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jetii · 2 months ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Eleven: Normalcy

Chapter WC: 11,172

Chapter Tags/Warnings: none

A/N: This chapter is 95% dialogue, and yes I could’ve cut it but…I didn’t want to.

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After a fitful sleep, one fraught with nightmares, you wake early the next morning.

You’ve taken to writing down your dreams when you wake, no longer confident that the nightmares are truly that and not something more prophetic. After Felucia, you know better.

You don't write down much, just the barest of details, and a vague recollection, but it's enough. And, when you read them back, a pattern emerges. Ever since you awoke in the medbay, you've been dreaming about golden fields, dust and smoke, and a searing pain in your chest so intense, you wake up gasping.

There's no one else, just the grass, and the dirt, and the wind, and, above it all, the feeling of something horrible about to happen. It's the same every time. Over and over again in a loop, and you're growing tired of it. And despite your efforts, you're no closer to understanding it.

You haven't told anyone, and you're not sure what to do with the information. So, for now, you've decided to keep the details to yourself, at least until you figure out what they mean.

You set the dream journal aside, and you dress quickly, slipping into a fresh pair of robes and leaving your quarters to resume your duties at long last.

Overnight, there was a fire in the Undercity, and the Council dispatched you to investigate the issue. It's far from the first time such an event has occurred, and after a quick debriefing, you head out. The fire had originated in the abandoned warehouse district and had spread to several nearby structures, making cleanup tricky. You spend the better part of the day assisting in the recovery effort and meeting with the survivors, taking note of their injuries and asking questions where you can.

The next few days pass in a blur of activity, and, before long, you've forgotten about your conversation with Obi-Wan and your evening out together. He doesn't bring it up, and neither do you, and the two of you continue on, acting like nothing ever happened.

It's not exactly a healthy choice, but some things are better left unsaid. It's not like either of you have had the time to talk about it, either. There's always something going on, and the War keeps everyone busy. It's easier, and safer, and the Council doesn't need any more reasons to scrutinize the two of you. Well, mostly you, but you were doing your best to make sure you were on their good side.

By the end of the week, you and the Coruscant Guard are able to catch the arsonist. A local crime boss, known for his use of black market chemicals, had set the blaze in an attempt to cover up the evidence of his operation. You bring him and his crew to justice, and after a long debriefing with a Senate committee, another subcommittee, and then the Council, you're finally dismissed.

With the issue resolved and your report completed, you find yourself with some unexpected downtime. And for the first time in a long time, you're able to enjoy a bit of a break.

It's still early when you decide to go for a run, and you're out of the Temple and onto the streets in no time. The weather is mild, and the sun is shining, and despite the constant buzz of the traffic, it's pleasant. You've missed running, the only thing that seems to actually clear your head these days, and it's not long before you're lost in thought, the city fading into the background.

It's been weeks since the incident on Felucia. And since then, you've barely had a chance to process what happened. In fact, aside from the nightmares, the only time you've really been able to stop and think was the night you and Obi-Wan snuck off to the cantina.

Now, as you jog through the city, the air crisp and cool, and the noise of the world dulled, the memories come rushing back. The conversation with Rex in the woods, the pain of the explosion, and the way the Force had screamed at you. You'd been trying to forget, but, somehow, the memories are clearer than ever. As though the alcohol had stripped away the fog, and now, all you're left with are the images.

The war has intensified in recent months. More troops, more missions, and the losses have only increased. Every day, there's a new report of another battle gone wrong, another platoon lost, another planet captured.

It's getting harder and harder to keep up, and you can only hope that when you return to the frontlines, you're ready. You can’t afford to let yourself panic as you did on Felucia, and the consequences of your failure would be even worse.

The thought makes you grimace, and you force yourself to run faster, pushing the memories away. There's no use dwelling on what's already happened, and you need to focus on the present. And on what’s yet to come.

Your run takes you through the Upper Levels of the city, and as the day progresses, the crowds thicken. Soon, the streets are full of people, and you're weaving between them, ducking and dodging, apologizing under your breath.

You’re not sure where you’re going, but you keep moving, not paying attention to your surroundings. Until, eventually, you stop in front of the clone barracks.

You look around, and when you realize where you are, a frown tugs at your lips. The building looms in front of you, and you stare up at it, more than a little stunned. You hadn't intended to come here. Or maybe you had. You're not really sure.

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you watch at the entrance for a few moments before shaking your head. There's no reason for you to go inside, and there's certainly no point in bothering him. He's busy. So are you. The two of you don't need to worry about the other. And you certainly don't need to complicate things.

"General?"

You jump and turn. Rex is standing a few feet behind you, his helmet tucked under his arm. He looks exactly as he did the last time you'd seen him, only this time, his eyes are wide, and his cheeks are flushed.

"Captain," you say, smiling. You wave and nod toward the barracks, trying to keep your voice casual. "I didn't expect to see you here. Are you on leave? I thought the 501st was still stationed on Devaron."

Rex doesn't respond, his gaze drifting down momentarily before he quickly refocuses on your face. He looks a bit startled, and more than a little flustered.

It's only then that you realize you're still wearing your workout clothes, a sleeveless shirt and shorts that reveal quite a bit of your body, your windbreaker tied around your waist. You're not really one for modesty, but Rex has never seen you like this. In fact, none of the clones have. And it's obvious that he's struggling to keep his eyes on your face.

Your cheeks heat slightly, and you cross your arms, arching an eyebrow.

"Rex?"

"Yes?" he mumbles. His widen before they snap back to yours, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry. General. It's...you...look good—healthy. Healthy. It’s good to see you looking healthy."

"Well, thank you," you say, your amusement growing. He looks so embarrassed, and yet, he hasn't stopped staring at you, and it's making it hard not to laugh. You shift your weight and tilt your head. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes, sir," he stammers. He blinks a few times and clears his throat. "I'm fine. Just wasn't expecting to run into you. Here. At the barracks."

"Right," you chuckle. You take a deep breath and shake your head. "I was just taking a run. Got a bit lost. Guess I was distracted."

"I see."

"Mhm."

The two of you stand there for a few moments. You're not quite sure what to say. Rex is cute when he’s flustered, but the tension is awkward, and you can tell he's not comfortable. So, after a few seconds, you force a smile.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your morning. I'm sure you have a lot to do,” you say, giving him a friendly nod. You glance over at the barracks and then back at him. "I should get going."

"No, no, you’re not interrupting," he assures you quickly, and he shrugs, his eyes meeting yours. “I was actually on my way out."

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah," he replies, and he gestures to the door. "We got in last night. Just finished debriefing. They're giving us a few days of downtime. Figured I'd take a walk, see the city."

"Ah.”

You look down and fiddle with your jacket, biting the inside of your cheek. This is exactly why you shouldn't have come. Things are too complicated, and you're making it difficult.

You let out a quiet sigh and look up. He's still staring at you, and he seems genuinely happy to see you, his eyes bright. He's always been so kind, and attentive, and respectful. And he's never once asked anything of you. He's just...Rex. Rex, who treats you like a person, and not just a Jedi.

And, selfishly, you like that. You like having someone who doesn't see you as an asset, or a tool, or a weapon. Someone who isn't afraid to challenge you, and who makes you laugh. Who gives you his full attention and doesn't look at you like a disappointment or a disaster waiting to happen.

While it might be the height of foolishness, and you know that nothing can come of it, it doesn't mean you have to cut yourself off from him completely.

“Would you...like some company?" you ask slowly, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "On your walk."

Rex blinks, his eyes widening, and a hint of red creeps up his cheeks. He looks so surprised, and a little pleased, and a warm feeling blooms in your chest.

"I'd be happy to show you around," you continue. "If you'd like. I know the city pretty well."

He opens his mouth and then closes it. He looks a bit like a fish, and, again, it's cute. Really cute. You find yourself smiling wider, and you wait patiently, the awkwardness dissipating and your confidence returning.

When he doesn't say anything, you roll your eyes.

"Unless you don't want to hang out with me, and then I'll leave you alone. You know, I can take a hint. I won't be offended."

Rex chuckles and shakes his head. "No, I...would love some company. But you must have better things to do."

"I'm off duty.” You shrug. "And I've been meaning to get back to the city. Besides, you could use a guide. The last thing you need is to get lost in Coruscant. Not a great look for a representative of the Republic."

"Right," he says, laughing. He takes a step toward you, and he smiles, his eyes warm. "In that case, lead the way."

You grin and turn, heading down the walkway. Rex falls in step beside you, and you set off down the street, a comfortable silence settling over the two of you. You lead him down several winding pathways, weaving through the crowds, the buildings towering over you. The sun is high overhead, and the air is warm, and the city is filled with noise, the hum of the traffic, the sounds of the people, the buzz of the air.

You point out various sites and monuments, telling him a little about each, and Rex listens intently, his eyes moving from one structure to the next. He doesn't ask any questions or press for details, and he seems content to let you ramble, his gaze focused on the city.

You continue like that for a while, chatting and strolling through the streets. The city is beautiful, and it's nice to have a bit of a break. A chance to do something, anything, normal.

As you walk, you sneak glances at him, watching him out of the corner of your eye. He looks a bit more relaxed, his shoulders less tense, but you’re starting to notice he’s making a concerted effort not to look directly at you.

You wonder if he thinks you haven't noticed, but it's impossible to miss. Anytime he catches your gaze, Rex looks away, his cheeks turning pink. It's not a bad look on him, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't find his efforts to cling to professionalism as frustrating as they are amusing.

You decide to take pity on him and put on your windbreaker, zipping it up to cover your exposed skin. As soon as the fabric is covering your chest, his shoulders drop, and his eyes flick back to yours. He smiles, and you smirk back before turning to point out a statue. The conversation resumes, and his gaze never leaves your face.

You spend the next hour wandering the streets and taking in the sights. It's been a long time since you've gotten to enjoy a day without the weight of responsibility and duty, and even longer since you've been able to show someone around. You almost forgot how much you love this city. Or how much you used to.

At one point, Rex stops and tilts his head, looking up at the tall spires of the skyscrapers, the sun shining down on him. He looks so relaxed, so peaceful, and it makes your heart ache. He doesn't get a chance to do this. None of them do. They're constantly fighting, constantly at war, and, if it weren't for the fact that he was wearing his armor, he would look like anyone else out for a stroll.

He deserves this. To feel normal. To live a life that isn't dictated by the needs and wants of others. To know freedom, and happiness, and joy, and love. And you don't know if he ever truly will. You hope he will. But the chances are slim, and it's hard not to feel a little guilty.

"Something wrong?"

You blink, realizing you've been staring at him, and you smile. "No, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." You look around, taking in the scenery, and you try to distract yourself. "It's just...been a while since I've been able to do this. I forgot how much I loved this city."

"I can see why," he says. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah," you agree. "It is."

You watch him as he takes in the cityscape. He looks so at peace, and so carefree, and the sadness that had overtaken you disappears, replaced by a different kind of ache. An ache that you're all too familiar with. One that you've felt more than once since you were brought back together.

You push it aside and clear your throat.

"So...where to next? Got any place in particular you'd like to see?"

"No," he replies. Rex turns his attention back to you and grins. "Just thought I'd follow your lead."

"Are you sure?" you tease as you nudge him with your elbow. "You don't have a hidden desire to visit the Museum of Fine Arts? Or the Opera House? You haven’t lived until you’ve seen an all-Bith performance of the Cantina Cantata. It's a Coruscanti classic."

"Ha, ha," he says dryly. "Very funny."

"What?" you ask. You bat your lashes in a show of innocence, and he scoffs. "It's a legitimate question."

"No, thank you,” he says, rolling his eyes, and he gives you a look. "I'll pass. Unless, of course, you want to."

"Force, no," you groan, and Rex lets out a laugh that has your heart fluttering. You smirk and start walking again, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. "There is one place I'd like to go, if that's alright with you. Are you hungry?"

"Starving," he admits with a sheepish smile. "We've been eating rations for two weeks straight. Haven't had real food in ages."

"Perfect."

You're getting close to the industrial district, and you take a left down an alley. It's a narrow path between two towering buildings, and the air is hazy, and there's a smell of smoke and fuel. The street is mostly deserted, and you're careful not to trip over any loose stones or stray bits of scrap.

It's not the best area of the city, but, if there's one thing you've learned, it's that the best places are often in the worst neighborhoods. And this one was the best.

"You sure this place serves clones?" Rex asks warily as he follows you. He's looking around the alley, his hand resting on his blaster. "Seems a little rough."

"Trust me," you tell him. "This place is great."

The alley ends abruptly and you're greeted by the familiar sight of the small diner. It's an older building, and it's been there for a long time, a relic of the old days. The rounded durasteel walls glint in the afternoon sun, the neon sign blinking in the window, and the door is open, the sound of conversation spilling into the street. A few patrons are standing outside chatting, their eyes watching the two of you, but no one says a word as you enter.

"Hi honey," a cheerful voice calls. A waitress droid wheels over, her round eyes shining. "Welcome. Welcome. What can I get for you today?"

"Table for two, please," you say. “Thanks, FLO.”

"Right this way," she chirps, and she spins around, heading toward the back of the diner.

You nudge Rex, who's looking around the room nervously, and you nod your head toward FLO's retreating form. "Come on. She won't bite."

"I've never been to a place like this," he mutters as he follows you, staying close. "It's so...normal."

"That's kind of the point," you laugh. You glance over your shoulder and give him a reassuring smile. "Everyone deserves a little normal."

"Fair enough." He takes a deep breath and gives you a half-smile. "Thanks for doing this."

"Of course," you say.

You follow FLO to a booth at the back, and you're about to slide into the seat across from him when a large shadow falls over the table. Rex tenses immediately, his hand moving to his weapon, and you whirl around, expecting the worst. But, instead, you're greeted with the wide grin of an old friend.

"Hi Dex," you say warmly. "Long time no see."

You wince as you're immediately wrapped up in a hug, four arms squeezing you tightly and lifting your feet clean off the ground.

"Hey kid!" he booms. "How the hell are ya?"

"Good," you squeak. "And yourself?"

"I can't complain," Dex says. He releases you and sets you back on the floor, his hand on your shoulder to keep you from toppling over. "Can't complain at all. How've you been? Haven't seen you in forever."

