#i need to write this up into a proper fic

[another-random-paradise]

Hello! Hope you are doing well :3

Could you do a reader x Slick? The reader races with Rusty the first attempt of the race and gets seriously injured due to Slick’s actions? Slick didn’t intend such an injury, only attempting to keep Rusty from racing. Some hurt/comfort as she tries to make things better and help take care of the injured reader, please!

Whatever it takes

Hi!! I had lots of fun writing this; it’s been a while since I wrote a proper fic :p hope you enjoy!!

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Slick accidentally severely injures Reader during the race, she didn’t intend for this.

Character: Slick

Format: One shot (1232 words)

Warnings: Mentions of crashing, injuries, and the hospital (referred to as a repairs shed since they’re trains)

Slick was surprised, to say the least, when she heard that Rusty already had a Race partner. It put a small dent in her plan, having planned to race with him and slam the brakes, but she managed. She hadn't bothered to find out who Rusty's Race partner is, instead focusing on coming up with a plan.

On the day of the race, she stood proud in the audience; everything was set up perfectly, oil on the Track Rusty planned to take, Electra and Greaseball had been informed where to stay clear, and both had already paid half up-front. Now she just needed to sit back and enjoy the action!...That was, until she saw who rolled up to the start line alongside Rusty. Panic crept in as she watched you get into starting position, this was not part of the plan, you were not meant to be anywhere near the tracks! 

She racks her brain in an attempt to find a way to stop this, but the oil is already spilled, and if she told the marshals she'd need an explanation as to how she knows - not to mention Greaseballs and Electras fury if she does. She barely registers the starting signal and the corresponding cheers around her, as she stands there with her face in her hands, trying not to let her panic show.

Rusty was known to be awfully kind, he'd probably uncouple you the moment he feels himself slip, and you'd be save. That is what she tells herself over and over as she watches the race, but she can't know that for sure, she could only pray to the starlight and watch.

It wasn't long till the moment came; Rusty took a turn on what he believed to be short cut, only to be met with unstable ground, making him loose his footing faster than he can react. Just as Slick had hoped, he uncoupled you as soon as he realised what was happening, but by then it was already too late. 

You two had been going faster than either of you was used to, and with the added oil, you weren't able to balance yourself in time. Slick could only watch as you fell of the Track onto the harsh ground a few meters below, Rusty following suit just shortly after . She wanted nothing more than to look away, to close her eyes and pretend that this was just a bad dream; but it seems her body doesn't want to listen, instead standing there as if frozen, as she watched the the crash displayed on the screen in front of her. Only after she watched you be brought away by the on-site repair trucks could she move again.

She pushed through the crowds of people, all who seemed to be talking  about the crash. She didn't bother to look where she was going, or who she was running into, just focused on making a beeline towards the repairs shed.

And here she is now, pacing in the waiting room as she had for at least an hour now. The repair trucks and anyone else working there must hate her by now, as she just kept asking them how you are over and over, not to mention her rambling away about her worries to anyone that would listen. It's unusual for the freight, known to be laid back, if not straight up mean at times, and most importantly: she was not usually one to talk about personal things, especially not feelings, and especially not to total strangers.

the cycle continues, until one of the doctors finally tells her that she can come see you now. She rushes into your assigned room faster than the engines cross the finish line, a chorus of sighs of reliefs follow behind her, from the exhausted staff who had to deal with her until now.

A wave of relief washes over her when she sees you, awake in your assigned bed. Though the feeling of relief is gone just as fast as it came, being replaced by the same guilt she felt when she watched the crash. You're wrapped in bandages, and hooked up to some of the machines. And it's her fault. 

She just stood there for a moment. All that pacing around, but now that she was actually confronted with you, all movement seemed impossible. Only after you weakly smile at her does she slowly approach you and sit down next to you.

She wanted to say something, anything, but she didn't know where to start. In the end, you beat her to it. "I know you caused the crash, Rusty told me." She froze, the, by now familiar, panic setting in again; do you hate her? she couldn't blame you if you did, but the thought still stung. "I just want to know why." The tone of your voice nearly killed her. You sounded sad and almost betrayed, rather than angry or enraged. How in Starlights name was she going to explain that?

She might as well say it as is, you were going to find out sooner than later anyways. "...It wasn't meant to get this out of hand, it was just meant to discourage Rusty from racing." She looked at the ground next to the bed, unable to look you in the eye, but she knew that didn't explain why she did it. "I was offered a lot of money, and the freight part of the yard has been getting budget cuts, and I-" The tanker was stumbling over her words, she had never been good at this kind of thing. She took a deep breath before continuing, "neither of you were meant to get hurt that badly, especially not you." 

If she could disappear, she would. She could only imagine what you must think of her - "I don't forgive you." - and that confirmed her worries. you didn't forgive her, why would you? She let her head drop. She was about to get up and give you the space you deserve, when you continued; "but i also don't hate you." 

What? She had to be dreaming, or maybe maybe she misheard you? It was clear you knew what she was thinking, though she didn't exactly attempt to hide it as she looked at you in shock. "I don't forgive you, but i also don't hate you," you repeated. "I don't fully understand it, and never will, but you had your reasons. But you have a lot to make up for. Both to me and to Rusty."

It took her a moment to truly comprehend what you said, nodding along as you talk. She could feel a small smile creeping onto her face alongside tears. She doesn't even remember the last time she cried, but so much had happened in such a short, it was nothing if not overwhelming. "whatever it takes." A promise that she planned to keep.

And she did. She, begrudgingly apologised to Rusty, under your watch to make sure she wasn't mean about, and then barely left your side during your recovery. You needed something? she was on it. Felt stiff? she may not be good at massages, but she was sure as hell going to try! i believe you can see where this is going - she planned to keep her promise and do whatever it takes to make it up to you. She got far to close to loosing you.

Thanks again for the request!! Hope my proper writing skills weren’t too rusty :p

Feedback is welcome, just be nice pls!

Have a nice day/night <33

[princessofgotham777]

Nights Like These

Part One?????

Anakin Skywalker x reader

Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, I don’t write smut

Hi guys sorry this isn’t me adding onto the Jason Todd or dick Grayson fics I started. I will add to those I’ve just been going through it lately and so I just wanna write whatever’s comforting to me rn which happens to be this random anakin skywalker fic. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: You’re basically Padme I’m gonna write y/n but like you’re a senator from Naboo and stuff also you’re a princess because I say so lol. You get kidnapped by a separatist spy who’s been posing as your security detail and Anakin lovingly crashes out a bit.

Warnings: violence, kinda stalking(not Anakin), getting kidnapped (not Anakin)

Anakin had only been on Coruscant for ten minutes and he was already rushing to find you. He’d been off planet for a couple days dealing with after math of the clone wars. Three days ago Obi-Wan contacted him saying you’d been kidnapped by a separatist spy posing as security. Anakin left his mission early, going against the Jedi councils orders. He ran through the building finally finding Obi-Wan Kenobi and Mace Windu.

“Anakin,” Mace says. “Your orders were to remain on your mission were they not Padawan?”

“I haven’t been a padawan for a long time you and Master Yoda know that,” Anakin says.

“Anakin-“ Obi-Wan begins to say before Anakin interrupts him.

“Where are we on locating the princess?” Anakin asks.

“Her security is handling the matter,” Mace says.

“The same security who allowed a spy to kidnap her right under their noses in the middle of the night?” Anakin says angrily.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan says. “I need to speak with you. Mace please excuse Anakin’s…outburst. Him and I will see that the Princess’s security has the situation under control.”

“Right,” Mace says. Anakin begins to leave when Mace says to Obi-Wan, “keep an eye on him.”

“Will do,” Obi-Wan says. He then rushes after Anakin who’s practically running down the hall. “Where are you rushing to now?”

