#still losing more blood than I'd like to in the state I'm in

[voxofthevoid]

Heard my mother's soul leave her body today when I called her to let her know that I'm now bleeding out of an orifice I shouldn't be bleeding out of while she was at the hospital with her boyfriend who was also bleeding out of an orifice he shouldn't be bleeding out of.

[howtofightwrite]

Since adrenaline makes it easier to ignore pain, I’m wondering how severe an injury can be before adrenaline isn’t enough to allow a person to keep fighting

Fatal.

The scary thing about adrenaline is that you can suffer a mortal wound and not realize it until you drop dead. If you've ever seen the, “humans are space orcs,” meme, adrenaline is a big part of that. If you don't finish someone off, they are still a potential threat until they are clinically dead.

While it may seem slightly comical, the image of someone literally checking themselves for holes after being shot at is a real practice with genuine purpose. If they had an adrenaline rush, they might not be able to tell that they've been hit, and will need to physically examine themselves to ensure they're not bleeding to death without realizing it. (And, yes, that can absolutely happen.)

As a general rule, anything that will immediately kill someone, such as decapitation or catastrophic head trauma, will stop someone through an adrenaline rush. Destruction of the skeletal structure, (which is to say, destroying joints), might not completely stop them, but it's an injury they won't be able to power through (even if they aren't immediately aware of it.)

It's a little worse than I'm making it sound, too, because you can suffer non-fatal injuries during an adrenaline rush, and then aggravate the wound to the point that it becomes life threatening (or life-altering.) An adrenaline rush can, potentially, persist for over an hour.

In most cases, the adrenaline rush will drop off within a few minutes of the threat passing, though the state of threat is assessed by your brain, so your psychological state heavily affects that. Meaning, if you feel threatened, even if the actual danger has passed, the rush could continue (though it will usually drop off after, roughly, an hour.)

The “good” news is that an adrenaline rush will not prevent you from bleeding to death. So, if someone has been shot multiple times and is bleeding out, they'll still lose consciousness. You just need to make sure that they're actually incapacitated. Not that it matters, but as a minor up-side, adrenaline is delivered via the circulatory system, meaning if you start seriously bleeding, that's your adrenaline rush going with it, so the rush is likely to drop off prematurely in the event of fatal blood loss.

I'm not completely sure what the subjective experience is there. Catastrophic blood loss during an adrenaline rush is not something I have personal experience with, and my experiences with bleeding while dealing with an adrenaline rush is more just that bleeding is an extremely annoying inconvenience, when you don't need to consider what's happening. (To be clear, that's not just a glib dismissal, being aware of bleed was actually annoying. It might sound hilarious to be pissed off at your own blood leaking down the side of your face, but that was my experience. Also, for the record, I did not feel the gash that I was bleeding from, and angrily rubbed it a few times before realizing I'd been injured.)

The short answer to your question, “how much severely do you need to injure someone through an adrenaline rush?” You need to kill them.

That said, killing them is absolutely not your only option. Less than lethal devices, such as tasers or chemical sprays, can absolutely incapacitate someone under an adrenaline rush, without severely harming them. Similarly, restraints, and other submission techniques can be used to hold them down. In the case of restraints and submission holds, there is a danger of the individual injuring themselves, while they try to work their way out of the hold, but that risk is still vastly preferable to killing them on the spot.

Adrenaline is a very potent survival tool, in your physiology, and if you try to simply overpower that tool through direct force, it will lead to catastrophic consequences. However, alternative methods (in particular, shorting out someone's nervous system with a direct electrical charge, or simply interfering with the mechanical structure of their joints, can be just as effective at stopping them with far less dire consequences.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

hai i have a request for a mike fic, so i was thinking of a comfort/hurt type of thing and maybe like a “i didn’t know where else to go” kind of trope where reader shows up to his house in the middle of the night distressed and he comforts her

To All I Think is Safe

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: After a family dinner gone awry, something guides you somewhere where your mind can safely wander in better memories than the ones you're making right now.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific pronouns for Reader, mentions of arguments, heavy disassociation, heavy nosebleeding, flashbacks, first kiss, date, fear of heights, fair date, author is fucking trying, fluff.

Notes: I think my bosses want me dead. Anyway, here's Wonderwall.

                     ▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

I can handle family. Who can't handle family?

The part of me knocking on the green door illuminated only by the orange streetlight a few yards away, trying to peak through one of the three window slots on the door to see if there's any sign of life inside of the modest house, praying that there is out of selfish desperation. That's who.

I hadn't called. Hadn't given notice. I'd been too caught up in the emotions of myself to do so, worried I'd be turned away if I had. The thought makes me feel ill now, my mind chastising me for such a self interested act.

For a moment I almost turn to leave, sure that no one is awake and that I've simply wasted the gas in the trip over here. But at the loud clunk of the door unlocking, I feel my heart jump and sink simultaneously as Mike peaks his head through the crack in the door, bags under his eyes and hair tossled from sleep.

"Hey," he croaked, blinking away the sleep as his tired face managed a look of surprise.

"Hey," I said softly, trying not to let my voice crack. But it does. "Is this a bad time?"

I don't know what gives my state away. Maybe it's how swollen my face is, puffy and burning from the overexposure to salt water. I can already feel the skin on my eyes balloning in a disastrously unattractive manner. Maybe it's the snot that's still on my face even after trying desperately to wipe it away, my problem being I'd run out of napkins in my car some time ago and hadn't replaced them, so I'd been resorted to just trying my best to sniff back the snot or use the arm of my jacket, which is now soaked and covered by my hand to conceal it, to wipe it away. God, it's fucking sticky and I feel gross. I don't understand why the snot won't just stop fucking flowing.

"Shit, you're bleeding," Mike says. His eyes widen as he steps forward, instantly dragging me into the house, down the hall and into the bathroom.

Oh. That's why my head hurts.

The white light is blinding and overstimulating in the small, disorganized room. One glance in the mirror and I can see the bottom half of my face is grossly smeared in the snot-blood combo running from my nose, my eyes bloodshot and more dry than a British comedy from all of the tears. I stare at myself for a moment, hardly even realizing Mike is yanking my coat off of me, stroking my hair and trying to ask me questions about what happened. I can hear his voice but the words are muffled, and even though my eyes are staring at him now, I don't know when I turned to face him or what I'm really looking at. I'm just staring at anything. My mother used to call it 'staring off into space.' It's actually a disassociation episode. The kind that can make me lose myself in other thoughts, making me distant from reality where I assume the worst of things.

I'm rational enough to know not to lean into him. If I throw myself into his arms I'll smear my shit everywhere and then he'll be grossed out and will have to play nice after I interrupted his sleep to beg for comfort that should come easily enough from my aforementioned mother, but clearly I'm adult enough now that I don't need coddling and I shouldn't have driven here and-

Am I saying this out loud? Because my mouth is moving and I'm trying to say something but I'll be honest, my head is in disarray and Mike looks worried. Me too, buddy. Me too.

My hands try to help his find a wash cloth in his closet, trying to be useful, but they're covered in snot and blood too and it's dried and horrid looking and I just feel like some sticky toddler that's wailing over nothing because that's what I'm doing, and I'm trying not to dissolve into a new wave of tears because my eyes really, really hurt and I'm gonna end up hiccuping and sobbing and I shouldn't even be here right now.

Mike's hands wrap around mine and he's trying to pull me somewhere. But he won't get out of my way, tugging me forward and blocking me like it's some game. Then I realize it's him he's trying to drag me to, and I try to push away, not wanting to get him dirty or let him fulfill some duty of pity just because he feels obligated seeing me in such a state. He's touching my hair and there's snot in that too and this is all just entirely too much, making me burst out sobbing once more as I try to hide my face in my arm, feeling all too vulnerable and alone while in a house that's not mine in any way, shape or form. But his arms feel nice around me, and he's guiding me to the bathtub and helping me lay down inside of it. When he pulls away I'm paranoid for a second that he'll turn the shower head on and wash me like a drunk, especially when he reaches for the shower handles. He presses a clean, white cloth to the spout and let's just a little bit of water out to wet the washcloth before turning the water off and coming closer to me, dabbing and wiping gently at the drying mixture on my face.

There's a long while of silence. Him carefully washing me, his touch gentle and caring as I feel the wet glumps with dried crusts fade away. The pounding in my head begins to dull to an overwhelming ache, making me shut my eyes as I softly groan. When I think he's done I dare peaking at him from under my lashes, trying to read his mind. His brows are furrowed, probably in disgust. Lips pressed together as he sits on the balls of his heels,, watching me carefully. Most likely he'll let me sleep on the couch and then kick me out in the morning. I'll be lucky if I get the "We should see other people" speech. I wouldn't blame him if my calls just couldn't connect when I get home, leaving me to wonder what could've been if I hadn't been so selfish.

I don't even know the time for fucks sake.

"I'm not crazy," I say in this broken voice that only a crazy person would have.

I don't know what's funny, but he's laughing. His hand reaches out to stroke my cheek, and he feels so warm. His callouses have this smooth texture to them. Working hands. It's the first thing I noticed when we held hands the first time. It was at some carnival thing, and Abby was with us. It was sweet under those neon lights. The rides always look so cheap, but there's something enchanting in that. It's what I focus on now as my mind finally begins to relax, allowing me the guilty pleasure of mentally slipping away into an actual memory instead of just static filling my mind and drowning everything else out unpleasantly.

"I know," Mike says softly, his thumb stroking the raw skin under my eye as he watches me with a gentle smile, one probably meant to hide his contempt. "You're okay."

The rides had these giant speakers built into them. And the workers would play songs from them, loud enough it was blaring in your ear on the ride but it was a reasonable volume when you were just walking around on the wet, overgrown and matted grass that curls around the giant cables Mike and I both had to be irritating about reminding Abby not to trip on, both of us looking down to watch for them more than looking at anything else.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Mike asks gently. He's always so gentle. Well, not always.

"Ope, someone lost their drink," I said to Mike, pointing at a spilled lemonade on the dirt path that had been created by decades of the county fair foot-traffic.

"Five second rule," Mike said, his voice low and teasing in my ear, making me burst out laughing.

"That's fucking disgusting!" I exclaimed, looking at him incredulously. A mother passing by snapped 'hey!' At me, tugging her child harshly behind her as she glared. I blushed, covering my mouth with my hand at the outburst, which made Mike laugh just as hard as I just had.

I suppose I have to talk about it. I can't really just not show up at his doorstep in the middle of the night and not just explain myself. But my teeth feel cemented together, my throat full of glue that halts the words I could use to inform him of why I look like this. And my eyes are too tired to make contact with his. So I just melt into his hand, pressing it between my cheek and my shoulder. And he doesn't press any more.

"I always liked the rides that made me feel like I was flying," Mike said as we watched Abby spin round and round with some girl she often spent her days with. Lisa Something.

"Yeah?" I asked, turning to look at him, taking a drink from the giant lemonade that was not at all real lemonade and was instead some horrid sugar that's taking five years off of our lives mixed with whatever makes the color of the drink the same as construction workers glow-in-the-dark vests that I'm sure will have like, ten different studies on how it gives you some cardiovascular disorder from overexposure in twenty years. There's a waxy ring of chapstick around my straw, so it's easy to tell which one to drink from. Mike had gotten just the one giant drink and two straws, shoving them in with a smooth smile as he handed me the already sweaty, Pepsi branded cup to hold while we walked. I think he didn't know that I noticed the twelve year old boy who'd been five people ahead of us in line do the same thing with his date earlier, but it was a cute gesture nonetheless.

"Yeah. I don't know why, it just felt comforting. Wind fuckin' up my hair and shit," he said, hands shoved in his jean pockets as he watched the two girls, who are sticking their tongues out at us as they whirl by.

"What, like you were flying away from your problems?" I ask, genuinely guessing.

"Nah, I don't really think of it like that. Just felt like I was somewhere else for a bit. Could close my eyes and the only anxiety I felt was whether or not Genie there was gonna fucken drop me," he said, glancing at me and smirking as he points at the giant airbrushed painting of Genie from Aladdin on the side of the ride. That's definitely not licensed.

"Have you eaten?" Mike asks softly, coming a little closer to me as his other hand cups my opposite cheek. At that I shake my head, pressing my lips together.

"It was all just some giant fiasco," I said as I laughed while trying to aim my basketball for the hoop several feet in front of me. Mike's made like five goals in a row and is proudly holding a very cheap rainbow dolphin with lopsided eyes for me while he watches me struggle just to get one.

"What, your prom date?" He teased, leaning closer to my ear as I take a shot. And miss. Again. "Or this?"

I turned to him, glaring and trying to suppress my amused smile.

"The date was fine, my hair was horrid," I said, turning away from the man working the booth who was trying to convince me to try again.

"I always like your hair," Mike says softly, one hand stroking my hair as he presses his forehead against mine. God, why won't he just tear into me already? The anticipation is fucking killing me.

I open my mouth to respond, but I just hiccup instead. At that he gently helps me up, guiding me out of the bathroom and leading me into the kitchen where he promises a leftover bowl of chicken noodle soup has my name written all over it in the fridge.

There's a thousand insecure questions I want to ask right now. Does he hate me? Will he hate me? Is this just a prelude to an awful breakup? But instead I just cling to my thoughts quietly, not wanting an answer to anything. Reality fading in and out of focus.

The kitchen is quiet as he moves about, dishing out the leftovers and putting them in the cheap, stained microwave he'd had to buy when Abby blew up the last one with a pitiful attempt at making her own rice Krispy treats. He leans against the counter as we wait for the rattling machine to finish, neither of us really saying anything as my leg bounces wildly in anxiety.

"Are you okay?" Mike asks softly after a moment, tilting his head. His arms are crossed in front of him, which is normal for Mike but it still makes me on edge.

I try again to speak, but I can't. It feels like I'll just blow up again if I do. So I just shrug instead, not wanting to talk about the lengthy screaming match I'd managed to find myself in earlier that night.

The microwave beeps loudly, causing us both to start, Mike pulling the door open quickly to shut it up and take out the now hot bowl, hissing under his breath at himself for not grabbing a towel as he quickly moves to set it down in front of me. If I'd been in a better state I would've laughed at the admittedly comical sight, but I felt like I'd done enough at his expense for one night.

