#anyway if i fall off the planet or start saying really strange things i guess you know what's up

[bitegore]

okay so I'm going to just state for the record that I've had a Weird Bad Erratic Time every november since I was eleven and this is nearly November so my recent "weird bad erratic mood" is probably just like, right on schedule.

[se-agapo-skywalker]

Silence at the Cliffs of Dawn

Celebrating one year of the blog 🥳

CW: age gap (dilf!Luke Skywalker), finger (cybernetic) sucking, oral sex (f! and m! receiving; blowjob/face sitting/69ing)

WC: 3.5k

"...All I ever do is make myself unlikable. You know that," Luke says, "Why do you even bother staying?"

The two of you are laying down in his bed, pressed together tightly to avoid accidentally pushing the other off the already small space--how you managed to convince Luke to let you sleep with him, you have no idea... Of course, you did sleep with him. Your current state of undress is evidence of that; in a move showcasing a rare display of his kindness, he allowed you to hog the majority of the blanket while he chose to rely on the warmth of his nightclothes.

Propping your head up on the pillow, you look at Luke and frown.

"I don't think you do it on purpose... for the most part, anyway," you tease. He raises an unamused eyebrow at you, before shaking his head and letting out a quiet almost-laugh.

"I can't even tell anymore. I guess I've really grown into it."

You fall silent for a moment. "What were you like? Before... When you were a Jedi?"

More silence. The rain outside is just starting to clear up, you notice, but it's still dark out. Luke's features are too dim to fully discern, but even then, you can notice the pain in his eyes... the conflict.

Strangely enough, he laughs. An actual laugh.

"...I looked a lot nicer. Dignified, you know? Not like some hobo hermit living in the middle of nowhere." He sighs. "In all seriousness, though... things were different. I can barely even recognize who I am now, nor can I the man I was before."

"Let me guess..." you smile, trying to picture a younger version of the greying man before you. You've seen the old propaganda posters--shockingly handsome ones, portraying him as the gorgeous golden boy of the Rebellion. "Plenty of admirers? Paramours, even?"

Luke shakes his head with something akin to embarrassment. "People certainly tried, but... that life wasn't for me."

Intrigued, you decide to press even further. "Well, what was? The daring pilot with a life full of adventure, or the wise, contemplative Jedi who liberated entire planets with the wave of his hand?"

"I did my fair share of both, but the truth is far more complicated than that. For a while, I did chase the feeling of being a hero..." His gaze grows distant. Regretful. "But it was all in vain. The people you save get killed. The things you build get destroyed. This galaxy, everything in it, it's all... temporary."

You sit up, blanket sliding off your nude form slightly and catching Luke's attention; as much as he tries to hide it, he can't help the way you affect him. For a moment, you smirk, but with the better view of his face you can see just how tormented he is.

"I mean, the galaxy isn't all that bad... it brought us together, right?"

"But it took so much in the process," Luke mutters in response.

"I-"

"Don't tell me it was worth it. It wasn't."

He moves over onto his back and covers his face with his left hand--hiding tears, no doubt. Tears he isn't yet ready to let you see.

"...The rain is over. You can leave if you wish."

"I'm not leaving," you say, maneuvering yourself over him. Luke peeks up at you through his fingers before you gently grab his hand and move it away from his face. "Not when you need me."

He exhales slowly, sadly, but he makes no move to shove you off him. With your other hand, you brush away the tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

"Let me take care of you, alright?"

Just as Luke instinctively opens his mouth to protest, he immediately concedes, settling back into the pillow. He's old, and he's tired, what use is it trying to fight you off? Besides, he wants this--needs it, he discovered at the onset of the rain--so the last thing he's going to do is stop you.

The room is silent, save for the sound of baited breath, as you finally lean over to kiss him. Using your free hand to stroke the fringe out of his eyes, other hand still holding his, you kiss the lines of his forehead, the bridge of his crooked nose, and finally his lips.

Luke doesn't think he's anything special; you think he's extraordinary. Not for being the hero of your dreams, but for being the man he truly is--as broken and as vulnerable as he may be, he's yours. And that's enough.

Despite the few times you've kissed him, you both take to it like a pikobi to water. You take the lead; his are quite shy, but by the time your lips meet, Luke noticeably relaxes beneath your touch.

His mechanical hand moves to your bare back, tracing the shape of your spine as you arch over him, the texture of the leather glove making you shiver. It moves from your back to your waist, slowly climbing toward your chest, where he graces your nipple with a firm pinch--not hard enough to hurt you, but enough to show his desire. Yes, Luke Skywalker desires you.

Although still sleeping, you can feel the stirrings beneath you as his arousal grows. You're fully awake, restless, hungry. Luke, on the other hand, needs a bit more time, time you're more than willing to give--you know the prize will be worth it.

"Master..." you purr, wiggling your hips slightly as he twitches at the sound of the nickname. "You've seen me. I haven't seen you yet."

"I-I'm nothing worth looking at..."

"You are to me."

Luke moves his cybernetic from the valley of your chest to cradle your face. You silently kiss the palm of his hand, mechanical fingers flexing within the leather, before taking the material between your teeth to pull it off.

"Wait-"

The leather doesn't catch on the metal; instead, it slips off like a raindrop sliding down the stone roof. Luke makes no move to halt its movement. The mechanical fingers are revealed to you, one by one, grey metal glinting in the slivers of moonlight streaming through the window.

"Beautiful..." you whisper, barely loud enough to be audible. But Luke hears you; if he were to respond, he's certain he'd just about cry.

Being linked to his nervous system, he has enough "feeling" in his cybernetic to control its movements and sense external stimuli, but without the synthskin, he can't truly feel. Hence why he barely uses it to touch you, let alone in a sexual context. All you have to do is show him he can.

In a swift motion you barely even stop to ponder, your tongue comes out to explore the metalwork; a metallic flavor--no surprise to you--accompanies the cold, and Luke refrains from flexing his fingers in your mouth.

Stars, he can't even register what you're doing, let alone why you're doing it. He watches you, blue eyes full blown to near-blackness as you suck on his fingers like they were a cock. Speaking of which, his throbs uncomfortably in the confines of his pants. Your movements in his lap feel incredible. Peeking down to look at your bare pussy grinding on him is enough to make him come... well, almost.

You, however, are not a fan of the cloth boundary between you; sure, it adds extra friction, but it's nowhere near as electric of a sensation as skin against skin. You've seen Luke's face, and his flesh hand, and his cock, but that's as far as you've gotten. Is he insecure about being old? It's not a problem to you, and he knows this, but you doubt he's fully internalized it. Being a (former) Jedi Master, you're sure he's covered in scars from the countless battles he's fought in... scars on his arms, his chest, his thighs-

"Y-yes," Luke pants out, seemingly reading your thoughts. "You can..." He can't even finish his sentence, flesh hand moving to grab your free hand and bring it to his clothes.

"Are you sure, Master?"

"Just do it already."

Delicately pulling his fingers out of your mouth, a thin line of spit connecting them to your lips, you pin Luke's right arm over his head, just like he did to yours earlier that night. He looks up at you with a mixture of surprise and arousal, a small smile of disbelief forming on his lips. You have plans--and you can't wait to show him.

The material of his sleep shirt is a rough wool of some kind, the cut of it a simple wrap-tunic similar to his Jedi robes. It gives you easy access to his chest; considering just how much Luke likes yours, you believe it's your turn to enjoy his. Ghosting your fingertips beneath the fabric, he shivers at your touch, and you raise an eyebrow at the texture you discover. Coarse, fuzzy, thick--you hadn't expected him to be just as hairy on his chest as he is on his face, but stars, you aren't complaining.

Luke is just about as red as a gundark by the time you pull his sleep shirt open. Of course, his embarrassment is no match for his stubbornness, which quickly bubbles up again to hide his discomfort. Typical Luke.

"Sure took you long enough."

"It did."

"Now what?"

"You'll see..."

Placing both of your palms flat on his chest, you lean over to kiss him once more; your mouth meets his, and then his neck, where you brand it with a startlingly red hickey. At the same time, you're scratching down his torso and tugging at the greying hairs.

Beneath the layer of fur is a web of tendril-like scars, stretching across his body like lightning. You can't help but wonder what dramatic battle between Jedi and Sith must have caused them... but stars, they're beautiful. You're determined to show him this.

Luke groans against your lips--if he had it his way, stars, he'd flip you over and pound you senseless. But no, he has already done that... and he's tired. Tired physically, tired mentally, tired of being in charge. For once, he'd like to experience what it means for someone to take care of him. Just once.

Taking care of yourself isn't even on your mind. Yes, you're horny beyond belief, skin on fire as you grind your dripping cunt against his still-clothed cock. Force, it isn't enough, it'll never be enough until you get the real thing. But... you want to try something different. You have a feeling he might want to as well.

"Where are you-" Luke begins to ask as you reluctantly pull yourself off him, only to be cut off by you running your fingers down his happy trail before shoving your hand down his pants. "Shavit, sweetheart!"

"Who are you calling sweetheart?" you smile, enjoying the thrill of feeling him before seeing him. His cock is hot and heavy in your palm, and much to your delight he neglected to wear any undergarments. As much as you enjoy the groans that escape his lips at the way you run your thumb over the already leaking tip, the devious part of you desires to tease him even more; removing your hand from his member, you move to squeeze his tightening balls.

"Fuck... fuck..." Luke moans. He's gripping the sheets with his cybernetic, flesh hand resting over the upper half of his face.

"Such language, Master... and such a light touch, too," you say, "I'm starting to worry you won't last for me."

When Luke finally manages to look out from under his hand, there's something strange in his eyes--lust, desire, conviction. To do what, you don't know.

"Sit on me."

"Are you sure? I don't think you're ready-"

"Not my cock. My face."

Now it's your turn to be surprised. All this teasing, all this bossing him around, yet he can't help but turn the tables and remind you who's in charge. That damn Skywalker is impossible to figure out, but you wouldn't have it any other way--in all honesty, that's why you're here. Why you stayed, even when he tried to push you away.

"Very well, Master... but I want a taste of you as well."

Before maneuvering to climb over him, you pull his trousers off his legs in one swift motion, his cock standing at full attention as it springs from its confines. Fuck, just the sight of it is enough to make you want to bounce on it until you're both sweaty and screaming. But not yet.

Your eyes are just keen enough to notice the way Luke blushes at you eyeing him up in the dim light. Stars, he is hairy--not that you're complaining, of course. You just didn't expect the wise old Jedi master to practically be a Wookiee beneath his clothes. He squirms a little under the intensity of your gaze, cock twitching in anticipation. A bead of precum glistens in the faint moonlight and dribbles down the veiny shaft... Licking your lips, you decide to do something about it.

Luke steadies you with his arms as you maneuver to climb over him. Soft apologies and awkward giggles are traded between the two of you as you try to figure out your bearings, metal hand accidentally pinching soft flesh and weight being distributed uncomfortably, but not painfully.

"I-I've never done this before," you breathe out, breaking your previously seductive demeanor.

"I wouldn't know where to begin," Luke's low voice chuckles, "but I think as long as you don't break my neck, we're doing it right."

Your current predicament involves you straddling his neck and facing his chest; you're bent over him, just barely hovering over his face, and his hands are gripping the soft flesh of your ass. The cybernetic in particular digs into your skin in a deliciously painful way, and you know it'll leave marks after--marks you'll wear with pride. Not that anyone other than him will be seeing them.

Luke quite enjoys the view he's getting--it takes practically all his willpower not to pull you down onto his face and go to town, damn the consequences (although a sprained neck at his age in the middle of nowhere is most certainly a bad idea). After having gotten a taste of your pussy before, he's insatiable; he'll do anything to get his fix.

Balancing your weight on your knees and your forearms, you lean forward to assess your target. The slight upward curve of his cock gives you easy access to it; licking down his happy trail, you nuzzle through wiry hairs before greeting his aching, impatient member. The Jedi Master may be able to hide his impatience beneath his actions and his demeanor, but, given his anatomy, his body can't.

Leaning forward, you greedily stick out your tongue to lap up the bead of precum already leaking out. It's... salty, and slightly bitter. You're still not sure about the taste, but it's him, so you want it.

Luke groans beneath you at the feeling of your tongue on him. The vibrations from his voice dance cruelly on your clit, the phantom of pleasure yet to come--before he finally grants you mercy and pulls you down onto his waiting lips.

The gasp that escapes your lips is muffled by you taking him in your mouth to gag yourself on his cock. He felt so massive when he was inside you, but like this... you almost can't handle it. Figuratively, and literally--you stop right before he hits the back of your throat, taking in just enough to really drive him wild without hurting yourself.

Luke drowns his moans in your soaking cunt, his noises and the movement of his hands beckoning you to start moving on his face.

Come on, sweetheart, his voice says in the back of your mind--another Jedi ability, you're sure. You won't hurt me.

Hips and mouth begin a slow, rhythmic pace on him. You can't help the way you tremble ever so slightly, unsure about the pressure of your movements or the depth of your strokes, but that anxiety becomes an afterthought as your senses dissolve into pure pleasure.

Luke fights the temptation to start bucking into your mouth--no, you've been far too good to him, you don't deserve to be treated in such a way. You're his angel, his saving grace, the being he isn't even worthy of touching (yet somehow is). Whatever he did to earn your affection, he wants to repay tenfold--you're his to use as you please.

He uses his tongue on you with as much fervor and hunger as he did earlier that night, if not even more. The taste of you on his lips lights a fire in the pit of his stomach and fully has him drunk on your essence. Reverently Luke alternates between fucking you with his tongue and swirling it around your clit, just as you alternate between sucking and stroking his shaft.

It's so wrong, a master and student behaving like this... Your cheeks flush at the utter indulgence of the act. Whatever afterlife the Jedi of old reside in, you can only hope they aren't witnessing your liaison.

Luke, however, doesn't give a fuck. He hasn't given one in quite some time--why should he live by the rules of the dead? That dogma nearly destroyed him. It ruined everything he ever cared about, everything he never allowed himself to truly love. No, "attachment" was forbidden. Anything that could become a pathway to the dark side was to be shunned.

Luke never understood how for so much of his Jedi training, so much of his life, his emotions were regarded as an inseparable part of him, passion and love he had harnessed to help countless others during the war. That all changed when he saved his father. He had defied Obi-Wan and Yoda's instruction to kill Anakin; therefore, his feelings were misguided, wrong. And it became his duty to suppress them.

But not anymore. He is no longer a Jedi, not in the way he was "meant" to be. He's just Luke, just a hermit, just an old man learning to love again--or, perhaps, learning to love for the very first time.

Luke's cock twitches and kicks in your mouth, threatening to spill at any moment. Teasingly, you pull him out of your mouth--earning a harsh groan into your cunt--to kiss the swollen, purple head.

"Oh, master..." you whisper, tracing his veins with your fingertips, "let go for me. I'm here, I'm ready."

A final squeeze of his balls urges him to finish on your tongue--and, capturing him in your mouth once more, he does. Spurts of hot liquid spill inside you, albeit in a different spot than before, and you choke slightly on the sheer load of it all. You're milking Luke for all he's worth, and he rewards you by practically breeding your mouth. Hips stutter and still as he calms down and starts to soften, so you slip him out of your mouth, gracing the overstimulated head with a final lick.

Your clit throbs at the taste of him cumming in your mouth, the knot forming within your belly signaling your own impending release. Beneath you, Luke is patiently at work drawing it out, exploring the depths of your sacred spot with his tongue. Now you're fully free to ride his face with reckless abandon--a task he encourages you to do with the guidance of his hands squeezing your thighs and groping your ass.

"Luke... Luke..." you moan, letting the sound freely escape your now unoccupied lips. No 'Master,' no titles or nicknames, just his name; his true name, the one he hasn't heard anyone call him in the past six years. If your senses are correct, coupled with the scratchy sensation of his beard, you can feel him smiling into you as he eats you out. He's positively making out with your cunt, kissing you just as he had kissed your other set of lips when you first came to him.

The orgasm that approaches is entirely unlike the one you experienced before; it approaches slowly, like a wave off the coast of the Temple Island, growing and growing in intensity before finally crashing against the shore. You buck your hips on his face, feeling the friction of his beard against your clit as you chase the delicious sensation bubbling beneath the surface.

Soon enough, Luke grants it; your Force bond burns white-hot as you tremble and come undone on his face, slicking his beard with juices he laps up as happily as a massiff. You're sure the cries that escape your lips are audible all the way in the Caretaker village. Luke chuckles beneath you, large hands--the ones that surely left bruises on your skin--coming up to help you slide off his face and into his lap.

Silence. No more rain. Just beyond the cliffs, the twin suns of Ahch-To begin to rise; much like the dawns of his youth, you imagine. You turn your gaze to your new lover's face as the first slivers of light stream through the opening of the window.

"That was..." you start, laughing breathlessly as you run your fingers through your hair.

Luke props himself up on his elbows, wiping his face with his flesh hand. A rare smile appears on his face.

"...Good. Very good."

[swampertisbest]

@heropartnerweek Day 6 - Farewell

A few days ago, I found this prompt I wrote starting my PMD OCs, which has my take on that ever-so-sad ending of the Explorers games, so I thought I’d clean it up a bit and make it a submission, because the timing happened to be just right. Also, please note that while the story events these guys go through are a close match to those in Explorers, several of them are changed heavily or even removed, so mentions of past events that don’t quite match up to what happened in the game, simply chalk up to those changes I made. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Companionship Concluded

After completing their chaotic bout with the master of time himself, and a long and exhausting climb down Temporal Tower, DJ and Storm had finally reached the more straightforward path leading to the Rainbow Stoneship, and by extension, their home.

Both had been relatively quiet on the climb down, not finding much necessary to say after pretty much everything had already been said for them, but finding the silence boring, Storm decided to speak up.

“Phew, that was some fight, huh DJ? My leg’s absolutely dying!”

“Yeah, mine too!” DJ hastily responded, eager to keep a conversation going.

Storm gave DJ a judgmental stare in response to that comment, the latter not fully realizing his insensitive reply.

“Oh, sorry! Not like that!” DJ added quickly upon realization, to which Storm responded with a simple smile, letting him know that they were still cool.

As much as he had been just trying to say something though, DJ’s legs really did hurt. Like a lot, way more than usual. His thoughts started racing.

“…This… doesn’t feel like normal leg pain, this feels… oddly strange, kinda like they… Wait… could this be…”

His thought process was cut short by one last earthquake, which robbed both him and Storm of their balance and toppled them over. Storm yelped in pain and stayed on the ground for a good 30 seconds or so, before wobbling his way up, the fall having done even more damage to his already broken leg.

“You OK, DJ?” Storm yelled out as he limped his way toward him, his next thought being to see how his friend had fared against the tremor. He was pinned to the ground by his belly, similar to the Shinx, but something looked a little… different. There were multiple yellow lights flying out of his body, which now appeared slightly more transparent than usual, and the expression displayed on the Mudkip’s face was one of somber defeat.

“Hey, What’s wrong? W-why are you glowing like that, I thought that was something only I could do!” Storm sputtered, wanting to interject humor to distract from how concerned he was.

