ajwild220

[ajwild220]

Second Secret Santa

There were some extenuating circumstances with one of the secret Santas, so I got this lovely bonus prompt. This is for @lili-loves-whump. I'm so so sorry, it's late. I've been traveling so I've just been writing when I can. I hope you like it!

"Hero x Villain comfort after villain has been hurt or panicked or smth."

Villain could barely breathe. Every time they inhaled, they choked, phantom fingers digging hard into their larynx. No matter how much they rubbed away Supervillain's touch, the murderous pressure lingered.

"Hiding in our hole today, are we?"

Villain gave a little leap, whipping around so fast they knocked their shoulder against the wall. They gasped, clutching it as they squinted at the familiar face in the doorway.

Hero.

How did they manage to make ever word out of their mouth condescending? Did they practice? Drawl sarcasms into the mirror until they hurt their own feelings?

Villain curled tighter against the wall. "Just get out."

"What's up with your voice?"

Great. They'd hoped the squeak wasn’t too noticeable, but apparently there was no hiding it.

"Just a little under the weather," Villain muttered. "So you can go. There's nothing going on today. No plans, no fight. You wasted the trip."

Hero crossed the room in three strides, the back of their large hand smoothly transferring from their side to Villain's forehead.

Villain fell back on their hands. "W-what are you doing?"

"No fever," Hero said. But you are a little flush--" They froze, hard eyes sliding from Villain's face to their throat. "What. Is. That?"

Villain quickly crossed their arms over the bare skin, but Hero snatched their hands away, wrapping a supernaturally strong arm around them to pin both limbs at their sides. Ironically, even while gruff they were more careful than Supervillain. Their hold was firm, but it didn't hurt.

Hero's free hand ghosted the bruises marring Villain's throat. Villain flinched violently, and Hero's hand moved back a couple inches.

"Finger marks," Hero said matter-of-factly. Villain hadn't had a chance to look at the bruises yet--they'd only had time to run and hide--but it must have been obvious. "Who did this?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Because I'm asking," Hero said, furrowing their brow.

"Ah, and you're a hero? Again, why does it matter? Why do you care?" Their voice rose a little with each word and their throat ached even more.

Hero clenched their jaw. Slowly their arm slid off Villain's waist, and they stepped back. Strangely enough the strength wrapped around them had been almost...in some strange way...comforting. At least, it had lowered their heartbeat a little. They were a little reluctant for the pressure to let up so soon.

"Believe it or not," Hero said. "I'd rather have you behind bars than find you dead in an alley."

"Believe it or not," Villain echoed. "I couldn't care less for your preferences. And I can take care of myself."

"You have handprints on your neck. Obviously you can't."

"It was a disagreement. That's all."

Hero narrowed their eyes. "Anithero...Other Hero...Thief...Supervillain?"

Villain flinched.

"Ah ha!" Hero whipped toward the door, pushing their fluttering cape back over their shoulder.

"No!" Villain's voice grated painfully.

Hero swept out the door, climbing out the window and onto the fire escape.

"Hero, no!" Villain caught the end of Hero's cape just before they leaped over the edge.

Hero turned on them, that stupid arrogant face staring down at them with that usual condescending look. Like they couldn't believe Villain was even wasting their time with an argument.

"Don't. If Supervillain thought I told you... If they thought I was consorting with heroes at all..."

Villain couldn't breathe. They gasped in a couple useless breaths, but their lungs still burned and their vision swayer.

Hero clapped a hand on Villain's shoulders, bending close so their concrete gaze loomed right overhead, cementing them to the spot.

"I don't plan on leaving them alive."

The air rushed in all at once.

Hero unfolded Villain's fingers from their cape and stepped up onto the fire escape railing.

"Why?" Villain said, blinking after them. "We're enemies. Not even the flirty kind. Just plain old beat each other up and hate each other enemies."

"Maybe you just haven't caught on," Hero said.

Villain flushed, and Hero grinned smugly. Though after a moment their expression dropped into something more serious. "I don't know. Even if we're not on good terms...feels wrong to let it happen." They looked away quickly. Almost as if, for once, they were afraid of what Villain might read in their eyes. "I'll be back once its over."

With that Hero took off into the air, disappearing into the glare of the sun.

True to their word, they returned two hours later, splattered in blood and swinging a plastic grocery sack full of vanilla ice cream, cold packs, and ginger tea in their fist.

Their relationship was quite a bit different after that.

[ajwild220]

Guys...I'm in a rut, still trying to work on some fics for you but...pls halp REQUESTS ARE SO WELCOME!!

(FYI I don't write smut, or m|m or w|w)

[ajwild220]

How you say my name

I never really liked my name until I met you. It was boring, old-fashioned, something I didn’t even want to use. Then you came along. And my name rolled off your tongue like it was something special, like it was supposed to be from your lips. You smiled like my name tasted like something sweet, a fleck of honey, or a special secret you were tasked to keep. I never saw my name as something special, but when you said it, my stomach did an odd sort of flutter. Something so ordinary, so normal, such an everyday thing, all evaporated as if it dropped from your mouth and spread wings. I never really liked my name until I heard you say it, then it felt like it fit just right, like a shirt you just had to grow into. But more significant than any fabric or cloth but rather like my name finally attached, like it hooked itself like a stitch to my soul. And that’s just it, isn’t it? Why all of a sudden, my name feels so special. Because when my name bounces around in your head or whispered so I can hardly make out the word those insignificant letters are tied and wrapped to the person I am within, you can’t help but think of the person behind the name when you speak it like you do. Sometimes, I feel as though I am as insignificant as those few letters that stand for me, but then I remember how you say it, how your eyes begin to sparkle, and it hardly comes from your mouth at all but rather your heart speaking from within. How you revere the word so deeply that I can see in your face that it is a pleasure for you to repeat my name back to me as if it was something unreachable that you could reach or untouchable that your hand had been able to reach out and touch. You speak my name as if it were an impossible reality. A language from the very heavens, the sparkle of the last shooting star, or the white whisp of a comet translated into our alphabet. All of a sudden, my name is all I could have dreamed it would be because you connect it with me.

#my writing #spilled ink #poetry #how you say my name

[ajwild220]

Inspired by @autocrats-in-love’s prompt here!

~~

“Can you stop- stop hanging on me!” The hero stood frozen, trying— and failing— to not panic. They didn’t dare move a muscle as the villain’s embrace became tighter around their ramrod-straight posture.

“Let me go,” their voice came out small, panic and fear muddled together.

“Look, I know you’re… wary, of affection. And touch in general… but its not all bad. I haven’t hurt you yet, have I?”

Yes. Well, no. Not yet.

But it was a dangerous game, that thing called touch. It brought hurt and pain, and if that touch was nice it meant someone wanted something and they wouldn’t hesitate to hurt them if they didn’t get it and-

Their panic screeched to a halt when a hand found the base of their head and began to play with their hair. They hated how the touch made them both flinch and shiver. Hero couldn’t think straight, their mind seemed split in two. Villain’s touch felt so nice. But in an instant it could be so dangerous.

So Hero waited for the questions. For the hands to stop being kind and pull their head back to expose their throat. They waited for Villain’s demands. Because touch was a trick. This thing, this comfort… it was only to lower their guard. Villain still wanted something from them. Information? Locations? What could they possibly want?

“Hey.” Hero flinched yet again as a hand slid back and forth over their back. They didn’t even notice how their breath quickened, or how their jaw began to tremble. No, Hero only noticed the hand.

“Please,” they begged. Their wide, panicked eyes met Villain’s cool, slightly concerned gaze. “I- I’ll tell you anything, anything you want just… just let go of me. Please.” So the criminal did. And without a second’s hesitation, Hero jumped out of Villain’s grasp.

One thing was for sure, Hero wouldn’t like their question. But it was the only thing Villain was thinking about at this moment. Who hurt their hero, so badly that they were afraid of a simple hug?

[ajwild220]

I’ve not seen any starved touched hero stories so may I request a starved touched hero and the villain finds out and helps them. It’s fine if not:)

"Tell me," the villain murmured, as the hero's breath came out quivering. "When was the last time that someone touched you?"

It wasn't what the hero had expected.

"People touch me all the time."

"Kindly."

"You're not kind."

But the villain's touch was such a gentle thing; the hero's brain refused to register it as cruelty, even as the villain's fingers were curled around their throat. They didn't squeeze though.

The hero should have pulled back already. They should have shoved the villain away. They did none of those things. They leaned limp against the wall, almost hypnotised by the back and forth sweep of the villain's thumb brushing sweetly against their pulse point.

It was pitiful for a nice threat to feel like affection. They were pitiful.

The villain's gaze was intent.

"What are you doing to me?" the hero whispered.

"I'm not doing anything." The villain's powers worked with touch, but they had never touched the hero before. The hero had always been too quick. The villain had managed that time though, advancing, shoving the hero to the wall and then - then this. The villain had touched their skin and then they'd gone perfectly still for a few seconds. The villain could expose all secrets with a press of their fingers, do all manner of things, but...

The hero swallowed, eyeing them. They genuinely didn't think the villain was doing anything.

Each second that ticked by seemed a confession, a betrayal, a plea for something.

The villain's hand slid slowly to to cup the nape of the hero's neck. "You didn't answer my question." The villain pulled the hero a step closer, dragged them flush. The villain's other hand wrapped around the hero's back.

They were being hugged.

A confused, entirely too soft sound left the hero's throat. Questioning. A little choked. It felt like a trap and it felt entirely too desperately lovely.

The villain tightened their grip, tucking the hero's head against their shoulder.

"Skin hunger," the villain said, softly. "Touch starvation. You are a famine, love, I can feel it."