Once situated, there's long while of silence. No other noise except for my spoon clinking against my bowl as I eat quietly, Mike watching me across the glass table as he takes a few drinks from his clear glass of water, head on his large hand. A clock ticks in the other room, the hour later than I'd wanted to be when I showed up unannounced.

"I'm sorry," I finally say in a soft voice, my spoon scraping soundlessly against the maroon bowl. "I just didn't know where else to go."

He smiles softly at that, his hand reaching across the table for mine. The touch meant to be comforting instead sends me back into my thoughts, my body stiffening as my mind tries to distract me from my anxiety and doubt.

Our hands had been brushing against each other for hours as we'd walked. Both of us were too nervous to take the others, which is a bit silly since we were grown adults. But really we hadn't had any serious discussions yet. We were still in the dinners and texting phase, dancing around any serious 'what is this' talks until we felt like we would both have similar answers ready for any questions. The night had settled in solidly now, the fairgrounds only alive by the bright lights of the rides.

The grazing, however, had come to an end when the ferris wheel started clicking towards what felt like my untimely demise.

I fucking hate ferris wheels, fun fact.

I don't think Mike particularly likes them either, based off of how stiff his body was next to mine, his eyes trained dead ahead, his jaw clenched. I think he might break a tooth. Or maybe I'm projecting.

Abby and Lisa had been insistent on riding it, and had been even more insistent that Mike and I needed to ride something with them before the night was over. And even though we both looked at the thing with a pit in our stomach, neither of us felt ridiculous about being grown adults on that ride as opposed to all the others flooded with teens and kids dodging in and out, stomping in puddles of who knows what on their way to the next ride. So we gritted our teeth, handed over our tickets and got into the cart right behind Abby and Lisa, who wouldn't stop looking back at us with amused eyes, whispering into each other's each as they covered their mouths.

"My dad worked as a carnie," I blurted out as we hung mid air, halfway up the ride while they still loaded people in. "These things are fucken sturdy."

Mike didn't look at me. Or at least he didn't turn his head. I didn't either. His silence makes my anxiety a bit worse, wondering if my random fact had somehow irritated him, or if there was something I was supposed to do that I wasn't picking up on.

"... I'm gonna die to Creed," he finally said between his gritted teeth.

My brows furrow for a moment before I realize what song is playing, and then I'm laughing. Maybe a little too much, but that's the anxiety. Abby and Lisa are darting their heads around to look down at us, trying to see what's set me off, and Creed's taking One Last Breath on the blaring radio somewhere around us as they have been for the past however many months with the top song.

"I'm never gonna escape this, they play this way too much at work," I laughed. And he started laughing too, both of us white knuckled as we gripped the bar in front of us. Then we move up again, and the cart is slightly rocking, making me feel ill.

"That's okay," Mike says softly, his thumb trailing across my knuckles as I stare down at our hands. "I was missing you, anyways."

I look up at him, trying to read his expression, my head still trying to balance my focuses. There's concern in his eyes, obvious as he realizes how awful this particular episode is.

Abby is yelling something at us, but my head is buzzing with too much anxiety to hear her.

"Go away!" Mike yells back at her, waving his hand in irritation, then stopping as he realizes he's rocking the cart. He looked back at me anxiously, trying to smile. It just looked like he'd been shot instead. "Sisters," he said shyly.

"What's she saying?" I asked him, leaning closer to hear him better over the heavy guitar.

"Nothing," he insisted. "She's just being twelve."

I go to look up, only to feel his hand on top of mine, warm and strong as he grips it a little too hard for the first time, but I think that's out of anxiety too. No matter what, the first move makes me more dizzy.

"Your dad worked fairs?" He asked anxiously, obviously trying to change the subject.

"I should've called first," I say softly, leaning onto the table and pushing the empty bowl away from me as I lay on top of my arm.

"It's okay," he reminds me in a soft voice, rising from his chair while still holding my hand. "You're home now."

"Well, I'm at your home now," I hiccup into my arm. His arms wrap around me, guiding me up and into his warm embrace that I'd been longing for for what felt like hours.

"I thought you said you liked flying!" I laughed, terrified.

"Flying! This is sitting still while dangling above death!" Mike clarified. The carts began clicking again, and we now had an easier view of the two girls in front of us, making him gasp and yell out Abby's full name in scolding.

I see why he didn't want me to look up. Abby and Lisa are miming a make-out session while they giggle obnoxiously.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna fucking ground her," he groaned, covering his forehead with his other hand. His face is completely red, his body so stiff it feels like I could break off his arm with barely any pressure, and my own heart is slamming so hard against my chest I think it's visible.

One more click and we'll be at the top. Great.

He's looking down at me, I think he's trying to get me to refocus but I just can't. I've done my duties for the night, and now I'm stuck in this emotional pit of hatred and numbness as my mind tries to remind me of a better time that just makes me feel worse because Mike is speaking again and I just can't hear him.

"She's being a wingman. Really, she's just spotting a good opportunity," I rambled in Abby's defense. Mike glanced at me, then at the tweens in front of us.

"Yeah?" He asked, his voice nerve wracked.

"Oh yeah. Every little sister does it. I mean, it's partially based in torture, but overall she's trying to help," I said quickly, my breath shortening.

"Are you okay?" He asked, looking just as pale as me.

"I fucking hate heights, please distract me," I pleaded quickly, only to immediately feel his teeth click loudly against mine as he kissed me, his lips sweet with sugar and hands nearly breaking mine from his tight grip, Abby and Lisa whooping obnoxiously in front of us as we freeze in the moment. It's clumsy, certainly. And it's obvious on both ends how long it's been since either of us have done this. But it's an effective method, my mind beginning to refocus on the taste of the borderline awful lemonade fresh on his breath, his shaking hand moving from the bar to cup my cheek cold from the wind. My eyes widen in surprise, the music swelling around us and the lights somehow brighter as we rock above the rest of the fair in the squeaking booth.

When he pulls away, there's a soft smile on his face, his tongue quickly darting out to taste his own lips.

"... I like your chapstick," he said shyly, neither of us focused on the fact that we're now moving steadily in the ride, fully tuned in to the other.

"Thanks," I said softly, cheeks burning against his touch. "Strawberry."

There's a long second of nothing, and I'm vaguely aware of Abby and Lisa screaming "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" And someone is trying to shush them. I know it's not Mike because he's staring at me like an idiot. Completely satisfied and dramatically more calm as he leans in for another kiss, this time pulling me fully into his embrace.

"You're home," Mike repeats against my lips, then moving to trail along my cheeks, his hands carefully cupping my face once more as his touch grounds me back in reality. "I'll be here when your mind gets back."

As my own hands graze along his soft, cotton shirt, I feel my pulse begin to relax. Doubt beginning to creep away as his lips trail along my jaw, slowly working to my neck. It's not a demanding touch. It's just comfort. And he'll keep doing this until I return to him like I always do, and then he'll keep doing it until we both fall asleep in a tight embrace under a dozen blankets, half of which will be gone by morning as we wake in a pool of sweat across the bed from each other, only to seek the other out again in wakefulness. And there will be answers for his questions, and I'll be fine.

I'm home now.

                             ¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

I FINALLY FUCKING PUBLISHED SOMETHING. HOLY FUCK I'M OVERWORKED. (Fun fact, this was fucking hard because I was actively disassociating while writing the whole thing. Reader just like me frfr)

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool. Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

               •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

[stargirl-writes]

safety net

pairing : force healer! jedi x anakin skywalker

word count : 1.2 k

masterlist | part two

summary

finding safety in a world deranged by war became a distant dream until your childhood friend, anakin skywalker, comes back to your life.

tags : fluff, comfort, friends-to-lovers.

warnings : mentions of surgical procedure/blood.

notes

happy holidays to everyone that celebrates !

as a present, here's some warm fluff that's been sitting in the drafts i wanna share with y'all 🤍

It began when Obi-Wan Kenobi, asked you to heal Anakin Skywalker.

The Jedi Master felt as though it was his responsibility to find the most competent healer in the galaxy after his Padawan lost an arm in a fight against Count Dooku.

And you didn't hesitate taking in the job the Jedi Council has entrusted you with. It was the most flattering, especially since you will be in charge of the care of their 'chosen one'.

You had just finished your apprenticeship in force healing, so you were determined not to let down the Council and the honor they bestowed.

"[Name]? You've grown" Anakin blinks when he realizes it was you. By the way he was smiling ear-to-ear, you realize he had been languid from the blood loss.

You were younglings together. The Jedi Masters had not fallen short in reminding Anakin that he was supposed to be the chosen one. That title, was not only known to him, but to all else.

It isolated him. As you had been. Your natural connection to healing made the Masters want to develop your skills outside the standard curricula.

Anakin was the one you sat with when no one wanted to. It was you and Anakin until you had to leave to pursue learning about healing through other force wielders.

"Yes, Anakin, I'm in charge of your care now" You answered, raising the syringe to his sight so he'd anticipate the injection.

"If it takes losing an arm to have you back, I'd have done it again" Anakin says thru half-lidded eyes.

The sedative was quickly taking its effect and you couldn't dare to look up at Obi-Wan.

"Well, at least one of us is happy about this" You answered.

Remembering your bedside manners, you proceeded with the protocol.

Send the patient to sleep.

Don't appear doubtful.

Don't make promises.

"Is there a color you'd want for your new arm?" You forced your voice to remain calm as you redirect his attention to the question. Both your hands are applying pressure on his severed arm to reduce the blood spilling.

Obi-Wan was pale with worry. You nodded to him hoping that he'd be reassured his apprentice would be fine. He looked like he'd pass out before Anakin.

Anakin leans back on the stretcher, the thought keeping him focused and away from the pain that was being dulled by the sedative.

"Definitely not gold— C3PO will never let it go" His nose scrunched, grimacing at the thought.

You let out a chuckle at his comment. "Alright, not gold"

The Med-Droid had finished preparing the materials and when you turn back your focus to the Jedi, he was already asleep.

You worked efficiently. Time was of paramount importance. The Jedi teachings hypothesized on midi-chlorians being stored in the blood, so you prioritized stopping the bleeding.

The lightsaber cut cauterized the tissues and vessels, making his blood coagulate and turn toxic. To your advantage, you were able to utilize both medical practice and force healing to fully save the nerves.

You can still make him a bionic arm that would be sensate.

By the time you were finished, the design you sent to bioengineering came. A silver arm with hints of red.

It still looked more skeletal than realistic. But that's only because you wanted to improve on it later. This was only a prototype.

Your hand coddles his cheek— this was the fastest way to sense how he'd been feeling.

His signature appears to you as a series of words.

Conflicted. In a state of stasis. Scared. 

You took your hand back, deciding not to pry more into what he was keeping.

Hours flew and you found yourself in a loop debating whether electric signals in the nerves could fire using zillo skin. It would be the toughest replacement for skin, but it's not capable of transmitting signals for sensation.

Your mind was beginning to numb from the mental exhaustion. Your curious gaze lands on Anakin's bare torso. He was still unconscious.

You would have done your research in your quarters, but you wanted to be here when he wakes.

Your mind started drifting and you followed his breathing.

How is it possible for his skin to hug so tight against his muscles?

You blinked, startled by the thought that crossed your mind. Perhaps it was time to sleep...

"Eyes are up here" Anakin says in a singsong voice.

You look up through your lashes, cheeks firing up from the embarrassment.

He chuckles, then his attention lands on his bionic arm.

"How are you feeling?" You stood up, grabbing the charts and taking note of his vital signs displayed on the monitors. You pressed on the recline and Anakin sits up along with the bed.

"Mmmhungry?" He rubs his eye.

"I'll have someone bring something" You smiled. "Can I?" You asked before touching his bionic arm.

He nods and you continued. "Can you open your fist?" You asked, holding the bionic arm, guiding gently.

Anakin's eyebrows furrowed in focus. The arm abruptly closes. "What happened?"

"That's fine, your mind is adapting to sending nerve signals to the synthetic ones." You explained, your fingers unclenching his fist.

Anakin tries again and his fingers opens up in a more controlled manner.

You let out a breath of relief when you realized you have managed to save all those tiny nerves.

"Alright, now tell me how much you can feel" You instructed, running the tip of your pointer finger against his palm, you look up to see him already looking at you.

Focus.

Anakin was not at all subtle. It made butterflies run down your stomach.

"I can feel you, but I can't tell how much pressure your applying" He answers.

You nodded, noting it down.

Now, you need to test the receptors for heat.

Oh, by the force, why must he look at me like that.

You centered yourself on the task in front. You pressed the back of your hand against his palm. "And how does my skin feel? Can you tell if it's warm?"

Your heart was thundering inside your ribs, you were kind of scared that Anakin will hear how nervous he was making you feel.

Anakin tilts his chin, as if he was really trying to feel. "No, I can't feel the heat" He clasps his fingers against your palm as if testing more.

Of course, you couldn't have healed everything. "Alright" You withdrew.

"This is only a prototype, I'll improve its design after we do some more tests" You stood up, trying to establish some space between you and your old friend.

Anakin leans back after noting your action. "Thank you, [Name]" He kept his eyes fixed on you, as if he was still waking up from a dream.

You managed a smile. "I got you"

His eyes lingered on yours, you could not find it in yourself to look away.

A soft knock on the door snapped you awake.

"Well, don't you look well" Obi Wan comments with a wide smile

"Something's different" He crosses his arms, as if trying to figure out what it was that changed.

"Dooku really got you with that scar" Obi Wan nods his head as he waves a hand tracing the scar on his apprentice's face. 

You couldn't hold back a laugh in surprise.

"I lost an arm" Anakin squeezes his eyes close.

"Come, no reason for me to be rude now." Obi-Wan winks at you. "But since you brought it up, how are you feeling?" He steps forward to Anakin's bed.

You leave the two to catch up on their own.

of course i'd seperate the angst on the next part so if you want more of that, head to the next one haha!