DJ knew there was no more delaying the matter, and he had to explain at this very moment.

“I…guess it’s time I tell you.” He forced out, with the least broken face he could make.

Storm was understandably confused. “Tell me what?” he questioned, before realization hit him like a boulder.

“Well…this is…it’s…I have to go.” DJ muttered, his voice already breaking.

“Oh… I… I completely forgot this was still happening.” Storm’s voice was starting to project at a lower and more sad pitch than before.

DJ was surprised by that comment, however. “Forgot? You knew I was gonna disappear? I… I didn’t think you—.“

He was cut off swiftly by Storm. “I… heard the whole thing. When the words left Timber’s mouth, I was just as shocked as you were. But… just like you, I eventually accepted that there wasn’t any way around this without paralyzing the planet, so I pressed on with you, fully aware this was gonna happen. Well, until the fight, at least, determination and excitement completely took over my thoughts during that.”

“But… If you knew, why didn’t you just tell me?” DJ questioned, curious as to why Storm had kept his knowledge of these events secret this whole time.

“I saw how hard Timber’s sacrifice hit you, I really didn’t want to bring up a question so… grim. You just weren’t acting yourself at all, so I kept my energetic and positive personality through the whole rest of the journey to raise your spirits, and help us both keep going. You needed to achieve this goal, and I was willing to make sure you would do just that. I think I did a pretty good job watching your back this whole time, you?” the Shinx responded, with a slightly proud undertone in his voice.

Those words. “Watching your back”. DJ recalled on everything Timber had told him before jumping into that portal with Dusknoir, as tears began to flow freely from his eyes.

“…That’s…You did that… for me?” DJ croaked, the sadness in his voice now incredibly evident.

“I… just wanted to make sure you were feeling OK…” Storm’s eyes were welling up with tears as well.

“It’s…I…don’t…I don’t know what to say… It’s just… thank you…” the Mudkip mumbled in a whispery voice, giving all he had to keep his composure.

“You know what though?” DJ’s voice suddenly gained certainty, “I’m… personally glad I’m not going in vain. Because that would suck extremely hard.” He laughed briefly, “But, the fact that the last thing I did was save the world, especially with you there by my side, just… makes me happy, knowing… everyone’s gonna be OK now… including you.” he finished, a heartwarming, but still tearful grin written on his face.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Storm replied, a soft smile also present.

As the seconds passed by, the lights surrounding DJ became increasingly brighter, and the amount increasingly higher, almost to the point that Storm couldn’t look at him anymore.

“Wow, those lights are getting bright, I don’t think you have that much time left.” the Shinx noted, as if it wasn’t already painfully obvious.

DJ silently nodded, before speaking once again, “There’s something important I need to tell you before I disappear completely. Once I’m gone, I want you to go home, tell everyone at the guild everything that’s happened, so nobody who has rocks for an IQ redoes these things, and most important of all…continue our legacy. Mal’s still waiting at home. I know, she’s like… absolutely not the ideal choice at all, especially if you’re not careful, but she’s literally the only other teammate that’s left, the fate of Team P.E.A.C.E. is literally in both your paws right now. Make the guild impressed by ranking up or something. Please make me proud. You promise you’ll do all that for me?”

“I promise I’ll do that. Team P.E.A.C.E. is in good paws.” Storm agreed, with a burst of determination. All DJ could think to do was smile back at him.

“There’s… something I want to say to you too.”tears were returning to the Shinx’s eyes, “Please excuse me if it’s a little…mushy.”

“I’m literally on the brink of extinction, I’ll listen to anything now, regardless of the mush” DJ remarked, attempting to lighten the mood a bit.

“I just wanted to say… I know we… we didn’t really… get along that well, but… I can’t thank you enough for being one of the best friends I could have ever had. Before you showed up, I was the lazy homeless loser nobody wanted to be good friends with, sure, people were nice to me, but nobody’s been there for me on the same level you have. Like, it’s probably not comprehendible to anybody how much you really mean to me.” Storm confessed, sounding like he could burst into tears at any moment.

A bittersweet feeling enveloped the Mudkip. “Even after how rocky our friendship’s been, he still cares this much about me?” He thought, now feeling triply bad about leaving him behind.

“Well, uh, thank you for saying that.” DJ began. “If we’re being completely honest, the only reason I ever went with you is because given the situation I was in, and the gravity of yours, I literally had no other choice but to stick with you. But… looking back, it was definitely the best decision I’ve ever made in my life as a Mudkip. And if I had to go back and do it all again, I wouldn’t do it any other way, or choose anybody else to stick with. Sure, maybe the way we met was… strange, but you’re a true friend regardless of what way I put it, and even after I’m gone, I won’t forget about you. Ever.”

Storm began to cry softly. “I… I really appreciate that… T-t-thank you…” he murmured through his weeping. Not long after, the Shinx enveloped his friend into a tight embrace. DJ cringed a bit out of surprise, but eventually got comfortable, and hugged him back. The two smiled, and continued their hug for another minute or so, before DJ was reduced to nothing but the remaining lights floating up into the sky above.

Storm, having fallen flat on his face due to having nothing else to grip onto, looked around a bit to see if the moment he’d been dreading had finally happened. There was no question about it, his friend was gone.

“Well, that’s… that’s it then…“ he sighed depressively, “bye… DJ…”

Storm laid there for a few minutes, pondering the conversation he and DJ had just shared, before thinking back on that promise he made to him.

“DJ… I promise… and I mean, promise, your requests… every single one of them… I will fulfill…” the Shinx vowed, another sudden burst of determination flowing through.

Storm struggled back up onto his feet and began limping towards the Rainbow Stoneship, ready to accept a new life without his best friend… or at least give his best shot at that.

[doctorstrangereview]

Strange Tales #163

Cover Date: December 1967 On-Sale Date: August 31, 1967

This is the last story of the next-to-last arc of Doc's adventures on Strange Tales. For such a universe shattering arc, the finale has a remarkably small cast and it all takes place on a single, if large, stage. These are interesting choices to wrap this up.

When we last left Doc, he was being confronted by Nebulos who is about to give him what for. Doc says look behind you. Oddly enough, this isn't an attempt at distraction, but The Living Tribunal is actually there!

Trib-y isn't there to deliver good news. "Yeah, Doc, you did what I asked, but it still kinda stinks around here so I'm gonna off Earth anyway."

Doc is very "WTF, man?! Tell me what's going on!" Trib-y refuses because Doc is basically dirt on his oddly shaped feet to Trib-y. Then Trib-y ponders about what could be causing this.

Even the tribunal calls this a riddle. Trib-y may be really, really powerful but not omniscient. Even he's got to thing this trough. It seems he may have figured it out.

Doc realizes that if Trib-y does away with Nebulos, nobody will know where Victoria Bentley is. Doc, of course, has the thought that he must rescue the girl he's met only once before for 10 minutes. Thus, he attacks Trib-y so he won't kill Nebulos until they wring that bit of information from the badly shaped villain.

Trib-y is incensed that this bit of mortal flotsam would dare attack him and sends the attack back at Doc. Nebulos uses the moment to attack Trib-y. As Trib-y and Nebulos go back and forth, Doc worries that they'll destroy each other and attempts to aid Trib-y while asking him to reason with his foe instead. Nebulos accuses Trib-y of needing help. This only further angers the cosmic being who takes a moment from his frantic battle to attack Doc!

This is a rather cinematic panel that, as far as I can tell, was not swiped by Adkins from another artist. Trib-y and Nebulos continue their skirmish. Nebulos is about to run away, but Trib-y basically says "No way, dude! This ends now! And since that big staff of yours absorbs everything thrown against it, I'm just gonna burn down this entire mother-freakin' planet!"

Nebulos protests, but Trib-y starts tearin' it down.

Trib-y's fire show causes Doc's bonds to weaken and he spends an entire page avoiding falling rocks. Then he gets a bit sexist as he tries to locate the battle.

This panel looks very Ditko, but I haven't located a source for it.

Doc finds them, and Trib-y tells Nebulos it's all going to poop and he needs to give Trib-y his big staff. Nebulos is like "Nah! I'm gonna cast a spell so big it's gonna eff EVERYTHING up!" But before he can, Doc swoops in and swipes the staff. Guess he likes the feeling of that big rod in his hands. Nebulos, bereft of his big staff is unable to cast his big spell and gets buried in the remains of the Planet(s) Perilous.

Doc confronts Trib-y who is impressed that Doc was able to do what he wasn't. Doc expresses his concern that with Nebulos out of the picture permanently, he's trapped in a pile of rubble and Vicky is trapped somewhere else that no one knows. Trib-y is like "I got your back, dude! I'm gonna send you to her. Of course, what waits for you there will make what you just endured like a trip to Disneyland. And I mean Disneyland before you needed an entire day to ride a single attraction." Yup! Doc is out of the frying pan and into the fire as he slides into home.

I think Lawrence has a propensity to take advantage of Adkins' habit of drawing large panels to stretch his stories. The battle between The Living Tribunal and Nebulos could have been more epic. And did Doc really need to spend and entire page dodging the crumbling mountain? The Tribunal's portrayal is a bit too human. He's rash and angry. As a cosmic force he shouldn't be quite so emotional. Nebulos shouldn't be as much of a challenge as he to The Tribunal. This shows that the power of cosmic beings hasn't grown to the absolutely ridiculous levels it will in the 90s and beyond. Again, this is a story I like, but could have included more or been consolidated down to fewer pages. Well, the final Strange Tales arc awaits.

[hugsandchaos]

Yay, someone said yes!!

@howler-entertainment

Like I said, most of it is the same, but the main thing that differs this AU from the original SatBK is Lancelot’s backstory. In this AU, Lancelot is Shadow.

The idea is that Project Shadow might not have been made by humans, or maybe it was, I haven’t decided yet. Either way, the whole thing happens where The ARK gets invaded by soldiers and Shadow is launched off into space, except he didn’t land on Earth.

He was so overwhelmed with grief that his chaos powers acted up one last time before it was too much for him and he passed out a second time in those 24 hours, and he accidentally teleported himself to somewhere else, because that’s where he wanted to be.

From the perspective of those on the planet, Camelot observed a strange object fall from the heavens and land somewhere in the mountains. Some speculated it was a meteor, and people got really excited to go see it, but due to circumstances, they remained there for a while.

Weeks later, after Shadow had gotten out of his crashed escape pod and started exploring, he came across Nimune’s lake, and you can guess what happened from there.

Now that’s the backstory! It was either that, or Shadow is from this ancient civilization that died out long ago and Nimune came across the ruins and found him still in cryosleep.

Anyways, everything in Shadow’s Lancelot’s was going well in his eyes. He’d almost forgotten about Project Shadow and what happened on The ARK, and has already let it go despite the memories still coming to him in flashbacks when he least expects them to. Still, it’s going great!

Until a certain someone named Black Doom came to cause trouble, and the moment he heard the name “Project Shadow”, his heart dropped. He thought it was all in the past now. It was supposed to be left buried and forgotten! No one was supposed to know! Not even his mother knew of his true origins!

But you know what they say about secrets. They don’t like to be kept.

I made up a SatBK AU that combines many parts of the main story and Shadow’s mainstream backstory. Who wants to hear it?

[fantabee]

We'll See This End Together

I've been playing Outer Wilds over on my twitch channel, and I told my chat I'd write a Hatchling x Gabbro fanfiction for 5 gift subs. So here it is. Massive spoiler warning for the game, it's really great and I highly recommend playing it knowing as little as possible. Really, if you have any interest in playing the game yourself, don't read this until you do.

Space never seemed lonely to you. Growing up, you were taught how to use your signalscope to listen to the astronauts explore those far-off planets. They all came back frequently, bearing the strange objects, relics, and knowledge they acquired. You grew up craving all of it. You and Hal put so many sleepless nights into the translation tool, perfecting it, mastering the ancient Nomai language. Words could not describe how excited you were to finally have your first launch.

Now your first launch is the same as your hundredth. No one remembers the discoveries you’ve told them about. You have nearly learned all the secrets of your solar system, but what good is knowledge when there is no one to share it with?

Well, there’s one person.

The gravity on Giant’s Deep pulls hard on your ship, and you barely manage to avoid an incoming twister as you search for Gabbro’s island. You see the smoke from their fire first and head towards it, flying over Statue Island and past Gabbro’s poor, lonely ship set adrift in the sea. Your own ship crashes down hard on the beach; you can hear the sound of the landing gear cracking even over the roaring winds and waves.

“Not my best, not my worst,” you mutter to yourself as you hop out of the ship and quickly repair the damages. At least you didn’t flip it over this time.

Your boots leave deep prints in the sand as you walk under the arched rock, towards the low, calming sound of Gabbro’s flute. They lay back in their hammock, forcing a spot of relaxation on a world of constant turbulence.

Hearing you approach, they stop playing and glance over their shoulder. “If it isn’t my time buddy! How’s space treating you this loop?”

You take a seat on the sand next to them and sigh. “Can’t complain, I guess. Since it just started and all.”

“True. I’ll admit, I’ve started to get used to this whole ‘dying and waking up over and over again’ thing, though. Kind of reassuring to know that I can die in a way that would make Feldspar proud and then wake up again anyways.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten a little reckless too, I won’t lie.”

“Like you weren’t already reckless before. What’s the craziest way you’ve died?”

“I’ve flown into the sun more times than I’d like to admit. Sometimes the autopilot takes me right in. I’ve told Slate about that, actually.”

“Oh yeah? And what’d they say?”

“I must have had a crazy dream.”

Gabbro makes a sound like a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, we’ve both been having some pretty crazy dreams.”

You lay back completely on the sand, watching the thick greenish clouds race overhead. “Every time I wake up next to that campfire, I watch the probe get launched and the station fall apart. Then I get up and talk to Slate. Slate and I have the exact same conversation every loop.”

“Really? How does it go?”

You do your best impression of Slate “There’s our pilot! Ready to get this beauty off the ground? Hey, what can I do you for?”

“There are endless possibilities with that opener. What do you say?”

“You know this ship is a death-trap, right?”

“You say that every time?”

“Every time.”

Gabbro laughs so hard they end up in a fit of coughs. You smile to yourself at the sound. You haven’t heard someone laugh in a long time.

“You tell Slate that their ship sucks every single loop? I love it! Poor Slate.”

“Nah, they say it’s a powerful death-trap. You know how Slate is, they’re practically proud of the danger.”

“Good point, good point.” Gabbro laughs again, shakes their head, then starts playing the flute, clear enough to be heard from planets away.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a cyclone approach like it is going to lift the island, but it turns at the last second. You close your eyes and relax for the first time in many, many loops.

“I’m really grateful, you know. For the ship, for the Outer Wilds Venture, for the knowledge the Nomai left behind. All of it.” Tears prick at the back of your eyes and your voice grows thick. “I just wish the others would remember too, like you and I do.”

Gabbro keeps playing the flute for a few minutes as you take deep breaths to compose yourself. It’s not like you to get so emotional.

Eventually, Gabbro puts the flute down and sighs. “I understand. After I learned I was in a time loop, I had fun for a while. But there came a point where I just started sleeping it all away. I let it all pass me by over and over again. I wanted to know if it would eventually end.”

“But it hasn’t. Not yet.”

“No. Not yet. But you told me you know how to end it, right?”

You open your eyes to watch the rain hit the visor of your helmet and attempt to count the drops as they land. There are too many to keep up. “Yeah. The Nomai left all their notes, so I know exactly what I need to do and where to go. But if I end it…”

“That’s it for us,” Gabbro finishes your sentence. “All of us. Unless you’ve figured out how to stop the sun from going supernova too?”

You shake your head. “Nope. There’s no way to stop it. It’s the whole universe at this point.”

“The whole universe? Really? It’s all going?”

“Sure is. I saw messages from modern Nomai confirming it, too.”

Gabbro plays a few notes on their flute before they speak again. “So what you’re saying is that you’re the only one keeping the universe alive at this point?”

“I guess so,” you whisper. You’re still on your back looking up at the clouds, but you wish you could see the stars instead. You’ve spent your whole life looking up at them. And even though you’ve watched them disappear, their fleeting presence is still the greatest comfort for you. They always shine when you wake up.

“Are you doing alright?” Gabbro’s voice forces you to focus again. “I mean, that’s a lot of weight on your shoulders.”

You take a shaky breath and finally sit up again. “I’m usually doing fine if there’s something to explore. Discovering something new is a great way to ignore the knowledge that I’m the one stopping the universe from imploding.”

Gabbro nods. “Yeah, that sounds like it’d work pretty well. What have you found recently?”

“Did you know there’s a massive ring ship that’s been cloaked in our solar system since before the Nomai even arrived?”

You spend the next few minutes excitedly telling Gabbro about everything you’ve learned on the Stranger and the mysteries you’ve yet to unfold. They ask questions at just the right time, but it’s mostly you just sharing what you’ve learned, something you haven’t been able to do recently. You admit to yourself that it feels so good to have a real conversation again.

Before you know it, the loop is over halfway done. You and Gabbro both have a knack for knowing at this point. There’s a lull in the conversation as you both sit and listen to their flute. Do you get up and go back to the Stranger? Do you meditate and start again so you have more time? Do you find a way to die to make it more exciting?

You watch Gabbro while you think. You have a feeling they’re thinking the exact same things as you, but they just keep playing the flute. It’s for you and all the other explorers. A sign they’re alive. A sign you’re not alone.

“Do you want to meet a Nomai?” You ask.

Gabbro cuts off their song abruptly. “Do I want to meet a Nomai? What kind of question is that? Of course I want to meet a Nomai, are you kidding me?” They watch you stand and dust the sand off of your spacesuit. “When you said you heard from modern Nomai, you mean to tell me you met them? Where?”

“Well, she’s not really modern, per se, nor is she really alive, but I’ve talked to her. Kind of.” You extend a hand and help Gabbro stand. “I’ll introduce you.”

Gabbro follows you to your ship, entering and making themself comfortable on the floor. “Have you told Riebeck? They’ll be so excited.”

“I did tell them, a few times. But it’s, ah, hard to get them off of Brittle Hollow with any sort of speed. Nearly impossible, actually.” You start up your ship and hit the thrusters hard, launching in a shaky upward trajectory to escape orbit.

“They’ve come so far since they joined the Venture, you know. Lots of baby steps. If only we had more time,” Gabbro says mostly to themself.

“It’s all about time these days,” you agree. “Keep your eyes out for the Quantum Moon.”

You fly the ship wildly, turning to be able to see the planets for just a brief moment to check for the Quantum Moon. You can feel as Gabbro grips onto your seat in an attempt to stay upright as they look too. You chuckle as you think what someone watching from a telescope might be thinking as they watch your ship spin like a top.

“There! Stop the ship! It’s at Brittle Hollow!” Gabbro shouts as they point.

“Nice spot!” You yank the wheel and whip your ship towards Brittle Hollow, nearly throwing Gabbro off their feet. You ready your scout as you zip towards the Quantum Moon. “I’m about to demonstrate the rule of Quantum Imaging: observing an image of a quantum object is the same as observing the quantum object,” you recite as you launch your scout and snap a picture of it, locking the Quantum Moon in its current orbit.

