#it’s the HUSH! when he’s so obviously fallen and injured himself that gets me

[ithilienns]

This reads like a Pippin-Gandalf interaction, change my mind.

[eyayah-oya]

Do Not Touch My Vod’e

Cloneship Week - Dragons - @cloneshipweek

Kix/Coric (background Cody/Rex, Fives/Echo, Waxer/Boil)

Rating: T

Warnings: some violence but no one really gets hurt, Krell, Umbara

Ao3 link

More ideas for world-building on Ao3. SEND ME ASKS ABOUT THIS AU! I MIGHT CONTINUE THIS ONE!

           There were Mandalorian legends that spoke of the terrible power dragons possessed.  They were the protectors of Mandalore, long ago, blessed by the Manda and the Ka’ra to bring peace to their people.  The gift was passed down from Mand’alor to Mand’alor through the millennia until the people of Mandalore began to die out.  The dragons were hunted down and killed, deemed to dangerous to be kept alive by politicians driven by their greed and fear.  Legends told of the beskar mines on Concordia, Concord Dawn, and Mandalore were the remnants of the hearts of the dragons as a final way to protect the people they loved.  The beskar was valuable, and the significance of the metal was destroyed along with the culture of Mandalore, save for a very few who still strived to adhere to The Way.

           Jango Fett was one of the last Mand’alore to guide and protect The Way of the Mandalore.  The Last Dragon, the Jedi Killer, the Forgotten Mand’alor.  His people fell, and Jango himself disappeared.

           Nearly twenty years later, Jango was found, and so was his legacy.  The Jedi had no idea what they were placed in command of when they met the clones of Jango Fett.  The Manda and the Ka’ra gave Mandalore a final chance.  A chance to survive and to thrive once again.  Millions of clones possessed the same gift that had been given to the Mand’alore of the past.  Their blood was red, but their hearts were lined with beskar, graced with courage, and filled with love for their brothers and their Jedi.

           Thousands of clones were killed as the war progressed, dying for people that refused to care for their lives, and often beside the Jedi that recognized the beauty of their souls.  They died and painted whole planets with their blood, protected only by a pale mimicry of true beskar armor or their own scales.

           The clones, referred to as Vod’e by each other and their precious Jedi Generals (though not every General cared about their troops), rarely shifted from their smaller, more vulnerable forms into their dragon bodies. The Kaminoans hadn’t realized what they had created, as no vod ever shifted in front of them, but Jango saw. And he trained the Alphas, who then taught their little brothers about their heritage and their sacred duty. But since so few people knew the true nature of the clones, the Venators were not built to suit their needs. Battlefields were dangerous, with injured brothers and very squishable Jedi underfoot.

           Kix, however, was ready to turn into a dragon.  The anger in his heart resonated in the hearts of his brothers and in the fabric of the universe itself.  Kix could feel the despair, pain, and heartache in the air surrounding his brothers, accompanied by the bitter taste of their fury.  They had all been betrayed, and the one who sought to harm them could not be allowed to roam free.

           “Waxer, send out two of your scouts along with two of my men to send a message to General Kenobi.  Use whatever means necessary to communicate with him as soon as possible, including flying,” Rex instructed.  “Dogma, Shiver, you go with them and report to the General.  Do not leave any of Krell’s actions out.  The General needs to know it all.  Understood troopers?”

           “Sir, yes sir!” Dogma and Shiver saluted before shifting and taking off into the dark Umbaran sky.  The four dragons flew away at top speed, obviously taking Rex’s words to heart.

           “Captain, what about the rest of us?” Tup asked.

           Rex bared his teeth.  “We’re going to relieve that demagolka of duty and leave him for the Jedi.” There were several loud protests, many brothers itching to tear Krell apart for his crimes, but Kix understood why Rex had ordered them to capture but not kill the traitor.  “I refuse to let another brother be harmed because of Krell’s actions and that’s what will happen if we kill him.  There are far too many nat-borns who despise and fear us, that they will use any reason they have to hurt us or kill us.  I will not allow that to happen.”

           Kix straightened his spine, absorbing the Captain’s determination and anger as his own, and he noticed many others doing the same.

           “We’re with you, Rex,” Waxer said, coming to stand at Rex’s right shoulder.  Kix took his place on his Captain’s left, as he was the highest-ranking officer in the contingent of 501st soldiers that had been sent to stop Umbarans wearing clone armor.  The only reason Krell’s plan failed was the inherent knowledge within nearly all clones of the whereabouts of their brothers.  They’d all sensed the 212th before they’d ever spotted the distinct white and gold armor.  The Manda and Ka’ra saved them with the gift they had all been given.

           Rex’s eyes flash gold in the dim Umbaran light, lit with a fire inside that would consume worlds if allowed to be unleashed.  A rippling, tearing growl began low in his chest and the call was taken up by every other vod with them.  All around the three leaders of the two platoons, brothers tightened their grips on their blasters and released savage snarls and ferocious roars.  The anger, hate, and determination, all fueled by the powerful love for their fallen brothers filled the space around them, so thick, Kix could barely breathe through the emotions battering against his defenses.

The Vod’e were going hunting.

Kix let loose his own feral grin, the dragon deep inside of him slamming against his mental shields, anxious to be free of the chains that kept him locked tightly inside.  Never before had Kix felt the overwhelming desire to utterly destroy a single being nor a single planet before.  Everything about Umbara set his every nerve on edge the longer he remained on the planet. Not even Geonosis, both times he had been deployed to that planet, jarred his mind this much.  Kix needed to let his dragon out of his cage and release him on the world.

           “You can back out of this at any time until we confront Krell,” Rex cautioned the vod’e.  “You will not face any repercussions if you choose to stay out of his arrest.  I do have to warn you, however, you might have to face heavy and severe consequences from the Senate and the GAR if you do choose to help.  We are going to relieve a Jedi and a General from his posting, which counts as high treason within the Republic.”

           Not a single vod stepped back.  Not a single one of them wavered in their determination, though there were many spikes of fear.  They all knew what would happen if they were sent back to Kamino.  But their courage didn’t waver despite the fear coursing through their veins.  Kix had never been so proud of his brothers than in that moment.

           “Any further questions?” Rex asked after a minute of silence.

           “I have something to say.”  Kix stepped forward.  “Your forms, as they are now, will not hold up against lightsabers.  If this turns into a fight, which I believe it will, shift immediately.  It will take a lot more for Krell to kill you or even chop off a limb if you are dragons and we will have the advantage of size, our claws, tails, and fire.  Use them.”

           “Excellent advice, Kix,” Waxer grinned and saluted him. “Stay alive, boys!  The General and the Commander will be coming, and we’ve got to be there to greet them when they arrive.”

           Rex looked around the vod’e one more time and nodded. He put his helmet on and stepped forward, a fist raised in the air.  “OYA VOD’E!” he cried.

           “OYA!”

           As the vod’e entered the airbase, Kix felt the cold numbness he’d felt around Krell from the beginning spread over his mind once again. Appo and Coric shared a hushed conversation with Rex, Waxer, and Kix, who quickly briefed them on the situation and their plans.  Kix watched as his own fury was echoed on his riduur’s face, infuriated at the way their brothers had been treated.  As medics, they took their oaths very seriously, and this campaign had worn on both Kix and Coric the longer it had progressed.

           “Let me get this straight,” Appo said.  “We’ve been sent on suicidal marches with the worst battle tactics I’ve ever seen, you were threatened with Krell’s lightsaber and so was Fives, two of our brothers were nearly executed for saving the entire campaign while a third is currently trapped in space with no way to communicate with us, and Krell attempted to have Nabat and Torrent kill each other?”

           “Yes, Appo,” Rex said, voice tight with carefully controlled anger.  “That’s a good summary.”

           Coric snarled viciously, his eyes shining golden and a warm orange glow building in his chest.  “Can we roast him alive?” he growled.  Kix automatically reached out to Coric in his mind and soothed the flickering fire until it was less likely to consume him.

           “No, but we are going to arrest him.  You don’t have to join us,” Rex explained.

           “Like kark we’re not going to be right beside you when you confront that hu’tuun!  We’re with you, sir.  All the way,” Appo declared, his fire blue and solid and a steady rock for Rex to lean against.  Coric’s only answer was to pull his helmet back on and ready his blaster.

           “Good.  Inform your men of what happened while I go free Jesse and Fives from the brig.  Anyone who wants to help is welcome.  Anyone who doesn’t should stay in the barracks so they don’t get caught in the crossfire in case this turns bad,” Rex instructed. His gaze softened slightly.  “I’m glad you’re both with me on this,” he said softly.

           It hit Kix, then, exactly how much their Captain had been dealing with on this campaign, largely on his own.  Neither Kix nor Fives had helped much, constantly challenging his orders and especially with Fives getting into trouble with Krell multiple times.  Rex had stood alone against the battering ram of Krell, the only defense between the demagolka and his little brothers.  Kix swore to take care of the Captain once they were free of the stains of Umbara and flying far away from this hell planet.

           Rex, Appo, and Waxer split off to discuss a few strategies and how they wanted to set up the men that decided to help them relieve Krell of his duty.  Kix, however, immediately found himself pressed up against Coric’s hard armor, their helmets banging together harder than they usually did.

           “How are you?” Coric said as soft as his vocoder would allow.

           “Alive,” Kix answered.  “Everything else will have to wait until after we stop Krell.”

           Coric sighed heavily.  “I know, but I wish it didn’t.  You could have died so many times in the last two days, and I wasn’t even there to help. I couldn’t save you and I couldn’t save any of our vod’ikase!”

           Kix closed his eyes and allowed Coric’s despair to wash over him, joining his own as they tucked it close to their hearts to deal with later.  No medic, no vod ever wanted to be kept on the sidelines of a battle, especially when their vod’e were calling for help.  Kix knew if their places had been exchanged, he would have had a hard time not going to help his little brothers, regardless of what Krell had ordered.

           “Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” Kix murmured and tapped his helmet against Coric’s.

           “Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la,” Coric finished.  “We will remember their lives and their deaths. None shall be forgotten.”

           “If Krell attacks, don’t take any chances,” Kix ordered.  He didn’t fear for himself, but he feared for his vod’e and especially his riduur.  He couldn’t lose Coric, not so soon after everything that had already happened.  “Shift. Tell the others to shift.  Don’t let him get close to you and don’t let him hurt you.”            “Only if you do the same.”  Coric shook his head.  “You’re going up there with Rex and probably Fives and Jesse, aren’t you?”

           It was a question that didn’t really need an answer. Kix needed to see that cha’kaar brought to justice.  Coric would watch the vod’ikase on the ground while Kix kept an eye on those in the tower.

           “I’ll come back to you.  Haat, ijaa, haa’it,” Kix swore.  Manda forgive him if this was the one promise he wouldn’t be able to keep.

           “You better,” Coric said.  He gripped Kix’s shoulders as best as he could through the armor.  “K’oyacyi, ner kar’ta.”

           “K’oyacyi, ner runi.”

           Coric gave him one last tap of the helmet before he turned to follow Appo to brief the rest of the 501st on the situation. Rex appeared at Kix’s elbow, eyes soft and warm, despite the exhaustion nearly dousing his flame.  Only his anger was keeping the Captain on his feet at the moment.

           “Are you ready?” he asked.

           Kix nodded.  “Let’s go free our brothers and arrest that hu’tuun!”

           “Oya,” Rex responded with a grin.  “Tup, Waxer, with me.”

           Fives and Jesse were rightfully angry, the heart of their raging infernos readily visible on their chests through their blacks. The soft, grey-blue of Fives’s fire (Kix still wasn’t used to seeing the accompanying navy of Echo’s flame) burned brighter than he’d seen since that fateful mission to the Citadel.  Jesse was more subdued, but the dusky red pulsed to the rhythm of his heart and the determination of Waxer and Rex.  They practically demanded to be there when Rex confronted Krell.

           As expected, the arrest did not go as planned.  Some of the vod’e attempted to get closer to try to stun the fallen Jedi before he could pull out his lightsabers, but they were easily pushed to the edges of the tower room.  That was when Krell pulled out his lightsabers and ignited all four blades.

           “You cannot defeat a Jedi.  I will not be undermined by any animal grown in a lab.  You’re nothing and you have no power!” Krell roared. He whirled the lightsabers around threateningly, preventing any vod from getting too close and deflecting their stun shots.

           “Don’t get close!” Kix shouted at some of the troopers who had tried to sneak up on the Jedi.  They leapt back in time to avoid getting cut in half, but it had been too close. “Rex!  We need Plan B!”

           “Fives, Waxer, Kix, on me!  The rest of you, get out, however you can!” Rex ordered.  Immediately, the younger vod’e left, guided by Jesse, though his reluctance cut through the room like a vibroblade.  However, Rex was entrusting the safety of their vod’ikase to Jesse, and the recently promoted Lieutenant would not let their Alor’ad down. Jesse would keep them safe and alert Appo and Coric of the situation.

           Kix breathed a bit easier when there weren’t as many vod’e around to get killed by Krell.  But it also made those who had stayed easier targets.  Krell’s mocking laugh cut deep into Kix’s chest, attempting to douse the fire in his heart.

           “What can four clones do against me?  I have the Force, and you are nothing!” Krell scoffed indignantly.

           Without needing any hand signals, the four vod’e spread out, blocking all paths Krell might try to take.

           “General Krell, do you confess to committing treason against the Republic and sabotaging your own troops and the success of the war?” Rex demanded.

           “Of course, Captain.”  The way Krell said Rex’s rank slid against his nerves like thick, black, oily sludge. “Count Dooku has promised to show me the pathway to immense power.  The Jedi have been blinded for too long, and my eyes have been opened for me.  The Dark side is not evil, but liberating from the constrictions the Jedi have enforced for millennia.”

           “Then you are under arrest, General Krell.  For the last time, comply with the order!”

           Krell snarled and threw Rex against the wall with a wave of his hand.  Hard. Kix swallowed down bile at the audible crunch he’d heard.

           “I do not take orders from clones,” Krell snarled.

           Waxer stepped forward and took the lead.  He seamlessly shifted into his long, lithe form, orange scales clashing against the blue-green glow of Krell’s sabers.  The frills around his shoulders fluttered angrily, flashing red and orange and black, instead of the usual pink or purple. With a thunderous roar, he called to Fives and Kix, both of whom were quick to respond.

           Reaching deep within himself, past the connection to his brothers and the world around him, Kix cupped his fire in the palms of his hands and let it flicker and build until it engulfed his entire body.  Unlike the other vod’e who were left in the tower, Kix’s fire burned white, hot with his anger and ferocious determination to love and save as many of his brothers as he could.  His fire was the pure essence of his soul, nurtured from the time he was in the gestation tube and coaxed to life when he’d been decanted. And now, it reenergized him.  The dragon roared approval, as Kix opened his mouth to echo Waxer’s call.

           With white scales, usually shimmering a light silver, Kix stretched his paws and extended his claws.  Coric had once described his dragon form as a scaled nexu, with the powerful legs, long, thin tail, and pointed ears atop his head.  He didn’t have any hair like some Vod’e, but instead had jagged ridges around the crown of his head that could be folded back when he wasn’t actively in battle.  Kix’s eyes always shifted from their usual light honey color to a disturbing pure white. There were no pupils, no irises, just unsettling white.

           Kix crouched down to the ground, all four legs tightly coiled and ready to launch himself at the disgusting Jedi.  Now that his senses had been extended beyond the near-human capabilities, he could smell the rot coming from the Jedi that he assumed was the Dark side.  It was thick and pungent with overwhelming hate.  The crystals within Krell’s lightsabers screamed with an awful, wailing agony that jangled every nerve Kix had in his body.  He’d once heard General Kenobi explain how the Sith got their red lightsabers, and now, he understood what he’d meant by “bleeding” the crystals.

           Across from Kix, Fives stood in his majestic glory. He was one of the biggest dragons Kix had ever seen in a standard CT.  The only Vod’e who were larger were the CCs and the Alphas.  His snout snorted out a stream of blue plasma, singeing the floor by his large, clawed paws.  The beautiful wings, last seen on Rishi, were folded against his body, tucked close to keep out of the way of those awful lightsabers.  With blue eyes that “held the galaxy” as Echo used to say, fixated on Krell, watching his every twitch of muscle.

           Waxer roared and spat a pillar of burning-red liquid fire towards the dar’jetti, keeping his focus away from the downed Captain. Krell let out a loud cry and desperately flung the fire away from him and towards Fives.  Unfortunately for Krell, the fire simply dripped off of Fives’s fireproof scales and onto the floor where it immediately began to melt the durasteel.

           [You will stand down, Krell!  It’s over!] Waxer growled.  His voice reverberated through every mind in the room, a rushing warmth for the Vod’e and a low, grating gravel in Krell’s.

           “You cannot beat me!” Krell cried desperately.  He ran towards Kix, the smallest of the shifted dragons in the room, and swung both lightsabers at his head.

           Without hesitation, Kix leaned back on his hind paws and grabbed the lightsaber blades, a bone-shattering scream of fury raging through his chest and out his open mouth.  Neither saber so much as singed his paws, and Kix stretched his lips wide over his sharp fangs in a snarl.

           Kix wrinkled his nose as the dar’jetti’s foul stench filled his nostrils.  He could feel how cold and achingly empty Krell was more poignantly than ever before, and for a moment, Kix nearly impaled him on his own sabers.  Instead, he just jerked them from Krell’s hands and crushed the handles until they were completely unusable.  The kyber crystals’ screams gentled down to soft whimpers now that they wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else and Kix nodded in satisfaction.

           Fives swept out an enormous paw and batted Krell into the wall.  In a fit of desperation, Krell attempted to push Fives away from him using the Force, but absolutely nothing happened.  None of them so much as twitched, even though Kix could practically see the Force being forced to Krell’s will.  As soon as the power reached Fives, it parted around him, leaving him completely untouched.

           “What is happening?!” Krell screamed in rage.  He tried to fight against Fives’s hold on him, but it was useless against the bulky weight of the dragon.

           [Get Rex,] Fives ordered, jerking his head towards the softly groaning Captain.

           Kix immediately pounced across the room, avoiding the hole Waxer’s fire had melted into the ground.  He nudged the Captain’s leg, reaching out to the Manda to feel if Rex had any significant injuries.  He’d heard a crack, so he knew something was wrong, but not what had broken.

           “I’m fine, Kix,” Rex grumbled.  “Cracked my pauldron.  He knocked me unconscious, but other than that, I’m uninjured.”

