#young? might risk a bad injury. old? bad injury risk

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Oh the Assistant!Kara AU tho…so one night Lena actually gets Kara to leave earlier than her (sisters night maybe?) but as she’s leaving she hears something suspicious and heads back up to be just in time to save Lena from an assassin, and is consequently horrified because people are actually trying to kill Lena? Like, she’s used to hearing death threats again Cat but none ever materialized and the fact that these so and Lena so…casually resigned? to them? Enter supergirl mode lol.

Okay but what if Kara *isn't* there? Lena is assaulted in the parking lot or in the lobby on her way out, and Kara doesn't hear about it until she's called to the hospital for a ride home. Injuries are minor, but bandages are visible, and Lena is shaken.

Kara is livid.

"...and where was the security guard?!" She ends a long diatribe with a frustrated huff.

"I don't know."

Lena's voice is so soft in the confines of the elevator up to her apartment, it stops Kara in her tracks. She looks at her boss, who's leaning against the wall of the elevator looking rumpled and tired in a bloodstained blouse. The wisps of hair that have come loose from its style makes Lena look so young, and for the first time Kara realizes that her boss isn't all that old in the first place.

In fact, she doesn't seem much older than Kara herself.

And tonight, her empowered, forceful, kind boss is just a rattled young woman who was attacked alone in a freaking parking garage.

"Hey," Kara says softly. Taking a risk, she reaches out to rest her hand gently on Lena's arm. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." Lena's voice comes cold and harsh, shocking Kara before it almost immediately softens. "Just... if you're kind to me I might just burst into tears, and I really don't want to do that just yet."

"It's okay." Kara kicks herself. "Sorry. Right. I can be mean..."

"I don't need mean," Lena says with a small smile. "I just... I just want to be home."

Right on cue, the elevator dings open, and Lena manages to unlock the multiple deadbolts with shaking fingers. The apartment inside is massive, and Lena flips on every light as she moves inside, allowing Kara to trail in behind her. They come to a stop in the kitchen, where Lena reaches into the fridge for a carafe of filtered water. She pours herself a glass and takes a long gulp before speaking.

"Thank you for driving me. Is there anything I can get you before I head home?"

Kara shakes her head. "No, I'm good. I'll clear your schedule for tomorrow-- I heard what the doctor said about the concussion, and you really should rest."

Lena nods her gratitude. "Thank you."

Kara turns to leave, then thinks better of it and turns back. "Actually, do you mind if I stay here tonight?"

Taken aback, Lena's eyes widen. "I-- what?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's late, and it's a long way back to my place, and I shouldn't be driving when I'm so tired. They say it's as bad as driving drunk," she punctuates with a dramatic yawn. She doesn't care what excuse she throws out-- Lena's apartment is too dark and too big for Lena stay here alone tonight.

"I don't know, Kara... it wouldn't be appropriate."

"Please," Kara says, falling solemn. "For me. I'll sleep on the couch."

Lena looks at her for a long moment. Finally, she relents. "Don't be ridiculous," she sighs. "You can use the spare room."

And if Kara checks every nook and cranny of that spare room-- and every other unoccupied inch of the apartment-- for any hidden intruders before she goes to sleep, well.

Who could blame her?

[chattieb]

Anyone want a snippet from my rottmnt fic..?

Yeaaaah, you're getting the first page of my Google Doc under the cut

Raph turned onto his side, his bed creaking with his weight shifting and the mattress dipping. Sleep. He needed sleep. The Krang invasion took a lot out of him physically and mentally. It felt like every movement was a protest against his body. His injuries were still fresh and he could feel a distant stinging buzz behind his blind eye as his pain medication began to wear off. Yet it wasn’t the pains and throbs that kept him up. No, those were recent, his medication had been on high gear when he first got into bed.

It was his nerves. Those fleshy pink aliens had them shot. Raph rolled onto his back for the umpteenth time, gazing up at the ceiling. Softly, he tapped his fingertips against the patch over his eye. His vision was a bit off now but he’d just have to learn to get used to it. He tried to ignore the phantom feelings, the distant buzz everywhere except his plastron and legs. The buzz reminded him of the Krang flesh that had wormed its way into his own. It’d felt bad enough on his own shell, the idea of Donnie having that dig into a soft one made Raph shudder.

The idea of any of his brothers going through, well, everything that happened just a few days ago made him shudder to be honest. When Casey learned Mikey got Leo back using a portal, he explained damn near everything about Mikey’s future self. The idea of Mikey dying, of watching his little brother chip away in an attempt to save the other made Raph’s heart drop. He knew his little bro. Even if he and Donnie hadn’t been there to help and absorb some of the damage being done, Mikey would’ve kept going. 

Raph’s nails dug into his comforter at the thought.

That nagging in his gut, that familiar tug pulled from deep inside him. It was a feeling he’d been getting for years. It started when Splinter got distant, started giving them less time and attention, and started retreating into the living room. Raph didn’t understand what was going on at the time, but he did know he needed to be there for his brothers. It was stressful for a child as young as he had been. Keeping his brothers healthy, fed, and content when their dad was drifting away from them. He had started to get irrationally nervous any time he’d leave them alone. 

He knew Leo might try to get into some kind of trouble for attention, that Mikey was too little to really know how dangerous some things were, and that Donnie was at a higher risk of harm than any of them. He didn’t feel comfortable leaving them alone for longer than a few minutes. Rational fears grew larger while irrational ones bloomed. The idea of one of his brothers choking while eating would somehow turn into the fear of letting them eat anything without supervision at the time. The tossing and turning and stirring he did now was born from those unrealistic thoughts driving into his skull and keeping him from having a restful night. He knew they were fine, he knew they weren’t going to get hurt from staying in the bathtub on their own for a few minutes, from eating by themselves, from spending the night in their own room. But, nocturnal death is rare, not impossible.  He wished he never learned that fact because here he was getting out of bed at two in the morning just to check that his brothers were still breathing. He could’ve sworn he was getting better at not doing things like this, at giving his brothers space to breathe without being what Mikey called a “Helicopter Brother.” But the Krang invasion was a setback and now he was falling into old habits. How could he not? His brothers almost died. He was the reason his brothers almost died. He didn’t even register he had been walking until he was outside of Mikey’s train car, closed hand hovering over the door and poised to knock.

[itsabouttimex2]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE YOUR AU!!!!! IT'S SO GOOD!!! op, your ideas are fantastic, you're really creative and an awesome writer!! 💫🌟

The monkiefam dynamic is so fun to read about — and pretty sad in MK's case, the poor guy.

Hopefully it's not too dark of a question, but how brutal does MK get during the primal moon? If he gets too violent with reader, does Wukong or Mac try stopping him or would they just let the natural pecking order happen?

I feel so bad for him, he's is gonna have a hell of a time acknowleding all the stuff he did during the primal moon week :/

Thank you so much, that means a lot to me! I’m glad people like my silly little things! (UPDATED to add a few extra characters!)

Thankfully for Y/N, MK isn’t too brutal- I don’t think they’ll come out with anything worse than a sprained wrist or ankle. The trauma will persist far beyond their injuries, however. When the last green moon of the week fades, he’s positively distraught.

Lining his hand curiously up to a slap mark on Y/N’s cheek to check it, tears brimming in his eyes when it lines up too perfectly to be a coincidence.

I don’t know whether he heartbrokenly distances himself or tries to make up for it with extreme smothering. The poor kid just wanted to spend what was supposed to “just another green moon” with one of his best friends.

And as for Macaque, though he’d really like to help Y/N… he just doesn’t have the ranking. MK is above him in the hierarchy, so he genuinely can’t do anything to upset or piss him off. This only that accomplishes is him getting smacked around right beside Y/N. All he can really do for them is apply herbal balm and bandages after the fact. If he hasn’t had a seal applied to his powers yet, Macaque might think about trying his shadow portals, but… it’s probably better not to risk having two angry monkeys on his tail, demanding to know where he’s hidden their beloved cub/rookie.

Sun Wukong is crazy delusional under the moon’s influence- to him, Y/N getting thrown and tosses all around is just “playfighting”, so he won’t interfere until after things get genuinely harmful. The moment he hears his little “cub” scream and start to cry, Old Sun is there in a second, bringing them into his arms and cooing softly. If they come to him begging for protection and use a “Bàba” to sweeten the deal, they’ll have his shelter for a number of hours, so it’s not impossible to get away from MK… just very hard.

And even after learning that something as severe as a broken wrist has occurred, Wukong coddles MK and forgives him on your behalf, writing the whole thing off as an accident. Not that you get any less smothering then him- you’re now stuck in bed with stiff bandages and surrounded by young mountain monkeys and sweet fruit. In a way, it saves you from any further rough play.

All three of them are dangerous in their own ways, of course. None are outright above “disciplining” you, with slaps or bites or shoves. There’s no (intentional) bone-shattering or flesh-tearing, but they make you afraid that there will be.

———————————————————————

After the Primal Moon ends, there’s a lot of patching-up to do afterwards. For example…

Pigsy has to come down from the constant self-drugging, taking more than a few hours to compose himself and make the rounds with his friends, calling them all up in short order. Once he’s gotten through everyone- Tang, Sandy, Mei, even her parents… then he spends a few minutes making sure he hasn’t gored any holes into his restaurant. Unlocks the windows and doors, but doesn’t flip the open sign.

He’s not up to deal with customers right now. All he wants is to check on his kids.

He’ll take MK and you out to eat today, he thinks. You’ve both earned it, after a week of isolation up in your shared room, under strict instructions to stay inside and come down for no one and nothing.

Red Son is always horribly humiliated when everything is said and done, a groaning and red-faced mess of shame. Another week of essentially devolving into a child, desperate for love and attention. Another, slow, grudging week of constant begging for skinship and words of praise. Needless to say, he’s pissed off and looking for an outlet, and beating on the numerous Bull Clones just doesn’t seem all too enticing… when he’s got a much squishier target who’ll actually squirm and yelp?

Sure, he’s not going to outright mangle you. No permanent burns. No shattered spine. And he’ll take pity on you eventually and stop with the torment. After a few months, he might even start to like you.

Let’s hope you get there mostly unscathed.

[bittybug-sunflower-blog]

Chapter summary: The team plans to help Jetto, noting Beka's absence due to her injury. Jazzori reveals vital equipment is in an Imperial warehouse on Kashyyyk. Omega stays to look after Beka. The team infiltrates the warehouse, learns Jetto needs Boba Fett's DNA to heal, and narrowly escapes. They plan to trap Boba Fett to obtain the needed DNA.

Warning: breaking in

Word count: 4046

Rating: 18+

Extra: alternate universe story

…..

Chapter 10

As the radiant sunbathed the city of Pabu in golden light, the team gathered to deliberate on more effective strategies to aid Jetto, yet Beka's absence was conspicuous.

"Where is Beka?" inquired Gruno, his brow furrowing with concern.

"Training... she's been up for hours," groaned Valree, gesturing towards the direction where Beka was engrossed in her rigorous regimen.

Seneca observed her former master with a mix of admiration and nostalgia as Beka effortlessly sliced through rock formations with swift precision, a testament to her Jedi prowess.

"Hey, I just got off a communication with an old friend of mine," Jazzori interjected, her tone filled with urgency. "He mentioned a warehouse brimming with Kamino equipment."

"But...?" Valree began tentatively, sensing that there was likely a catch involved in Jazzori's revelation.

"It's an Empire warehouse," Jazzori admitted with a slight flinch, anticipating the team's reaction.

"Where is it?" Jetto pressed on, his curiosity undeterred.

"Kashyyyk," Jazzori replied, her voice tinged with gravity as she disclosed the location, knowing full well the risks involved in venturing to such a perilous territory under Imperial control.

"I know where that is, my friend Gungi lives there," Omega interjected, her youthful enthusiasm breaking the tension. The team turned to face Omega, surprised by her sudden contribution.

"Um, kid, this is a private meeting," Jetto frowned, gently reminding Omega of the confidentiality of their discussion.

"I can help," Omega interjected earnestly, her determination evident in her voice.

Seneca approached Omega, kneeling to meet her at eye level. "I'm sure you can help," she affirmed, her tone gentle yet resolute. "From what Hunter has told me, you are a strong, capable young woman. However, the Empire is after you. You've managed to escape them more times than they can count, but we're facing a challenge that even the Bad Batch might struggle with. Besides, Beka will need someone to stay with her while we embark on this mission."

"She's not going?" Omega asked, her concern evident in her voice. The team exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the weight of Omega's question, before turning their attention back to her.

"From what Tech has told me," Seneca began, her voice tinged with empathy, "one of her hearts is still healing from our ambush on Cloud City," she explained, her words carrying the weight of their recent struggles.

"But she looks fine to me," Omega pointed out, her concern growing as she failed to see any visible signs of Beka's injury.

"We can't risk it right now," Seneca sighed heavily, her expression reflecting the gravity of the situation. "Can you keep an eye on her, for me?" she requested, her plea carrying a sense of urgency and trust in Omega's capability.

"I will do my best," Omega smiled earnestly before swiftly darting off to where Beka was training.

"Impressive," Jetto remarked, acknowledging Omega's willingness to help.

"When you have kids, all they want to do is help," Seneca explained, her voice tinged with a mix of fondness and understanding.

"What's really the reason why Beka isn't coming?" Valree inquired, her curiosity piqued by Beka's absence from the mission.

"It really is her heart," Seneca sighed, her tone heavy with concern. "Beka's species has three hearts, and where the Inquisitor stabbed her was where one of her hearts was. Tech had to use cybernetics to put the heart back together. Thankfully, the other two hearts are what kept her alive long enough," she explained, revealing the extent of Beka's injuries and the delicate nature of her recovery.

"She's a Jedi, she's been through worse," Valree exclaimed optimistically, drawing upon Beka's resilience and strength as a Jedi.

"Not like this," Seneca sighed, acknowledging the unique challenges of Beka's current situation.

"Does she know we're having this meeting?" Gruno asked, seeking clarification on Beka's awareness of their discussion.

"She's the one who suggested it," Jazzori chimed in, affirming Beka's proactive involvement in the mission planning.

"I think it's settled though; we go to Kashyyyk, find the warehouse, and get what we need to help Jetto," Valree explained decisively, summarizing the team's consensus and course of action.

"I have a ship coming in; I suggest we get our supplies intact," Jazzori suggested, her practicality driving the team's next steps.

