off the catwalk

Savior

She found herself in an abandoned warehouse just a few blocks from the run down apartment her father had rented until he gathered the insurance money from their original apartment that had burned down days before. [Y/N] sat with her feet dangling over edge of the catwalk, her body facing the industrial sized window that overlooked the dirty and deserted streets of the city. 

Looking down, she pulled out the pill bottle from her hoodie pocket. Running her fingers over the label, she fought back the tears. Closing her hand over the prescription bottle, she looked out the window and mustered up the courage to uncap the poison in her hand. 

Just as she was about to swallow all the pills, she jumped at the sound of glass shattering below her. She cursed as the oxycodone fell from her fingers and onto the warehouse ground. Standing up, [Y/N] peered over the catwalk and noticed a figure struggling to stand. Her eyes strained to adjust to the dark. Gasping when she caught sight of the famous red and blue, she scrambled off the catwalk and down the stairs to the first floor. 

“Oh my god.” She panted as she made it to the figure. Slowing her steps, she assessed the situation. It was definitely Spiderman, that she knew. What she didn’t know was why he was covered in enough blood to fill up a bathtub. Shrieking when he collapsed onto the ground, she ran to him. 

Kneeling on the hard ground, she propped him up on her knees. She looked down at her hands that were now covered in sticky, wet blood. “Oh god.” [Y/N] shuddered, she hated blood. Clearing her throat, she gently tapped his masked face, “Hey? You with me?” She scanned over the rest of him, her eyes widening at the ripped suit and exposed torso. Her heart rate increased, he wasn’t just covered in blood, it was his own blood. 

“Holy shit. Hey, hey, hey!” [Y/N] shook him slightly, “We need to get you to a hospital!” She pawed at him, struggling to find a cellphone. Finally finding one, she cursed loudly as it slipped from her hands “I need you to stay with me!” Trying to unlock the phone with her blood soaked fingers, she screamed when he grabbed her forearm. Leaning down, her brows knitted together at the muffled sounds coming from where his mouth was located. “What? I can’t, I don’t know, I can’t understand you.” He continued to mumble with her still unable to understand him. 

Taking in a deep shaky breath, she set down the phone away from the spreading blood puddle. “I can’t understand you with your mask on,” [Y/N] said gently. Biting her lip, she reached for the bottom of his mask. “I have to take your mask off, okay?” Not waiting for him to answer, she gently and slowly revealed the face that laid underneath. [Y/N] gasped softly when she finally removed the cover, her heart sped up even more. How was this possible? 

“Peter?!” [Y/N] cried out. Spiderman was a kid, a teenager? More importantly her lab partner in Chemistry. So many questions rolled through her brain but was quickly cut short when she remembered that she needed to call 911. 

Peter’s eyes fluttered, his mouth moving but very little sounds coming out. “Call Tony, not 911, please.” He croaked out. 

“What? Tony?!” She yelped, who the hell was Tony? “But, you need help!”

“Call……Tony……please.”

[Y/N] started to shake, she could feel his body temperature start to drop. Struggling to find this mysterious Tony number, “Come on, come on. Yes! Okay, come on, please pick up….pick up, come on.”

“Listen, Parker. You better have a damn good reason-”

“-Oh my gosh! Thank god, um, Peter told me to call you. I don’t know why, I should be calling 911. He’s bleeding out….there’s a lot of blood. I don’t know what to do. We need help! Why am I calling you instead of 911, oh my god, I’m so stupid. He’s probably going to die because of this phone call. Oh my god.” 


[Y/N] leaned her head against the frame of the window that showed Peter sleeping soundly in his hospital room. Her hands and arms were free from his blood but the reminder of almost seeing him die in her arms were still soaked into her clothes. 

“Here you go, kid.” 

Standing up straight, she looked up to see Tony hand her a fresh set of clothes. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he gave her a pressed smile. “You can get changed over here.” Patting her back, he calmly spoke. “He’ll be here when you get back, I promise. Come on.” 

Reluctantly following Tony, she thanked him and closed the curtain to change. Wincing as she peeled off her clothes, she looked around to find a spot to place them.

“There’s a little washing station off to her left there.” 

Following his direction, she sighed in content to know that she could wash the rest of the blood off. “Um, thank you.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” Tony twirled around, his hands clasped behind his back. “So uh, Peter’s never mentioned you before. Are you two friends?” 

