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salembutnotthecat · 3 months

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Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Seven

@monthofsick

day seven: too feverish to think

i started fics for day five and day six but i experienced some offline health issues (ironic, right?) so i’ll either post them later and tag them or just post them on their own after the event. we’ll see.

decided to write another flashback fic. this time of novak in college. totally, definitely, absolutely not based off true events.

this fic happens around novak’s junior year of college.

if you have questions, comments, or requests, feel free to send!

tw emeto, sickness, overwork, stress, panic attack, fainting

Novak sat on his bed, leaning against the wall. He was hunched over his notes, rubbing his eyes in a futile attempt to ward off the exhaustion creeping into his bones.

He grabbed his phone. He checked the time.

3:27AM

Benji stirred in his bunk, his sleep-addled brain registering the soft rustle of papers and the occasional frustrated sigh emanating from his roommate's direction.

With a groan, he rolled over.

"Novak," Benji's voice was exhausted, but he still seemed worried. "You still at it? Have you even slept?"

Novak looked up, "Yeah, just trying to cram for midterms," he mumbled, forcing a smile. "I'll crash in a bit, don't worry about me."

But Benji wasn't convinced. He could see the telltale signs of exhaustion etched into Novak's features, the paleness of his skin, the tremor in his hands as he reached for another textbook.

“Dude, you don't look so good. Maybe you should take a break, get some rest.” Benji said, “Your health is more important than acing these exams."

Novak waved off his concerns, brushing them aside with a dismissive gesture. "I'll be fine, Benji. Just a little tired, that's all. I can't afford to slack off"

“Alright, whatever dude,” Benji said, rolling back over to go back to sleep.

Despite the mounting discomfort, Novak dragged himself to his morning classes, his head pounding and his body aching with every step.

He was freezing when his alarm went off, telling him it was time for class. He slept for maybe two hours, but he felt like he didn’t sleep at all.

Novak pulled himself out of bed, grabbed his sweatshirt, tied back his hair, and grabbed his things.

Breakfast was the last thing on his mind, but the way his head spun and he stumbled into the wall, he knew he had to eat something.

As he sat in his marketing lecture, Novak struggled to focus on the professor's words, his mind clouded by the persistent throbbing in his temples.

The quick breakfast he grabbed had long settled like a rock in his stomach, a queasy sensation churning in the pit of his stomach.

He tried to focus. He did. Now was not the time to not focus. But, he couldn’t make out what the professor was saying. Let alone take notes or retain anything.

He tried to drink some water, take some medicine. Despite his best efforts, Novak's condition continued to deteriorate. Each step became a struggle? his body weighed down by the relentless onslaught of fever and nausea.

As he stumbled through the halls of his college, Novak's world blurred into a hazy fog of discomfort, his mind struggling to grasp the simplest of concepts.

In class, the words of his professors seemed to float in one ear and out the other, lost amidst the cacophony of pain and fatigue that consumed him.

Desperately, he tried to focus, but the fever had dulled his senses, leaving him adrift in a sea of confusion.

Nausea clawed at his stomach. With each passing minute, the urge to just go back to his dorm room and crash for a week was getting stronger. The desire to escape the suffocating confines of the lecture hall and take a cool shower and just sleep this off.

Novak was still holding out on not being sick. He couldn’t be sick. Especially because being sick was brutal on him, more brutal than it was on others. He had always been that way. And it was horrible.

But if he skipped class he couldn’t go to practice. He couldn’t play.

He had to tough it out. Just until midterms were over.

As Novak made it onto the practice field, the weight of his illness hung heavy upon him, each step a struggle against the relentless tide of fatigue and discomfort.

The sun beat down mercilessly, its searing rays only serving to exacerbate the fever that he was sure he had.

Despite the mounting agony, Novak forced a stoic mask onto his face, unwilling to show any sign of weakness to his teammates or coaches.

Novak clenched his jaw, he pushed himself through the grueling drills and punishing workouts, his body screaming in protest with every movement. If he wanted any chance of going professional, he couldn’t afford to lose out on practice or a single game.