Everyone nodded in agreement, and the group dispersed to prepare for the upcoming mission. As Beka continued her training, bathed in the soft azure glow of her twin blue lightsabers, her mind became singularly focused on the fluidity of her movements. Each graceful swing and precise strike echoed the disciplined training she had undergone as a Jedi, her every action a testament to her dedication and skill. The rhythmic hum of the lightsabers filled the air as Beka executed intricate sequences with unwavering concentration, honing her combat proficiency with each fluid motion.

"Beka?" Omega's voice called out from a distance, breaking through the serene atmosphere of Beka's training session.

Beka turned to face Omega as she powered down her lightsabers, the soft hum fading into silence. "Omega, what's wrong?" she inquired, her concern evident in her voice.

"Umm, Seneca and your team are leaving for Kashyyyk," Omega explained, her tone tinged with apprehension.

"I know," Beka responded calmly, acknowledging Omega's concern.

"They're going without you," Omega reiterated, her worry palpable.

"I know, Omega," Beka affirmed, understanding the situation despite her absence from the mission.

"Why don't you want to go?" Omega pressed, her curiosity overriding her initial concern.

"Seneca told you," Beka replied, her tone gentle yet firm, indicating that the decision was based on medical advice.

"But is it true?!" Omega persisted; her disbelief apparent in her tone as she sought clarification.

Beka walked up to Omega, her blue lightsabers now hanging from her belt. "Yes, I'll be okay," she reassured Omega, her voice calm and steady, conveying confidence in her own well-being despite her absence from the mission. Omega looked at Beka, her expression betraying lingering doubt despite Beka's reassurance.

"Beka!" called Seneca, her voice carrying across the training area with a sense of urgency.

"Come on," Beka said, extending her hand towards Omega. Without hesitation, Omega took Beka's hand, and together they walked up to the rest of the team, who were busy loading supplies onto their ship.

"We're going to Kashyyyk. We will call you if we need you though," Seneca informed Beka and Omega, her tone conveying both determination and reassurance. Seneca walked past Beka, her steps purposeful as she made her way to her wife and sons, preparing to bid them farewell for the time being.

The Bad Batch lent their strength to help load supplies onto the ship, their presence adding an extra layer of efficiency to the operation. Mostly just Wrecker doing the heavy lifting though.

"That should be the last of it," Wrecker announced, his voice tinged with satisfaction as he carefully placed the final cargo box onboard the ship, ensuring that all supplies were securely stowed away.

"Thank you, Wrecker," Jazzori expressed her gratitude, holding out a credit piece as a token of appreciation for his assistance in loading the supplies.

"What's that for?" Wrecker asked, puzzled by the gesture.

"It's a tip," Jazzori explained, her expression reflecting her confusion as she observed Wrecker's reaction to the credit piece. Wrecker gasped in surprise as he accepted the credit piece, while the rest of the Bad Batch looked at Jazzori with a mixture of surprise and concern. "Was I not supposed to do that?" Jazzori asked, seeking clarification from the Bad Batch.

"Wrecker, you need to give it back," Hunter intervened, his tone firm yet understanding as he addressed Wrecker's acceptance of the credit piece.

"But... but I earned it," Wrecker protested, his reluctance evident as he clutched the credit piece tightly.

"Wrecker," Hunter repeated, his tone firm and commanding, urging Wrecker to comply with his directive.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Jazzori interjected, stepping forward to address Hunter. “Hunter, look, I don’t know how you do it here, but for some rich species, we tip. It's customary and our way of saying thank you,” she explained, offering cultural context to her gesture of gratitude.

Hunter sighed, relenting to Jazzori's explanation. "You can keep it, Wrecker," he conceded, acknowledging the cultural difference and Wrecker's contribution to the task.

Wrecker grinned widely at the permission. "Yes! Hey, Tech, look what I got for helping!" he exclaimed, proudly displaying the credit piece to his fellow Bad Batch member.

Hunter groaned at Wrecker's childlike behavior; his exasperation evident as he observed Wrecker's excitement over receiving the credit. Meanwhile, Beka approached Hunter and gently handed Omega to him, offering a reassuring smile to her.

"We're about ready to go," Jazzori announced, indicating that preparations for departure were nearing completion.

"Can I ask you something?" Beka inquired, her tone betraying a hint of curiosity as she turned to address Jazzori.

"Of course," Jazzori replied, welcoming Beka's question with an open demeanor.

"How did you and Seneca...?" Beka began, her curiosity piqued as she sought insight into Jazzori's friendship with Seneca.

"My craft broke down on Kiros while I was in a nearby city, desperately seeking a way back home," Jazzori recounted, her voice tinged with the memory of peril. "Clones started attacking, and I was almost caught in the crossfire. If it wasn't for Seneca, I..." Her voice trailed off momentarily as she recalled the harrowing experience. "Unfortunately, I was severely injured. She took me to her home," Jazzori continued, her tone softening as she recalled Seneca's kindness. "I met her family, and as I was recovering, we discussed politics—my father being a former chairman and making bad investments, I had to help rekindle the relationships with the people of Pantora. Seneca told me her views and stance as a Jedi. We both knew that the war may have ended, but a greater battle was at hand," Jazzori explained, her gaze distant as she reflected on the turmoil of the times. "We watched as innocent people who were against the Empire were slaughtered or hunted down. So, we both came up with a way to help them," Jazzori continued, her voice growing more determined. "We made a secret system to transport anyone to safe destinations under the disguise of me just buying high-end ships." Her words carried the weight of their shared commitment to aiding those in need, even in the face of adversity.

"Clever," Beka smiled, her admiration evident as she acknowledged the ingenuity behind Jazzori and Seneca's covert operation to aid the oppressed in their time of need. "She was vague on how she survived, but when I met her family and you, it all makes sense now."

"I owe Seneca my life. Even more so," Jazzori confessed, her gaze drifting towards Seneca and her family with a profound sense of gratitude and respect, "There are things that are worth more protecting,"  added, her voice filled with conviction as she reflected on the bonds of loyalty and sacrifice.

Beka smiled warmly at Jazzori's words. "You're a good friend," she affirmed, appreciating the depth of their connection.

"Our friendship is similar to yours and Valree's," Jazzori remarked, drawing a parallel between their friendships.

"How so?" Beka inquired, curious about Jazzori's perspective.

"We both know you're Jedi, both know you have secrets," Jazzori explained, her tone thoughtful. "Both of us understand your secrets," she concluded, acknowledging the shared understanding and trust that underpinned their bond.

Beka smiled warmly at Jazzori, silently acknowledging their mutual understanding and appreciation for each other.

"Okay, that's everything, we better get going," Gruno remarked, breaking the moment with a sense of urgency as he signaled that it was time to depart.

"We'll be back hopefully within a week," Jazzori explained as she made her way aboard the ship, her voice filled with determination and resolve.

"Jazzori," Beka called out, her tone carrying a sense of earnestness. Jazzori turned back to face her, awaiting Beka's words. "May the Force be with you. All of you," Beka said, offering a heartfelt blessing to Jazzori and the rest of the team as they embarked on their mission.

Jazzori nodded in acknowledgment of Beka's blessing, her expression reflecting a mix of gratitude and determination. Seneca approached Beka and enveloped her in a warm hug, a silent reassurance passing between them before Seneca made her way inside the ship. As the bay doors closed behind Seneca, Beka remained standing there, watching in solemn silence as the ship hummed to life. With a final glance out into the vast expanse of the sea, she watched as the ship ascended into the stars, disappearing into hyperspace with a sense of purpose and resolve.

"Nice beauty," Seneca remarked, offering a small smile to Jazzori as they stood together, their gaze fixed on the ship now disappearing into the depths of space.

"Older model, but yes, it's nice," Jazzori remarked, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips as she appreciated the ship's rugged charm despite its age.

"Do we know where this warehouse is?" Jetto inquired, breaking the momentary silence with a practical question, his focus already shifting to the mission at hand.

"Yes, I have the coordinates," Seneca confirmed, her tone resolute as she affirmed their preparedness for the mission ahead.

"We have a plan?" Jazzori asked, her expression expectant as she sought clarification on their strategy for the operation.

"Jazzori, we need you to pretend you are buying something," Seneca began, her tone firm but measured as she outlined their plan. "Gruno needs to be outside because I know the equipment will be heavy. He'll need to play as a bodyguard first. Rich people traveling alone give off the wrong impression. Valree, Jetto, and I will sneak in through the roof bay area," she explained, ensuring everyone understood their roles in the upcoming operation.

"You thought of everything," Valree remarked with a smirk, acknowledging Seneca's thorough planning and preparation.

As the team arrived at the warehouse, the plan was put into motion, each member executing their assigned tasks with precision and coordination.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Jazzori greeted with a smile, her demeanor confident as she approached the troopers, Gruno following closely behind.

"Who are you?!" yelled one of the troopers, his voice laced with suspicion and hostility.

"Surely you know who I am," Jazzori asserted calmly, her tone unwavering despite the troopers' hostility. "I am Jazzori Dalear. I thought your boss told you to expect me," she explained, emphasizing her authority and expecting compliance from the troopers.

"We were not informed to expect someone," the trooper responded, maintaining his skeptical stance.

"I'm here to buy some parts for a ship," Jazzori explained calmly, her tone firm and authoritative. With a confident gesture, she snapped her fingers, prompting Gruno to step forward with a briefcase full of credits.

"What kind of parts?" the trooper inquired, his curiosity piqued by Jazzori's assertive demeanor and the display of wealth before him.

As the three others made their way inside, they found themselves confronted with the imposing sight of the Kamino tech. Its sleek surfaces and intricate machinery hinted at the advanced technology contained within, promising both opportunity and danger. Aware of the need for stealth, Seneca, Valree, and Jetto assessed their surroundings with practiced precision. With the warehouse bustling with activity, they knew that a direct approach would only draw unwanted attention. Their eyes were drawn upwards, towards the expansive ceiling looming overhead. With a shared understanding. Scaling the walls with agile grace, they made their way towards the roof, their movements swift and silent. Reaching their destination, they found themselves confronted with the challenge of gaining access without alerting the guards below. With practiced ease, Jetto produced a set of specialized tools, expertly navigating the intricate locking mechanisms that barred their way. With a soft click, the hatch swung open, revealing a dimly lit expanse beyond. Without hesitation, they slipped inside, their footsteps muffled by the darkness as they descended into the warehouse. As they navigated the labyrinthine corridors, they remained unwavering in the face of the challenges that lay ahead.

"Look," Valree whispered, her voice barely audible as she pointed towards a vault tucked away in a shadowy corner of the warehouse.

Jetto followed Valree's gaze, his curiosity piqued by her whispered revelation. With a nod of understanding, the trio stealthily made their way towards the vault, their movements careful and deliberate. Seneca stepped forward with a graceful flourish, she ignited her lightsaber, its brilliant green blade casting an ethereal glow in the dimly lit surroundings. With precise control, she directed the blade towards the vault, carving through the heavy metal with a smooth circular motion. As the vault door felt open, Seneca caught it with the force. The vault now revealing its hidden contents, the trio entered cautiously, their senses alert to any sign of danger. Before them lay a vast array of Kamino supplies, neatly arranged and awaiting discovery. Each crate held the promise of vital resources. With a shared sense of determination, they set to work, scouring the contents of the vault for the elusive solution they sought through the sea of supplies.

"Look, a scanner," Seneca pointed out, her voice barely above a whisper as she gestured towards a nearby console. "It can probably tell you what's wrong."

Jetto took a moment to remove his helmet and step into the scanner, his expression tense with anticipation. As the machine hummed to life, its sensors quickly assessed his condition, revealing a troubling diagnosis. The scanner displayed a series of images and data, indicating unstable molecules wreaking havoc within Jetto's body. Each moment, they continued their relentless assault, threatening to consume him from the inside out. With a grim realization of the severity of his condition, Jetto swiftly exited the scanner, his movements tinged with urgency as he put his helmet back over his head.

"He needs a molecule stabilizer with 100% DNA of a clone or the original source," Seneca read aloud, her voice tinged with concern as she absorbed the implications of the diagnosis.

Jetto's gaze remained fixed on the display, his mind racing with the implications of the stark revelation. The realization slowly dawned on him, the gravity of the situation sinking in as he contemplated the daunting task ahead.

"A blood sample of Boba Fett, broken down and combined with the molecule stabilizer, would mean injected could rebuild your cells," Valree explained, her words carrying a weighty significance as she outlined the potential solution to Jetto's dire predicament.

Seneca's hand darted to the molecule stabilizer with determined resolve. "We have to have a rematch with him," she affirmed, her voice steady despite the gravity of their situation.

Jetto's expression mirrored his uncertainty as he contemplated the prospect of facing Boba Fett once more. "How do we even find him now?" he questioned, his tone tinged with a mixture of apprehension and determination. A sudden, reverberating clank echoed through the warehouse, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade. The sound reverberated off the metal walls, sending shivers down the spines of those present as they exchanged wary glances, their senses heightened in anticipation of potential danger lurking in the shadows.

"We'll figure it out on the ship," Valree reassured, her voice steady despite the unsettling interruption. With a nod of determination, she signaled for the team to regroup and make their way back to the safety of their vessel, where they could strategize their next move away from prying eyes and potential threats.

The trio cautiously made their way back up through the roof, their movements cautious and deliberate as they sought to avoid detection. However, fate seemed to conspire against them, as Jetto's foot slipped on a loose panel, sending a piece of machinery crashing to the ground below with a resounding metallic thud. The sudden noise reverberated through the air, shattering the fragile cloak of silence that had enveloped them. Instantly, the atmosphere shifted, tension mounting as they braced themselves for the inevitable response to their inadvertent disturbance.

"What was that?!" bellowed a trooper, his voice echoing through the warehouse in alarm.

"Probably a bird. I really need to talk about..." Jazzori started, attempting to defuse the situation with a casual explanation, but her words trailed off as the tension in the air thickened, each moment fraught with anticipation of the troopers' next move.

"Detection of intruders in the west wing! Lock it down!" the trooper barked; his voice tinged with urgency as he relayed the orders to his fellow soldiers. The sudden command sent a ripple of apprehension through the group, their hearts racing as they realized they were running out of time to evade capture.

"We should go," Valree urged, her voice edged with urgency as she glanced around at her companions.

"No kidding," Seneca agreed tersely, her tone reflecting their dire situation as they quickly assessed their options and prepared to make their escape before the troopers closed in.

