#pt tendon

[chicago-geniza]

ATTENTION WORLD WIDE WEB: MY LEGS HURT SO BAD AND I AM ABOUT TO MAKE IT EVERYBODY'S PROBLEM

[cannibalgh0st]

So a lot has been going on for me - it turns out my clavicle/roater cuff pain I've been having has turned into tendonosis. Which is just long-term tendinitis. Now, I have to do physical therapy starting today for 2 times a week for the next 3 months... I've been stressed with my work schedule since I have to adjust it....it's a lot to deal with right now🥲🥲🥲

[void-tiger]

Sorry, Shiro.

You have hEDS now. Not “just” epilepsy.

I make the rules. It fits. RIP buddy.

[kla1991]

Excellent jokes and also! For everyone who relates to this and hasn't mentioned it to a doctor: I would really suggest you do so if you can!

I have whay my doc calls "floating kneecaps," meaning they're flat on the back instead of curved, so they don't settle into the joint properly. This makes the joints very unstable, and they sometimes kick backward or to the side--less so now that I've been doing PT.

Because of this condition, I've dislocated both of my kneecaps. One was a minor pop to the side and then right back, and I iced it and took it easy for a couple days. The other was a major dislocation that I had to go to the ER for.

It's the one I didn't get medical attention for, the one that seemed so minor, that still hurts and gives out 15 years later. Again, PT has helped stabilize it, and the pain and anxiety I had about it before PT could have been avoided if I'd sought treatment sooner.

joints will see you taking a step & be like "i bet i could improve on this with my Cool New Trick." & theyre wrong

[anonymusbosch]

all the joints of the leg are fucked up. absolute nonsense. someone needs to luigi the guy in charge of leg

[dentist-brainsurgeon]

Day 11 of Physical Therapy and I only have one session scheduled left before my Ortho appointment, nothing new added but they beat the shit out of my shoulder again, while it hurts A LOT in the moment, it does end up feeling better eventually lol. Tho they keep mentioning just how tense I am and how my entire rotator cuff is on fire, like yeah it certainly feels like it all the time especially at work yesterday.

[really-burnt-toast]

Redesigning my COTL cast pt.1

HAHA I'm finally done! I only made busts tho bc Im lazy and Im not putting myself through drawing a size chart... YET.

It WILL come, just so I can show pretty outfits and show how ridiculous Leshy's hight is LOL

If you see any spelling mistakes, please ignore them <3

(more info and rambling under cut)

Here I'll write some more things relating to each character;

Lamb

Born in Darkwood to a single mother, their mom had named them Mellia after the flowers that grow there, since they had aided in striving off an illness she had during the pregnancy.

The Lamb grew up pretty happily despite being on the run. Their mother was eventually caught whilst they made an escape. During their years of hiding, they broke their leg during one particularly risky escape and were caught not long after.

Their number is 1.600.666 because I keep making a connection between Darkwood and Germany's Schwartzwald - there are 1.6 million sheep in Germany - so I decided to have that be the approximate number. 666 was just added for fun.

Their ear was tagged to keep track of how many sheep were caught in which realm. They just so happened to be the last to be executed. By mere coincidence.

They were born without horns and kinda made the crown shape into a set. It has the benefit that they can rip em off and use them as impromptu weapons.

Due to centuries of being treated as a tool for a prophecy and merely a vessel, their self esteem is downright horrid. Whilst they don't condone followers speaking ill of them, they pretty much let Narinder trample on their feelings up until they had snapped one day. In the end it did help them both, but it wasn't great it had to be taken to that point.

Extra: I added the vitiligo because when I imagine a human version, I couldn't help but see them as having Vitiligo. Their leg limp was made after I thought it would make them look more imposing seeing someone "weak" suddenly pull out a giant hammer.

Narinder

Found within a burning village under rubble, clutching a crown as war raged around them. He was found by Shamura and taken in.

He was the first to create resurrection and back then it was an EXTREMELY taxing ritual. It would require his own godly flesh to beckon people back to life - thus it would literally cause his skin and flesh to melt off his bones. Now that's not needed anymore but his body is still weak to it, meaning during certain stress factors, he can still become skeletal. He doesn't have scarring from it, but gained some cool markings.

He was bound by his arms, torso and neck - all of which are scarred. In the afterlife he was perpetually sitting, causing him to be paralyzed from the waist down. Once he was usurped he had to regain his ability to walk and was taken care of by the Lamb.

He was in a catatonic state for many years and it only got better gradually with many setbacks. For years he never left the bed and by the time his Siblings had been rescued, he had barely started going outside. He was also suffering from chronic pains which wasn't really helpful.

He's also very... Temperamental. It took him just as long to say anything nice to the Lamb and it took him extra long to see them as more than his vessel.

Extra: I changed his markings to be more like I had imagined them. The catatonic trait and chronic pain was added after the update and I remember how horrible it was having tendonitis and I wanted to channel my distaste into Narinder.

Shamura

Found and raised by the last gods, they weren't the greatest sibling. They may have taken in the others but it took them a long time to be anything other than cold. With Kallamar, Shamura was distant and strict - then with Narinder they attempted to be less harsh after the kid started crying himself to sleep. With Heket and Leshy they got less and less cold. They tried their best, they'd argue.

They got carried away by their feelings as they had feared at the start and that's when the first prophecy came to them. They had kept it hidden for way too long until the balance of the crown's powers were ripping at the seams due to Narinder's pursuit in power - and they made a decision. They had told Kallamar first. Then Heket and Leshy were brought in.

Stuff happened. Now they are barely coherent and at most have an hour or two at a time where they seem to make sense. Leshy stays with them the most. Kallamar takes care of them. Heket takes care of the rest. Their skull is caved in, they lost an eye and limbs - some of the damages can't be hidden by bandages.

There's also this thing that their crown keeps getting out of control whilst trying to keep their mind stable - sometimes they'll get startled - attempt to form a weapon and instead end up with their arm speared through. They have scarring all over their body from it.

Upon recruitment they are pretty overwhelmed. Their crown can't stop them from breaking anymore and they have gotten so used to godhood that mortality now feels like they are literally rotting alive. They can feel their body wasting away.

Only after getting their relic back do they start becoming more independent and stable. They nowadays go through some sort of rehab to try and regain their sense of self.

Extra: Not much was added. I wanted to give them Glasses but I can't for the life of me draw them with a pair... So Ill just say they have them but not show them LOL

Kallamar

His past is basically forgotten. It sorta slipped away since he hadn't deemed it fit to be remembered. At first he had MANY fights with Shamura, then it ceased after a confrontation turned violent which left him with a bad scar.

He had to take care of his younger siblings whilst coming to terms with godhood - filling in whenever Shamura wasn't physically or mostly emotionally unavailable. For a long time he was the only one that could comfort his ailing siblings. Dealing with that sort of made him pretty easily agitated.

When Shamura proposed the plan, he had been hesitant - but ultimately didn't say anything.

Now he takes care of his siblings medically. He hates himself more than he hates anyone else and as much as he is quick to condemn and betray Shamura - he is also quick to condemn himself. Though maybe not as enthusiastically or openly.

He likes to compensate. Giving gifts to request forgiveness - grand displays of favoritism or mainly decking himself and his multiple spouses out with Jewels. He still keeps his wedding rings around his neck and his earring references his siblings.

Funnily enough, he caused the least troubles to the Lamb. They could argue he even seemed relieved after a short while of staying in the cult.

Extra: Added Jewelry and two tentacles because he looked naked without them.

Heket

Loudmouth frog that when found with her crown, she started trying to fight Shamura - insulting whatever parent they had. She kept threatening to poison them too.

In the lineup of her siblings, she was often the one who took the sidelines. If she was happy, she was left alone. If she was displeased, she'd let herself known. The most uncomplicated of the siblings.

You'd almost miss how every other bishop would seek her out when help was needed. While Shamura helped with godhood and Kallamar with emotional needs - Heket was a good person to pester with anything else. She'd handle it - just let big sis do it. Even if she was the second youngest - it's funny how even Kallamar and Narinder would occasionally use the nickname.

Then when everyone else was dealing with their wounds, she picked up the pace and kept their respective cults from falling apart. She handled Silk cradle until Shamura could - helped with Darkwood and took over Anchordeep when Kallamar was tending to the others. No problem.

She was still loud when entering the cult. Not as much as her brother - but she loved to cause scenes. Her muteness didn't seem to hinder her at all with that. She's not allowed near knives but somehow can handle axes?

Her temper problems don't get better. She just stops being an asshole about it.

She prefers having scarfs covering her neck bandages whilst they're all bloody and disgusting.

Extra: Nothing because Heket is already perfect.

Leshy

Literally a weird insect that kept clinging to the crown until it grew big enough to hold in one hand. It bit anything that got close and by the time Shamura found it - he had started eating small critters.

And god, he kept growing and growing until he wasn't a small worm in Shamura's hand but literally too big to fit through most doors. They suspected he'd grow until the end of time. Or well, now since his crown is gone.

He never listens. He screams for fun and overshares the worst details to the point he manages to break his siblings into just accepting anything he talks about. They can't even scold him or punish him since Leshy always finds a way to make things worse for anyone else but himself.

He also copies everyone. First it was Heket's tone. Then it was Narinder's behavior - now he started growing flowers and vine braids to make fun of Kallamar and his antlers were at first a crude mimic of Shamura's pedipalps and now they grow vines to be similar to the jewels hanging from them. He refuses to acknowledge doing so.

He's very clingy. After locking away Narinder, he stayed with Shamura every day until they were out of bed rest. He follows his siblings around and when he does give them a second to breathe - hes probably laying around in Darkwood instead of doing anything productive. He does tends to plants occasionally, but he prefers "to let chaos do its thing" - as if that means anything.

