#self-doubt

[kasagia]

I alone can see your light

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/Darkling x fem!sun summoner!princess! reader Summary: The Sun Summoner turns out to be you - the princess of Ravka, who wants nothing to do with her powers or being a Saint. General Kirigan intends to change your mind about yourself and wipe out all your doubts. Requested by: anonymous ; I hope you will like it!!! 🖤🖤🖤🖤 Warning(s): uncertainty, shyness, self-doubt on 1000 level, suspecting manipulation Taglist for Darkling: @aoi-targaryen @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat @meadowshelby Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist

The first time you see General Kirigan is at your 20th birthday ball.

Or rather this is the first time you actually talk to him, rather than seeing him walk through the Grand Palace like one of his shadows or sneaking back to the Little Palace after returning from one of his campaigns.

"Moya tsarevna." He greets you. His tone of voice is… like you remember when he gave many speeches. Dark, silky, pleasant to listen to, you're sure many have fallen for him just because of the way he spoke to them. "Happy Birthday. May the saints watch over you."

He bows to you when it is his turn to approach your throne. Or rather, the small dais with the chair that your father so generously offered you for your birthday.

In any case, this gives you the perfect opportunity to take a good look at him. You find exactly what most people who have encountered him have described to you.

Self-possessed and mysterious, with eyes so dark and unreadable that they could be an extension of the fold his ancestor had created. Well-built, with sharp features, the embodiment of control and power. Even without his black kefta, you would know who was standing before you.

Sure, you'd had some impressions of him before. You had eyes like most people in the capital, and you'd seen how handsome he was. But he was also dangerously powerful.

The kind of man you ran from. The kind you should have run from.

But you don't.

"Thank you, General." You say as he steps closer to hand you his gift.

You smile politely, offering him your hand, on which he places a kiss. And in the moment when his lips meet your skin something changes.

A shiver runs down your palm, down your spine, and into your core. Something strange comes to life beneath your skin, some burning energy you've never felt before. You frown, quickly hiding your emotions behind a polite smile, not noticing the general's calm, collected facade momentarily break.

Your heart beats like crazy and your breath catches for a moment as the intense gaze of his eyes falls on you. And you see curiosity in them. Interest. In you.

"You would do us a great pleasure if you honoured us with your presence at the next Winter Fete." He adds, prolonging your conversation a bit.

Your heart immediately speeds up at the thought of participating in another farce for your father – the Tsar. You give him a polite smile, noticing from the corner of your eye the Kerch ambassador heading your way with his own wishes.

"I can't promise anything. I'm often away from the palace during this time, as you're well aware, General." You answer, referring to the numerous social activities your parents sent you to at that time.

"Anyway, I hope you will enjoy your gift and birthday. Once again, best wishes, moya tsarevna."

His watchful gaze leaves you only when another guest comes to wish you well. And even many hours later, when the ball is in full swing, you can't shake the feeling of being watched…

Little did you know that this little meeting between you would change your future by 180 degrees.

You lean against the wall, sipping champagne in celebration of your father's birthday. You hated all these formal gatherings. You planned to run away from here as fast as you could, to retreat back to your chambers or your private library; you weren't sure yet.

At least you had that intention until he walked up to you.

"Moya tsarevna." General Kirigan's voice echoes behind you as you eat the sweet treats the waiter brings. You quickly swallow the chocolate, momentarily lamenting the fact that you can't savour it properly, and turn to face the Black General. "Welcome back."

“General.” You nod and offer him your hand with a soft smile. He takes his time, placing a kiss on your knuckles—always gallant and considerate of you and your family. "I trust the Little Palace is in even better condition than when I left. I believe you have recently expanded the west wing for the little Grisha?"

You see the slight quiver of his eyebrows as he tries to keep his neutral face. But you could notice through this small gesture that he was shocked that you remembered something like that.

Most of your family, all of the royals, in fact, didn't put much stock in social matters, and certainly not in anything that concerned Grisha. As a princess with two brothers, you knew what it was like to feel excluded, less important. That's why you were sure to show support and attention to all those your father had come to despise and neglect.

"Indeed, Princess. It's kind of you to remember that. And to dedicate some of your resources to this cause. I can't express my gratitude enough."

"It's a pleasure to help a little for a great cause." You answer shyly, barely able to stand the intense gaze of his dark eyes.

You weren't intimidated by him; of course he was a dangerous, strong man, and you knew his capabilities perfectly well, but... you noticed more how breathtakingly handsome he was. Which was definitely not befitting a princess like you.

"Probably almost as much of a pleasure as seeing you here." You're glad you let Genya put a little more powder on you than usual. Maybe it at least covered your little blush. "We missed you at the Winter Fete. I was secretly hoping you'd come…"

"As charming as always." You comment nonchalantly, pretending his words didn’t make the slightest impression on you. “The orphans in Karemzin were waiting for my visit… or rather, for the gifts and money I was supposed to bring. I couldn’t let them down, General Kirigan, could I?”

"Of course not. But I strongly believe the Grisha here would enjoy your presence as well... maybe a little more than the orphans of Karemzin." He says and leans towards you.

You hold your breath as he gently wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb – probably wiping away a remnant of the chocolate dessert you had eaten earlier. You don't know if it's from the suddenness of his action, the surprise, or the outrage at his audacity, but you stand there, frozen in place as he licks the chocolate off his finger, looking you straight in the eye. You clear your throat and turn your gaze away from him to the dancing couples in front of you, but he doesn't give up.

“I assure you, princess, there are only a few people in this court to whom I am so… charming so willingly.” He whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Before you or the General can say anything more, one of your mother's ladies-in-waiting approaches you to take you back to the Queen, to fulfill her duty as a princess and stand beside her family as they toast another successful year of your father's rule.

Standing with a glass of champagne a comfortable distance from your parents' throne, your gaze wanders over the crowd. And you almost blush as you catch the eye of a certain general.

If you had known that your absence of several weeks, due to visiting orphanages and doing charity work, would make the Shadow Summoner so interested in you, you would have left sooner.

You're not entirely sure when his strange fascination with you began.

Not that you weren't flattered by that or not interested in him. It was obvious that he was undeniably handsome, that all the ladies-in-waiting were whispering about how attractive and magnetic the Second Army general was. But it wasn't his looks that attracted you to him, or at least you want to believe that.

No, it was something about the way he spoke, the way he made sure his Grisha were well cared for, the way he looked after each of his men no matter how useful they were to his army. He was gallant, charming, and cunning.

He knew the language of diplomacy as well as force and brutality, and while he was certainly much older than you (you couldn't quite remember when exactly he had succeeded his father in that position), you felt something for him that went beyond mild admiration. Something that was far from decent.

It made you wonder what had caused such a sudden change in him. What had caused him to go from indifference and ignorance towards you – something that so many did, considering you were just a princess – to actively seeking you out at parties, even asking for your presence at events he attended?

And that wasn't all. There were letters, too. At first, just informing you of certain actions of the Second Army, or your escort to certain parts of Ravka. Later, they turned into questions about your opinions on matters that concerned the court and Grisha, and later... less formal... the kind you wouldn't dare show your most trusted maids.

Not to mention the gifts. One moment you were missing your coat; the next day Genya brought you one specially made for you from the material that was used to make Grisha keftas. Did you lose your earrings? An hour later David – one of Kirigan's Grisha – gave you an entire collection of jewels that you adored and which were not necessarily Lantsov dynasty. Or the fact that ever since your birthday gala, it seemed like everywhere you went, you saw someone from his Oprichniki or the Grisha. It was, to say the least, odd.

In your thoughts about the general, you completely miss the moment when the suspicious man pushes through the crowd of people, reaches your father, and puts a dagger to his throat, especially since the man behind you turns out to be not a guard at all but an assassin. In an instant, you land with the trigger of the gun at your neck. Your eyes wander to your parents. Grisha and the soldiers of the Second Army push through the fleeing and screaming nobility, but all you can hear is the movement of the hand of the man holding you as he pulls the trigger.

You close your eyes, waiting for the bullet to pierce your throat, but all you feel is someone pulling on your arm. You open your eyes, meeting the dark, anger- and fear-clouded irises of the general, when suddenly, a beam of bright white light explodes around you, blinding everyone, including yourself.

The last thing you remember before you passed out from exhaustion were the dark eyes of General Kirigan, who had caught you at the last moment. And the screams of the people.

Sun Summoner.

You knelt by the fireplace in your chamber, your hands trembling in your lap. The events of the last hour flashed through your mind again.

Sun Summoner.

That's what Genya called you after you woke up. You shudder as you remember the look she gave you. Like you were their saviour. Like you were suddenly going to magically fix Ravka and unite the Grisha with its inhabitants. Bring peace to the world.

You dismissed the redhead under some pretext and locked yourself in your room, not wanting to see anyone. You knew you should be planning, immediately thinking of what to do next or plan your escape, but for a moment... for a moment you had to be alone with your thoughts.

You shift your gaze from the fire to your hands. Hands that killed Fjerda's soldiers, hands that were likely meant to bring even more suffering. Panicking, you notice they are beginning to glow again. You hold them tightly to your chest and repeat the mantra that has allowed you to suppress your abilities all these years.

Feel nothing. You can't fear. Fear will kill you. Fear will destroy you. They will cast you out. Once they know what a threat you are to them, how easily you let your control slip, they throw you out. You will be a Heretic, not a Saint. A threat. A plague. A bane.

A knock on the door tears you from your thoughts.

"Moya tsarevna?" You take a few deep breaths as General Kirigan's voice stops you from shaking. You bite your fist and let out a shaky breath to calm yourself down. Or at least pretend like nothing's wrong with you.

"I want to be alone." You respond, gathering all the strength you have to keep your voice from shaking.

The silence after your words allows you to believe for a moment that you have managed to drive him away for a while. Unfortunately, General Kirigan is anything but compliant.

"I'm back from meeting with your father - the Tsar. I have... some updates I need to give you, Princess." You bite your lip, weighing your options. You know he won't leave until he gives you the message. And you just want to be alone. "Please. It won't take long."

You wrap yourself in a blanket, trying to maintain the last remnants of decency and composure. You wipe the tears from your cheeks, take a quick look at yourself in the mirror and fix your hair before you open the door to your room.

It always shocked you how the general managed to maintain his... flawless, intimidating appearance. Even today's attack hadn't ruffled the material of his kefta, and his hair was still in absurdly intact, perfect condition. He looked like he had just returned from Genya's magical appearance-enhancing services, not after a long, stressful day of searching for the remaining Fjerdans and dealing with your... predicament.

"Therefore, the Tsar and I have concluded that it would be best for you to spend some time in the Little Palace under my care." You catch the last sentence and almost blush when you realize you've been staring at him instead of listening. Your heart pounds as the meaning of his words sinks in. "Moya tsarevna?"

"I... I'm good here." You respond quickly, inwardly scolding yourself for your stupidity when he raises an eyebrow at you. "Besides, I don't need a training. I... I am not the Saint you are all waiting for. I mean... it was't me. It's not what you all think. If I really was... Then we would have known sooner. It must have been some kind of Fjerda trick. I... I can't be a Sun Summoner." You mumble in a desperate attempt to get out of this situation.

You couldn't be their saint and hero that you read about so many times in your books. It just wasn't you. You couldn't be.

You were a mere princess, a point in history that everyone would forget, supposed to fade safely into the memory of Ravka's history as another in a long list of female names that really meant nothing. And you were fine with that. You were fine within the safety of your chambers and library. You couldn't be…

"May I?" You shiver as he suddenly takes a step towards you and enters your room.

The General takes your hand with incredible gentleness. He gently strokes your hand with the pad of his finger, as if trying to calm your furiously beating heart. You feel nervous, both at his closeness and at the thought that somehow he can assure himself that you are... the one he and his men have been searching for all these years.

But then, his dark eyes meet yours. And for a mere moment you let yourself get bogged down in his gaze, your worries and concerns fading into the background as a warm sense of safety suddenly washes over you.

The longer his skin touches yours, the more you feel confidence, peace, and power flowing into you, which in some strange, indefinable way wants to break through your skin, to sing a melody that will answer his call.