As the three hurriedly made their way towards the exit, their hearts pounding with adrenaline, they were met with an unexpected obstacle. A lone trooper stood guard on the roof, his blaster raised and aimed directly at them. "Blast them!" he ordered, his voice sharp with determination as he prepared to thwart their escape attempt, leaving the trio with little choice but to confront the imminent threat head-on. Reacting swiftly to the trooper's command, all three members of the team sprang into action, each employing their unique skills to fend off the incoming threat.

Seneca's lightsaber flared to life, its green blade a whirlwind of motion as she deftly deflected the blaster bolts with precise movements, ensuring none found their mark. Valree, her reflexes honed to a razor's edge, swiftly retrieved a pair of daggers from her belt, hurling them with deadly accuracy at the advancing troopers, each blade finding its mark with lethal precision. Meanwhile, Jetto, his grip steady on his blaster, unleashed a barrage of blaster fire at the encroaching enemy, each shot finding its target with deadly accuracy as he fought to keep their assailants at bay. Together, the trio formed a formidable defense, their coordinated efforts pushing back against the tide of opposition as they fought for their lives amidst the chaos of battle.

"Jazzori, get the ship ready," Valree commanded urgently through the commlink, her voice tinged with urgency as they faced imminent danger.

"Busy right here," Jazzori whispered back, her attention divided between the ongoing confrontation and the task at hand. "Are we not allowed to go or—" she began, only to be interrupted by the trooper's terse command.

"Lock down, Miss," the trooper ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument as he attempted to assert control over the situation.

With a defiant snarl, Gruno seized the opportunity to take decisive action, swiftly moving to incapacitate the trooper with a powerful blow that sent him hurtling against the wall with a resounding thud, rendering him unconscious in an instant.

"Well, that was unethical," Jazzori remarked, her tone tinged with disapproval as she observed Gruno's forceful actions.

Gruno, unfazed by Jazzori's criticism, merely rolled his eyes before pressing on, determined to ensure their escape remained unhindered. Together, they swiftly made their way to the waiting ship, their movements swift and purposeful despite the chaos unfolding around them. As they approached the vessel, they encountered a barrage of blaster fire from the advancing troopers, prompting them to return fire in kind as they fought to clear a path to safety. With the bay doors looming ahead, they redoubled their efforts, determined to make their escape before it was too late. With a final burst of speed, they reached the safety of the ship, diving through the open bay doors just as they began to close behind them. As the doors sealed shut, they breathed a collective sigh of relief, knowing they had narrowly escaped the clutches of the enemy once more.

"Did you figure it out?" Gruno inquired, his voice edged with anticipation as he turned to Jetto for answers.

"Yes, and now we need to set a trap for Boba Fett," Jetto replied, his tone resolute as he outlined their next course of action.

"Him again?!" Jazzori exclaimed incredulously, her surprise evident as she processed the revelation.

"Yes," Seneca affirmed, her expression grim as she acknowledged the looming threat of their formidable adversary.

[cr0g-0]

Here you are fellas! You get tiny badass good dadza content hope you enjoy lmao-

Anyway I really hope yall enjoy the fic! And i encourage you to send me some asks about it!!!/gen

——————

I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you(Take me back to the night we met) [I]

Tw-Blood, Injuries, Self Deprecation

Word count-4084

——————

At the mouth of a cave, Phil stood with his best friend and partner in adventuring and treasure hunting, Techno. The two had been traveling for hours upon hours and it was much much later than either had thought they’d be out for.

Phil grit his teeth and gripped at his green overshirt anxiously. It was far past curfew for the kids in Esemtria and now that he didn’t have to worry about kids getting snatched up-

(Especially his own son-)

-By saints knew what-he could rest easier. That also meant he wanted to go home to his wife sooner.

This meant however, convincing his best friend for the umpenteenth time that they needed to go home was practically fruitless.

“Techno can we pleas-“

“Phil, I need to look in that cave and you know it. We gotta make sure there aren't any dangerous creatures in there. That's our job and you know Governor Bad wouldn’ be too happy if we didn’t do what he asked.”

Techno was watching the cave. Phil could see the way his friend gripped his sword and how his feet were firmly planted. He was digging in, so transfixed on the cave.

“And I’m asking you to stay out of the cave. Those warning signs aren’t there for show mate. Bad won’t be angry if we don't go in.”

The woods were cold, densely packed with trees and a variety of wildflowers, mainly lilies, chrysanthemums, poppies and a variety of others though neither were paying attention to the flowers.

No, their focus was on the cave that loomed in the distance. The village was only a few miles back. It wouldn’t hurt to turn around.

Techno would never do that though.

Phil knew that. Yet here he was, wasting time and moonlight trying to get Techno away from the gloomy cave of which foretold death and misfortune galore. Techno was always the more headstrong one. He was brash. Foolish even.

Reminded Phil of when he was a younger kid but that's probably why he was so hellbent on keeping Techno alive and well.

Phil was very unhappy about these circumstances and his odds of winning this argument.

“Techno please-I think we oughta go home. Kristen will share our dinner with you alright? I think she’s making pasta or something like that.”

Of course the pinkette graced him no response and of course Phil tried again.

“Tech please-whatever glittery gold bullshit and crystals-whatever is in that cave isn’t worth the risk. Kristen and I have told you that you're allowed to stay with us and I know our son would accept you as a big brother immediately. The kid might be small and young but he has a big heart.”

He infused his voice with nothing but love, kindness, warmth and affection as much as he could.

Techno remained unmoving although he could tell by the way his shoulders slouched that he was losing a bit of momentum here.

Great.

“P-“

“I’ll only be a moment Phil. I just gotta do a bit of lookin and I’ll be right out ok? And if your worried you have legs y’know-“ The kid shot back as he began to walk towards the cave.

“You’re free to join me….If I find anything worth keeping though you aren’t getting a lick of it unless you come in-That’s just the rules-“

Before Phil could further his pleas and offers Techno ran deep inside the dark and ominous cave, the echo of the other’s footsteps being the only thing he could hear as he vanished into the darkness.

The blond man closed his eyes in frustration and groaned. Techno just haaaad to be like this tonight. He couldn’t pick a worse location to be stubborn about as well.

He glanced at his legs for a moment. He swore to the saints Techno was calling him old in some way…but then again he was right. If he wanted he could go after him and drag his dumbass out, scold him a little and then bring him back to dinner.

But kids don’t learn if you don’t let them make mistakes.

So of course, he stood there and waited.

And waited.

The waiting of course, was getting his legs feeling stiff but he’d hold out. That kid would regret going in, he’d tell Phil and that would be the end of it.

He paced back and forth and back and forth and then back again, the ornate sword held in his hands dragged across the ground in a shallow dip it formed. He waited still though.

A Craft didn’t give up when they had their mind set on something-he would know considering his brother managed to make a thriving village that had never had many issues aside a few pranks gone out of hand.

He glanced up and he stopped his pacing, the sword in his hand was gripped tighter as he bit his chapped lips.

The moon had already begun to start setting back down to welcome the new day and he was still there waiting as if something was going to happen despite nothing having happened for the past several hours.

Kristen would be worried. Hell, she was already most likely. She was probably assuming the worst of Techno and him-

Hell-he was assuming the worst of Techno and him and he at least knew he was accounted for!

He sighed before looking at the cave and then to his sword. He could leave his best friend there. Could leave him for dead but why would he?

He wasn’t a monster.

With a final glance back. Back towards where his home was. Back to his family.

He took a step forward into the dark cave. Because a Craft wouldn’t leave someone, who may not be blood family but was still family, behind.

The first thing of note was that the whole area was fridged. The summer harvest was wrapping up, the fall harvest upcoming meant that yeah, it was getting a bit chillier but it should not be this…cold.

This…This temperature was cold enough to where he craved warmth…

Yet it was off enough and just weirdly warm enough to make his insides writhe uncomfortably.

He blew out some air from his mouth, watching as it curled into a fog that dissipated. He kept walking and going further and further, glancing for any coves and crevices that the pinkette was hiding in or near.

As he went deeper the temperature went from an uncomfortable chilly cold to a warmth that was prickling and tense.

‘Where the hell was he…?’ Phil thought anxiously, eyes darting around the dark.

“Techno! Technooo….! Where the fuck are you Mate? It’s been hours!!” He shouted out into the dark. No response.

He would have responded…

Unless…something…happened to him…

No. Nothing would. Techno was incredibly capable of keeping himself safe! Sure, Phil was more experienced but Techno was strong and he would have called for help. He may be head strong but he wasn’t that dumb.

He took one more step into the dingy cave. He took a sniff of the air and gagged. Smelled rotten and humid.

That’s when he heard a scratching from the cave floor. He tensed up and held his sword tightly as he glanced around with narrowed eyes. He rotated around in a small circle to ensure he wouldn’t get crept up on, the warmth in the cave making his skin crawl.

And that’s when he heard the growl.

He readied himself into a fighting stance as he saw dark shadows approaching him and he prepared to fight off whatever was there.

Until he realized they were bats. He watched the creatures fly to the cave entrance, screeching and cawing in the strange way only bats could.

He let out a sigh while he turned to look out at the entrance that the bats had flown too.

Maybe Techno found a way out already? Was there another entrance? Was he just being paranoid? Surely that was the case

It was probably the fact that he didn’t want to lose who he fully intended on being his son’s godparent. He was paranoid. Kristen would be worried and he had dinner and a son to tend to back at home.

Phil looked tiredly at the entrance before taking a few steps toward it. He needed to go home. He’d ask around to see if Puffy-hell-maybe even Sam could help-

Sure the sheriff didn’t like Techno, he didn’t even really like Phil, but he’d surely help if Phil asked enough times and bribed him.

His boots quietly clicked as he slowly headed to the entrance before something dripped onto his head. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, silently cringing. Gods it was slimy and disgusting-

He wiped it on his pants and turned around, looking up before his blood ran cold.

Looming up above his head, was bright, white eyes with shining, saliva glistening teeth. Every other detail of the beast was shrouded by the darkness of the cave.

His hand went down to his sword hilt and he took it out in one fell swoop, narrowing his eyes. This is what he trained for.

So he cleared his throat, got into stance and charged as the creature attempted to grab him. He took a heavy swing over his head.

The beast let out a pained cry and Phil barely dodged the swipe as he rolled to the side, his hat falling off. Phil made another advance towards the monster.

He had to slay it-after all, it must have been the thing to hurt or kill Techno-that’s why he hadn’t responded to him.

He took another swing, slicing into the beast's thumb web, it snarled out in pain and retaliated with a swipe at Phil’s face too fast for him to evade.

He dropped his sword once the burning pain registered in his mind, the clang of metal hitting the floor was the one thing he heard in his ears.

He stared at the beast, blood getting in his mouth and filling it with its hot iron taste as he licked his lips.

His mind felt surprisingly clear as he looked into the snarling creature's white, soulless eyes. The two of them were seemingly locked in a stalemate, both breathing heavily.

Phil wasted no time regaining his bearings as he bolted from the cave, collecting his sword into his hand quickly as he sprinted at full speed to the breaking daylight.

He didn’t dare look back.

He could tell the beast was chasing after him, the loud growling and footsteps were a damn good indicator as his own footsteps were drowned out.

He needed to get away from the cave but he also needed to move in such a way that didn’t get anyone in Esemtria mauled-

The blond nearly stumbled as he finally made his way into the freezing cold air, goosebumps forming on his skin. He dared to look behind him for a split moment to see a giant hand reaching out, growls spouting out of it before it began to keep crawling out of the cave.

Phil didn’t wait for it.

He kept sprinting into the woods, the blood on his face long forgotten aside for the taste in his mouth and smell in hitting his nose.

The sun was rising behind and he silently cussed, hoping to make it home before people left their homes so he wasn’t seen by worried faces.

He began to weave between trees and bushes, sword still unsheathed as he slid throughout the muddied grounds. He needed to reach the border-

He forced his tired and aching body to push onward, his muscles feeling like they were being torn apart. Still, he knew he needed to keep going-for Kristen-For his son.

Everything felt like a blur as he kept mindlessly running despite the protests of his limbs, not daring to stop, look behind or even rest a second as he aimed to get home.

When he reached the border his chest was heaving and he stared out at the dimly lit city he and his family called home. The streets were silent and covered in a sheen of morning dew. The streets had a few people beginning to leave their houses to set up at the market.

He numbly began to walk over to his house. It wasn’t hard to see-the lights were bright and all on compared to their neighbors. Kristen must not have turned them off. It probably annoyed them to no end but honestly? Phil couldn’t give a fuck.

He reached the door and barely got one knock in before the door swung wide open and before him was a very angry looking Kristen.

“I swear Angel do that to me again and I’ll-“

Her voice trailed off. Phil could probably take a good guess as to the reason why. He sheathed his sword and gave her a sad smile, tears welling up in his eyes.

“I know my love. I won’t…”

She started to grab a handkerchief from her pocket but Phil simply pushed the offer to clean his face away. “I’m ok Kristen.” She hesitantly lowered the cloth and he laughed quietly before adding on. “Now may I enter my own home or will I be getting kicked out for the day?”

Honestly the kick to his shin was welcomed and totally deserved. He could see tears in her eyes as she pulled him inside and into a hug.

“Not the time Phil. Me and your son have been worried sick-“

Phil just let her hug him and he looked about the house. “He’s still up?” Gently, he pushed away from Kristen and glanced around more uncomfortably.

“Yes he insisted on staying up till you and Techno returned. I tried to get him to bed but he nearly crawled out the window in his room to go find you so I gave up.”

Phil was immensely glad Kristen had caught him before his boy was snatched up by any beast. He headed into the kitchen carefully, checking for any sign of his son.

“Speaking of Techno…Phil what happened? Where is he? I know you’d never leave someone alone-especially your best friend…”

She entered and Phil tensed, feeling tears bead in his eyes. He wouldn’t break yet. He could tell Kristen when he wasn’t as vulnerable.

“Can you get me some rags, disinfectant and water? I don’t want our son to possibly see me covered in blood.”

The kitchen was silent and the only sound Phil could hear was the sound of his wife sharply inhaling before heading out the room, presumably to get him the things he requested.

He ended up sitting down, pulling out a chair and getting settled at the table. He was exhausted and he just wanted to sleep yet he was on alert. Staying quiet to listen for the loud, careless footsteps of his son just in case the boy figured out he was home.

He’d need to teach him to quiet himself and move less loudly and rambunctiously. It’d get the kid into trouble. Trouble Phil wouldn’t be able to get him out of.