           Kix huffed.  [I’ll believe that when I can get you into a real medbay.  Fives subdued Krell and we managed without any fatalities or injuries.  Waxer’s fire melted the floor, though, so don’t fall down the hole.]

           “Noted,” Rex said as he pushed himself to his feet. Kix pressed against him to support him on the way up, watching carefully for any sign of dizziness or disorientation. But he truly was fine.

           “You will pay for this, clone!” Krell shouted.  “I should have executed you myself!”

           [Sir, you might want to shift.  Krell is still dangerous,] Kix suggested once he was sure Rex could keep himself steady.

           “I’ve got some binders.  Do we have any force-suppressing ones?”

           [I do,] Waxer answered.  [With how many times General Kenobi has fought Ventress or Dooku, we started carrying them in case we could capture them.  One of my men gave me their’s so we’d have enough to secure Krell properly.] Stepping away from the growling and struggling dar’jetti, Waxer shifted back to his more vulnerable form and pulled out two sets of force-suppressing cuffs.  He handed them to Rex and then readied his blaster.  “He probably won’t be able to do anything with Fives holding him down like that, but I’ll cover you just in case, sir.  Figured you’d want the honors since he’s hurt your men the most.”

           Rex nodded gratefully at the Lieutenant and snapped the binders over Krell’s wrists.  Only then did Fives step away, huffing a hot breath over the Jedi in disgust.  He turned and nudged Rex with his snout, a little harder than he probably meant, to check on him.

           “I’m alright, Fives,” Rex grumbled and patted the dragon on the nose.  “Let’s just get Krell down to the brig and let the rest of the men know what happened. My bucket was recording the whole thing, so I got his confession for the GAR and the Council to review as evidence of Krell’s betrayal.”

           [Smart thinking, Cap,] Fives said.  [Come on, I’ll give you a lift down.  I haven’t been able to stretch my wings in ages.]

While Rex and Fives were focused on each other, Waxer shifted back to his dragon form and opened his mouth to blow a stream of his fire at the viewport. They watched it melt immediately and drip down towards the ground.  [Kix and I are smaller.  We can take the lift down and put Krell in the brig,] Waxer offered.

           Kix nodded and only stopped to pick up the smashed lightsabers.  Maybe the Jedi would be able to help the crystals heal.  They didn’t deserve to be hurt like that, and there was no better place for them to get better than the Jedi Temple.  Together, he and Waxer wrangled Krell into the brig until finally he was secured.

           [I’ll guard him for now.  Have Rex set up a rotation to come relieve me.  I need to check on some of my men.]

           [Yes, sir,] Kix said with a nod of his head.  They all had plenty to do in the hours to come and little time to rest, regardless of how much they all needed it.

             Kix wasn’t paying attention when General Kenobi arrived on the airbase with the rest of the 212th, nearly fourteen hours later.  He did notice when a cute kitten-like dragon pounced on Waxer’s back and woke the Lieutenant up from his nap.

           [Wooley?] Waxer groaned.  [What’re you doin’ here?]

           [We’re your support!] Wooley chirped.  [Though it looks like you’ve got everything handled here.] He curled up against Waxer’s side, nuzzling along the underside of his jaw.  It was ridiculously cute, and Kix wished he could take a holo for Waxer.

           “The General’s talking to Captain Rex and the Commander,” Boil reported as he arrived at a much more sedate pace than the little dragon Waxer was now curled around in a tight hug.  Or what counted for a hug as dragons.  “Ona and Rye told us what happened when you met up in the jungle.”

           Waxer huffed out a snorting laugh, nearly blowing out a stream of fire as he did so.  [I’m fine, you worry-wart.  We had a tiny skirmish with the Umbarans, but they quickly decided to give up when they saw the base was being held by a hoard of dragons.  We’re all okay.  You can sit down and rest for a bit.  Or better yet, shift and come cuddle Wooley and I.]

           Wooley chirped a cheerful agreement from where he was nearly completely buried by Waxer’s long tail.

           With only a put-upon glare as a protest, Boil shifted into his dragon form, about the same size as Waxer’s but a bit stockier in build, better for ramming into things than slithering through tiny spaces.  His burnt orange scales complimented Waxer’s own bright orange.  Once shifted, he shook himself over once, folded up his wings, and curled up at Waxer’s back.  Immediately, the frills along Waxer’s shoulders turned lovely shades of pink and purple, accenting his warm, violet eyes.

           Kix observed the three of them for a moment before deciding that the cluster of three was better left alone for now.  Instead, he went in search of his own riduur.  Coric had left his side sometime while Kix was asleep, and was probably either in the makeshift medbay—big enough for both medics to fit into as dragons—or combing the battlefields for any more survivors.

It didn’t take long to find him, and surprisingly, he was reporting to Commander Cody and General Kenobi.  The Commander hadn’t shifted, but from the way the medium-ish sized dragon was draped across his back, it wouldn’t be long until he joined the rest of his men in their natural form.  Rex huffed poutily at Cody’s hair, large brown eyes pleading for attention.  Cody hummed soothingly for his riduur, and Rex settled down, careful to keep his sharp claws away from anything that could get ruined or would injure someone.  General Kenobi looked like he desperately wanted to ask questions, but refrained for the time being.

           Kix had always believed that Coric was the most beautiful dragon he’d ever seen.  He was black with bioluminescent blue outlining his scales.  Though every dragon was different, Coric was the only one Kix had ever met with wings like his.  The wings were large and cupped, much like those pleasure gliders that civilians would use to fly without a speeder.  Coric, once he was in the air, rarely had to touch down to earth to rest. He could fly for days if he needed to, much like the man himself.  But it was the electric blue of his eyes that always drew Kix in.  Shards of beskar silver glinted within their depths, almost hypnotizing anyone who happened to look too deeply.  Kix could gaze into them for hours and just drift alongside his riduur’s presence in the Manda.

           [From what Fives and Jesse reported, Hardcase was still alive directly after the explosion.  He shifted right before the explosion and must have curled into a hibernation ball,] Coric reported.

           “A hibernation ball?” General Kenobi asked.

           Commander Cody nodded.  “As dragons, we’re able to curl ourselves into a ball with our head and most vulnerable parts inside and the rest of our bodies covered in an impenetrable armor.  When in hibernation, a vod doesn’t need to breathe as much as we do in a fight or as humans.  And we can go a lot longer without food or water.  As long as someone can get to him soon, he’ll recover just fine.”

           [Tup found what was jamming our communicators. Krell had rigged it up to block all calls within a zone of thirty clicks from the airbase.  That’s why Nabat couldn’t contact you earlier.  He removed the jammer, and we contacted Commander Tano in orbit to send someone to retrieve Hardcase,] Rex said, refusing to budge from his spot against the Commander’s back.

           Kix stepped in before any of them could continue. [Pardon me, General, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to borrow these three for the next few hours.]

           Commander Cody raised an eyebrow while the General ran a hand across his mouth.  “And why, pray tell, do you need to borrow these three?” General Kenobi asked.

           [Because Rex hasn’t slept in nearly three days and is suffering from battel fatigue currently.  Commander Cody is the best qualified to help the Captain.  And I need my riduur.  We’ve been through hell the past few days, General, and we all need a break.]

           That sobered them all up, though Rex threw a betrayed look at Kix.  But if the Captain chose to neglect his own health, then Kix was more than happy to tattle on him to the Commander.  Especially as that had the added effect of coercing the Commander into taking care of himself.  There was nothing Kix could do about the General’s poor health habits, as he left that squarely in Helix’s jurisdiction.

           “I apologize, Kix, Cody, Rex, Coric.  I should have considered your health.  I need to report all of this to the Council anyway,” General Kenobi said with an apologetic bow.  “I believe the call should last several hours, so feel free to take your time to check up on your men and each other.”

           [Thank you, General,] Kix said and then watched as the General left them to go inside the tower to make his call.  Kix turned to the other Vod’e.  [I’m going to go round up a few dozen shinies, Tup, Dogma, Fives, and Jesse and we’re going to all huddle together for a few hours.  No excuses, no exceptions.  Manda knows we need it after everything we’ve been through on this planet.]

           Rex deflated at that.  [I am worried about Dogma and Jesse.  They were really shaken up when I last talked to them.]

           Kix gave a single nod, as though that was the outcome he’d always expected.  It was the one he hoped for, but when he got into one of his moods, Rex refused to give into any suggestions regarding his continued health.  And then he darted off, Coric by his side, as they went off in search of their vod’ikase.  A giant pile of dragons was exactly what they all needed.

           His riduur by his side was all Kix needed.

Credit for the use of Nabat Platoon to @cacodaemonia Please go check out her Reconstruction Corps AU here!

[impishnature]

Breaking Point

Thanks for waiting guys! This was 3.9k in the end so yeah haha! Which while normal for me, isn’t going to be attainable daily throughout October. 

Imptober Prompts so far

AO3 Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: T+ (Warning for possibly graphic details on injuries.) Prompt: Broken Down/Broken Bones. Summary: Accidents at sea happen, however careful you may be. Unfortunately for Stan, some can dredge up memories with them.

.

It was strange, quite how quickly the world could turn upside down.

All it takes is one wrong turn, a blink, an exhale of breath, and suddenly all the air is punched out of your lungs and the open sky spins like a fairground ride you never meant to take. Off kilter, ready to take you down as the ground crumbles beneath your feet.

At least, that's how it always seemed to be for Stan. The world was always ready to throw him in the deep end at a moment's notice.

He'd hoped that after everything, the universe might stop trying to push him around.

He'd been quietly humming to himself, a serene smile on his face, tapping calloused fingers on fraying trousers as he sat, staring out to sea. There wasn't a cloud in sight, the sun beaming warm and bright against his arms and back, and the small bobber on the end of his fishing line was all that really kept him linked to reality. Otherwise, his mind was elsewhere, a peaceful static drone buzzing through his blank mind, as seagulls screeched overhead, hoping to snag his catch before he did if he wasn't careful and prepared. Behind him, he could hear his brother as if in the far distance, soft footfalls padding along as he absorbed himself in whatever anomaly had brought them here in the first place.  

One moment, under the bright blue sky, Stan felt at one with the world, like all the planets had finally aligned, the puzzle pieces had fallen into place and finally he was living the life he was always meant to lead.

The next second, a loud crack tore through the air and the folding chair he'd been sitting on jerked to the side, toppling, as the boat lurched beneath him. Something hit the metal railing of the boat with a long clattering ring that ricocheted around his ears as he promptly smacked into the floor shoulder first, head bumping slightly after with another flare of pain. 

Amidst this, another softer, though no less unpleasant crunch filtered through his disorientated senses. He felt something solid give beneath his fingers, breaking sharply in two and any air in his lungs choked out of him as a flood of pain washed over him. He curled up into a ball on the ground, breathing shallowly, heart thumping rapidly as his brain overloaded with sensation.

"Shit, that was- Stanley?!" 

Stan let out a hiss of a response, unable to open his mouth further than the gritted grimace it was locked in. He'd felt this kind of pain before, years and years ago, of course he had- young, homeless, running for his life, still, despite that it didn't really prepare him for a repetition. It was the kind of pain that your mind slowly forgot the true taste of, time taking the edge off. The body, however, never truly forgot. Like, that gut feeling not to put your hand near a flame even if you couldn't quite recall how much it had hurt the last time. And so, adrenaline pumped abruptly through this system, nerves sparking, his body trying it's best to keep him level-headed. His hands clenched tightly at his thigh, pushing down around the wound without being able to look at it. The memories from the last time this had happened were rising from the depths to greet him, skewing reality as all the interlocking recollections, that had quite never made their way to the surface since his 'lapse in memory', were now exposed to the light. 

It had been a baseball bat that time, a sudden solid snap to his leg that had made his eyes smart and black dots fizzle across his vision. It had knocked all the air out of him, a wheeze all that he could pull forth from his lungs, even though he felt the need to scream through the agony. Looking down had not been his most sensible idea. As soon as he saw the damage, his vision had blacked out, his muscles going limp. Even now, he had no idea how long he passed out for. It could have been minutes or mere seconds before he joltingly came to again, still locked in a terrible situation he'd found himself in with little means of escape. 

But now he was smarter, his body reacting to the pain as if it were an old adversary, a familiar routine that his muscle memory knew how to respond to. 

He turned his gaze away, eyes tightly screwed shut and took as steady a breath as he could muster, reminding himself that this time- this time- he wasn't alone to deal with it.

"F-Ford?" The word barely made it past teeth and a pain addled tongue. Heavy footfalls vibrated through the wooden floor, rattling around his skull where it lay. They should have made him flinch, would have if he'd had any sense to spare through the pain. But as it was, the much heavier, louder thump right beside his head of two knees hitting the deck without a care and the warm hand that fell atop his shoulder, instead caused a swell of relief to muddle into the mix of heady adrenaline coursing through him.

"I'm here. I'm right here."

Stan tried to relax under the slow soft movements on his forearm, the reassuring warmth that ran soothing circles across his skin, tried to lock on to the comforting voice, the familiar safety that he hadn't been able to rely on the first time. But the bolts of pain that snapped all the way up his spine, and the bright flare of his injured leg outweighed any optimism he could latch on to. All he could do under the tidal wave of agony was ride out the storm, curling up even further and pulling his leg in tighter to his chest.

"Stan? Stan, can you hear me?"

Ford's voice was an echo of worry at the back of his skull. As much as he couldn't respond to the frantic urgency his brother was trying to urge him with, the cold release of his arm as his brother moved away almost made him sob. 

No- no, please don't leave me. 

He hadn't even realised he'd latched onto the warmth to keep him tethered. The storm held him in it's thrall and the knowledge that someone else was there with him had been a rope, a life line that connected him to reality even if he couldn't quite break the surface of the water.

I can't do this alone.

He was drowning, water muffling his ear drums until all he could hear was the dissonant ring of a metal bat being swung, over and over with every pulse of pain, a death knell growing louder with every stuttering heartbeat. A distorted laugh bubbled through his skull, bouncing and splintering, increasingly scrambled until it became a cacophony of all the people he had double crossed. Scornful, mocking sounds, jeering at his plight. All of them shadows that surrounded him in the darkness, pushed him deeper and deeper into the water, flashes of yellow sparking up to fill the empty spaces in between that he might have somehow escaped through.

And the one person who might have been willing to help him, the light that might have helped him resurface, was on the other side of them all, pulling further and further away the more he let him, fading from his view with every sinking second.

If only he could open his mouth, if only his jaw wasn't locked and his entire being trembling. If only-

I'm sorry, I can't- It hurts- I'm sorry, I'm sorry-

"Stan."

The word was solid, determined, laced with a hint of fear but none of the anger that he was so despondently sure would follow. 

Pull yourself together. What are you? A Child? 

"Stan? I'm here. Whatever's happening in there, I need you to focus on me."

It was weird after so many years to hear his brother and father in the same vicinity, even if that vicinity was his own mind.

Especially when they seemed so at odds with one another.

"Please. Please open your eyes."

The warmth from before returned, now resting on his cheeks, small circular embers that dotted across his temples and his eyelids. The heat pulled him from the dark eddies, dragged him out of ice cold waters- but it was the edge to his voice that cut through him. That fear, that urgency, the thought that Ford needed him right that instant. It hushed the laughter, the mocking cries, until with all the energy he possessed, he squinted his eyes open.

The sunlight burned.

But he found solace in Ford's face above him.

Ford's shoulders slumped, arms shaking in tremors that Stan felt travel across his cheeks, but he held him fast, still continuing the soft motions against his skin. "There he is. Welcome back."

"For-" Stan grunted, close to uttering his name but without enough mobility to get his tongue to move in the correct pattern.

"Shh, it's OK." Ford's eyes became focused, quick fleeting glances at the rest of him even whilst his hands continued to soothe and his gaze so obviously wanted to latch to Stan's face. "Just- just tell me what hurts- if you can- whatever you can manage." His words were soft, sharply urgent but with no actual bite to them.

Stan didn't know whether it made him feel fragile or protected but either way he couldn't help the gratitude welling up inside him as his brother stayed at his side.

"Leg." 

It was probably pretty obvious with the way he was clutching it, but if he knew Ford, then he'd want to be sure. Either way Stan knew he was in capable hands even if he couldn't quite bring himself to try and struggle out of the foetal position he'd managed to curl himself into.

"Your leg?" Ford nodded, relief awash in his eyes at Stan's utterance. "OK. We can deal with that- we will deal with that, OK?" Stan wasn't sure which one of them the words were for exactly but he took comfort in them nonetheless. "I'm going to take a look, is that alright? I just need you to stay with me." 

Stan swallowed, the lump in his throat, solid and unyielding. He nodded once, a sharp tense motion as he braced himself for more pain.

"Easy. Easy- just, stay calm." Ford kept one hand on his face, moving it to act as a divider between his head and the floor. The other hand slowly pulled away, moving to cover Stan's hand on his thigh. "It's OK, Stan, just let me take a look." The hand slowly pried at his fingers, insistent and gentle, urging him to pull away from the pain. Ford's eyes found his again, reassuring and calming. "You trust me, right?"

And just like that it was as simple as breathing. 

Stan hissed, an annoyed sound that would have made them both laugh in any other circumstance at the low blow Ford had levied. Instead it did at least lighten the mood ever so slightly, relaxed the tight coil of his muscles enough that even if he couldn't move it himself, Ford could slowly pull his hand away and lay it gently on the floor after giving it a tight squeeze of thanks.

"That's it, you're doing great, Stan."

Stan didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the sentiment. 

He didn't feel like he was doing good, let alone great. When he'd been younger...

Well, younger him hadn't had Ford to take care of him. It was deal with the situation or get a much more fatal blow to the back of the head.

So hopefully he'd be forgiven for allowing himself to give in, now that he was a lot older, and greyer, and his brother was knelt beside him, offering to do whatever he could to help.

The soft push on tender flesh snapped him from his desolate thoughts. He whimpered, biting down on the noise almost instantly as Ford's eyes snapped back to his face, watching every subtle change and he couldn't help but try to turn away from it, not wanting to be seen this weak.

"Stan. It's OK." Ford's hand moved, running over his forehead and into his hair before reclaiming its spot around his neck. "It's just us, no one's judging you on how well you deal with this. Besides-" His mouth twisted up into a smile that didn't reach the concern gleaming in his eyes. "I'm the one that's had to patch you up after you've got yourself into fights before. So, out of everyone I think I know your pain thresholds." He kept their eyes locked, hoping to distract as his hand gently pressed again, following the line of his thigh, testing the waters with each ministration. "And I know that you aren't one to let pain get the better of you like this unless it's serious."

