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itsmaferart · 2 months ago

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I find it especially interesting if Saitama, in the perhaps not too distant future, is subjected to emotional stress or even mental torture. Keeping in mind that in One Punch Man, where strength is based on the quest to break the limitations imposed on each individual by nature itself (GOD). Taking Saitama to Garou have faced extreme physical conditions that put them on the brink of death, but their will - driven by some purpose - allows them to overcome this kind of “death” and move on, even at the cost of almost destroying themselves in the process.

Gyoro Gyoro mentions that individuals must go through "personal hells" under very specific conditions to strengthen and evolve without being consumed by their own desires to the point of becoming mere monsters.

However, what about the emotional hell?

Both Garou and Saitama have managed to break or eliminate their respective “limiters” in pursuit of fulfilling their motivations: to be a hero and to be a kaijin, respectively. Through their actions, they wish to change people and find their place in a world that has often turned its back on them. However, they have experienced a profound demotivation when they realize that what they pursued so fervently has led to significant losses of the people they wished to protect. Because at the end of the day, “adsolute evil” and “adsolute power” were to protect others because no one was there to protect them when the world was too hard on them. When For Garou, it is the loss of Tareo; for Saitama, it is the loss of Genos.

When Garou lost Tareo and Saitama lost Genos, things lost their significance.

It is curious that many can see badly that there has been a time travel that “seems to fix everything”, when clearly things are showing many seams that were only briefly mended, so that in the future we can see in greater depth the consequences of these same.

After his confrontation with Garou, deep and evident emotional cracks are revealed in Saitama. However, these memories are confused in his mind, preventing him from confronting the situation. In an unconscious way, he seems to establish certain limits with Genos, perhaps out of fear of becoming too dependent on him.

Saitama's problems are not rooted solely in his desire to “be strong,” which he has more than fulfilled. Rather, they are deeply rooted in a complex childhood that has skewed his perception and hindered his ability to socialize and form bonds. Saitama wants to connect emotionally with others, protect them and have a positive impact on their lives. Despite everything, her first heroic instinct was to save a child instead of running away and ignoring the situation. He desires to live a normal human experience, something he has been deprived of in various ways. This has led him to cling to emotions associated with adrenaline, euphoria and fear, sensations that are pleasurable but also addictive, and which often leave him more dissatisfied than the beginning, and the constant feeling that he has forgotten “something” (a purpose) - one other than finding the thrill of battle.

It may be a bit premature to draw conclusions based on the progress of the webcomic, considering that there is still a lot left to cover in the manga and we still don't have a conclusion to the Empty Void arc. However, I sense that Saitama will begin to experience small doses of emotionally shocking situations, until eventually detonating into something bigger. And that will serve to glimpse his own conflict, and break that armor that prevents him from accessing his emotions. Let's hope he can at least recover Genos, or at least not see him die in the process and cause planetary destruction.

Thus, I wonder: what kind of reaction could Saitama have if, in a hypothetical scenario, God presents himself before him in the form of Genos? What desires would God use to manipulate him?

Perception bias, round 2 Director's cut, Saigenos edition!

(or basically, how my brain jumps into another topic only loosely related to the original ask)

Thank you @itsmaferart For the wonderful ask again. :)

Warning: Long post ahead

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Perception bias also serves another more...sinister purpose for Saitama. Psychological conditioning. There is potential evidence for deprivation of basic needs, conditioning for violence for protection and subliminal messages for suggestion, among other things.

Being deprived of all these needs is akin to mental torture. But so is facing all of the underlying issues at once via hypnotherapy and cognitive behavioural therapy if the patient is sufficiently dysfunctional in a societal setting like Saitama happens to be. Especially if the therapies are performed...poorly.

CBT has shown to be the most effective intervention for people exposed to adverse childhood experiences in the form of abuse or neglect Criticism of CBT sometimes focuses on implementations (such as the UK which may result initially in low quality therapy being offered by poorly trained practitioners. However, evidence supports the effectiveness of CBT for anxiety and depression. Evidence suggests that the addition of hypnotherapy as an adjunct to CBT improves treatment efficacy for a variety of clinical issues. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and its symptoms have been shown to improve due to implementation of hypnotherapy, in both long and short term. As research continues, hypnotherapy is being more openly considered as an effective intervention for those with PTSD.

In short, in order to heal mentally, Saitama may need to face mental torture because he has such strong willpower and such strong mental barriers shielding his vulnerabilities on a basic primal need. There only needs to be a sufficient trigger.

ONE sent Saitama home to restore his energy levels...because he's going to sorely need them for the upcoming confrontation.

Empty Void's ability to genjutsu people casually and cause parallel shifts in the reality and using these to abuse emotional dependencies is like a loaded Chekov's gun on Saitama's forehead. Because Saitama has been roleplaying to re-learn his emphatic skillset after he had suffered too much mental trauma.

That's why early Saitama did not even bat an eye when Beefcake killed his own brother but now he's empathizing with Hamukichi. That's what I call character progression.

Even a compulsive planner like Saitama cannot predict what will happen because he's not familiar with Blast's maladaptive coping methods deep down. Blast is great at masking because they are coping methods so he can bear with his guilt and other issues and just wants to do things on his own, without assistance.

This causes Saitama's perception bias about Blast who seems capable and emphatic, when he is in actuality unscrupulous and amorally indifferent if you really, REALLY study him hard enough.

My bro casually invited Saitama, who is sensitive to aggression, hostility and violence, to watch literal torture of human turned monsters, with an actual smile on his face. And justifying it with his end justify the means philosophy. That's awfully too close to being sadistic and cruel when you consider the ramifications.

They say "love is blind" and Saitama is wearing some rose tinted glasses on because Blast is straight up shady, but he does not see it because he's probably identifying with Blast so hard. Middle-aged, number 1# hero, powerful, confident, outwardly caring, intuitive, ruggedly handsome, positively masculine, secretly gay...you name it. Everything Saitama more than likely fantasies about being because he's so emotionally dependant on Genos and he wants to better himself for Genos due to all his insecurities.

Oh yeah time for some saigenos. *rubs hands*

The very first Genos tells him is to tell Saitama to hide in order to protect him. Saitama has a lot of dependency issues since he has been a small child because he was so emotionally lonely and never got the safety he needed to cope well in life. There are definitely some underlying anxieties or disorders laying about.

Second thing Genos does is show just how smart, capable, cool and devilishly attractive he can be when he gets passionate and engages in combat. Genos can get an awed reaction even from Saitama who's emotions were being blunted during their first spar.

Third is showing he's not gonna judge Saitama for completely embarassing himself, even if he was to get naked around him and lower his inhibitions and showing him it would be ok to trust him on the level of intimacy he craves so dearly. (Season 2 Blu-ray & Dvd: Saitama and the mysterious heroine)

Fourth is showing that Genos is also extremely resilient even when getting hurt...because Saitama hates to see others hurting and he doesn't want it to happen because of him.

And finally the fifth...is because Genos is just as emotionally lonely as he is, but he's unable to let go of his emotional dependencies because he trauma bonds so deeply. He would rather double KO for a Game Over screen than let the monsters win over him and his loved ones on pure principle and take those he trauma bonds with him, because emotional abandonment and guilt would kill him deep inside, so he would rather end it himself for a shred of agency before he withers away.

All these draw in Saitama like moth to a flame and he easily lets Genos into his life. Because he identifies with the lonely teenage boy Genos with traumas who is so familiar to him like coming home.

-*-

Despite everything that has happened to Saitama, he tries to remain optimistic. He's not naturally prone to cynicism unless under great amount of duress. The worst thing to do against him would be Genos emotionally betraying him, betray everything that he perceived in him since the first day they met.

But Saitama has perception bias towards Genos too...such as that Genos is no longer the small teenage boy who needs to be sheltered and cared for, but a battle-hardened soldier. Neither is he a lost naive little sibling in need of guidance or chaperone but an adult wanting mentorship where he can be truly open about his own issues. Would be such a shame if these wrong illusions about Genos were to be shattered...painfully. If Genos were to ever violate that implicit trust Saitama gives to him.

My brother in christ Saitama, he's not actually related to you and he's not your family member even if you'd love him enough to adopt him or something. Not letting go of this notion will spell trouble, like wonky image of relationships and intimacy.

(Yea Saitama please he's not actually related to you, even if it's kind of endearing that Saitama considers Genos to be as close like a family member)

It'll just get worse if Saitama confuses emotional intimacy with sexuality because of his bad upbringing when he's never had any friends and missing his parents too and all his role models have been aggressive and toxic people.

Funny how Saitama's first conclusion about Dr. Genus being interested in his body was sexual in nature and he immediately got defensive. He essentially revealed himself as someone who doesn't even know for sure which way he swings. Which would be quite classic for infj demi but I'll get to that if it becomes more relevant.

Genos naturally knows best though, poor guy looks so disappointed haha. Doesn't stop Genos from attempting every trick in the book besides outright throwing roses at Saitama and arranging dates to get into his good side and woo him, he dressed up so nicely for a spar haha. Dressing to impress, yup. And then he got himself new shiny body and practically walked weeks without a shirt on just so Saitama would see it. (Chapter 185: Updates) My guy has it down bad for Saitama, but Saitama seems oblivious to Genos indirect advances and Genos gave up and finally found a shirt to put on.

(I would pay to see Genos actually chuck roses at Saitama though.)

Even Saitama has to acknowledge that Genos is objectively a hottie though, because in the webcomic he says something along the lines of "he's not even pretty" about Amai-mask and it really makes you think the standards of who Saitama considers pretty when even ikemen like Amai-mask won't do.

-*-

Genos unfortunately is growing up some pretty large perception bias about Saitama after the time travel fiasco. His idolization of Saitama is becoming obsessive and objectifying, like Saitama can do no wrong and that Saitama is some kind of messiah.

Genos also does not take no for an answer. It would be incredibly damaging to both Saitama and Genos when this perception bias is broken when Saitama gets too much on his plate to handle. Like for example...Empty void's specialty, messing with emotional bonds and inducing traumatic events like the illusion of death to break any emotional bond, just like he did to Flashy flash and Sonic.

I do greatly anticipate how Empty Void's fight is going to proceed, we might be in for very big perceptional bias shifts all around, like Flash was forced to acknowledge that he's emotionally dependant on Sonic. (Chapter 201: You pass) And Saitama's idolization of Blast will come crashing down when he finds out what Blast is really up to.

I'll throw some funny perception bias at the end.

#one punch man #saitama #opm #opm meta #Genos #meta OPM #hoping to eventually pick up Empty Void and Blast #I am honestly interested in having the manga cooked for us #Saitama and Genos

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sad-brunnettee · 3 years ago

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Pairing: Trafalgar Law x f reader

Word count: 712

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Traveling alongside the straw hats seemed like a dose for daily headaches for Law. The only thing keeping him sane was his promise to Cora and y/n. Both for love but for different reasons, Cora who was the only one to take care of him after everyone he loved and cared for died because of white disease. He was the only person who saw him as a boy and not a monster aside from his hate of children. Meanwhile y/n always showed true compassion towards him, going as far as to mend him after Cora would throw him out the window.

No matter how many times he tried to get rid of both they were always there for him. As soon as he was allowing his heart to open up they were both killed, by no other than the Joker.

"SANNJIIIII I'm hungry" one could hear Luffy yell from the kitchen. His yelling was followed by pots falling to the floor and screams.

"Take deep breaths Law, deep breaths. We're almost there" by pinching the bridge of his nose, Law can't help but reminisce about his childhood before it all went downhill. A blush couldn't help but form on his cheeks at the thought of her smile and how small she was compared to him. Yet still managed to always stand up for him believing to be tough.

Arriving at Dressrosa couldn't have happened any sooner. The only problem is making sure the straw hats will follow the plan Law made. Unfortunately Luffy and Zoro placed themselves in the same group. With one having no sense of direction and the other no sense of danger, they are sure to bring unwanted attention. Of course, before knocking some sense into them they decided to take off.

Trusting that their costumes will keep their true identity a secret. He headed off with Robin, Usopp and Caesar to do the trade with Doflamingo.

It was amazing the things a person can do for power. Sanji tried to be fast and warm Law however, it was too late. Doflamingo lied about resigning as a warlord. His main priorities now are surviving to defeat Doflamingo, keep Caesar out of his reach and make sure none of the straw hats get harmed.

One moment he was face to face with Doflamingo and the next he was wounded and in front of the colosseum. He could hear Luffy's voice and the gun that keeps on shooting bullets. What really caught his attention was the voice of a woman screaming for him. Her h/c and e/c were so identical to y/n's, but how? Didn't she die? Yet there she is standing next to Luffy dressed in a gray and golden ace dress with detached sleeves. Seems that she was also fighting for the mera mera no no fruit. With all the blood loss Law couldn't help but wonder if it really is her alive or just her spirit once again trying to help him like before.

It wasn't until Doflamingo followed his line of vision and knew there was no point in keeping her for his future plan.

"I see you have spotted our love y/n, it has been years since you saw her right?" Doflamingo said as if it was a casual conversation starter. "After my brother kidnapped you from us she was pretty useless, would cry all day and not listen to anyone."

Hearing this Law's heart broke a little, did you really care that much about him?

"She slowly turned into our enemy, always trying to kill us or run away, isn't that right little y/n? That's why she now serves us for our entertainment, forcing her to be a gladiator."

Y/n's soft whimpers could be heard by anyone.

"I'm sorry Law I tried to contact you countless times but it was to no avail. There was nothing I could do."

"Aw how romantic, I see that you still have feelings for him y/n. But like I said, you were only meant to entertain us. Too bad this is coming to an end."

With a lick to his teeth, Doflamingo raised the gun again aiming it at her. The only sound that could be heard was a gunshot.

#trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #sad-brunnettee

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lailoken · 4 years ago

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“Elder (Sambucus nigra), also known as boor or bour tree.

Elder is one of the most enigmatic plants in British folk tradition. On one hand it is feared and associated with WITCHES and on the other it is valued for its protective qualities, as a fly repellent, and for its use in many herbal remedies.

The whole plant hath a narcotic smell; it is not well to sleep under its shade. [Withering, 1776: 186]

[In Leitrim, Waterford and the south of Ireland] the elder or 'bore' tree is believed to have been the tree from which Judas Iscariot hanged himself. The proof of which is the fact that its leaves have an 'ugly smell', and, moreover, that its fruit has since degenerated from its original size and excellent flavour, and become worthless both as to size and taste. [Anon., 1916: 425]

It was said at Beckley that if you burn elder wood you will become bewitched. You never cut it down. In Wootton they say that the elder is a witch tree. You should not mend a wattle hedge with it, as it will give the witches power. If you cut it, it will bleed. [Oxfordshire Women's In- stitute groups, 1950s]

Unlucky to burn Tramman [elder], it is the FAIRIES’ tree. [Lezayre, Isle of Man, c.1975; Manx Folklife Survey]

Normally in the Isle of Man elder is the fairies' tree which is unlucky to cut down, or burn when fallen. I was told in 1992 by a forestry worker of his pleasure that a large elder had blown over into the field adjoining his garden and thus relieved him of the need to find someone willing to remove it. [Union Mills, Isle of Man, October 1993]

Elder flowers—it is alright to pick the flowers for wine or culinary use, but the tree is a friend of witches and the wood should never come into the house. [Ashreigney, Devon, July 1983]

Elder—unlucky to bring either flowers or wood into a house: (a) because it is the witches' tree, (b) because it was believed that Judas Iscariot hanged himself from an elder tree, (c) because if you fall asleep under elder flowers the scent will poison you or you will never wake up. [Driffield, Humber- side, March 1985]

Collecting firewood from the hedges surrounding the cottage and returning happily laden, but being accused of bringing bits of elder into the house—it was considered unlucky to use these to light a fire. [Bow Street, Dyfed, October 1984]

The only unlucky plant which I have heard of is the elder tree, which the old people looked upon as unlucky. As I have heard the old people say, it was unhealthy to have an elder tree growing near the house as it was often noted the inhabitants seemed more prone to TUBERCULOSIS or 'Consumption' as it was known in Ireland in the old days. However, as TB was rampant all over the country at that time, I don't know if the belief would have any significance. My own people however would not cut down an elder bush or burn it no matter how old or rotten it was. Nor allow an elder stick in the house, and it would be an unforgivable act to strike a child or even an animal with one. [Kill Village, Co. Kildare, October 1984]

The family name dies out on the property where the elder grows in the kitchen garden. [Skibbereen, Co. Cork, January 1993]

Do you know the Rollright Stones in Oxfordshire? You can't count them; you never get the same number twice. In the next field there is a big stone called King Arthur, and there are various stones called after his Knights around. There are some elder bushes nearby. We used to go there as children on our bicycles and try to count the stones. We were told that if we picked a flower or a berry from these elderberry bushes we would be turned into stone. We used to dare each other to pick a berry or a flower, but no one ever did. [Mitcham, Surrey, May 1986]

However, in the early part of the nineteenth century:

On Midsummer Eve, when the 'eldern' tree was in blossom, it was a custom for people to come up to the King Stone and stand in a circle. Then the 'eldern' was cut, as it bled 'the King moved his head.' [Evans, 1895: 20]

Sometimes it was thought that wood, berries, or flowers could be safely taken from an elder only if the tree's permission had been sought first.

