during movie nights, tucked under his chin when he’d snuggled against Bruce after sneaking into his room at night, seeking comfort after nightmares.

Does he still have it? Bruce doesn’t know. Maybe it’s back at the manor, safely tucked away in a closet in his old room. Maybe it’s in Bludhaven, sitting proudly in the middle of a messy bed. It’s not like Dick is ashamed of that sort of thing - of needing comfort, of his fond nostalgia for his childhood.

Bruce should find it for him. Bruce - he needs to find his little boy’s elephant, he needs to make this better, because Dick is <i>hurt</I> and Bruce needs him not to be.

How many compressions has that been? Dick is still and silent under Bruce’s hands. When Bruce pulls back, he half expects Dick to be watching him, eyes bright, but his lids are still closed, pale and waxy in the dim light. The only eyes on him are Tim’s and Jason’s, burning heavy against the side of his face.

More rescue breaths. Dick’s chest rises a little beneath Bruce’s palm, but it’s only his own air forcing his child’s chest to move. More compressions. Tim is saying something, sounding like he’s speaking from the other end of a very long tunnel, and Bruce can’t hear him over the thundering of his own pulse in his ears. Something about an ambulance, maybe? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting Dick to <i>breathe</I> again.

Something cracks under his palm. Bruce falters. His ribs. His little boy’s ribs are cracked and broken under his fingers. A jut of jagged bone, slick with blood and viscera presses against him. Bruce snatches his hands back like they’ve been burnt. Stares at them blankly in the dim light. There’s - they should be soaked in blood, gloves torn by debris, but there’s only the slight shine of water against the black.

There’s a roaring like distant thunder. Like desert wind. The air is so dry. Bruce can’t breathe. His chest is so tight. Like iron. Like his own ribs are caved in. His vision blurs like the whole world is spinning around him.

Someone pushes Bruce out of the way. He tries to plant himself in front of his son, his little boy. No one deserves to touch him. No one should have a chance to hurt him. But Bruce’s muscles don’t seem to be responding to him and he’s too weak to fight against the forceful shove.

Broad shoulders block his view of his son, brown leather stretched between them. Bruce stares blankly at the man’s back as he takes over compressions. Muscles ripple beneath his jacket. The thud of each push echoes in Bruce’s ears.

It’s Jason, Bruce realises, as slowly as if he’s swimming through treacle. It’s Jason pressing down on his son’s chest with measured, forceful thrusts. But that isn’t right, because it’s Jason on the floor, his body broken and ruined, his chest still.

Or - no - it’s not Jason. It’s not Jason lying shattered on the desert sand. It’s Dick. This isn’t a memory of the past. A painful ghost of a horror that Bruce couldn’t stop. This is real and this is happening. To Dick. To Bruce’s eldest son.

And Bruce is sitting helplessly at the side as his son dies.

No. No. This isn’t - this isn’t happening. Not to Dick. This isn’t possible.

There’s a strange disconnect in Bruce’s mind. It keeps him frozen as Jason bends down and forces Dick’s shattered chest to rise. As Tim shuffles closer, pale hands fluttering, brushing damp locks of hair from Dick’s still face.

In the distance, a siren wails. Bruce hears it as though it’s coming from another planet. How many times has Dick been on another planet? How many times has Bruce worried himself sick over the danger his boy might be in, where Bruce can’t protect him. And now Dick is dying right under Bruce’s nose and he hadn’t even <i>noticed</I>.

The breath feels caught in Bruce’s throat. If Dick isn’t breathing, then Bruce doesn’t see why he should. <I>Please</I>, he begs, please let him take Dick’s place. Bruce can’t bury another son. He can’t.

He barely notices the ambulance arrive. It only registers when Jason pulls away, making space for the paramedics to take over saving Dick’s life. A desperate possessiveness rises in Bruce’s chest then. These people don’t know Dick. They don’t remember when he messed up sliding down the bannister and skinned his knee. They’ve never tucked him into bed with them after a nightmare, feeling tears soak through their cotton shirt. They’ve never held him in their arms after he took a bad tumble on patrol and felt how small he is, how fragile.

When he lunges for his son, not even entirely sure what he’s planning to do, strong arms catch him. Bruce fights against them without any finesse. Snarling. Desperate. But the grip holds firm. Someone is murmuring low in his ear but Bruce can’t hear them over the pounding of his heart and his own frantic noises.

“B,” the voice growls. “Stop. They’re trying to help him. You need to let them.”

Bruce hears the words, but doesn’t register them. All he can think is that Dick is hurt and someone is keeping Bruce from him. Someone is stopping him from getting to his son.

“B!” A different voice. Less growly but no less desperate. “Listen to Hood. Calm down.”

It’s Jason’s vigilante name that finally breaks through the static in Bruce’s head. It’s Jason’s arms around him, his voice in his ear. It’s Tim standing in front of them both, face pale beneath his domino.

Bruce slumps. Jason takes his weight with surprising ease. When did his boy get so strong? So big? Bruce had missed it. Missed Jason growing from the skinny little teenager he’d been to the vigilante he is now.

Tim closes the distance between them, blocking Bruce’s view of the ambulance and whatever the paramedics are doing with Dick. His face is so pale he’s almost glowing. His dark eyebrows are pulled low over his eyes in concern.

“He’ll be okay, B,” he says, shakily.

Bruce shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the fear on his face or the ambulance as it pulls away, taking his son with it.

***

Dick is fine, Bruce tells himself. The heart monitor is beeping softly and steadily in the background. Dick’s hand is warm in his own, fingers limp but soft and dry. They’re only keeping him in the hospital to monitor for dry drowning and to let his ribs heal up a little. The worst danger has passed.

Jason is fine too. And Tim. They’ve gone to get coffee and snacks from the vending machine down the hall. They were in here just a few moments ago. Jason is here. Tim is here. Dick is here.

Bruce hasn’t lost anyone today.

As if spurred by the thought, Dick’s fingers twitch in Bruce’s grip. Bruce squeezes them in his own almost automatically. Then he shifts to lean over the bed, brushing Dick’s hair back from his pale face. Dick blinks, dark eyelashes fluttering. He groans.

“Dick?” Bruce asks, lowly. He hadn’t meant the name to come out so tentative, so broken, but his throat feels like it’s been torn to shreds.

Dick’s head lolls against the pillow. Bruce shifts to cup his cheek and hold him steady. Blue eyes peek out at him from beneath heavy, waxy lids. Bruce’s mouth feels so dry. Like a desert.

“B?” Dick murmurs. And if Bruce had sounded bad, Dick sounds as though he’s been gargling glass.

“I’m here,” Bruce says. “I’m here, Dick. You’re okay.”

Dick frowns. He blinks but his eyes are still glazed and unfocused. “What,” he manages, “what happened? Where am I?”

Bruce strokes a trembling hand over Dick’s cheek. Why is he shaking? Batman’s hands are supposed to be steady. And Dick is fine. He’s here. He’s talking, even. Perfectly okay.

“You’re at the hospital, sweetheart. You were thrown into the harbour during patrol.”

Dick swallows dryly. His throat clicks. It sounds like it hurts and Bruce can’t stop himself from wincing.

“The hospital?” Dick whispers.

“Gotham General.”

“Why?” Dick asks, dark brows low over shiny eyes. “Why not…the cave?”

Bruce’s throat is thick, his words unwieldy. “You nearly died,” Bruce croaks. “You were…you weren’t breathing. We needed an ambulance. Otherwise…”

He can’t bring himself to finish. Stupidly, Bruce feels quick heat rising behind his eyes, the threat of tears. Suddenly, he can’t breathe. His hands are shaking so badly. To try to stem the trembling, Bruce clasps them close to his chest. Then he bends over them, pressing his face to Dick’s sternum. His son’s heart thuds beneath his ribs.

“B?” Dick asks, again, voice small and unsure. A hand touches Bruce’s head, nimble fingers threading through his sweaty hair.

“You nearly died,” is all Bruce can manage, muffled against the hospital sheets.

Dick makes a soft sound. He pets at Bruce and a swell of painful affection crashes through Bruce’s chest.

“I’m here,” Dick whispers, voice rough. “I’m still here, B. I’m fine.”

“I know,” Bruce whispers back, but he can’t bring himself to lift his head. The thud of Dick’s heart is too reassuring. He remembers it weak and thready against his fingers. He remembers pressing his face to a shattered chest and hearing nothing but hollow silence.

Dick doesn’t reply, but his hand continues to move against Bruce’s hair. Bruce appreciates the reassurance - the way Dick implicitly understands that Bruce needs to know he’s awake. He’s alive.

They sit like that for long enough that Bruce is surprised Dick doesn’t fall back asleep. Eventually, Jason and Tim return. If they’re surprised by the scene they stumble on - Dick awake but not fully aware, Bruce bent over him like a man at prayer - they make no comment.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” Jason says, gruffly. “You nearly gave the old man a heart attack.”

Dick hums. Bruce wants to defend himself, but he can’t seem to dredge up the words.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Dick says, softly. “All of you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Jason says, dismissively.

Bruce remembers the wide, wild look in Jason’s eyes. The way he had snarled at Bruce when he’d first reached Dick’s side.

He doesn’t remind Jason of that.

“Still,” Dick says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Bruce says, finally lifting his head. He cups Dick’s cheek again, fondly. “I’m just glad you’re still here.”

Dick swallows again. Bruce will have to ask Tim or Jason to get some ice.

“Me too,” Dick says. “I’m not going anywhere, B.”

[ak47stylegirl]

Hmm... sicktember, huh? Let's go for #10 and I'm going to be boringly predictable with Scott :D Your choice of caretaker.