“I give that picture a 2 out of 10. It’s really impressive how bad it is.”

“The rule of Quantum Imaging doesn’t account for quality of the image, thankfully.”

With the image of the moon frozen on your monitor, you guide the ship through the thick gas atmosphere. When the broken rocky ground appears below your ship, Gabbro whistles low.

“It worked.”

“I was surprised the first time, too.” You say as you land. You both secure your helmets in and exit, dropping to the ground, breaking the impressive silence.

Gabbro gestures to the Nomai corpse next to your ship. “I thought you said they were alive.”

“I said she was kind of alive. She’s dead at every location except the sixth.”

“Of course, I should have known,” Gabbro says sarcastically as they look around. “So now we find the tower and get to the sixth location too?”

“You’ve got it!” You clap Gabbro on the back and lead them north. After a bit of trial and error and spinning around in circles, you find the shrine and explain it all to Gabbro. They learn quickly and you let them take the lead, turning the lights off and on to change planets, then finding a way to put the shrine on the north pole. They’re as excited as you’ve ever seen them, clicking their flashlight off and on like a hatchling playing in the dark.

Finally, when the shrine is on the north pole and the diagram on the wall indicates that you’re in the sixth location, they waste no time opening the door and gasping at the sight of the terrain. “It’s… strange and beautiful,” they say.

You look up at the clouds that blow south. “It really is.”

Gabbro walks slowly, really taking it all in. As much as you want to remind them that time is running out, you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You want them to see it all for what it is, like you did the first time. Eventually, they turn and nod, and you lead the way south.

You see Solanum standing alone at the south pole, just like last time. When you both get close, she tilts her head and creates the same stones she used to communicate with you before. But this time, there are two helmets, to represent you and Gabbro together.

“Since we can understand her, but she can’t understand us, this is what she's figured out,” you explain as you pick up the ‘identify’ and ‘you’ stone.

“Fascinating. Does she remember the previous loops?” Gabbro watches closely as Solanum writes her response. “You really have to get Riebeck out here to watch this.”

“She doesn’t. Right now, Riebeck would probably say something about her creating a way to communicate within moments of us meeting is a testament to the intelligence of the Nomai.”

Your translator scans her response to you asking her to identify herself. “I am Solanum, a Nomai. My clan arrived in this star system before my birth, and we now call it home.”

You change out ‘you’ for ‘us’ to ask her to identify Gabbro and yourself.

“I’ve never met one of your kind before. It’s an honor to speak with the two of you! I particularly admire your four eyes. There are many questions I would ask, if I could comprehend your language. You have my gratitude for understanding mine.”

Gabbro reads this over your shoulder and shakes their head. “Have you tried gesturing? Or maybe playing music?”

“I’ve tried gesturing a bit, but she doesn’t really respond. Maybe you could try playing some music for her,” you suggest.

Gabbro gets their flute out and plays a few notes, gauging her response. Solanum only tilts her head again. Then Gabbro starts to play their song, the one you’ve heard at least a thousand times while searching the skies.

Solanum continues to tilt her head as she listens to Gabbro’s song. She’s very still, listening with great intensity. So unlike your fellow Hearthians.

When Gabbro finishes, Solanum writes a new sentence. “I enjoyed that very much. Thank you.”

Gabbro reads the translation and squeezes your shoulder. “See? Music transcends language. Art transcends language in general; do you have any paint?”

“Gabbro, we’re almost out of time,” you say quietly.

It breaks your heart to watch their shoulders slump. You know that feeling when you’re so engrossed in the depths of a discovery that you momentarily forget about the time loop. For a second, you wonder if it might have been better to just let them stay and let it end.

But Gabbro puts their flute away and stands up straighter again. “It was nice to meet you, Solanum. I know you can’t understand me, but it was a real pleasure finally meeting a Nomai. Maybe I’ll come back and we can do this again,” they say as they wave goodbye.

Solanum only tilts her head, as she has a habit to do, and watches as you take Gabbro’s hand and jump through the strange tunnel in the clouds above. Gravity shifts suddenly as your mind tries to comprehend the confusing change in perspective as your feet touch down on the Quantum Moon again, though it looks a lot like Timber Hearth. Like home.

“Yeah, I think I could try to paint her a picture next time. If Riebeck won’t come out here, I’ll learn what I can and tell them later.” Gabbro looks around, confused. “Wait, where’s your ship?”

You shake your head. “Gravity is weak enough that we can just jump out.”

Gabbro’s grip tightens on your hand as they nod, and you jump together through the clouds. Timber Hearth partially blocks the view of the sun, massive, red, and dying. You and Gabbro float in there and stare, watching as Timber Hearth passes by, leaving nothing between you and the dying light.

“Thank you for taking me there,” Gabbro says. “You’ve given me something all of us could only expect in our dreams.”

“I am glad we get to share these memories, Gabbro,” you say as the sun rapidly starts to condense. “I’ll see you soon.”

Gabbro turns to watch the sun, and you do too. “You know where to find me.”

The sun shrinks down to almost nothing, and space has never been so dark. One heartbeat later and it explodes into the brightest and most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You wake up with a gasp.

[90spumkin]

Masterpiece

Summary: Who knew art could lead to an awkward meeting that would later lead to beautiful relationship.

A/N: I know I said I would post this Friday, but oh well here we are. All inserted pictures are from Pinterest. I absolutely loved writing this so please send me your feedback.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Artist! Reader

Warnings: swearing, implied/slightly descriptive smut, mention of alcohol and addiction 

Word Count: 2.8K

Spencer doesn’t know how long he had been zoned out not listening to a word Emily said to him. They were standing in an obnoxiously long line at their favorite coffee shop. Spencer was admiring the art in front of him, the way the yellows and oranges flowed together was mesmerizing. They were so mesmerizing that Spencer didn’t realize the art was on the back pocket of the stranger’s shorts standing in line in front of them.

It wasn’t until Emily nudge Spencer’s shoulder, “Quit looking at that girl’s ass!” Spencer saw where Emily was pointing as she spoke. As he went to say, “I was not checking out her ass.”, the stranger with the mesmerizing art on her ass turned around to see the raven haired woman pointing down at the lower part of her body and the tall curly haired man blushing as he was caught in the act.

The woman smirked at them both and said, “Well my shorts do say ‘this butt is art’ so I guess technically you were just taking in all its beauty.” This made Emily snort and Spencer stutter. He tried to stutter out an apology, but by the time his brain allowed him to access words again Emily’s phone rang loudly.

She answered quickly and hung up just as fast, “I have to go to a meeting apparently. Sometimes I hate being the boss. I’ll catch up with you later, Spencer.” And with that she was gone, leaving Spencer there with the still smirking woman.

“You know the least you could do is buy my coffee to make up for this adorable fiasco.” She said causing Spencer to blush. He nodded his head and said, “Yes of course. I’m really sorry about all that. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid by the way.”

She smiled at him as he went to stand beside her in line, “Oh doctor, fascinating. I’m y/n.”

Once they had finally gotten their coffee and found a small table, conversation between the two flowed so effortlessly. “So, doctor, huh? Care to share with the class what kind?” Y/n asked as she took a sip of her dark beverage.

Spencer chuckled, “I have PhD’s in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering along with BA’s in psychology, sociology, and philosophy. I’m not a doctor who works in a hospital, but one who works in the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.” Y/n smiled at him over her cup, “That kind of makes sense you look like a very intelligent man. Plus, you look way better in a cardigan than you probably would in scrubs.”

Their conversation went on without a hitch, no moments of awkward silence. They talked about their careers, y/n explained how she was an artist and Spencer adored the way she lit up as she talked. They constantly were bouncing ideas and questions off one another. The conversations stretched over many different topics, each just as interesting as the last. Y/n even listened and question Spencer on several of his fact dumps.

They both seemed to have forgotten the outside world existed until Spencer happened to notice the sun setting through the coffee shop windows. As he admired the colors in the sky he said, “The sky is always so lovely at sunset, but I hate that it could mean the end of this.”

He looked back at y/n who was smiling at him. “Okay I don’t usually invite strange men to my home, but would you like to come see some of my art that I’ve been working on?” Spencer smirked and narrowed his eyes, “You think I’m strange?” Y/n laughed, “Only in the best way.”

The first thing Spencer did when he entered y/n incredibly spacious apartment was admire all the art lining the walls. He had thought the art displayed on her jean shorts was mesmerizing, but the art that was in front of him now was simply breathtaking.

Spencer walked the walls, admiring and analyzing each piece. Y/n stood beside him as he smiled at the painting of a cow. She laughed softly as she spoke, “There is always a story behind each of my paintings. Some are silly, some are painful. However, this one happens to be my favorite. I grew up on a farm and I had a cow named Milky” She looked at Spencer who was trying to hide a laugh, “Hey I was 8! Anyways she was my best friend. It was funny when I first started to draw and paint, I would always use her as a model. Sometimes it seemed as if she was posing for me.”

Spencer didn’t take his eyes off y/n the whole time she was talking. Once y/n finished her story she looked at Spencer. Both of their smiles growing bigger. He looked back at the painting and said, “You know in another life I would love to be a cowboy with cows and other animals on a small ranch somewhere.”

Y/n giggled, “Would you name one of your cows Milky?” Spencer looked at her fondly and said, “For you, I would.”

Spencer turned his head to the right and noticed a canvas with several different shades of red bleeding into one another, there was broken glass scattered across it. He made his way closer, he turned towards y/n and asked, “What’s the story behind this one?”

Y/n’s eyes held a hint of sadness as she drew in a deep breath. She was hesitant at first but finally explained, “The glass is broken beer bottles, I was- am an alcoholic. I am currently 5 years sober, almost 6 now. I made this to remind myself of all the hate and pain drinking brought to my life” Y/n turned towards Spencer expecting him not to understand, but instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sobriety chip.

Y/n’s eyes started to tear up at the fact that someone finally wasn’t judging her but understanding her. She too pulled out a chip and both y/n and Spencer let out laughs full of pain but also full happiness. Spencer reached out a hand and placed it on y/n’s cheek. His thumb ran smoothly across her face to wipe a tear that had escaped.

When Spencer spoke again his words were soft, “Out of all this art, I think you are the one true masterpiece.”

One minute they were staring into one another’s eyes, and the next they were getting lost in the feel of the other’s lips neither one really sure when they had made it to y/n’s bedroom. Spencer held y/n against him firmly, but it felt delicate all at once. His fingers traced over every edge and curve of her body bringing sounds of pleasure from her beautiful lips.

Spencer planted soft kisses across y/n’s body as if he were painting and her body was his canvas. With every roll of Spencer’s hips, flashes of color seemed to blind him. When y/n arched her back, Spencer let her know she was more beautiful than any art piece.

The next morning, Spencer woke up to the sun shining through the windows. He felt y/n stir next to him, he couldn’t help but take in how lovely she looked. The sun seemed to only amplify her beauty.

Y/n opened her eyes to find Spencer staring at her. She smirked and closed her eyes again, curling up closer to him, “You’re staring.” Spencer chuckled causing vibrations to run through his chest making y/n giggle. “I’m admiring.” Spencer told her.

Y/n sat up to stretch, the sheets falling around her making her look like a sculpture of a goddess. She smiled down at him and scrunched up her nose “Yeah yeah yeah. Whatever you say.”

While they started to dress, well y/n was getting dressed Spencer was still looking for his shirt, he noticed the shorts y/n was putting on had art on them just like the ones before. However, these were not shades of yellow and orange. These shorts had little planets painted on them.

Y/n turned around to see Spencer’s eyes once again focused on her ass, “Why are you smiling like that?” At her question Spencer let out the laugh he was holding in as he said, “Ummm- well- it’s just that- your ass is out of this world.”

Y/n snorted and threw a pillow towards Spencer who actually caught it, “Oh the doctors got jokes this morning.”

Spencer spotted his shirt in the floor and as he bent over to get it, he said, “Not jokes, facts.” This only made y/n smile more.

Y/n watched the muscles in Spencer’s back flex as he fixed his shirt to put it on. Right before he put it over his head she asked, “Can I- can I paint something on your back?”

Spencer stopped all movements to look at y/n, he noticed the blush tinting her cheeks. His heart seemed to scream with emotions. Spencer through his shirt back on the ground and asked, “Where do you want me?” Y/n giggled and pointed to the bed.

Y/n had been straddling Spencer’s back for about 15-to-20-minute minutes when he no longer felt the softness of the paintbrush against his skin. Y/n had been humming while she worked and with the gentleness of each stroke of the brush, Spencer kept dozing off.

Y/n removed herself from Spencer causing him to turn his head to look up at her, she was smiling so brightly Spencer never wanted to look away. Y/n was staring down at the work on Spencer’s back and jumped slightly when he asked, “Can I see it?”

“Oh yes! Of course!”, she rushed to put down her paints and brushes. Y/n grabbed Spencer’s hand and pulled him towards the full-length mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door. Before handing him the handheld mirror she said, “Close your eyes. I’m going to count to 3.” Spencer just chuckled and nodded.

“1…”

“…2…”

“…3”

Spencer opened his eyes and let out a gasp. The art that now covered his back was simple but so pretty. There were no defined lines, the colors overlapped in some places which just made it all the more beautiful. He looked from the mirror to y/n to see her hands clasped together and held against her mouth. She moved her hands slightly to ask, “So, what do you think?” Spencer looked back at the mirror and said, “I never want to take it off.”

After the time Spencer spent with y/n he was scared he would never see or talk to her again. Right after she revealed the painting she had done on his back, Emily called him with a new case. He ran out of there so fast he didn’t have time to remove the paint or give y/n his number. The plane ride was slightly uncomfortable with his clothes sticking to the paint.

However, it turned out the universe was on his side. They were leaving one case going straight to another, so Spencer’s spirits were kind of in shambles and his mind was consumed with thoughts of y/n. His sadness was starting to take over his mood when his rarely used cell phoned chimed, signaling that he just received a text.

Hi, doc. It’s your favorite artist. I hope it isn’t weird I’m texting you. I got a call from someone named Penelope. She said Emily thought you would like to hear from me.

Spencer looked over towards Emily who was smirking as she read over the case file, she knew who was texting him. Spencer just shook his head as he typed out his response, smiling the whole time.

Hello, y/n. That would be my best friends medaling in my life. Luckily, this time they were right.

Y/n response came back fast, and Spencer chuckled softly imagining the teasing look she was probably making as she asked-

This time?

That is a story for another time.

Over the course of the several weeks Spencer was gone, Y/n and Spencer texted every chance they got. A lot of the times Spencer would be too busy and would see messages from y/n he had gotten through the day.

--

I was running late this morning due to me having terrible time management skills and well- I went to brunch with paint completely covering my clothes.

--

Ha look what I did. I’m starting to think I’m the real genius here. click here for image

--

SPENCER REID. DID YOU REALLY HAVE PENELOPE GO BUY ME THIS AND BRING IT TO ME?!?! I love it! Thank you! click here for image

--

Spencer would always laugh and respond every time he got the chance. One night he was actually able to call her.

“Hello?”

“Are not sure how to answer a phone or are you questioning if I’m really calling you?” Spencer teased.

“Well, isn’t someone feeling sassy today.” Y/n laughed; she was overwhelmingly happy to hear his voice.

They spent most of the night just catching up. Y/n never once asked about the case and for that Spencer was thankful. Spencer saw the sun start to rise and realized what time it was.

“I should probably try and get at least a few hours of sleep.” Spencer said into the phone. He heard her gasp and then frantically started apologizing, “Oh my goodness! I am so sorry! I was just so happy to talk to you I didn’t realize. I-“

Spencer cut her off with a “Hey. It perfectly okay. I love talking to you. If it were possible, I would never sleep if it meant I could talk to you forever.”

Y/n couldn’t stop smiling, “Well guess what doc. You’re kind of stuck with me get ready for me to never stop talking.” Spencer laughed softly, “I am definitely okay with that.”

As soon as the jet landed, Spencer texted y/n to let her know they were back. What he didn’t expect was for her to be standing in the bullpen with Penelope. Spencer couldn’t help but practically sprint to her, ignoring the knowing looks from his teammates.

When reached her, he wrapped her in a hug. Y/n giggled as she hugged him back. When they pulled apart Spencer asked, “What are you doing here?” Y/n shrugged and looked towards Penelope who had left her side to join the others and said, “Reasons.” She looked back at Spencer and winked. Spencer laughed and shook his head as he wrapped her in another hug.

Spencer and y/n left with Spencer promising to finish the paperwork first thing the following week. Once they were outside y/n turned to Spencer and said, “Okay so the main reason I couldn’t wait any longer to see you is I want to ask you something?”

Spencer turned his head and squinted his eyes, “Should I be scared?” Y/n barked out a laugh and grabbed Spencer’s hand. He stared where their hands were joined. Y/n must have thought he didn’t want to hold her hand because she noticed him staring and let go.

Y/n became a little nervous as she asked, “I- I wanted to ask you to be my plus one at an art show tomorrow. This will be the second art show my work has been in and I’m extremely nervous and would love for you to be there.”

Spencer smiled, feeling beyond flattered that she would want him there. He grabbed her hand the same way she had before and said, “I would love nothing more.”

That following night at the art show Spencer knew for certain he was completely consumed with feelings for y/n. He couldn’t help but to admire how her face lit up every time she talked about her work with other guests. It fills him with pride every time she would turn away the champagne that is offered. What really sets his heart ablaze is how y/n would reach for his hand every time she moved on to another art piece or to speak to someone else. It was as if y/n wanted, needed him. Whether it was for comfort or confidence Spencer was happy to be either of those things for her.

Towards the end of the night Spencer and y/n had finally found a moment to be alone. They stood in front of a painting that kind of reminded Spencer of the mermaid from that one Disney movie Penelope made him watch.

Y/n must have thought so also because as she looked at the painting she said, “You know I am really glad you have become a part of my world.” Y/n turned her head to look at Spencer there was a gleam in her eye. Spencer responded by saying, “Is there any way I can always be a part of your world?”

Y/n responded by kissing Spencer, putting ever amount of emotion she felt into it. The kiss was more vibrant and meaningful than any art she could ever dream of creating.

*

*

*

Permanent Taglist: @criminalmindzjunkie​ @brooklynxnicole @the-queen-of-moons​ @imdefinitelyfloating​ @muffin-cup @theintimatewriter @averyhotchner @spenxerslut​ @spenciegoob​ @april-14-blog​

[100hearteyes]

any more thoughts on 'clarke and lexa make a porno'?

🤔😏

Part 1 Part 2

“Last but not least, worry no more, citizens of Capitola: after a grueling week of searching, our very own superhero Jasper Jordan has finally found his cape. He was wearing it all along.”

“It’s so good to know that he will be able to go on keeping Capitola safe.”

“Yes, what would we do without Jasper Jordan here to protect us? And from now on, you’ll be in Lexa Woods’s hands. Also, such good hands those are. She’s got very long fingers.”