Hearing one day that a baby in a cottage close to my own was ill, I went across to see what was the matter. Baby appeared right enough, and I said so; but its mother promptly explained. 'It were all along of my maister's thick 'ed; it were in this how: t'rocker cummed off t'cradle, an' he hedn't no more gumption than to mak' a new ’un out on illerwood without axing the Old Lady's leave, an' in coorse she didn't like that, and she came and pinched t'wean that outrageous he were a'most black i' t' face; but I bashed 'un off, an putten an' esh 'un on, an' t'wean is as gallus as owt agin.' This was something quite new to me, and the clue seemed worth following up. So going home I went straight down to my backyard, where old Johnny Holmes was cutting up firewood—‘chopping kindling,' as he would have said. Watching the opportunity, I put a knot of elder-wood in the way and said, 'You are not feared of chopping that are you ?' 'Nay, he replied at once, 'I bain't feared of choppin' him, he bain't wick (alive); but if her were wick I dussn't, not without axin’ the Old Gal's leave, not if it were ever so'.. . (The words to be used are): 'Oh, them's slape enuff.' You just says, 'Owd Gal, give me of thy wood, and Oi will give some of moine, when I graws inter a tree.' [Heanley, 190I: 55]

If you chop an elder tre e or fell it, you should bow three times and say:

Old Woman, Old Woman, Give me some of your wood And when I am dead I'll give you some of mine. [Whitwick, Leicestershire, August 1983]

[Staffordshire, 1930s:] my mother said it was the thing if one wanted blossoms or fruit from an elder tree to say 'Please Mother Elder may I have .. .' [Ponsanooth, Cornwall, November 1993]

In addition to records of elder being inauspicious, there are many rec- ords of it being a beneficial, protective tree.

[In Northumberland] an old man told me that his aunt used to keep a piece of bour tree, or elder, constantly in her kist (chest) to prevent her clothes from malign influence. [Hardy, 1895: 325]

In south Wales it was deemed very dangerous to build any premises on or near the spot where an eldertree stood. In the past an elder planted before the door of a cow-shed or stable protected the cows and horses from witchcraft and sorcery. [Trevelyan, 1909: 103]

[In Scotland elder was] often planted near old crofts and cottages as protection from witches. [Webster, 1978: 342]

[In Guernsey elder] had to be planted as near as possible to the back door, the most used entrance, since it was a sacred tree and a good protection against witchcraft. [McClintock, 1987: 33]

[In Ireland] it is considered lucky to have an elderberry bush grow near your house, especially if it is "self-set'. [Bracknell, Berkshire, August 1984]

Mother used elder leaves to make a pattern on the floor-bricks. Painting around them with red paint. Making the cross with elder leaves. This was an old custom, going back to her grandmother's time, so the custom had to be continued despite the time-consuming nature of the work. [Bow Street, Dyfed, March 1984]

Elder: this was called Boortree... The leaves were boiled and the water used to dose pigs. For this purpose, and because it was supposed to be a protection against LIGHTNING, there was a tree of it at every house. It can still be seen growing in places where there are no houses now, but where houses were years ago. [Lenamore, Co. Longford, April 1991]

Family folklore passed on to me includes . . . one should plant a ROWAN and elder tree and never cut them down, in order to keep witches away. [Parkstone, Dorset, June 1991]

I can remember as a child elder growing around the wooden bottom-of-the-garden 'lavvy' at my uncle's farm near Brentwood, Essex, and many other similar loos with elder adjacent. I was told that the elder would live 'almost for ever', as if one root died off another would spring from a fallen branch or twig. They were treated with 'respect' as they kept away bad magic—no one used the word 'witches'—but the inference was there. [Yafforth, North Yorkshire, January 1990]

More usually elder trees were planted around toilets and other build ings to deter FLIES.

Elder bushes are invariably to be seen outside the dairy windows on the north side of old-fashioned farmhouses in the Midlands. This was done because elder-leaves are supposed to be very objectionable to flies, wasps and other insects, the tree thus provided both shade and protection. For the same reason a switch of elder with leaves on is used when taking or driving a swarm of bees. [N &Q, 11 ser. 12: 489, 1915]

When inspecting a slaughter house [in Cornwall] a summer or two ago, I commented on the absence of flies, and was told that this was due to a large elder bush growing some feet away and that branches of elder in any building would keep flies away. [Peter, 1915: 123]

An elderberry tree was always grown near the house—I think it was to keep flies away. [Didcot, Oxfordshire, February 1991]

According to some friends of mine elderberry bushes were planted by water butts and outside privies so that the smell would keep the flies away. [Horseheath, Cambridgeshire, April 1991]

As a youth my late father worked on the land...Often handling horses it was common practice to tie bunches of elder leaves to the harness to ward off flies. [St Osyth, Essex, February 1989]

My wife, who comes from Northumberland, tells me that her mother used to make up a concoction with elder flower when she was a child. All the family washed their faces in it to keep virulent Northumbrian midges at bay. She remembers it smelling not too pleasant, and tended to keep other children away as well, so she would take the first opportunity to wash it off! [Hexham, Northumberland, June 1988]

About twelve years ago in Girton, Cambridge, a small swarm of bees (apparently known as a 'cast') settled on a plum tree in our garden, about six feet up. A neighbour, Mr C. G. Puck (now 84 years old), a retired shepherd and lifelong beekeeper, came to collect the bees. He removed the queen bee from the swarm and placed her under a small open wooden box inverted on the ground under the tree. He then asked for a sprig of elder and laid this about nine inches above the swarm, saying that the smell of it was disliked by bees, and by the early evening all the bees had moved into the box . . . He had learned of the use of elder in this fashion from his beekeeper father, in his native village of Thriplow, south Cambridgeshire. [Girton, Cambridge, May 1988]

On the Isle of Man:

Each old cottage has a 'trammon', or elderberry tree, outside the door. This is used by the 'Phynodderree' to swing in. He is a kind of faun who can bring much luck, and even helps materially in outside work. [Daily News, 27 January 1926]

[Fairies] liked most of all to swing and play in the elder trees, and these were always thought of as fairy trees in the Isle of Man. There wasn't a house or farm that didn't have its 'tramman' tree planted by the door or in the garden 'for the fairies'. Many of them are still to be seen; the single tree will soon have grown into a thicket, hiding the old ruined house, but a sure sign that a house once stood there . . . When the wind was blowing the branches, it was then that the fairies were believed to be riding the tramman trees, but it was said that they would desert a house or a farm where the trees had been cut down. This must have happened only very rarely: no-one would cut a branch of the tramman, let alone the tree itself, but if it was done the fairies grieved. [Killip, 1975: 35]

Regardless of whether elder is considered to be malevolent or protec- tive, most of the folk beliefs associated with the tree appear to be con- cerned with its protection and preservation. Two quotations from herbalists writing in the 1940s demonstrate the value of the elder tree.

[According to my [g*psy] friend] the healingest tree that on earth do grow be the elder, them sez, and take it all round I should say 'twas. [Quelch, 1941: 78]

[Elder has] the unusual distinction of being useful in every part. [Ransom, 1949: 55]

Thus it is possible that the various folk beliefs associated with elder were due, at least in part, to efforts to protect a valuable resource.

The period when elder flowered was sometimes considered to be a time when the weather was poor. In the Basingstoke area of Hampshire this time was known as the elderbloom winter [Maida Hill, Lon- don, December 1982], while in Cheshire:

Weather prophets say that if the weather breaks while the elder-flowers are coming out, it will be soaking wet (in Cheshire parlance, drabbly) until they fade. [Hole, 1937: 49]

Francis Bacon (1561–1626) recorded: 'They say' WARTS can be removed by rubbing them 'with a Green Elder Sticke and then bury- ing the Sticke to rot in Mucke' [Bacon, 1631: 258]. Similarly:

A 15-year-old girl, writing in 1954, says that her grandfather told her to pick a small twig of elderberry, touch her warts with it, chant the words, “Wart, wart, on my knee, Please go, one, two, three” and put it 'down the toilet'. [Opie, 1959: 315]

Elder is, perhaps, the wild plant most widely used in folk medicine.

Queen of all Forest [of Dean] remedies was 'ellum blow tea'...The flowers were gathered in the spring and hung up to dry in closed paper bags ... in the kitchen ... You dared not sneeze in the winter or down came the bag, a good handful was put in a jug, covered with boiling water, covered with a tea towel, and left to infuse. One had to force this evil-smelling brew down one's throat willy-nilly. I loathed it, and to this day can recall that smell of cats which emanated from it. Poultices of the mixture were used for SPRAINS, aches, etc., in joints, also for boils and 'gathered' fingers—whitlows and so on. It seemed to be a universal panacea; the only use it didn't have was for constipation . . . Elder berries were favoured too; they were boiled up with sugar, the resulting syrup strained, bottled, and used in winter for coughs and colds . . .There is not a Forester alive over the age of 70 who does not know ellum blow tea. [Cinder- ford, Gloucestershire, November 1993]

Elder berries when fried with mutton fat are used for BOILS and ULCERS. [IFCSS MSS 414: 43, Co. Clare]

Elder root when boiled and the water drank supposed to cure RHEUMAT- ISM. [IFCSS MSS 700: 35, Co. Meath]

An infusion of elder flowers in boiling water will alleviate PILES. [Horsted Keynes, West Sussex, February 1991]

A green ointment could be made from the leaves, based on mutton fat, and the creamy white flowers made Elderflower Water for the complexion. The flowers, dried in the sun and stored in a paper bag make a good remedy to break a hard COUGH and bring up phlegm. I always pick and dry some when they are in bloom, put the full of your fingers (one hand) in a mug, pour boiling water over and let it infuse for ten minutes. A little milk or fruit juice can be added. [Lenamore, Co. Longford, April 1991]

For flus and FEVERS

40 oz whiskey bottle. Pick, clean, weigh, one pound ripe elder berries. Delete the strings (most strings anyway) using a fork, and put berries into empty bottle. Add 4 lb sugar. Top up with a bottle (or most of a bottle) of whiskey. Seal well. Store for 3 months and strain. Use strongest spirit. Dose—Strong glass of this 'Elderfire'—add hot water (as hot as possible) and drink. Take 2 or 3 spoons of honey with drink. Repeat each night (or more frequently)–usually two nights is sufficient to clear the flu/fever results guaranteed. [Killarney, Co. Kerry, September 1991]

[My mother, who was 94 when she died in 1987] used to collect elder-flower in the spring, and dried it. In the winter if we had colds or flu, the elderflower was put in a jug covered with boiling water and put on the hob to stew. At night we were given this (strained) with sugar and a few drops of peppermint oil added. We were given a teacup full of this at night, and in the morning we had to drink half a cupful of this cold mixture. It was supposed to sweat out the fever. She used to tell me how she pulled me through PNEUMONIA by poulticing with hot flannel and sips of elderflower tea, day and night. [Hill, Worcestershire, October 1991]

When my three children were small and we had wintery weather (and it can be very cold up here at the foot of the Cairngorms), I made elder-flower wine, and when it was time for them coming from school I had three cups, bowl of sugar, bottle of elderflower wine and the kettle boiling, and I gave them a tody; they never had colds or flu. [Boat-of-Garten, Inverness-shire, November 1991]

Elder flowers and berries are widely collected by makers of homemade wines. The flowers can also be used in cooking [Ó’Ceirin, 1980: o1), and the fruits have been recommended as a substitute for currants [Ransom, 1949: 55]. Elder leaves have been used as a TOBACCO substitute.

Myself, my brother and a friend always smoked elder leaves when money was not available for tailor-made cigarettes. We spent much time in the woodland of Thetford Chase, where on our regular walks we would break down, but not completely snap off, small sprigs of the elder. We found that if we severed the supply of sap completely the leaves on the sprig would dry out resulting in a hot strong smoke. We found that if the leaves remained just slightly damp they were a quite pleasant smoke. It was obviously trial and error, sometimes they remained too wet to burn properly. We would stuff the leaves very lightly into the stems of various umbellifers...We actually prefered these cigarettes to the tailor-made, but they were not available during winter. [West Stow, Suffolk, November 1992]

Elder wood is characterized by its pith, which can be easily removed.

[On Colonsay] boys aspiring to be pipers made chanters of the young branches [of elder], which are full of pith and easily bored. [McNeill, 1910: 130].

Haw-blowers are made by scooping the pith out of an elder branch. Haws are blown through these. [IFCSS MSS 700: 338, Co. Meath]

The people of the parish were able to make toy guns. They got an elder stick about one and a half feet long and scraped out the inside. Then they got a stick about the same length and made it fit into the hole and then the gun was made. [IFCSS MSS 867: 132, Co. Kilkenny]

At the the beginning of the century children in parts of Devon used to make pop-guns' out of elder: they would force a hole through the pith, and then fashion a ram-rod out of HAZEL WOOD. Chewed paper would be rammed down the hollowed elder sticks, and pressed out with considerable force. Great sport ensued. [Lafonte, 1984: 35]

There was another use for the Boor tree in olden times. A suitable length was cut and seasoned, then the white pith in the centre was scraped out, lead was then melted and poured in. When set, this made a good weapon for protection on a journey or out walking at night...My aunt who was born in 1894 remembered one man who had such a stick. [Lenamore, Co. Longford, April 1991]

[In Horsefield, Cambridgeshire] for winter feeding one beekeeper used to make little troughs out of elder wood; he cut pieces about the thickness of a finger and five or six inches long, tapered off one end and removed the pith, and used them for replenishing the bees' honey by inserting this end in the exit hole. [Parsons MSS, 1952]”

—

Oxford Dictionary of Plant-Lore

by Roy Vickery

#elder #elder tree #elderberry #elder mother #plant lore #herbcraft #folklore #Roy Vickery #Oxford Dictionary of Plant-Lore

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kinkykinard · 3 years ago

Text

When Everything is Gone (I’ll Be What You Want)

Fandom: 9-1-1. Prompt: missing scene for @buddiebingo. Pairing: None - mentions of Eddie x Ana, lots of mutual pining, Buddie feelings realization. Word Count: 2800. Genre: fluff. Rating: teen+. Summary: In the wake of the shooting, Eddie and Buck grapple with some big feelings, though it appears that they're the only two who can't make out just what those feelings mean. Note: Beta’d by @dearestdiaz and @fireladybuckley - thank you both for your tireless cheerleading, encouragement, and suggestions. Without the two of you, this fic never would have seen the light of day. Title from “Astronauts” by Rachel Platten. Gif by @fireladybuckley.

Read it on AO3.

Buck drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel in his Jeep as he sat outside Eddie’s house, glancing at his watch every few seconds as if keeping constant tabs on the time would help it go by faster. It was early and he didn’t want to intrude in case Eddie was still sleeping, especially since Pepa had taken Christopher with her after the previous evening’s festivities so that Eddie could have a little bit of time to recuperate without having to ready the boy for school. Buck knew Eddie was an early riser by nature, but he was also acutely aware of how enticing sleep was on high doses of painkillers and the last thing he wanted was to bother Eddie too early.

He needed to see him, though. He had lingered close to Eddie the night before, hugging the other man for just a beat longer than the others had. He’d needed the reassurance that Eddie wasn’t just alive, but that he was okay. Buck had been there when Eddie had been discharged, he knew that Eddie’s shoulder would mend, he would regain his range of motion, but no one had said anything about the trauma. Buck had only witnessed the shooting and he could barely close his eyes without being catapulted into a panic attack. He couldn’t begin to imagine how Eddie wasn’t more perturbed, and by staying close Buck hoped he could be there to support him if - when - he broke down.

Unable to wait any longer, Buck pulled his keys from the ignition and hopped out of the Jeep, jogging up the sidewalk to Eddie’s front door. He raised his hand to ring the doorbell, but stopped just shy of making contact. Still not wanting to wake Eddie, Buck changed his mind and reached for his keys instead, easily locating the one for Eddie’s front door. He slid it into the lock and turned it slowly as though even the quiet click of the bolt sliding open might wake the other man.

Stepping into the house, Buck craned his neck and listened for any noise. He couldn’t hear any snoring, but that didn’t mean Eddie wasn’t asleep. Creeping in further, he closed the door in his wake and slowly walked through the house, making his way through the living room and toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

“Ouch!”

Buck frowned as Eddie’s pained cry reached his ears. He paused at the end of the hallway, slipping the keys in his hand into his pocket as he strained to listen more closely. He could see shadows being thrown from inside the bathroom and he realized belatedly that Eddie wasn’t alone. Cursing himself for not calling ahead, Buck hovered, unsure of what to do.

“I’m sorry, I’m terrible at this.”

He was surprised to hear Ana’s voice, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been. She’d been at Eddie’s side throughout most of his hospitalization, and there was no reason for her to step back now that he was home. Still, Buck’s heart sank a little at the thought that he wouldn’t get Eddie all to himself for a while like he’d hoped.

“Here, maybe I can get this off and then all you have to do is stick the new one on.”

Buck debated just leaving, giving Eddie and Ana some space, but something about the conversation he’d dropped in on piqued his curiosity and he forged ahead. The floor creaked beneath him as he walked, and he knew they’d heard him when they suddenly fell quiet.

“It’s just me,” Buck announced as he stepped around the corner, pausing in the door frame. He took in the sight before him; Eddie was seated on the toilet, his shirt off, the dressing over his wound pulled back at one corner but otherwise intact. Ana, clad in an oversized pair of nitrile gloves, hovered nervously in front of him, various dressing supplies laid out on the counter at her side. Her glove was stuck to the small bit of exposed adhesive on the dressing, and it was obvious she was having trouble working at it with the excess of nitrile between her hands and the bandage. It was clear, too, that she was concerned with hurting Eddie if the apologetic crease to her brow was any indication. Buck smiled at the scene.

“Hey, man,” Eddie said with a grin. “I wasn’t expecting you so early.”

Buck chuckled. “Ah, but you were expecting me.”

Eddie rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Buck waved a hand over his shoulder, gesturing vaguely to the rest of the house.

“I can wait in the kitchen while you two finish up,” he offered. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Ana shook her head, reaching up to pull off her gloves.

“No, please, stay,” she insisted. “I’m terrible at this anyway - I’m sure you could do a much better job.”

Buck smiled, ducking his head a little, catching the amusement in Eddie’s eyes at her statement. He met the other man’s gaze.

“Only if it’s okay with you.”

Eddie grinned.

“There’s no one else I’d trust more,” he murmured.

Ana clasped her hands together with a smile.

“That settles it, then; I’ll step aside and let a professional handle this.”

Her words drew laughter from both men and Ana took that as a cue to step down. Buck moved back, giving her room to pass in the doorway, and filled the gap she’d left behind as soon as she was gone. It was so easy, so natural to pick up where she’d left off.