This was fun 😁 I know you love Scott and Gordon, so the choice of the caretaker was easy lol 😂 I hope you enjoy it! I went with a little bit of a different writing style with this fic, so hopes it's good 😅

I'm doing this challenge by asks, so send in a number and a bro, and I'll get to writing 😄 Overload my inbox!! 😁

----

Glass crunched under his feet.

“Wow…this place was asking to become a danger zone...” Gordon muttered, gingerly tipping over an empty beaker with a finger. “What even was this place?”

It was hard to tell what was dust and what was rubble from the earthquake; everything was in some form of ruin or decay.

“The building is listed as an office complex, owned by lee frank industries, but….” John frowned, sounding perplexed, “something doesn't add up….”

Frustration was evident in John’s voice, because there was nothing that John hated more than a puzzle piece to a mystery being just outside his grasp.

That or false information, especially incorrect space facts…oh boy, does John go feral if you joke that the sun is just a planet that‘s on fire.

So does Alan, though he's more the barking puppy variety, Gordon thought with a smirk, oh that was a great mental image…

“You’re right about that, John….” Scott reported, stormy blue eyes scanning the room, back rigid. “This looks more like a lab than an office, and not one that reaches any legal safety requirements either….”

Gordon straightens unconsciously, becoming more alert and focused. He understood what Scott was implying and what that could mean…

The building’s stability may not be the only danger…

There was a tense pause on the comms before “I’m contacting the GDF….” John's voice filtered over the comms, each word heavy with the severity of the possible growing situation.

“Good plan, John….” Scott nodded, looking left and right down the long complex “in the meantime, Gordon and I should look for survivors….”

“FAB….just..” John’s professional mask slipped for a second, his voice softening, “be careful down there, okay?”

“Will do…” Scott nodded, with a small, confident smile, catching his eye, “Gordon will search the left side of the building, while I take the right, all agreed?”

“FAB”, Gordon and John replied in unison.

“Good”, Scott’s eyes hardened, his commander persona coming to the forefront, “comms stay on at all times, is that understood?”

Acknowledgement was voiced, and in Gordon’s case, in the form of a mock salute, and an ‘Ay, Ay captain!’

Scott’s eye roll could be felt from space.

----

So far, the left side of the building was devoid of life, a ghost town of broken glass and rubble.

And bodies.

“I found another one, John..” Gordon grimaced, crouching down next to a middle-aged female, who was crushed by a shelf, chemical burns making her unrecognisable.

“Damn it, Scott was right, this place was a safety hazard waiting to happen…” Gordon looked around the small stuffy room, bottles of chemicals stacked haphazardly, sharp objects just discard all over the place.

Brains would have a fit if he saw this…

“Had any luck on your end, Scott?”

“Not so far, but keep-” the sounds of harsh coughing could be heard over the comms, “-keep l-looking….”

Gordon frowned, “Scott, are you alright?”

There was more coughing before Scott replied, “I’m f-fine…I just-” Scott groaned, his words starting to slur, “-I just cau-caught my..my b-breath, I-”

There was more coughing and a thud on the other end, followed by Scott’s comm going dead. “Scott?! Scott, are you alright?! Answer me!”

Gordon started to run full speed, all thoughts of lab safety abandoned in his panic. All of the alarm bells in his head were ringing; something’s wrong, something’s wrong.

Something’s wrong!

“Gordon, put your helmet on now!” John barked over the comm line, causing him to halt and follow without question. “There is an unknown gas radiating from Scott’s location! GDF and Virgil are on route now!”

Gordon took off in a sprint again, helmet now secured. “Good! We may need it! Do you have eyes on Scott?”

Gordon flew around a corner.

“He’s still not responding; vitals show he’s conscious, but none of them are in a healthy range.”

John sounded worried. Not a good sign. As was the yelling he could hear as he neared Scott’s location, but something was off about it.

The only one yelling was Scott.

He slowed down his pace, not wanting to run into an unknown, possibly dangerous situation unprepared.

“No! No! Gordon! Please, wake up!” Scott could be heard screaming; his voice filled with pure anguish. “Please!!”

A shiver ran down Gordon’s spine, “John, you don’t have any clue what that gas does, do you?” He whispered tensely; honestly a bit freaked out by Scott’s cries.

“I’m working on it….” John growled, sounding beyond frustrated that vital information was alluring him. “Don’t engage Scott until we know what we’re dealing with, okay?”

Gordon scowled, hearing Scott scream and cry his name again. “Sorry John, no can do….” He turned the corner, finally laying eyes on his brother.

Scott was hunched over a body, screaming his name and begging the dead body to wake up, sob rattling Scott’s shoulders.

Scott thought that body, a young adult male, was him, Gordon realised in horror, his face going ash white.

“Scotty?” Gordon spoke softly, taking a cautious step forward, his hands held up in front of him in a gesture of peace. “You’re okay there, bro?”

Scott’s head snapped up at his entrance, blue eyes locking onto him. Blue eyes which were cloudy and glazed over.

Gordon grimaced, taking another step forward.

Yeah, Scott wasn’t in his right mind; that was plainly obvious.

The situation changed so fast Gordon barely had time to react as Scott launched to his feet with a snarl, yelling, “You!”

Gordon barely dodged Scott’s punch, his eyes going wide. “Whoa! Scott, it’s me! Gordon!” He pleaded as he dodged Scott’s attacks.

That seemed to just make Scott angrier, “don’t you lie to me, you bastard! You killed my brother!!” Scott jumped at him, finally managing to knock him off his feet.

This was bad! This was very bad! Gordon thought as his big brother started to punch him, pinning him down with a crazed look in his eyes.

Virgil and John were yelling at him over comms. He had to do something! Gordon thought as he struggled against Scott, whose punches were becoming more painful.

Gordon’s elbow stuck Scott’s cheek, stunning Scott long enough for him to shove Scott off, and put distance between them.

“Scott! Stop this! I don’t know what you’re seeing, but it’s not true!” Gordon yelled as he once again began to dodge Scott’s attacks, his ribs protesting immensely. “Please, Scotty!”

Scott’s attacks stopped, blue eyes clearing for a second, “Gordy?” Scott’s voice trembled, sounding so terrified.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me, Scooter….” He took a hesitant step forward, a plan forming in his mind. “We were on a rescue, remember?”

He took another step forward, seeing that Scott was staying still, slowly reaching for the emergency sedative in his sash.

Scott’s eyes latched on his hand movement, eyes going wide, and the anger returned. “Ahhhrgh! Get out of my head!” Scott shook his head, gripping his hair in his fists. “Your tricks won’t work on me, Hood!”

Well, that explains a lot…

He took another step forward, “Scotty, I promise I’m not-“

“Enough lies!” Scott screamed, tackling him to the ground, his head hitting the ground hard, being momentarily stunned.

“No!” Gordon cried out as Scott knocked the syringe from his hand, it rolling just out of his reach.

“It’s over, Hood!” Scott sneered, blue eyes devoid of their normal kindness and love, “you’re never going to hurt my family ever again!”

Gordon looked into emotionless eyes, and felt proper fear of his brother for the first time in his life.

Scott wasn’t going to stop; he was going to...

Gordon growled, his eyes hardening in detention as his fist met Scott’s nose. Scott cried out in pain, distracted for a second, and in that second, he was able to wrestle Scott under him.

While Gordon was quick and agile, a good fighter in his own right, Scott was stronger than him. The fight quickly escalated into a wrestling match, neither letting the other get the upper hand.

Gordon spotted the syringe near them, just as Scott got the upper hand, slamming him into the ground.

No matter how much he struggled, Scott had him well and truly pinned this time, one arm pinned above his head.

One arm was free, but mobility was limited by Scott’s body weight on his upper shoulder and arm. But he had to try!

“Scott! I’m just tr-” Scott pressed his forearm against Gordon’s throat, beginning to cut off his air supply “,-t-trying to help you!”

His fingers brushed against the syringe, it slipping just out of his grasp. So close! So close!

“Like hell you are!” Scott cried, tears of anguish and fury pouring down his cheeks. “What have we ever done to you?! What have my little brothers done?!”

Tears pickled at the corners of Gordon’s eyes, his vision darkening just as his hand finally gripped the syringe.

He didn’t hesitate, slamming the syringe into Scott’s thigh with all of his remaining strength. Scott cried out, the pressure on his throat disappearing as Scott leapt away from him.

“What did you-” Scott stumbled, falling on his butt, eyes starting to blink rapidly. “What did you just...just inject into me?!”

Gordon slowly sat up, wrapping an arm around his ribs. “Scotty, it’s okay….” He moved towards Scott, who tried to flinch away, but only ended up collapsing onto his side.

“No, no, this, this can’t be h-happening..” Scott whimpered in despair, unable to lift his head or stop Gordon from moving towards him. “P-please, not G-Gordy….”

“I’m right here; I’m right here, Scotty..” Gordon pulled Scott onto his lap, wrapping his arms around him tightly. “It’s alright, shh come on, go to sleep now….”

Scott’s eyes were becoming heavy, each blink becoming more prolonged than the last, “No, I can’t…I gotta…I gotta…“

Scott’s breathing evened out, eyes slipping close and not opening again. Gordon sighed in relief, slumping backwards, Scott’s head resting against his chest.

“You owe me big time, big brother…” Gordon whispered with a small pained smile, hearing Virgil’s voice in the distance. “So very, very much….”

[platonicteenwolf]

Second Chance At First Line

(S1E2) Part I

Teen Wolf x Reader Series Rewrite

A/N: I AM BACK!! Got back into my Teen Wolf interest so will be writing a LOT MORE soon so look forward to that!! :D Also apologies there's not as much reader in this one, I didn't want to shove them into the plot-line but deffo more in the future :]

They/Them Pronouns Version

He/Him Pronouns Version

Next Part / Masterlist

Warnings: none

Walking into the boys Lacrosse locker room, Scott slowly drops his bag in front of his locker, gloves falling to the floor next to it. He seems to be moving in a trance. Turns, back against the locker, his eyes look over the crowd of teammates staring in shock.