Stan tried to scoff, each lance of pain stopping his progress as he took deep breaths in and out. "Y-you say that like it's only me who gets us into fights."

Ford's smile brightened, more genuine than before. "True. True." He hummed, happy to divert attention as Stan's eyes focused more and more on his face. "Then again I've also seen you cry when the twins manage to send us a care package. Remember? That sweater you refused to take off for like a week? So, maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. Maybe you have gone soft in your old age."

Stan's breathing hitched, a half chuckle escaping him. "Shut it, nerd." 

"Never." 

Ford shifted back onto his haunches, relief marring his expression as he smiled down at Stan, hand moving away from his injury to find his shoulder. "Well, it doesn't seem to be broken, so that's a relief." 

Stan blinked blankly at him, the pain a dull ache in the background as he stared at him. "Wha-?"

Ford frowned, glancing back over as Stan's hand moved once more to cradle his wound. "There's no break from what I can feel. No cuts or blood either... It's a strange place for a sprain but there's obviously something going on. If you can sit up, I might be able to get a better look?"

The world was becoming fuzzy around the edges again, his ears ringing, as Ford continued to talk. Not broken? What does he mean not broken? I felt it- And even as he got lost in his thoughts, Ford was slowly pushing and prodding him to move, his body letting him take the reigns as his mind succumbed to the confused buzz of pain still fizzling through his system.

"There we go. Still with me?"

Stan flinched back to reality, the hand on his shoulder tight and firm as it shook him ever so. He nodded, staring down at his own legs, trying to find the source of the pain, to visualise the break he'd felt beneath his fingers. His vision doubled for a second, black spots forming as his leg deformed and reformed, superimposing memory and present day before realigning every time he blinked. His hand trailed down but Ford caught it, putting it back beside him with a few small taps.

"Let me. I'm the Doctor here, remember?"

Stan snorted. "Not a medical one though." His head felt heavy, exhaustion tugging at his every movement as he watched Ford continue his examination. Sparks of pain still zapped through him as he was checked over but it felt strange, on his peripherals. Like it was just out of sync, each flare of pain linked to what he was seeing instead of as soon as the touch physically came. "What happened?"

"Hmm?"

"To the boat, what-?"

"Oh." Ford glanced back at him before continuing his ministrations. "We hit something. Nothing too serious, just an outcropping we hadn't picked up on when we chartered the course by the looks of it." He grinned sheepishly. "Guess that'll teach us for relying on autopilot."

Stan let his head fall back against the railing he'd been propped up on, eyes drifting shut, too heavy to hold open. "Ehh, once in a while we're allowed to make a mistake."

"Quite right." Ford hummed back. A few more moments passed before he finally sat back, turning to Stan once more. "There really doesn't seem to be a break. Can you stand?" 

Stan pushed himself up, staring wide eyed at him.

Stand? On a broken leg?

Sure, he'd hobbled on one before. The pain had been excruciating as he stumbled agonisingly away from captors that wanted him dead, biting on his knuckles to keep from making any noise as he all but dragged himself through dark winding corridors. But - well, there was a time and place for that kind of foolhardy response to a broken leg.

And now didn't seem like one of those times.

"But it broke."

Ford frowned, eyebrows furrowing as Stan spoke. "What?"

"It broke. I felt it break."

"You felt it-" Ford's frown deepened, alarm flashing in his eyes as he took in Stan's expression. "Stan, I really can't find a break, are you sure?"

Stan nodded, own mind racing as the dull throb persisted in his leg. "I had my hand on my knee and I felt it-" Nausea flared up then, thick and fast, his entire body listing to the side as he felt the need to heave. His fingers tingled with residual feeling, the unnatural creak and bend of his bones still lodged inside his grasp.

"Whoa, whoa, easy-" Ford's hand propped him up again, gently sitting him upright as he coughed on air. The next words out of his brother's mouth were hesitant, worried, but in a way that suggested he was scared to start an argument. Which didn't make any sense at all to Stan given the circumstances.

"Now, Stan. Are you sure... and don't get mad at me- but are you sure you didn't feel, well... that?"

Stan followed the line of his pointing finger, frowning in disappointed irritation- why didn't Ford believe him- before they finally alighted on what Ford was trying to show him. He stared, uncomprehendingly, at the strange heap of fibreglass and string that he was sure hadn't been there when he sat down earlier that day. 

It took a few long seconds to realise it was actually his fishing rod- or what was left of it.

...Oh.

It was neatly snapped in two, held together only by the fishing line that ran through it's eyelets. A line that was now also impossibly tangled around his folding chair and the railing he'd been propping it against. 

"Stan?"

He couldn't speak. What could he say?

"Stan... have you broken your femur before?"

"Hmm?"

"Your leg. Have you broken your leg before?"

Stan's head was turned back to the conversation, Ford's face holding a different kind of worry, one that by now he was used to, what with everything they had been through before they'd left on their journey across the sea. It didn't, however, make him feel any better, his heart sinking to rest in his stomach, in a churning mass of shame.

The pain in his leg was dissipating, like clouds dispersing once a storm has passed. As if nothing had ever happened in the first place.

"But I really felt it."

He hated how small his voice had gone, how pleading and childish he sounded. He just needed his brother to believe him- it had to have happened.

Because if it hadn't-

Stan swallowed, lump once more firmly lodged in his throat.

If it hadn't...

"I know you did, Stan." Stan scrunched up his nose at the pity filtering through his brother's voice. "But whatever the memory was that latched on to you, I need you to know you're safe. You're alright." Ford tilted his head to catch his eye, guilt swirling in his gaze and Stan wasn't sure if he hated it more or less than the pity. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Stan let his head fall forwards, hiding his expression from Ford's inquisitive gaze. His fingers fisting in his trousers, above the old wound, the old scar that pulsed in tandem with his heart but only as if to remind him of the memory. "It's not broken?"

"No." Ford's voice was genuine, a doctor letting someone know they were completely healthy and could face the world again.

He didn't feel like he could face the world though.

Stan laughed, a hollow sound as he covered his eyes with his hand. When had he started to well up? How much more shame did he have to go through today? "Great. Brilliant. Fantastic."

"Stan-"

"So, it's just my head that's broken then?" Stan dropped his hand to stare at his brother, almost wishing he hadn't said anything as he physically saw Ford's heart break across his face. Stan tried for a crooked grin, heart hammering in his chest in guilt. "What? It-it's not a new observation, now is it, Sixer?" 

"Lee." The old nickname cut off his dark laugh, sobering him up from whatever hysterical road he'd been about to wander down. Ford's eyes were harder, sharper as he came closer and for a second there was fear. That awful paranoia that Ford was about to up and leave, snap at him for being a nuisance and go back to whatever he was doing before he got in his way like he always did. "Lee, don't you ever talk about yourself like that."

"What?"

"I can't listen to you do that. Not anymore."

Ford sat beside him, arm curling around his shoulders before tugging him in against his chest. Stan felt him breathe heavily against his hair, puffs of air that felt and sounded shaky as they sat against the railing together, the boat peacefully bobbing in the water. 

"You're not broken, Stan. Anyone whose been through what you have-" There was a definite swallow as his voice cut off, a tightness to his words that Stan couldn't help but blanch at. 

Had he made Ford cry?

"Ford-"

"No one's been through what you've been through, Stan." Ford rested his head against the top of his skull, taking a deep breath in and tightening his hold, as if scared that by letting go, Stan would vanish entirely. "You've been through so much and done so much and no one will ever be allowed to judge you, least of all me."

Stan's throat constricted all the more as he struggled to regain control of the conversation. "Ford-"

"I won't hear it." Ford kissed the top of his head. 

"You're not broken."

A tear fell then, one that Stan couldn't hold in any longer. He turned, pushing himself into the hug that was being offered and choked out a soft protest as he did so. 

"It's alright." Ford muttered above him, slowly rocking them as they sat safe in their own little bubble, their small slice of home gently swaying on calm seas as the empty blue sky stretched far above them. "I promise you, everything's alright."

Warm water hit Stan's scalp and he tightened his hold, a physical apology for making his brother cry, but Ford just gently shushed him, rubbing a hand down his back. 

"You don't ever have to feel broken again."

[chokemeanakin]

Would you write another fluffy Obi piece?? Cause I absolutely fell in love with your first one and that man needs more love shown to him 😫 What about taking care of a sick, tired Obi after a mission?

Thank you for the request! Hopefully it lives up to the first Obi fic I did, idk all I can say is that as an Anakin writer, I tried my best 😅. Enjoy! ❤️

WC: 2.3k

Masterlist

You Can Rest Now- Obi-Wan Kenobi x gn Reader

You had told him to bring that extra fleece jacket. And those thermal gloves, and the hat that covered his ears, and the scarf that wrapped around his mouth and nose, and the insulated boots, and the chill-resistant underpants--

Obviously he hadn’t listened to you.

You were on the rescue craft sent to pick up Obi-Wan and a few of his men, who had been stranded on Hoth after a group of Wampa ate his transport ship for lunch. A rescue had been deployed immediately-- being out in the cold of Hoth for too long was deadlier than a lightsaber through the chest. 

Maybe not necessarily that deadly… but with the way your heart was hammering against your ribcage as you scanned the snowy slopes for any sign of your Jedi lover, it might as well be.

He had been gone for little over a week now, hopping from planet to planet, trying to track down the plans for a secret Separist weapon. And although there had been times when he was gone for even longer, your pulse still jumped when you spotted the small black dots on the horizon. You could feel him, and your heart reached out for him with each second the ship grew closer. 

You were the first one down the loading ramp when it descended, still zipping up the heavy jacket as the harsh wind blew the fur-lined hood off your head. The cold was paralyzing. Just the first couple seconds of being in it was like a slap in the face, and it took a moment before you could remember how to function again. 

You and the group of medics and rescue workers trudged through the thick snow and began to get to work helping frost-bitten and hypothermic men into the ship. You twisted and turned, squinting your eyes behind people’s masks to try and find the only one you were here for--

“You’re here,” you whipped around, the voice warming you to the tips of your fingers despite the frigid cold.

“Obi-Wan!”

In the circumstance that you two were alone, you would have run to him and crushed him to you in a big hug. Alas, you were not alone, and there were eyes on you two, so you had to instead shift uncomfortably on your feet, scanning your eyes up and down his figure to search for injuries.

He didn’t seem to be sick like a lot of his men, but then again it was hard to see anything despite the layers he was wearing. All that was visible to you was a thin strip of fair skin, interrupted by the azure of his eyes. You took his gloved hand and began tugging him toward the ship.

“You must be freezing,” you stated dumbly, mind still trying to work through the sludge of ice your brain was forming into. “I’ve only been out here for a few minutes, and you’ve been here for.. what... hours? I knew you should have worn those chill-resistant Tauntaun ponchos, but no. They looked “tacky and ridiculous”. Isn’t that what you said over hologram? Only you would choose fashion over safety. I bet you regret it now, huh?”

“Does working your mouth keep you warm?” Obi-Wan quipped. There was no resistance as he let you drag him into the ship, ushering him to your personal quarters. “If so, continue on my behalf. I would hate to see you catch a cold.”

“Oh, I will,” you promised. “Just as soon as I make sure your limbs aren’t going to fall off first. Sit.”

Obi-Wan’s icy eyes glanced wearily to the couch. “I’m all wet. I’ll soil the cushions.”

“Sit.”

He lowered himself onto the couch clumsily, heaving out a breath as he did so. This worried you. Nothing Obi-Wan ever did was anything less than elegant-- even when he was beating the shit out of that four-armed robot with tuberculosis, he did so with the practiced grace of a lithe panther. 

You began with his hands, removing the multiple layers of gloves and throwing them in a wet pile on the floor. When you finally found skin, you were relieved to see that none of his fingers were black, but you still didn’t like the blue and purple tint they had to them. 

You gathered his larger hands in yours, trying to squeeze some warmth back into them, and blew hot breath into your cupped palms. Then you got to work taking his hat off, the scarves, the layers and layers of jackets… it was a process to say the least, and when you were done, you were left with a shivering Obi-Wan in nothing but a skin-tight blacksuit, and a huge pile of sopping wet clothing on the floor.

“I-in a way,” his teeth chattered as chills began to rack his body, “Being n-numb was better than… was better than t-this.”

“It’s a sign that you’re warming up,” you skimmed your fingers across his cheekbone, gaging his temperature. Still ice-cold to the touch, and the white tint to his lips was more than a little alarming. You frowned, then quickly moved away to start a warm shower in the fresher. 

You turned in time to see Obi-Wan struggle to push himself to his feet, failing and falling back against the cushions before succeeding on his second attempt. Now that his face was void of any coverings, you realized just how tired and sickly he looked.

“Did any of the medics check you before I dragged you away?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at the pale pallor of his usually golden skin. Even the sandy strawberry of his hair seemed to wilt, as if the color had been swallowed up by the stark, barren landscape outside.

“I’m alright, d-darling. You’ll come to f-find that I am p-pretty resilient.”

“Pretty resilient my ass, Obi-Wan,” you rolled your eyes. “Someday, your loftiness is going to get you into real trouble.”

“M-my loftiness?”

“And if it’s not that, it’s going to be because you never take care of yourself,” you ignore him, checking the water with your fingertips.  “You’re too damn selfless, is what you are. You don’t realize other people can wait, and don’t need your unbridled attention every second of every day. Yes, there’s a war out there, but you deserve to be saved too.”

In all honesty, you didn’t really mean to begin lecturing him. You were panicked, not liking how quiet and subservient Obi-Wan was being. There was definitely something wrong with him, and running your mouth distracted you from the possibility that maybe he was injured and was hiding it from you, or maybe something happened that triggered that glassy look in his eyes, or maybe he was actually very sick and slipping between your fingers and you didn’t even realize it…

Obi-Wan sensed your panic, too. Ice met your cheek, and he turned your face to look at him.

“Hush, darling,” his cool breath washed over your face like a gust of flurry-speckled wind. “You’re w-working yourself up over n-nothing. I’ll be alright, I p-promise.”

You zipped your mouth closed and nodded. The bags under his eyes were dark, and you were kicking yourself for adding to them. The last thing he needed on his plate was more stress, especially coming from the person who was supposed to be his oasis of love and comfort. You leaned up and placed your lips over his, aiming to kiss some color back into them. 

“My apologies,” you spoke against the coolness of his mouth. “The water’s hot. You can get in now.”

You left Obi-Wan to shower, throwing all of his clothes into the hamper to be taken away for washing. A protocol droid dropped off a new pair of loose fitting sleepwear and Jedi apparel for tomorrow, as well as extra blankets and some warm foods which you had specially requested.

Steam billowed out of the fresher when Obi-Wan emerged, wrapping him in a ghostly embrace. His skin was covered head to toe in goosebumps, and although a little color had returned to his skin, it still looked as if every step took a huge effort. He sat on the chair by the desk, a towel tied around his waist and another working through the dripping hair on his head. He shivered when he felt your hand on his back, slipping the sleep clothes into his lap.

He got changed as you made the bed with all the blankets and set out the food on a bed tray. When you turned and saw that he was all dressed, you immediately took a fluffy blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, hugging it into his back.

Obi-Wan laughed breathily, a hand coming up to hold yours over his shoulder, stroking your knuckles with his thumb.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” he said, “But this might be a bit overkill.”

There it was. The nasally sound in his voice. The bleary eyes. The slight sniffle, and the rasp of air scraping into his lungs as he breathed. The precursor to a deep, crackling cough. The bastard was sick, you knew it--

Your hand slammed into the protocol message button.

“RA-7, please send up some cold medicine. And a crowbar while you’re at it, there’s someone I need to bludgeon with it--”

“Y/n,” Obi-Wan groaned. He stood and dropped the blanket from around him like he had done with his robes before battle one too many times, turning to face you in exasperation. “I’m okay, it’s just a little cold. I’ll be better by the time we touch down in Coruscant.”

“Not if you don’t keep this blanket on, you won’t,” you retrieved it from the floor and tossed it around his shoulders again. Then you pushed at his shoulders to get him to sit on the bed, piling blankets higher and higher onto him until all that was visible was his annoyed face and the wet strands of his honey toned hair. A strand of his bangs had fallen into his eyes, so you smoothed it back from his forehead and replaced it with your lips. 

Then you reached for the tray of food and set it atop the mountain of blankets that were smothering Obi-Wan.

“I do hope you’re not planning on spoon-feeding me,” he said.

You were, but then the door buzzed,and you knew the cold medicine was here. You left the tray of food to retrieve the package from the protocol droid, and came back to find Obi-Wan sitting up, still almost being swallowed by blankets, but now carefully spooning soup into his mouth. He was taking care of himself, and the sight dissolved your panic and warmed your heart.

You dropped another roll of bread onto his tray before opening the cold medicine, shaking a couple pills into your palm and handing them off to Obi-Wan, who for once had no witty remarks. 

You sat on the bed next to him then, making sure he had the good pillows before turning to find Obi-Wan holding a piece of bread out for you. You shook your head, pushing it back towards him.

“You eat, I’m fine.”

“Y/n, my love, it’ll make me feel better if you eat as well.”

There was Obi-Wan. Even sick and tired and on the edge of hypothermia, he was still looking out for others. So selfless, so giving, so good. You took the bread and bit into it to make him happy.

Once you had finished the bread, he began passing you various other tidbits of food even though you insisted you had already eaten. Meanwhile, he could only manage half the soup before he became too tired to continue. You took the tray away and set it on the bedside table, then turned the lights down and got into bed beside him again.

“Are you warm now?” you smoothed your hands through his damp hair as he lay back on the pillows, sighing deeply at the soft touch.

“Very.”

He was still sniffling a bit, and the raspiness of his breath was increasing with each minute. But he was on the verge of sleep, and rest was exactly what he needed to feel better. 

You set your head down on the pillow next to him, ghosting your fingers over the delicate skin of his closed eyelids, down the slope of his cheekbone, caressing the downy hairs of his beard. He nuzzled his face into the warmth of your palm, inching closer to you.

“You can rest now,” you told him, and he hummed sluggishly in response.

Despite the sheer amount of blankets on him, Obi-Wan began to shiver once more. You’re not sure if the bone-deep cold was setting in again or if it had something to do with his illness, but he kept shifting toward you, yearning for more of your touch.

You took the hint, slipping under the blankets yourself and wrapping your arms around his quivering body the best you could. To see this man-- this renowned Jedi Master, General of the 212th legion of the Republic army, and prominent hero of the Clone Wars-- so weak and fragile and wilting under your touch… it broke fissures into your heart. You tightened your hold on him, crushing him against your body like you could absorb all of his pains and woes and replace them with warmth and comfort instead.