“Y/N’s chambers, there could be some clue,” he says.

In your room they found clear signs of struggle. The knife you kept in your beside drawer was discarded on the floor. Your sheet was half ripped on the floor suggesting you were dragged out of bed.

“There was clearly a struggle, do we have a hologram of the spies face?” Anakin asks.

“Listen to me I will help you find her, she’s an important girl… a Princess and a senator of Naboo, I support her politics myself I understand the need to rescue her but I must ask Anakin is there anything at all you’re not telling me?” Obi-Wan asks. Anakin opens his mouth to speak but Obi-Wan says, “this would stay between you and I, no Jedi council I just need to know so I can help.”

Anakin hesitates for a moment, “do you swear you won’t tell a soul?”

“I swear on the force,” Obi-Wan replies.

“Y/N and I are in love,” Anakin says softly. “And I don’t mean some childish or lustful attraction I mean proper true love. She’s my whole world Obi-Wan. I don’t know what I’d do without her, I don’t know who I’d be without her.”

“Right,” Obi-Wan says as he places a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

Obi-Wan and Anakin met with your security detail and learned they didn’t have many ideas of where you could be.

“Coruscant is the largest city in the galaxy meaning it probably has the most cameras in the galaxy and you can’t find her in a single security tape?” Anakin says.

“They must’ve covered her face,” a security guard says.

“You don’t say,” Anakin replies sarcastically.

“Anakin…don’t get angry,” Obi-Wan says quietly.

“I’m not angry…I’m frustrated we’ve been standing here for nearly three hours and haven’t made any progress. She could be dead or being tortured,” Anakin says.

“We’ve got something,” a guard says. He pulls up a file on the screen. It’s a ransom note. 500,000 credits were being demanded for your life. Along with the ransom note was a contact to set up a time and place for the exchange.

“Ask for proof she’s alive,” Obi-Wan says quickly. The security guard does just that and within seconds gets a response. A picture of you, barely conscious, appears on the screen. Anakin looks in horror at your bruised and bloodied face.

“Set up a time and place,” Anakin says.

“First ask if we can speak to her for real proof of life that photo could be old,” Obi-Wan says.

“No, time and place we have to move quickly with minimal interaction that could risk escalation. She clearly needs medical attention the sooner we get to her the better. Set up the time and place,” Anakin says.

“Obi-Wan?” The security says.

“He’s right,” Obi-Wan says.

You had a blind fold on and all you knew was you were outside, cold, and hurting everywhere. You didn’t have any shoes on since you were dragged out of bed. Your nightgown had ripped during the struggle and now there was a huge gash in the side of the fabric. Bruises covered your arms and legs from being thrown around and you resisting being kidnapped. Small cuts and bruises decorated your face as well. Your arms were bound behind your back, fabric was tied so you couldn’t speak or scream for help, silencing devices were placed on your ears so you couldn’t hear the conversation of your captors.

“500,000 credits, as requested,” Obi-Wan says.

“To what do we owe the honor of having two Jedi come for a mere senator,” the man said sarcastically.

“We’ve gotten what you’ve asked for, now we make the exchange,” Obi-Wan says.

“The princess for the money. That’s the agreement,” Anakin says.

“Interesting you call her princess and not senator. I understand she is both but I thought when you abandon your home planet to medal in politics that don’t concern you, you are called senator from there on out,” the man says.

“Enough, we have your credits,” Anakin says.

“Not quite yet Jedi scum! Don’t you wish to know why we took your precious senator? Because we could.” He says. In one hand he holds your neck the other hand he places out for Anakin to hand him the credits. Your breathing picks up when the man grabs your neck. You have no idea what is happening around you or that Anakin and Obi-Wan have come to rescue you. Anakin walks forward holding out the credits. “Easy now,” the man says.

Slowly, Anakin grabs your arm and places the credits in the man’s hand. Suddenly shots from the loft above are fired at the Republic guards and Jedi. Anakin tackles you to the ground, using his body to shield you. Still unaware of what’s going on you panic and try to fight him off of you. Anakin tries to remove your blindfold and silencing devices but you head but him in the face. Obi-Wan races to catch the kidnapper as the republic guards shoot the separatist snipers. Anakin finally rips off your blindfold and ear devices. “It’s me, it’s me,” he says as you stop struggling. He takes out the fabric from your mouth. “I got you, you’re okay,” he says.

“Anakin,” you say with tears in your eyes.

“Y/N,” he says. He quickly breaks your arm restraints and guides you out of the snipers range. The republic guards go after the snipers giving Anakin and Obi-Wan the order to leave without them. Obi-Wan apprehends your kidnapper successfully.

“Get to the hover ship!” Obi-Wan yells to you and Anakin as he walks with the kidnapper.

“How badly are you hurt my love?” Anakin asks softly.

“Everything hurts,” you say as a few tears escape your eyes. You lift the ripped fabric of your night gown aside to reveal bruising on your lower abdomen. “Especially right here,” you say gasping in pain.

“You’re bleeding internally,” Anakin says. “Let me carry you,” You nod, giving him permission to pick you up bridal style and carry you to the ship.

Heyyy I hope you enjoyed this was lowkey so fun to write I love being dramatic lol. If you enjoyed please like and follow for more fics! Any and all positive feedback is much appreciated. I might write part two idk yet but I probably will. Check out my Masterlist if you wanna read some Jason Todd x reader and Dick Grayson x reader fanfics.

Masterlist

[soaps-mohawk]

Hehehe thank you for giving me the permission to yap. Idk how long this will end up being so grab a snack to read-

(and to my ask before. I agree with you. I was close to rage quitting SO MUCH but then I'd cry cause I didn't want to loose where I was in the mission so I cried my way through it. Darn you Kyle for falling out of that plane... and yes. I used youtube vids for the alone mission HELP)

Okaayyy my fic idea. Its possibly going to be a dystopien omegaverse fic, reader is a omega, Price and Ghost are alpha's and Soap and Gaz betas (I've always imagined them like that since reading ur fic, but i make them other things depending on the ship. and what the story is like. like nikprice, i oftern think of alpha x alpha or make John a omega heh)

So outline part 1 is, the worlds population has been greatly plumeting, since the old goverment wasnt strict as the new one. The new goverment takes over, and builds a intitute that forces omegas into it as soon as they present to teach them to be the 'perfect omega'. its one of those VERY messed up places, like the guards or workers dont give a damn, they get no help and are brainwashed to not tell anyone abt how it works. (This was one of the parts where i was scared it was close to urs, thats why im yapping now so if u think its too close u can scold me and tell me to think of smt else LOL)

As soon as omega's hit 18, they are sent out into a pack or with an alpha. betas can join a waiting list, but alphas get priority. Now, when the rest of the task force was offered, they declined. But poor Johnny just wanted his own lass, he didn't think it'd be bad. so he joins the waiting list, and ends up getting reader. And well the rest arent happy cause now they gotta help look after this traumatised lil thing.

What i was thinking, Johnny has never had a omega, because of the intitute and goverment. So he has no proper idea on how to care for an omegas needs, like heats and everything. so he ends up getting the rest of the team to slowly help (it overtime becomes a poly relationship) but as reader feels safer, she ends up feeling safe enough to talk about what happened in the institute (cause whos gonna come after a military pack, they're protecting her?!)

but ofc, the goverment finds out and like nup they aint having that, and they take her back. (this is sometime idk when) but they all end up turning against the whole goverment and yada yada. Theres prob A LOT i would change so far and add, but I havent gotten that in depth yet.

do u think thats too simular to CRCB... idk I was thinking about it once then i remember oh crap thats sounding a lil familiar- part of the reason i wanted to tell you abt it, also just bc i wanted to yap abt it bc if i end up writing/changing it its just rlly interesting. you dont veen gotta answer this if its too close just msg me and scold me HELP-

anyway ill stop my yapping before it turns into a novel.