You sigh softly as he pierces your skin with his sharp ring. You try with all your might to keep your power from flowing out, but it proves to be an impossible task. Your powers scream in relief at his proximity. They pull you toward him, causing your room to illuminate with a strong, bright, golden streak of light that flows from you at his call.

You dare to look at him just once before closing your eyes. And when you do, a small, winning smile spreads across his face. In his dark as shadows eyes you see a glimmer of an emotion you don't recognize.

"Looks like you are much more than you claim to be, moya tsarevna."

You're incredibly scared by all of this. Because you know that the moment he finds out you have absolutely no control over your powers, he'll cast you out. Just like your parents did an hour ago when they found out you were a Grisha.

And then, you will be completely alone.

"I've suspected it since your 20th birthday, but now I'm absolutely certain. You're one of us. You're Grisha." You shake your head at his words, pulling your hand from his grip. He frowns as if your reaction was anything but what he expected from you.

"No, I… I don't… you don't understand… this isn't… I'm not who you want me to be. You want a hero. I'm not one, I… I'm just a princess. Nothing you could use…"

"Heroes aren't born. They are made. Every bird needs a little training before it can spread its wings and fly properly. And with a power like yours… with a gift and a blessing like yours, you can't be anything less than great."

He interrupts you, his eyes betraying great agitation, and you shudder at the thought of how he'll want to use your powers…after all, that's what got him interested in you, right? The possibilities that opened up for him with you by his side, the things he could do. You knew that was what he had been after from the start.

That's why it hurt even more. Again, it wasn't about you.

"And die in a great battle or be known for a glorious death like our saints? No. Thank you, General. I am fine here alone, I… I do not want these powers." You say, pulling away from him and keeping your hands close to your chest, as if you were able to hide what he already found out, what everyone in the Palace already found out.

"You are not alone. Never again. You are one of us. You may not want it now, but it is what it is. And that's how it will be." You nod, losing this fight for now.

You no longer had the strength to argue. He would have done what he thought was right anyway. All that was left for you to do was prove how wrong he was.

Besides, your foolish heart had to process the fact that the man before you had no interest in you at all. He only desired your powers in you. And nothing more.

It would be wise if your heart came to the same conclusion as your mind. But perhaps the look of compassion, admiration, and fascination that the Shadow General was giving you now drowned out everything else.

For the past weeks, you couldn't find your place. The Little Palace was... surprisingly more pleasant than the Grand Palace you grew up in, but the feeling of alienation and not belonging to this new community made you spend most of your time in a distant corner of the library, nose deep in a book, hoping that Ivan - the heartrender who was supposed to watch over you on the general's orders - wouldn't find you too soon.

Honestly, the man in the red kefta irritated you more than your family. Which was a huge accomplishment in your opinion.

Today was supposed to be no different than any other day. You were hiding in a corner of the library, wrapped in a blanket with your legs bunched up to make yourself as small as possible on a comfortable couch.

Only this time someone else came to find you.

"Shouldn't you be training with Baghra, moya tsarevna?" You shiver as the general's voice echoes behind you. You put the book you were reading on the table and shift your gaze to him.

For a moment, you felt like a child again when, instead of listening to your governesses about etiquette and the rules of the court, you preferred to run away from Nikolai and hide in the gardens or other corners of the palace. You remember that once you were brave enough to hide in the Black General's chambers. You wonder if Kirigan's father was the same as him.

"She... canceled our class." You respond timidly, coming up with a weak lie on the spot. The role of the liar usually fell to Nikolai…

"Did she now?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at you. You bow your head and look down at your hands, trying to hide your embarrassed blush. You shiver as he suddenly sits down on the couch next to you, but you don't have the courage to face the deep blackness of his eyes again. "Do you like your kefta?"

You glance at the black material of your new kefta, absentmindedly smoothing out the embroidered gold patterns representing the sun and its rays as you take your time to answer him.

"I... it's beautiful. Although, I haven't seen anyone else wear black, General. Well... besides you of course." You reply, playing with the black material. You catch his gaze for a moment, then you grab a book from the coffee table and stand up to put it back on one of many bookshelves.

"Yes... it's a colour reserved only for shadow summoners due to our... uniqueness. Just like you are. I thought it would match perfectly for you. Like calls to like, isn't that right?" He adds jokingly and also stands up to take a few steps towards you.

"I... unfortunately, I'm afraid I'm not who you want me to be. I definitely don't deserve such… special treatment." You voice your concerns with your back turned to him as you thoughtfully trace the leather spine of the book you've put aside with your fingertip.

You know very well how little time you have left here. Baghra will soon discover that you have absolutely no control over your powers and, when the general finds out... there will soon be no room for you in the Little Palace. Maybe it would be better this way. Maybe you should run away before you expose yourself to the burning pain of their disappointment. And especially his disappointment.

You sigh when he unexpectedly places his hand on yours, gaining your attention almost immediately. And holy Saints above, it was so easy to just lose yourself in his attentive, warm, non-judgmental gaze.

You stand by the bookshelf, not daring to move an inch from your spot. When his skin touches yours again, you feel that familiar feeling of warmth spreading through you.

"I have been waiting a long time for you, moya tsarevna. All of us did. But believe me, I doubt you will be able to disappoint me. Unless you perpetually avoid your lessons with Baghra." You bite your lip, not wanting to ruin the moment between you with your snort of amusement.

"She's... specific."

“I guess that’s a more gentle way to call her.” He laughs at your careful choice of words. For a moment he traces patterns on your palm, thinking hard about something. “You will practice with me. Once a week, in the evenings in my office. I will personally see to it that you… do not miss these lessons.”

"No. This isn't necessary. I'm sure you have more important things than this." You respond quickly, panicking internally. You alone with him in his chambers… your poor heart can't take it.

"Nothing is more important than you." His response is as quick as yours, decisive - definitively killing any attempts you make to gently reject his proposal. And for a moment, for one brief moment, you allow yourself to believe your foolish heart that it's because he cares about you more than he cares about your powers. "Right now you are the most important thing for me... and for Ravka and for all of us. You should start to get used to it, moya tsarevna."

He mumbles and pulls your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your skin. Another thing that set him apart from the rest. Everyone else kissed the Lantsov ring on your finger. He avoided it like the plague, instead caressing your skin.

But it was just a game, right? So why did you feel like a heroine from one of those romance novels you shamefully read? Why did your heart beat faster every time he appeared next to you, to guide you through all the Grisha customs you didn't know yet? Why did it feel so real when it was supposed to be fake and a game from the start?

You knew the court games, the toying with women's hearts by meaner men, and even the dirty tricks ladies used to win the hearts of their chosen partners. But never... never had anyone shown you such ardent, deceptive, genuine interest and respect as he had for you.

So how much of this was a game, an attempt to keep you in line, and how much of it was the general's true heart revealed only for your eyes? How much of his gentleness was genuine, and how much was a show to inspire in you the trust he needed?

How much of this was the dirty play allowed in love, and how much was a disgusting deception to benefit himself?

"See you for dinner?"

The way he looks at you, with all the hope he has in you and a kind of adoration that you don't quite know the reason for, makes you able only to nod politely and agree to his plans.

Sure. A dining room full of Grisha. A wonderful time to spend an evening. A dining room where he will also be by your side.

The lump in your throat grows as you realize that now you're more afraid of letting him down than of a sudden outburst of power that you won't be able to control.

You freeze as he leans down to press his soft, plump lips to your forehead. You stand there in a daze, all you can do is stare at him as he bids you goodnight and walks away - presumably to his war room so he can continue planning how to use your powers to finally tame the fold.

You had no idea what kind of spells he cast on you, but it was working. Slowly, you began to fall for the Black General. And you found it both very terrifying and exciting. So much so that for a moment you forget that you are a ticking bomb that no one knows about yet.

A few weeks later, you are on your way to your chambers late at night after a lesson with Baghra. Or rather, torture, judging by the blood dripping from your hands onto the floor of the Little Palace.

You try with what little dignity you have left to hold back the tears as you practically run for the safe walls of your chambers, your mind replaying all the insults the old hag had hurled at you.

A loser. A weakling. A whiner. A failure. A brainless, lazy princess who can't do anything except keep her nose in her books and her mouth shut. Delusional little girl who is able only to live in her fantasy world and would die if she was left alone to face the real world.

You press your bloody hand to your mouth, desperately holding back a sob as you run forward to get to your chambers. And then of course you have to run into someone.

With your luck you don't even have to open your eyes to know who you've collided with. Besides, over the weeks you had learned to recognize his presence just by his scent. (Pathetic and unfortunately true.)

But you look up nonetheless and meet the dark irises of General Kirigan.

And then the dam breaks.

You break down into a full-blown sob, letting him pull you into his arms as he notices the emotional mess you’re in. You cry into the soft material of his dark kefta, holding on tightly as he rocks you in his arms and strokes your hair, ignoring the fact that you’re staining his kefta with both blood and your tears.

After a while of sobbing into the general's chest, you manage to calm down enough to be able to register something around you again, more than the warmth of his arms and the murmur of incomprehensible whispers he spoke to calm you down.

You didn't have to understand his words thogh. The rumbling of his deep voice alone brought you incredible solace - one that was both your salvation and the harbinger of your doom, releasing in you feelings that you shouldn't have for the much more powerful Grisha.

When you calm down enough to realize where you are, you discover that the general has taken you to his private chambers. You pull away from him gently, wiping the tears from your eyes with your hands and feeling even more helpless and smaller than before you cried into him.

How humiliating it must have looked. Princess of Ravka, Summoner of the Sun, crying in the arms of the Black General like a little child.

"I'm not suited for this." You tell him, looking at your hands instead of at him. Your royal signet ring with your family's crest burns your skin like never before. "I'm not a warrior, not a Grisha, not even a leader, I... take this from me. Please. Just take it away from me." You say and raise your watery eyes to him.

"I... you have to understand, princess... we all have our bad days. Don't just give up this... gift. You don't know how many of us would like to wield such power."

You saw the hunger in his eyes, the exact same hunger that was always there alongside the delight whenever he watched the light come from you. You were perfectly aware that he wanted your power. And you were more than willing to give it to him. You were desperate to give it to someone else. Before you hurt anyone with it.

"I know that perfectly well! As well as that I am not the one who should have it. I am not... I will not be your saint." His gaze hardens slightly at your firm statement.

"I have no idea what Baghra told you. I can only promise you that she will pay dearly for it and that everything that came out of her lying mouth was nothing but a poisonous lie. This old woman had long ago forgotten how to be a decent human being. Or at least a human being."

"It doesn't matter, I… she told the truth. Everything everyone in this fucking palace thinks, but doesn't have the courage to tell me to my face. I'm not cut out for this, I can't fight, I'm not one of your soldiers, and I'll be of no use to Ravk or the Durga Army or your Grisha. I'm a princess. The only thing of value is my lineage, the dynasty I belong to, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool."

Kirigan lets go of your hands and stands up from the couch, and from the way shadows began to circle the room and the wrinkles in his forehead, you know that whatever plans he had for you, none of them involved you bucking him. Or the sheer belief in your uselessness.

"Princess..."

"Exactly!" You interrupt him, gathering all your courage and standing up from the couch as well as you glare at him with a stern, cold stare—the same one you’ve seen on him, your parents, and other people so many times. "I am your princess and you are subject to me and my family. You must follow my orders and if I say you must take these... powers from me then that is what you must do, General."

The atmosphere in the room is thick. You know that by playing the princess card, you have most likely destroyed the tentatively building... bond between you. However, you come to the conclusion that you would rather have him hold a grudge and dislike for you than die because one day your power will slip beyond the little control that you had over it.

And though your heart aches with every second he gives you that cold, even hurt look, you know you're doing what's best for yourself, Ravka, Grisha, and even him.

"As you wish, moya tsarevna." An unpleasant shiver runs down your spine as he pronounces the title in a completely different way from the sweet one you were used to. Cold, forced, with a hidden mockery. Just like he addressed your mother, brothers and father. "However, you must know that I must discuss this with the Tsar before... we think of any way to solve your problem."

You can't tell what offended him more - the fact that you took advantage of your higher rank and title, or the fact that you reject this gift of summoning the sun, which he considers sacred.

