#maybe there was enough... tissue... mashed together to keep him from bleeding out

[off-brand-likes]

Zeb had been looking for Kallus among the celebrating rebels on Endor for hours. Even Rex, who'd agreed to keep track of him if he could, hadn't seen him since the final battle began. He'd resorted to walking around the last place Rex saw Kallus in an ever-widening spiral as darkness fell over the forest with his bo-rifle's electrified tip lit, listening and sniffing for any sign--

There. Kallus's signature scent wafted to him under a much stronger smell of human blood. Zeb turned toward it and pushed through the undergrowth as fast as he could. "Kal?  Where are you?" Birds screeched in the trees and small creatures scattered around Zeb's feet, but he didn't hear anything from Kal.

He burst into a circular patch of crushed plants. Zeb raised his lit bo-rifle higher. More patches like this one formed a trail toward the shield generator bunker. Walker tracks.

Kallus lay near the edge of one of them, watching Zeb. One too-pale cheek pressed against the forest floor. Tear tracks shone on the other one, through a layer of dirt. His legs, in the walker's path, were a gory mess.

Zeb ran to him, jammed the bo-rifle's unlit end into the earth, and knelt beside him. He reached for him, but what if Kallus's spine was broken? Zeb couldn't bear the thought of making such awful injuries worse. "Kal..."

Kallus reached to take one of Zeb's hands in his own. The effort made him wince, but his grip was still strong. "Zeb." His voice was hoarse, like he'd been calling for help for hours and nobody heard him. "Did we win?"

"Yeah, we won, we did it, Kal." The strain in Kallus's face eased at that.

Zeb forced himself to look at the mess of Kallus's legs. The walker's foot must've hit the back of Kallus's thigh first, tearing his pantleg there and knocking him down before... "Karabast." Every bone and muscle in his legs was ruined. Zeb had to look back to Kallus's face to quell a wave of nausea.

"Don't... Just... Lie here with me, for..." Kallus swallowed audibly. "For however long I have left."

Zeb squeezed Kallus's hand. "You've lasted this long." His voice was surprisingly steady, for how hard his heart was pounding in panic. "You'll be fine until I come back with help." Please, please be fine.

Kallus rolled his eyes, though he was smiling while he did it. "I feel lucky to have lasted long enough to see you."

The tube of bacta gel in Zeb's pocket wouldn't even make a dent in all the damage to Kallus's legs. He hadn't even brought any water. After losing so much blood, Kallus must be desperately thirsty. As hard as it would be to leave him alone like this, if Zeb stayed, he couldn't do anything to save him.

"Kal, I have to go get help. And you're gonna wait until I come back with it. You'll be right here when I come back." It was supposed to be an order. Zeb wished gathering tears hadn't cracked his voice in the middle of it.

Kallus's nod dragged the side of his face against the dirt. He still hadn't managed to lift his head. One more tear rolled over his nose and onto the ground, but his expression showed the determination to do right that drew Zeb to him every time, since Bahryn. "I'll be here," Kallus said.

It hurt Zeb's heart to turn his back. But that was the only hard part. Once he did it, he ran faster than he'd run in years. He would bring Kallus help in time. He'd do it, or run his heart down trying.

[goreverine-archive1]

She's the last of them, standing on nothing but open air as her hair bleeds into the scant darkness of a New York night. *Tap!* go her knuckles against the glass. At the slight impact she stills, gazing down at her own hand. (Realization.) She lifts her head, blank-eyed stare cutting past grime and the blackness to HIM. Her fist strikes the window again. Again, gathering strength with each successive blow. Crack! (Natsumi.) Crack! (Mother!) CRACK! (FOOL!) She *shrieks*. Glass shatters.

concluding from here

A pregnant, dead moment.

For the first time in a week, Daken’s apartment has lapsed into silence. There are no ghosts or zombies or skeletons or whirling sprites of cinders, none of the three digits worth of dead women seeking his suffering or torment. None are here. He’s alone, all alone, truly alone. (Forever?)