[immajustvibehere]

The Rescue

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

summary: You go missing in the mountains when you were scouting ahead with John. Luckily, Arthur finds you. The near death experience gives both of you the courage for a confession.

tags: high honor Arthur, fluffly

2300 words, 13 minutes reading time

Three gunshots pierced the silent air that for hours had remained undisturbed, unless one counts the bluster of the wind. The shots echoed through the mountains. They prompted you into action, forgetting your miserable state.

"Here! I'm here!", you screamed with everything your voice had to offer, and that wasn't much. Half-frozen to death, sitting in your own blood and desperately clutching your arm where a wolf had bitten you, you tried standing up, with no success. Your leg had been hurt and putting pressure on it made the scenery fade to black. Out of fear for fainting and not being found, you remained cowering under the icy ledge, only a few feet away from a dangerous ravine.

"Y/N!", Arthur's voice was so close, you started to cry in relief.

"Arthur!", you screamed back and suddenly - there he was. You looked up the cliff to see his worried face staring down on you. Only moments later, Javier was appearing right next to him.

"Damn", Javier mumbled. Arthur seemed kind of unable to open his mouth, but he hurried down to you, careful not to slip and hurt himself.

"John should be further down there", you pointed into the said direction, "haven't heard from him for a while though."

Arthur was almost at your side: "Javier, you go and fetch Marston, I'll take Miss y/l/n." Javier's face disappeared, and you could concentrate on Arthur who was quickly approaching you. He squatted in front of you, not giving a damn about his pants which now were covered in snow. You couldn’t deny that it looked absolutely horrible. There was no white snow around you, everything was painted in your blood, and you yourself couldn't have possibly looked any better.

"Shit, y/n", Arthur murmured, taking his gloves off by biting them and sliding out of them.

You only managed to nod, tears now streaming down your face without shame. For hours on end, you had been convinced that you'd die here, freezing to death. It would have only been a matter of time until the wolves would come back and finish the work they had started. But now you were safe.

"It's gonna be okay", Arthur tried to calm you down. Gently, he wiped away some of your tears with his hand. It probably wasn't even warm, but it felt like a furnace against your frozen cheeks.

"It's alright", Arthur repeated. He noticed that he was shaking too, not necessarily because of the cold. It was true that the ride up the glacier had his bones chilled, but seeing you all bloody before him made him realise that he was shaking out of relief. He had been afraid you were gone. And now he feared losing you, right here and right now in front of him. Since you slightly pushed your face into his open hand, he didn't dare to remove it, but rather used his other hand to hold his glove open and blow some hot air into it.

"Get yer hand in there", he mumbled, helping you with putting his two gloves on.

"Can ya still move 'em?", Arthur asked, gently pressing your two hands in between his own. You quickly nodded and waited for your lips to stop quivering before you gave an answer: "Yeah. But this one hurts." You nodded towards your left arm where the nasty bite wound was hard to miss.

"I'd worry if it wasn't hurtin'", Arthur said, a crooked smile appearing on his lips for a few seconds.

"Very funny", you replied with a straight face. Actually, it had cheered you up a bit. This interaction was preferable to dying alone and becoming a frozen mummy.

And yet, Arthur was still worried more than he was comfortable with. He knew that he cared about you, but he cared about many people. However, this felt a little different.

"Can you stand up?"

"No...something's wrong with my leg."

"Okay. Come on then-", he stated, picking you up without so much as a silent grunt.

You snuggled into his wet coat and anxiously watched him struggle carrying you on the icy ground.

"How long have you been...like this?", Arthur asked after whistling for his horse.

"Not sure. At least one night...John and I rode out yesterday and then we were attacked by some wolves. It was...sheer luck that we survived. I mean- I hope John..."

"He'll be fine."

You gulped down a sob but were immediately relieved by Javier whistling behind you. Arthur turned around so you both saw him carrying a barely conscious John on his back.

You yourself struggled staying conscious during the ride back. For safety reasons, Arthur placed you in front of him on the horse, so he would be able to secure you with an arm tightly wrapped around you. He had admitted that he didn't trust you - in your current state - to stay on the horse without his help. At first you still had some strength left in you to give a witty remark, mocking him for calling you weak, but five minutes into the ride Arthur had to beg you to keep your eyes open.

"We're almost there, okay? Try stayin' awake until you're in the cabin, would ya?". he said those words close to your ear. The hot air from his mouth made your hair stand up and, in a way, did a decent job of keeping you awake and your heart beating. After one minute had passed, Arthur felt you slumping against his chest again.

"Darlin' please", he pleaded in a whisper, for neither Javier nor John to hear.

"'m really tryin' Arthur", you mumbled. Arthur was afraid that your hypothermic body was shutting down and he wouldn't be able to hold you in both of his arms to keep you warm and awake. The only thing he could to was to ride faster and make sure from time to time, that you were still awake. He'd whisper things into your ears that he didn't knew he was capable of, but the thought of having almost lost you, or to find out that you are indeed at the brink of death from the cold and blood loss, made his tongue loose.

You listened at first, but soon you were barely conscious, only managing to nod or mumble in agreement sometimes, without even registering what Arthur was saying.

The rest was black. You woke up in dry clothes and with an aching body, wrapped into two blankets. Mary-Beth and Swanson were staring you down, both of their faces lighting up when they saw you stirring.

You weren't awake for long, but long enough to be assured that you'll live and hadn't taken any lasting damage, aside from the wolf bite on your arm, which might leave some scars and your ankle which was probably sprained, but would soon be healed if you gave it enough rest. You managed to sit up to have a look at John who was lying in another bed close to yours, Abigail at his side.

"Looking good, Marston", you smiled, simply happy to see him alive.

"You have also seen better days, y/n", John replied briefly. And with that you plummeted back onto your bedroll and fell asleep.

When you opened your eyes again, it was dark in the cabin. No daylight came in, it must be the darkest hour of the night, but the fire in the fireplace distorted the shadows of the sleeping people in the room to eerie figures. You squinted to make out the different faces, which often was impossible because they were covered with scarves and shawls. It took a while, but after a couple of minutes lying awake you realised what had woken you in the first place. It wasn’t Uncle’s snoring or the weeping of a woman in the far corner, who you were quite sure you hadn’t seen before, but it was pain.

Your arm had been tidily wrapped in clean bandages, but you felt the wound underneath throbbing and burning relentlessly. Your leg wasn’t bothering you, as long as you remembered to keep it entirely still. If you moved it, because the chillness of the room sent a shiver through your spine and made you wince, the pain ran up all the way up your body. Maybe Reverend had given you some of his morphine earlier because you couldn’t quite understand how you would have been able to fall asleep under those circumstances.

With eyes closed you laid as still as possible, hoping that exhaustion would carry you to sleep again. You didn’t know how long you had lain there like that, when you heard the door of the cabin being opened. The hinges creaked and in came the stature of a man, warmly illuminated by the lantern in his hand – Arthur. You watched him while he tip-toed over the sleeping women, halting suddenly when he reached your bed and found you looking at him with a big smile.

“Did I wake ya?”, he whispered.

“No. Can’t sleep”, you sighed, also careful to keep your voice quiet so you wouldn’t wake the others, “What are you doing here?”

“I ehrm-“, Arthur awkwardly looked around in the room, “wanted to check on you.”

“Really?”, you grinned at him.

“Sure”, Arthur scratched the back of his neck, “ya looked barely alive when we got here. Were as white as a ghost and not exactly what I’d call conscious.”

“Yeah”, you chuckled sorrily. With all the strength you could bring up, you sat upright and made space for Arthur to sit down on the bed. Your face twisted in pain when you moved your injured leg, but it paid off when Arthur sat down with a sigh and put the lantern on the floor in front of you. For a few moments, neither of you said anything. Arthur looked around the room and studied the sleeping faces, while you had your eyes glued on his. You knew there was something coming, but you weren’t quite prepared for it when he finally said it.

“’em words I said on the ride back…”, he paused. His voice had sounded so flustered, his cheeks surely must be a darker shade of red. But the dimness of the light didn’t grant you this exciting view. For a split second he looked at you, only to find you expecting him to go on. But he didn’t. Now was the time for an embarrassing admission. Though you did remember him calling you darling and even sweetheart at one point, your memory was fuzzy. You weren’t sure if it had really happened or if he had only said it in the dream which you had, but you recalled him saying the word “love”. Maybe it was “my love”, or “I love”,…you didn’t know and the harder you tried to remember, the more you doubted it had actually happened.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I was pretty much gone as soon as you had me on the horse”, you apologized and watched the man’s face. Was he relaxing?

“Probably better that way”, he gave a smile that looked rather sad.

He was starting to stand up, when you quickly grabbed his coat. He halted in surprise and threw you a quizzical look. Since you didn’t say anything but still didn’t let go of his coat, he sat down again, looking at you with a hint of concern.

“Yer alright?”

“Ye- No. I don’t know”, you admitted, “it depends.” You gulped.

“I was pretty sure I would be dying in the mountains. And when you’re just sitting there, freezing to death, you think about the stuff you regret not doing”, you started.

You added: “I’m glad you found me.”

Arthur huffed: “Sure, I’m also glad we fou-“

“No. You. I thought I’d never see you again”, tears started to roll down your cheeks. You weren’t sad, or angry or any emotion that would have your tears streaming, just the memory of sitting in the darkest night and feeling every limb ache in pain for warmth was unnerving.

“Well, yer seein’ me now? Ain’t ya? It’s alright girl”, Arthur tried calming you down when he saw the tears in your face. Carefully, he slung an arm around your shoulders and gently pushed you into him. Your face rested on his chest while he tried to comfort you by patting your back. You waited a few moments until you had calmed down enough to speak without the quiver in your voice.

“Before I get stuck somewhere else,…or eaten by a cougar,…or shot by some idiot”, you whispered, “I really want you to know that I-…you mean a lot to me, Arthur. I love you. Have done so for a while now.”

Hadn’t you been convinced that Arthur hadn’t already made a similar confession to you on the horse with you blacked out, you probably would have kept it for yourself for many years to come or until one of you was killed by a bullet. Of course, you would have ended up regretting it, like you regretted it on the mountain, of not having it said earlier. You figured, now was as good a time as any.

Arthur held you tighter, pressing you into his fluffy coat which gave off an odour of wet fabric and pine trees.

After a while, he whispered back in a gruffy voice: “Ya mean it?”

“Of course”, you replied quickly, offended by the lack of trust but knowing that he was asking from a place of insecurity and fear of rejection.

“As much as you meant the words on the horse”, you added with a smile and peeled yourself off him, “if you want to repeat them sooner or later, I promise not faint this time.”

Finally, Arthur chuckled lightly. “That’s a start.”

[hekateinhell]

I was wondering what your thoughts are on this. A lot of people see a vampire biting (without consent) a metaphor for rape. Like when Lestat is turned and the ball scene. Armand was seemingly attempting a hook-up. He's maybe using mind control because Lestat is somewhat incoherent. He's terrified because it reminds him of Magus. He calls it an unforgivable lie. Where do you think this metaphor ends? Do they (metaphorically) rape mortals when they kill them or is that different? Thanks！

Hi! 🖤

So I think it's going to be a two-part response here because it's an interesting question and I want to do it justice. Now, this is what Lestat says in TVL:

I wanted him [Armand] to beg. I wanted him to give me that powerful voice full of lies and cunning, the voice that had made me believe for one pure and dazzling instant that I was alive and free and in the state of grace again. Damnable, unforgivable lie. Lie I'd never forget for as long as I walked the earth.

This is the unforgivable lie! The illusion Armand created that let Lestat believe with his whole heart and soul "I [Lestat] could get away this time. I had another chance. The wheel had turned full round", but of course it wasn't real, and that's what hurt Lestat the most.

That being said, let's address the metaphor because it comes often enough in VC. Usually between two vampires — the most explicit examples would be Armand saying he wants to rape David in TVA, and Lestat ruminating over the violence of his creation (which mirrors David's) in Blood Canticle:

[...] immortals who think they want the Dark Blood perish infinitely more easily than those of us who never asked for it. Perhaps the anger of the rape carries us through for centuries.

Your question was: "Do vampires metaphorically rape mortals when they kill them?" and I would have to say, yes, they do!

Because when we're thinking about metaphors, allegories, and the different ways that language is used, it's so important to put it into context or we're going to lose the nuance completely. I discussed this with my friend @somevagrantchild, who's not just an obsessive Anne Rice fan but also someone who's been studying vampire media for a very long time, and they made some excellent points in response to your question that I'm going to directly quote below!*

They are violating and taking from the mortals without consent; it’s a general vampire allegory for all vampires since the beginning of time. Anything not consensual = rape. If a vampire hypnotizes a human to drink from them so that the human enjoys it, it’s still rape.

No human ever consents to be killed. Even like the suicidal people Armand draws to him still aren’t consenting. They don’t have enough knowledge to consent, killing a suicidal person doesn’t make it consensual. The only way would be if the human was like, “I understand you are a vampire, please kill me sir.” The consenting to death would be seeking out the vampire themselves and making the conscious choice; suicide means deciding when you die. If they’re suicidal but haven’t killed themselves yet, then killing them before they make that choice is still violating them.

Rape especially applies to vampires (more than other types of non consensual murder) because of the intimacy of it, the way they’re violating that person's inner self by drawing out their memories and private feelings, also the bodily fluids going from one body into another (as opposed to stabbing someone and their blood just spilling on the floor).

Examples in literature: At the very beginning of vampire fiction with Lord Ruthven seducing innocent maidens; Dracula just snuck in their room and attacked while they were asleep in bed but Ruthven was seducing them personally, and all adaptations of Dracula have him being much more seductive. Carmilla, too, sneaking into Laura’s bed and feeding on her breasts in the middle of the night. The whole penetrative aspect makes the rape metaphor more applicable than it is to other types of murder/violence.

*touched up for grammar and continuity from Discord.

Hope that answers your question and thank you so much @somevagrantchild for lending me your brain for this one! I want to devour it. ♥️

[eleccy]

Kristoph Gets Fawkin Murdered While Apollo Is Still Working For Him AU WIP

I have no idea if I'm going to write more of this but I'd like to gauge what the interest is in this scenario. Several people seemed interested in my post from a bit ago about an AU where Kristoph is killed while Apollo is working for him similarly to Mia and Phoenix's situation. BUT, there's a twist. Somehow it turned into.... this.

