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naffeclipse · 2 days ago

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Tusks

Reader x Yeti!Sun & Moon

Commission Info

The lovely @divinit3a requested their Frostbite AU with their cryptid Arctic boys, which was an absolute delight! There's snow, there's local legends, and there's the fellas themselves! I had such a great time writing them, and I'm so glad for the chance to write Sun being so extra monstrous and Moon as soft and sweet. Enjoy!

Content Warnings: Animal death, blood, gore, and fear.

———

The evening light slants golden over the frozen tundra, the sky softening to a popsicle pink hue. Trees and jagged mountain outcroppings alike cast shadows which turn the snow blue and the rocks and bark of willows dark and thick. You cheerfully continue deeper along the expansive land, hiking in snug boots and thick layers of clothing that loudly rub in a high pitch zip with each stride you take.

This journey is very ill advised—but that has rarely stopped you from chasing after what you wanted. Vanessa, the one who strictly told you not to leave the town set on the frozen edge of the sea at the North Pole, warned her to wait for either her or an official crew before you started chasing after myths and folklore in the region. But one night in and hearing about the local abominable snowman propelled you forward into a solo day trek into the frigid wilds just beyond town.

Yeti. Local legend. Tall tale. “The ice devil” is too great of a story to pass up. You set out to find a hook, a real, captivating myth to jot down upon your notebooks and preserve on your voice recorder, and you are not going to disappoint yourself.

Stories are as important as reality, as nature itself. Stories are how people keep themselves alive. You continue the tradition by writing reports for a renowned wildlife and wilderness journal. Nothing would give you more pleasure than to witness first hand the places and conditions which swirl the rumors of a creature so inexplicable lurking along the edges of the town.

It was once thriving too. Even before the tourism died down, the town hushly boasted of the local cryptid that were said to roam in blizzards after dark. You’ve walked between the frozen houses and down the thin strip meant to behave as the mainstreet—it is struggling.

Perhaps a new, fresh story could bring attention back to such a place. It could do good to remind the world that there are still stories here, waiting to be heard, wishing to inspire awe and fright and imagination.

You slide between two giant boulders slick with frost and reach a fantastic overlook at the top of a crag. The town seems so small and far away. The sun is setting low, the perfect golden hour setting upon you like a caress from a loved one saying goodbye. You brush a gloved hand against your nose. It drips slightly, and you can already imagine how bright-red and cold-bitten you must look.

It’s going to be a trek back down. You frown slightly, studying the distance. Maybe the town really is far away. You have… less than a perfect amount of time to return to your shelter for the night. You simply don’t have the gear to survive a night in the Arctic tundra without additional aid, but that’s no matter. You’re on your way back to your rental room.

Ignore the slight ringing of Vanessa’s voice in your mind, terse and firm, telling you to wait for her, you turn around to find a way to slip down the mountain. You couldn’t help but be allured by the beautiful tundra and the rising mouths of caves and caverns alike. Icicles hang thick as harpoons from the mouths of openings in the mountain and snow piles are so thick in some areas, it would bury you alive to step in them.

You’ve been careful. You’ve traveled slowly and mindfully, and stopped to jot down your notes in a notebook before pulling out the voice recorder to wander aloud about how the environment has crafted a perfect abominable snowman for the locals to chat about.

Of course, you’re convinced there is no such thing. Stories are born for the need of understanding. One night, a long long time ago, someone saw something in the snow and it seemed larger than reality and taller than life, and then they never saw it again. The understanding of it drifted perfectly into place as a monster. One can wrap their head around a spooky thing when it fits the criteria of horror within their mind, and it becomes a way for people to warn others from wandering too far or staying out at night when the temperature drops to lethal negative digits.

A new understanding was born. The story of the yeti thrives.

You drop down towards a sprawling of trees. The mountain still looms tall and dark behind you, its pale face darkening with the change of the light. You almost lose sight of the sun over the sharp slopes and peaks—but you’re sure these are your own foot tracks you’re following back.

And Vanessa was so worried about you. You grin only for yourself to know.

A tempting ice cavern opens up along your side. It’s yawning mouth is towering and the inside is deep and dark. You stop a moment to gaze within, picturing a monster lunging from its depth at a poor, unsuspecting victim. Quickly, you pull out your recorder and make a few vocal notes about the textures and impressions of the cavern. Could more ice be inside, thickly burrowing underground?

Something to return to later. Vanessa will have to explain more to you, and you’ll ask if she’ll deign to take you on a tour inside one of them. She’s so severe about anything—it can’t simply be the lack of light in half the year or the weather. No, that’s just her disposition.