Running a wet towel over her torso, she shook her head even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “No, not really.” Running it over her legs, she sighed again. “We’re just lab partners.”  

“Oh.”

Quickly changing into the fresh clothes, she slid the curtain open. 

“Much better?” He smiled as she nodded.

Guiding them back to Peter’s room, he slowed his steps as he got to the window. It was a close call and Tony was so unbelievably thankful that he made it. 

“He saved me once,” [Y/N] said softly. 

“Hm?” Tony asked, distracted from his thoughts. 

She motioned towards Peter, “He saved me, about two weeks ago.” Hugging herself, she bit her lip. “My apartment building caught on fire and I was stupid enough to go back up the six flights to get something and just as I was about to go back down, the stairs collapsed on me.” [Y/N] met Tony’s eyes, “I never got a chance to thank him and for the past week and a half, I’ve been sitting next to him.” 

“I’m sure he knew,” Tony reassured. Following her gaze to Peter, he frowned, “What were you doing at that warehouse anyway? Seems a bit morbid to be a teen hangout spot.” 

[Y/N] inhaled slowly, “I lost my mom during the battle of New York. We were on our way to see a movie when everything hit the fan. Our taxi got flipped over on its side and the doors were jammed. So, my dad kicked the window out and threw me. I broke a few ribs and my arm but I didn’t feel it at the time because all I could focus on was the fact that there were aliens swarming the city. My mom had suffered a concussion from the wreck and was fading in and out of consciousness so my dad climbed out first to get better leverage. He was a little shaky from it all too so he lost his footing and fell to the ground. I just remember standing there in shock and in panic from it all that I almost didn’t notice the gas leaking from the other cars. I screamed for my dad to hurry but the taxi blew up before he could even stand up to try.” 

Tony stood in silence, his heart breaking. He felt responsible for everything that had happened in New York. And it hurt even more to be standing in front of someone who had lost so much during it all. 

“You asked why I was in the warehouse and the reason was that ever since that day, my dad was never the same. And to a degree, I changed too but he just became so cold. Every time he looked at me, I could see disgust in his eyes. I reminded him so much of the woman he failed to save that he couldn’t even bare to look at me. Abuse isn’t just physical, Mr. Stark. It’s verbal too and every day since then, that was what I had to deal with. Him degrading me as a person, making me see myself in a way that my mother would never let me see myself as. I went to that warehouse tonight to be reunited with my mother. To be reunited with the one person who would have loved me no matter what.” 

Tony inhaled sharply. Nodding, he placed a warm and firm hand on her shoulder. “I tend to be hypocritical at times and this is one of those moments when I say I believe in fate which I normally don’t. But, had you not gone to that warehouse, Peter would be dead. Instead of ending a life, you saved one.” 


Peter’s eyes fluttered open, groaning from the pain, he went to raise his hand to his head but immediately regretted his movement. It felt like he had been hit with a train ten times over. Blinking, his eyes adjusted to the girl sitting in an arm chair with a Chemistry book in her lap. 

“[Y/N]?! What are, what are you doing here?” Panic started to settle into his bones. 

She looked up from her textbook, untucking her legs from underneath her, she set the book down. “You were involved in a serious car accident-”

“-wha?” Peter tried to recall this accident but all he remembered was being seconds from being ripped apart. 

“Peter! You’re awake!” 

“Aunt May?” Peter exclaimed, completely dumbfounded at what was going on. “I don’t understand.” 

Aunt May started to sob, “Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re okay! I was so worried about you.” 

[Y/N] stood up, grabbing her backpack, she smiled. “It’s okay if you don’t remember the car accident, Peter.” Walking over towards him, she gently patted his hand. “You were walking me back to my apartment after our study session when you pushed me out of the way of a speeding car. I can’t thank you enough for saving my life. Hopefully one day I can return the favor.” Just as Aunt May wasn’t looking, she winked and motioned a phone signal with her hand and mouthed call Tony. Turning towards Aunt May, she smiled, “If it’s okay, I’ll leave Peter’s schoolwork with you.” 

Aunt May nodded, tears soaking her eyes. “Of course!” 

Handing it off, she looked at Peter. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll see you around.” 

Peter still dumbfounded, nodded. “Yeah. uh, see you around.” 

Once she left the room, Aunt May wiped away some tears. “I know you’re in pain and everything but she’s cute!” 