As practice dragged on, Novak's strength waned, his limbs growing heavier with each passing minute. Nausea clawed at his insides, threatening to overwhelm him at any moment.

The coach barked out orders, his voice a distant echo in Novak's ears as he fought to keep his focus amidst the haze of fever-induced delirium.

But as the afternoon wore on and the sun dipped below the horizon, Novak was, for lack of better explanation, fucking up royally.

His vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges of his consciousness as he struggled to remain upright. With each passing minute, the world seemed to tilt on its axis, threatening to make him pass out. Or vomit. Something.

Yet still, he refused to quit. With every ounce of strength left within him, Novak pushed himself to the brink. Every bit of energy he could pull was put into finishing out the practice.

He had to finish.

As Novak stumbled back into the dimly lit dorm room, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion, it was evident to Benji that something was seriously wrong.

“Okay. Study, class, practice, now you can sleep, right?” Benji spoke.

Novak shook his head, “Not even close.” He said, setting his bag down by his desk.

Novak grabbed the sweater from the corner of his bed pulling it on.

“I’m… fucking freezing…” Novak mumbled.

Benji watched in concern as Novak sank into his chair, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead as he attempted to bury himself in his books. But it was clear that the fever had taken its toll, the lines of fatigue etched into Novak's features betraying his struggle to remain upright.

“That’s the sweater your mom sent you,” Benji said, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? I think the last time I saw you wear it you were stuck in bed with a migraine…”

Novak waved him off with a weak smile, his voice strained with effort. "I'm fine, just a little under the weather, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

But as Novak attempted to focus on his studies, the fever raged unchecked, a relentless drumbeat of pain and discomfort that refused to be ignored. His vision swam before his eyes, the words on the page blurring into a meaningless jumble of letters and symbols.

With a soft sigh, Novak felt his eyelids growing heavy, his body succumbing to the overwhelming urge to sleep. But before he could succumb to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness, Benji's voice cut through the haze, jolting him awake.

"Gwt in bed,” Benji said. Suddenly his roommate was beside him, shutting his marketing textbook.

“Hey I was studying-“

“Novak, you should really get some rest," Benji started. "You look like you're about to pass out."

Novak's stomach churned violently, a wave of nausea washing over him with sickening intensity.

He buried his face in his hands with a soft whine, shaking his head. He could feel his own fever. Could feel the way his stomach churned. God he felt so sick. When did he start feeling so fucking sick?

Novak's heart hammered in his chest, a relentless drumbeat of panic echoing in his ears as he fought to regain control of his trembling limbs. He forced himself to take slow, steady breaths, attempting to make everything feel less overwhelming.

Novak's hands trembled as he fought to suppress the panic threatening to engulf him. His whole body felt like it was buzzing, like despite the fever there was a live wire running through him.

“Novak..?” Benji asked.

"I'm... I'm fine," Novak managed to choke out, though the words felt hollow and insincere even to his own ears. "Just... need a minute."

But even as he spoke, the nausea intensified, a vicious reminder of his body's betrayal. Not only was he sick, but he was sure he was experiencing… something.

His throat constricted, a bitter taste flooding his mouth as he struggled to hold back the inevitable tide of vomit.

With a desperate lurch, Novak lunged for the trash can by his desk, his stomach convulsing as he retched violently into the bin. Hot tears stung his eyes as he emptied the contents of his stomach once more. He felt his nose running.

“Novak… jesus…,” Benji said, pulling back Novak’s hair.

Novak's chest tightened with each ragged breath, the weight of his sickness and panic pressing down on him like a leaden blanket.

The sensation of Benji's hands on his back, trying to comfort him, only served to exacerbate his distress, sending waves of overwhelming stimulation crashing over him.

"Please... just... stop," Novak gasped between heaves, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of his own suffering. "I can't... I can't..."

But even as he spoke, another wave of nausea crashed over him, leaving him trembling and helpless in its wake. He could feel the panic rising within him, a relentless tide threatening to consume him whole.

There was nothing he could do to stop the vomiting. He was sure his fever was making his panic all the worse. But maybe, maybe that he could fix.