You felt down the length of his arm, up and down, up and down, and with each pass you tried to memorize every dip and curve of his body beneath you. You were hoping to rub some warmth back into him this way, or at least soothe him to sleep if all else proved fruitless, and it seemed to be working. After a while, his shivers subsided and the fingers clinging to the shirt on your back relaxed, as did his face.

He was peaceful now, breathing deep and even as he got the rest he rightfully deserved. You held him close to you, wishing for time to slow so that he could stay with you like this forever.

[tsukoyomi-fumikage]

USJ (EraserMic)

Hizashi X Aizawa

Alternate look on the USJ Arc

"Reinforcements are here, Shigaraki."

Eraser panted for a breath, listening to the villains speaking in hushed tones - All might could be heard in the distance, smashing through members of the league, killing them instantly. Other quirks were around him too, he could sense it - Cementoss was nearby, using his quirk to give them an uphill advantage, while Yamada was practically exploding the bad guys with his directional speaker and loud ass voice. It was making Aizawa's head throb angrily, but he also knew he'd had his head bashed in multiple times; The soft dirt underneath him was once concrete, just to prove his point.

"Shigaraki!" The warp-thing snapped, unlike what Shota had been expecting from the calm being, watching as his red, fire-like eyes narrowed. "We got who we wanted here, but it's too late, there's too many! We can't defeat him like this!"

Suddenly, the weight and pressure on his head and back lifted, and he sucked in a big gulp of air, coughing into the dust, dirt and shards of concrete. Someone lifted his head by his hair again, and he shuddered. A long, black, piece of cloth was tied over his eyes, making sure he couldn't use his quirk; his eyes were exhausted anyway, and he thought he probably couldn't have continued fighting as it was. They let go, and he let his head flop back to the floor, playing the act of being unconscious.

"Knew he would pass out sooner or later." Came the gruff, sadistic voice of 'Shigaraki', and he could hear the smile with the way he spoke. "He tried hard though, almost had me defeated there."

A hand wrapped around his neck, lifting him up easily into the air. Shota's arms throbbed, screaming to be relaxed and safe, and his back gave protest to the sudden movement. He let out a whine against his will. A voice whispered in his ear, breath hot on his cut-up cheek. "I knew you weren't out - still want more, huh?"   A whoosh of air made Aizawa determine the man had turned to watch the big fight scene in front of him. "Oh, heroes!" He yelled out. His voice was something Shota would never forget. It wasn't calming like Nezu's, heroic like Yagi's or as loud as Yamada's, but it held something that made him stand on edge. "You think you're so amazing! Well, what about now? Eraserhead may have thought he was amazing but look at him!"

He could imagine their faces - All Might, smile faltering just slightly, eyes showing the sharp blue that not many people get to see: Cementoss might growl - he wasn't a vocal person, but tended to be when frustrated: Yamada's eyes would widen, he'd probably lost his voice with the shock at seeing his boyfriend strung up, limp, held by a single large fist around his neck. Aizawa had tried his best, but it seems as if his best wasn't good enough.

The blindfold came off once he was positioned in a way that he couldn't see the villains, and he was right - everyone had stopped moving, too worried that one wrong move would be the end for him. He could see some of his students - Midoriya, eyes wide, some tears dropping; Mineta, the tears falling greatly, he was puffing out breaths of fear, probably more for himself than anything, and finally, Asui. She looked guilty, with sloped shoulders and downcast eyes, muttering under her breath as she watched him.

Looking around, wanting to take in his friends faces before he died, he landed on Hizashi's heartbroken face. Their eyes met, and Aizawa smiled as much as he could, mouthing 'It's okay' to the man whom he'd grown up with, fallen in love with, shared his secrets and insecurities with. Hizashi looked like he was going to vomit, and Shota didn't blame him.

All Might stepped forward, growling. "What do you want with us?" He shouted at them, and Shota flinched at the sound of his voice - he was on the verge of pleading, yet his voice had become rock hard. It wasn't the tone Aizawa wanted to hear last, he wanted to hear more comfort before he dies. I'm going to die, he thought brokenly, Like this.. In front of everyone. "Answer me!"

All Might's loud outburst at the end made him snap back into reality - there was still a chance, he could survive if he just stuck out and didn't bleed to death; who knew what had been fucked up inside him. "Well." Shigaraki shrugged. "We want to kill you, it's quite simple. We knew you'd be here and when we arrived to only find this one-" The hand tightened around his throat, and Shota's eyes went wide, broken hands flying up to try and fight back, closing his eyes in frustration and pain. No, no! Not like this! "- Well, we just let our anger out anyway - we knew you'd come to save the day!"

"Let him go."

Eraser halted his fighting - that wasn't All Might... He blinked open his eyes, still gasping for a single breath, to look and find Mic, standing next to Yagi, eyes narrowed at the man with the hands all over him. "You're fight is with All Might." Yamada stood strong, and Yagi smirked at his bravery. "Not with Sh-Eraserhead."

Suddenly, he found himself being thrown to the floor. He tried to use his arms to push himself up, but a swift kick to the ribs thanked him for his trouble, and he doubled over, spluttering blood onto the less destroyed concrete. Shigaraki began to walk over to him, reaching out a hand to finish decaying his body. Shota knew that the man had underestimated his will, probably judging by his appearance and the way he presented himself - he thought that there would be no fight now. Eyes flaring red and hair standing on end in a last attempt of safety, he disabled his quirk just as all five fingers touched his neck, and gave the villain a swift kick between the legs, flinging him over the side and down a hill. It was a dirty move, but he couldn't care less. The warp man looked torn, but eventually made his warps before Shota could stop him, dragging the large beast and the groaning blue-haired man through the opening.

The portal closed, and so did Aizawa's eyes.

"Shota!"

--><--><--><--

When he came to, there was a soothing hand on his hair, wiping away softly at the dirt and blood that was no doubt still there. Aizawa felt like he hadn't slept in years, and he groaned as his arm twitched, sending a shooting pain up and to his chest.

A hand settled around where his heart was. "Lay still, Aizawa." came the voice of someone he knew too well - it sounded young, sounded like the man he knew and loved. He relaxed, leaning into the touch. "That's it, good, good."

"'Zashi." He whimpered, lifting his left arm up to feel around for a hand to grab onto, to secure the knowledge that this was indeed real, and he wasn't dead nor dreaming. His bandaged hand was quickly grabbed by his boyfriend, and it felt a light kiss press the fabric.

"I'm here, it's alright now."

"S-students?"

"They're alright too, perfectly safe. That frog-girl told me you saved her. I'm proud of you, Shota." Another kiss, this time on his bandaged forehead. "So proud."

He knew he couldn't open his eyes, feeling the itchy fabric rubbing against them. "Am I..." He cut himself off, breathing deeply to control his emotions. "Am I blind, Hizashi?"

A rumbling laugh caught him off guard. "Recovery girl said the only problems you'll be facing are your arms. Your vision is fine, you can still use your quirk. Typical Sho', always going for the negative." Yet another kiss was placed on him, this time on his closed eyes - it was soft, and pressed the bandages down closer to his bruised skin, but it was warm and comforting.

There was a few seconds of silence as Aizawa's boyfriend pulled back from the kiss, then a small; "When can I go home?"

"Soon. At this very moment though, rest. I've got you now."

Although there was barely any feeling within his arms, he could feel the gentle touch of fingers brushing across them, up and down rhythmically. He allowed himself to relax. "Knew I should'a retired."

A choked laugh arrived at his ears. "And leave me to deal with the mess that is class 1-A and the even bigger mess that is All Might? No thank you sir, you're sticking around."

"Mean to force someone to stay." He slurred slightly, slowly relaxing at the soothing patterns and gentle voice by his ear. "But sure, for you."

"I would damn hope so, you jerk." There was no actual bite to the words, the other teachers voice full of affection and dripping with love for the injured man. "Scared the living shit outta me. I might have to be your guard for the rest of your life."

"Sorry."

A finger was on the bandages over his lips. "Hush my little honeymuffin." The Voice hero was obviously smiling at the nickname he'd given the normally aloof and grumpy Aizawa. "No need to be sorry."

"Honeymuffin?"

"No, that's you."

"You're the one who's going to be sorry after I'm healed." Shota grumbled, but lay still and allowed the man to continue dragging his fingers over bandages, casts and heaps of plaster. "Dick."

"You know you love this dick."

Aizawa spluttered, blushing a dark red that thankfully, his boyfriend couldn't see. "I hate you." He muttered, too embarrassed to talk any louder anymore. He knew Hizashi couldn't have missed the way his body probably tensed and drew back a little, and it made him groan when Mic let out a jolting laugh at his reaction.

"You love me." Mic sing-songed.

He sighed. "I do..."

[solohux]

Would you please continue the story about bunny Philip meeting fox Thomas? (prompt)

I assume you meant this one, darling!

Thomas manages to close the door behind him despite having his arms full. The little black bunny is surprisingly tame in Thomas’s hold, snuggled inside a soft blanket and nursing an injured paw and a few scrapes across his back from his struggling against the lawn wire.

“Hush,” Thomas rocks the bunny in his hold, rubbing his finger on his soft cheek which seems to make the bunny relax even more despite being in the arms of a fox. “You’ll be alright.”

Thomas swishes his tail as he sets his precious bundle down on the couch, making sure that the bunny is comfortable whilst still nestled inside his blanket. The rabbit sits up, his long black ears are tall and upright, making him seem a lot bigger than he is. His little nose twitches, obviously taking in the scent of the fox’s home.

“Now,” Thomas says softly, “I’m just going to get some warm water and some bandages and then I’ll be right back. Just stay here, alright, little one? You’re as cute as a button. Not like those other rabbits at all.”

The fox takes a few steps away whilst still looking at his new guest, making sure that he’s behaving himself and staying on the sofa as ordered, and he is. The bunny doesn’t move from his spot in the blanket, only twisting slightly to look around the room, so Thomas is content to leave him alone for a moment whilst he fetches his first aid kit. He doesn’t suppose that it’ll be an easy job, putting bandages on a bunny, but he supposes that it’s his fault that the poor thing has injured himself, coming into his garden and getting in the way of Thomas’s battle with the wild pack of rabbits. He’s never seen this black one before—and he seems tame enough for Thomas to befriend.

He even grabs a carrot from his kitchen to gift to his injured guest.

“This should help,” Thomas’s tail wags gently, liking the idea of having someone to care for. He walks back into the living room with a smile on his face—but quickly disappears. Dropping everything to the ground, Thomas can do nothing but stare.

In the bunny’s place sits a man—a naked man. With pale skin and fluffy, dark hair cropped just a little above his ears—his human ears—he looks like a normal human to Thomas’s eyes, but then he notices the two, silky bunny ears atop his head, tall and proud.

Thomas’s bunny-friend seems to have had a bit of a transformation in his short absence.

“I’d say ‘don’t freak out’ but I think you’re past that point,” the bunny says. His voice; oh, Heavens. It’s just as silky as his ears.

Thomas opens and closes his mouth a few times, supposing he looks a bit like a flabbergasted fish but he isn’t quite sure how he’s supposed to react to finding a nude man in the place of a bunny.

“I’m Philip,” the bunny says, shifting slightly so his blanket covers his intimate parts when he catches Thomas looking at his endowment.

“You’re human,” Thomas squeaks.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” Philip replies, giving his two bunny ears a little twitch atop his head. “Aren’t you?”

“No. I’m a fox.” Thomas gives his perfectly groomed tail a swish behind him, raising an eyebrow. “Shapeshifters aren’t real. No one can be both animal and human.”

“I can,” Philip shrugs. “My family can.”

“Well…wow.” Thomas bends down and picks up his first aid box—and the carrot—but still stands awkwardly in the doorway of his own home. “I suppose you won’t be needing these.”

“I’m still hurt,” Philip holds up his hand and shows off the same cut that marked his rabbit paw.

“Oh.” But Thomas hesitates. If he gets closer to Philip, he’ll be able to see the blush that’s appearing on his cheeks as his attraction to the man—bunny—grows with each passing moment that he steals glances at the handsome man.

But still, Thomas sits down beside Philip on the couch, flushed at how much wider and thicker Philip is than him. A bulky bunny? Who would have thought that Thomas would find that attractive?

Philip holds out his hand, showing Thomas his sliced palm. The treatment begins with Thomas gently swabbing a warm, wet cloth over the cut, holding the bunny’s palm steady with his own hold.

“I’ve been sorta lurking in your garden for a while,” Philip says.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to say hello but I wasn’t sure how.”

“And getting stuck underneath my lawn wire seemed like the best option?”

“I didn’t mean to get stuck. But I was watching you and then ran away when I thought you saw me.”

“How very brave.”

Philip huffs, just like a frustrated bunny would do, “What was I supposed to do? Shapeshift in the middle of your garden and announce my crush on you?”

“What?” Thomas flounders and knocks the box of bandages onto the floor, staring wondrously at his new companion.

“I have a crush on you, Mr McGregor,” Philip says softly, ears flopping over slightly. “A rabbit in love with a fox. You see why I had to hide?”

“I suppose.” Thomas picks up the fallen bandages and wraps up Philip’s hand. “Maybe we should start over.”

“I’d like that,” Philip’s ears perk back up.

“I’m Thomas,” he holds out his hand, flicking out his fox tail. “Thomas McGregor. I’m a fox, and this is my home. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Philip,” the bunny says. Thomas doesn’t see his fluffy, white bunny tail wiggling excitedly. “Philip Altman. I’m a shapeshifter. And I promise you, Thomas, the pleasure is all mine.”

When the cocky bunny lifts Thomas’s hand to his lips and gives him a gentle nuzzle with his nose and then a soft kiss, Thomas’s blush runs all down his body.

He still intends on keeping the bunny, though perhaps more of a boyfriend now than a pet.

[buckyreaderrecs]

So Far Away: Chapter 1/?

Summary:  Bucky Barnes doing what he does best. Saving. Loving. In this particular case, the object of both is you. (Bonus: Bucky Barnes happy, healing, doing really well!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/reader Characters: Bucky Barnes Additional tags: mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame didn’t happen, Stark Tower still exists),  possible future smut (who knows, not me), she/her pronouns, more tags/characters to be added with future chapters, hero Bucky Barnes, canon typical violence, warzone/disaster zone setting Warnings: possible triggers for anxiety, PTSD, grief

Note: I don’t know where I’m going with The Girl With Too Much Power (ideas welcomed) so here’s my other series. Feedback always encouraged and welcome. Thank ya’ll! xo Rhi

Tag list: just @darlingtholland lel

So Far Away Chapter 1 / ?

The city was crumbling and between the crashing sounds of buildings toppling, screams and cries were painfully audible. That wasn't the most terrifying part though. It wasn't the lifeless bodies lying in the streets or the sight of your mangled hand that were causing you to panic. It was that everything was happening somewhere else. The crumbling and screaming seemed so far away. If the action was elsewhere, so were the heroes.

Nobody was coming to save you.

For almost half an hour they'd ripped through the city unchallenged; nobody really counted the unified effort of the first responders. They never stood a chance against the enemy from above. It took ten minutes for The Avengers to hear about it. They were en route within another ten. Even with all that Stark tech though, it still took them just over eleven minutes to arrive, landing and launching into action.

You'd watched the heroes bounce off buildings and fly through the sky. They represented hope, but they couldn't save everyone.

The evacuation wasn't fast enough and whole blocks of the city were wiped off the map. By the time you'd crawled out of the rubble of yours, the trucks taking people to safety were long gone. In their wake, tire tracks in the dirt and dust, and bodies left behind to save room for the living.

You could walk, but terrified that someone… something… would circle back around, you dropped down behind a car that had been violently propelled across the street. Making yourself as small as possible, pulling your legs up to your chest and burying your face in your lap, you just listened. Thinking was too hard, and your thoughts were sure to be only dark and anxiety-inducing anyway.

It all seemed so far away.

Then, the tell-tale sound of trouble. No no no no no! you screamed in your head, covering your mouth with your hands to not let the terror out.

It was moving fast, but tearing everything up as it went. The sound coming from it was alien, but it still someone seemed like speech. It was communicating with the others. Then, you realised, it was looking for something. Sitting in a pile of bricks and glass, all you could do was hope to god that creatures from literal outer space didn't come to Earth in search of an old Ford.

Bits of debris came from over the car, rejected by the creature and cast aside. First, rocks and chunks of cement - too big for any human to throw so easily. They hit the building in front of you and shattered. A bad situation got worse when it dug deep enough to find the people who had been trapped under fallen buildings. Bodies flew over you, sometimes in parts.

After what felt like minutes but was only seconds, your entire body was shaking with abject horror. On the very cusp of losing consciousness from fear and blood loss, you heard one foreign sound. It was almost like a gunshot… but more… Star Wars-esque. It was immediately proceeded by silence.

Run! the voice in your head told you, but you were completely immobile.

"This thing's too damn light… Feels like a fuckin' toy," a human voice spoke. A pause for, presumably, a reply you didn't hear. "Yeah, it worked. Not the point." Another pause. "Call me that again, Stark and I'll-" The speaker abruptly stopped his conversation.

You hadn't heard him arrive. Unsurprisingly, you did not hear him as he walked through the destroyed street to the car you were hidden behind. To any other person, you were silent. However, he could hear the slight crunching of gravel beneath your feet, the air being inhaled and exhaled from your nose, and the tiny squeaks you were making entirely subconsciously.

Moving slowly, he made his way around the side of the car using footsteps that would make noise, announce his arrival. Don't scare her. You could feel him standing just metres from you. He spoke, but not to you.

"I got a friendly… She's out of the evac zone." The pause for reply was long. "It's a ghost town here. Nobody's gonna be coming through for-" He was interrupted. "Don't care. Gonna bring her in."

Again, he moved slowly.

Your face was still buried and although you knew it was somebody good crouching in front of you, everything was all too overwhelming to respond.

"Hi… I don't need ya to move just yet. Gonna have a look at your hand, if that's alright?"

His voice was calm. Far beyond the point of being in shock, it didn’t hurt when he gently took your arm. As he tightly wrapped your injured hand, you began to unwrap yourself. Lifting your head and opening your eyes, everything came into focus. Mostly, everything you could see was war. But, there he was. Easily recognisable, Bucky Barnes was finishing first aid on you.

His eyes lingered on the bandage for a moment, and you wondered where he'd stashed it before it stopped your bleeding. Did he have pockets of band-aids?

