#warrued

He’s worn holes in his gloves again and he knows he shouldn’t write home to his mother for a new pair when the rest of his regiment doesn’t have the same luxury. They’d expected him to complain about the lumpy cot and the lack of fine china out in the field. They’d expected him to not be able to carry himself as a soldier. He’d set off since day one to prove them damn wrong. And I can't stop 'til the whole world knows my name... 

THE  RISE  OF  SKYWALKER  !    @warrued​​  sent  :    ❛    i  mean  we  can  do  this  all  night  .    ❜      (    star  wars  of  course  ...    )

                  IF  HE  COULD  AVOID  THE  INFIRMARY  ,    HE  WOULD  .    KYLO  had  been  successful  thus  far  ,    despite  the  protests  and  pleas  from  his  parents  .    so  long  as  he  had  a  medkit  to  deal  with  it  himself  he  was  fine  ,    but  this  time  he  wasn’t  so  lucky  as  to  avoid  a  trip  .    mainly  because  he’d  been  unconscious  when  they’d  totted  him  off  towards  the  Resistance’s  medical  center  after  a  mission  resulted  in  an  injury  .

                                    he  wasn’t  entirely  convinced  that  the  General  hadn’t  ordered  for  him  to  be  sedated  so  her  son  wouldn’t  escape  a  visit  .

                                    that  didn’t  mean  he  was  going  to  go  along  with  this  .

Minute by minute he feels his awareness fading, ferried by small glow of warmth as she draws a rough blanket over him and presses him gently into bed. Armitage raises once more, for but fleeting moment to press a kiss to Connie's cheek, the murmur of ❛ Thank you mum, ❜ fading into the silence along with his consciousness.

❝ No operating dispatch on painkillers, huh? ❞ He arches a brow almost incredulously. ❝ How long do think I will be stuck on medical leave? ❞

Perhaps it was the soft sternness of @warrued's tone or the kind gleam in her eyes that subdued his incessant irritation over wasting away in a med-cot, when there was work to be done. It was she alone who could console him, much like his mother had, all those years ago.

A plethora of ponderings propel through the multifarious stratums of his bleary mind. Dawn bleeds into dusk, and all the stages in between fade into afterthought. Years upon a star destroyer have offset his internal clock –churning the cosmos into an endless gyre of liquensecent color, stirring in tune with the aeonian agenda unspooling in the back of his head. Work was an inevitable constant that haunted him even in sleep. So seldom was there time to halt and enjoy the simplicity of life, or spare a moment to heed the dull ache in his bones. And yet here he was, condemned to bedrest, in the aftermath of a nasty shot to the shoulder that had unceremoniously slipped beneath the veil of his adept awareness in the wake of a public appearance. Perhaps his age was beginning to catch up with him. Perhaps- 

He is not particularly inclined either way. If there is music, he prefers it to be soft enough for him to hear his partner. He has a tendency to observe and absorb sounds, trembles, expressions, all of the little nuances that color his s/o during their entanglement. At least, during the moments when he is lucid enough to do so.

a comprehensive list of scenarios / accepting @warrued sent: HEAL :  for one muse to nurse the other back to health from a sickness or injury.