But what did he expect from you? You didn't belong here. You never did.

When he mockingly bows to you and walks away, you want to call after him and take back your words. But you don't.

You stand frozen in the middle of the room, tears streaming down your heated cheeks as you sink to your knees. You put a hand to your mouth and sob quietly, turning the room into a small beacon as your power once again spirals out of control.

Your eyes hurt from the amount of light you're emitting, but you don't even try to shield them with your hand. You take your pain as some kind of penance for what you're about to do.

You know that your father has no intention of letting you give up your power. Because as much as he despised Grisha, he feared them. He would rather have that power stay with you than fall into "their" hands. That's why there was only one thing you could do.

You run.

After carefully analyzing your situation, you come to the conclusion that running away may not have been as great a solution as you thought.

It's true that you managed to cross the palace walls and even the capital's gates, but now, as you walked alone along the forest path, your courage and morale dropped significantly.

You shiver, holding your coat tighter as the cold air makes your bones feel unpleasantly hot. You should definitely bring the kefta though. It was warmer, with fur, and the material was so nice... You shake your head, tightening your grip on the handle of the oil lamp - the only thing besides the coat you'd stolen from the general's chambers. Your thoughts briefly wander to him as you smell his scent still lingering on the material.

Stupid, naive idiot, you think, walking forward. You have no idea why you cared so much about what he thought. In the past weeks, he could have been your only support in this difficult situation, but you knew that all he cared about was how to use your powers for himself...

The only thing that you couldn't understand was why he was so angry and hurt when you demanded from him to take these powers away from you.

This was the perfect solution for him. He would have all this light that was buzzing under your skin completely for himself. As both the Summoner of Shadows and the Sun he could have done a great things - maybe even taking over all of the Ravka for himself, if not the whole world.

He wouldn't have to deal with your sudden, hysterical emotional outbursts, your lack of any fighting skills, or any of the shit you've been putting him and yourself through these few months.

You were an intellectual, a strategist, not a soldier or a saint. You were a princess—the most useless person in the kingdom. And that was how it was supposed to stay, until he... until he saw you as something more. Someone you weren't at all.

Unless… unless he really cared about you. Not just your powers.

You sigh, shaking your head and walking forward, completely ignoring in your intense thinking that someone was following you. And they weren't soldiers of the First or Second Army at all.

You want to say it came suddenly, that you couldn't possibly have predicted Drüskele's attack, but the truth is you felt something coming. Maybe you simply didn't care about your fate anymore to even try to fight.

The ease with which they capture you is downright embarrassing. Sitting tied up against a tree trunk with a few Fjerda soldiers guarding you, you only reinforce your belief that you shouldn't be the Sun Summoner.

You only regret that you couldn't pass on your power to a general or some other, more capable Grisha.

Because of you, they will have to wait another century for someone who could be able to harness such great power.

As you prepare to die, you don't even consider the possibility that someone will save you. And certainly not that your saviour might be the Black General himself.

Everything around you is happening too fast for you to process it properly. One second your wrists are tied up; the next you feel someone tugging on your ropes as the forest around you is darkened by familiar shadows.

Your survival instincts kick in, and you start to struggle in the arms of someone pulling you away from the shadows you are immersed in. Panicked, you feel your heart pounding in your chest as you desperately try to reach for your light, but all that comes out of you is a tiny ray.

"Don't move, you stupid girl. We haven't chased you for half a month just to have you accidentally die from one of his cuts." Ivan growls dryly in your ear.

You feel him using his powers on you to slow your heart rate, to force you to cooperate and follow him. And while it seemed logical to you to go with him, all you wanted was to get as far away from here as possible – feeling free and in control of your fate for even a short moment.

And then something inside you shifts, like it's falling into place. You scream as pure, unstoppable light bursts out of you. Ivan's grip on you falls away completely, and all you can feel is the warmth washing over you again as your power comes to the surface, as you release everything you've suppressed for so many years.

As if through a wall, the screams of the Fjerdans reach you as you burn them to ash with your light, but you can't stop it. Finally, you lose control, as if to spite them; you want to show them all how dangerous and unstable you are, how they should all stay away from you.

But they aren't. At least not him.

You wonder when exactly you learnt to recognise the General's touch on your skin. You can't seem to remember. But it doesn't matter, not when he gently cups your cheek in his hand, forcing you to open your eyes that you had so tightly squeezed shut and look into his dark irises, so different from the bright light that emanates from you.

He sees you. He hasn't turned away. He doesn't run away. He doesn't look at you like you're a monster or a dangerous weapon that may turn against him.

For the first time, you feel like you have control over your powers, not them over you. When you are sure that no one will attack you again, you retreat. You hide your power, pulling on the beams of light as if they were ordinary string, and coil them deep inside you.

You did it. You controlled it.

"Ivan, see what's left of them and gather those who can still be questioned. We're going home." The general wastes no time in pushing you towards his black horse.

You resist for a moment but eventually allow him to put you on it. You were too exhausted from running and using your powers to ride alone anyway.

His arms wrap around you as he settles behind you and takes the reins in his hands. You shiver as his kefta wraps around you like a blanket, trapping you even tighter in his arms. And strangely, you don’t feel like you’ve lost any of your freedom.

"Cross the walls of the Little Palace without my knowledge once again, and I will order David to bind you to me for eternity." He growls in your ear, tightening his grip on the horse’s reins and pulling you closer into the cage of his arms.

You rest your head on his shoulder, getting used to the feeling of his toned chest against your back. The fabric of his black kefta brushes against your shoulders. It flutters in the wind around you two as he leads the horse into a gallop.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" You whisper, your voice barely higher than the sound of the wind around you. You are surprised that he is able to hear it at all without expecting an answer from him.

"Both."

There's a moment of silence between you, broken only by the pounding of his horse and your breathing. You get the feeling that if you concentrate hard enough, you'll be able to hear the quiet thump of his heart behind you.

One of his hands drops the reins to rest gently on your hip, seemingly steadying you in the saddle as he pulls you closer to him, leaning fully against his body. You swallow and place your hand on his, your finger tracing the edges of the ring he wore on his thumb.

"Do you want me or my powers?" You gather all your courage and ask, taking his hand in yours and placing two fingers on his wrist to feel his pulse.

"If I wanted your powers, would I go through the trouble of teaching you to control them?" He replies after a few seconds of silence. A mocking smile involuntarily spreads across your lips.

"That's not really the answer."

"And you won't get one. For your escape, downright treason, I should personally use the cut on you."

And though his threat should make you tremble in his arms or stimulate your survival instinct to run as far away from him as possible, it doesn't. You know they are just empty words and that he would never do such a thing to you. You were too precious for him, both as his ally and something more...

"That's not how you should address your princess."

"Moya tsarevna… there are many ways I would like to address you… and believe me, most of them do not even border on appropriate."

He grabs your hand and lifts it to press a kiss to your knuckles. Little streaks of light shine through your fingertips at the gesture.

"I'm still not the soldier you want."

"I see that. It was painfully obvious they were following you, only an idiot would not notice. But I have another use for you."

"As your weapon that you can direct and use at your will?" You question him, turning in your saddle so you can take a look at him, hoping to read something from the depth of his dark eyes. And the longer you looked into them, the longer it seemed you were falling down a rabbit hole of adoration for him.

His answer, however, exceeds your wildest expectations.

"As moya tsaritsa."

"But..." You shake your head at his words, not even noticing when he stops his horse.

He cupped your cheeks gently in his rough hands. The cool metal of his ring digging into your delicate skin is reminding you of all the differences between you.

He was rough and hard, chiselled by years of fighting not only your father but also Fjerda and Shu Han – all who would dare to hurt his Grisha. You, on the other hand, were a delicate rose hidden behind the bell jar of the Grand Palace, put on display only to wither in the depths of your cage.

But not anymore. Not since he had spotted you and snatched you away.

"I alone can see your light. I alone know your mind. I saw all of you and I have never turned my back on you. Not like your family or your subjects will when they find out what you are truly capable of. But your power is not all that you are. I was the first to see it. Maybe even the only one. You won't find anyone better than me."

He speaks in a matter-of-fact tone, laying out all the advantages of marrying him, of agreeing to his plan, as if he were discussing military strategy with you. But there’s something in his eyes, a spark that you’ve never seen when he was speaking to his men or negotiating military business with your father.

"Is this your proposal?"

"Is this your consent?"

"You'll have to do a little more than feed me sweet words and gifts to get me to agree to this."

"It's good that we have eternity, my little saint." He mumbles, leaning towards you, giving you a few seconds to push him away from you before he captures your lips in a kiss.

It's gentle at first, testing the waters, caressing your lips with the utmost reverence, as if he were truly touching something sacred. But soon enough he's gripping your waist, pulling you as close to him as he can. He places a hand on the back of your neck and tilts your head so he has better access to your mouth as his tongue delicately tastes you for the first time.

You don't care anymore if this is his plan, if this is his way of making sure you stay on his side. Your heart is pounding as you bask in the glow of attention, of being seen and appreciated, and if you're sinning, then you don't want to be his little saint. You want to be his tsaritsa.

The feeling of his lips against yours, the whisper of your name on his lips between kisses, and the gasps of pleasure as you respond with equal attention and tangle your hands in his hair erase all your doubts.

All you want to feel is his touch on you, his gaze on you, his adulation, devotion, and affection – all the things you've been denied for years. And maybe you're naive; maybe it's not real, but if it isn't... then you don't want to know the truth. What he gives you is enough for you.

That he sees you is enough for you.

[bonkers-4-hatter]

Anon asked: Could you maybe? Do a Willy Wonka x short curvy reader? Where the reader is insecure about her body and height? Just a bunch of fluff? Please ❤️

Of course anon! I wasn’t sure which Wonka to do, so I did the newest version. I hope you enjoy!

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Wonka X !Short !Curvy !Fem Reader: Plump as a Sugarplum 

Why were you feeling like this now? 

After years of working together, helping him run the chocolate factory, brainstorming ideas and ways to improve products. Never did you feel like you do now. You felt confident and so sure, but now...that was all gone.

Now...now you don’t feel as sure, as pretty...not good enough for him...because you fell in love with him...like the fool you were. He hasn’t shown interest in the years of working together. Yes, you have a good work relationship and you’re good friends with the man, but anything past that? If he wanted to pursue something he would’ve and yet here you are in love with the damn choclatier still.

Biting your lip, you looked at your reflection in your bedroom mirror. You’ve always been shorter and more curvatious than most and you were fine with that...were. 

Now it just seemed like an obstacle...in your mind this was why he didn’t pursue anything with you. No matter how many good and positive thoughts you put in your head, they all tumbled out and the only thing left was your stature, your short, curvy body that you used to love being the culpurt to your one-sided love with the chocolatier. 

Sighing in frustruation, you turned away and tried to reset your mind as you dressed for another day of work. You’ll sort your negative thoughts out later, now it was time for business.

--

“Not too much sugarcane! We need exactly three cups for the sugarplums to have that perfect sweet factor.” I remind Lofty as we taste the first batch of sugarplums of the season.

He nods and turns to tell the others in their native language. Turning back to me he grins. “You know, that’s what he calls you.” That setnence caused me to choke on the sugarplum I had in my mouth making Lofty laugh. After pounding my chest and wiping some tears from my eyes I glare down at him.

“He does not! Now you’re just trying to cause trouble.” I feel my round cheeks flush as I sigh and pretend to oversee the other workers. 

“For once, I’m not Y/N, that’s what he calls you, he doesn’t say it in front of you because he’s also stubborn and won’t admit his feelings.” My eyes widen at his statement. 

“I-I don’t-.” Lofty cuts me off with a scoff. “You’re not good at hiding your feelings Y/N, everyone here can see you love the man, except him apparently.” I feel my body slump as I sit down on the groun my soft back against the wall. 

“Lofty...” I sigh and look over at my friend and before I could start my running thoughts, a cheerful voice broke through. 