Reminder to get a drink and a snack, I hope you can get plenty of rest <3 (apologies for any spelling mistakes, I'm half asleep and couldn't be entirely bothered to reread and Im just praying it makes sense. Grammarly dont like me)

I think that's a great idea!! Very unique!! I'm glad I could inspire you to write your own fic and I don't mind the similar ideas. (So long as credit is given where credit is due)

[haventacluewhatimdoing]

Okay, okay, so hear me out: asexual Wilson.

He's not repulsed by sex, clearly, as seen in canon. But is he ever ACTUALLY sexually attracted to someone? From what we can tell (and what House keeps pushing), Wilson accidentally falls into relationships with people he has some form of emotional connection with. And then the sex follows, because that's what you do in a relationship, right?

Bonnie said that he was an amazing partner in bed because he always pleased the other person. Now, this could just be a continuation of Wilson's 'I would give a kidney to a stranger' level of people-pleasing, but I think it's more than that. I think that, while he doesn't MIND having sex, he mainly does it to please his partner, rather than from any attraction to them himself.

And I think that's why he has so many affairs as well. Because he sees someone, has some emotional connection with them, and goes 'well this must be that sexual attraction that everyone is talking about'. And he thinks that maybe THIS time, he will get something out of it too, because it's got to happen eventually. Doesn't it?

And then I think this all comes to a head in that episode with the asexual couple (which I am still seething about btw). He reads an article on asexuality. Then another. Then he searches for every single blog post, article, tweet, ANYTHING, on asexuality, because 'hey, isn't that just what everyone feels like though?'. He discovers the difference between aethestic, sensual and sexual attraction, and that asexual people may still have sex, and...

Oh. Oh shit. He's asexual.

[choccy-milky]

Hello! When your Seb x Clora pregnancy one-shot is complete, will it be on ao3 or wattpad? (or both?)

waiting with bated breath btw

not pressuring a finish tho, take ur time Choccy 🥰

it'll be on both ao3 and wattpad!! and omg ik its taking long IM SORRRY, its bc its gonna be way longer than i expected LMAO, i just recently finished my outline and the outline ALONE is 41k words💀and im currently at 8.3k written😩🙏 IM GLAD YOU'RE LOOKING FORWARD TO IT THO🥹💖💖i defs hope to get it finished by this month or die trying...but heres a lil sneak peek in the meantime of impatient seb who cant wait to bring baby celeste into the world LMAO🤰👼

(seb is a freak but so is clora)

[canisalbus]

hello! i've written a short little machete fic, and i wanted to share it with you as thanks for all the incredible art and generous question-answering you've been doing these last few months. i hope that if you give it a look, you enjoy it. <3 keep up all your amazing work! archiveofourown [.] org / works / 50945128

✦ A Voi ✦

[vagabond-umlaut]

gojo satoru x reader story where everything's the same---riko is killed and haibara dies and geto defects and jjk 0 happens and jjk happens, with nanami dying and gojo dying etc. etc.---and you're gojo's widow, who also used to be his best friend while in high school but then were married to him once you two became adults because 'clans'---you did not really ever fall in love with him, and satoru knew this still chose to love you everyday of your married life together---anyway... as the plot is approaching an end, you finally make peace with the death of your husband, your comrades, so on and so forth; and just when you think you finally have some peace and quiet in your life, you're vaulted back in time into your 13 y.o. self, suddenly standing face-to-face with your best friend satoru complaining to you how he's utterly sick of his very overbearing clan elders, and that he is planning on going to the tokyo branch of jujutsu high---you just received a second chance at life, at correcting all that went wrong---so what are your plans? do you think you have enough energy, enough life left in you to assume the role of the construction crew, huh? or will you just let everything happen the way it is doomed supposed to happen, and just keep yourself out the way, stopping your second life from being messed up by anyone and everyone?

[starry-bi-sky]

Part SEVEN of "Clone Danny"

Red Robin, Danny recognizes, steps away from him as he sits up. "My name is Phantom," he signs, blinking the exhaustion out of his eyes. (From Red Robin's perspective, it looks like he has no eyes. There lacks his signature green glow.) "I'm not a gang member, just an out-of-town vigilante."

Red Robin frowns at him, an uncertain grip on the bō in his other hand. "Phantom?" He repeats, no lacking amount of suspicion in his voice. "How can I believe that?"

Right. Yeah, okay, that's fair. Danny shrugs at him, and slumps against the wall. "Google search?" He gestures, he's been out in the daytime before and he's seen the news articles about him.

Red's eyes narrow at him and Danny simply draws his knees up and faceplants into them, half-listening to Red's murmurs into his comm while also trying to get some extra-shut eye.

("Oracle, can you pull up anything on a vigilante named Phantom? The guy here is claiming to be one." Tim says.

"On it."

"Is this Phantom wearing a white mask?" Bruce asks, his voice gruff like an aftershock. "There's a vigilante who shares the same name, but he resides in Illinois."

"Is this guy from that Amity city you visited ages ago?" Says Tim, before shaking his head. "Don't answer that. Yes, he's wearing some freaky mask. I said it reminded me of Hood's helmet for a reason."

"I've got something," Oracle interrupts, "Bats' right. as usual. The Phantom of Amity Park, not much stuff of this guy but he's only been out for over a year. Apparently, his rogues' gallery consists of ghosts."

"Oh great.")

"Look tell the Batman that I'm sorry for trespassing on his turf," He signs irritably when Red Robin eventually starts talking to (re: interrogating) him again. "It's not like I want to be here."

"How did you get in Gotham anyways?" Red Robin questions, batman was on his way to help deal with the situation but Tim doubted he wouldn't get caught up on the way with dealing with petty crime. "Your turf is nearly a thousand miles away from here."

"Two words." Danny deadpans, "Teleport ghost." (Red Robin winces sympathetically.) "I'm keeping this bastard in the thermos for a month for this alone."

(Danny was ignoring the slow-choking anxiety growing in his lungs over how he was gonna get home. He never takes his phone when he goes out, the risk of breaking it was too high. He had no way of contacting anyone to get him home.)

(He swallows the growing lump in his throat, and buries the feeling in the back of his mind.)

"Thermos?"

Danny unclips his Fenton Phantom Thermos off from his belt loop and shows it to Red Robin. "My ghost-catching device," He says with one hand, tilting it carefully for Red to inspect. "I wish I could say I made it, but its a FentonWorks invention."

(He wasn't sure if it was a smart idea to say who it belonged to, but saying it wasn't his probably loosened up any tracks on him, right?)

"Do you work with these Fentons, then?" Red asks, and something dark and shadowy flickers from the corner of Danny's eye. He glances over, and sees nothing, and his hackles raise.

(Either that was Batman, or a ghost, or Danny's mind playing tricks on him. He couldn't feel his ghost sense building in his throat, so he decided it was either the latter of the former.)

Danny snorts, quiet and gruff. "No." He clips his thermos to his belt again, stifling a smile on his face. "The Fentons hate me actually, I prevent them from catching ghosts themselves. Their son gives me their tech."

He had a cover story, so he might as well stick with it, right?

Batman shows up at that moment, appearing atop the little roof where the door is, and giving Danny a heart attack when he speaks in his low, rumbly voice like thunder rolling in, "Why would they hate you for that?"

Danny shoots up to his feet with a startled yell in his throat, clutching his chest as he whirls around and looks up. He nearly runs into Red Robin, and signs a few choice swears at the Bat.

"wow you're scarier in person, asshole."

"you didn't answer my question."

"Of course I didn't, you scared me." and Danny takes a trembling step back when the Batman jumps down and lands on the roof in front of him. He's faced ghosts before, but somehow the living is always scarier.