Stiles pokes his head out from around the corner.

“You apologize to Allison?” He questions.

“Yeah.”

“So she’s giving you a second chance or..?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah! Alright! So everything’s good?”

“No.”

“No?”

Giving a heavy sigh, Scott explains his dilemma to his friend “Remember the hunters? Her dad is one of them.”

“Her dad?”

“Shot me...”

“Allison’s father?” Stiles seems shocked to hear this new information.

“...With a crossbow.”

“Allison’s--“

“YES. HER FATHER!” Speaking louder than necessary, his voice carries across the locker room and a few heads turn to see the commotion. Scott snaps out of the daze and into a full on panic. “Oh my God, oh my Godddd. What am I going to do?”

“No, Scott. Snap back. Ok?” He lightly tapped the side of Scott’s face trying to bring him back in focus. “Okay, okay--did he recognize you?”

“No, I don’t think so--“

“Does she know about him?”

“I- I don’t know, what if she does?” Scott’s face contorts in anguish as he realizes how much danger he could be in. “This is gonna kill me man.”

“All right, okay, we’ll figure it out. Just--just focus on lacrosse. Take this, take this,” Stiles begins picking up his practice pads and handing them to his friend. “Just focus on lacrosse for now, that’s all you’ve got to do.” Now patting him on the arm, emphasizing every word, Stiles tries his best to help Scott’s panic. “Here, we, go.”

—————

A whistle rings throughout the field.

“Let’s go!” Coach Finstock yells as the players slam into each other during practice. “One-on-one from up top!”

As Jackson jogs towards the bleachers Coach calls his name.

“Jackson, take a long stick today... Attaboy.”

Coach Finstock tosses the ball to the first player, a kid named Greenberg. But Jackson is on him in seconds, smashing his stick down on the poor kid’s gloves, sending the ball flying out of the pocket.

“Nicely done, Jackson,” Coach praises. “Greenberg, that was a pathetic display of amateur ability. Do a lap.”

As Greenberg takes off into a run, the next Player charges. Scott, gazing off with far too many thoughts swirling in his head, doesn’t notice the other players backing up behind him.

“McCall, what’re your waiting for. Let’s go!”

He snaps to attention, realizing he’s at the head of the line. Coach tosses the ball. Scott goes for the shot. Running towards the goal, Jackson steps up to meet him half way and slams into Scott. A moment later he lands on the ground with a sickening thud. Coach is walking over to where Scott lays stunned on the ground.

Chuckling he asks, “Hey McCall, Hey McCall!”

As the werewolf looks towards the sky, he cradles his forearm where Jackson’s stick came down especially hard between his glove and elbow pad.

“You sure you still want to be first line, McCall,” Jackson taunts.

Gritting his teeth in anger, Scott looks up to see Jackson walking away.

“McCall, my grandmother can move faster than that and she’s dead! Can you move faster than the... lifeless corpse of my dead grandmother, McCall?”

Now seething in his rage, Scotts reveals his brown eyes which are rapidly brightening to yellow. “Yes, Coach.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes Coach!” He says slightly louder.

“Then do it again.” As Scott jogs back to the front of the line, Coach calls to the rest of the team. “McCalls gonna do it again!”

The whistle blows and Scott shoots forward again as Coach tosses the ball to him. Stiles steps away from the rest of the team, noticing the change in Scott. His speed, the extraordinary agility with which he moves.

An oblivious Jackson goes for a cross check, heading for Scott with his stick horizontal even as the smaller boy hurtles toward him with ferocious speed.

They collide like two goats locking horns. Both go down, Jackson hollering as he hits the ground.

The sickening sound of bone dislodging from socket sends a cringe through Coach. While everyone else runs over to check on Jackson, Stiles hurries to Scott’s side.

“Are you okay?”

But Scott won’t lift his head, won’t reveal his face to Stiles underneath the helmet.

“Scott?”

His head tilts up to reveal the sharpened teeth jutting out from his lower jaw.

“It’s happening. I can’t control it.“

“Come, on. Now? Get up, get up.”

Grabbing him by the shoulder pads, Stiles pulls him up. As Stiles drags him off the field and toward the lockers, neither of them notice someone watching from the sidelines... Derek Hale.

—————

The door to the darkened locker room clangs open, Stiles dragging a hunched over Scott inside.

“Get back,” Scott warns.

“I’m just trying to help--“

“Get away from me!”

His voice comes out with a frighteningly demonic rasp, head snapping around as if to rip out the other boy’s throat.

Stiles retreats, almost stumbling over his own feet at the sight of Scott’s eyes. The sounds coming from him are painful, animalistic and frighteningly aggressive.

Turning back, Scott doubles over in pain. He tears off his lacrosse gloves to reveal his sharpened claws.

Stiles keeps stepping away in fear, accidentally backing into a fire extinguisher against the wall.

The clang of metal causes Scott to whip his head around. But it’s no longer Scott under that helmet or behind those rage-filled yellow eyes.

He hurtles toward Stiles, rounding the corner of the lockers, jumping onto the wood bench and up as Stiles lifts the fire extinguisher and pulls the trigger, blasting CO2 from the nozzle. Scott’s clawed hands come up to shield his face, plumes of white surrounding him.

Darting around another corner, Stiles backs against the lockers, waiting for the next attack.

“Stiles?”

Slowly, Stiles peers around the locker row to see Scott on the floor, chest heaving with each difficult breath. He pulls the helmet off to reveal he’s back to normal. Face drenched with sweat.

“What happened?”

“You tried to kill me.”

Stiles drops the extinguisher to the floor. Still shaking and unable to conceal his anger at his friend.

“It’s like I told you. It’s the anger, your pulse rising. They’re all triggers.”

“But that’s lacrosse. It’s a pretty violent game if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, its gonna be a lot more violent if you end up killing someone on the field. You can’t play Saturday. You have to get out of the game.”

“But I’m first line.”

“Not anymore.”

—————

An emotionally and physically exhausted Scott tosses his school bag on the floor and falls face first onto the bed. Melissa McCall looks in.

“Late shift again for me, but I’m taking a night off to see your first game.”

“Mom, you can’t.”

“I can and I will. One shift won’t break us. Not completely. And what’s wrong with your eyes?”

Scott glances up in alarm.

“You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Oh. It’s nothing. Just kind of stressed.”

“Just stress? Nothing else? You’re not on drugs or anything?”

“Right now?”

“Right now?! What do you mean right now? Have you ever taken drugs?”

“Have you?”

A question she clearly doesn’t want to answer.

“Get some sleep.”

Car keys in hand, Melissa leaves.

Scott drags himself up from the bed and hits the mouse on his computer. The moment it wakes, a web chat invitation from Stiles pops up. Scott hits accept and Stiles and James appeared in the voice call.

—————

As Scott pops up on my screen, Stiles spins around in his chair holding a nerf gun, shooting at the camera.

“You’re such a nerd Stiles,” I chide.

Defending himself, he mocks back. “You’re such a nerd Stiles”

Interrupting our tom-foolery, Scott asks, “What’d you find out?”

“It’s bad,” I warn, “Jackson’s got a separated shoulder.”

“Because of me?”

“Oh please,” Stiles says. “It’s because he’s a tool. It’s not your fault.”

“Is he going to play?”

Relaying what Coach told me earlier, I tell the boys “They don’t know yet. But now they’re all counting on you for Saturday.”

As Scott sighs, Stiles leans closer to the web cam window, squinting his eyes at it. He seems to be looking at something in Scott’s room.

“What?”

A text window pops up the screen and Stiles types:

It looks like--

Scott’s screen starts lagging and a notification comes up across his screen saying he has a bad connection. As I zoom in on Scott’s image trying to see what Stiles is talking about, I finally see it. A dark shadow is standing behind him in his room. Leaping from my chair, I run to Stiles room and slam open the door. Pulling up a chair next to him, I meet his face full of worry as Scott’s screen continues to load.

—————

The cursor turns into a spinning wheel, the computer momentarily hung up. Stiles’s web cam image freezes.

“Looks like what?”

A moment later, the cursor finally stops spinning and the rest of the text appears:

It looks like someone’s behind you.

Scott stops breathing. He doesn’t turn around.

Staying very still, his eyes move to his own image in the bottom corner of the web cam window. He slowly clicks the mouse, re-sizing the window, making it larger and larger until he sees his own reflected face, an expression of pure fear on it. And behind him a strange silhouette. Someone is standing there in the shadows of his room.

Scott spins around and Derek grabs him, yanking him away from the desk, sending the laptop clattering to the floor. Dragging him up, he slams Scott face first to the wall.

“I saw you on the field.”

”What? What are you talking--“

“You shifted in front of them. If they find out what you are, they find out about me. About all of us. Then it’s not just hunters after us. It’s everyone.”

“But they didn’t, didn't see anything. I swear--“

“And they won’t. Because if you try to play that game Saturday...” Derek comes terrifyingly close, right next to Scott’s ear.

“I’ll kill you myself.”

He pulls Scott from the wall and sends him tumbling across the room. When Scott looks up from the floor, Derek is gone.

The bedroom window lies open where he must have leapt with incredible speed, leaving Scott alone in his room. And shaking in fear...

—————

Tag List: @linkpk88 @mochminnie @im-a-stranger-thing @that-winged-rat @avengersgirl1221

[mariamermaid]

Lucky Charm

Tyler Locke x Reader

Summary: After losing a hockey game, Tyler realized that you might be his lucky charm…

Words: 1k

A/N: With the prompt 59 “Are you happy now?”. I decided to leave off prompt 25 since I wrote already several oneshots with it. Sorry it took so long

 It was a simple routine you had grown to.