Let me know what you think. Full WIP is below the cut...

(CW for semigraphic details of violence/injury and use of weapons)

---

At first, Apollo thinks that Kristoph must be out of the office. "Hello? Sir? I brought the documents you requested…"

But the lights are on, even though there's nobody at Kristoph's desk. Kristoph wouldn't leave the office without turning the lights off.

Apollo steps further into the room, almost mindlessly. There doesn't seem to be anyone in here, after all-

And then-

Apollo takes a step back when he sees what he's certain must be Mr. Gavin's corpse.

Apollo has seen what images of dead people look like - he knows. Mr. Gavin is lying supine on the floor, red blood trickling down his temple and forming a small puddle on the floor. His shiny glasses are some feet away, smashed to smithereens - it looks like someone has stepped on them with force. His eyes are closed; he's completely still. His hair's undone, tangled blond sticky with blood. He's been beaten badly - dark bruising blooming over one eye, and his cheekbone, but the head wound appears to be the worst of it.

Apollo doesn't move, can't move. This is the worst of his worst nightmares. He knew that Phoenix Wright had found his mentor, Mia Fey, in a similar state, just like this. And she didn't make it.

Next thing he knows, Apollo is surging forward with a cry, adrenalin driving him on. He drops to his knees near Kristoph's body. Getting a better look doesn't help matters. He's really dead. Somebody… somebody killed him. Tears spring to his eyes. Mr. Gavin had taught him everything he knew about law. Mr. Gavin… cared about him. And that was one more person that Apollo just had to lose, from his biological father, to his adoptive father, to…

No use crying now. Have to start investigating. Now! Apollo had to find the culprit. Whoever did this had to deal with Justice.

Just then, Apollo heard a quiet sound in the otherwise silent room. He stared at Mr. Gavin's corpse. The sound came once again.

…Was it… a soft moan?

Apollo's first thought was that he didn't want to put his fingerprints onto a corpse, especially if it could ruin other evidence for forensics. But now…

Apollo's hand dropped delicately to Kristoph's pulse point. "M… Mr. Gavin, can you hear me? It's Justice!"

After a very long moment, Apollo watched as Mr. Gavin's eye twitched, definitely a twitch, one time, two times, then slowly opened, pained and hazy. Apollo almost fell over with relief.

But he wasn't out of the woods yet. And there was a chance he might not make it.

Fumbling his phone, Apollo dialed for an ambulance as fast as he was able, blurting out the first thing he could think to ask as he did so. "Sir, tell me, who did this to you? Who did this?"

Another soft moan, barely even audible. It was clear Kristoph couldn't move, could barely talk. He's probably in a lot of pain… But his lips were moving, and Apollo had to drop to the floor to hear the barely-there whisper. "E… Enigma…"

"Enigma? Enigma?" Apollo didn't know any Enigma, but it was better than nothing. The other end of the line picked up and Apollo screamed down it as loud as he could. "Hello?? We need an ambulance, please, at Gavin Law Offices, Mr. Gavin is-"

"Slow down, if you please - what's the address of the emergency, sir?" The woman on the other end of the line sounded tired, but she did stay on the line with Apollo while they waited for an ambulance to arrive.

"Does he have a pulse?"

"Y-yes, but it's very weak, there's blood everywhere, and-"

"Is he breathing?"

"Yes, but just barely, please send somebody soon-"

"They're on their way to you, kid. Just tell me if anything changes."

"It'll be okay." Apollo promises. Apollo isn't good at being soothing in an emergency. That's usually Mr. Gavin's job. All Apollo can try to do is think of how he would handle this situation. He'd tell me to calm down, breathe. Assess my options. Stay alert, but relax.

Mr. Gavin's hand seems okay where it's lying limply at his side. Not knowing what else to do, Apollo picks it up, holds it, and tries to be comforting - but realistically, this is a time where he'd want to hold his mentor's hand anyway, if it were somebody else bleeding out on the ground, so it's as much for Apollo's comfort as Kristoph's. They breathe, they wait, they watch, and Kristoph watches Apollo dimly out of the one eye that he can open.

"S'all gonna be okay." Apollo forces a smile out. Then he has to get up to let the paramedics in with the stretcher. Apollo thinks about asking to ride along in the ambulance, but Kristoph is so out of it that Apollo is pretty sure it won't matter if he just jumps on his bike and books it to the hospital ahead of the triage team.

-

Apollo sits in the waiting area of the triage center for a long time. Every hour he gets up to speak with reception and begs them for an update, and every time he is denied, until hour six.

A nurse takes him aside, and tells him.

Apollo is empty inside. Kristoph didn't make it.

-

The only person at the funeral who really cried was Kristoph's little brother, and Apollo could understand that.

Klavier hugs him, thanks him very deeply and sincerely for staying.

"You know," Klavier says, wiping away the tears that just seem to keep on coming, "I know that you being there really comforted him. It brings me so much comfort to know that he wasn't all alone. Thank you. Thank you."

"It… it was the least I could do." I should've done so much more. I should've been there. I should've saved him. If we had both fought, we would have been able to take whoever did this. We could've beaten Enigma… Apollo's whole body aches.

An Enigma. A puzzle.

Apollo checks the guestbook several times for anybody's signature that even looks something like "Enigma". But nothing jumps out.

"Mr. Wright."

"Sorry. I shouldn't be hanging around here."

"Weren't you Mr. Gavin's friend?"

"Yeah, I was. But he wouldn't want me showing up to this. Hey, listen. I want you to go to Central Hospital later today. Go to the tenth floor and ask to see David Krisler."

"Wh-what?"

"Four PM. No later. I'll see you there."

-

Apollo shows up as requested.

He feels funny, asking to visit somebody that he doesn't even know. What will he say if the nurse asks what his relation to the man is?

But nobody asks. The nurse brings him past a set of double doors and all the way to the end of the corridor. "He's in there. They're expecting you." is all she says before shuffling away.

More confused than ever, Apollo steps into the room. Is this some sort of a setup? What the hell did Mr. Wright lead me into?

The room is dim and warm, with all the window blinds down, and just one light on. Behind a sterile drape on the other side of the room, Apollo catches snippets of a conversation.

"-and not for nothing, but I'll know it when I see it-"

"Kris, the chances of anyone figuring anything out are about a million to one-"

The two people talking are Mr. Wright, and a very familiar voice. Apollo's heart surges as he takes a few quick steps forward, behind the curtain.

Both people go quiet and look up at him straightaway, Mr. Wright and none other than Mr. Gavin himself. Mr. Wright sits in a plastic chair at the side of a hospital bed. Mr. Gavin is in said hospital bed, which has been reclined to a level at which he can sit up most of the way. He still doesn't have his glasses, and his hair is a mess and he looks worse for wear, with big purple bruises covering one side of his face and his left eye swollen almost completely shut. The side of his head is bandaged and he looks awfully exhausted besides all that. Apollo isn't used to seeing him like this - weak, supine, vulnerable. It makes him look like a stranger. But he gives Apollo a tired smile.

"Close the door, Apollo. We've got a lot to talk about." Mr. Wright says evenly.

Apollo does. When he walks back to the bed, he realizes that there are no more seats. "Go ahead and sit at the foot of the bed if you're comfortable, Apollo. This is going to take awhile."

"Okay. I… I have so many questions I don't even know how to start, but… your funeral was today, sir."

"I heard."

"But… but you're not dead."

"Correct. Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated." Kristoph takes a slow, labored breath.

Apollo sniffs hard and wipes tears out of his eyes. He can't help this. Every time his adrenalin runs down and he's relieved, this happens. He can't help but become a crying mess.

"Can I… do you mind if I… h-hug you?"

Kristoph and Phoenix both laugh lightly. Apollo doesn't see what's funny about any of this. "I don't think you'd better, Apollo, not right now. Your boss is a bit fragile right now, so maybe no touch is the way to go." Phoenix says. Even though Phoenix says it, Apollo looks to Kristoph, who doesn't say anything in response to that, doesn't nod, but neither does he object, indicating that he agrees with Phoenix's assessment.

Apollo knows that Mr. Gavin doesn't like hugs very much, regardless of what's going on, but Apollo wanted the comfort and confirmation so badly that he'd thought there'd be no harm in asking. Now he bites his tongue. He won't ask any more silly questions.

"We… we have to go tell Klavier that you're alive. He'll be so happy, he-"

"Apollo, we can't tell anyone."

"…What? Why not?"

"If the one who attacked me knew I was still alive and kicking… he'd no doubt return to finish the job."

"Y-you mean Enigma?"

"Yes, Enigma. His full name is Shadi Enigmar. He is my assailant. Of that, I am certain." Kristoph nods with the utmost seriousness. "You must find him, corner him in court, and bring him to Justice. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Once this matter is dealt with, I may be able to reveal my ruse. But until then, here I will stay. Until that time, Phoenix will be in charge of this case, and of you."

"Of… of me?"

"I can think of no one better to keep an eye on you, Justice. I want you to follow his words as if they were my own."

Kristoph sighed deeply. "There is another reason why. Shadi Enigmar is a very dangerous and deceitful man. He shows no mercy in his choice of victim - young or old, it's all the same to him. The last thing I want is for you to come to harm because of your connection to me. Unfortunately, you are likely his next target, but Wright will protect you with his life if need be. He's my good friend, and I trust him in this regard."

"This is a very dangerous assignment. I don't want you taking any unnecessary risks." Kristoph hands Apollo a piece of paper.

"What's this?"

"The combination code to my gun safe."

Apollo shudders. "Wh-what?"

"Yes. Even when you aren't investigating, you need to be carrying all the time, no matter where you are."

"I barely know anything about guns!" Who does he think I am?? James Bond?

"Wright will show you the proper methods. Obviously, it's for self defense purposes only. You need to be able to protect yourself. Had I been able to reach a weapon in time, all of this may have gone differently, no?"

"I don't want to shoot anybody."

"Well, when the time comes, you'll know what to do. I should hope you will protect yourself in due course."

Kristoph takes his hand in his. "Be smart and be safe."

---

That's all I have for now... :P (don't ask me what happens next because I don't know... you tell me lol)

[a-friendly-fangirl]

Random thoughts on We're in Love (or "Your average Italian girl has had an awful week and Boygenius' love saves her ass again"):

So, I've been listening to the Boys and to their solo stuff the whole week (for the past 5 months, to be honest... but who's counting?) and I've been going crazy lately for the beauty of We're in Love.

I think we can all acknowledge that that song is one of the greatest songs in "The Record" and one of the best ever written. And then I started bawling, when my mind got stuck on its lyrics and realised just how heartbreaking and beautiful it is.

This will be kind of my personal analysis (also inspired by some suggestions here and there... thank you to all the geniuses around that have noticed certain things. I wish I could write down all your names, but my memory is awful), so if you disagree with it or feel the need to add something, do it. I'd be happy to meet more Boygenius fans!

Ok, I'd like to begin with the third and fourth line of the first verse, where Lucy sings: "I don't need the symbol of a scar/ So put down the knife, we're not swapping blood". And yet, in "The film", Julien still takes a blood oath with the young versions of Lucy and Phoebe. I think that this was such an interesting choice to make, considering the difference between the words and the actions. This actually makes sense though, when underlining that 20$ is Julien's song and these words belong to Lucy.

Julien, as her solo albums readily witness, has no real problem with hurting herself ('Cause I'm so good at hurting myself - Brittle Boned) both physically and psychologically. We also know, from 20$, that she does believe in being connected to Phoebe and Lucy in every universe or life (In another life we were arsonists). Lucy does too with them (And I told you of your past lives; In the next one [life], will you find me? - We're in Love). Same goes for Phoebe, even though it's a little more subtle with her. In fact, more than believing in other lives, she seems to believe in changing herself in the present life, so much that, even though Emily I'm Sorry is her song, she has decided to sing it with her best friends, because, maybe, she'd rather be someone that can be loved by them in particular and not someone only Emily "could want".

To better understand the scar line/imagery, I think it important to notice that Julien doesn't take the blood oath with her adult friends but with their younger selves. In my opinion, it's like a machine has brought them in Julien's universe or timeline to help her get out of her home, which, listening to her music, is a synonym of recovery or at least of a better state of mind (in Go Home and Please Stay, it is quite clear: "I wanna go home, I'm sick", while in Graceland Too she finally gets out once she's feeling better). But, not belonging there (and we know they don't thanks to Julien's surprised expression when she sees little Phoebe), pehaps she's afraid that she'll lose them once they're done with the car, therefore asking them to do that oath. Childhood scars never fully leave us, so Julien might be convinced that it'll help adult Phoebe and Lucy to remember her, once they meet as intended or hoped.

When you think about it, the layers here are so many that it's scary. Scars have always at least a touch of negativity, even when you get them for something not negative per se (I have so many scars I got from running around as a child...), because they always follow pain. Julien and Phoebe have dealt with it their whole life and have actively put themselves through it more than once, so of course Julien chooses to use a knife (which also brings us back again to Please Stay: "The hunting knife you kept by your bed". I don't think the mention in We're in Love is a coincidence) against herself if it means being sure Phoebe and Lucy know it's her. But Lucy stops her for two main reasons:

Julien won't have to wait for them to find her, because she and Phoebe will, according to Lucy, be the ones going to her, if they want to (Will you find me?);

Instead of remembering each other through something painful, they could use the happy and positive memories they've shared in this life. Lucy once again wants to do everything in her power to dismantle her friends' self-destructive tendencies and replace them with something good (even the "happy" in Letter to an Old Poet was her suggestion).

Moving on to the next lines (Isn't it enough that we stripped down to our skin?/ Cold and porcelain like bathers in a painting), the beauty of this specific portrait delivered by Lucy kind of proves the point just made. Saying that the skin is "cold" and "porcelain" delivers a poetic image of extreme fragility that could be both literal or figurative and it shows just how much they trust each other. What Lucy appears to be pointing out is that she doesn't need any more pain to believe they're in love with each other, since they've already done the great sacrifice of showing themselves when they were most vulnerable (something they're still learning to do, according to recent interviews).