"I-" The hero didn't know how to finish the sentence. The villain was so warm against them, a solid and reassuring presence. That couldn't be right. "What?"

"It has been entirely too long, hasn't it?"

"You're not doing anything?"

"I'm hugging you."

"Your powers-"

"-Mean I know exactly how you are feeling. How much you need this. So are you going to be good and shut up and let yourself have it?"

The hero choked out another gasp of air.

Was that was why the villain had stopped? Why they'd seemed to switch gears so abruptly when they could have finally won? The hero swallowed and shut up, even if it was a bad idea. Inch by inch, when the villain did nothing more but hold them, the hero relaxed. They melted.

"Why are you doing this?" the hero managed, pressing their face against the promise of the villain's shoulder.

"Kindness?"

"You're not kind."

The villain huffed, breath rustling the hero's hair. They pressed a kiss atop the hero's head. "Mm. Temporarily benevolent. No strings attached, pinky promise."

It was definitely suspicious, but it really did feel so unbelievably good. The hero felt like they'd settled into their bones for the first time in years. Maybe longer.

They really couldn't remember the last time someone touched them kindly, for an extended period of time. A brush of accidental touch in a crowd. A hairdresser's clinical contact. None of it was anything like what the villain gave them.

"That's better," the villain said, with a sigh. "Your nerve endings have stopped screaming at me."

"S-sorry. I-"

"It was merely an observation. You don't need to be sorry."

The hero expected the villain to get back to it, or step back. They didn't. It was probably the longest hug in the world.

Finally, the hero let themselves reach out, wrapping their arms around the villain in turn.

"Good," the villain said.

"Are we still...I shouldn't let you touch me. I'm not stupid."

"No."

"Are you going to let go of me?"

"When you actually want me to, sure."

"And you can...feel that?"

"Yes."

The hero squirmed with embarrassment. The villain tightened their grip again. The hero went still.

"Years," the hero whispered, finally. "It's been years. I can't remember the last time."

"Mm." The villain nuzzled into them. "That's not going to happen again. I don't believe in torture."

Neither of them much felt like fighting when they finally broke apart.

[ajwild220]

The hero looked around the alley and startled as they saw two amber eyes staring right back at them. They cautiously backed away, hoping that the villain would at least give them a chance to explain.

"I've been waiting." The low rumble of the villain's voice brought goosebumps on the hero's arms. They were truly in trouble. The villain's usual jovial mood and happy demeanor was nowhere to be seen.

Oh no, they were truly in trouble.

"Look, I-" The hero fumbled, wringing their fingers nervously. "I know I messed up. It was just too nerve-wracking. Going against my mentor...I tried but honestly the pressure caught up to me. I was thinking that I was all alone but I was still trying, but then the media showed up which meant it was live and everyone was-"

"How is your leg?"

"Huh?" The hero stopped blabbering and looked at villain's face. The villain's face did not give away any signs of anger but it almost seemed...worried? No, the shadows from the street lights must be messing up villain's face.

"Your leg. I watched the broadcast and you took a terrible fall. Let me look at it."

The hero hurriedly stepped back as the villain reached for their leg. Was this some other kind of punishment for messing up? The hero had often heard rumors of the villain's brutal methods. Was this one of the tortures?

"Hero" The Hero stilled, shaking in fear as the Villain stood in front of them, daring them to take another step. They flinched as the villain bent down to observe their leg. They felt a warm hand rest on their knee. Oh lord, were they going to snap their knee?

The hero relaxed as they felt warmth seep into their leg from villain's palm. Right, they had heard about villain's ability to heal. The warmth seemed to be pressing a comforting hand to their back as if beckoning them to take rest.

The hero felt their body hit the ground but felt no pain. No, they felt as if they were in heaven, floating through clouds while angels sang in their ears.

One such angel looked down at them and shook their head. They ruffled hero's hair and whispered, "What am I supposed to do with you?" The angel was truly beautiful.

Oh, the hero must be in some kind of trouble.

[ajwild220]

If you'd like to, could you please write angst with maybe a touchstarved hero :)

Only if you'd like to. I love reading angst from you 💕🍫

The hero swallowed but it didn’t give them the release they had hoped for. Instead, their throat burnt even more. Moving was impossible in this state. That was when it hit them. They couldn’t feel their legs.

They couldn’t feel their legs.

Panic washed over them with its terrible yet relieving familiarity. At least this meant their body was functioning. It could do something, but it couldn’t react. The hero’s body couldn’t obey any orders.

“Hey, darling.” Instinct kicked in and the hero threw a gaze at the villain who was slowly squatting, crouching beside them. “Relax, it’s alright.”

It felt like there was acid in the hero’s eyes. The villain looked at them, their gaze somewhere between sympathy and sadness.

They were calm, almost like a teacher who wasn’t quite satisfied with the test results but willing to explain everything.

The hero wanted all of this to end. They wanted to go home. They wanted to feed their dog. They wanted to water their plants. To get on the couch and sleep.

“It’s alright,” the villain repeated, their voice alluring and smooth. “It’s gonna be fine.”

It almost made the hero really believe everything would turn out well like in those fairy tales they had laughed at as a child. With a happy ending and a happy spouse and happy children.

“I can’t feel my legs,” the hero croaked. A lump was buried deep in the back of their throat, making their head hurt and their eyes water. It was all so blurry. They couldn’t see properly. They couldn’t move.

What had happened was a tiny mystery. There had been a fight and there had been shouting but the question of why was still unanswered. The hero didn’t think they would find out any time soon why they were lying on their back, eyes on the dark sky. The city casted its light in the air, so there were unfortunately no stars this night.

It was peaceful and quiet here on the skyscraper, they couldn’t hear the noises of the city down below.

“I am dying,” the hero eventually concluded. They could feel something which felt like a huge wound in their chest. “Something’s wrong. I am dying.”

The villain hesitated.

“Yes. Yes, you are,” they said quietly. “You lost a lot of blood.”

Both were quiet again but the hero saw in the corner of their eyes how the villain got closer.

“I wanna hold your hand,” the hero confessed. “I’ve always wanted to hug you, too.”

The villain had the unfortunate ability to kill every living thing they touched. Not only in a metaphorical and emblematic sense. But in a quite literal one.

People died when the villain touched them. That was why they always wore gloves.

“Hold my hand,” the hero said. The metallic taste of blood was in their mouth and there was a headache plaguing them.

“Darling…”

“Take care of my dog, please,” the hero said. Finally, their tears started to escape. “Promise it.”

“Yes, I do.”

“And please hold my hand.” The pause was uncomfortably long. “Please. I’ll be gone in a second. It’s gonna be fine.”

The villain waited.

And waited.

“Goodbye, my love,” they said, tears rolling down their cheeks as well. “You were so brave.“

They removed their gloves and the last thing the hero felt before their death were the softest hands and the gentlest grip on earth.

[ajwild220]

Caged, vulnerable, and exposed Villain being rescued by Hero after conditioning has already set in. Desperately looking for some scared Villain whumpee <3 go crazy with this one!!

go crazy, you say? ahahaha. mwahaha. mwaHHSHSHSHHAHAHAHHA. 

The villain blinks up at the ceiling wearily. They have gotten no sleep or rest in captivity. They’re afraid to close their eyes, to see the shadows of their nightmares and the blood they’ve spilled on their hands. The villain takes a shuddering breath. There’s a clock on the wall, for some reason. They think it’s there to throw them off. The monotonous ticking feels like a hammer to the skull, an earsplitting tone filled with reminders of the world’s progress outside the grimy walls of their cell.  

Footsteps sound from down the hall and the villain winces in practiced fear. It’s almost that time of the day- that time when they’re brutally tugged from their mind palace and forced to feel every broken bone, every scratch, and every bruise that sits on their body. Seconds pass and a shadowed figure stands near the edge of their cell. The villain blinks once, twice. It’s not their captor. This person is not their captor. 

“This isn't real,” the villain maintains, rubbing their eyes roughly and trying to get rid of the image before them. They’re not sure who they’re trying to convince: the new intruder or themselves. Their side briefly flares up with pain, and they move a shaking hand to cover the wound haphazardly. A concerned gaze meets theirs and the villain’s jaw nearly falls open as they recognize the figure.

“I am real,” the hero responds, opening the door and looming in the doorway. “I’m here to rescue you.” The villain unconsciously hunches their shoulders. Somehow, their enemy notices this, because they quickly adjust their posture to seem less threatening. 

“No, you’re not,” the villain replies, biting their lip. There is no rescue here. Rescue is not a luxury that they’re afforded. They say as much to the hero, whom frowns. 

“Yes, I am,” the hero argues, their eyebrows furrowing. They look angry. Their gaze settles on the villain with bruising intensity. “Can I touch you? I don’t think you’re going to be able to walk on your own.” They stiffen out of reflex. 

“No, no, don’t touch me,” the villain babbles, shaking their head rapidly. They know the hero would never hurt them, but uncertainty and fear have clawed at their chest and made a home in it. They can’t bring themselves to trust. Affording trust to the wrong people was what got them in this situation, in this dingy cell with a stale pungency in the air and water dripping from the ceiling. 

“Okay, well, um,” the hero stammers, clearly unsure of what to do. The villain brings their knees to their chest and buries their head down, desperate for solitude again. They don’t want to see their captor’s face when he walks into this scene. The villain’s breaths are rapid and quick as they wait for the hero to leave. Seconds turn to minutes. The shadow on the ground never leaves. 

“J-just go away,” the villain chokes out, their chest tight. Their hands tremble at their sides, even as they try to clench their fists and remain calm. 

“I’m not leaving,” the hero asserts. “I’ll sit here until you feel safe enough to leave with me.” They move to sit down incredibly slowly, their gaze insistent and unmoving from the villain’s own eyes.