Novak did the only thing he knew to do for the panic. He hugged himself, tried to take breaths between waves of vomiting. He clutched his sleeves in his fists.

Benji pulled his hands away, stepped back. Being a psychology major, Benji could see the panic. The overstimulation.

“I'm sorry, Novak," Benji said, taking another step back “I just... I don't know what to do."

But Novak had no answer to give, no solace to offer in the face of his own torment. The fever made the panic worse. The panic made the nausea worse. The nausea was worse. Novak was going to throw up again.

Benji fetched another trash can, Novak braced himself for the next onslaught, his body wracked with pain and exhaustion.

As Novak's body convulsed with each retch, his fevered mind spiraled further into irrationality, the panic gripping him tighter with each passing moment.

The cycle of sickness and distress seemed never-ending, a relentless onslaught that left him gasping for breath and clinging to the edge of consciousness.

Finally, as the last vestiges of bile dribbled from his lips, Novak slumped back in his chair, his body trembling with exhaustion and his mind reeling from the ordeal.

The room spun around him, the walls closing in as if to swallow him whole, and he fought against the encroaching darkness that threatened to claim him.

Benji hovered nearby, his expression a mixture of concern and helplessness as he watched Novak's struggle.

“You really need to lie down," Benji urged, his voice barely audible over the pounding of Novak's heart in his ears.”Can I touch you to help-“

“No… please, please no…” Novak said. The thought of Benji’s, or anyone’s actually, hands on him make his skin crawl.

Novak forced himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him as he staggered towards the safety of his bed. Each step felt like he was walking a mile, his vision swimming and his senses overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his exhaustion.

But just as he reached the edge of his bed, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He felt his head tilt back, felt like his knees might buckle beneath him. He reached for the first thing he could reach, thankfully the edge of his bed. His fingers dug into the fabric as he fought to keep himself upright.

"Novak, are you okay?" Benji's voice sounded distant, as if coming from the other end of a long tunnel.

But Novak could barely hear him over the roar of his own heartbeat, his world spinning out of control as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.

He moved one more time. Everything gave out at once. His vision, his body, his hearing, every sensation disappeared instantly.

He felt his head hit his arm as he landed on what he could only hope was his bed.

As Novak slowly regained consciousness, the world around him swam into focus, his senses gradually coming back to life after what felt like an eternity lost in the void. His head throbbed with a dull ache, a relentless pulse that seemed to echo with each beat of his heart.

Blinking against the harsh glare of the overhead light, Novak turned his head to find Benji sitting nearby, his brow furrowed with concern as he poured over his textbooks.

As their eyes met, Benji's expression softened, relief flooding his features at the sight of Novak awake.

"Hey, man, you're finally up," Benji said, his voice tinged with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. "How are you feeling?"

Novak tried to speak, but his throat was dry and everything hurt.

“Like I got hit by a truck," he managed to rasp out, his words slurred with fatigue.

Benji nodded sympathetically, reaching out to gently squeeze Novak's shoulder.

“You've been out for a while," he explained, his voice gentle. "Like a day and a half or something. You had a really high fever and a pretty bad panic attack. I've been keeping an eye on you, making sure you're okay."

Novak's brow furrowed in confusion, his memory hazy and fragmented. He sat up slowly, pulling a knee to his chest, resting his head in his hand and using his fingers to block out some of the light in the room.

“Here,” Benji said. There was a click of a lamp, then Benji got up and turned off the lights, “That should help…”

I don't... I don't remember much," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration.

Benji sighed, his expression sympathetic. "Yeah, you were pretty out of it," he said, reaching for a bottle of water on the bedside table and offering it to Novak. "You woke up a couple of times to drink or be sick, but you were mostly out of it."

As Novak took a sip of water, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach.

"I still feel... off," he murmured, his hand instinctively reaching for his head as a sharp pang of pain shot through his temples.

Benji frowned, his concern deepening. "You might be dehydrated from being sick for so long," he suggested, his voice tinged with worry. "Is there anything else we should worry about?”

“My head is just killing me,” Novak said, taking another sip of water before lying back down as the room seemed to tilt a little.