"Busy," you reply with a shrug. "You know how it is."

"Always working," he sighs. He looks around, his eyes landing on Rex for a moment before focusing back on you, a frown bisecting his face. "Where's Obi-Wan? Not used to seeing one without the other."

"Offworld," you explain. "The war’s keeping him busy."

"Ah," Dex says. "And this is...?"

He nods toward Rex, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a hard line. Dex isn't an aggressive man, but he's no pushover either, and he doesn't suffer fools. You have no doubt that, should the need arise, he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And you're equally certain that he won't hesitate to put a few bolts in anyone who threatens his customers.

"This is Rex, captain of the 501st Legion," you tell him. "My friend."

"Your friend," Dex echoes. He stares at Rex for a long moment, his gaze scrutinizing, before he grins and offers one of his hands. "Dexter Jettster. Welcome to Dex's Diner."

Rex hesitates before he takes the offered hand and shakes it. "Thanks. It's a nice place."

"It's a dump," Dex laughs. "But it's mine. And it's been a good place for years."

"Well, it's a great dump," Rex replies. He looks around and grins. "Very welcoming."

"Glad to hear it," Dex chuckles, and he glances down at you and gives your shoulder a squeeze. "Don't be a stranger. You’re always welcome. You tell Obi-Wan, too.”

"Thanks, I will." You smile and watch him go before turning back to Rex. "You good?"

"Yeah," he says. He lets out a deep breath and gives you a wry grin. "For a second there I thought he was going to throw me out."

"Nah," you tell him. You slide into the booth, and Rex does the same across from you. "He has a very strict 'no questions asked' policy. As long as you're a paying customer, he won't bother you. Unless, of course, you're bothering someone else. Then he'll break your legs."

Rex snorts. "Noted."

FLO comes back with two menus, and you both order your caf, the droid zipping away on a squeaky wheel.

"You two are close," Rex says, his eyes scanning his menu.

"Dex? Yeah," you agree as you do the same. "He's a good friend to have."

"I meant you and General Kenobi."

"Oh." You're taken aback by the question, and the tone in his voice. There's no judgement, no accusation, but the statement still manages to catch you off guard. You set your menu down and meet his gaze. "I suppose we are. Why?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. He glances at his menu and then back at you. "It's just...the two of you seem like a good team. That's all."

"We've known each other a long time," you reply, not entirely sure what he's trying to get at. "And we're good friends."

"I've noticed," Rex says quietly. His expression is guarded and unreadable. He's not being hostile, and his tone isn't rude, but the conversation feels oddly...tense. You desperately want to reach out and sift through his thoughts, but you don't, your curiosity not enough of an excuse to cross such a line. So you wait, your hands clenched under the table, your eyes searching his face for some clue as to where this is going.

Rex seems to sense your apprehension, and he sighs. He puts his menu down and leans forward, his eyes fixed on yours.

"You're different around him," he says carefully. "Around everyone else, you're..."

"Distant," you offer. Your voice is soft, and a bit sad. You're not proud of the fact, and you're not sure how else to describe it. "Unfriendly. Cold. Difficult. Take your pick."

Rex is quiet for a moment. He's not judging, and he doesn't seem angry. In fact, if anything, he looks a bit hurt.

"I was going to say intimidating," he corrects, frowning. He tilts his head. "Is that really how you see yourself?"

"Isn't it how everyone sees me?" you challenge.

"I don't."

"Liar.” You scoff. You lean back in the booth and arch an eyebrow. "We barely know each other."

"I think I'm beginning to understand you pretty well," he argues. "And I don't think I've ever met someone more selfless or compassionate."

"You should get out more."

"Seriously," Rex says. He sits up and holds your gaze. "I’m not the only one who thinks that way. Everyone else, they just...don't know you well enough."

"You don't know me at all," you tell him. "Not really."

"Maybe not," he says. "But I'd like to."

You stare at him, unable to believe what you're hearing.

"Why?"

He's silent for a few moments, his brow furrowing. His jaw is set and his eyes are focused on the table, his fingers tapping against the surface. Finally, he looks up at you, and he sighs.

“Because I think it’s important to know who you're fighting beside," he explains. "And I'd rather die knowing the person standing next to me."

"That's a pretty bleak outlook," you mumble. You can't argue with the sentiment, but the words still sting. You've never been much for talking about yourself, and even less for sharing personal information.

You pick up your menu and hide behind it, pretending to look over the lunch options. "And there’s not much to know."

"I find that hard to believe." Rex reaches out and gently pulls the menu down, his eyes meeting yours. "Look, I didn't mean to offend you. Or pry. I just—"

"I'm not offended," you say, and you shrug. "Just surprised."

"Why's that?"

"It's just rare to hear someone say they'd like to get to know me," you explain. You pause, and then, after a moment, you decide to continue, "Most people either already know who I am or don't want to know. There's no middle ground."

"That's unfortunate," Rex replies. He picks up his menu again and looks it over. "And unfair. You're not all that bad."

"Not all that bad," you repeat with a small smile. "I'm flattered."

"You should be," he says. He glances up at you, and his face is serious, but his eyes are shining with mischief. "I'm an excellent judge of character."

You chuckle, and the tension breaks as FLO returns with two mugs and a carafe of caf. You manage to persuade her to leave the pot, and Rex can't hide his delight at the first sip, his eyes closing as he takes a deep drink, a content sigh escaping him. You bite your cheek in an effort to disguise your smile as he practically moans.

"I take it the stuff in the mess hall isn't as good as this?" you tease.

"Nothing's as good as this," he murmurs. He opens his eyes and gives you a sheepish grin. "Sorry. It’s been a while since I've had a proper cup of caf."

"I can imagine," you laugh, and you nod toward the pot. "There's plenty more."

"You're my hero," he jokes. He picks up the carafe and refills his cup, taking another sip, his eyes fluttering closed again. He shakes his head and smiles at you. "Best cup I've had in a long time."

"I'm glad you approve," you say as you pour your own drink and spoon sugar into it, trying to hide your amusement.

You're not sure why, but you like watching him enjoy things, even something as simple as a mug of caf. There's something sweet and charming about it, something almost innocent. He's seen far too much for someone his age, and yet, he still manages to hold onto his optimism and his spirit. He's not jaded or cynical. He's a good person, one of the best you've ever met, and you're finding it hard not to admire him.

You pick up your mug and lift it in a toast. "To proper caf."

"Proper caf," he echoes. He knocks his cup against yours, and the two of you drink. He sets his mug down and leans back in his seat. "So, what do you recommend?"

"What do you like?"

"Honestly? No idea," he answers. He gestures toward the menu. "I'm a bit out of my depth here. Never had real food. Only rations, or whatever the mess serves."

"Right," you say. You take a sip of your caf and scan the page. "How about I order a few things, and we can share?”

“That would be great,” he says, sounding relieved. “Don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“Oh, please," you snort. You wave a dismissive hand and give him a smile. "No worries. It'll be our secret."

You flag down FLO and order, and Rex falls silent, his gaze focused on the window, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere. The droid wheels away, but he doesn’t look back over. He takes another drink and sighs, his fingers drumming the table, his brow furrowed slightly.

You tilt your head, waiting, and he lets out a breath, his expression becoming neutral as he turns back to you.

"If I ask a question, will you answer honestly?"

"Depends on the question."

"Fair enough."

He drums his fingers on the table again, and then he squares his shoulders and clears his throat, his eyes focused on your face. His expression is calm, but you can feel a hint of apprehension. Whatever he's about to say, he's nervous. And that makes you nervous.

"The last time we spoke, you seemed certain that the Jedi Council was going to punish you," Rex says slowly. "And you knew how they were going to handle Ahsoka. Like you were speaking from experience."

You stiffen and take a sip of caf, avoiding his gaze and hoping that he doesn't notice your sudden discomfort, but it doesn't take a genius to know that you've been caught off guard. And that you're not particularly keen on talking about the subject.

You'd thought you'd done well to avoid the topic of your past indiscretions during your time with the Order, but apparently, you hadn't been as subtle as you'd hoped. Rex was too smart for that. You should have known better.

"That's not a question," you tell him. It's an obvious deflection, and the way his eyes narrow makes it clear that he's not buying it. But it's a deflection nonetheless, and you're not inclined to give him an honest answer.

"Would you be willing to answer if I asked it?" Rex asks cautiously. He hesitates, and you can feel him probing, trying to gauge how receptive you are.

You give him nothing, your face a carefully constructed mask of polite indifference. It's the expression you'd perfected as a youngling, and the one that has served you well for years. It's kept people from asking questions, and it's kept you from having to answer them.

Rex seems to recognize it immediately, and he lets out a breath, a rueful smile on his lips. He leans back in his seat, his eyes studying your face, his jaw clenching and unclenching, and he lets out a low chuckle.

"What?" you ask, your brow furrowing.

"Nothing," he says. He shakes his head and shrugs. "Just starting to understand why you and General Skywalker get along so well.”

"Meaning?"

"Meaning the two of you are both stubborn," Rex chuckles, and he picks up his mug and takes a sip. "He does that same thing, the whole stone wall routine."

"Does he?"

"Yeah."

"Good for him."

Rex scoffs and shakes his head again, but he doesn't say anything, his gaze drifting back to the window. There's a slight crease between his brows, and you can tell he's debating whether or not to drop the subject.

“Look,” he starts. He turns back to you and meets your eyes, his face serious. "I can tell you're not comfortable talking about it. I just...want to know what to expect. What I can do. How I can help."

"I don't need your help," you tell him. It's a knee-jerk response, one that has always been your go-to, and you know it's not exactly true. You sigh and shake your head. "I mean...it's not that simple."

"Okay." He nods, his face patient, his eyes kind. "Can you explain?"

"It's...complicated." You hesitate, and you pick at your nails, staring at the table, your mind racing. You're not sure how to begin, or where to start, or what to say. How to put into words the shame and guilt and regret. You open your mouth, and the words are there, but they're stuck in your throat, refusing to budge.

Rex watches you for a few seconds, and then he sits forward and picks up the carafe, pouring more caf into your mug. You blink, the spell broken, and he pushes the cup toward you along with the sugar you’ve been using.

"Here.”

"Thanks," you reply, grateful for the interruption. You add the sweetener, and stir, your eyes on your mug.

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me,” he says softly. His hand is resting on the table, his fingers tapping the surface. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pressed."

"It's not that I don't want to," you tell him, the words tumbling out. “Well, okay, it is, but...not for the reasons you're thinking."

"Then what are they?"

You sigh, and you rub your eyes, the exhaustion from the night before settling in. You don't want to lie, and you're tired of secrets, and he's been nothing but understanding and supportive. If there's anyone who might understand, it's him.

"I'm just...not a very good Jedi."

"You can't be serious," Rex says. He looks appalled, and a little indignant. He shakes his head, and his mouth presses into a thin line. "Of course you are.”

"Hardly." You scoff, and you gesture vaguely in the air, not meeting his eyes. "I have a very complicated relationship with the Council. One that involves me doing the opposite of whatever they want me to do. On multiple occasions."

Rex smirks. "Another thing you and General Skywalker have in common."

"Maybe," you admit. "But I've been on their shit list longer than he has."

"And what have you done to earn that?" he asks. His tone is light, but his words are direct, and a little pointed. He's not judging you, but he wants an answer. A real one. And you're not sure you can give him one, but you try anyway.

"I...have a lot of opinions. And I'm not very good at keeping them to myself, as you know. The Council doesn't appreciate it, and neither do some of the other Jedi."

"That's hardly a crime," he points out.

"Maybe not," you concede. There's a moment of silence, and then you take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "There's...something else."

"Something else?"

"It's not just the opinions."

You fiddle with the spoon, trying to find the right words, trying to figure out how much you should tell him. But the truth is, you don't want to have any more secrets. You trust Rex, perhaps more than you should, and the idea of sharing this particular secret with him is oddly appealing And maybe, just maybe, it will help.

"I'm...not always in the best place, mentally," you finally confess. You keep your voice low, and your eyes on the table, afraid to look at him. You've never said the words out loud, you’ve never had to with Obi-Wan, and he’s the only one you’d ever spoken to about this. The only one still alive, anyway. "Obi-Wan's been...kind enough to overlook it. For the most part."

"For the most part?"

"He has his limits," you explain. You run a hand through your hair, your eyes still downcast. "There are certain things that are...not permitted. Or rather, certain ways that Jedi shouldn't behave. And, as far as the Council is concerned, my behavior has crossed that line on several occasions."

"What sort of behavior?" Rex asks quietly.

"You mean besides arguing with them and disobeying their orders?" you counter.

"Yeah."

You hesitate. You've come this far, and you know you've already said too much, but there's no turning back now. You take a deep breath, and you push aside your pride and your anxiety, your eyes meeting his.

“This doesn’t leave this table, alright? If I tell you, it doesn't go any further. No one can know. You understand?"

"Of course," he agrees immediately. "I won't say a word."

You take a long drink of your caf and let out a sigh, your gaze falling back to the table. It's now or never.

"When I was a youngling, I was apprenticed to a Master," you tell him, keeping your voice low, even though the diner is mostly empty. "Her name was Yaddle. She was one of the High Council members. By that point, I’d had a...history. Of trouble. Of making trouble. I was a handful."

"A handful?" Rex asks, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

"Oh, yes." You roll your eyes, and you can't help the smirk that crosses your face. “Starting fights, running off, talking back, getting in the way, breaking rules. Anything and everything I could think of to get attention."

"And why would a kid like that be apprenticed to one of the most important people in the entire Order?" he asks. "Didn't anyone else want you?"

"No," you admit, and you laugh, a bitter, hollow sound. "Not really. Most people didn't want anything to do with me. The Masters all thought I was too much of a problem. Too difficult."

"Why'd she take you?"

"I don't know," you confess. “At first, I thought it was a punishment, but...after a while, I realized it wasn’t. She genuinely wanted me. And she was the first person who did. I mean, really wanted me."

Rex nods, his face solemn. "What happened?"

"She died," you answer bluntly. You stare at the table and shrug, your eyes burning, and you bite the inside of your cheek. "After the Naboo incident, I’d gone to attend the funeral of Obi-Wan’s Master. She was supposed to come with me, but she said she needed to stay on Coruscant. She said she'd catch up later. But later that night, I felt it. The moment she was gone. I just...felt it. It’s hard to explain if you haven't experienced it. The severing of the bond."