It started out when your friend dragged you along to watch her boyfriend play hockey, but what caught your attention was somebody different. Tyler noticed you immediately sitting in the rows, you had given him a pencil on his first day. He remembered your smile, not judgmental, not with second thoughts, honest. And he remembered your smile when he made a goal, his heart skipping a beat.

With weeks passing, you began talking more, first in school and later out of school. You met in the library to study or drink coffee in town. A casual flow keeping you on track.

However, there came a weekend where you couldn´t come to the game. It was your grandmother´s 80th birthday, an event you didn´t want to miss. Besides your family would disinherit you if you didn´t come. But when you heard the news of losing, you did have some guilt weighing you down. It was stupid, it wasn’t your fault they had lost, right?

The next day in school was being dragged along, the minutes just didn´t wanted to pass and each class felt like eternity to you. The ringing to the break finally echoed and exhausted you carried yourself to your locker, throwing the books carefree in it. When you closed the door again, you jerked, Tyler was suddenly standing next to. You hadn´t heard or seen him coming to yu. He chuckled at your surprised reaction, but became serious again. “Sorry, didn´t want to scare you.” You shrugged and offered him a polite smile. “It wasn´t your fault, guess I´m just on the wrong track today.”

“Not just you”, he sighed while scratching his neck. “Heard about the loss, really sorry.”

“It was the first loss in this year, guess everybody is just a little demotivated”, he explained but it didn´t sound convincing. It sounded like the explanation you´d give your parents, nonspecific and avoiding the heart of the topic. “Isn´t there a game next week again?” You asked while you both walked through the cafeteria. He nodded and grabbed a plate for the two of you. You nodded thanking and tried to stop your heart beating faster at this simple gesture. Pushing the thought away, you listened to him. “Yeah, the coach has made some new tactics, hopefully we´ll get luckier this time.” You smiled up to him. “I´m sure you´ll have more luck next time, you know why?”

“No, why?” The grin you wore was hard to hide now, but the sudden wave of boldness came rushing over you. “Well, you´ll have your lucky charm back!”

“My lucky charm?” Tyler sounded confused, which made him look awfully cute, not that you particularly noticed… “Yes, me!”

He laughed while following you to the table. “So that means you´ll be there?” “Count me in.”

 As much as the rest of the team was still a little demotivated and lacking in enthusiasm, Tyler was back in the game. Each practice he imagined you sitting in the audience, clapping and cheering for him. Well, for the team as well, but the thought of you being his, and only his, lucky charm… It drove him insane.

With his newly found motivation, which also led to the rest of them team getting pushed, the game started on Friday night. The crowd was also going crazy, doing it´s best to support the team and it worked. Till the first half everything was going fine, but then after the break, things got a little harder. The opponent seemed to have figured out a rhythm, and was able to bring the score to a tie. You could practically feel the tension hanging in the air and rubbed your cold fingers nervously. There were only two minutes left to play, it was still a draw, when Tyler´s coach called the team in for a last-minute talk. The ice stadium was filled and after the break, it seemed that even more people joined to watch. Sadly, it made it hard for you to see onto the rink, since people filled your view. Annoyed you let out a huff and hurried down the stairs to get a closer look. Tyler lost you in the crowd while still trying to listen to the coach. “I want you to push forward, John is gonna hold you back free and then try to score”, he explained at pointed towards Tyler. He nodded and felt how sweat dripped down his neck. He had pulled off his helmet, the loud crowd already made it hard enough to hear the words. But just before the referee was about to start the time again, the opponent team was getting back on their positions as well. Tyler heard somebody call out his name. He spun around and caught eye of you, standing next to the railing. He gave a quick sign to his team members and coach, before joining you on the side. “Good luck!” You explained, loud enough for him to hear, but nobody else around. He nodded. “We´ll need it.”

“Good thing I have a last resort for you”, you smiled. Tyler seemed confused, but then he felt your hands grabbing his collar and getting slightly pulled down. He felt your cold lips press against his warm ones. He was feeling hot and sweaty, while you had cooled down only sitting around. He had the urge to wrap a thick blanket around you and make you a cup of hot chocolate, but decided to save that for later. “Good luck”, you breathed against his lips. He smiled. “I don´t think we can lose now.”

His team colleagues hollered as he slid back on the ice field and he pulled down his helmet to hide his deep shade of blush. At the same time a rush of confidence floated through his veins. He was absolutely right, after that boost of energy, there wasn´t a thing that kept him from losing. The stadium was so loud after he shot the final goal, but all he could hear was your screaming, your clapping and your laughter. After his friends gave him a proud slap on the shoulder, he obviously made his way back to you. You grinned. “Are you happy now?”

“Not quite yet.”

He leaned down again, his warm lips back on yours, like they never left in the first place. The shouts and hollers got even louder and you both chuckled. “Good thing I had my lucky charm today.”

[visionsdiary]

It is tragic. The story. It did not have the outcome one would hope, there is no happily ever after just a story, a moment for a while where they existed, where their worlds collided and then burned in passion, in truth, and eventually ash then nothing.

~

She was to be crowned Queen though every bit of her screamed to run away. To beg on her knees to her mother to give her more time. More time, more experience. She wasn't ready, she couldn't be.

She doesn't have much of a choice, it's to happen in only 3 days, where she will be forced a responsibility she wants nothing to do with. She was indeed every bit of a coward for running, for hopping on her horse and racing through the tall trees of her homeland.

Where seasons are experienced its fullest. Where the mist is thick and the magic thrums through every tree, every rock, and river. She welcomed it the thrumming like drums of the music they'll play at festivals. She let her tears fall freely and her scream ring like thunder spoking all birds nearby.

How is she to run a kingdom? Her kingdom? She has yet to face battle. Yet to make treaties, yet to lead anything in her life, but she is expected to lead a kingdom when she can barely lead a rabbit to a trap.

Or barely see the one she led herself into. It wasn't meant for her in her defense. It was meant for something else, something she only heard about in stories from the sailors, stories from warriors who've traveled farther than the forest she has stuck to most of her life.

A dragon. They had gone extinct or so she was told. She has never seen one up close before. It was in a trap right next to hers tied up in a net that made the creature roar in fear. It was not as big as she thought one would be. It was bigger than her but not by much. Its scales were a pattern of circles, ombre of white and orange with thorns running down its back.

"What do we have here?"

A man caked in leather saunters toward her and the struggling dragon. His face was covered in rags only allowing her to see his eyes, dark and daring. How is she going to explain this one to her parents?

"It seems we've captured a slave," His hand reached through the hold gripping her chin and turning her side to side, "A beauty you are. I'm sure you'll catch a fine price."

Ripping from his hold she reared back and spat in his face.

"Ye might want to re-think this one. My father will tear you to piece."

"Is that right? And who are you?"

"Princess Merida of DunBroch,"

He reared back and laughed. "Looks like we are in the presence of Royalty fellas," Laughter surrounds her on all sides. There were more than she first believed, or maybe the laughter just echoed off the trees. This thought was soon disregarded as men stepped from the treeline one by one. Yep defiantly more.

"I-I'm serious. You wouldn't want a kingdom on you do you?"

"They'll have to find us first." She trembled.

That was only a few months ago and now she sat in this cage, skinny, starved but her fire simmered under the surface. She will escape. She must. The dragon that was trapped with her grumbled, catching the piece of fish Merida snuck from the guards.

She pets her scaly friend, who purred in response. "Don't worry Sylva. We'll get out of here I swear it."

Their cages were right next to each other. An only arm's length away from each other, Sylva was the only friend she had here. An ally she was happy to have. It was night and they still sailed toward the sanctuary as it was called. In other cages many other dragons stayed locked up, barely fed.

Though she felt bad for them it wasn't the time to think of anyone else. She gets her and her friend out first and maybe if she could gather the firepower she'll return and free the rest. The guards light the last of the lanterns, taking their stations around the ship.

"In an hour or so they'll nod off to sleep."

She was only allowed out as entertainment. Her singing is what saved her so far and she served the ones who took her before she was locked up once more but her plan was sent the moment they gave her access to their water and wine.

"I put your venom in their drinks, just enough to put them to sleep, and then we'll be home free." She was hopeful and when the hour had passed she took her sharp piece of metal that broke off from her cage. She had sharpened in the past few months and hoped this would work.

She picked at the lock, jiggling it side to side, up and down until she heard a click and the cage door squeaked open. She celebrated dancing and jumping with silent whispers of triumph. She then went to unlock her dragon's cage when she heard a noise.

She paused, pressing herself against the other side of the cage, and watched as a man wielding a flaming sword crept by the cages of the dragons. He was covered in what she assumed was armor, a fabric she's never seen before. His hand rose and made signals to no one she could see.

She watched in wonder as they let out the dragons and they flew off. She backed away as the man got closer to her dragon's cage hitting a stray bowl. It rolled, tumbled down some stairs alerting the man. He sneaked past the cage and she looked around for any weapon.

Her eyes landed on one of the spears they used on the dragons and picked it up. It was heavier than she thought but it didn't matter she needs to fight.

"D-Don't ye come any closer."

He paused for a moment, his sword still drawn and still on fire. She wondered what she must look like. Dirty, torn, and starved. Disgusting. It made her confidence waiver, her mother would have thrown a fit if she was here, appearance is part of ruling she'd say.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"I heard that before" She shuddered at the memory. Truly men were vile pigs taking what they wanted without a care in the world.

"Chief!" Someone whispered.

He held out a hand stopping his companions in their tracks.

Though she'd never admitted it she trembled, once again outnumbered, and wondered if this group could be any less dangerous than the one she'd been sailing with. He stabbed the sword into the ground, the fire remains just on the sword.

'Does he have magic?' She wandered. If he did then it made sense why he stop the others. He doesn't need them to kill her.