In Lucy's specific case (And I told you of your past lives, every man you've ever been/ It wasn't flattering, but you listened like it mattered), I'd go as far as to think that she did that by letting Phoebe and Julien listen to the stories of her past friendships or even relationships, telling them whom she had had by her side before them. She sings that that tale wasn't flattering: why? If I had to express myself on that, I'd guess, by her albums, that, just like any other human being, even Lucy has had a lot of troubled bonds with people she might have wrongly thought were as true and loyal to her as the Boys are now (take Strange Torpedo, Nonbeliever or Brando as examples). My personal take on this part is that she hasn't tried to tell Phoebe and Julien who they've been in the past, but to confess them who had had their roles in her life previously, feeling perhaps embarassed by it. But they're in no way bored or mad at her for that, listening, however, "like it mattered" (quoting True Blue: "It doesn't matter anymore", 'cause they're together now, but it is still important to her that they are paying attention to this part of her story).

She also admits being open to them about her own insecurities, especially the fear of being or seeming crazy (I feel crazy in ways I never say/ Will you still love me if it turns out I'm insane?/ I know what you'll say, but it helps to hear you say it anyway), making herself vulnerable by exposing this side of her she usually keeps hidden in hope of being reassured by them, which they've probably done a thousand times already.

Long story short, coming to the end of the first chorus: Lucy loves and values them for the trust they've put in each other and no scar will ever match that feeling. I have a lot more to say about the rest of the song, but this is mostly me ranting about it, so I'll see how it goes. Sorry for all of this :P

[crazycriter]

Had Treech won and been able to go back to 7- how do you think he would have coped with the aftermath? What do you think his life would have been like?

ooo this is interesting! ylvisruinedmylife has a fic w this premise (strange things happen in this world) that i think encapsulates it's pretty well.

personally, i don't think movie treech would cope at all. just from the small amount we saw him on screen during the movie he seems to lose his mind slightly after lamian's death, becoming more... engaged with killing and desires to kill lucy gray much more than earlier, something i believe to be due to his belief that if they had killed lucy gray earlier, coral would have left lamina alone.

he constantly seems racking with guilt before lamina's death, then void of anything by blood lust.

and, it would take a lot to get a boy out of the mental state if he did win. then, when he was, he'd likely revert back to that state of guilt, but this time he'd actually have time to consider everything.

i think he'd be volatile, standoffish and probably unsafe to be around if spooked. however, above all i think he would just be sad, regretful and in constant mourning.

especially as victors being mentors would then be implemented, and i don't think treech could stand the thought of seeing anymore death.

book treech, however, i think could be alright after the games. obviously changed forever and carrying enough trauma, but i almost believe he could do very well for seven when becoming a mentor. i'd even like to say he'd be akin to mags and perhaps if he was lucky enough may have upped seven's view in the capitol's eyes. especially as him winning means the tenth games wouldn't have had any cheating caught and would still bring an uprise in the game's popularity.

basically, i'm saying movie treech would likely be unstable, still traumatised from seeing lamina's death, while book treech could hold his composure a little better and aid seven while he's at it.

[inventors-fair]

The Best of the Rest: NPC Winners ~

Our winners this week are @helloijustreadyourpost, @izzet-always-r-versus-u, and @sparkyyoungupstart!

@helloijustreadyourpost — Vicious Headcrab from the Half-Life series

Immediately, this has got to be one of the cleanest transitions from other media to a magic card, full stop. Or, it's the cleanest that I recognize enough to confidently state as such. Still, this is at its core a very simple and intuitive card that does something extremely unusual, which always catches my eye. It's a tricky proposition to have a 1/3 defeat anything in combat without tossing in an extra card, but given how much of an upgrade the token is combined with the occasional upside of exiling a key creature, I'd say that this number of hoops to jump through is perfectly warranted. The necessity of sacrificing the headcrab also helps enforce a sense of fairness, as you can't simply slap deathtouch on it and trade up with something far larger. At this very least, though, this creepy critter preys on tokens all day long.

@izzet-always-r-versus-u — Lycan Blood Hunter from Critical Role

The first thing that immediately interest me about this one is just how distinct it is from every other werewolf we've seen so far. Nowadays more than ever, Magic's werewolves are pretty set in their ways, and barring a thematic shakeup from an as-yet unexplored plane, that's not liable to change. Leave it to Universes Beyond to pick up the slack, and offer glimpses into other fantasy worlds where familiar types appear in unfamiliar places. The "transformation" being tied to being under half your life is a great move, I must say, and the idea of literally bleeding yourself to produce blood tokens is so clever that I was shocked to learn that no such card already existed. Part of me wishes this also lost its Human type when it's "transformed" like fellow D&D-related card Werewolf Pack Leader, but that's a minor blemish on an otherwise sterling card.

@sparkyyoungupstart — Hiss Distorted from Control

I mean this in the best way possible, but: what? Having no knowledge whatsoever of the source material, I can really only guess as to what's going on here, but what I do understand has me absolutely fascinated. The creature type alone is a standout, but that's hardly enough to get it to the winner's circle. No, it's here because of that effect, and oh, what an effect! Reconfiguring foretell into a bizarre mirror-universe version of dash is quite the move, to be sure. Utilizing the inherent turn delay of foretell to justify the absurd power by forcing the card to be foretold even more so. It does somewhat lose the element of surprise that characterizes foretell after the first time, but it hardly needs it (and it wouldn't even be the first. Looking at you, Foretold Soldier). There is one slight concern that I can't rightly ignore, though. I'm not entirely sure if this was your intention or not, but due to the underlying mechanics of foretell, you can foretell it during your end phase after it returns to hand, meaning that every cast of it past the first is every turn rather than every other one. If that's not intentional, it necessitates moving the self-bounce later into the turn cycle, such as during your upkeep. If it is, I would recommend maybe moving it earlier in the turn instead, such as after combat. It wouldn't change the functionality, but it would make the card easier to understand, as that interaction is something a lot of players are liable to miss their first time playing with the card.

~

Runners will be up before too long, with commentary later today. @spooky-bard

[lilacwineandthesinkingsun]

Forbidden Fruit

AN.: Just another thingy that came to my mind.

Pairing: dbf!Bucky x avenger!Rogers!reader

Warnings: Bucky (of course.. ), blood, violence, kidnapping, mentions of death, IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 PLEASE SKIP THIS READ.

-WHAT THE HELL TONY? - asked Steve furiously.

-Rogers... I know she's your daughter. I know you lost her mother in a mission. But we also know that she inherited the serum in your veins, and in fact she's one of the best around here. It's about time she goes on a mission. - states Tony calmly.

-I'm not gonna lose her. If it means i have to get her fired from the team i will, but you sure as hell won't send her on any damn missions...

You stopped, and the smile that previously graced your face had fallen. You just finished sparring with Nat, and were on your way to the briefing, but seems like your dad caught word of your upcoming mission, and thought to put some words in... Tony's eyes flickered behind Steve, seeing the disappointment on your face. You clearly heard that your own father would be willing to get you fired. Effectively destroying all your hard work since you were little, and possibly your relationship with him as well..

The rest of the team started to fill the room as you first made eyecontact with your dad, he tried to say something, but you weren't gonna hear any of it. You turned on your heels, and ran. Or at least you tried, cause as the elevator opened, you collided with a hard chest. You apologized, eyes on the floor, when you heard your dad's best friend's concerned voice.

-Are you all right (Y/n)?

-Sure i am Buck. - was all you said, suddenly hearing your father calling for you. The elevator wasn't fast enough, so you opted for the stairs, asking FRIDAY to lock all the doors to the staircase, except for the P1, parking area's. You wanted to get away from there.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

-(Y/n), Honey, wait.. IT' NOT.... - Steve tried to talk to you, but you ran.

-What did you do again punk? - Bucky asked his friend.

-Tony wanted to send her on the mission with Nat and Sam and You, but you know.. i just.. she must have heard some stuff i said... and just... - he blabbered.

-What did you say huh?

-That i'd rather have her fired than let her go on a mission... I can't lose her too Buck.. i can't..

-I know punk, but on the other hand that girl started fighting before even learning how to talk... She also has the serum... You know she is more than ready and capable. And if you think any of us would let anything happen t o her... then i don't know what else to say.. - Bucky said dropping a supporting hand on Steve's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

Nobody saw you for the remainder of the day. You went to the club that was farthers from the tower, making sure noone of the team ever went there. You were sitting at the bar, sipping your fifth whiskey when there was a poke on your arm, asking for your attention.

As you turned, you saw a cocky looking guy, with a shit eating grin.

-I never saw any woman holding herself this well after 4 whiskey.. - he said looking you over. -The name is Rumlow.

You finished your drink. Before noting that it was your 5th drink, as you stood up, deciding it was time for you to leave. Ransom caught you by your wrist, twirling you back to him, his other hand flying for your waist, keeping you close to him.

-Where are you running sweetheart. I was just trying to get to know you... - he said still grinning.

You rolled your eyes before twisting his free hand, nearly breaking it.

-Now, now. You'll get your filthy hand off my waist. - you smiled at him. Before you could continue, you heard a cough behind you, then another hand snaked around your shoulder, a familiar scent hitting your nose.

-Honey, is everything alright? Sorry for taking too long, the traffic was a nightmare. -Bucky stated before giving a kiss on your cheek. Well this makes it easier. You won't need to beat this asshole up after all.

Before you could react, the creep started to talk.

-Well i like a stong handed woman for sure.. As for you my man... I watched your pretty little thing from afar for the past few hours... The traffic shouldn't be that bad at 11 pm after all... I'm guessing you have a side chick as well don't you.. - his eyes flicker to you, trying t o see if he's getting under your skin, and to be honest, you knew Bucky was only your father's best friend, and probably thought of you like a daughter... but you could help but feel a pang in your chest when you imagined Bucky in some woman's arms. -Uh oh.. i hit a nerve there sweetheart, didn't i? -Rumlow asked, reaching for your waist once again, but this time, Bucky twirled you away, tucking you to his side safely before punching Rumlow straight in the face, before turning around, dragging you outside with himself.

-I had it under control... - you muttered under your nose.

-No doll you did not... Do you have any idea who is that man?

-No i don't.. but seems like you're just like dad. Not believing in my skills in the slightest. - you said, as you shoved his arm off of you, trutting away to the opposite of his bike. He just sighed. It wasn't the reason he stepped in at all.. At first he wanted to find you to reassure you that they talked to your father, and you can go to the mission after all.. But then he saw Rumlow's hand around your waist, and he acted without thinking. A strange possessiveness came over him, his mind only focusing on getting you away from the stranger. Now all he could do is sigh at your retreating form.

He got on his bike, to catch up with you, but you didn't even look at him.

-Doll, hop on, i'll take you back..

-No need Buck, perfectly capable of walking.

-It would took 2 hours even with the serum to walk back, hop on.

You looked at him, knowing he wouldn't let it go, so you sighed defeated, and got on behind him, snaking your hands around him. He would never admit it out loud, but he loved when you did that. He loved your faint perfume sneaking it's way into his nose and his heart. Steve would surely kill him if he'd know how many times he had to stop sparring with you lately, running to the showers to cool himself down, or how many times he had to adjust himself in secret when he was over at you and Steve's floor and you walked into the kitchen in only a big white dress shirt of your dad's, and your hair in a messy bun.

When you got back, your dad was standing in the middle of the shared living room. Face showing he was worried sick for the past few hours. He ran up to you as soon as the elevator opened, engulfing you in a big hug, muttering sorries as he held you close. You just stood there without moving a muscle.

-You... you can go to the mission.. i.. i can't keep you locked up when you're one of the best around here... Sam, Bucky and Nat will be there too... i shouldn't worry... i just... - he stammered, looking guilty.

-Mom.. i know.. but that one accident doesn't mean that you can undermine all my years of training... and that goes for you too... - you turned, showing a finger to Bucky's chest before heading off to your room, shutting the door with a loud thud.

-Just like her ma... - Bucky snorted.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mission was quite simple. Abandoned HYDRA building, in needing of a good swipe, then making it equal with the ground. You and Nat starting from the top to the ground, the guys starting from the basements, heading upwards.

It wasn't empty as they thought it will be, but it wasn't anything you couldn't handle. You were fighting off 2 men, when you heard a loud bang. They tried to crash the top floor on you and Nat, one side of the building already collapsing. Nat were caught up falling with the debris, and you quickly grabbed her hand, yanking her up t the remaining floor.

-Thanks (Y/n).. - she said, as you started to hear Bucky's and Sam's concerned voice over your comms. You looked at Nat rolling your eyes as she started to laugh.

-Nobody is injured dad, stop your shit. - Mocking Bucky in the meantime - How's things down there? They are collapsing the top floors on us. - Nat stated.

-Swiped, we are 2 floors under you two. Meet in the middle in 10. -Sam answered as Nat went to check another room not too far away.

There was another door you didn't check. You stepped in cautiously, when someone shut it behind you, strangling you with a wire. A woman stepped before you, holding a knife to your neck, smiling wickedly, walking close in her heels, touching the comms in your ear, as you heard your teammates asking for you, before she whispered into it seductively.

-Tell Rogers i have his little girl.. She will suffer the consequences if he doesn't met my demands. - She smiled in the camera in the corner, knowing full well the rest of the team were able to hear and see the scene over at the tower, before smashing the handle of her knife into your temple, knocking you out, making you go limp in the arms of the man.

They took you into a secret basement, before speeding away in a secret tunnel. When you regained consciousness you found yourself strapped to a chair. The place seemed eerily matching the one where they tortured Bucky years back.

-Oh the little birdy is awake.. - she smiled at you walking closer.

-What do you want? - you spat.

-Oh honey, i want your dad back... We had quite fun times before you and your mom came along... I can't believe i had to wait 24 years to have you too...

-You were the one that killed her... making her leave her husband and her 2 year old child... - the realization hit you.

