#Prompt 9

[madmarsii]

Wolf and Little Goat

June of Doom 2025 | 9. Hammer

---

“You heard the story, right?” Whumper circled around Whumpee, swinging the hammer playfully. “About the baby goats?”

Whumpee sank deeper into the corner. He didn’t dare to breathe. Didn’t dare to look up.”

“Mother told them not to open the door to strangers. But they didn’t listen. Do you know who was waiting outside?”

Whumpee whimpered, curling in on himself, shoulders hunched like he could somehow disappear into his own body. Every beat of his heart slammed against his ribs, frantic, deafening—a terrified drumroll building toward a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. His breath caught in his throat as Whumper strode closer, his heart hammered faster and faster, so much so Whumpee hoped it might stop and spare him of what was about to come

“A wolf.”

Whumper smiled, his mouth full of sharp teeth. He moved closer to Whumpee, grabbed his wrist and yanked him to the middle of the shed.

Then came the blow, sudden and brutal. Whumpee didn’t even register the swing before agony exploded in his ankle. A white-hot burst of anguish shot through him, short-circuiting his senses. His vision blacked out, then flashed blindingly white as he screamed.

Pain.

This much pain will surely kill him.

“I told you not to run.”

Whumper’s words were in haze.

“I told you there would be consequences—but you had to be just like another baby goat, right?”

Whumpee couldn’t breathe. The pain was overwhelming. Monstrous.

“But we can play this game. Look,” Whumper grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head to the side. “Do you see that box? There’s wolf waiting inside.”

“Please,” Whumpee choked. “No.”

Whumper smiled again, his beastly teeth catching what little light there was . “You should run, little goat.”

---

I only took a little part of the prompt, but the story wanted it that way. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless <3

@juneofdoom

[alphieshplife]

Amortentia - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 138

“Merlin, why does the whole classroom smell like your idiot mutt boyfriend, Sirius?” Regulus demands, sauntering into the room like he owns the place. “What did he do, come in and spray everywhere?”

Any other time, Sirius would be infuriated by the ‘mutt’ comment. This time, there’s something a touch more important he needs to address. “Reg…I’m brewing Amortentia.”

Regulus stops in his tracks “...Oh.” At least he has the decency to look embarrassed. 

“Reggie, are you in love with my boyfriend?” Sirius teases. A part of him wants to be angry, but he has a hard time feeling anything but amused, and maybe a little sorry for his baby brother. Unrequited love sucks. 

Rather than answer, though, Regulus turns on his hell and leaves quicker than he’d walked in. Sirius can’t seem to stop himself from laughing.

[strawberrybasilsorbet]

Jilytober Day 9

Finished this @jilytoberfest story a little late again! This microfic went in a darker/sadder direction than I expected (CW for funeral planning), but I really like it. Hope you enjoy!

October 9th Prompt: "You literally checked your phone 3 seconds ago"

"Sirius Black."

Lily picked at her roast beef. James bounced his leg, looking at the mirror in his palm.

"Sirius Black. Padfoot. Sirius Bl—"

"He said that he'd call you when he got home," said Lily. "James, the food is getting cold."

Lily, her fiancé, and the spectre of Sirius Black sat in the kitchen of her three-room flat, allegedly eating supper. The man himself was off someplace in London, sneaking into his brother's funeral.

After a pause, James turned to face the table, setting the mirror upright against his glass. He spooned some potatoes onto his plate and took a bite. "It's good," he said.

"Thanks." And they fell again into uneasy silence.

There had been no announcement in the Prophet, but — through some pure-blood whisper network that was opaque to Lily — the Prewett brothers had heard. A small service, family only. Closed casket.

Sirius had claimed to be looking for an answer: whether his brother's body had simply been mutilated beyond repair, or whether the rumors were true, and the House of Black hadn't been able to recover a body at all.

James hadn't wanted him to go. He was convinced that Sirius's Death Eater cousins would discover and attack him, and had told him so, repeatedly. When this line of persuasion had failed, James had tried to insist on coming along as backup, but Sirius had refused. He hadn't given a reason.

Out of options, James had insisted that Sirius take the Cloak, at least. An invisible man would be less conspicuous than a giant dog, and in this rain, it was likely that at least part of the ceremony would be indoors.

"Sirius Black."

"James, you literally checked the mirror three seconds ago."

"But what if—"

"Sirius is a grown-up," Lily snapped. "He told you he'd call when he can."

James gave the clock on the wall a pointed look. "Lily, it's been four hours."

"Maybe the funeral's not over yet."

"It's after six."

"Maybe he needs a minute, James!"

James stiffened, snapping his face back toward Lily. At least he'd stopped bouncing his damn leg. "What the hell is your problem?"

"I haven't got a problem. You're being ridiculous."

James gave her a long look. "Fine," he said. Then, deliberately, he turned his back on her. "Sirius Black."

Lily shoved her plate away, stood, and stomped out of the kitchen.