Romee Strijd walks the runway during the Off-White show as part of the Paris Fashion Week Womenswear Spring/Summer 2018 on September 28, 2017 in Paris, France.

The Lost Brother

It’s a hard thing, being forgotten. For a moment, one shining moment, he was all anyone could talk about, and then they abandoned him. Walter couldn’t really blame them. After all, there are so many Markiplier Egos, so many characters for them to give their attention to. It was easy for him to get swept under the rug.

The last thing he remembers is Wilford turning the world pink in anguish. They’d been brothers for such a short time and yet it’s like they’d known each other for years and years. Walter knew he’d miss him. He just didn’t know how much. Floating through the void, just an idea no longer remembered by enough people to actually exist, he thought about Wilford, his brother, the one who would never fade.

It’s a hard thing, knowing that someone else will always have it easier than you. But Walter didn’t hold it against Will. He wasn’t the one in control… no, that was someone else entirely. A man with a dozen faces who brought characters into the world and then left them to rot away like a forgotten melon in a field.

Then a spark. What was that? Walter feels it again, like synapses firing, such a little thing and yet so powerful. Then more and more, a thousand of them prickling across his skin until there’s a new depth to him that hadn’t been there before. He can feel his heart beating, his blood pumping, his fingers wiggling ever so slightly. There’s a scent of watermelon and sunshine in the air around him, and Walter Melone Warfstache starts to exist again.

It’s a hard thing, being remade. The little details are always a bit fuzzy, so they have to be filled in by the imagination. Purple hair and mustache, but the ever familiar face. A pink coat and ascot, a blue shirt. The lines fill in, the colors differentiate, and Walter takes a gasping breath.

He tumbles through the air, down and down and lands on his back in a bed of petunias. Somebody screams, rather high-pitched for a man, and Bim Trimmer scrambles back on his hands and knees. It takes him a moment before he recognizes the Ego laying prone before him, but when he does, it hits him like a ton of melons. “Walter…”

Bim helps him up and insists that he come inside, Peebles Place, he calls it. The house is humungous and strangely shaped like it was pieced together from twenty different houses, but Walter thinks it’s wonderful.

“Come on. Wilford will be in the studio.” Bim drags him along by his wrist, and Walter has no choice but to follow. Trimmer throws open a door in the kitchen that leads to the basement of what appears to be an entirely different building. “This is Ego Inc., the new one.”

“New? What happened to the last one?”

Bim shudders. “Long story…” He continues to drag Walter along into the elevator where he mashes a button labeled “Wilford’s Studio” and turns to look at Walter. “I knew that the fans were talking about you again, but I never thought…”

Walter shrugs. “I didn’t know it was possible.”

Neither did Bim. He imagines none of the Egos knew that one of them could be brought back from the dead. He isn’t sure how Wilford will react…

The doors open with a ding. “Let me go out first. You wait here,” Bim urges once they’ve reached the entrance to the stage room. “We might want to break it to him slowly.”

“TRIMMER? IS THAT YOU I HEAR?” Wilford calls from the stage. “GET YOUR REAR IN HERE AND HELP ME WITH THIS ABOMINABLE LIGHT!”

Walter smirks. “He hasn’t changed much.”

Bim presses his lips together. “You might be surprised…” He follows the sound of Will’s shouts of anger as the light refuses to stay in position. “Um, boss? You might want to come down from there,” Bim calls up to Wilford way up on the catwalk. “There’s something… someone you might want to see.”

“Is Amy here? Tell her I’m busy, but I’ll be down in a minute.” Wilford, sleeves rolled up past his elbows and a screwdriver balanced between his nose and upper-lip, looks down and nearly falls off the catwalk. Someone walks onto the stage behind Bim, someone with purple hair and a familiar grin.

“How are you, old chap?”

It’s a hard thing, seeing your brother for the first time after coming back from the dead. There’s an awkwardness to it, especially when you realize that he thought you were gone for good, but Walter just wiggles his mustache and opens his arms. “Don’t I deserve a hug? I was dead, you know, and I…” He’s cut off as Wilford pulls him into a tight hug, and Walter laughs a little, hugging him back.

Wilford feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he does what he can to hold them back. “I thought…” Wilford pulls back, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “I thought you were gone for good!”

Walter shrugs and looks down at himself. “So, did I, but I guess not!”

Wilford hugs him again, unable to stop himself. He can feel his heart swelling and swelling until he thinks it’ll pop right out of his chest. He’s here, he’s real again. And Wilford Warfstache has never been happier in his entire life.