Without missing a beat, Buck pulled on a pair of gloves. He glanced down at Eddie’s chest where the bandage Ana had only just begun to pull off was curled back at the very corner, the adhesive catching on the chain of Eddie’s St. Christopher medal where it hung around his neck. He regarded the image on it for a moment, his eyes tracing the outline of the saint and the child on his shoulders, the lines and grooves in the medal blackened and tarnished with age, standing out in stark contrast to the silver relief. Buck’s first instinct was to take it off, to set it away to have it polished later, but he thought better of it as the memory of Eddie’s chest in the wake of the gunshot - bloody and barren of the medallion when Buck had torn his uniform open - flashed in the forefront of his mind. With the image came the impression of the coppery scent of Eddie’s blood on his hands, the warmth of it in stark contrast to how cool Eddie’s skin had been. Echoes of Eddie’s pulse, quick and weak against his fingers but nowhere near as fast as his own - driven to its limits by adrenaline - pounded in his head. The recollection of the way the fire truck had lurched beneath them, nearly dislodging the hand Buck had been using to apply pressure to Eddie’s wound more than once, reverberated through his body and made his hands shake just the littlest bit.

Dispelling the memories, Buck settled for reaching up with a gentle hand and pushing it out of the way instead, not wanting to tempt fate. He pulled the medallion around to the back of Eddie’s neck, letting it drop and pull the chain away from the wound under its weight, leaving him a clearer field to work with.

“This might hurt a little,” Buck murmured softly, glancing briefly up at Eddie as he reached for the bandage.

Eddie chuckled softly.

“Do your worst.”

Buck rolled his eyes good-naturedly and grasped the corner of the bandage, carefully peeling up enough of it to hold onto. He held his fingertips to Eddie’s skin, applying a bit of pressure to offset the stinging of the adhesive being pulled away from where it had been stuck for nearly a day since Eddie’s last dressing change at the hospital. It held fast, but eventually started coming away. Buck flashed Eddie an apologetic glance, but to Eddie’s credit he didn’t so much as flinch.

It took a minute, but eventually Buck was able to remove the entirety of the dressing without disturbing Eddie’s skin too much. He gently smoothed his fingertips over the redness that remained in the wake of the bandage and reached for a few pieces of gauze. Wetting them with a bit of water and a gentle soap, Buck carefully washed around the wound, his eyes flicking up to Eddie’s face every few seconds to make sure he wasn’t causing the other man any unnecessary discomfort. Eddie smiled through it all, though, sitting perfectly still.

Far more still than he had for her, anyway, Ana thought.

She watched the two of them from the hallway, standing in the shadows outside the sliver of light that spilled out from the bathroom. The way Buck touched Eddie was so easy, so familiar. The way Eddie didn’t shy away from the contact spoke volumes on the level of trust they shared. The soft smiles they shared were intimate, private in a way that she knew they had both already put her presence out of their minds. Not intentionally, she knew - neither man had an unkind bone in their body - but because their focus had been so consumed with one another in the wake of their shared trauma that there was no room for anyone else. It made her heart ache a little to see what she’d wanted so badly for herself with Eddie playing out in front of her with Buck instead, but she understood. She knew that the heart wanted what it wanted, even if the head wasn’t always on board at the start. It was obvious, watching them, and she smiled a little sadly as she slipped away quietly, leaving the two of them to work through their feelings without an audience.

Buck switched the wet gauze in his hand out for a clean and dry wad and pressed it to Eddie’s chest below his wound. WIth his free hand, he carefully poured saline over the sutured skin, washing away some of the debris that had crusted over it, catching the drips with the gauze pad. He worked slowly to cause as little discomfort as he could, and eventually he got the wound clean. He inspected it closely for signs of infection before pulling back a moment to let Eddie’s skin dry.

“How’s it look?” Eddie asked, pulling his head back and glancing down in an attempt to get a peek at the wound.

Buck glanced up to meet his eyes, smiling.

“It’s healing well,” he acknowledged, his expression softening a little into apology as he continued. “Gonna leave a scar, though.”

Eddie nodded with a hollow chuckle.

“It’ll match the other one.”

Buck’s gaze flicked to Eddie’s other shoulder, taking in the puckered, darkened skin left behind in the wake of Eddie’s first gunshot wound. The edges of Eddie’s recent wound were already beginning to fade into the same tone as the older scar and Buck had to stop himself from reaching out to touch the imperfectly healed skin on Eddie’s left shoulder in reassurance. He settled on speaking instead to dispel the pull he felt toward the tender gesture.

"Scars tell stories.”

He picked up a tube of antibiotic ointment, squeezing a bit out onto a clean gauze square before carefully dabbing it onto Eddie’s wound.

“Scars raise questions,” Eddie corrected. “I’ll be the one having to tell the stories, and I’m not sure I want to.”

Buck hummed, setting the used gauze aside and carefully positioning a clean square over Eddie’s wound. He tacked it into place, using the ointment beneath to keep the gauze steady as he cut a fresh strip of adhesive with which to secure it on.

Eddie was an intensely private person, Buck knew, and it suddenly struck him how uncharacteristic it was of him to even be having such a discussion. For Eddie to be letting Buck take care of him in such a vulnerable state. The simple act of changing the dressing suddenly had a lot more gravity to it, and Buck’s touch was even lighter, more gentle as he smoothed the bandage into place over the gauze, finishing the procedure.

“And that’s it,” Buck murmured as he sat back, stripping off his gloves. “How’s it feel?”

Eddie slowly, carefully, experimentally shrugged his shoulder a little. The dressing pulled taut a bit and wrinkled when he rolled the joint forward, but otherwise stayed firmly in place. He winced at the movement but smiled as he settled again, giving Buck a thumbs up.

“Feels good. Thanks, man.”

Buck dipped his head, smiling and feeling his cheeks flush a little. There was something unmistakably intimate about the moment and it took Buck a second to shake it off. Glancing up, he watched Eddie reach for his shirt and noticed something he’d forgotten.

“Hold on,” Buck interjected.

Eddie stilled, watching Buck as the other man reached for him once more. Buck’s fingertips brushed the base of his throat, gently tugging at the chain that held his St. Christopher medal. The pendant shifted with the chain, tumbling over Eddie’s shoulder and landing against his chest over his heart, right where it belonged. Buck straightened it, facing it forward, his fingertips lingering for a moment as he ruminated on its significance.

Eventually, Buck pulled away and gave Eddie a hand with his shirt, his mind still reeling from the unchecked thoughts and feelings swirling there. He’d never considered his feelings about the shooting, about Eddie as anything noteworthy before, but somehow, in the cramped quietude of Eddie’s master bathroom, he’d begun to see things in a different light. Somehow, he’d gained some perspective.

“How about a coffee for your troubles?” Eddie’s voice broke through his reflection.

Buck laughed with a nod, busying himself with putting away the unused supplies for the next dressing change. Eddie brushed past him on his way out of the bathroom, leaving Buck to fathom in silence for a moment longer before he, too, made his way out and toward the kitchen in Eddie’s wake.

The remainder of the morning passed as they always did, in companionable silence over breakfast, broken occasionally by teasing banter and the clink of silverware against ceramic. All too quickly, Buck had to take his leave, but not before checking to make sure Eddie would be alright on his own. It hurt him a little bit to leave the other man so soon after they’d regained some semblance of normalcy, but the world wasn’t about to stop turning so that he could probe a little further into whatever feelings he’d only just begun to uncover.

Eddie watched Buck go, smiling to himself as he shut the door only after Buck’s Jeep had disappeared from view down the street. He reached into his pocket, slipping his phone free and firing off a text to Ana. He’d realized at some point that she’d disappeared, and he was surprised - though not overly bothered - to find that he hadn’t missed her. What he was surprised about, though, was the fact that she didn’t seem to have been missing him, either, when a message back appeared on his screen a moment later.

I think there’s someone else you ought to be asking out to dinner tonight, Edmundo.

Three dots bounced at the bottom of the display as Ana’s words sank in and a second message popped up before he could write anything back.

Go get your man before someone else does.

Eddie blinked at the screen, his mind stuck somewhere between I’m sorry and what are you talking about? His thumb hovered over the keyboard as he debated on a response, but he couldn’t settle on either. Eventually, he found the right words after all.

I think I will. Thank you.

Simple, concise, and enough to earn him a smile and a thumbs up emoji. Chuckling softly, Eddie closed Ana’s chat window, pulling up Buck’s instead. He had no idea how he was going to do it, to confess everything that had been building up inside of him for longer than he cared to admit, but he supposed he might as well start as he always did and see where things went from there.

I 'm thinking pizza for dinner tonight, you in?

Three dots again, and then -

Like you even have to ask. I’ll bring dessert.

Eddie chuckled as he set his phone on the counter. Whatever else changed in his life, whatever happened to him, some things would never change. Buck would never change. It was that constancy that Eddie was banking on as he sat down to drink the last of his coffee and to consider what, exactly, he was going to say later on that night.

#9-1-1 #fanfiction #Eddie Diaz #Evan Buckley #Buddie #mutual pining #feelings realization #post-4x14 #brief mentions of Ana Flores #Buddie Bingo

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marshmallowprotection · 3 years ago

Text

[Previous Post]

By his calculation, it was no real surprise that she couldn't remember anything that she'd said to him.

She had been floating on the edge of elixir and the aftershocks it left in her system, most of what left her lips was nonsensical, at worst. She had far more clarity with her ability to speak but she had been easily distracted and confused if he let her talk without some kind of motivation.

Ray hadn't even had to pry. It was as if she were a Goddess who truly knew everything. She knew things that Ray had to double check for their authenticity but found she was right every step of the way there. There were things that he would have otherwise had no way to know, but she was right enough for him to put every word to thought.

She had firm thoughts and opinions, and it was precious to see her get upset over nothing. She would get so inflamed over this or that, but she spoke of the stories of himself and those around him like it was her livelihood. As if the world around them was her everything.

However, some of her tone needed to be corrected. She spoke highly of much of the RFA, even if she was able to easily proclaim what she saw as a perceived fear or hesitance. He didn't care if she pitied the most of them… he just didn't want her to feel anything for the liar and the traitor. It's why he didn't ask about them.

But, the rest of the members?

He had enough information to draw out anything he wanted from them. She even had her own suggestions for what could work on them. He noted it in her phone, where she had been trying to figure out what may bring the RFA to Mint Eye. It was amusing to think she had considered it before meeting him. It was just another reminder that she was meant to be a saint to Mint Eye.

Setting aside his feelings in knowing that her information had been given to her because of a game, he knew it didn’t matter how she got it. She wielded it with grace and luxury in her hands. She built upon the backs of what she had been handed and made it stronger... she found holes in stories and mended them by her hands.

"Princess, relax for me," he was as gentle as he could be but she simply hadn't had the time to learn how to sit still. She was coming more and more out of her gaze so she was having such a hard time with her tremors. "I know it's hard. But I need you to look your best today."

Either way, Ray had what he needed and plans could begin. But, right now, he had something even more important to think of. His Savior wanted to meet the person who would save Paradise with ease, his precious one. He tutted when he felt her squirm underneath his hand, smoothing out the brush against her messy curls as he did.

Kaitlyn blinked a few times and then looked at the reflection in the mirror. She would see Ray fretting over little things as he did but she hadn’t quite realized how much work he was doing. He had taken great care to make her look exactly as radiant as she was. If they didn't see it before, they would see it in front of the Savior.

He caught her hand before it could touch her hand, and he lowered it back down onto her lap with a tight smile. He spent an awfully long time making her messy curls tighter and consistent. He didn’t want her to mess any of it up because she wasn’t in the state of mind to look at herself just yet.

She was easily placated, though.

All it’d taken to make her listen to him in the first place was to wrap his coat around her shoulders. She stopped shivering and shaking when he did. It was almost adorable. Compared to the acidic mint and undertones of alcohol within the potion, he imagined the floral scent calmed her down. Aromatherapy was a good idea! If he could’ve taken her back to the garden...

As the clarity was slowly returning, she seemed like in a daze and more of a frenzy. Her eyes darted all over the place as she strained to figure out where she was and why she was there. He knew that feeling, it happened often as he came out of the buzz that elixir warranted to those that survived the first trial.

"Why…?"

"You're meeting with my Savior, remember?"

He frowned. What did she have to be afraid of? Did she misunderstand how lucky she was? Or, was the elixir still making her fearful to be alone with other people except for him? She would cry out with names that he couldn’t recall or know, after all. She might’ve been scared to make a fool of herself in front of his Savior.

Something akin to fear flashed in her eyes, “I thought... I thought you said she was okay with us being together, Ray.”

“Of course! My Savior promised that we’ll be together, but she wants to meet you so our mission can begin. After all, she wants to formally greet you as a true member of paradise! You took the elixir so well, too. It’s amazing. So, she wants you to see our paradise now that you’re able to function properly.”

She’d seen worse.

—

“I’m...”

“A member of paradise,” Rika spoke with resolution. Her emerald eyes flickered over the newcomer, as if sizing her up and trying to figure out the best way to be able to pick her mind apart. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you to Magenta, for the first time, officially. While you must be surprised to be here with you, I must thank you for offering your wisdom and insight to ensure our success.”

To put it plainly, Rika was searching for something in between the lines. Ray had said over and over that her information knew no bounds but there were parts of it that he couldn’t gain access to quite yet. She knew everything about them and yet, she was devoted to the cause. She had no doubt in her mind after what he’d shown her on that phone.

She always imagined that she would have to tether Ray with a string to keep him to obey but now she had two tools to use at her disposal. She not only had Ray who worked himself like a dog for the smallest grain of affection, and now, this girl who would do anything for Ray and the paradise that he wanted to hold so badly.

Photos that couldn’t exist in this world as they existed in quality unlike their own. Information about everything and everyone that nobody was ever meant to get into their hands. Reports and essays that could rival anyone in their terms of control and clarity. Her devotion to Ray was something else, and it could readily be used and manipulated.

An idealistic young woman who believed in empathy and shining love. She was a realist but her romantic heart could sway her to be bent easily. It reminded her much of herself before she realized her true potential. A shining light was easy to capture as long as you had the right tools.

Then, she would finally feel the light of salvation.

This could be a useful love.

Love built upon obsession that came from sincere bonds. Unlike the way that her former flame had done. His love had burned and devoured every part of her heart and now... she could take back her precious family from his clutches and wave this love in his face. She could use it, she could use them, and she was going to do so.

Though, Ray seemed to have dosed her with more than she expected. Her eyes still looked glossy even though she had enough clarity to realize the situation at hand. Her hand nervously fiddled with the fabric of the borrowed coat she wore, as her eyes darted left to right, not wanting to meet Rika’s gaze.

No matter, it was a delight either way to see things working.

Though this girl was taller than she was, she paid no mind, resting her hand against her shoulder to catch her attention. “You don’t need to worry about a thing. You’ve proven your capability already with your charming perspective, I must say, you’re a delightful read when you tear people down. You’ve seen the things I’ve always overlooked.”

“Ah, I...” Kaitlyn murmured. It was a small nod to indicate that she’d heard what Rika said. “I... I like to study people, it’s a hobby... I’m not that great for what it's worth.”

Oh.

An insecurity.

“Ray has shown me otherwise. Your words will be the very thing that save my precious mistreated family. I’m interested to hear more about what you think we should do. After all, someone as devoted as you can only know talent. Trust me, I know skill when I see it. I welcome it to our paradise because we need people like you.”

“...Thank you, Savior,” the words seemed foreign against her lips but she had managed to catch herself in time. She seemed to be good in print but in need with her actual words. “I... I’m thankful you see it that way. I’m... I’m happy you have welcomed me.”

Rika’s attention shifted back to Ray. He seemed to be eyeing his plaything with a serious fever in his eyes. It could’ve been a problem, but... as long as she knew that this infatuation was going to secure paradise, she would allow it. It wasn’t as if they would be able to turn away from their promised future. It was a given, and Ray would never let go of it, now.

She smiled.

What a frightened little rabbit.

“Ray, be a dear and see to it that she’s comfortable. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us if we want to achieve our goals within the next few months... aren’t you pleased it won’t take years to succeed now? All you’ve ever wanted, you’ve got it in your grasps. Don’t lose sight of that,” her voice was clear. “To get what you want, you must never look away from what’s ahead. No matter how ugly it seems. After all, I have a strong feeling that our dear Kaitlyn will have them on their knees soon enough.”

His expression changed with that. His lips curled upward and he nodded, his way of saying he understood. The bloodlust in his eyes... now, that was what she wanted to hold onto. As long as he behaved, as long as he kept his dream ahead, paradise would thrive, and she would have what she wanted. Jihyun on his hands and knees, begging for mercy.

And she’d snap him like a twig for thinking she’d given him a chance after what he did.

Rika stepped back and Ray stepped forward. He took her by the hand and let her gaze into his eyes, that cloudy look leaving him as he played the role that he wanted. Pity, he wanted to be a prince when he was better suited for something else. Well, in due time, she thought.

“I’ll begin preparations, my Savior. For eternal paradise.”

“For eternal paradise, my children.”

#self insert #danger ray #drabble #mod kait

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starlightrows · 4 years ago

Text

Disrupted

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Tags: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Non-graphic violence,

Summary: Your clan of three has a routine that gets you through the day to day. But the events of chapter 14 throw a wrench into that and disrupt everything

AN: Originally posted on AO3 in December 2020

It seems like everyday is an adventure traveling with your riddur and foundling son. If it’s not bringing in a bounty, it’s doing odd jobs in exchange for information you only hope will lead to the next helpful piece of information. And still there are days that must be “wasted” to resupply, make repairs, do laundry, and catch up on sleep if you’re lucky. But despite this seemingly turbulent lifestyle, your clan of three had a routine of sorts.

Mostly revolving around the baby. When he wakes up, it’s officially morning time. That means getting him up and out of the pram, and immediately getting food in his belly. Then, hopefully you would be arriving to whatever destination is set for the day. Hunting a bounty, meeting with a contact, delivering bounties and cargo, and market days. Market days were the little guys favorite. Usually because he got treats from the market, and dad carried him in the satchel. They only thing he liked better, was when mom carried him in her arms.