She didn't understand why she was so upset. Lily had never even spoken to Regulus Black. If it weren't for his distinctive resemblance to his brother, Lily might never have noticed him in school at all. He'd been skinnier than Sirius, and he'd had a gaunter face  — but with his dark hair and gray eyes, the resemblance between Regulus and his estranged brother had been as plain as the resemblance of the gibbous moon to the full. (Tuney had always been thin).

Lily dragged her hands over her face and took a deep breath through her nose. She counted to four, held it, then breathed out again, as Alice Longbottom had taught her after that battle when a curse had nearly ripped open her torso.

(Tuney had always been thin. It was the one thing she'd always been able to lord over her talented, popular sister, leaving magazines open to photos of Twiggy and boasting about her dress size.)

Sirius hadn't spoken to his brother since he'd finished school, more than a year ago. Lily hadn't spoken to her sister in at least as long. Petunia's invitation to her wedding had been returned, unopened.

And her fiancé hadn't understood. You don't deserve to be treated like this, James had said firmly, gently, as he'd held her against his chest. Lily had been crying her eyes out, clutching the sealed envelope. Your family is supposed to support you, Lily. They aren't supposed to be cruel.

The worst part hadn't even been his words, but the horrible weight that they had lifted from her heart. The immensity of the comfort — the relief — that she had felt; the warmth, like she had finally found a home.

If James had spoken such poison to Sirius, whose brother was now dead — well. It was no wonder, to Lily, that he did not answer.

A chair scraped in the kitchen, and she heard her fiancé's loud footsteps as he followed her into the sitting room. Lily wasn't surprised. Neither she nor James were the type to let a provocation lie; it was one of the reasons they fit together so well. He had barely entered the room before Lily rounded on him.  

"If the Death Eaters murder me," she spat, "will you invite Petunia to the funeral?"

James stopped dead. He'd entered the room with his mouth open, ready with some argument that Lily had cut off, and his chin bobbed awkwardly as he processed the unexpected question. Like a fish.

"Well?" It was an accusation. "Will you?"

Raindrops tapped against the sitting room window. James stared. Finally, he said, "You aren't going to be murdered."

Lily raised her chin, although it trembled. "I could be."

"You won't."

"But I could be." When they'd buried Edgar Bones and his little children, the service had been in a magical village. Muggle-Repelling Charms had blanketed the entire Wizarding quarter of the town, including the churchyard. "Would she be able to come, even if you did? If I die in this war, James, will my sister even be able to see the grave?"

A bitter hiccough of a laugh escaped her. James tugged on his hair with both hands and closed his eyes. The fight went out of his posture, and he seemed to let out all of his breath at once, like a flag when the wind is gone.

Without a word, James took a few steps toward her, put both of his hands on her waist, and walked her to the sitting room couch. Collapsing into it, he pulled Lily sideways onto his lap, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist. He rested his forehead against her temple, burying his face in her thick red hair.

They listened to the rain.

Lily could not tell how much time had passed before James spoke. "My family are all buried in Godric's Hollow," he said quietly. "It's been half-magical since before the Statute of Secrecy was passed. There are Muggles buried in the graveyard there, too. It wouldn't be like the Boneses."

Lily swallowed. "I didn't think you'd—"

"Noticed?" James took her left hand with his free arm, lacing his fingers through hers. He turned his head to look at the ring there. "I did. But if I'd never known you, I probably wouldn't have."

He squeezed her hand and released it, then turned his face back into her hair. "Anyway," he said, still quiet, "that's probably what we would do. But if you wanted something different—"

"No," Lily cut him off. "No, that's— that's fine."

"Okay," James said. He took a shaky breath, but when he spoke again, his voice was steady. "As far as the rest of it — I don't think Petunia would need an invitation. I imagine she'd be the one writing them."

"She...would?"

"If she were willing," said James. He shrugged. "I think she'd be better at that part than me. Obituaries, flowers."

"You hate Petunia."

"I don't hate her." Lily turned to face him, skepticism in her expression. Behind his glasses, James's hazel eyes were sincere. "I don't. And...and even if I did, I—." He looked down as his voice broke. "I wouldn't do that to you, Lily."

She looked down, too. "Oh."

"I promise. I wouldn't."

"I...I believe you. Thank you." James nodded but did not speak. The rain lulled, and the silence was suddenly unbearable. Lily swallowed. "What...part would you be better at?"

"What?"

"You said my sister would be better at flowers."

James raised his eyebrows. "Tracking down the bastards who'd murdered you."

"Oh. Right."

"Right."

James's left arm was still wrapped tightly around Lily's waist, but with his right, he began to run his hand up and down the side of her body, from her shoulder to her hip and back again. "Lily. It's not the same."

Of course it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same, because Regulus Black had been a pureblood and a bigot and a child of money, and none of it had saved him.

What did Lily and Tuney have?

It was like peering into a cracked mirror. It had been ever since she'd heard. And then, there was Sirius — who was popular and talented, who was different from his family, who'd gone away, who'd been rejected — Sirius, whom she should have been able to connect with, to understand—

And yet.

