[ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 ] 🟇 @viivyre
TELL ME, little one, what is it that you like? How drained mana seeps into contorted veins in the sweetest of embraces, raw energy pooling, blistering, sucked dry from a still warm and freshly made carcass, was it the cloak offered by nighttime disguising starving little lady and her knight, or perhaps, just perhaps, the golden sheer found in servant’s eyes after uttering those three syllables ‘ KILL FOR ME...‘ Intriguing, merry, UTTERLY ENJOYABLE, every aspect of this mad dance through midnight streets, husks left behind to rot in a trail of bloodied footprints, telling tales of yet another fervent endeavor, adorned with the twitch of a smile… But wait, wait ( we are not done dancing, are we? ) night young, darkness clung to air turned crisp and cold, one was still HUNGRY, SO HUNGRY...
HURRY NOW ( more, more, more! ) appetite biting, crawling, twisting through flesh and bone akin to nails on her skin, down her throat, scraping against sinew and cartilage, red markings wrapped around her skin burnt, SHE CRAVES / NEEDS another serving, one more reason to lick her lips, just one more ( it was never only one ), the taste of crimson dripping from her fingertips ( oh how you hate them all ), the joy of silencing their putrid speech; NOT DONE, NOT DONE, NOT DONE!
Hear footsteps on the street, running towards or from the uncanny pair, one could not help but wonder — AND THUS, another glance thrown at summoned servant, silent gesture that she wished to stay and indulge a bit more in what this night yet had to offer; old, young, big or small, if they struggled or immediately surrendered, IT MATTERED NOUGHT ( BY MY HAND MAY THEY ALL FACE DAMNATION! ) Ah, there is that sweetness, hatred, dripping akin to wax from a burning candle, adding to the growing hole in her stomach begging, CRAVING ( just another bite, one more, one… more… ) Perfectly still, a sharp contrast to chaos embodied ( EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM! ), she sat on a wooden bench, posture relaxed and head slightly crooked; SOME DISTANCE between master and servant, yet close, ever close, sensing each other’s twists, every move, desire for corroding flesh and broken bones… Now Saber, the stage is yours.
Show me your beautiful anger.
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Whumpay 2021: Day 8 - Wake Up / Passing Out
Through the Force
read on ao3
star wars, the clone wars, obi-wan kenobi, serious injuries, medical care, gore, whump, graphic depictions of violence
Everything seemed heavy, like the weight of a world was pressing down upon Obi-Wan’s body. Then sound came to him. Explosions, bursts of blaster fire, screaming, yelling, rock clattering through the air, droid poppers, ships crashing.
Blast, he was in the middle of a battle!
Obi-Wan tried to get up, but hands held him down. It was just as well, for the moment he had managed to sit up and open his eyes, his vision had tunneled, and everything was spinning.
Please don’t be sick. Please don’t be sick.
“Easy, General. One of those clankers blasted you up pretty good.”
That would explain the agonizing pain that was kicking in. On the surface it stung, and then it burrowed deeper, becoming a burn, and then acute soreness that wouldn’t abate. He couldn’t even pinpoint precisely where his injuries were. He hurt too much, and was slick with blood.
He was being carried on a stretcher to a gunship, Waxer leading the party.
Cannon fire blasted down from the sky, hitting the gunship.
The explosion sent Obi-Wan’s men hurtling backwards, including Kix, who had been seeing to him, and Obi-Wan went tumbling. He could barely do anything to stop himself from tumbling again and again.
Ears ringing, pain seeping into the very center of his being, he lost consciousness.
He was only out for a couple of minutes, he deemed. What woke him was Kix cutting off his tabard and tunics and applying bacta spray to his numerous injuries.
Kriff, Obi-Wan knew what came after that, given the kind of pain he was in.
He was still on the ground, parts of the gunship burning around them. The company had set up a perimeter around him, but for now, they were hidden amongst the rocks. Still, that cannon could easily fire again. Admiral Yularen would have to take it out, but he couldn’t reach his comm to warn him about it.
“Just… forget about me. I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said, or at least tried to say. The words barely came out.
“Respectfully, sir,” Kix said, “no, you’re not. And we’d never leave you. You’re our general.”
“But the battle—”
“Can continue without you. General Skywalker, and Commander Tano are pushing the Seppies back.”
Obi-Wan tried to nod, but found he was too weak.
“Waxer, Boil, I need you,” Kix said.
Obi-Wan’s vision was blurred somewhat, everything out of focus. And still, the world spun. He swallowed back bile as he saw Waxer and Boil come trotting over.
“Hold him down,” Kix ordered.
“Kriff,” Obi-Wan breathed.
Obi-Wan tried to cooperate as they held him down, and Kix began packing his wounds, but the problem with packing wounds despite it being an extremely useful technique, was that it hurt to hell and back. Parts of the gunship lifted into the air, getting thrown outward from them in a circle as Obi-Wan subconsciously fought and screamed.
He had wanted to hold all this in, but there was no ignoring how deep the wounds went, or how numerous they were. It was a wonder he wasn’t dead yet.
He tried holding onto the Force, not just use it.
He slipped into it, and did his best to breathe steadily, to not just feel the battle around him, but to feel life, and balance. The parts of the gunship he’d been holding with the Force fell, shaking the ground.
To his men, it must have seemed like he passed out again because they started discussing him like he wasn’t there. They weren’t sure he was going to make it.
Through the Force, he would. He had to.
Obi-Wan held onto that comforting energy, the very flow of the universe, until another gunship came and he was loaded up onto it. They would get him to the Negotiator, and get him in a bacta tank. He would be alright.
Exhaustion pressed against him, and he did let himself go this time, knowing that when he awoke he would be safe.
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