An Enemy on the One Hand Pt. 2

Summary: Reader Insert - Soulmate AU/Enemy AU: the universe determined your soulmate and enemy at birth, giving you one hint for each; their initials on one of your wrists. BUt what happens if BOTH sets of initials are for the same person? Set during CA:TWS

Word Count: 2155

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of injuries, angst(ish), TWS spoilers (but seriously, what are you DOING here if you haven’t seen that yet?)

A/N: Okay, I’m taking a stab at this. I wanna thank @writingwithadinosaur (as usual) for helping me with EVERYTHING EVER, and being totally fabulous; I love you Roxy! And @imhereforbvcky for encouraging me to try in the first place.

I tagged everyone who liked/reblogged/commented on the announcement post cause I am a needy bitch, I need validation! But I am MORE than happy to add OR remove you if you’d like.

Originally posted by love-buckybarnes

You’d hoped that learning that Nick Fury was alive would be enough to distract the others from your outburst, it had distracted YOU, albeit momentarily. But the second you were alone with Nat, the questioning began.

“Spill,” she grunted as she gently rotated her injured shoulder, testing the stitches.

“I’m not sure how much there is to ‘spill’ for you Nat,” you hedged, shrugging your shoulders.

“Bullshit. You heard the soldier’s name and cursed. Now i’d like to what the reason was for that. So, spill.”

“I’d like to hear this as well,” Steve stepped around the corner of the curtain blocking Nat from the view of the rest of the room, Sam right behind him.

“Oh fuck it,” you grumbled. You pushed your sleeves up, exposing your wrists, and their marks; you showed them to Natasha. “They’ve never reacted till today, and it was only the left one.”

Keep reading

Say Goodbye (pt. 11)

(So, I know it’s been a while since I’ve updated this story, but Anti has recently decided that what he wants more than anything else in the world is chaos. So, what does he do? He’s decided to go after Bim. If you keep up with my asks, Anti has been targeting Bim, trying to injure him, and he manages to push Bim off of the studio’s catwalks. And that’s where our story picks up…)

Anti slips into the room, glitching through the walls like a horrific, green ghost. His black eyes watch the sleeping man closely. His arm is still in a cast, his chest still wrapped in bandages, and Bim Trimmer looks very, very tired, just the opportunity that Anti has been waiting for. He slips in like a virus, wriggling deep into Bim’s brain and nesting there like the parasite he is, and when Bim wakes the next morning, he is none the wiser.

Bim gets up, grabs his morning coffee, and runs off to the studio to film Wilford’s latest episode of Warfstache Tonight. Thomas Sanders has agreed to do an interview, and Bim has to make sure that the bubbly YouTuber doesn’t end up full of stab wounds by the end of it. But in the middle of filming, Bim turns off the camera unexpectedly.

Wilford notices that the camera goes off and immediately storms over to question Bim, but the other Ego simply walks away, leaving Warfstache to wonder what’s gotten into his partner.

Google Oliver finds him later, sulking at lunch and sniffling like he’s sick, but the droid scans his friend and finds that everything seems to be fine with him aside from his apparent dreary mood. “Hi, Bim,” Oliver says, plopping down into the seat next to Bim with a smile.

Trimmer gets up without a word and walks out, and Oliver tries not to take it personally. But he’s never seen Bim be so harsh.

Everyone knows that something is up when Dark calls a meeting. It’s about the usual: Wilford needs to stop shooting expensive things, the Googles are still working on keeping Anti out of the building, and Ed should really stop requesting his own website for selling second-hand babies. But when Dark makes his usual snide comment toward the young TV host, Trimmer fires right back. It ends with Dark and Bim having a deathly staring contest across the table before Bim gets up and storms out without another word.

Wilford decides then and there that he’ll confront Bim about whatever is wrong with him, and after the meeting, Warfstache heads to the roof, Bim’s garden where he goes to think when he’s upset. He finds Bim there with the Host. Only, Bim has Host hanging over the edge of the roof.

“Trimmer!” Wilford draws his gun, realizes the frivolity of the motion and drops it to his side after a second. “What are you doing?”

“Having a little fun,” Bim says with a dry laugh as Host scrabbles there in mid-air, suspended by Bim’s warping abilities. “The Host and I are just having a little discussion. He thought that I needed help managing my anger, and I thought that dropping him off the building might do the trick.”