He makes for a great gardener after he stopped trying to break everything upon recruitment. And once he got over growling at every living thing - he actually became one of the most well liked people living there.

Leshy knows exactly what someone needs and somehow finds a way to achieve that with the littlest of efforts. It's the thought that counts.

Extra: Braid and vines because I thought Leshy would look cute with it.

Special: The 4 bishops all wear old faith themed robes, but Shamura got the elder clothes for comfort and Leshy kept tearing his clothes apart so he is not permanently excluded from having any special outfits as punishment. Narinder wears fancy robes (who happen to be loose and warm while being special - otherwise he'd complain)

The Lamb wears one of the leaked fleeces since I loved the red riding hood aesthetic.

In the end this turned more into biographies than actual explanations but its 3:30am, Im sleep deprived and I wanted to get my thoughts out because I start having memory problems again YIPPEE

[8lyme]

Why do I have to lose you?

Logan Howlett x reader (gender unspecified)

Part 2

SUMMARY: You and Logan are being chased down by the military after a group of mutants attempted to set fire to the White House. The school instantly became a target. While trying to protect the school in a damaged X-jet, Logan decides your fate for you.

WARNINGS: Sad and a little graphic.

a/n: I am fr gonna do a pt 2 i just didnt want to make this super long like it will probably end up being also again pls give me a break i just gotta free this shit from the straight jacket it's in inside my brain

Within seconds of news footage airing, the whirring of chopper blades surrounded the school.

Since jet takeoff, Storm and Jean had jumped out to help on the ground. Both diverted most of the attacks away from the jet. You and Logan had flown over the masses of machinery that were crawling toward the school. Tanks and trucks filled with armoured soldiers and explosives gathered just outside the tree line. The explosives packed under the jet had long-since run out, hardly making a dent in the wall of troops.

The sensors in the X-jet are whirring, alarms flashing red and blaring. Almost as loud as tornado sirens. You're gripping at the controls, straining at keeping the jet level while a thruster sputters out. A lurch knocks the cabin as another sensor drums on. You pull on a lever to the side of the console in front of you as a hasty attempt to divert power back to the fizzling thruster.

"I think the jet took a hit," Logan calls out loudly over the screech of the alarms.

"No fucking shit!" You call back shakily, head pounding and heart hammering. The windshield is fogged from smoke damage and beginning to crack on the left side.

"You need to fly out of here!" Logan calls again, his voice near monotone.

"Again, no fucking shit!" You whip around to face him and use the opportunity to flip off the interior electricity. The cabin is only illuminated by the windshield, but you can't see Logan.

"We need to land" you say to the shadows of the bay. You glance around, still white-knuckling the controls before calling out "Logan?"

"Let me out" he responds, walking out from the base of the hangar. "Drop the hangar and let me jump out. I can get past the front line and set off the explosives in the trucks"

"Are you stupid? You'll plaster to the ground on impact" you tell him, turning back to the windshield in time to pull away from a stray rocket.

He comes behind you and grips onto your shoulder, forcing you to look his way again.

"Open the hanger and let me jump out" He says firmly. "And then get the hell out of here."

"I don't think you understand how physics works, Logan! I can't bring this jet more than fifteen hundred feet above the ground. You will literally splatter to the ground if you jump from that high."

His grip on your shoulder tightens, saying "I'll survive."

You pull away from him to face the console. "Have you survived a fall from this high before?" You ask over the roar of the thrusters.

"Will you listen to me?" He yells to you, taking your face in his hands. "You need to get out of here. I'll regenerate, you won't! My bones are indestructible -" And you cut him off.

"Your tendons aren't adamantium!" You yell to him, smacking his chest with the side of your hand for emphasis. "Your muscles aren't adamantium and your organs aren't adamantium! The second you jump out of this jet you will get shot out of the sky. How do you know you'll survive getting literally blown up?"

You try not to cry, sucking in a breath in an attempt to stop the stinging behind your eyes. His face is firm. He pulls the straps of your harness so you face him fully.

"You won't survive if this jet gets shot out of the fucking sky!" Logan shouts. "Open the hangar and get the hell out of here!"

"There is no reason for you to jump out of this jet, you self-sacrificial piece of shit!" You're trying to yell firmly, but your breath is shaky and your vision starts to blur. Suddenly, the spring of the chair unlocks and Logan clicks on the jet's autopilot and pushes your chair away from the console, locking it feet away from the controls.

"Logan!" You go to unlock the clasps of your harness as he pulls away from you. He must've crushed the buckles while you were fighting, because you can't unclasp yourself. Panicking, you whip around to try and face him while yanking at the harness as hard as you can.

He's walking toward the hangar while the door loudly begins to unlatch.

"Stop it!" you beg. "I am not going to scour these woods for your metal bones to put you back together and hope that you regenerate!" You begin to sob, pulling at your straps fruitlessly.

He marches back toward you, shouting "And I am not going to watch your empty casket go into the ground!" over the wind. You can see the hurt and panic on his face. He looks furious, but you know how terrified he feels. "I am not going to lose you."

The hangar is wide open now. Crackles of explosions sound off in the background.

"Why do I have to lose you?"

The furrow in his brow softens a little. He moves closer to bend and cup your cheek with his hand. You grip tightly onto his uniform as he kisses you, hoping in vain that you're strong enough to stop him.

Logan pulls away to the sound of the hangar beginning to close. He pries your fingers off him, turns away, and jogs to the lip of the closing door. You watch him leap out as the groan of the door comes to a stop.

Part 2 will be linked here!

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[cluelessatthispoint]

Dragon's Hoard pt.3

(Inspired by bluegiragi and docdudo)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soft snores and gentle gasps echoed lazily within the darkened lair of the dragon and his mates.. the small family all safe and cozy with one another far away from the noisy blight that is humanity and their ways of living. Usually it would be easy to fall asleep, but try as he might, Gaz laid awake. Hard instincs screaming at him to succumb to sleep. The environment around already working so hard to lull him to what his instincts crave.

Gaz laid awake in the nest, his eyes straining as he peered up at the dark, stalactite filled cieling. The sight leaving a tingling imprint in his retinas. As much as he would have liked to get some sleep after a long day. There was only so much he could handle in a day spent flying and helping Soap pick off straggling sheep for their next meal. Never in a million years did he expect Price to come home with a child in tow. Just what the hell was he thinking? A literal human child, in the home of a hybrid pack. So many things could go wrong. With a sigh, Gaz groggily brought a hand up to massage and pinch the bridge of his nose. He was one for surprises. Sure there was the time when he and Price spent a surprise, anniversary night out gazing at the stars after a successful hunt. The clear night sky overhead glittering with innumerable stars overhead. The way the light from the moon casted a silvery glow over as far as the duo could see was a magical sight. It was quite possibly one of the best surprises Gaz could think of to this date. Well, not anymore.

The sleeping child in the group nest proved that opinion all too well. With a sigh, Gaz unfurled one large wing up and out in one glorious motion to flex and stretch. The joints in his wing getting all nice and lubricated to chase away the stiffness in his muscles and tendons. Slowly, so as to not wake anyone else from their much needed sleep. Looking over and down at the small tufts of hair that curl about your small head. Gaz gently lowers the tip of his wing to wrap around your form. All tired out and limp in their nest. Tiny lungs working hard to keep an even pace as your small chest rises and falls with each gentle inhale and exhale. Each small twitch in your sleep is monitored, each small groan and stretch as you wander in dreamland is counted. For Gaz, It's like a dream come true. A strange, unexpected dream. Its been so long since he's raised a chick. Furling his massive wing around your midsection, Gaz scoots his body closer to envelop you in his warmth. Chicks need plenty of warmth to sleep well. And good sleep leads to healthy growth. A patient smile makes its way to his heart-shaped lips. A soft croon just beggin to make its way out. Would the chick even like his song? The culture of his kind? Would the chick learn to appreciate the differences of their new parents?

As if roused by the acrid smelling spike of anxiety wafting off of his husband, Simon; from over the shoulder of Price moved quietly to lean up on his forearms. Sleep still dancing across his eyelids as he narrows his vision on Gaz. His tired brown eyes laced with concern.

"Hey"

"Hey yourself."

The sound of Simon's sleep tinged voice is a welcome relief to Gaz’s ears.

"Can't sleep?"

A pregnant pause follows the question. As if Gaz really needs to answer the question, the wraith knows what's bothering him.

"The kid is fine. Just tired. Scared. It's to be expected. Doubt Soap here helped any."

With a heavy sigh Gaz cuddles closer to your unconscious form. To Simon, the sight of such a large harpy and such a small child just seems wrong. Different species all gathered in one place. That's how most wars break out, but yet this family makes it work. Better than most same species families.

"Soap won't eat the kid...back in the day he might've...but not now..ease up Gaz."

Dark brown, chocolate eyes sweep over Gaz gently before straining to look over at the tiny bundle all snuggled up against his chest. The harpy's instinct to gather and protect their young is strong, almost ferocious at times. But Gaz looks so gentle. Laying back down to carefully spoon against Price. Simon is ever mindful to be aware of not disturbing the portion of the dragon's hybrid back where his missing wing should be.

"We're where we belong. That includes the kid."

The tenderness in Simon's voice almost surprises Gaz. That tone is usually reserved for more intimate moments.

"What do you mean Si?"

"Look at em. So small, tiny...almost insignificant. Just like we all were at one time or another."

"So?"

"Price...he can see the value in even the smallest things. The broken things....like us."

The unspoken words between them echo in their minds. "Like me". Broken. But still so very much loved and adored.

"Get some sleep Gaz. You can look the kid over and clean em in the morning."