“Oh. Well, I never actually noticed, but I guess they are. Thanks, Clarke. And now, perk your ears for the new hit single from our very own global country star, Harper McIntyre. It’s called Call Me Harp-by. She’s a creative genius!”

-

Lexa’s first instinct when she hears the studio door open is to hide. She checks her options: Monty is holed up under his desk playing on his GameBoy Color, Octavia has barricaded herself in a corner with actual hand-carved sticks and is roaring at Bellamy in a strange language, and Murphy is probably peeing into a bin behind the pillar on the far side of the room.

She’s too slow to think of a solution in the end and she can’t do anything but flush when Clarke strolls in and heads over to her, smirk plastered on her face. Lexa only has time to save her miniature Baby Yoda from Clarke’s weapon of ass destruction before her coworker sits on the edge of her desk.

“Hey, Lexa.”

Lexa forces a polite smile, trying to focus on her outline for the day rather than the butt cheeks planted on her desk, the body attached to them, or the face looking down at her with a sly grin. “Hello, Clarke.”

“What do you think of Harper McIntyre’s new song?”

The topic confuses her, but she trudges on with a brave face. After all, she’s got opinions on Capitola’s Taylor Swift rip-off and if Anya is going to make it a point of leaving the room every time Lexa so much as mentions them, then she’s going to take this opportunity with both hands and pull out all the receipts. “Uninspired. Derivative. Oddly reminiscent of Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen.”

“Yeah...” Clarke nods pensively, letting the subsequent silence drag on for a few more seconds. “I like your fingers.”

Lexa starts at the sudden topic change and struggles to keep her blush under control under the brazen intensity of Clarke’s stare. “Yes, I- I noticed. You mentioned. On the radio, for all of Capitola to hear. Thank you, I guess?”

Clarke hums, before clicking her tongue and hopping off of Lexa’s desk. She roundabouts it until she’s right next to Lexa, thigh brushing Lexa’s arm.

Lexa tries and fails to swallow down the knot in her throat as Clarke sits on her desk again, this time on her side, crossing her legs so her feet touch Lexa’s leg.

“So a little bird told me we’re starring in a porno together.”

Lexa almost yelps, scrambling out of her chair to fasten both hands over Clarke’s mouth. “The whole world doesn’t need to know, Clarke!”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but Lexa can feel her smile under her hands. Their eyes lock, a tacit understanding passing between them. Clarke's eyes are a vivid blue, like a cloudless sky or the color of Lexa's highlighters before Anya dunked them all in a bag of manure, and it's hard not to drown in the depths of them.

"Glad to see you two getting intimate already."

They spring apart as though they were burned. Lexa sits back down on her chair, while Clarke takes a seat at her desk, which to Lexa's chagrin is right next to her own. Anya chuckles as she sinks into her own chair, propping her feet on Lexa's desk, crossed at the ankles.

"Anyway," she slams a hand over a stack of papers, making Clarke and Lexa jump in their seats, "can you guess what this is?"

Clarke and Lexa look at each other with raised eyebrows, then at Anya. Lexa shrugs.

"This is your fucking Bible," Anya says, not waiting for them to guess. "Your Dianetics.Your Loose Canon. Your gospel." At her companions' still expectant stares, Anya heaves a dramatic sigh, throwing her arms up. "It's the goddamn screenplay."

Oh.

Oh.

It's like the snap of an elastic band. Lexa and Clarke shoot out of their chairs to snatch the script from Anya's desk. Lexa gets there first (going to the gym does pay off after all), dribbling around Clarke, and lets out a triumphant cry before sinking back into her chair, thumbing through the pages of the heavy tome.

She stops on a random page and feels Clarke press closer to read over her shoulder.

-

INT. BLONDIE'S KITCHEN - TWILIGHT

Enter Lulu. Plumber by day, detective by night. She stops by the island and twirls a lead pipe in her right hand before sheathing it like a cowboy's pistol.

LULU

It seems it's time to read your...

Lulu puts on her shades. ZOOM IN.

LULU (CONT'D)

...Anya rights.

-

Lexa balks, peeling her eyes from the page to gape at Anya.

"Anya rights? Anya rights? You can't just... Arbitrarily rename the Miranda rights. They have that name for a reason."

Anya rolls her eyes like Lexa just said something obnoxiously stupid. "I didn't just rename them, you dumbass. I fucking changed them. If you'd read the whole thing, you would know that the suspect has the obligation to remain silent. No more fucking cry babies in cuffs."

"This is..." Lexa opens and closes her mouth like a fish, trying to find a thread of logic in the midst of... Whatever fever dream she's living in right now. "I thought we were filming a porno, not a sexy cop movie. Plumber by day, detective by night? That's- it's not even remotely realistic."

"Lexa... Suspend your disbelief."

"I think it's really good stuff," Clarke chimes in, her breasts still firmly pressed to Lexa's shoulder blade.

"Thank you, Clarke!" Anya exclaims, throwing her hands up and letting them fall on her legs with a loud clap. "At least someone appreciates my genius."

Lexa rolls her eyes, but fine. Fine. She will read more; she will give Anya a chance. She opens the book on a new page, several scenes ahead.

-

INT. BLONDIE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Blondie rubs her lover's love button like she's scratching at a turn-table, making Lulu scream louder than Saoirse Ronan in Ammonite when Kate Winslet was eating her out with her neck.

LULU

Oh, fuck! You're so good at this! Almost as good as my awesome best friend and mentor Anya, even though I've never had sex with her because that would be totally gross.

Blondie stops her ministrations to look up at Lulu and smirks.

BLONDIE

I know. After all, they don't call me DJ Diddles for nothin'.

-

Lexa stares incredulously from the two hundred-odd pages to Anya, wondering how grave a sin she must have committed in a past life to deserve this.

"What are you, a sex-deprived straight guy?"

Anya scoffs, yanking the script from Lexa's hands before she can do anything to stop it. "I can assure you there is no deprivation in that department."

"After reading that I am seriously starting to doubt that you've ever even seen a vagina."

"I thought it was good," Clarke pipes in once again. This time, Lexa turns to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Is she paying you to say that?"

Clarke tsks with a smirk. "I'm just smart enough to know better than to get on the lead producer's bad side."

Anya snaps her fingers and points at Clarke approvingly, and Lexa has never regretted a decision so deeply in her life.

"Anyway," Clarke resumes, standing up and grabbing her bag. "This has been fun, but I need to get going. Anya, stay classy. We'll work out the schedule this week. Lexa," she adds, her voice dropping a tone to turn into a seductive purr. She leans down, and it's all Lexa can do not to focus on how her breasts squish together and seem to become fuller and more inviting. She loses the plot when a pair of lips presses to her cheek in a kiss that is chaste, yet way too slow for propriety. "See you tomorrow."

Lexa's throat is dry as a desert as she watches Clarke leave, her hips swaying more than usual. She jumps in place when Anya clears her throat next to her. This time, she can't avoid her friend's shit-eating grin.

"No chemistry, you say?"

"Shut up, Anya," she grumbles, focusing back on her work. She has a full, five-minute newscast to prepare, she can't dawdle and joke around gossiping like some people. But then a thought pops up in her head and she turns to Anya, eyes narrowed. "Is this some elaborate plan to get us together? I refuse to be your little Love, Actually experiment."

Anya's stare is fifty shades of unimpressed. "Lexa. Don't take yourself so seriously. It's a bad look on you."

Lexa buries her face in her hands with a long-suffering sigh. Why is this her life? Why is this her best friend? Why is she hopelessly attracted to the worst, most unprofessional coworker on the planet?

"Why couldn't you find a normal hobby? Something that doesn't include me? Like baking. Baking would have been so much better."

"You know," Anya drawls almost nostalgically, "I actually considered that, but the criminally inclined baker niche was already taken up by Martha Stewart."

"She is surprisingly niche," Lexa says, intrigued.

"Indeed."

"But she's also able to appeal to a larger audience."

"Uh-huh."

"Fascinating."

"I know. It's like Punkya. You'd think a lesbian erotica magazine would only appeal to queer women and depraved straight men, but it's been selling surprisingly well amongst the straight female demographic."

Hm. Are all women secretly queer?

"Interesting," Lexa concedes, before veering the topic back to Anya's passion (and Lexa's torture) project. "So when does principal photography start?"

And there it is again, that nefarious gleam in Anya's eyes. It grows along with her Cheshire cat grin, curling and curling until it's pure, unbridled evil.

"Next week."

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 51

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Discussions are had, tests are conducted, and decisions are made.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

You told Bucky everything, leaving nothing out. You also explained what you meant about having an “affinity” to demonic magic, because it was more than that. Much more.

From your experience in the demon realm, to your body changing and the power you could sense from the planet itself, Strange had determined that you weren’t just proficient with demon energy, it fueled your magic. Just like the Ancient One drew her power from the Dark Dimension, your powers came from the demon world.

Bucky wasn’t any happier than the first time he’d heard it, but he digested it better after hearing the details. You got the sense that in the end he wasn’t surprised, and that’s why he’d been so upset. It was everything he’d feared. Your chance of having a quiet, boring life was over, but looking back at everything, you weren’t sure you were meant for that kind of life in the first place. And it seemed that Bucky was less happy about that than you were.

Especially when your magic could potentially protect Bucky from the next Helmut Zemo. All you had to do was master an experimental ritual no one had done before.

And in the end, Bucky came around to it.

“It’s dangerous. Untested. Anything could go wrong,” Bucky said, brows furrowed. And then his face slightly softened. “But I guess all spells were like that at one point. All I ask is that we do this as safely as possible, with Strange’s supervision.”

Bucky snorted at the dubious eye you gave him.

“I may still be pissed at the guy, and I blame him for a lot of what happened, but that doesn’t mean I think he’s totally incompetent. And besides, Wong will be there, and I trust his judgement.”

So there you were, nervously waiting in Bucky’s living room for a portal to appear after he made a phone call. You were going back to the Sanctum, with Bucky this time, and together you would approach Strange again.

When you met with him in his office and once again told him the ritual you wanted to perform, Strange was no happier than the first time, either.

“You do realize it could kill you both,” he said, leaning one hip against his desk, arms folded and expression equally drawn. “Or worse.”

You didn’t have to ask what “worse” could be. You’d lived it.

“I realize there are a lot of risks,” you began slowly, not ceding ground just yet. “Which is why I won’t do it without Bucky’s consent. And I would prefer I have your approval, or at least, your supervision.”

“And if I say no, you’ll do it anyway?” Strange sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bucky remained silent behind you, but you could sense his support and encouragement.

“Listen.” You were going to use the logical approach and hope that Strange could see it, even if he didn’t approve. “It’s only a matter of time before someone else learns about demons, about Bucky’s existence, and tries to either kill him or use him. If it’s within my power, I’m not going to let that happen.”

Strange eyed Bucky, who stood with his own arms folded and his tail flicking back and forth, and the master wizard seemed more tense as the conversation unfolded.

“There are other ways, you know, to protect yourself from being enslaved,” Strange said, this time to Bucky.

“I’m well aware,” Bucky nearly growled. “And I would trust her with my life if it came to that, but I would also rather not be beholden to magic that HYDRA forced onto me. This…”

He glanced your way, his expression softening.

“This is the closest I’ll ever have to true freedom. It’s a gift, one I won’t toss away because it’s a risk.”

“If it works, and doesn’t kill or corrupt you both, it might not be effective. Or work the way you want it to. It could make your previous pact look like a happy arrangement,” Strange muttered unhappily.

“That’s our decision to make.” Bucky stared at the wizard evenly. “And we’ve already made it.”

Strange looked between you both, studying your expressions long and hard, before he expelled a laborious breath.

“I can see that.”

“Will you help us?” You put the question to him bluntly, knowing this wasn’t the time to be timid or mince words. “We would really appreciate it. I would really appreciate it. We could do it on our own, but…”

You focused on your hands, twisted them together so they would stop fidgeting.

“This is probably the most important decision I’ve ever made, and I don’t want to screw it up. And if I do make a mistake, I want you and Wong to be there. At the very least, for damage control.”

There was a hint of a smile and a spark of something in Strange’s eyes.

“I haven’t said yes yet.” He pushed off from the desk, smoothed the collar of his cape, and said, “Come with me.”

You exchanged a confused glance with Bucky, who only gave a shrug, so you had no choice but to follow the wizard as he left his office. You weren’t expecting him to lead you to one of the large training rooms, or to open it to the Mirror Dimension. Fractals and shards formed in the air like cracked glass, and like every time you were here, you stared in wonder.

Even Bucky’s eyes widened in awe, his arms uncrossing from his chest, and you took it from his expression that he didn’t come here very often.

For a moment, you wondered if Strange was going to have you try out the ritual in this place where you could perform complicated, dangerous spells without affecting the real world.

Instead, he turned to you and said, “I want you to open a portal for me.”

You squinted at him. Wong had purposefully left that lesson to the side, probably because nothing happened every time you equipped a sling ring, but you weren’t sure what Strange was getting at.

“You brought me to the Mirror Dimension, to form… a portal. Isn’t this a bit overkill?”

“Considering how your last fully formed portal breached the demon realm, no. This is not ‘overkill.’” Strange even said the word in air quotes, the smug bastard. Unfortunately, he also had a point.

“So, what?” You gestured at the fragments around you. “I’m able to summon a portal and you’ll let me perform the ritual?”

“I’m not going to sanction an untrained sorcerer with permission to perform experimental magic.”

“Right, because you’re such a stickler for rules and definitely didn’t open unauthorized portals into the library at the Kamar-Taj sanctum.”

Bucky snorted and smirked. Strange narrowed his eyes.

“Which is why I understand the reason these rules are in place. You’ve yet to form a portal, but once you have, you’ll have graduated into a fully-fledged sorcerer.” He paused and slightly tilted his head. “Be glad you’re not learning the way I learned, otherwise I would drop you on top of Mount Everest and leave you there.”

Bucky gave a bark of laughter this time.

“I knew it,” he said, grinning. “I knew that rumor was true.”

“Yes, well.” Strange huffed. “The Ancient One was a much gentler teacher with you than she was with me.”

“Or maybe I was the better student.” Bucky smirked even wider.

Before Strange could retort, which he was absolutely going to do from the offended expression on his face, you held out your arms between them.

“Can we play ‘Mom loved me more’ another time?”

“I wasn’t—“

“That is hardly—“

You rolled your eyes and turned away. As entertaining as this was, there was only one way to get them to shut up once they got started.

You lifted your arms in the correct starting position and tugged at the now-familiar font of power within you, forming the shape of the portal in your mind. You moved your other hand in a circular motion, and with a fiery rip you could almost feel, the air cracked and caught fire in the same movement as your hand.

An orange portal hovered before you, showing a circular view of the Manhattan skyline as seen from the rooftop.

You exhaled and looked over your shoulder.

“There. You happy?”

They both stared at you, unblinking, but Strange’s expression was the most stunned. You didn’t know why until he drew his hand out of his pocket. Within his palm was a sling ring.

Your sling ring.

You slowly glanced back to the portal, at your hands that were plain and ringless, and you closed the portal with a startled movement.

“Well,” Strange said when he’d found his voice again, “That’s certainly… interesting.”

“How did she do that?” Bucky took a step forward, as if he wanted to reach out and touch you, but he held back. You wished he hadn’t; Strange’s reaction was concerning, as were his next words.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Well… Does it at least mean it’s possible I can do the ritual?”

Strange adjusted his collar and cleared his throat, his expression still a mixture of confusion and worry.

“Among other things.”

You and Bucky glanced at each other. What the hell did that mean?

“What does that mean?” you repeated aloud, following Strange out of the Mirror Dimension as he closed it behind all three of you. “Does it mean I’m ready?”

“It means you’re closer to being ready,” the sorcerer said over his shoulder as he walked ahead. “There’s still much to do.”

Next Chapter

[saanphoenix]

“Why do so many old-school FFVII fans think that Cloud took Zack’s memories?”

Alright, so first things first. We gotta start from the beginning. We gotta start with Jenova.

Jenova is the name given to the alien entity known as the Calamity. “Heaven’s dark harbinger.” This being, assumed to be female because of the body she was in at the Crater, was basically godlike in her natural abilities. Historically, she was able to shapeshift. She was telepathic. She had a nigh indomitable will. And she used her abilities to infect the race of human(oid)s that happened upon her crash site--the Cetra.

Now, Ifalna, within the English translation of the OG, states that Jenova turned the Cetra into monsters, nearly wiping them all out, and that the wee few that remained basically had to be sacrificed to seal Jenova away before she could do anymore damage to all life on the planet. The notes Sephiroth finds within the Shinra Mansion seem to corroborate this version of events, as he tells Zack that the Cetra chose to fight the Calamity while the other humans “hid”, thus being spared Jenova’s shenanigans, allowing them to become the dominant race on the planet, but ultimately being cowards unworthy to be the shepherds of any star, to quote Emet-Selch from FFXIV. Stay with me now.

We also know that the notes Sephiroth reads within the Shinra Mansion do not, in any way, call Jenova the Calamity. They still refer to her as a Cetra. Meaning that those notes are outdated, before the discovery of a living Cetra, a Cetra who is 2000 years removed from her own people’s history. Right? So.

(’Ah, but what about Genesis point-blank telling Sephiroth the truth? He knew what was up!’ Yes, because Hollander and Hojo found out from Gast’s recordings, and Ifalna herself, what Jenova actually was, and then Hollander told Genesis, who then said some stupid ass shit to trigger Sephiroth into looking into the wrong information, and now Nibelheim is not Nibelheim anymore and Cloud is missing one more family member than he was when he joined Shinra. Also, fuck Genesis. Anyway.)

HOJO, yeah? Hojo, in two separate novels written by Nojima himself, states to Aerith and Tseng separately that Jenova 1) will inevitably infect all life on the planet with her “cells” because of the very nature of the Lifestream and 2) turned the Cetra against each other via subtle manipulation and illusions of their loved ones, dead or alive, conceived from their own memories. She didn’t show up looking like the Eldritch horror with the eyeball nipple, she showed up looking like a run-of-the-mill Cetra. And she would further disguise herself as people a Cetra knew in order to gain their trust. And then, after she had gained that trust, she would say shit like, “Hey. Your friend over there hates you,” or, “Hey. Your friend over there wants to kill you.” And thus the Cetra, at the very least morally but probably also physically, became monsters and tore themselves apart.

You ever wonder why everything the Cetra had was booby-trapped and hidden behind riddles and self-sacrificial bullshit like their Temple? My guess is because Jenova made it so they couldn’t trust anyone, even themselves.

“Why did I read all that? What does that have to do with Cloud voring Zack’s memories?”

Because we gotta understand the mechanics of this bitch first so that we know what to look out for.