He tapped his boot nervously against the ground. Somehow the thought of his son being in trouble terrified him more than anything the gods could throw at him. And they had thrown that-that beast at him-

Kristen came bustling back into the room and sat parallel to him, placing the medical supplies down in front of him.

“Once your cleaned up I need an explanation Philza Hart Craft.”

‘Fair enough. You know what’s not fair? Having had the ability to save your best friend but failing because you were too lenient-‘ his mind bitterly snarked at him. He just forced himself to take a deep breath.

He began to douse the rag in disinfectant and rub gently at the blood coating a sizable chunk of his face. He made sure to go over the wound gently, not wanting to agitate it.

He knew it would scar. He knew he’d be asked by everyone in Esemtria and Hermitville what happened to his face. Where was Techno.

He didn’t want to share this though. It hurt so much. He didn’t want to tell anyone-no one could know that he failed to save Techno-no one would believe he was capable of keeping anyone safe again-

And that’s what he feared. Because if he couldn’t keep Techno safe, who was to say he wouldn’t be able to keep Kristen safe? To keep his family safe from harm when he already failed to protect his brother in arms-

He hadn’t really noticed he was sobbing and hiccuping until he felt reassuring hands on his shoulders and he just let it all out, letting the blood soaked rag fall to the wood table as he let another ugly cry rip it’s way from his throat.

Kristen stayed there and just listened to him cry. He felt bad for just breaking down. That wasn’t very Phil of him. Usually he could keep it in.

He silently prayed to the gods to avoid making this any worse but he was just a hair too late as the soft, uncharacteristically quiet footsteps could be heard approaching the kitchen.

“Dad, why are you crying?”

He glanced from behind his hands, hiding the wound and blood best he could.

He looked tired and defenseless. The boy began shuffling closer, eyes shining with worry but he was ushered away by Kristen quickly.

“Honey please go to bed now dad’s home now.” Kristen barely let Phil get in a word but he could tell she wouldn’t let Phil convince her it was okay to let the boy stay here.

With a loud sigh, she leaned to look at him. “My angel, are you going to be ok?”

He nodded to her and smiled the same sad smile from earlier. “Hopefully….Kristen I’m…I’m not going to go hunting for monsters or treasure anymore.”

From the look on her face, she looked confused, joyful and sad all at the same time. “Wha-but Phil! You love exploring and searching for that shit!”

She paused a moment before lowering her voice, Phil smirked internally. Swearing was not something they’d be teaching him for a long time.1

“I would love if you stopped but I know you love doing it-so-so if your doing it for me-“

“-I’m doing it for our son.”

The silence that filled the room was light, comforting-like he’d shaken a weight he no longer needed nor wanted.

He gave Kristen a reassuring look.

“I’m doing this for the sake of our family. You see what has happened to me-I’m a walking scar collector-not to mention I miss out on spending time with the two of you…and I want to spend as much time as possible with the both of you before the gods decide it is our time.”

He turned so his whole body was facing her.

“I will not let any more lives be lost based on stupid adventures and treasure hunting. I’m…I’m a changed man….I want to be there for you-for our son-for the whole of Esemptria and beyond.”

Phil looked into Kirsten’s eyes and saw understanding and sympathy. Neither needed to exchange anymore words as he stood up and pulled her into another embrace.

“I’m going to go say goodnight to our little brat and then go send a quick prayer to the gods.”

She nodded. “I’ll be most likely asleep when you get to bed. I’m tired after worrying for you all night.” Although it was meant as a tease, Phil couldn’t help but feel horribly guilty.

He made his wife worry so much if made her feel physically tired. What good husband did that?

She had already headed away, leaving the blond to stand in the kitchen alone. He sighed before slowly walking towards his son’s room. He hoped that he was asleep. Then he could avoid mentioning anything about the whereabouts of Techno.

The kid always was curious about Techno’s adventures-he was probably more interested in treasure hunting and monster hunting more than anything.

He walked to his door and gently knocked, gently pushing open the door to see the boy blinking at him owlishly.

Curse the gods-

“Dad, why were you crying and-and why is there a scary thing across your face?” The boy got up out of his bed and ran to Phil. He crouched down and scooped him up in his arms.

“I just had some dust in my eyes. And this thing?”

He pointed to the cut running jagged along his face.

“It’s just an oopsie that I got when I was in the woods today.”

He forced a smile as he carried him to his bed.

“Now can you promise me some things? It’s important, ok?”

His eyes stared into his and he nodded his head in understanding, giving Phil the silent ok to keep going.

“Promise me you won’t be reckless and dangerous like I am ok? And I don’t want you around anymore hybrids unless Kristen or I are with you.”

His son didn’t seem pleased by this news.

“B-But-But what about Miss Puffy and-and Mister Sam and-“

“Honeydew you have other people you can go too for help.” They were certainly not the only people that could protect his son….but they were the ones he somewhat trusted and knew-

Still. What if they could become monsters and hurt his family? He…He’d make an exception for them and no one else.

“I’ll let you go to them if you need anything but otherwis-“

“But what about Uncle Grian!?!”

Right. The whole of Hermitville. His face became strained but he just kept a soft smile as he settled his son into his bed.

“And any of the Hermi-“

“But what abo-“

Phil gave up he could just monitor him all day since he was never going to hunt for shit ever again-

“Ok fine you can talk to any hybrid you like-so long as they don’t make fun of you or hurt you ever.”

His son grinned bright and wide and hugged Phil rib crushingly tight. He laughed and hugged him back, running a hand through his hair gently.

“Now can you please go to sleep honey?” He softly asked, gently pulling away from him and grabbing a blanket for him.

The boy eagerly grabbed the blanket and crawled under the covers of his bed. Once nestled in, Phil tucked the blanket under his son before gently kissing him on the head.

“Good. Get some rest now…”

The child huffed a little before closing his eyes and nestling more into the blanket. Phil smiled softly before sighing as he walked out of the room, gently closing the door.

Once that was done he headed to the backyard and kneeled down in front of a stump. He closed his eyes and clamped his hands together, bowing his head towards the rising sun.

“Please gods, please keep my son and wife safe. Safe from harm. I will do anything that you will ask. Any quest-any mission-I will accomplish it if you keep my family safe.”

Phil kept praying as long as he could, hoping for a sign that they heard him. It wasn’t until Kristen had gotten tired and worried about where he was. Phil had startled and tensed a bit but relaxed as he murmured an apology to her.

He headed back inside as he entered Kristen’s and his room, kicking off his shoes quickly before removing his sword hilt.

He removed the sword and opened up his closet before hanging the sword up, looking in his reflection.

He felt different. More than just physically. He brought a hand up to his shoulder, lifting up the sleeve before running his hand along the scar left by Techno’s and his first encounter.

He loved that day, even if he hadn’t known it then. A warm smile fell upon his face before he grabbed an emerald from his pocket, running a thumb across its edges.

He’d take it to a jeweler. It wouldn’t replace the missing other half but it would be closer to him. Close. Close enough to remind him of the life he let be lost.

His fingers closed around the stone and he held his close as he walked to his bed and laid in it, closing his eyes and forcing himself to fall asleep, grip on the gem tightening.

Tomorrow.

[nemo-duspy-writes]

Writeblr introduction + Finished draft announcement

Hello there, my name is Nemo Duspy (It's an anagram to {you can figure this out yourself}), I'm a cis male, he/him, likely heterosexual. As such, I am not the main demographic on this hellsite.

With the above mentioned pseudonym, I dabble in writing harem fantasy novels, mainly targeted towards young males (again something that does not really fit here). A inherent risk with this genre is that the writing becomes misogynistic; though I think I managed to avoid this pitfall.

Should you, despite these numerous red flags want to become my mutual, I'm open. I'll happily exchange writings, either for critique or beta-reading.

That brings me to the draft I just finished today:

New Salem Dormitory

Lance has a hard life. He grew up in an orphanage, then got adopted by abusive foster parents. Naturally, he runs away and tries to get through life on the streets of Bromfort. One night, while trying to stop a robbery, he was shot dead. That’s when his story starts.

He awakes without any injuries, and looks for shelter in an old abandoned hotel. As it turns out, the hotel is inhabited by a number of supernatural beings; a vampire, a zombie, a possessed girl, a succubus, a ghost and a witch. And all of them are women, attractive women at that. 

After finding out that ‘New Salem Dormitory’ is having financial problems, and all the girls would lose their home within fourteen days, Lance decided to help them in every way he can, even using his new powers, since the grip of death is a bit loose around him.

Through it all, he finds that he has found a home he can finally stay in, and finds love in many ways.

Can they save the old hotel while also staying hidden from exorcists who don’t stop at anything to kill them?

Content warning: Explicit sex scenes, harem and undefined relationship, gore, suicide, death, violence

Here are also some quotes, so you get a feel for the story:

Red. In the dark, red is the first color that you can’t discern. Yet, the liquid flowing out of the new hole in my coat was red, even now in the low light. I could feel a pull in my abdomen. It wasn’t pain, but a tightness just under my rib cage. 

“Huh,” I said. “Guess my fortune was bad.”

My eyes widened. "That's a joke, right?"

"Nope, been born in the year of their lord 1069." She grinned. "I guess this requires me to say 'nice'."

"How much is the loan?" Vinny asked.

Rima read, "[Hello there, here's the author. I do not know what would be an appropriate value to put here. I employ your suspension of disbelief to pretend that this is some number that makes the plot work.] $"

Vinny widened her eyes. "What the fuck. Who do we owe this much money to?"

And here's some self criticism:

This is not my best work, plot-wise. At some point, I really wondered whether it is worth it.

The tone is all over the place. Some points seem like a comedy, while some others might make you want to throw up.

There are too many sex scenes.

My pace is abysmal; it is too fast with no parts to calm down.

So, that's all. If you want to help me pave the way towards publication, please contact me.

[beardedmrbean]

The outbreak of rioting in France is the stuff of bad dreams for President Emmanuel Macron.

To the list of other civil order crises he has had to surmount - terrorism, yellow-vests, left-wing protests over pensions - can now be added that persistent French crisis-in-waiting which is the banlieue - or suburb.

Sporadically over the last 18 years there have been outbreaks of rioting in the suburban cités or tenements, whose once-immigrant populations are now often third- or fourth- generation French.

Typically triggered by the accidental death or injury of a young male resident - an accident blamed on the police - they tended not to last more than a night or two.

Not since 2005 has there been a protracted trauma of the kind that now threatens.

Back then, as now, troubled banlieues went up in flames one by one across the country, as one suburb after another copycatted what had gone before.

Then as now, the main targets (beyond the easy prey of parked cars) were town halls, police stations and schools - any building essentially that might be flying a French flag.

And back then the rallying cries of protesters were social neglect, racial discrimination and police brutality. Again today, slogans that are little changed.

Yet in many ways things have changed.

Look for example at the billions of euros being spent on the Grand Paris Express project, which is putting new metro and tram connections across the suburbs and combating the social isolation that was said to be one of the main banlieue grievances.

Look at the spanking new public buildings in Paris suburbs like Nanterre or Massy. Neglect there is not a word that comes to mind.

Look at the growing numbers of people ofAfrican or Maghrebi origin who are now serving in the police - many more than were visible in 2005. Or at the efforts to get more people from the banlieues into elite schools and universities.

And look at how public language has changed. Old-fashioned bigotry towards minorities, which might have enjoyed an indulgent wink two or three decades ago, will invite condemnation today, if not prosecution.

The point is that France is changing, like everywhere else is.

But despite that, everyone in France also knows that there is still - neglected but festering - this ancient scar which is the problem of the banlieues.

It is a scar born of colonialism, arrogance, long-gone wars and nurtured hatreds - to which might be added drugs, crime and religion. And it is not about to disappear.

President Emmanuel Macron had fervently been praying that the banlieue phenomenon would not be added to his litany of burdens, but his wish has not been granted.

This evening the suburbs will be swamped with police officers, in the hope that mass deployment will provide the shock that can bring the riots to an end.

But President Macron knows his history.

He knows that the 2005 riots lasted three weeks and only ended after the declaration of a state of emergency, with curfews and house arrests.

We are not there yet, but we could be.

[theartofadventure]

It’s my birthday today. I’m the oldest I’ve ever been—fifty-nineteen. I woke up to a beautiful card from my husband and an invitation from my son to go for a walk in the redwoods where the streams are rushing with the recent torrential rains.

Sometimes on our walks we see coyotes on the hills studying us as potential snpacks, calling to each other across the way.

“What do you think, Phil? Are they worth it?”

“Nah, that old limpy lady looks too tough.”

And I do limp. I have planters fasciitis that is much better but never completely gone, and bursitis in one hip. My doctor sent me to a physical therapy class last month called “Hip Care,” with four other much young limpy people. I was having an unusually sore day, and hobbled into the class like Walter Brennan. She began by explaining all the reasons hips might hurt—ie sports injuries, arthritis, repetitive stress—and then added thoughtfully, “old age.” But during the series of exercises she had us do on the padded tables, I injured my knee. I suppose I have to go to Knee Care class next, if I can risk it.

So a bum hip, sore knee and bad feet, but I go for a walk in Nature every day. Otherwise I become Mad Bummer Lady—the bread is a little stale, I don’t have even one more MAGA day left in me, and who the hell leaves wrappers and cans in our park?

Annie—stop! Pick up the litter. Send money to Planned Parenthood. Toast the bread. Put on the good pair of glasses, like the priest told Bill Wilson in the thirties—“Sometimes I think that heaven is just a new pair of glasses.”

But wait, where did I put them?

Which bring us to the mind. Sigh. My mother died of Alzheimer’s and my father of brain cancer so what I used to call ten years ago “my little senior moments” are not quite as charming as they might be. Now, at 50-19, they can be scary. My main exercise is trying to find things—the phone, the keys, the car in big parking lots. A friend finally scared himself to death with the increased space out-ed-ness, and got the complete two-day neurological work up. At the end, the neurologist “assured” (hah!) him he simply had age appropriate cognitive decline, and added something that has saved me—it’s not a problem if you can never find your keys or glasses, but it becomes one if, when you find them, you can’t remember what they are for. So far so good every time: no flies on the princess!

But still, I am as happy and grateful as I have ever been, because I practice gratitude, and because of the incredible people who love me. I even love and respect me, mostly, old mad bummer lady me, one of the great gifts of getting older. I still have tiny control issues, and offer too much advice and “help” to my poor family members, even though I’ve learned that help is the sunny side of control. But I’m way more gentle with me and amused by myself now, or perhaps I’m just foggy enough not to notice all the annoying things I do or say: it’s the grace of myopia.