"That must have been rough," Rex murmurs.

"It was," you agree. You swallow hard and look up at him, and the concern and sympathy in his eyes almost breaks you. "And the worst part was, no one believed me. They told me it was my imagination, or a trick of the mind, or a hallucination. But I knew what I felt. She was gone.”

"That's terrible," he says, his voice quiet. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I can’t say it was entirely unwarranted." You let out a bitter laugh and take a drink of your caf. “After she was gone, I was...angry. Really angry. And the Masters and the Council were so busy trying to keep the Order together, no one paid any attention to me. Which meant no one noticed when I started investigating. On my own."

"Investigating what?"

"Her death." you say. You finish your caf and set the cup down, turning it between your fingers, and you let out a long breath. You glance around and lower your voice even more, and Rex leans forward, his brow furrowed. "It was murder. I know it was. I managed to find a few clues, but nothing concrete, and I…”

You trail off and stop, suddenly unable to continue. Your mouth goes dry, and you feel sick. You know what you did. You know what you've done, but saying it out loud makes it real. It means you're acknowledging the worst thing you've ever done, and, while you've done some terrible things, this was different. This was personal. And it hurt. More than anything.

"You did something." Rex's voice is soft, and gentle, and there's no judgement, only understanding. You don't deserve it. You know you don't. But it's hard to ignore the warmth that fills your chest. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. "What was it?"

“It wasn’t intentional. It wasn't like I'd planned to do it. It just...happened," you explain. Your hands shake slightly, and you curl them into fists to steady them. "Obi-Wan and I had an argument, and I stormed out. I went off alone to the Undercity, and I was angry, and hurt, and...and I wasn't paying attention."

"You weren't paying attention?" Rex repeats, his brow furrowed. He sits forward, his eyes narrowed, and his mouth is a tight line. "What do you mean? You weren't paying attention to what?"

"I let my guard down," you tell him. You hesitate, and then continue. "I should've known someone would be after me. After what happened. But I was too busy trying to figure out what to do next that I didn't even think..."

You trail off and close your eyes. You can feel the tears threatening to spill over. You open your eyes and force yourself to meet his. "I was tricked into entering a trap. By the time I realized it was a set-up, it was too late.

"I found some of Yaddle’s things planted there, and then I was attacked. They used the Force to restrain me," you say evenly. "They put me in a chokehold somehow. I couldn't move or speak or fight back. They told me that I should've stayed away. And then, they..."

Your throat closes and your chest tightens as the memory flashes across your mind, as fresh as the day it happened. You can feel the cold, damp air of the Undercity, the pressure around your neck, the sound of their voice in your ear, the taste of blood in your mouth.

The rage and fear and shame are just as strong as they were back then, and you have to clench your hands into fists to stop them from shaking, the urge to scream and break something almost overwhelming. You take a few seconds to calm yourself, and when you speak again, your voice is hoarse.

"They tried to kill me," you say. "And something inside me…clicked. A power I didn’t know I had. I lost control. I nearly collapsed a building on us both. The attacker escaped."

You pause and take another deep breath. "I don't remember much after that. I was barely conscious. All I could think about was getting out. I don't know how I made it back to the Temple. I only found out later that some civilians were caught in the collapse."

Rex doesn't respond. His jaw is clenched, his mouth set, and his eyes are focused on you. You’re taken aback by his reaction, the force of it a surprise. You had expected sympathy or concern. Pity, maybe. But not anger.

"What?" you ask.

"How long ago was this?"

“I was twenty, so...about ten years ago."

"Ten years," Rex repeats, his expression darkening. "You've been carrying this around for ten years?"

You sit back and fold your arms across your chest, watching him. You can’t help but feel defensive, and more than a little irritated.

"You seem upset."

"You almost died," he snaps. He lets out a huff and shakes his head. "Someone set a trap for you, and you almost died."

"That's generally what happens when you're careless." You try to keep your tone light, but the look he gives you is fierce. His eyes are hard and cold, his jaw tight, and his shoulders are tense. He's furious. You frown. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

"What?" Rex asks. He blinks, and his face softens slightly. "No. No, I'm not angry with you. I'm just...concerned."

"You don't need to be."

"I think I do," he counters, and he leans forward, his eyes searching your face. “Who was it? The person who attacked you?"

"I don't know," you say honestly. "I never saw their face. But I have a few theories that I’m still trying to confirm."

"Any suspects?"

"One."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Maybe."

Rex's frown deepens, and he leans back, his expression wary. "What aren't you telling me?"

"A lot." You shrug, and he rolls his eyes, which makes you smile. "I'm not trying to be coy. There's just a lot of information that isn't relevant to the current situation. Or your job."

"I disagree."

"You would," you scoff. You sit back and cross your arms over your chest. "Look, this is...really hard for me, okay? And I'm not exactly eager to relive the whole thing. Especially with someone who could easily report me."

"I wouldn't," he says, quick and earnest, and his brow furrows. “I gave you my word, and I intend to keep it. But, if there's someone out there who wants you dead, we should be aware."

"There are a lot of people who want me dead," you reply with a huff of laughter. “That comes with being a Jedi. We tend to piss people off."

"This was personal," Rex argues. He sits forward, his eyes narrowed, and his hands folded on the table. "You said the attacker told you that you should've stayed away. They knew you."

"I did."

"Which means they're likely connected to your investigation into Master Yaddle's death," he points out. “Potentially even the murderer themself.”

"Maybe."

"So who do you think it was?"

You give him a long, hard look, and he meets your gaze. His eyes are unflinching, and his jaw is set. He's not going to back down. And, even though you know you shouldn't, you can't help but admire him for it. He's stubborn and tenacious, and it's hard to refuse him. Harder than you'd like to admit.

You sit forward, folding your hands in front of you, and your voice drops to a low whisper. “Dooku.”

"Count Dooku?" Rex repeats. He blinks, and his eyes widen. He glances around, leaning forward and keeping his voice low. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Dooku," he whispers. His mouth sets in a grim line, and he shakes his head. "That's...that's a pretty serious accusation."

"I know." You sigh and lean back, running a hand through your hair. "Look, I've had a lot of time to think about it, and it makes sense. Dooku has the resources and the ability. Plus, he has a personal connection to Yaddle, and he was missing from the funeral the night she died, despite Qui-Gon being his Padawan. The only thing I’m still shaky on is the motive.”

"That's a solid theory,” he admits, his tone resigned, as he rubs the scar on his chin with his thumb. “On Geonosis, you wanted to go after him. I stopped you.”

“Yeah, well, it turned out to be a good call." You snort and shake your head. “If I had, I'd be dead. He probably would've killed me before I even got close."

"Still," he insists. He takes a deep breath, and he studies your face. "So what happened next?"

"Next? I tried to forget it ever happened. And, for a while, I succeeded," you answer. You can't keep the bitterness out of your voice. "I didn't tell anyone. Not the Council, not Obi-Wan. Nobody."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't have proof. I had a necklace and a few vague memories."

You shrug, and he raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. You let out a frustrated sigh, and you drop your gaze to the table.

"It was easier, alright? I was afraid. If I told them the truth of what happened, and the power I used, they'd send me away," you confess. You pick at your nails, and your voice is quiet. "The Council was already looking for a reason to get rid of me. If they found out what I'd done, that I'd nearly killed civilians, even if it was an accident...I’d have been expelled or sent to rot in the Citadel."

"They'd do that?"

"Without hesitation," you tell him. "They're not exactly big on second chances when it comes to the Dark Side. And they were already convinced I was going to fall."

"That's absurd."

"Is it?" You glance up at him and smirk. "They were right, in the end."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true."

"No, it isn't."

"Rex—"

"No," he says firmly. He reaches out and gently tugs your hands away from where they're picking at your nails, and he squeezes once before dropping them. "Whatever happened, whatever you did, it doesn't define you. You're a good person."

You bite the inside of your cheek and shake your head. "I’d hold your applause until the end."

"I'm serious."

"So am I," you snap. You sit forward, your hands curling into fists. "You're acting like I didn't do anything wrong, or that I'm somehow an innocent party in all this. I’m not. What I did was terrible. And the consequences were severe."

"I understand, but—"

"You don't," you say flatly. "You can't."

He opens his mouth, and you hold up a hand, stopping him. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, forcing yourself to calm down.

"Sorry," you murmur. You rub a hand over your face and shake your head. "This is a lot harder than I thought."

"You don't have to explain anything," Rex says quietly. His voice is warm and soothing, and when you look up, his eyes are kind. He offers a small smile, and you try your best to return it.

"I know. But I want to."

"Are you sure?"

"No," you sigh. "But I'm doing it anyway."

Rex nods, and you let out a breath. You can feel the anger and shame and guilt still simmering below the surface, but it's tempered by his reassurance.

"So," you continue. "Where were we?"

"After the attack," he answers, his eyes on your face.

"Right. Well, things were...awkward, to say the least," you admit as look out the window. "For a while, no one would talk to me. They avoided me, or looked the other way, or pretended not to see me. Which was fine, I guess. I wasn't exactly keen on talking to anyone either."

"What about General Kenobi?"

"Obi-Wan? No. Not really." You hesitate, and then you shake your head. “Actually, no. Not at all. He didn't say a word to me."

"That doesn't sound like him," Rex remarks.

"No, it doesn't," you agree. You can't hide your bitterness, and Rex seems to notice.

"Did he say why?"

"Not at first. We didn't really speak to each other for the next decade, actually," you say, your tone dry. "We kept our distance. He was busy training Anakin, and I was busy..."

"Busy what?"

"Busy trying not to lose my mind," you answer, your voice hollow. You swallow hard, and force yourself to look him in the eye. "The isolation was hard. No one wanted anything to do with me, and I was...paranoid. I thought everyone was watching me. Waiting for me to slip up. So I kept my head down. I did my duty. I served, I waited.”

"Waited for what?"

"An opportunity." You let out a slow breath, and you can't stop the bitterness from seeping into your words. "Turns out, that opportunity was the Clone Wars. You know what happened on Geonosis, but later, before we were…reunited, I was sent on a mission. I encountered the man who lured me into the trap, and, when I realized it was him, I...lost control. Again."

"You lost control." Rex frowns, his eyes narrowing. He leans forward, his hands on the table, his gaze locked on yours. "What happened?"

“I left my charge to track him down. He didn’t have much to offer, just that he was paid anonymously to lure me into the Undercity." You rub your temples, the memory flashing through your mind. "While I was interrogating him, the Senator that I was protecting was attacked.

“I hurt people that day saving her, and when I returned to Coruscant, the Council decided that enough was enough. They suspended me from duty and placed me under constant supervision. I was a liability, and an embarrassment. They told me that, if I continued to act like a child, I would be treated like one."

"That's harsh."

"It was fair," you say, and he scoffs. "They didn't trust me. I didn't trust myself. I was angry and reckless and out of control, and I hurt the people I was supposed to protect. The only way I could protect anyone was by staying out of the field and away from the war. I'd failed. I'd let my emotions get the best of me, and it had almost cost me everything."

"That doesn't make it right," he argues. "What you did, losing control, it was an accident. They shouldn't have treated you like a criminal."

"I was a danger," you remind him. “And the Order can’t afford to have unstable Jedi. It's our job to maintain order and peace. We can't do that if we can't control ourselves."

"You weren't dangerous. You weren't unstable," he argues. He takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. "You were scared. I may not be a Jedi, but I know what fear does. It's a survival instinct. And, sometimes, the body does things to protect itself that the mind doesn't understand. You weren't in control of yourself. It was an accident."

"It doesn't matter," you reply. You sigh and run a hand through your hair, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. “We’re supposed to be able to control ourselves. Our feelings, our actions, our thoughts. We're trained to use the Force, it's not supposed to be the other way around. What I did...what happened...it was wrong. And it can’t happen again. Not ever."

Rex falls silent, his brow furrowed, his eyes fixed on your face. After a moment, he nods, and he sits back in his chair, letting out a long breath.

"Okay."

"Okay?" you repeat incredulously. "That's all you're going to say?"

"Yes," he answers. His mouth twitches, and his eyes meet yours. "What did you expect me to say?"

"I don't know," you confess, and you can feel a small grin forming. "Kinda expected you to lecture me, honestly. Maybe argue with me a little bit more."

"Do you want me to?" Rex asks, the corner of his mouth turning up in a wry grin when you roll your eyes. "Because I can. You seem to enjoy arguing with me."

"It is fun," you admit, and his lips curve into a full-blown smile, his eyes sparkling. "And you are good at it."

"That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late." He chuckles, and it's such a genuine sound that you can't help but join him. The tight knot in your chest loosens slightly, and you let out a breath, a wave of relief washing over you.

You feel lighter, as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. There's a quiet calm in the air, and you allow yourself a moment to relax. You can't help the small flutter in your chest when Rex’s eyes meet yours, his smile bright.

He looks younger when he smiles, the stress and tension gone from his face. You like seeing him this way. Happy and relaxed. It suits him.

"Thank you. For trusting me,” Rex says, voice soft and sincere.

"Well, thank you for listening." You take a drink of caf and smile at him over the rim of your cup. "And thank you for not judging me."

He shakes his head. "You don't need my judgement. You're doing enough of that yourself."

"I am not," you protest. He raises an eyebrow, and you scoff. "Okay, maybe I am. But only because it's true."

"Maybe," he says. "But, if you don't mind me saying, it's also unnecessary."

"I do mind,” you mutter. "I was reckless and arrogant and stupid, and a lot of people got hurt because of it. Including me."

"You made a mistake." He shrugs, and his smile fades, his expression becoming serious. "Everyone does. That doesn't make you a bad person. Or a bad Jedi."

"Then what does that make me?"

"Human."

You snort, and you take a long sip of caf, trying not to roll your eyes. Rex chuckles and ducks his head. "All right, that was cheesy, I'll admit. But it's true. That's what makes us different from droids. We're flawed. We make mistakes. It's how we learn."

"Some of us more than others."

"True."