She swung the spear in a warning. "I swear if ye come any closer, I'll cut ya."

He puts his hands up in surrender for a moment she thought he mocked her but he raised them higher to his helmet. He took it off and she was met with green eyes.

He was tall, slender. His auburn hair swayed and she could see the braids in the back. She looked down at his leg and saw that he was missing one, or half of one. It reminded her of her father. Her father. Tears weld up in her eyes. She's going home even if it means getting past this stranger.

Resolve hardened she didn't let the tears spill though she was sure he could see them.

"Hey," His voice was soft as if he was trying to tame a wild animal. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You can't promise me that nor will I believe it." She looks around for an escape. She could swim, take their boat since they must have come from somewhere. Then they will have to deal with this pack of beasts instead of her. Or- Sylva.

She looked to the sky wondering if her friend left, she was no longer in her cage. His friends made sure of that but she's still unable to spot them in the sky.

"Hiccup, we have to hurry." One perked up. Merida looked to her right where one of them was sleeping only feet away, he began to stir and grumble. His friend was right.

"We can't just leave her here." He whispered back.

He turned back to Merida. "Come with us. I promise we'll take you home." He held his hand out. An offering, an extension. More men started to stir, waking up and realizing they'd been robbed.

"Hey!" One shouted. They were found out.

Them or him. She looked back up to the sky and whistled. Nothing. Her chest squeezed at the betrayal but she understood all the same. She looked back to the green eye man and sighed.

"Don't touch me." She warned before hitting the guard that ran after her. He flew overboard screaming as he fell into the water.

The man grabbed his sword putting back on his mask.

With them, she fled and it was that decision that started the sewing of their story.

Their tragedy.

[kashimos-hajime]

all the stars are closer | c.b.

summary: mark watney wasn’t the only one left behind on mars, and as you struggle to survive on the desert planet, hidden feelings come to light between you and your best friend, dr. chris beck.

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, pining, confessed feelings, probably terrible space jargon but i tried :^), swearing, movie-level injuries pairing: chris beck x fem!reader word count: 7.9k

a/n: written for @baezen​​​. my prompt was have you ever wanted to hate someone? with chris beck :D inspired by say something by a great big world. i wrote this from 12-5am this morning and i’ve perused for mistakes but excuse me if there are still some left!

SOL 18

The sol you’re left behind is… unexpected to say the least.

The winds pick up the sand so heavily your headlights barely pierce through the thick gusts as you push yourself against the current. Small clumps of sand brush against your helmet as you turn to close the door to the Hab behind you. It locks with a groan and you give it a small push to make sure before you turn around again, your eyes focus on Watney’s suit in front of you, desperate not to lose sight of him.

The wind whips at your body, slams into you like a hundred punches all over your suit. It’s as if claws dig into your legs and drag you back. Each step is agonizingly slow.

“Commander, we’re at 10 degrees. The MAV is gonna tip at 12.3.” Martinez’s voice rings in your ears as the punishing sand blocks your vision of Watney for a split second. Your heart is thrumming in your throat and you try to reach forward against the gales but you can barely raise your arms higher than your waist.

Metal crunches, bending under the force of the storm and you raise your head, squinting to try and make out the structures around them. All you see are shadows, silhouettes of your friends and you inhale sharply when a rock flies into the glass of your helmet. Flinching back, you lower your head as your eyes scan for cracks.

“You good, Y/N?”

Chris’ voice rattles in your helmet as you look up. He’s one of the figures in the far distance but you smile anyway, continuing your walk towards him.

“Yeah. You spying on my vitals, Beck?” you tease and his slight chuckle warms your blood as you step over a fallen line.

“That’s Dr. Beck, and no. Just checking up on my crew mates.”

“Hey, lovebirds and companions!” Watney calls. “We might be able to keep the MAV from tipping.”

“How?”

“Use cable from the comms mast as guy lines, anchor it with the Rover’s—” A particularly strong burst of wind knocks you back a few steps, distracting you from Watney’s idea. Your muscles screech in protest as you catch yourself, trying to regain your balance. Your foot digs in awkwardly into the sand as another gale swerves from the side and knocks you right into a crouch.

Lessons at the Academy ring in your ear as the storm howls louder. There’s a faint whistling, hollow in your skull, and you keep your eyes on the two lines of your crew, still heading forward. You’ll give yourself three seconds. Three seconds to just stabilize yourself and then you’ll need to catch up.

Make yourself smaller, ground yourself. You need to realign your centre of gravity.

Your instructor’s voice in your head repeating the words over and over again, you begin to stand up again. Sucking in a lungful of stale air, you take your first step forward. You’re dead focused on keeping your balance and making it to the MAV. There’s nothing more you want than to just sink into the seat, buckled in beside Chris.

“Watch out!”

You don’t see it coming.

Mark Watney slams into you at inhumane speeds. Screaming, you’re knocked off your feet and lifted into the air by the winds pushing you in every direction. Your head jerks forward into the helmet before snapping back, and your whole body alights with fire. Watney’s body is limp against yours and you struggle to get a hold on him, fingers slipping on his wrist. You can barely hear yourself over the storm, your throat burning raw as you catch sight of your arm computer.

/WATNEY /SIGNAL LOST

“Mark? Mark! Wake up!” You glance around, your neck beginning to freeze up from the whiplash. The sharp ping of his decompression alarm rings in your ears, a warning of the death to come and you let out a desperate scream.

There are no figures in sight. No crew members. No one is going to find you in a near-zero visibility storm.

Wrapping your arms around Mark as tight as you can to keep him nearby, you close your eyes and redirect all your energy to staying awake. Metal is creaking, tarp is snapping, and the roaring winds whip at your flying bodies as something slams into your ribs.

“Watney!”

“Y/N!” Chris’ horrified scream of your name reverberates through your skull and you shout out his name, as if that’ll help you hone in on his suit. As if that’ll save you.

Arms dislodged from Mark, he flies past you just as another hard piece of metal sends you flying in another direction. Grasping at nothing but sand, you let out another piercing shriek as you tumble towards the ground.

The landing slams into your bones, and you feel like something breaks inside before everything goes black.

.

Broken ribs, whiplash, multiple contusions all over your body.

Your suit is nothing more than a pile on the ground as you stumble around the Hab for medical supplies and you barely manage to bring your bruised legs across to the table, the tray of supplies trembling in your weak hand. Your ribs are splitting, blistering pain as you try to suck in a breath, sinking onto the exam table as you carefully begin to peel off your shirt. Your chest screams at you to stop moving and the pain is blinding as you lift up your arms, fingers carefully hooked on the hem of your shirt and tug up.

“Fuck,” you grit out, your neck frozen in place as you try to get it unsnagged from your head. Your mind is racing, trying to come up with any way you could perform an epidural on yourself, as you grab the injection needle. You’ll need to be able to move with less pain than this if you want to get out of this mess, but you need another trained professional to dig it into your back.

You need Chris and you don’t have him here.

What you found is morphine, vials of different anesthetics, and needles. You load one of them up and the syringe is smooth against your clammy palm as you raise your arm haphazardly to your neck. It’s loaded with lidocaine and you press down against your neck, clenching your teeth as a soft click accompanied by a sharp nipping pain digs deeply into your wrenched muscles.

Tossing the anesthetic onto the table, you grab the oral meds. Acetaminophen tablets. You’re going to be needing a lot of them over the next few days as you try to work out your next course of action. Acetaminophen tablets and cold showers.

Great.

Popping one into your mouth, you crush it between your teeth and dry swallow, sweat glistening on your skin as you tilt your head back against the table and close your eyes. Lucky for you, your thoracic cavity only feels like it’s about to cave in when you breathe in.

Small blessings and all that.

You feel the sweet pull of sleep tug at your consciousness as you let out a sigh, melting against the warming metal table. Not that you’re keen on wasting away on Chris’ exam table, but it does sound nice at the moment. Your eyes fluttering shut, you try to ignore the sounds of your own laboured breathing and the sight of a deserted Mars. Ignore the fact that you barely limped your way back to the Hab after searching for Watney and the MAV.

So this wasn’t just some shitty dream. Your crew is really gone, and Watney really is dead.

Shit.

Eyebrows furrowing together, you force yourself into a sitting position despite the dulling ache in your neck and the consistently sharp pain in your chest. Breathing in quick puffs, you slide your legs off the exam table just as the low beep of the Hab repressurizing catches your attention.

No time to rest. I’m not going to die here.

“Pressure stable.”

Forcing yourself to your feet, you watch as a figure slowly limps to the second door.

And then the door opens and you see Mark Watney turning to look the Hab doors, alive.

This has to be a dream.

“Watney,” you call out hoarsely, throat still raw from screaming. Trying to get up, you stifle a groan and walk around Chris’ desk. You stumble to him on unsteady legs and he catches you by the arms as you search his gaze. He looks like shit. “You okay?” Helping him rip off his suit, your eyes scan for injuries as his rest on your face, utter relief flooding the air. “Couldn’t just fucking die, huh?”

“Neither could you, apparently,” he shoots back through a clenched jaw and you laugh despite how much it aches.

Thank god, you’re not alone.

SOL 21

“So you’re blaming me,” Mark affirms as you count the amount of mac and cheese they have left in the Hab.

32. 33. 34. 35.

“I mean, you did crash into me,” you point out, picking up another pack. 36. 37. 38. “The dish completely destroyed my bio-monitor computer.”

“It wasn’t my choice to get completely slammed by it,” he shoots back, counting his packets of beef goulash. A cold pack is strapped to your neck and there’s a few more shoved underneath your shirt for your ribs, and your skin is numb to the touch as you take a sip of juice from your bottle. Acetaminophen went down three hours ago. It’ll be time to take it again in another despite Watney’s insistence on the morphine. No, you’re saving it for when things get serious.