“You’re lying,” the villain accuses, weakly pushing themselves backwards to increase the distance between them and their adversary. The hero doesn’t seem surprised at this, and they remain entirely still. Seeing their enemy sitting cross-legged before them is a bit strange, but it still doesn’t do away with the fear and anxiety coursing through the villain’s chest. “He’s not going to like this. I’m- You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not leaving you,” the hero maintains once more. There’s a steady resolve in their eyes, in the tight line of their shoulders. A minuscule amount of hope trickles into the villain's heart, before it’s swiftly replaced by dread. “We’ll take him on, together.”

“He’s too strong,” the villain insists. How is the hero not understanding? Their captor is much too strong for the two of them. If they fight, they'll lose. It’s as simple as that. The villain tries to convey this with a glare. 

Somehow, their enemy remains infuriatingly silent. The villain tries to taunt them, mock them, insult them. The hero is still silent. They scream at them. Silence. The villain pushes their shaking hands over their ears and tries to forget their presence. Silence. The hero remains entirely frozen. Their lips are pursed and their hands are clasped. Hours pass with no movement between the two of them. When the silence is finally broken, it isn’t the hero to break it.

“Fine,” the villain says, clumsily pushing themselves up to lean against the wall. The hero stands up just as slowly and extends an open palm. The villain stares at it. A million alarms ring through their mind. They swallow and reach a hand out in return. With a strong but reassuring grip, the hero leads the villain out of their cage.  

©2022, @defectivehero All Rights Reserved. 

endnotes below!

sobs. i love this idea so much- shoutout to the anon that requested it. anyway, i love writing whump stuff. honesty, there are definitely times when i write whump and don’t realize it [simply because i don’t explicitly define characters as “whumper” or “whumpee”]

“The shadow on the ground never leaves,” is a line I really like. It was a spur of the moment type thing. It mostly came to me because I was thinking about how the villain’s posture would affect their worldview- how sitting on the ground would limit their sight. I realized that they could likely only see the hero’s shadow and then boom! Even beyond that, I feel like this line is... I don't know. I can’t really describe it. It just... really makes me see the villain’s perspective. I also like the idea of the villain automatically seeing a person through a more convoluted but accurately complex lens. They’re burdened with mistrust, and it affects every moment of their life. That’s how I think of it. 

also! “mind palace” is a hannibal reference, hehe. i'm sure it’s not a hannibal original concept, but hannibal was where i first learned of it. in this specific snippet, the villain uses their mind palace as a refuge. they [subconsciously] dissociate to protect themselves.

happy halloween [if you celebrate]!! my friends and i used it as an excuse to dress up as the try guys (keith, eugene, and zach.) i was zach, lol. 

anyway, thanks for reading <3

______

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[ajwild220]

Oh my word!!! I love how much work went into this!! I love this story...the dynamics the inner turmoil?? AHHHHHHHH BEAUTIFUL!! I hope we get a third part because the angsttttt i need to know how it turns outttt

💗💗💗💗💗💗

Rescue Me, Part 2 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

Dedicated to @sassysaxxy for quoting my own writing at me, showering me with compliments, and sending me your screams and other genuine reactions to my snippets. Your enthusiasm as a reader ignites my enthusiasm as a writer. I hope you enjoy this! 💗

Summary: Y/N is succeeding as Obi-Wan Kenobi's padawan, but who knew succeeding brought other kinds of difficulties with it?

Word count: 7.7k

Warnings: war

If you haven't read part 1, here it is!

I swiped at my forehead, wiping the moisture that had collected there away with my sleeve. Obi-Wan warned me about the thickness of Felucia’s climate, but I hadn’t realized this was how it felt to breathe in equal amounts of water vapor and actual air. I felt as though a mesh swatch had been implanted in the back of my throat, making me work twice as hard to gain half as much oxygen. 

All the Coruscant patricians spending hundreds of credits on expensive moisturizing hair and skin treatments just needed to visit here. 

Obi-Wan’s voice flowed through the comm in my ear. “We need more fire towards the east!” 

“Units C3 and 4, fire three clicks east!” I shouted over my shoulder. The brief telltale clatter of the artillery units calibrating behind me was nearly deafening. 

“Yes, sir!” two clones chorused. I twisted my neck slightly at the sound of it. All Jedi were called ‘sir’, but that didn’t mean I would ever get used to it. 

“How’s the view from up there?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“It’s stunning. Too bad you can’t see it.” His huff made me grin as I raised my binocs to my eyes, looking out at the southernmost front in some hope of catching sight of him. But the only thing I could see were the white flashes of clone armor and the streaking red and blue blaster bolts. “How’s the view from down there?”

“Clanky.”

Droids. 

“How many of them?” 

I heard the telltale sound of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber slicing through metal. “One less now,” he grunted. 

I sighed. “Only a few hundred thousand to go.”

The war continued to gnash its way through the galaxy, and few planets were as devastated as Felucia. Sparsely inhabited, the value of the planet came from nysillin. The Separatists and the Republic had been battling for months over control of the precious healing herb. My master and I had only been here for a few days to resolve the current standoff, but I was ready to leave the moment we were allowed to. 

Directly in front of the mountain I stood on was Master Plo Koon’s battalion, arguably the most important part. If the middle of the field was lost, the battle was lost. To the south was Obi-Wan’s battalion, steadily gaining ground, in no small part because of my master. 

The northern regiment, the smallest group of the three, was currently at a standstill. Commander Cody reported no action and no sightings of the Separatist forces, and so, that battalion was currently out of combat.

My position with the artillery gave me the perfect vantage point, not only of all three fronts, but of the village at my back, one of the only villages the Separatists hadn’t managed to pillage. It would stay that way, if the Republic had anything to say about it. 

My master’s voice crackled in my ear. “There’s more trying to cut through the mountains.”

“Unit B, two clicks to the south!” I relayed to the closest artillery gunman. 

“Yes, sir!” He immediately started punching in calculations for trajectory, and I preemptively clapped my hands over my ears to try and hear Obi-Wan’s next words. 

“When the droids fire up their backup generators-” My master’s voice garbled, becoming unintelligible amidst the horrid clatter from behind me.

“Repeat orders!” I requested, pushing my comm-link further into my ear in the hopes of hearing better. But instead of getting clearer, the words got softer and more garbled before completely cutting out.

“Obi-Wan?” No response. “Obi-Wan, can you hear me?!” No response.

I waved over at the comms technician. “I’ve lost Master Kenobi. Can you restore the connection?”

“Right away, sir.” The clone’s helmet tilted down as he started tapping on his screen. Then, his fingers stopped. “Uh…sir?”

My brow furrowed. “What’s the problem? Is the machine malfunctioning?” 

The helmet shook from side to side. “No, sir, it’s not the machine, it’s something external.”

“What about Master Koon? Can we reach him?”

“No, sir, I can’t locate any signals on any frequency, much less hone in on what they’re saying.”

“No other signals?” I said under my breath. Surveying the ground below me, I searched for any suspicious movement, anything that could resemble a jammer. But the battlefield resembled how it looked before with conflict on the central and southern fronts. Desperate, I panned to the north. My eyes caught sight of the glimmering of the shiny, gray armor of battle droids.

“Oh no.” I quickly adjusted the settings and let out a gasp. 

Four clicks ahead of Commander Cody’s battalion, the Separatist AATs were charging. And because of the foliage, Commander Cody wouldn’t be able to see the tanks until they were already within range.

“Scrag!” I ripped the binocs from my eyes, breathing heavily as I stared out at the valley. 

“What’s going on?” one of the clones asked. 

I didn’t reply, still staring. What was I supposed to do? Communications were down. If Commander Cody’s unit was overcome, the Separatists could easily incapacitate the artillery before storming the village.

It’d be a massacre.

And they didn’t even appear to have a jammer with them.

The group marching on the front were still a few minutes away from firing distance, which meant I had a chance to act. How should I seize it? How could I seize it? I was here, with the artillery, removed from the battlefield. 

“Obi-Wan,” I said weakly into my comm, knowing he wouldn’t hear me. “What do I do?” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm down.

In the darkness, Obi-Wan’s wisdom came back to me.

From the Force were we formed and to the Force will we return, he once told me. Sitting cross-legged, his tone perfumed with his seemingly infinite patience, even as I struggled to master the elusive practice of meditation. The Force is your ally. Let it use you, and it will let you use it.

Sentiments that appeared contradictory, but instead formed a perfectly balanced harmony, like the Force itself.

The beginning and ending of all things.

I took in a deep breath, inhaling the humid air before breathing out, letting the cacophony of worries and what-ifs go.

I am here, I thought. 

And the Force answered.

“Commander Y/L/N?”

My eyes flew open to reveal a nervous looking clone.

“What is going on?”

“Communications are down, and there’s a massive force about to reach the 3rd regiment.”

“What are your orders, sir?”

“Fire two kilometers in front of the 3rd regiment’s line and keep firing!” I gave a strained smile. “You’ve just gotten a promotion, trooper.”

There was no path leading up or down the mountain. The artillery was only set up here after being transported by a slow carrier, and I wouldn’t be able to land that thing down on the field. A target that big would be shot down by the Separatists immediately. 

So I stepped right to the edge of the mountain, looking down below. 

I reached out with the Force, took a few shallow, bracing breaths, and jumped.

One of the clones let out a cheer, but the sound whipped away as I free-fell, gaining speed. The wind whipped past me in a roar, and my eyes watered so badly, I had to shut them.

Blindly, I reached out for the Force and felt its aura surrounding me, imparting soft comfort instead of hard, cold fear. The wind around me slowed. I suddenly felt as though I were floating instead of tumbling. I opened my eyes, and I could see the whole valley. 