-Bingo honey, and now that i have you too, there is nothing stopping me... But you see, it would be just way too easy to kill you and be done with it... After 24 years, i want your dear daddy to suffer... I'm sure you saw this chair in the Winter Soldier's files... We're gonna erase your little mind, until you simply won't remember any of them... then, you're gonna kill them off one by one for me, leaving dear daddy for last... Nobody crosses Peggy Carter.. - she smiled again, before having one of her men setting up a camera in front of you.

-Say hi to daddy. - she singed, as they hit the record button, and she started shocking you, making you scream out in pain.

The avengers were shocked to see the video. It was encrypted, so they wouldn't be able to find you through it. Steve stood up, looking all over the team.

-And you all said nothing would happen to her... - he said, as he left, shutting the glass door with such force, it broke into pieces.

The rest of the team immediately started to search, and swipe every HYDRA base they could in search for you, with no luck so far.

A week later they recieved another video, showing your beaten up face, you ad various cuts over you as well.. She didn't stop at the electrocuting.. She wanted you to suffer, and wanted the team to see it. Both your arms were cut deeply, blood slowly dripping from it, as she electrocuted you again. You couldn't even scream anymore. Then the video cut to Peggy smiling.

-Honey, it is about time you come back to me.. We can use our little bird here to take care of the rest of your team.. that is if you ever wanna see her again.. -Then the camera cut back to you, barely breathing, lump in the chair.

Bucky's heart broke at the sight. He knew what kinda pain you were in. And they even hurt you further.. If you ever make it out of this alive, he'll never let you out of his sight...

Bruce barged in with his laptop.

-I found where they send the videos from.. - he informed the team. Before they could set up a plan they needed to know how many HYDRA agents are in there. It was no question that everybody will go to this mission. They connected to their security system, now having access to every room in the building. That's when they saw you. You were wincing through the pain as you tried to get yourself out of that fucking chair.

Bucky silently prayed that you'll make it out.

The plan was in motion, they were sweeping the rooms one by one, trying to find where exactly they hold you. Without Steve cause his nerves would be a huge mistake factor right now... That's when Bucky heard commotion from the far corner. When he bursted the door open, he saw you, bleeding from your wounds, limping, to the wall, to sink down on in, sitting on the floor. Then he saw Peggy, in the chair, lifeless, with a knife in her chest, basically pinning her to the chair.

He ran to you, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign that you did not forgot him.

-Buck - you whispered, your voice breaking as you looked into his eyes.

-Yes doll, i'm here, it will be alright, you are incredible. - he said as he kissed you on the lips, before gathering you in his arms, keeping you close. You fell asleep in his hold, and he did not dare to put you down on the jet either. He only did when he arrived in the medbay of the tower, but even then he didn't leave your side.

The door of the roomn bursted open as Steve ran in, tears falling, as he held your limp hand in his. Quietly thanking Bucky for saving you.

-It wasn't me. - Bucky said with a sigh, clenching his jaw.

-What? -Steve's eyes shot up.

-I didn't save her. When i arrived Peggy was pinned to the chair with a knife, lifeless. It was her. She overcame it. She is stronger than any of us Steve.

Steve's eyes shot to you, scars already healing, the wounds you had already closed thanks to the serum. He kissed the back of your hand, hoping you'd wake up.

And later that night you did. You were in a dark room, machines beeping, making sure your vitals are fine. Your dad holding your hand, his head on your bed as he slept beside you on a chair. He must have fallen asleep there. Then your eyes went to your other side, moonlight slowly illuminating Bucky's smiling face. He was relieved. He stood up, gently caressing your head and pressing a kiss on it, before leaving the room. The door closing woke up Steve, who squeezed your hand as the tears started the fall again.

-I thought i'm gonna loose you kid.. - he said hugging you.

-They'll gonna have to try harder than this... - you smiled as you carefully hugged him back.

-You are so incredible.. I can't believe i ever doubted you for a second.. My fears took the best of me... I'm so so sorry honey...

-I understand your fears dad... I just.. I work 10 times harder every time, i want to make you proud.. and you never let me prove myself..

-It will change now baby.. you just need to get well again.. i promise i'll try hard to change my old ways okay? ...

-Thank you dad. - you said.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

And then it really changed. Three weeks later you were sparring with Nat again. Life was back to somewhat normal, you were getting ready for a mission with her. The only thing bothering you was the fact that Bucky avoided you. As soon as you were in t he same room as him, he basically ran out. You were annoyed by this. You didn't recollect anything that you might have offended him with. But you had no way of asking him.

Sam walked up to your training form, stopping the boxing bag from swinging from your last hit.

-Whoa princess, who hurt you? - he said as he saw the bag completely ruined.

-Noone, i'm just frustrated. - you sighed, taking the bandage off your hands.

-Why, what happened?

-Ever since i'm back from.. you know.. Bucky seems to be avoiding me.. But i can't recall anything i said or did to offend him so... i don't know.. - you sighed again.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

That night Sam invited Bucky out for drinks to a nearby bar. Hoping to find something out for you. He never saw you lose your cool like that.

-We hardly see you at the tower anymore.. what's up dude? -Sam asked.

-Yea i just.. i have a lot on my mind and it doesn't help being there..

-You can talk to me you know.. Did something happen?

-Well.. i just.. you remember that i found (Y/n) slumped to a wall after killing Peggy, and carried her out and stuff?

-Yea, what about it? She is fine now, she was incredible back there.

-Yes .. um... i .. - Bucky stuttered.

Sam sat up straighter in his seat.

-What did you do Buck? - he asked.

-I.. i couldn't help myself.. i wanted her for the last 2 years.. i know it's wrong.. i just.. i was so proud, and glad we found her.. i.. i kissed her Sam... Now i can't look her in the eyes, nor Steve... I'm supposed to be his best friend... I should be looking at her like she's my own daughter... and for most of the time i could.. but now.. i just.. i cant.. I even thought about quitting..

-Jesus Dude... - Sam sighed - Firstly, there's no way you'll quit. Second.. she has absolutely no clue why are you avoiding her, but is sure affects her.. She ripped a boxig bag apart today.. And lastly... The heart wants what it wants.. I'm sure if anyone would be to court (Y/n) Steve would be glad if it's someone he knows he can trust... I heard he K.O.-d Rumlow when he dared to ask if he can date her..

-Yea well, i wouldn't wanna be knocked out thank you.. And what do you mean she doesn't know.. I mean.. she called my name.. she kissed me back. - Bucky didn't understood.

-Well you'll need to talk to her to figure that out..

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was late at night, you were sure your dad was asleep. You were tossing and turning in bed unable to sleep. You had this reoccurring dream since You killed Peggy. AT first it was just Bucky kissing you, then every night it went further and further, it became more passionate. You didn't understand why, and you were sometimes even glad that he avoided you lately. It helped keeping whatever this was under control. Sparring with him would surely kill you. You touched yourself, imagining it was him touching you. You shouldn't be thinking about him this way, but in the comfort of your own room you let yourself. Your breathing became uneven as you neared your climax as you thought about him bending you over the kitchen counter, or pushing you up the wall of his shower.. Small whimpers left you as you came. Sighing that sadly these fantasies were probably all you'll get.. You should find someone to help ease these urges.. Not as your dad would let you.. but your were 26... You needed something c'mon. The opening of your door startled you as you wiped the sweat off your forehead. For once you were thankful that you kept your panties and the henley you stole from Bucky before the mission.

-Sorry i heard your heart punding fast, and the whimpers, i thought you were having a nightmare... - Bucky said, as he slowly turned to leave seeing you weren't having a nightmare.

-Buck, stop.. - you pleaded. - Why are you avoiding me? Did i do something?

He shut your door then turned around sighing, looking at the ground.

-No you didn't.. I did.. and .. i ... I kissed you okay? I know it wasn't right, and it is unrecruited.. but i .. i was so happy you were alive.. i was so happy i didn't lose you... - he babbled as your finger shot up to caress your lower lip as you sat up in your bed.

-So it.. it wasn't a dream? You did kiss me? - you asked.

-Yes doll.. and i'm so fucking sorry... Listen i'll quit.. and .. i'll ... - he went to say but you interrupted him.

-Well i'm not sorry... - you whispered now looking at your crossed feet on your bed.

-Wait.. what? - he asked, not understanding.

-I.. i know you're dad's best friend.. and i know you practically watched me grow up.. but lately i ... i don't know Bucky.. I don't understand why or how.. but ever since that night at the HYDRA base i kept having these dreams... It started with you just kissing me once... and now you say that one wasn't a dream...

-You had other dreams? - he whispered sitting on your bed and searching for your eyes.

You were embarassed now, and were glad for the darkness of your room as you nodded not looking him in the eye. He was curious now. He never seen you this shy. He hooked a finger under your chin, making you look at him in the eye as he asked.

-What did you dream about doll? -his voice was so low, almost like a growl.

-I.. um.. well first you just kissed me.. then it slowly went further and further every night... - you tried to look away from him, but he didn't let you.. He leaned closer until his next question was only whispered on your lips.

-So that's what i've heard just now.. You were touching yourself thinking about those dreams? - you felt embarassed again, but if he didn't let you look away, you'll just close your eyes... Then you bit your lip before nodding as you felt his finger trace down your neck slowly.

He sucked a bit of air in seeing your answer, he felt himself already hardening just at the thought. He pressed a featherlight kiss on your lips, testing the waters. When he moved away you whimpered and moved after him, taking a hold of his hand. When you looked him in the eye you weren't sure what you saw. It was as hearing your words, and kissing you was all he ever wanted, but as he hated it at the same time.

-I shouldn't be doing this doll... God knows it's all i ever wanted but.. i shouldn't... Steve... - he said, making you sigh.

-He didn't wanted me to be an avenger either.. I am a grown woman and can make decisions myself wether he likes it or not.. But if it makes you this conflicted then just go... -you said as you turned your back to him, hiding yourself into your pillows and blanket.

He sighed and left. As he closed the door he heard your sniffles... he knew he fucked up big time...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next two weeks it was you who avoided him. If he couldn't see you the grown woman you are, he isn't deserving of your thoughts and never was. Tonight most of the team were going to your usual pub to dance and drink. It wasn't often that most of you were in the compound at the same time without the world needed to be saved. You were dancing with Thor as your dad and Bucky arrived. Bucky glanced at you then turned his head... You hated him and had every right to.. At least Thor didn't care about Steve... he thought as he clenched his jaw.

Steve just sighed as he sipped his beer.

-When did she grow up? I can't keep worrying about the time she'll come home with someone who will take her away... I can only hope we showed her what kinda guy she should go for.. - he smiled.

Bucky just clenched his jaw again, angrily sipping his beer.

-I would be most glad if she'd came home with someone like you Buck, then i'd know she'd be in good hands and protected and stuff.. - Steve said not looking at Bucky, instead of looking at you dancing with Thor.

Bucky's eyes shot to you, as Thor whispered something into your ear making you throw your head back laughing.

-Yea well... let's hope he doesn't fuck it up.. like i did. - he says, only whispering the last part, making sure Steve did not hear it.

Steve sips his beer, looking at his friend then you, then Bucky again. He saw the pain in Bucky's eyes as Thor's hands were snaking around your waist, holding you closer. It took everything in him to tore his eyes away from you, so he didn't see when you looked at him, before leaving him on the dancefloor alone as you went to search for Nat.

Steve smirked. He knew this game, your mother did the same when he fucked up.

Now he understood the rest of the team... Just this afternoon they were making bets about how much time would it take a certain someone to rip Thor off of you, as he was the only one who dared to do this, possibly angering your father as well. The certain someone was Bucky for sure.

YOu were back, grinding against Thor, your back to his chest, as his hands rested on your hips, while he whispered sweet nothings in your ear while secretely looking at Bucky, making you smirk. At least that's what he thought. He ordered a whiskey and downed it in one go.

Steve laughed, earning a look from Bucky.

-You know.. her mother did the same to me when i fucked up.. - he said smiling. - there was one time, in the very beginning, when i was a foolish teenager and couldn't decide between her and some blonde plastic chick, she got Scott to act like her new boyfriend, after two days, when he nearly kissed her after they won the football game i just couldn't keep it anymore. I marched up and knocked Scott out. Told her she is the only one i ever wanted and the only one i'll ever want...

-Yea but why do you think i... ? - asked Bucky, but got interrupted by Steve.

-Well i know her, and i know you... I see how you look at eachother... and I'm not against it you know... You're right for eachother. - he said with a fond smile looking at you, while Bucky's eyes widened. Looking at you, then looking at him, then back at you.

-Go get her tiger.. - Steve said snorting at how eager Bucky stood up and marched towards you.

Thor's hands left you as he held them up in surrender, as Bucky grabbed your face and kissed you in the middle of the dance floor passionately, making everything and everyone else disappear around you. You melt into his touch.

When he let you go, he pushed his forehead to yours and just stared into your eyes.

-Came to your right mind Buck? - you smiled.

-You could say that... i also got your papa's blessing.. - he smirked before throwing you over his shoulder and walking out of the pub, only putting you down on his bike.

When you got back at the tower, you couldn't keep your hands to yourselves. You kissed passionately until he pushed you up to his now closed door, as you snaked your legs around him, smiling. The kiss he gave you was calm, as if he was savoring it. It wasn't urgent anymore, he wanted to take his time.

-I.. it's been some time since i've done this doll... - he said, putting you down carefully.

-It's alright... we don't have to do anything you don't want to.. - you said smiling.

A smirk appeared on his face. -Shouldn't i be the one who says that doll? -making you giggle as you push him to sit down on his couch. You took a step back, biting your lip before dropping your little red dress on the floor, leaving you in your matching red lace bra and panties.

-Fuck me.... - he said looking you over as you moved to straddle him. His hands immediately went to caress up your thighs only to stop on your buttcheeks, as he hide his face in the crook of your neck, kissing you sweetly, surely leaving a mark. You throw your head back, only to hear him whisper into your neck.