If it’s a big travel day through hyperspace. Then the entire day is devoted to entertaining him on board while also trying to get work done. Din cleans weapons, makes small internal repairs, charts future courses. You try to balance the budget to make sure you will have enough credits to afford fuel and food, count out rations to make sure they will last, and prepare them as best you can with the limited galley space available. All while trying to teach Grogu basic things like his colors and shapes. Truthfully, you weren’t sure if you should be trying to teach him more advanced things like arithmetic, or planetary geography. He was supposed to be older than you after all.

Grogu gets grumpy and fussy at about midday, no matter what planet or how deep in hyperspace you may be. That means it’s time for him to drink something like bantha milk, bone broth, or just water if you’re running low on supplies; and take a nap. Sometimes you or Din will nap with him, especially if it’s a resupply and repair day.

When he wakes up again, he’s usually less needy. He is usually pretty happy to observe whatever it is his parents are doing. If Din is flying the ship, he liked to sit with him in the cockpit and play with the durasteel ball handle on the rear deflector shield control. Or he will sit on one of the crates tethered to the walls of the ship while you meticulously inventory the supplies and their replacement costs. He’s most happy on the afternoons when both you and Din sit in the cockpit together. Din flying the ship, you copiloting at his side. Grogu likes to sit on your lap and listen to the two of you talk. Droning on and on about nothing. He doesn’t always know what you’re talking about, but he likes both his parents to be together, especially if they’re giving him attention together.

Which is why the end of the day meal is his favorite. Even if you and Din haven’t interacted much all day, you would come together for dinner. Sitting as a family in the hull of the ship to eat rations together. After dinner, Din cleared the eating utensils while you would give Grogu a bath and get him ready for bed.

Cradling him against your shoulder, pacing up and down the length of the hull, bouncing him slightly with each step, and humming sweet lullabies. Coming to a stop in front of his pram, just as he was falling asleep. Din would join you, drawing you into his arms, and swaying gently without a word and you finish your last lullaby. Placing Grogu into the pram, you give him a kiss on the head and close the lid.

At that point, you and Din have time to either continue working on your respective tasks, work on two person jobs on the ship, or as you both prefer just spend some quality time together.

But not anymore. Not since Tython.

Less than an hour. Less than a single hour had passed between the three of you stepping off of the Razor Crest, and watching as the four massive, seemingly indestructible, black droids ascended into the sky with your child in tow. In less than 60 minutes the Crest was obliterated with everything you owned on board, you were beaten within an inch of your life by the droids, and your son was plucked from your arms. Left to bleed out on that wretched mountain top.

And less than an hour after that, you sat aboard the ship of a man you had just been threatened by. You felt disoriented and dazed, and not just from the probable concussion. Din knelt in front of you below deck, gripping your forearms as you stared blankly into the visor of his helmet.

“What are we gonna do?” You asked numbly. “A-a-all of our weapons. Our rations. Our home. Our son..... what are we gonna do?”

He squeezes you again, it’s grounding but you are having a difficult time getting your mind to focus on any one thing.

“We’re going back to Nevarro,” he says frankly. But you’re confused.

“Nevarro? You think they’re taking him to Nevarro?”

This worried Din more, it is evident you are more injured that you appear. And he makes a mental note to send a communication to Cara ahead of time to make sure medical staff is waiting when they get there.

“No cyar’ika, we have to get some help before we can go after Grogu. We’re gonna go see Cara,”

This seems to pacify you for the time being. Your head his pounding, and all you want to do is cry and sleep. And hope when you wake up this will have been a horrible dream.

It isn’t though. You wake up in a clean bed with a bandage around your head. Din lays next to you on his stomach. Despite the fact he his dead asleep, he looks exhausted. His eyes are puffy and a little darkened. He’s been crying. And all at once you are overwhelmed by feelings of guilt, sadness, loss and despair. Your home really was gone, and so was your son. But unlike the Crest, you could get Grogu back.

When Din eventually wakes up, he describes how disoriented you were and the utter terror he felt at not being able to keep you awake during the flight. Luckily a heavily dosed bacta shot, and a good long sleep had you on the mend. He tells you of his plan to spring Migs Mayfeld from prison with Cara’s help, and get him to help find out where to find Moff Gideon’s cruiser. You don’t like the idea of bringing in Mayfeld. He had been extremely aggressive and irritable the last time you’d dealt with him... but you didn’t have a better idea.

It was much easier than expected getting Mayfeld to agree to help. Though he didn’t have much room to argue. You felt almost good about the situation as your rag tag group consisting of Mayfeld, Cara, Fennec, Boba Fett, Din and yourself; flew towards Morak. You felt like you were actually working to accomplish something. Getting closer to getting your baby back.

But like Fett said. It was a long journey to get there. It was like being home on the Crest. But you were uncomfortable, unused to being in close proximity to so many people for this long. And you had nothing to do. You felt... trapped in your own mind. Without thinking about it you would stand up, as if moved by some unseen force and walk away from the others and return with nothing new and not a word. Just a sad empty look on your face.

After the fourth time. Mayfeld blurted out “What the hell are you doing? You got a screw loose or something” he was trying to be funny. Trying to cut the tension. You didn’t turn around, you just retreated below deck. This time Din followed. “What’s with them?” Mayfeld asked, directing his question at Cara.

“It’s midday,” she spat. There was a long silence before said quieter “it’s time to feed her son and put him down for a nap”

That shut Mayfeld up.

Below deck, you leaned your head and forearms against the wall of Slave I. Enjoying the cold that leeched into your skin, at least it was something.

“Cyare,” Din called out softly. You turned to face him, leaning back against the wall. Tears brimmed in your eyes. He approached you, extending his arms out to you. Inviting to to take comfort if you wanted it. You accepted, leaning on him as the tears slipped down your cheeks.

“I know” he whispers “we’ll get him back. Whatever it takes,”

Din Djarin Tag List: @spideysimpossiblegirl

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #back logged fic

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zodiyack · 4 years ago

Text

The Unforgivable Curses

Requested by @e-b-immortal: How about a witch reader x tommy shelby again But she just save john with magic and kill the enemies

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female!Witch!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, magic, murder, death, spoilers?, angst

Words: 1,320

Summary: (See Request)

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @stydia-4-ever, @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @simonsbluee, @peakysputain, @cai-neki, @darling-i-read-it, @fandom-puff, @jenepleurepasbaby, @marquelapage, @thewarriorprincessxo, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @peakyxtommy

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

I believe the witch reader concept started here

Watching what would have been her brother-in-law’s death was mortifying. Tommy sent her to watch over his cousin and brother, her secret no longer a secret helping him in his decision making, and she soon agreed with his point. His original concern had to do with the black hands, hers now related to the uneasiness her gut held. It was too...weird.

Nothing was “normal” in her life, but this was a different kind of peculiar. This was an evil kind of peculiar.

Like time was moving in slow motion, her head whipped around to spot a gun beginning to rise. It was all the time she needed to simply whip out her wand and apparate in front of John then grab him and Michael and apparate out of the way. Esme was already out of their line of fire, so she was safe and didn’t require saving. The gypsy woman watched her sister-in-law with wide eyes that contained a pleasant mix of horror and awe. Y/n grinned before ducking down to dodge a bullet that flew at her head.

The bullet she dodged had just slightly grazed John’s shoulder. It still caught him off guard enough to cause panic to emit from his mouth. A loud cry rang through Y/n’s ears and summoned a beast inside her, one Newt had yet to discover. Her wizard friend was too far away to make the discovery now though.

“Arresto momentum!” Her spell made the unrealistic rate of speed real. Time really was moving in slow motion. She watched as every bullet moved slower than a sloth. The Shelbys, and Gray, behind her held three equal doses of confusion but their amusement was fleeting

The thing was, she wasn’t done yet. A darkness clouded her eyes.

Of course, Esme had been filled in on the different spells and what they could do, Tommy and the rest of the family as well, but Esme was the most observant involving the craft. She felt her skin pale and her heart drop to her stomach when she realized what was going to happen next. Tempted to reach out for her sister in law, had she not held back by her husband, she screamed.

“Don’t do it! It’s not worth it, there are different ways! Muggle ways!”

“What are you talking about, Esme?” John narrowed his eyes at his wife.

She turned to her husband with an urgent pleading expression. “Remember? The unforgivable curses, dumbass!” Esme swatted at him but quickly gave up. She was wasting time. “Y/n said that witches and wizards usually are corrupted by the fuckin’ dark curses! She swore to never take part in them!”

John gulped. He developed Esme’s fearful exterior within seconds, exchanging glances with Michael and then running at the same time as his cousin to Y/n.

“What the hell are you doing!? Get off!” She tried to nudge Michael away softly, but his grip on her wand wielding wrist never relented. “Don’t make me do this.” A sincere warning that he ignored yet again. Her other hand grabbed the wand and aimed it towards Michael, “Depulso!”

Michael began moving backwards. He looked to John with a stern nod of his head. They would do everything in their power to prevent Y/n from losing her innocence in her magic. However, Y/n was quick to spot him, flipping her aim as she shouted, “Depulso!”

Fortunately, John observed her when she did the same to Michael. He dodged it and continued pacing forward. Every shout of the spell he managed to just barely miss. Unfortunately, Y/n had now observed John.

“Incarcerous!” Ropes flew at the blinder and tied with unimaginable strength. He was left tied up and shouting, no way to stop Y/n. The shouts only quieted for a moment. A moment in which Y/n gave John a soft empathetic look before turning and following through with her plan. The look told him wordlessly that this was the only way. To trust her.

“Expelliarmus!” The guns flew in every which way, the slow motion’s affect drawing out a small snicker from John. Which elicited a glare from Esme.

The slow motion spell lingered away with the guns, and the men previously holding them looked around desperately. Some men jumped off to grab their weapons once they’d spotted their spots on the ground, but were practically thrown- the literal effect of the spell- back by the words murmured by Y/n.

“Everte statum!” Esme held her breath subconsciously. Y/n had yet to speak the one spell she told the group that she so greatly despised. She had yet to corrupt herself. “Expulso!” The guns broke apart, exploding where they lied, thus preventing the enemies from using their weapons.

Time returned to it’s feeling. The spell was no longer there, but they swore time had slowed again. Esme almost whipped her head around to Y/n to ask what she’d done until she noticed it wasn’t the spell.

It was like a film in the theatre; an entire movie that felt like it went on for years when really it was no more than an hour. A film that flashed the mafia’s life before their own eyes, the four across from them just characters they never asked for. A film that would be their last.

“Avada kedavra!” The words left her mouth with only slight hesitation. She convinced herself it was the only way, a repetition of the phrase to herself was the small nudge she needed to give into the curse and kill the men in front of her and her family.

A few moments passed, Y/n unmoving, standing in the same spot for the small bit of time before she turned and walked to John. “Let me see your shoulder.”

“What? No!”

Esme swatted his arm, “Let her see it, you fucking bloody idiot!”

He groaned before extending his arm and moving his night shirt over the wounded shoulder. A wince left his mouth as the cold air nipped at his bloody skin on display. “Vulnera sanentur.” The pain was gone and his wound was slowly mending itself.

Y/n turned and removed herself from their conversation for the second time. She sat upon the stairs, arm resting on her lap and her cheek held up by her palm. Esme watched with a furrow of her brows. She felt bad for Y/n, afraid even. When they’d discussed spells together, the mention of the killing curse had spooked Y/n.

It was a joke, at first. Esme was jabbing at the Blinders’ work, but then a question involving the killing part of the job popped up. Y/n assured her over and over that it wasn’t her fault, but now she couldn’t help but feel a massive wave of guilt. Y/n had just preformed the one spell she said she could never bring herself to do. Had she truly been corrupted? Was her warning true? Was she not an exception of dark magic’s addicting ways?

“It isn’t over, you know? They’re still out there, and from the looks of it, they don’t plan on walking away.” Y/n spoke up, startling the three.

“Well... What are we gonna do about it?”

“Whatever we can. We’ll think of something with the rest when we get back. For now right now though,” she paced around the property, “rather- before we leave, I have to do something. In fact, I’ll do it wherever we deem necessary.” Her in lawed siblings and cousin waited for more context in her explanation before they heard a familiar spell.

The spell was one she did when they were threatened a different time. The threat was not as big as their current but it was just as, if not a little less, serious. They’d engraved the spell in their minds, thankful to its usefulness, for how grateful they’d been that it exists.

A warm feeling took hold of them; Y/n wasn’t corrupted. Y/n was determined.

“Protego totalum.” (protection spell)

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tunedtostatic · 3 years ago

Text

galaxies of my heart

Vikady, also featuring Sana and a brief Krejjh cameo

CW: injury, aftermath of torture, painkiller drugs, brief domestic violence mention (not named characters), food, discussion of medical trauma & painkiller controversies

As she speaks, one of her hands makes what could be the beginning of a motion to reach for Arkady, then folds back into her lap. Arkady wonders if Sana gave her a crash course on Not Touching Your Loved Ones Without Warning After They’ve Been Tortured Because They Might Freak Out, or if that was something she already knew from her time as a medic. Either possibility feels depressingly plausible.

I finished my first tscosi fic! In which injuries are cared for, miscommunications are miscommunicated, assumptions are countered, and kisses are kissed. Title (and lyrics referenced in the fic) are from “space girl” by Frances Forever, even though it’s kind of a fluffy song relative to some of the subject matter, but not to worry, I have a permit [unfolds a sheet of paper that reads “I was working on my Vikady fanmix in the morning the day I started this fic and got it stuck in my head big time”]

Edit: I realized 9k is a little long to be easily navigable in post form so I archived this as well. I just learned when attempting to post a credited picrew that Tumblr is still hiding posts with links, but it’s at archiveofourown dot org, /works/31851859.

Edit the second: Re-reading “adrenaline makes you do stupid things” by jaggedwolf and I'm 90% sure I accidentally stole a couple things from there rather than the general primordial soup of my brain (the line "That can't be comfortable" and maybe the general concept of Arkady making sure she gets hurt before the person she's been captured with), so adding this to give credit where due to a really great fic that you should definitely read if you haven't already.

The first time Arkady surfaces, everything around her is still coated in a haze as though she’s dreaming. The room is quiet, and when she takes a sharp breath in, all of a sudden Violet is leaning over her, her hair swinging near Arkady’s face.

“You’ve got very dynamic hair,” Arkady says, or at least tries to say, and then she’s asleep again.

The next time she wakes up, she wakes up completely, although her mind still feels a little foggy. Her body aches, and—yeah, based on that ceiling, she’s definitely in the medbay of the Iris 2. Which means that they made it back to the ship, or at least that Arkady did—

Fear surges through her, and she peers back and forth. Her eyes land on Sana, who is sitting to the right of her bed, crocheting something that sprawls across her lap in chaotic loops.

Her intention is to say Sana’s name, but she can’t even make it through the first syllable, emitting a sound that sounds more like the “Ssss” of the litter of feral kittens Brian and Krejjh found that one time. Great job, Patel, you’d make a better hissing kitten than a first mate. Krejjh is going to have to stop calling you First Mate Patel and start calling you Feral Kitten Patel—

The thought of Krejjh is enough to make Arkady’s whole mind flinch. Krejjh—

The feral kitten hiss must have been loud enough for Sana to hear, though, because she’s dropping her crocheting to her lap, looking toward Arkady.

“Kady,” she says warmly, at the same time as Arkady croaks, “Krejjh—”

“Is fine.” Sana’s hand comes up to rest on the pillow next to Arkady’s cheek, a steadying presence, though she doesn’t touch her.

“They were with me.”

“They were.” Sana nods. “But they’re here and they’re not hurt. Hanging out with Brian in the kitchen as we speak.” She glances through the medbay door before her gaze bounces back to Arkady, and it’s such a familiar Sana kind of motion that Arkady feels the remainder of her panic fade slightly. Speaking of octopuses of myth and legend, that’s Sana, one mental tendril keeping track of the approximate status of each member of her crew at any given time.

“How are you feeling?” Sana continues. “Park said you were in a lot of pain before you passed out. Violet has you on a painkiller drip, but she’s using the minimum the way you always want. If you’re in pain, we can raise the dose.”

Arkady turns her attention more fully to her body. Pain and sensation are present, but muffled, as though they are far away. Ribs: hurt. Arm: hurts significantly. Legs: hurt, but only a little.

It’s bearable. “I’ve had worse.”

“Kady—”

“I’m fine, Sana. Just feels like…what do you call them…colors, purple, ouch…bruises.” She shakes her head, then stills with a wince. “The others?”

“Everyone’s safe.” Sana pats the pillow where her hand rests next to Arkady’s cheek. “Park found you and Krejjh before anyone laid a finger on them. He got out fine, too. You’re the only one who was hurt, Kady.”

Arkady studies Sana’s face. “How…bad is it?”

“Six fractures, no serious tissue injuries.” Sana’s voice is gentle but matter-of-fact. “We’re going to pick up some skeletal accelerators next time we’re on-planet. Violet thinks that with those in the mix, the worst,” she gestures to the cast on Arkady’s right wrist, “should be mended in about two months.”

Arkady closes her eyes. One day, everything is fine, the next, a few backwater IGR assholes get the drop on them, and now she’s going to be out of commission for two months.

Still. Better her than Krejjh.

The thought is an icily familiar one, although yesterday she was limited to the grimmer Better just the two of us than the others. Krejjh was tied up on the other side of the room, and when the IGR goons got bored beating on Arkady, or kicked her in the wrong place and just killed her, they’d move on to Krejjh, and there was nothing Arkady could do about it—

Arkady’s eyes fly open, and she turns her head to nudge it clumsily into Sana’s hand. Sana cups Arkady’s cheek in her palm, thumb brushing over her cheekbone, wiping away wetness. When Arkady exhales, her breath is shaky. Stupid. They’re all safe now.

“They didn’t hurt Krejjh?” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own, unsteady and small.

“They didn’t hurt Krejjh.”

“Can I walk? Before the two months?” Her voice is still so small. Stupid.

Sana brushes Arkady’s temple with her fingertips, her calloused palm still warm against Arkady’s cheek. “Violet says she thinks you’ll be able to use a walking cast in three or four weeks. Or a little earlier, depending on how quickly the accelerators work their magic.”

Arkady keeps her eyes closed. “Those aren’t cheap.”