The subtle command in Simon's tones doesn't go ignored. Even the sleeping werewolf somehow registers the tone, responding with a heavy yawn and a rumbling purr. With the quiet in the den, the sounds of deep, rhythmic breathing gets swallowed up by the thick rocky walls and cushions and fabrics that make up the spacious nest. With tired eyes, Gaz curls in and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. The soft hair that frames your cherubic face makes you look years younger than you are. The softness of your skin and its youthful buoyancy are still there even after all this time on your own. It makes his heart clench up tightly to think of all those years you've spent begging and scrounging for scraps like a common mutt in the city's streets.

"John always finds the value in the little things in life. I guess he saw something truly special in you chickie."

Gaz says softly as he presses his lips to your forehead. We're humans always this cold? Did John bring home a sick child? How do you care for a sick child that's not the same species as you? What if something is wrong? Shaking those terrible thoughts away, his mind wanders to what Simon said. And how everyone gathered here in each other's space, share so many wonderful things with each other. How coexistence just comes natural to them. How it'll hopefully come naturally to their newest addition. Shaking his head, the way Soap spoke of the child at first made him cringe. Eating them up and the like. The werewolf has no tact when it comes to children. Sighing gently, his deep brown eyes gaze at you with a tenderness only reserved for the young his instincts so desperately crave. Watching over you as you squirm in your sleep. No doubt moving in response to his soft exhales ghosting over your skin.

"No one's eating our chick...not my chick."