39. 40. 41. 42.

Not that being stranded on Mars isn’t serious.

“Forty two mac and cheeses,” you announce victoriously, setting the final pack in the tray and pushing it towards his side of the table so he can put it back on the shelf later. “Meatballs up next.”

“We can probably ration this out to three-hundred fifty days. Two people eating instead of seven. Three-quarters of a meal.”

“I’ll have half,” you say, beginning all over again with new packets. 1. 2. 3.

“You need to eat more. You’re still on bed rest.”

“I’m fine. We have work to do if we don’t want to die on this planet, Mark.”

“No.”

“I can do EVA and clear the solar panels. I have whiplash, I’m not dead.” you argue but Mark merely sends you a look as if to say, Try me. You roll your eyes and wince when he comes around the table and pokes your side.

“You have broken ribs that are under enough stress as it is. If it were anyone else, you would tell them to lie the hell down.”

Tossing him a glare, you bite out, “I’m fine when random men don’t poke me in the ribs.”

“My bad. Beck’s privileges,” he quips and you just manage to snipe him in the back of the head with a mac and cheese pack before he turns around. He merely gives you a hint of a smile before tossing the pack back at you going back to writing. You sigh, placing the mac and cheese pack back into the tray before turning to your meatballs.

You hadn’t even thought about Chris ever since realizing you’re not alone stranded on Mars, at least not in depth. Your best friend is no doubt losing his mind over leaving you behind—always had such a strong guilt over nothing—and now, when you let yourself feel it, his absence carves something hollow in your chest.

You miss him.

“You think they even thought that we might be alive?” you ask Mark quietly. You’re not angry that they left you behind. It was the practical thing to do, but you wonder if they wonder about the possibility, or if they’d rather sleep easier at night.

“I think that’s all they think about,” Mark says. “Lewis is gonna beat herself over this.”

You think of the Commander, then your thoughts turn to Chris again without any prompting. God. And what will your parents say?

A Thanksgiving dinner without you there is probably gonna be a bit down in the dumps, huh.

Then again, they’d planned not to have you and Chris back this year, so maybe it wouldn’t be too awful despite thinking their only child is dead.

Yikes.

SOL 79

“So are you and Beck really a thing?” Mark asks as you help him pull out the potato plants gently. “You know, making idle conversation while we farm our shit potatoes,” he adds when you shoot him a glare. Your ribs are on the mend and your neck is regaining its range of motion, but it still aches so you have to rotate at your waist to face him completely before you return back to your own gardening.

“We’re best friends, Watney.” Picking up the larger of the potatoes and placing it gently into your bucket, you spot Mark on the other end of their tiny greenhouse out of the corner of your eye, giving you a small smug grin. “So no, we’re not a thing. We’ve never been like that.”

“Never. Not even a tiny little slip?”

“Never. I’ve known him since we were like three and it’s just… he’s been by my side since forever. There’s never been a time when we could’ve been more. Not with everything that goes on.” School, then uni, then med-school, flight academy, Ares 3. Always something more. “This is… actually kinda the longest I’ve been without him hanging around, to be honest.” The confession leaves you breathless. Has it really been seventy-one sols since you saw your best friend? Last heard his voice?

Will it be the last time ever? Will you spend the rest of your life feeling so empty inside because only Chris can fill it with his laugh? WIth his smile? The perennial feeling of missing someone is tragic all in itself.

You move on to the next potato plant and slowly wiggle it out of the dirt. “Why’re you asking?” you ask to distract yourself. “You know it’s not recommended by NASA to be in relationships within the crew. Besides, we have a mission to focus on.”

“That doesn’t stop Beck at all.”

“What are you even talking about?” You laugh, trying to ignore the thought of Chris’ tiny little smile on Hermes whenever he floated past while you were working out or when they’d open emails together. Hermes had been your home with him and now… he’s there.

Alone.

“You think we don’t see you two flirting? God, you’d be off together for hours at a time and we’d all make bets on what you guys were doing.”

“You know you can’t have sex in space, right?” you point out and Mark wrinkles his nose. “I don’t even want to try it.”

“You can, actually. It would be aerobic.”

“And if you flew into a tied condom somehow, it would be our fault,” you retort with a smile, heat flooding your face. The idea of just having sex in a place where all your friends could catch you in the act? And with Chris? A guy who’s been by your side since day one? The thought sends shivers down your spine. Pleasant shivers. It’s not like you imagined what it’d be like—to hold his hand, to kiss him, to… go farther.

“That’s gross.”

You blink, turning to look at Mark for a moment. “Not that we’re that irresponsible. We’re doctors. Being sanitary is in our nature.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, Beck made some comments before we launched and I thought he’d have made a move by now.”

“Who said he hasn’t?” you murmur low enough that only you can hear, trying not to think about the words he whispered on Hermes when he thought you were sleeping. God, those words had haunted you every day since and the only reason they’ve been out of your mind is the high possibility of your death on Mars. Louder, you say, “Probably because we’re just friends, Watney.”

Friends.

The word tastes bittersweet on your tongue as you pick up another potato.

SOL 136

HRM: Apparently, NASA’s letting us talk to you now, and I drew the short straw.

HRM: Sorry we left you two behind on Mars, but we just don’t like you. Also, it’s a lot roomier on Hermes without you guys. We have to take turns doing your tasks, but it’s only botany (not real science.) and Beck can still work with his broken little heart.

HRM: How’s Mars?

In the Rover, you’re piled in behind Mark as he types out a response and you laugh at the tiny jest at Chris.

RVR: Dear Martinez, Mars is fine. I accidentally blew up the Hab, but unfortunately all of Commander Lewis’ disco music still survived.

“For the record, Y/N appreciates something to listen to besides me talking to the camera for hours on end,” you say and he nods, smiling as he transcribes your message.

RVR: Every day we go outside and look at the vast horizons just because we can. I’m going to hand the reins over to Y/N now. I think she’s had enough of me talking all the time.

Mark glances back at you and nods, getting out of the driver’s seat one way while you shimmy into the seat the other way. Sliding into the seat, you settle down with a sigh as Mark peers over your shoulder and you poise your fingers over the keyboard.

HRM: Dear Y/N, how’re the ribs coming along? And for the record, I do not have a broken little heart, but I do miss you a lot. It’s getting boring here without you, especially now that I have to deal with Johanssen thinking she has a brain tumour every two minutes.

RVR: Dear Chris, I miss you, too. My ribs are completely healed, thank you. It’s a lot harder to sleep at night knowing there’s a chance we might not come home, but I think about you a lot. Mostly, I think about the crew and how if one of them gets a paper cut, your sutures will never be as straight as mine. By the way, Johanssen is my girl. Do not talk about her that way.

“He’s tryna make you jealous,” Mark sings teasingly under his breath and you turn to smack him with a gloved hand before waiting for the response.

HRM: We’ll work it out. I hope Watney isn’t taking my place as your best friend with his potatoes.

RVR: Well, have you ever wanted to hate someone but you can’t because they’re vital to your survival and also they grow potatoes?

HRM: Why do you think I keep you around? Your mom’s mashed potatoes, of course. I love it more than you do.

Your smile digs into your cheeks as you read that message, and you feel your throat cinch shut as you swallow.

RVR: No, you don’t. It’s simply not possible.

You hope he can hear you somewhere, just saying those words outloud. You hope it sounds like you just like how you can hear his voice with every word he types.

HRM: Come home safe, Y/N. Space would be lonely without you otherwise.

RVR: As if I’d let you live in space without me.

SOL 186

You wake up to an empty Hab.

There is no movement, no rustling of Watney trying to make ends meet as you remember last night’s news.

Kapoor: The Iris probe failed to launch. I’m sorry.

Rolling onto your side, you feel your stomach howl. Clutching your side, you close your eyes and try to fall back asleep but your internal clock is ringing in your ears and even though there’s nothing more on the list, you get up anyway, blanket wrapped around you. Ever since you’ve cut down on meals, you’ve been going hungrier and hungrier, but you’re not losing your fat yet, thank god. You need to stay warm.

Passing by clear plastic covering the hole in the Hab, your eyes search for where the Rover was parked last night.

Not there.

So, Mark’s gone and left already. The two of you had decided last night in your bunk beds to simply take the days as they came—to travel as much as they could, see it all before they go.

It’s grim in hindsight, but it’s your ending life now.

Heading for the cabinet, you feel your whole body drag against the floor as you fight to keep your strength up. Although you’ve felt like you’ve been starving for at least four days now, there’s a new hollowness at the realization that there isn’t more food coming. You microwave a potato and cut a meatloaf into thirds before lining your plate with the vitamins needed to stay healthy. Heading to your work station, your eyes pass over a picture of you and Chris is still framed there.

You bite into the potato and feel it thick against your tongue. It’s a struggle to chew and even harder to swallow but you manage it anyway as you reach for the frame. The two of you, cheeks pressed together, newly earned stethoscopes around your necks. The day you guys graduated med school.

You loved him then. You’ve loved him your whole damn life. Loved him and felt your heart burst when he said those words in your quarters after carrying you there from games night.

Sweet dreams, Y/N. I love you, even though I know we could never be more than this.

But you’ve always been too afraid to tell him. Afraid of what? Afraid because it could’ve changed things?

Isn’t that what you always wanted? For him to see you as you saw him?

Setting down the frame, you turn away. You bring your meager meal to the computer and log into HabJournal, slumping down in the chair as you pull the blanket tighter around you. The camera focuses on you and it begins to record immediately as you set down your plate on the table.