The only noises, other than that of his out-of-control breathing, are those of the patter of the rain on the window, and the low crack of thunder rumbling from the distance. Lightning periodically illuminates this dim place, highlighting the black-red-green slick that has settled as a creeping layer on the walls and on the floor he lies on. Sticky and stinking, it coalesces with the mass of hair that has found its way onto every surface. Hair of all colors and textures, in torn clumps and woven braids. Hair he remembers. Hair he does not remember. The most innocuous part of a corpse, the last to go outside of bone.

Daken is rotting, isn’t he? Maybe not outwardly. He’s beautiful as ever, like a synthetic flower. He’ll lie here amidst the pulped remains and shed forever, and he will never change as the world dies around him.

Yet -- no. Not forever. Maybe an hour, until something hits his window. A bird, probably, caught up in the storm. He doesn’t move, until there’s another loud smack! Then, he physically picks himself up, even though his self-worth lies where he left it on the floor.

Another woman, out there, shrouded in the rain and the darkness. Tangible, her delicate fist thumps against the massive pane of reinforced glass, the only thing keeping the apartment held together on its exposed location of the twenty-third floor. As he approaches this window on unsteady, slippery steps, he thinks he knows this form -- hair undone and kimono flapping and wet from the wind and rain -- a woman, neither old nor young.

For a clutching, ecstatic moment, he imagines this to be Itsu, of whose womb he was torn from. A gasp tears from his throat in elation, tears bead in his eyes of joy. Mother, mother, mother. I’ve been waiting for you.

Lightning illuminates the form, and then him, and then back to darkness. Thump! Thump! Thump!

For a clawing, horrific moment, he knows this to be Natsumi, who he tore asunder. A gasp tears from his throat in panic, tears bead in his eyes of anguish. Mother, mother, mother. I’ve forgotten you.

The window cracks. The crack grows. It spiderwebs. Then, the ragged scream of her eternal agony: A mother that lost her firstborn.

Everything shatters! The world caves in following the explosion of glass! Whipping wind and torrential downpour, the day he cut his mother down! The day he left her newborn to die of exposure! The day he lost the name Akihiro! The day where he birthed himself, and let the beast take him!

The storm rips through his apartment, the meager hovel that used to be beautiful being paper to the elements. Around him, custom-made furniture slides across the floor and falls off of the edge to alive itself to Manhattan. Artwork worth the six or seven figures flies like a gum wrapper out of his pocket. His life is flying out the window. He’s anchored only by his hand grasping out for a nearby fixture, the mantle to a fireplace that is non-operable, only there for show.

Natsumi’s hair and clothing whip around her, but her body remains unaffected by the supernatural weather, gliding towards him with her hands outstretched by her sides. She is the personification of feminine rage, the break after the threshold of indignities suffered breaks. Her heart bleeds from where his claws first sunk home, the third kill in his life -- as a child, killing children, killing mothers. Her expression is that of the day she charged him with a bayonet, inconsolable grief, hate, resolve.

Remember her expressing her terror of you, the realization that you will only grow more cruel. Remember her desire to throw you out of the home she opened the doors to. Remember her love and happiness at the conception of your replacement. Remember the look on her face when she realized you took that away.

Daken remembers how much he hates her, too.

“< Mother! >” It’s hard to hear himself over the howl of wind, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. His claws are out, his hand reaches for her -- to hold, to maim.

“< Never, never, never. >” Natsumi’s voice is a barking death rattle, as if she were speaking with his claws still stuck in her chest. She’s here. His claws sink into her chest, and she does not budge. Her nails flay his flesh as they trace across his arms to his back. Bone deep, shreds of muscle dangling like a zipper undone. “< I should have left you. >”

Daken is weeping like a child in this abomination of a parental embrace, shoulders shaking, his fists pulling back to stab through her torso like butter -- ignored. A toddler throwing a tantrum, slamming their hands across their parent’s static chests. “< You had a son to cause me harm. I was just a boy... >”

“< Demon boy. >” Her eyes are so wet and dark, black sclera extending as rot that clings to her eyelashes, as if it rained on her until she washed away. He is looking into the end. “< Akihira was the fool to put his trust and love into you. You were the unworthy child. >”

Natsumi scoops him into her arms without a semblance of effort, his claws stuck between her ribs not an impediment in the slightest. She floats towards the barrage of rain captured by the shattered edges of the window, into the wind.