"You're being too nice to me," you tell him, only half-joking. You finish your caf and set the mug on the table, folding your hands in your lap. "You're making me uncomfortable."

"I'm not," he argues. He tilts his head, studying you. "I'm being honest."

"Same difference."

Rex huffs, exasperated, and his eyes roll up. "Why does everything have to be a fight with you?"

"It doesn't," you say. You smile, and it's a real one. "Just most things."

He starts to reply, but FLO returns before he can, rolling to a stop beside the table with a tray floating beside her. It's overflowing with food, and the smell is incredible. Your mouth waters. You're hungrier than you realized.

"Here you go," she chirps. She lowers the tray onto the table, and she starts unloading the plates. Rex's eyes are as wide as yours, and the both of you sit in stunned silence, watching as the diner droid arranges the food with a flurry of mechanical arms. "This is the breakfast platter, the lunch platter, and the dinner platter. Enjoy."

"FLO, wait," you call, but the droid is already rolling away. "There's way too much food here."

"Not a problem," she says cheerfully. She stops and turns around, her mechanical arms whirring. "Anything for you, honey. You just let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you," you say, smiling. She lets out a pleased beep and rolls away, leaving you alone with Rex and more food than either of you could possibly eat. "Wow."

"Wow," Rex echoes. He's staring at the table, his eyes wide, and you're pretty sure you've rendered him speechless. He shakes his head, his mouth hanging open, and he meets your eyes. "Is it always like this here?"

"I mean, yeah, but this is a lot, even for her," you say. You glance at the tray and let out a low whistle. "She must really like you."

"Lucky me," he mutters, and you snort. He frowns at the pile of food, his brow furrowed, and he glances at you. "So, how are we doing this?"

"You need a strategy for everything, Captain?”

"No."

"Then stop stalling," you tease, and he fixes you with a flat look. "Just try what looks good. If we can't eat it, she'll pack it up. Don't worry."

"Right," he says. He hesitates, and you roll your eyes and snatch a slice of toast from the plate. "How are we splitting this?"

"I don't know. You pick first, and I'll grab whatever's left." You take a bite of the toast, and Rex gives you a long look. You shrug, your mouth full. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Then quit looking at me and eat."

He sighs, but he reaches for a bowl, and for a few minutes, the two of you eat in companionable silence. You keep an eye on Rex, watching him from the corner of your eye as he tries everything FLO has given him. His expression is thoughtful, and he takes his time, trying to decide what he likes best. He's savoring every bite, and every time he takes a sip of caf, his face relaxes, his shoulders sagging.

It's kind of endearing, in a weird sort of way. And, as you watch him, a small, traitorous part of your mind wonders if it'd be so bad to have this every day. This quiet. This calm. You quickly banish the thought, and you shove another piece of bread in your mouth.

You can't think like that. You can't allow yourself to become attached.

You don't realize you've been staring until Rex looks up, catching your eye. His cheeks flush and he puts down his fork.

"Sorry," he says, a little sheepishly. He gestures vaguely at the food. "I didn't mean to—"

"Don't be sorry," you cut in. You shake your head, and the words come out without your permission. "It's cute."

Rex's eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a short, sharp laugh, the corner of his mouth turning up in a half-smile. "Cute?"

"Yes," you say, and you try to sound confident, but you can't quite keep the edge of embarrassment out of your voice. You duck your head and take a bite of fruit, keeping your gaze focused on the table. "Relax. You're fine."

"If you say so."

"I do."

You can feel him watching you, and you resist the urge to hide behind your hands. Instead, you take another bite, and you're careful not to look at him, afraid you'll make things even more awkward than they already are. You can still feel his eyes on you, and the heat rises in your cheeks, your ears burning.

"So," you start, the silence suddenly unbearable. "Any big plans while you're on shore leave? Aside from eating.

"Not really," he admits. He takes a long drink, and he leans back in his seat. "I was just going to rest, honestly. Catch up on reports. Maybe spend some time in the sims."

"You can't just spend a day relaxing?" you ask. He shrugs, and you can't help but smile. "What do you do for fun?"

"Fun?"

"Yeah." You gesture vaguely in the air, and you tilt your head, watching him. "Like, something that doesn't involve work."

"Oh." Rex frowns and stares at the table. His expression is thoughtful, and you get the sense that no one's ever asked him that question before. He meets your eyes and shrugs. "I don't know. I read, sometimes. Watch the holonet. Train. Nothing exciting."

"You like to read?"

"I like to learn," he says. He gives you a half-grin, and he picks up his fork, poking at the scrambled eggs on his plate. "You can learn a lot from military history. And there's not much else to do on a starship other than train or sleep. Reading's a good way to pass the time."

"Fair point."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah," he says. "What do you do when you're not on duty?"

"Honestly? The same thing as you," you confess. He snorts, and you shrug. "I'm not exactly a social butterfly, if you haven't noticed. Most of my free time is spent in the library, or the Temple gardens."

"I have noticed."

"Well, there you go."

Rex smiles, and he shifts in the booth, stretching out his legs. His knees brush yours under the table, and you ignore the rush of warmth that courses through your veins. It's strange. He's wearing armor, and the touch should be cold, hard, uncomfortable. Instead, it's the opposite. His armor is warm and solid and sturdy. Comforting, even.

You shift your legs away from his. You need to stop.

"Tell me," you start, and Rex glances up. He's still smiling, and he's watching you intently. You gesture at the empty plate in front of him. "Was that better or worse than the rations?"

"Better," he answers immediately. He grins, and his eyes meet yours, soft and bright. "Definitely better."

"Good." You smile back, and you can't help but be proud. Your foot nudges his under the table. "I'm glad."

"Thanks for this," he says, nodding towards the tray of food. His gaze meets yours, and his voice is warm and sincere. "For bringing me here. It's...it's nice."

"Of course," you say. You duck your head and try to ignore the sudden rush of warmth in your chest. You swallow hard and focus on the table, pushing down the feeling. "We can come back again, if you want. There's plenty more I can show you. If you're interested."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," he says. His smile is gentle, and he tilts his head. "I'd like that."

"Me, too," you say. You smile back at him, and his lips twitch. His foot nudges yours, and, this time, you don't move away.

The rest of the meal passes quickly. You finish eating, and the two of you sit for a while longer, chatting about everything and nothing until the sun begins to dip lower behind the buildings towering over you.

Eventually, though, it's time to leave. You pay for the food, ignoring Rex's protest with a quip about the Republic’s illimitable pocketbook, and you head outside into the late afternoon sun. The street is busy, filled with the bustle and noise of people going about their lives, and the two of you stand on the sidewalk, unsure of what to do next.

"So," Rex starts, and he rocks back on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. He looks awkward, almost nervous. "I guess I should go."

"Yeah," you say, and, despite the fact that you've been telling yourself all day that this is a bad idea, your heart sinks. You gesture vaguely toward the Temple looming in the distance. "Me too. I've got some things I should probably deal with."

"Right."

The silence stretches between the two of you, and neither one of you moves. After a few seconds, Rex clears his throat, and he meets your eyes.

"Thank you again. For bringing me here," he says, his voice soft. "And for the food."

"Don't mention it," you reply with a small smile.

You look down at the ground and kick at a stray stone, trying to bury the sudden pang of sadness. You'd had fun. More fun than you'd had in a long time, but you're not naive enough to believe that this is something that can happen again. Your schedules are far too erratic, and you're not sure you can trust yourself around him. The brief physical contact is already beginning to wear on your resolve.

"I'll see you later then," you tell him, forcing a casual tone.

"Later," he agrees.

He takes a step forward and hesitates. For half a second, you think he might hug you, which is a ridiculous thought. He wouldn't. And you certainly wouldn't let him. But there's something in the way he's looking at you, the way his eyes flick down to your lips, the way his hands flex at his sides.

For a moment, everything feels frozen. Neither of you move, and neither of you speak. The noise of the crowd seems distant, and the world falls away. It's just the two of you, standing there, waiting. Waiting for something, anything.

And then Rex nods stiffly, his hands resting on his hips, and he takes a step back. "Take care, sir."

"You too, Captain."

You turn and walk away.

When you finally make it back to your room in the Temple, you flop down onto your bed, your head buried in the pillow. You let out a long sigh and close your eyes, the sound of Rex's voice still ringing in your ears.

He'd been kind and charming and sweet, and he'd listened to you and laughed with you and made you smile. And, for a brief moment, you'd forgotten all about the war, the Order, and everything else. You'd just existed.

It was stupid. You were stupid.

But you'd had fun.

It'd been nice.

Really, really nice.

"Shit," you mumble into your pillow. You roll over and stare up at the ceiling, and you groan.

This is going to be harder than you thought it would be.

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@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @bunny7567

@lostqueenofegypt @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

@callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @captn-trex @feral-ferrule

@webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @cw80831 @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@silly-starfish @floofyroro

#the clone wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #obi wan x reader #roy writes #rex my beloved he hath returned #can you believe this chapter didn't exist until a few weeks ago #idk what i was thinking #also i think i might need a beta?#i edit these like 10 times but i feel like im missing something every time

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the-raven-lady · 4 months ago

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(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 1]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Fear Inoculum - TOOL [YouTube] [Spotify] “Enumerate all that I'm to do / Calculating steps away from you / My own mitosis / Growing through delusion from mania / Exhale, expel / Recast my tale / Weave my allegorical elegy.”

Warnings: Violence, explicit and detailed blood and gore, disgusting and disturbing imagery, terror and dread, fear of death, all of the warnings you should expect hearing the words ‘Night Lord’ bestie this is the “I love murder” legion.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: The long awaited Night Lord claiming + womb tattoo series. This part is primarily exposition and setting the scene. Also new dividers? Raven Lady's getting fancy.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender

The slosh of brown water on the floor splashes away from your washcloth, and you overextend your shoulder trying to catch it before it runs too far. Hissing at the sudden spasm, you sit back on your heels, rolling it out to soothe the ache. You’ve been on your hands and knees for what feels like far too long now, and your joints are starting to protest. It seems the other serf helping you isn’t faring much better. A glance in her direction reveals her sitting like a child, knees bent and feet flat on the floor, using the full weight of her body to scrub between the seams of the floor panels. You shake your head and return to pushing around the rusty water, struggling to remove the grime from the floor.

The act was pointless. Everyone knew that it wouldn’t be another week before the armory would be so rancid with dried bodily fluids that a cleanup crew would have to scrub it down again, but you knew better than to make a comment on it.

The racket of raucous laughter nearby shoots ice through your veins. You and the other serf instinctually freeze at the sound, and it doesn’t even cross your mind to check on her before abandoning your post, scrambling off of the wet floor in a flash to hide behind a large crate. The cold metal at your back would shield you from view, you know, but the hammering in your chest and shuddering of your breath would be beacons for a bored astartes. Silently, you will yourself to calm down at any cost, holding your breath for so long your lungs begin to burn from the effort.

Their heavy footfalls eventually fade into the distance, off to another area of the ship. Still, you remain in place for another few minutes until you’re as certain as you’ll ever be that they’re gone. You dare not risk yourself getting caught by a group of Night Lords, if experience has taught you anything.

You’ve become jaded to the rags of tanned hide displayed proudly on their armor and the grotesque corpse art that lines the walls of Nightfall. The smell doesn’t even get to you anymore, having been surrounded by abundant death and decay for so long. Everything reeks of it. Even if you did take the time to think on the dreadful feelings that stir when you see them, your body wouldn’t be able to afford losing any more meals with how sparingly you’ve been fed.

What has never left you are the screams. The gush of blood pouring from a weeping laceration. The crack of breaking bones. Desperate cries from the poor targets of the Night Lord’s insatiable appetite for ‘entertainment’, sobs and begs for their lives— No, no, no, please! I’ll do anything, please, just let me go–!— eventually turning into pleas to be put out of their misery, shown mercy, as their captors only laugh and croon. No mercy flowed through them; they were never quick with their kills. It was all a sadistic game to feed off of the tears and terror for as long as they could. The Night Lords wouldn’t stop their fun until their playthings had been bled dry– literally or figuratively.

You peek out from around the crate, surveying the dim armory. Empty.

The serf you had been working with was missing as well, likely sequestered off somewhere for safety. The utter silence of the room causes your gut to tremble with anxiety. It was a dangerous game to be alone: lone serfs were prime prey, and you by no means wanted to make yourself an easy target.

With no small amount of horror, you realize it’s outside of your power to do anything about it. Your lungs deflate, and you give yourself a false reassurance before returning to your station on the floor, taking up the soiled wash rag and wringing it out into the water bucket. Pieces of slimy rehydrated skin pass over your fingers. You return to your efforts with the intent to finish as quickly as possible. The desire to flee to your cot is all-encompassing, driving you to redouble your efforts and get the job done just passably enough that you won’t be killed for it.

A thought stops you, though. Where had your companion gone? It’s not that you particularly cared for her safety (you didn’t know her and caring is a luxury you could not afford), but to be gone without a trace was peculiar. You don’t remember hearing her footsteps, but you had also been preoccupied with yourself at the time.

You look around the empty room for anything out of place. Nothing appears to have moved since you last checked. Her brush and bucket are still on the floor, right where she had left them. You had seen her put them down there, right?

…Hadn’t you?

You dismiss the thought. She was probably still hiding somewhere, and for that, you couldn’t fault her. There was no loyalty amongst serfs of the Eighth, just an understanding that it was safer together than apart. Wanting to determine how much longer you would be here, you observe the areas the other serf had already worked.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The surfaces of the floors, storage units, and walls were visibly much cleaner than the rest, but she had done a horrible job wiping things down as she went. The steady dripping of a poorly dried surface unpleasantly fills your ears, slowly becoming the only thing you can focus on. You frown. It was amazing how you could begin to miss the ever-present dull thrum of the ship’s electrical systems when it was covered by something even slightly more annoying.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You shake your head and get back to working around the floor grate at the center of the room. Its placement makes it convenient to push the disgusting wash water into. As expected, the seams around the drain are compacted with hair and dried flesh, and you have to soak the mass to begin to scrape it free. The spongy texture is a nightmare to work with, but it wouldn’t be such a chore if you had some help.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Annoyed, you decide you’ve had enough of it. Water sloshes in the bucket when you wrench your washcloth to go wipe down whatever it is she had left unfinished, rising up to your feet. With some luck, you’d figure out where she had run off to. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if she had abandoned you altogether, leaving you to finish the task and fend for yourself.