“Migraine maybe,” Benji said, “From being so sick and all.”

Novak nodded weakly, his body still heavy with fatigue and his mind clouded with confusion.

“Still tired… somehow,” Novak mumbled.

“Get some rest,” Benji said, “Trust me. You need plenty for all the makeup midterms you need to do.”

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #fever cw #fever tw #emetophilia #novemetober 2023 #fainting tw #fainting cw #panic attack tw #panic attack cw #i really just went ham on this poor boy and im not sorry #novemetober rescheduled

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suspensefulpen · 5 months

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Whumpcember Day 7: Fainting

TW: Fainting

@whumpcember

Caretaker was getting ready for bed when his phone rang. He raised a brow, glancing at the clock. Who’s calling me this late at night? He quickly answered once he saw the name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“…Caretaker?”

“Yes? What’s wrong Whumpee?”

“Is it… Is it okay if I–” There was a pause, a pained whine could only be heard. “Come to your house?”

“Yes, of course. You know you’re always welcomed here Whumpee. Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine I just….really need someone to talk to right now. Can I come over? Like…now?”

“Yes, you can come over. I’ll get the guest room ready for you.”

“Okay. Thank you…”

“Always.”

Caretaker placed his phone on the bedside table. He grabbed a freshly washed blanket and placed it on the bed in the guest room. He fluffed the pillows, making sure they were nice and comfy. He was also sure to turn up the heat just a little so his guest would be warm. It shocked him that Whumpee was knocking at the door ten minutes later. How did he get there so fast? Whumpee lives further than ten minutes away. Was he speeding to get there?

Caretaker opened the door and Whumpee stood on the other side of the frame with a somewhat unreadable expression.

“Whumpee is everything alright? How did you get here so fast?”

“I just… I really needed to get here. So I can talk to you… It’s really important. Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course. Come on.” Caretaker stepped to the side.

“Thank you.” Instead of going anywhere, Whumpee stood still. Staring with a glazed expression.

Caretaker raised a brow. “Whumpee? Are you not coming in?”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m so sorry…”

“What do you–”

Whumpee’s eyes rolled shut as gravity pulled him to the ground, his body colliding with the floorboards with a dull thud.

#whumpcember2023 #whumpcember #whump #whump writing #suspense #fainting whump #fainting tw #creative writing #writeblr #writer things #writers on tumblr #hidden injury

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oneweirdbookaddict · 7 months

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Sky gets a concussion, Wild helps him out. And Time's there, too.

704 words

No warnings, let me know if anyone wants that changed!