Around a bend of willow trees, thick with snow clinging to its dangling branches like an umbrella beaded in white, you walk without care. Striding forward, followed the edge of several smaller caverns, still impressive but not comparable in size, your eyes fall to the ground you tread.

The snow is disturbed. Long and lengthy strides of something small, and there are multiples of them. You slow your rush to peer closer under the deep shadow you’re caught within. Paw prints. Large, impressive animal tracks.

Wolves.

You slowly straighten, intrigued. Did they pass through here? Perhaps they caught your sense and curiously lingered. You trek through the little patch of willows, studying the strangeness of which the snow is disturbed, markings that are too thick and long to be from wolves, but could perhaps come from them falling into the snow and rolling. Why would wolves roll around here? This couldn’t be a local resting spot for them, could it?

The division between shadow and brilliant, bright sunlight glittering on snow is a stark threshold. You reach it, stepping from the trees’ shelter only to stop in the golden glare of a sunset.

Further ahead is a wolf in the path. It lies upon the snow, terribly still. Your pulse pricks up along your throat as you stare. The beautiful, thick coat of the creature is ripped to shreds, stained with blood which languidly spills out around it.

Your skull empties of rational understanding. As if compelled by morbid curiosity, you step closer, reaching its unmoving side.

Its tongue luls out of its mouth. Eyes, wet and open, stare lifelessly. The hide is decorated with severe gouges, exposing its entrails. Heat ever so delicately rises in misty wisps into the frigid air. The carcass, missing pieces, is not even cold yet.

Something was eating it.

A crunch of snow echoes further down the path. You startle. An instinct, animalistic and wild within you, scratches at your heart. Go. Hide.

You obey. Flinging yourself back from the clearing of the dead, eaten wolf, you hunker behind a cluster of frosted rocks. Dropping to your knees, the light barely glancing off the icy edges of the stones, you throw yourself into its shadow.

The crunch of snow shifts into footsteps, heavy and quick. You press a glove over your mouth, afraid the smoke of your breath could somehow give your position away.

The footsteps stop. The stillness turns your blood to slush.

“Oh my,” a curious voice singsongs. It’s high and bouncy with a strange, radio-like static underlying its tone. “Friend? Come on out. I can share.”

The demand is too cheerful. Friend you are not. You hold your breath, terrified as you lean your head against the cold, unforgiving rock.

“Reveal yourself before I find you,” the voice still is strong, but a strain hits its cords.

You are doing no such thing.

“How rude,” the voice pouts.

The crunch of snow becomes a rapid sharpness of footsteps, and then silence.

The back of your neck prickles. You lift your head back, back, back—

A face of gold and rust stares back down at you, a crown of sharp, splayed icicles framing the creature's head, with a grin stained in blood just behind two golden, metallic tusks. Thick white fur clings to the monster’s frame.

The ice devil.

“There you are,” his voice deepens into a growl most dreadful. A hand, large and clawed, dripping blood, reaches over the rocks.

You throw yourself to your feet. Almost knocking into a willow, snow falling from the branches and catching like dozens of wayward diamonds in the sunlight, you run.

The creature snarls and quickly strides behind you. Your heart thunders in your ears.

You almost trip over a rock and the creature tuts a sharp sound of rebuke, calling for you to stop. Breathless, fighting the tightening of your throat, you race back towards the ice caverns. A hapless thought of losing it in one of the caves crosses your mind. You step towards the fine division between shadow and sunlight upon the ground, and pump your legs with all your might.

A large hand closes on your shoulder, twisting you back to face him while throwing you to the ground. It knocks the breath from your lungs. In a split second, the creature of wild white fur and golden plates is upon you. He pins you down neatly, as if you were a small toy for his hands to enjoy shaking about.

“Friend,” he beams, tusks decorated in red, “There’s not enough time!”

You struggle, your boots sliding against snow while you panic without air in your body. Your head spins. The yeti crouches over you, far too close for comfort. One eye is wide and pale, icy blue. The one is damaged, scratched, with a star-like prick of blue deep in its black center.

His claws squeeze your shoulder. His other palm sits on your chest, keeping you in place.

“I won’t get to play with my friend,” he pouts and snarls the next, “How naughty of you to run from me.”

The air trickles slowly back into your gaping mouth. You scramble, clutching at his arms in a vain attempt to push him off you, but you only succeed in smearing blood onto your coat.

The shadows stretch deeper. The monster tilts his head, the impressive icicle jags upon his head spinning like crystals in the air. He releases your shoulder to drag the back of a claw down your cheek, leaving you to whimper with precious little breath.

“We can play,” he decides. “You can run and I’ll hunt you down.”

You frantically mewl, trying to push out from underneath him but he cages you in his long and looming figure. He laughs, bordering on maniacal.

