ชีวิตปกป้องชีวิต!

-> Lifeweaver (Overwatch) Stimboard !

-> with pink + flower stims !

-> Requested by anon!

and once she gets comfortable enough with him again, Satya switches away from using "Niran", and neither she nor the story's narration ever call him that again.

in the end that shape is always right. in the end the image of someone you don’t even remember brings the most disgusting familiarity — it was always you, sealed it, you. he wouldn’t have killed your mother if not for you. he wouldn’t have died if not for you. filthy, putrid, disgusting little fucking monster. why couldn’t you fucking die too?

there’s glass stinging in your skin. odds are, you’ll dig it deeper to punish yourself for how you feel. your claws click together nervously. you feel nothing looking at this man, not an inch. you feel nothing but a stinging, acrid, terrible hate burning in your stomach. you have to stop yourself when your brain springs up the image you want to conjure — paint the wall with a canvas splash from a soft, supple throat.

“because there’s four more guys downstairs and he’s going to kill you.”

you can’t stop thinking about it. what a terrible fucking feeling, sinking in your gut. monster monster monster monster monster monster you want to rip yourself open.

“so are the fucking rest of them, niran.”

He can't even argue against that. Not really. Even as the customary 'he wouldn't have hurt me' tries to wriggle its way up his throat and through his lips. Niran might not have known his capturers true intentions, they might have killed him as soon as they squeezed the money from those he loves, but that still doesn't excuse attempted murder!

It doesn't!

He wants to howl like a mad thing. Violence only begets more violence. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. This is what he knows to be true--the very tenements of his core beliefs. Hurting someone--killing them even--he's not worth that. He's not.

The thought of violence being done in his name makes him want to throw up. A few dangerously wet sounding gags has him believing he's close to spewing up bile, but he manages to hold himself together, barely, trembling as damp lashes bat away the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.

❝ Please. ❞ His whisper is hoarse, crackling--sandpaper scraping his throat. ❝ I just want to go home. ❞ A sniffle. ❝ No more. I just want to go-- ❞

I don’t care. Just stop expecting every relationship to follow a specific pattern and instead find the beauty you both want in your specific relationship with that other person.

you hear your whip snap along the gargoyle overhead when you jump, swing yourself in with glass shattering in a panic. you see his panic, see his agony, see his sudden, desperate snapping, perhaps no different sometimes than the dog you can be. a prey animal caught in a snare.

you’re eyes behold the tableaux of scarlet you create — the phone is dead on the floor, face-up, reflects you as you step over it and into the welling puddle. the guy’s knee is a thing of the past, cords and muscle, tendon torn like having stepped on a landmine. you think about blowing his brains out without so much as blinking but your hand doesn’t twitch — instead, you rush to the other, claws slicing through fiber rope.

He falls forward with the force of his own struggles as he's set free, cheek scraping against the warehouse floor. But he can't acknowledge that small amount of pain--not now.

Niran can't even bring himself to look at his saviour right now, golden gauntlet stretched out and a light already forming into a lotus bloom in the center of his palm. Biolight will fix this. It'll have to. The first bloom is weak, but it hits its mark right on target, sinking into the mash of flesh at the man's knee.

A few more flings of biolight slows the bleeding to a trickle, a few more begins to help flesh knit. It's not surgery or magic; the man might never walk the same again, but at least he's not in danger of hemorrhaging.

❝ I'm s-- ❞ The apology dies a swift death on his tongue. How can he possibly say anything adequate enough? This man may never use his knee for as long as he lives. He will have to live in constant pain, and for what? Because he made a stupid mistake? Because he didn't realise that the person he kidnapped--probably out of desperation--had connections?

Because Niran wasn't silver-tongued enough?

so when niran is in danger your only regret is that you weren’t earlier aware. your database had not pinged the weaver of life in time, and now you find yourself taking every skill you can throw at the wall to make sure he’s safe. you track every movement; you prepare yourself well. what he doesn’t know is that you’re not afraid of this at all. you’ve rolled right up to this situation as ready to go as you can get.

you glance the quick glint of an ivory hue and deep tan and you feel your throat bob when you swallow. the shot is perfect — you’re going to shoot that fuck right in the kneecap, and you have two other shots lined up. you have the room in your goggles, candy-red, his image still something you can see from every angle. you fearlessly adjust your shoulders and settle the rifle’s butt against you like an old familiar friend. you speak one word.

“no.”

The shot goes off, leaving nothing but loud, ringing static in its wake. Then a guttural scream rends through the stillness. Who is screaming?

Niran realises too late that the wounded cry is coming from his mouth, ruining his vocal cords. Even so, he cannot stop, wide brown eyes unable to look away from the pool of slow oozing blood and flesh bubbling up from the massive gunshot wound.

The world blurs for a second before something hot and wet makes its way down his cheeks. Tears, he thinks belatedly. Everything is belatedly as if he's swimming through lotus ponds back home, dark with brackish debris. The man, one of his kidnappers, is curled up in a foetal position now, clutching his shredded knee.

Biolight's supposed to be strong enough to heal the world. What good is he if he can't even wield it to heal another? Please. Please.