Same for tags.

~~~~

His day was going pretty well until he took a bat to the head.

It’d been a lazy morning. The crisp fall air was brisk, making them hide under the protection of their blankets for longer. And Time had let them.

But eventually, they roused themselves and got to walking down the trail they’d been following for days now.

Twi had been tracking a group of monsters, hoping to find the shadow with them.

And boy, had they found them.

Easily outnumbered, the advantage of surprise hadn’t lasted long. The battle quickly took a turn for the worse, but they’d kept going.

Between the chaos of his fellow heroes fighting, he can hear someone swear.

“Wars!” Someone shouts.

“On it!” The captain calls back, and he takes a valuable moment to glance away from his own fight.

Someone’s down- he can’t tell who- someone else standing over them, on defense.

He goes back to his own fight.

Dodges a blow, parry, step forward, gain the advantage, loses it when another monster comes after him, steps back, slashes, attacks, blocks-

“Sky!”

And something slams into his head, sending him sprawling to the ground, vision blacking out.

When he has any sense of what’s going on again, Wild’s kneeling next to him, grabbing him and pulling him to the side.

The movement makes him groan, but he staggers to his feet and Wild quickly moves to support him. Especially when he nearly falls right back over, knees weakening.

“Yeah, you’re done, take it easy, yeah? How many fingers am I holding up?”

He squints blearily at Wild’s hand. “Erm- seven.” He says the first number that pops into his head.

Staggers, the world swaying around him.

Wild’s arms grab him, and he mindlessly processes the feeling of sinking back to the ground.

“One hell of a concussion…” Wild is muttering behind the ringing in his ears.

“Sky. Hey, Sky.”

He squints. Time’s in front of him.

How’d he get here?

“I followed you guys, they're doing ok out there. What do you need, a potion?”

Potion… do they have any? They were out the last he remembered…

“Yeah, we’ve got some, we stocked up in town yesterday, remember?”

Is he… talking out loud?

“Uh… yes, Sky. Drink this for me, it’ll fix you right up.”

Something is nudged into his hands. Slowly propped to his lips, he takes a few mouthfuls of the potion.

His head clears immediately, the ringing in his ears fading. The pounding he hadn’t even noticed was there easing to a dull ache.

“That feel better?” Time asks, and he nods slowly.

Closes his eyes, rubbing his head.

“Who else was hurt?” He groans, slumping back.

“No one, Hyrule took a tumble but he’s alright. You need anyone to stay here with you?”

“No, you guys… go back. I’ll be fine.”

Time hesitates, unsure about leaving him alone, but he forces a smile. “I’m alright, Time, I’ll finish this potion and be fine. You guys go back, they’ll need your help out there.”

The two nod, standing, leaving him alone.

He takes a breath, taking another drink of the potion.

Hears something behind him, standing and frowning.

Hand reaches for his sword- two things someone had called Bokoblins spot him.

“Oh, come on.” He mutters.

They rush at him.

He dodges one, then the other, blocks an attack, steps away from a hit-

His vision flashes. Pain spikes through his head.

He raises his sword just in time to block an attack going right for his stomach, head pounding. He’s overdoing it- he’s still concussed.

Ears ringing, blades clashing, one of the monsters gets a hit in, he stumbles back-

And he’s on the ground.

Dizzy, the world teetering around him.

“Time!” He shouts, shoving himself to his feet. He’s not able to fight right now, and definitely can’t run.

He stumbles away, grasping onto trees to keep himself upright. “Time! Wild!”

“Sky?!” Someone shouts back, and he nearly collapses in sheer relief.

Then something hits the back of his head, sending him right back to the ground, head pounding ears ringing world swaying.

“Sky!” He hears again, but he’s too far gone.

~~~~

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #how many fingers am I holding up #swooning #concussion #linked universe #fanfic #fainting tw #linked universe fanfic #linked universe fanfiction #lu fic #lu sky #sky lu #linked universe sky #wild lu #lu wild

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exquisitexagony · 5 months

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open to anyone!! plot: Sam left the house after hours of psyching himself up and smoking a couple of joints, but now he just woke up halfway in his car after passing out from standing up too fast--presumably upon arriving at xyr destination. They're panicked and can't remember what happened, not even what they were supposed to be doing, which is why they've called your muse to pick them up. This isn't something that happens often, but they probably have asked your muse to drive them places/pick them up from places before. Or maybe not, maybe your muse is shocked and confused by the sudden call...whatever works (: It's also worth noting that Sam only does drugs of any kind when he's under extreme stress/pressure/having a big anxiety spike, so if your muse happens to notice he is high that would also be very surprising

The cold in the air stung Samuel's lungs as he took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly and heavily. His hand was shaking horribly, too much to even think to start the car so he could warm up. It was chilly out, but not freezing, still he shivered as he lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hey, uh..." Their voice was anxious, jittery. A sucked in breath, pressing their lips together. Don't cry. Don't make this worse. "Um, I- I- I...I need you to c- come pick me up." Xe held xyr breath to avoid making a sound as tears began to fall down xyr cheeks. Xe couldn't think straight, could hardly breathe...There was no way they could drive themselves home. Normally he wouldn't ask, but...They were the only one he knew that wasn't busy.