When he looked up at you, you were already looking back.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," you replied, your voice weak.

"Reckon we should get out of here. What do ya think?" As soon as you nodded, he mirrored the response and stood, helping you to your feet. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"N-no," you told him. That wasn't strictly true, but you were mostly numb. Deep, dark bruises would bloom all across your body over the coming days. How you managed to escape otherwise unharmed was magic or a miracle.

"Stronger than you look, huh?" he said, smiling. How he could smile in an environment like that was also magic or a miracle. "I know a couple people like that, so you're in good company. Always my favourite type of people,"

"I didn't… didn't think you'd talk so much," you said. It kinda just came out, the same way the thoughts of little kids do.

Bucky's left arm was around your waist, holding almost all of your body weight. He was making carrying you through a warzone seem easy. Giving you a bit of a casual shrug, Bucky said, " I don't… Trick to keep ya conscious. Don't want you passing out on me,"

"I'm not gonna pass out," you said, more in defiance than anything else.

Bucky scoffed. "Alright. So, what's your name then? What do you do?"

He'd obviously seen them before you, so by the time you clocked the creatures scrambling through broken buildings and rubble in their search, Bucky had already taken you off the road. Backs to the wall, he didn't appear in the slight bit concerned about the situation. He even looked to you, waiting for a reply before making his next move.

"Y/N," you told him.

"Y/N. Good to meet you, Y/N. I'm Bucky,"

"I know,"

"Yeah… Everybody fuckin' knows… Alright. Gonna need you to stay here for just a second, okay?"

As he went to peel away from the wall, you grabbed him with your one working hand. "Please don't leave me!" you begged in a harsh whisper. Tears had been streaming down your face since the first building went down, but a fresh flood started to sting your cheeks.

Bucky cupped your face with his gloved hands and looked you dead in the eyes. "I'm not leaving. I promise. I fuckin' promise you."

Slowly, you nodded. As soon as you did, he swooped off the curb and brought a reckoning down on the creatures. They hadn't seen him coming. Bucky moved with grace and ease, like he was born to fight. Later, when you were safe, you'd think about that moment, about the way he moved, and it would make you sad.

Back, Bucky wrapped himself around you again. And, that's how you got through the city. It was slow, but Bucky continually refused offers of help from whoever was in his earpiece. Resources were needed elsewhere, he said. He had you, and he'd get you to safety.

Time once again warping, fifteen minutes later you could hear voices and see human movement. It felt like you'd spent hours in Bucky's arms, watching him take down threats and crack bad jokes to keep you awake.

Before you realised what was happening, people were carrying you away from Bucky, pouring water down your throat and yelling at you that you were safe. Although you understood you were safe, it felt the opposite. "No! Please, please, please," you yelled, pushing free from the helpers and clinging back onto Bucky. All your words were rammed together, scared and needy.

Bucky let you hold him, wrapping his arms around you with the perfect amount of pressure. He hushed you with soft, "Shhhh," sounds. Using his teeth as a vice, Bucky pulled the glove off his right hand, then ran his fingers through your hair. "You're okay, Y/N. You're safe. You gotta stay here and have someone look at your hand. I gotta go help."

Although you nodded into him, you made no attempt to move. You'd been safe before it all happened, but it happened anyway. There was nothing to say that as soon as Bucky left, more creatures wouldn't arrive.

"Y/N. I got Captain America in one ear and Iron Man in the other. They can't do shit without me," Bucky joked. It made you laugh, looking up at him. "I'll come back when this is done. Bring ya flowers in the hospital,"

"I'm scared,"

"Yeah. Aliens are invading. It's scary. But it's kinda cool too, right?" he said with a wink.

He gently led you to one of the makeshift medical tents set up. When you were sitting down, he ruffled your hair in a weird gesture that confused you both, then left the safe zone. As soon as he was gone, you started to cry.

Chapter 2. 

[1987vampire]

Falling Composure

Fandom: Star Trek. Fits TOS or AOS so Relationship: McSpirk, Leonard “Bones” McCoy x James T. Kirk x S'chn T'gai Spock Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: Crying and exhaustion is about it.  Request: none. my newfound love of Star Trek Extra: Hahhahahahahahahahahaha remember when I used to write imagines like consistently and with the same fandoms hahahahahahahaha i’m sad now.  my art shop! 

Leonard didn’t remember the last time he hadn’t slept for more than four hours at a time, and it was beginning to show. His composure was falling, and it was falling fast. He was either too tired to be snappy or so tired he would snap at everything that walked by. He had fallen asleep while reading his PADD too many times to be okay, and he was beginning to see stars in his vision when he stood up.

He couldn’t stop, though. If you were working on the Enterprise, you would know why. Being chief medical officer wasn’t something you could take days off for. He was constantly moving, fixing, writing reports. He had to be awake almost 24/7.

Jim had begun to notice, though, and Leonard was pretty sure Spock had caught on a small while before. Spock’s approach had been to remind him of when his shift ended, or he would try to make plans with him to drag him away from work, but Leonard refused to stop, thanking him every time, but refusing to indulge in any free time. Jim’s approach, however, was to try to annoy him until he gave in. It didn’t work either, though it was nice to feel Jim wrap his arms around Leonard every now and then as a persuasion method.

Leonard didn’t assume anything was that terrible, – as many creatures were able to only sleep for less than four hours a night without any health risks, though he was really just trying to downplay his symptoms – but he finally gave in after about two months of his sleep-deprived state.

The day had been an entire mess. The duplicator had been broken in his office, so he had to go to one of the lounges only to have Uhura talk to him for a good thirty minutes, wasting time he could have used to write reports. Then, when he made it back to the medbay, there were about five engineers who had gotten injured, though he didn’t care to listen to the reason, and he had slipped up three times on his work, which the nurses thankfully fixed.

But the one thing that had set it all off was when he was finally able to sit at his desk to do his work. He opened the files, began to type, and then everything crashed. His PADD malfunctioned, and he lost his past three files he had been working on. He couldn’t contain the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes, the sleep deprivation and anger boiling over until he was a blubbering mess. He pulled at his hair and wiped at his eyes continuously, trying to stop the mess he was becoming, when the door to his office slid open. He looked up to see Spock standing in the doorway, his mouth open like he was going to tell him something only to have stopped when he saw the doctor’s state.

“Leonard? Are you okay,” his voice was the same goddamn monotone voice he always had, but he could hear the little bit of curiosity and worry in his voice.

Leonard shook his head, wiping at his eyes again, but they wouldn’t stop coming. “Obviously not, you green-blooded hobgoblin.” And even though the words were inherently harsh, Spock knew they weren’t intended that way. They never really were.

Spock stepped forward, and the door shut behind him. “Do I need to get Jim,” he questioned, his voice growing softer.

Leonard shook his head again. “No, I don’t want him seeing me like this. I didn’t want you seeing me like this. I’m sorry.”

Spock took a deep inhale and moved forward to kneel down in front of Leonard. “It is most illogical for you to apologize at your emotional outburst. You have been pushing yourself for quite some time.”

Leonard let out a hoarse laugh, his tears beginning to slow down. “Never expected you to defend emotions before. That’s a new one.”

Spock’s eyebrow lifted high. “Well, it was illogical for you to push yourself in the first place, but the consequences were not something you could stop.” Leonard sighed, and Spock lifted one of his hands, lightly touching their first two fingers together at the tips. “We’ve been missing you. You’re never around when we are anymore. I’m afraid Jim was only a few days away from barging in here and dragging you out. I’ve been hearing him discuss a short shore leave for everyone.”

Leonard smiled a bit, and Spock’s other hand came up to wipe away the remaining tears. “Jim couldn’t move me if he tried, though shore leave would be nice. I wouldn’t mind having a break.”

“Then why didn’t you have one by yourself? You’re in here day and night. You only have one shift, but you work almost all three. “

“People are idiots on the ship. They don’t know how to take care of themselves, and the more injuries, the more work. You know Starfleet wants a report for everything.”

Spock nodded. “Well, come on, doctor. Your shift is over, and you are going to lay with Jim and me through the next two. No complaints allowed.”

“Not even one,” he groaned teasingly, a smile slowly filling his face as the two stood.

“Not even one. Come on.”

Spock led them out of the office, informing the head nurse that McCoy wouldn’t be back until his next shift on the way. The nurse had grinned happily and nodded, wishing Leonard a good time resting.

Leonard leaned on Spock the entire way back to the three’s shared room which was highly unusual for both of them. Their affection was rarely, if ever, displayed in public besides the subtle Vulcan kisses or standing just a bit too close together when they were walking around. But as Spock led the couple through the halls and up the turbolift, Leonard clung to him like Spock had his life in his hands.

The walk was long in his mind, but it was relatively short in short in distance, and soon, they were walking into their room. Leonard almost immediately fell onto the bed, relishing in the feeling of the bed. Oh, how he missed being able to relax in their bed.

He faintly recognized the sound of the shower running, and he smiled a bit at the thought of seeing Jim fresh out of the shower. That’s when Jim was always the most relaxed.

Leonard turned in the bed to face Spock who was standing by the replicator, making food. He could hear him ordering Jim and his favorite meals, and he made himself a cup of tea.

Leonard pulled himself up as he heard the shower shut off and Spock place the food on the table in the sitting area. He gingerly pulled his boots off of his feet, surprised he wasn’t asleep already. It was probably the excitement of being around them after so long, he told himself, and it was probably true.

He turned as the bathroom door opened, and Jim stopped in his tracks at seeing him. “Bones?”

He took a few steps forward, his hand clutching the towel to his waist. Leonard smiled. “Hey, I missed you.”

Jim’s face lit up, and a smile overtook his confusion. He strode over quickly and grabbed Leonard’s face, pulling him into a kiss that Leonard smiled into. As they pulled away, Jim kept his hands on Leonard’s face. “I missed you too. How long are you going to be here?”

“Until my next shift.”

Jim smiled again, and Leonard thought his heart might just stop right there.

However, their little moment was broken up by Spock. “As much as I hate to interrupt you, the food will get cold if you don’t put on your clothes and join us, Jim.”

Jim placed his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest jokingly. “You know you love the sight, Spock.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Even though you are quite visually appealing, it does not take away from the physical properties of your food. Get dressed so you can come eat.”

Jim let out a loud laugh but complied, stepping over to the shared closet and throwing open the doors easily. “Would you like something better to wear, Bones,” he questioned as he pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a black t-shirt. The pants were the same color as his uniform with the Starfleet logo embroidered on the left-side pocket, and Leonard couldn’t think of a better thing to wear at the moment, so he nodded, and Jim threw the clothes at him, barely missing his head.

The two changed quickly and then ate quietly. Leonard was sat in the middle of the other two, and Jim had a bit of small talk, but the two could both see how he almost nodded off a few times during their meal. Spock’s on his lower back was not helping in the slightest either. He was rubbing circles into the little dip right there, and it was enough to make him almost pass out even when he wasn’t tired.

As soon as they were done eating, all three of them moved back to the bed, and Leonard was placed in the middle again. Jim had yelled teasingly at him a simple ‘you’ve been depriving me of my boyfriend! Let me cuddle you for a night!’ Spock had nodded along, so Leonard couldn’t really say no.

So, when they were all laid down – Jim was curled around his front with his head on his shoulder, and Spock was behind him, his hand interlaced with his, and his head near the back of his neck if the feeling of his breath was anything to go by – Leonard began to cry again. This one wasn’t the blubbering kind of sob like early. No, this one was a silent barely there kind of cry that he doubted they would’ve noticed if he hadn’t started sniffling.

Jim leaned back immediately to look at him, and Spock’s hand tightened. “Hey, what’s wrong,” Jim questioned, his voice a hushed whisper that matched the setting.

Leonard shook his head and closed his eyes for a second. “I just love you guys so much, and I’m sorry I do this to myself. Y’all don’t deserve this. You don’t, and I don’t know why you put up with it.”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.” Jim leaned forward, pulling into a hug. Spock pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “We all have our bad habits. “I put myself into dangerous situations and never come to see you when I’m sick, you run yourself dry, and Spock, well, I don’t really know if Spock has any bad habits besides how logical he tries to be all the time, but that’s not the point. The point is: you should never feel any lesser than you should because we all put up with each other, and we love each other, and we stick together, and that will never change.” He took his free hand lifted it to his lips, softly kissing his knuckles. “And I’ll do anything you need to show you that.” He let go of his hand and leaned forward again, cuddling up to him like he had been before. “But right now, you need to sleep. You’ve done enough for right now, and tomorrow, we can work together to clear your work. The Starfleet can wait on whatever it is you’re working on.”

Bones smiled happily. “I love you guys.”

“We love you, too, Bones.”

[pawnshipper247]

Love Struck

Just a story that came to me after looking at kazaashamiko’s police au. 

Chief Yuri surveyed the scene of the police shootout that had just been resolved. He had heard that an officer had been injured. He had received word that it was an officer from his squad. That had narrowed the possibility down to two of the squad members. Yuto wasn't likely to get injured so it was either Yuya or Yugo. Both were prone to recklessness, especially when it came to Yuto or Yuri respectively. His suspicions were confirmed when he spotted Yuya and Yuto crouched next to Yugo, who was clutching a cloth to his upper arm. The once white fabric was stained with bright red. Yuto caught sight of Yuri first. 

“Chief!” he called out to him, waving him over. As Yuri approached the trio he could see Yugo biting his lip, obviously in a lot of pain. Yuya looked up at Yuri, 

“I saw it myself, one of the shooters was aiming for you chief but Yugo moved into the line of fire and got hit instead.” The red-and-green haired man looked on the brink of tears. Yuto knelt down to hold Yuya around the shoulder.

 “Yugo will be fine,” he assured the teary-eyed male, “The chief will make sure he's well taken care of.” 

The onyx eyed man fixed Yuri with a stare that screamed, 'You'd better look after him or else.' Yuri nodded in response when Yuya looked up at him. Then he turned his attention to the sky-and-sunshine haired male.

 “Have you had it looked at yet?” he asked. 

Yugo gave him a pained grin, “The medical team is still tending to the civilians who were injured. It's fine though, I can wait.” 

Yuri's eyes narrowed, “Let me see.” Yugo started to get flustered under his superior's intense gaze, “I-It's fine really. It's just a scratch.” But Yuri wasn't having any of that. “Let. Me. See,” he repeated, “That's an order.” Yugo was silent for a moment then hung his head, “Yes sir.” He removed the cloth from his arm with a subtle wince. A long gash ran across his arm, dripping red lifeblood. Yuri's eyes widened slightly in concern. Then he sighed heavily, “I'll take you there myself.” 

That got Yugo stammering again, “Th-That's alright chief. I-I can walk on my own.” But Yuri wasn't listening. In the next instant, Yugo found himself swept into his chief's strong arms, like a princess.

 “R-Really chief. I can walk just fine on my own,” he tried to protest. Yuya snickered, “Just enjoy the ride Yugo. Because in this case you really don't have a choice.”

 Yuto grinned at the sight, “Yeah. Chief Yuri is as stubborn as they come. So if he decides to carry you that's all there is to it. He won't change his mind.” Yugo covered his burning cheeks in embarrassment. But, as Yuri walked toward the medical tent, Yugo found himself leaning closer to his superior, enjoying the feeling of safety he gave off. The sky-and-sunshine haired man found himself nodding off. Yuri looked down to find his officer had fallen asleep in his arms, the adrenaline finally wearing off. He shifted the man in his arms so his head rested into the crook of his neck, cradling him gently.

 He brought him into the medical tent to get his wound treated. The nurse who came to greet them was a familiar face. A girl with short green hair named Rin. “He was being reckless again wasn't he?” she asked with a smile. Yuri nodded, “Even more so than usual I'd wager. He took a bullet to the arm for me.” Rin didn't seem surprised. 

“That sounds like something he'd do,” she snickered, “He has quite the soft spot for you after all. Whenever he comes in, you're all he ever talks about.” Yuri felt his cheeks grow warm, “Really now?” Rin nodded, “Yes. I always tease him about how he talks like he has a crush on you. His face turns so red and his words turn to gibberish. It's really rather cute.” Yuri watched Yugo's face as he set the young man down on a cot.

 “I'll need you to hold his hands while I clean this wound,” Rin instructed, “He has a tendency to dig his nails into his hands to endure any pain. Best not to give him any opportunity to injure himself further.” Yuri did as Rin asked, slipping his hands into Yugo's, marveling at how soft they were. Rin started to clean out the wound and, sure enough, Yugo began tightly squeezing Yuri's hands. 

“Try talking to him,” Rin prompted, “See if you can calm him down.” Yuri nodded and started talking softly to the unconscious young man. “There, there Yugo,” he cooed softly, “It's alright. You're safe now. I'm here. I'm here now.” That seemed to do the trick as Yugo's expression relaxed until the treatment was over. “Would you mind staying and keeping an eye on him?” Rin asked with a sheepish smile, “We're a little short-handed right now and he seems to trust you quite a lot.” Yuri nodded, his eyes not leaving Yugo's sleeping face. Rin left to tend to other patients, leaving the two men, secretly smiling to herself, 'Good luck Yugo. He seems quite fond of you too.'

Yugo woke up some time later. He felt rather dizzy and disoriented. As he sat up he winced as a throb of pain shot up his arm. Yugo looked over to find his wound had been bandaged. Then he became aware of a weight pressing into his side. Looking down, he was shocked to find Yuri sleeping peacefully at his bedside. 

'Why is the chief here?' he wondered to himself, 'He brought me to the medical tent so there's really no reason for him to stay.' 

Yugo brought his good arm up to gently shake his superior by the shoulders. He blushed lightly as he realized that the plum haired man was still hanging on to his hand, even as he slept.

 “Chief,” he said softly, “Chief. Get up. Come on, this is embarrassing.” The sleeping Yuri stirred with a groan, his mulberry eyes fluttering. 

“Yugo? You're awake,” he said, letting go of Yugo's hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, “How are you feeling?” 

Yugo felt his face flush as he broke eye contact. “A little sore I guess,” he said, touching his injured arm lightly, “But that's to be expected.” Yuri's eyes grew concerned as he looked at his young subordinate. 

His hand rose to ruffle Yugo's sky-and-sunshine hair gently, “What you did was very reckless and could have had very dire consequences. You're lucky it was just a small nick.” 

Yugo hung his head in guilt for worrying his superior. Yuri sighed at the look on the injured man's face, “But I still want to thank you for it.” That got the officer's attention. Yuri trailed his hand down to Yugo's cheek, cupping it to bring the other man's cerulean gaze to his own amethyst orbs. 