“Y/N, where’s that smile I like so much? You look positvely miserable right now.” My eyes shot up to see Wonka there a smile on his face, but his eyes showing concern. Clearning my throat I put on my work smile and get up smoothing my skirt. “I’m fine, just venting to a friend is all.” I see his smile drop a fraction as his eyes dart between Lofty and I. “I thought we were friends Y/N, why didn’t you come to me to vent?” I could see his eyes change intensity and before I knew it, he grabbed my hand and started taking me toward his office. Looking back at Lofty, he just stood there with a cheeky grin and waved at me. 

Shutting his office door, he turned to me. “Okay, now vent.” I raised my brow and shook my head. “Willy I’m fine! Look, I have to get back to the sugarplums okay? They’re the first batch of the season and if they turn out wr-.” My rambling was cut short by the chocolatier pulling me close, his arms wrapping around my soft body.

“I don’t care about anything else right now but you Y/N...you’ve changed lately and that scares me.” I feel his arms tighten around my middle. “You’re not laughing as much, the twinkle in your eye is dull and you’ve been hiding.” 

“I-I’m right here-.” He cuts me off. “No Y/N, you’ve been hiding yourself, under these..” He grips the fabric of my overly huge sweater. “These overly big sweaters, it’s not like you! Your bright sundresses, your wacky shirts, the clothing that shows me the real you Y/N! Why are you hiding...you never hid before, it’s not like you.

His words struck something in me as I stood there, wrapped in his embrace. He noticed...but why. Was Lofty right? I hesitantly wrapped my arms around him. He was being vulnerable with me, telling me how he felt, I needed to get this off my chest once and for all, because I was hiding.

“I-I was hiding because of you...I...I love you, more than a friend...more than anything and I-I thought that it was because of my short stature...a-and how curiver...bigger I am than the other women around the city that you never showed interest in me and t-that might still be the case, but I just needed to let you know that.” I let out a sigh of releif after confessing something of that magnitude to him.

He pulls back, cupping my round face in his hands as he looks at me with such a fondness that my cheeks flush at the intensity of his gaze. 

“I guess Lofty was right,” He started. “I was a fool to wait so long to tell my sugarplum how I really felt.” 

“Y-You do call me that...” He let out a laugh and pulled me closer. “I do Y/N...I guess we both were fools huh?” I felt his fingers run themselves through my hair as I relaxed more into his hold. “You’ve always been my sugarplum...your intelect, wit, imagination, you as a person just drew me in. I adore everything about you Y/N...your short stature, your curiver body, it reminds me of a sugarplum: short, sweet, soft and all mine.” His lips captured mine and I knew he could taste the reminants of the sugarplum I sampled earlier as I felt a smirk form on his lips as he deepened the kiss.

[redwoodwrites]

Emotionless Bad Boy Has Emotions, Gasp, We Are Incredibly Surprised

AO3 link

Summary: Donnie doubts whether he actually cares for his brothers or not. Minor meltdown ensues. Leo fixes it.

Donnie burst into the wreck room. “Mikey!”

“Donaldo,” Mikey said. He was sitting on the bottom of the skate ramp, drawing pad resting on his knees, scribbling away with his tongue between his teeth.

Donnie loomed over him, wires stretching from his hands. “I need your brainwaves.”

“Okay!”

Perfect, Mikey was too deep in The Zone to care. Donnie attached the neurofeedback headset around Mikey’s head and began tapping on his vambrace. Two metal arms emerged from his backpack and began taking additional measurements with a series of infrared scanners.

“Baseline established. Now think very deeply about something you cherish.”

Mikey’s smile widened. “I cherish this sketch of Jones and his new puppy. Todd gave him Mr. Shnuffles! Aren’t they adorable together?”

“That’s a matter of op– why are your hands shaking?”

Mikey blinked up at him. “They’re not, though? Look!” He held up his right hand.

Donnies eyes narrowed and another metal arm burst from his battle shell, equipped with a standard ruler (metric system only, of course, he wasn’t a heathen). “The whisps of fur you have drawn around the incomparable Mr. Shnuffles are spaced with a variance of .4 mm instead of your usual .2-.3. Therefore I repeat: Why are your hands shaking?”

Mikey pouted and curled more tightly around his drawing pad. “They’re not shaking! They’re fine!”

Donnie grabbed a wrist and held it up for inspection. “Are you implying my braces are subpar craftsmanship, or did you forget to ice again?”

“I didn’t forget, I’ll do it when I’m done!”

A fourth arm extended with an electronic screen at the end. It was a color-coded schedule with his brother’s faces along the side. Mikey’s row was highlighted. The text beside it read: ICE HANDS –2HR 15MIN.

“HMMMM?!”

“Okay, geez!” Mikey yanked his hand away. “I said I’d ice and I meant it!”

“Ice in ten minutes or I’ll sic Leo on you.”

“Get your wires off me or I’ll hack your ReadIt account and start a canonically inaccurate argument about Atomic Lass.”

“My account requires facial recognition but my scans are complete anyway.”

Donnie removed the headset with a touch more haste than was really necessary and walked briskly towards the kitchen. According to the schedule, Leonardo should be – ah, yes, pouring himself a bowl of Marshmallow Charms and stealing Raph’s entire leftover pizza. Hands full, Leo closed the fridge with his foot and caught sight of Donnie behind it. He grinned, a slice of stolen pizza already in his mouth.

“Gonna snitch, Tellonius?”

“Hardly, I am hear for what little brainwaves you possess.”

“Har, har. Now if you’ll excuse me –”

Leo turned to walk past him. But Donnie had already deployed his battle shell. It dropped from the ceiling, clamped its metal arms around him, and spun him into the nearest chair. Leo shrieked and clutched desperately for the bowl, dropping the pizza.

“Hey hey HEY! Donnie what the shell?”

“Supercilious smirk. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you get your pizza.”

“I – wait, you’re not wearing – let me check your shell!” Leo started squirming, this time in eagerness.

Donnie rolled his eyes and turned his back. The battle shell took the headset out and slipped it over Leo’s head while a second arm made the additional scans. The bottom two arms weren’t really needed as restraints at this point. Donnie settled in a crouch in front of Leo. The self-assigned medic set his bowl aside, free hand already running along the edges of the shell.

“Still springy…plates feel the same…watch that cut, feel it? Here. You might need a new liner on the battle shell. You’re skipping vitamins again, don’t argue, just take them. Anything bothering you?”

“I feel it, I’ll make one, fine, and no. Now think of something you cherish.”

Leo opened his mouth, probably to say something sarcastic, and the battle shell’s third arm shoved a piece of pizza into it. Leo’s eyes lit up and he chewed happily. He leaned back when he was done with the examination. The battle shell removed itself accordingly.

Leo scooped up the bowl of Charms and inspect it for tampering. “Huh. Nada. Must be a pretty important experiment you got going, huh? Do I wanna know?”

“You don’t and you know it.”

“Does Raph want to know?”

Donnie considered. “Unlikely. Although I’m sure you want to know that Mikey is two hours late to ice his hands, despite an implied promise to do so ten minutes ago.”

Leo’s eyes sharpened and he spun on the bowl on one finger. “Nice doin’ business with you, Donito.”

He strolled out of the kitchen, whistling. Donnie resettled the Battle Shell on his back and scooped the pizza off the floor, sans the slice he’d given Leo. Then he made for Raph’s hobby room. It was an even bet he’d find Raph there, given that he hadn’t been doing weights in the Wreck Room and it was too early to leave for Build-A-Beaver’s Sunday Special.

Sure enough, Raph was sitting at his GeniusBuilt™ Sewing Machine, making what looked like a ballgown for the future beaver stuffie.

“Hold still and continue thinking of beavers,” Donnie commanded. He pulled the headset to its maximum width.

Raph looked up and brightened. “Donnie! Thanks for the sewing machine! Raph’s hands can rethread it with no problem now.”

“Obviously. Everything I make is customized.” He snapped the headsets around Raph’s remarkably thick skull.

Raph rolled his eyes. “Don’t make it sound creepy. We don’t even know when you take our measurements.”

“I work in mysterious ways. Now go back to thinking of plush fake animals.”

“Oh, that reminds me – here!” Raph reached behind the machine and pulled out a stuffed Atomic Lass. It was well-loved by Donnie’s standards, nearly unblemished except for the end of one hair triangle where he had stim chewed as a child. The gash along one arm had been seamlessly repaired, and –

Donnie gasped. “Her classic atom logo has been replaced by my very own trademark?!”

“You like it?” Raph said eagerly. “I wasn’t sure, but the stitching was pretty easy to pull out, and the mascot alien was such a jerk, I wanted to make it up to you.”

“ ‘Make it up?!’ Sir! I got to dance with my childhood idol and now I have a one-of-a-kind edition Atomic Lass that is inspiring a multitude of self-insert AUs as we speak!”

“So that’s a yes?”

“I will buy you the next ten Beaver Specials, here’s my card, I gotta go!”

He all but threw his platinum at Raph’s plastron. He scooped up the doll and rushed out of the room. Luckily his Battle Shell had been taking scans – oh, Fibonacci, he’d forgotten to prompt Raph about the cherishing – whatever, he’d still taken scans and he could redo them later. Redoing them would probably be best for a larger sample size anyway.

He sprinted to his lab and slammed the door behind him. The lab lit up upon entry, scanned his face, and withdrew the lasers. Fine, yes, good, he had work to do! He scrambled to offload the data from his battle shell, fingers flying across the keys. Some of the data had been duplicated already to his cloud, but he needed to feed them into a few cutting-edge programs he’d copied and improved from the largest neuroscience research centers. Of course they’d needed improvement, they didn’t have his own incredible brain to edit them. And they were meant for humans, not turtles.

It would take at least ten minutes for the scans to run, perfect for his own tests. He tore off his goggles and shoved the headset over his own head. Then he cracked his knuckles.

“Giddy laughter!” he hissed, grinning widely has his six fingers flew across the keys. His Battle Shell had placed the doll front and center before the screen, and the text behind her made her purple skin glow. What perfect ambience! The newly-outlawed Atomic Lass was about to meet post-apocalyptic Don of Tell, and what a wonderful adventure they would have!

It was 3 AM.

Leo sighed and peeled off his eye mask. Well, he tried. He’d went to sleep just fine that night (thank you, perfect skin routine) but he’d woken up about an hour ago. He’d put on one of his favorite sleep playlists. It hadn’t helped and he was bored.

He rolled over and eyed his library. He’d been rebuilding it since their last lair (last two lairs, actually) got destroyed. It had a few comics and some medical texts. He’d stolen a couple from Draxum’s library, just for the satisfaction, but they were some decent reads. He rolled to his feet and grabbed one. Then he made his way over to Donnie’s lab.

He expected Donnie to be awake. Statistically speaking, someone in the family had to be awake by choice at this hour. It was an unspoken rule that neither one of them would rat the other out to Raph for being up. Leo wanted the company. Donnie wanted easy access to a willing lab rat. It was a good system.

Leo reached the lab and slid the door open.

He went on instant alert. He wasn’t even sure why. The lab looked normal. All major devices were charging, obnoxious synth music was playing, and Donnie was hunched over a screen reading very tiny text. Normal.

“Donnie?” Leo asked slowly, stepping towards him.

Donnie didn’t answer. Leo heard it when he got closer. Donnie was wearing the weird headset thing from earlier, and one claw was absently scraping the metal. Except that Donnie’s claw kept going past the metal and into his skin. Leo caught his wrist.

“Heeeey, there, Donathon. Don the Tron. You wanna get a different scratching post?”

“I can’t tell if it’s real.”

“Hmm? What was that?”

“Nothing. Go away.”

Donnie didn’t quite jerk his wrist, but he moved away firmly and started tapping at the keyboard.

Oh. Alright. Leo set the book down and leaned over the screen. Donnie was so out of it that he didn’t even try to bite. It was definitely brain scan stuff, and a bunch of analysis on fluctuating neurotransmitter levels. Part of Leo was starting to salivate. This sort of scan was a medic’s dream. Perfect instantaneous records of the central nervous system.

“Whose scan is that?” Leo asked eagerly, leaning forward.

“Raph’s. See? Dopamine, norepinephrine, all normal – here’s yours – and Mikey’s – and here’s mine.” There was a weird emphasis to his voice when Donnie brought up his own. Leo leaned in closer and Donnie sat back. Another warning ping. So Leo checked the scans very carefully.