Now, we have an alien in stasis--presumed dead but definitely not--and a buncha scientists who really want a coveted spot sucking President Shinra’s dick as head of the Science Dept. who all think that taking the genetic material of a Cetra and splicing it into a modern-day human’s DNA will give them a Geiger counter to the Promised Land. Which they want to use as fuel because only some of them really understand what mako is and the others are just fucking stupid. Anyway, my guess is that they archeology their way to Jenova’s still-kinda-alive corpse and do some DNA testing and go, “Ah! We’ve found a Cetra. It has to be one! She’s by the crater, after all, and that’s where some of them were nuked by a Meteor! :) We’re geniuses!” And Jenova, in the Lifestream, went, “GOTCHA, BITCH!”

And through the power of dino DNA, out pops a lot of nonviable lifeforms, some monsters, and, eventually, a relatively normal kid with a flare for the dramatic who will become wholly obsessed with apples and very boring literature that he will insist on repeating every five goddamn seconds. As he was no Geiger counter to the Promised Land, out pops another relatively normal kid who will grow up to have dreams, and honor, and steal food from his neighbors because he was so damn honorable that he just could not ask for a handout.

With Hollander and Gillian’s experiments not producing anything of note other than children that need love and support, Hojo and Lucrecia decide to take a slightly different sample of Jenova’s cells and just start sticking them everywhere. They’re in Lucrecia. They’re in Lucrecia’s fetus. And...something strange starts to happen.

Lucrecia starts to feel the effects of Jenova. Lucrecia’s mind and body start to kind of deteriorate. Not the way that Genesis’ and Angeal’s do later on, but she is plagued by shit like severe depression and fatigue. She falls out on the floor multiple times. Her bodyguard is a little late on pulling the trigger of the gun aimed at her husband and, instead of doing anything productive about her husband proving he’s an amoral murderous fuckhead, she just decides to play doll with her kinda undead bodyguard, get even sicker, and then, finally, pops out a very strange looking baby. In fact, he looks a little alien.

“No, seriously, what does this have to do with anything?”

Genetics. How Jenova cells work. Whatever clump of cells they injected into Lucrecia, clearly different from those used in Project G, seemed to focus more on the mental fuckery aspect of Jenova than the physical, shapeshifting aspect of Jenova. I would also argue that one of the reasons Lucrecia was so adversely affected by the cells and Gillian was not is their mental well-being. Gillian, even when we meet her, seems very upbeat and doing pretty okay despite her husband having died from exhaustion a coupla years back. Lucrecia was depressed and very subservient even before she married Hojo. Losing her mentor--Vincent’s father--probably exacerbated that. And, later in Advent Children, that sort of mentality--hopelessness and despair--is what Sephiroth’s Geostigma feeds off of. That and thoughts of death/dying. But that is more speculation than anything.

So, Sephiroth’s cells are different from Genesis’ and Angeal’s, and they were all three bred differently, but they’re all kinda chimeras of Jenova’s. And once Genesis learns about his origins, it’s like the lightbulb goes off. This guy’s creating clones by infecting his 2nd and 3rd Class SOLDIERs with his own cells. And when he does that, their physical appearance becomes his own. As does their will. Whatever Genesis wants, the clones also want. And then he just grows a wing for shits and giggles. Once he tells his BFF Angeal the sitch, behold! He’s got monster clones--maybe because he realizes how fucked up overwriting a human being with yourself is--and wings, too. ...Why?

The power to do all of this shit was always there. It was genetically always there. They just had to be made aware of it, to have the puzzle piece put into place. When Sephiroth dies, that puzzle piece is put into place. And then he starts fuckin’ with shit. And turns into monstrous angels. And then dies again. And then comes back and finally grows himself his own wing. He did it, fellas. He’s a big boy now.

But we’re not here to talk about Sephiroth--ignore how much I talked about Sephiroth and his mommies previously--we’re here to talk about ZACK and CLOUD.

“What’s up with Zack and Cloud?”

First, what we must realize is that even though Hojo says that both Zack and Cloud are failed clones because they 1) didn’t take on any physical characteristics of Sephiroth, 2) didn’t seem controlled by Jenova (or Sephiroth) and, 3) didn’t exhibit the other signs of a Reunion impulse like the other clones in Nibelheim that does not mean that Sephiroth’s cells, Jenova’s cells, are not working on them.

As we’ve observed in other 1sts, abilities do not always manifest immediately or even noticeably. Clearly, Sephiroth’s physical appearance is a bit of a hint, but Genesis and Angeal look pretty damn normal and, if it weren’t for their mako injections, they probably wouldn’t be showing that much of an increase in physical capabilities. Theoretically. Maybe 10-year-old Angeal had biceps the size of a man’s head. I mean. Pff.

Zack’s tolerance to Jenova was strong due to his previous exposure in the SOLDIER program. Cloud’s mind broke pretty early on. Neither of these results matter to the fact that they both now have Sephiroth’s cells within them--just as Genesis’ and Angeal’s clones had theirs--and that their very wills are now going to be affected by Sephiroth’s. But they are also going to be a little bit like him in terms of power.

Zack’s hair, when ingested by a Genesis clone, a clone of a Type-G SOLDIER, transforms that clone into a monster. Zack doesn’t even have to do anything. The Jenova/Sephiroth cells within his body can just Do That, cause that change in another life form, of their own accord. I’m honestly shocked that, whenever they gave Zack these S-cells, HE didn’t turn into a monster. But that’s neither here nor there. I wanna talk about Cloud.

Cloud has mako poisoning, which the Remake describes as his spirit/soul being stuck between his body and the Lifestream. Weird. Anyway, he’s not fully aware of his surroundings at all times, and he clearly can’t control his body that much. He somehow has the ability to kinda get his feet shuffling, and I’m going to go on a limb and say he can chew whatever food Zack gives him, but most of the time, he’s a puppet with cut strings.

But he is also still recovering from a mind break caused by Jenova cells. The same cells that are just chilling in his body, like they are in Zack’s. And all the months Zack is dragging his ass across a continent, an ocean, and another continent, they and Cloud are listening to whatever the fuck Zack is saying. Cloud is also constantly in physical contact with Zack.

In The Kids Are Alright: A Turks Side Story, Kadaj has the power to not only read surface thoughts and memories just by being near someone, but he can also read deeper ones by making physical contact with someone. Because Jenova. And Sephiroth, whose cells Cloud and Zack have, in the OG demonstrates that he, too, can glean thoughts and memories from others. Because Jenova.

If this power is a genetic trait, as it is with Genesis and Angeal, then, sitting pretty underneath their skin, Zack and Cloud have this ability. Dormant. Snoozing. Kinda like the 1st Class Trio’s wings.

But Zack has a high tolerance and a high ignorance to Jenova and just what he might be capable of. Cloud’s mind is floating in and out at best. He’s not in control of himself. And when you have a situation like that, it is very, very easy to come to the conclusion that Cloud’s Jenova cells are passively absorbing the memories of Zack’s time in Nibelheim. That they are knitting these memories together with what little remain in Cloud’s head. That when Tifa comes across Cloud at the train station and calls him by name and remembers who he is that Cloud’s Jenova cells latch onto those memories in Tifa--as Sephiroth tells them they did--and they knit those memories with Zack’s and Cloud’s and the end result is the man we get at the beginning of the OG.

Because Cloud has visual memory of shit he never saw. It’s not just a visual medium telling a visual story. You wanna know how I know that for a fact? Because, in the Remake, Cloud remembers Sephiroth walking up to Jenova’s tank in the reactor from Sephiroth’s perspective. He is looking through Sephiroth’s eyes, through his memory, up at “Mother.” In that moment in the Remake, Cloud is Sephiroth. He’s not Cloud anymore.

Cloud sees Sephiroth delivering the speech of being an Ancient. Cloud wasn’t there. Cloud didn’t see that. Zack did. That is Zack’s memory.

The man writing the Remake is the same man who’s been at the head of MOST FFVII writing. He was on the OG, he wrote Advent Children, he wrote the novels, he wrote Crisis Core, he’s writing the Remake. He knows what these cells can do because he’s crafted this world-building for decades.

Cloud didn’t take all of Zack’s memories. He didn’t need to. Kadaj, in the novel, doesn’t glean everything from someone right off the bat. Because he doesn’t need to. Only when he needs to learn something else does he go digging. The same is probably true for what Cloud’s cells most likely did to be able to know what he knows. Hell! Kadaj gets punched in the novel and he ACCIDENTALLY picks up the emotions and memories of the guy who punched him. He didn’t want ‘em but he got ‘em!”

There is evidence within the OG, and even more within the Compilation, that lend weight to the theory that Cloud unintentionally read Zack’s mind when it came to the events of Nibelheim.

For years, people have wondered, “How the hell does Cloud know that if he wasn’t there?” For years, people have wondered, “How can he use the Buster Sword if he was just a little grunt that used a gun all the time?” The logical answer is, “Because of his Jenova cells. They can just do that shit.”

[starsofatlantis]

Rivals

@sophitz-week day 1: academic rivals

Notes: this was a lot of fun to write and I enjoyed being able to play around with Sophie and Fitz’s dynamic! it ended up a lot longer than I expected but I’m pretty proud of it! hope you enjoy!

Relationships: platonic sophitz, pre-romantic sophitz, platonic sophex, platonic marella x sophie, platonic marella x dex, platonic, keefe x fitz

Word Count: 1986

Warnings: none!

_________________

"I just don't understand the issue," Dex said for what felt like the fiftieth time that morning.

Sophie scoffed. "The issue Dex, is that I am being forced to work with my sworn enemy."

"Sworn enemy's a little much," Dex replied, holding onto his backpack as he gave Sophie an amused look.

"Sworn enemy is perfect!" Marella exclaimed from Sophie's left. "It'll make it even more romantic when they finally confess their undying love to each other!"

Sophie deadpanned. "I can't tell if you're teasing me or just really really blind. There is no way I will ever fall in love with Fitz Vacker."

Dex laughed as Marella looked unconvinced.

"Please Soph, you both have been obsessed with each other since you first came to school in the sixth grade and beat him in the middle school spelling bee. You're like a modern day Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe."

Sophie gasped and held a hand to her heart. "Don't you dare insult my favorite fictional man by relating him to Fitz Vacker of all people."

"Favorite fictional man?" Dex questioned, quirking an eyebrow. "Whatever happened to Fred Weasley?"

Sophie glared at him. "So what if I simp for multiple fictional men? Who are you to judge Mr. 'I would lay down my life for Natasha Romanoff'?”

Dex chuckled. "Touché."

Marella grinned. "Ignoring the part where I said you two were obsessed with each other, huh?"

Sophie sniffed. "I'm not ignoring it. I'm choosing not to reply to something so ridiculous."

"Mhm."

"You're also ignoring the fact you had a crush on him when you first met," Dex pointed out.

"Dexter, my man! Always backing me up!" Marella exclaimed, and the two high-fived.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "A lack in judgment on sixth grade Sophie's part, I promise it will never happen again."

Dex snorted. "Whatever you say."

Marella gasped excitedly.

"Sophie's supposed sworn enemy 11 o'clock," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

Sophie's head shot towards the boy in question as Dex just shook his head.

Fitz Vacker was tall and had broad shoulders from all the training he needed for football. His hair was dark and never seemed to fall out of place. He was kind and tutored the younger kids when he had free time. He volunteered with student council (his sister was the president) and as popular as he was, he didn't act like it.

Sophie hated his guts.

He gave her a small smile.

Subdued, she thought. She knew how bright his smile really was and she could only think he was holding himself back, which was odd. Fitz Vacker was anything but unconfident.

She stared back as he passed and out of the corner of her eye she saw his blond friend slap him on the back while chuckling.

"I love a good rivals to lovers romance," Marella gushed as they made their way into biology.

_________________

"You've got it bad, man," Keefe laughed.

"Shut up," Fitz grumbled, shrugging off Keefe's hand.

Keefe held his hands up. "Sorry, but it's way too obvious to not make fun of."

"Thanks Keefe, so grateful for your support," Fitz said, still thinking about the minor interaction he'd had with the girl he'd been crushing on for years.

"I am supportive bro," Keefe defended, "But there's only so much support I can give before the overwhelming need to make fun of you becomes too much."

"I can't stand you," Fitz said turning into his class.

"Aww how sweet," Keefe called as he walked down the hall to who knows where. "Too bad Sophie Foster thinks the same thing about you."

__________________

"Seriously, Marella, drop it. The only reason I'm going over to his house is to finish this stupid project," Sophie complained, pulling her keys out of the ignition.

She stared at the mansion the Vacker's called home, trying to work up to courage to walk to the front door.

"Ok, ok fine, just answer one thing," Marella said through Sophie's phone.

Sophie rubbed her temples as she got out of her car, already knowing this wasn't going to end well.

She grabbed the tray of mallowmelt out of the backseat, holding her cellphone between her shoulder and her head. "What is it?"

"Admit you think Fitz Vacker is the hottest man to walk the planet."

Sophie choked.

"Please, Sophie, be honest with me. I know you can't stand him for whatever reason, but you aren't blind and he's like, the blueprint of your type."

Sophie huffed as she walked up the grand walkway. She thought about his sparkling eyes and how they had always radiated comfort and safety to her, even when they were in middle school.

"I guess he's alright," she grumbled.

“AHA!” Marella cheered, and Sophie could practically hear her throwing a fist in the air. "I'll take it!"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I've gotta go, talk to you later."

"Ok! Have fun, love ya," Marella said and made a kissy sound before hanging up the phone.

Sophie shook her head exasperatedly, stuffing her phone in her back pocket as she reached the double front doors.

She raised her hand to knock but before she could, the door opened, revealing a slightly flustered Fitz Vacker.

"H-hey," he stuttered.

"Hi," Sophie said plainly before holding out the tray of sweets. "This is mallowmelt from Edaline."

"Oh thanks!" he said excitedly. "My dad will really appreciate this!"

He laughed slightly and Sophie cracked a smile. Fitz's father had been the one to find Sophie her adoptive family when her own family had passed away in a car accident. Her adoptive father and Alden worked together so he'd asked him and his wife to take Sophie in, and they adopted her a few months later.

The two stood awkwardly in the doorway before Fitz started suddenly.

"I- y-you can come in," he said, moving out of the way to let her in.

"Thanks," Sophie replied, clutching her school bag as she walked into the gorgeous house.

Fitz mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'stupid', but Sophie didn't comment on it.

"My room's upstairs and to the left, I'm just gonna go put this in the fridge," Fitz said, gesturing to the tray.

Sophie nodded. "No problem."

She walked up the marble staircase, marveling and somewhat grumbling at the grandeur of Fitz's house.

To say Fitz's room wasn't what she was expecting and was also exactly what she was expecting was an understatement.

He obviously liked the color blue, as his bedspread was navy blue and so was the rug. The walls were white and most of his things were made out of dark wood. Tall bookshelves lined the walls and Sophie found herself jealous of his collection. A glass case on the wall held all his sports trophies, but mostly held photos of his teammates or friends winning something, and Sophie almost laughed at the way they were proudly displayed. It was honestly kinda cute how adorably proud of his friends he was that he hung up photos of their accomplishments in his room. He was like a mother hen.

"Ok so we have to pick a book we're required to read by the school district and analyze whether we think it's an educational read and why we think the book is required. I know you haven't read all of the same books as me cause we're in different grades so I thought we could make a list of all the ones we have read and go from there," Fitz said as he walked into his room.

Sophie was a little taken aback by the sudden proposition but nodded anyway. "Sounds good."

She was a little mad he was right about the books though. Sophie was only a sophomore while Fitz was a senior, so he'd been through more english classes than she had.

She went to pull out a sheet of paper when something stopped her.

"I-is that your second place ribbon from the spelling bee?" she asked and he looked up from his own paper.

Fitz scratched the back of his neck, following Sophie's line of sight in the direction of a blue ribbon hanging from his glass case with the worded '2ND PLACE' written distinctly on the front.

"Uh—," he chuckled nervously, "Y-yeah it is."

Sophie turned to him, confusion etched across her face. "Why would you keep that?"

She for one, would never keep anything that reminded her she had lost to someone.

"I dunno." He shrugged. "Guess it just reminds me of something."

"Of what?"

Briefly, it occurred to her this was the longest conversation she'd had with him since he beat her in the relay race at the end of sixth grade.

"Um, I- uh, I'm not sure."

Sophie looked unconvinced and Fitz blushed.

Sophie gave him another strange look before turning back to her bag.

"Why do we not talk anymore?" Fitz blurted out, and immediately had to resist the urge to slap his hand over his mouth and launch himself out the nearest window.

"What?" Sophie asked slowly, turning to fully face him.

Good going, Fitz, he thought. Now she's going to hate you even more and will probably end up starting a petition to send you to Timbuktu so that she never has to see you again.

"Um," he said smartly.

She raised an eyebrow and he sighed.

"Why don't we talk anymore? We used to be friends when we were in middle school."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know. We're rivals, and last I checked you aren't supposed to fraternize with your competition."

"Huh?" Fitz said, his turn to be confused. "Since when were we rivals?"

Sophie me jaw dropped. "Seriously? We've always been rivals."

"Uh no we haven't?"

Sophie looked incredulous and Fitz had the feeling he said something wrong. "Yes we have! You were the one who started it in the first place!"

"What?" Fitz exclaimed. "When did I do that?"

"In middle school? When you were always competing with me?"

"I- I wasn't doing that cause I thought of you as a rival! I was doing that cause I thought of you as my friend!"

Sophie's confusion and slight anger calmed down for a second. "What?"

"Yeah! I never had someone who could match me at everything I did and then some, so I thought it was fun to push myself to beat you. You made everything a challenge cause you were— are! —so good at everything!"

"Trust me, if I knew you'd stop talking to me for four years just cause I beat you in a lame race, I would have lost every single competition we ever competed in against each other."

They stared at each other as a blush formed on both of their faces. Sophie being confused on everything Fitz Vacker and feeling bashful over all he'd just said, and Fitz frustrated at himself for letting Sophie get that ridiculous idea that he didn't want to be friends with her in her head and feeling bashful over all he'd just said.

Sophie took in a quiet breath. "I- I just thought you wanted to beat me because you didn't like me."

"No!" Fitz exclaimed frantically, waving his hands, as if trying to ward her words away from the air around him. "Not at all!"

Sophie laughed slightly, and Fitz reveled in the sound of it.

"I want us to be," he stumbled, "…f-friends. I've always wanted that."

Sophie looked into his eyes, saw the pure sincerity there, and felt herself melt a little bit.

"I think I'd like that too," she said quietly. "Friends."

Fitz smiled brightly and it felt like the morning sun after a long night.

She paused.

"I'm still gonna try to beat you in everything we do though."

Fitz laughed loudly and it echoed around the room.

Sophie never thought she'd be glad he didn't subdue his smile.

[bevioletskies]

(and i’m lost) in a daydream

summary: Napping together, in Klavier’s opinion, is one of the most romantic things a couple can do. But, he has to admit, staying up all night with Apollo to talk about nothing in particular is pretty good, too.

word count: 5.4k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day six of seven (prompt: "sleep"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

This fic takes place at some distant point in time after Spirit of Justice where Apollo and Trucy have learned that they’re siblings, but doesn’t reference any specific plotlines otherwise. Fic title is from the song Daydream by The Lovin' Spoonful.