A cursory glance over the bench, lockers, and racks reveals nothing out of the ordinary. They were passably clean and– perplexingly– completely dry. You ran a hand along them to be certain and, surely enough, it came away much the same. Odd. You were certain that you would find something. Continuing your search leaves more questions than answers.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Checking around a wall of storage cabinets, you carefully inspect each of the gaps for signs of water or some other liquid that could be leaking. You find nothing.

At the end of the lockers, a shadow dances in the dim candlelight. Fear grips you for just a moment as you focus in on it, but it is much too small to be an astartes. At the realization, the chill in your blood is replaced with a simmer of frustration, and you stomp down the hall towards the figure.

Your eyes lock with the other serf’s. “Are you just hiding to–?”

You stop. It appears she had been too preoccupied with hanging from a bracket on the wall to come to your aid. The side of her neck is torn open with loose strips of muscle and connective tissue fanning over her shoulder. A glistening metal finial of Nostraman design pokes ornately through her spine and sternum, partially coagulated blood pooling at the tip.

Drip.

“About time,” a voice spits.

You’re suddenly dragged by the back of your robes, hoisted up into the air by an unseen force. The scream that leaves you tears at your vocal cords, but it’s choked off by the fabric of your neckline biting into your throat. Thrashing your head from side to side, you catch sight of a colorless face cackling, bloodied lips curled into a grin. You desperately kick your legs in an attempt to free yourself.

“Feisty little pet, aren’t we?” he asks. The Night Lord turns you around easily as you struggle, splitting red as he talks. “Good. Your friend was far more boring.”

You rake at the fabric around your neck, trying to alleviate the pressure preventing oxygen from getting to your head. The action only makes him laugh harder. “Oh, how precious. Poor little serf can’t breathe?” He tilts his head as he taunts you, and a cruel glint crosses his eye.

“How about I help with that?”

A half turn and your back slams against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your gasp of pain ignites a malicious glee within your captor, a row of bloodied yellow teeth peeking from behind his lips. At least like this, pinned to the wall, you have the ability to catch your breath, ragged and shallow. Each rough huff eases the ache in your diaphragm.

A hand roughly snaps your head forward, forcing you to focus on the face at your front. He suffocates you with his presence, leaning in far too close. “You know,” he starts, “I had been just about ready to walk in there and drag you out myself.” Despite the melodic quality of his voice, you only feel discomfort at the astartes’s words as he uningenuously laments. “I could only stare at my masterpiece for so long.”

Briefly, your eyes linger on the silhouetted corpse of the other chapter serf. You hadn’t even heard her scream. Hadn’t heard the attack. Hadn’t heard the bones crack when she was unceremoniously mounted on the wall. You had managed to miss every detail.

…Or your captor had been skilled enough to mask them. You shiver.

He follows your gaze, scoffing when it lands on the body. “Your buddy is as pretty as she is stupid, trying to run all the way back to the hole you serfs call home.” The image of the other serf running down the hallway and getting caught as you did passes through your mind, and you grimace at the thought of whatever game she may have suffered through to end up where she is. The sing-song cadence of his voice draws your attention back to the Night Lord in front of you, “You humans fall so easily to your emotions. Not the brightest of you lot I’ve had, but certainly the best bait.”

Bait. The word is sour in the air.

“So unwilling to have fun–”

She had just been bait.

“–but you’re eager to play, aren’t you?”

You were the game.

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening as you process everything you had missed or ignored up until now. Black blurs the edges of your vision. “Oh, don’t be like that,” the Night Lord shakes his head, but you know better than to believe it. This is exactly what he wanted. “We can be great friends—”

Self-preservation takes a hold of you. Your adrenalized brain screams to overcome, persist. In an act of desperation, your hands shoot out before you, and you manage to jab your fingers into his dark eyes and claw. The astartes snarls, ducking away and dragging you with him off of the wall as he stumbles back. With a shake of his head, he regains his senses. He growls.

“You stupid bitch!”

The Night Lord tosses you like a ragdoll, uncaring of how your head impacts the nearby bench before hitting the floor. The world spins around you. “I’ll gut you like a pig for that, you impudent rat!” he roars, ceramite boots stomping closer. His eyes are wild, red around his enlarged pupils from where you’ve managed to burst blood vessels. Uncoordinated, you scramble backwards on the floor, staring up at the approaching astartes in terror.

This is it. This is where you die: surrounded by filth, hyperventilating on the floor as a pissed off Night Lord tortures you within an inch of your life until you perish from the stress. All for one measly act of courage. Your back hits a wall as he rounds the bench, and you find yourself unable to watch any longer as fate unfolds before you. You curl up in a ball, turning away and protecting your head with your arms, then wait for the inevitable killing strike.

And wait.

…And wait.

But the blow never comes– no white-hot stab of pain, no sting of a kick to the ribs, no blunt ache of broken bones– just a sickeningly sodden crunch of flesh and bone. A wet spray paints your back. Your tattered robes easily soak up the warm liquid, causing you to flinch from the sudden moisture. Even through the rush of confusion and fear, it doesn’t take you long to realize what it is. The scent is unmistakable.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you struggle to catch up with your surroundings. By all means, you should be dead: the newest addition to a Night Lord’s skin cloak, or at the very least in excruciating pain. But you aren’t.

Tentatively, trembling, you withdraw your head from the cage of your arms, turning just enough to peer behind you. You gasp at the grisly sight.

Crimson rivulets of blood drip down over massive navy blue gauntlets. A single enucleated eye dangles from the gore between its digits. The terminator, more mountain than man, holds the unmoving body of your persecutor up by what remains of his cranium and neck. It is little more than ribbons of meat now.

Bile rises in your throat. You struggle to force it back down.

Bolted armor caked in blood– both dried and fresh, sunken deep into the recesses of the ceramite plating– gives off an aura of wrought iron and decay. The metallic tang permeates the air around him, hanging heavy in the poorly ventilated armory. His scarred skin looks sickly pale. Greasy. Dehydrated. Aside from deep black eyes that watch you as a predator observes prey, the most prominent feature on his face is a wicked scar: a tear in his upper lip that exposes maxilla and sharp teeth alike. The shock of black hair on his head still has the impression of his helmet on it.

Without so much as a sound, he had come up from behind and grabbed the smaller Night Lord by the face, yanking them back into the crux of his chestplate and pauldron with enough force to shatter the hardened skull of an astartes.

The massive marine throws the limp corpse of his former brother aside. The impact of metal on metal causes your ears to ring as a thousand pounds of lifeless ceramite strikes the wall, immediately followed by a disgusting wet slop of pulverized brain matter spilling onto the floor. If you had been on the Nightfall for any less time, you would have screamed. The shock almost prevents you from registering that you’re being spoken to.

“Get up.”

The terminator’s voice is that of rolling thunder and coarse gravel, resonating deep within your chest and leaving your heart fluttering with trepidation. His words had been spoken no louder than conversational, and yet they had you shooting up to your feet as if they had been shouted. Your wobbly legs nearly give out beneath you from how quickly you rise from the floor, croaking a shaky, “Yes, my lord.”

He removes his helmet from where it is magnetized to his belt with a click, placing it down on the bench you had been cowering behind. The tusks on it are as long as your forearm and nearly as thick. A faint decal of a skull is painted around the red lenses, chipped and fading but almost cartoonishly cute in contrast to the rags of flesh and weathered bones decorating the rest of his armor.

The new Night Lord doesn’t seem to find it nearly as amusing as you do. He pushes the helmet in your direction, and you clamber to catch it before it hits the ground, not wanting to incur his wrath by dropping it so soon after he had just saved your life. The metal is heavy in your arms, tusks dangerously close to puncturing your throat.

“Clean it,” he barks.

You grab your wash rag from the floor and shake it out. You do not have to be told twice.

[Part 2]

#there will be smut eventually #i did not and will not pull any punches on this one you have been WARNED #using my questionable life experience to make a good dark fic #enjoy you filthy sinners #night lord #night lords #night lord x reader #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #horus heresy #warhammer 40k x reader #wh 40k #oc: elias rushorik #raven lady writings

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signedkoko · 10 months ago

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Ello there Koko! Welcome back! 💙 I'd like to request Sir Pentious with a reader who's basically his little evil henchman/sidekick. I don't see much writing for the bastard but I honestly love him so I'd love to see more! It could be platonic or romantic, either way is good!

Anything At All [Platonic]

In which you are Pentious' assistant, and hes been requested to help the V's. Genderneutral Reader.

Song - The Party Line by Belle and Sebastian

Everyone could use an assistant, especially the overlords of hell, because they had all kinds of important things to do. Menial tasks requiring trust should be left to someone who can act as the right-hand man. Or at least, that was what Pentious always told himself.

None of the other overlords really had a sidekick, assistant, or whatever you choose to call them; they were all servants.

Loyalty was the first thing you had to achieve when finding an assistant, but who could ever be loyal? Everyone down here had something they'd give it all up for. Thus, Pentious was constantly ridiculed for choosing to trust someone who could easily overthrow him given the right opportunity.

What they didn't consider was that you'd give up everything and anything for him, but they didn't need to know that.

Most of what you did was surveillance. While Pentious much preferred to bury himself in strange inventions with grandiose ideals, you handled all the real work that might actually get him the title he so desired. While he trampled on his own reputation, you fixed it and elevated your own.

Pentious was known, but mostly because it was next to yours. Even so, you hated the spotlight because it took it away from him. Pentious was like a mascot; he was perfect at being in the public eye and had the confidence of a lion, except without claws or teeth. It was all so unlike you, so you would rather support him.

Besides, it was at least a little amusing to watch your friend go all out, despite not having all that much to back him up. He was always especially hostile to Alastor, to the point where you knew not to be anywhere near him since it always ended so badly.

It was another cleanup day, and after being totaled by the radio demon, Pentious was as antsy as ever to restore his ship to its prior glory.

" Pentious? Do you ever think about moving on from him? " You'd always make sure to ask after their scuffles, hoping the answer would change.

" Of courssse not! That would be admitting defeat! "

You sighed, a small laugh hidden in the veiled disappointment. It was still nice to see that he was so optimistic.

Pentious is extremely smart when it comes to weapons, engineering, and the sciences—he was anything and everything but street smart.

You'd prepared a meal for the two of you to share, asking questions that would help you navigate the next plan, and so you had an idea of what you'd need to round up. You loved hearing his next idea—what the new gun would be, how he figured he could defeat one of the strongest overlords of hell, and so on.

Unfortunately, your lunch was interrupted by your phone ringing, which you pulled up to see—the very face of technology himself. Before you could answer, the call started anyway.

" Tch. "

" Heyyy this is Sir whateveryoucallhim's assistant, right? Yeah, nice to meet you. Listen. I have to talk to Pentious. " You couldn't even get a word in before Pentious lept forward, stealing your phone from you and pushing you away.

" Its finally happening! Wait outside!! " Pentious urged you to the door, though the moment you were out, you pressed your ear to the door, trying to catch the conversation.

" Yess of course! It was a sssplendid idea speaking to the likes of I! I'll be on it straight away! " You figured the call ended because there was no more speaking.

When he opened the door, you almost fell forward, catching yourself so as not to make it seem like you'd been trying to listen in. Not like it mattered, because in a moment, Pentious was sharing every detail of the conversation with the excitement of a kid who got unlimited candy.

" Infiltrating the Hazbin Hotel? I don't know... It sounds like he just wants you to do his dirty work. Besides, doesn't Alastor work there? Won't he kick you out or catch on? "

" Come now; we cannot wassste any time! " He hadn't listened to a word you said; he was already on his way to set course for the hotel.

As worried as you were, maybe the hotel would be kind to Pentious. If all went to hell, you could only hope the princess would have mercy on him.

At the very least, you urged him to wait a day so you could prepare to come along with him and suggested he leave his technology on the ship so as not to alert anyone in the hotel that he may be hostile.

While most may not recognize you, Alastor certainly would, so you were sure to leave any and all weapons back at home. Just in case, right?

While you dressed more cleanly in softer and more welcoming clothes, Pentious didn't change a thing despite your protests. He waltzed right up to the door with no care and was immediately greeted by the princess's significant other shoving a spear in his face.

Stepping forward, you caught the edge of her spear and moved it up, just barely missing Pentious's face. You smiled in warning.

" Sorry for him; he is just so excited to stay at your hotel. As am I. " You looked down at Pentious, signaling for him to get up.

Thankfully, Charlie was quick to grab him and drag him on in, which you followed behind, nervously shuffling past the girl who'd just tried to kill Pentious.

Unfortunately, another wall blocked you, as the one and only pornstar Angeldust was quick to shove the wannabe overlord out the door and into you.

" Wait wait wait, are we really letting the guy who tried to kill us six hours ago in? And who the fuck are you? " The spider was extremely tall and still managed to tower over Pentious by a fraction.

You opted to stay silent, amused at how Pentious managed to pull himself through this one. Even so, the team did seem interested in your appearance; they'd never seen Pentious with anyone before.

For a moment, Charlie turned to look at Vaggie, and seconds later, the woman seemed to slouch in defeat.

" Whatever, not like hes harmless with or without the way machine. " Pentious pouted at her words, and you chuckled.

" Ooooh yes, yes, yes! Thank you so much! Right this way, you two, it is so exciting to have our first official guests!! " She seemed a lot more focused on Pentious as she pulled him through the corridors, showing off every aspect of the hotel. In a way, she reminded you a lot of Pentious.

You could already tell Pentious was going to be easily distracted from his mission, though before you could remind him, a stark static filled the air.

" Oh! Alastor! Our property manager: You've met our newest guests, Sir Pentious, and-- "

" Ah yes! Hell's best underground assistant, it is such a pleasure. " Alastor took your hand into both of his, shaking it with a tilted glance." Oh! And the one who ruined my coat! I definitely remember you now. "

Still flabbergasted by the radio demons approach to you, you were frozen in place, Pentious anxiously shifting when Alastor's tone shifted between the two of you.

"Best assistant? You flatter me. " You tried to take the attention back, looking to the princess for some kind of relief.