“It looks good,” he said finally. “You wanna tell me what your doohicky was measuring?”

Donnie gave a weird laugh. “My next project, apparently! I need to rewire a few loose axons! I can’t tell if it’s real!”

He stood up and started pacing. Leo hopped up on the computer table for a good sit. Or a good show. Both? Probably both.

“I can’t, I can’t tell if it’s real, but it is and I can’t tell, I don’t have evidence, I can’t conclude based on a vacuum, maybe I just think it’s real but it’s never been real and I’ve been a fraud all this time!”

“A fraud,” Leo said flatly. He meant it sarcastically, but Donnie flinched.

“I wasn’t trying to be!”

“I know, you can’t lie to save your shell.” Leo jerked a thumb at the machine. “You wanna explain, or – ahp-up-up!” He reached out to catch Donnie’s wrist again. “Nah, sorry, medic on duty and I am legally allowed to shove you in the bathtub to cool off. I might do it anyway, it’s pretty funny when you’re pissed.”

“I’m not mad! I’m – I can’t – I wasn’t trying to lie but I can’t tell if I actually love you!”

…Huh. Okay, Leo was kind of used to Donnie throwing curveballs in the wee hours of the morning, because both of their brains were screwy in different ways. Leo’s brain tended to lean towards intrusive thoughts, while Donnie went down conspiracy rabbit holes. (That was how they’d ended up with Pizzasaurus Rex.)

This was new. Mostly because it was painfully obvious. Which meant Donnie had thought his big brain into a corner and couldn’t find a way out.

Donnie, one hand still in Leo’s grasp, was rapidly typing on his vambrace. The computer screen lit up behind him and Leo turned. Clips of him and his brothers were playing, all moments where Donnie had given them stuff. Skateboards, high-tech washing machines with built-in speakers, a hot chocolate maker that doubled as a moist towelette dispenser. Leo wondered if the shock collar was in there.

“I developed my social relationships with you and our brethren with the understanding that acts of service were an acceptable ‘love language.’ But I recently discovered that the proponent of the entire concept was actually a ploy by a minister to manipulate his wife into accepting abuse. In fact, one could safely say that every form of social interaction is a form of manipulation, even if the intent is entirely benign.

“And my intents were benign! Mostly! I have consistently prepared gifts with the intention of improving everyone’s abilities and-or quality of life. Except –” Ah, yep, there was the shock collar. And the flying laser-equipped microwave. And the AI bed. Leo grimaced. “They sometimes, maybe…backfired. Wildly. Even Shelldon, my greatest creation and favorite son, endangered the lives of the very people I was supposed to ‘love.’

“So do I really love you? Any of you? Or were all of these a pathetic, shallow attempt to stroke my own ego and flaunt my brilliance? What if all of this was a way to manipulate you into admiring and caring about me? Even if I tell myself I meant to do good, not evil, what if I’m actually trying to manipulate myself, and I have never loved anyone at all?”

There was a weird silence when Donnie stopped speaking. At some point, the synth music had shut off.

Okay. So. It was a bit too late-slash-early for full Leo alertness, but he got the gist. Donnie was afraid he didn’t really love them.

Leo tapped the screen. “I kind of think you caring this much answers your question.”

“No it doesn’t!” Donnie snapped. “I could just be afraid of recognizing my own manipulative tendencies as a means of preserving my self-identity.”

“You think you’re still lying to yourself?” Leo translated. “My guy, my twin, I cannot overstate this enough: You cannot lie for shit.”

“I don’t have proof.” His tone had gone weirdly flat. His nails scraped along the vambrace, a quiet metallic protest.

“So you scanned our brains to see what love looks like, and if you have it.”

“But the scans I made while writing fanfiction, and the scans I made when thinking about you, are almost identical. There is no significant difference.”

“You literally let me look at your shell. You hate doing that.”

“I was bribing you.”

“You sicced me on Mikey.”

“He…implied by braces were inefficient.”

“What did you do for Raph?”

“Nothing! He fixed my doll so I gave him money! It was so – so cheap!”

Leo sort of wanted to beg Donnie to stop looking at him like that. He looked like he was in agony.

Okay, actually no, Leo couldn’t look at that face anymore. He got up, planted a hand on that big old brain, and shoved his brother down onto his emergency cot. Donnie gave a muffled squeak but the emergency cot was basically Donnie’s full-time bed, complete with all his favorite blankets. Leo was wrapping him up with the skill of a Raph in full mother-henning mode. Then he flipped Donnie onto his stomach and flopped on top of his shell.

“’Eo!” Donnie shouted, muffled through the pillow.

“Nope.” Leo tapped his brothers head a little too sharply to be gentle. “No more brain privileges. I’m shutting it off.”

“Oh, so the medic is proposing brain damage as a solution, is that it?!”

“It’s a good thing I got you wrapped up, you look like you’re gonna bite me.” Leo’s tone was light but oh boy did he mean it.

Donnie shot him a death glare. “You’re gonna say something stupid and pithy and assume I’ll let the subject drop. Alas, I will not! My intense need for closure has only dug these neural paths all the deeper! I will return to this issue time and time again until I am sure it is resolved!”

“What will be your proof either way?”

“I…don’t know yet. I need more data! Leo! You’re the medic, you have to help me!”

“Okay,” Leo said simply. “You love us, it’s conclusive, problem solved.”

“What? No! You have to prove it!”

Leo poked him. “There. I can see the neuron that says, ‘I love my beautiful twin and will not bite him.’ It’s glowing like a little dinoflagellate, look at it, all sparkly.”

“I hate you,” Donnie growled. Then it seemed to register and tears sprang to his eyes.

Leo smiled. “See?”

“I could…I could just be feeling regret for sabotaging my social standing with you.”

“Because you value me,” Leo said. Then he grinned. “You big ol’ sap.”

“I could value you because –”

“‘I may not be a smart man,’ “ Leo quoted. “‘But I know what love is.’”

Tears streaked down Donnie’s face. They both knew what Donnie was thinking, and he was trying very hard not to say it, but eventually he cracked.

“You’re not a smart man,” he muttered.

Leo looked at his three-fingered hand. “By Jove, I think you’re right! But!” He poked Donnie’s head again. “I am your twin, and this time I’m smarter, and you loooooove me. And your real fear is that you think we hate you.”

“I would never,” Donnie whispered.

“That’s because…” Leo punctuated every word with a poke. “You are a smart man, Donatello Hamato Splinterson, and you know what love is, too.”

Donnie sniffed. “I knew you were gonna say something dumb and pithy.”

“I did not, I simply quoted someone dumb and pithy. Any dumbness is entirely not my fault. Now go to sleep. I am suddenly conveniently tired and need my favorite pillow.”

“You suck, go die.”

“You’re so dumb,” Leo said fondly, and didn’t move an inch.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 11

Part (11) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

It is 1am. I stayed up waaayyy to late to finish this, but if I didn't get it out now, it would have to wait until Monday, and I really didn't want you make ya'll wait.

This one's a little rough, loves; so grab an emotional support cock(tail).

Btw - little aside! For anyone who no long wants to be tagged, feel free to shoot me a dm or you can submit another taglist just saying to be untagged. For those that want to be tagged, please remember to give me your tumblr name. I've received a few email addresses and several names that don't seemed to link up to anyone. Sorry, but there's not much I can do with that ❤️

Warnings: heavy into medical procedures; a lot of grief, guilt, thoughts of self-doubt; near-death experience; blood; gore; needles; cpr; body horror; eye injuries; profanity. I think that's is, but, As always, please let me know if I've missed tagging something!

WC: 3,867

I used to love forests. Agamar boasted a rich abundance of biomes, but the farmlands where I was raised were far from anything so wild; thus, the thought of finding myself lost in unending stretches of trees so tall and numerous as to grant an artificial night to those trapped within their shadow was mesmerizing in a way that forgave any thought toward what danger those shadows might conceal. I knew better now.

I’d lost Emmy while flying over a forest; the scent of campfire smoke dancing just beneath that suffocating tang of fuel. I’d nearly lost Tech to the dangerous fungus thriving in the rokna trees of Endor. And then my brother… No. Forests no longer held that tantalizing mystique. They were beautiful. And they were deadly. And, as I stood between two of the countless, towering trees mere meters from the still forms atop the ramp of the Marauder, I realized how much I’d come to hate them.

My entire body was shaking with adrenaline and fear and rage, wide eyes darting from the dark armor to the crying girl, pistol still clenched in her trembling hands.

“Sweetie… I need you to put down the gun. Okay?” I murmured, the thin vail of calm forcing my words into something far removed from the desperation simmering beneath them. Her gaze darted to the weapon held before her as though just as terrified to find herself still holding it as she was at the thought of letting it go.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Just… just set it down.” I pressed, some ancient, feral instinct forbidding me from shouting at her hesitation. One hand slowly pulled away from the grip, but it was the other one that still had a finger pressed far too snugly against the trigger, and I wondered if she’d ever held a gun before.

“That’s good… You’re doing great… Look at me, honey.” I whispered, surprised at how quickly her attention snapped back to me. “It’s okay. Just put it down.” Her fingers began to loosen. The instant the weapon that looked far too large in her hands began to fall, I darted forward. I wanted to scream at her; to berate her for what damage she might have caused, for the delay her fear had forced between my men and the care they desperately needed, but I didn’t. I raced forward and instantly locked her to my chest, quiet shhh’s leaving on barely controlled breaths as I carried her rapidly into the ship, stopping only when the outside world was hidden by those worn, metal walls and quickly settled her atop Hunter’s bunk.

“Alright, baby; I want you to stay right here for me, okay?” It wasn’t quite an order, but it was far from a request, hands shaking as I swept the hair from her face to ensure she was looking at me. Snot covered her upper lip as tears flooded her cheeks, her entire body convulsing with sobs, but the small nod she managed in response was enough for me to quickly press my lips to her forehead before turning on my heel and sprinting back outside.

It was Hunter’s pistol. I kicked the damn thing inside if only to get it out of my way before dropping to my knees beside them, searching for signs of blasterfire or crushed plastoid or breath, and finding neither.

No. That wasn’t right. Crosshair’s torso was still shifting beneath short, jilted gasps. But Hunter…

“Hunter? Hunter, can you hear me?!” I didn’t wait for a reply I knew wasn’t coming as I struggled to untangle them, belatedly realizing he’d collapsed while carrying his brother up the ramp.

“Cross? Hey-hey, you with me?” I asked, begged as I eased him onto his back, but his body merely flinched with shallow breaths, faint grunts far too akin to whimpers catching on trembling lips. But he was breathing. He was hurt, but he was alive. My heart jolted as I quickly threw myself at Hunter, fingers slipping beneath the sharp notch of his jaw as my other hand quickly yanked at his helmet.

Numb. There’s a quiet that comes in moments like this, born of hard-learned necessity as even a taste of the emotions hiding just beyond the distant storm would bring with them doubt. Hesitation. And when even a second of such hesitation could be the difference between life and death, if takes very few mistakes to learn how to hide oneself in that quiet, to let hands move and thoughts rage with a careful detachment.

My body no longer shook as I wrestled the heavy chest plate from his limp form. I didn’t look at the deathly pale skin that gleamed beside the faded half-skull tattoo, nor at half-lidded eyes that were so violently wrong without laugh lines dancing at the corners or that brooding intensity as his mind raced to find solutions to impossible problems. In that moment, he was a number. He was a list of vitals and pre-existing conditions and a rapidly evolving treatment plan. He was patient 1, triaged and assisted and listed by priority, and if I held to that as I should have, I would have let him die, but I watched with a pointed lack of emotion as I finally freed him of that damned armor, his body falling back to the ramp with a thud I couldn’t bring myself to worry over in the wake of how wrong that stillness was.

It was a thoughtless action, the way my fingers twined together as my hands stacked atop each other above his chest. I needed to move them – both of them – out of the risk of enemy fire. Hell, I needed to move for that same reason; needed to get Hunter on level ground to maximize the efficiency of my compressions; needed to check for lung capacity and inevitably insert another chest tube; needed to see just how bad the chemical burns still eating into Crosshair’s eyes were and try to figure out some way to help him. I could still hear the girl crying and wasn’t surprised to see her standing at the very corner of the hallway, peaking out just enough to watch us, and I’d never felt so impossibly, irrevocably alone.