"The idiot should never have joined in the first place," he'd told Gideon Prewett, tossing his head. "He deserved it." Whether Sirius had been trying to avoid damnation by association, or whether he'd meant every word, Lily could not guess. But the words had been a cold knife in her gut.

She'd really been starting to like Sirius.

"Lily? You're shaking," said James, still running his hand along her side. "What is it?"

She looked away from him. "Tuney wouldn't even come," Lily said in a wobbling voice. "She'd call me a freak and say that I brought it on myself." James said nothing. "You know she would."

He crushed her to his chest. Lily burst into sobs.

James rubbed circles into her shoulders as he rocked her back and forth. Lily took quick, gasping breaths against his chest, soaking the front of his robes with tears and snot. She didn't know if she was wailing for herself or Tuney or James, for Regulus Black or Edgar Bones or Bones's little daughter — didn't know if what she felt was fear or grief, or if it was the childish voice that cried out inside her, had been crying out for years and years, because sisters were supposed to be forever.

"I love you, Lily" James said, his voice choked. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

And they sat, until she'd cried herself out and he'd trailed off and the rain had finally stopped. Still, they did not rise, but held one another in silence.

"James Potter."

They both jumped.

Sirius's voice, emanating from James's pocket, was hoarse. "James Potter." James looked at Lily uncertainly. His eyes were red.

"It's okay," she said, shifting off of his lap and wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Go. Tell him I send my love."

James hesitated for another moment before nodding. He pressed a kiss to Lily's forehead, then stood, taking the mirror from his pocket as he left the room. "What took you so long?" she heard him say, but she could not make out the reply. Both voices grew quiet as James walked further into the kitchen.

Lily looked around the sitting room from her perch on the sofa, not quite lost, not quite found. She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it tightly to her chest.

On the coffee table, there was a vase of flowers. She reached out to touch them, coaxing their petals to open and close beside one another on the stem.

[hetakinkmeme]

Omegaverse itager with alpha Italy and omega Germany trying for a baby. Italy cumming in Germany enough that his stomach feels all nice and full please and thanks ;)

.

[kybercrystals94]

Trusted

Read here on Ao3!

Angstpril 2024 | Day 9 | Prompt 9: Trust Issues

Rated: G | Words: 445 | Summary: The issue of trust…or lack thereof. | Character Focus: Wrecker, Crosshair, Omega 

“Can you hear me? Wrecker?” 

Wrecker groans, the voice - one of his brothers…he can’t tell which one - throbs like a percussion inside his skull. It’s excruciating and soothing all at once. He’s dying, but he’s not alone. He won’t die alone. 

“Stay with me, Wreck, you’re going to be fine,” his brother says. 

His eyes are open, but he only sees darkness, a consuming shroud of a thing. He’s blind, he can’t even see his brother’s face one last time before…

“Dying…” Wrecker croaks. 

His brother scoffs, and he’d know that deprecating sound anywhere. Crosshair. 

“I just told you you’re fine,” Crosshair says, but his voice is reedy. 

“Cross…” Wrecker manages. He reaches out blindly, and thin fingers clasp around his hand, gripping so tight Wrecker wonders if Crosshair thinks it will keep him from falling into the abyss of death. 

“Do you trust me?” Crosshair asks. 

Wrecker swallows around the pain, the fear, the sorrow. He nods, the tiny movement agonizing. 

“Good. Then you’re going to be fine. I promise.” 

Crosshair doesn’t have any sort of cosmic power to keep his word. Wrecker clings to it nonetheless. He trusts his brother to the ends of the galaxy. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Omega curls into Wrecker’s side. She’s grown in the months they’ve been apart. She’s taller, her hair is longer, and her face has lost some of the soft edges that made her look so young. But the light in her eyes has dulled, her expressions have sharpened. She’s seen and experienced things on Tantiss that haunt her and have shaped her. 

“I missed you so much,” Omega whispers. 

Wrecker chuckles brokenly. “I missed you more.”  

Wrecker’s gaze darts to the sniper sleeping in one of the fold down bunks. Almost as soon as Hunter got the Marauder into hyperspace, Crosshair had wilted, as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

The weight of keeping their sister safe.

He’d gotten Omega out of Tantiss when Wrecker and Hunter couldn’t. Omega had given them an abridged version of their escape. She couldn’t have done it without him. Not a chance in sith’s hell. 

“Do you trust him?” Wrecker asks, a rumble of a whisper. He doesn’t have to clarify who. 

Omega twists in his one armed grip, looking up at him so that their eyes meet. “Yes,” she says, her voice soft and confident, no discernible waver of doubt.

Wrecker remembers when he trusted his brother that much, with every last particle in his being. That trust had shattered long ago, but maybe it could be gathered up and rebuilt. Omega trusts him, and Wrecker trusts Omega. Maybe that can be enough for now.