Wilford is taken aback. He’s never heard Bim speak so violently, especially not against the Host. For a moment, Wilford wonders why the Host doesn’t use his narrations to stop Bim when he sees that the Host’s bandages which are usually around Host’s eyes have been used to gag him. Everyone knows that the blind man has been through much at the hands of Darkiplier, and they all have a silent oath never to add to that pain. This… this is far beyond that. This is madness.

This isn’t Bim Trimmer.

“Put him back down on the roof, Trimmer!” Wilford can feel the air around him thickening. It won’t be much longer before his void wraps around all three of them, consuming them in rosy insanity. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

“Very funny,” Trimmer snorts. He lets Host drop a few feet, making both Wilford and Host scream in terror, before he stops the man again. “If you attack me, I’ll let him drop.” Bim’s eyes change; they become entirely black, consuming all light around them like twin black holes. “Then you’ll be scraping the rest of him off the concrete.”

Wilford’s hands turn to fists at his sides, and there’s an explosion of glitter as a few of Bim’s treasured plants melt into mounds of sparkling dust. Bim doesn’t even react, and that’s when Wilford is sure. “Anti.”

Bim smiles, his head tilting to the side as if his neck is broken. “Present!”

Warfstache’s heart drops into his stomach. If he’s dealing with Anti instead of Bim, this is much worse than he thought. “Anti, you don’t want to hurt the Host. He’s blind!”

Bim seems to consider it for a moment before he sets Host down onto the roof again. Wilford rushes forward to his friend, but just as he reaches him, the Host dissolves into glitches. Warfstache points his gun back at Bim, not liking the look in his eyes. “Where is he?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Bim says with a wiggle of his eyebrows as he starts to walk backwards towards the edge of the roof. “I could do it… throw him off the edge and glitch away. Bim always did get on my nerves…”

Wilford grits his teeth. “A quick, painless death. Doesn’t sound like you.”

Bim raises an eyebrow. “You’re right. I much prefer playing with my prey.” Wilford lunges forward, but Bim disappears in a fuzz of static and an echoing giggle. Warfstache feels the building pitch beneath him, the concrete of the roof beginning to bend beneath the weight of his anger and growing power.

So, that’s how Anti wants to do this. Wilford gets to his feet and throws his pink hair out of his face. Fine, just fine. Two can play at this game.

Prompt:   “Hiya! Is it possible to request a Spock X Reader where the reader struggles with sciatica and tries her best to hide it? Absolutely love your writing and cant wait to see what comes of these new requests :D” - @ha-tep

Word Count:  1,041

Author’s Note:  Sciatica is not my forte, so please let me know if I’ve messed something up in here. I hope you enjoy!

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charlottedabookworm  asked:

Not sure if it got eaten the first time, didn't see it on the no list. Soooo, Mace/Obi timetravel? (It's your fault that I'm into this pairing, there's like no fics with it out there)

What he wants to do is to get out of his council chair and move forward.

What he wants to do is to wrap himself around the slender form standing by Qui-Gon’s side.

What he wants to do is to tuck Obi-Wan so tightly against him that the other can never leave his side again.

What he does is to remain sitting, watching the two offer up the situation on Naboo.

He knows what happened.

He doesn’t need to pay attention.

Instead he can watch the much younger version of his lover and Force, he’s still so pretty. ‘Oh Obi-Wan.’

Three weeks ago Mace had mid sparring session with Plo fallen straight to the sparring mats, convulsion and warping Force all around him. Two week ago he had woken up in the Halls wondering why he had his arms when he was sure Skywalker cut them off after they had fought Palpatine.

One week ago he had managed to get everything sorted out in a manner he could understand.

He was back in time.

To before everything had started to snowball so terribly.

He was back before Qui-Gon had died.

Before the invasion of Naboo had properly started though he could do nothing about it.

He could however start changing what happened in the temple.

And he was back with the young version of his lover who had never looked at him and shyly called him by name.

But he could win that back.

He could win his Obi-Wan back.

Mace just needed to be careful and not pull on too many strings at once.

‘First order of business…make sure the gundark survives and that Skywalker gets into the creche instead of right with a master. Make sure he makes FRIENDS.’ He thought as he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face.

That had been one of the problems.

Skywalker’s isolation which caused him to confide in Palpatine.

If he had friends his age, friends who at least tried to understand and an open Master, then things would work out.