Curses spitting from my lips, I abandoned the half-completed count of compressions and threw myself to my feet. Couldn’t get deep enough… The tantalizing wealth of muscle I’d so shamelessly admired every time he’d see himself into my bed beneath the guise a massage that we both knew had nothing to do with pulled muscles or stiff joints, that breathtaking display of power that saw him so effortlessly through the endless missions and struggles of this war left his chest too stiff to readily yield beneath the too weak thrusts of my palms.

If I could get him inside – get him on a flat surface, then I could push harder, I could force his damn heart to beat and chase all threat of that encroaching chill from skin I so clearly remembered feeling like fire against mine.

“Honey, there’s a button on that interface, there. Can you press it – close the ramp?” I asked breathlessly as I began dragging Crosshair inside as well. A slightly louder groan caught in his throat making my heart drop. I barely noticed the girl dart forward, tiny hand nearly slamming onto the controls as movement returned to those long limbs.

“Shh, Cross, I’m right here, okay? I’m going to take care of you, but I have to help Hunter first.” If he heard me, if he heard the crippling apology that threatened to rend my breath into hiccuped gasps and rob me of that blessed detachment, he was too lost in a growing agony to offer any form of a response. My hand shifted beneath the desperate need to reach for him, to somehow ensure he knew I was there, but that would waste precious seconds I didn’t have, and I quickly spun back to Hunter, jaw tensing anew at the utter absence of life before me.

Airway. Breathing. Circulation. It was rote. Mindless. But something in me still died at how cold his lips felt against mine. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. And I nearly broke at how much effort it took to push even a whisper of breath into his lungs. Crosshair was starting to move, clawed hands reaching toward the black visor I only just realized was shattered, deep cracks spider-webbed across the dark crescent. If I looked, I could just make out slivers of skin between some of the larger cracks, but I couldn’t see enough to even guess toward the damage hidden within as I wrenched the medpack from my shoulders.

Hunter’s body rocked listlessly beneath the force it took to shove the chest tube between his lower ribs, expression void of the pain I’d never been so eager to see on his handsome face. What poured from the fresh wound was dark and thick and filled the small room with the heavy scent of copper and sick, and I refused to even look at it as I dragged the sheers down the front of his shirt, half ripping the fabric away in my haste.

I didn’t hesitate before arching my body over him and slamming my elbow into his chest, ignoring how the sound of ribs cracking beneath the strike was enough to make even Crosshair flinch, ruined helm shifting uselessly toward me for just a moment before that pain overruled his attention once more. My knee pads scrapped loudly against the metal grate as I pushed myself up enough to straddle Hunter’s waist, cupped hands returning to their position over his sternum.

“Crosshair… Cross, if you can hear me, you need to try to get that helmet off.” I panted, voice undulating with the rhythm of my entire body beating quickly against his brother’s chest. His head shifted again, the movement jerky and only barely noticeable, and I couldn’t imagine how the wet crunch, crunch, crunch that so perfectly marked the passage of time must have sounded in the dark, eyes surely blinded by whatever cruel thing had been used to cripple him.

“I know; I know, baby – I’ll help you as quickly as I can, but I need you to help, too.” I pressed on huffed, rapid breaths, relieved when his shaking fingers began groping at the rounded ridge following his jawline, but I couldn’t ignore how quickly that trembling was getting worse, the sound of air hissing through clenched teeth breaking between barely restrained groans that so wanted to be screams, and I realized that Hunter must have given him something stronger – something that managed to knock him out before I reached them, and it was rapidly fading.

But I couldn’t do anything for him. Not yet. Not until I managed to force some bit of life back into the man below me. Kriff, was I just wasting time? The longer I worked on Hunter, the more potential damage Crosshair suffered… I could only guess toward how much time had passed since his heart… how long he’d been down before I reached them… and the longer he’d been like this the greater the risk of…

No. No, no; I couldn’t think like that. Scowling at the way my hand was just beginning to shake again, I reached out to check for a pulse, straining to mediate my own breaths enough for me to actually feel for his heartbeat over the frantic racing of my own. Nothing… I quickly leaned down to push two more breaths into his lungs, wincing at the way his nose cracked slightly between my fingers as I pinched his nostrils shut.

“He’s… i-is he…” I could barely make out words through how shaky his breath was, and I instantly found myself wishing I hadn’t heard him at all.

“I’m doing everything I can for him, Crosshair; just focus on getting that helmet off, and I’ll try to get you more meds soon.” There was that careful detachment again, automatic response unhindered by the grief and panic I tried so hard to ignore.

“To-… told ‘im t… l-l’ve m…” I couldn’t think about the sob that robbed the strength from his voice, nor the hiccuped gasp that followed as his hands clawed over his ruined visor, my teeth grinding into the inside of my cheek to keep my own breath from breaking.

Still no pulse. The precious few seconds it took to dig into my bag once more made my skin crawl, some wretched whisper in the back of my head telling me everything that could go wrong, everything that I’d done wrong; that I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough; that I was killing him – that I was killing both of them.

Guilt made my stomach churn as a small drop of crimson marked where I’d nicked him with the razor as I rushed to clear enough hair from his chest for the electrodes. It was stupid. Such a tiny wound… and yet my eyes kept trying to return to it, as though I hadn’t just shoved a tube through his side, as though I hadn’t just broken several ribs to allow adequate compressions, as though the man beneath me wasn’t, by all medical standards, already dead.

The small device let out a warning trill, and I quickly jumped clear of him, waiting anxiously for the timer to finish. Hunter’s body seized beneath the violent surge of electricity, torso snapping up, spine locking in a tight arch. And then he crashed back to the metal grating, rocking listlessly from the momentum.

I didn’t wait for the AED to finish reassessing, fingers reaching for his throat the instant his back hit the floor. Whatever momentary lucidity had granted Crosshair the clarity of mind to mumble those heartbreaking words was gone, crushed beneath an agony no longer muted by whatever drugs Hunter had given him. His legs dragged uselessly against the metal beneath him, deep, keening groans occasionally breaking into a barked scream as he writhed in pain. And, still, there was no sign of life beneath my fingertips.

One more… I’d grant myself only one more moment of denial, one final attempt to bring him back…

“Dammit; come on, Hunter!” I didn’t mean to let the words escape me as I pounded against his chest. “Don’t you do this – don’t you kriffing dare do this!” I remembered the first time I’d performed CPR on a real person. “We need you, dammit! Come on!” The patient had already been pronounced. “Come back! Please, please, come back!” But residents were encouraged to “practice.” That knowledge that they were already dead, however, did nothing to relieve me of the sharp rush of adrenaline, the desperate urgency to somehow do better – be better… to save them… That knowledge did nothing to rid me of the consuming guilt of failure when I finally walked away.

I couldn’t silence the sob as I pressed my lips against his one last time, pushing the air from my own lungs into him with every unspoken plea and promise and curse forever forced into a silence I feared I’d regret until my own heart stopped as well.

Something beeped. Doubt robbed me of recognition. Fear forbade me from even looking. Barely ten percent of patients come back from something like this. Some horrible, broken part of me had accepted his death the instant I’d realized he had no pulse, but denial had granted me the strength to try anyway. Now, that denial refused to let my eyes fall back to the small device connected to his chest, but Crosshair was screaming, and the Senator’s daughter was crying, and there was too much at stake for even a moment to be lost for something so useless.

Still, I couldn’t understand the dancing line steadily making its way across the monitor. I’d seen it countless times before, but…

My chest bucked in a sharp gasp, body finally remembering how to move. In an instant, I was at Crosshair’s side, hands grabbing at his in an enraging struggle to finally rip that damned helmet off.

“Crosshair! Cross, baby, I’m going to help fix it, but you – ugh! – you have to… stop… fighting me!” I grunted, finally trapping one of his hands beneath my arm long enough to grab the ruined bucket. His scream turned desperate the instant the light reached him, and my stomach dropped. The skin around his eyes was scalded, red and oozing, and how could I possibly give him any words of reassurance that might offer even a breath of comfort in the face of those wounds?

I offered no warning before jabbing a hypo against his neck. He didn’t notice it anyway, lips wrenched clear of teeth gnashing around hitched gasps and feral cries he couldn’t begin to restrain.

“I’ve got you, Cross.” I murmured as those frenzied movements began to fail, one arm wrapping around his back to help guide him carefully to the floor while the other snatched for my med scanner with some futile hope that it might be able to identify whatever toxin was searing into his flesh. “That’s it, love; just breathe for me; okay?” I wasn’t sure if the drugs helped, or if they merely left him too weak to thrash anymore, and I wanted to shout apologies until my lungs gave out, but I didn’t turn away from the small scanner, eyes quickly studying every word that scrolled across the screen before dropping it to snatch my comm.

“Tech! Wrecker! Do you copy?!” I shouted, already pushing myself to my feet and sprinting toward the medbay.

“Yeah,” Wrecker answered barely a second later. “They okay?”

“I’m working on that,” I nearly cringed at the exhaustion in my voice, but quickly moved on. “I need something to neutralize an acid. Are you in a position where you can look this over?”

“Do you have an approximate idea of what the substance is?” Tech asked, words breathless in a way that made my guilt spike. I shouldn’t have to ask them… I should be able to figure this out myself… but the chemical equation dancing across the scanner was far too complex for me to work through in time.

“I’m sending it now.” I replied, fingers already flying over the scanner to share the readout.

“Oh.” I wasn’t surprised to hear the dread in Wrecker’s voice, but if he recognized the chemicals, then there was hope that he knew how to safely wash it away. “Yeah… think I can tell yuh what yuh need.”

Tech didn’t interrupt him. This wasn’t hardware or trivia or anatomy. This was chemistry. And, while I wouldn’t have second-guessed a word the pilot may have said, Wrecker’s knowledge was a matter of passion. The same interplay of atomic bonds and volatile reactions manipulated to detonate a building could be used to form acids powerful enough to melt through entire ships, and I trusted his word without a moment’s doubt. Still, the time it took to prepare the solution was torture, and I couldn’t run back through the ship fast enough to begin to ease that crippling guilt.

He was barely moving when I got back, shivering body curled onto his side, one hand clutching at his eyes while the other was locked around Hunter’s arm, and I felt the tears threaten to suffocate me as I realized he was too disorientated to recognize the steady rhythm still singing from the small monitor to understand that his brother was alive.

“Crosshair; hey-hey-hey, listen to me.” I murmured quickly, satchel of equipment dropping carefully to the floor as I rushed to his side. “He’s alright. Hunter’s alright, but I need to take care of you now.” If he heard me, he didn’t respond, and I didn’t waste additional time trying to explain.

My heart was racing, anticipation searing through my nerves like lightning. He wasn’t going to like this. Kriff, he wasn’t going to like this…

He barely flinched when I gently laid my hand on his forehead, but the instant the first drop of liquid touched his cheek, whatever illusion of weakness the meds granted was gone. His limbs lashed out in a frenzy of panicked rage, kicking himself away while his arms swiped toward me in a vicious attempt to push me back. Cursing, I spun out of his reach just long enough to regain my footing.

Any other day, I’d have no hope in holding him down, but the body can only withstand the degree of agony he’d been subjected to for so long before even his muscles began to fail, so when I pinned his arms at his sides, my own legs quickly wrapping around him in a powerful hold, I had just enough time to empty that first syringe entirely, flooding his face with the neutralizing fluid.

I knew it would burn at first, and my face twisted into a sympathetic scowl at the fresh cries of a hurt I couldn’t imagine ripping through his already raw throat, but by the time I was halfway through the second, his thrashing began to ease, jaw hanging open around sputtering coughs as he spat out what trace amounts of fluid accidentally slipped past his lips.

“Good.” I murmured, hand once more settled atop his brow in an effort to carefully keep him still. “I know; I know it hurts, but this is helping, right? It’s getting better?” I expected no response, and he offered none, but he didn’t need to. I could feel the tension slowly fading despite the occasional twitch and choked grunt.