Almost 1/3 of the way through Angstpril! 😱

Prompts Completed:

@the-little-moment (1. Homesick / 4. Longing / 7. Bad Dreams)

@just-here-with-my-thoughts (2. Frozen / 5. Self-Surgery / 8. Lost Battle)

KyberCrystals94 (3. Broken-Hearted / 6. This isn't going to work / 9. Trust Issues)

✨Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!✨

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @merkitty49

[blackandwhitebutblue]

@sonofstorms Location: Acoma Prompt 9 ~ Volunteer for Clean-Up

When Dio offered to help out he thought he was going to get sent to the same job from his resume: Certified Baby Dragon Tamer. Maybe a bit too overenthusiastic he offered his services before knowing what was needed. And then after being stuck with trash bags and trash sticks he was sent out onto his assignment. With a huff he lowered his head and started to pick up whatever trash he could see. Not what he wanted but hey he was just happy to be here.

Hugo fell into his sights a few click ahead of him. Dio catching up to put a hand to his waist, a slight grip as he turned him around. "Hey! Hope you're feeling in the domesticated mood." Holding up his supplies. "Want to help me clean up after these folk?" As he waited for an answer he saw someone toss trash on to the ground. Dio swiftly swatted the much bigger than him centaur on the hand. Then held out his bag and pointed with the sharp of the stick. Leading the litterer to grumble but put his trash in the bag.

[chocoblep]

#9: Fireworks and Family

Prompt: Lend an Ear

Lydjana looked up from her book, her grass-green gaze drifting toward the west, where the sun was dipping toward the horizon in a lazy descent. It was a warm afternoon, and Lydi had chosen this spot specifically because the evening light was good for reading–something she’d been doing a lot of lately. It was easy, after all, to lose oneself in a fictional world. There, she could forget that she had troubles, or that she was lonely, or that she was stuck on a project or annoyed with a problem. There, she could have steadfast companions in the characters on the pages, and occupy her mind for a little while with something that wasn’t work.

She tucked her bookmark in between the pages and closed the book, settling back to watch the sunset. She was tucked against one of the low walls near Limsa Lominsa’s anchor yard. At this time of year, it was not uncommon to see fireworks, and as she leaned her head back against the sun-warmed stone, she wondered if tonight would have any to watch. Her mind began to drift toward her latest project–developing effective sleeping capsules for her hand launcher. She had a couple different ones that she’d already made, but they were simply smokescreens. She had to figure out a good inhalable sleeping agent that was quick enough to work with a launcher capsule that wouldn’t put her to sleep in the process. She’d spoken to several alchemists, and while she might have the right formula ready in a few days, in practice it was going to be annoying to test.

“Can I sit here?”

The words pulled her out of her thoughts like a lifeguard yanking her up from underwater, and she gasped in surprise before she realized she recognized the voice.

“Kismet,” she said with a smile, nodding to the spot beside her as she drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped arms around them. “What brings you here?”

“Well, you know, I live around here,” Kismet said with a little laugh, and Lydjana arched a brow at him. “I came into town for a few groceries.” He lifted the brown paper bag for her to see before sitting down next to her. “What brings you here?”

“Needed a change of scenery,” she said, giving a little shrug. “I could only take being alone for so long. I miss having a village to call home, even if I didn’t really fit in there. At least the sense of community was always there in the background, y’know?”

Kismet watched Lydjana as she spoke, reaching up to toy with his lavender braid as his ears twitched. “Have you tried maybe… having a roommate? Or a pet? Someone to just be a companion, or just be around? I know you’ve lived alone for as long as you’ve been out of the Wood, but maybe it would help.”

“Mmn,” she hummed, trying to imagine a roommate in her tiny apartment. “I would have to move. And I… I don’t know, maybe it would help, but I’m not so sure. What if I’m lonely for more than just community?”

Kismet’s lips began to curl up at the corners, and it was then that Lydi knew that she’d said exactly the wrong thing to her cousin. Oh, he was going to make her life miserable, wasn’t he? “Are you thinking of dating, Lydi?” he asked, his voice saccharine sweet as he batted his lashes at her, and she sputtered loudly.

“No! I mean… maybe? I don’t know! I just… I want to be close with someone is all!”

“And maybe get laid?” he asked, which sent her into a coughing fit that was surely the only reason she was turning bright red.

“You know that’s not really on my mind much,” she murmured, but the words were muffled, spoken into her knees as she buried her face there.

“Hey… hey.” She felt him scoot closer, and then the familiar weight of his arm settled on her shoulders. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and full of encouragement. “I think you should. Try dating, that is. Or if you’re really not ready for that, try a roommate. I was miserable when I was alone. Friends? Lovers? They help. You weren’t built to be by yourself.”

“Or a pet, you said?”

“Pets are not as good in some ways, but better in others. If you think an animal companion would help, go for it. Just uhh… Get something that’s not going to kill you.”

“Like a Malboro?”

“Definitely not that. You’ll be the smelliest person I know.”

The pair looked up as fireworks began to dot the horizon in colorful bursts, and Lydi sighed, leaning over to rest her head on Kismet’s shoulder. “Remember when you used to give me rides on your back when you came to my village? And then we’d climb up on the roof of the elder’s house and watch the stars peek through the treetops?”

