Augusnippets Day 5 - Tumblr Posts

Augusnippets Day 5: Drunk Caretaking

Fandom: Star Wars The Clone Wars

Summary: Obi-wan takes care of Anakin after Anakin's 21st birthday.

"This should be a long night." Obi-wan sighed as he watched his Padawan stumble out of the bar. Anakin was 21 now. Maybe it was just wishful thinking that he hadn't drank until then, but still Obi-wan felt he should take Anakin out for his first legal drink.

"Obi-wan" Anakin laughed. "I think I'm drunk."

"Very my friend."

"Can we go home?" Anakin was still laughing.

"Yes. Yes we can." So Obi-wan walked Anakin back to the temple. He grabbed a trash can from the corner of the room and put it beside his old Padawan's bed. Then he sat down with him.

"I'm gonna throw up" Anakin chuckled.

"I know." Grabbing Anakin's long hair, Obi-wan pulled it back. Then, as he said he would, the Jedi threw up. When he was done, the older of the two took a cup of water in his hands and handed it to the other.

That night, Obi-wan pulled up a chair and waited for Anakin to fall asleep. When he did, the other jedi made sure the blanket rested on his body and refilled his water. Anakin was going to have a bad hangover in the morning and Obi-wan wanted to do whatever he could to make sure he could get over it.

After setting the room up, Obi-wan wrote out a small note and placed it on the bedside table. "Dear Anakin. I hope you do not feel too sick this morning. I took you back to the temple, in case you don't remember. Call me if you need anything. Happy birthday. Obi-wan." He figured Anakin would appreciate the message.

Sighing, Obi-wan walked to the door. He smiled as he walked out of the room, making sure the door didn't close too hard behind him. It wasn't hard to guess that Anakin would be a pain in the morning. But you only turn 21 once so at least he had fun. Walking back to his room, Obi-wan couldn't help but smile. At least Anakin was a funny drunk.

@augusnippets day 5

Drunk/ Feverish/ Concussed Caretaking

Drunk Caretaker, past conditioning, kind of reference to past noncon at the end, past capture, pet whump

°°°

"Mhhh... here, Whumpee... ya want some?" Caretaker wiggled the bottle enticingly, their speech slurring. The liquid inside the bottle was a kind of electric blue— definitely didn't look like something Whumpee wanted in their body. Caretaker was drunk and acting like a stupid six-year-old. Again.

Still, they crawled forward and raised their head, sticking their tongue out slightly— just what they were supposed to do when offered a drink.

Caretaker let out a dramatic gasp, pulling the bottle away and spilling a considerable amount by the time it reached the end table. "No, Whumpee," they whispered too loudly, their reaction entirely too dramatic and emotional, "you don' have to do that for me, yeah? 'M just here 'n offering 'cause I love ya."

Whumpee winced with both embarrassment for themself and second-hand embarrassment from Caretaker's vulnerable blabbering. They yelped as Caretaker pulled them up onto the couch, grinning like they won the lottery. "I ssssssolemnly promise that I will never, ever, nevereverneverever EVER make you do stuff like that, yeah?" Caretaker scratched the short hair on Whumpee's scalp. "You're my buddy... not an- an animal, 'kay? I'm not makin you suck my cock or, fuckin', kiss my feet or whatever the shit Whumper made ya' do. You're just my buddy, got it?"

Whumpee nodded, trapped in a bear hug. Caretaker beamed at then, ruffling their hair. They continued to pet Whumpee and watch TV until they fell asleep.

Whumpee couldn't believe how Caretaker was acting! So gushy and vulnerable, it was jarring. They were going to get themself killed, acting all emotional all the time!

...

Whumpee wished they could act like Caretaker. They wished they could loosen up like that without the fear of being taken advantage of again.

Maybe they should try.

Break Rocks; Breaktime

Augusnippets day 5: drunk caretaking | concussed caretaking | feverish caretaking

Word count: 495

Trigger warnings: implied/referenced vomiting, injury, minor blood, implied/referenced slavery

——————(0)——————

“Wakey wakey, eggs ‘n bakey!” Brier chirped quietly.

With a jolt, Karmic finally came to, eyes snapping open wide and pupils … probably slitted to nothingness, since she couldn’t see them. His thin sleep cocoon raced away in a rush of frost, but his instinctive attack stopped, the consequences of how he’d twitched catching up. He didn’t do anything so loud as groan or curse, but his face said everything about how heavily he regretted waking up.

“Brier,” he said after a strained moment. He was starting to categorize all the bumps and scrapes he had—she saw his fingers flex subtly, then a cascade up his limbs as he made sure all his joints were in working order. She also saw when he got to his twisted ankle, judging from his obvious wince.

“Hi, Karmic!” Brier murmured. “Checked you for internal, spinal injuries, you’re good. No breaks in your ankle, just sprained. No lumps on your head. Your pupils are the same size, too! You’re not gonna vomit or kill the sun, right?”

“No,” Karmic said, rolling his shoulders, then stared sulkily at his turtleneck, which was slightly torn, spattered with blood, and covered in rock dust. His gaze flickered over to Brier for a split second. “Fun fact about your head, though.”

“I think I slammed head-first into the ground,” Brier admitted. Nothing else would make ol’ reliable earth damage her so much. The concussion would go away in two days, sure, but it was impressive that she was concussed at all. “We got off lucky.”

(A sprawled, unmoving form; blood seeping into the river. Yes, they’d been lucky.)

“I’ll say,” Karmic muttered, now staring up the slope they’d tumbled down. “How did we get down here? And how am I …?”

“… Um. The metal mage could conjure magic-canceling shackles,” Brier said. One of her hands curled into a fist. “Another slammed you with a sleep spell instantly after.”

“Fuck,” Karmic spat. His hand aborted a movement towards his deep, obvious eyebags.

“We’ll fix it,” Brier said. Hopefully they could. A weakness to sleep spells because of lack of sleep aside, those eyebags really weren’t healthy. “The teleporter tried grabbing you when you dropped. And I ….”

(A burn, starbursting and charred on the side of a pale neck. Nightmares, hostility; a newfound hatred for small, locked places.)

“That’s a telling skill range,” she said. “So I threw a boulder. And accidentally caused a little rockslide.”

“A little rockslide, she says,” Karmic mocked, fingers ghosting up to make sure the collar of his turtleneck was intact. “Those fucking slavers”—his lips peeled back to reveal fangs—“better be alive.”

“Waiting for the guard to pick’em up!” Brier confirmed, pointing at three lumps of rock, then turned her sway at the motion into a turn, presenting her back. “Up! I’ll be your legs, you’ll be my brain.”

There was a mutinous pause. Then arms circled her neck—she hefted him up, wavered, then started walking.