“Keep struggling, little hare,” he growls, “It’ll make you taste all the better—if you don’t behave.”

You suck in a sharp breath at the first cool brush of shadows on your face. The yeti snarls a guttural, temperamental sound. His claws sink into the front of your coat, pricking the fabric.

“No, no, no!” His other hand flies to his face, covering it as the evening gives way to twilight, and the gold upon his particular face fades to a silver and black.

Unhanded, you push yourself out from underneath the monster before bolting straight back into the thicket of the willows. You dash madly. Your footsteps remain in the snow, calm and steady, now smeared with your backtracking as you rediscover the great opening of the ice cavern from earlier, and toss yourself inside with all your might.

You race into the darkness. The coldness turns your breath into thick smoke before your lips. Your heart pounds while your fingers and toes grow numb. You ignore the paint of red upon your clothing, left on your cheek.

Stories are understanding. A warning. A way to survive.

The ice devil should have been a story.

The rounded walls of the ice cavern grow narrow. Panic hooks into you, sharp and cold, as you push yourself against the wall. The cold bites at your nose. Your head swims as black stains the edges of your vision—or is it that dark?

You slip down to your knees. Clutching yourself, your body shakes violently with shock and icy temperatures. This is too dangerous for you to lie low in—you won’t make it through the night.

Footsteps click into the icy entrance. You lift your head, staring at the large figure taking up the entrance with a thick, wild coat of undisguisable white. Shrinking closer to the frozen ground, you bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

The figure draws near. The low light of the deepening twilight barely reaches inside. Your heart struggles in your ribcage, clawing at your sternum. You can no longer hold your breath. A faintness takes hold.

A head snaps towards you, two sharp and icy horns upon the crown of its head, paired with two dark tusks. Something long and fluffy sways behind its head—a nightcap. The creature lumbers towards you upon lethargic steps. You yelp as it stands over you, eyes blue and piercing, but his expression is far less bloody.

A sluggish hand reaches for you. Fear strikes so thick in your mind, you freeze without any adrenaline to protect you. The hand lifts you off your feet and pulls you against its body. You briefly struggle.

“Stop,” a voice comes, low and raspy, and exhausted, “Hold still.”

You obey, if only due to being struck dumb by the difference in the voice from only moments before.

Long and thickly furred limbs wrap around you. A cloak, white and heavy, drapes over you until you’re snuggled against the creature’s chest, held secure in lithe arms.

Surprisingly gentle, the ice devil ensures every part of you is coated in the warmth of his attire. The fluff is wild and warm. The relief it brings is instant despite your shaking limbs, and you stare, wide eyed, up at the mysterious face of silver.

“Sun…” he mutters, shaking his head. His tusks cut through the air before he looks down at you. “It’s alright now.”

You don’t know if you believe him, but your body sags, and the blackness flanking your vision engulfs you entirely. The last fleeting sensation is a claw touching your cheek, wiping away blood.

#naff's writing commissions #frostbite au #oh i love me some monsters #especially the kind that chases you!#naff writing

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bean-spring · 3 days ago

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You can understand Helena's complexity, the reasons behind her actions and the inherent connection between her and Mark that is clearly there beyond questioning if she's Helly or not ("that sort of kinship carry over from innie to outie"), because at the end of the day, she is her (in different circumstances and enviornments).

But that doesn't mean that outside of the poetry and natural attraction between them there isn't the whole question of whether this is right or wrong. It isn't just "this is rape and she's inherently and utterly evil" or "they're the same person and she's also hurt, so it's okay" because that would minimize what the show is working so hard on. And that is fucking with our heads making us wonder who we truly are, what things would make us commit these actions, what truly is freedom, and at what point we stop being ourselves.

Let me make this clear (it's just my opinion): No, it wasn't consensual. Mark didn't consent to having sex with Helena. He thought it was Helly. That part is obvious to everyone. The whole "he said he doesn't care who she is outside, but he cares who she is with him, so it is consensual!" doesn't matter when he actually doesn't know who the fuck she is. He is being lied to. He said that because he thought he was talking to his Helly and didn't care who she was outside because, at the end of the day, despite being the same people, innies are practically born again (socially) and build a personality and experiences from the very beginning, from their very first memory that is appearing in the office (Dan literally refers to this point of their lives as "adolescense" while S1 was "childhood"). And they keep fighting for their rights and individual freedom.

I don't think we're giving this its proper depth, tbh. It isn't just "Helena wasn't Helly here". It's: Helena has way more knowledge than Mark has, while Mark believes they're both on the same page. Helena went there hoping for an experience in specific with him (selfishly), while for Mark it happened way more organically. Helena has said she doesn't view innies as human and has been watching them as if they were a Sims 4 gameplay. For Mark, it's Helly and the fact that their connection goes beyond that night while for Helena it's not that much about Mark himself. There is a clear, obvious power difference in here and she is, after all, for now, one of the antagonists. We can't forget that.