“I do,” he replied, reaching over with his free hand to lay it on Lydi’s own. “I would hold your hand so you wouldn’t slide off the roof when I made the wind blow the tree branches aside. It was the only way we could see the sky from there.”

“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “And look at the sky, now. Full of color and life. I love being able to see it, just… How massive it is. How small we are in comparison.”

“That’s how I feel when I look at you and your big heart,” Kismet said softly. “You give everything of yourself to make others happy, and you hide so little. And you’re so full of color and life yourself, how could anyone you meet not love you? You just have to put yourself out there and let them.”

Lydjana turned her eyes form the fireworks to her cousin, brushing a bit of ginger hair from her freckled face. She could feel the sting of tears pricking at her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them find the air. “I… Thank you. I’ll try.”

“I know some people, I could talk you up to them,” Kismet offered with a waggle of his brows. “You’d be swimming in suitors before you knew what to do with yourself.”

Lydi just laughed. “No! But thank you for the offer. And thank you for being here with me now, and for listening.”

“Hey, what is family for?” Kismet returned with a shrug, and then rested his cheek atop her head. 

They watched the fireworks in silence for a while, and when they died down and Kismet shifted to get up, Lydi grabbed her book and her satchel, standing with him. They went their separate ways, but now, as she walked alone toward her tiny apartment, her steps didn’t feel so heavy. Maybe she’d start with a pet. Gods knew she wasn’t letting Kismet set her up with anyone.

[fluentfridays]

Prompt #9

What is a food that reminds you of home?

[promptsbytaurie]

prompt #9

"Sometimes it's easier to stay broken."

[siren-darkocean]

Flufftober 2024

Prompt 9 of 31

Prompt - "Don't do that!" - "But...."

Fandom - 2012!TMNT & Bayonetta (this AU was made around the time I got introduced to Bayonetta from playing 3 so sue me)

Rating - Teen and Up

Ship - Slight OC/Leo if you squint

Extra: Hamato Series AU (Aka my 2012!TMNT fic rewrite of the show not only replacing April and her dad with an Latina OC and her fam (because they did April's character so bad I didn't know if I could fix her maybe one day I'll write a remaster with April fixing her) and adding Bayonetta), Spanish/Espanol (probably horrible because I used Google Translate since I don't speak Spanish and my mom who knows it is asleep)

Vega sighed as she lowered the spoon and rubbed her temples with her free hand while muttering some colorful Spanish words under her breath. “Mikey keeps trying to steal the Empanadas I made for myself despite I told him no, docenas de veces!” The Latina Umbran Apprentice explained as Mikey tried to make a reach for the empanadas.

Vega immediately noticed and hit his three-finger hand with the wooden spoon yelling “¡Te dije que no hicieras eso!” Vega yelled at him in Spanish. “But Vega...” Mikey gave the Latina girl his biggest puppy dog eyes he could muster.

Alright after these I got like three, four or five remaining until I'm back on schedule-ish on @flufftober prompts

LET'S GOOOO!

[forthill]

[the-wardens-torch]

FFXIVwrite2024: Lend an Ear

((I wasn't going to do a prompt today but nooo, you had to tempt me with one that I could totally ruin by turning it into a low effort pun.))

Prompt #9, Entry #5

(Masterpost)

Prayer for the Cornservant

Lo! Blessed are we, the children of the corn, for He who hath lent us His ears so that we might hear His gospel. For ours is the legacy of the infinite. Just as each kernel is a seed, each star too is a seed, and each shard of that star a seed in turn. We are all tiny kernels of infinite potential adhered to the holy cob of the great mothercrystal. May She continue to bear us through the cosmos us so that we, Her chosen children, can nourish all of Her creation.

Oh heavenly husks and sanctified stalks Giver of grain glorious and cereal ethereal Maker of the sweet syrup of the kernel eternal Mayest thou bestoweth thy benevolence upon our souls As thou fillest our bellies with thy bounty Mayest thy wisdom grow within our hearts As thine seeds grow within our fields

Stone milled flour of the holy ghost To flame-grilled tortilla of the heavenly host

Amen

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Sicktember #9

Prompt: White Coat Syndrome

Fandom/OCs: Jurassic World (Claire and Owen)