“So, Sol 186,” you begin quietly, looking at your own image. You’re beginning to lose colour in your skin and your eyes are sinking from lack of sleep, but you bring a piece of meatloaf to your mouth and chew regardless. “Last night we were told the Iris probe failed to launch, so that means we stretched our rations for four more days for nothing, basically.” You set down your fork and knife, the meat heavy on your tongue as you try to think of what to say. Thoughts of Chris, your parents, the crew, flood your mind. “Guess that means we’re going to starve to death and no… dark humour can’t pull us out of this one. We found enough morphine for two lethal injections our first night here, so… if worse comes to worse… I mean—” You clear your throat— “we have to think of every outcome. Mark already asked Commander Lewis to tell his parents, you know, covering bases like I said.” Your eyes slip shut for a moment as you exhale and then you rouse yourself again, staring at your half-eaten ration. You don’t want to eat anymore.

“I have to stay awake until tonight. He’s gone out with the Rover and I need to send a message to the people I love. You know, cover my bases, too.” Eyes drifting, you spot another picture of you and Chris in Hermes, floating as you squirt some food into the air for him to eat, thumbtacked to the board. You were both smiling, laughing until your guts ached. It must’ve been something like tubed chocolate mousse or a pudding. Your favourite, you had said because it was.

Chris has the biggest sweet tooth out of anyone you know.

“There’s a lot of things I wish I could’ve said, I think,” you add softly, gaze going back to the screen. You tuck your knees to your chest and smile bitterly, a chuckle escaping just barely. “It’s just so stupid that we survive all this time just to… just to die because something failed. Like we did everything we could and it still… it just isn’t enough.” Picking up the potato with your bare hands, you pop the quarter left into your mouth and simply watch your image eat. “I don’t want to die,” you clarify once you swallow. “It’s not my intention to give up until it’s too late for sure, but you know, at least we accomplished something this time. I mean, I’m still trying to finish Chris’ chemolithotrophic experiment since Mark doesn’t understand anything about it so Ares 4 can pick up where I left off.

You know, on the bright side, we still got somewhere. Mark’s the greatest botanist on this planet, and I’m honoured to have helped him grow the very first lifeform on Mars. We fucking ate organic human-shit potatoes, baby. We could’ve done this thing.” You stare at the camera, and hope, when Chris watches your final journal log, he understands what you mean. “We definitely could’ve done it and it sucks, but that’s life. I knew what I was doing when I signed up, and this is so much bigger than two humans stuck on Mars. I know Mark feels the same way. We don’t regret this. It’s going to be okay, and I hope you guys can finish the mission if we end up... you know, gone before we can. Anyway, I’m gonna go make myself useful and check up on Chris’ experiment.

“This is Dr. Y/L/N signing out.”

.

RVR: Hey, Chris. Today’s been alright. Mark came back in better spirits and he actually got to work today with the other crew’s duties. It’s good to hear him joking after what we heard last night.

RVR: I know we never really planned for things to go this way. You know we talked about the possibility as a joke, but now that it might become a reality, I hope you know what I said was serious. You know, with the whole talking to my parents thing. Please talk to them and tell them all about Mars, and tell them that I love them so much, and just see them. Try to go every weekend like we used to together. You know, let them check up on you.

RVR: Yeah, I’m not asking you to check up on them, because you’re family, Chris. I’m asking you to let them check up on you. They’ll always be your rock, and you need them, too. You’re gonna need them when I’m gone. Gonna need to tell ‘em that you’re not okay, because… you’re not going to be okay. I know you.

RVR: You’ll blame yourself because you think you should’ve gone out into a eighty-six hundred Newton storm and I wish I can be there in person to tell you that it’s stupid, that there was no reason for you to believe I was alive and that giving up on me saved your life, but I know I can’t. You wouldn’t believe me, anyway.

RVR: And I love you, too. We could’ve been way more than this. Maybe we can be, if we have another chance. I don’t know. I don’t know anything except that I love you. I’ve loved you my whole life, and now, it might be too late.

RVR: If I don’t make it out alive, please move on. Please don’t get hung up on me just because you think of all the things we could’ve been. You’re my best friend, Chris. I don’t want to see you sad. I never have. Cry a few tears, move on, find a nice girl who’ll love you like I never was brave enough to admit I do, and just… maybe visit the grave every once in a while. That would be nice.

Your hands tremble as you type in your last words and then hit Enter.

RVR: I miss you more than anything. I love you.

SOL 219

“I can’t believe I blurted out my feelings and now we’re preparing for a chance to go home,” you call out over the comms. Mark inflates the tarp on top of the Rover and you watch, the roll of tape still on your hand as you jump off the vehicle. You land with a solid thump, the dust stirring around your boots. Excitement is pulsing through your veins for the first time in a long time as you turn to watch your day’s work begin to swell. “Just like, three hundred more sols and we get to see our friends again.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We still have a chance of dying so it won’t all be so bad.”

“Way to ruin it, Watney,” you sigh as it reaches its max. “Looks good. I don’t see any seals.”

“Perfect. Besides, maybe it’ll be a good thing you finally said what you needed to say to Beck. God knows it was suffocating just watching you two,” the astronaut adds, walking around the Rover and you shoot him a glare. “It was cute, but just plain annoying.”

“Why do you feel the need to bring this up every single time?” you retort, heading back for the Hab despite Watney’s calls of your name. He walks after you with a little wince to his step and you make a mental note to prepare a hot bath. He had strained his back a few days ago lifting rocks to test how far the Rover could go with all the extra weight and you’ve got nothing for sore muscles beside muscle relaxants and hot packs.

“Because Commander Lewis definitely would’ve moved you two to the same bed if it meant you two would shut up with the flirting. We’re all single on that ship!”

“Watney,” you deadpan, turning to look at your friend as he catches up to you. “You and Johanssen are the only people single on that ship as of this moment. And no, she wouldn’t. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be?” As if I hadn’t already sneaked into Chris’ quarters more than once because of the excitement of going into space, the fear that we won’t make it back, your head adds but you keep your mouth shut about that.

“Aha! So you admit you’re no longer available!”

“I have never been emotionally available on this mission!” you shoot back, exasperated. “Or ever!”

“See, that’s what you say.”

“Do you want a hot bath or not because I can use up the hot water. Don’t try me.” You really wouldn’t but it’s fun to see the slight panic in Mark’s eyes. “I miss him, yeah, and so what if I have feelings for him?”

“Then, Martinez owes me fifty bucks.”

“You’re literally the worst,” you mutter, grabbing onto the Hab door and twisting it open. “I’ve got to check up on Chris’ experiment. Run your own damn bath.” Mark closes the door behind him and the chamber begins to pressurize.

“Oh, now you’re being mean.”

“Pressure stable.”

Twisting off your helmet, you turn to Mark and shove your glove into his helmet, pushing him back. He stumbles back and you laugh as he fights to find his balance. He tries to grab you to pull you back with him but you walk out of reach, opening the second door and entering the Hab.

“Mean!”

SOL 461

You’re losing your body fat at last ever since they’ve begun to run out of food which means you’re getting colder and colder in the same environment every day. There’s nothing you can do but keep your calories at a minimum level to stay alive as long as possible as you put on your space suit for what you hope is the last time.

“Your beard is gross,” you call out to Mark as you slide on your helmet and he wrinkles his nose at you, writing down 461 on the wall. Turning to you, he is about to exit when he remembers his helmet and you smirk. “Space pirate.”

“We’re space pirates,” he agrees. “Why don’t we explore those waters, Captain?”

You smirk, turn on your arm computer and hone in on Mark’s telemetry signal as a test before nodding.

“Aye aye, Captain.”

SOL 524

“Hey, wake up.” Jolting awake, you glance blearily up Mark’s thin face and you groan, blinking the sleep out of your eyes. “We’ve gotta eat and clean up a bit.” Groaning, you sit up and follow him out of the Rover as your bones clamour inside your suit. You’ve lost almost all the meat off your limbs, your ribs peeking out underneath your skin, and you feel like you could be blown away by a soft breeze.

Inside the inflated structure, you strip down to nothing and turn your back to Watney as he prepares the meals of potatoes and whatever’s left at this rate. Running a wet pad over your bruising skin, your teeth chatter and you try to ignore the fact that the divets in your arms where muscle used to be are starting to look a bit too hollow. You feel empty inside, like you haven’t been full for ages, and as you crouch down to rub down your legs, you wonder how you look.

Pitifully small, probably.

It’s how Watney looks with his hobo beard at least. Blood is gathering underneath his skin, the beginnings of contusions blooming along the notches on his spine and you sigh. There’s only so much their paper-thin skin can do at this rate.

“What’ve we got?” you ask, pulling on a shirt and crouching beside him. He nudges a bowl of wet beans and half a raw potato towards you. “Yum.”

“It’s all we’ve got at this rate,” Mark mumbles quietly. He’s losing it, too. When NASA can’t see them, you see what Mark’s really like. He’s exhausted to the core, and losing more energy every day. You pretend you don’t realize he’s giving you the majority of the food because it’s a survival tactic. Just like how if Hermes crew doesn’t make it, Johanssen is having human meat soup for eight more months after the rations run out because she’s the youngest, smallest, and she’ll know how to get back to Eartha alone. Well, not 100% alone. Her and five other carcasses.

The thought makes your stomach growl.

The thought of anything warm and filling is making it quail in protest, even if it is human flesh.

Well, that’s a bit fucked up.

Then again, you’re removing everything that protects you from space on the MAV once you reach it, so maybe cannibalistic thoughts aren’t so out of reach. It’s not like you’d actually act on them.

Watney’s all skin and bone at this point. Skin that’s beginning to break, bones that are hollowing out, and you’d rather die than eat your friend.

“If you’re thinking about eating me,” he says warily when you’ve gone on too long staring at his plate of potatoes and beans. “Please don’t. Wait until we actually run out of food, yeah?” You chuckle, your lungs wheezing as you bite into the raw potato.