But it isn't just "evil" or "bad" or "cruel". Because Helena, due to the lack of freedom in her own life, is in the same place (in a different enviornment, though and turning that into power over others instead) as them. She longs for a human connection she has never experienced before. She is broken and torn apart about who she truly is. She uses Mark to experience this, yes, but at what point does that turn into real attraction? At what point her jealousy towards her innie and dehumanization of both herself and the group turns into her also realizing she's the same and understanding Mark? At what point does Mark fall for and embrace the kinship that connects Helly/Helena (that guilt and shame and lack of freedom and yearning for love) instead of just seeing double? At what point does Helena stop seeing a chance to experience love to start seeing... Just Mark?

And after ALL OF THAT it still doesn't make it okay to do what she did.

In the most natural, poetic, human perception of this scene, there is a connection between no matter who they are. But memories and shared experiences are also a huge part of ourselves, we do change with them. Both Mark and Helly have said multiple times that they don't see themselves as an extension of their outies and are their own selves. It doesn't matter whether they are the same or not, it's how they see it. Mark never agreed to share his body with Helena specifically and that's taking away from him the chance of choosing individually. His freedom.

In my opinion it was 100% rape but it's way deeper than just that. It's still awful, though, and we have to start learning to embrace complex characters and try to understand them without only being guided by our IRL moral compass.

#'we want more complex female characters' and you can't even handle helena i fear #you're not being forced to like her but at least don't go to extremes when it's obvious it's not black and white #same thing goes for the ones defending her! she has said/done awful things. embrace that. love her character because of that!#we had this discussion back in the old american horror story days and even if that was more obviously rape this reminds me so much of that #friendly reminder than having sex with someone pretending to be someone you're not IS rape btw i'm seeing people defending that lately #if i see someone else also saying the whole 'but mark kissed helly without his innie's consent' i'm going to cry bc that's NOT the same #personally i loved the sex scene bc it made me furious and it was still beautiful and complex and awakened questions and strong feelings #which is what art is supposed to be #am i gonna get a lot of hate for this one post i'm lowkey scared #although i literally said nothing but 'yes it wasn't consensual but have you considered they're complex fictional characters'#i kinda sound like i'm defending helena and i'm definitely not btw but i do love her character #anyway here ends my complaining for the week goodbye #severance #helena eagan #helly r #mark scout #severance spoilers

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jetii · 20 hours ago

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Event Horizon Chapter Seven: Forward (Rex POV Rewrite)

Contribution to @clonexocweek | Theme: Introduction

Pairing: Rex x Soma (Goldie)

WC: 3,081

Tags/Warnings: Rex being an awkward cutie patootie as per usual, mention of blood/battle scenes

A/N: This is a retelling of Rex and Goldie's second meeting in my x reader longfic Event Horizon from Rex's perspective. The timing of this week perfectly synced up with the latest chapter where it's revealed just how down horrendous Rex is for her, so I'm thrilled about that lol.

Experimenting with third person perspective vs second person here and in future EH one-shots for my own amusement. Soma "Goldie" Anathorn is my pride and joy Reader turned OC, and some day I'd like to rewrite EH in third person too.

Join the Taglist | Masterlist

When Rex walks into the hangar, trailing behind Commander Tano, he's expecting to see General Skywalker and Cody. He's expecting a plan, a list of objectives, a timeline.

He's not expecting her.

At first, it's not her he sees, just a Jedi. It's her clothes, and the lightsaber, and the confident set of her shoulders. He'd read the briefing, of course. But the briefing didn't say much. The briefing didn't include what General Soma Anathorn looked like, how she carried herself, what her voice sounded like. It certainly didn't include that she was the very same Jedi he'd pulled out of the desert on Geonosis.

And then she's turning, and the shock is so great that he nearly trips over his own feet.

He'd recognize those eyes anywhere. They'd been burned into his mind for months, the color, the emotion, the depth. They're a little softer now, a little less intense, but there's no mistaking them.

She recognizes him, too. He can see it in the way her eyes widen, in the way her mouth parts. There's a look on her face, a hint of awe, and he wonders if he looks the same, if the shock is mirrored in his expression.

Her mouth moves, her lips shaping his name, and it feels as though time slows. He's standing in the sand again, the sun beating down on his armor, the heat making his skin prickle. The smell of sweat and dirt and blood is in the air, and the sounds of the battle echo in his ears. He can hear the buzzing of the bugs, the cries of the dying, the distant explosions.