#queued & loaded #open starter #open to all #anxiety tw #agoraphobia tw #fainting tw #open indie rp starter #indie rp #crossover rp #original character rp #indie oc rp

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rp-meme-world · 9 months

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my very self-indulgent whump meme♥ hi, these are just my favorites. i hope you enjoy! tw: implication of drug use, asphyxiation/dyspnea, blood, v*mit

DIALOGUE

❝ you okay? ❞

❝ hey. i got you. ❞

❝ i can’t feel my hands... ❞

❝ i lied. i don’t feel good. ❞

❝ tell me what’s going on. ❞

❝ i need to get out of here. ❞

❝ no. no. hey. stay with me. ❞

❝ i think i’m going to be sick. ❞

❝ what the fuck did you take? ❞

❝ keep your eyes open for me. ❞

❝ we need to stop the bleeding. ❞

❝ you don’t look so good. sit down. ❞

❝ keep breathing. you’re doing great. ❞

❝ i don’t— i don’t know what’s happening— ❞

❝ i don’t even want to think about food right now. ❞

❝ no. we’re going to the hospital. you don’t get a say in this. ❞

❝ i thought i could take care of it myself but i’m— i don’t feel very— ❞

❝ if you were anywhere near this sort of thing again you could have called, you could have talked to me. ❞

PROMPTS *note: ‘my’ muse refers to receiver **add +REVERSE to switch roles, if applicable

[ exit ] to find my muse in the bathroom after abruptly leaving a meeting, party, event, etc. (could be sick, crying, whatever you fancy)

[ catch ] to catch my muse as their knees buckle and they fall forward

[ oops ] to fail to catch my muse as their knees buckle and they fall forward. ouch.

[ hair ] to hold my muse’s hair back as they’re sick

[ help ] to help my muse with an injury (or illness) they thought they could handle themselves

[ find ] to find my muse on the ground after being struck by a vehicle

#blood tw #drugs tw #asphyxiation tw #vomit tw #panic attack tw #fainting tw #i wanted this to be longer but my brain said no and it's been sitting in drafts for 2 months

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whumpinthepot · 9 months

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Whumpee who just fucking faints the second they see blood

#whump #whump prompt #breezys post #blood tw #fainting tw

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fletcherwilbury · 6 months

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@whumptober Day 4: "You in there?"

Warning for Physical abuse, asthma attack, chemicals, medication, dizziness, fainting

#whumptober #whumptober 2023 #whumptober day 4 #“you in there?”#tmnt #tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 donnie #tmnt 2012 leo #tmnt 2012 casey jones #jonatello #physical abuse tw #asthma attack tw #chemicals cw #medication cw #dizziness tw #fainting tw

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kalevalakryze · 7 months

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Hope

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Rebels Pairings: Hera Syndulla/Ahsoka Tano/Kanan Jarrus Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Hera Syndulla, Kanan Jarrus, Warnings: PTSD, Fainting, Panic Attacks, Notes: For @whumptober 2023 Day 3. Just a small thing because of my feelings for ahsoka and her need for hugs, okay? Prompt: No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon. “Make it stop.” Word Count: 1,901 AO3 Link: Here!

“The Apprentice Lives.”

The Darkness was all encompassing, aching and freezing in a way that hurt just enough to be familiar. Ahsoka Tano was no stranger to the dark side, had been fighting it since the day she stepped off that transport on Christophis, almost three decades before. The familiarity hurt; the feeling of an older brother, a mentor, a guardian, someone who she should have known being so warped and twisted, probing the bonds of a thread of the force and soaking the severed light in his darkness.

Ahsoka could hear her own screams echoing through her montrals, the overwhelming suffocation bringing a whited out dizziness that had her falling backwards. Consciousness slipped away to the sound of her name being called and arms grabbing her from behind, plunging her in the darkness of that bond and the memories of the man who had taught her everything she knew.

Ahsoka woke to a cool hand against her forehead and a broad chest at her back, head supported by a light armored shoulder. “Ahsoka?” Kanan sounded worried, like he had on the ship, settled behind her exactly as he’d been when she fell.

“Are you alright?” Hera came next, a cold, damp cloth in her hand that had been wiping away dried sweat and the remnants of tears. Pushing herself up and off of Kanan’s support, his hands following hesitantly, Ahsoka managed to sit up on her own and rest her head in her hands, knuckles pressing in between her eyes to rub away the headache.

“I.. yes, I’m alright, thank you,” Fulcrum pieced herself back together as quickly as her shields would allow, muscles aching from the weight pressing in all around her.