A searing warning came, and I immediately tucked in my head, bent my arms and legs, and waited for impact.

My feet touched the ground, and I immediately rolled forward.

I stayed there for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest as I fought against the water vapor to catch my breath. 

Then, I took off running, ripping through the Felucian vegetation as I sprinted towards the northern front. 

No other planet I’d been to had plants which compared to the size of the ones on this one. The cyan pitcher plants, shaped like the bulb of a flower, stretched far above my head while long, wispy red growths bent and curled every which way. The dangling parts of the yellow plants made them seem like they dripped with sticky yellow syrup. The dull light from Felucia’s yellow sun was colored by the translucent nature of the plants, shining all manner of different hues around me. All the plants grew so fast, it was all the Republic forces could do to keep clear paths between battalions. If I hadn’t been on the mountain looking down at the battlefield a moment ago, I might’ve taken a wrong turn. As it was, I knew precisely which paths to take.

My heart raced when the white tents and equipment came into sight. I tore through the camp. “Where’s Commander Cody?” I asked the first clone I found. He wordlessly pointed, and I rushed in the provided direction. 

A helmetless Commander Cody stood above a projected map of the area, the very view I’d just seen from my position. The commander looked up, clearly surprised to see me. “Commander Y/L/N? What are you doing here?”

I skid to a stop. “I saw the Separatists moving on this position, they’ll be here any minute.” My own voice sounded so even, a marvel considering how out of breath I should’ve been. 

Commander Cody cursed. “That’s why the long range comms aren’t working.”

I nodded.

“We have to hold this line while Master Koon and Master Kenobi are informed and push their lines forward.” Cody turned to one of the clones standing beside him. “Take my speeder to inform Masters Koon and Kenobi of the situation!” The clone nodded and ran the direction I’d come. 

“How long until the troops can be deployed?” 

Commander Cody’s face went grim. “There’s only a platoon assigned to the front. The rest are sleeping or eating. The clankers will be here before I can get them ready.”

I started running towards the front. “I’ll buy you that time!” I called over my shoulder.

Subtly reaching out with the Force, I let the life forces of the clones ahead of me guide my path, and it was a good thing I did. 

The only reason I recognized the edge of the battlefield when I reached it was the gradual dwindle in the number of large pitcher plants, allowing for a slightly more unobstructed view ahead. Heart pounding, I dodged the ferns and giant mushrooms, waiting for the thick air to suddenly fill with blaster shots.

SCREECH!

That was my only warning before a shell screamed over my head. My heart dropped, because I knew I hadn’t reached the squad in time. 

“AATs ahead!” the voice of a clone yelled, and all hell broke loose.

The air filled with blaster shots, and I was surrounded by the high pitched whines following their discharge and the heat that followed them. I deflected as many shots as I was able, trying to reach the platoon. I spotted the camouflage helmet of a clone scout trooper and bounded towards it. 

“Where’s this fire coming from?!” one of the clones behind me cried from his defensive position. “We didn’t hear a warning!”

I managed to reach whom I assumed was the squad leader: an ARC trooper I recognized: Driver. “Commander Cody is rallying the troops now!” I shouted over the noises of combat. 

Driver gave a curt nod before crouching out from behind the pitcher plant to fire a few shots at the Separatists and then rolling back to safety.

I glanced around at the other clones I could sense, all valiantly returning fire. Nine clones and a Jedi had no hope of winning against the infantry corp that was bearing down on us, but we just needed to buy time.

Another shell barreled towards us, and I threw my hand out, diverting it into the trees. Sending a glare at the AAT that came so close to destroying the platoon, I deflected every blast I could. “Hold your ground!”

But it couldn’t last forever.

“Dank’s been hit!” one of the other squad members yelled.

Distracted, I looked behind me to see the white-clad body of a clone on the ground, not moving. Turning away to parry another shell, I reached behind me with the Force to feel Dank’s life.

I felt nothing.

And in that nothing, suddenly, everything slowed down.

A shell came hurtling towards me, slowly rotating in the air as it came closer and closer. With a yell, I threw out my hand, sending the shell back in the direction it’d come from. 

The explosion of an AAT made the corner of my mouth twitch up. Take that, I thought with satisfaction. 

“Engage!”

I dared a glance over my shoulder to see scores of clones running out of the foliage, taking cover behind the pitcher plants and returning fire.

Commander Cody joined me behind the pitcher plant I was using for cover. “Took you long enough!” I called over to him. He waved his hand in the air, dismissing my teasing. “Have either of the masters sent back word?” The commander shook his head, and my heart sank. To win this battle, it was imperative that the other two battalions pushed forward. Cody could hold the line, but he wouldn’t be capable of pushing the Separatists back. 

I ducked behind another pitcher plant, gripping my lightsaber in front of me as I panted for breath. “Obi-Wan,” I said quietly. “Where are you? Why aren’t you here?” I shut my eyes, tuning out the commotion around me.

I am here.

The Force rose up, the crackles of energy surrounding me.

Obi-Wan. I need Obi-Wan.

The answer was a grab of my consciousness. The Force dragging it at top speed, not bothering to weave through the trees and fighters. It was an odd sensation, to fly through solid things and feel only the energy that knit them together.

Then, I felt the light.

“Obi-Wan,” I breathed, my own voice sounding far away. “You need to attack.” The light didn’t react, and I knew he hadn’t felt me. Reaching out with my conscience, I prodded the light sharply. “Attack.”

Suddenly, I got ripped away, flying back to the confines of my own body. I opened my eyes, once again hearing the blasters firing.

Had he heard me?

I wasn't sure.

I peeked over the edge of the plant. The hundreds of droids were nearer, and with it, the crowd of AATs. I was about to turn away when an AAT in the middle caught my attention.  Standing with its top half outside the hatch of an AAT, was a droid, tapping onto a large, welded addition to the AAT.

It could’ve been anything, but I knew better. 

Eighty meters away, there it was.

If I were still with the artillery, I could order them to fire on that AAT, but I was in the battle, and my options were limited.

I scanned the field. The fighting was thick, but the foliage was thicker. With Cody holding up the rear, I might be able to sneak past the droids, get to the jammer, incapacitate it, and turn the tide of the battle.

I’d need back-up.

My eyes fell on Driver, and the plan started to form. “Driver!” I called. The ARC trooper turned, and I waved him over. “On me!” Without hesitation, I started on a zig-zag path, darting from cover to cover, never staying still enough to be a target. Driver and two other clones followed me.

It was harrowing, leaping from side-to-side, hoping that no droid would notice us before we got around. Finally, we got to the edge of the battlefield.

“What’s going on, sir?” Driver asked.

I peeked over the tree we hid behind. “We’re going to take out the AAT that's jamming our comms,” I told them breathlessly.

Driver and the other two clones exchanged looks, but none of them raised an objection. They nodded at me, and together, we snuck through the foliage, trying to keep the battlefield within sight, but remain unseen.

Finally, we reached as far as we needed. Maybe fifteen meters into the battlefield, and we’d reach the AAT.

I singled out the AAT with the welded addition. “That’s the one!” I shouted above the clamor on the battlefield. 

“Click,” Driver yelled, “you’re up! We’ll cover you!”

One of the clones nodded, his hand drifting to his belt where a number of dangerous looking items lay. He took off in a zig-zag jog, ducking around droids and staying low to the ground.

I watched him, my anticipation rising.

Click reached out to lay a hand on the AAT when suddenly his body contorted. I caught sight of a blaster mark in the center of his chestplate before he crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Horror rose up in me, and with it, the distress of the two clones standing with me.

I shook my head. Time to do my job. My eyes shifted to the thermal detonator on Driver’s belt. 

“I need your detonator!” I hissed at Driver. 

Driver’s helmet shifted slightly, and I could feel the sense of duty that tugged at him. “Sir, I should be the one to–”

“Driver, now!”

Grabbing the detonator from his belt, he tossed it at me, and I caught it. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sprinted into the battlefield, the air around me filling with red and blue blaster bolts alike. I didn’t check my surroundings to see if the droids or other AATs had noticed me, trusting the Force to warn me of an impending threat. 

I felt the blaster bolt before I saw it and ducked, the bolt whizzing over my head. I didn’t bother to look in the direction it’d come from, solely focused on my target. 

Finally, I reached the AAT and jumped onto it, throwing open the hatch door. Hitting the activation button, I dropped the detonator into the interior and slammed the hatch closed. 

I slid off the AAT as fast as I could. Dropping beside Click’s body, I hooked my arms underneath his armpits and yanked. 

Another clone appeared beside me. “Sir, we need to lea–”

The detonator blew. 

The vigor of the blast threw me backwards. I landed hard on my back, my head snapping back.

“–and do it now!”

I nearly cried with relief upon hearing my master’s voice through my comm. 

“They’re retreating!” said Commander Cody’s voice in my ear. “Push forward!”

I lifted my head up in time to see droids retreating…right in our direction.

The clone beside me let out a groan, and I caught sight of the bashed side of his helmet. I was on my feet in an instant, slinging his arm over my shoulder and practically dragging him with me. 

Driver ran from the tree, coming to the clone’s other side. 

Together, the three of us reached cover, just in time to hear the shouts of victory and aggression as the clone forces ran forward, chasing the Separatists away. 

Driver and I leaned the clone against the tree. I could sense his pain, which only increased my guilt. This clone had just been trying to get me to safety and ended up injured because of it. I was not going to let him die like the others. I crouched in front of him, reaching out to inspect his helmet. “What’s your name?” I asked softly. The clone didn’t respond; his arms were out to the sides, as if he were trying to balance himself. Resting a firm hand on his shoulder, I asked again. “Soldier, what’s your name?” 

“CT-7563.” Even through the modulator of his helmet, I could hear that he tripped over the numbers. 