As quick as the memory comes, it's gone. He's back in the hangar, and she's saying his name, and the world spins back into focus.

She looks the same. The same dark, wild hair, the same warm skin, the same fierce determination. The features are just as beautiful and striking as he remembers, even more so without the blood and dust and exhaustion.

She looks the same, and it's a punch to the gut, like he's been thrown out an airlock and can't breathe. He'd forgotten, somehow, the effect she'd had on him. The effect she was still having. She looks just as she did in his dreams, just as she did when he'd thought about her, wondered what became of her. And now, here she is. He has half a mind to pinch himself, just to see if he's awake.

And then he remembers where he is and who's watching, and the feeling is replaced by embarrassment. He schools his expression into a mask of calm professionalism and tries to suppress the flush on his cheeks.

"Do you two know each other?" Ahsoka asks. Rex fights the urge to glare at her. It's an innocent question, and he knows it, but he can't help the annoyance. She looks like she's barely containing her glee, the grin on her face so wide her eyes are crinkling.

"We've met," Rex manages. The words sound strange, like they're coming from someone else, but they're steady. It's a small mercy. He glances at Skywalker and then back, nodding. "Good to see you again, General."

"Good to see you, too," she replies, and her lips twitch.

Her eyes rove over him, taking him in, and there's an intensity in her gaze that makes his heart race. It's not a bad feeling, not at all. In fact, he's enjoying the attention, if he's being honest. There's something about the way she's looking at him, the way her eyes are locked on his, that makes him feel a little hot under the collar.

For a moment, no one speaks, and the silence stretches between the five of them. General Kenobi is watching him like a hawk, and Skywalker and Ahsoka are exchanging conspiratorial glances. He has a feeling they're going to make fun of him later.

He has no doubt that Ahsoka will tell the rest of the men, and he's not looking forward to the teasing that's sure to come. He's already endured enough teasing about his apparent lack of interest in women and his devotion to his job. He can't imagine the shit he'll have to put up with when word gets out that the woman he's been daydreaming about is actually a Jedi General. And not just any Jedi either. One with a reputation.

But all that is a problem for later. Right now, his only concern is keeping his expression neutral and his pulse steady.

"So, uh, how do you two know each other?" General Skywalker asks after a minute.

"He saved my life," she answers, and there's a hint of a smile in her voice, her eyes still on his. "On Geonosis. He dragged me back to the ship when I was injured."

"It was nothing, sir," he mumbles. He rubs the back of his neck and tries not to let the flush show. "Any trooper would've done the same."

"Maybe, but they didn't," she insists. She takes a step closer to him, and her eyes narrow, her jaw setting. There's a fierceness in her expression, a stubbornness that reminds him of the first time he met her. "You did."

He can't think of anything to say to that, his mind completely devoid of any coherent thought. She's still looking at him like she wants to memorize every inch of his face, and it's making it impossible for him to concentrate.

The sound of General Kenobi clearing his throat breaks the spell, and he snaps his head to the side. The man is looking at him with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, his arms crossed, his expression contemplative. He can't help but wither under his gaze, the scrutiny making him squirm.

General Kenobi is a good man and a good general, but he's also her closest friend and confidant. The two of them are practically family, and it's well known among the men that they're often joined at the hip. He knows, and fears, what the man would do to him if he knew how often Rex had thought about the woman in front of him, and the thoughts he'd had.

But to his relief, General Kenobi simply sighs and shakes his head.

"I can't believe it," he murmurs, and he sounds as bewildered as Rex feels. "The odds..."

"Me either," she says softly.

Kenobi and Skywalker exchange a look, their brows furrowed, and Rex takes the opportunity to steal another glance at her. She's looking back at him, a small smile on her face, and he can't help but return it.

The whole thing is surreal, like something out of the holonovels he keeps tucked under his bunk. To meet her again, here, after everything, seemed almost too good to be true. And yet, she was standing right in front of him.

“Then it seems I owe you a debt of gratitude, Captain," General Kenobi begins, and his words are measured, careful. "For doing what I could not. You have my thanks."

Rex blinks and tears his gaze away from her. Kenobi looks as calm and composed as ever, his hands clasped behind his back, but there's a tension in his shoulders, a stiffness, that betrays his true feelings.

"There's no need for that, sir," he insists. "Anyone would have done the same."

His words are sincere. Any trooper worth their salt would have done the same, would have risked their lives to save a Jedi. But there's a part of him, a tiny, selfish part, that's glad it was him.

As soon as the thought appears, he shoves it down, down into the dark, hidden place in his mind where he keeps all the things he's not allowed to think, the things he doesn't let himself feel. It's not the time or the place, and besides, there's no point. She's a Jedi, and he's a clone, and that's all there is to it.