“Do you need a minute?” Hera’s hand on her shoulder was gentle, she hadn’t been treated like something so fragile since before the clone wars, and it certainly wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on.

“Yes, please,” The Togruta shifted the Twi’lek’s and human’s hands from her arms, pushing herself up on protesting muscles. To cover the trembling at the tips of her fingers, the woman crossed her arms over her chest and cleared her throat. “Could I take a moment alone? I need to gather my thoughts before speaking to Ezra.”

Hera watched the woman with worry, but nodded her head anyways- Ahsoka never gave her a reason to distrust her judgment on anything, and if anyone knew what she needed, it had to be herself, right? “Come on,” Her hand brushed Kanan’s shoulder as he watched the taller woman, brows furrowed as he bit his tongue, clearly wanting to say something.

Sighing, he turned to the door to follow Hera, second guessing as the door slid open and turning his head back to the woman as she lowered herself into a seat. “Ahsoka?” Waiting until piercing eyes settled back on him, his hand moved to rest on the open door frame. “Trust goes both ways.”

The door slid shut behind him, trapping Ahsoka in the idly noises of space; the quiet sounds of machines beeping, steel creaking, and her own breathing. Her shoulders slumped the moment she was sure she was alone, the pressure finally caving in around her until she was doubled over in the chair, feverish forehead pressed into her knees as her chest threatened to collapse.

“Anakin,” She breathed, for the first time in years, fingers pulling and stretching at the fabric of her leggings, nails pressing into her calves at the response she received in the force, just like the day the Republic fell.

“I Hate You!” His voice radiated so much anger, she could feel it poisoning her blood, poisoning her memory of the Master who’d given her her life back. “Ahsoka, I would never let anyone hurt you.” Was it a childish hope? Was it awful and horrible? What kind of person would it make her, to hope that her Master had died with the others, that the whispers were true; Anakin Skywalker died heroically, trying to save Jedi younglings from a new Sith, a name passed between contacts that had even her bravest of spies stepping away from it all. Darth Vader.

But the… Thing in the shuttle, the darkness that pursued them, was so uniquely Anakin, in a way no other being in the galaxy could ever replicate.

Kaeden had taught her breathing exercises, once upon a time; when finding the control to bleed her feelings out into the force came too much, when dizziness struck from the oxygen rushing into her lungs too fast and her vision swam with the effort of staying conscious. She’d seen it happen to clones so often during the war, but it had never become a problem for her until after everything was said and done.

Her montrals itched with the sounds of her own breathing, unable to focus on the sounds outside the room, or the fleet on the other side of the transparisteel. Fulcrum managed a life where she’d never felt helpless, had become everything she’d needed and more, but she was still, and always would be; Ahsoka Tano, and Ahsoka needed more than Fulcrum could ever allow herself.

“Make it stop,” She whispered to some unseen force, a child pleading for their Master to make the war end, to stop the suffering, to stop the galaxy as it tried to grind her bones to ash. “Please,” Who could she plead with, when the pressure closing in on her was a cosmic scale? What power could make the reality peeling the oxygen from her body merciful?

She had to do it alone, it was safer for everyone. For Kanan, Hera, Ezra, Sabine, Zeb, Chopper, and every other lifeform who knew her as she was. Her legacy was one of death and destruction, it followed her everywhere she dared to go, but running… she couldn’t run from this, couldn’t run from the mechanized breathing in her nightmares each night.

It was the reminder of necessity and the direness of the situation that had Ahsoka focusing her breathing, sucking in fiery breaths into her lungs, allowing each breath to ignite her blood, burning the poison away as she allowed the voices of her vode to echo. How Kix talked her through helping Fives through a panic attack after the loss of Echo, how Padmé had helped her through Anakin’s attacks after Zyggeria, and how Kaeden had helped her. Their voices combined in something comforting, and as her mind cleared, Fulcrum allowed herself to focus on the light their memory still carried in the cosmic force.