This is his end. Daken wails with anguish, cannot struggle his way out of his arms. He can only weep and plead, and uselessly eviscerate the woman whose generosity he abused.

“< Mother, no! Please! No, no, no! >”

“< I free myself from you, demon boy. > ” Her gaze fixes over his head, no longer paying him any attention. A smile spreads across her face. Catharsis.

“< Mother, please! I beg of you! No! >”

Natsumi lets go, and doesn’t watch him plummet to the earth. She rises above him, ties severed. Not by him. By her.

Daken doesn’t die when his body whips against the pavement. His connective tissue holds his mashed mass together, enough for him to build back from a near-smear. Something else inside him will stay irreparably fractured.

culminating in this

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Any new “Doctor John” type stories, O Great One?

Hi Nonny!

I certainly do! :D Here you are!

DOCTOR / CARETAKER JOHN Pt. 3

See Also:

Doctor / Caretaker John

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 2

New World, Old Words by thedeafwriter (G, 641 w., 1 Ch. || Deaf Sherlock, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Marriage Proposal, Fluff, Always John) – It was disconcerting to experience. One second, he was laying on the table, breathing in the gas that would make him sleep, the next, he was dragging his eyes open to look around the bright room, trying to wake up.

Promise of Sussex by LittleLongHairedOutlaw (T, 705 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV Sherlock, Sherlock Whump, Angst, Pining, Ambiguous Ending) – John tries to keep Sherlock conscious after he’s been shot on a case.

Idiot by Anesthesiologist (T, 1,229 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Alternate TGG / Explosion, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Inner Monologue, John Saves Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – What the heck happened? He remembered the pool and Moriarty, but then what? Had he been dying?

Angel by MrsNoggin (T, 1,513 w., 1 Ch. || Winglock, Friendship, Chromoesthesia, Drugging) – John is an angel. That can be the only explanation. A response to the challenging request for a realistic wingfic one-shot.

They’re Taking My Wisdom by whitchry9 (K+, 1,939 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Drugging, Dentists, Friendship, Anxious Sherlock, Humour) – Sherlock goes to the dentist. Of course, being Sherlock, things have to be complicated. Oh and drugs. They’re always fun.

Stay by sussexbound (M, 2,067 w., 1 Ch. || Post TAB, Suicidal Ideation Mention, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Love Confessions, Frottage, Coming in Pants) –  “Why? Why did you do it? Hmm…?” He takes a deep breath, waits, lets it out again. “Look at me.” There’s no denying him when he takes this tone. “Why did you kill him? Hmm…? For her? After…” A muscle twitches in the corner of John’s eye, and he clamps his jaw down tightly, swallows and sniffs a little before continuing. “For her? After everything she’s done?” “For you.” Before he can even stop himself. Just like that.

The Rational Machine by Solstice Zero (K, 2,924 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt / Comfort, Malnourishment / Fainting, Doctor / Minder John) – Sherlock passes out. John muses on the reasons why. Containing an absorbing case, two bags of shopping, and a few apples.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

The Oolong Disaster by unicornpoe (T, 4,151 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Beard, Fluff, Humour, Frustrated Sherlock, John Takes Care of Sherlock, Case Fic-ish, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Possessive Sherlock) – John has a beard. Sherlock has a panic attack.

Experiment by Gwen’s Blue Box (K+, 4,222 w., 3 Ch. || Non-Con Drugging, Hurt Comfort, Friendship) – Of course John has always known about his flatmate’s irregular sleeping habits, especially when they’re on a case. This time, however, the case is taking longer and longer, and soon John starts to worry. But there’s not much he can do, is there? Because drugging Sherlock isn’t an option. Not yet, maybe, but will it be soon? {{CW: John drugs Sherlock without his consent}}

Welcome Home, John by slashscribe (G, 5,504 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Awkwardness, Stabbed Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Panic Attack (Sherlock), Self Esteem Issues, Love Confessions, First Kiss) – When John moves back to 221B, he thinks he’s the broken one, but after a while, it becomes clear that he might not be correct.