“That’s what rainy-day funds are for.”

“Do we even have a rainy-day fund anymore?”

“I will shake Other Violet down for loose change if I have to, Kady.” Sana’s fingers caress her temple again, and there is steel in her voice as she says, “This is my ship, and when one of my crew needs something, I find a way.”

“I know you do.” Arkady opens her eyes, though she finds that her eyelids seem to have grown heavier in the intervening minutes. She blinks sleepily at Sana. “You’re such a good octopus.”

Sana beams. “Thank you, Kady! I…have some questions,” she adds, “but they can wait until later, I think.”

Arkady’s eyelids are so heavy, but there’s one other thing she needs to ask. “Vi’?”

“Violet’s okay, too. She’s been taking care of you since yesterday, but I shooed her off to get some sleep.”

Arkady smiles. “’nks, S’na.”

Sana smiles back. “We’re all okay,” she says tenderly, “and if anyone out there tries to change that, I will demolish them.”

Arkady nods against Sana’s hand, straining to keep her eyes open.

“We’re all okay, Kady,” Sana repeats, and Arkady lets herself slip into sleep.

There are hours of restless dreams, and a dreamlike interlude where someone gently shakes her awake, holding her head up and helping her drink a medicine cap of chalky fluid, before she slips back into dreams that finally segue into deep sleep.

There is quiet music playing the next time she wakes up. She can remember where she is this time, and she lies with her eyes closed for a minute, enjoying the sound of the instrumental jazz track she recognizes from Krejjh and Brian’s Infinite Space-Themed Playlist. In the darkness behind her eyes, she doesn’t have to face the fact that she can’t walk, or run, or kick, or punch, or protect the crew, or—

Okay, maybe the space behind her closed eyelids isn’t as restful as it could be. Arkady opens her eyes.

Violet is sitting beside her bed with one leg tucked up on the chair, reading a tablet. A few strands of hair have fallen from behind her ear to brush against her cheek, and she’s biting her lower lip the way she sometimes does when she’s focused on something. Brian’s little retro radio music player is sitting on the bedside table, continuing to ooze soft jazz as Violet lifts an absentminded finger to tap to the next page, then curls her hand back into her soft sweater.

Yeah, eyes open? Definitely an improvement.

She should probably say Violet’s name, regardless of how endearing it is to watch her read. Before she has a chance to do so, though, she must breath loudly or make some kind of noise, because Violet looks up, her face crinkling into a tired smile.

“Hey,” she says softly.

Arkady smiles. “Hey, Liu. Good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” Violet’s smile quavers for a second. “Really, really good.”

Arkady tries to make her voice reassuring. “Hey, I’m okay, Violet, huh? It’s gonna be okay.”

Violet rolls her eyes, a small smile blossoming on her lips. “You’re the one in the medbay bed, Arkady. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

“It sounds like you have been taking care of me.” Arkady smiles again. “Sana said you were here with me all night until she made you get some rest.” She thinks back, trying to pin down a faint memory. “I remember seeing you, leaning over me?”

“Yeah, you woke up really briefly last night.” Violet wrinkles up her forehead in that adorable way that she does. “You said something that sounded like, um…‘You’ve have hair’?”

Arkady grins. “Well shit, Liu, you sure do have hair, don’t you?”

Violet laughs, shaking her head back and forth. Her hair bobs around as though a breeze is passing through the medbay, and Arkady laughs too, then winces as the pain in her ribs flares.

Violet stills instantly. “You have some fractured ribs—”

“Yeah, kinda put that together.” Arkady tries to breathe with the minimum possible amount of motion.

The expression on Violet’s face makes it look like she’s in pain herself. “Would you like me to up the dose on your painkiller drip?” she asks softly.

“Nah.” Along with the flaring pain in her ribs, both of Arkady’s legs and her right wrist have that same itching, burning ache. The rest of her body is just sore, like she’s covered in bruises, which she probably is. “Uh, speaking of which, though. Could I get a rundown on what’s, you know, busted? Sana said I had…six? seven?...fractures, but we didn’t get into specifics beyond the two-month limit.” She grimaces a little at the thought.

“Six,” Violet confirms immediately, before adding, with an abashed smile, “I mean, not that that makes things that much better than seven?”

Arkady resists the impulse to laugh again, confining herself to a snort. “Can’t argue that point.”

“In answer to your question,” Violet begins, slipping into her calm medic tone of voice, “you have two cracked ribs and fractures to your left foot and right ankle. They broke your right wrist pretty badly, and I’m going to need to be very careful about injecting any accelerators there, especially if we can’t find an actual doctor on-planet to do it, so it might be a little more than two months before any, uh, heavy use, but you should have the hard cast off earlier than that.”

“Right.” Arkady inhales through her nose; exhales through her mouth. “Could have been worse, right?” At least she isn’t blubbering the way she was with Sana, but her voice still drops too small and quiet on the last word.

“It could have.” Violet’s own reply is almost a whisper, and Arkady silently swears at herself for her choice of phrasing.

When she looks up, though, Violet doesn’t look weepy.

She looks furious.

“Hey, you okay there, Liu?” Arkady stares at Violet’s clenched jaw and balled fists. “You look like you’re about to blow a gasket.”

Violet laughs a little, flexing her fingers and curling her hands more loosely back against her sweater. “Did you pick that one up from Tripathi?”

“That’s not a mechanic expression. Everyone uses that expression.”

Violet gives her a skeptical look.

“Okay, yeah, I may have picked it up from the captain. It’s still a normal-person expression, though.”

Violet chuckles, and they both lapse into silence.

This is nice, Arkady tells herself. Spending time with Violet is nice. It’s nice, it’s pleasant, it’s a way to distract herself from the itching, burning ache in her limbs and the creeping dread of knowing that if the ship is boarded, Arkady can’t even run, much less protect anyone else.

“Speaking of Tripathi,” Violet says with a smile, “I should give you an update on the latest, ahem, on-ship situation. Our captain has declared that next time she has a free moment she’s going to tear out that weird shallow closet in the hall next to Park’s room and put in inset cabinets for towels and stuff so Park and RJ and I don’t have to cross the ship for them. But when RJ found out, they said…”

Arkady tries to listen to Violet’s narration of Sana and RJ’s stalemate about the cabinets, smiling at the appropriate points while keeping a lid on the sinking feeling of knowing that for not days but weeks, she’ll be able to do jack-all do protect either Sana or RJ, or Violet, who is sitting here smiling at Arkady with love and trust in her eyes as though half the universe isn’t out to get them here in their one fragile ship that Violet wouldn’t even be on if Arkady hadn’t tricked her onto it in the first place—

She shoves the thoughts away, focusing on formulating a reply to Violet’s story. “Well, if it devolves into fisticuffs, Sana could take them, but if Sana calls a vote, I’m pretty sure Brian and Krejjh will side with RJ about the sheet music, and I don’t know what or whether Park would care.” She grins. “So, even odds.”

Violet snorts. “Well, I’ll keep you apprised, assuming none of the combatants wander in here to make their case to you themselves.”

“Medbay and a show?”

“On this ship? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Arkady grins again. “I don’t know why Krejjh thinks being an outlaw is boring. The way we live, we practically produce our own shampoo.”

Violet snorts again before adding, in the kind of giggle-whisper Arkady most closely associates with grade-school gossip, “I can’t believe they got RJ into Sh'th Hremreh.”

“I know.” Arkady bites back another grin. “I mean, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. Krejjh can be very persuasive.”

“If by ‘being persuasive’ you mean ‘talking loudly and enthusiastically about a piece of media until everyone in their general vicinity is compelled by gravitational media force to watch the thing in question,’ then yes, I guess you could refer to it that way.”

“I notice it hasn’t worked on you yet.” Arkady raises an eyebrow. “Or has it?”

“No, I have not dipped into Sh'th Hremreh.” Violet raises an eyebrow. “Yet.”

Arkady bites down on another chest-killing laugh before it can escape, glancing toward the radio on the bedside table. “Speaking of Brian and Krejjh creations. The notorious Infinite Space-Themed Playlist, huh?”

Violet smiles, gazing at Arkady tenderly. “You seemed a little restless in your sleep, and I’ve always hated total quiet when I’m sick, so I thought maybe it’d be nice to put on some background music.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Arkady pushes away an obscure flash of annoyance at the sentimentality of Violet taking the time to put on this playlist for an asleep Arkady as though something as trivial as music is a priority when Arkady is down for the count and Krejjh is doubtless drained from yesterday themself and the whole crew is going to have to figure out how to scrape by and cover piloting shifts and handle everything with no security officer and a stressed pilot and a tired medic and—

She shoves the annoyance aside, telling herself not to be an ass. There are literal studies showing that music is good for mental and physical health, right? And she sure as shit could use as much distraction as possible from the ache of her ribs and her ankle and her messed-up wrist. Having a playlist on is nice. This is nice.

Holst’s The Planets has come on, making for a somewhat grim background compared with the rest of the playlist, and Violet leans forward to jab irritably at the advance button until a benign rock song begins.

Arkady gives her an inquiring look, and Violet sighs, biting her lip again.

“I am so angry,” she says finally. “About what they did to you.”

“You and me both, trust me.”

Violet sighs, slumping in her chair. “You and me aren’t the only ones who are. Krejjh was pretty…shaken. Brian and Sana have been there for them, obviously,” she adds hastily, “and they’re doing fine. We can take care of each other. We are taking care of each other. The last thing I want to do is make you worry about us. But…” She trails off. “This isn’t just another day on the Iris. Not for any of us.”

“Well, that’s why the IGR does what they do,” Arkady mutters, closing her eyes. “Torture gets results.”

Violet sounds startled. “Every credible study in the universe has shown that torture doesn’t work. You said yourself—”

Arkady opens her eyes. “Torturing someone to interrogate them doesn’t produce reliable information. People know that. That’s not what it’s for. Torture is popular across the universe, through history, because it punishes people. Controls them. Their families. Whole societies.” She wouldn’t have to explain this to Sana. “When it’s on the table, you live your whole life under a threat. The actual torturing makes the people doing it feel powerful and good, and in the environment it creates, everyone else is easier to control. Win-win.”

Violet’s eyes have gone all huge and empathetic. “Arkady—” she whispers.

Something about that look always gets under Arkady’s skin. “Calm down,” she snaps. “I know you’re incapable of not freaking out when I talk about my childhood, but no, I’m not implying I was beaten up as a kid. The guards mostly just beat on adults; I think they knew that if they went after kids too often, enough people would’ve stood up against them regardless of losses. Or hey, maybe it was a vestige of human decency. Kinda doubt it, though.” She gestures vaguely with her good hand, careful not to pull at the IV. “I mean, of course I got beat up by other kids a few times, but just in a normal way, not in a torture way—Point is, yeah, I’ve known this stuff for a long time, but it’s not like you’re a stranger to it, right? You’ve spent your entire adult life under the IGR. You knew what was happening to some of the people who were disappearing.”

Violet is staring silently at her with that look of horrified concern, but hey, at least Violet’s overempathetic mind jumping directly to Cresswin as an explanation of Arkady’s knowledge on this subject is arguably preferable to her thinking through the percentage of Arkady’s life spent in Special Forces and then as an IGR guard herself, a train of logic that she finds herself hoping Violet doesn’t follow.

But that isn’t the right way to think about it, is it, her brain points out a moment later, the way it does whenever she considers discretely concealing the most hideous parts of herself from Violet. Violet is dating her. She deserves to know what she’s gotten herself into.

“It was never like…this,” she starts. “It was never me in a room with a helpless person, hurting them. But you know I was Special Forces during the war. You know I was a guard on Telemachus. Yes, I grew up on a prison planet and it’s all very sad but once you get over your latest shock about that—you’re a scientist, you can do the math and figure out that I don’t only know how this works from one side of it.”

Violet’s eyes are getting progressively wider, and Arkady drops her gaze to stare fixedly at her own hands. “They didn’t train us on the details of it; not…techniques. I mean, I don’t doubt they had people for that, but that would’ve been above my pay grade. But me, us, those goons who got the drop on us yesterday, we’re instructed pretty clearly in, ha, ‘maintaining control over a noncompliant population.’ Not like it’s just a few backwater goons breaking bones, either. When I was a guard—”

It isn’t even that her voice breaks, not really. It’s more of a stumble over the sudden realization that her voice should be breaking, or shaking, or anything other than steady and clear.

“When I was a guard, we all knew that some of the people we were guarding would be ferried to the more, ha, specialized options. Zone Z isn’t a secret.” Her voice, still flat, is rising. “And during the war…I can’t pretend that what I did in combat was better. I killed a lot of people, Violet. I killed a lot of people and they will never be alive again. You can’t say that that’s better than being a professional torturer. I can’t pretend that, and I can’t pretend some of my unit and some the people leading us…I can’t pretend that they didn’t do…” She stares down at her body. “This kind of thing.”

Silence. Arkady forces herself to look up.

Violet is staring at her in horror, but, for once, Arkady at least agrees that it’s justified.

She can feel herself breathing hard, and her face is wet again, which is frankly an indictment of her as much as anything else in this conversation. Crying to your girlfriend for sympathy about the horrible things you’ve done to other people isn’t exactly a good look.

“Look,” she says. “Some of this will haunt me until the day I die, and that’s good. It means I’m still human; it means…it doesn’t matter what it means. It’s what I need to do whether it means anything or not. I should be haunted. I think even Sana would agree with that.” She sighs. “I can figure out a way to live with this shit, and I do, but you signing up to…you know…see…someone who you knew was a smuggler and a killer doesn’t mean you thought through the implications of the IGR part of the equation before you asked me out.” Her voice is rising in irritation even though Violet is the last person in this medbay who deserves it. “I’m not the most mobile right now, but this is your medbay, I think you can find the door—”

“Arkady.”

Arkady looks up again. Violet is making steady eye contact with her. The horror hasn’t all gone out of her expression, but her voice is firm, not panicked. “I knew, when I started going out with you, that you had been a soldier with the IGR.”

“Okay, but you also assumed anyone who’d fought in the war was a ‘war hero,’ so you’ll forgive me if I have my doubts that you grasped what—”

“Arkady.” Violet’s voice is louder now, but still very level. “In case you need the reminder, I was fully aware of both your history and what the IGR was capable of the day I asked you out. You know, the day we were fleeing New Jupiter in a stolen IGR ship? That day?” A faint note of humor has entered Violet’s voice, though it disappears as she continues, “I’m going to leave for five minutes, to go to the bathroom and splash water on my face, not for good. I’ll have my communicator if you need anything.”

“Oh.” Arkady stares at her. “Okay?” she manages.

Violet walks out of the medbay, and Arkady stares blankly at the ceiling until her footsteps reenter. As promised, the hair around her face looks damp, but she looks calmer, more settled. She sets a glass of something on the bedside table.

“I brought you some juice, which you should be able to have now that you’re up and talking, but—” She sighs. “We should probably discuss this first.”

Arkady watches her.

“Arkady, I…” For the first time since her calm monologue before leaving the room, Violet looks uncertain, then presses on. “Like I said. I did know that you had been a guard with the IGR, and I did know more or less what that meant. And I knew—” She rubs her face with one hand. “Well, I didn’t know, it’s not like you can ever know with anyone, when I was a paramedic I saw cases of domestic violence where you never would’ve—anyway. I thought that I knew that you weren’t the kind of person who hurt people for your own satisfaction, and that felt like enough.” Her eyebrows crease together. “You make me feel safe. You always have.”

Arkady can feel her face beginning to get soaked again. All the things that she feels are careening around inside her, as though her heart is a ship in a bottle and somehow, within the glass, someone has conjured a storm.

“And it…sounds like I was right?” Violet lets out a breath that could almost be a shaky laugh. “You never…you’re saying you never did to anyone else…the kind of thing that was just done to you.”

She opens her mouth again, then hesitates, her words becoming slower and more contemplative.

“You’re right, though. I’m not sure I…that in the time after I’d realized the IGR was a lot less than less than perfect, I’m not sure I ever thought through the degree to which you, as a guard, would have been complicit in…those things. And…” She sighs again. “You’re right. I do think of people who fought in the war as heroes. I mean, I never really had a chance to—or, no, I can’t sit here and claim that I never had a chance. I never let myself think about how likely it was that some of the people fighting for us were…how did you put it. Specialized at things that make me sick even to think about. But also…”

She drops her gaze to her lap.

“I…I know that you killed Dwarnians. People. I know that a lot of soldiers killed a lot of people. I mean, that’s what war means, right?” She gives another shaken almost-laugh. “And I’m not—I’ve never been the kind of person who celebrates other people dying—”

“I know you’re not, Violet.” Violet is a biologist and a medic. Her work is the stuff of life, not death.

Violet slumps lower into her chair. “Yeah. But…because those deaths feel…felt…feel…partially justified to me, because the Dwarnians were trying to conquer us…maybe I let that make me forget a little that those deaths are still…deaths.”

She lifts her face, looking Arkady in the eye, and Arkady isn’t sure what she sees there. “Sometimes I wonder whether, irrespective of everything else about our lives—” Violet makes a swirly motion with her hand, as though to encapsulate the distances between worlds. “I wonder if you always would have been the kind of person who doesn’t lose sight of the death part.”

“Interesting theory, Violet,” Arkady says, once she can get herself to speak. “Doesn’t change that I was the one of us doing the killing.”

As she says the words, she realizes that they sum out to something snarkier than she intended, but there’s no bite to her voice, and Violet seems to register that.

“No,” she says simply. “It doesn’t.”

Arkady watches Violet in silence as she scrapes tendrils of drying hair off her forehead, straightening back up in her chair.

“Anyway. I’m not walking out that door, Arkady. You’re right, I hadn’t truly thought about what it meant that you were Special Forces. There are probably things about the war that I need to…well, I’ll probably never understand them completely, but things that I need to acknowledge.” She sighs. “But I meant what I said earlier. When I asked you out, I was asking you, not some hypothetical better you. Besides,” she adds quietly, “it’s not like I don’t have my own regrets.”

There’s a pretty big difference between ‘keeping your head down and getting a college degree’ and ‘actively killing people,’ but Arkady doesn’t feel like getting into it.