Kenobi holds his gaze for a moment, and then nods, accepting his answer. He hears Skywalker snort, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ahsoka roll her eyes. He tries not to look annoyed and fails, glaring at the two of them. They respond with matching smirks.

"If you say so, Rex," Anakin says, a teasing note in his voice. He looks over at Kenobi and grins. "Seems like the Force has a sense of humor."

"It appears so," Kenobi agrees, glancing at General Anathorn. "Quite the coincidence, isn't it?"

"It certainly is," she replies, her tone dry.

She arches an eyebrow and shoots them both a pointed look, one that makes Rex's lips quirk upward. He's not the only one on the receiving end of their teasing for once, and it's nice to know that someone understands the feeling.

"I guess I'll be seeing a lot more of you, Rex," she says, and there's a smile on her face, a twinkle in her eyes, that makes his breath catch.

"Yes, it appears that way, sir," he replies, his voice gruff. He forces himself to look away, his eyes darting back to Ahsoka and General Skywalker, and the sight of their matching grins does little to calm him.

"I look forward to working with you," she adds.

Rex can't help but glance back at her, his cheeks warming. He tries, and fails, to fight the smile that's threatening to spread across his face. "Same here."

He knows it's unprofessional, and that he needs to get a grip. But it's hard to keep a cool head when the woman he'd been thinking about for the last six months is standing in front of him and telling him she wants to see more of him.

He'd spent so long trying not to think about her. He'd told himself, repeatedly, that it was silly to hold onto the memory of a single meeting. It was nothing, his brain trying to make sense of the chaos and trauma of Geonosis. That was what he'd convinced himself. The product of adrenaline, and the fact that she was quite literally the first woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

But now, faced with the reality of her, the physicality of her presence, he has to admit that he's not as good at lying to himself as he thought.

"As touching as this is," General Skywalker begins, and he claps a hand on Ahsoka's shoulder. "We really should be going. Felucia won't liberate itself."

The young Togruta sighs, her head drooping slightly, but she allows herself to be led away. Rex watches her go, his lips forming a tight line.

"Right," Kenobi says, turning to her. "We shall see you on the ground."

He motions for General Anathorn to follow him, and she takes a few steps towards the transport before stopping. She glances over her shoulder at Rex, a small, apologetic smile on her face, and her eyebrows lift.

"I'll be right there," she says to Kenobi.

Rex can't help but stare as General Kenobi's eyes widen, and his lips press together. She shoots him a look that seems to communicate something, and the older Jedi raises an eyebrow. It's strange, the way they seem to have an entire conversation without saying a word, and he can't help but feel like he's intruding on something.

"Of course, my dear," Kenobi finally says, his tone light. "Don't be too long."

Her lips pull downward, and she rolls her eyes, though there's no real annoyance in the expression. Kenobi grins and gives her shoulder a pat, and then turns and waves down Commander Cody.

The two men stand a respectful distance away, and Rex watches them for a moment, debating whether or not to break the silence. He's not sure what he's supposed to say, or even what he wants to say. His mind is a mess of questions and emotions, and it's difficult to focus on any one thought.

She's a Jedi. He knew that. Of course, he did. But seeing her again, it's hard to think of her in the same way. She's different, somehow. More...real.

He's not sure why it matters so much. It's not like she's any different than she was six months ago. But he can't help but feel like everything has changed.

She's watching him, and there's a flush in her cheeks, a shyness in her gaze. She takes a few steps towards him, her arms crossed over her chest, and he has the distinct impression that she's as at a loss as he is.

“It’s...good to see you again, sir. And, uh, it's nice to put a name to a face," Rex finally manages, his voice formal, almost stilted. He keeps his tone light and friendly, hoping that his nerves don't show through.

"Agreed. It's nice to put a face to the name," she replies, and he smirks.

"It's not exactly a unique face, sir, but I appreciate the sentiment," he teases, unable to resist the urge to joke.

The response is immediate. She lets out a short, surprised laugh, and her expression softens, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It sends a shiver down his spine, and his embarrassment melts away, replaced by a surge of pride.

"No, I suppose it's not," she chuckles. Her eyes rove over him, taking in every feature, and his heart skips a beat. "Still, I like it. It suits you."

Rex can't stop the grin that spreads across his face, and his cheeks heat, a warmth spreading through his chest. His brain seems to have stopped working, his mind struggling to form a response.

"Thank you, sir," is all he can manage, the words coming out a little breathless under the weight of her stare.

She gives him another smile, this one more mischievous than the last, and his mouth goes dry. He doesn't think she's teasing him, not intentionally, but the way her lips quirk, the way her eyes shine, makes him suspect that she enjoys seeing him flustered.