“Thank you for risking your life for me Yugo,” he said, lightly brushing his thumb over the other's skin, “I won't forget that bravery. And I hope that I may someday be able to return the favor.”

 Meanwhile, Yugo's blush had grown deeper to the point that the poor boy's face now resembled a ripe cherry. “W-Well of course I would defend you chief,” he stammered, tears gathering in his blue eyes, “Y-You're very important to me. I couldn't let that man hurt you.” 

In a moment of impulse, Yugo wrapped his arms around Yuri's neck, pulling the other man close. Yuri was stunned by the other's bold actions. Then he realized that Yugo was trembling, sobs racking his slender frame. 

“I-If something happened to you,” he sobbed, “I'd never forgive myself, especially when I know that I could have done something to prevent it.” Yuri was speechless at Yugo's admission of how much he truly cared about his chief. Then he gently returned the embrace, petting the sobbing boy's hair comfortingly. 

“There, there Yugo,” he hushed, “It's alright. We're all safe and sound.” 

Yugo's hold only got tighter, showing that he wasn't quite convinced. Yuri trailed his free hand down to circle around Yugo's waist, pulling the other closer. Yugo let out a small gasp as Yuri held him close, being mindful of his injury. 

“It's alright,” Yuri soothed, rubbing small circles on Yugo's back. Yugo relaxed into Yuri's hold, resting his head in the crook of the elder's neck. Once the sky-and-sunshine haired man had calmed down a little Yuri released him, but still kept hold of his shoulders, keeping him at arm's length. 

“It is nice to know that you care for me so much,” he said with a gentle smile. Yugo returned the smile with his own, “Of course I care about you. I've practically had a crush on you since we first met.” 

As soon as those words left his lips Yugo's face went pale as a sheet. Then he quickly slapped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide as saucers, and a bright red blush bloomed over his face. His blue eyes shifted around, looking anywhere but at Yuri. 

“Is that true Yugo?” the plum haired man asked, “Be honest now.” Yugo could only squeeze his eyes shut and nod.

 A silence fell over the room. Yugo hung his head in shame, waiting for the older man to start laughing at his stupid mistake. Yuri let a gentle smile cross his lips. He tilted the other boy's face up with a gentle hand under his chin. Yugo's eyes were still squeezed shut. 

“Yugo,” Yuri coaxed gently, “Look at me please.” Slowly those blue eyes opened, wide, frightened and coated with a layer of unshod tears. Yuri brushed those offending drops away with his thumb.

 “It was very brave of you to confess your feelings like that Yugo,” he said, “And I'm very flattered that you think of me that way.” The plum haired man held out one of his hands to the frightened blunette, “I am happy to accept your feelings.” 

Yugo just stared at his superior in shock, “W-What?” Yuri gave the shell-shocked boy a kind smile, then drew him back into his arms, locking them around his slender waist. Yugo froze for a few minutes before he relaxed into the embrace with an audible sigh of relief. He wrapped his arms around his superior's torso in return. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered, almost like he was telling a secret. The plum haired male chuckled, planting a kiss behind Yugo's ear, “I love you too.” The blunette giggled at that, sneaking in his own little kiss to Yuri's cheek.

 “Alright Yugo,” the plum haired man said, “You still need rest.” 

Yugo pouted a little but leaned back on the bed, letting the elder tuck him in. 

“Yu~ri,” he whined, “At least give me a goodnight kiss.” 

The plum haired chief rolled his eyes with a smile. He leaned down and locked the sky-and-sunshine haired boy in a gentle yet passionate kiss. Yugo wrapped his arms around Yuri's neck, keeping him locked in the slowly intensifying kiss. Yuri wasn't complaining though. Kisses with the blunette were intoxicating and delicious. The two broke apart with a pop, staring into each other's eyes lovingly. 

“Just remember dear Yugo,” Yuri warned gently, “This relationship shouldn't interfere with work alright?” 

Yugo nodded, albeit a bit sleepily, “Yes sir. I understand. But I think that restriction will only make me more affectionate when we have our time alone.” Yuri chuckled as he placed another kiss to Yugo's forehead, 

“I wouldn't have it any other way my dear.” 

Yugo smiles up at him, then proceeds to succumb to sleep once more. Yuri sighs as he sits back down to continue to watch over his sweet little lover.

[serensama]

Jumin Secret Ending

Okay so a while ago, I was having many deep and meaningfuls with the lovely @ellieartcave and we both emphatically agreed that there was something sorely lacking in Mystic Messenger… an ending where V lived. While she came up with something different but just as awesome, for me the only thing that made sense and still work canonically is for the other Deep Route boy- my baby Juju- to have a secret ending.

Here are the very rough, very vague notes that I’ve taken in regards to what I was planning to do over the span of 7-10 chapters... but with what seems to be the V route/content coming up... I felt that my story would no longer be necessary... but I still wanted to share it :)   

-       After the party everyone is merry and happy… but not Saeyoung- and V, finally back home and with the people he calls family… confesses to Saeyoung. About everything. Mint Eye, Rika and of course Saeran. He is understandably angry and punches V which causes Jumin to get his security to hold Saeyoung back until he calms down.

-       He doesn’t, how could he? His brother was taken by some screwed up cult instead of loving happily. He was brainwashed and hated him. Felt abandoned. “You’re going to fix this V! You are going to come with me right now and you’re helping me fix this mess you helped create.” “Of course I am. Of course I will.”

-       However, it all takes time and planning and careful execution so as not to tip off Mint Eye that they know any better.

-       By the time that happens, it’s Jumin and MC’s wedding and once again, everything is happy and perfect.

-       However upon their return, it is time to go through with the plan.

-       The entire RFA plus a special tactical crew that Jumin had hired invade and take Rika and the other cultists.

-       Saeyoung tries to talk Saeran, only to see how far his brother had truly fallen. Saeran seeing his Saviour in handcuffs and being taken away- blames his brother for ruining everything all over again… and tries to shoot him.

-       V, takes the bullet for Saeyoung.

-       Rika sees V bleeding out and is horrified, screaming, thinking that the man she once loved died.

-       However, this time the tactical crew also has trained medics.

-       V survives.

-       In the same hospital as Saeran, he can hear the deranged twins screams and the amount of suffering Saeyoung hid in order to just function. V’s guilt grew. Every day after a particularly difficult session or more medication had to be administered V could hear Saeyoung’s tears in the hallway, desperate to hide it from his recovering brother.

-       This… this is what my help has brought upon the people I care most about. Saeran’s life was ruined. Saeyoung was lied to, used and abused, Yoosung in so much pain over his cousin’s death, Jumin lost without his friendship, Zen feeling responsible for Rika and himself and poor Jaehee left to pick up the pieces.

-       And Rika…

-       He wished he had died. He had done nothing right. Every choice he made- even if he knew they came from a place of good intent, turned evil. He helped bring about this evil and nothing he did saved his friends.

-       One day after hearing a particularly heated argument between the brothers, he falls asleep and dreams of the events in Saeyoung’s secret ending. When he wakes a babbling mess- it is Jumin who is beside him, his daily vigil over his injured friend. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry-” “Hush, V… Jihyun.. It’s okay-” “IT’S NOT! IT’S NOT! I lied. Saeran suffered because of me. Saeyoung suffered because of me. MC was in mortal danger because of me. You don’t trust me anymore and all of this is my fault-” “V…” “I should disappear. Leave forever. Let all of you heal and move on without me, without the memory of all the wrong I’ve done-”

-       Jumin screams at V, cursing his selfishness. “If you’re truly sorry for the things you had a hand in, use your hands now to fix them. Rebuild what you have destroyed.”

-       Jumin takes V home, not trusting him to just up and leave if left to his own devices.

-       Both MC and Jumin take care of V, work with him for months trying to make him realise that while he was flawed and did make mistakes, his heart was good and now that Rika was gone- he could heal, both physically and mentally.

-       V felt even worse knowing that Rika had been sent to a psychiatric hospital and was to stay there until deemed mentally fit to stand trial. If she was ever declared mentally fit.

-       He can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he needs to see Rika. To see that she’s okay. He still loves her, after all said and done, he still loves her.

-       Jumin and MC talk it over and agree that it may make him better but it might make him worse… but at the moment he was stagnant. Something needed to happen for him to start moving again. Jumin cannot express how thankful he is to MC and how she cares for V almost as much as he does, the patience and the care she puts into his recovery- he knew he married an angel.

-       They go to visit her and from afar in the yard, sitting away from the other patients, she seems fine. Her therapist explains to them that she’s been doing better since receiving treatment. He says that she sometimes hallucinates that she’s out in the world, taking photographs, photographs that V could no longer take now that he was dead.

-       Rika sees V from across the yard and screams, hands in her hair, tears rushing to her eyes. She runs to the fence that separates them but doesn’t look at V, she’s only talking to Jumin. “Jumin… he’s gone. He’s gone. He’s not here, he’s not with me anymore and I’m sorry. He’s gone. I can’t do anything anymore. I couldn’t save him- why didn’t he let me save him?” she looks at V, hand over her heart as she wails. “I’m so sorry- why did you let me save you? We could have been happy- in paradise… and now you’re gone… leave me then! Stop haunting me! You chose to leave me!”

-       Beyond hysterical, the staff take her back to her rooms leaving V, Jumin and MC terrible shaken.

-       On the way home all V can see are the ghosts floating in Rika’s eyes. He was a ghost to her now. She was a ghost to him, both haunting each other and not for the better. He quickly came to the realisation that she was better without him… and he… he would be better without her.

-       V, Jihyun Kim, is a heartbroken and damaged man.

-       But… he can be fixed.

-       At the same time the Choi brothers have finally taken the steps to healing themselves, it is not an easy road but with everything cleared in the air… they can finally move on and learn how to be themselves and brothers again. They have good days and bad days but at least, now they have them together.

-       V decides to get the surgery.

“I… I have enough emotional wounds to last me a lifetime… I don’t need the physical ones too…”

-       Slowly V starts to see a therapist to help him work through the pain he carries and the pain he inflicted. He apologises to Yoosung, the two truly talking about what happened and why V did what he did. He apologises to Zen for not being the guy Zen thought he was, for not being as brave as the actor. For not protecting them or Rika better. He apologises to Jumin for making bad choices and not trusting that Jumin would stand by him and help him make the right choices. He apologised to MC for almost disregarding her and not prioritising her life, her innocent life. He apologised to Saeyoung and Saeran. That he didn’t deliver the better life he had so wanted to give them, he thought he was helping but he only made things worse for them by unwittingly aiding in Rika’s plans. Funnily enough, it is Saeran that forgives V first- completely understanding the power and charisma that Rika held… the loyalty she inspired. It is Saeyoung that is the last to forgive V, unable to let go of the wasted time and the resentment he held for him.

“If Saeran is big enough to forgive you… then I guess I should too. But I don’t trust you anymore. You… You’ve messed up more than I ever could and I… time V. Give me time.”

-       Through time and help from his friends and therapist, V slowly becomes the man everyone remembered. The head of the RFA, the friend, the confidante. Their brother. His confidence and independence gradually reappeared- as did his smile. -       Jumin and MC are happily married and eager to get their family started. The Choi boys are still somewhat stilted and awkward but they’re well on the way to finding their balance. Zen was becoming more and more popular with his break being the role he emulated Jumin in (much to chagrin) and Yoosung was finally taking his studies seriously, even working under Jaehee during university holidays to explore all his career options... and to earn some money for the expansion pack for LOLOL and all the limited edition stuff... but mainly for the careers option thing.... >_ > 

-       Finally, the RFA was back to normal, whole and complete. 

-       Every week after his psychologist appointment he spends at a nearby café, a busy place that’s filled with people and noise and life and he’s addicted to it. Like a perfect reminder after he’s forced to confront his past demons that there is a future out there waiting for him.

-       One time, over a year since the start of his recovery and his final therapy session, V sits at the café pouring over his photographs; for his upcoming return to photography exhibition. He’s choosing between three photos, lost in concentration.

-       Suddenly a dainty hand pushes past his peripheral vision and points to the photo in the middle, “This one!”

-       This photo- one of him-  had his hand out in front of him as if he were welcoming someone to a party. Which in his head- was what he was doing when he took the self-portrait.

-       V looks up, it’s the nice waitress with the brightly coloured hair that served him every week. He smiled remembering the first time she met him, she pointed at her hair and grinned,

“Ahhhh look, we’re twinsies!” she remarked obviously addressing the exact shade of turquoise they both shared. At least for that week. After that she had been red, then black, pink then green… she was never content to stay one colour, always chasing the colour she felt one particular week to the next. She liked change.

-       “Oh… and why is that one, ‘the one’?” She shrugs and edges closer to V, her eyes transfixed on the image before her, her smile slowly growing the longer she looks at it. “Because… it looks like you’re reaching out for something and you’re… you’re so close to it. All you have to do is take it. You’re almost there.”

-       She fills up his coffee and was headed towards the counter when V felt his heart skip a beat. Impulsively he jumps up and calls out to her, the waitress turns around with a surprised look on her face. “Hey… wait…. I… are… are you free next week?”

-       She smiles. It’s beautiful.

-       And for once, he feels no guilt.

[fanficsofmine]

Secret Love Song- Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry this is getting posted so late. It was a long day, and then a TEASER HAD TO DISTRACT ME FROM FINISHING IT.

Also- prepare for feels. -T✨

Secret Love Song: Chapter 1, 2*, 3, 4, 5, 6

I was unexpectedly blinded by a sea of white light when I opened my eyes. I immediately shut them, and then tried again. I squinted around the room.

The walls were stark white. My ears swam with the mumblings of people I did not know in the room with me mixed with a ringing sensation. I saw myself hooked up to an IV.  

"Oh thank god. You're awake," I heard a whisper next to me. I turned to see Jongin. His face was black and blue and his right arm was casted and resting in a sling. My brow furrowed.

Suddenly, the night before flashed in front of my eyes. I remembered leaving the club. I remembered the wreck.

I gasped loudly and tried to sit up, but an incredible pain stabbed my rib cage and caused me to cry out. Jongin jumped to sit on my bed with me and gently guided me back down with his free arm.

"You have multiple broken ribs," he informed me, "you need to slow down."

"Jongin. What happened? What's going on? Where is Sehun?"

A deep sigh left his chest.

"One question at a time, I suppose. There's a lot that you need to know. Do you want me to get you some water first?"

I nodded as he walked over to the mini fridge and grabbed me a bottle. He stepped with a limp and I noticed his face formed a wince with each step.

"How bad is it," I asked, the concern lacing my voice apparent to even me.

Jongin smirked as he hobbled back over to me.

"Ah, I'm fine love," he handed me the water bottle and kissed the top of my head, "I definitely got the least of the damage.

His face fell when he said that, "I wish it was me instead of you and Sehun."

My heart sank when he said those words.

"Where is he? Why isn't he here with you," panic pumped through my blood, "Jongin, where is Sehun?" My heart hurt from the speed that it was pounding in my chest. My breathing was short, which ached my ribs. I tried to force myself up, but Jongin placed his hand on my shoulder. He did not apply any force, but it was enough pressure on my aching body to lay me down.

Something instantly bothered me, but I let him speak before I decided to address it.

"He's alive. Let me get that out of the way right now, babe. He's alive."

I rested my head back against the pillow again.

"He's in surgery getting some screws put in to pin a few of his leg bones back together. I missed all of the medical jargon. He sustained a lot of injuries due to being on the side that got hit. He's got a long recovery ahead of him, but he'll be fine. Broken jaw. Several cuts from the shattered glass. Several broken bones. He'll be in casts and braces for a while. He endured a major concussion. He's, well, he's actually less injured than you are some how..."

His voice strained. His eyes began to well up with heavy tears that he could not hold back. He cupped my face with one of his hands as they streamed down his face. He was not sobbing loudly, but silently crying, which was almost scarier.  I had never seen Jongin unable to control his emotions before

Realization clicked in my brain. The next question that I was going to ask him was answered for me.

I asked it anyway.

It came out as a harsh whisper.

"Why couldn't I move my legs when I tried to stand up?"

Jongin's thumb ran along my cheek. He attempted a strong smile, but it faltered.

"We aren't even sure how it happened, to be honest. With you being in the middle, you shouldn't have... it doesn't make sense..."

He took a deep breath to attempt to gain his composure. It was failing. He stumbled over his words for a few minutes before he was able to say it completely.

"Your pelvis was crushed," he finally managed to get out. He grabbed my hand after he said it.

"I'm... am I..."

"They don't know. They think you may regain the ability to walk. It's just going to take a lot of work... and it's a pretty big 'may be able to.'"

Time froze.

I processed an unhealthy amount of emotions all in one fleeting moment.

Anger. Worry. Calm. Sadness. Loss. Hope.

Somehow, every single emotion swam through me.

I did not move. I was not sure that I was even blinking. Was I breathing?

Jongin's face etched with concern.

He held my hand and pressed his forehead against it as it rested on the bed.

I was not sure how long we sat like this. It was silent. I fiddled with his hair as he stayed in the room with me. I was not sure how to feel. I could not cry. For some reason, I did not feel as empty as I anticipated that I should.

After a while, I saw Jongin's breathing start to pace itself. I glanced down to see that he had fallen asleep with his head on my bed. I sighed heavily.

My sweet Jongin. My best friend. How much hurt had I caused him lately? How much hurt had he been hiding since I had started dating Sehun? And now, this?

I knew that he carried an amount of empathy that was unmatchable. He was going to feel every minute of our pain. Every ache that we felt, so would he. Physical and mental. Maybe that was why I was unable to feel any sadness; Jongin had taken it all so that I would not have to.

A young nurse came in and I put my finger to my lips, then pointed down at Jongin's resting figure. She smiled a kind smile as she tiptoed over to us.

"I'm glad to see you're awake," she whispered, "he and your fiancé have been painstakingly worried about you."

She took my vitals and checked my eyes. As I blinked the dots from her flashlight away, I saw her face fall.

"Did he tell you," but before she could finish, I nodded.

She continued, "okay. We are planning on having you meet with the doctor tomorrow. He's going to give you your recovery plan. There is going to be an excruciatingly long road ahead of you. As long as you really want it, you'll get there again."

I told her that I understood right as there was a  knock on my door. It jolted Jongin awake, and he turned to look at me to make sure I was okay. I threw an, "I'm fine," smile his way and called out, "come in!"

When the door opened, I saw Sehun sitting in a wheel chair. He was cut up. Purple and swollen.