My Texan friend Praise-the-Lord-Sarah told me nearly 37 years go when I got sober that God loved me exactly the way I was, and loved me way too much to let me stay like that. She also taught me about porch presents, which are gifts wrapped in newspaper that you secretly leave on a friend’s porch because you’re thinking of them. You’re grateful for their friendship or you know they are hurting, or for no reason at all. And my experience is that if we put on the better pair of glasses, we see porch presents everywhere, daffodils, leftovers in the fridge, sick friends healing, the sight of Neal out in the garden planting his tomatoes. So happy birthday to me, all of you. Will you give one another porch presents today to celebrate, help take care of the poor, talk to yourself like I would talk to you, gently and with good humor? That would make this the best birthday ever. Love you.—Anne Lamott

[novadrivingschoolva]

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[jrueships]

Bestie, i totally agree with you on this ''betting on sports'' thing :( ...

THANK U i thought i was being crazy or smthin. I personally have never bet on sports/things in general with money but betting on the bigger things like 'ooh which team do YOU think is gonna win' sounds Okay, but even That comes with its cons. Someone might sell or push an athlete in there to sell etcetc. Betting involvement in sports is just. Hm. But then there's betting on specific Players that's REALLY kinda. Hm. Like.. an example hang on

When maxey fell and hit his back and head off a drive (which i always feared would happen!! Kid goes too hard on those calm down please!!!) People were like 'i bet on maxey to get 10 shots!!!' And it's like.. the guy fell and the sound his head made when it snapped to the floor was Not good. Are you telling me you saw YOUR team's younger player snap his head to the ground and all YOU care is about his monetary value are you KIDDING me ??? are you fuckin JOKIN ?? issu DUMB???? a person got fuckin HURT. injuries pile Up man, Especially head injuries. He's out here playing a heavily contact sport and jumping so high up in the air that he can risk cracking his Skull , and all yall care about is the money he can make for yall. that's Disgusting. And that's only One example out of a million more probably. These players ain't Playin for your Fuckin parlays man.

[groenendaze]

(I hope this question isn't too personal, and it's totally fine if you don't want to answer.) I have a young dog that I've considered rehoming but haven't, and I'm wondering if i should have/still should. How did you decide to keep Finch, back when you were considering rehoming? And at what point did you know that you had made the right choice? I love my little dude but i still wonder.

I can't answer whether or not you should rehome your dog - I don't know you, I don't know you dog, I dont know your situation. What I CAN tell you is what lead up to me wanting to rehome Finch and why I didn't.

This is going to be a little long so bear with me.

I've mentioned this before on this blog but it is not something I go into detail about often: Finch is reactive.

He has always been reactive. He was reactive before I even picked him up to take him home and he is still reactive. Should I have taken him home? Probably not. But I did and we managed. Finch is a type of dog that will never NOT be reactive. His reactivity can be managed, but it will never truly go away.

To give you some background, if you've ever met me or Finch in-person, and I've talked about Finch's breeder, you might have heard me say this before; Finch is a genetic fluke. He is the dog that people talk about when they say 'responsible breeding doesn't guarantee 100% temperamentally sound puppies all the time'. I met his parents before I got him, I met his older siblings from the same pairing. None of them had issues. His mom is still one of the most social and friendly Belgians I've ever met.

I got Finch when I was eighteen. He was supposed to be my first sport dog. I had just gotten out of college dorms and I wanted a dog that I could do sports with because I loved Sheba, but she could never be a sport dog for a multitude of different reasons (the biggest being physical issues that would lead to a very high risk of injury). I knew I wanted a Groen for a long time so I got Finch.

I don't know if I could properly stress how bad Finch was as a puppy - looking at my old tags on this blog is funny, because there were times that I was so stressed out about him that I cried myself to sleep, but on tumblr dot com all I would say was 'he is good 90% of the time, but that 10% is rough'. I didn't elaborate then because there is some sort of shame in getting a dog, only to have it be reactive in the way Finch was. I don't feel shame about it now: Finch would be labeled as a dangerous dog for the majority of his first year of life. He was a bite risk. In some very specific situations, he still is.

I enrolled Finch in puppy school when he was around five months old (I got him as an older puppy - around 4.5 months). Finch flunked out of puppy school for being a reactive shithead, so I ended up taking the same class twice just to try and get a handle on this behavior. Finch's breeder took the first session with us but didn't take the second one. I very vividly remember when the trainer asked to see Finch and have me leave the building to see if that affected his behavior, and when I came back in, she told me "Your dog just tried to bite someone". If you've never experienced that, I highly recommend against it because it's possibly one of the worst feelings in the world.

I ended up moving before I could take a third puppy class. I wasn't super comfortable with how the trainer handled dogs anyway and there weren't any fantastic trainers around me, so for a while, I kinda did things on my own. I resented Finch at the time and that wasn't something that was fair to him or to me at the time. That was the point where I almost sent him back because I was states away with no good dog trainer options that could even begin to handle a dog like Finch.

I can't tell you why I didn't send him back at that point. I don't think I know why I kept him. Or, at least, I don't remember. It might have been something to do with the social pressure of getting a purebred dog, trying to make your first entrance into the dog world, only to fail within a few months. It could have been because it was true that Finch was a good dog that 90% of the time. Again, I truly don't know why I didn't rehome him because I had all the right reasons to do so.

The most important thing to remember about rehoming a dog is that there's no shame in doing what is best for the dog and for you. Sometimes things don't work out, and that is okay. I got lucky with Finch. It worked out for me. But that might not be the case for you, and that is okay as well.

pic of me n finch at a barn hunt trial a couple weeks back <3

[engie-ivy]

Yes, he's in the hospital and doesn't remember anything about himself, but it's actually not that bad. His memories are sure to come back in a matter of days, and until then, he can spend time eating, sleeping, reading, daydreaming about that ridiculously attractive Healer...

(The aim is Funny and Fluffy Wolfstar)

It's Like the First Time

“Everything seems to be in order,” the Healer Trainee, Aubrey, says. “As we expected. How’s the dizziness?”

“When I’m laying down, it doesn’t bother me,” he replies.

“That’s good,” Aubrey smiles. “The dizziness and light-headedness should gradually disappear over the upcoming days, and then the memories will come back after.”

He nods. He’d be more worried about all his memories being gone if the Healers at St Mungo’s weren’t so certain they’ll all come back in a matter of days. Dizziness, light-headedness, and amnesia; it’s a familiar picture when being hit with a Confundo-charm from a defective wand, which the Healers have encountered many times before and has apparently happened to him during some friendly duelling.

It’s always the same picture: the dizziness and light-headedness slowly lessening, and the memories all coming back at once after two to at most five days. Like, one moment you know nothing, and the next you remember everything.

Well, he doesn’t exactly know nothing. His semantic memory is intact, meaning he has basic knowledge and remembers facts and skills. He knows he’s a wizard, he knows the hospital is called St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, he knows the people in the lime green robes are the Healers, he knows that since he’s a wizard he probably went to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he knows perfectly well how to perform a wide variety of charms, jinxes, hexes and curses. (So luckily those years at Hogwarts weren’t for nothing)

What he doesn’t know is anything about himself. His episodic memory, memory for any kind of life events, is completely gone. Who he is, what he does, what he has done, who he knows, it’s all gone. His own mum could walk into the room, and he’d think she was the laundry lady. (Luckily, she seemed like a very nice lady, and had thought it rather funny)

The only thing he knows about himself, not because he remembers, but because it’s the only thing they told him, is that he’s someone named Remus Lupin. Apparently, in the past, trying to fill in the gaps has proven to be more frustrated than helpful for the patient and, as the memories will come back on their own anyway, quite unnecessary. Therefore, they don’t tell him much else, and all he can do is wait.

Past experience has also shown that the patient often finds it quite stressful, and even frightening, to be surrounded by lots of people who all know him, and whom he feels like he should recognize, but doesn’t. Therefore, friends and family are only allowed in limited numbers, one new person a day, which started with his mum.

His mum had brought him his favourite novel, saying that he read it so many times, and would always wish he could erase it from his memory just so he could read it again with the same sense of anticipation. Well, she had figured this was his chance. Now, all he can do is lie in bed, read his book, and eat food, which is... Well, pretty great actually.

He doesn’t have anything to worry about. How can he worry about anything if he doesn’t remember anything? It’s like having a little break from life and all its expectations and responsibilities. (Though the fact that he’s so happy about having no worries, makes him think that this Remus Lupin normally worries quite a lot)

When a Healer comes to see him, he suddenly knows something else about himself: he’s very, very gay.

The Healer has a classic, aristocratic beauty to him, with his sharp cheekbones and full lips, and his eyes are of a clear grey, that appears silver, which contrasts quite nicely with the strands of raven black hair that have fallen from the messy bun on top of his head. And no one has the right to look that good in lime green robes, which he fills out pretty well with his lean, muscular body.

The Healer gives him a soft smile, and really, if he smiles at all his patients like that, the whole hospital must be diagnosed with palpitations. “How’re you feeling?” the Healer asks in a warm, deep voice.

He wonders whether his semantic memory has failed him after all, as he suddenly seems to have forgotten how speaking works. “Erm...” he says, very eloquently.

The Healer frowns, and looks at Aubrey. “Isn’t the confusion supposed to be gone by now?”

Aubrey looks from the Healer to him and back to the Healer, while a knowing smile appears on her face. “Don’t worry,” she tells the Healer. “He has been perfectly responsive and coherent all day.”

“Has he had some Anti-Confusion Concoction?”

“He’s had a small dose, as the confusion was already wearing off on his own.”

“Are you going to give him Memory Potion?” the Healer continues his questioning.

Aubrey shakes her head. “We have already given him Mandrake Restorative Draught against the spell’s physical effects. Adding Memory Potion might make the dose of Stewed Mandrake too high. As we can be certain all memories will come back on their own, it isn’t worth the risk.”

The Healer nods thoughtfully. “So only a daily dose of Restoration Potion until all effects have subsided, I assume?”

“Yes,” Aubrey agrees. “Based on past experience, that’ll in all likeliness be sufficient.”

The Healer turns his head back to him, and that soft smile is back in place. He opens his mouth to speak, but right at that moment, a bright flash can be seen, and a gazelle made out of shining white light is standing in front of them.

“I’m so sorry to disturb on a moment like this,” a stressed-sounding voice of a young woman comes from the Patronus, that is directing itself to the Healer. “But you’re needed back at the HADA department immediately! We’re having an emergency.”

The Healer curses under his breath. He takes a step towards the door, but then stops to look back at him with a pained expression.

“He’s in good hands,” Aubrey says.

The Healer nods. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he tells him, before hurrying out the door.

Though his mum was right, and the novel is really good, he has trouble focusing on it from that moment on. He’s constantly interrupted by thoughts of bright, silver-grey eyes. Merlin, he’s seen the guy once, and he’s acting like a twelve-year-old with a crush!

Telling himself off for it doesn’t stop him from looking up hopefully the moment he catches a glimpse of lime-green robes. It’s quite a disappointment when the Healer that walks in to check his vitals is a greying, grumpy man with a face that seems to be twisted in a permanent scowl. Asking him where the good-looking Healer went to seems kind of impolite though, so he just sits and nods whenever the Healer grumbles something unintelligible.

“So, why have I gotten a different Healer?” he asks Aubrey later, trying to sound casual.

“Different Healer?” she asks, not understanding.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling to his great annoyance that his cheeks begin to flush. “There was this older man checking up on me, while before, there was the young man with the broad shoulder, shining dark hair, sweet smile, pretty eyes...” He trails off.

“Oh!” Understanding, and a not insignificant amount of amusement, appear on Aubrey’s face. “Oh, he wasn’t not your Healer, sweetie! He was visiting.”

“Ah,” he sighs disappointedly. So the Healer had only been here for some sort of second opinion, and he probably won’t be back. It was too good to be true, to have a Healer like that around as a nice distraction.

“Healer Black works for the Healing Against the Dark Arts Department,” Aubrey continues.

“You know him?” he asks.

“I know of him. But honestly,” she adds with a wink. “Everyone working at St Mungo’s knows of Healer Black!”

He chuckles. “I suppose he cannot not catch your eye.”

“It’s not just his appearance,” Aubrey says. “Healer Black is the leading expert on healing Dark Arts-related injuries and combating curses from the Dark Arts. He has invented novel Healing Spells and revolutionized the protocol for treating curses. Healers from all over the world consult him on their cases, and patients come to see him from all over the world.”

“Wow...” he sighs again, but this time it’s a more wistful sigh. He doesn’t even care anymore that he sounds like a love-struck teenager. Maybe Aubrey will write it off as a side-effect of the Confundo-charm. He briefly wonders about that himself, but as those bright, silver-grey eyes come to mind again, he knows he’s under a whole different kind of spell.

“Yeah,” Aubrey smiles. “He’s quite a remarkable man.”

“So I guess I won’t be seeing him again then,” he says dejectedly, letting his head hang. He wonders why they’d sent that Healer to come see him in the first place, as he surely must’ve had better things to do.

He hears a choked noise besides him, and he looks up at Aubrey, who seems to be stifling a laugh, with her hand pressed against her mouth. “Don’t worry, love,” she says with obvious amusement in her voice. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of him.”

The young man sitting next to his bed has been talking about his wife and their baby for an hour straight. Though it really isn’t so bad. His stories are quite amusing, and the man is very charismatic. He has sparkling eyes, and hair so messy, he had immediately checked whether it wasn’t storming outside when the man had entered. He has a disarming smile and a contagious laugh, and is surprisingly easy to talk to. He says his name is James Potter, and he’s Remus Lupin’s best friend.

He has to give Remus Lupin a pat on the back for having made such a nice friend. Honestly, the idea of socializing with new people, trying to make friends, does not appeal to him, and he’s glad to know Remus already has them.

“And I just went to see Sirius,” James says. “Well, more like I was speed walking next to him in the two minutes he had to get from one room to another. He still managed to apologize twenty times though. Normally, I’d say he should be sorry, but the poor guy seems to hardly have any time to eat or sleep.” James shakes his head. “Did you hear what happened? Three children were playing in the woods, and they must’ve accidentally touched an unknown cursed object. They were brought in barely conscious and with a mother completely beside herself. So of course, ‘the widely renowned and highly acclaimed, capable-of-the-impossible Healer Black’ was the only one who might save them. And he has, as they seem to be recovering,” James adds, relieved. “But really, there aren’t many excuses that would justify him not being here, but having to save children’s lives is definitely one of them.”