The idea doesn't bother him as much as it probably should.

“I didn’t realize you were a Captain now," she continues.

"I am, sir," he answers, grateful for the change in topic. He takes a breath, regaining his composure. "I started my training after Geonosis, and I was promoted to Captain shortly after the start of the war."

"Impressive, Captain," she praises. She leans in slightly, her eyes brightening. "That's quite the accomplishment."

There's a warmth in her tone, a sincerity, that makes him blush again. He tries not to let it show, and he's only partially successful. His lips form a tight line, and he gives a short nod in thanks.

"I always wondered what happened to you," she says slowly. Her gaze drifts away, and she bites her lip, her brows furrowing. “I thought... well, I wasn't sure if you made it out alive."

Her words are raw, honest, and the weight of them hangs heavy in the air. It takes him a moment to process what she's saying, to understand the implication of her statement, and he finds himself blinking, a sense of shock washing over him.

She'd thought about him.

He'd thought about her, too. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that he'd been unable to stop thinking about her. But he'd never expected that she would think about him as well. He'd assumed she'd forgotten him, that his brief appearance in her life was nothing more than a footnote, a passing memory.

But she remembered him. She remembered him, and his name, and what he'd done.

The knowledge fills him with an emotion he can't quite identify, and it takes him a moment to realize that it's gratitude.

"I didn't think you would remember me, sir, if I'm being honest," he manages after a beat, his tone softer, his eyes searching. "But, if it's any consolation, I wondered the same thing."

"How could I forget?" She shakes her head, and the strands of hair sway, framing her face. "I would have died on that planet if it wasn't for you."

His lips part, and his eyebrows raise. He'd had no idea that her condition had been so dire, or that his actions had meant so much to her. It certainly hadn’t felt like that. In his memory, she had fought beside him with a ferocity and skill that he could barely comprehend, and she’d fought stubbornly against his attempts to help her in equal measure.

"And don’t say anyone would have done the same," she interrupts. Her voice is sharp, almost commanding. The look on her face, the stern frown and the narrowed eyes, is both adorable and terrifying. He's not sure whether to be amused or intimidated.

"Alright, I won't," he promises, fighting the urge to laugh.

"Good,” she huffs, and she crosses her arms over her chest, her expression petulant. "Because you'd be wrong."

Rex laughs at her insistence, the sound bursting from his lips before he can stop it. She frowns at him, her eyes narrowing further, and the reaction only makes him chuckle more.

She's ridiculous, and stubborn, and fierce, and incredibly frustrating, and, Maker, he likes her.

"So, you've said," he agrees, once he's composed himself, though the smile remains. "What I was going to say was that you gave me a hell of a fight over it. You were very insistent, as I recall."

"I suppose I was," she admits, and the admission is accompanied by a sheepish laugh. Her cheeks color, and she bites her lip, her eyes lowering. "I was reckless."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, sir," he responds immediately with shake of his head. "You did what you had to do, and it was brave. It's an honor to serve with someone like you."

She pauses, and her eyes widen. For someone so capable, so skilled, it's clear that she's not used to receiving praise. The thought bothers him. He'd seen only a glimpse of what she can do, but he’s starting to suspect that she hasn’t seen it herself. She was a formidable fighter, and the fact that she wasn't aware of that is concerning. A soldier’s confidence is often a matter of life or death, and the lack of confidence can lead to fatal mistakes.

She needs to believe in herself.

He wants her to.

"I don’t know about that," she says, her voice quiet. "But, thank you."

Rex nods. He's not sure how to put his thoughts into words, and he can't quite seem to find the right words. It frustrates him. He's always been a good speaker, had always been able to convey his ideas and his opinions with ease, but something about her makes him hesitate, makes him unsure of himself.

He's not sure why. He doesn't know her.

Well, not really.

"Well, I'd better be going," he blurts out. His eyes flicker over her shoulder, and the sight of Cody and General Kenobi watching, their eyes glued to the two of them, fills him with a sudden sense of self-consciousness. Cody is looking at him like he's lost his mind, and Kenobi is giving him a knowing look.

The feeling intensifies when he realizes just how long they've been standing there, talking, and he tries not to panic.

"Looks like General Kenobi is waiting for you," he says, trying, and failing, to affect a casual tone.

General Anathorn's gaze follows his, and she rolls her eyes. The irritated pout is back, and he bites his cheek to keep from grinning.

"Yes, I can see that," she sighs.

"Good luck, sir," he offers, his tone teasing.

She snorts. "You, too, Captain."

The words are accompanied by an exaggerated sigh, and the corners of his mouth lift, despite his best efforts. She's a far cry from the intimidating figure he'd imagined during the months after their first meeting, and he's enjoying getting to see the more relaxed side of her, the softer, gentler side.