Words: 1700

Inspiration: None

Author’s comments/background: Set before the events of the first Jurassic World movie, a few days after the last fic I wrote for this fandom (read it here if you want). I know this isn’t a super popular fandom, but as I said before, it’s one I know well and can write easily. And guys like Owen are the perfect whumpees in my opinion. 

~~~***~~~

Claire wasn't sure what led her to go check on Owen that evening, except that she had a hunch he might need some help. The Monday after their strange “date”, he didn’t show up for work, and after some digging, she learned he had called in sick. A man like Owen Grady, born and raised in the military, doesn’t call into work for a cold, or for anything short of being near death. He hadn’t been well on Saturday, but it hadn’t seemed like anything alarming. Had he worsened over the rest of the weekend?

Going completely against her character, she actually left work early that day. “I won’t even leave in time to make sure I get dinner at a decent hour, but I’m leaving early to check on some random guy. What does that say about me?” she muttered to herself as she drove over to his bungalow. 

It looked much the same as it had two days prior, though today it had an almost deserted feel. With some trepidation, Claire mounted the steps and knocked. It took several tries before he answered, and when he did she regretted not texting ahead like she’d considered. He was an awful mess, looking sicker than anyone she’d ever seen. He was sweaty and disheveled, and he sagged against the doorframe as if his legs couldn’t hold him, yawning and shirtless and dressed in athletic shorts. Behind him his house was dark with all the blinds drawn, so she couldn’t see what lay beyond. 

“Claire?” he croaked, squinting into the afternoon sunlight, though he stayed as far back from the light as he could. “Whadt are you doi’g here?”

“I heard you were still sick, so I came to check on you. I’m glad I did, because, wow, are you looking horrible. Are you… okay?” 

“I mbean… I’ve been bedder. I wouldn’t have called in if I wasn’t sigck as hell.” He coughed wetly, proving his point. “Did you cumb jusdt to see for yourself, vouch to the bosses thadt I’mb ndot playi’g hooky? 

“I came because I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself. Can I… come in for a minute?”

Owen ran a hand through his tangled hair. “I mbean… thadt’s really ndot ndecessary. I’mb fide. But I guess suidt yourself.” He stood aside to let her brush past. 

“I can see from here that you’re most certainly not fine. You said it yourself, you wouldn’t have called in if you were fine. Here, sit. Or lie down if you want. I’m sorry I got you out of bed. Can I get you anything?”

“Ndo. I told you, I’mb fide. I’mb… I’mb handli’g idt.” He gingerly lowered himself to the couch and lay back as he spoke, pressing a hand to his forehead as if in pain. 

“Nothing? Not even a glass of water? I can run to the store too. Whatever you need.”

“I guess sumb water. Budt you really don’t have to stay. I don’t wandt you to catch this.”

She ignored him and fetched him a tall glass of ice water. He sat up awkwardly, drinking down the liquid as if he hadn’t drunk anything all day. The way the fever sweat was pouring off him, she guessed he probably felt like he hadn’t. She’d brought a clean, dry cloth back with her from the kitchen and sponged off the sweat from his face and neck as he drank, then pressed her palm to his forehead. He was roaring with heat, much warmer than he’d been only a few nights before. He groaned softly as he leaned into her touch. 

“Damn, I should’ve brought a thermometer,” she sighed. “What hurts? You have to have some sort of infection with a fever like that.”

He shrugged, stifling a cough. “Mbainly jusdt mby head. I’ve had the worst splitti’g headache since yesterday. Mby ndose, I guess. Jusdt totally plugged up.” 

“Is there green mucus when you sneeze?”

“Umb… yeah,” he mumbled, embarrassed. 

“And your headache is here?” she gently touched right between his eyes. He nodded miserably, pressing the ice-filled glass to the spot as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Sinus infection,” she said, nodding sagely. “That means antibiotics. C’mon, I’ll drive you to the doctor. I don’t trust you behind the wheel, since I’m sure your head hurts too badly to see straight.”

Owen made a face. “I’ll jusdt ledt idt run idt’s course. I’mb ndot goi’g to the doctor jusdt for a cold.”

“Sinus infection,” Claire corrected. “And yes you are. It’ll take weeks to clear up on its own, if it ever does, and you’ll get worse before you get better. Trust me, the doctor is what you want.”

“Ndo, I really don’t. I’mb fide withoudt,” he insisted, and this time Claire thought she saw a flash of fear in his eyes. 

Claire raised her eyebrows. “Owen Grady, are you afraid of going to the doctor? You are, aren’t you!” she answered herself when he shook his head mutely, his eyes wide. “You’re not afraid of raptors, but you’re afraid of people in white coats?”

He sighed, then coughed wetly, glancing away. “Adt least the raptors would kill mbe fasdt. Doctors poke and prod you until you die a slow, paindful death instead. I had enough of thadt in the service.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she said. “It’ll be a short visit. Just in and out to get a prescription. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. Consider it a second date. We can even get food after, if it’ll make you feel better.”

She had definitely piqued his interest upon mentioning a date, but she saw him continuing to war internally. “You’re sure I ndeed mbedicine?”

“Pretty certain, yeah. And you can’t tell me you aren’t wanting something to help you feel better faster.”

He shrugged as he looked up at her again, and all she saw was nervousness, which when paired with his visible illness made him seem incredibly boyish. “If I go, you’ll stay with mbe?”

“The whole time. If that’s what you want.”

He thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Thed I guess I’ll do idt. Since I can tell you’re ndot goi’g to ledt idt go.”

“Nope, I'm not. So I’m glad you’re being reasonable. Do you need help getting ready?”

She saw a flash of the old, roguish Owen then. “Are you offeri’g?” he asked with a smirk.

“You know what, forget I said anything. You go ahead, and take as long as you need. But try to not collapse while you’re naked, please. Neither of us wants that.”

“Yes mba’am,” came the slightly deflated response.