He whispers softly in oath to himself. His words not as unheard as he believed. On the other side of the nest, a soft, barely perceivable smile tugs at the corners of Price's lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ta da! Part three is here. I'm planning to have the next few chapters focus on the 141 individually and how they respond to having a child in their lives now.

~~~~

[peggyao3]

Pt. 30 - Weight Gain

A/N: Today's prompt as per @nocturn-warrior's suggestion <3

TAGS: she/her AFAB FMC, slight humiliation, feeling self-conscious, misunderstandings, surprisingly fluffy

WORD COUNT: 780

"They've fed you well on Caladan, haven't they?"

She stops dead in her tracks, struck by the lightning that Feyd-Rautha's words have sent crashing into her heart where a tender anticipation to reconcile with her husband had recently begun to nestle.

They had desperately needed the break. A marriage founded in hate and tears is bound to crash into a wall, if not for a number of carefully laid out emergency rip cords. Feyd had been furious to see her go, but he knew he'd lose her entirely if he didn't.

And so, she was gone. For five months. She would never admit how much she had missed him during that time. Especially during the last month of her voluntary, temporary exile, the messages they had exchanged had been almost… sweet. 

Yet here he stands, posture straight and tall, head tilted to the side, lips quirked into a smile, taunting her. She turns away from him frostily.

"I won't let you humiliate me anymore, husband. I'm better than this."

She doesn't come far. With two graceful steps, Feyd-Rautha is behind her and the scent of leather and metal assaults her nostrils. One corded arm is slung around her waist, hand sprawled across the soft flesh of her belly. She hisses in displeasure, feeling terribly exposed from just a touch. His strong fingers dig into the squishy meat around her navel and it fires up her self-consciousness to a near unbearable level.

"Let go of me," she demands but her voice is thin and her throat unexpectedly tight. It disgusts her that she might start crying in front of him, because of him. He should be the last person to shed a single tear for. "I thought I was looking forward to seeing you again, but I was wrong."

"You misunderstand me, wife." With his voice lowered to a grating purr that makes the fine hair in the nape of her neck stand on end, Feyd-Rautha's lips tickle the shell of her ear. His second arm joins the manacle his first one has created around her waist and he tugs her firmly backwards. The soft globes of her ass meet the sharp edges of his pelvis and it hurts her heart even more to admit how much she's missed to be held like that.

"I think I understood you quite well," she bites, refusing to meet his hooded, smoldering eyes even when he holds his face right beside hers.

"Did you?" His voice is low, sensual in a way that seems wholly unfit for his demeaning observation when he had entered her chambers.

"I know I've gained weight. There's no need to point it out."

Feyd-Rautha cages her against all the hard planes of his body where she is soft — softer than she was five months ago, softer than she's used to. She didn't mind it so much on Caladan. But here on Giedi Prime, where every guard, every worker, every servant is cut out of raw tendons and muscles, it makes her feel almost decadent and even more like an animal to be gawked at. A curiosity from a foreign planet, with hair on her head and now more curves on her hips than anyone here could approve of.

"I was making you a compliment."

"Then your way of making compliments is as savage as your bladework."

A muscle in Feyd's jaw tics at the insult wrapped in a compliment. "You didn't mention it in your letters. Why not?"

She huffs, pretending and failing to be unbothered by his wandering hands that squeeze the flesh over her ribs and hips as if to test the new, squishy quality of his wife's body, mapping out all the places to grab once he has her bent over the bed and is pounding into her relentlessly.

"The concubines you had before me were all thin."

"And?"

"And I was nervous to see you again," she admits. "I didn't think you'd like me that way."

"You insult me, woman," he snaps with a sudden harshness that has a hot shiver rolling to the base of her spine.  "Do you think me not capable of handling a heavier woman?" His teeth are glinting black while he pierces her with glaring eyes, ignited by the challenge she didn't even mean to give him. "Look at me."

His wife obeys.

"I didn't mean to insult you." She swallows, quite aware of the throbbing hardness pressing into the softness of her behind. Her fingers tentatively curl around Feyd-Rautha's strong forearm and his corded muscles ripple under the tender touch. "I suppose I just feel… inadequate."

"Undress," he rasps with unmistakable command. "And show me." 

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

[sailor-cerise]

I hate that I've needed it so often, but I'm SO glad it exists.

got my fourth pt referral

IM BACK IN THE FUCKING BUILDING

[thebibliosphere]

😭 Hey Joy, i know youre no medical professional & you probably get a MILLION of these a day, but uh... my neck goes back as far as yours with no issue, & i always hear this tiny squishy crackle when it does. i also have to crack my neck side to side daily & have constant back/shoulder/neck tension, have been casually told i have hypermobile hips, and i can uh. crack my elbows just by straightening them out (and it relieves discomfort to do so).

how fucked am i 😭😭 is this why i used to get chronic tension headaches

Neck instability or any sort of muscle dysfunction in the shoulders and neck regardless of hypermobility can cause a lot of headache and migraine issues.

I obviously can’t comment as a medical provider, but it sounds like you’d benefit from some PT that focuses on stabilizing those areas.

Which, frankly, given we’re all on phones/computers these days, a lot of people could do with learning how to take care of their necks better!

Also fwiw, when I tip my head back I don’t hear anything. I’ll sometimes get a loud “crunch” if something was subluxated and then I’m fucked for the rest of the day/week.

But most of the crackling and popping noises people talk about in their neck are harmless and caused by tendons siding over each other.

That’s actually what a lot of the impressive cracks and pops chiropractors make a big deal out of are. It’s not bones or joints it’s soft tissue siding over itself. They just tell you it’s joints because it sounds more impressive and they’re full of shit. (I say, bitterly having had the muscles in my neck torn and ruptured by a chiropractic adjustment that has absolutely ruined my neck.)

If it were me, I’d ask about some PT so you can learn to stabilize the areas you’re talking about. It’ll save you some problems later in life.

[comatosebunny09]

kindle [ pt. 2 ] | leon k.

genre(s): romance, friends to lovers, modern au

warning(s): language, pining, terms of endearment (doll, sweetheart)

part 2 to this. hope you enjoy! thank you so much for reading! ❤️

It’s a date. Or at least, you assume it is. 

Given the way Leon had sauntered up to your desk, all smirking and sheepish, it was only fair to surmise he had asked you out on one. 

Took him long enough.

He came to you through the dull murmur of the office. When the sun crept towards the horizon, bathing your cubicle in an ethereal orange. You were elbow deep in SIR reports, gnawing on the cap of your pen. Irritation rested between your brows. If you glared any harder, the information sprawled before you would surely combust.

Paperwork was the bane of your existence. Dodging chainsaws, claws, and teeth seemed more appealing. You’d gladly take the cool steel of a beretta biting into your palm over that of a ballpoint. 

Thick, work-worn fingers splayed on your desk, drawing your attention northward. You couldn’t help the slight quirk of your lips. Couldn’t parry that pleasant, fluttery feeling in your gut at the sight of him—your partner, that is. 

Leon’s hair was ruffled with errant strands sticking this way and that. Irises glimmered like sea glass, dancing over your features with boyish fascination. His smile was dimpled, and crow’s feet hung to the corners of his eyes. Dark stubble dappled his chin. His tie was loosened around his neck, while his dress shirt lay slightly untucked and wrinkled. It seemed the day had been as kind to him as it was to you.   

You found yourself resting your cheek in your palm as warmth flooded your innards. Fell under his spell, submerged beneath its shadowy depths, unable to resurface. Not that you wanted to. He held your heart in a vice. You cautioned a “Sup?” wincing at how your voice crackled. How you sounded prepubescent, and you cleared your throat to ward off your nerves.

Leon’s replying chuckle was like velveteen. You felt it in your stomach. Felt it play up your spine like a xylophone. You always found his voice endearing, the low gravel of it sticky and dulcet to your ears. 

As if magnetically drawn to them, you watched his lips, soft and rose-petal red, form around words. Your own tingled as you recalled kissing that very mouth a few nights ago. Committed their texture to memory, quelling the urge to touch your lips. Leon’s Adam’s apple bobbed and the tendons in his neck flexed. You instinctively swallowed, readjusting yourself in your chair.

“Not much,” Leon said, shifting his weight onto one foot. Still propped up on your desk in an easy slouch, swaddling you in the aroma of gun oil and teakwood. Of course, his sleeves were cuffed, baring his sinewy forearms. How badly you wanted to touch them. Drag your fingertips down the forked veins beneath, conjuring the prettiest sounds from his throat. “Just checkin’ on my favorite partner.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m your only partner, dickhead.”

“I dunno,” he taunted, standing tall with folded arms. From this angle, it was easy to make out the power of his body. His clothes did little to disguise it. Your throat grew dry, and your voice caught in the bowels of your chest. “Marie over in HR is gunnin’ for your spot.” 

It always surprised you how quickly you could move. How swiftly you could retrieve your stapler and chuck it at him. Leon snorted as he ducked, the damned thing striking a far-off window. He threw his hands up in mock surrender, a youthful crinkle to his eye. 

“Relax, doll. I’m just messin’.” 

You countered with a hmph, clearly over his shit.  

Leon replaced his palms on your desk once the dust settled. Broke the heavy silence by asking, “How’s the admin stuff comin’?” Feigning interest in the documents littering your cubicle, he retrieved a packet, skimming through it with disinterest. Like he wasn’t using you to procrastinate, a pile of pristine, white paper leering at you through his office window. 

With a weighted sigh, you answered, “It’s coming.” A quiet snicker garnered another eye-roll. “Oh, grow the hell up, Kennedy.” 

“Never. You like me like this.”

You cut your eyes at him mid-scribble. Sat your pen down with a definitive clack. These childish games you played made you feel giddy. Like two grade-schoolers in the sandbox, clearly taken by each other. Alright. You’d bite. 

“Says who?” 

It was as if you initiated a challenge. As if you’d stuck out your tongue and said make me. Leon took the bait, inching towards you, huffing out a chuckle. He crept over your desk with the finesse of a jaguar quietly stalking through the bush. Poured himself into your personal bubble, the heat of his body rolling off him in waves, staining your neck, a shiver sifting through your bones. His breath was hot against the shell of your ear. Dizzying as he deliberately exhaled against your skin.

His timbre was dark with mischief as he finally crooned, “Says that dumb little look on your face, sweetheart.”

You’d never punched him harder. 

Leon drew back, gulping down air between a peal of laughter. It became customary for him to torment you like that. To play on the attraction swimming between you, dismantling your resolve and leaking through the fissures of your heart. When the moment became too serious, he often sprinkled in a quip or two to keep you at arm’s length. It was frustrating. How he could act so cool despite the noticeable change in your relationship. 

“What do you even want, Kennedy? I’ve got shit to do,” you sighed, exasperation wading in your tone. Your forehead collided against the cherrywood with a soft thunk. A migraine bloomed on the horizon. Leon’s teasing only served to exacerbate it.

His tone was muffled. Hesitant, rivaled by the idle chatter of your coworkers. “Well, if you must know, I … wanted to see if you had dinner plans?” 

Magma filled your belly. Your eyes shot to him, a sheet of paper comically glued to your forehead. You were acutely aware of yourself, sitting up straighter, smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire, fretting over your hair. “Dinner? Uh, m-me? N-no. Well—”

“Cool. Now you do have plans. Seven sound good?” 

Your expression was awestruck. Well, now, this was certainly a new development. You blinked away your confusion, nodding dumbly. Caught a glimpse of a smirk canting Leon’s lips before he stepped out. Before he tapped your desk with finality, maneuvering out of your office space. 

“Wait! Wait, is … is this a date?” you called to his retreating back.

“Take it however you want,” Leon supplied, a hand raised in farewell. 