“Honey, I need to help you open your eyes, now. I need to make sure we rinse all that gunk out.” I warned, and my heart ached at how quickly that tension returned. “I know, but we’ll go slow, okay?” Voice quiet, gentle in a way I could only hope he might understand, I whispered to him, thumb already moving to pull at his upper lid as my thighs tightened at the way his arms wrenched against me. His head thrashed, desperate to escape my touch, but I followed him with ease, relentless until a dozen empty syringes lay strewn about the cabin, tossed aimlessly that I might hurry on to the next.

“Almost done.” I breathed, but he’d already begun to fade, body only occasionally managing a weak flinch as I pushed the last of the solution over his other eye. That redness was still there, and only time would tell how well his eyes would heal… but the danger was over. I quickly coated the abused flesh in a generous layer of bacta before securing thick pads over his eyes with bandages.

They were alive. I could still see the steady rhythm of Hunter’s heartbeat scrawling atop the monitor beside him, and the cruel acid used to incapacitate Crosshair was neutralized. They were okay… Even the little girl had stopped crying, wide eyes watching me with an emotion I was far too exhausted to try to name as I staggered to my feet. Couldn’t leave them here… I’d get them to the medbay… get them settled… then I’d let myself breathe…

Next Chapter

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[thepersonalwords]

Forgiving yourself can prove as difficult as licking a scab off your elbow.

Richelle E. Goodrich, Slaying Dragons

[dk-thrive]

But anyway, I’m done with that. I’m done with self-doubt. I’m done with shame. I’m done with feeling weird about being ambitious. You know, the list is long. We all know what it is. I think for me, the takeaway is: Oh, we can be done with that sooner than we thought. We don’t have to take 60, 70 [expletive] years to come to that conclusion — I’m working on being done with self-doubt. I’m working on being done with shame. And I’m working really hard on finding joy.

— Julia Louis-Dreyfus, from: The Interview: The Darker Side of Julia Louis-Dreyfus” by Lulu Garcia-Navarro. (NY Times, June 8, 2024)

[yudzukii]

More Than That

Back when I told you: "You are more than that"

While you drowned In your self-doubts,

I spoke of your dignity

The worth that Can't be lost Or earned

Your immeasurable worth you have simply by existing

[inknife]

[quickquirk]

And if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that self-doubt is one of the most destructive forces. It makes you defensive instead of open, reactive instead of active. Self-doubt is consuming and cruel and my hope is today that we can all collectively agree to ban it. Think to the moments in your life when you forgot to doubt yourself. When you were so inspired that you were just living and creating, and working. Pay attention to those moments, they’re trying to Reach you through those lenses of doubt and trying to show you your potential. - Jennifer Lee, from her 2014 University of New Hampshire commencement speech

[crmsnmth]

You Can't Fire Me, I Quit

Why am I doing this? Why do I keep hunting for acceptance and yet willfully, gleefully even, shove it away from anytime it gets too close? As if I've never figured out exactly what it is I want.

Why do I bother even making friends? I only seem to flake on them when the time feels right. I'm so terrified of being abandoned that I do it before anyone gets a chance to do it to me again. I keep polishing this shell around me Can everyone see their reflection

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 12

Part (12) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Eh. Decided to go ahead and break it up. Soooo there'll be one more chapter after this to finish this all up.

Warnings: Reference to medical procedures, panic, eye injuries, profanity, blood, mild violence, guilt

WC: 4,234

When wars first begin, there’s a sense of invincibility that drives society forward with resolute conviction. Tempers are freshly stoked, confidence is dangerously high, and the thought of defeat is rejected with little more than passing thoughts. That confidence lends to impulsive and hasty decisions beneath the false hope for a quick and definitive victory, and while that often sees those first few months filled with seemingly unending supplies and warriors and weapons, once that initial surge fades, so to do the funds that enabled it. But the soldiers remain.

Whether boasting the highest quality armor and munitions or left with mere scraps, those forced to fight have no choice but to find a way to make do all the same. Either they adapt or they lose. They die. But more than that, failure means the death of their brothers. It means letting the war drag on even longer, and I don’t doubt that that is a far more powerful motivator to the clones than any loyalty to a people who regard them as faceless machines or to some governing body who tallies their deaths as mere numbers.

Tech would balk at anyone referring to the Marauder as ‘scrap,’ but the simple fact remained that it was meant to be an attack shuttle. The elegant crests of its fins were designed for rapid, ruthless assaults more akin to guerilla warfare, not the grueling battles it’s been forced to endure, but that small vessel was all these men had. The interior was barely the size of a small apartment, and not only had the five of them figured out a way to make it a home, they’d made room for me as well, and, still, they prevailed through mission after mission, often crammed together for days of interspace travel without complaint. Well, without much complaint.

The room that had become their medbay was barely large enough for a couple of beds to lie toe-to-toe. This shuttle wasn’t originally intended to even have a medbay. Any wounded it carried were assumed to be on-board only long enough to reach a proper facility. Reality had proven far less ideal.

I could hear Crosshair’s broken, shuttering breaths hiss through clenched teeth from across the ship as I wrenched my mattress from the metal frame and shoved it into the corner. The drugs I’d given him offered some manner of relief, but whether that relief was in truly easing the pain or simply robbed his mind of the clarity to remember it, I couldn’t say, nor could I let the doubt and guilt of his suffering distract me.

Before the cot had even settled, I was tearing through the cabinets lining the far wall, shoving armfuls of bacta and gauze onto the counters before reaching back for saline bags and IV ports. This room wasn’t meant for multiple patients. This ship wasn’t meant for multiple patients, but I needed them both in here, needed to be able to watch their chests rise and fall lest the panic of not knowing keep me darting from room to room.

Fueled with that fear, I ripped Hunter’s cot from his bed and dragged it back with me, some unrelenting, subconscious thought screaming that he’d be uncomfortable in anyone else’s. It wouldn’t smell right to him; wouldn’t feel right. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t smell; that he wasn’t likely to even wake before we rendezvoused with a flag ship; that he’d never know. I knew he’d only be comfortable in his bed, so his was the mattress I pilfered from the bunkroom to set beside mine before finally letting myself race back to the main cabin.

That young girl followed me step by step, wide eyes studying my every movement, though she managed to never get in the way. Later, I’d wonder over the return of that innocent curiosity despite the nightmare she’d just witnessed, the nightmares she’d suffered firsthand. Later, I’d marvel at how readily she allowed that curiosity to drive her rather than remain cowering as far from the danger and noise and violence as she could get. Later, I’d hate myself for my failure to encourage that curiosity, for not offering some words of reassurance and praise, but my focus was already overwhelmed, veins thrumming with an anxiety that screamed at me to go faster, think harder, shouting that I’d miss something vital and it would be my men who���d pay the price.

Crosshair’s knees were curled listlessly to his chest, torso still rocking with unsteady, strangled gasps as one hand clutched the grate beneath him while the other remained flush against his face, palm pressed firmly to the bandaging over his eyes for what façade of relief that pressure might offer. Before I let myself run to him, my gaze dropped to the monitor beside Hunter, nearly holding my breath as I studied the rhythmic dance illustrating a heartbeat I still struggled to believe was real.

Hand trembling, I yielded beneath that terrified doubt for just a moment, movements shaky as I kneeled between them and reached once more for Hunter’s neck, cursing the way my fingers trembled too violently to feel anything for several seconds, but it was there: that steady thum… thum… thum. Finally, I felt myself inhale, and the euphoria of air filling my lungs lifted a haze I only had the clarity to even recognize once it was gone.

Reassured that Hunter was stable, I turned back to the still weakly writhing sniper, carefully reaching out to touch his shoulder, and my heart sank at how sharply he flinched from me.

“Easy, Cross; it’s me.” I murmured, hand slowly tracing the rigid tendons stretching up toward his neck. That tension didn’t leave him, but he no longer tried to find enough strength to pull away from me. “I’m going to help you to the medbay, okay? Then we’ll get something stronger in you to make the pain stop.” If he heard me, he offered no response, halting breaths still causing his entire body to shake. “Let’s get some of this armor off, first.”

Taut muscles and dazed thoughts left him far from helpful as I tried to gently wrestle him free of the heavy plastoid. His arms were easy enough to strip, but when I began lifting the cuirass free, he reacted violently, lashing out with whatever limb was nearest to me, deaf to my every reassuring murmur and softly spoken promise as whatever nightmares haunting the darkness around him left him panicking in a way my words simply couldn’t breech.

“Crosshair, I know you’re scared, but – ngh! – I… I need you to try to b-breathe.” I had to fight to keep the strain from my voice, but the sudden impact of his elbow to my hip nearly sent me flying, and, panting, I had to take a moment to collect myself. I knew how thoroughly the meds would rob him of a coherency already ruined by the feral panic of suffering beneath such crippling pain for so long, and I could only guess toward the terror of finding himself trapped in a darkness he couldn’t escape; how alone and exposed and defenseless he surely felt upon being so ruthlessly robbed of his sight, but I had to find some way to get through to him before he hurt himself… or me…

“Alright… Cross? Crosshair, it’s just me, baby. It’s -” Before my name could more than rest atop my tongue, he kicked out at me, his heel just catching my stomach with enough force to wrench the air from my lungs, body crashing back with a deafening crack as my head bounced off the hard floor. Some part of me registered a frightened gasp, and I hated the guilt that tiny sound filled me with. Should have been faster… Should have thought ahead and moved the girl somewhere safe, somewhere far away from what wretched truths normally lay hidden behind medbay doors and sterile sheets and promises that loved ones would be fine absent word of the agony they’d suffer first.

Jaw straining open in some futile effort to draw air into lungs burning with suffocation despite how uselessly my diaphragm sputtered beneath my every effort to breathe, I forced myself to move, limbs scrambling for enough purchase to jerk an elbow beneath me, gaze first flickering to the girl watching us with wide eyes, wincing at the way her body tucked into the corner between a crash couch and the far wall, before shifting back to Crosshair. She was safe… but, Maker, there was no hope of her coming out of this unscarred…

Once more… I’d try just once more to reach him before resorting to simply sedating him…

“Cross?” I cringed at the faint wheeze distorting my voice, but it was clear he hadn’t heard me anyway, not really. He sat rolled back on a hip, leg straining to push himself up amidst halfhearted attempts to get a foot beneath him, free hand now held out between us in a threatening fist while the other continued burring against his eyes, chest bucking with rapid, shallow gasps, and I wondered how much of this he’d even remember later.

“Shhh.” The gentle sound was barely audible over how quickly the air hissed between his teeth, lips bared in an enraged snarl that did little to hide the fear so clearly overwhelming him. “Shhh, I’m right here, Cross.” I whispered as my own breathing gradually began to slow. His shoulders tensed, but there was a flicker of hesitation that drew a small huff of relief from me. “I know, I know… but I’m going to help, okay?” The comforting murmur left on a carefully slowed sigh. The words didn’t matter. I just needed him to hear me – to hear the calm in my voice and let it grant him some sliver of reassurance.

“Shhh.” I breathed once more, fingers lightly slipping around his trembling fist, and he so nearly wrenched the limb back, muscles jerking in a violent flinch… but he paused just before actually breaking that contact, and I instantly rewarded him with a smile I could only hope he’d hear in the quiet praises and promises that continued falling softly from my lips.

“That’s it.” I breathed, touch shifting gently over scarred knuckles and taut tendons. “Just take a couple slow breaths with me… We’re gonna get you out of that armor and nestled up in my bed, okay?” My thumbs followed the stiff ridge along the base of his palm in a subtle invitation for him to open his hand. His grip tightened for just a moment, clinging to some fleeting rush of the illusion of safety granted by the rage fueling that lethal instinct to fight back, but then that tension began to fade. It was hesitant, fingers loosening in tentative increments, and locking again for several seconds before opening a bit more.

“Nothing’s ever simple with you, is it?” I murmured fondly, thumbs dragging firmly over what I could of his exposed palm, and my heart jumped at the subtle way his shoulders began to droop. “Could have had you both snuggled up and resting in the damn medbay by now, but you just had to turn into a feral tooka on me.” A tiny, accidental giggle sounded from behind me, and I glanced back to shoot the girl a knowing look as she quickly clasped a hand over her lips. If Crosshair heard it, he was fading too quickly to react, exhaustion a merciless thing as the loss of terror-induced adrenaline left his head sinking toward his chest, torso curling forward as his entire body began to sway.