“Why are your feet still so cold? You’ve been lying here for like, ten minutes already!”

“Don’t question my blood circulation, baby, it’s rude.”

“I - what?” Apollo shook his head incredulously as he snuggled deeper into the mattress, pointedly moving his feet away from Klavier’s. “You know what? Never mind, I’m not even gonna ask. Just when I think I finally get you…”

“I’m an enigma, liebling. Hard to understand,” Klavier deadpanned, adjusting the covers so Apollo was snug underneath his duvet, weighted blanket, and faux-fur throw. Apollo seriously questioned how his boyfriend’s skin could be anything but blazingly hot with enough sheets on top of him to legitimately smother someone.

“You? You’re about as deep as a puddle on a freshly-paved road.” Klavier pouted exaggeratedly; Apollo leaned over to kiss his trembling bottom lip with a teasing grin. “Kidding, kidding. How could I possibly question the depth and breadth of someone who writes songs like 13 Years Hard Time For Love and Gonna Lock U Up? Clearly, Guilty Love is your magnum opus - ”

“You are so mean to me,” Klavier whined, wrapping his arms around Apollo’s shoulders and pulling him closer. “How are you still one of my favorite people in the world, achtung.” Laughing, Apollo buried his face against Klavier’s neck. “But...you’re not wrong about Guilty Love. It’s obviously my best work.”

“I prefer The Guitar’s Serenade myself,” Apollo mumbled into his hair, slowly detangling himself from Klavier so he could get a good look at him. He felt deliriously tired for some reason, like he’d been worn out to the point of restlessness. Strange, considering it was just like any other day; there was nothing that would’ve made him more exhausted than normal. Klavier seemed to be that way, too, blinking sleepily at Apollo with a wide grin, more lazy than flirtatious. “...hi?”

“Hallo.” Klavier kissed him again. “We should sleep, it’s late.”

“It’s barely ten,” Apollo pointed out.

“It’s late,” Klavier repeated, throwing an arm out across the pillows. Apollo took that as his cue to move in closer once more. “Some people need their beauty sleep, Apollo. We can’t all be fresh-faced, rosy-cheeked engels like you.”

“Now I know you’re tired, ‘cos that was complete crap,” Apollo said, poking Klavier in the cheek. “Have you seen this pimple on my chin? Look, Klav. It’s big enough to have its own legal system.” Klavier half-snorted, half-yawned. “Why’re you so tired, anyway? I thought you said you had a power nap at work, which is definitely not something you should be doing.”

“Herr Edgeworth can manage without me for twenty minutes, ach,” Klavier said derisively. “And I like a good nap, but it’s no substitute for sleep. And besides, it’s...it feels nicer, going to bed, when I have someone to share it with.”

“You are nauseating,” Apollo informed him, kissing him more intently this time. “...but I get what you mean.” He pulled back, swallowing. “Trucy and I were talking the other day about, like...stuff we missed out on by not growing up together. Y’know, family trips, home movies, falling asleep in the same bed...or, at least, that’s what I think it’s like. I wouldn’t know.”

Klavier went silent for an unsettlingly long time. “...it’s not all bad. Having a sibling. Until you look back on it and start to question all the...you know what, never mind.” He shook himself before he could finish his sentence. “You make a pefekt older brother, baby. Though you’re more like a little big brother, now that she’s taller than you.”

“By half an inch!” Apollo protested loudly, prodding Klavier more insistently now. “Look, her dad has the height gene - ”

“And your dad had the ‘loud voice’ gene, I hear.” Klavier took Apollo’s hand in both of his and brushed a kiss across his knuckles. “Well, thanks to you, mein kleiner sirene, I’m definitely awake now.”

“Asshole,” Apollo said affectionately. “So, what, you wanna get up or something?”

“Nein, not at all.” Klavier rolled onto his side, bringing Apollo’s hand to his chest. Apollo could feel Klavier’s steady heartbeat beneath his fingers. “Let’s just...hang out, ja? We can talk until we fall asleep, just like we used to when you were working in Khura’in. Or, more recently, just the other day.”

“Emphasis on ‘day’ - we were s’posed to be helping Ema finish the decorations for Kay’s surprise party!” Apollo spluttered. “That was not a good time to take an accidental nap.”

“Well, entschuldigung for wanting to reflect fondly on a nice memory we shared,” Klavier griped, poking Apollo in the stomach. “For a moment there, I forgot I was dating the most pedantic man on the planet.”

“We’re lawyers, we’re pedantic for a living.” Apollo poked him back. “Hell, you got mad at me just the other day ‘cos I accidentally swapped two of your face serums or whatever - ”

“My skincare routine is a delicate ecosystem, baby, you can’t just move things - ” Klavier then cut himself off with a long exhale. “Nein, nein, we’re not getting into this again. I don’t like being mad at you. It’s unfathomable, really.”

Humming, Apollo used his free hand - the other was still being held against Klavier’s chest - to gently run his fingers through Klavier’s hair, brushing it out of his face. It was silky smooth and tangle-free, naturally; Klavier had a whole wealth of products he used on his skin and in his hair to maintain their quality. He still hadn’t forgiven Apollo for telling him that his own skincare routine consisted of nothing but St. Ives’ apricot scrub and Ponds cold cream (“At least let me buy you an actual cleanser, ach. And don’t tell me you don’t wear sunscreen!”).

“What’re you thinking about?” Klavier said quietly, finally releasing Apollo’s hand so he could cup his jaw, his thumb brushing across Apollo’s bottom lip. “I can practically see the little hamster wheel turning in your head right now.”

“Shut up,” Apollo murmured, playfully nipping the tip of Klavier’s thumb with his teeth. “I’m not thinking about anything, actually. Which is kinda nice, not gonna lie. I don’t have, like, a million pieces of evidence flying around in my brain for once.”

“The benefits of date night after a trial is over, ja?” Klavier said. “We can enjoy each other’s company without...conditions. Though to be fair, you were right when you said we shouldn’t spend nights together while we’re working the same case. Separate the lover from the lawyer and all that.”

Apollo groaned. “I hated that saying when you came up with it, and I still hate it now.” Laughing, Klavier moved closer, neatly tucking his head underneath Apollo’s chin. He pressed a kiss to Apollo’s collarbone, winding his arms around Apollo’s waist. “One of the many things I gotta put up with, I guess.”

“You love it,” Klavier mumbled against Apollo’s chest. “You think I’m so clever - ”

“Rewind to about five minutes ago when I said you’re about as deep as a footprint on a hardwood floor,” Apollo said wryly, pinching Klavier’s waist so he would look up; Apollo ducked down to kiss him. Grinning, Klavier deepened the kiss, letting out a pleased hum as he did so. “...I don’t totally mind putting up with you, though. Wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“I’m still not completely convinced you aren’t here for my mattress and heated floors.” Klavier began pressing open-mouthed kisses along the crook of Apollo’s jaw, savoring the smell of Apollo’s shampoo as he went. “From what you’ve told me of your apartment, it sounds like an absolute nightmare. A complete schreckgespenst.”

“Gesundheit,” Apollo murmured, tilting his chin upwards to give Klavier better access to his neck. “Yeah, my apartment sucks. The only reason I’d want you to come over is so you can finally meet my cat. Hell, he’s a nightmare and a half on his own.”

“Is this the same cat I’ve heard you refer to as your son?” Klavier asked, sitting up slightly. “The one who you said eats more expensive food than you do - ”

“One and the same,” Apollo replied with a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, fine, you caught me. I’m only dating you ‘cos you have air conditioning, a flatscreen TV, and food that isn’t frozen.”

The laughter that escaped Klavier’s mouth was near-hysterical; his exhaustion was getting more and more obvious by the minute. “And here, I thought you actually loved me. My mistake.” His laughter was swiftly cut off by Apollo’s lips on his, his breath hitching when Apollo quickly turned them around so he was now straddling Klavier’s hips. “So was I right after all - ”

“I can’t believe we have the exact same stupid sense of humor, you make me so angry,” Apollo said breathlessly between kisses. “God, I love you. You’re the worst. The absolute worst - ”

“You and your mixed messages.” Klavier moved his hands from Apollo’s waist to his backside, gripping him possessively; Apollo’s back arched at his touch, anticipatory. “Your thoughts are as confusing as your logic, you know that?”

“This is the part where you say ‘I love you, too’, not ‘I think you can be stupid sometimes’, you asshole,” Apollo retorted, grinning.

Klavier leaned in close, his lips brushing against Apollo’s ear, his voice low and warm and more than a little bit sensual. “Ich liebe dich mehr jeden Tag.” Apollo shivered with pleasure. “Ich kann nicht ohne dich leben. Liebst du mich?”

“Ja,” Apollo whispered, kissing Klavier yet again. “You know that I do.”

_____

Fifteen minutes later, Klavier reluctantly detached himself from Apollo long enough so he could get up and crack open a window; his bedroom had gotten noticeably warmer, and it wasn’t just because they’d spent the last ten minutes making out like teenagers with a limited window of opportunity.

“Warm,” Apollo grunted, rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt. “It’s so warm - Klav, can we please get rid of at least one layer of bed covers already? I have no interest in getting roasted anymore than I already do.”

“Fine, fine.” Klavier rolled up his faux-fur throw, then disappeared briefly into his walk-in closet so he could set it aside. When he returned, Apollo was sprawled out like a starfish on top of the duvet, his fingers and toes brushing the edges of Klavier’s California king bed, staring up at the ceiling with an exhausted, yet blissful smile. “Er...you okay, baby?”

“Excuse me for enjoying the cool air,” Apollo huffed, smirking when Klavier crawled on top of him once more, knees braced on either side of Apollo’s hips. He automatically reached up to run his hands along the sides of Klavier’s waist, his touch warm through the thin fabric of Klavier’s t-shirt. “...hi. Can I help you?”

“Nein, you’re just fine where you are.” Klavier leaned down to kiss him, then rolled onto his side, letting out a contented sigh. “What do you think, are you good to sleep now?”

Apollo snorted, nudging Klavier’s thigh with his foot. “You’re the one who has a self-imposed bedtime, you tell me.”

Klavier propped himself up on his elbow, then ruffled Apollo’s unstyled hair, sweeping it out of his face. “I was thinking about what you said earlier, actually. About the things that you and Trucy missed out on sharing together.”

“...ah.” Apollo’s expression grew serious. “What about it?”

“Do you think…” Klavier hesitated. “It’s just, you grew up as the younger sibling. Not by much, natürlich, but you were still the younger one. Do you think you would've preferred being the older sibling instead?” He let out a bitter laugh that made Apollo’s heart ache. “Not that I’m projecting, of course. Nein, not me.”

“Oh, Klav,” Apollo sighed, wrapping his arms protectively around Klavier’s shoulders and pulling him into his chest. “And...I dunno, I don’t think it’s really comparable, you know? Nahyuta’s barely a year older, while Trucy’s a whole seven years younger...besides, it really comes down to personality and, like, compatibility. Would I be the same person if I grew up with Trucy instead of Nahyuta? Probably not. Hell, definitely not.” He then snorted. “I mean, for one thing, I wouldn’t be living in the mountains.”

“I’m still not convinced when Herr Sahdmadhi tells me he doesn’t have any other pictures of you two lying around,” Klavier chuckled, his laughter causing the mattress to tremble. “Papa wants to take up scrapbooking, by the way, and he’s been asking me if I have any gut photos of you. Ach, it’s like my parents already decided you were their son-in-law the moment we started dating.”

“I think it’s sweet...a-and a little intimidating,” Apollo admitted. “No pressure, right?” Still, he snuggled in even closer, legs loosely wrapped around Klavier’s hips. “But your parents are great, I’ll see if I can find some photos for your dad. I'm sure I’ve got something in those boxes I brought back from Khura’in that I never bothered opening.”

“Sounds like someone needs to do a little spring cleaning,” Klavier teased. “But danke, baby. It’ll certainly be interesting, seeing our childhood photos side-by-side. Me with my hot pink braces, you with your...what was it, pet rabbits?”

“So many rabbits,” Apollo said forlornly. “We didn’t have the means to stop them from, y’know. Procreating. So, uh, think I’ll stick with my neutered cat any day.”

“Did you have a favorite?” Klavier asked; he seemed much more relaxed now, though Apollo couldn’t help but wonder about his earlier comment, if it was worth mentioning at all. “I had a favorite hündchen. She was very stupid.”

“Nice way to talk about your favorite childhood pet,” Apollo snorted. “Though I frequently brag about how much of an asshole my cat is, so I guess I’m one to talk.”

“Nein, like - she was the kind of dog who ran into glass doors and barked at her own reflection,” Klavier explained, biting back another laugh. “Her name was Sascha, and she was this darling cream-colored retriever who loved to sleep on my legs every night. I would always wake up with numb toes.” His smile then turned sad, melancholy. “The first time I tried a weighted blanket after she passed, I...I almost cried. It had been so long since I had that feeling, you know? Like someone was hugging me while I slept...keeping me safe.”

“Babe,” Apollo said softly, gently cupping Klavier’s face.

“Mir geht's gut,” Klavier reassured him, placing his hands over Apollo’s. “It’s a nice memory, that’s all.” He cleared his throat, making small, soothing circles on the backs of Apollo's hands with his thumbs. “So, your favorite häschen?”

“Well, they were wild rabbits, so it’s not like they were ‘ours’, exactly,” Apollo said thoughtfully, leaning into Klavier’s touch. “We didn't give ‘em names or identifying marks, so we got them mixed up all the time. But there was one little guy who was a real piece of work. If I didn’t feed him fast enough, he’d bite my fingers. I had a weird soft spot for him.”

Klavier raised an eyebrow. “...you have a strange relationship with your pets, liebe.”

“Hey, maybe he was my favorite ‘cos he reminded me of me,” Apollo said defensively. “Just like how your favorite dog liked sleeping on your legs. You sure like hogging the bed, after all - which is an incredible feat, considering this is a California king.”

“True,” Klavier agreed. “You do remind me of kätzchen, sharp nails and all.”

“I accidentally cut you with a broken fingernail while holding your hand just one time,” Apollo sighed. “So, do you have pictures of Sascha? I’d love to see her.”

“At my parents’ house,” Klavier said, smiling softly. “I’ll have to break out the photo albums the next time we drop by.”

Humming, Apollo lowered his head to Klavier’s shoulder, half-burying his face against Klavier’s neck. Klavier’s hands moved to Apollo’s back, tapping out rhythmic patterns along his spine. They stayed like that for a while, quiet, almost zen-like, with the occasional breeze whistling in through the open window. Finally, after a few peaceful minutes, Apollo began to shiver, the hairs on his arms and legs prickling from the cold. “...it’s getting pretty windy now. Maybe it’s time for us to actually try to sleep?”

After closing the window, the two of them got back under the duvet, Klavier playfully prodding Apollo’s bare legs with his literal cold feet. Apollo countered him by aggressively poking Klavier’s cheeks with his frozen fingers, only stopping when Klavier begged for mercy. “You’re a cruel one,” Klavier sniffed despite the fact Apollo was now rubbing his face to warm him back up.

“And you’re such a diva,” Apollo said affectionately, pecking him on the nose. “Remember that one time we went to get poké and they didn’t have furikake? You honest-to-god pouted like a kid who didn’t get their favorite ice cream flavor.”

“I know what I like,” Klavier huffed. “And speaking of which, between the way you talk about Mikeko and the way you talk about me - are you sure you actually like us, schatz?”

Apollo softened somewhat. “To borrow a phrase from you - you know you’re, like, one of my favorite people ever.”

“I would hope so,” Klavier murmured, nudging his face against Apollo’s neck. His fingers then slipped underneath Apollo’s t-shirt so he could feel his warmth, feel the softness of his skin. “That’s something my parents used to say, actually. Back when they were in school, when they wrote each other love letters. ‘You are my favorite star in the sky’, Mama would write.”

“Did they end up keeping those letters?” Apollo asked. “It almost sounds like you’ve read them.”

“Nein, I could never,” Klavier protested. “It’s their private correspondence, after all. They just read me some of the nice bits, the poetic parts. I’d write you a poem myself, if I didn’t think you would absolutely hate it.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t hate it.” Apollo kissed the side of Klavier’s head. “I’m just not big on performative romance, y’know, big displays of love that seem to be for people that aren’t part of the relationship. But this right here...it’s more my speed.”

“I can tell,” Klavier hummed, kissing him. It wasn’t long before the two of them found themselves distracted again, caught up in each other’s embrace. Despite seeing plenty of each other over the past few days, Apollo couldn’t help but - privately - admit that he’d missed being able to see Klavier as his boyfriend, not his rival. Every time Klavier smirked at him from behind the prosecutor’s bench, he had to remind himself that he usually preferred to kiss him, not slap him. “...we’re never getting to sleep, are we?”

“Keep your shirt on, Gavin,” Apollo mumbled against Klavier’s lips.

“Not what I meant, but I like where your mind is at,” Klavier teased. “Besides, a bit hypocritical of you when you have your hands on my ass, ja?”

Apollo quickly withdrew his hands as if he’d been burned, ducking down underneath the sheets so Klavier couldn’t see how red his face had become. “Sh-shut up. It was just more convenient to hold onto than your waist, that’s all!”

“My ass is more convenient than my waist, you say? That’s a new one.” Klavier pulled back the duvet with a mocking grin. “Ah, there’s my favorite forehead. Where’s the rest of you, hm?”

“I hate you so much,” Apollo groaned, reluctantly crawling back out. “Why do you even start calling me that, anyway? It’s not like we were talking about my forehead, it was the location of Dr. Meraktis’s bullet wound!”

Klavier looked at him thoughtfully, his head cocked. The dog-like resemblance was becoming more and more apparent by the second. “Honestly? I don’t actually know. All I know is, I wanted to give you a cute nickname, and it just...stuck for one reason or another. And you have to admit, your hair makes your forehead quite...prominent.”

“Cute nickname?” Apollo repeated.

Now Klavier was staring at him more incredulously than anything else. “...I know we’ve talked about this before, but could you really not tell I was flirting with you from the start? Granted, it wasn’t meant to be anything serious until after our first case together, but still.”

“Oh,” Apollo said faintly, slumping back against the headboard. “I, uh...I honestly thought you were just making fun of me.”

“Achtung,” Klavier remarked, trying his hardest not to laugh. “Maybe it’s time we take a trip down memory lane and see what you thought I was doing. For my curiosity’s sake, if you don’t mind.”

Apollo yawned and stretched. “Hell, why not? It’s not like we’re sleeping anytime soon...apparently.”

_____

Thirty minutes later, the two of them were sitting cross-legged on top of Klavier’s duvet, trying their best not to touch anything with their still-wet nails. Apollo wasn’t a fan of having painted nails - not that he didn’t like nail polish itself, it was more the fact that chipped polish bothered him - but he liked letting Klavier do them, liked the feel of his boyfriend’s soft, gentle fingers as they tenderly held his own.

“Wait, wait, wait - you only said that you didn’t think Athena was my type ‘cos you wanted to know if I was single?!”