You sank into your chair once he disappeared within the maze of cubicle walls. Left at the mercy of your thundering heart and flaring nerves. The goofiest of grins lay claim to your countenance. You felt reinvigorated, taking up your pen. Scrawled away like an enamored fool, scanning through the catalog of your mind for what you would wear.             

<< part 1

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 14

Part (14) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

For those who didn't read that Bane fic, I've been feral about FINISHING THIS DAMN ARC. So, apologies: I owe loads to responses, and I'm so, sooo grateful for everyone's kind comments! But it's done!! Finally! Now, I get to catch up on some fics I'm super excited to finally read, and will actually take some time to say hi to everyone 😅

Warnings: Reference to mortal danger, more brotherly teasing, angst, horrors of war, ableism toward a child, sexism if yuh squint, reference to medical procedures

WC: 9,027 (...oops)

Mandoa Translation: osik buurenaar   -   shit storm

I’d yet to meet the Alpha-class clones, but tales of their ferocity and intellect were legendary, as was their brute strength. I wondered if they stood taller than other clones, if a divide lay between them and their brothers because of differences neither could control. How would they measure against the unique men of this squad? Would they find themselves celebrating each other for what power stemmed from those differences? Or would that divide become even more pronounced amidst “defects” and “abnormalities”?

When I thought of the Alpha-class, I couldn’t help but picture some slight variance of Wrecker. Maybe they wouldn’t share that innate warmth and joy so pronounced in his mismatched eyes, but I couldn’t picture them without that stature so many immediately feared, without the shocking mass of muscle that gave his every movement a sense of command that was so readily abandoned beneath the ease with which he smiled and laughed.

Even if they shared some facet of his physique, there was a gentleness about the lounging man sprawled out atop his bed that I couldn't imagine mirrored in anyone else.

I looked at his hands, at the thick calluses and scars earned from a lifetime of danger and pain, and yet, when he touched me… I thought of those days when Tech writhed at the mercy of that wretched withdrawal, how tentative Wrecker's movements had been as he dragged his thumbs so carefully down my palm as though I might break at the slightest misstep. I thought of how small my hands looked beside his; how small I looked beside him, and I marveled anew at that gentleness. He could be a monster. He could use his strength and size to bully other's and instill fear. But, instead, he lowered his voice in the presence of a frightened child. He laughed when his brothers needed a moment of levity, and he touched me with only the softest of caresses. No. I couldn't imagine the alphas as sharing that gentleness. Even if there were some similarities in the breadth of their shoulders, there was a strength to Wrecker that few understood, and even fewer had the means of sharing in.

Bickering gradually shifted to boasting as Wrecker recanted the destruction wrought upon the Separatist transfer station after I'd had to leave, again surprising me with the revelation that nearly half of the hanger caved in from what I only then realized were strategic placements of bombs to target load bearing struts. That's why we’d been able to escape the planet with relative ease.

“You used over a dozen explosives to bring down half of a hanger.” Crosshair sneered. “I took out their secondary power transformer with one shot.” I rolled my eyes, my own attention tuned to the inflamed limb beneath my hands, watching for tension or flinching as I slid my palm firmly along tendon and muscle to gradually draw away the swelling.

“Hey, your target was meant to be a target! They were countin’ on it getting’ blown!” Wrecker argued proudly, but the way Crosshair's body suddenly tensed left us both hesitating.

“Clearly.” Silence followed the hushed growl, taunting what flicker of reprieve that moment of brotherly teasing had briefly allowed. Wrecker's expression twisted with every ounce of guilt and regret I could feel churning in my own gut, the slight misstep treading just close enough to remind all of us of the very horror I’d hoped we might help Crosshair forget, even if only for those precious few minutes.

Without warning, I stood, snatched the pillow from Tech's bed, and chucked it at the broody sniper, instantly earning something torn between a gasp and a shout as he shot up, clawing at the thin cushion, lips wrenched into a seething snarl. Wrecker was stunned for just a handful of seconds before letting out a barked laugh.

“Every single one of you only barely walked away from this Force-forsaken mission, but you did walk away.” My voice went quiet; firm. “Your eyes… Wrecker’s knee… Tech’s arm…” I didn’t mention Hunter… There was still too much anxiety surrounding his injuries… And I knew I didn’t need to speak his name for both of the men around me to wilt beneath the fear of how close we’d all come to losing him. Not even Echo managed to escape unscathed.

“Even by our standards, this mission was an osik buurenaar from the start, but I'm going to make damn sure you all heal up just fine.” Wrecker let out a quiet, humorless huff of agreement, gaze falling to absently watch the leisurely movements of my hands working over the swollen tissue surrounding his knee once more.

The rage faded almost reluctantly from Crosshair's face, pillow still held before him though now free of the way his fingers once dug into the miniscule padding.

“‘Buur-re-naar.’” He muttered after a moment, and I glanced toward the suddenly resigned man with a flare of confusion, a quiet, “what?” escaping before I’d registered what he’d said.

“‘Buur-re-naar.’” He repeated, more clearly emphasizing the flow of each syllable. “If you’re going to go around playing combat medic, at least get the damn swear words right.”

“Play?” I nearly snarled. Whatever taste of fire the word was meant to have, however, vanished beneath the laughter I couldn't quite silence, but Crosshair responded only by shoving Tech's pillow atop his own and making a show of lying back down.

“Ah, we used to say it the same way.” Wrecker dismissed with a lazy brush of his hand. “Prob’ly still would if Echo hadn't gone off on the lot of us anytime we said somethin’ wrong.” He added with a roll of his eyes, but there was such an obvious affection in the subtle upturn of his lips, it proved infectious, and I quickly found myself smiling softly as well.

“I suppose if I heard someone say ‘kraff' instead of ‘kriff', I wouldn't be able to take them seriously, either…” I muttered with a small huff.

There was still a heaviness weighing down the air in the bunk room, but it wasn't quite so tainted with that almost frenzied panic, and I vaguely realized that Crosshair wasn't shaking anymore, at least not enough for the metal frame of his cot to betray. His shoulders were still set beneath a lingering dread that sent a deep ache twisting through my chest, but his breathing was far more even.

I caught Wrecker's gaze returning to the raised bed endlessly, his own worry painting a subtle crease between his brows that lingered until his own breathing finally began to slow, body gradually sinking deeper into the thin mattress beneath him as the careful dance of my hands drew the tension from first his injured leg, and then the other purely for the glee of what pleasure that touch brought him.

“Started taking bets on him passing out like that.” Cross said dryly as Wrecker's snores echoed quietly around us.

“What? On if he falls asleep during a massage?” I tried to keep my relief secret at the simple evenness of his voice.

“Not ‘if'. We bet on how long he lasts.” I let out a small snort before reaching across the massive clone to slip his blanket over him.

“Most of you guys fall asleep at some point during them.” I retorted as I slowly pushed myself to my feet, arms raising to stretch over my head with a small grunt, and I relished the little rush of affection at his muttered growl of objection.

“What are my chances of convincing you to eat something?” I asked after a moment of silence. No… not quiet silence. The air cyclers hummed softly beneath the distant thrum of the engine in a gentle song that so easily faded into the background, but there was a comfort in it, in the promise it represented as we fled through the dim of hyperspace.

“Low.” He grumbled almost petulantly, drawing a snort from me.

“Too bad.” There was a subtle threat in the gentleness of my reply despite the warmth woven through the words, and something between a growl and a groan voiced his obvious disdain. I'd only barely begun to move when his hand suddenly whispered over my shoulder, freezing me in place. He remained pointedly turned away from me, and my heart broke upon noting the faint tremor still seizing through those nimble fingers. It was subtle but undeniably there.

I instantly reached up to cradle his hand between mine, touch delicate even as I shifted to press my lips firmly to his knuckles.

“Do you want me to stay?” I barely breathed the words against that callused skin, against the scars from too many injuries to remember as my thumbs trailed the ridges of tendons stretching toward his wrist. He hesitated, and I could see how tightly his jaw ground shut, but then he gave a tiny nod. I needed no further encouragement, hold tightening briefly before releasing him to climb the narrow ladder, movements careful as I crawled into the too small bed beside him.

He didn't fight the way I settled against him, arms looping around his head to let my fingers trail through messy, silver curls long since left in perfect disarray from too many hours trapped in bed. He merely let me hold him for a long moment, body stiff, but then he shifted into me, face hiding against my chest as his arm slipped around my back, clawing at the skin-tight fabric of my undershirt, and I knew this was something we’d never speak of later, that his pride would never have let him cling to me like this absent a need too great for words to ever begin to portray.

“After the war ends, I'm going to buy us a real bed.” There was a new kind of quite softening hushed promises whispered through the curls twirling between my fingers. “Something big… maybe a round one.” He said nothing; made no show of tilting his head in an eye roll I couldn't see nor scoffed with some mocking dismissal, but I knew he was listening. “Put it right in the middle of a room with lots of windows - keep you from sleeping in until noon.” That, at least, earned a small groan that left me chuckling softly against him.

“Maybe I’ll sneak out before you wake up,” I continued, lips just brushing against him, “surprise you with a cup of caf.” His hand slowly crept up my spine, head shifting ever so slightly toward me, and I was all too eager to answer in kind, heart leaping at the taste of him as though I hadn’t kissed him a hundred times before, as though I didn’t know every divot of his body as intimately as I knew my own. It was intoxicating, the ease with which I lost myself in him. It didn’t matter how chaste the caress of his lips was; how gently they pressed against mine with words he couldn’t bring himself to speak aloud, still, it left me breathless as he quietly pulled away.

“I’m sorry.” My arms tightened around him before that accursed apology faded, chest swelling with a carefully slowed, deep breath.

“I know.” I whispered back, cheek shifting delicately against him. “I know.”

I hadn’t meant to stay with him. I’d meant only to grant him a moment of reprieve from the terrors he wouldn’t be free of until those bandages finally came off, but the way he held me, the hesitation in how slowly that tension finally began to ease from his lithe form, the rare display of unconditional trust revealed only as consequence of forced vulnerability… how could I walk away from that?

Only after my arm had long since lost all feeling and the Marauder’s light faded with the automated façade of a night cycle did I began easing myself free of him. He barely shifted, the gentle ebb and flow of sleep still mediating unrushed breath as I slipped down onto the empty frame of Hunter’s bed.

No one had passed through the bunkroom in those few, precious hours I shamelessly squandered toying with silver curls and tracing senseless shapes atop now laxed muscles. I wasn’t surprised that Tech was surely still nestled in the worn pilot’s chair, but Echo’s absence left me growing even more anxious.

Footsteps carefully softened, I started silently toward the aft of the ship, but the rear cargo room was empty, and only Hunter lay within the medbay. I nearly walked away, intent on scouring the entirety of the damn ship to find the impossibly illusive arc trooper but found myself pausing at the offensive disarray of the room before me. Empty wrappers circled the misaligned cots like spent confetti, and the empty saline bag still hung over the mattress Crosshair had fled, crumpled blankets a testimony to his frenzied movements.

A few minutes… I could spare a few minutes to reclaim some semblance of order from the horrid chaos still so evident in abandoned vials of spent medication and crudely discarded syringes, and if I stole a couple seconds in between to merely watch the steady dance of that tiny line across the screen of the cardiac monitor, to slip my fingers against bronze skin and simply feel the heat of him, to count the lazy beat of his pulse and study the way his chest rose and fell with breath that I could still taste on my lips as I’d forced air into his lungs; if those brief, stolen moments saw me holding my own breath lest it tremble as I fought back regrets and what-if’s and if-only’s, then that was a delay easily dismissed beneath the weight of a relief I’d never grow weary of cherishing.