She lets herself sink back into the pillow. The room feels calmer, like the air on a planet after a storm.

No, it doesn’t, Violet said, and somehow, that feels like an anchor. Violet isn’t so horrified by the things that Arkady has done that she needs to pretend that they don’t exist.

“I. Uh. Okay.” Arkady attempts a smile, though she has a bad feeling that she’s making more of a weird grimace.

Fortunately, Violet doesn’t seem to mind, giving her a smile of her own that’s only a little shaky. “I’m glad we, uh, talked about this, but I’m guessing it isn’t doing your pain any good and I’m ready to shelve it for now if you are?”

“Shelving, uh. Sounds good.” Arkady nods vigorously. “Yeah.”

“Also, you owe me an apology for snapping at me,” Violet says calmly.

“Oh.” Arkady stares at her for a second. “I…shouldn’t have done that, should I?” Great job restating the obvious, idiot. “I…” Jesus Christ.

Violet is watching her silently. Arkady takes a breath.

“Violet, I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have snapped at you about something that had almost nothing to do with you. I mean, I shouldn’t shout at you in general, that’s broadly speaking a dick move, but in this particularly context I definitely, especially shouldn’t have—”

Shut up, shut up, shut up. What is a good apology even like? Sincere. Doesn’t make it about yourself.

“What I mean is—I’m sorry.” She bites her lip. "And, uh…thank you. For, um, not holding me to a lesser standard because I was hurt.” Or because I’m someone who has hurt other people. “Not that you should have to remind me I owe you an apology, but…” She squirms. “You had enough faith in me to know I’d. You know. Want to. So. Uh. Thanks.”

So much for not making it about herself. She coughs awkwardly. “So. Yeah. Uh. You sure there’s not anything…more that you want to talk about? Because I, uh, just freaked out and dumped a ton of my garbage right into your lap, and if there’s anything else you need to say, or ask, or whatever, I’m here. I mean, I kinda can’t go anywhere else right now, but—you know what I mean.”

“Thanks.” Violet smiles a little. Arkady nods, trying to smile back and hoping this one isn’t too grimacey.

Staring at Arkady as though deep in thought, Violet says, “I don’t think there’s anything else, right now. I still want you to talk to someone about…all this…at some point. It doesn’t need to be a civilian counselor. Just…someone. But…”

Violet bites her lip. Her pained look from when Arkady hurt herself laughing is back, if it even ever left. “You have multiple broken bones and you’re stuck in bed and in pain, and right now more than talking about anything I just want you to be able to rest.”

“Oh,” Arkady manages. Helpfully, she follows it up with, “Ah.”

Violet smiles again, then hesitates. “Though, there is—"

She is staring at Arkady very intently all of a sudden, and Arkady can practically see the gears turning inside her head. She feels her own body tensing, a runaway voice inside her warning her that reminding Violet about so much of her past all in one go might mean that this is the day Violet finally does walk out the door for good.

But when Violet speaks, it’s not about the part of the conversation that Arkady was expecting.

“So…you’ve always known that torture, um, works. Ever since you were a kid.”

“What? Yeah, I—you grow up on a place like Cresswin, you get a pretty firm grasp of what torture is used for, yeah.”

Violet is biting her lip as though in deep thought. “So…when I was on the Iris…and you’d just stopped pretending to be Kay Grisham, and I accused you of wanting me to get in the cryo chamber so you could torture me for information…you said ‘We don’t torture, it doesn’t yield reliable results,’ and then you said, ‘Also, it’s wrong.’ But you believed…you knew that torture did work.” Violet’s voice is slow, her face still screwed up as though she is working something out. “Even if not for the exact purpose I was accusing you of. So…when you said all that…the reason that you, the real you, didn’t torture, that the Rumor crew didn’t torture, is just because it’s wrong.”

“Gee, Liu, glad you’re having a warm, fuzzy realization about how heartfelt and wholesome it is that our crew doesn’t torture people.” Arkady’s pent-up dread gives way to a fervent eyeroll. “Have you met Sana? Like, held a conversation with her? At any point in time? For more than thirty seconds?”

Violet sighs in annoyance. “That isn’t what—” she fires back, then stops, her voice going gentle again. “That isn’t what I meant. Do you want to try to have some of the juice now?”

“Liu,” Arkady says, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Are you keeping a lid on the snarky repartee because I’m all injured and convalescent? Because if I can say anything I want while you nobly go easy on me, can I just comment that the way that you put cereal in your milk a little at a time ‘so it doesn’t get soggy’ is mind-blowingly—”

“You’re making me. Want. To be a lot. Less. Noble. About it.”

Arkady snickers, then smiles, holding out her bruised but less-busted left hand. Violet stops mock-glaring and reaches across Arkady’s body to take it in a careful, awkward clasp, smiling at her as though…

Well, shit, Arkady doesn’t know how to put it into words, or at least not into words that aren’t all dramatic and weird. Violet is smiling at Arkady as though Arkady is some wonder of the universe that Violet can’t believe she gets to have the privilege of seeing, like a star or a comet or…whatever it is that biologists rock their socks about, a really cool bug or something.

It’s weird and kind of overwhelming, but kind of in a good way, and Arkady just wants to sit here and hold Violet’s hand, and look at Violet, and let herself be looked at by Violet like the wonder of the universe that Arkady knows that she is not but that she could, as Violet watches at her, almost believe herself to be—

“Violet,” Arkady says, wrinkling her eyebrows. “How many painkillers do you have me dosed up on right now?” She squints at the IV bag above her, dropping Violet’s hand and trying to shove herself a little more upright against the pillows. “Also, does a convalescent gal get to sit up around here? I kinda want to try some of that juice, and maybe someday even do something horribly taxing like read an update on our ship’s computer systems.”

The corner of Violet’s mouth turns up in a smile. “I’ll raise the bed. Let me know where you want to stop.”

“Right.” Arkady lies back as the fancy Iris 2 medbay bed hums its way upright. “Okay, stop.”

Raising her head from the thin pillow, she tips her stiff neck back and forth, peering around the medbay, which looks pretty much the way it always does. Sana’s multicolored crocheting bag is slung over the back of a chair.

“Let’s see, I think there’s—” Violet leans somewhere behind her, pulling out a fresh pillow and reaching forward to tuck it gently behind Arkady’s head. “Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“In answer to your question,” Violet says, still in her calm, attentive medic voice as she continues to adjust the pillows, “you told me back when I was taking down medical info on the Rumor that you prefer minimal use of sedative painkillers, and even the Iris doesn’t have any of the good non-sedative intravenous stuff, so I’ve been using the minimum of the intravenous sedative painkillers and transitioning you to our standard orals. That should mean you’re less groggy, but also that we’re blocking less of the, well, pain, so let me know if you want me to adjust the dose. It’s not all-or-nothing; I can fiddle with it a little without instantaneously sending you to another dimension,” she adds, a note of warm humor in her voice as she sits back in her chair with smile.

Arkady blinks, still stuck on the first part of that. “You did?”

“Did…” Violet frowns, visibly parsing which of her words Arkady is referring to, before her face clears in understanding. “Did stick to the minimum end of the range I considered safe and reasonable?” She gives Arkady a look Arkady doesn’t quite know how to interpret, sort of alarmed and sad. “Your medical decisions are your own, Arkady. I’m not going to override your wishes just because I care about you and seeing you in pain isn’t easy for me. Or any other reason.” Violet’s eyebrows furrow. “No one should,” she adds, in that quietly defiant tone of voice that she uses when she’s declaring something and has realized that she wants the whole universe to know it’s what she believes.

“Oh.” Arkady swallows. “Yeah.”

“We’re coming up on the next dose of the orals in a quarter of an hour,” Violet says, her voice businesslike again as she checks her watch. “In the meantime, are you ready for juice?”

“I didn’t even know we had juice.” Arkady eyes the glass with interest.

“There was some concentrate in the pantry. When Tripathi and I sorted the food, we tucked some of it away in case someone got hurt and needed easy fluids.”

“That was very forward-thinking of you.”

“On this ship, not really,” Violet mutters, holding the glass to Arkady’s lips.

Drinking from the glass as Violet holds it turns out to be somewhat complicated and require both of their full attention, but once Violet sets it back down, Arkady leans back against the pillows with a smirk. “Hey, we’re dashing space rogues. A few bumps and bruises are all part of the job.”

“‘A few,’” Violet returns, but without rancor.

“It’s my job, Liu,” Arkady snarks back cheerfully. Between the juice and the strains of one of Krejjh’s actually-good Dwarnian jazz tracks and Violet’s reassuring presence next to her, Arkady is beginning to feel more like herself than she has in a while, the helplessness of yesterday starting to feel a little further away. Even the pain is…okay, the pain is still pretty painful, actually, a constant burn at the edges of her mind.

She hesitates.

“Violet?”

“Yes?”

“Could you maybe…” Arkady licks her lips. “You said you could fiddle with the painkiller drip a little, right? Because my shitty bones kinda hurt a lot and I wouldn’t mind if they, uh, didn’t.”

“I can do that.” When Violet meets Arkady’s gaze, her voice is calm and serious. “I’ll start with a small increment. It will take about thirty seconds to take effect. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

Standing, Violet adjusts something.

Arkady waits.

“Do you feel anything yet?”

The relief is noticeable, the pain in Arkady’s chest and limbs cooling down a notch. “Better. Wow. Better.” Arkady hesitates. “You, uh. Said that that was a small increment? I think I could use another small increment.”

“Okay.” Violet makes another adjustment.

This time, the relief is almost total. Arkady stares at the ceiling, feeling tears of relief prick her eyes as the burning ache eases to almost nothing.

Everything feels a little foggier, too, but she’s still here, and able to form mental sentences, and the pain is all but gone.

“That’s good.” She bites her lip as Violet sits back at her side. “That’s really, really—the pain is almost gone. Now.”

Violet swallows visibly, staring at Arkady in relief.

Arkady feels a tear coalesce and run down her cheek, and Violet reaches forward with gentle fingers to wipe it away.

“I’m glad, Arkady,” she whispers. “I’m so glad.”

Arkady lets a long breath out, looking around the room again. It’s almost like being in a new room, a room-without-pain, during a new day, a day-without-pain.

“Sana will be glad, too,” she comments wryly as her gaze lands on the crocheting bag again. “She gets all twitchy whenever she manages to have good food or meds or supplies on hand and someone doesn’t use them.” She grins. “It’s her whole octopus thing. You know, I think I called her an octopus yesterday? Krejjh won’t shut the hell up about octopi now that they’ve found out they’re, gasp, actually real, so I guess I just permanently have octopi on the brain now, and I was thinking about how Sana has her whole multitasking thing where she’s got an eye on the status of the whole ship and everyone on the crew at all times, and—damn it, I should have called her a ghost squid. She would have hated that.”

Violet is giggling helplessly. “I can’t believe you called Tripathi an octopus.”

Arkady grins lazily. “Yeah, well, now she’s gotten to enjoy living with the mystery of what the hell I was talking about. Even sedative-induced grogginess has the occasional upside, right?”

Speaking of twitchiness, Violet’s twitchy question face is back, though Arkady can tell she’s trying to hide it.

“You didn’t override what I told you, okay?” Arkady says. “You didn’t dose me up, even when I couldn’t have done anything about it, because I’d told you not to. So I figured you wouldn’t take a mile if I gave you an inch.”

“Oh.” Violet sits back in her chair, looking at Arkady with that same expression she was looking at her with earlier, sadness and something else Arkady can’t parse.

Arkady sighs. “During the war. When you got injured, they knocked you straight out. It made it easier on the medics, I guess—no panicking soldiers, just unconscious bodies to take care of until they got better or didn’t. And easier on the medics meant less medics per ship, which made it easier on the brass. I mean, I guess that was why, though I wouldn’t put it past just being a power trip for some of them—”

“I know.”

“—but it isn’t like you can easily say when it was that and when it was—” Arkady blinks. “Huh?”

Violet sighs, her eyes dropping to her lap. “That’s not just a wartime thing. When I was a medic out by O-11, some of my colleagues used too much sedative on people they thought were being a problem. Or who…might be a problem. Aggressive, scared, not ‘compliant,’ whatever. Of course, if you paid attention to who they were more likely to think was a problem…”

“I’m guessing there were patterns?” Arkady offers.

“Yeah.” Violet bites her lip. “The irony was that…this was less of a thing out in the field, but pretty often when someone was actually in the hospital, they’d be denied painkillers because the staff decided they were lying or exaggerating. It was…” Violet twists her hands in her lap. “It wasn’t just those problems, either. When you have a lot of people living in poverty, the power dynamics with whoever is in charge of access to medical treatment get…bad. It was not a good situation, and I was—you know. There. Being part of it.”

Arkady blinks, staring at Violet. Maybe the reason she didn’t know how to interpret the look in Violet’s eyes earlier was because it wasn’t actually the panicky huge-eyed way she looks at Arkady what feels like every time Arkady mentions some detail of Cresswin, but a look of recognition.

“I never thought about what it would be like to be a medic under the IGR,” she says quietly.

Violet finally looks up. “Part of it was the IGR, but a lot of my older colleagues had come up doing the same thing. It’s like you said. Republics aren’t perfect, either.”

“Oh.”

Violet licks her lips, hunching further into her chair. “It’s like you said about the war. Yes, sure, once I wasn’t a trainee and it was me and some colleagues out on a call, we were never the ones who gave those injections, used more than was needed. But that doesn’t mean that the ones I was with were always great about other things, or that others weren’t…” She sighs. “Just because I didn’t do anything especially bad myself doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have…you know, tried to do more than I did.”

Arkady stares at Violet, considering offering her her less-busted hand again, but decides against it. If she were Violet she wouldn’t want someone pawing at her trying to offer comfort about something that can’t really be comforted.

Violet’s work is the stuff of life, she thought to herself blithely only a few minutes ago, somehow not thinking about how much being a medic had to do with death and utterly traumatic shit. And-or, apparently, standing aside while your colleagues hurt and traumatized other people and then having to live with that.

“Jesus,” she says.

“Yeah.”

They sit quietly for another few minutes.

“Well, on a lighter note,” Arkady says awkwardly, “when it comes to your current cool, awesome medic job with our little band of dashing space rogues…can I, uh, have some more juice?”

The worst of the haunted look slides off Violet’s face as she smiles. “Of course.”

When the glass is empty, Arkady does reach her less-busted hand toward Violet, tugging her forward when she takes it. “Come here.”

She thinks Violet might go for a kiss on the forehead, depending on how fragile she’s thinking of Arkady as being right now, but Violet kisses her on the lips.

Their lips move together gently for a few seconds, then Violet settles back into her chair, smiling. “Your lips are sticky.”

“Excuse me, Liu, but I feel I should point out that your lips are now also sticky.”

“Touché.” Violet grins as she stands up again. “How’s your pain? We should still be transitioning you to the orals, so I’m going to get that ready now.”

“Still good.” Arkady smiles, wiggling the fingers at the end of her cast as Violet heads for the medbay sink.

“I know you and Sana are going to grump at me and Krejjh at some point for covering you and RJ instead of running,” she calls, “and then grump at me even more for making sure they hurt me before Krejjh, but if it had to be us, you are lucky you got me as a patient instead of Krejjh, trust me. They got completely freaked out when we tried to introduce them to Necco wafer candy a few years ago and still make grim remarks about ‘humans eating chalk.’ Dissolved pills would not be an easy sell.”

She’s expecting Violet to banter something back, but Violet looks downcast when she returns to Arkady’s side.

After Arkady has knocked back the chalky goo, she watches Violet carefully as she returns to the sink. That look could be about any number of things, but Arkady has the strong feeling that she’s seen it before, the first time Violet was bandaging her up after her gunshot wound on the Gay Louisa.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, hesitantly, when Violet sits back down.

Violet’s face crinkles up in concern as she looks at Arkady. “Mad?”

Arkady grins weakly. “You know, because I went out and got myself hurt again?”

Violet’s forehead smooths out, then re-crinkles itself a second later. “I—no, Arkady, I’m not mad that other people tortured you. Or, I mean, I’m mad, I’m—furious, but at them, not at you.” She pauses. “And yes, I’m…‘mad’ isn’t the right word, but…it makes me upset that you got badly hurt to protect me and RJ, and it makes me upset that you think it’s good for it to be you who gets hurt instead of the rest of us. But you know that the times I chastise you for getting hurt, I’m not angry at you. Right?”

She smiles on the last words, in that specific abashed way that she smiles when she’s asking for reassurance about something that she thinks is just her anxiety playing up and probably not something she should actually be worried about at all.

When Arkady just stares at her, though, a look of alarm passes into her eyes. “You do know that, right?” she asks in a smaller voice. “I would never be really angry at you for getting injured.”

“Oh,” Arkady says. “Yeah. Of course I know that.” Did she?

Violet looks like she isn’t particularly fooled. “Well, now you do.” She sighs, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry. If—hypothetically speaking, I mean,” she adds, her lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “If you’ve ever thought I was actually angry at you for being injured in a bad situation…I’m sorry.”

Arkady blinks at her, finally managing to muster a nod.

Violet smiles a little, reaching out and smoothing Arkady’s hair. “I’m not mad at you, Arkady. There’s nothing about you being hurt and in pain that I would ever be angry about.”

“Well, not nothing,” Arkady points out. “You just said that you were upset that I try to put myself between the rest of you and danger.” She can’t resist adding, “You know, my literal job?”

“Your job is being first mate.” Violet’s voice cracks slightly.

Time to see how prohibitive this wrist cast is. Arkady lifts her hand to Violet’s face, brushing a tear from the corner of her eye. “It’s a job with a lot of facets.”

Violet sniffs wetly, lifting her own hands to gently support Arkady’s wrist as she lowers it to her lips and brushes a kiss against Arkady’s fingers.

“I’m not mad at you for putting yourself between other people and danger, Arkady,” she whispers. “In fact, it’s probably one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”

Arkady can feel her face getting hot as she stares, dazed, at Violet. “But…”

“I think it was a very brave and good thing that you did yesterday, and it scares me and makes me angry how okay you are with getting hurt to protect other people. I can feel both of those things at the same time.” Violet smooths Arkady’s hair again.