~~~

The urgent care visit and subsequent pharmacy run were unremarkable. Owen was a ball of anxiety the whole time, fidgeting and agitated. He was brusque and borderline rude to the nurses, even though most of them were very pretty, and Claire watched this transpire with curiosity. The telling moment came when they were taking his blood pressure and pulse, though. 

“Those are both pretty high,” came the verdict from the nurse. She looked at him seriously. “And you're not on any blood pressure meds. Other than your respiratory symptoms, are you feeling okay?”

“I’mb fide, like I keep telli’g everyone. I jusdt don’t wandt to be here,” he spat. 

A look of understanding crossed her face. “Oh, so a case of whitecoat syndrome, then. Got it.” She made a note in his chart, and nothing more was said about it, though Claire gave him a playful nudge when they were alone to try to lighten the mood. He mostly ignored her and stared at his feet, shivering in long sleeves and sweatpants and looking utterly pathetic. 

She could tell he was more than relieved when they pulled into his driveway after all was said and done, and beyond exhausted as well. It seemed like he barely made it to the couch before collapsing, burying his face into a throw pillow. 

Claire bustled around, setting things down and fetching him water and medicine as she listened to him sniffle and cough endlessly. Finally she perched on the edge of the couch and rubbed his back to get his attention. He turned to meet her eyes, his own heavy-lidded and fever-bright. 

“Just take this medicine and drink a glass of water, and then I’ll let you sleep,” she promised. 

He took the items and did as he was instructed before settling down again. Claire continued to stroke his back for a bit, and his eyes slipped closed under her touch. After a few moments she stood and stretched. 

“Are you leavi’g?” he croaked, opening his eyes as soon as her hand was gone.

“I guess so. You should get some sleep, and so should I. It’s getting late.”

His face fell. “Oh. Okay.”

“What? There’s nothing else I can do for you right now. We got everything you need at the pharmacy. There’s no reason for me to stay.”

“Can you… adt leasdt stay until I fall asleebp?” he asked, boyish and shy again. He wondered if he was doing that intentionally, because it was very effective. 

“And why would I do that?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe, echoing their exchange from a few nights prior with a smirk.

He clearly remembered, and smiled back. “Idt’s jusdt… you prombised you’d be with mbe every stebp of the way. The ndight’s ndot over yedt.”

Claire shook her head, still smiling. “So I did. Okay. Until you fall asleep, then.”

“Will you rub mby bagck again? Thadt feldt so good,” came the final congested request. 

“Give an inch and he asks for a mile," she laughed. "Fine, scoot over a bit, then.”

Owen eagerly complied, closing his eyes again as soon as Claire resumed scratching and rubbing his back. 

“Do you thingk you’ll cumb bagck tomorrow?” he asked sleepily after a few moments. 

“Maybe. We’ll see. If you play your cards right.”

“Thed I hope I gedt the besdt damn hand ever.”

Claire smiled to herself, and so did Owen. In fact, he fell asleep with a smile on his face. She kept rubbing his back, though, and didn’t move for a long time. 

[kybercrystals94]

The Depth of Shadows

By KyberCrystal94

Read on Ao3 here!

Whumptober 2023|Day 9|Prompt 9: “You’re a liar.”

Bad Things Happen Bingo| Prompt: Betrayal

Rating: G

Words: 626

Summary: Sequel to “I Won’t Hate You”…Crosshair struggles with memories of the chip.

Before, he felt like a shadow, the absence of light, a shape that moved in tandem with its caster. He felt stretched and ominous...enslaved.

Oppressed.

Weak.

Good soldiers follow orders.

And while he became imprisoned, his brothers walked away from the chip’s influence, minds strong and adamant against it. Even Echo. A reg. Though, perhaps, the Techno Union’s kriffing around in his head helped with that.

But Crosshair was weak. Is weak. And he became a shadow cast by the Empire.

Good soldiers follow orders.

The mantra still haunts him, taunting him, again and again and again in his mind. Good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders...His brothers hadn’t heard, hadn’t understood, hadn’t listened. Crosshair tried to tell them, warn them, goad them into staying. But they left. They left him. But they went back for her.

“She’s one of us. We’re not leaving her there.”

Hunter said that a lifetime ago. Crosshair had thought at the time that he was one of the collective, one of them. That he would not be left behind; however, he should have known there were conditions, a limit to the loyalty of a brother.

Liar, Hunter. You’re a liar. You left me! I needed you, and you left me!

“What are you thinking about?” Omega asks, her soft voice screaming into the abyss of his dark, circling thoughts.

Crosshair doesn’t look at the clone child. “None of your business.”

“I know,” Omega agrees, “but you can still talk about it if it would help you feel better.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“I didn’t say I could help you,” Omega says.