How many times had I done this? Lost hours in the meditation of cleaning and organizing and recording an inventory destined to prove inaccurate as supplies mysteriously vanished in the days to come? My bed now lay atop its frame once more. The trash was gone and the floors scrubbed clean of stains. I heard the clatter of my datapad hitting the counter before understanding why my grip had suddenly failed me, eyes wide even as I found myself frozen, some haunting doubt yet forbidding me from turning around, from glimpsing the source of that tiny sound. It was barely more than a huff, breath hitching in the echo of a pain transcending the residuals of sleep. But it was there.

Only when that faltered gasp just hinted at a groan did I finally turn to face him. Tension coiled through his jaw, brows twitching absent the strength to truly furrow above weakly pinched eyes, strained inhales bucking as broken ribs rebelled from the abuse, and, in an instant, I was at his side, knees aching from how harshly I dropped to the ground beside his cot, hands hovering uselessly above him as years of medical training abandoned me.

“Hunter?” His name left in a barely audible gasp, but it was enough. His lashes fluttered, some fleeting sound just catching in his throat. “Hunter! Hey-hey-hey, easy; you’re alright.” I don’t know what comfort he could find in the rapidly whispered words as I fought against a rushed flurry of too many emotions to begin to quell, but his head shifted toward me nonetheless, and when his eyes opened, when I saw the subtle hints of green woven through umber and gold, when I knew, free of that crippling uncertainty, that he saw me… that he knew me, I couldn’t help but sob, hands sliding so carefully about his cheeks as I leaned down to just touch my forehead to his.

“H… Hu-… d-dammit…” I couldn’t force my voice steady enough even to breathe his name, entire body suddenly trembling with the apex of a fear I’d barely allowed myself to acknowledge until faced with the blessed proof that it was baseless. He made no attempt to push me away, eyes open just enough to meet mine as I trembled against him, and when his hand managed to slide about my elbow, grip weak but undeniably there, I found myself sobbing even harder, shoulders bunching about my chest in some futile attempt to regain a control that was too eager to cave just as I so nearly managed to force myself to calm.

“Y… you can’t d-do that to me again.” I ordered, shameless of how hopelessly my voice broke, thumbs sweeping across still bruised skin with a tenderness that should have brought a flush to my cheeks. I wanted to ask what litany of thoughts danced behind those eyes; wanted to hear him recant the impossible breadth of incalculable possibilities he seemed to consider even now before allowing himself to respond, but something about the softness of his expression as I pulled away to better see him, the gentleness of his gaze as his head shifted in a tiny nod left me staggering far too much to even remember how to speak. Only when another too-deep inhale left him flinching in pain, did I finally remember myself.

“Don’t… don’t try to move, yet.” I ordered, chest bucking with a quiet sniffle as I turned sharply away from him, hands reluctantly abandoning his warmth to snatch at nearly supplies. “I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon, but this will kick in quickly.” He watched idly as I flooded his IV with pain meds.

“M… ch… ch’st…” I grimaced at the barely audible attempt at speech.

“Broken ribs.” I explained. I wasn’t surprised at how quickly his confusion shifted to something quiet, haunted, and I knew I didn’t have to explain further.

“We’re about a day out from the Vigilance.” I murmured. “Everyone’s on board – they even got the Senator out.” His eyes still held a darkness I knew only time might ease, but he gave another nod in response, this one quick; distracted.

When I found myself reaching for his hand, I couldn’t say if it was for my own comfort or for his, but neither could I deny the thrill in feeling how readily his fingers slipped between mine. It took only a moment longer for that clarity to fade, taking with it the tension and pain coiling through still exhausted muscles.

There were still too many uncertainties surrounding his condition to truly relax… I could still only guess towards how long he’d been down before I found him… how long he’d been dead. Five minutes… that all it took for a normal human to suffer brain damage. Hunter wasn't a normal human… but it felt like so much longer than five minutes had passed between the moment his comms went silent and when his heart finally began to beat again…

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered, pulling his knuckles up to brush lightly to my lips. “Maker, I’m… I’m so sorry…”

“Shh…” I didn’t think he was still awake, but his hand shifted to slip softly against my cheek, eyes glancing only briefly toward me before falling shut once more. “D’dn’t… do an… ‘nythin’ wr’ng…” He mumbled, lips barely shifting around words that sounded almost more akin to a soft growl than true speech as drugs and exhaustion left his already smoky voice an even deeper rumble.

“You were only there because of me…” I wasn’t sobbing anymore, but there was no hiding the depth of sorrow threatening to bring a fresh wave of tears sliding down my cheeks. “If you’d… I… I thought I lost you…” I barely breathed that devastating truth, fingers sliding delicately up his arm as though there was still some danger of him slipping away from something so simple as a rough touch. His thumb trailed along the ridge of my cheek, the movement faltering, stuttering, as though he kept forgetting he was doing it, but it was all the softer for it.

“M… ‘m here…” He murmured, face so perfectly laxed that it seemed only seconds before sleep might reclaim him, and there was something frightfully beautiful about that; that foreign calm softening his features; how young he looked absent the constant furrow between his brows from the crippling weight of leading his brothers through dangers far greater than any should be forced to suffer through. Like this, that faded tattoo looked almost comical against a youth that was so easily overlooked beneath the veneer of war-hardened soldier, and I couldn’t ignore how my heart jumped at the sight even as his touch finally stilled.

It was selfish… stupid… but I didn’t want him to sleep yet… I wanted to hear him whisper to me in that sleep-draggled voice; I wanted him to promise me that he’d be okay – that we’d be okay…

“… Hunter?” His name slipped from my lips before logic could force it back, and I found myself holding my breath as I awaited some response. My chest bucked with a jilted exhale when none came, jaw tensing against an entirely different taste of regret even as I strained to grasp the relief of being spared whatever senseless thoughts had led me to call out to him with that almost shy whisper.

Heart still racing, I carefully set his arm down before thoughtlessly reaching across him to resettle the blanket over his still bare chest as though it might ease the image of what dark bruises marred bronze skin from a memory too eager to forget those wounds in favor of gentler times; when he lay atop my bed for reasons veiled in therapeutic touch, and I didn’t find myself second-guessing our every interaction beneath a shame and guilt that had nothing to do with my profession.

I couldn’t bring myself to even attempt to rest. Not when he slept so peacefully barely a meter away; not when Crosshair lay curled atop his own bed in the neighboring room suffering beneath injuries threatening his very identity. I needed to calm down; to breathe; to quiet those raging emotions lit anew beneath the terror of losing him and the blistering relief following in the wake of seeing his chest rise, of hearing his voice and feeling his touch and knowing it would never be enough.

-

We didn’t have sonics on Agamar. There was no reason for them. Water was plentiful and clean, and there was no substitute for the numbing pleasure of feeling it wash the tension and dirt and anxiety away. Only luxury vessels could afford to waste the extra weight and space needed for such extravagances, however, and the pulsing pressure callously beating the grime from my skin offered none of the gentle clarity I’d hoped for upon hiding myself away in the utilitarian fresher. At least I was clean…

The Senator had nestled himself among a handful of spare blankets with Areeya in the cabin, and neither stirred as I made my way toward the narrow ladder dropping down into the cockpit. Tech wasn’t studying his datapad, nor was he tinkering with some half-built weapon or tool or “upgrade” to the Marauder. He was merely watching the infinite trails of stars shooting past us at speeds I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

I didn’t sit down in the empty co-pilot chair, instead granting whatever unspoken excuse or forgiveness or feigned ignorance I needed to lower myself to the ground beside him, back pressing against the uncomfortable ridge of dented durasteel framing his seat as my head tilted just enough to rest against the side of his thigh. From the corner of my vision, I saw how quickly his attention shifted, wide eyes studying me with a confusion I should have felt guilty for causing.

“Are you… alright?” He asked hesitantly, hands torn between releasing their hold on the controls and grasping them even tighter.

“Hunter woke up.” It wasn’t an answer, but those few words held far more value and interest than any false platitudes I might offer, and Tech instantly responded with a flurry of relief and hope and then dread as that silence lingered. “I think he’s okay.” I added far too belatedly, earning a sharp breath from the brilliant pilot. “It was just for a minute… Painkillers knocked him back out pretty fast.”

“But he seemed… coherent?” Tech pressed, hesitant to allow himself to cede the fears lingering in the unknowns.

“There wasn’t time to really assess him, but… he was aware.” I explained, knowing such a meager reassurance would offer just as meager a balm to the what-if’s still hovering over us.

“I think Echo’s avoiding me again.” I continued with a heavy sigh.

“I do not believe so.” He responded after a brief pause. “We were just discussing the redesign of his upgraded prosthetics. He’s been working on them in the gunner’s nest during flights.” Surprise and understanding rushed through me, gaze turning back toward the ladder as though there were some chance I could see him from here.

“Huh… that’s… that’s good.” I murmured, and I couldn't say with any certainty if the relief in my voice outweighed the disappointment. Logically, I knew there was likely little I could honestly contribute in light of the incredible breadth of knowledge shared between Tech and Echo, but a part of me had hoped he might still find a reason to seek me out, if only for some fabricated uncertainty regarding nervous system integration or proper fitting of the socket, or just to share in the progress they'd made… but there was still too great of a divide between us… too much confusion toward where we stood with each other… too many blameless apologies neither would accept. And the non-stop sprint from one mission to the next offered little chance of privacy in which we might talk it through…

“When is this going to end…”  I think I hated myself for letting those words escape, for letting him hear the weight in them, the threat of a hopelessness we couldn't afford to feel lest it rob us of the will to keep fighting.

“I presume you're not referring to our rendezvous with General Kenobi's flagship.” It wasn't a question, and I didn't need to voice the answer screaming in the pregnant silence that followed as eyes barely open beneath the remorse and weariness that had forced me to purge that wretched plea from myself to begin with rose just enough to see a heartbreaking glimmer of concern staring down at me through topaz lens.

“Traditionally, enlisted servicemembers are deployed for no more than one point five cycles between mandatory leaves… Medical emergencies aside, you haven't taken-"

“Don't.” I interrupted quietly, begging him to rid even his thoughts of what he was implying. “You… your brothers… This is it, for me.” I let my head shake almost lazily against his leg, dismissing the very notion of changing that. “I don't have anything else… I don't want anything else.”

“I'm… not sure that level of dependency would be considered healthy.” My face instantly pinched in offense before noting the teasing glint just toying with the edges of his lips enough to draw faint creases along the corners of his eyes.

“I know your sleep schedule, Tech… You really don't want to talk to me about unhealthy dependencies.” I shot back, challenge clear even through the grin lighting my words, but his smirk only grew.

“Clones were designed to have far superior tolerance to both physical and mental deficiencies.” He didn't brag with that haughty lilt intent on belittling others, nor was it quite accurate to call it pride as he recanted that sales pitch I so loathed every time I heard it in the almost musical cadence of the Kaminoans, but there was an air of confidence driving his boast that was so hard to argue with… still…