“Oh.” Arkady clears her throat awkwardly. “I. Oh.”

Violet chuckles, reaching up to dash a tear from her own eye. “You know what I feel, right now, more than anything? I’m just glad to have you back safe with me.”

“Oh,” Arkady says again. “I. Um. Hhh.” Get it together, Feral Kitten Patel. “I’m…glad to be back with you too. Um. Really glad.”

Violet smiles through her tears, and they gaze at each other in silence for a while.

“You know,” Arkady says wistfully, “I’m not exactly thrilled I can’t use a gun, or a knife, or punch anyone, or—” She cuts herself off. “Uh, you get the idea. But what I really can’t wait for is to be able to scoop you up, carry you to bed, and hold you in my arms all night long.”

“I.” Now Violet is the one blushing. “You…”

Arkady smirks, and Violet seems to regain the ability to form sentences, reaching out and caressing Arkady’s cheek. “Well, the scooping me up in your arms part will have to wait a little longer, but you should be able to relocate to your real bed some time in the next few days, and then there’s nothing stopping us from a whole lot of careful cuddling.”

Arkady smiles. “Sounds like a plan.”

“As for right now…I can’t exactly crawl into bed with you,” Violet says, sounding regretful, “but we could try…”

Pulling the chair with her, she moves so that she’s sitting as close as possible to Arkady’s shoulder, then carefully lowers her upper body to the bed so that her lower left shoulder rests just below Arkady’s right one, her face nestled into Arkady’s neck. Her left arm is presumably squashed under her, but her right hand comes up to rest on Arkady’s shoulder, thumb gently stroking Arkady’s shirt.

“Liu,” Arkady says, trying not to laugh, “that can’t be comfortable.”

Violet’s mutter against her neck sounds almost sleepy. “You’d be surprised.”

“Whatever you say.” Arkady tips her head to lean her temple against the top of Violet’s head. “Are you gonna fall asleep like that?”

“No,” comes the immediate response. “Or. Actually, this is more comfortable than I thought it would be, and I shouldn’t leave you alone for more than fifteen minutes while you’re still on the drip, and alarms are fallible so maybe I should…” She raises her hand to her comm. “Violet Liu to Iris Cockpit.”

“Attem—”

“Hello, Science Officer Liu!” sings Krejjh’s sunny voice. “How’s the patient?”

Arkady can feel Violet smile against her neck. “She’s doing pretty good, Krejjh. Hey, can you send someone down here in twenty minutes to poke me awake? First Mate Patel and I are at risk of engaging in some romantic tandem sleeping.”

“Iiiii sure can, Science Officer Liu!” The grin in Krejjh’s voice is audible, and Arkady feels a lingering echo of fear fading from her mind at the sound of them alive and well. “Aaand I’ll let you get right to it. Krejjh out.”

Arkady snorts. “I have no idea why you’re eager enough to cuddle with me that you’re willing to risk getting shaken awake in situ by a pilot making disgustingly enchanted faces at how ‘cute’ we supposedly are.”

“It’s a high price,” Violet says solemnly, her voice sleepy, “but it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

Arkady snorts again, trying to ignore the growing feeling of sunlit happiness in her chest. Violet’s hair is soft against Arkady’s face and her body is warm against Arkady’s side, and Arkady stares up at the ceiling, trying to comprehend how and why she has gotten ridiculously, disgustingly lucky enough to be here, now, with Violet’s hand curled around her shoulder and the steady rise and fall of Violet’s breathing against her.

In the kitchen, someone or something makes a subdued crashing noise, and someone else cackles loudly. Arkady can feel Violet’s amused sigh, and she smiles, letting her eyes drift closed.

“I hope you play this song someday,” croons the radio, “and think of Earth girl who loves space girl…”

A gentle current of air from the vents stirs a strand of Violet’s hair against Arkady’s ear, and she wriggles her head minutely to dislodge it before tucking her head back against Violet’s. As she closes her eyes again, the feeling of sunlit happiness is so strong that she wonders if she’ll be the one to stay awake even as poor tired Violet falls asleep. That would be ironic, wouldn’t it?

When Krejjh enters the medbay eighteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, they have to bounce back and forth from one foot to the other in silent agony for several seconds at the sheer adorableness of the sight of their crewmates cuddled together on the medical bed. First Mate Patel’s forehead is smoothed out in sleep, a smile on her lips, and even when Krejjh nudges Science Officer Liu awake and she disentangles herself from her girlfriend, Arkady curls her head into the indentation Violet’s cheek has left on the pillow, as though even in sleep she knows that any space that Violet takes up in the universe is a place where she will be safe and sound.

#the strange case of starship iris #vikady #arkady patel #violet liu #my writing #fic #tscosi

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razorblade180 · 3 years ago

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Shackles 9: I’m sorry

[Warning: Blood and Extreme harm] [part 8]

“Let her go!” The cries of a young boy echoed, struggling against his captors as he and his sister were dragged through sickening white halls. All attempts to reach out for her failed as he watched Jasmine get tossed into a room. Sobek continued walking his way however, guiding the men to a separate correctional room. Rajah did his best to struggle but his weak body was thrown harshly into a cold metal chair; the exit door shut tightly with him and Sobek inside. Rajah didn’t even have a chance to move before the feel of mangled fingers pressed against his neck as he was strapped down.

“I told you to keep her under control. Now look at what you’re making me do? Should’ve known better. A beast can’t control another beast.”

“Don’t…hurt her.” He gasped. Sobek finally released his hold. Rajah gasped and coughed for air while the man walked away to a tray of various tools. The light in the room went out except for the wall in front of him, which acted like a screen.

“ Oh I’m not going to hurt her. Not physically with my hands anyways. The guards she hurt might have a thing to say to her but we both know that’ll solve nothing.” Sobek drew up a syringe. “You and I, however, we’re gonna fix you right up and then see how sister dearest acts. Hopefully she’ll become more agreeable. If not…well, it’s a big siblings job to look after the little one.”

Rajah began to panic. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake his restraints as the scientist approached, injecting him in the neck.

“Let’s make you a model big brother…”

xxxx

Across the world, helping hands were reaching out. Blake ran across rooftops to the port in a desperate attempt to get on a leaving ship before it was too late. Out of practice, she took a misstep and nearly lost her balance. Fortunately friends followed closely behind her. Blake felt two hands rebalance her as she continued forward. “Thank you.”

Ilia nodded, “Don’t mention it.”

Blake looked left. Yang didn’t say anything. All she gave was a small nod. It wasn’t much but it made Blake happy. “I’ll make it up to both of you later.”

“Oh that’s a given. Let’s focus on what’s important right now. That ship is already leaving port and that Jacquelyn lady already has a head start. Missing this ship could be bad.”

“So we won’t miss it.” Yang said with conviction. Her gauntlets propelled herself forward and launched herself in the air ahead of others. Yang turned around midair and reached out. “Well!?”

She didn’t even have to say it. Blake grabbed Ilia’s hand then threw Gamble Shroud. Yang grabbed the gun and yanked them so hard they flew by her. Still holding on, Yang felt Blake pull her. She timed a shotgun blast with the tension of the pull to soar ahead as far as possible; yanking both girls again. This rendition of their favorite move cut out a lot of time. It only took a few minutes before all three reached the point of free falling over the boat. Yang lets go of the gun so Blake can anchor to the boat. Ilia took the first opportunity to escape that jarring movement she got, running down the taut ribbon to the ship and pulling it to bring Blake down from air.

Yang realized she might be in a bit of a situation and so did Blake. Tucking and rolling might be pushing her luck when it comes to movement options while she’s expecting. “Uhh Blake?”

“I got you.” Blake didn’t want to jossle her anymore than necessary. She jumped up and caught Yang safely before the blonde could fall any faster. “You okay?”

“Put me down the moment we land!”

Blake didn’t bother arguing. She let go as soon as she touched the floor and watched Yang speed over to the side of the boat to lean over. Thankfully Yang held back whatever tried to come up and everyone was spared the sounds of her puking.

“Yang?”

“Jaune was right. Motion sickness is a big deal. Ugh…”

“Don’t you mean, Vomit Boy?”

“I’ll never call him that again. Too cruel.” Yang walked back over to Ilia and Blake to sit against a wall. “Please tell me this was the right boat? I don’t wanna do that again.”

“Of course it is. It’s the one always going back and forth to Vacou. Sun and I might as well live on this ship.” Ilia pulled out her scroll. “We’ll see port a little after daybreak, so we should all rest and be prepared. I’m going to speak to the captain so nobody thinks we’re a bunch of stowaways.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” A voice called from the front of the boat. The trio looked and gasped to see Jacquelyn walking towards them. “Gunshots aren’t the quietest thing in the world. Also one of you literally lights up, so there’s that. I thought you would’ve tagged out by now.

“And I thought you would’ve been long gone by now.”

Jacquelyn rested on the railings to watch the waves. “If it were up to me I’d be there already, but I don’t control boat schedules now do I? Good thing. Not entirely sure what I’m walking into. So yeah, thanks.” Jacquelyn turned to Ilia. “Hey. You’re the chameleon right? Ilia, was it?”

Eyes widened instantly. “Adam spoke of me?”

“When it was relevant, but yeah. Said that you’re pretty capable at what you do. Glad you’re tagging along.”

“Wish I could say the same. I have lots of questions and I have a feeling the answers are with you.” Ilia crossed her arms. Being out of the loop was a pain in the ass she couldn’t stand.

“As much as I love stories, now isn’t the best time. However…” her attention turned to Blake. “I think the two of us might need one. A brief, but important one. Alone.”

Blake looked around. “It will just be a moment you two.”

“Sigh…fine.”

“Take your time.” Yang added.

Jacquelyn took Blake by the hand to lead her to the front. “I could tell from a glance that you’re troubled. Spit it out.”

“…I’ve learned about what we’re dealing with. Ilia told me what we might face and why. Back in the desert I told you my beliefs run to my core.”

“Don’t tell me that’s changed?”

“I’m telling you sorry. Apparently my efforts as High Leader haven't even scratched the surface. I thought things were progressing steadily but we’re heading to a place that’s about to prove everything is still the same. Spite is alive and thriving.”

“Hehe, and? We both know you were aware of that. So why don’t you come out and just ask-”

“How?” Blake said, balling her fist. “If what you claim is true, then how do you do it? How are you changing someone who’s that spiteful when I can’t reach people like him at all? I’m not sure if I’m reaching anyone right now. I feel…”

“Stupid? You’re not. Naive? I’d say more optimistic.” Jacquelyn put her hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Impatience, that’s what’s got you. Don’t look at me for guidelines because frankly I’m selfish and never bothered looking at the bigger picture when it comes to humanity. You’re different. You know what path you want to take but hesitate to get pushy with it, compromising without realizing it. A flexible leader is good but if you are certain about the way you want things then Blake Belladonna, don’t you dare compromise.”

Blake felt Jacquelyn’s grip tighten. The woman’s eyes went cold and Blake knew her next words would be the most important.

“We’re heading to a place that can only be hell. Blake, you’ll find the real answer to all your questions soon enough. Don’t run from it.”

The meaning to those words reached her, yet Blake knew she’d only truly grasp it in the moment. “Understood.”

“Good. I have a bad feeling about tomorrow. I should probably rest but I’m sure it’s in my best interest to give your friend at least a little bit of info.”

“I can handle that.”

“No, worry about Yang instead. I want all of us at least a little bit at peace.” Ilia walked back over to the other two. “Changed my mind. Story time, squirt.” She took Ilia’s hand.

“Hey!”

“Don’t fight it. I’m too tired for resistance. Yang?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good. Uhh thanks, I guess.”

Yang watched them leave and Blake came back seconds later to sit next to her. The two sat quietly, the sound of waves crashing on one another. “I won’t pretend I’m suddenly okay with all of this. But…I want us to be okay. So I’ll put in the leg work.”

“Heh. Yang, you’re always okay with me. Leg work or not, following me is your choice. Don’t think you owe me anything.”

“Stop being a dummy. I swear you’ve always been like this. How many people gotta say it? You don’t choose what your friends do.”

“Then you should choose to be okay with me.”

Blake looked at Yang’s unblinking face with a smile. Deep down, the bruiser's heart felt as if a weight was lifted. A sense of overwhelming joy couldn’t be contained. “So, we’re okay then.” Yang lifted her fist. “Partners forever.”

Blake bumped her fist. “Forever.”

Frayed bonds may be fragile, but as long as strings remain linked, mending was an outcome. Blake and Yang were living proof, and with a little luck…so would Adam. Life wasn’t always a fairytale unfortunately. One bond may have strengthened tonight, but it wasn’t the only one being tested. There was another, fraying from unseen eyes; until it snapped.

xxxxx

Hours passed underground. Jasmine couldn’t tell when the beatings stopped or started anymore. Every single nerve had been screaming, her ears ringing. The sensitivity drug she had been injected with during her first round of correction never wore off, so the second dose they gave only fueled the anguish. The lights of the labs have prevented her from seeing. Not that she wanted to look at anyone or herself for that matter. All she could tell was she was moving. What was bright became dark rhythmically. Jasmine’s vision, as blurry as it was, made fuzzy images that could only be people. One blob was raised higher than the rest. Had to be Adam. Strange, it wasn’t moving like the rest. It didn’t move at all. However, Jasmine could faintly make out yelling. “Get up!” She didn’t know if it was for her but it chilled her all the same. Loud creaking accompanied moments after. Jasmine suddenly felt weightless until a pulse of pain shot through her back; followed by more creaking and a loud metal thunk.

Jasmine did her best to move. It took time, a lot of it, but she eventually got to her knees. The lack of light helped her vision sort itself out; as well as slightly dwindled her senses. Enough to think without too much pain. “Why hurt me just throw me behind bars?” An attempt to stand only led back to her face deep in dirt. “O...ow”

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this tired.”

Jasmine’s body stiffened. She turned her head towards the inside of the cell with all her strength. Deep in the shadows reeked blood, but beyond that… “Rajah? Rajah is that you?” There was no mistaking that scent. “Rajah! You’re here. I’m so hap-h..happ…” her heart nearly stopped. Every fiber of her felt cold. Jasmine’s very soul trembled while her eyes remained fixed on Rajah as he got closer. His eyes looked glassed over. And his ears…they weren’t on his head, but mangled tightly in his fist.

“Need help? I can sit you up.” He approached closer.

“Ra..Ra…”

“What’s wrong? Throat dry? Oh…this?” He dropped his ears on the floor, ignoring them and the fresh blood that still leaked down his face and soaked his hair. “No big deal.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Not as much as you. Honestly I feel a lot better. Hehe, weird right?” He smiled, chuckling ever so slightly. “He won’t hurt me anymore. Sobek won’t hurt you either. I promise.”

She wanted to run. Jasmine didn’t know where but she wanted to run as fast as possible, but all her legs did was shake as Rajah kept getting closer with his smile on full display. Tears welled up, her ears folding down. “Pl..Stop it.” What did Sobek do to her brother? “Rajah you’re scaring me. You’re- ah!” His hands reached her throat faster than she could blink. Jasmine gasped as her brother pinned her onto her back and began to squeeze. His vacant eyes stared deep into her own terror filled and weeping ones, kicking frantically underneath him the whole time.

“Aww it’s okay. Sobek’s not gonna hurt us anymore! You see I figured it out! The pain stops when there’s nothing to look at. Hahaha! Sobek wasn’t mad at me. Just my ears! Once I ripped them,he wasn’t angry anymore Jasmine! He said he’d never be angry at me again.” Though vacant and laughing, Rajah’s own tears started falling. “He finally stopped hurting me…! And when you stop kicking, you won’t hurt me either. You’ll wake up like me and be left alone, so listen to your big brother okay? Okay!?” Clenched teeth gritted against one another, drooling with spit and blood. Rajah wasn’t smiling anymore. “Why couldn’t you listen to me?” His bloodied hands dug in.

Jasmine’s nails broke the skin of his wrists. Her lungs burned and vision became blurry again, but she could hear him perfectly. The laughter, the ragged breathing as hearts raced. Her head spun but all her mind could think of was his words. Why didn’t she listen? The thought turned into wondering why this happened? The beatings, torture, seclusion; it wasn’t his fault. Rajah didn’t deserve this. It was all her. Why couldn’t it just be her? The caring eyes she loved, they weren’t staring back. Only her reflection looked back, and Jasmine couldn’t stomach the sight. Narrowed eyes and clenched jaw, Jasmine shut her eyes and let a guttural noise of pain and immense rage while the world as she knew it faded into dark.

“I’m sorry…”

#rwby #rwby au #adam taurus #jacquelyn frost #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #ilia amitola #rwby shackles

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ask-them-bois · 4 years ago

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Blood of My Blood

TW: Needles, lots of blood, animal death and gore.

TLDR: Vornik gets his happy ending.

***

Vornik sat in the small hive of the village medic, twisting his claws around the hem of his cloak as said medic bustled about in front of him.

“Alright, guardian, after this one, I think we’ll be able to stop these sessions. Blood transfusions are a nasty business as it is, and for someone like you… well, they can be borderline dangerous.” She turned around, a bag of jade-hued ichor and its attached needle in hand. “Necessary as they may be, after you nearly lost your arm, but still- we should be careful all the same.” She added.

“Jade?” Vornik asked quietly, surprised, “Don’t I usually get olive, since it’s the closest-”

“Mhm. Unfortunately, Mr. Andrin- the fellow who usually donates the blood- broke a wrist last week when he was working on his hive’s roof. Fell off, shattered a horn on the way- nasty business.”

“Oh.”

“This time, the blood’s been donated from a passer-through. Heard we had a wriggler in need of some, and when we told her about our dear guardian, she happily offered some of her own.”

“I’m not a wriggler.” Vornik mumbled as the healer took his arm and began to rub an ointment on the juncture of his elbow. “I’m eight sweeps old.”

The elderly bronzeblood smiled and pat his shoulder. “I know, dear, but you’re a wriggler to me, guardian of our village or not.”