"But, um, the reason is a bit.. complicated, I guess." He says, fingers beginning to shake as his adrenaline wears off. God is he tired. He wants to go home. "The Fentons are the local ghost hunters and local crazies. I don't know if I can call them mad scientists because they're harmless to the living."

"But they're extremely anti-ghost. I've heard from their son multiple times the very unethical things they would do to ghosts if they got their hands on one."

Danny 'talks' a little more before calling it quits, even telling Batman that he can't tell him more without putting his identity at risk.

Plus, its getting harder and harder to hide his bone-deep exhaustion and his growing fear of being stranded in the most dangerous city in America with no way home.

"I would love to tell you more, believe me I'm dying to." Danny signs, shaky sarcasm dripping from his fingers. His hands are visibly trembling and he's withholding a slowly growing panic attack. "But I would like nothing more than to figure out a way to get home."

"Do you have no one to contact?"

"Sort of. But only one of them could probably come get me and get me back to Amity by sunrise. And I have no phone."

That one person being Ellie.

=====

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

Taglist: @the-navistar-carol @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @gin2212 @youracearocroatneighbour @luckybyrdrobyn @deeplyconfusedbear @epilepticnerd @beautifulmomenttodrawblank @sara0055 @blusunkhild @letmesayfuxk (?) @latheevening226 @tkiesai @rosedasy @meira-3919

[harbingersglory]

i know i said more dom!reader blah blah blah sorry arlecchino rotted my brain severely. tmasc bunny!arle giving me severe brain damage /pos

(he/him prns used for arle)

at a glance, the big ears and small puffball of a tail might temporarily make you think Arlecchino is far sweeter then he actually is. how could anyone who looked so cute be anything but, right?

but you know better. you serve under Lord Arlecchino - literally. tucked under his desk while he makes you slobber and choke all over his strap. you barely get to breathe with his hand fisted in your hair, keeping you right where he wants you. if you've been particularly exemplary on your little missions, he might even let you sit on his lap. though whether thats worse or not is debatable, making you cockwarm him as he works. and you'd better keep quiet, too. he's not above muzzling you or just straight up shoving his fingers into your mouth to silence you while you squirm on his lap.

maybe if you last until he's done he'll fuck you properly. bend you over his desk and pound your pretty little holes until you're unable to stand. he'll still make you clean up his strap afterwards, of course.

it's when he's in a bad mood that he really gets going. sheds the act of polite, dignified little bunny. no, he's here to break you in and use you like the little toy you are. and you'll let him, won't you? drooling all over his strap when he fucks your throat raw, drags you into the nearest room the moment he sees you to watch your eyes roll back into your head as his cock stretches you out..

he's just as much of a mess as you are when he's this pent up, though. he doesn't bother keeping up appearances when he just has some pent up stress to get out. if you could even think straight you'd notice his puffball of a tail wagging and his ears drooping as he ruts into you, panting and grunting against your ear when you cum around his strap for the tenth time. you could almost swear you heard him whimper, but you'll be in a world of punishment if you mention it the next day (he absolutely did).

[grandpa-boyfriend]

My personal headcanon is that Morty would eventually use the word "grandpa" like "daddy" for Rick.

Like early on in the relationship, he he avoids the word all together just because it feels weird.

But then something slips some day, like Rick does something an old person would do and Morty just offhandedly makes a joke like, "Haha, looks like you're getting old, Grandpa!" And he tries to laugh it off as he elbows Rick but Rick is just, like, staring at him.

And Morty gets nervous because Rick is silent but when he looks over he's surprised to find a blush and a secretly-into-it-but-acting-annoyed scowl on Rick's face and then it clicks.

So Morty starts using the word "Grandpa" against Rick.

Rick gets pissed he messed something up on an adventure?

"I'm sorry, Grandpa."

Rick pisses Morty off and he wants his words to really sting?

"I don't want to talk to you right now, Grandpa."

Morty feels like teasing Rick during dinner with the family (who don't know anything in this scenario)?

"Pass the salt, Grandpa?"

When they're fucking and Morty wants to make Rick lose his mind even more and fuck him into oblivion?

"Harder, Grandpa."

When they're just cuddling in bed and he wants to flashbang Rick with with on onslaught of overwhelming emotions?

"I love you, Grandpa."

[milevenstancyendgame]

Revelatio Noctis

For Rayllum Month 2024, prompt: "I still love you" - reconciliation

One-shot fanfic, from Rayla's perspective (angsty, fluffy, rated T, I guess). Enjoy! :)

The rustling of her sheets and Rayla's own breathing were the only sounds that cut through the silence of midnight, as she turned around in her bed for what felt like the fifth time in a minute.

It wasn't exactly helping her to escape her restless mind. Ever since they had returned to Katolis from their mission, she had found herself being haunted by what general Amaya had told her in the great bookery.

She was surprised and slightly annoyed at this. Now that they had Aaravos' prison in their care (not exactly a peace-inducing state of things, in her opinion), shouldn't her first priority be to figure out how to free the trapped souls of her parents and Runaan?

The heat of shame crept up her face. Why wasn't she in the library right now or consulting a Xadian mage about this? Instead here she was, the great moonshadow elf warrior - tossing and turning because of a boy!

A snarl escaped her lips as she sat up. Things between her and Callum had definitely gotten better, so why was she so preoccupied with their relationship? Wasn't it obvious that they needed more time?

"That's only what you want to believe..." a little voice in her head responded.

Rayla frowned. Was this true?

Ever since general Amaya had opened her eyes about how selfish she had been in leaving Callum behind, she had realised that protecting him hadn't been the only reason for her solo adventure.

Opening up to Callum and her love for him scared her. That was the truth. And it had been easier - way too easy! - to just go back to "being strong on her own", than to stay and face that fear.

Fear of getting hurt, fear of getting abandoned, fear of herself, fear of being loved and cherished for exactly who she was!

Rayla clenched her knees and bit her teeth. It was hard admitting these things to herself, much harder than any physical fight she had ever faced. But then again that was what Runaan had focused on in her upbringing and there had been no "big feelings"-times. She was starting to think it wasn't as silly as she had thought at first. Maybe not silly at all.

Sighing, she got up and put on her cloak. There was only one way to get rid of this ruminating - she had to talk to Callum. "Share your burden", as general Amaya had called it.

Acting on a whim, she decided to climb out of the window and nimbly jump over to his, instead of taking the easy route. She felt like she wanted to turn back time and get another chance at that first meeting after two years. Only this time she wouldn't pretend like everything was okay (she cringed at the memory).

Her heartbeat echoed much louder in her ears than her knocking, but finally she heard footsteps and a slightly anxious "Who's there?"

"Callum, it's me," she replied. "Can we talk?"

"Rayla?" Callum's voice sounded even sleepier after he opened the windows and stared at her in surprise (an incredibly adorable combination, as she noticed).

"I'm sorry for waking you up," she started, before jumping into the room. "I couldn't sleep and felt like talking to you might help, but I understand if you'd rather wait until-"

Here she was interrupted by Callum. "No! I'm fine with talking now. What's the matter? Is it your coins?"

She bit her lip. Dear Callum! Always so eager to help, even when it meant discomfort or trouble for himself. Had she ever truly appreciated him? A strange war between shame and love seemed to rage in her chest.

"No, actually it's not about that." Ugh! Even he thought this should be her priority! "I came here, because..." She took a deep breath. "Because I wanted to apologise for leaving you two years ago."

The silence that followed these words was definitely louder than the one she had been annoyed with before.

"Oh," was all he said.

Rayla had to will herself to stay standing where she was. Her insides were screaming at her to run, to lighten the mood, to change the topic - anything but this!