“Don't give me that ‘superior genetics' osik! Tolerance doesn't make you immune to going days on end without sleep.” I retorted with a scowl ruined by the smile I couldn't fight from my lips. “Especially now with your arm practically hanging off…” His lips bunched, gaze dropping to the thick bandages about his still immobilized arm with an impatient exhale that sent a sharp flare of guilt through my chest.

Head pressing just a touch harder against him, I raised my hand to lightly brush against his elbow, the touch aimless beyond the compelling urge to offer some reassurance amidst a silent apology.

“The war…” he didn't look at me as he spoke, the elegance of his voice lowering into something just shy of a whisper, “An ending of some manner is inevitable, of course… and though it is impossible to say with total certainty, statistically speaking, the Republic appears to have a far greater likelihood of victory.” There was something teeming beneath words not necessarily meant to offer comfort so much as to state simple fact, something dark and forbidden but too dreadful to ignore. “Unlike the Republic, the Separatists forces are dependent on very few, individual leaders, namely General Grievous and Count Dooku, both of whom often participate directly in armed combat despite the obvious shortcomings of such a strategy given how vital their lives are to the war effort.” I could hear him tapping softly against his other thigh, alternating between his ring and middle fingers with an almost frenzied pace.

“Tech?” I barely breathed his name, a gentle, worried question sown into my voice that quickly drew his eyes back to mine for just a moment before returning pointedly toward the viewport. He wasn't tapping anymore; the muscles atop his jaw bound tight as he thought over what he might say next.

“You speak of the war ending as though it will solve more problems than it will create… but for us… for clones… We have no place in this galaxy beyond the battlefield.” I couldn't breathe as he finally purged that horrid truth, watching aghast as his lips drew into a thin line even as they shifted for a moment longer in silence before continuing. “There are more than twenty million clones currently serving in the Grand Army, in addition to those still in training on Kamino.” He spoke slower, now, allowing the brief moments of quiet to scream everything he wasn't supposed to say, everything he wasn't supposed to think.

“I fear it would be naïve to assume a government reluctant to provide adequate funds for even basic supplies during active war to willingly support the clones once that war is won.” There. There was the heart of that darkness. It wasn't rare to hear him speak with disinterest or even disdain toward matters he believed to be obvious or simply irrelevant, but this went far beyond that. Poison seethed beneath a flurry of repressed emotions: rage, frustration, hopelessness, sorrow, fear… He was suffocating beneath it, body nearly vibrating despite the icy calm in eyes still studying the star trails gleaming through the duraglass.

“Hey.” The gentle murmur left on a slow breath. My arm draped tentatively over his lap, knees curling beneath me as I turned to face him, to reach for him with an almost desperate need to offer some glimmer of comfort or, if none could be found, to join him in that darkness if only so he wouldn't be alone in it. “I don't know what's going to happen,” I answered, voice only just loud enough to twirl through the air between us before fading absent the faintest echo to prove they’d ever existed as my fingers trailed softly up his cheeks, “and I wouldn't know where to begin with fixing any of that… but I meant what I said.” The depth of the promise burning through my words finally managed to draw his gaze back to me, and I held him even more gently for it. “This is it for me… whatever happens… I'm with you.” He was silent for a moment longer, but I watched as that fury slowly quieted, and I didn't know if I wanted to sob or scream or rage at its loss.

“There is high probability that peace may see us all homeless.” What sharpness that warning was meant to have dulled beneath the tentative hope that only grew as I offered him a weary smile.

“I've been homeless since Wolffe blew up my ship.” I answered with a shrug, and my heart leapt at the tiny huff of laughter it drew from him.

“Manual labor is also a possibility.” He pressed, almost teasing me.

“Are you really going to question my brute strength again?” I shot back, unable to stifle my own laughter at the blush dancing up his neck that he couldn't hide regardless how quickly he turned back to the viewport.

“You’re a medic.” That flare of lightness faded, his voice going quiet once more. “You would have ample opportunities for employment outside the GAR.” My touch shifted purposefully back down his jaw, willing his gaze to return to me.

“And you're a genius.” I replied, a tenderness to my voice that I could only hope might reach him. “In all the time you've known me, have I ever given you reason to doubt me?” He stared at me in silence for a long moment before answering.

“No.” My smile only grew, aimlessly tracing the lower ridge of his goggles with my thumb as though there was some hope of sweeping away the line I knew they'd leave in his softly tanned skin.

“I said I was staying until you told me to leave… might put up a fight even if you tried.” I added, nose scrunching beneath a coy sneer. His lips started to pull into a grin but paused, stifled by a sadness I wasn’t expecting and didn't know how to begin to address.

“Hunter and I already planned it out, you know.” I whispered it, as though revealing some secret conspiracy, head tilting to rest against his thigh once more as I looked up at him. “We’re going to become explorers. All six of us.” The skeptical frown that overtook his slender face was a far more welcomed sight than that sadness was, and I didn't hesitate in sharing the joy it brought me, my own lips stretching wide as I beamed at him.

“We’ll settle foreign worlds… discover knew lifeforms… establish relations with never-before-seen sentients… again.” Despite himself, that little smirk again played with lips bunching in a vain attempt to hide the subtle interplay of pride and excitement at the memory of being the first to manage communication with those nearly subterranean, insect-like inhabitants that had so nearly killed me with their poison arrows, the wealth of discoveries he got to make and record and share with the galaxy because he was able to learn their language in a matter of hours, and I couldn't help but echo that excitement.

“As alluring as that plan might sound, being “explorers" is unlikely to provide the credits needed for such a lifestyle.” He reminded unapologetically, a very real concern that I was perfectly happy to ignore.

“So, I'll freelance here and there.” I replied lightly before adding, “‘Ample opportunities for employment outside the GAR.’ Right?” He rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He didn't need to. We both knew it was an impossible dream… but that's what dreams are for: granting a glimpse of better times and better places absent the limitations of a reality far too unforgiving of factors beyond anyone’s control.

“It would be far more logical – and lucrative- for us to freelance.” I thought over his reply for a moment before shaking my head, expression falling.

“I don't want you to have to fight anymore…” I whispered, shifting slightly so the words were muffled against his leggings, “especially not in someone else’s war...”

He didn't respond, and when I finally looked back up at him, I understood why. The beauty beyond the viewport was forgotten, as was whatever embarrassment or doubt had pulled his gaze so pointedly away from me. He stared at me as though he'd just solved some great mystery, and the answer was something he wasn't prepared for, something he couldn't fix. He stared at me as though that knowledge would haunt him for eternity. There was a sadness to it, but it wasn't marred by regret. There was guilt, but there was also gratitude, and when his hand finally abandoned the controls, when he let himself reach for me, the backs of his fingers just brushing the hair from my eyes before sliding down to the curve of my jaw as though mapping the planes of my face by touch alone, I found myself consumed by the weight of that silence. I felt no need to break it, to offer either word or touch in return, but nor could I breathe beneath it, as though the slightest movement might scare him away.

He was the first to breach that quiet, but he did so gently, chest swelling with a slow breath, eyes closing for just a moment before again returning to the viewport, but he didn't pull away, hand instead shifting to softly cradle the side of my head, gloved fingers sliding carefully through locks of my hair, and, with a sigh full of my own relief and gratitude and exhaustion, I nestled more comfortably against him, legs stretching out across the cockpit floor as my cheek rested heavily atop his thigh, relishing in that moment of quiet with him for however long it might last.

-

“I carried your worthless shebs down the damn mountain. If you can’t even manage a ‘thank you,’ the least you could do is let me sleep.” I shouldn’t have been surprised that their first interaction after so nearly losing each other would be to fight, but I couldn’t keep my shoulders from sinking beneath a low sigh.

“You shot me.” Crosshair snarled, and I had to keep from rolling my eyes as I began carefully unwrapping the bandages about his head, silently thrilling in the relief of hearing the clarity in Hunter’s voice.

“I stunned you.” Hunter retorted with nearly the same degree of annoyance. “You’d been screaming for half a klik – made sure every damn clanker in that forest knew exactly where we were.” I felt Cross stiffen, his thin lips pulling into a subtle frown as his hands tightened around the edge of my bed, and I had to bite back the cringe pulling at my own lips, the worry that maybe I should have allowed them some separation, at least until tempers weren’t already strained beneath injury and fear. He’d almost refused to enter the medbay despite his eagerness to be free of those dreaded bandages, relenting only after I threatened to drag him there by force.

Those threats haunted me in the moments that followed; in the hesitation jilting his every movement despite how vehemently he tried to hide it; how violently he refused to hold onto me for guidance even when he nearly tripped over Hunter’s mattress in search of my own, waking the Sargent with a start.

“I’ve carried each and every one of you,” I grumbled loudly, “You don’t see me moaning about not getting a damn ‘thank you’… and I told you to let me help – won’t be doing either of you any favors if you go falling over each other like that…” I added sternly to Crosshair, silencing them both.

We were mere moments from finally reaching the Vigilance, and I knew how much worse Crosshair’s anxiety was sure to get the instant he stepped foot off the Marauder without the use of his eyes. I’d initially intended to wait another day, but his scans were promising enough to relent if only to spare him that added dread.

“There’s still bacta on your eyes,” I warned, voice softening, body leaning forward just enough to subtly press my thigh against his knee in a silent offer of reassurance, “So don’t freak out when everything’s still blurry.” He answered only with a small grunt but didn’t pull away from my touch. I could see how closely Hunter was watching us, his own breath held despite the strain it surely placed on his ribs in those final moments before the wrappings fell away.

Crosshair didn’t move for a moment longer, eyes closed in a final display of that heartbreaking fear; clinging to that last moment of uncertainty for what glimpse of denial it granted before he’d have to face the reality of his injuries.

When he finally forced those sharp eyes to open, his entire body went taut.

“I know.” I murmured gently, hand whispering over his. “Blurry is okay. What we’re worried about is dark spots; gaps where you can’t see anything.” He tried not to show that growing panic, but his brows furrowed further together with each passing second, and I found my movements hurrying if only to keep him from falling too deeply into his own thoughts.

“I want you to keep your eyes on mine, Cross. Using your peripherals, let me know when you can’t see my finger.” I didn’t bother reminding him that everyone had a blind spot, that the small junction where the optic nerve connected to the retina robbed everyone of a sliver of sight so small as to be unnoticeable, aware of how familiar he was with not just the general anatomy of human eyes, but of every way in which his own eyes differed, how they were better. Still, his hand tightened even more around the lip of the bed when my finger wandered toward the edge of his vision.

“There.” It was only because of how intimately I knew him that I heard the hint of panic in that hushed word.

“Anywhere else?” I asked, cadence carefully even as I slowly moved my finger before him.

“No.” It wasn’t a whisper, but the relief was so consuming as to rob even the rasp from his voice, and I readily mimicked that relief with a gentle smile, thumb trailing softly along the edge of his hand, heart jumping when he released his grip on the mattress to tightly lock his fingers through mine.

As I repeated the test on his other side, I remembered trying to guide him through an exam to test the range of motion in his hands after a complication threatened the nerves stretching down his arm, the skepticism in his deadpan glare as he watched me model the movements. There were no reservations now; no doubt toward my motivation nor skill or devotion, and that only heightened both the stress in bearing the responsibility of their care as well as the joy of helping them through injury or illness or insecurity.