I had still never laid my eyes on a more handsome man in my entire life.

He was rolled over to me, his left leg in a cast. His eyes were hazy, I assumed from anesthesia.

"Baby girl," he mused as he leaned himself against my bed to push himself up. He, awkwardly, due to his injury, fumbled his way into laying on the twin sized bed with me. He was gentle with every touch. Both of us were battered and bruised.

But we were together.

"Jongin," I said, "can you come here?"

He came to the side of the bed that Sehun was not on. Sehun was already dozing off again from the pain killers they had him on for the screws in his legs. Jongin smiled.

"I'm glad you're both functioning and up. I'm gonna go back to my room now..."

But I cut him off.

"I'm going to need your help," I said in a hushed tone to not wake Sehun up.

Jongin's head tilted slightly with confusion.

"I have a plan."

Several months passed. Little by little, I was gaining my strength back. It was infuriating.

 We had, obviously, been unable to continue with dancing for the tour I could barely walk some days. The girls, however, refused to let us walk away.

Jongin and Sehun helped run the merchandise table, and I was put in charge of helping do hair and make up. Considering I had had it done myself for months on end, my knowledge of the styles was abundant.

Every day, I would make progress.

I had my bad days.

I nearly called off the wedding at one point. It was closing in on the date. I had just finished wedding dress shopping and picked the one. I had cried as I stood there in it. It hugged me perfectly. It was a simple, spaghetti strapped dress with a lace top. The bottom draped down and there was a short train behind me. I had a beaded headband in.

"It is perfect," Perrie had squealed. I began to cry and ended up sitting back in my chair. My hips had begun to ache as I just simply stood. How was I going to do this?

I told her and Jade, who had gone dress shopping with me, that I was overwhelmed from finding the perfect dress.

After I had bought the dress, I went back to our hotel. I rolled my wheelchair in through the door, and did not make it farther than that before I broke down. I had no idea that Sehun was in the room until he was in front of me, on his knees, asking what was wrong.

"I'm just going to be a burden to you," I choked out, "what if I can never walk again? And you're... you're just... you're stuck with this? With this wheelchair and this girl that is now different than the one that you thought you would spend your life with?" The words spilled out of my lips like a dam had broken.

Sehun lifted me out of my chair and carried me to the bed. We sat there and he stared at me for a long time before finally speaking.

"Do not ever call yourself a burden to me again." His tone was soft, though his words firm.

He cupped my chin tenderly with his hand, making me maintain eye contact with him.

"You are no less of the woman I love whether you can stand or not. If I see you wheel yourself down the aisle to me, then so be it. But I will be down at the other end, waiting, regardless of your physical state.

"I love you for your heart. I love you for your mind. I love you for your compassion and generosity. I love the way that you get excited over watching Star Wars even though we have watched it six hundred times.

"I'm. Not. Leaving. You." Each word of his last sentence was annunciated.

That night, I could not sleep. I texted Jongin.

Send Text Message: Are you awake?

Receive Text Message: Yeah. It's 2 am, though. Are you okay?

Send Text Message: Remember the night of the hospital? When I told you that I had a plan? I'm ready. Are you still in?

Send Text Message: I'll meet you in the hallway in 15.

Jongin and I maintained our secret meetings.

The day of the wedding finally snuck up on us 

I rolled my chair around the venue. I was still not incredibly strong. I had wanted nothing more than to be skipping around on this day. That had not been a realistic goal, I suppose. 

The venue looked stunning. The outside chairs lined with bows of ribbon with a gorgeous white arch at the end of the aisle. It was simply perfect.

Sunflowers acted as the decor. The bridesmaids were in pale pink dresses with bouquets of baby's breath. I had my stunning dress on, and I stared in the mirror as Leigh-Anne pinned some of my final curls back.

"You look incredible," she said as she leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.

Sehun and I had opted out of a first look. He had told me that he wanted to maintain the element of surprise of seeing me for the first time as I was coming down the aisle.

I looked at the clock in the dressing room.

It was time.

My heart pounded in my chest.

We lined up in our order inside. I could see Sehun through the glass doors, although he couldn't see me yet.

He looked so handsome. I wanted to run to him. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry for sneaking around these past few months. That I was sorry that I hadn't been honest with him.

That would have to wait.

The music started.

"Marry Me" by Train started, and the bridesmaids made their way down the aisle. The wedding coordinator opening and closing the door behind each one. I watched them in envy and awe. Their legs moving so gracefully. It almost made me ask my father to turn me around so that we could just leave. I did not want to humiliate myself by appearing clumsy after them.

However, that song faded and "Ho Hey" by the Lumineers started. This was my song. It was time for me to be escorted to Sehun.

The doors opened, and I saw Sehun's smile stretch across his face when he saw me. He bit his lower lip to prevent himself from crying.

I looked next to him and saw Jongin. He simply nodded at me. I nodded back.

"Daddy," I whispered.

Mumbles scrambled through the audience as my father stopped rolling my chair. He leaned down and I whispered in his ear. He smiled at me before coming around to the side of my wheelchair; locking the tires.

Gasps filled the room. Jongin finally let his knowing grin cross his lips.

I stood up.

And I took a step towards Sehun. And then another. And then another.

It was a slow process.

But I made it up to the alter. Tears streamed out of his half moon eyes as he beamed at me. He shook my father's hand before taking my arm in his to support me fully.

He turned to face me.

And I had never felt more complete in my life.

[theshroudwolf]

Syluss Koellian Early Life Biography

Notice: Most of this content is OOC knowledge only. There is no way said information should be known ICly without contacting me first. Thank you.

Birth

Born Sylvain Collignon to a poor Duskwight couple within the deep recess of the Black Shroud. His father, Kaizaux Collignon and his mother, Viarianne Collignon birthed Sylvain within their small gathering of friends, family and community. However from the start of his life was a rocky beginning. Named after the woodland folk, the Sylphs because of the ranging thunderstorm going on as he was born, the light skinned Duskwight was born. A silence fell over the enclosure as neither Kaizaux nor Viarianne showed any evidence of being light skinned, as both their skin near charcoal black. Kaizaux fell silent for the remainder of the night while Viarianne cradled her newborn baby against her bosom. Happiness and tension filling the room as Sylvain’s cries hushed while he nursed.

While gossip and rumors spread in the next days, none openly spoke or confronted the new parents about the legitimacy of their child. It was plain as day though that he did not share any attributes of either parent. His lighter skin, the thin layer of bright red hair and bright blue-green eyes were the obvious signs. Even more so he shared few features of his parents. Most children share some physical attribute; button nose, shorter ears, thin lips. His ears were long, nose flat, full lips. While he was obviously birthed from his mother, the father in question kept veering away from Kaizaux.

The truth was, his birth father was an errant Dragoon knight, Edreux Voumois, young and full of flippant haughtiness, slinking away from his duties to travel south into the more hospitable climate of the Black Shroud for reckless fun and debauchery. One night of excess, drinking and hallucinogens, the best the Twelveswood had to offer, the young punk found a woman to his liking. Inviting her in to share in the excesses he was partaking in, she had forsaken her own duties and reasons for traveling into Gridania. Accepting, she spent time with he and his crew, drinking, laughing, inebriated until reason was dead. The knight took the woman into his bed, all inhibitions left on the bottom of alcohol bottles and small silken sacks of the drugs which were taken. Morning came, and the Duskwight woman left in a strange room, little memory of the night before gathered her clothing and wits and concluded her business before returning home. She said nothing of it, not regretting her decision at all. Keeping the events of the night secret until it was impossible to do so.

Youth and Upbringing

Despite the rocky start and the rumors and whispers, Viarianne made it clear to the community that her son and husband were not to be the source of any further gossip. This was enough for the community to halt any and all scandal about the Collignon’s, but Kaizaux was not to easily convinced. He questioned his wife, and while she never hid the nights events from him, she simply and honestly did not recall. The amount of drinking and drugs taken left her memory of the night in fragments at best, and she made constant effort to remember the night in the entirety. She just simply couldn’t, and while he was going to stick by his wife and child through anything, the lingering doubts and shattered trust stuck with him for years.

Sylvain was raised as a child belonging to two loving parents. No exclusion from either parent, nor the community as a whole. The family trade of woodcraft and carpentry was introduced early on. At first as a means of play and teaching, but as he neared the age of five, it was a mixture of playing, teaching, and learning a craft. Their small community was self sufficient because of the trades passed down from parent to child. He took to the art of woodcraft quickly and seemed to be a natural at it, much to the pride of his father. His dad.

The near future held news that Viarianne was pregnant again, and the rumors which were silent for years swirled up in new life. No amount of pleading could ever silence this round. The Collignon’s became reclusive soon after, shielding their family from the gossip of those they once felt a close kinship with. Awkward interactions with once close friends plagued the family with needless hardships and the once jovial husband and wife grew bitter and standoffish in the nine months Viarianne was with child. When Viarianne birthed their daughter, Olette, a beautiful dark skinned babe with her fathers eyes, the rumors and gossip stopped there, but whispers about the legitimacy of Sylvain grew to life once again.

Sylvain had never felt out of place before, despite his obvious differences within his own family. The other children played with him, he was always welcomed everywhere he went. Until the rumors started. Withdrawing didn’t help, for as he was seen less, he was included in less. And while he was ecstatic about having a new sister, there was a turmoil brewing right from Olette’s first breath. Kaizaux was Sylvain’s dad, no doubt, but not his father. Olette was his daughter, his child, his blood. Viarianne made it clear to not play favorites with their children. His promise was sadly as empty now as it was when first made.

Sylvain, then five years old and his newborn sister, were the topic of most conversation of their small village community. Syl thought they were popular cause his newborn sister, and while they were it was for different reasons. Kaizaux decided that breaking away and keeping contact only with the village was the best course of action. They maintained communication for goods and services only, and from the start were hardly neighborly anymore. Rumors of infidelity and illegitimate children were unheard of there, and rather than subject their family to it, finding their independence was the way they chose. And being away from the gossip was for the best. Kaizaux trained his son more in the art of woodcraft, and young Sylvain learned the trade of taking animal hides, tanning them and using their fur and pelts to make clothing or bedding and everything in between.

But paradise was not to last. Time went on, Olette grew up and Kaizaux loved his children but it became apparent when his attentions shifted heavily to Olette. Sylvain slowly was left out of more and more things. Forest excursions, new lessons, even things like praise began to thin out. Kaizaux was Sylvain’s dad, but he was Olette’s father. And it showed more and more. Viarianne brought it up several times and when she did, things seemed to go back to how they were but only temporarily. This caused Syl to try and impress his father, go above and beyond the call to get his attentions and while some of it worked, others he became a nuisance and scolded harshly. His gradual withdraw from trying to gain his attention got notice from Olette who at the time this started was merely four years old herself. While he may have lost the favor of a parent, he gained the companionship of a sister, more than he ever had with either parent. And soon the siblings were inseparable.

Olette and Sylvain grew up joined at the hip. Games and skills only one and not other knew were shown. Trips into the forest to look for bugs or track animals were a daily occurrence. As the siblings grew, tensions in the household grew as well. Viarianne noticed the favortism Kaizuax showed Olette, and instead of admitting fault and wishing to work on it, he would accuse her of favoring Sylvain. Tensions in the home became commonplace and the children were unfortunately not spared their fallout from it.

Tragedy

Sylvain, now a preteen, nearing his thirteenth nameday, had been tasked with gathering wood for the coming winter months. Snow never fell in the Shroud, but cold weather was no stranger. Having been shown from young age to never fell trees which still served the purpose of bringing life to the Twelveswood, he sought wood from weakened or already fallen trees. Ones which would not disturb the balance of life. Olette was along, just eight years herself to help. The turmoil within the home left the children to camp out more and more, away from the harsh environment of the house and becoming more in tuned with the world around them.

Taking his hatchet to a downed tree, he hacked at the dead wood until the sound of branches snapping and a scream echoing about the area. Hatchet in hand he dashed in the direction of the screams to see Olette running towards him, a large boar chasing her and gaining. Shouting at his sister to run he rushed to her aid, striking the boar with his hatchet. Again and again, he struck the beast. The boar lunging back, biting through his clothes and side. He struck again, hacking wildly at the animal as Olette collapsed to the ground, tears streaming as she watched her brother fight off the attacking animal. One last blow from his hatchet and the boar cowered back and lay down, pained breaths from the boar and Sylvain. Clutching his side, he turned to Olette who was looking up at him from the ground, mud and blood about her clothes. Before he could finish a word, she screamed again and Sylvain turned around in time to see the injured boars tusks closing in on him. Before he could act, a sharp pain rang through his head, his vision blurred and the world spun and went dark. The last sound he heard before blackness completely took him was a muffled scream.

Six moons of time passed, young Sylvain awoke in a strange place surrounded by familiar faces. He was weak, disoriented and emaciated from his coma. The room which was quiet suddenly became alive with activity. Still gathering himself, the weight of a woman sobbing lay on his chest before he was drawn up into an embrace. His mother, tears of joy as her son, whom none thought would wake up had rejoined them. The sound of the word ‘mom’ from his lips brought the bustle of the room to a standstill again, for even the village which shunned the Collignon family from it, felt a powerful surge of joy and relief from the moment. A joy which was short lived.

Asking where Olette was, the mood of the room grew somber. He was not told immediately despite pleading to know. Her scream and the sudden wake seemed to blend together. Kaizaux entered the room and cast his eyes down at Sylvain, hurt and sadness in them, one which seemed like it had been there for some time.

It would be days before he was strong enough to leave the room he stayed in, and with unsure steps he went to his father, and asked him again where Olette was. Upon hearing the name, he froze and tensed. Closing his eyes he jolted to his feet and grabbing Syl by his arm, he pulled the boy, only thirteen just outside of the village limits to where they buried their departed. Having stumbled the whole way there, Kaizaux left Sylvain there where he fell to his knees, listening to the sound of his father stomp back into the village. Tears poured from his eyes and with every ounce of strength he had he pulled himself over the dirt. Grass had partially covered the mound where she lay, and the guttural screaming cries which bellowed forth from his raspy throat echoed between the trees. He had known, deep down he did. But denial was powerful until it was irrefutable. Footsteps approached and arms, Viarianne’s arms wrapped around her son as she tried to console him. Slowly her words became sobs and the two stayed for a time, mourning the loss in their family.

Aftermath

Almost exactly one cycle after waking from his coma, the now fourteen year old Duskwight gathered his things in the dead of night. A spear he made himself, his own hatchet, warm clothes and dried fruit and meat. All neatly organized and stowed away in a travel satchel. Tearing down and folding the cloth of his tent which sat just a few hundred yalms from the house of his parents, he glanced in the direction of the abode before stowing away his tent as well. Tent strapped to his back, hatchet at his belt, spear in one hand and travel satchel in the other, the teenager took his first steps away from the only place he knew as home, never to look back or return. What led him here would never be forgotten by him.

A sennight after learning the fate of his sister, his father never even bothered to look at him for more than a few seconds at a time. Still recovering and being filled with this sense of guilt and blame from a man he looked to for guidance and care, he was left completely lost. His sister lay dead at the hands of a wild animal, he was nearly killed as well and now it seemed that her death was placed on him. If not for Olette’s screams, he would have been killed as well. It alerted Kaizaux to them in time to save Sylvain. Olette’s body was found in pieces he was told, and the boar was about to end Sylvain before being struck down. He was never told that Kaizaux almost left the injured boy there to die. If not for Viarianne close behind…

Two moons after the incident, he was still looked at oddly from the people in the village as he recovered. Not due to the fact he was the only survivor, but that he almost shouldn’t have been. The medic drew him in to ask him how long he had known of his resistance. Sylvain looked at the medic confused and asked what he meant. The surprise on both of their faces when he was told that any and all attempts to magically bind his wounds were ineffective. Syl looked confused and naively asked if he was even healed right. But the medic was firm and reiterated that any attempt to heal him got no results. Many thought he was too badly damaged and on deaths door, but through will, determination and Twelve know what, the boy was not going to die without fighting the whole way.

Half a cycle after Olette’s death, Kaizaux had returned to the village with Viarianne to try to pick up the pieces of their broken home. Maybe the community would help heal their wounds. All it did was put Syl back in an environment where people looked at him like he was growing a third arm and second head. The boy survived and was recovering well, seeing as he was apparently unable to receive healing. His strength returned and not a moment too soon as any chances for him to be gotten alone, the other kids and teens would harass him, call him a freak, blame him for Olette’s death, or even do their damnedest to beat him up. At first he was always with fresh bruises and cuts. As time went on, he fought less and got good at evading his attackers. Sometimes he would get the drop on one of them. Fights were never far between and he was never unscathed from them. Kaizaux made no effort to stop them and seemed disconnected from the community, and even more so from his wife and child. Olette’s life was lost, but Kaizaux seemed just as dead on the inside.

One moon before Sylvain would leave his childhood home forever, was the last interaction he would have with his father. Sylvain brought in meat from a hunt he had completed. A boar of all things. Skinning it and prepping it he could feel eyes on him as he worked. Turning back to see was his father, staring at him, an unreal anger in his eyes. The man would approach, hatchet in hand, shouting at the boy if this was some sick joke… bringing a boar back to skin and eat. Kaizaux attacked Sylvain, striking him in the face with the hatchet, knocking him over. It was clear bottling up all his feelings to this point cause them to bubble over and explode. Viarianne tried to intervene, and stood between, but the back of his hand found her cheek and she fell. Sylvain watching his mother fall, put the boy in a frenzy himself, grabbing the spear which he killed his hunt with, he found strength to get to his feet and lunged in, piercing the abdomen of his father deep with his spear. Kaizaux’s expression blanked and he gasped for breath before falling down, clutching his stomach. Syl clasped his face, blood pouring from the wound inflicted. His mother watched the events unfold and did nothing at first, only to watch Syl reach down and pull the spear from his fathers body and press the freshly skinned boars pelt against it. Kaizaux looked on at the boy in fear for it was obvious he was only trying to hurt Sylvain. Sylvain attacked with the intent to kill and they both knew it. It was some time before the medic was able to get his supplies and make way to the Collignon home. Kaizaux was healed and recovered without incident. Sylvain was given bandages as it was proven before healing was ineffectual on him. It would be the last time he spoke to either of his parents.