"Yes," she continued awkwardly, feeling confirmed that he was still angry - and rightfully so! "It was wrong and selfish and stupid. I thought I was doing it to protect you from the dangers that came with my mission, told myself that you deserved rest and peace after everything we had gone through...but the truth is that I was scared of how our relationship might develop without constant threats to keep us on our toes."

Now that she had started, she didn't want to stop. Just get it over with.

"So I ran away. I literally ran away from you and my feelings. I'm so sorry, Callum!" Tears she didn't know had gathered, began to spill from her eyes, unbidden. Heavens, he must think me so weak and pathetic!

"Rayla."

To her surprise, his voice wasn't dripping with disgust, but was ladden with tenderness. She startled slightly when he cupped her cheek.

"Rayla, look at me." It wasn't an order, it was a gentle invitation. She still couldn't believe her ears and next thing she knew, her eyes were telling her nonsensical things too.

Instead of scorn, she saw nothing but love and concern shining in his green eyes (was there a candle burning in the room? Or was it the moon? She neither knew nor cared).

"Rayla, you're not weak." The fact that he had spoken her name three times in a row in this impossibly tender tone now wasn't lost on her. She felt dizzy from the delight of it.

Then the meaning of his words sank in. "But Callum - how can you say that? I hurt you so badly, and all just because I couldn't handle my own emotions! How is that not weak?"

Was she actually begging him to be angry with her? Goodness, she was more messed up than she had thought!

"You made a mistake. That's not the same as being weak. If you were weak, you wouldn't have returned. You wouldn't have figured out all these things about yourself. You wouldn't be brave and caring and just...you wouldn't be you."

Rayla shook her head, trying to make sense of what he was telling her. It was such a completely new perspective, so different from what she had grown up with!

But Callum hadn't finished yet. "If you were weak, you wouldn't be Rayla. And I wouldn't have fallen in love with you."

There was the slightest hesitation at his last words, as though he wasn't sure whether she would reciprocate his feelings.

A bell was ringing in Rayla's ears, it was just too much - here he was, treating her with understanding and praise when she deserved none, but also implying that he wasn't sure whether she still loved him? Had he been thinking that she had left because of that?

She gasped audibly at this last thought.

"Callum, I hope you don't think...or ever thought that I left because of anything you did, or because my feelings for you changed!"

He looked vulnerable now, like a timid little child, who wasn't sure what kind of answer was expected from him.

Her need to protect his feelings was stronger than her shame and fear.

"Callum, I still love you. I always did. It won't ever change."

The atmosphere of the room changed immediately. It was as though the walls themselves were heaving a sigh of relief.

He didn't respond anything, and all she knew how to do to emphasise her words, was to hold his gaze and place a hand over his on her cheek.

Then his gaze dropped to her lips and he leaned in...Rayla watched it with no wish to run or hide, those feelings seemed to be something of a long distant past.

She had always been baffled at how soft his lips were, but not having kissed in two years...she felt like her whole body was melting and all that existed were the sensations and movements of their mouths. Not to forget his scent (Books. Definitely books, with something slightly musky that reminded her of his scarf), his breath on her skin, his hand on her waist (when had that happened?)...

It all ended too soon for Rayla's taste, but she guessed they had to catch their breath.

There was something reassuring in the way they held on to each other. She wished this moment would never end, as she lightly rested her forehead against his.

"Rayla?"

There was no uncertainty or concern in his voice now, just pure love.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you couldn't sleep tonight."

She laughed and he soon joined in. It had been so long since she had laughed like this, she hardly recognised the sound. It was a special laugh, her Callum-laugh.

"Same here," she mumbled fondly, resting her head on his chest now, with the intention to stay there.

~End~

[fullmetalscullyy]

never thought we'd ever have to go without (i)

summary: 

Their breakup was amicable. They were both going in two different directions with their lives and where Roy was going - the military and the numerous off the grid sites for weeks or sometimes months on end – he wouldn’t ask her to wait for him. She deserved to live her own life, not wait around for him and his ambitions.

When a tragedy befalls their child, Roy and Riza are left devastated. They come together to work through it while waiting for her to wake from her injuries

rated: t | words: 2948 | tags: royai, angst, au, modern au, kid au, parental royai, tragedy, injury, angst with a happy ending, separated parents

read on ao3 | read on ffnet

snippet:

Hey Dad, I'm on the plane. I know you won’t get this for a while, but I still wanted to send you a message. Hope all is going well with you. Mum was freaking out at the airport. She was worried I’d forgotten something again, but she literally emptied and repacked my bag for me so many times, so there’s no way that would happen. I think she’s scared about me going off by myself. Could you give her a call when you get out? I don’t want her to feel alone while I’m gone, and I know she’ll love hearing from you. I’ll speak to you soon. I love you.

read on ao3 | read on ffnet

[hakaiart]

f to my parasite mu dreams </3 i thought i may as well finish this right now since otherwise id never post it

[corellianhounds]

Aay’han

Chapter 1 - Remains to Be Seen

Media: Star Wars, set during in the era of the Clone Wars

Word Count: 4.6k

Rating: Gen.

Warnings: Topics include canon-typical violence/combat, death, blood and injury, organ transplants and similar medical topics, PTSD, survivor’s guilt, dehumanization of the clones and disrespect for the dead, very brief suicidal ideation.

Dividers: @/saradika-graphics

Summary: There are any number of reasons a man might change his name.

Inspiration came from these posts from @/fox-trot: Here, here, here, and here

There are any number of reasons a man might change his name.

During the war, those with the same face and the same armor who fought on the front lines often chose their own names, adopting different identifying markers for some measure of individuality in a sea of soldiers all crafted from the same man.

Captain Manukura was an adept pilot and commanding officer of 144 men, a man with dry humor and a quick turn of phrase who was consistently levelheaded and in control. His was a steady and reassuring presence in the face of calamity, even those not under his command instinctively looking to him for guidance in the most dire situations. He was a fine man, a natural leader, and the men in his company trusted and respected him, even when the calls he made were the difficult ones to accept. Though he did everything within his power to ensure as many of them made it back as possible, he also understood that he could not risk the lives of many for the lives of the few. That didn’t keep him from being the last one off the field, carrying or supporting whoever he could, and he held a somber reverence and respect for the dead, committing their names to memory and carrying their legacy through stories told of their lives.

There was a familiar parting farewell among many of the clones. The practice had traveled between battalions, a sort of hope for life after the war, but also a sense of honor, camaraderie, and acknowledgment towards their eventual deaths: Clasping one another’s forearms in farewell, one would say “Live free,” to which his brother would respond, “Die well.”

On the day of the incursion, Captain Manukura was at the front of the line when the Separatist ambush attacked. The skirmish lasted far longer than anybody anticipated, and it was only because of their proximity to medical personnel that they were able to save the ones they did.

Captain Manukura sustained heavy injuries in the field. The trooper who found him was fresh from the shuttles of Kamino and nearly vomited behind his mask at the sight of the captain, bloody and incapacitated. He would later recall that the captain had to have been in shock when he found him; Manu was somehow awake and lucid enough to tell the trooper he’d rather be killed with mercy by a fellow clone than by a Separatist, but the trooper refused to comply. There was a brief scrabble where Manu put up a surprising amount of resistance against CT-8956 as the young trooper tried to administer what analgesics the captain’s armor could still provide, and the trooper had to wrestle both blaster and (to his astute alarm) an invis market latheniol injector out of the captain’s remaining hand in quick succession to prevent him from greeting the void himself.

A medical droid had been dispatched as soon as the trooper pinged their location, and CT-8956 provided cover fire, seeing the captain’s transport back across the battlegrounds himself. The RMSU technicians set to work immediately, assessing the nerve and tissue damage to both the captain’s torso and what remained of his arm before determining that he was still fit and worth the trouble of surgery to receive transplants, and Captain Manukura was quickly stabilized and processed through the field’s operating tent, then medevac’d back towards the GAR’s planetary home base.