“Easy.” I murmured as he jerked upright slightly to catch himself. My hand slid up his arm before finally trying once more to pull at his cuirass. “Can you lift your arms for me?” He didn’t respond at first, breath hitching slightly as a weak tremor stole through him, but then he began to obey, movements almost begrudging beneath the clear effort it took. He swayed even more wildly after I’d managed to pull that heavy shell of armor away, and I had to lock an arm around his back to steady him.

Weak… Maker, he was so frightfully weak in that moment, and my heart ached for the disdain he’d surely feel for that weakness were his mind clear enough to recognize it.

“Just hold onto me for a minute, okay?” I whispered, already pulling him flush against me. He didn’t fight the way I guided his arm over my shoulders, legs staggering almost uselessly beneath him as I slowly hauled him upright. Now robbed of that veneer of wrath, he couldn’t mask the depth of a fear that haunted him as he tottered on the very fringes of consciousness, his lithe body draped almost limply over mine, muscles jerking in nervous flinches at even the familiar sounds of the Marauder’s base systems chiming around us, and I found myself desperately hoping he wouldn’t remember this; that he wouldn’t suffer beneath a shame he had no reason to feel for this moment of vulnerability and need as he clung to me during those few minutes it took to stagger to the back of the ship.

The instant I gave the slightest indication for him to lay down, he readily collapsed, body fell heavily against me. I barely managed to guide him into the cot without dropping him. He didn't waste even what minimal effort it would take to reposition himself before fading into whatever empty sleep could be found in the wake of the fresh surge of meds I quickly pressed into his neck.

Getting Hunter to the medbay was no less complicated. Between his preexisting injuries and the damage I’d inflicted in trying to restart his heart, I couldn’t risk carrying him. Much to the girl’s humor, I ended up carefully sliding a blanket beneath him to drag him through the ship. The effort, however, was well worth the relief gleaned from finally seeing them both resting safely atop thin cots, chests rising in tandem beneath the intoxicating cocktail of drugs and blood loss.  

I could only guess toward how long it might take for them to wake. I'd allotted myself more time than was necessary to finish removing their armor, had quickly moved back through the ship to retrieve what bits lay scattered in the cabin to stack it neatly atop the counters, and neither man had yet begun to stir.

In truth, I felt no rush for Hunter to wake, though part of me wouldn’t be able to relax until those intense, calculating eyes opened once more. I didn’t care if he looked at me with anger or indifference or love, so long as he looked at me. And Crosshair… I’d need to replace the damn battery in my scanner from how frequently I was rechecking him; recording and comparing every step of progress in his healing for some indication of whether or not there’d be permanent damage, for some idea of how to answer the inevitable questions he was sure to have when he was alert enough to ask. It likely wouldn’t be long… maybe another hour? Maybe mere minutes… My heart twisted at the thought of trying to force him to leave the thick bandages around his eyes, to force him to continue suffering in that darkness…

I had yet to disconnect the monitor from Hunter, nor could I ignore how frequently my gaze returned to the small screen if only for some tangible proof that his heart was still beating. Both of his arms were attached to fresh IVs rich in medicines and vitamins that I could only hope would be enough to control the bleed still slowly trying to refill his chest cavity and draining from the small port in his side. He was stable… but that was such a delicate balance…

Half a klick… He’d carried Crosshair for nearly half a klick… Of course he’d begun bleeding out again… I’d told him how dangerous physical activity was… but… kriff, what other option had I left for him? He was the only one close enough to provide backup in time… if I’d stayed behind… if I hadn’t intervened… Crosshair wouldn’t have had to wait so long to have his eyes cared for… and Hunter wouldn’t have had to carry him… Maybe something would’ve happened in the field like I’d originally feared, but… even then, he wouldn’t have had to wait on the damn ramp of the Marauder for Force knows how long… He would have had his brothers right there to help him immediately…

My chest jerked with something between a sob and a gasp as the medbay door opened behind me, and I couldn’t bring myself to even try to fight back the depth of guilt and regret and grief upon turning to find Echo, stride freezing the instant he met my eyes. He waited only until my shoulders jerked with another jilted breath before throwing himself toward me, and I instantly reacted in kind, darting forward to bury myself in his embrace.

“It’s my fault!” I hadn’t meant for the words to come out. “I almost got them killed!” His arms locked so tightly around me, I almost couldn’t find air to give voice to the sudden outpour of emotion, and yet I found myself silently begging him to hold me tighter. “This is my fault!”

“No… mesh’la, that’s not true, and you know that.” He pressed in something torn between a gentle murmur and a reprimand, and I shivered slightly at the heat of his breath dancing through my hair.

“I don’t know a damn thing about strategy! And I forced Hunter’s hand, and he…” The words died in a hiccupped gasp, and I pressed myself hard against his chest, finding an odd comfort in the familiar ridges of metal lining his torso.

“Sushir, cyare – listen.” He carefully lowered himself onto a knee, something about the movement seemed odd, but the tenderness of his hand against my cheek pulled my attention back to the soft gold of his eyes. “If you’d stayed here, both you and Crosshair would have been killed.” I couldn’t help but hesitate at that, confusion pulling my brows together, forcing my still choppy breath to quiet that I might better hear him.

“This place was run by a type of strategy droid.” He explained in a mediated calm that quickly robbed me of my panic. “It knew a sniper took out the defenses of the black site. Bringing the senator here, letting us track them – that was all a trap because the karking droid wanted revenge.” It took a long moment for me to truly process his words, body going still as I looked at him with wide eyes. “There’s an entire platoon of dead droids out there from Hunter. If you’d tried to get to Cross on your own, you never would have made it.”

“Tech’s never going to let us forget this.” I don’t know where I managed to find enough humor for even that quick huff, but the quiet, relieved laughter that caught on Echo’s lips left my heart jumping so sharply amidst a pleasant burst of static that, if only for a moment, I was stunned, but, when a weak groan sounded behind me, all thought toward that feeling or the mission or even the rationale behind my guilt was forgotten, attention whipping around to see Crosshair’s leg shifting atop the mattress in a stiff, unsteady motion, fingers twitching against the thin sheet beneath him.

“Kriff – Cross! Okay – alright, I know, I know.” The rushed words left in something just shy of a whisper, fighting to hide the lingering stiffness from my voice as I darted to the narrow space between the cots, hand belatedly reaching up to brush away the tears still staining my cheeks. His lips twitched into a weak scowl, head shifting listlessly to the side before managing a more pointed jerk.

“No, no, no.” I quickly reached out to catch his hand in mine as he began reaching for the bandages, and I wanted to sob anew at the way his chest bucked, entire body going taut. “Listen to me, Crosshair; you need to let them heal first, okay?” His fingers gradually tightened around mine until the entire limb shook, and I found myself wondering if he even realized he was doing it as I waited for the coming questions that I still couldn’t answer; the plea for some reassurance that he’d be okay, but several seconds passed and he didn’t say anything.

“Cross?” I called softly, unsettled by the deep stillness of him, the painfully even cadence of too-deep breaths flowing stiffly through lips now ground into a tight frown.

“… you’ve been crying…” He barely whispered it, and I had to swallow back the threat of that overwhelming emotion all over again, drawing a quick, shaky inhale that did little to keep my voice from breaking.

“It was just… a lot.” I answered as calmly as I could even as I had to blink away the burn of fresh tears flooding my eyes. “But I’m alright.” I dragged my thumb lightly along the edge of his palm.

“The others…” I worried over the tension in his short words, already calculating how soon I could increase his pain meds.

“Echo’s,” I glanced over my shoulder only to find the doorway now empty, and I felt a twinge of guilt at how I’d left him. “He was just here – pretty sure he was checking up on you two.” He suddenly froze, air catching in his throat, and realization dawned on me.

“…he’s… Hunter’s…” He’d been so out of it that I wasn’t sure if my earlier reassurances had reached him, and the guilt that stormed me at letting him think for even a moment longer that his brother was dead threatened to cripple me.

“He’s fine! He’s-he’s right here.” I stammered, scrambling back enough to pull Hunter’s arm across the narrow distance. “Here – feel that?” Movements almost rushed, I pressed Cross’s fingers to his brother’s wrist, and I found myself holding my breath as he felt the steady rhythm of Hunter’s pulse. Neither of us spoke, neither moved; granting that almost desperate relief the moment of reverie and wonder and exhaustion innate in those first few seconds of freedom from a grief that neither of us would have ever recovered from.

It was a subtle thing; the way he let that tension slip away, head just tilting back into the pillow with a barely-there sigh, but he made no effort to pull his hand back, and I could still see the faintest tremble in those long fingers.

“How long until this comes off?” His voice fell back into that familiar grumble so effortlessly; as though the last few minutes had never happened, and I barely managed to stifle the laugh into a breathy chuckle.

“A few days.” I answered quietly. “Maybe sooner depending on how quickly they heal.” He thought over my words for a moment before finally voicing the question I’d been waiting for since first dragging him into the medbay.

“Am I blind?”

“No.” It left my lips before he’d even finished asking, and I waited only a moment before explaining. “I… I don’t know… how well it’ll heal.” I hated how obviously I found myself tripping over my words, and took another breath before trying again, grateful that he hadn’t let himself lash out at the less than satisfying answer. “Your last scan still showed damage to your corneas, but it was already an improvement from before I cleaned and treated them. So, it’s safe to assume they’ll continue to improve.” I could see his forearm tense, but his hand remained unmoving for several more seconds before finally releasing Hunter’s wrist and shifting to drape almost lazily over his stomach.

Moments of silence were no stranger between us. I’d grown to love them, to thrill in the gentle comfort of his presence, the freedom from some need to force unwanted conversation, but there was nothing gentle in that resigned stillness, and I hated how desperate I sounded in my attempt to offer some taste of empty hope.

“I’ll continue scanning you regularly to monitor their progress, and even if there is scarring, there are more steps we can take.” I waited in some vain sense of denial for a sign that he believed me, but, when he offered no reply, I reached for him once more, fingers twining through his absent any further attempts to hide the sense of dread.

“I’m here, Cross… No matter what, I’m right here.” Several seconds passed in that same silence, but then his hand pulsed. It lasted only a second, but it was there, and when I moved to lay beside him atop the too-narrow cot, he didn’t hesitate, arm readily shifting to let me curl into him, my head resting lightly atop his chest. There was no remedy for this; the consuming dread of wretched unknowns that only time might bring to light, but, as long as he let me, I could make sure he didn’t suffer in it alone, and if I found my own comfort in the powerful thrum of his heartbeat dancing beneath my cheek, that was a selfishness I’d forgive myself for later.

Next Chapter

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[anewwriter3]

Feeling Inadequate: Understanding the Fear of Not Being Enough

Last Monday, we explored “Understanding Fear – Why It’s Not Always the Villain.” We learned that fear can sometimes protect us, but when misunderstood, it can deeply hold us back. This Monday, we dive deeper into a fear that affects many silently — the fear that leads to feeling inadequate. Why are we talking about feeling inadequate? Because it’s real. And it hurts.Feeling inadequate is not…

[dk-thrive]

It’s strange how a relatively trivial turn of events can set off a landslide of self-doubt. How a well-intentioned act from someone you don’t know can symbolize everything you detest in life. But mostly in yourself.

— Keith McNally, I Regret Almost Everything: A Memoir (Gallery Books, May 6, 2025)

[song-recommendations-of-zer0gh]

in too deep by sum 41

Primary Themes: Frustration, failing relationships, emotional burnout

Tone: Cathartic, angsty, high-energy

links under break

[authorkarajorgensen]

How to Deal with Writer's Block and Imposter Syndrome

This semester I’m teaching a class about writing a novel, and one of the things I am trying to emphasize is maintaining your mental health as a writer. I wanted my students to know all the things I had to learn the hard way or from other writers way too late, so I thought I would share my tips for dealing with writer’s block and imposter syndrome. Writer’s Block There is no such thing as…

[quotelr]

Why is hard to believe than to doubt?

Lailah Gifty Akita, Pearls of Wisdom: Great mind