My eyes flicked to Driver, who now kneeled beside me. “What’s his other name?”

“We call him Exit,” Driver answered. 

I grabbed both sides of the helmet, preparing to ease it off. “Okay, Exit, I’m going to take off your helmet so I can see your wound better.”

I could feel Exit’s hesitation, but when he raised no objection, I gently tugged on the helmet, pulling it off his head. 

The right side of Exit’s head was already swelling, and there was a nasty gash oozing blood into his buzzed hair. Exit blinked rapidly, and I wished I had a flashlight to check his pupillary response. But I didn’t have a flashlight; I didn’t even have a bandage to stop the bleeding.

I glanced around to see what was available to me, and my eyes fell on a red spotted plant—the very plant responsible for this skirmish. “Here,” I said. I delicately plucked a leaf. “Chew this, it’ll help.” 

Disoriented as he was, I didn’t expect Exit to hold up his hand. “I s-shouldnnn’t.” 

I threw him a stern look. “There’s more than enough to go around. Chew it.” Exit obediently put the plant in his mouth, and Driver knelt down to help him up. “Help him back to the FOB, will you?”

“Yes, Commander Y/N.”

Another clone joined them, and together, they brought their injured brother onto the battlefield, towards the camp. 

I stopped, crouching onto the ground to take a moment. As my adrenaline receded, the muscles of my neck started to ache from the detonator’s kickback. I could only hope for no more explosions in the near future. 

Click’s body still lay where I’d abandoned it, and the sight made my chest feel tight. 

“May the Force be with you,” I murmured under my breath as two clones walked up to their brother, rolling him onto a stretcher so they could carry him off to the field. Had he died on Coruscant, his body would be cremated. But I’d been in this war long enough to know his body was headed for a mass grave, marked only with the helmets that no longer had anyone to claim them.

The only funeral rites these warriors were likely to receive.

A hand patted my shoulder. “You did good,” Commander Cody said. Through the thicket of gruff and stern words, I could make out the undertone of pride. 

I sighed, knowing it was undeserved. “I deserted my post.” I reflexively tightened my grip on my lightsaber. “I was supposed to stay with the artillery.”

“You saw a problem no one else did, and you acted before it was too late.” Commander Cody glanced over at where the Separatists had been minutes ago. “Your leadership prevented the worst case scenario and turned it into a victory.”

I straightened. “We can only hope my master agrees.” 

“Padawan Y/N!”  Master Plo Koon approached. Normally, his presence was a calming one, but at that moment, I was unnerved by the inability to see his eyes.

“Master.” I bowed my head, ignoring the twinge from my neck muscles.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“Thank you, master.”

Master Koon and Commander Cody started for the camp, sharing information on the battle as they went.

The sound of humming light filled my head, causing me to look up.

Obi-Wan walked straight towards me, dirt covering his grim face and unignited lightsaber clenched tightly in one hand as he crossed the field with his long, uninterrupted strides. He looked tired, but uninjured. 

I walked to meet him, a soft smile on my face. “In one piece, old man?”

Obi-Wan huffed. “Of course it would be too much to hope the Separatists might’ve goaded you into holding your tongue.”

“Well, they couldn’t goad me into holding onto my thermal detonator.” I grinned.

Obi-Wan shook his head, but he couldn’t hide a small smile. “Come, we must go check on the village while the troops secure the field.” 

Obediently, I fell into step behind him. “How long do you think the Separatists will take to regroup?”

“No way to know,” Obi-Wan answered as we strode through the camp. “They took a hit today, but it’s just another step in the dance.”

I lowered my eyes somberly, the day’s victory coming into perspective. He was right, as always. In fact, I couldn’t think of a single time when Obi-Wan had been wrong about–

“Master Kenobi?” a voice from behind us said.

Commander Cody stood there, his arms folded in an imposing stance. 

“Yes, commander?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Commander Cody jerked his head to the right. “The village is that way.”

I pursed my lips to keep from smiling.

-

“Don’t put any weight on that leg, y’hear?” I said, playfully narrowing my eyes at the Felucian villager as I wrapped bandages around her wound.

She laughed, bending her long neck sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright, let’s get you up.” I helped her shift to the end of the rickety cot in the med tent, hoisting her up onto her right leg.

“Thank you,” her husband told me, bowing his head as he reached his arm around his wife, helping her balance. 

“No problem,” I replied, watching the two of them hobble towards the mess tent to join the other villagers that had joined the Republic camp to receive some nourishment. Judging by the tightness around the villager’s eyes, she was still in pain, but her husband watched her with such tenderness, as if he was counting himself lucky to be nothing more than a crutch.

“How’d she get injured?”

I jumped, then relaxed when I recognized the voice as Obi-Wan’s. “She got caught in a Separatist trap and nearly lost her foot. Unfortunately for her, the village still hasn’t found a shaman to replace the last one.” I walked over to the makeshift sanitizer, quickly cleaning my hands. “Honestly, she still might lose the foot if she’s not careful.”

When my statements were met only with silence, I glanced up at my master and caught sight of the calculation on his face. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Nothing. Shall we go eat?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He was thinking something, and he was thinking something about me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He let out a little sigh, his mouth curling into a smile. “Seeing you acting as a healer. It’s…satisfying.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Well, don’t go getting any ideas about jumping in a Rathtar den, ‘cause I’m not patching you up.” 

Obi-Wan laughed easily. “C’mon, let’s go eat.” 

Perhaps when the clone wars ended, there would be things I missed. I would miss getting to explore new planets and meet new people. I would miss the demands of battle, whether it demanded more energy where there was none or ingenuity in the face of stress.

I would not, however, miss the rations.

I popped another sweet energy cube into my mouth, chewing it and trying not to grimace. 

Opposite me, Obi-Wan was staring at the cube in his palm with great distaste. The delighted cry of a child filled the air, and a stampede of them started to run past in the strange waddling way of Felucians. 

Obi-Wan slyly reached out to them, allowing one of the children to pluck the cube off his palm and into her mouth with a grin. 

I sent him a sideways glance as the children ran out of the mess tent. “You’re going to go hungry.” 

Obi-Wan conspiratorially lowered his voice. “Better an empty stomach than a stomach with that stuff inside it.”

I snorted. “I’ve fought on an empty stomach. Trust me, it’s no good.”

Obi-Wan’s face fell. “Krell?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to, Obi-Wan already knew. Instead of dredging up the past, I looked down at my plate. "Agh," I blurted at the burst of pain that ran up my neck.

Obi-Wan tensed. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no." I rubbed at the sore spot. "Caught the wrong end of an explosion and earned myself some whiplash."

"I think I saw some cream in the med tent." Obi-Wan started to get up, but I grabbed his arm.

"I'm fine."

Obi-Wan didn't ask me if I was sure, he simply fixed me with his classic I-know-better-than-you look.

"It'll clear up on it's own," I insisted. "Save the supplies for the clones and the villagers."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth.

“Are you ready, Master Kenobi?” Master Koon approached our table. “The council is waiting.”

My master threw me a look and then got to his feet. “Yes, Master Koon.”

“Your padawan will have much to tell us,” Master Koon said. 

I shot upright in my seat. “What?” I looked at Obi-Wan, hoping he would provide me with insight, but he was staring at Mast Koon as well, a slightly wary expression on his face. His Force light was flickering with uncertainty.

“What am I telling?” I asked Master Koon.

“We will want to speak of your actions today,” Master Koon replied, seeming absolutely calm. 

My…actions?

An uncomfortable tension settled in my stomach, and the souring of the previously sweet energy cubes made me wish I’d followed my master’s example and refrained from eating. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Master Kenobi.” Master Koon left us, walking towards the erected tent for the council meeting.

Obi-Wan didn’t move for a moment. He kept his eyes on Master Koon’s retreating back, but I could feel the buzzing surrounding us, like the Force was clocking to my master. Whatever he was thinking, the Force was drawn to it. 

Obi-Wan started walking towards the tent, not sparing me another glance as he left me alone in my panic.

If Master Koon thought my actions deserved a place in a council meeting…perhaps my desertion of my post in the battle was a bigger deal than I thought. 

Of course it was. What had I been thinking? I must’ve been possessed by some maverick spirit, urging me to leap into battle without instruction from my superiors. Perhaps the spirit of Skywalker, I thought nervously to myself, except I don’t have the role of the Chosen One to cushion my fall. 

Now I was to defend my actions in front of the council? Not once in all my appearances before the Jedi council had they asked me to speak. Every time, I stood in Krell or Kenobi’s shadow, keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself. 

The longer I waited to be summoned, the greater the buzzing of the light grew. Only Master Koon and Obi-Wan were physically inside the tent. If the Force gathered around any of the other members, I wouldn’t be able to feel it, not this far away from Coruscant. What could the council be discussing that would send Obi-Wan into such a flutter?

After what felt like ages, Obi-Wan poked his head outside of the tent, making eye contact with me. 

I sucked in a breath, slowly rising to my feet.

But then Obi-Wan’s eyes moved to something behind me. “Commander Cody, the council wishes to speak with you.”

Commander Cody appeared as aghast as I felt. “As the council wishes,” he said finally. He got up from his chair, shooting me a look before ducking into the tent. I stared at the tent flap. Why did they want to speak to Cody? Was it simply for a report on the battle? Or were they asking Cody to give a report about me? 

Altogether too soon for my tastes, the tent flapped opened as Commander Cody came out. I searched for something in his face to clue me into what he’d said about me, but his stoic face revealed nothing.

“Y/N.” My master stood, holding the tent flap open. “We’re ready for you.” I stayed where I was, trying to read his face, but the words there were in Shyriiwook. 