“I thought that was obvious,” Klavier said, sighing. “How are you so clever and so unobservant at the same time, ach. My boyfriend, the walking contradiction. The man who helped rebuild an entire legal system, the man who can’t tell when someone is asking him to dinner. You truly are a wonder, liebe.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me - ”

“My mistake, clearly. I should have just walked right into Themis, wearing a neon sign that says ‘Ask Me About My Romantic Feelings for Apollo Justice’.” Klavier snorted at the incredulous look on Apollo’s face. “What, too subtle?”

“I just can’t believe you were into me for that long,” Apollo admitted, his voice small. “Like, if you really thought I wasn’t interested...why didn’t you just...stop?”

“You say that like it’s easy.” Klavier turned away for a moment to delicately blow on his nails, pointedly avoiding Apollo’s eyes, then reached for his bottle of Seche Vite. “Remember what you said to me once? About...feeling your feelings before realizing you even have them. After all, it’s not like feelings are just something you can turn on and off, like a switch.”

“I got pretty good at doing that, actually,” Apollo muttered. “Compartmentalizing, I mean.”

“That’s not the same, though, is it?” Klavier said gently. “Pretending not to love you and not loving you are completely different things. I could act like a carefree flirt all I wanted, but...at the end of the day, my heart was always set on you.”

Apollo bit back a grin. “You are such a sap, sheesh. But I hear you. Sorry I made you wait around, I guess.”

“Don’t be,” Klavier murmured. “I’m just glad we got here in the end, you know?”

“Same.” Apollo leaned in to kiss Klavier chastely on the lips, both of them still taking care not to touch each other or the bed. “So, now that we - ” But before he could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by a short, but loud grrrrr. “...Klav?”

“Achtung,” Klavier said, staring down at his stomach in surprise. “I guess we should’ve ordered more dumplings, after all.”

“Or you shouldn’t have let me take the last one,” Apollo pointed out, laughing. “Okay, okay, after we’re done here, we’re raiding your fridge.”

Another fifteen minutes later, they found themselves sprawled on top of Klavier’s duvet once more, this time with two empty bowls that once held ice cream sitting on his bedside table. Apollo’s eyes were closed in contentment as he hummed a little something - some strange combination of The Guitar’s Serenade and something else he couldn’t identify - only for him to jolt slightly at the feeling of Klavier’s cold fingers on his skin.

“Ah - babe, your hands are freezing - ”

“Sorry.” Klavier didn’t look all that sorry as he pressed a sticky-sweet kiss to Apollo’s stomach. “What’s that you’re humming, liebe?”

“I...I don’t actually know.” Apollo furrowed his brows in confusion. “It feels like something I’ve heard over and over again, but I couldn’t begin to tell you what it is. Weird, huh?”

“It almost sounds like…” Klavier then began to hum it himself, tapping out the rhythm on Apollo’s thigh. “...like a lullaby of sorts. Maybe that’s why you’re mixing it with The Guitar’s Serenade.”

“A lullaby?” Apollo repeated. “Wait, you don’t think it’s something that...I mean, Mom told me this story the other day that…” He swallowed thickly. “...she said my dad used to sing to me, like. All the time. Apparently, Mom would come home from work and find him making dinner, and he’d have me on his back in one of those baby wrap things, and he’d just be...singing. Bouncing up and down to the beat to make me giggle.”

Klavier placed his hands over Apollo’s heart, lightly resting his chin on top of them. “That sounds like a wunderschön sight to come home to. Your papa must have been an amazing man.” Apollo shot him a rueful smile, running his fingers through Klavier’s hair. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he separated a portion of it from the rest and began to braid it almost mindlessly, instinctively, resuming his quiet humming. “Ah - you know how to braid hair?”

“Muscle memory,” Apollo explained, continuing to braid. “I liked keeping my hair short, but Nahyuta experimented with growing it out all the time. Aesthetics and beauty are a big part of Khura’inese culture, so he liked switching things up, even though we were never around anyone but...but Dhurke. I learned how to do braids and buns and stuff so he could have a different hairstyle every day.”

“Maybe I should seriously get you to do my hair sometime,” Klavier mused, right as Apollo tied the ends off. “We’ve got that work event next month, maybe then.”

“Hey, I’m no expert,” Apollo chuckled, leaning back to rest on his elbows and admire his handiwork. It wasn’t quite as neat as it used to be, but even in the middle of the night, even with his sloppy attempt at a simple braid, Klavier was still one of the most beautiful people Apollo had ever seen. “But if you let me practice on you, maybe I will be.”

“As long as you don’t pull all my hair out while you’re at it,” Klavier said, preening.

Apollo continued to laugh; then, his expression grew sober. “...is it weird that I think about, like...if I should miss my dad or not?”

Klavier frowned. “Why is it weird?”

“Because I shouldn’t have to think about it, right?” Apollo said, shrugging. “Like, either I miss him...or I don’t. And it’s not like I can tell Mom, ‘cos she loved him, and she misses him all the time, but I...I…” He inhaled sharply. “...I didn’t know him. Not really. So, uh...how do I miss someone I never knew?”

“Well...maybe it’s not about missing him, per se,” Klavier offered. “Maybe you just...miss that you never got to know him. That all your mama’s stories are just that - stories, not memories. And you wish you had the chance to make your own.”

Apollo shot him a soft smile. “You got all of that out of one train of thought, huh? Though...you might not be wrong. It’s kinda like the whole ‘what if’ with growing up with Trucy versus growing up with Nahyuta, y’know, only with...with my dad. What if things had gone completely differently? Would it be better, worse?”

“You seem to be thinking about family quite a lot these days,” Klavier commented. “What’s on that beautiful mind of yours, hm?”

Apollo shook his head. “I meant what I said earlier - nothing, really. It’s just the kind of thing my mind comes up with at - well, it’s not that late, but still.” He then bit back a smile. “Would be, uh. Would be kinda nice, though, wouldn’t it? If that really was dad’s lullaby I was remembering, that I still - that I have a piece of him still with me?”

“Natürlich,” Klavier agreed. “You should sing it to your mama next time you see her, see if she recognizes it. Even if she doesn’t, it can become your version of The Guitar’s Serenade, for just the two of you.”

“I’d like that,” Apollo said quietly. Klavier squeezed Apollo’s thigh, then shuffled back up the bed so they were face-to-face, kissing Apollo chastely. “Hm...your lips are cold, too.”

“You could warm them up for me,” Klavier murmured suggestively; once again, it was his turn to grab Apollo’s backside, pulling him closer and closer until their chests were pressed against one another, his knee sliding neatly between Apollo’s legs. Apollo groaned at the cheesy line but continued kissing him regardless, his lips parting slightly so he could deepen the kiss. “What happened to us having the same stupid sense of humor, baby?”

“You still make me so mad.” Apollo captured Klavier’s bottom lip between his teeth, tugging slightly with a wicked grin that made Klavier shiver. “It’s funny, whenever I complain about you to someone else - ”

“Which I suspect happens often,” Klavier commented.

“ - they always ask, ‘so why are you with him, then?’.” Apollo released him, nudging his nose affectionately against the underside of Klavier’s jaw. “And usually, I give ‘em some bullshit excuse. No need to tell them more than they have to know, y’know? But the actual answer’s pretty simple.”

Klavier smoothed Apollo’s hair away from his forehead, his thumb tracing a line across Apollo’s freckles. “Tell me.”

“Because it just...makes sense. Which doesn’t make any sense at all.” Apollo’s smile was so warm, so open, that Klavier felt as if he was falling in love all over again. “You get what I mean?”

“I get you, liebling,” Klavier said fondly, capturing his lips once more. “I’ve got you.”

_____

Sugar, sugar...oh, that night, in your embrace…

Apollo violently jolted awake at the sound of his ringtone, nearly tumbling right out of bed in the process. Groaning, he blinked blearily into the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows, then threw his arm out in an attempt to grab his phone from his bedside table without getting out from under the covers. Instead, he ended up hitting something else entirely.

“Ach! Apollo, what are you doing?���

“Crap - sorry, Klavier,” Apollo winced, sitting up properly so he could rub the sleep out of his eyes. He then turned to pick up his phone, letting out an annoyed huff when he realized it was just an unknown number. “Great, spam calls. And at this hour?” He paused. “Wait...what time is it? Shit, it’s - Klav, it’s almost eleven!”

“Perfekt,” Klavier sighed, rolling back over and pulling the duvet over his head. “Another seven hours, bitte.”

“No, i-it’s eleven in the morning!” Apollo shook Klavier’s shoulder. “Babe, we gotta get up!”

“Why?” Klavier said, yawning as he reluctantly opened his eyes. “It’s the weekend, süßer, relax. Neither of us has anywhere to be, ja? I missed my morning run, sure, but considering we didn’t fall asleep until...ach, three? Four? I’m in no mood to work out.”

“But...shouldn’t we…” Apollo was swiftly interrupted by his own yawn. “...fine, fine, you have a point.” He collapsed back into bed, defeated. Grinning victoriously, Klavier pulled him closer, fitting him snugly underneath his chin. Apollo braced his hand against Klavier’s chest; his heartbeat was steady, comforting, beneath Apollo’s fingers. “Seriously, though, let’s never do that again.”

“I don’t know about that,” Klavier hummed. “Personally, I thought it was a night to remember.”

“A night to remember, not a night to repeat,” Apollo muttered. Klavier merely laughed, dropping his head to rest on top of Apollo’s, briefly turning to kiss his forehead. “Klavier…”

“I mean it, liebe,” Klavier murmured; Apollo felt his own eyes drifting shut at the sound of Klavier’s low, soothing voice, his muscles relaxing as his body melted against Klavier’s familiar embrace. “We have nothing to do today. Sounds like the right time to take a nap, don’t you think?”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get a few more hours,” Apollo mumbled into Klavier’s chest. “Early dinner after we get up?”

“Someone’s optimistic,” Klavier chuckled, rubbing Apollo’s shoulder. “Sure, baby. Now go back to sleep, okay?”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my sixth entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the fifth of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. This is definitely the most plotless fic out of the seven, which is just fine by me, since as I've mentioned before, I love writing dialogue between these two - especially when they're together and get to lovingly snark on each other. It gives me a chance to slip in some little headcanons here and there without worrying about connecting it to the actual plot. For some reason, I have this really vivid image in my mind of Jove holding Apollo on his back while singing along to the radio and working in the kitchen; I think it would be adorable (and a little heartbreaking).

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you’re all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[boop-le-snoot]

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Star is getting better, Sam is getting a friend, Stephen is a Sad White Boy™. A layover chapter. I'm not very happy with how this turned out but hey, it's an update and its still pandemi-lovato outside, we gotta be gentle on ourselves. PA turned out to be way more serious than I planned it to be anyways and I think that's very yeehaw of me to expand my writing from the usual almost-crackfics that I write. Love you all 3000.

Days stretched like a piece of chewed up gum, bleeding into one another at a snail's pace, one dull grey NYC afternoon after the other. The hospital wing I was forced to camp out in Tony's tower was top notch but everything, starting from the constant beeping to the sharp, chemical smells, irritated me, and what little strength I had to communicate was mostly spent on listening to Sam's tall tales.

Odette had stopped by shortly after the first wave of weakness had set in; no, I didn't dramatically faint or suddenly develop third stage cancer, I simply turned into a near-catatonic vegetable, devoid of any emotion or will to exist. My bones were like Jell-o, my thoughts - sluggish, sparse clouds that rarely swam in the grey plains of my overtired mind.

My boss was fussing over me for hours, I heard faint echoes of her and Stephen's argumentative conversations before she flipped out and shut the door to my hospital room, strong aromas of incense and smoke briefly overshadowing the bleach and plastic stench every hospital seemed to have. I

I became mostly coherent after her ministrations; enough to see the dark circles under her eyes and the ghastly tone of her skin. More often than not, I couldn't even properly focus my vision, things like using the bathroom and eating three times a day were the worst chores I'd ever had to do.

My body was trying to convince me to wither away, to simply allow the vessel for my spirit to become one with the Earth once more. I had no energy to process what had happened on the foreign planet; when I slept, I didn't dream, I didn't have nightmares, time just flowed like a fast, untamed river, my weary body drifting along the calmer streams of the shoreline and occasionally bumping into a stone of daily routine.

My stubbornness, however, was an inherent part of me. I had considered, many times, simply giving up; the voices in my head whispered at me their poisonous ideas. It would be so easy, to fall asleep and never wake up. They baited me with the promises of afterlife, of golden halls and spaces full of light and warmth.

Sam had started spending a lot of time at my bedside absolutely unprompted; sometimes, he'd hold my hand, gentle, tender fingers drawing senseless squiggles on the inside of my palm. Faint echoes of his aura told me he was worried for me, but also grateful for what I did for Stephen and angry at someone. I tried not to think about the last part: I could sense their pity and their unease every time one of his teammates stopped by my hospital room.

A healthy-looking young woman spending most of her days blankly staring at the wall wasn't a picture-postcard view. Sam wasn't bothered by it in the slightest, and when I finally clawed my way out of the dredges to be able to answer questions with a simple 'yes' or 'no', he promptly lit up, speaking to me in a happy tone that almost wasn't forced.

Tony stopped by, too, usually late in the evening, when he thought I and everyone else was asleep. He sat next to me, his intelligent brown eyes fixed on my face for twenty, thirty minutes at a time before he'd stroke my hair or run a hot, calloused palm over my arm, and then took his leave, slow, shuffling footsteps quietly receding into the hallways. I really didn't know what to think about Tony, he had always been quite quirky, but his gestures were... Nice.

Stephen... Him, his actions, I understood the least. He had argued with Tony, argued with Odette and I was sure I heard him and the Black Widow scream at each other during lunch time. Sometimes I thought I heard his voice, at night, the darkness behind my eyelids suddenly bursting with golden sparks and green bokeh but when I finally mustered up the strength to open my eyes, the empty, white walls were all that greeted me.

Stephen never stopped by, I rarely heard his voice outside of my room and almost always it was one bickering or another, mostly with Sam muttering a few choice words as he noisily sat down on the chair next to me. As much as I hated to admit it, it bothered me. Near-death experiences tended to leave a strong imprint on the human mind and whether Stephen liked it or not, we were connected for life.

"Then Steve, the dumbass, just jumps out of the plane. No chute, no warning," Sam's voice, drifting between fond and annoyed, snapped me out of my stupor. "Robot-brain curses, yells at his boyfriend like he can hear him and just... Does the same fucking thing," the exasperation made a tiny spark of mirth settle in me. I flexed my fingers despite the dull ache, gripping Sam's fingers in my palm. I didn't need to see him to know he immediately perked up. "Meanwhile I'm standing there with my wings, trying to figure out where in life did I take the wrong turn to end up with these two idiots."

"You should get them," I swallowed, my throat dry, my vocal cords tense from the lack of use. "One of those... Backpack leashes," the words were a battle to get out, it was a fight with a brick wall to force my brain to string sounds into a sentence, but I persisted.

"Should I say 'welcome back'?" Sam's optimism is cautious.

"Gettin' there," I forced my eyes to meet his, to see the life bustling in him. To feel alive, even by proxy.

"I should get Strange here, he's been running himself ragged these days, tryin' to figure out how to bring you back," Sam's free hand scrambled for his cell as I struggled to raise my eyebrows. "Yeah, yeah, I was as surprised as you were, Tony barely gets the wizard to sleep and eat."

Faint pangs of shame wormed into my headspace, for assuming the worst when I knew that his façade of vitriol and sarcasm was just that - a wall to protect himself. My rediscovery of the ability to feel, even if it was gooey shame, grounded me in this plane of existence, forcing me to face reality and return to it.

"I feel like shit," for once in my life, I allowed myself to openly, publicly complain about my state of being.

"Yeah, I couldn't tell," Sam's tone was refreshingly teasing. "Odette and Strange explained what you did. Well, sort of," the man scratched his chin. "I understood about half of it, really, but what matters is that you were badass as fuck!"

I struggled to hold onto that sense of being present. "Well, it wasn't my choice," I felt the need to state the fact. "I'm a conductor, of sorts."

Sam's eyebrows rose, both of his hands encompassing my lax palm. "Wizard-man said you consciously directed the energies, or whatever."

I felt the tiniest laugh bubble up from the bottom of my throat, my dry, chapped lips stretched on their own accord. "Because it tickled and itched. It was annoying," I belatedly suspected that there was something... Off, about my explanation.

Sam's gaping expression, exasperated disbelief, put me on edge. "You thought that radioactive ash tickles and severe nerve damage itches?" His head shook from side to side, as if he was trying to get rid of a persistent mosquito.

"Um," I had the decency to look away. "I didn't know it was radioactive," I meekly supplied as the door to my hospital room all but flew open.

Stephen looked - not much better than me, if I had to guess, with the exception of a highly anxious face instead of the (probably) dead inside high school drama club goth that I looked like. The Cape billowed behind him despite a lack of any wind, wiggling as my eyes widened in response to the fabric moving on its own.

"You're okay," Stephen's baritone had me snapping up to meet his stormy eyes with a speed I wasn't aware I possessed at this stage of my recovery. The sorcerer stood silently, eyeing me in turn.

"I'll go get some coffee," Sam delicately interjected, giving my hand a brief squeeze and all but running out the door.

"Radioactive?" I repeated the question that bothered me the most. Shock seized my chest as I fully faced the implications of our impromptu adventure, but I welcomed the acrid sensations, desperate to feel anything at all.

"Yes," the sorcerer took a few long, hurried strides before crashing into the chair. "I didn't notice at first, but then you grabbed my hand and," a jerky inhale followed the confession. "I felt the healing burn, I felt how your body rejected the particles," his speech stuttered. Slender, gloved fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'd be dead in an hour, maybe, if not for..."

I was equally at a loss for words, it seemed. "Weren't we... Harmful to others when we..?" I struggled to form my thoughts.

"You burnt it all off," Stephen replied curtly, puzzled. "Your whole being rejected everything that came from that wretched place. Tony insisted we run tests, do scans. Neither of us have even residual radiation from past x-rays," Stephen's fingers twitched. "But that's not all."

"Your hands?" I offered, remembering some of Sam's words.

A sharp inhale coming from the sorcerer answered my question, if not in detail, and the man himself hesitated to reply for a reason I did not know. I didn't undo the damage, this much I knew was true. He swallowed loudly, eyes firmly planted on the wall opposite me. "They do not hurt anymore," the words were barely louder than a whisper.

I chewed on my lip, slowly, idly, letting Stephen process whatever bothered him that much. He should have been happy, or so I thought, that there was one less thing in this world that had the potential of giving him a headache. "Good," I simply replied, attempting to shrug.

"No, you don't understand," he suddenly lifted his eyes, staring at me hotly. "You did so at the expense of your own life, your lifespan, you energy, your ability to have child-"

I stopped his rant, lifting up one shaky, and my feeble gesture instantly made the tired, broken man deflate into someone that reeked of shame and regret. His shoulders dropped, head briefly touching the side of my bed. For all purposes, I nearly acquired a lapful of kicked puppy Stephen.