Vornik made no comment, turning his head away as the needle punctured his skin. The healer hung the bag on a hook above his head, and pat his shoulder again.

“Just sit tight, dear.” She hummed, before she turned away.

Vornik did as he was told, watching the emerald blood slide down the tube and into his arm. Even through the thin plastic casing, he could smell the coppery scent of blood. He suddenly sat up slightly, frowning, and took another sniff of the air.

There was something off about the blood, he thought; it smelled… strange, yet familiar at the same time.

“Are you sure this blood is clean?” He asked, squinting at the bag.

“Mhm! I checked the jadeblood for any abnormalities.”

“And?”

“And there was only one, but the jade assured me it was normal for her caste. I had to take her word for it, I’m not an expert on jades.”

Vornik nodded slowly and tried to relax, but his gaze kept drifting back to the bag.

Two hours later, the bag was drained, and the needle was pulled from his skin. The healer tenderly wrapped his elbow in gauze, then passed him a caramel candy.

“These are your favorites, yes?”

Vornik happily took it, nodding as he popped the sweet into his mouth with a mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, dear. Go on, now- best get home before the sun rises.”

Vornik bid the healer goodbye and slipped out of her hive. He made his way through the village, sucking on the candy. The night was cloudy, only a handful of stars visible through the mounting cloud cover.

Vornik made it to the edge of the village without being stopped, for which he was grateful; as much as he loved the villagers, he felt nauseated and tired, as he often did after transfusions.

After his mountain came down, his arm had been nearly shorn from his body. The muscle had been severely damaged, and the bone cracked. The giant scar he bore now was a giant callous of pinched skin, where his flesh had mended over the lost muscle. After the heavy loss of blood that accompanied the wound, Vornik had been made to undergo blood transfusions to aid in the healing process.

The first bags had been from Innocent, his ancestor’s generosity boundless. But after giving too much at once, the healer had shooed Innocent away so he could recover, and had gotten the blood from other greenbloods in the village. Olive was the closest match, and Vornik’s body had been receptive of it, so every two weeks, Vornik had found himself back in the healer’s hive to receive another dose.

Now, with jade in his veins, he just hoped his body wouldn’t reject the ichor. He’d been healing well- physically, at least- and it didn’t hurt to lift his arm anymore.

Even so…

Alphadad leaped to his feet at the sight of him as he reached the edge of the village, six ears standing alert and three noses nuzzling against his torso.

“I’m okay, alpha. I’m all done, let’s go home.” Vornik smiled softly, petting each howl-beast muzzle in turn. He clambered onto the giant beast’s back, and Alphadad turned, bounding for their mountain.

Vornik shut his eyes and turned his face into the wind as they galloped past his old home, trying to ignore the wrenching of his blood-pumper.

By the time they reached the mountain, the horizon was growing light. Vornik quickly dismounted and hurried inside, with Alphadad just behind him. His pace didn’t slow until he stepped out onto the ledge, and saw his hidden forest spread out below him.

Tension unraveled from his shoulders as he descended the slope, entering the blue-shining trees. The sound of birdsong and insect chirps wreathed around him, buzzing in his ears pleasantly. A stag was drinking from the pool when he passed; it paused and raised its head, but Vornik paid it no mind; the creatures in his mountain were comfortable with his presence now, and he with theirs. He’d forbid his howl-beast brethren from harming any of them, unable to stomach the thought of the near-mystical creatures being harmed.

Ascending the slop on the far side, he entered his den.

Since moving into it some perigrees ago, it had slowly become more and more like his old den; like home.

He had a new pile of furs and blankets and pillows to sleep in, only now they were cradled in a half-egg-shaped frame, to keep them from getting dirty. Barrels of water stood against one wall; back then, he’d set the barrels out on the cliff during storms to gather rain water, but now he just dragged them to the pool when they were emptied.

Above them, with the help of Innocent, Vornik had mounted some shelves into the stone. Utensils, food, tools, knickknacks, paint cans and brushes- all neatly organized on said shelves.

He’d dug himself a proper fire pit, where the embers of the early evening’s flame still smoldered.

At the back of the den, next to his bed and on a small pedestal, was the painted stone from his original home, surrounded by pretty crystals and shells.

Finally, there were the walls; he no longer had miles of mountain tunnels to paint, but he did have blank slates, and luminescent paint. In the flickering light of the embers, glowing howl-beasts and antler-beasts and faceless trolls danced among swirling designs and stars.

Vornik tossed a log and a few sticks onto the embers, coaxing them back into a warm flame. He glanced at the provisions waiting him on the shelf, but he still felt queasy after his treatment. He retreated to his bed, carefully removing his cloak and laying it aside before he curled up among the furs and pillows. Alphadad settled at the mouth of the cave, keeping watch on the trees.

It was as Vornik buried his nose in a howl-beast pelt, already half asleep, that he distantly realized why the jade blood had smelled familiar.

By morning, he’d forgotten. As soon as he was conscious that he was awake, his stomach was gripped with pain. He sat up with a bark of surprise, clutching his torso. Alphadad grunted, concerned, two heads rising to look at their charge.

Vornik panted, his eyes wide with alarm; he’d never felt this hungry, even after going without meals in winter, when food was scarce. He was dizzy, his mouth flooded with drool as he caught sight of the food waiting on the shelves. He scrambled out of his bed and lunged across the cave.

He ripped a loaf of bread from the shelf, barely pausing to unwrap the wax paper as he devoured bite after bite.

Halfway through the loaf, he dropped it, stumbled to the mouth of his den, and emptied his stomach of bread. He moaned in pain, eyes rolling back as he was gripped with more hunger pangs.

Stumbling back to the shelves, he pulled everything down, sniffing them for proof of rot or mold, but it all seemed fine. As his nose passed over a bundle of dried meat, he thought he might pass out again as a new wave of dizziness and drool washed over him.

He didn’t hesitate, ripping the twine off and shoving the meat into his mouth. He threw back his head and groaned in delight; that was what he needed, it seemed, and in what felt like moments, the meat was gone. He tore through the rest of his food, looking for more.

Raw beef slid down his throat next, followed by grilled chicken and smoked fish. Sniffing around desperately, he realized he was out of meat; only fruits and vegetables and bread remained, and his gastric-sack did unpleasant flips at their smell.

“More… alpha, I need- I need more!” He whimpered, turning to look at his lusus. Alphadad didn’t hesitate, leaping to his feet and bounding out of the mountain.

Vornik groaned again, dragging himself to the water barrels. He dunked his head in one, fears be damned, gulping down water in an attempt to stifle the hunger. He pulled his head back out, hair spraying water everywhere, and stood, clutching the edges.

He panted, staring down at his warped reflection; what was wrong with him? He’d never reacted this way to blood before- it was the only reason he could come up with for the sudden hunger. Maybe he *had* rejected the jade blood, and his body was trying to purge it.

He should see the healer, he decided. He spun about to fetch his cloak, stumbled over his own feet, and collapsed.

He groaned, stars exploding behind his eyes; he felt too weak, his temples and stomach pulsing in harmonious pain. It seemed to be moving, too, the pain rolling down each limb until it reached his fingers and toes, making them twitch. Even his horns felt electrified; he reached up to touched one, and cried out as a jolt shot through him.

He dropped his head, pressing his cheek to the cold stone. He tried to focus on breathing, shudders wracking his body as he dug his claws into the floor. There was a whine in his ears, distant and shrill like a broken radio.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there; he was going in and out of consciousness. But when he managed to lift his head again, it was in response to the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Blinking blearily, he found his lusus standing before him, a dead antler-beast on the ground at his paws, blood oozing sluggishly from a tear in its throat.

The coppery tang hit the back of Vornik’s throat, and he was moving before he was even aware of doing so. With his claws, he rend open the carcass, and was tearing out flesh.

He ate like a frenzied beast, blood coating his hands and mouth as he devoured flesh and muscle and organs. His knees became sticky and hot as the blood pooled around the rip in the belly. He was snarling, snorting, and panting, like his howl-beast siblings did when they devoured meals. He paused to lick away the blood that ran down his arm, before gouging out the liver and tearing into it.

He didn’t stop until he physically could eat no more; the carcass was in shambles, nearly half of it now in Vornik’s stomach. Finally sated, he slumped over to stare at the deer’s head, reaching up with bloody fingers to pet its ear.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for sustaining me.” He rasped, throat thick with blood; it was something he said at every kill, before he and his siblings ate. It was the closest he ever came to prayer- yet this time, all civility and grace he usually held during the meal had vanished until he was quenched.

Vornik laid for a while, eyes closed and breathing deep; sanity seemed to have come back to him, as did a warm strength that filled out his limbs and chest.

He felt… good. Content. Suddenly exhausted, he passed out right there on the ground.

It went on like that for several nights. He’d wake, eat, drink, and pass back out, to be consumed by fitful sleep and nightmares. He’d toss and turn, wake with a jolt, and devour more meat. Alphadad doted on him diligently, bringing fresh kills nearly every night. The cave was filled with carrion and bones, but Vornik didn’t have the strength to remove them.

Then all at once, he felt like he’d woken up; he was clear headed, able to breathe fully. He had the strength to get up and make his way to the pool, where he drank and cleaned the blood that caked his face and claws.

He sat back, looking up at the giant crystals that hung from the ceiling; through the cracks in the stone, he could see purple and green-tinged light; the moons were out and full. He didn’t feel sick anymore. Didn’t feel thirsty or hungry. His skin itched, but other than that, he felt fine.

Looking back down, he jumped in surprise as he caught sight of his reflection. Leaning over the surface, his eyebrows shot up; was the really him? He looked… bad. Haunted.

His eyes were empty, shadowed below by dark circles. His mouth was set in a grimace, the scar over his eye vivid. That wasn’t him, he thought; that was the shell of a troll he’d become. That wasn’t who he wanted to be.

He reached up with shaky claws and ran a finger down the mark. The smell of sea salt, blood, and a flash of fuchsia filled his mind for a moment, before he shook his head and dropped his hand. When he looked back at his reflection, he saw his eyes were glowing. He frowned; they only ever did that when he used his powers, why were they-

Agony tore through him once more, rocketing up his spine and bursting into his thinkpan like a firework. He screamed, the sound echoing through the chasm and causing birds to take flight.

He clutched his head, falling forward, into the shallows as he writhed. The ground shook, and Alphadad was at his side, barking and whining in alarm.

Vornik couldn’t breathe; his body was refusing to listen to him, pain buzzing down into his teeth. He snapped his jaws in the air, clawing at his mouth. His eyes suddenly shot open.

“Out!” He shouted, “I need out! Outside! Alpha!”

Alphadad didn’t argue. He shoved his muzzle under Vornik’s body, and the boy grabbed on, clambering over his lusus’ center head to clutch at his scruff as the monster hounded for the exit. Pressed flat against his lusus’ neck, the roof of the tunnel scraped against Vornik’s back and made him wail.

They burst out onto the mountainside, and Alphadad bound down to the forest, where he lowered himself to the ground. Vornik slid from his back and hit the dirt, pain pulsing through his very veins.

Everything was overwhelming; the forest was quiet, yet he could hear every insect chirp, every rustle of the leaves and the footfalls of deer. The smells of the woods, once pleasant, were rancid in his lungs, until he was heaving, trying to cough them back out. The moonlight stung his eyes, the wind slicing at his skin like knives.

From among the trees, he heard the near silent padding of his fellow howl-beast’s approach. A dozen of them appeared, sniffing the air as concerned grunts and growls rolled in their throats.

“What’s- happening- to me?” Vornik croaked, staring at his siblings pleadingly. They paused, turning to snuffle at one another. A knowing look seemed to dawn on all of them at the same time, and they suddenly retreated- all but one of them.

Vornik recognized her; he knew nearly every howl-beast in the mountains. This particular one was a she-wolf with red fur; Vornik had named her Russet, and had pup-sat for several of her litters when she went hunting.

Russet stepped forward, brushing her nose along his jaw comfortingly, before she stepped back, only to lunge forward and slam her head into him.

Vornik fell back with a yelp, pain skirting up his back like electricity. “Russet-?!” He gasped.

She leaped back, bowing in a play stance.

“No, Russet, I don’t-”

She barked, knocking into him again. She turned and vanished into the trees, before she came back and barked again, her tail wagging.

Run!

The word exploded in his head, a painful energy surging through him like a wave. He scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly.

Run!

He took off.

Vornik wasn’t sure if it was terror or excitement that made him move, but he was suddenly tearing through the trees, his lusus and packmate at his sides. Other howl-beasts bled from between the trees to join them in their race.

Vornik didn’t know where they were going, but he was a man consumed; run, his body told him, the pain fading to a background feeling. Run. Run!

He vaulted over a log, lost his footing, fell, and leaped back up, racing on.

They burst out of the woods and onto the plains, where a heard of mega-fauna antler-beasts were grazing. The beasts startled, bellowed, and wheeled about to flee. Vornik bellowed right back, and his vision went red.

He screeched to a stop, throwing back his head as his muscles seized.

He screamed, screamed, screamed- and his skin rent open as he was transformed.

He fell forward, his body shaking and jerking from side to side as he convulsed. He thrashed his head, snarling, his claws digging into the dirt. His lusus and howl-beast siblings watched, silently circling around him to wait.

The base of his spine burned in a white hot, needling pain. His every fang pulsed and throbbed, his eyes squeezed shut as his thinkpan scattered to the wind.

His jaw was stretching, his bones snapping and reforming, his fangs growing as he snarled at the moons. His form doubled, tripled in size, new muscles and flesh rippling into being across his limbs.

His hair turned white from the roots, as bright white fur burst into being along the rest of his body. He heaved with a great shudder, and his spine elongated into a tail with a flourish. His ears grew longer, the tips sharper, as he tossed his head. His hands and feet became broad and thick, his fingers and toes into heavy, sharp claws.

His clothes were suddenly too constricting as his chest broadened, expanded, and he tore them off with a snarl.

With a final burst of pain, he threw back his head and screamed, only for it to change into a roaring howl, before he collapsed.

Vornik lay in the moonlight, heaving for breath as he tried to figure out what just happened. Terror and pain faded away until they were barely echoes. He whimpered, peeling open his eyes and sitting up slowly to look down at himself.

He… He was a howl-beast.

Or partially one, at least. A monster, caught between troll and howl-beast. He reached up, patting his head, and was relieved to feel his horns still remained. He stood on wobbly feet and twisted about, looking at himself. He was huge! He must have been nearly seven feet tall, at least! He was covered in thick white fur that made him look even bigger, and he had a tail! He focused, and managed to make it wag a little. He looked down his arm, and saw his scar still remained, but it was mostly covered by his fur.

Dropping back down, he finally looked up at his family. Alphadad was regarding him, with only warmth and pride in all his eyes.

“Alpha?” Vornik tried to say, but it didn’t come out in his voice. His body spoke for him, his ears pressing back and head cocking to the side.

“Little Omega.” His lusus responded warmly, all six ears pricking up and middle head tossing back and forth as his tail wagged.

“I’m… a howl-beast.” Vornik’s tail thumped and he bowed his head.

“Always been a howl-beast.” His lusus leaned down and nuzzled each muzzle against Vornik’s head. “Only now you look like one.” He chuffed affectionately, nipping Vornik’s ear gently.

Vornik nuzzled his nose along one jaw, before he looked at his siblings. Each one of them had their ears pressed back, tails tucked, and were respectfully looking away from him. Vornik whined at them, assuring them it was okay.

“What do I do now?” He whimpered, his own ears falling flat and tail tucking half-way between his legs.

Alphadad pulled away to regard him. “What do you want to do?” He asked, all three heads cocking to the right at the same time.

In response, Vornik’s stomach gave a mighty rumble, and he heard amused chuffs from his siblings.

“Hunt.” Vornik bared his teeth, his muzzle wrinkling and eyes beginning to glow as energy surged through him.

Alphadad stamped his feet, tail high as he barked with excitement. “Then we hunt!” He snarled, tossing a heads.

Vornik slammed his claws against the ground as a sudden, ferocious elation- borderline bloodthirst- filled his chest. He threw back his head and let out another roaring howl that echoed through the mountains.

Above him, the sky lights burst to life, as if called by his song. Greens and blues and pinks and yellows snaked across the sky, stretching across the canvas of midnight and stars. The other howl-beasts reacted, throwing back their heads to howl, too.

“Ancestors! The ancestors join us!” Jawbreaker- a male with black fur- howled.

Vornik couldn’t sit still another moment; he thought if he did, he might explode. He shot off across the plains, reveling in his new power; he had questions, lots of them, but for the moment he let them go, all but throwing himself, willingly, into the nature he’d denied himself the past sweep.

He could feel his blood-pumper beating against his ribs like a caged animal. He felt every ripple of his muscles as they bunched and released as he thundered forward, his claws tearing into the grass.

Every sense was heightened, but it was no longer painful; he could hear his brothers, his sisters, and his father racing along behind him, but none of them seemed able to keep up with his speed. He could smell the earthy musk of his prey, somewhere ahead in the hills, so strongly that he could taste it on his tongue. His vision was sharpened, so much so that every blade of grass was distinct, even as he ran by.

With a leap full of lupine grace, his form changed again.

He nearly lost his footing in surprise, but managed to stay upright as his body morphed, painlessly and seamlessly, into a full-blown howl-beast body. He wanted to stop and check it out, but to pause meant he had to stop running. He could still feel his horns atop his head. Adrenaline was pouring through him, churning through his veins until he could barely contain it. He threw back his head and howled again, and heard the answering cry from his pack.

The mountains came alive as the other packs responded, too, reveling in the glee their brother had found once more. Vornik crested a hill and finally slowed as he spotted the prey up ahead. His flanks heaved as he fought for breath, his head was spinning with hunger and euphoria, and drool dripped from his jaw. His muscles ached from the sudden growth and use, but it was dull. Satisfying.

Finally, he thought, his tail wagging behind him as he eyed the herd.

Finally, he was himself again.

He was Vornik again.

#blood of my blood #story time #vornik gorsin #tw needles #tw animal death #tw blood #long post #very long post #sorry to just drop this but i love it very much #my boy is happy again! :')#ill update his bio soon

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