“Hells,” I muttered. “Here comes the heavy weather.” After lingering a moment to lift my chin high, I walked inside the tent.

Master Koon stood off to one side while Obi-Wan moved to stand at the other. In between them, life-sized holograms of each member of the Jedi Council was projected. With the glitching and imprecision of the transmissions, it was impossible to tell what expressions they wore. 

“Padawan Y/N,” Master Windu began, “the 3rd Regiment went into conflict under your discretion, correct?”

Aware of Master Windu’s deep distaste for excuses, I erred on the side of brevity. “Yes.”

“And you joined them once the comms went out?”

“Yes.”

“Can you please tell us why?”

“When the comms went out, I surveyed the battlefield with binocs, and I spotted the enemy making a move towards the 3rd Regiment in force. Knowing they weren’t expecting conflict and being unable to communicate with them, I left orders for the artillery to fire upon their position while I got to the line as quickly as I could.”

Master Fisto tilted his head. “Commander Cody informed us you arrived on foot.”

It wasn’t a question, and yet there was still a suspicious silence. “I…looked for a speeder of some sort, but the only ship with the artillery was the command platform, and I wouldn’t be able to land that by the front without it getting shot down.”

“How did you get down off the mountain?” Master Windu asked.

“I jumped.”

The humming of the light dissipated for a moment, and it took everything in me to keep my focus on Master Windu. 

Master Windu cleared his throat. “So once you…jumped…and you reached the northern front, then you took control of the regiment?”

I hesitated. “No.”

“No?” Master Tiin asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Sweat gathered on my palms. “I told Commander Cody of the oncoming fighters, and once a messenger was sent to the other platforms, I went to the front line to buy enough time for the regiment to deploy.” A few of the masters glanced over at each other, and I couldn’t keep quiet. “I didn’t give Commander Cody orders. I informed him of the situation and gave him the time he needed to rally his troops.”

“But you did take three clones with you to bring down the jammer.”

“Yes.”

“And you brought it down how exactly?” 

I swallowed hard. “A thermal detonator.”

“Why didn’t you go to Master Koon or Master Kenobi directly when the comms went out?” Master Mundi asked. 

I hesitated. It felt like a trick question, but it was impossible to know what the masters wanted me to say, so I opted for the truth. “Protecting the village was the most important. That’s why the Republic is here, to defend life. There was very little time, so I trusted my–”

Gut, I very nearly said, but Jedi didn’t make decisions on gut feelings. 

“I trusted my training.”

No one spoke, and a skittish feeling scratched at the walls of my stomach. To stand in front of the most powerful Jedis while none of them spoke? How royally had I screwed up?

“Impressive,” Master Yoda muttered, stroking his chin. “Impressive, very.”

…impressive? 

Did he speak of my disobedience? Were my actions a kind of wrong of epic proportions, it was impressive someone could have behaved so poorly?

My hands started shaking. 

“Padawan Y/N, have you started preparing for your trials?” Master Unduli asked. 

“Yes,” I said hesitantly, unsure of where the question was leading. “I’ve been studying for months.” A strange, shuddering pulse of light shot through the Force like a bolt of lightning, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at my master. His stony face offered no insight. 

“I don’t think you’ll be studying for your trials much longer,” Master Unduli said.

Desperation rocked through my core. I knew it, I thought. Abandoning my post would get me kicked out of the Jedi Order.

“The way I see it,” Master Unduli said, looking over at Master Windu beside him, “Padawan Y/N acted as a Jedi Knight in this situation and turned the tide of the battle.” My mouth fell open as murmurs of agreement rippled through the tent. I quickly closed it, hoping none of the masters had noticed it.

“We commend you on your quick thinking and serenity under pressure,” Master Windu said.

Commend? Serenity? I hardly dared to believe it. “Thank you, masters.”

“The jogan doesn’t roll far from the vine, eh, Master Kenobi?” Master Fisto asked, and appreciative chuckles rippled through the room. Not even my years of strength and endurance training kept me from smiling. They were comparing me to Obi-Wan? That was surely one of the highest compliments in the galaxy.

Aching to see the approval on my master’s face, I dared a peek at him.

But instead of a beam of pride, Obi-Wan’s brows were furrowed and his lips downturned. My stomach flipped. Was he displeased with me?

“We’ll be keeping our eyes on you, Padawan Y/N,” Master Mundi said, drawing my attention once more. “As for right now, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, master, thank you, master.” I bowed low and left the tent, leaving Obi-Wan and Master Koon to finish up their business with the council. Once the tent flap closed behind me, I breathed in the heavy air, trying to process what had just happened.

“Well?” Commander Cody asked from his chair, helmet off and eyebrows raised. “What did they say?” 

“They’re pleased with me,” I answered, surprised by my own words. “They commended me.”

Commander Cody rose from his seat to clap me on the shoulder, celebrating with me in his own grisly way: without saying a word. No reassurances or comments.

“I thought they were going to kick me out of the Order,” I confessed. “Or give me some consequence, not…not tell me I did well.” I smiled at Cody. “But they did.”

Cody went back to his chair. “I’m sure your master is very proud.”

I stopped.

Obi-Wan didn’t seem proud. In fact, he hadn’t said a single thing about the battle. If I’d done something right, Obi-Wan would’ve given a quick affirmation before we went to the village. If I’d done something wrong, we would’ve been knee-deep in a lecture instead of spending time with the children. But Obi-Wan hadn’t done either. If I didn’t do anything right and I didn’t do anything wrong…then what had I done?

Was the Jedi council being generous in their commendation? 

No.

The Jedi Council showing kindness to me had never been much of a priority before, so they must’ve meant it. 

Why was it, then, that Master Windu of all people praised me, and Obi-Wan hadn’t even smiled? Was Obi-Wan simply withholding his pride to save it for the right time? Or did he disagree with the other masters? Did Obi-Wan believe that I’d acted rashly and deserved to be scolded for my disobedience?

I felt weirdly jittery, as though my bones were shaking underneath my skin.

“Safe travels, Master Kenobi,” Master Koon said as he and my master came out of the tent behind me. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” Obi-Wan replied. 

With a nod in my direction, Master Koon walked off in the direction of the mess tent, and Obi-wan brushed past me to walk in Commander Cody’s direction.

I caught up to Obi-Wan. “We’re leaving? 

“The council is pulling us out,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder at me. “The Separatists have pulled back, and the Felucian Commandos can advance without us here. Master Koon will remain to supervise until this heats up again.”

Dreams of Coruscant filled my mind. The tall buildings, the tempered weather, the crowds. “Are we returning to the temple?” I asked hopefully.

“No, they're assigning us to a diplomatic mission.”

“Diplomatic mission?” I echoed, coming to a stop. I’d never been on one. They were rare these days, and in the days when they’d been common, Master Krell would most certainly not have been the council’s first choice to go, which meant I wouldn’t have been either.

Obi-Wan, the great Negotiator, would be. 

My master and Cody exchanged quick words.

“Y/N, let’s go,” Obi-Wan said, his every word clipped.

There was no point in telling me to gather my stuff; the only things I possessed with the robes on my body and the lightsaber at my belt.

Cody flicked two fingers out from his forehead in a tiny salute. “See you later, kid.”

“Next time you see me,” I said with a smile, “I might be a Jedi Knight.”

“About time,” he said gruffly.

I could’ve hugged him for his words, and I stood for a moment, debating doing so.

“Y/N,” said a firm voice behind me.

Ducking my head, I followed Obi-Wan towards the rudimentary spaceport. His light was casting uncertain shadows through the Force. I tilted my head, honing in on the flickers, but the nearer I got to it, the more light skittered away from me.

How strange that I'd felt him as clear as day across a battlefield, but now I couldn't when I walked beside him.

When we reached the ship, I wordlessly went to the cockpit, preparing to take off. According to the rumors, Obi-Wan was an excellent pilot, but I only saw him occupy the pilot’s chair when we were under fire. If we were simply navigating from one planet to another, he left the piloting to me.

“Where are we going, Master?” I called behind me.

“To Taris, in the Outer Rim.”

Taris.

A planet of overgrown swamps and yellow smog that choked the atmosphere. And if we were headed there for a negotiation, we were headed to the far side, where all the wealthy lived. 

Fantastic.

-

The ship’s engine hummed as it hurtled through lightspeed. 

I settled myself on the floor, ducking my head to catch sight of what I needed in the mirror I’d propped up against the wall. I lifted the pair of scissors in my head, grabbing a section of hair.

“What are you doing?” 

Obi-Wan stared down at me, the grime gone from his face. He must’ve washed it.

“My hair’s too long, so…I’m cutting it.” 

A strange heaviness shot through the Force, as if Obi-Wan’s light had tumbled to the ground with a loud and hollow thunk. Before I could try to reach the light, Obi-Wan turned away from me.

His Force signature was confusing me left and right today. The exorbitant turmoil I felt through the Force seemed disproportionate to the lack of words coming out of his mouth. Usually when I sensed this much distress in him, we dialogued about it.

Perhaps the issue now wasn’t with him, but with me. As the battlefield on Felucia had shown, sometimes the receiver was a problem just as much as the transmitter. 

I shook my head softly, raising the scissors again to make the first cut.

“You’ve been my padawan for less than six months,” Obi-wan said suddenly, nearly making me jump out of my skin. He stood above me again, his lips pursed. 

Why was he mentioning our timeline? “I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t realize,” he said, the words curt, “that you were studying to take the trials.”

“Oh.” I looked away, my scissors hovering uncertainty as I tried to decide whether to go ahead with cutting or put them down. “Well, I’ve been a padawan for years.” Obi-Wan said nothing. I shifted to face him, gripping the scissors in my lap. “I’m twenty-two. Everyone I trained with as a youngling has passed their trials already, and some of them even had padawans of their own now.”