-How did i get so damn lucky? - before he squeezed your butt and brought you to sit over his hard on. You nearly moaned as you felt how big he was, you started to slowly grind down on him. He stood up, with you in his hands, kissing you as he walked to his bedroom, dropping you on his bed. He towered over your body, holding your hands above you with one hand, as his other slowly wandered towards where you wanted him the most. As he started to circle your clit through the fabric of your underwear, he watched your face, admiring how responsive you were to him. When he heard your breathing become uneven he stopped, smirking down at you. Your eyes shot open as you took his hand and showed it down your panties while saying : "Don't you dare stop Barnes" earning a chuckle from him, before he started kissing down your body, lowering himself to be inbetween your legs. You felt his hot breath even through your now soaked panties. He slowly lifted a finger, hooking it under the soft fabric, pushing it to the side, before licking along your slit. The moan that left your mouth was possibly the most beautiful sound he ever heard. Your fingers found his hair and he didn't mind one bit. He added two cold, metal fingers to your needy hole as he continued licking your clit, the sensation being even better than you imagined. Soon enough you were trippling over the edge, gushing around his fingers. He lifted them to his mouth while looking you straight in the eye. He then lowered himself next to you, cuddling closer, giving you slow kiss.

-Oh no no Mr. Barnes.. we are not finished.. - you whispered between kisses.

-I don't mind.. i just wanted a taste.. - he said.

-Well too bad i want you to make me yours fully... - you said seductively, as you moved on top of him, your pussing sliding along his shaft making him shudder.

-God.... woman... you make me crazy... - he said eyes closing, as he enjoyed the little game you were playing. You continued to slide your folds up and down his shaft, before he had enough and throw you on your back, pinning your arms above your head, showing his dick deep in you with a single thrust, earning a moan from you. His other hand went to your throat as he continued to fuck you into oblivion. Your second orgasm neared as he kept pushing the spongy soft inside that made you scream. You squirted on his cock, gripping him thightly and soon enough he came inside you as you were trembling around him. After a few lingering kisses and breaths he picked you up and took you to his shower to clean you up. You giggled at how boyish he looked while doing it. He saw you looking at him, a hint of worry crossing your eyes.

-I hope you are not thinking about what i think you do doll. I want you for good. Not for a night or a month. It's not a game alright? - he said cupping your cheeks, popping a small kiss to the tip of your nose. - I want to fall asleep and wake up holding you, i want to make you happy. - he continued as he gave a little peck on your lips, before intervining his fingers with yours. You just nodded, the butterflies in your stomach making it impossible for you to speak. He gave you one of his henley-s to sleep, while he went for a simple boxer. You fell asleep on his chest, so peaceful and content... It all felt like a dream.

The next morning you woke up to the sun shining harshly in your eyes. You turned around only to find yourself being wrapped in strong arms and smushed into a strong, tiny bit hairy chest. You moaned a bit, enjoying the warmth.

You heard a light chuckle then HIS morning voice followed. Gosh this was surely your new favourite thing to hear.

-Go sleep a bit more dolly, i'm not ready to wake up and let you go. - murmured Bucky as you smiled into his chest, which slowly turned into a giggle.

-Whats so funny, huh? - he asked eyes still closed, holding you closer. You rolled on top of him, propping yourself up just enough so you can look in his eyes. His hands started to caress your sides and back lovingly under his henley as he finally opened his eyes, smiling at you.

-Does this mean i'll have two oldies forbiding me of going to missions? - you asked, still giggling. He lifted one of his eyebrows, smirk forming on his handsome face as he started to tickle you, while turning you both around, so that he was seated between your legs.

-I'll show you who's old dolly... -he said before kissing you passionately.

[undiscovered-horizon]

"A needle, a thread and a pair of hands" - Yandere!Billy Russo x Reader

Previously on Yandere!Billy Russo: [There's something in the shadows][Moving houses][The arts of deception][Sick leave][Boobytraps] [Catwalk] [(A warning) to all the boys I've loved before]

SUMMARY: It's difficult to hide a gunshot wound but Billy realizes just how much he can earn from not doing so. As it is stated in a children's poem: A needle, a thread, a pair of hands and we'll fix the hurt right away. But a question remains: are you sure he got shot accidentally?

Author's note: I'd like to entertain y'all with a fun fact - there is no statistically significant difference in successfully determining a liar between regular people and professionals (psychologists, policemen, psychiatrists, etc.). For both groups, it's around 50%. So, statistically speaking, there is a 50/50 chance that you correctly call out a liar, no matter if you're a janitor or a psychologist with three doctorates.

WORDS: 1,708

Lying.

A curious behavior. Completely unnatural, that's why it's so hard to tell whether a stranger is being honest or not. The face of a liar is a marvelous show of emotions, showing both what they want to hide and what is genuine like black sesame seeds thrown among poppyseeds.

For Billy, lying is daily bread. It's kind of a livelihood, really. His favourite method has to be suppression, celebrating the old wisdom of ignorance is bliss. It's like a casino but the croupier gives out cards specifically so that no one can win. Although with a bit of afterthought, it's more like a croupier making sure no one knows what game they're even playing. The house can't lose if the players can't win.

But Billy has another advantage - he knows when the truth can take him further than deception. And that one night was exactly that.

He came home unusually late, barging in a rudely loud manner, especially considering that he had known you'd be in bed at that hour. It wasn't like him to try and get under your skin.

Still sleepy, you left the bedroom to see what was up with that man. Knowing Billy, he would act like that only if he was hammered or halfway to his own funeral. The electronic clock on the stove read 2:37 AM. What on Earth was he doing out at an hour like that and in the middle of the week? A snake named dread only further bit into your heels.

"Bill?" you called out to the hunched-over silhouette in the corridor. Only then, hearing his name fly past your lips, did you begin to question the possibility of the man not being Billy. Those thoughts, however, left you with leaden dread forcing air out of your lungs and so you were quick to discard them. "Are you okay?" He was leaning against the wall on his shoulder and seemed to be holding his arm with his other hand. In the darkness of the night, he appeared as a mere wraith of a man that used to live inside those walls.

"Shit." You heard him whisper sharply. It sounded as if he was gritting words through his teeth. Were you a witness to something you weren't meant to see?

"Billy, what the hell is going on?" The anxious tremble in your voice nearly made him smile - it began just as he planned.

Be it fortunate or not, he turned around to face you. Billy's t-shirt was torn right below his shoulder, a streak of crimson blood, that looked more black than red in the darkness of the night, dried along his healthy hand. It was hard to say how much time had passed since he got hurt until he got home.

"My God," you gasped quietly upon seeing the blood on his clothes and skin. "Did you get shot?!"

"What can I say, princess," he panted while stumbling through the hall towards the living room. Billy let out a low growl each time he had to lean against the wall to not fall over. "I'm a bad boy."

"You need bandages, stitches, morphine," you were reciting in panic. Billy, however, seemed to not share your anxiety. "Just sit down for a moment!"

He finally sat down on the couch, awfully calm for someone with a bullet inside their arm. You were still standing in the hallway, staring at him and mindlessly picking at your skin. Billy's eyes were hung up you biting your lip before he continued the conversation:

"As much as I like having you swoon over me, this isn't my first rodeo. I'm gonna be fine. There's a first aid kit under the bathroom sink."

You needn't be told twice. Almost tripping over your own bare feet, you left the bathroom as fast as you had run inside. Billy watched your rushed movements with great interest, revelling in the idea that you were worried sick about him. Maybe you already did love him but were silly enough to not realize it just yet. Logically, would you be losing your senses over his wound if there wasn't even an ounce of adoration in your heart?

Sitting down next to Billy, your bare legs curled against him, you placed the small box on the coffee table but quickly pulled it back toward yourself when he reached for it.

"You've done enough, Billy. Let me help you."

In some way, he never meant to take care of that wound - only as a very last resort. If all else failed, maybe he could get you to pity love him. Feigning eventual agreement, he asked you:

"Do you even know what to do with a gunshot wound?"

"Remove the bullet, drown it in alcohol, stitch it and pray to God you don't die."

Although your considerable lack of knowledge shouldn't be reassuring, Billy laughed at your answer.

"Alright, that's more or less it."

With trembling hands and a shaky breath, you started taking different items out of the kit, all the while repeating in your head that you were perfectly capable of doing this well. The bottom line was making sure Billy lives with both arms.

He watched your face cringe as you anxiously put the forceps into the wound. The pain caused by the implement moving underneath his skin was hardly manageable but nothing he wouldn't be already familiar with. Billy's winces were slightly embellished but you couldn't know that and so your heart only beat faster inside your clenching chest. It felt as if your stomach was twisting into a knot.

When alcohol washed his wound, Billy growled in pain. Hearing his agony, you momentarily winced, now terrified that your actions have spoiled the situation further. Your anxiety did not go unnoticed by his yearning heart.

"Shit, sorry," you whispered to him and suddenly he wished he had been overly dramatic from the very beginning. Maybe he should have leaned on you instead of walking to the couch by himself?

You were too busy cringing while carefully stitching the wound to notice Billy staring at you, although your heads were nearly bumping into one another - close enough that if you were to turn towards him, he could quickly steal a kiss before you would even know it. He knew that if you were to look at him at that very moment, Billy would be unable to stop himself. The prick of the needle was unpleasant but it was your hands that held it - hands that would remain pure and holy even if they buried a blade of hatred deep inside his chest. Billy's eyes were showing a plethora of emotions that changed slightly depending on what curious thoughts were passing through his headspace at the moment. Despite the myriad of sensualities and dreams playing across his face, there were two easiest to recognize: adoration and malice. Maybe he even nodded to himself ever so slightly, finally knowing that he had you wrapped around his finger. Vicious genius has never looked this tempting.

"Should be fine," you whispered after cutting off the thread and tying it. Billy tilted his arm to get a look at the now-closed wound. It, quite obviously, wasn't the best handiwork but it did what it was supposed to.

Your face must have been stuck in a grimace, eliciting a faint chuckle from him. Billy sat back on the couch and placed his hand right above your knee in a pretended reassuring manner. The hem of your night dress brushed against his rough skin. Truth be told, he couldn't help his burning yearning and so he decided to milk the situation as much as he possibly could.

"If you were an army nurse, no one would want to leave the force."

And what fine projection his words were...

"They would leave permanently because of gangrene or tetanus. Now you, sir, just lie down, I'm gonna bring you something to eat." To his displeasure, you slipped away from his hands, suddenly leaving him colder than in a grave's depths. However, you walked barely a few steps before turning back around towards him with a worried expression. "Do you need a blanket?"

"I'm good, princess," he answered, although began to regret his words the second they left his mouth. Maybe if he agreed, you'd bring your own? Hopefully, its fibres would smell of your skin.

Billy watched you from afar, as you were nervously rummaging through kitchen cupboards and making him tea. Truthfully, he wasn't as shaken as you might have thought. In his life, he was beaten, stabbed and shot on more than one occasion - he was easily going to pull through this. But do not be mistaken, it wasn't as if the wound felt completely painless. No, it was a major ache but Billy found it to be only a relative sensation: manageable enough to bear it on more than one occasion. Maybe the pain would have been greater if it truly had been an accident. His arm burned and stung but Billy considered it completely doable to harbour a bullet once more just to have your trembling fingers caressing his skin and your worried gaze devoted only to him, even if for a few minutes.

After all, what was a bullet in comparison to your love? If he had to take ten more just for you to look at him again, he would. And he wouldn't hesitate to inflict that on someone else just to make sure you'd stay. On the altar of your glory, he was willing to make the most handsome sacrifice.

Then his thoughts became tainted once again, as they usually get with anything in regard to you. Billy wondered, watching you buss around his kitchen, what it would be like if you were the one to get hurt. Would your hot tears wet his shirt again? Would you let him take care of you? What unholy darkness would your pleas awaken inside him? Would you finally notice the unending amount of love he had for you? That he was the only person to ever truly care for you?

The water in the kettle boiled. Billy realized he had a new plan to carry out.

__________

TAG LIST: @restingbitchsblog @intothesoul @tnrthings

[tennessoui]

Miss Kit updates from you never fail to cheer me up, and that was a tall order this week when I spent my birthday alone because of covid and had to cancel my party because I'm still testing positive, so thank you! If you're taking Prompts I'd love to see something where Anakin is ill or injured as misery loves company, maybe the bit in cheating au where he's hospitalised and Obi-Wan finds out/is in waiting room? No pressure though, just wanted to drop in and say your updates always make me happy

hey!!!! it's been uh. a month. maybe two months. so like. i hope you're no longer testing positive :D here is a 2k snippet set in the cheating au when obi-wan rushes to anakin's side after he loses an arm fighting. also when padmé may start thinking that there's something rotten in the state of stewjon.......

(2k) (cw: i wrote this on my laptop when the i key was sticking so who knows how many i's i've missed)

(also cw: cheating)

(this snippet is sorta mentioned, might be important to read for understanding of the verse)

Obi-Wan’s hands are shaking. They have been since the missive came in for Padmé and Obi-Wan had leaned over to read it when she’d gasped in horror.

Her husband had been wounded. There’d been an attack of some sorts, a robbery or a premeditated attack or something else all together, and Padmé’s husband had heard the noise from his gallery and gone to investigate. He’d decided to break up the fight with nothing more than his voice and his own hands, and he’d lost one in the process.

He’d lost a lot of blood as well, Padmé’s husband had. A lot of blood and an arm. Padmé had been right to be so horrified, so frantic in calling for a recess in the conference, just one long enough to gather her things from her Republic-funded room, brief the secondary senator from Naboo on the state of negotiations, and then hail a shuttle to the nearest space port. She was allowed to go with little fuss.

After all, it was her husband who had been hurt so drastically he had been airlifted to the best trauma center in Coruscant. She had children to comfort and hold and feed sweet words of reassurance to.

Obi-Wan logically knows that he must stay. He’d been told as much by Padmé herself—not outright, of course, she probably wouldn’t have thought to do so, but she’d squeezed his shoulder as she left the Hall and promised to comm him as soon as she could with updates on Anakin’s condition.

It was, after all, the duties of a wife.

But what of the duties of the lover? The affair? The man who knows for certain he has managed to slip his way into Anakin’s heart, wrap himself around it until its every piece belongs to him alone, nothing left over for the wife who has rushed to his side?

His hands ache with the need to hold, to feel at Anakin’s skin, his pulse.