“Aye aye, Captain.”

SOL 561

Turning around, you listen to Mark climb up the MAV. You’re sitting down on the edge of the hole, sliding your leg into a flight spacesuit. Your mind is running over all the possible outcomes for riding a spaceship with essentially no protection and you don’t know how to broach the topic of the effect of G-force on the human body.

“Hey, Watney.”

“Hey.”

“So,” you begin, pushing yourself up and heading for where the top half of your suit is suspended on harnesses. Mark turns to you and you sigh, pausing. His eyes find yours and you’re surprised to see how much trust lay within them. Before, sure, it’d been full of amusement, the mirth of his latest jest potent in his eyes, but now, that blue gaze is muted with respect and you can’t help but mirror that. They did this together and they’re going home together no matter what.

“So,” he mutters with a note of finality. He walks past you to grab the hygiene bag on the bench, unzipping it to uncover a razor and he heads for the mirror as you wring out your hands. 

“When we launch, we might get up to 12 G’s.”

“Yeah?”

Your eyes try not to linger on the dried blood on his shoulder as he switches the razor on. “So, we’re gonna pass out, almost definitely. And we might have internal bleeding, cracked ribs.” The razor buzzes inside your skull as you lower your hands. “Chris is the EVA specialist, but even if he does catch us—”

“You know the point of it all is that they tried, you know?” Mark says. “Because if they do catch us, that means we have another way of saving more astronauts.”

“This was a freak of a mission, Watney,” you reply, adjusting the waist of the suit. You ignore the pallor of your skin and instead, push yourself towards him. Your booted feet are heavier than bricks as he watches you approach in the mirror.

“Well, it was an honour to share it with you, Captain.” His eyes find yours through the reflection and you grin through the glass despite the fatigue weighing you down. You touch his arm tentatively and he sets the razor down before he turns around. “Nice knowing ya, Mrs. Beck,” he teases and you roll your eyes before pulling him into a shaking hug.

Your eyes close tightly and you do your best to ignore the fact that you both smell like shit as his arms wrap around you, too.

“We’ll see if we can make it work first,” you whisper. His arms seem to tighten and you let out a sharp sigh. “I don’t want to get sappy on you until I’m literally staring into the face of death, but this was a once in a lifetime mission, Mark. I’m glad you were here with me.”

“Yeah. Who else would’ve complained as much as you did?” he mocks and you laugh against him, fingers digging into the notches of his spine as you close your eyes for a moment, simply breathing in and out. 

“This could work.”

He pulls back, smiles, and his eyes dart over the redness along the edges of your face, too. The vessels around your eyes run as they try to keep your blood pumping and you can see the same roughness in his cheeks and eyes as he nods. “This could work.” 

Clapping his arm, you leave him to shave to put on the top half of your flight spacesuit.

Only the climb up to the MAV remains.

.

“Hold my hand as soon as you cut,” you say over the comms. Mark might be absolutely delighted by the idea, but as you watch Hermes approach from the distance, you can’t help the feeling of apprehension tightening in your gut. “We let go, we lose each other in space.”

“Yeah. I’m not letting you go at this point,” he says and you smile before he counts down. “Three. Two. One.” As soon as you dig the knife through your suit, you reach for Mark only to be launched back first into the MAV. Your rebroken ribs from the G-force protest in pain and you let out a grunt as you slam against Mark, but your uncut glove flails blindly, fingers trying to snag onto Mark still bouncing around with you. He latches onto one of the chairs and you fling out an arm, hooking elbows with him and clamping your open glove into a fist.

“Mark, report.”

Giving Mark a panicked smile, you just nod as he replies, “On our way, Commander.” 

On cue, the two of you release your fists and are launched into space. Unstable and tumbling, they spiral through space as they try to regain some balance and you wrestle against Mark’s arm pulling you off course as you angle your wrist outward, trying to realign yourself with Lewis. Letting go of Mark’s arm for a moment, you manage to snag onto Lewis, her elbow hooking onto your arm as you’re yanked back and you grunt, whole body snapping back. Mark’s hand digs into your leg but it slips and you glance back, terrified to see him swallowed up by the blackness surrounding them everywhere.

“Mark!” Readjusting yourself, you grab onto the tether as Mark manages to wrap his own hand on the orange rope and you pull with all your might. Black stars burst into your vision as the last of your strength goes and you let out a grunt as Lewis begins to spin them around. Mark whirls around them as she pulls and you simply hold on, your eyes beginning to slip shut. The sound of Mark’s fight echoes in your ears and you’re shackled with that god awful hope that maybe they’re making it out of this alive—

A body slams into you and helmets clink together as Mark joins their little duo. Hands grab onto arms and the orange tether floats around them like silk ribbon as the sound of harsh breathing fills the comms.

“I got ‘em!” Lewis calls out, voice breaking and you smile, tilting your head forward against Lewis’ helmet. “I got ‘em.” Laughing, you grab onto Mark tightly and he glances at you for a moment before the two of you both look at Lewis.

“It’s good to see you,” he pants. “You… have terrible taste in music.”

As the tether tightens and they’re reeled in, you wrap an arm around Mark’s helmet and push yourself against him.

“Good job, Captain,” you cheer and he laughs, barely able to contain himself. A similar lightness fills your chest and you can’t help the stress-free laughs, the release of all that energy in your chest as you tilt your head back and laugh no matter how much it hurts to breathe. You’re pulled into the airlock and you detach first when you catch sight of Chris standing by the tether. Swimming towards him, you outstretch your arms and crash into him, helmets clinking.

“Beck, close the hatch.”

Chris’ arms wrapped around yours, he reaches to press the button as Lewis parks and Watney swims past to the other end of the airlock.

“Hey, guys.”

You haven’t seen your friends in more than a year, but right now, you’re only focused on one face. “Chris,” you whisper and his smile is everything in your universe as he touches your helmet, like he’s not quite sure you’re real.

“Houston,” Lewis’ breathless voice echoes in your ears as he pulls you in tightly for a hug. Your helmets scrape but you don’t care, simply melting into the arms of your best friend. “Seven crew safely aboard.”

The other end of the airlock hisses open and you detach yourself from Chris’ arms to see the other three swim in and you laugh, turning to your best friend with a huge smile. He holds you still, twisting off his gloves and helping you take off your helmet as you take off your own gloves and your cheeks are aching as your flesh touches cold glass. Until you can feel him, you won’t know it’s real.

And then his hands are on yours, and you know.

“Chris,” you repeat again, the name so familiar on your tongue you don’t know how you’ve gone a day without saying it. He reaches to take off his own helmet and wrinkles his nose when he first gets a whiff of you but you don’t care. You don’t care about impressions or smells or appearances anymore.

You just want him.

Flinging your arms around his neck, you tear off his stupid cap and run your fingers through his hair. It’s dry but downey between your fingers that have touched nothing but metal and plastic for more than a year and you cry. You bury your face into his neck and cry out his name as he simply squeezes you tight against him.

“I love you,” he chokes out and you pull back, cheeks brushing against yours as you smile. His small smile curls his lip and you brush the tear away from his face.

“I love you, too.”

“I love you, guys,” Mark cries out, barging into their conversation with a faux whimper and the newly reunited best friends part with a yelp as their whole crew wraps them in a huge hug.

Surrounded by so many bodies, you have never felt so warm and loved. When you meet Chris’ gaze, you feel the hole inside you begin to fill again.

DAY 1

“How’re you feeling?”

The soft mumble against your ear makes you blink away from the screen revealing the info dumps coming through, and you turn to look at Chris, eyes studiously on yours. That same soft smile is ever present on his lips as you shrug with a wince, and his eyes flit to your vitals. 

The med bay is empty except for Watney sleeping the drugs off and you place your hand gently on Chris’. His hand twists, fingers weaving with yours and you smile, easing into your pillows.

“Did you sleep here all night?” you ask quietly, raising an eyebrow and he shrugs, leaning onto your bed by the elbows and pressing your hand against his cheek.

The reunion was short-lived after their return. After all, there were injuries that needed to be assessed, malnutrition that needed to be addressed, a whole hygiene regime that needed to be followed, and a lot of sleep to catch up on.

“Maybe,” he whispers and you laugh, shaking your head free and patting his cheek. “I don’t want you out of my sight. I close my eyes and all I can imagine is losing you again.” Lips twitching into a frown, your eyebrows knit together at his kicked expression. You wonder if he can still read your message by memory as you know it by heart. “You scared the shit out of me, Y/N.”

“‘M sorry, Chris,” you murmur and he sighs, closing his eyes with a flutter of his eyelashes. Tears burn down his cheeks as he presses his lips together. “I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replies. You scoot to the side of your bed despite your ribs yawning in pain and pat the small space beside you. “You need to rest, Y/N. Get back to sleep and I’ll hit you with a dose of the good stuff when you wake up,” he bargains but you still shake your head.

“I don’t need the good stuff,” you say. “I just need you.” His eyes widen just so and your smile grows as the warmth inside you spreads to your fingers. Moving your I.V. lines, you make sure the space is clear for him. “C’mon. Get up here.” He tilts his head, debating it in that brain of his before he gets off his chair, climbing carefully into the small bed. He slides an arm around your shoulders, settling onto his side and you sigh, shimmying closer once he settles. His heat wraps around you, his other arm draping across your chest. His nose nuzzles into your cheek and his breath puffs against your neck as you close your eyes.

Home. Finally home.

“Y/N?” you hear his mumble and you turn your face blindly towards him. He smells like antibiotic cream and sweat, and you barely open your eyes as he looks up at you, blue eyes filled with a tenderness that tells you you’re safe now. “I love you.”

“Yeah?” you whisper, and he smiles.

“Yeah.”

“Good. ‘Cause I love you, too.”

And he tilts his chin just so to kiss you.