Brushing away gathered tears, Fulcrum straightened until the cool material of the seat was against her back, shoulder blades pressing into the fabric as it warmed under her body heat. Ezra’s probing presence in the force grew near as the woman righted herself. Ezra’s description of the presence was enough to rattle the woman again, though she’d maintained herself rather well, considering… everything. Compartmentalizing the discussion and her personal feelings had the rest of the waking cycle passing by in a blur, passing information and deciding battle plans on autopilot, and pointedly ignoring the troubled looks from Ghost Crew’s ‘certified adults’.

As Hera settled in to the open pilot’s chair beside her, Ahsoka allowed her attention to turn away from the vastness of the galaxy outside, from the sun’s light reflecting on the moons and planets below. Her head turned just in time to watch as the Twi’lek’s hand moved, hesitancy making her actions seem as if in slow motion.

Ahsoka reached across the gap, closing her hand around Hera’s. Lightsaber calloused hands warm against the skilled hands of one of the Rebellion’s best pilots curled her fingers around her hand. When the door opened to reveal Kanan, Hera only turned her head to offer a welcoming smile.

Silence stretched between the three survivors as Kanan settled into the seat behind Hera, Ahsoka could practically feel the gears turning in his brain. When he reached out at last, she turned her hand over, allowing him to cover Hera’s hand between them and for his fingertips to brush against her knuckles. “You’re right about trust, Kanan.” Ahsoka finally broke the silence, her other hand moving to cover his, if not for his sake, than to stop the way her fingers itched to fidget with the arm of her chair. “You have all given me more of your trust than I probably deserve,”

“Ahsoka, no, that’s not-” Hera started, leaning forward to try and cut the Force sensitive off.

“You deserve as much as I can tell you, both of you do… and I trust you.” I just hope it doesn’t get either of you killed. Inhaling slowly, Ahsoka squeezed both of their hands before releasing them to fold together neatly in her lap. “The sith lord we encountered was… familiar.”

“Someone you knew before the war?” Hera’s brows furrowed as Kanan shifted to lean back in his seat, hand raising to scratch at his chin.

“I believe so, yes. I don’t want to make any assumptions, on the chance I may be wrong, but it was familiar in a way that only one person had ever been… I think that’s all I’d like to say on it,” Her shoulders drooped again, a haunting feeling arching up her spine even as she allowed the name to stay in the shadows.

“Ahsoka,” Kanan leaned forward again, Ahsoka couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “Is it..?”

“I don’t know…” Her teeth clenched together, muscles in her jaw spasming with the fight to keep her composure. If it wasn’t him, if she was wrong, then she would be ruining her Master’s memory, tainting the legacy of Anakin Skywalker and how good he really was.

When Kanan’s hand settled on her knee, the weight grew. Ahsoka’s arm moved to cover her face as she turned away, hands clenched into fists. Hera moved first, rising from her seat and stepping into Ahsoka’s personal space. The Togruta’s arm was pushed away, the Twi’lek moving to stand between her legs as Hera’s arms wrapped around her, guiding her head onto her chest. Kanan was quick to follow suit, his hand covering Ahsoka’s shoulder where he settled, until Hera was guiding her to lean into him.

With Ahsoka’s face hidden between Hera’s shoulder and Kanan’s stomach, hot tears once again spilled over, for the first time in over a decade, however, she was not alone in the sorrow. “Make it stop,” She gasped out again, muffled between the two rebel heroes.

“In a heartbeat,” Hera promised, her hand smoothing down Ahsoka’s back lek, as Kanan soothed the twitching muscle beneath his hand, rubbing in slow circles. “We’ll do everything we can, Ahsoka.”

“And then some,” Kanan promised, head bowing to rest on the space between her montrals; Mandalorian in tradition, but carried across the battlefield by the clones that had meant so much to her, even with his own justified issues with everything that had to do with the brainwashed soldiers.

“All we can do is hope,” Ahsoka’s arms finally moved, wrapping around both Kanan and Hera, grounding herself to them, and the familiarity and comfort of the force extending out to her from the other Jedi.

Hope was enough, enough to risk their lives for, and enough to soothe the poisonous thought that Anakin Skywalker could have been tainted by something like Darth Vader.