He makes it ten more hours into the conference before he follows Padmé’s example. He does not stop to collect his things, nor does he brief the secondary senator of Naboo, parting with a “you best have been listening, mate, or our failure’s on your head”; he flew to this planet in his own ship, and he flies it now.

He utilizes every trick that Anakin has ever shown him about how to fly fast and how to fly well. Under the guise of Obi-Wan being the worst pilot in the history of Stewjon and Anakin being unable to be cordial with someone who signaled before they changed vertical lanes, they’d spent years sneaking out to the stars for activities that had nothing to do with flying.

But perhaps against his will or perhaps because his love for Anakin had to better him in some way in order to be endured, he had also learned how to pilot the way Anakin piloted.

His hands shake the entire time. It’s the one concession he will give himself to the roar of emotions that feel like they’re tearing his insides to shreds.

His comm buzzes and when he checks it, an hour out from Coruscant, it’s a message from Satine. He doesn’t read it. He has long since stopped caring what his wife has to say about any matter, and the matter of this affair in particular. 

They had never particularly loved each other, though he thinks they both were convinced they did upon their marriage. But what he feels when he thinks of Anakin Skywalker dooms every other love he’s ever felt in his life to pale imitations.

They had never particularly loved each other, but it’s only been in the last year that Obi-Wan has felt resentment bubble up in his soul. His wife is one more thing that makes Anakin leave his bed early in the morning. Obi-Wan’s wife and, well.

Obi-Wan has been arguing with the health droids for ten minutes before Padmé appears from around the corner. She’s still wearing her Naboo regalia, though it looks much more worn. She must have arrived hours ago, yet she’s not left at all yet. This observation makes Obi-Wan’s heart seize up in fear. Has Anakin taken a turn so nonsensically towards the worst? 

Padmé looks startled to see him. She looks relieved though, too.

If Obi-Wan were a better person, he’d let the guilt of it all eat him alive. As it is, he’s not a better person. He’s a politician, and he wants something.

“Padmé!” He says upon seeing her. “How is he? Please, tell DR-023 that I should be allowed to see him.”

Padmé blinks, as if she can’t understand the stimuli her brain is showing her. “Obi-Wan, you came.” 

“Of course I came, Padmé,” Obi-Wan replies and knows he should say something else, but the words are tricky. He wants to say, because I love him. Because it’s Anakin. Because I know he would want me there. Because if it were me in that medical bed, I would want him beside me.

All of this is too incriminating. Padmé, though she still does not know about her husband’s infidelity, is not an unintelligent woman.

So he says, “I view you all as my family.”

This is uttered with a pointed look at the medical droid, barring Obi-Wan’s passage to the rooms of the hospital. Though heavy-handed, it seems to shake Padmé into action, and she swoops forward to key in the Skywalker room code into the droid’s bank, allowing Obi-Wan passage.

“Thank you,” he tells Anakin’s wife, and then when he cannot wait a second longer, “how is he doing?”

Padmé guides him back to Anakin’s room, and Obi-Wan lets himself be guided. “He’s—he’s going to be alright,” she says. “They—they won’t fit him with a prosthetic, not while he is unconscious and cannot consent, but they’ve taken him out of bacta and done several blood transfusions. Mine took, thank the stars.”

Obi-Wan swallows and stares forward so as not to give into the monster inside of him that roars in jealousy at the idea that Anakin and Padmé’s bloodtype match. That once more, Obi-Wan is made an interloper.

“Quite,” he replies faintly, for they’ve entered the room. There on the bed, looking much too still and ashen, is the love of his life. It takes all of his training in politics and appearance to stop himself from running to his side, grasping at his one hand, and raising it to his lips. The japor snippet around his neck burns with his need to touch and feel and heal.

Padmé, unaware of his agony, walks to the other side of Anakin’s bed, ghosting her fingers over his missing forearm with a haunted sort of expression.

“I was just going to leave to relieve the nanny,” she confesses, brushing a piece of hair away from Anakin’s face. Obi-Wan stiffens and forces himself to relax. “The twins haven’t seen him yet. I thought about getting them when I arrived, but….”

The twins live a charmed life, five years old and untouched by every great unfairness in the galaxy. Obi-Wan would hesitate to retrieve them as well, not when it would mean they would have to—at least for a moment—confront the senseless violence of their world.

“They should see him,” he tells her gently. Anakin would want that. “Please, I—I can get them if you do not wish to leave him.”

“I’m perfectly capable of parenting my own children,” she snaps. When she looks up, her gaze is hard.

Interloper.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan gentles his tone, his mannerisms, and steps back from the bed though that distance kills him. “Whatever you want, Padmé, I am only trying to support you.”

Anakin’s wife stares at him for several seconds, before glancing down at her husband. “You’ll call me if he awakens?”

“In an instant,” Obi-Wan promises, and she nods once, slowly and then with a fast upward tilt of her head. She navigates around the bed, and Obi-Wan moves closer to the very bounds of what is allowed.

He doesn’t watch her leave. He cannot tear his gaze away from Anakin’s slack face. There will be scars on it, wounds so deep that the bacta could not heal them perfectly in time to save him from the blemish.

Obi-Wan already finds them beautiful, because it is Anakin and he finds Anakin beautiful always.

He doesn’t watch Anakin’s wife leave, so he is startled to hear her speak. Startled and deeply grateful he hadn’t given into the impulse to touch her husband’s cheekbone. Stewjoni are affectionate, but not that affectionate.

“I am glad you’re here, Obi-Wan,” she tells him. Her tone is unreadable and when he turns around, her face is the same. 

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asks when she does not immediately continue. 

And then for a moment his heart freezes in his chest as he follows the descent of her eyes. Sometime between leaving the conference and arriving at the hospital, he’d taken his heavy, ceremonial Stewjoni cloaks off. His shirt is unlaced most of the way, his chest almost on display.

But she’s not looking at his skin.

The japor snippet lays lower than the shirt cuts, thank the gods, but there’s something in her eyes that looks like a denial. A rationalization. She’d seen the same leather cord around her husband’s neck for two years before he’d lost that pendant.

Before he’d given it in secret to its intended recipient and told his wife it must have fallen off in some restaurant on some planet.

He tries not to move, to hold his posture exactly as it is. Any sudden movements would read as guilt.

He has nothing to feel guilty about.

He has a whole galaxy’s worth of wrongdoings to feel guilty about.

“Why’s that?” he asks, prompts her towards speech in a voice that he prays is not shaking.

Her eyes snap up to his face. They’re unreadable. She is unreadable. She is the last thing that stands in the way of Obi-Wan being able to cradle Anakin’s head in public, kiss him in broad daylight, and if he loved Anakin less, he would tear off the necklace and throw it to the ground in  front of her feet, dare her to rationalize that coincidence away, the same way she’s rationalized all the touches she’s seen, all the heavy looks, lovers’ feuds, piloting lessons.

But he loves Anakin.

And if a team of droids refuse to operate on him without his consent, he can’t just go and reveal their affair to his wife without the same.

“Why’s that?” he asks again, when she doesn’t say anything. He crosses his arms, higher than he usually would, in case the japor snippet is peaking out from the edge of his shirt collar.

“They said he was calling for someone,” Padmé Amidala-Skywalker says, soft as rain and bells and lace. “They thought it must have been his wife. When I told them I was his wife, they called me Mrs. Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders tense with the effort not to look at Anakin. He wants to see him suddenly so bad that it hurts, but he forces himself to hold eye contact. “How strange,” he murmurs instead of the myriad of things he wishes to say. “I’ve always thought the name Obi-Wan to be quite masculine.”

Padmé says nothing, but she does leave.

It feels less like a surrender, more like a retreat.

[pantherlover]

An Artificial Night Re-Read: Part 7

Hello again! This is the last part for An Artificial Night. Let's see where it goes:

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

Tybalt and May's relationship is another one I would be interested in seeing how it developed over the two months Toby was missing.

When Toby mentions that Amandine could've saved up to help save her, Tybalt says that Amandine had disappeared *again*. That could mean that she's disappeared more than once, but I took it to mean that she'd been around recently. I can't remember if we got confirmation that the answers Tybalt was looking for re: Toby came from Amandine or not. Did he find her at this time and then she disappeared right after?

'Maybe the long pause had been good for my magic, because it felt like my illusion came together more easily than normal.' Is this a hint that undergoing the transformations shifted Toby's blood slightly?

'I wound up between Connor and Tybalt. They kept glaring at each other over the top of my head. I had a pretty good idea of why, but I didn't want to deal with it.' I'm not sure you do have any idea why they're doing it Toby; in fact, given that you continue to insist that Tybalt doesn't like you for another, like, two and a half books, I'm pretty confident that you don't!

May mentioning how hard it was for her to get Spike to eat vs. Toby telling Acacia it wasn't that hard to look after him (right after Acacia told her how hard it was to keep rose goblins alive) makes me think about Toby and her almost endless capacity to care about people, and how Toby probably doesn't understand that about herself at all.

I forgot how unpleasant Rayseline was in the first few books.

First time Toby drinks the Luideag's blood.

Chapter Thirty:

I don't have anything to say about this chapter, but *man* Seanan McGuire's prose is SO good.

Also her writing is really cinematic and I want a TV show so so sooooooooooo much.

Chapter Thirty-One:

Toby actually thanked Sylvester for loaning her his sword, but I'm pretty sure that was a mistake given that three pages later Sylvester thanked her and Toby acted like it was a big deal.

I think this is the last book that Toby needs her injuries bandaged.

Thirty-Two:

Every time Toby mentions that Luidaeg doesn't need to worry about robbers, I imagine a mortal thief breaking into her house and both the thief and the Luidaeg being just. SO confused about what's going on.

This chapter's so sad; Quentin loved Katie *so* much. I know that it never would've lasted, for a lot of different reasons, but Katie (and Quentin) deserved better than this.

I think Quentin choosing to let Katie go hits a little harder when you know that he's the Crown Prince. He's not just letting go of a mortal lover; he's acknowledging that he never would've been able to be with her forever. (This might also be why he's willing to date Dean; he already knows that he's able to give someone he loves up when he needs to.)

Thirty-Three

Every time Jessica turns up in this book, it makes me sad. She's just a little girl! She only has five more years! She never got to come into her own and get fully free of Blind Michael!

This chapter is giving me a lot of feelings about May and Stacey's relationship too, and how terrible the Stacy-is-Titania revelation would've been for May too. Stacy was the first person from Toby's life who accepted her without hating her first; that must've been such a blow to lose.

'As far as the state of California was concerned, I'd always had an identical twin sister. Bet Amandine would be surprised to hear that one.' I don't think she'd be as surprised by that as you'd think Toby.

Neither Tybalt or Connor have talked to her since she came back from Blind Michael's: It's fine. It's fine! It's fine. It's. Fine.

Even knowing what comes in the future, this is still a lovely ending. At least they got to have this moment.

That's it for An Artificial Night! (Whoo, finished by the skin of my teeth!) I might get to Late Eclipses between the next two books, but we'll see; it's just as likely that I'll be recovering from them emotionally until December. Either way, see you next time!

[madnessiseverything]

grishaverse (mostly soc) fics

since i've now posted over 20k of fic for this fandom i figured i'd do a little collection post for them 👀

when i'm beat up and alone, 1.4k words. jesper has a very bad day and gets beat up for his efforts. It’s a testament to his fucked up state—the reason he should never touch another drop of alcohol, a promise he has made far too many times—that they get the jump on him and he can’t reach for his guns in time, long-trained reflexes impeded by just about everything this shitty day has thrown his way. His head meets concrete and the world slides away for a brief, but far too crucial moment. -

live to fight another day, 2.6k words. five times jesper says "this is how we die" and one time he refuses to say it. His mama presses her lips to his forehead, tugs him down to match her height once more. She smiles, bright as the sun above their heads. The tear tracks down her face turn golden. Then those gentle, oh-so-gentle hands move to his chest, and Aditi—beautiful, loving, stubborn woman that she is—shoves. -

anything for love and war, 587 words. jesper gives wylan a key and freaks out about it. But insecurity has always been a loathed companion following his every step, and Jesper has always talked too much. Everything suddenly feels too fast, like he’s falling from a precipice he didn’t even have time to see. He’s never been here before, he thinks with an edge of panic. -

with bloody feet across the hallow ground, 8.9k words, ongoing WIP. everyone is fucked up in a more magical way, kaz is the barrel itself, the wraith receives prayers, wylan still crawls out of Ketterdam canals, jesper loses his soul during a game, and nina dabbles in necromancy. How then, the Wraith muses as she watches Ketterdam come to life with the approaching dark, is it possible that he doesn’t scoff at her mere existence—when faith is engraved into every tool her hands reach for, when the torn loom of her being is stitched up with the very thread that fills his floors with every new prayer a poor soul utters somewhere in the streets? -

all i ever wanted was to be of use, 5.6k words. jesper and kaz are missing inej and don't deal with it in a healthy way. kaz uses wylan's past to get to jesper. He knew the sanctuary he had found would be temporary, that his father would find him again to finish what Wylan failed to do back in the canal. He’d been foolish when he hoped it would take its time. All this time where he thought he had found happiness, he’d instead gotten complacent, let himself be lulled into a false sense of security with Jesper’s laughter and kindness. He should have known better than think he could build himself a home amidst these people.  -

please forgive my ugly, 2.1k words, ongoing WIP. jesper, up to his neck in debt, gets evicted and moves in with nina and inej, finally accepting that he needs help. The last time, Jesper tells himself on his first night, the last time things were this bad, he’d gotten Inej stabbed and irreparably damaged his relationship with Kaz. “This action will have no echo,” Jesper laughs joylessly into the rain thundering down on the bus stop roof. At least this time he alone has to bear the consequences. At least this time he doesn’t have blood on his hands. -

like a true survivor, 2k words. alina climbs into the car trunk of some strangers and ends up as a road trip buddy for the crows. She’d climbed into the backseat, with the Suli woman joining her on the other side. The Zemeni man had slid into the driver’s seat with a bright grin—Alina is pretty sure he was the one who kept laughing last night—and promptly held out an opened tub of gummy worms towards her. She hadn’t taken one until the man pointedly ate one himself as though to convince her they weren’t poisoned.