“Thank Merlin those children are alright. That sounds- Wait,” he says, before sitting up. “Healer Black? You know Healer Black?”

James blinks at him. “Ehm... Yeah?”

“Merlin, that man is so handsome!” he exclaims. “He was here for like two minutes, before he got called away to other patients, but I just can’t stop thinking about him! He already looks perfect, and now you’re telling me that he’s some kind of miracle Healer saving children’s lives?” He sighs. “It’s just not fair.”

At first, James still looks confused. Then his eyes widen in understanding, and his mouth starts twitching like he’s trying to hold back laughter.

He doesn’t blame him. He’d laugh at himself too, with how ridiculous he’s been acting over this random Healer. He just hopes he won’t have embarrassed Remus Lupin too much once his memories have returned.

“Don’t worry,” James says, in an amused voice. “Healer Black will come back as soon as he has the time.”

Now, his own eyes widen. “You really think he’d come to see me again?”

James lets out a strangled noise and starts coughing, which he strongly suspects being a laugh quickly covered up by a cough. “Yes,” James replies, suppressed laughter still sounding through in his voice. “I really think so.”

He knows it’s rather pathetic, but as he’s got nothing better to do, he did it anyway. He practiced what he’s going to say to Healer Black when, or if, he comes back.

He’ll tilt his head slightly downwards, so he’ll look up at the man through his lashes, and then he’ll give him a coy smile, while softly saying ‘Healer Black. It’s so good to see you again. I’ve heard many great things about you, and what you did for those children is truly admirable.’ Luckily, flirting seems to fall under semantic memory.

However, when the moment comes that Healer Black enters the room again, his carefully constructed plan falls apart.

At first, he’s stunned that yes, Healer Black really looks like that, and he hasn’t made it better in his head. Alright, the man has bags under his eyes, his robes are rumpled, and his hair is slightly greasy and so much strands are peaking out of his bun, making it look more messy than what would qualify as a normal messy bun, but he still looks like the most beautiful person in the world. He doesn’t even notice Aubrey and James walk in after Healer Black.

He opens his mouth to deliver his carefully practiced lines, but the words die in his throat as Healer Black... Well, flings himself at him. He literally splays out on top of him, hugging him close and pressing his face in the crook of his neck. “I missed you so much,” Healer Black murmurs against his skin.

He freezes. Yes, he has forgotten quite a lot, but he’s still pretty sure this is not the standard operating procedure for Healers to greet their patients. “Erm...” He says, once again ever so eloquently.

Healer Black lifts his head and looks up at him in confusion, but he can’t possibly be more confused than he’s feeling.

James scrapes his throat. “Remus, may I introduce you to Healer Sirius Black-Lupin, your husband?”

“So neither one of you decided to tell him?” Healer Black has crossed his arms over his chest and is glaring at Audrey and James.

“I’m sorry, Healer Black!” Aubrey squeaks. “I know I should’ve told him, but it was just too cute, watch him be all smitten with his own husband.”

He isn’t really listening. He’s openly staring at Healer Black. Apparently, he bloody married the guy, so it’s allowed, right?

“I don’t know how you pulled this off, Remus Lupin,” he whispers under his breath. “But thank you, and kudos to you, mate, kudos to you.”

As he looks at Healer Black up and down (at some point he’ll really have to stop referring to his husband as Healer Black, probably), he suddenly really wishes for his memories to come back fast, as there are some things he’d really like to remember.

Though on the other hand, he thinks, biting his lip, maybe ‘Healer Black’ won’t mind freshening up his memory in the meantime?

“Ugh,” Remus groans, hiding his face against Sirius’ chest. “I can’t believe I was practically drooling over you!”

Sirius chuckles while he’s rubbing soft circles on Remus’ back. “You were cute.”

As a reply, Remus just groans again.

“I’m sorry, though,” Sirius says, suddenly quietly. “It wouldn’t have happened if I had been by your side as I was supposed to be.”

Remus lifts up his head to look at Sirius. “Hey, none of that! You were saving lives.” He presses a quick kiss to his husband’s lips. “You wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else, and I wouldn’t have wanted you to be anywhere else.”

Sirius smiles softly at him, and Remus lays his head back on his chest. “Besides, it was a good reminder that I should be more proud of my accomplishment to get Healer Black to marry me.”

Sirius barks a laugh, that Remus can feel vibrating in his chest. “And how exactly was me down on one knee practically begging you to become my husband ‘you getting me to marry you’?”

Remus smiles fondly, happy that that memory is safely back in his head. “And it was nice to feel like having a new crush again,” he continues. “ All exhilarated, enraptured, and in awe.”

“Oh, Moony,” Sirius sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of Remus’ head. “I feel like that every time I look at you.”

[whump-cravings]

Mars, hi! Your writing is amazing and I'm in love with your prompts so much, your mind *-* I visit your blog all the time and it's always so interesting to see what you're up to next. I hope you keep up the good work! Best of luck with everything you want to do!

Only if you want to answer - I was wondering if you had any ideas for a Bodyguard Caretaker taking care of Whumpee? Pretty much anything you want, I don't have anything specific in mind like why Whumpee needs Caretaker as a bodyguard anyway or what exactly would happen to Whumpee... I just love the basic idea of a Caretaker being a Bodyguard to a vulnerable Whumpee who needs protection (maybe you can include some ideas for who the Whumper is, I'm thinking Whumpee would be trying to protect themselves from Whumper but again I don't have too many of my own ideas besides the basic set-up).

Go wild with this and have fun taking it as extreme as you feel like, I'd love to hear whatever drama, plot twists, and other stuff you might have in mind for this :D have a great day!

Oh NO this is so sweet, it makes me so happy to hear people like my stuff 🥺🥺😊

ohHHoHo Bodyguard Caretaker is so good

Fragile whumpee:

Disabled whumpee: they have less ability or energy to do things, or they just regularly get sick

Young or old people have similar limitations

Magical whumpee: they have a magical ability that has drawbacks like fatigue, pain, hunger, weakness, etc

Whumpee regularly overextends themself and Bodyguard has to put a foot down to make sure they get enough like, food and sleep

Traveling:

Could be plain man vs nature

OR whumpee is on the run from whumper with Bodyguard as their only protector and confidant. Maybe they are delivering an important message/item, maybe they're escaping an abusive situation, maybe they're the last surviving member of the royal house after a coup

Bodyguard has experience traveling rough terrain, toughing it out, going hungry... but whumpee has never gone hungry or cold.

Whumpee might be the sort to complain (which could lead to irritation and eventual explosion from a stressed-out bodyguard, for angst drama), or...

...they might try to silently tough it out (which could lead to a Hidden Injury or similar flavored trope (hidden fever?) because they were trying not to put any more stress on Bodyguard / they can't slow down). They might be ashamed of their weakness and upbringing, that they can't be as strong as bodyguard.

Snowstorm cuddling?? :3c

Broken limbs, gashes from a tree or rock (infection risk), dropped in a river (hypothermia risk), etc

The double agent:

Bodyguard is undercover to get close to whumpee, gaining the trust and respect of everyone close to whumpee and whumpee themself

Bodyguard has been told, of course, not to fall for the lies these people present but xe can't help the growing feeling of respect for everyone else too... Along with a growing sense of guilt and wondering if xe's on the right side

Bodyguard is instrumental in letting the whumper's group get in and take down or capture everyone, including whumpee.

Bodyguard might, in desperation, offer up reasons why "it would be a bad idea" to kill people, possibly leading to everyone being tortured instead of killed

It nearabout kills xem when the others realize their part in the takeover and turn betrayed eyes onto xem. Bodyguard tries to tell xemself that what xe did was necessary and good, and that this would have happened even without xir help, and that xe's making it easier on whumpee & co, but... The guilt builds.

Xe cleans up after the whumpers as much as xe can, tending wounds of whumpee & co despite possibly having to endure (justified) vitriol directed at xem from the team xe betrayed

If xe becomes more vocal about mistreatment of the captives, xir leaders may pull them from the operation based on xem getting too close and developing sympathy (something that frequently happens to double agents)

Finally, xir guilt drives xem to do something stupid like get whumpee and everyone out.

This could get xem put in a cell right next to the whumpee's team without any sympathy to be found from either the whumpee's or whumper's teams. No one likes a turncoat.

Or xe gets whumpee's team out and 1) whumpee's team takes xem along because now xe has nowhere else to go but a) dubiously or b) as a prisoner, OR 2) xe's the only one that doesn't escape and gets in deep shit with whumper's team. Xe will probably think that's the end for xem

This kind of strayed away from being bodyguard caretaker but shhh. If whumpee has no team then it could be that bodyguard is the only one they have to rely on, even though the trust is no longer there

Gotta hit the hay now so I'll leave it there but I love this. Hope this was along the lines of what you were thinking, anon!!

[thedragonnerd]

Rayaari headcanon - let us be sad with some angst and hurt/comfort

(inspired by a lovely anon)

With the rebirth of Kumandra and the return of their lost loved ones, everyone tries to sweep away the last six years, in a desperate attempt to move on with their lives and not waste any more time dwelling on the past.

But the scars, both physical and mental, still remain, and trauma endured cannot simply be washed away. There is a disconnect between people now - especially between those who had to endure the threat of Druuns hanging over their heads for years, and those who have awoken to a new world and changed people.

The most heart-wrenching discovery for Raya is that she doesn't always know what to say to her own Ba. It's been so long since they spent a lot of time together, and she is a very different person now compared to the 12-year-old little girl he threw into the water. Sometimes, she's worried he won't like the person she has become.

She also has more arguments with him than before, especially whenever he treats her more like a small child than the young woman she is today, who has survived hardship he never wanted her to experience. They don't always see eye-to-eye with each other regarding trade, politics and what is best for Heart, with his optimism and her realism clashing. If they don't resolve their disagreement quickly, Namaari will find Raya crying softly in their bedroom; she hates fighting with her Ba.

Raya sometimes sees children from her past, who were turned to stone in the original Druun attack and been frozen in time until now. It feels a lifetime ago that she was the right age to play with them, and when she sees them laughing and playing games, she wonders was I ever really that young?

She carries a weapon on her at all times, unable to shake off the feeling that something might go wrong. She learnt this the hard way when she was thirteen: a market deal in Talon had gone wrong, and she was attacked by two large men when she was only a child and without a weapon or knowledge how to fight back. Her ability to run fast had saved her that day. Since then, she has vowed never to be caught weaponless again.

One morning when Namaari tries to wake her, she accidentally pulls a knife, holding it up to Namaari's neck. Raya is almost sick with the idea that she could have seriously injured Namaari just through instinct, but Namaari just holds her hands until she calms down, rubbing her thumb back and forth. 'I trust you with my life,' she tells Raya.

Raya also still has moments where waves of anger wash over her, striking her unawares and in an uncontrollable manner. One time, Namaari makes an innocuous comment about Benja that sets Raya off, words of anger and blame falling from her lips with malicious intent. She feels awful after having done it - she never meant for Namaari to become the target of her bad emotions that day, and she can see how far it sets back their fledgling relationship. Namaari spirals into several days of guilt before they reconcile again.

For Namaari sees the trauma Raya carries, and can't help but feel responsible. She adds this to the weight of the guilt she has already carried for the past six years, and then bottles it up inside, with the opinion that she doesn't deserve Raya's sympathy, or indeed sympathy from anyone.

She has been raised to place the safety of her people before herself, growing to accept and embrace the risk to her own life every time she had to go out on a mission beyond the Fang borders and into Druun territory. It is something she has always been willing to do if it means keeping the rest of Fang safe, and in this new, safer world it is difficult to shake off these feelings of self-sacrifice being a worthy endeavour.

Indeed, she sometimes thinks that it would have been nobler to have turned to stone herself at some point over the years, but she is also too pragmatic to believe that would absolve her of her sins.

Her way of trying to atone therefore is to help as many people as possible now. Her self-sacrificing thoughts are channeled into working herself to exhaustion, as she tries to juggle fixing Fang's city and palace, expanding her citizen's homes back out into their previously Druun-infested lands, and offering up her services to any of the other lands who need extra support in rebuilding.

All of this responsibility and guilt weighs her down enough that she sometimes gets hit with extreme panic attacks. She manages to get herself to a private location the first few times it happens, but then it strikes in the middle of a sparring session with Raya, and she just sinks to the floor and covers her face with her hands.

She can faintly hear Raya asking 'what's wrong?' and feels a hand being placed on her trembling shoulder. She opens her mouth to tell Raya to go away, but instead chokes out 'Please stay?' It is the first time she has managed to ask for help.

Both of them have scars scattered across their bodies, each with a different story to tell, and some even caused by the other person. Raya is concerned at first that Namaari will find hers ugly, but Namaari soon puts those fears to rest by peppering them with tiny kisses. A couple of Namaari's old injuries give her trouble still, so Raya returns the favour by giving her massages when the pain behind those scars grows too much.

Trauma and loss is not a new concept to either of them, even before the arrival of the Druuns. At night, sometimes Raya sings a song that she can remember her mother using as a lullaby. Namaari doesn't like to discuss her father, but occasionally, safe in the dark, she will mention a story about an adventure they had together.

Over a long period of time, they are both able to release themselves of some of their fears and traumas; others, they learn to live with, or learn how to help the other cope. The most important thing, they find, is being together through it all.

[stillebesat]

An Unconventional Defeat

Sanders Sides: Patton, Virgil Blurb: Patton knew that heroes started out young, far younger than villains ever did. But this young? Inspiration: From the Anon prompt: “I can take care of myself just fine.” with Virgil. Fic Type: Superhero!AU, Villain!Patton, Hero!Virgil Overall Fic Warnings: Near Death Experiences, Death Talk, Injuries, Hospitals Taglist in Reblogs:

He’s fourteen.

Patton stared down at the prone form of his nemesis, Onyx, in the darkened hospital room, mind racing.

He knew that heroes started out young, far younger than villains ever did. But this young?

Sure, that no good empathy that the heart twinged with seemed to chime all stronger for the children. For those naive fools who were still optimistic about life and wanted to believe that good would always win out in the end. That being good was the best way to live your life. That you could change the world for the better.

Patton had been a fool like that. Once.