“It was implied,” Crosshair hisses.

Omega rolls her eyes. “Fine. Don’t talk about it.”

They sit in stoney silence, side by side on the cot. Crosshair wants to be angry, to hold the bitterness of abandonment against the child at his side; however, she truly is innocent. She asked them to leave, she never asked them to come back, or to leave Crosshair behind. It isn’t her fault. It never was. “I know what you are going to do, but please don’t…I know it’s not your fault. You can’t help it.” Her words in the Kaminoan holding cell, a wistful almost hopeless plea against the inevitable.

“You knew about the chips…” Crosshair says.

“Yes,” Omega agrees.

“You knew mine had activated, when we came back for you on Kamino.”

Omega looks up at him, nods, but says nothing.

“Did you tell the others?” Crosshair asks.

Omega watches his face for a moment, as though gauging how her words might make him react. “After we left Kamino…we didn’t have time before. Not without being overheard. But Tech made a device to find the chip,” her voice catches on Tech’s name, but she presses on bravely, “he never said so, but I know he made it to help you. And Hunter felt so guilty leaving you behind. Wrecker would tell me stories, and Echo wanted to help other clones escape the chip too.”

“But they thought it was me that turned against them, before you told them it was the chip,” Crosshair says, deadpan, emotions carefully hidden.

Omega frowns and blinks. “Is that what you were thinking about? About them leaving you?”

“It’s all I’ve thought about,” Crosshair hisses. “Being betrayed by your squad doesn’t sit well with most soldiers.”

“The Empire betrayed you,” Omega counters, “The Empire betrayed all of us. And as soon as we found out you had turned on the Empire, we tried to come for you. And if our brothers are still out there, they won’t stop trying until they’ve found both of us.”

And for a shadow of a moment, Crosshair almost believes her.

END

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[chocoblep]

#9: Scars

M’rath stretched out on top of the coverlet on his belly, his hands linked below his cheek. There was a familiar weight on the bed next to his waist; his chief of staff, gently seated on the bed’s edge.

“Did you ever think that it would turn out like this?” The half-hyur was tracing his bare fingertips over Rath’s exposed back, each delicate touch a reminder of the scar that lay beneath it. There were many of them; a network of mostly faded stripes that he’d had since his teenage years. Before Illian had discovered them, they had been much more visible, and even the twisting snake tattoo that ran up the length of his spine and curled along his back wasn’t enough to hide them from a casual glance.

But Illian, bless his big, beautiful heart, had developed a concoction that had, over the years, minimized the appearance of the scars so that they only glinted faintly in certain light conditions, and otherwise stayed mostly invisible but for the slightest difference in smoothness where scar met unmarred flesh. And he’d done it without provocation, on the premise that it wasn’t right that he had to bear those stripes for all these years for no other reason than that his master had decided he needed them when he was young.

He’d even told Illian what had happened to his old master, what he’d done to secure his own life. What he’d promised himself would never come to pass again, for him or for those he cared for. And the man had only gathered him into his arms in the privacy of his own quarters and told him in no uncertain terms that he was the strongest man he’d ever met.

Willful, perhaps. Cruel, at times. Angry, jaded, and weary, often. But strong? Please, he’d said. It’s unbecoming to lie to a man like that. But it wasn’t a lie. He’d known that when Illian had opened his mind to him. It had baffled him then, and it still baffled him now.

“My scars?” M’rath murmured, turning his head so that his other cheek rested on his hands and his particolored eyes regarded the man next to him. “No. I knew they would fade with age, but I never imagined that a smart man might try to make them disappear altogether.” A lazy smile pulled at his lips as Illian snorted and reached for the pot of cream on his bedside table.

“A smart man might have avoided you,” Illian said, blue eyes focused on Rath’s shoulders. “I am not a smart man. And that was not what I was referring to, anyway. I meant this. All of this.”

“All of this?” Rath echoed. “No. Everything that has happened up to this point has been a mixture of luck and circumstance.”

“Mmmn, I will respectfully agree to disagree.”

“How else do you explain a loyal staff? If anything, that is your doing, not mine.”

“Is it?” Illian asked, and Rath hissed briefly as he felt the cold cream make contact with his back. “If I were to ask any one of your staff why they are loyal to you, they would give me three answers: Good pay, good living conditions, and a good heart. You pulled most of them out of very bad situations. Why would they not adore you?”

“They don’t know what I can do, or what I do in the places they are not allowed to wander.”

“I do. I still don’t think you are the monster you make yourself out to be when you look in the mirror.” 

The feeling of Illian’s hands rubbing the cream into his skin has his eyes drifting closed and his tail settling finally against his thigh with naught but a lazy flick of the tip every now and again. When his voice sounded, it was tired. “Well, you’re welcome to think what you think. Not a smart man, indeed.”

Rath made a sound as Illian smacked him between the shoulderblades, and then laughed.

[oswsfandomchallenge]

For prompt number nine, we're going with a classic. This one never gets old, right?

prompt #9:

❄️ Fake Relationship ❄️