“Now the fun part…” My warning was lost beneath the mirth still lighting my voice, and he had to force himself to pay attention. “We still need to rinse that gel out.” Even that failed to sour his relief, and I found myself murmuring lest I breach that precious moment of calm. “We can do that in the fresher – let you clean up a bit easier after.” I offered, earning an almost dazed nod from him as I stepped back, hand tightening once more around his before sliding away. “Let me grab a few things, then I’ll be right behind you.” He hesitated only briefly, mind belatedly making sense of what I’d said before pushing himself to his feet.

He paused once more just before reaching the door, attention shifting down to where his brother still lay in a slight daze of his own, though one of medication more than euphoria.

“Thanks.” It was quiet, but no less earnest for it. Hunter held his gaze for a moment in silence before giving a small nod, a flare of something ancient and powerful and safe burning in his eyes. He’d nearly died – had died – saving his brother, and that look screamed just how willing he was to suffer that agony a thousand times over if it meant his family would be okay.

“He was awake,” I murmured, still watching the door long after it slid shut behind the lithe sniper, “when I was… when I was trying to bring you back.” I hesitated before looking toward him, an apology screaming through my eyes even as I continued speaking, my own worry about how that trauma might yet haunt Crosshair superseding the fear that I was revealing truths he might never have wanted revealed. “I’ve never seen him like that…” He didn’t respond for a moment, jaw tensing with a guilt that left my heart writhing in my chest.

“… how long was I…” He didn’t say it, narrowed eyes staring blindly through the far corner of the room.

“I don’t know.” I answer quietly. “A few minutes?” A silence stretched between us; a silence that wasn’t meant to be broken for want of guidance or reassurance.

“I’ll asked Wrecker to bring you your datapad.” I sighed, finally moving to gather my supplies. “And a shake.” I added more firmly, glancing back to catch his eye to clearly voice the unspoken threat. He answered only with a small smirk, and I didn't hide the weight that fell from my shoulders in that moment. He was okay. Crosshair was okay. Wrecker, Tech, and Echo were all healing. Maker, we'd made it…

“I’ll come back to check on you soon.” With that parting promise, I finally followed after his brother, arms locked around jugs of saline and large flush syringes.

“Good luck.” He called after me, and I made sure he could hear my scoffed laugh of a response.

-

If there was some great difference between the Vigilance and the Negotiator, my untrained eyes couldn't see it:  same interplay of muted grays lining the hanger floors and walls; same curtains of blue light illustrating massive shields, same precise orchestra of soldiers marching in perfect synchrony across the gaping stretch of space between transports.

No… not the same… Surely the soldiers hidden beneath the ivory and gold armor of the 212th weren't the same as the ones I’d walked past so many months ago on the Negotiator. Those men were gone… How many? Why? Part of me wanted to blame the General, to shout at him purely to grant my rage and sorrow some outlet greater than merely allowing the anger to simmer in my chest. I wanted to accuse him of callously throwing away their lives, ask if he even knew the number of clones killed under his watch… but I knew that rage was born of a sorrow he felt just as keenly.

I’d only spent maybe an hour with the Jedi master; back when my own armor still gleamed white and I’d barely begun to develop some early taste of acceptance from the men who now held more of my heart than was right or proper or fair. Back then, I kept waiting for him to justify my prejudice, to shift blame and dismiss me with little more than rote reassurances and empty promises. Instead, I’d left that meeting with a sense of comfort, tentatively confident that he wasn’t there purely to placate me but to earnestly try to help. He cared. And I found myself mourning him just as strongly as those who’d fallen with his previous flagship, certain that he would never be free of the weight of loss growing ever heavier with each day the war continued.

General Kenobi was there when we landed, flanked by teams of medical staff with the Marshal Commander at his side. I saw them from only a fleeting glance, attention focused on addressing the pair of medics that had broken off from the main group to help transport Hunter. Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Echo stood in formation behind the Senator. It was the first I’d seen of the arc in days, and there was a bittersweetness in that, in finally finding him only now when circumstance forbade me from speaking with him, not while Tech was providing as succinct of a debriefing as he was capable of and I was moments from taking my leave to oversee Hunter's care.

“I'm not sitting in that thing…” The words snarled from just within the Marauder where one of the Vigilance's men awaited with a hoverchair.

“The hell you aren't.” I snapped, shoulders pulling back as I turned an impatient glare toward the man leaning hazardously against the metal doorframe, jaw clicking shut around the curse burning atop my tongue to see him standing at all.

“It’s just outside the hanger. I'll walk.” He pressed with an impatience of his own.

“How about I neutralize those pain killers? See how eager you are to argue then.” His eyes narrowed with a slow, tense exhale just shy of a growl. “Chair or gurney.” I continued sternly. “Those are your choices. Or I can see if General Kenobi wants to do that force thing and magic you over there.” I added with a devious smirk. His lips drew up in a scowl just enough to flash a glimpse of clenched teeth, but, begrudgingly, he lowered himself into the hoverchair. The trooper behind him didn't linger, instantly moving forward before the unruly Sargent could voice further objection.

“Miss?” A voice called just before I started after them, and I turned to find the Senator approaching me, a confidence in his stride that was frightfully absent from eyes left almost timid from all he'd had to endure since his capture. He'd barely spoken to anyone beyond his daughter during the flight, movements almost neurotic beneath the desperate need to keep her close, to keep her safe, and none of us could truly begrudge him for that self-imposed isolation. Now, though, he’d ventured across the handle of meters separating us, for the first time since boarding the Marauder leaving the girl just beyond his reach.

“Senator.” I greeted with a small bow of my head.

“I… I just wanted to thank you.” There was still a slight tremor to his voice, and I wondered how he’d be able to return to politics after this, how he’d sleep knowing exactly what it meant to put himself and his family the spotlight like that.

“Just doing my job, sir.” I replied, though the automatic response wasn't without warmth. Still, he quickly shook his head.

“You took care of my girl… There's nothing in this galaxy that means more to me than her…” he pressed, and I had to bite back the flare of annoyance with a slow breath.

“I treated her injuries… but they were the ones who took care of her.” I said firmly, nodding to where Areeya was bouncing happily from Tech to Crosshair before, steps just a touch more hesitant, treading to Wrecker. The towering man instantly lowered himself onto a knee, and I cringed at how it surely strained the injured joint, but his scarred face was nothing but gentle as he smiled at the child. She tentatively reached for his hand. I couldn't hear what he said, but it left the girl giggling loudly, tiny fingers clutching onto him.

“He went back for her – hobbled through a burning ship with a dislocated knee because he was the only one who knew where she was.” I told him quietly as we watched the scene unfold. I vaguely noticed Tech's attention shift to watch the handful of troopers escorting Hunter to the medbay, and, with a final flurry of words, started toward us.

Areeya released Wrecker to free her hands for some frenzy of movements I was too far away to even try to interpret, and my heart jumped to see Wrecker respond in kind, movements hesitant and clumsy, but even from where I stood, I could see how the attempt left the girl bursting with glee, and without warning, she threw herself forward, arms straining to wrap around his broad chest.

“She’s… she’s signing.” The senator gasped.

“Yes…” Tech hummed thoughtfully. “We were curious as to why she was initially so opposed to that form of communication when she clearly has a fluent grasp on the language.” The father seemed to deflate around a heavy breath, eyes never once leaving his daughter.

“She… overheard her mother… My wife means well, truly, but… she doesn’t have much patience for our daughter’s… unique preferences.” He explained tensely. “She worries that, by giving Areeya an alternative to speech, we’re enabling her mutism.” I tried to speak, but Tech quickly cut me off.

“On the contrary, limiting anyone, particularly a child, of some means of communication is more likely to further isolate them and harm both social and mental development.” There was an edge to his voice, and I wasn’t surprised to note the subtle line forming between narrowed brows. “Whether her mutism stems from a reluctance to speak or an inability, neither is grounds for depriving her of what means of self-expression she does prefer.” I half expected the senator to balk at his blunt words, tensing in preparation to get between them, but the man before us merely closed his eyes beneath a weariness that left my heart aching for him.

“I know.” He barely whispered, looking back toward his beaming child. “…I know…” With little more than a final, shaking breath, he started toward the girl once more, steps slow; heavy.

“You okay?” I asked quietly. He didn't look at me as I whispered it, but I could see the stiffness in his shoulders as he watched the man approach Wrecker next.

“I'm eager to see the results of Hunter's scan.” It wasn't an answer, but it was enough. I let out a quiet sigh before nodding and, shoulder brushing lightly against his, turned to finally follow the path toward the medbay, allowing myself some solace in the safety of finding ourselves on one of the most prized ships of the GAR, in the knowledge that, here at least, I could finally see that my men received the care they needed, the care they deserved, even though I knew that this glimmer of respite was bought by blood and was doomed to be stolen from us far too soon.

Quick head's up! It's time for another clean up of my taglist. Those of you who interact regularly with me are obviously exempt (and know that I absolutely adore you! And that you're the only reason I'm still sharing this crazy thing!)

Click here or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist!

Click here for my Masterlist.

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @eclec-tech @jennrosefx @echos-girlfriend @starqueensthings @manofworm @merkitty49 @idoubleswearimawriter @abigfanofstarwars @chopper-base @daftdarling222 @pb-jellybeans @bacta-the-future @rosechi @legalpadawan @drummergirl1701 @6oceansofmoons @dangraccoon @ji5hine @dathomiri-mudpuppy @mooncommlink @inneedoffanfics @totally-not-your-babe @delialeigh @callsign-denmark @blondie-bluue @ray-rook @iabrokengirl @arcsimper5 @rndmpeep @amorfista @flawsandgoodintent @passionofthesith @followthepurrgil @heidnspeak @roam-rs @foodmoneyandcats @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @9902sgirl @captainrex89 @waytoooldforthis78 @msmeredithrose @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @anythingandeveythingstarwars @littlefeatherr @thegreatpipster @melonmochii @totallyunidentified @mickeyp03 @hipwell @echos_pile_of_bones @leotawrites @Asgre_Thar @fruityfucker

[feelinprettyblue02]

update on this: a bunch of my joints have started to join my jaw in the fuck around and find out club! i got tendonitis in my right hip, strain injuries in both elbows and knees, AND have something up with my shoulder joints! fun!

i’ve been in physio for the tendonitis, but haven’t really done anything abt the fucked up knees, elbows, and shoulders beyond just. changing how i stand/hold things to not strain them by hyperextending.

but all of this means that i have near constant pain and even occassional mobility issues. i might get a cane for when my right leg is up to some devious actions so i can walk a normal amount without hurting my leg even more

all of this to say. be careful what you wish for. i said i didn’t feel disabled enough in the tags and now we got full body problems we need a physiotherapist and mobility aids

holy fuck i just realised. my jaw bullshit means that i’m physically disabled. especially when it gets inflamed and makes it agonizing to eat, speak, or just. open my mouth. and makes my ear have a ton of pressure from the swelling. for a couple weeks at a time. holy shit.

oh yeah and there’s nothing that can be done to fix it, only to make inflamations less frequent (night retainers, bc APPARENTLY i grind my teeth now). oh and when my jaw DOES get inflamed, i can’t take anti-inflamatory meds bc then my kidneys n platelets n shit start to lose their minds. so i just need to suffer for those 1-2 weeks

but yeah that is. definitely something to wrap my head around. fuck.