Manukura remembers floating somewhere in the indigo, star-filled space between life and death, surrounded by the lights of those who’d marched on before him. Two other troopers were there with him, though he didn’t recognize them. One it appeared had been part of the second battalion stationed on Engatuu, his armor demarcating him as a medic. The other was a gunner for one of the light utility speeders in the third company of Manu’s own regiment. Both of them had sad smiles, but they were warm in their regard of him, the gunner resting a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve still got some fight left in you,” the gunner said. “I’m afraid you can’t follow us yet, little brother.”

“Take care of the rest of us out there,” the medic bid him solemnly, and Manu nodded. Of course he would.

“Until we meet again,” the gunner said. Manu desperately wanted to ask their names but couldn’t find his voice. “Remember us. We’ll have your back.”

As the ink-filled void bled away into black, the lights winking out around him, the two men he hadn’t known in life faced him in a bid goodbye.

“Live free,” the gunner told him, pulling Manu in to press his forehead to his own.

But when Manu turned to the medic, the medic took hold of his right forearm and instead followed the farewell with a modification to the customary parting line.

“Live well.”

When Manukura awoke it was to dim lights and Kamino-white walls. The stark smell of antiseptic told him he was in the infirmary before the hum and beep of machinery did, and he flexed the pins and needles from his toes. One of the longnecks appeared above him, greeting him in that infuriatingly impassive voice, asking him standard questions regarding his vitals. His right arm was leaden and it felt like there was a weight on his stomach; he answered mechanically, wondering back at what had happened.

In the two weeks that followed Manu recovered remarkably well. He was visited by a few others in his company who had also been medevac’d, expressing their relief and well-wishes, and as his progress with the brief amount of physical therapy he was given improved, he was met by one of the Kaminoan mentops and one of the very few clone medics cleared in psychiatry who asked after his mental faculties, assessing his capability upon returning to the field.

“Any dietary, mood, or sleep cycle changes?”

“None I’ve noticed.”

“How’s the nerve damage? Do you feel any disconnect between the integrated pieces?”

Manu fought back a grimace at the word ‘pieces,’ shaking his head. “Everything seems normal.”

“And the arm?”

The captain rolled his shoulder experimentally, unimpeded. “Right as rain.”

The engagements on Engatuu proved to be a series of bitter, gruelling victories over the Separatists in the following months. Nearly a third of the original clone force stationed on the planet had been decimated, and Manu’s insistence on powering through his recovery would have been met with pushback if it weren’t for the fact he’d physically improved more rapidly than anticipated and his skills on the ground were in high demand. The captain appeared as alert and capable as ever and was cleared for active duty once the medical leave came to an end; the organs that had been replaced either in part or in full showed no signs of rejection or taxation under stress, and his right arm proved to be a seamless incorporation with very little cybernetic involvement.

Captain Manukura of his own volition made extensive and excruciatingly delicate inquiries tracking down the identities of the two men he now carried as part of himself. The topic of “recycled” clone bodies was a sensitive one and wasn’t openly discussed between the clones— It was at best considered to be in extremely poor taste to go digging into the medical practices used to sustain the GAR. Manu had always been as tactful as he was sharp though, and his rank and file afforded him the chance to call in a few favors, get behind some closed doors, and ask the right people the right questions. Through some carefully cross-referenced medical data, some off-the-books access to chief medical officers’ logs, and more than a few “acquisitions and losses” reports, he was able to narrow down the platoons of the two donor clones and made covert plans to meet with those close to them.

Warren was in his fourth tour and was incredibly well-liked by those in his company; his lieutenant said there had only ever been positive words spoken of him in his time on and off the field. His skill manning the artillery for the light utility ground speeders was notable even among the rest of the gunners, and while on leave it wasn’t uncommon to find him tinkering with equipment and vehicles. When asked why he put so much effort into fixing things that could easily be taken care of by droids, he’d jokingly respond with “If they don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy!”

At the end of the day Warren was frequently the one center stage mixing drinks and singing raucous songs that had the room laughing until last call. Utility and entertainment, it seemed, were as woven into his bones as fighting was.

Talus, the medic, had been in the GAR nearly as long as Manu had. He was described as having a commanding authority and no-nonsense personality, but he also had the most steadying presence and calming bedside manner his patients had ever seen. When his unit lost half their men his first mission off Kamino, Talus had taken charge as interim commanding officer, keeping the remaining men’s heads on straight, and was after that cross-trained as a ranger, gaining valuable skills in tracking and recovery. More than one of his fellow soldiers and superiors noted that they would have liked to see him as a commissioned officer, but Talus declined the promotions and negotiated against reassignments the entire time he’d served as a soldier, insisting that he was best suited for battlefield triage and casualty care.

Manu took in everything and thanked the soldiers for their time and willingness to indulge his questions.

Captain Manukura continued to serve active duty. He wasn’t one to remain idle and the men of his cadre needed him. He slotted back in place among them, spearheading ground operations for the most dangerous missions, fighting more fiercely than before with a vicious precision aimed at every Separatist battle droid and encampment. It became steadily apparent that Captain Manu’s strategy, perseverance, and fighting style was geared towards hitting first and hitting fast in an effort to see as many of his soldiers returned to him alive, and his dedication yielded visible results: more of Manu’s company survived to fight another day than any of the other captains’, and his men’s already-steadfast loyalty to him was stoked into aggressive hope and determination. Seasoned men and new additions alike grew tight-knit, working together as one unit, and their collective vigor and solidarity carried them, alive, through the battles that followed. Engatuu’s eventual surrender was a pyrrhic victory for the GAR, but it was a victory.

And the war carried on.

The captain didn’t speak much about his near-death experience. He had no arrogant sense of prideful heroism, flaunting his scars as a badge of honor, and it was only in glimpses that other soldiers saw the grafts covering a significant portion of his torso— They weren’t inclined to speculate as they normally did about fellow soldiers’ battle scars, rightly assuming that if Manu hadn’t addressed them in boast, he didn’t want them addressed in rumor. He was neither a self-conscious or vain man and he didn’t shy away from genuine questions they might have had regarding his injuries— they knew there was always the possibility something similar could happen to them and Manu had never believed that ignorance was bliss— but he rarely volunteered the information, unless to make the occasional macabre joke at his own expense. In addition to his blunt, clinical honesty was the subsequent gratitude he showed for all the brothers who had gone on before them. Talus and Warren were spoken highly of, their names gaining their own respect and mythos in stories passed between the ranks.

There were nights around the fire, though, when the stories the captain told of ghosts walking between them felt more like they came from first-hand experience than imagination.

Though it’s not often, Manu can just barely sense them sitting beside the fire or resting a hand on the shoulder of another weary soldier, or standing behind him and bolstering his resolve while running point. He feels a pull at his arm or jolt in his stomach when recklessness starts to run roughshod over his decisions, and as it brings him back to center he’s able to broaden his scope beyond impulsively jumping headlong into the fray. More than once he’s moved out of harm’s way without will or reason why, and sometimes he’ll stop in the middle of marching, sensing something none of the other men can feel before giving new orders that prove to be of vital benefit when all is said and done.

The only time Manu ever beat somebody within an inch of their life was on leave: someone overheard part of his story and had spat derisively, calling him minced meat.

The fight had to be recounted to him by others in the aftermath. In the moment, he’d felt nothing; the fugue state that took over blocked out his memory and emotions until he came to, streaked with blood and aching from adrenaline and exertion as his brothers finally wrested him off the bloodied civilian. The men hastily worked to minimize collateral damage as the Coruscant Guard was called in, but a crowd of bystanders had already gathered as they held the dazed captain back. They quickly crafted a scenario they hoped was believable enough to convince those present in the aftermath that it was a needlessly provoked fight both men were active participants in; it was the first time Manu realized his men were not only willing to follow his orders, but that they were prepared to go far beyond that just to protect him.