He’d wanted to be a teacher. Once. Be an example to the rising generation. Once.

And then he’d had his eyes forcibly opened in college to just how cruel and heartless the world actually was. Goodness only got trampled. Squashed. Taken advantage of. Goodness only got used until it wasn’t useful anymore and then got dumped like so much trash. If one wanted to change the world permanently. One couldn’t do so by being good.

Kids though?

The poor fools didn’t realize that yet. That being good wasn’t well...good. For anyone. Hero work? Pointless. Especially with how active Patton was in the city.

Hero work didn’t put food on the table. Hero work didn’t pay the bills. It was a thankless never ending job.

A job that landed a fourteen year old in the hospital with head trauma, a broken leg, arm, fractured ribs, and multiple puncture wounds in the shoulders and abdomen that had only avoided killing the kid by sheer dumb luck.

A fourteen year old that Patton had been fighting for a good three years now, not that he’d known that until nine hours ago.

Onyx had always snarked at him in a deep distorted voice, had always been covered by an ever shifting melee of shadows that never showed just who was manipulating the darkness around him.

He growled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Eleven. The kid had been freaking eleven when he’d first shown up to stop Patton from razing the police department to the ground.

No wonder Onyx had been so ferocious in defending the place. He’d still been of an age to see the cops as fellow heroes. The good guys. He hadn’t yet discovered their darker side. Just how much like school ground bullies most of them could be to the weak.

Patton clenched his hands, conscious of the frost coating his fingertips, of the room getting noticeably colder. “You’re an idiot.” He told the sleeping hero in a low voice, tensing as the shadows sluggishly stirred at the sound of his voice. “Ruining everything.”

He’d been trying to take down Onyx for ages. Perfecting the best way to use his ice bolts to freeze those shadows of his once and for all. It had been the best moment of his life seeing the hulking figure finally stagger when his ice had successfully pierced through the darkness and not fly out the other end. To know that they had stuck. To see those dark wisps vanish like so much smoke as the hero plummeted from the sky. To have a crater form from the impact that left a dust cloud floating in the air with no hint whatsoever of his shadows preparing to strike back.

It had been his greatest moment of triumph. The final defeat of his main nemesis.

An icy javelin had already formed in his hands, aimed for Onyx’s heart before Patton’s feet had even hit the ground.

But instead of the square jawed overly muscled hero he’d expected to finally see underneath that murky shadow disguise...he’d found a freaking child laying there, bleeding, broken, and unconscious.

One Virgil Hawkins. Fourteen years old. Orphan. Parents dead since he was nine. Grandmother dead since he was eleven though apparently no one else had realized that little tidbit yet besides Patton because he’d actually tried to find the woman last night after he’d rushed the boy to the hospital for emergency surgery only to discover the little urn with her name on it on the mantle of the fireplace in her home.

It was one thing to kill a Hero. And Patton...well he’d done in his fair share of heroes over the last decade. But killing a child? His heart might be cold. Frozen even. But as much as he itched to end Onyx the hero permanently...ending Virgil the child was an entirely different matter.

Not that anyone would know. Not that anyone would care if Virgil vanished the same evening Onyx died. He could freeze the kid’s heart here and now and not even the staff supposedly watching the boy would think much of it, injured as he was.

Patton frowned, breath misting in front of him as he held out an ice coated hand over the child, an icicle easily forming in his fist.

It would be so easy.

Who would care about the disappearance of a single boy? One who was practically a ghost in his civilian life. Certainly not the news. Certainly not the cops the kid had risked his life to defend. A kid only surviving as it were because he’d been clever enough to keep his grandma’s social security checks coming to the house as a source of income.

No one would notice if he just...vanished. Not even the school the kid attended would. Not when they couldn’t even tell him if he’d shown up yesterday for class.

No concerned teacher. No concerned counselor. No friends to worry about him suddenly vanishing. Not even the staff here in the hospital cared enough to keep more than a cursory eye on their John Doe as the police attempted to track down the boy’s nonexistent family.

Virgil had no one.

Patton let the icicle dissolve back into his skin, his hand lightly resting on the boy’s warm forehead, fingers lightly brushing the stitches there.

No one to pay the hospital bills. No one to look after him once he was released. No one to ensure that he had food, clothes and shelter. No one to stop him from being a fu-freaking idiot and going out to attack a villain old enough to be his Father.

Patton shuddered, pulling his hand back. Crofters forbid that. Teenagers were the worst. Onyx only proved that tenfold with how easily he’d wound up Patton in their fights. To have one living in his own home? With their constant mood swings, inability to do chores, and dependence on social media? Ha. No.

A groan from the bed drew him from his thoughts right as the shadows around the bed surged at him, latching onto his arm and jerking him forward with a startled yelp.

“Cold.” A hoarse voice whispered as pale fingers shakily rose from under the blanket, twisting to catch Patton’s wrist as the shadows pulled him within reach. Onyx’s eyelids fluttered as he placed Patton’s hand on his forehead. “Cold.”

Was he insane?! Patton growled, the temperature in the room dropping another ten degrees as he struggled against Onyx’s shadow grip. “Let. Go!”

The hero had the gall to smirk, dark eyes unfocused as he opened them fully, the shadows pulsing around them. “No way, Icy.” He whispered. “You cold. Feels good. You stay.”

WHAT?! He wasn’t an icepack! “I’ll freeze your burning head off! LET GO, you idiot!” He allowed a thin layer of ice to form under his hand to prove his point. It was bad enough that Onyx could match him throw for throw on a good day, it was worse knowing that a fu--freaking half-drugged teenager could still hold him with minimal effort.

Virgil closed his eyes, stupid smile growing wider. “Rubber. Glue. Back to you.”

Patton blinked. “Huh?” What was that supposed to mean?! This was why he hated teenagers. They didn’t make a lick of sense whenever they spoke.

“You’re the idiot here.” Virgil dropped his hand, the shadows releasing their grip. “Coming in uniform? To a hospital? To see me? For shame.”

Patton scoffed, taking a step back. He wasn’t some first year amateur to walk in the front door dressed like this. “Like I care if anyone sees me, kid.”

If it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t afford to let anyone see him actually caring about anyone’s welfare, especially some ‘random’ kid found on the street after the big fight with Onyx, he would have blasted the front doors off their hinges and made a grand entrance instead of manipulating the ice of his clothes to resemble simple civilian attire before sauntering inside, no questions asked. After all, no one ever looked twice at some guy walking around in a black shirt and blue jeans, not even in a hospital.

Though. He flexed his fingers. It wasn’t like it was outside his wheelhouse to freeze people to death if they got in his way.

Onyx frowned, the shadows pulsing as he opened his eyes again, making eye contact. “No...you wouldn’t would you….why are you here--No.” The darkness gathered underneath him, carefully carefully pushing the kid upright in the hospital bed. He hissed, uninjured arm moving to wrap around his stomach. “Why am I here and not dead, Icy?”

Patton lifted his chin, glaring at the hero. “Did you want to be dead?” He asked, hefting a javelin of ice in his hand.

The teenager had the gall to roll his eyes, though Patton didn’t miss how the shadows surged around him in a protective shield. “Missed your chance, buddy. Don’t tell me your frozen heart actually thawed a little during our fight.”

“No.” Patton jabbed at the shadows, not at all surprised when they easily shattered his weapon with a quick twist.

So the kid wasn’t as out of it as his dilated eyes made it seem. Good to know.

“So I’m alive then….why?”

Why did it matter? “You’re fourteen.”

Virgil scoffed, slowly moving the arm that was in a cast so it too rested against his stomach. “So? You’ve killed kids before.”

Patton stiffened, ice flashing from his feet to cover the floor like a mini ice rink. Did the boy honestly not care about his own life?! “You shouldn’t have been fighting me in the first place, Onyx! You’re a kid. A Fu-FREAKING KID. Your biggest worry should be passing some stupid Math test! Making friends in school. Not squaring up against the worst villain the city has ever seen!” A villain that always, always killed his nemeses no matter what.

Virgil huffed, spreading his arms, the shadows twisting around them. “Last time I checked, this kid could wipe your ass into the dirt without breaking a sweat. I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much.”

“But you shouldn’t HAVE to.” This wasn’t some stupid dystopian novel. No normal eleven year old should have such a stupidly high Chosen One complex.

“And who’s fault is it that I have to, Icemas?” Virgil’s eyes practically glittered like obsidian shards as the shadows lifted him off the bed, turning him to face Patton properly, the machines squeaking in protest as the various tubes connecting them to the hero shifted out of alignment. “No one else was stepping up. No one else would face you.”

“That’s the point!” Patton hissed, shooting a ray of ice to the door, crystals covering the window there and locking it in place so no one else would be able to investigate the alarms going off, before stepping forward to jab a finger at the boy’s chest, though he was careful to not actually touch the wounds there or send any ice bolts at him. “I’m showing everyone that being a hero is a useless archaic practice! No one should have to risk their life day in and day out for complete strangers who will never appreciate your sacrifice! If you had died tonight, Virgil, who would have cared?! The media? Ha.” He shook his head, gesturing to the blank TV screen in the corner as the shadows pulled back to quiver behind the young hero. “They’d mourn you for maybe a week tops before moving onto the next sensational story, the next stupid hero trying to make a difference. Maybe, maybe they will name some shiny new building after you, to remember you by, but then what? NOTHING. You’d be DEAD before you could ever drive and it would have all been for naught!”

Virgil frowned, shadows lowering him so he was sitting on the bed. “...You know my name?”

Patton stiffened. That’s what the kid was worried about? Him figuring out his civilian identity instead of nearly dying?! That was so messed up. “Someone had to try and track down your family, kid. The idiots here weren’t gonna do it.”

The hero had the gall to grin, though Patton didn’t miss how his fingers clenched the sheets. “Aww, well isn’t that sweet of you, Popsicle. How did that go?” He tilted his head to the iced over door where distant voices could be heard as the handle rattled. “Good old mom and dad waiting outside to see me? To check in on how their ickle Virgikins is doing?”

Teenagers. He hated them. “You know they aren’t. You have no one.”

Something flickered in the boy’s eyes. “Oh! Then let me guess.” He rested his chin on his uninjured hand. “You let the staff know I’m on my own? Do I get the oh so fun opportunity to experience our stellar A+ foster care system now?”

Patton rolled his eyes, shooting another bolt of ice at the door for good measure. “Please. They still think you’re a John Doe.” The lazy bums were waiting for him to wake up first. Hoping that Virgil would tell them who he was before trying to track down his identity or family.

“Excellent.” Virgil gave the door an appraising look. “Think they’ll believe amnesia?”

Patton blinked. “....Do you not feel the stitches holding your head together?” Or the baseball sized lump on the back of his skull from hitting the pavement?

The hero shrugged. “Honestly?” The shadows pulsed around him. “It’s all kinda fuzzy agony currently. Can’t differentiate what parts of me hurt and what doesn’t.”

How was this kid even awake?! Patton stepped forward, pushing the boy back down flat on the bed. “Then REST before you hurt yourself further, idiot.”

“Aw, love you too, Popsicles.”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT.” He would never be a fu-freaking Father to anyone.

“Or what?” Virgil relaxed against the pillows, even as his hand twisted to catch Patton’s wrist again. “You’ll kill me?”

If he wanted to do that the kid would be dead already. Patton jerked free, another ice spear forming in his hand, pointed to the boy’s throat. “No.”

“Aw. You scared to?”

“NO. I’m not killing a KID. Our fights are done with, Virgil. No more Onyx. He’s DEAD.”

The boy scoffed, pushing the spear to the side. “Last I checked, Icy,” The shadows surged over him in a swirling mass until the familiar shadowy form of Onyx stared back from the bed. “We’re the same person.” His voice echoed. “And I’m still alive and kicking.”

Ooooohoooho. Patton could feel his eye twitching as ice crept up the walls and window. If it were just Onyx he’d take great pleasure in killing the hero here and now. He itched to do so. But he couldn’t. Not with knowing that Virgil the child hid underneath the darkness. “I won’t fight you, kid.”

The shadows pulled back, revealing Virgil looking far paler than before, his face glittering with sweat. “Coward.”

“Idiot.” The kid needed to see a shrink. No normal fourteen year old would be this stubborn about wanting to constantly go up against him and face death by his hand!

“I know you are but what am I?”

The window shattered, sending frost covered glass glittering to the floor. “Hopefully grounded by the fool that ends up taking you in.” He got out through gritted teeth, ice particles shimmering in the air, ready to defend as the shadows around Onyx sprung up like a series of blackened tentacles writhing behind him.

He pitied whoever ended up with this troubled teen in their home…though...maybe he could arrange for the kid to be shipped across the country to live far far away from here. Getting out of this place could set him straight. Snap him out of this stupid hero phase he was in.

Virgil threw his head back, laughter ringing throughout the room as banging sounded from the door, the ice blockade cracking under the strain.

Judging by the way the ice was shearing off, someone with heat abilities had finally shown up.

Virgil shook his head, still grinning, though his eyes held no laughter as the shadow tentacles sharpened into jagged points, all aimed at Patton’s chest. “Oh that’s rich. Me, grounded? Like a normy would be able to stop me from coming after you the next time you decide to wreck the city.” He pushed himself up onto one elbow, jabbing his cast at Patton, the shadows quivering behind him like a pack of hunting dogs waiting to be unleashed as the temperature in the room dropped even further. “Face it, Popsicle. If you’re not gonna kill me then you’re stuck with me being your nemesis. If you want me to stop being the hero and keep me alive, then you have to stop being the villain. And we both know you’re not gonna do that. Your precious plan is too important to just give it up for my sake.”

And that was the crux of the matter wasn’t it? Patton snarled, raising his hands, the ice particles in the air morphing into a slew of arrows all directed towards the boy. He didn’t want to kill Virgil. But he couldn’t give up his plan. Give up being the villain. Not after a decade of fighting to get all those idealistic fools to see what a farce being a hero was. He was so close to winning. So close. “Fine.” He surged forward, grabbing the boy by the throat, ice arrows darting about to block the shadow tentacles of the kid’s from interfering. “You value my plan more than your pathetic life? Then you should--”

BANG.

The door behind them shattered, sending a heat wave full of shrapnel blasting into the room.

IDIOTS.