“Right,” came Obi-Wan’s unenthusiastic reply. 

“Do you think I’m not prepared?” I asked worriedly.

“No, no!” he burst out. “I mean, yes, you are, you’re capable, to be sure.” He scratched his chin. “I guess I thought I had more time…” he trailed off, his expression troubled. “More time to…to teach you, to help you…improve.”

“What do I need improvement on?” He didn’t answer, sending my anxiety through the roof. I got to my feet, abandoning the scissors on the floor. Obi-Wan took a step back so as to keep us from colliding. “If there’s something I should be working on, something that would hold me back, I would like to know.”

“There’s…” He paused, his eyes darting all over my face. Why did he seem so…uncertain?

Then it dawned on me, the reason he was reluctant to speak. I crossed my arms, trying to hold the pieces of myself together through the implosion of disappointment. “It’s because of Master Krell, isn’t it? No one wants me to pass the trials because no one trusts me.”

“That’s not true,” Obi-Wan said sharply.

“It’s because of what I did with the regiment, then. I should’ve found some way to contact you first."

“Y/N-”

“Or maybe it’s my combat skills, I know I’m not the best fighter–”

“Y/N!”

I bit my lip, keeping the flood of words from bursting forth. 

With the opposite problem, Obi-Wan didn’t form any words, didn’t move. He just…examined me.

“Why am I not ready?” I asked, slowly and clearly.

“It’s…you’re…I think…” Obi-Wan visibly wrestled with the words coming out of his mouth, seemingly unsure of which sentiment to land on. Finally, he let out a large sigh. “You’ll be a good Jedi Knight.”

I blinked. That was not the answer I was expecting, nor was it a true answer to my question. When Obi-Wan minced words like this, he minced with great care. So what was the hidden meaning, the intent hiding behind his words?

Obi-Wan shuffled towards the cockpit, leaving me alone with the burgeoning company of my thoughts.

He had doubts. He must’ve, for why else would the echoes of his thoughts fall so heavy?

It was strange. Obi-Wan fought for me, fought to overpower my reputation within the Order and establish me as a true Jedi. The council had always been skeptical, and it hadn’t hindered him one bit. In fact, it seemed to spur him on. 

Now I’d received affirmation from the council, yet Obi-Wan had doubts?

I returned to my reflection, trying to resume my planned activity. But my hands were shaking so much, I couldn’t hold the scissors straight. Every time I worked up the courage to make a cut, the scissors faltered.

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Rescue Me tag list:

@penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @starlazergazer @blackqueengold @ajwild220 @exploringalaxiesfarfaraway @mortallycrispyglitter @nerdory10 @shinybananapastanickel @sassysaxxy @sunshine-girl013

[ajwild220]

Hero awoke to something warm dripping down their throat.

“Ack-!” Hero choked, spraying all over poor Villain who had attempted to spoon some medicine into their mouth during their slumber.

There were in a large, white canopy bed, with pillows that felt like clouds and bedding that was softer than down. Cream colored silk curtains were draped around the bed, partially blocking their view of the spacious room.

But even their luxurious surroundings didn’t help much with their injury. A deep gash, stretching from their rib cage to their hip, throbbed painfully as they moved.

Villain deadpanned, wiping the wasted medicine off their face with a handkerchief.

“Really, Hero. It’s almost like you were aiming for my mouth…”

Hero reddened, their cheeks turning into a scarlet shade as they sat up.

“Where am I…?”

“My lair, of course.” Villain replied blithely, their voice not nearly as condescending as it should’ve been.

Hero blinked, eyes rounding adorably. They hadn’t expected Villain’s lair to be so… elegant.

But- but that wasn’t important right now…!

“I’m… I’m leaving.”

Just as Hero turned to jump out of bed, Villain’s arm yanked them back, pulling them into their lap.

“Already?” Villain pouted mockingly, ignoring Hero’s indignant protests, hoarse and raspy as they tightened their grip around their waist. “You know, overworking yourself while injured is dangerous… why do you think I brought you here?”

“I don’t- need your help!” Hero’s voice cracked, their voice shooting up an octave higher as if proving Villain’s point.

“I doubt that.”

Villain raised an eyebrow, still holding the medicine with their free hand. They raised the bottle to Hero’s lips with an expectant gaze.

Hero hesitated, but once their eyes locked with Villain’s, they relented and drank.

The medicine was a violet shade, with a herbal scent and a bitter taste and slight notes of honey. Hero tried not to cringe as they sipped.

Once Hero was finished, Villain moved the silk curtains aside and set the cup on a birch wood nightstand, still keeping one arm wrapped around Hero’s waist.

As the medicine settled, the throbbing on Hero’s side dulled, much to their relief. Hero’s eyelids became heavy as well, a sense of drowsiness falling over their senses like a blanket.

Hero tried straining against Villain again, glaring up at them with all the menace of a wounded puppy.

“You never mentioned the side effects.”

“I didn’t?” Villain hummed lightly, pulling Hero closer and resting their chin on their head. “Too late now, I suppose.”

Villain’s warmth felt so… familiar. But Hero knew better. The same hands that had been pressed against their throat were now combing tenderly through their hair, untangling knots. The lips that were drawling out taunts only a day ago were now uttering sweet nothings, their warm breath ghosting against the shell of their ear. Their gaze, previously so sharp and dangerously calculating, were affectionate and gentle like a lover’s.

“Screw you,” Hero mumbled, making a last attempt of defiance.

“Screw me.” Villain agreed, their tone gently teasing as they pinched Hero’s cheek.

Hero let out a small noise of indignation, their head falling against Villain’s chest. Drowsiness soon overtook them as they drifted off to sleep in Villain’s arms, their erratic breaths turning into soft, steady snores.

Villain’s gaze softened, their fingers moving to brush a stray lock of hair out of Hero’s face to press a soft kiss on their temple.

The other villain that had managed to injure their Hero like this had been… sorted out, and Hero was now sleeping peacefully in their arms.

What more could Villain ask for?

RAHHH MY FIRST HERO X VILLAIN SNIPPET!! Prompts will be very much appreciated for hero x villain stuff as long as it’s not too freaky!!

[ajwild220]

He asked me out....the boy I'm in love with asked me out!!! I am so happy 😊 had to tell someone!

[ajwild220]

You’re literally slayyiiiiinnngggg

You’re one of my favourite writers, I reread one of your pieces at least weey💜

Oh my word you don't even know how happy this made me!!! Thank you so much!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 I'm so glad you like my work!

I'm in process of writing part 3 of "trust me" cause everyone seemed to like it so much so I hope you enjoy it :)

[ajwild220]

hello hello! after an accidental hiatus, I'm back with an entry into the surrender an ask game that @save-the-villainous-cat and @epiclamer put together where we all swapped asks. thanks so much for doing this!!!

here's my ask: Hi! I’ve become obsessed with your Hero Gets Yanked By An Upstanding Citizen Into Their Window And Into Their Heart post and I was wondering if you could- maybe- on the off chance- if you have time- come back to it for another scene? I just love the duo’s dynamic so much, the lovable hero who is trying a little too hard at any given chance, and the citizen who is wholly unafraid to manhandle a superhero into their home and into their life. That’s the vibes I was getting from their short interaction anyway- I love them so much aaagugfyduhijigififiguftgb your writing makes me go insane” Submitted by @yourheartonfire

The hero checks once, twice behind their shoulders, then collapses on to the rickety fire escape. It's off the beaten path, away from anyone. Sure, there's a little prickle of guilt that it's a Saturday night, and there are probably dozens of crimes afoot that need their attention.

But the past few weeks have run them absolutely ragged. If they didn't know better, they'd think that someone was scheming against them deliberately. call after call, summons after summons, each one more dire than the last.

People count on them—people need them, and they like the feeling of being needed. But they're exhausting, aching, injured, absolutely spent. Their leg throbs with a recent injury that they haven't had time to treat, and they can't remember the last time they slept more than three hours at a time.

They lean their head back against the scarred brick of the apartment building, letting their eyes slip closed....

.....and when a wailing siren sounds in the distance, the hero tries not to whimper.

Get up. It's time to go.

And they do get up. Too quickly.

Their toe catches on the edge of the rickety fire escape, and before the hero can react, they're falling, tumbling, twisting, too exhausted and spent to do anything to stop the inevitable pull of gravity on their body.

The last thing they see is the extended metal overhanging of the fire escape before pain shot through their body, and darkness overtook them.

_________________

The hero hoped that when they awoke, they'd somehow find themselves in their own spase, yet comfortable bed, that the last two months had been just a nightmare.

Instead, they hear frustrated, disembodied grunts and feel someone pulling at them, tugging them over something hard and metal and painful for their aching body.

"Get...in...here..."

The hero wants to swat the hands away, but their limbs are dead weight at their sides, and their voice gets stuck in their throat when they try to cry out. So darkness falls again.

_________________

When the hero wakes a second time, they're aware of a throbbing in their bad leg and a pounding in their head, and an ache that's more painful than anything they've ever felt. They're in a dark room, save for a softly glowing salt lamp in the far corner, and they're aware of being tucked under a thick, soft blanket on some sort of couch or daybed.

It's comfortable, safe, warm—and wrong. They have no idea where they are or who they're with, nor how long they've been there, nor how many lives have been lost while they've been knocked unconscious.

They try to call out, but the "hey" comes out as more of a raspy whisper, and the blanket is far too heavy for them to toss from their broken body. In their efforts to move, something gets knocked over with a crash.

"Hey, hey, hey now, don't move. Shhhh." A figure darts into the room and the hero feels two hands against their shoulders, pressing them back into the bed.

"W--where..."