" This seems like a, uhm- perfect opportunity for a lesson on apologizing! "

Author's Note - This is a fic exchange with @sillypenguincats ! You can read their Alastor x Reader here. Thank you for requesting, working with me, and being so kind 🖤

Word Count - 1,243

#koko writez #koko collabz #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #sir pentious x reader #sir pentious

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aris-has-a-paracosm · 13 days ago

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ArisArisArisAris Aris Aris please I'm begging you canwe see wips for Deepfrost drawing

please please please can we be permitted a tiny glance inside the brain of tumblr artist aris-has-a-paracosm?

Yes can do! <3 Here’s a little bit about my art process for the Deepfrost art :)

So here’s a screenshot from the sketch. (It wasn’t completely done at the time, but it’s the only screenshot I still have of that part.)

I sketch in any color other than black so I can more easily see my lineart later, and red is often what I default to. I also had two-point perspective grid lines set up, but I didn’t really adhere to them. As you can see, DF’s face did undergo a little bit of editing before the lineart happened. I opted to go for a toothy grin rather than the open-mouthed smile he originally had here.

Speaking of lineart:

Regardless of what brush I use, I always make sure that my lineart connects neatly to itself for each part of every drawing (separate lineart layers for each component.) There’s no gaps anywhere, so it makes it to where I can easily use an inverse selection to put a base color layer directly beneath. My base layers are always in gray going from lighter in the background to darker in the foreground.

Next up was rendering the background:

This is- … this is definitely a “rest of the heckin’ owl” kinda thing XD. The buildings were in three layers with the windows drawn in vertical lines and then erased in horizontal lines.

Here’s a gif to show that? Please excuse my atrocious Timelapse quality :’)

Once the windows were all on there, I used alpha lock on the layer and then just randomly recolored windows based on reference photos of cities at night. Once the windows were done, I used some airbrushing for ambiance.

Next up was the base colors for the foreground:

Here, I was mainly focused on the outfit and ice detail. All of this was important to get the way I wanted pre-render, and absolutely nothing about lighting was considered here.

Afterwards was DF’s rendering:

I had two separate shadow layers and one light layer, keeping my light source and his three-dimensionality in mind the whole time. Here was where I also did lineart recoloring and cleanup.

And then all I had left was to render the ice, the rooftop, and add the snow! I don’t fully know how to explain this part either, but I primarily used a soft airbrush and a medium nozzle spray paint brush as well as an eraser in both of those settings as well.

So yeah! That’s the basics of my art process! I like to joke that when I draw, my brain lives in my hands so I don’t think too much about the process while drawing. I had a lot of fun with this and hope you liked seeing the process :D

#Aris Paracosm art #aris paracosm rambles #tangotek #drawing process #even ice walls fall down

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homoquartz · 4 months ago

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okee dokee here's some video game recs!! indie/small studio only

these games are ALL top marks for me. there's none that i'm like, meh about. they do have some issues probably, but it's outshined by how fun and memorable they are. i'm happy to expand on any of them.

exploration games

what remains of edith finch

slime rancher

firewatch

subnautica

paradise killer

journey

strategy/puzzle games

overland

dorfromantik

unpacking

potionomics

the witness (recommended only if you're not a completionist - one of the puzzles is timed to take like 2 irl hours)

grim fandango

portal 1 and 2

farming sims

stardew valley of course

my time at sandrock (early access)

narrative games

disco elysium

i was a teenage exocolonist

little misfortune

tacoma

the stanley parable

other

hades

viscera cleanup detail

psychonauts 1 and 2

night in the woods

soma

undertale

left 4 dead

life is strange (first game only)

bonus (big publisher but old so people forgot it): bully / canis canem edit

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siblingshuffle · 2 months ago

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Sibling Shuffle: Roll With The Punches

Hey guys! Sorry for the wait!

Context: this takes place a little bit after Megaman 7. Roll’s home, now, and since Piano at most messed up the organization on their computer and/or toppled a chair (just to appease Bass), they didn’t have to do much in the way of cleanup at the lab.

LORE: Roll, like Rock, doesn’t want to hurt anyone. That said, Roll does threaten Wily at Buster-Point, much like Rock in the original.

To be fair, Roll had had a REALLY rough day. I mean, first Wily attacked the city again, forcing her to fight again. Then, she met someone she thought was her friend, and, while it was a little bit annoying that Blues and Dr. Light didn’t seem to trust her, she could understand their concerns to some extent. Then Piano got hurt, so, because of course she does, Roll sends Piano to Dr. Light - her dad had always fixed her when she needed fixing; he could help Piano! But then, all of a sudden, no one is answering when she calls. Roll returns home in a panic, and while (thankfully) her family is okay, just locked out of the computer room - and Piano turns out to have been a Wilybot with intentions to infiltrate Light Labs, steal some blueprints, and use them to destroy her.

Roll had thought at least she and Rock wouldn’t be fighting alone this time. Instead, it was another trick, and Roll kinda rapid-fire cycled through the stages of grief over her & Piano’s (now former) friendship. With Wily gleefully rubbing salt in that fresh wound, after everything he did - to the city, to her friends, her brothers, her father, and everything and everyone she cared about - she hit her breaking point.

Anger can be pretty dangerous. It can make you want, do, or say things you wouldn’t usually want, do, or say. And in that moment, Roll didn’t just want Wily to stop.

She wanted him to never put anyone through that all again.

Once Roll had calmed down a bit, though, her earlier dark desire to pull the trigger scared her a bit. I mean, she doesn’t want to hurt people. She’s not malicious. Why had she gotten so mad? What if she had pulled the trigger? Was it even possible for her to, under those circumstances?

The other Lights could tell that she was bothered by what happened, but they were letting her come to them. Though Rock started doing things that comforted him in hopes that Roll would receive that feeling, Dr. Light let her know that she could talk to him a few times, and Blues gave her space (because he would want space if something happened that left him that shaken).

When Roll eventually did seek one of them out, it was Blues. His function of just "being himself" implies (at least to him) “make your own choices,” because you can’t be your own person of you’re not making your own choices. For this reason, he is well-versed in loopholes. (He sees them as him fulfilling his purpose by doing what he wants despite what he is told to do). If anyone could reassure her about whether or not she could’ve actually done it, it would probably be him.

————— Additional Trivia (& Details):

I was on Pinterest for some pose references and I saw this cute skirt with a kinda overalls build and heart-shaped pockets. I thought it was adorable and immediately wanted to draw Roll wearing something similar. And, like I said I might, I gave her the scarf to match her brothers!

I looked at the events of game 7 and asked what could’ve possibly driven someone - especially someone like Roll (or Rock) - to the point where they are actively threatening this man’s life when they have never done so before. The TLDR of what I came up with? Roll was trying to scare him, but also wanted to fire because of all the accumulated stress. However, the fact that he wasn’t putting a human in immediate life-threatening danger meant that she couldn’t fire no matter how much she wanted to in that moment.

Blues’s alternate outfit is inspired by his other 2 canon-to-something casual outfits. Mostly the one from Rockman: Yomigaeru Blues, but also a bit the Megamix one. (Not that much of his Megamix one, but kinda.)

Blues isn’t lying. The first law (or, the way they were programmed with it at least) requires the human to be putting another human in active life-threatening danger in order to justify breaking it. It’s the strictest of the 3 laws.

Roll’s nickname. One thing I noticed I kept doing when thinking up scenes was Blues occasionally nicknaming friends & family members. So far, I’ve come up with “Rolly-Poly” for Roll, “Rocky Road” for Rock, and the much-less-creative “Tem/Temp” for Tempo.

(To note is the fact that Rhythm does the same thing when I am thinking of interactions with her, but her nicknames are more poking fun at someone. Like in my head, she calls Rock “Blue” and Blues “Red” just because she is an instigator of chaos and thinks it’s funny.)

You guys have to tell me whether or not you like the alt outfits or not.

#sibling shuffle au #mega man au #mega man classic #megaman #my art #roll light #blues light #lore #Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics #Loopholes #Roll and Piano end up visiting the Robot Museum on a day off at the same time a while after this #After that Roll thinks maybe Piano just didn’t have a choice in everything that happened #and Piano (definitely didn’t) miss hanging out with her nooo #Which later led to the friendship bracelet from Us Against The World

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deepdreamnights · 29 days ago

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Vidu and the Quest to Make More Toons

So, a ways back I talked about Minmax, but I've been trying out basically all the video generators looking for the tools I need, and low and behold this week I find out I've been accepted into the Vidu Artists program now, wherein I get credits and access to access their cooler features in in exchange for... talking about the tech and how I use it.

Well twist my arm. I shall endeavor to be objective and informative despite free stuff (a challenge my spirit needs practice withstanding if anyone else wishes to test me)

So let's talk Vidu.

(outside of being converted to gif, no animations in this post have been cut or edited)

Also, everyone say hi to Maureen the Lizard Queen, every hero needs an evil queen that really wants in his pteruges, and she's that for TyrannoMax.

Vidu's got a bit more oomph under the hood than MinMax (no shade to MinMax, they're brand new and very promising) and it's way too early to be picking winners when it comes to video.

Anyhow, basic features that are nice include the options to upload start and end frames, options for a 4 or 8 second duration (more about that later), and a cleanup/upscale. Credits line up more or less with seconds. 4 credits for a 4 second clip, 8 for an 8 second, and again at upscale. It's straightforward in a way a lot of services aren't.

Apetomic Pyle, done on the fast settings. (not to shabby still, and it gave him monkey legs which a lot of systems balk at)

If you're on the $30/mo tier, you can choose to do a double-cost "quality" over "speed" option. Thankfully, the artist program gets me access. Since there's not yet a seed option it's hard to do a direct comparison, but the quality is going to be a must if you're doing anything that looks like cel. Much cleaner, much smoother.

(4 and 8 second quality gens)

One of the nicest features is the character reference feature. Basically it's like Midjourney's --cref, but with a very strict adherence to character details.

The above images used reference shots of Maureen and Dr. Underfang, and it got the stripes on Underfang's tie right in basically every gen. That's a ridiculous level of character model adherence and, for my purposes, all but essential.

It did misinterpret Maureen's undertail coloration for a sort of fin or drape, but the shot I used was oddly cropped, and sometimes stuff like that happens with gen AI. Given my measuring stick for errors is the era of animation I'm emulating, whatever does slip through is only going to make it more authentic.

There is a limitation in that character-reference and text-only prompts default to 16:9 presently with no options to adjust, but some room to pan is always handy and most people are going to be outputting for phone and not outdated CRT televisions, so, it's understandable it'd be a lower priority feature for the devs.

Walk cycles! By Saint Eniac it's a miracle!

On the left we have one prompted with TyrannoMax's control art, and on the right we have one using that art as the starting frame (4 and 8 seconds, respectively).

Way More details under the fold.

Vidu likes a hefty prompt.

A lot of detail and evocative language helps, and older prompting tricks like mojo-jojoing important concepts are back. For the Max walk cycles above I used:

1986 vintage cel-shaded cartoon character walk cycle. The orange dinosaur-anthro wearing blue gladiator armor walks toward screen right, the camera tracks him, holding him in center-frame. He completes a full, brisk walk cycles from the side view. He walks boldly, back straight, head high, heroic. His tail sways behind him as he moves. The whole clip has the look and feel of vintage 1986 action adventure cel-animated cartoons. The animation quality is high, with flawless motion and anatomy. animated by Tokyo Movie Shinsha, studio Ghibli, don bluth. BluRay remaster. flat chroma-key green screen background

The potential for use with my Filmation-inspired technique is readily apparent. Both versions are on-model as much as any two shots in a 1980s action-figure shilling cartoon would be, some minor blurring to clean up in post but nothing serious. It should be pretty easy to extract the needed frames for looping and compositing.

Some Extra Points

There are the usual issues with hands, though more often than not it corrects my four-fingered anthros to having a human five-fingered hand. Buzby Spurlock animation was known for those kinds of inconsistencies, though. So an opening credits video is much less far off than it was at the last post.

It's also generally impressive how well it does with my dinosaur characters. Non-humanoid dinosaurs are difficult for most image generators, much less anthrosaurs in a vintage aesthetic. Vidu has yet to override the character art to give Underfang or Max the Jurassic Park style t-rex jaw, which is something both MJ and Dall-E 3 have trouble with.

Human characters like Kitty Concolor here, much more stable.

As always, clips are curated. I didn't choose my absolute best ones (gotta have something for the videos), and I'm working on a fun series of jank reels across all the generators.

#vidu #vidu artist plan #ai video #ai animation #tyrannomax #ai tutorial #ai assisted art #cartoons #80s nostalgia #unreality #maureen the lizard queen #dr. underfang #ApeTromic Pyle

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sentientgolfball · 1 year ago

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Hello! I have a writing request! Can you write a Polyghoul x reader where reader has horrendous eyesight and is night blind? Just something fluffy if you have time. I appreciate you!

And I appreciate YOU anon <3 you can also very much see my Phantom obsession in this

Tags: none! Just so much fluff

My requests are open !

You cursed under your breath when you opened the door to the hallway. You hadn’t realized just how long you had been cleaning, but now that the only thing you could see was a pitch-black void you figured too long. You, of course, didn’t have any source of light on you. You didn’t think you would need it. You’ve never left a shift after the sun went down and all the main lights had been put out. Tonight had been different, though. The kitchen was already a mess when you arrived for the dinner shift. Apparently, something had happened with the originally planned meal and now the head Siblings had to scramble for a replacement. You didn’t pay that close attention to the details of it all as you were put straight to work the moment you crossed the threshold. Dinner ended up being presented late which led to a stern talking to from Sister Imperator, and then after all that you still had to do the dishes and clean any messes. Since you were the least experienced in kitchen duty, you always got stuck with the cleanup. You didn’t mind too much, though, because it got you some alone time. But now you were seriously questioning your choices.

Okay…it’s not too far to my room. It’s gotta be muscle memory by now right? You take a deep breath and shrug to yourself fuck it.

You place your hand on the cold stone of the wall and begin to walk to the left. You get the feeling that you’ve been walking far enough and decide to turn the next time the wall gives way to an opening. You walk a bit farther before you feel a wall in front of you. You reach out expecting to feel the doorknob, but when your hand just meets more stone you pause.