The trooper who’d done most of the talking hadn’t actually been there for the initial attack— He’d been drawn by the sound of shouting down one of the alleyways and came running when he recognized the voices. CT-8956’s assessment and informed mediation was the only thing to break Captain Manukura from his single-minded focus, and his remarkably quick thinking gave those present enough of a story to somehow convince the Guard the issue was not as severe as it appeared to be, in the hopes that Manukura would be granted leniency.

Standard disciplinary action would follow Manu’s evaluation, regardless: he was set to be shipped off to Kamino shortly after his detainment. Before he left, however, he managed to find the trooper who’d covered for him in the wake of the fight.

“Hey, shiny.”

The young trooper turned, glancing away from his datapad and around the hangar. A clone captain in white and maroon armor approached from the bay doors, escorted by two shocktroopers not far behind.

“Sir?”

“Are you the one responsible for intervening in the altercation caused by a clone officer against a Coruscanti civilian?”

The trooper went very still, his complexion paling even as his expression fought to remain neutral. “There was no clear instigator in the fight between the captain and the civilian,” he said diplomatically. “I believe the captain involved is facing a court-martial following his evaluation—”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you were the one who put a stop to the fight.”

“… Aye, sir. That was me.”

Manukura removed his helmet and tucked it under his left arm, extending his right to the trooper. The trooper gaped, recognizing Manu despite the recent haircut and shave returning him to regulation standard.

“What’s your name?”

“CT-8956, sir,” the trooper said, much more confused as he shook the captain’s hand.

“No, kid,” Manukura said. “What’s your name?”

“… It’s Benni, sir.”

“Thank you, Benni,” the captain said. “I’m… sorry that all your efforts have to show for their involvement is this.”

The assessment to determine whether or not Captain Manukura’s actions would be a one-time offense was conducted by the same Kaminoan and clone mentop duo who had assessed him post-op. It was only because of Manu’s recent military accomplishments and the clone medic’s initiative that Manukura hadn’t been subject to the involuntary reset immediately: the medic cited an interest in analyzing the captain’s behavior, wanting to see if it could be corrected less invasively first, if only because every reset came at a loss of a trooper’s experience tied to his memories, and Manukura had been a valuable asset prior to this one, outlying infraction on his record.

That’s what the medic told the Kaminoans, anyway.

They sat across from one another, silent in the observation room. Captain Manukura felt nothing and had refused to speak.

The clone, a man by the name of Caius, suggested that the captain might be more cooperative if it were just the two of them for a time. The Kaminoan was clearly opposed to the idea, but notated the request in the medical file before adjourning to the adjacent room. Manu wasn’t under the impression the mirror making up the entirety of the left wall was there for decorative purposes.

Manu watched Caius impassively, apparently unbothered by the tenuous position he was in. Caius wasn’t as out of touch with the soldiers serving on the ground as one might’ve thought, though— He was familiar with the resistance many of the older ones had towards being evaluated like the lab rats they were. He had a vested interest in seeing his brothers genuinely cared for, and he’d spent long enough navigating the Kaminoans’ regard of them to know what to say to keep the longnecks from picking up on what went unspoken between himself and his patients.

Caius sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees as he spoke. “Manu— If they suspect you don’t have control over your emotional responses, we both know how it’ll end.”

“I have nothing to report,” Manu said quietly. “Recon me or don’t. Seems a shame to waste that much investment though.”

The medic resisted the urge to snort. He knew what the captain was doing.

“There are worse ends,” Caius said.

He lowered his voice. “If you’re only here out of obligation despite your recklessness or a lack of will to live, that’s your prerogative.”

“Thank you.”

“However,” Caius said. “Before you leave, I’d like to know what you think your brothers would say.”

Talus’s words echoed at the back of Manu’s mind, and his jaw worked in agitation.

The observation room was quiet for a long moment. Manukura remained rigid in his chair, otherwise unwavering.

“… I reacted poorly to the Republic civilian insulting the sacrifice so many of our soldiers have made, including the sacrifices they have no choice in making after their deaths,” he said finally, clinical despite the accusations in his words. “I apologize for my actions and accept whatever the consequences may be.”

Caius wasn’t happy with the deflection. He was doing everything he could to balance the tightrope walk between the Kaminoans’ assessment and Manu facing a mind-wipe or termination, but if Manu was capable of diplomacy and Caius could convince him to put in the work, he’d do everything in his power and then some to get the captain truly back on his feet.

“Play opossum for a bit,” Caius said quietly, switching to Mando’a. Manu’s eyes narrowed in suspicion; Caius estimated they had about twenty seconds before one of the Kaminoans interfered. He continued, keeping his tone light and inquisitive despite the fervent message he hoped would come across. “Convince them that you’re not a threat to others. Follow their instructions exactly as they’re given and don’t deviate from your duties. Keep your head down—” (and here Manu’s lip curled in disgust before he heard Caius power through) “— and you’ll be able to protect more of our men once they’re satisfied they can put you back in the field and trust you around civilians. Stop risking the life returned to you and find another way to honor the men who are gone, at least until they’ve cleared you again.”

“I know how to run the maze.”

“Good. Prove it.”

The Kaminoan mentop reappeared with obvious disapproval, but Caius switched back to his regular clinician’s persona before they could affirmatively detect that anything was amiss.

“You’ll have to go through the post-op program again,” he warned.

“Affirmative.”

“I might have some folks who can help, though.”

The group is much smaller than anticipated, and the infrequent meetings and occasional change of location help keep it from feeling obligatory. There’s about seven of them, give or take, depending on the day. Manukura does his best not to take his frustrations out on them. He’s candid about his emotional state in a detached sort of way, and it’s here he reveals that he actually had been experiencing some changes due to the transplants, despite what he’d told the Kaminoans. He now preferred black caf, and he was still working on evening out the callouses on the right palm. The medic’s hand seemed kinder than his own.

Despite the camaraderie he finds with the other clones, he keeps the near-death vision and the echoes of the fallen to himself.

As the days and meetings pass Manukura is evaluated up close and from afar by the Kaminoans. He knows they think they’re being subtle, but his insight and acuity on the battlefield has extended to a vigilance at camp, on base, and on leave. His awareness of his surroundings is constant— being able to tell when he was being watched was almost child’s play at this point.

Though his bonds with those in his company have grown stronger, the general barracks are a nightmare to navigate when he finds himself responding to every sound or disturbance. The battlefield was almost preferable because at least there he was assured that his paranoia was warranted. Sleeping in the outer rooms of the facilities on Kamino with the unending white noise of rain was worse than the barracks because then he couldn’t hear anything that might cause alarm, and that concerned him more.

Battlegrounds where he’s provided constant work give him focus. Though he’s been able to return to his leadership position with aplomb, he almost feels itchy and restless, wanting to do more— Piloting either on the ground or in the air feels too far removed from his men, and at the next meeting he’s able to make with the other transplant recipients, they’re the ones to suggest he put in for a transfer to search and rescue or battlefield triage. Manu mulls the idea over, thoughtful.

During a few of his stints on leave, he follows up with Caius’s instructions and schedules several meetings with one of his lieutenants; Markem was a strict and somewhat severe officer who often had to be reminded that field operations required flexibility as circumstances changed around them, but his fastidious nature made him a punctual man with a good work ethic and steady hand; there was a reason the men tolerated him with minimal grumbling and why Manukura didn’t overly criticize his fussiness. His precision in everything made him the ideal choice for Manu’s request.

“Are you hydrated? Did you bring something to keep you occupied?”

“Yes.”