"You're....here. At my apartment. Figured I didn't want to leave you out on my fire escape all night." The shadowed figure flicks on another lamp and the hero winces, hand flying to touch their face—

Their bare face.

A strangled cry flees their throat. Not only have they failed their city, but someone's seen their face, seen how utterly, desperately ordinary they are beneath it all. This someone knows who they are and could ruin it all. Their eyes flicker up to see the stranger standing at the foot of their bed, holding their disguise tenderly in their hands.

"I'm so sorry....I didn't want to take it off, but you were bleeding from a pretty nasty forehead cut, and I didn't want to leave it too long." The stranger's hand lightly ghosts over their hairline, and the hero realizes there's some sort of thick bandage over where the throbbing is radiating from. "I won't tell a soul. Promise. If you have some sort of mind control....thing, you can even erase my memories, if you want, but you need like....a ton of medical attention first. I've done first aid and an outdoor wilderness survival class a couple times, but you probably need some kind of doctor, but I get if you don't want to do that with your identity and all that...."

"Won't....won't bother you" the hero slurs, trying to sit up again, before collapsing back down. Try as they might, they couldn't leave this cursed couch.

"Oh no, no, you're not bothering me at all. You just sorta...freaked me out, is all. And there was a TON of blood, and I couldn't just leave you there, so I just kinda—" the stranger motions with their hands "yanked you right in here, did some first aid, and here we are." The stranger adjust the blankets, tucking the hero in tighter. "You looked pretty banged up."

I supposed I did, the hero muses to themselves. "It's....been a rough few weeks. But I'm okay."

"You sure?" The stranger's brows furrow, and their hand gestures to their leg. "I'm no doctor, but that gash on your leg looks...pretty bad. Shouldn't someone be looking after that?"

Hero hears the subtext of the question. Shouldn't someone be looking after YOU?

The hero isn't quite sure what to say to that. How long has it been since someone tended their wounds, tucked them in, brought them in from the elements, and asked how they were?

"I'm....I'm alright." Hero's mortified to hear the smallest wobble in their voice.

"Hero, that's not what I asked." The stranger's voice is firm, yet gentle, their hand resting on their uninjured knee.

"Right." The hero sniffles, suddenly unable to speak.

The stranger seems to understand the thousand thoughts of the hero's mind that flood the silence, then gently pats their other uninjured leg. "Well, in that case, it's time we get started now that you're awake. I'll get the bandages, and we'll really get you cleaned up and take stock of how much healing you've got ahead of you. No promises, though—I told you, it's only a couple first-aid classes, so don't you judge my wound dressings."

Hero's suprised to hear their own thin, crackly laugh. "Wouldn't dare."

#loved it #tired hero #such a cute dynamic #written so well!

[ajwild220]

No. 29

////

When Villain comes back with an the ice pack, he finds Hero on the floor. Crying.

////

Villain squeezed the pack in his hand and kept his eyes on the sink. He should just toss it. He should just leave.

Leave. He should’ve left the apartment as soon as he uncovered Hero’s identity, but rent isn’t cheap and he’s well-practiced at turning a blind eye to the things he needs to. His method of avoiding Hero had worked for months: don’t be in the living room when Hero returns, don’t ask about the bandages and bruises, don’t speak unless it’s about the house.

The ice pack burned his fingers as he glanced down at the floor, at anything but Hero. Blood flecked the bathmat and spilled along the tile and grout. Muddy footprints led to—perhaps he should mop.

Villain never recalled a mess like this before. Hero kept things clean. He wondered how many nights he had washed up blood. How many nights had he hunched over, clutching at his bloody stomach, and scrubbed dirt out of the living room carpet?

Villain looked at the sink again, then upwards at the mirror. The glass reflected his body, leaning like a apparition against the door frame, pale, lingering. Leave. He squeezed the ice pack harder. His heat had melted some of the frost; water dripped down his fingers. The ice pack fell. Onto the floor. Onto the dirt.

He should clean.

He should leave.

He kneeled into the blood and yanked the med kit from Hero’s trembling hands. With precision, with knowledge he should’ve never revealed, he set down what he needed in a neat row and grabbed Hero’s arm, readying a washcloth over his grimy skin.

“You don’t have to.” Hero muttered.

“I do. You’re leaving a mess,” Villain explained, rubbing ash out of Hero’s torn fingertips, “and it’s better if you’re not bleeding on the furniture.”

As he worked, he took a quick glance at Hero’s face. Hero curled his lip in attempt to stave off his grief, but his jaw quivered and his throat bobbed with an oncoming cry. Swallowing, he canted his head back into the wall. The clinical light of the bathroom clung to the sheen beneath his eyes and despite his swallowing and blinking, more tears slipped down his cheeks.

Another sob wracked through his chest, but as Hero attempted to shield his face with his arm, he carried Villain’s ministrations with it. Villain tugged back the arm and wrestled it back in place. Stunned, Hero’s crying stopped for a moment. He stared down at Villain with glassy eyes.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You’re getting dirt everywhere.”

Hero squinted down at his forearm, where Villain was dabbing the debris out of his wounds. His motions were meticulous, ginger in their slowness, and the pain ached but never turned sharp when he brushed over his split skin.

“You could get infected. And then you’d get sepsis, and then you’d die, and then there’d be no one to pay your half of the rent.” Villain blathered on, binding the largest cuts with gauze and medical tape. “Wound care is very important, especially when you always come home injured. What if you got tetanus or some disease?”

To which, Hero cried once more. Villain spluttered and dropped Hero’s arm.

“I knew you cared,” Hero sobbed, halfway hysterical.

“Stop.” Villain panicked. He took a clean disinfectant pad and scrubbed at Hero’s cheeks. “Stop crying. What the hell are you doing?”

“You always cook breakfast for me on the mornings after I get really beat up,” Hero cried and flailed out an arm, catching Villain’s bicep. “And you do the heavy housework when I’m hurt, even when it’s my turn to do it. It’s so nice. And you’ve—you’ve never been scared of me.” He gasped, short of breath from sobbing and speaking in the same breath. “And you never ask what I do. You never judge me even though I come home l-like this.”

“That’s normal human decency.” Villain focused on the cut on the bridge of Hero nose and wiped soot from beneath Hero’s eye. Hero blinked slowly as he cleaned, but instead of flinching away, he sunk lower into the wall, leaning bonelessly into the hold Villain had at the side of his jaw.

“It’s not. It’s not.” Hero readjusted his hand on Villain’s arm, his fingers picking at his shirtsleeve. “No one stays. No one helps.” The thought seemed to make Hero cry harder. Salt streams followed the tilt of his face as he tucked his cheek into Villain’s palm and wept. “Why doesn’t anybody stay?”

“Were you drugged?” Villain asked, quelling the urge to rip his hand away. It’s too intimate, too raw to have Hero’s tears running warm across his fingers. “Did you hit your head?” He dropped the cloth and reached around the back of Hero’s head to check for bumps. “You’re normally not this emotional.”

Hero’s upcoming sob turned into a low, pitching breath as Villain’s fingers brushed through the hair at his temple. “I got caught. They—I didn’t think I was going to make it out.” Guilt curdled in Villain’s sternum and Hero’s scalp seemed to turn scorching where he held it. “Backup never came. They left me.” He hiccuped, “they left me there. And then. Then they-.”

“You can’t tell me this.” Villain tugged Hero forward and cut off his words with a fierce hug. “Keep your secrets. I know whatever you do is important to you and that you need to keep quiet.” Don’t tell me what they did. I can’t bear to know what they did. “You’re in shock. You wouldn’t be like this otherwise.”

As Villain’s arms wrapped around him, Hero clutched at Villain, bumping his chin into the top of Villain’s head. He grasped at the curves of Villain’s shoulder blades. “They left me there,” he mumbled, “they left me.”

Villain leaned back, trying to slip out of the hug, but Hero fell as he shuffled away. His face knocked against Villain’s collar bone and Villain bumped into the cabinet behind them, slouching to catch their combined weight. Groaning, he steadied a hand over Hero’s spine.

“I need to clean the rest of your wounds.” He said, breathless. Their little tumble had exposed a collection of horizontal lacerations along Hero’s lower back and he averted his gaze, swallowing down a wave of nausea. Guilt licked up his throat and he stifled a gasp into Hero’s temple. “Come on,” Villain urged, “you need to rest.” He combed a weary hand through Hero’s hair, pleading. “we need to sleep.”

Hero sagged against Villain for a moment more. For a moment more, he was heat and sickening reality against Villain. For a moment more, Villain sunk into the cold tile, accepting Hero’s weight, accepting the gravity of his actions.

And then, Hero rose.

Hero rose and Villain tended to him. With a practiced hand, he bound the rest of his wounds. With an unpracticed hand, he left Hero’s back for last and shook as he cleaned up his raw, raised skin. When he finished, he tidied up the medical supplies and picked up the melted ice pack from the floor.

“I’ll get you a new ice pack,” he whispered and even quiet, the sound felt grating in the silence that had come to surround them, “and I’ll clean this all up. Go to bed. I’ll drop some ibuprofen off once I’m done.”

Before Hero turned to leave, he glanced at the blood stains on Villain’s shirt.

“I’m doing laundry this week.”

“Alright,” Villain sighed, “but do it on Thursday. We need to watch our water bill this month.”

#AHHHHHH #amazing writing #i can picture it so well #wish i could read it again for the first time #hurt/comfort #ma heart

[ajwild220]

“I do not desire mediocre love. I want to drown in someone”

This is so romantic.

Unfortunately I just Saw this on Pinterest and don’t know whose quote it is.

[ajwild220]

Homesick

[ajwild220]

Happy Newt Day

250th day of the year...the poor baby deserved better.

(I don't know who created this so credit to them, thank you)

#newt #newt day