Uh oh.

You began to frantically feel around hoping a door would magically appear if you just kept looking. The longer you went without a door popping into existence you felt your stomach drop. You were lost. You couldn’t see and you were lost. You tried to keep calm, knowing that if you panicked it would only make things worse. You found the wall again and began retracing your steps to the best of your ability. Maybe it was the fact that your anxiety was rising, but the longer you walked the more you felt like someone was watching you. You tried to ignore it, it wouldn’t be surprising.

Of course there were other people around. It's a satanic abbey for Lucifer’s sake.

You tried to rationalize with yourself despite walking just a bit faster now. That’s when you had a second realization. You should’ve passed an opening a few steps ago. Shit. Now you really had no idea where you were.

The panic had closed in at this point. You leaned heavily against the wall too freaked to continue trying to find your way. You stayed like that for a few minutes trying to will your breathing to even out before you saw it. A faint purple glow illuminated the end of the hallway. When it realized you had noticed it there was a small flash before it was right in front of you. Now that it was near, you were able to tell that the source of it was one of Papa Copia’s ghouls. Phantom. You remember overhearing some older Siblings talking about a newer ghoul with that name.

“Why are you on the floor? Did you lose your game?” There was no malice in his voice, just genuine curiosity.

You looked up at him despite only really being able to make out the purple light coming from his eyes.

“Game? What game?”

“I saw you walk in a circle like three times…are you not playing some strange human game…?” He tilted his head as he spoke

“You watched me walk around lost in the middle of the night and didn’t think to say anything” you snap at the ghoul. There’s a moment of awkward silence before you hear a small whine and a mumbled apology. You sigh heavily feeling a bit guilty about yelling at him.

“No, it’s fine. I mean it’s not fine I really was…am lost, but I didn’t need to yell at you.”

“Where you trying to go?”

“I just want to go back to my room and sleep. I’ve had a long and stressful day and getting lost in this gigantic labyrinth of a place only made it worse.”

“Let me help!”

You’re a bit shocked at his immediate willingness. You haven’t had many interactions with ghouls in your short time as a Sibling of Sin, but you assumed demons from Hell wouldn’t be so eager to go out of their way to help. You were honestly half expecting to have to bargain or beg with him. You don’t dwell on it for too long, though. You reach your hand out in the direction of the purple dots of light and hope he gets the message. He hear a noise you can only assume means happiness as you feel a clawed hand grab yours before you’re rather unceremoniously yanked to your feet. You almost crash into him as you find your footing.

He keeps your hand in his and his tail wrapped around your arm as you two walk.

He fills the quiet night by going on and on about what he was doing prior to watching you. He talked a bit too fast and too much for you to totally understand what he was saying despite listening in earnest. The only thing you really got was that he found a bat colony in an old bell tower during his first week on Earth and that he was so fascinated with them that every night he goes to visit them and watch them fly around. Eventually, he comes to a stop. You get a strange feeling as you physically feel his excitement grow. For a moment, the hall is cast in purple light as the Lichtenberg figure scars on the left side of his body pulse with quintessence, confirming your suspicions.

He coughs “Sorry. Can’t always control it when I get excited.”

It was only then that you realized you must’ve been making a face. You let your muscles relax.

“No it’s not that I’m just…confused. How did you know where my room is?”

“Oh! Good question! I don’t!”

You blink slowly at him “Then where are we?”

His only response is a laugh as he throws open the door in front of you two. You have to shield your eyes for a moment from the sudden burst of blinding lights.

“I’m right on time! I hope you guys don’t mind that I brought a guest.”

You rub your eyes and slowly crack them open only to be met with nine pairs of various colored eyes staring right at you.

The ghoul den. He brought me to the ghoul den.

You felt like you were ready to pass out as he closed the door and guided you to one of the couches where he plopped down right next to you.

“If you’re going to have sex with your guest at least wait until after the movie. It’s my turn to pick.” A gigantic green ghoul commented from where he was hunched over searching through a box.

“You don’t have to worry about that big guy, nobody is going to get hard from a nature documentary. Well unless it's about the ocean then maybe Wet Boy will—OW motherfucker.” You watched the water ghoul elbow who you knew to be Dew hard in the ribs before turning towards Phantom.

“Hey uh, I really don’t mean to intrude. You can just give me a flashlight or a candle or something and I can find my own way back.”

“Aw come on most of us don’t bite.” The ghoulette seated on the other side of Phantom craned her neck to look at you.

“Don’t listen to Sunny she’s one of us who does bite.” The earth ghoul stated as he was putting his pick into the DVD player. The ghoulette just shrugged with a smile and small nod.

Phantom looked at you with a bit of concern, but mostly amusement “Nope. Not happening. You already got lost once. Besides, I owe it to you for not helping sooner.”

He curled around you and started to purr and oh that was very comfortable. Any protests you had died the moment he did so. The grin on his face told you he knew exactly what he was doing. It was endearing if you were being honest with yourself. You reached up and scratched his scalp being sure to avoid his horns. You laughed when you heard his tail beat against the couch.

Everyone got comfortable as the movie began which, as Dew said, ended up being a nature documentary. You were thankful that someone turned the lights off, even with the glow of the TV it was too dark for you to see any of the ghouls. It made you feel a bit more relaxed. As the narrator droned on you began to feel the heaviness from the day seep into every bone in your body. You were half asleep when you heard Phantom again.

“Pssst hey come here you’ll love this.”

You didn’t really get the chance to respond before he pulled you from the couch and onto the floor. You were confused. You were even more confused when you suddenly felt multiple bodies.

“Glad you could join us doll.” You heard a voice say right by your ear. You shifted and were met with a fang-filled grin.

“Swiss don’t be scary.” Phantom whispered as he curled in next to you.

“Scary?” He sounded genuinely confused. He was going to respond but shut up when a tail smacked him.

You were a little freaked out, to say the least, but when the purring of multiple ghouls started to pick up you settled into what you can only describe as a ghoul pile. The warmth of the bodies coupled with the dark room lulled you into a very comfortable sleep.

You were awoken the next morning to the smell of a divine-looking breakfast being prepared by the multi-ghoul who you learned was called Swiss. You offered to help him, feeling a bit awkward being dumped into the ghoul’s daily routine but he just shushed you, slid you one of the prepared plates, and made a sly remark about kissing the cook before turning his attention back to his eggs. You watched as the rest of the pack began to slowly wake up and shuffle to the kitchen area. You anxiously waited for Phantom to join since he was the one who brought you here in the first place.

“Don’t get your hopes up, he sleeps later than any of us,” Another rather large-looking quintessence ghoul said with a small chuckle “But really, it’s okay that you’re here. Nobody is going to kick you out. We actually enjoy it when the Siblings decide the best stress relief is hanging out with us.” His eyes spark purple for a brief moment. That’s when you remember what you were told about ghouls and elements. Quintessence can sense emotions.

Wait does that mean?

You look up from your plate and meet the large ghoul’s eyes. He smiles and nods in confirmation as if he could hear your question. You suddenly get a bit embarrassed over the fact Phantom could totally tell you were on the verge of a mental breakdown when he found you. But you were also warmed. He brought you back to the den to make you feel better. You smiled into your mug as you took a sip.

When Phantom did wake up, the rest of the ghouls had already eaten and properly introduced themselves to you. He sat down in an open chair next to you with a yawn, slowly blinking. He started to stuff his face full of food before he made a choked oh! sound and looked at you.

“How’d you get lost anyway? I know all the lamps were turned out, but the candles were still lit.” You felt a bit flustered that Phantom just announced to the whole room the events of last night, but you cleared your throat and answered him.

“My eyesight is really bad. It’s even worse in the dark. If there’s not enough light I can’t see a thing, even if it’s dim light.”

“I thought all humans had shit eyes.” there was no malice in Dew’s voice. He said it more like a fact than anything.

“Mine is like infinitely worse I can assure you.”

He made a small hm noise and shrugged before drinking more of his coffee. You smiled when you realized just how little the ghouls must actually understand about humans.

You helped with the cleanup despite Swiss protesting at least a hundred times before bidding farewell to everyone. You went about your day as normal, smiling and waving whenever you crossed paths with a ghoul. Dinner rolled around and this time, thank Satan, there were no major issues. You were able to finish the clean-up right on time. You put away the last of the dishes and made your way out of the kitchen only to be met with Cumulus. She smiled softly and greeted you with a “Hi baby” and asked you about your day. You were a little confused but you welcomed the company as you walked with her to your room. When you arrived she gave you a hug and a kiss on the cheek before wishing you a good night. You cocked your head at her disappearing form with a smile and laughed to yourself.

This pattern continued all week. Then all month. And the next one. You would finish a shift and a ghoul or two or three would be waiting for you. They’d talk with you and walk you back to your room, or on rather rough days, invite you to the den. Even on the days, you didn’t work, they’d come to find you just as the sun was setting to see if you needed anything or if you wanted to join them for the night. At first, you felt a little overwhelmed by their near-constant presence, but after a while, it was the highlight of your day to see which ghoul would be randomly showing up no matter where you were in the Ministry.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #polyghouls #nameless ghoul x reader #i hope you like it anon <3 #golfball writes

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littleplasticrat · 11 months ago

Text

Provocation and Planning (Gortash x Tav)

Tav thinks she's charging into Gortash's palace to seduce him, but he's been waiting for her. She still manages to surprise him.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: PIV sex, sex toys, anal fingering, come eating

Thanks to @bearhugsandshrugs for beta reading. You're cool ❤️

The first time Tav and Gortash had kissed, she'd bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. He'd instantly retaliated, setting the precedent for things to come.

After the ragtag group had clawed their way onto the docks from the Chionthar, Tav had looked at the archduke and really seen him for the first time. He was bloody and victorious, encased in his golden mechanical armour that did nothing to obscure the length of his limbs. He slicked his wet hair back out of his face and began unbuckling his breastplate when he noticed her looking, and gave her a slow, suggestive smile. His shirt hung open to reveal his hairy chest; he was steaming like a racehorse in the morning sun. Tav knew that she was going to have to fuck him as soon as possible . He must have seen it in her face, and pulled her into a kiss, first sucking her lower lip and then pressing his tongue into her mouth. That was when she'd bitten him.

Whatever it was - the adrenaline, the relief, or the strangely warm memory of the shin kick he'd delivered after she'd punched him in the morphic pool - the effect had been immediate. Gortash had inhaled sharply, then pulled back to dropping butterfly kisses on her mouth. Tav felt the curve of his smile, and then suddenly his quick hands had found a tear in her leather armour and he'd pinched her nipple through her undershirt, hard enough that she let out a strangled moan. Gale, who'd been standing next to them on the dock with a polite if strained smile, had gone bright red and practically sprinted off to Wyll and Karlach.

Read more below the cut or on Ao3. Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear from you.

Under normal circumstances, if a man kissed Tav like that, she knew she was likely about to get dragged away and fucked shortly thereafter. However, as the heroes slowly made their way back to the city centre, Gortash had withdrawn to his palace to launch the cleanup campaign. It became clear to Tav over the course of the day that the emergency measures for Baldur's Gate had been made in meticulous detail and were set up to be ready to implement at a moment's notice. Case in point: as she made her way to the Elfsong Tavern that evening for the celebrations, she saw Steel Watchers with rescue tools instead of their usual heavy weaponry digging through rubble alongside the Fists. Gortash must have been manufacturing the extra parts in secret. She wondered what else he'd prepared.

In anticipation of seeing him, she'd left her underwear in her pack and applied a few dabs of rosemary oil where her blood ran close to the skin. At the tavern, it didn't escape her that gazes lingered upon her, the light touches of her companions' hands guiding her through the smoke and the crowds. When Halsin lent past her to pick up a round of drinks from the bar, she felt him inhale a deep breath of her as his muscles flexed against her back. One huge hand had covered her hip briefly. She thought it might have been the case that the druid, a little drunk and made giddy by all the people, was just trying to steady himself against a reliable friend. But then his hand squeezed and Tav nearly pushed her ass back against him, stopping herself just in time. Later, she went out onto a balcony with Rugan to smoke and laugh with him. The Zhentarim stole glances at her nipples peaking against her blouse when he thought she wasn't paying attention, which made goosebumps ripple across her skin. When she looked back to his face, he would rest his lip against the rim of his tankard and give her a look that was half-innocent, half-debauched. I wonder if being a hero is going to be like this all the time? she thought to herself. It seemed exhausting.

Adding to the slow decline of her mood was the fact that the one smug, handsome bastard she wanted, that she spent the evening scanning the crowds for, did not appear. Hadn’t he felt the sparks of that kiss shoot through his body the way they shot through hers? Or, perhaps, was his duty to the city keeping him in the office? That seemed strangely absurd. As it neared midnight, it became obvious that Lord Gortash definitely wasn't coming. Tav slipped away from the party and made her way to the Palace with efficiency, weaving through the crowds of revellers. At the gates, she'd been expecting to have to explain who she was, or perhaps even break in, but every set of guards let her pass without comment. The ones outside Gortash's chambers even saluted her.

When she entered, she saw a lavish bedroom through double doors which lay ajar at the end of the corridor. The bed was very neat. On either side of the hallway leading to it were a small library, a bathroom, and a combined workshop and office. Gortash was sunk in a battered armchair at a small circular table in the latter room. Looking around the room, Tav saw that his desk, placed so that he could sit with his back to a corner, was piled high with paperwork. Occupying the centre of the freshly-swept floor was a thick, expensive-looking rug. There was a whole wall of drawers and shelves of various sizes, with each labelled in his precise handwriting. On that side of the office were two large workbenches; one was a tidy wooden trestle and one had seemingly been improvised from a sheet of metal and stacks of old documentation. Half-hidden beneath a pile of clothes and rubbish in the corner was a low camp bed, the kind that military recruits would start their careers in. The whole place smelled like pine, with an undertone of male musk, milled steel and oil. Through a nearby window, she could see the city stretching into the distance, half-ruined but surviving another day. Sounds of revelry were carried into the room on the wind.