Mace hoped.

Kriff they couldn’t let that boy leave the temple to be easy prey for Palpatine.

Not training him was just as dangerous as letting him be trained.

And all the while a sith in disguise at the heart of the Senate.

How kriffed up wasn’t that?

He’d best follow them to Naboo.

()()()

Spitting out a vile Haruun curse, Mace stared forward to where Maul was prowling in front of the ray shield with Obi-Wan just on the other side of it, staring back. Then he threw a glance back to where Qui-Gon was holding his ribs at the very start of the rays, blue eyes wide as he stared at his padawan’s back before he caught Mace eyes.

They seemed to plead with Mace to get to Obi-Wan as fast as he could.

Of course Mace would but he could already tell that Obi-Wan would be facing Maul before he could reach them.

They were all too tired or injured.

Qui-Gon holding his ribs were enough proof of that.

It had spiraled so fast out of control, Maul had targeted Obi-Wan first, had him fall off the catwalk but Obi-Wan was young and had bounced back even as Maul had given a bone creaking (and breaking) kick to Qui-Gon’s chest, shattering several ribs.

And then the other was back at Mace side but this Obi-Wan had never fought at the councilors side and Mace had never fought at padawan Kenobi’s side.

It was different from councilor Kenobi.

No flashy Soresu and not all the skill that Obi-Wan had so proudly gained with years.

So when Mace had been kicked back and almost fallen of the catwalk too, Obi-Wan had sprinted forward into the trap of the sith, lured away and cut off from his support and the older Jedi.

And Mace could already see what the sith was planning in his eyes.

The low snarl on the zabrak, the wild look in blood shot, yellow eyes, the tight grip on the lightstaff and the predatory stalk spoke volumes.

If Maul had his way, there would be one less Jedi to worry about at all.

And Obi-Wan was young and cocky and first in line.

The ray shields went down and Obi-Wan attacked, moving like a predator himself as he tested himself alone against the sith as Mace raced forward once his shields.

To late, far to late.

He was stopped at the last ray shield and he could hear Qui-Gon much further behind, his breath coming in thick gasps from the broken ribs and all Mace could do was pray to Force they hadn’t pierced a lung as he watched Maul and Obi-Wan circle and fight each other like bright eyed territorial predators.

And this was not Master Obi-Wan of the council.

With a scream of pain Obi-Wan got pinned to the wall, end of the lightstaff buried in his right shoulder and making its way through his collarbone in a move that would bisect him if Obi-Wan hadn’t gathered enough sense to push the sith to the other end of the room with the Force.

Yellow eyes glanced at Mace, the Korun seeing the moment the sith became rushed to avoid facing an uninjured master Jedi.

Obi-Wan was injured, his right arm useless but he still sprung to action when the zabrak attacked again and this time, this rushed moment was all he needed as he dodged under the lightstaff instead of the jump he feinted at and with that the deal was sealed.

His blade passed through Maul and parted him perfectly through the waist, cutting waist from torso  as the Sith staggered then fell as the ray shields fell.

“Padawan Kenobi!” Mace marched forward as Obi-Wan fell to his knees, his hand going to the others uninjured shoulder as he heard Qui-Gon move as quickly as his injured ribs would allow him behind I the hallway.

Obi-Wan looked up, green eyes wide and full of pain and Mace had to resist the urge to lean down and kiss that pain away as he looked to the sith.

“I-I think I killed him.” Obi-Wan rasped out, saber still activated and held in a knuckle tight grip.

“I recon so.” And anything else Mace might have said was broken off by Qui-Gon’s arrival on the scene, the man gasping out Obi-Wan’s name and kneeling down beside him, arm around his ribs and his hand reached out towards the injury burned into the padawans shoulder, his eyes only filled with worry.

Perhaps it did Obi-Wan some good to see, to know he was loved and cared for and adored.

It seemed to ease something inside the redhead that Mace had spent far to many nights kissing off the others face when it was just the two.

“Oh Obi-Wan…bright little imp.” He whispered while touching as gingerly as he could, peeling the tunic away from the injury and making a low shushing noise when Obi-Wan whimpered and finally thumbed his weapon off.

Mace gave them the illusion of privacy by moving to the sith’s body, taking the mans belt to check it.

Perhaps something akin to evidence could be found.

Anything to connect Maul to the puppet master.

‘Anything to improve the future.’ He glanced back to Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. ‘And give me that love back.’