From Teen to Young Adult

Delving deeper into the forest, where none fare to go is where he found his peace. Solitude to do as he pleased, not be harassed or beaten up. Not looked down on by those he sought guidance, care, love from. He found his solace surrounded by nothing but the trees, and wild animals of the Twelveswood. Rarely exploring out of his haven, he watched Dalamud descend and burst. News of the world around him never found him. His world was all that mattered. From the age of fourteen to near twenty-seven he lived alone. Until an elezen woman, painfully lost in the recesses of the woods came into his life. Not one to get involved, he did offer to help her out. Feed her and get her generally unlost. This is where he met Elphanse Silmontaix, or as she went at the time, Eao. It would take her the better part of a cycle to somehow convince him to visit the city. Unsure, but begrudgingly agreeing he exited his haven, sealing it up tight with the intent to return some day, and led the two into an area she was familiar with, where she led him through what was completely unfamiliar to him and eventually into the City-State of Gridania. Like a child in the big city for the first time, this grown man looked on at the bustle in awe.

When asked of his name, he gave a name which was familiar to him, but all new. “Syluss Koellian.” Echoes of his birth name, so he always knows where he came from and all that led him to be who he is at this time in his life, but with a fresh start.

[wunderlass]

Smoke & Mirrors Chapter 32 - Rooftops

His captors think him defeated, but even Odin doesn’t know the secrets Loki holds. Before long, he’ll be free, events set in motion by Frigga’s best intentions and Loki’s worst instincts. He’s seen his future, and nothing is going to stop him from stealing it. Loki/Darcy, M rated

You can also read on AO3 or FFNet.

When I posted the previous chapter, I suggested we were almost done. One more chapter to wrap things up, I thought, and then we'd reached the finish line.

But.

As I was writing that chapter, I found myself summarising events instead of showing them. This lessened their emotional impact and the effect they had on the characters.

That means there are still a handful of chapters to go. And that being said - have at it.

The moment stretched on, like the world had been put into slow motion. Wind whipped around them, the din of battle fading away as between one breath and the next reality changed forever.

Frigga was the first to move. She relaxed her grip on her husband, gently lowering him to the ground so she could smooth the hair away from his face, and place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Her face was white with shock, her eyes glassy and her hands shaking. It hurt even to look at her, her fresh pain like an exposed wound.

She did not weep, though beside her Thor was crying openly, his shoulders heaving. He discarded Mjolnir onto the concrete to grip his father’s body, but in doing so his hands came away covered in blood.

Loki hadn’t moved at all, crumpling in on himself like a lost child. He didn’t look away from Odin, not even to blink. But he did not cry, and he did not speak. Darcy rested her hand on his shoulder, unsure of what else to do. He didn’t react even to that.

An explosion sounded somewhere, far below, breaking the spell—or at least fracturing it.

“Uh…”

Darcy looked up to find Tony still hovering near the top of the tower, where only moments before Thanos had disappeared with the girl. He’d raised his face plate, as if it would be disrespectful to be in the presence of the fallen king of Asgard with his face covered.

“I have to go. Do the thing,” he said uncertainly, gesturing in the direction of the commotion and aiming his words more at Darcy and Jane than anyone else. He held out the Tesseract in its shielded container, and Jane took it from him tentatively, like a sleeping baby—or a bomb about to go off.

Frigga raised her head, dignified even in her fresh grief. “Of course. There is still a battle to be won.”

“Right.” He nodded, beginning to lower his face plate and drift downwards.

“Find Sleipnir,” Loki said suddenly.

That had Tony at a loss. He shot a questioning look at the girls, but Darcy could only shake her head in shared confusion.

“My father’s steed. He must still be out there—whether injured or…” He paused and swallowed. “Find him so we can return him to Asgard with my father.”

“Roger that.” Tony winced at his own crassness, then slammed down the face plate and sped away.

“Loki,” Frigga said softly. “Come here.”

He shook his head and planted his feet.

“You should say goodbye to your father before…before there are too many eyes watching. While we still have a moment of peace, and the pomp has not yet begun.”

“I can’t,” Loki croaked, as if choking on the words.

“You can. You must.”

He shook his head desperately. “This is all my fault!”

“Does even this moment have to about you?” Thor said, not with cruelty. He sounded tired. Nevertheless, it had an effect on Loki, who straightened his back and nodded. It didn’t seem to be in response to Thor’s question, but as if he was resolving something within himself. He must have managed it, because he took a step forward, and then another, his long legs easily taking him to Odin’s side.

Together the family cried, and held each other, and grieved.

Darcy shuffled away from them, towards Jane, and they shared a glance which agreed they were intruding on a private moment. On the other hand, they couldn’t leave, not when someone had to remain in charge of the portal machine. Jane shrugged, and they silently perched themselves out of sight until the first spell of mourning had passed.

“We cannot stay here,” murmured Frigga when she was ready, brushing the hair away from Loki’s face in a reflexive maternal gesture. “Our warriors must not find out before the battle is won. Their morale is too important.”

That roused the princes, in a way that surprised Darcy. The line of duty seemed to help them rein in their emotions—even Thor, who had always been quick with his. Perhaps he had grown up more than she’d even realized.

“I must return to the battle,” he said, as Frigga brushed her thumb over the tear tracks on his face. “They will have noticed Father’s absence—I must prevent rumors from spreading.”

“Don’t lie to them,” Frigga advised. “They will learn the truth later, and their trust in you must not be undermined so soon.”

“I know. There is more to focus their attention on—a city to save.”

With a whirl of Mjolnir, he was gone, only to be replaced on the helipad by the more petite figure of Natasha. She looked in worse shape than before, with a bloody gash on her head and a tear down the fabric over her left thigh.

“Tony sent me,” she said. “Said I’d be more use up here now they’re trying to wipe out the remaining Chitauri.” She didn’t look at Odin, keeping eye contact with Frigga.

“We need someone to watch the portal while we seek privacy.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Should we go down to the war council?” Darcy asked quietly, calling the elevator.

“No,” replied Frigga. “I do not trust them to hold their tongues on this.”

“Tony’s apartment will be private,” Jane suggested, and Frigga nodded in agreement.

Loki took off the furs he’d been wearing since Jotunheim and wrapped them around Odin, then hoisted him into his arms. He did not look down at his father, gaze fixed ahead as he entered the elevator with Frigga.

“We’ll follow you down,” Darcy said. She had a feeling it would be claustrophobic in there, between the body and the cloud of grief.

The doors slid shut, leaving an emptier helipad behind. There was a lot of blood where Odin had lain, and Darcy idly wondered if someone would have to clean that up. Or would it be left to the elements, the first rain washing away signs that a god—a man who was old enough to become a myth—had died there?

“How was Asgard?” Natasha asked, drawing Darcy away from her thoughts.

“I didn’t see much of it, really,” she replied.

Nat, too, was staring at the bloodstains. “Oh. Shame. But Thanos is dead, right?”

“Yeah. I think so. Truth be told, it was a bit weird, but I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Who even was she?” Jane asked, looking at Darcy as if she’d have the answer. And it was a reasonable question, the girl had seemed to know Darcy.

“I have no idea.”

“Who?” Nat perked a curious brow.

“It’s a long story,” replied Darcy. “We should go, get that rock inside somewhere safe.”

When they entered Tony’s apartment, Pepper was returning to the living room from down the hallway.

“He’s in a guest room,” she explained, her voice soft. “And so are they.” Her eyes widened at Jane holding the Tesseract, and she switched to business mode, ushering them to one of Tony’s maximum-security safes so it could be locked away.

“What happened?” she asked when it was inside a foot of solid adamantium. She gestured in the direction of the guest room, so they understood what she was referring to.

“I don’t know,” said Jane. “One of the Chitauri brought him up to the tower barely alive. And then…” She shrugged heavily.

Pepper led them into the kitchen for the most privacy. “FRIDAY, did you witness what happened to Odin?”

The AI responded, quieter than usual, as if it understood the importance of not being overheard by the grieving guests. “There was a grenade attack. It appears Odin chose to take the blast rather than risk it injuring other soldiers.”

“Maybe he thought he could survive it,” Jane murmured, and Darcy murmured in agreement. “I guess I expected him to be bomb proof. He’s been around for so long, hasn’t he?”

“What about the horse?” Pepper asked, again directing her question at the AI.

“The Asgardian warrior Fandral retrieved him after the explosion: Sleipnir was spooked but uninjured. He is currently being stabled in the parking garage.”

“And Thor?” Jane asked, obviously worried about more grenades.

“Is liaising with Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers. Ground troops have been notified that Thanos is dead and the Tesseract is secure. They have the Chitauri corralled into four main areas and are planning for the best way to dispatch them.”

Curiosity satisfied—for now—Pepper busied making tea for them all.

“A lot happened while we were gone, huh?” Darcy asked Jane.

Her friend nodded, leading her over to the main screen of Tony’s interface again. “Once Tony was involved, he got JARVIS to work with FRIDAY and they were able to find a way into the Chitauri systems. JARVIS had been working on their language based on coding found in the weapons they left behind last time, so it actually seemed easy for him to communicate with the systems and override their orders. I don’t know what we’re going to do with Thanos’ ship, though.”

“Study it, knowing Tony,” said Pepper.

Darcy nodded. “We need to know what’s out there in the universe in case Thanos isn’t the only advanced civilization that decides it wants a piece of us.”

“But you got to see Asgard,” Jane said in hushed awe.

“I don’t know if you could say that. It was night time, and you know what my night vision is like. I saw more of Jotunheim when I was there.”

“But perhaps one day you will see more of our beautiful city,” said Frigga, appearing behind them. It was clear that, in private at least, she had wept; her eyes were now red and watery, her cheeks flushed and bloated. Even her voice cracked as she spoke. “And under better circumstances. You deserve to see Asgard as it truly is, not cloaked by darkness and fear.”

Darcy nodded while Pepper bustled finishing off the tea so she could present a cup to Frigga. “I’d like that.”

A commotion arose outside, and they rushed to the window to look down at the streets of Midtown. It was hard to tell, but it looked like the warriors—human and Asgardian alike—were cheering.

“I think we won,” said Pepper, sounding slightly surprised.

Darcy looked around, but couldn’t see Loki. Frigga followed her gaze, and managed a small smile.

“He is still with his father. However, you have questions which await answers. It would not do to put them off.”

“I don’t think—”

“Now is as good a time as any. Soon enough, Loki will be a prisoner again. She waits for you, and you should go to her.”

Pepper just looked confused by the exchange, while Jane seemed torn. She chewed on her lip. “It’s probably not a bad idea. You don’t know if SHIELD are going to try and lock you up again as well…”

“Alright,” Darcy agreed. “But I’m coming back, I’m not running. I’ve spent too much time running lately.”

She found her way to the guest room, which was dark enough that the people within it were reduced to mere shapes, shadows against a deeper darkness. Only Loki’s eyes identified him, glinting against the light that spilled through the door.

She averted her gaze from Odin, turning her body so she could not see him even in her peripheral vision. She hadn’t even properly met the man, and she felt like she was intruding on his death by being here.

“We should go,” she said quietly.

“The rooftop,” Loki agreed. He didn’t have to clarify which one—there could only be one rooftop which meant something to both of them.

“How are we going to get there?”

Loki considered it for a moment. “The tunnels.”

At some point, Loki had memorized all of the tunnels which ran underneath Manhattan—probably when they escaped into them during his coup. It meant that he had no problems navigating them through the darkness, using a few of those glowing, floating orbs to provide light. They crossed subway tracks, silent and still while the trains did not run, and while occasionally things skittered away into the shadows, they didn’t come across another living soul.

They did not speak. Darcy had nothing to say, nothing that didn’t seem absolutely trivial in light of everything that had happened, and Loki evidently felt the same way.

They resurfaced through a basement, and only when they crept upwards into the lobby did Darcy recognize the old hotel where she’d once been kept captive. It was as empty as everywhere else. Shattered glass crunched underfoot, the revolving doors crumpled and hanging at an angle which meant they were impossible to get through. Not that it mattered; they had privacy, and that was what mattered. Even the street outside sounded quiet.

The power was still out—though they were on the outskirts of Midtown, it was still the area where the fighting had been at its most intense. Darcy almost called uncle, knowing she’d never get up all the stairs to the top floor, but Loki summoned the elevator wordlessly, the little orbs disappearing into the workings to get it moving. At least that meant when they’d finished the long ride to the penthouse apartments, they only had one flight of stairs to get onto the rooftop.

Loki prized the locked door open and held it for Darcy with a flourish, as if he was trying to prove he still had manners despite everything.

It was here that Darcy hesitated. The rooftop didn’t exactly hold good memories for her, but she’d put it behind her, believing she’d never have to come back. Even on the journey, her mind had been tangled in questions she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to—but now she was here, she wanted to bolt. It didn’t matter if she didn’t fear Loki anymore. Much. This place had been her prison, and every instinct balked at returning to it willingly. Especially with Loki by her side.

But. If she didn’t go up, those questions wouldn’t be answered.

So she forced herself to move, up the stairs, and into the garden where she’d once been so close to the sky, and isolated from everything else.

It was unrecognizable—so much that when she reached the top, she came to an abrupt halt, making Loki bump into her. Where this had once been a well-tended garden, small plants yet to grow to maturity in planters, now it was a jungle. In their months untended, rather than dying in the unfamiliar environment, the plants had flourished, outgrowing their pots and reaching skyward, so now it was hard to find a path through the concrete to the seats in the center.

And the screens were gone. Those impossible screens, the fence intended to keep Darcy inside and hidden from the city, had been removed. Beyond the foliage she could now see Manhattan again. The Chrysler building, and Stark Tower, and the Empire State building, and all the fires and ruins between.

Her breath left her, all the tension she’d been carrying exhaled in a gasp of relief, and she began moving forward again.

“I’m surprised you didn’t destroy it,” she murmured to Loki as he followed her.

“Why would I?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “For a time, it was the only place where we’d been together.”

It really was a struggle to get to the seats in the middle, where a small figure waited, clad in black. Darcy distantly realized, as she pushed ferns back from her face, that she needed to tell someone about this garden, before the Asgardian plants began to self-seed and become invasive species. Loki seemed less patient behind her, hacking away at fronds with his blade.

But then they were through, and face to face with the little girl. Her elfin face looked younger than it had on the top of Stark Tower, but maybe she just seemed smaller when they were this close. Her hair was braided and looped around her head, inky black against her chalk-white skin, and her eyes were unmistakably her father’s; shrewd, pale blue.

She lit up when they sat on the empty chairs. “I am happy that you came,” she said, beaming, her accent closer to Frigga’s lilting pronunciation of English than Loki’s crisp rendition.

“Yeah,” Darcy replied, uncertainly. “We have…questions.”

“Of course you do. You have never seen me before today. You do not remember me like I remember you.”

Darcy was pretty sure this conversation was going to end in a headache. “Remember you?”

The girl nodded, and now Darcy was sure she was younger than she had been on the Tower. Her mannerisms weren’t those of a teenager anymore, but of a pre-teen, one who hadn’t yet discarded her childhood completely.

“Who are you?” Loki asked, his last thread of patience evidently wearing thin.

“You know that,” the girl replied, chiding him a little. “I am your daughter, Hela. It has not even been a full day since Mother took from you what she needed, and created me.”

“I remember,” Loki said dryly.

“Is that why it took so long for her to send help?” Darcy asked. “Because she was making you?”

“Yes. It was harder than she expected, so I did not arrive until Thanos already had the stone. And Mother cannot come herself, she must stay in her own realm.”

“I suppose—” said Loki, “I suppose I wasn’t expecting to see you. You were supposed to be her child.”

“And I am. But I am half-alive, and that means I cannot spend all my time in the realm of the dead, can I? So while you are on this side of life, I will visit you often. And you, mama.”

She smiled hopefully at Darcy, who did her best to smile back. It was unnerving, all the implications that came with that word. Mama. She wasn’t ready to have children, and yet here was one nearly fully grown treating her like a member of the family.

She really should have brought some aspirin with her.

Instead, she said gently, “You’re older than we expected.”

Hela shrugged. “I exist outside of time, or so Mother says. I can go whenever I want. Sometimes I will be different ages—you will get used to it. I am the same girl, and I will always remember you.”

Darcy hesitated before asking the next question. “Do we raise you, then?”

“Yes.” That brought another smile. “Not yet, though. You aren’t ready, either of you. I will stay with Mother until you are, and then I will come back to you. Smaller, I think. So I can grow up properly.”

Darcy’s throat closed up, the enormity of it all hitting her. It really sounded like she was going to be a stepmother, and one to a child who was so far outside the bounds of normal that she didn’t know where to begin. Co-parenting with a demigod and Death itself?

No wonder her eyes were leaking.

“Oh, mama, don’t cry!” Hela said. “You will be a legend! Everyone knows your name.”

“I never wanted to be a legend,” Darcy protested, trying to stem the tide of tears. “I only ever wanted to be happy.”

“And you will be! I promise, I swear, oh mama please stop!”

Loki looked as lost as she felt, his hand hovering uncertainly near her arm as if he wanted to give her a sympathetic pat, but wasn’t sure if it was welcome, or even sufficient. Darcy took deep breaths to try and control herself while he considered his next question. “The mirror. The little boy—will he…”

“I cannot tell you everything, papa. Some things, you must just live through. Nana Frigga has made that very clear.”

The look he gave Darcy following her words—the hope, unmasked as it rarely was, shone from his face—said everything. Loki was still looking forward to that future, even if his motivations had changed. Darcy closed her eyes, wiping away the tears even if the enormity of it all still clawed at the inside of her chest.

“If you exist outside of time,” she began, “why that moment? Why not earlier?” So many deaths that could have been prevented…

Hela shook her head. “I could not be there if I did not exist yet, and when I did exist it was too late to change the past. That is the rule: I cannot change events from how they are meant to be.”

“Not even to prevent Odin’s death?” Loki asked quietly.

“No. And anyway, I needed a death,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You were in the middle of a battle!” His temper was fraying once more.

“No, it had to be a good death,” Hela insisted. “And grandpapa’s was the best death—he’d lived so long it was easy to take Thanos through with me. Grandpapa did not mind, when he knew.”

“What about the rest of us?”

Hela pursed her lips at the slight whine in Loki's voice. “It was his time, papa. He was never meant to survive the battle.”

Loki closed up, then, his eyes glazing over and he retreated into his grief. Hela appeared to sense this. “Nana is calling for you. There is much to be done still.”

“Yes, I suppose we should go back,” said Darcy. Not that she was looking forward to what awaited them at the Tower anymore than raising Hela.

“I will see you soon,” Hela replied, and her arms twitched, as if she wanted to hug them both and was holding back. “But I’m sure Mother is missing me already.”

When Darcy paused at the top of the stairs and looked back across the garden, the little girl was already gone.