“The front will take four sessions,” Markem said, outlining his sketches. “It’s best not to do all of it at once because it’s going to hurt to carry your full kit regardless of how long you have to recover. If you do the whole back you won’t be able to carry anything without—”

“I was blown to pieces, Markem. This will be fine.”

The lieutenant coughed, awkwardly clearing his throat. “Right. Okay. Uh, of the three, which do you want to start with?”

“The arm.”

“And you’re sure of the placement?”

“Positive.”

At his final evaluation with Caius, the captain answers the assessment questions succinctly and completely. Caius has his suspicions that Manukura hasn’t told him everything, but he doubts he could force anything more out of the captain without resorting to use of a Mairan bor, and he wouldn’t want the information under those circumstances anyway. What was most important was that Manu appeared to be more even-keeled and adjusted, and Caius made it clear to the captain that if he needed anything at all in the future, he need only ask.

The captain nods, thanking him, and Caius shows him to the door, where the captain casually mentions, “I’ve also decided to change my name.”

“Oh?” Caius asked. “What did you have in mind?”

“Stitches.”

From the Files of Nala Se, Chief Medical Scientist

> Altered Behavioral Patterns Post-Operation and Recovery Re: CT-5947

— Upon initial recovery, CT-5947 refused further treatment of field-surgery skin grafts which has resulted in cosmetic defections. This appears to minimally impede movement but does not appear to affect overall functionality: when asked to demonstrate various exercises the subject is capable of completing them without issue or complaint.

— CT-5947 has exhibited what we are told is called “gallows humor” among the regiments. Though concerning, his behavior has not been reported to especially discomfit the rest of the units, civilians, or people of authority he has come in contact with. If and when it occurs, it is usually within groups he is familiar with and is done with a controlled turn of phrase, suggesting he means for the joke to come at his own expense with the objective of humoring others. Reports from those who knew CT-5947 prior to his injuries indicate that his behavior is not so far off from his prior personality as to cause concern. Observation recommended, low priority.

— CT-5947 appears to favor his left hand in both active battles and simulations. He has not reported diminished faculty in what was formerly his dominant hand, prior to the Battle of Engatuu, nor have his reflexes or abilities diminished in performance or functionality. When asked to perform various tasks in a controlled environment CT-5947 is perfectly capable of executing the tasks with both his left and right hands. His commanding officers have not reported a deficit in performance. The favoring of his non-dominant hand opposed to the donor limb has been deemed a non-issue.

— It has been well-documented that clone units will sometimes express mild individuality in the form of surface-level changes to their appearance or adornment of their armor. CT-5947 has since acquired tattoos at the surgical sites of his transplants: the image of antiquated stitching appears in a band surrounding his upper right bicep as well as on sections of his torso and abdomen where the grafts have been integrated. It is unclear how he was able to determine the seam of integration on his right arm, as the attachment of the donor limb was done in a more controlled environment than that of his organ transplants, and both the subcutaneous and surface level nano-mesh allowed for complete and perfect transfer and integration of tissue. The donor units were both clones of exact likeness and construction, and there is nothing to indicate a distinguishing separation of anatomy.

Aforementioned embellishments have not resulted in negatively altered behavior and have been deemed a non-issue.

— It has been reported that CT-5947 has immersed himself in the study of various medical topics while on leave, off-duty, and during transportation. He has also assumed the duties of search and rescue personnel after individual battles. Behavior does not supersede designation or duties. Unit does not appear to be operating under diminished quality of performance. Maintained observation recommended; if the clone’s performance can be sustained without impediment, no further actions are required.

— Commanding officers report that CT-5947 has filed for an MOS transition to service in the medical division.

— Request was denied.

A/N

Aay’han: Mando’a. Meaning: Bittersweet remembrance and celebration, the mourning and joy after the death of a family member

All original characters. Engatuu is an original planet.

The cross-posted version of this story has links to some of the inspiration behind it.

“Live free,” // “Die well.” comes from The Scorpion King

There are a lot of themes I ended up identifying/wanting to incorporate as I was writing and it was difficult to edit this down to a one-shot, so it’s likely I’ll write more with these characters in the future. Lots to dig into here.

Next chapter >

[imwritesometimes]

when people ask me why I don't want to get married or have children sometimes I wish I could just replay like.... one phone call between my mother and I and then ask them, "would you wanna add more people asking you for shit and relying on you if this was your mom?"

[a-lonely-dunedain]

52, Tossdir :3

52. Fake death/presumed dead

oh hehehhee...... want something horribly angsty? how about that one time Tossdir kinda sorta died for a minute after the Tur-Morva rescue!

Tossdir wasn’t really sure where he was. He stood in a mostly black space, empty, and a little cold. He was dimly aware that he was in pain, but he couldn’t tell where, it was just dull like everything else. He thought he heard someone shouting earlier, but he can’t remember why they were, it felt like so long ago. What was he doing before he came to this place? Maybe there was a battle of some kind, but he wasn’t sure, all he knew was that he felt very tired.

He suddenly becomes aware of a familiar presence standing before him, he looks up

“Meneldir…?”

His brother seemed more surprised than he was, “Tossdir?” but Meneldir’s shock quickly fell away into a look of sheer horror that Tossdir couldn’t understand the reason for “No… no no no, you shouldn’t be here! Not now, not this soon-”

“What are you talking about? Is that really you-” he took a step towards Meneldir

“Stop! Don’t come any closer!” Meneldir shouted, taking a step back from him. Tossdir froze, a terribly familiar pain seizing his heart at the words. After all this time, Meneldir still pushes him away.

“...Mennie?” is all he could manage to say for a moment, between the hurt and confusion “I… I missed you”

“I missed you too,” Meneldir attempted to give a comforting smile, despite the panic in his voice and the tears welling in his eyes “but please, you… you cannot stay here. You have to leave, right now.”

“What... is happening? Why do you still push me away?” He tried to take another step forward.

“Stop!” Meneldir shouted again, “I’m sorry, but if you stay here you’ll die,” tears ran down Meneldir’s face, but the desperation and sorrow in his voice did nothing to dissuade Tossdir “you have to turn back, your friends still need you.”

“I still need you!” he didn’t understand why Meneldir seemed to think he was in danger here, and honestly he didn’t care to. The sight of his brother here tore open the wound in his heart all over again, and he could not willingly leave now no matter what he said. “Meneldir, please, don’t- don’t do this again!” from behind him he felt a hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him back, but he instinctively fought against it. 

“It isn’t your time yet, don’t fight them” Tossdir felt another hand on his other arm pulling him back, he heard a familiar voice beckoning him, but he couldn’t hear what she said.

“Don’t leave me again!” he pleads through blinding tears. Even if he can’t stay here he has to get to Meneldir, he has to at least hug him one last time, but still he is pulled back, too weak to struggle any more. 

“I’m sorry Tossdir, I will find you again,” Meneldir quietly promised “I love you, always remember that”

"No, wait-!" Tossdir lost his footing, fell back, and knew nothing more.

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

Meneldir is gone. Thick darkness still surrounds him, but this time he lays on his back, all too aware of the pain he’s in, of the lash wounds he is now laying on and the numerous searing cuts left by Falcon blades. His head is spinning, hot tears cling to his face and his chest aches terribly.

“He’s breathing again,” a weary voice above him says, it might be Saeradan “I think the worst is over.”

“Thank the Valar…” Another voice, Ethedis he thinks. He feels a hand clasped tightly around his own. “please, just stay with us this time…” She sounds different, her voice is weak now, thin like paper. He tries to ask if she’s hurt, but all he manages is a pained groan. A cool hand brushes the sweat and tears from his face, all he can do is lean into the touch “You're alright, Toss,” she says “just rest now.”

There is no fight left in him, so he simply does as she asks. His senses and thoughts blur into one another and fade, sleep finally takes him.