When Tav came to the door they made eye contact immediately and he showed no surprise; she knew then that he'd been waiting for her. With a lazy hand, Gortash plucked a grape from the dish in front of him and slowly slipped it into his mouth. Tav's eyes followed the movement of his fingers and she had to try hard to keep her face blank as a tingle flitted down her neck. As he leaned back, she noticed he was wearing a raw silk shirt and tight leather trousers, but the lacing on both was slovenly, as usual.

They stared at each other, and Tav felt herself start to blush under the archduke's open gaze. To hide her reaction, she stepped over to his table and picked up the bunch of grapes. She saw Gortash's strong fingers twitch as she swiped the fruit, but he did nothing.

"You missed the party at the Elfsong," Tav said, moving across the room to lean against the windowsill. "Didn't fancy being celebrated with the other heroes of Baldur's Gate? I'm surprised you'd pass on a chance to be fawned over."

Gortash scoffed and crossed his long legs.

"Yes, I had reports you were carousing in that rat hole with your little friends - and I can smell it on you now,” he said, inhaling. “I'll be holding my own celebration here in my palace . You should join me. See how it feels to wield power against the nobility of this city rather than its enemies." He looked her up and down, his eyes half-lidded. "I've been thinking about jewellery designs for you. Something to show off how magnificent you are."

It was Tav's turn to snort. "What about me has given you the impression I want to become some bejewelled whore on your arm?"

"Bejewelled whore… Ha. My dear, no one is immune to the pleasure of being draped in gold and gemstones," Gortash told her as he stood. "Especially not those of us who started life clad in rags." He approached Tav with slow steps and she reclined further against the window frame, holding the grapes out of his reach. "As for the second part... That wasn't a one-sided kiss this morning. Maybe I just want you by my side to keep an eye on you now the city is safe. A woman of your talents - What's the saying?" he asked, maintaining eye contact as he moved into her space, pressing his broad chest against her breasts to reach for the fruit. "Ah, yes. Devils make work for idle hands." She felt his fingers slip the grapes out of her loose grasp. "And-" Gortash's steady, sonorous voice suddenly wobbled off into a groan, and he snaked his other arm around her waist to crush her body against his. "Sweltering hells, Tav, have you come into my office without undergarments?"

She gasped and he rested his forehead against hers, their gazes meeting. She nodded, a blush creeping into her cheeks. The raw lust that pooled in his dark eyes in response made her back prickle with sweat as her nipples hardened against his chest.

"What are you doing to me, Tav? Gods, I need to see you. Take off your clothes. Let me see your body."

Gortash was almost snarling with arousal as he commanded her. Tav sighed at the slow melt of wetness in her cunt and pushed him gently backwards to give herself more space. Expression hungry, he watched her as she slowly undressed. She thought he might seize her when she bared her breasts to the moonlight, but he just swayed, eyes roving over her eagerly. His breathing stopped when she unlaced her trousers and let them slide down; something about his boyish thirst gave her a sudden vision of herself as a noblewoman being seduced by a young Gortash, grateful lordling and ardent worshipper of the powerful. But - there was nothing for him to gain from this, was there? All she had to give him was her body, which was now nearly bare under his glittering eyes. Kicking off her boots completed her strip, and then she was nude, standing there expectantly as she took in his reaction. She could see that there was a bulge in his leathers. Gortash was trying hard to modulate his breathing.

"I'm glad you came here tonight," he said. His voice was gravelly and low. "Tell me, Tav. What do you want?"

Tav felt another knot of insecurity inside her as she recognised her desire for him. What if he just saw this as a minor distraction? She decided to fall back and hide behind her old tricks. "I think you know," she replied in her best sultry tone, trailing a hand down between her breasts. “I want you to have sex with me.”

He moved into her space again, leaning one hand against the window frame above her. “If you wanted to fuck, you could have stayed in Elfsong Tavern. I saw the way some of them were looking at you this morning. And I’ve had several grateful and eager members of the aristocracy calling on me throughout the day, but I’ll be damned: all I could think about was you.” With the other hand, he lifted the bunch of grapes to his face and nuzzled his nose amongst the sweet, purple beads of the fruit. "So, I’ll ask again. What do you want?" Eyes boring into hers, he plucked a grape from its stalk with his teeth.

It was ridiculous, but also the horniest thing Tav had ever seen. Something about his confession and the boldness of his flirting opened something within her heart: In a breathy voice, almost a moan and nothing like the falsely seductive tone she’d just used, she said, "I want to have you and I want you to know me. I want to teach you what it sounds like when I come wrapped around your cock." Gortash pressed his eyes shut at this, and she heard a squelch as he crushed the entire bunch of grapes in his broad fist, their juices weeping to the floor. And then his lips were on hers.

They were both soon gasping into each other's mouths, their kisses wet and lavish. Gortash was clasping her face in his hands, pulling her hair, digging his fingers into her hips and squeezing her ass, almost in a frenzy. Under his onslaught, she was barely able to pull his shirt laces open. He broke their kiss to bite her neck and take fistfuls of her tits and inhale deeply from her cleavage, groaning as he did so.

"I thought - ah! I thought I stunk of carousing and revelry?" Tav said, trying to strike a mocking tone in her voice as her head fell back; Gortash had just begun to swirl her nipple in his mouth, his tongue firm and hot.

In response, he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Carrying her over to his wooden workbench, he perched her on the pitted but clean surface. "While you do smell like a tavern whore, I never said I didn't like it," he groaned, then slowly licked a stripe up her neck and to the side of her face. He finished the trail with a kiss that was almost affectionate, punctuating this with a thrust of his hips so the bulge in his trousers pressed against her clit.

They looked at each other in open admiration. But the moment was cut short when he reached past her and picked up a small metal cylinder, about the width of his thumb, from the bench. Holding it up, she could see a small piece of leather attached to it – a strap. Gortash used it to slip the strange device onto her index finger.

"I made this for you today," he said softly.

She tried to hide her confusion then. Was he - was he proposing to her? With a weird leather ring?

She was soon proven wrong when, with one hand, Gortash pushed one of her thighs to the side to expose her folds. With the other, he took her hand and guided it downwards, placing her finger so it rested on her clit. His hand flowered briefly with magic and he muttered something. Tav yelped as the item began vibrating against her, a noise which morphed into a moan.

Gortash dropped kisses to her lips and whispered encouragement as he pushed against her hand, pressing the vibrator further into her folds. The sensations were unusual at first, but it began to feel incredible. She felt her cunt throb, get more slick.

Tav whimpered when he stepped out of her arms, giving her one more kiss before pulling out a chair so he was sitting in front of her. His eyes lingered on her face, although he observed the movements of her hand against her clit with a mixture of hunger and cold calculation.

In between gasps, Tav said, "I think it's... It's only fair that you show - me how you find your own pleasure."

Gortash smirked at her and began unlacing his trousers. His cock jumped free quickly - it seemed she hadn't been the only one to skip putting on underwear that evening - and he began stroking himself, leaning back in the chair. His cock curved enough to arch against his stomach and Tav couldn't help but admire the girth of it. She propped one foot up on the workbench to expose herself further. The sensation of dipping the vibrator into her slickness and bringing it back to her clit drew a new sound of pleasure from her that had Gortash moaning in response and speeding his hand up. She felt her juices begin to dribble down to her asshole. The archduke noticed too.

"I knew you were going to act like a slut for me," he told her, his voice hoarse. "But you've got the wettest cunt I've ever seen. Are you going to come on my desk? If you do, I'll make you lick it clean."

The filth of Gortash's idle threat made Tav flutter against her fingers. She was nearing the edge. Instead of pursuing her climax, she stretched her leg out to push Gortash's cock out of his hand with her foot. He gave her a grin as she pressed his shaft against his stomach.

"C'mere," she said. "I want to come on your mouth."

He closed his eyes delightedly and slid off the chair to kneel in front of her. She started moving her finger again as he parted her folds and thrust his tongue into her body. One of Gortash's hands was busy out of sight; he was touching himself as he ate her out. Tav felt the heat creep up then, her body tensing, quivering, vision going white or- or-

Her orgasm rippled through her and she cried out. Gortash dug his fingers into her thighs and pushed his face against her center. She felt him shuddering and he groaned into her cunt as his climax followed hers.

They stayed like that for a peaceful moment as their heart rates returned to normal. Tav had lifted the vibrator away from herself and Gortash uttered the word that made it stop running. She removed it from her hand and then stroked his hair as he nuzzled at her folds slowly, still enjoying the wetness her body had made for him. After some time, Tav pulled the man off her and stood up on shaky legs.

On the floor beneath where the archduke had been kneeling, she saw a wet gleam. Had she done that? Bending over to look closer, she saw that it was Gortash's spend. She turned to him and saw the heat still roiling behind his eyes as he looked back at her.

"My Lord," she said sweetly. "It appears one of us did make a mess. It wasn't me, though, was it?"

He shook his head.

"And what did you say should happen if I came on your desk?"

Gortash remained silent. Tav slid her fingers into his hair and gripped gently. "Say it."

"I said I would make you lick it clean."

Tav smiled then, and leaned closer. "When we first met, you said we would be equals, my Lord. My understanding was that if I joined you in an alliance, we would have parity in all things... Including what we're expected to follow through on. L ick ."

With that, she pushed his head towards the floor. He gave her a furtive look of adoration as he went down, filling her with a new flush of nameless excitement. His face neared the paving stone beneath the bench and she watched, her heart flickering with shock, as he used the tip of his tongue to daintily taste his mess. Her fingers remained in his thick hair as he bent lower to take a bolder lick, leaving a trail of spit on the stone. His eyes slid to hers, and he cleaned another stripe of cum off the floor. Something about his expression told her that she was in trouble, but it was too late; he'd already surged up and driven her to her knees. Squeezing her chin in one hand, he gave her a brief, searching look. He must have seen the excitement fizzling within her, because he nodded briefly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, and straightened. His cock, soft but slowly hardening, was at her eye level.

"Here's a lesson I'd like to share about co-leadership then. It's all about coming to an agreement. I put it to you that you've been trying to provoke me to fuck you like a whore." As he spoke, Gortash was wrapping Tav's hair around his fist. "Tonight, I would have made love to you so tenderly - until you swooned. But I think we can both agree that that's not what you want, is it? Is it, you slut?" With his last question, he gave her a little shake.

"It's not what I want, my Lord."

"Do you want the privilege of coming on my cock?"

The thrill, the sheer smuttiness of him, left Tav gasping. She had to swallow hard and get control of herself before she could reply, "Yes, my Lord."

With that, he pulled her by her hair to the centre of the room and threw her down on the extravagant rug. She moaned as she hit the floor. His cock bobbed hard as he stripped off his clothes, revealing a lean, muscular body, dark hair foresting his chest and his taut stomach.

"On your hands and knees," he ordered, and Tav scrambled to comply. She felt him kneel behind her, then slowly begin to rub the head of his cock between her folds. She wiggled her hips in frustration, trying to tempt him into taking her.

"You're still so wet," Gortash muttered, pressing the end of the tip in, then pulling it back out before it brought Tav any stimulation.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "I'm so turned on for you. Please - "

His smirk caught her gaze before he pushed her down roughly, her face turned flat against the rug.

"Touch yourself, but don't come until I tell you to."

She sighed as he began to bully his thick cock inside her, the press of it against her walls driving her to moan and then howl as he pushed himself in to the hilt. It was so deep . In this position, with his size -

Any marvelling thought she had was cut off by the electric snap of her nerves as he pulled out and thrust in again. She heard her name on his lips as he reached down and gathered a fistful of her hair. It was amazing how he groaned for her. He began fucking into her in a steady rhythm, her hips rolling back to meet him as they both made unabandoned noises of pleasure, losing themselves in it. Tav's nipples grazed the rug every time his thrusts pushed her forwards, making the nerve endings in her upper body sing. Her fingers rubbed her clit in a frantic motion that made her whole cunt quiver.

"Your ass - It's perfect," she heard Gortash gasp. "In fact-"

Tav was in no state to understand. She felt Gortash's thumb against the seam between his cock and her cunt as he ran it through her folds, gathering up the juices of their sex. Then, the pad of his thumb was rubbing against her asshole and then slipping in. The blunt pleasurepain of her ring being breached made her moan loudly, her core beginning to tense. With one hand on her hip and the other splayed across her flank, he pumped his thumb in and out of her. The steady roll of his cock drove her to hoarse cries; feeling her cunt tighten as she neared her climax, Gortash gave a triumphant laugh that turned into a moan of his own ecstasy.

"Come for me," he commanded. Tav bucked beneath him, pressing her face into the carpet to muffle her scream as she rode the waves of wet pleasure that seared through her, white-hot lightning wrapped in the velvet of her veins, turning her inside out from the soles of her feet to her scalp. She felt Gortash's cock throbbing inside her as he followed.

As she tried to slow down her breathing, Tav felt a strong arm wrap around her waist. Gortash pulled her upwards so her back was against his chest, then rolled them both onto their sides on the rug - which Tav distantly realised was spotless and smelled freshly cleaned. In her blissed out state, she decided not to worry about it. The archduke tucked his other arm under her head. His cock lingered inside her, and lying on her side squeezed it within her, making her twitch slowly. Her fires were calm for now, but the sensation of this intimacy would surely start to heat her up again. The evening wasn't finished, of course - and who said she had to go back to the Elfsong the moment the sun rose?

They lay still for a while. Tav enjoyed the sound of Gortash breathing steadily against her neck. Eventually, her leg twitched and she realised she'd been falling asleep. Nuzzling her, he brought his lips to her ear.

"Shall we move to the bedroom, my dear?"

She nodded and they helped each other stand up. Taking her by the hand, he led her into the lavish bedroom she'd seen when she'd entered. He pulled the bedsheets back for her and tucked her in; a gesture that was surprisingly sweet - or was it really that surprising? Beginning to drift, she counted the ways he’d prepared for her arrival that evening. The guards had even saluted her...

"What do you want to eat for breakfast?" he asked, stroking her sweaty hair off her forehead.

"Your cock," she mumbled. Gortash chuckled and Tav smiled sleepily.

"That's a deal."

Tav was already drifting off again as Gortash climbed into bed next to her and pulled her to his chest.

#gortash #enver gortash #lord enver gortash #gortash x tav #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #gort is such a fucking dork #i can't believe he got a clean rug out so he could fuck tav on the floor in comfort #my writing

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