13 - a kiss pressed to each fingertip - for ye olde rebelcaptain please
The wound splices his side, winding its way from his navel, through his ribs, to the harsh jut of his collarbone. It’s deep enough that it remains on his skin even after hours in the bacta tank—faded and brown, a sharp reminder of how close she had come to losing him.
She squeezes himself into his cot in the medbay, desperate to draw him closer to her—to feel his heartbeat under her palm—but wary of the scar, of the little hiss of pain he gives at every small movement. Blood is surging in her ears, and even though he’s here beside her, now, all she can see each time she closes her eyes is the way he stumbled when he was struck, the wild horror in his eyes.
“Jyn,” Cassian murmurs. He’s tired, pale, instructed not to move, but he reaches for her hand nonetheless. “Are you alright?”
She nods. How could she say anything different? Her flesh is intact, her bones unbroken; she’s not the one who almost died today.
Gently, he lifts her hand and presses his lips to her index finger.
He moves to the next fingertip; soft lips and stubble brush her skin.
The next, the next.
She refuses to let her eyes well up, refuses to give him any more reason to worry about anything but his own recovery. She bites the inside of her cheek, tightening her grip on his fingers.
It’s late and I can’t sleep, though not for a lack of trying.
I’m not used to falling asleep without having Baz less than three feet away from me. Not that he’s much farther now. He’s only out watching the telly from the couch. Yet, as I toss and turn in my bed, I can’t help but feel it is somehow too empty.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and pull one of Baz’s jumper’s out from the drawer in the nightstand. He keeps a whole bunch of his clothes in random drawers here. We may not live together anymore, but he still spends enough nights here that it just makes sense for him to leave something to wear here. The sleeves are a bit too long and fall past my fingertips. I find an extra comfort in that, like Baz is covering all of me and keeping me safe and warm. There’s a pair of argyle socks that must have been under the jumper, so I pull those over my feet before I shuffle out the bedroom door to go find Baz.
Snow went to bed an hour ago.
I don’t know why I stayed out here. Surely my Netflix marathon could have waited until tomorrow, but for some reason I couldn’t drag myself away from the screen. The episode I’m watching only has ten minutes left. When it’s over, I’ll go to bed with my boyfriend…where I should have been an hour ago.
I hear the door creak open so I look over and see Snow shuffle his way out into the living room. He’s wearing my jumper - which covers his hands completely, a pair of blue boxer briefs, and argyle socks that come up to almost his knee. He looks absolutely ridiculous. It’s adorable.
One of his sweater-covered-hands comes up to rub one of his eyes as he tries - and fails - to stifle a yawn.
“I couldn’t sleep without you.”
I almost fight to keep a smile from spreading across my face before I realize I don’t have to do that anymore. I pat the cushion of the couch next to me in answer, and Simon smirks back.
He shuffles the rest of the way over to the couch and curls up in a ball with his head in my lap. My hand finds its way into his bronze curls and his eyes slip shut. He’s asleep within seconds.
Do you have photos of your cosplay and/or team skull outfits???
I have pics of my Homura cosplay on my computer somewhere but I’m never letting them see the light of day ever again bc YIKES, the costume was (and probably still is) way too big for me and it was really hot so I was sweating a lot, it was such a mess lmao
But I did post a couple pictures of my team skull costume on halloween, they’re here! I have the bandanna too but it came off before I took the pics and I couldn’t tie it back myself lol ^^;;
Because he’s getting older and the platies had to be moved into the 26 I decided to move Grimm into a 5 gallon by himself. Not the prettiest but I wanted something easy to clean and to have places he could easily rest on. The flow still needs to be fixed but other than that I’ll think he’ll enjoy not having to move around as much to get to the surface.
Fitz definitely considers himself the least qualified person on the Bus when it comes to offering comfort. Jemma or Coulson would probably be best in this situation. Trip always knows the right thing to say. And May might not talk a lot, but she’s an expert in small gestures.
But right now, everyone else is occupied, emergency levels of occupied.
He lurks in the doorway to Skye’s bunk, trying to think of what the appropriate response is.
She’s crying, that much he knows. And he doesn’t blame her. Her father’s willing to sacrifice anything and everything to get her, and he’s just confirmed that the mother she’s been holding out hope of finding is dead.