He’s Not Paid Enough to Deal with This Shit by janonny (T, 9,828 w., 1 Ch. || Personal Assistant AU || Humour, First Meetings, Snarky John) – One of the first things John did was to write up step-by-step instructions on how to conduct a proper job interview before handing it over to Mycroft for his perusal. There were no kidnapping, deserted car parks or stolen therapy notes anywhere on that list. (Or the one where John returned from the war and ended up working for Mycroft as his personal assistant slash doctor on retainer. Everything was fine, until he was sent to post bail for one Sherlock Holmes.)

And Here We Are by J_Baillier (T, 12,416 w., 2 Ch. || ASiP Fic, Alternating First Person POV, Drama, Friendship, Mild Case Fic, Autism Spectrum Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Protective John, Pining, Homophobia, Loneliness, Angst, Humour, Domestics, Morbid Fluff, Kidnapping) – All the little things we never got to see when an army doctor and a consulting detective were adjusting to sharing a flat. And a life.

Shuteye Shenanigans by Ayakae (K+, 13,263 w., 8 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Epic Bromance, John’s Nightmares, Angsty Fluff, Bed Sharing, Humour, Cuddles, Taking Care of Each Other, Domestics) – John Watson has never slept with Sherlock Holmes. Never ever ever. And never will, thank you very much. Well, there was that one time, but John didn’t count that. It was completely different, just like the second time it happened. And the third. And the fourth. Epic bromance, but it can be read as pre-slash if you wish.

First Response by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 13,516 w., 8 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Five and Ones, Whump / Injury) – Five times John had to perform first aid on Sherlock and one time Sherlock had to perform it on John.

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror (E, 14,835 w., 1 Ch. || POV First Person Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Stroppy Sherlock, Light Humour, Friendship, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Wall Kisses, Fluffy Angst, Happy Ending) – Sherlock doesn’t even know why he resents John’s dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don’t let that scare you off!)

Software Malfunction by tiger_in_the_flightdeck (E, 16,679 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Android Sherlock, Love Story, Unhappy Ending, Angst, Suicide, Jealousy) – “You think I can’t love you? Just because you’re made with metal, and detailed programming?” The doctor propped himself on his elbow, and looked down at it. “I am nothing but blood and bone, and tissue. Things just managed get mashed together in a manner that made me like this. Just like you were put together to make you how you are. When I kiss you-” he did so, briefly, to prove his point. Then more deeply, and lingering, because he could. “When I touch you, or smile at you, does it make you feel different from when others have done it in the past?”

Turn Left at the Park by Glenmore (NR (E), 37,409 w., 28 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting / ASiP Divergence, Case Fic, Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Loneliness, No Mary, Possessive Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, Nightmares/PTSD, Sherlock Saves John, Sherlock Whump-ish, Doctor John) – So what would have happened if John hadn’t walked through the park and met Stamford?What if, instead, he walked around the park and just went home?

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because…new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride… prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w., 18 Ch. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he’s a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover’s trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world’s highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

The Wedding Garments by cwb (E, 105,390 w., 36 Ch. || Alternate Future AU || Alternate First Meeting, Dating / Arranged Marriages, Romance, First Kiss/Time, Heavy Petting, Cuddles, POV Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn / Falling in Love / Dev. Rel., Nervous/Anxious Sherlock, Jealous/Cranky, Hiking, Vacation Homes / Honeymoon, Sherlock’s Family, Horny John/Sherlock, Patient John, Massages, Hand Jobs, Assassination Plots, Hand Jobs / Oral Sex, Case Fic, Emotional Love Making, Bath Time Fun) – This is the story of a young consulting detective who wants nothing to do with marriage and an army doctor who wants to find true love. It’s 2020 post-Brexit England and the British government is encouraging arranged marriages. Candidates meet through state-run agencies and date in hopes of finding love (and tax benefits). Sherlock doesn’t need or want a spouse, at least not until John Watson shows up. Hesitant to give in to his more carnal urges because of the way they derail his mind, how will Sherlock progress toward the more intimate aspects of a relationship? The answer lies in a very special wedding gift.