Patton whirled, flinging a wall of ice towards the figures in the doorway in an attempt to block the worst of the heat from outright killing Virgil then and there. IDIOTS! Did they not care at all that an already injured kid was in the ro---

A half melted silver door knob burst through the resulting steam before Patton could react to it, clocking him between the eyes with enough force to knock him backwards, his world vanishing into cold, silent darkness as the hospital floor rushed up to meet him.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

like a secret in your throat

y’all asked for whump. y’all got whump. title from “Vampires Will Never Hurt You” by my all-time favorite band, My Chemical Romance

whump, hurt/comfort with a happy ending!

tw: manhandling the bard, vampire transformations (side character), non-sexy biting, blood mention, canon typical injuries/violence

---

Geralt looked up from his mug of ale when he realized that Jaskier had stopped playing. Instead, the bard was chatting merrily away with a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark cloak. The hood obscured most of the stranger’s face but Geralt caught the reflective glint of a bead or piece of metal braided into his matted black hair. An instinct tickled at the back of the Witcher’s head but Geralt couldn’t quite place the feeling. Something was wrong about this little tableau but he couldn’t figure out what it was; his medallion wasn’t reacting to anything in particular and Jaskier seemed perfectly happy, lost in conversation with the dark-haired man.

Geralt returned his gaze to his mug and let his mind wander.

Jaskier did seem perfectly happy to be without him on nights like these, when they were back in civilization and the extroverted bard could branch out and meet new people. That was the problem, in Geralt’s opinion. 

Lately the Witcher had found himself contemplating what life would be like on the Path if he decided to travel alone again. Winter wasn’t close enough for him to excuse himself and go North, but he’d developed a strange and uncomfortable dependence on the bard that he needed to be weaned away from. It wasn’t healthy for either of them. 

It wasn’t safe.

If he grew too close to Jaskier, then… 

Wouldn’t that be a weakness? Wouldn’t that be a vulnerability and a dangerous closeness? Geralt couldn’t risk forming a connection like that. He couldn’t allow himself to hope for something so organic and pure to develop between a half-monster and a youthful, bright-eyed bard; Witchers weren’t meant to get nice things. That was not his lot in life.

And yet…

Some mornings, when he only barely cracked his eyes open and used his heightened senses to peek across their campsite, he saw Jaskier looking back at him, a curious glint in those pretty blue irises. Geralt couldn’t pinpoint the emotion the bard’s face held; he was bad at that, and the uncertainty of the younger man’s feelings scared him. He could handle rejection, but acceptance? If Jaskier was as loving and openminded as Geralt thought him to be, it could prove to be a problem. Jaskier was too good for a Witcher. He didn’t deserve to be trapped by a life on the Path, dying too young because he was foolhardy and quick to fall in love.

The Witcher’s introspection came to an abrupt halt when the Jaskier in question appeared beside him, flushed and grinning. “Geralt, dear heart, are you ready to retire for the evening?”

“Are you asking me to bed?” the Witcher smirked, smothering the very real ache in his chest at the thought of curling up next to Jaskier like that. “Or do you need to borrow our room to entertain a guest?”

“Oh, no, I have no plans of that nature.” Jaskier’s already pink face darkened a shade and Geralt’s stomach flipped. “I’m actually rather tired. I was hoping to get some decent sleep tonight before we flung ourselves back into nature tomorrow.”

“Hmm. I’ll be along shortly. Don’t wait up.”

“See you in a bit then, dear heart.” 

And Jaskier disappeared up the stairs.

Unfortunately, the Witcher didn’t realize he wasn’t the only one watching Jaskier slip into their rented room with a longing expression on his face.

---

“We need to set up camp for the evening,” Geralt announced, bringing Roach to a stop and sliding gracefully down from the saddle. Jaskier loved the way his Witcher looked when he did that, like some kind of fairytale Prince or knight errant. The way his long, silver-white hair shifted and fluttered against his shoulders in the dusky light made him look more like a fantastical painting than a century-old Witcher; even with his scars and his pallid skin tone. 

The unconventionally enchanting sight made ballads stir in the most romantic corners of the bard’s busy mind. Words pooled and shifted behind his eyes, arranging themselves into neat rhyming couplets or quatrains. 

Geralt of Rivia, tall and fair,

With golden eyes and silver hair;

Whose glare could even douse the sun,

And send a Gryphon on the run.

The bard barely kept himself from sighing aloud as he removed his pack from across his shoulders and unfolded his bedroll and thin travel blanket. The material felt fragile between his calloused fingertips and he sighed forlornly,  “I’m going to need a new blanket soon.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it. And I’ll get Roach some new reins while I’m in town,” the bard waved his hand nonchalantly, as if spending money was no big deal. It really wasn’t, all things considered. They would be able to travel far more comfortably if Geralt would allow them to stop in Novigrad and access his University accounts more often. Alas, Witchers are stubborn creatures. “I see the way they chafe her poor muzzle, Geralt, so don’t argue. If you really insist you can pay me back by letting me write a song about the color of your eyes.”

“My… eyes?”

“They’re rather pretty, dear heart, and I think the world could do with a ballad about how they glow when you turn your face toward the sun.”

Geralt felt the back of his neck grow hot and he glanced away, “Hmm.”

“Well, let me know what you think in the morning. I don’t need an answer right away.”

Geralt finished setting up a decent pile of firewood and brought it to life with an efficient burst of Igni. He glanced across the flames to Jaskier and grunted, “I’m going to catch us some dinner. Make tea.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier saluted, smiling. Geralt rolled his eyes, grabbed his crossbow, and disappeared into the darkening treeline. Jaskier began to hum as he set up their tea kettle and filled it with water from the waterskin. The humming turned to quiet singing as he measured out two mugs worth of tea from the sachet of dried leaves. 

Singing that was cut off with a sharp, sudden cry.

---

Geralt heard the bard scream once. Only once.

The sound punctuated the air before leaving an uncomfortable, grating silence in its wake. 

The Witcher took off towards their campfire without a second thought, allowing his instincts to take over and guide him safely back, the potency of Jaskier’s fear hung thick and sour in the air, growing stronger the closer he came to their clearing. When he burst back into view, chest heaving from the sprint, he widened his eyes at the sight before him:

The cloaked figure from the tavern had Jaskier wrapped in his burly arms. One large, long-fingered hand had immobilized Jaskier’s wrists by pressing them into the dip at the base of the bard’s spine, forcing his elbows out and pressing his chest even tighter against the stranger’s. 

Jaskier looked up at Geralt beseechingly through his dark, damp lashes. His mouth opened in a silent cry of confusion and pain when the man tugged at his wrists and forced his arms to bend awkwardly. The bard wriggled and strained against the stranger’s iron grip in an effort to escape but the man only snarled in irritation and jerked him back into place. “Bad bard. Stay put, little thing.”

Geralt took a slow step towards his swords, trying to reassure Jaskier with his expression that: Everything will be okay. I will get you out of this. I will protect you and keep you safe… somehow. 

Jaskier needed Geralt to pay attention and protect him from harm.

Geralt had failed.

The Witcher watched with wide, horrified eyes as the hulking man keeping Jaskier captive shifted slowly into a far less humanoid form. The baubles braided into his hair jangled and clinked as his nose elongated and his eyes widened. His arms lengthened to form clawed bat-wings and his face thinned and covered over with a layer of grey fur. Fangs burst forth from his gums and slid over his previously humanesque canines. His voice, which had been rasping odd little sounds in the Witcher’s direction, faded into an terrible shriek. 

A Katakan. 

A Katakan that had snuck in and out of civilization without Geralt so much as smelling it; one that had Jaskier pinned against its chest, the claws of its unoccupied hand sharp and dangerous as they hovered near the bard’s ribcage, ready to pierce but unwilling to waste precious blood unless absolutely necessary. It screamed again, even more shrilly. “Want him!”

Geralt dove forward and pulled his silver sword from its sheath. He swung it in an elegant arc and narrowed his eyes, “Let him go and I might let you live.”

The Witcher’s words were a lie and they both knew it.

The Katakan twitched its long ears in annoyance and hauled Jaskier even closer. It wrenched his arms painfully and the bard whimpered, blue eyes filling steadily with tears. Geralt’s heart seized wretchedly in his chest and he tried his best to ignore it; he couldn’t let his feelings distract him until Jaskier was safe. 

“I want him,” the monster rasped, readjusting the bard in its grip. It turned Jaskier around until he was facing the Witcher, releasing his wrists just long enough to pull his hands around to the front before capturing them again. It grazed its two long fangs against the column of Jaskier’s throat and trilled happily. “He sings so pretty. Talks so sweet. Bet he tastes sweet like he talks.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. “He does have a rather pretty singing voice. I suppose that’s why I can’t have you killing him.”

“But he will sing for me,” the vampire shrugged. It shook Jaskier like a toy and the bard’s tears finally fell. He whimpered again when the vampire leaned close and told him: “Sing, little thing. Let me pull lovely music from your veins.”

Jaskier shivered visibly. He gave a few panting, strangled sobs as he slipped into panic, too frightened to move with the vampire’s fangs so close to his neck. He wanted Geralt to finally swing that stupid sword and get this over with. He wanted to curl up in Geralt’s arms and never leave for the rest of his life. He wanted to be taken to Kaer Morhen and hidden away in safety, fuck his music career and the rest of the world. He wanted Geralt to stay in his presence forever, never letting him out of sight again. He wanted…

Before he could finish his thought there was a sharp, piercing, all-encompassing pain at the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

A keening wail filled the air once. 

The vampire bit down harder, its tongue sliding against the skin of the bard’s neck in an effort to urge the blood to exit faster. 

There was another high, piteous cry for help and then... 

The world went black.

---

When Jaskier opened his eyes again, the world was even darker than it had been before; mostly because the light from both the moon and their campfire was being blocked out by the broad plane of Geralt’s chest, which Jaskier found himself cradled against almost… lovingly. Above him, he heard the Witcher murmuring: “Jaskier, please. Please wake up, Julek. Come on, bard, I kn-”

“G-Geralt?” he managed to croak. He followed it with a very eloquent, “Hunh?”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher sagged with relief, pressing his forehead against the bard’s and breathing in deeply. He tightened his arms around Jaskier, pulling him even closer as his frown disappeared, “Melitele be blessed, you’re alive!”

“Should I not be?” Jaskier asked. He tried to sit up on his own and winced when a bright burst of pain flared out from his shoulder.

“The Katakan- You were bleeding so much and I-” Geralt was, as always, at a loss for words. Jaskier waited patiently, still feeling drowsy and half-alive, and allowed the Witcher to gather his thoughts. His neck ached and his left arm tingled fiercely every time he tried to flex his hand on that side. 

“Did it… Am I a vampire now?” he asked. The absurdity of the question broke Geralt from his confusion.

“No,” the Witcher answered swiftly. “You’re still very mortal-” a hand swept through Jaskier’s hair, calming him further “-And unfortunately still very fragile.”

“Are you going to beat yourself up over this for the next week and somehow twist it around until it’s all your fault?”

“Hmm,” Geralt looked away. Jaskier was still being held so very tenderly in his arms, laid across the Witcher’s lap like some kind of swooning maiden. He rather liked how close he was to Geralt and hoped to stay that way for just a little longer. The Witcher surprised them both by letting a full sentence slip into the air between them, “I don’t like seeing you hurt, Jaskier, especially not when… when I was close enough that I could have prevented it from happening at all.”

“Your medallion didn’t give you any hints about this thing back at the inn when I was talking to him? He seemed completely normal, if a little monosyllabic. I’m used to monosyllabic, anyway,” the bard joked, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. It didn’t work; Geralt lifted his head and stared into the fire, his brow already furrowed as he slipped into his private realm of self-loathing. Jaskier was still laying across his lap, his neck and shoulder giving off pulsing aches with every beat of his heart. 

Eventually the Witcher spoke again, his voice low and full of frustration. “Katakans are different, they don’t- they don’t set off my medallion the way other creatures do, and they can disguise themselves as people. They can move and talk like people; you saw it transform.”

“I did,” Jaskier grimaced. “And it wanted me to sing while it drank my blood.”

“You didn’t do very much singing,” the Witcher grumbled. “You screamed twice and fainted. It nearly dropped you.”

“If I remember correctly,” the bard smiled playfully, “Someone said my singing was too pretty for me to die.”

“Hmm.”

“It was you, Geralt. You said that.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier tried to sit up again and nearly passed out from the pain that screamed through the entire left side of his body. “I- Geralt, I-”

“What’s wrong, Julek?” the Witcher asked, adjusting the bard until he was more comfortably enclosed in Geralt’s arms, his back leaning against one of Geralt’s bent legs for support. Geralt’s other leg was straightened out before him and Jaskier let his calves fall atop the Witcher’s thick thighs. They looked like a painting, with Jaskier reclined as he was and Geralt looking at him like that.  

“Everything hurts, dear heart. My whole left side feels aflame.”

“It’ll burn like that for a day or so,” Geralt shushed him. “You bled quite a lot, you were bitten, and you hit the ground pretty hard.”

“You didn’t catch me?”

“I was a little busy beheading your attacker and keeping you from becoming a member of the undead,” Geralt scoffed. “Pardon me for not carrying you to safety first.”

“Well since you let me get injured, you have to kiss it better to gain your pardon,” the bard insisted. Geralt’s eyes widened comically and his hand clenched where it was resting on Jaskier’s lower back. 

“It’ll- It would hurt if I kissed your wound,” Geralt replied shakily, trying to escape while he still could. Jaskier wasn’t about to let him. Not again.

“Then you’ll just have to kiss my lips instead.”

“Jaskier?”

“Hush, Geralt. I know how you feel about me, and I feel much the same about you. Let’s skip the words bit, because I know that’s not your favorite, and get right to the kissing.”

“Oh, uh...” The Witcher allowed himself to smile. It was a soft, nervous thing but it made his eyes crinkle at the corners and Jaskier felt himself fall even further in love with his darling Geralt. “Alright.”

Geralt cupped the back of Jaskier’s head carefully, tilting his own chin down, and brought their lips together slowly. The bard’s lips were soft and plush and warm beneath his own, giving just slightly but not wilting beneath his touch. It was better than anything he could have imagined. When they pulled apart, Jaskier frowned. 

“Was it bad?” Geralt asked automatically, more nervous than he had ever been with another lover. 

“No,” Jaskier shook his head. “I just don’t think I’m healed yet. I may require another. Or several more.”

“Well, if the patient thinks it’s necessary,” Geralt grinned, leaning forward again. Jaskier pulled himself up a little to meet him, ignoring the lances of hurt in his arm. “I suppose...”