There's a comfortable silence between them, and for a moment, he allows himself to hope. Hope for what, he's not sure, but he hopes nonetheless. Then, a familiar sense of caution washes over him, a cool wave that chases away the warmth in his chest, and he forces himself to turn.

It's not until he's back in the shuttle, surrounded by his men, that Rex allows himself a moment of relief. He'd gotten through the conversation without completely embarrassing himself, and, despite the tension, the awkwardness, the interaction had been... pleasant. He had even managed to make her laugh.

It's enough.

He knows it is.

And yet, he can't shake the feeling that it's not.

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#event horizon #rex x goldie #rex x soma #clonexocweek #clonexocweek2025 #clonexocweek2025 day 1 #rex x oc #roy writes #i definitely didn't proofread this much sorryyyy

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overthinkit-underscore · 2 days ago

Text

THE NARRATOR - You close your eyes, and for a moment, it feels like you're a part of the whole world, and the whole world is a part of you.

this might be the only time in all of Slay the Princess that the Long Quiet isn't likened to "Nothing at all." and it comes from the Narrator, during Apotheosis, when the Long Quiet has already picked up the Pristine Blade. it's simultaneously a pep talk and corrosive manipulation from a delusional man to a sapient entity he only views as the blade they're holding- it's conditional belief, conditional support, conditional love.

(Explore) "I chose to make Her a princess? Why couldn't I have made things easier on myself and picked something small or weak like an ant or a slice of bread?"

THE NARRATOR - Are you asking me to spend my last moments psychoanalyzing you? Sigh. Whatever you viewed her as needed to map on some level to what she was. You couldn't just pick something arbitrary and beneath you. I don't know why you settled on a princess, specifically, but clearly a princess is what you wanted. Maybe she needed to be beautiful. Important. Above you, but on a level you could still approach. A herald of things to come. I don't know. Gods are supposed to be beyond comprehension. I really shouldn't try and anthropomorphize you like this.

That final line is part of why the Narrator treats the Long Quiet so horribly and coldly throughout the game. He fundamentally only sees It and Shifty as the abstract concepts They are. He sees Quiet as a tool, a living weapon He forged for one sole purpose: to slay the Princess. He sees Himself (and all mortal, "real" living beings) as "more important" than It. That's partial narcissism and partial dehumanization on His part.

(Explore) "If you made us, then I want you to know this has been torture."

THE NARRATOR - The inevitability of death is torture. I would gladly put two infinite beings through what you've been through to spare infinite lives from oblivion.

He treats The Long Quiet "poorly" for the same reason you'd be upset at, say, a pesticide for inviting a biblical-scale locust storm to your house, or a car for deciding to take you to Mordor instead of the library down the street. ...It's just in this case, both the pesticide and the locust storm are fully sapient, if eldritch, beings capable of suffering.

and that's why moments like His Echoes have in Happily Ever After are so gut-wrenching,

- I'm happy, I promise! We're both so, so happy here, you don't have to be upset! THE NARRATOR - This is… awful. [...] THE NARRATOR - This is the end for me, but not for you. I hope this was worth it. Genuinely, I do.

because He feels empathy, here. He recognizes their sapience and what the cost of his dream truly is. He's regretting what He's done to put them both through this, but ultimately, no amount of primer for Mr. Amnesiac will ever let Him see this way ever again. one reality among trillions where we He was "delusional" --- one reality among trillions where He cared.

TLQ technically has daddy issues if you think about it

#stp #slay the princess #stp narrator #stp the long quiet #the long quiet #yes narrator is the dad #bro was an awful father smh #he probably didn’t even realise he’s technically a father of a god #too hyper focused on saving the world for fatherhood </3 #i start eating drywall if i think about this for too long #those fleeting moments of empathy #Quiet scrambling to find even a single moment He expressed an iota of care #“What are you? Are you something like me?”#telling Him he doubted Himself in the Mirror #He suffers so bad in the Tower-Apotheosis route #getting taken by Tower #the futile effort to stop Quiet from slaying themself at Her command #she calls Him a “greasy film”#but also that He's “shielding” Quiet from her #do you think it was all for the world's sake in that moment #do you think Quiet would care #if the alternative delusion #was that the Narrator wanted to protect them #Him describing the kiss with Thorn #lamenting the world's incoming end #how no one will GET to be inspired by the spark the two of them share #He is the only witness #and even He will fade away

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synnamon-hearts · 2 days ago

Note

Hii I’m back again to ask if you could please write headcannons of how UD characters would react waking up & you telling them you had a dream of them having sex & feeling needy bc of it ?? (Assuming they’re together) 🙂‍↔️