Mustering up my very last dregs of energy, I scoffed in his direction: "Don't fucking tell me what to do, wizard," before the familiar weight of apathy began taking over me again. One sluggish thought after the other, I came to a conclusion that he was experiencing a sort of survivor's guilt, except I didn't die.

Or maybe I did? Maybe I'd left some unknown, invisible part of me on the irradiated plains of a foreign world, coming home as a shell of my former self. To their eyes, at least, it could have looked the part; not too long after Stephen's departure, I mustered up the strength and the courage to look into a mirror, to properly see the damage I'd done to myself.

An ashen undertone to my skin, my eyes had sunken deeply into my surprisingly angular face. I had the look of a person who'd survived famine and torture, at least. I appeared to be as dull and disgusting as I felt. For what felt the first time in ages, I carefully, slowly ran myself a hot bath with some of the fancy toiletries placed in the bathroom, because of course Tony would have a full size bath in a hospital room, the steaming, herbal-smelling liquid almost instantaneously giving a boost to my blood flow and speeding up the living energies within my exhausted form.

Sam was waiting for me when I stepped out heated and pruney, a lopsided tilt to his lips and the mouthwatering smell of coffee gathering saliva in my mouth for the first time in days.

"Stephen needs to see a fucking therapist," I grouched, sitting down on the bed, bundled up in a fluffy bathrobe.

Wilson's responding eyeroll was pure reflex. "They all do," he reached out for his thermos, having noticed me eyeing it. A paper cup was promptly filled and given to me. "I can recommend a few, by the way. That specialise in unusual circumstances," he eyed me with kindness, gesturing towards the hospital room with a wide wave of his hand.

I chewed on my lip. "I don't think it will help much, at least right now, since all my hurts are- eh, magical," I shrugged. "I gotta figure out how to stop my limbs from feeling like cooked spaghetti noodles first." The coffee tasted like the usual hospital sludge but somehow, after being devoid of all feeling, it was the single best thing I've had in the past week.

"Seems like a solid plan," Sam agreed. "Your boss is a scary lady, by the way. And I mean it respectfully."

The corners of my mouth tilted up. "Yeah, but she's also very experienced and very kind. She knows her stuff."

Sam quickly looked to the side and as I followed the direction of his stare, i spied a pile of empty Tupperware boxes, causing me to lift an eyebrow at the suddenly bashful man.

"What?" He tried for indignant but it came out as a squeak. "I'm a man, god dammit! I am given free food, I take the free food!"

The realization set in. "She's feeding you now? Did you hit on my boss to get food, Sam?" I wagged my fingers, enjoying the face expressions the man was making, probably, a little more than I should. He looked like a right bird when disgruntled, all puffed up and glaring.

"No!" He almost shrieked. "She cornered me, said I was doing God's work by sitting and talking to you! She just started bringing those... Casseroles, every time she stopped by," the agitation in his voice was quite funny to me. "Not like it's a chore, I actually like the peace and quiet. You've been the best listener I've had in the past year," Sam's grin grew more genuine. "And I don't have to see RoboCop's mug all day or listen to someone argue over the best pasta shape."

"Your house sounds like a nightmare," I supplied conversationally, remembering my own peculiar place and the set of rules and- SHIT, I belatedly realized, someone might went to my apartment to get my stuff and gotten in trouble. "Sam, who went to my place to get my stuff?" I asked, trying to force down the bubbling unease.

"Some lady stopped by, I think her name was also Sam?" He quietly questioned. "Had two kids with her, the boy kept staring at me like I'd stolen his lunch money," the man finished off his coffee, gathering the trash and noisily throwing it in the bin.

"Yeah, that's my neighbor. And Armin is a cool little dude, he's just very shy," I offered absent-mindedly, inwardly breathing a massive sigh of relief.

"He looks like the boy from 'I see dead people' movie," Sam deadpanned, opening a large drawer and extracting my gym bag from it. "I'll leave you to get dressed," we nodded to each other before Sam left the room, phone to his ear and a relaxed atmosphere around his whole being radiating warmth and contentment. That was a nice change from the tense, grim atmosphere of the days past. I could get used to it, could re-learn how to let myself feel like a living being again.

I was eager to return home; stepping in through the portal, my living room greeted me exactly the way I left it the day I went to work, a few books scattered on the couch, my fleece blanket hanging halfway off the couch. Stephen hovered behind me as I set my bag down on the table, immediately surveying the state of my plants and my altar.

"Do you need, um, help with anything?" He was fidgeting, all but vibrating behind me.

Apparently, Sam had talked some sense into the wizard because he stopped by a few times since that day, for a short small-talk or a cup of coffee, the kicked puppy look back on full display.

I told Sam off, of course, saying that I was an adult and so was Strange, but something in his knee-jerk reaction told me that he was so used to playing referee, it didn't even register with him that I might be able to handle my own business. I told Sam that much, taking his hand in me: I wanted a friend, not a parent, not a therapist. It went pretty smoothly.

"No, not really," I figured I could water my own plants and vacuum my own floors. My phone buzzed at that moment, a number saved in my phone as "Tony 😎" coming through with an absolutely outrageous message.

"I'm bringing pizza in 20. You better have Netflix. Tell Dumbledore to pick up his phone."

I promptly thrust the phone in Stephen's face, who instantly developed an equally annoyed and fond expression, as he searched the numerous pockets of his robe for the sleek, light StarkPhone. "Resistance is futile," he sighed, sitting down on the couch as I went to change into something fresh and water my plants while Stephen flicked through my Netflix. I heard him mutter to himself: "Grey's anatomy? Sixth season? Oh my God," with the tone of a man tortured.

"I had a roomie in college who majored in Medical History," I snorted. "When she had a bad day, she'd absolutely pick apart every single thing in the show. From the doctor's misconduct to the way a surgeon was holding the scalpel," I explained, seeing Stephen's eyes sparkle with amusement. "She was absolutely vicious and it was the most hilarious thing."

The sorcerer stroked his chin, leaning back into the couch. "That's acceptable. All medical shows are rubbish," he stated firmly. His phone beeped, causing him to sigh and conjure up a portal within seconds, in the corner of my apartment I had aptly designated to be the landing pad to myself. Tony stepped in, a bottle of wine and three steaming pizza boxes in hand. Smiling at his boyfriend, Stephen turned to me with a curious look: "What did you major in?"

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox @secretly-a-weeb @stuckybarton

[obwjam]

ok but old man Rex finding a tiny on the Ghost/Rebel ships and taking them in and caring for them not only because they're vulnerable, but because he used to have a tiny kid during the Clone Wars and last time he wasn't there for them they disappeared, so he's not letting that happen again.

PLEEEEEASE ugh i’ve been sent asks like this before but i love and cherish every single one of them because i just adore old man rex...... so here have some writing :)

------------------------------------------------------

He wouldn’t stop staring at you. You thought you were going insane.  Every time you nudged someone to say, ‘Hey, look, I’m not crazy,’ he would immediately look away. The worst part is that when you tried to talk to him, he would stare at the floor and clench his jaw and fail to find his words.

“Ezra? Ezra!”

You reached up to tug a lock of your friend’s hair to get his attention. They called their ship the Ghost, so you referred to them as The Ghost Crew. They had found you on Lothal just a few short weeks ago, smack in the middle of an empty field that you were laboring to trek across -- fleeing the city had been difficult enough as it was. Ezra, understanding the struggle of not having any family, offered you a place on the Ghost until you could find other borrowers to stay with.

But these people didn’t know how to stay out of trouble. You happily supported the rebel cause, but kept your distance from the action. The Clone War had taken too much out of you already. Hera was happy to have some company on the ship, anyway.

“Ow! Hey! What, what is it?” Ezra groaned, rubbing his head gingerly.

“Shh! Look. He’s doing it. Watch, watch!”

Everyone seemed to trust this clone. Fulcrum -- ahem, Ahsoka -- spoke highly of him. He was willing to help and knew a lot about everything. Even Kanan had some respect for him, though he would never admit it.

So why did he act weird only around you?

Ezra tried to discreetly glance at Rex, but Ezra was about as discreet as a Star Destroyer. Rex locked eyes with Ezra, confused, before his gaze wandered down to you. Less confused.

“Eum... this is awkward,” Ezra said, joining in on the staring contest. “I see what you mean now, (Y/n).”

At that, Rex flushed red. He didn’t think he was being obvious, but apparently it was worse than he thought. He swore the more he stared at you, the more you looked like...

“Everything okay in here?”

Kanan was standing in the threshold, wondering what exactly the stand-off was for. He immediately sensed something was off, and when he turned to Rex, the alarm bells were ringing loud.

“We were just leaving,” you spoke up, hoping Ezra would respond quickly.

“Hm? Oh, oh yeah. We’re, uh. We’re leaving now.”

You rolled your eyes but grabbed on tight as Ezra spun on his heels and headed back up to his bunk. He still wasn’t very in tune with the Force, but even he could feel your apprehension.

Rex sighed. He couldn’t keep flubbing like this. He was a grown man. A very grown man. He made a mistake; one among many. He didn’t need to keep beating himself up about it. There was nothing he could do to change it. Maybe that was the worst part.

“He’s really been doing that the whole time?” Ezra asked, scooping you up off his shoulder and placing you on the bedside table as he flopped down on his bed.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” you sighed, exasperated. “I don’t get it. It’s like he has it out for me.”

“Do you think he’s gonna do something? Like, kidnap you and turn you in to the Empire?”

“Ezra... I don’t think he’s secretly Empire.”

“Well, maybe borrowers are highly valuable to some Imperial general! Maybe Rex just wants some extra credits.”

“You’re really not helping right now.”

“Okay, sorry, sorry.” Ezra looked over at you slumped over with your head in your hands. He frowned. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Ask him? Are you crazy?”

Ezra shrugged. “I mean, it couldn’t hurt, right? If you don’t think he’s bad.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but found you didn’t actually have a counterargument. Sometimes Ezra stumbled his way into a half-decent idea.

Rex wasn’t in the mood to deal with Kanan scolding him for no good reason, so he quickly retreated back to the guest quarters that he called home on the Ghost. Maybe he should just go back to Seelos. Maybe getting involved in this rebellion was a bad idea. Maybe--

“Um. Rex?”

Rex froze. He looked up toward the door, wondering if maybe he was just hearing things, before realizing who exactly was speaking to him. Almost afraid, his eyes flickered to the ground.

“Oh. H-hi, (Y/n),” Rex stuttered. His face had gone cold.

“Can I...?” you asked, jerking your head forward and trying to keep your cool. Rex was sitting, but you rarely liked to walk around by yourself on the Ghost. Looking up at everyone and everything made you sweat.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Rex nodded, weakly gesturing for you to come in. “Why are -- what’re you doing here?”

“I, uh. I wanted to -- just ask you something. If that’s okay.”

“Of course, kiddo,” Rex said, suddenly grimacing when he let that nickname slip. “Do you, uh, do you need me to...” He glanced to his hand resting on his knee. You nodded awkwardly and took a small step backward as Rex took a knee and placed his hand in front of you. The silence was deafening in the several seconds it took for him to bring you from the floor up to the table.

Once back on solid ground, you shuffled your feet, barely able look at the very person you were supposed to be speaking to. You didn’t think this would be easy, but you couldn’t even find a word to grab onto and vocalize.

“Is... everything alright?” Rex knew why you were here, but someone needed to say something.

You pursed your lips. Here goes nothing. “I... I’m sorry,” you started. Rex raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong, or -- or if I said something stupid to make you mad. Ezra and I, we like to joke around, I swear, we didn’t mean anything by it--”

“Stop.”

You froze. Great, now he’s really mad.

Rex was wringing his hands, having just as much trouble finding the right thing to say as you were. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’ve been acting strange, and you deserve an explanation why.” He stole a glance at you. You were just waiting.

Rex sighed, his breath quivering slightly. Here goes nothing. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first borrower I’ve met. Back during the war, I knew... well, let’s just call them a friend. Found them rummaging through camp on some backwater planet. They were scared, and -- and had nowhere to go. So we took ‘em in -- me and the boys in the 501st. It took ‘em a while. They were really frightened to be around us and it took forever to get their trust. But we were inseparable.” He laughed faintly at some old memory. “The kid was always getting into some kind of trouble. Drove Dogma crazy. I think Echo and Fives encouraged ‘em to mess around, just to make him mad. Huh, annoyed me too. But I couldn’t get mad at them.” Rex shivered and closed his eyes. Why was it so cold in here now? “I... I don’t remember exactly where we were. Some ice planet, it was horrible. Cody wanted to see me, and they didn’t want to be left alone. I shouldn’t have let them come... but they insisted. I thought I had them... no, I know I had them with me. But it was windy, and the snow was blinding. We looked everywhere for them. I swear we scanned the entire planet. But the blizzard was so bad I couldn’t even retrace my steps. Felt like I was walking in damn circles, calling their name until I lost my voice...”

Rex trailed off. He was completely out of words. He had used up all his energy, and all he could focus on right now was breathing.

You could barely process what you just heard. It was all eerily familiar. “Rex...” you started. You needed to take a breath of your own. “I’m--”

Rex cut you off. “You don’t need to say anything. It’s okay. You just... well, you just remind me so much of them.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You weren’t expecting that.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have -- I’m sorry.”

“Rex. You don’t need to apologize. It’s okay.” You didn’t entirely mean that, but it’s what he needed to hear. It took a lot to admit what he did, and you knew it.

Rex sniffed a laugh. “It’s really not okay, but, thanks.”

You sighed. Rex’s hand, which was now resting on the table, was shaking ever so slightly. Once you took the first step, it was easy. You shuffled over to Rex’s hand and placed your own on his finger. Rex flinched and looked down in surprise. Slowly, his hand stopped shaking.

“You’re not the first clone I’ve ever met, either. I’ve lost a lot of people, and’ve had a lot of people lose me. It’s... normal. I’ve never really had a place to call home. Can’t even remember how I got to Lothal.” You took a breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is... your friend was really, really lucky to have you. It’s rare for borrowers to find people to care about us. That kind of friendship, no matter how short, is worth a lifetime of happiness.”

You felt a spray of water hit your arm, and you looked up. Rex had let a tear fall.

“Thanks, kid. That... really means a lot.”

Rex forced a smile down to you, but there was a hint of relief to it. You beamed back up. He kept staring. You laughed nervously.

“What?”

Rex shook his head. “Nothing. I-it’s nothing.”

“Hey, if you just told me that, you can tell me anything,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood. Rex just grimaced. “Just say it. It’s okay. I promise.”

“Well...” Rex wiped his eyes. “Hera was telling me they were trying to find a home for you.”

You nodded curiously. “Yeah. The Ghost crew has been really nice to me, but I can’t be in the middle of all this action. Not again. We’re just trying to find a nice, quiet planet.”

“I... don’t want to impose. And you can say no. But me and a couple of old friends have retrofitted an old AT-TE on Seelos, way out in the Outer Rim. That’s where I was before Ahsoka asked me to help out the crew here. But I’m too old for all this action... I’ll help where I can, but--”

“--are you asking me to go back with you?”

Rex’s face flushed red. “Y-yeah. That’s exactly what I’m asking. It’s real remote. You’d be safe.”

Still leaning against Rex’s hand, you looked down at your shoes as you thought over his proposal. You really liked the Ghost crew. They were nothing but kind to you, barely ever making you feel like you were small. But even though it had only been a couple weeks, it felt like there was no safe world in the galaxy, and definitely no world the Ghost could travel to without being followed.

And as weird as it was, there was something endearing about Rex. He was different than any clone you had ever met. They weren’t exactly known for their emotional vulnerability, but Rex had shared with you a story you suspect he hadn’t told to anyone in decades. That counted for something. A lot of somethings, actually.

“Yeah.”

Rex paused for a moment and blinked. “What?”

“I’m taking you up on your offer,” you smiled. “I’ll go to Seelos with you.”

“You... you’re serious?”

You nodded with a small smirk. “I’m done running and hiding. I just... want to relax.”

“I’m serious, you don’t have to say yes--”

“--I am serious! I said yes! So don’t make me change my mind.”

For the first time in a while, Rex let out a genuine laugh. “Okay, okay.” 

You only got a moment to bask in this newfound feeling of content when Sabine came running into the room.

“Rex, we’re leaving! Kanan and Ezra are waiting in the Phantom!”

“Be right there,” he called out. Sabine left without even noticing you were there.

Rex gently shook you off his hand and flipped it over, allowing you to situate yourself in his palm. “You want me to bring you back to Hera?”

You thought for a moment. “Why don’t I tag along with you this time? Someone needs to keep the Phantom warm while you’re away.”

Rex didn’t say anything, but found himself grinning as he stood up, grabbed his helmet and made his way to the shuttle. This was a good start.

[defilerwyrm]

For the ask meme: burning bright, anything about the parts at the table with the Nein. You write their banter so well!

FIC SPOILERS BELOW!

Burning Bright on AO3

The entire dinner scene hit me like a bolt of lightning while I was working on this fic. It started with Beau’s outburst, and then Veth’s willful denial and subsequent fit, and I built the two scenes around that.

Diving into particulars….

“Uhm,” he said, intelligently, but quickly recovered and flashed his friends a smile. “It is most impressive. Certainly a step up from a tiny hut.”

A direct reference to the name of the spell. Originally it was Leomund’s tiny hut. I have no clue why in 5e Wizards decided to 86 the attribution names on so many spells like Otiluke’s resilient sphere and Tasha’s hideous laughter. Things like that always made me curious about the (what I assume were) PCs the spells were named after. I had thought maybe it was because the characters who diegetically invented them were specific to one setting, but in that case I don’t know why Bigby’s hand is still Bigby’s but Evard’s black tentacles are no longer Evard’s. I don’t like it. As an aside, Widowgast’s Nascent Nein-Sided Tower is, mechanically speaking, Mordenkainen’s Magnificent Mansion. Anyway. Moving on!

It was delectable that Caleb wanted to impress him.

This boy hungry and not just for soup

Flustered, Essek tried to fend them off, but it was Caleb that did him in. It was always Caleb. The human took a large roll from his own plate, broke it in half, and offered one of these parts to Essek, who tried his best not to choke.

“You need to keep your strength up, ja?” Caleb implored him quietly.

The steady hand that accepted was a point of pride because it very much wanted to quake. The Kryn weren’t bread people, but...did he have any idea what this gesture would mean in Rosohna? Any inkling at all?

This is another one of those places where I delight in playing to cultural differences. What I’d had in mind for what that gesture—breaking food into two pieces and offering half to someone—WOULD mean in Rosohna was a bit nebulous, as I like to keep the reader guessing a bit and let their imagination fill in the blanks; but my rough idea was that it’s a courting gesture that signifies “I can and will provide for you, even if it means less for me.” An expression of selfless caregiving and an offer of partnership. Not wholly unlike a bird bringing food to a prospective mate.

And actually it’s a little bit funny coming from Caleb, who has fuck-all to his name but his name, when Essek is a rich bitch who answers directly to the Bright Queen.

Not that he was about to say it out loud, but he was a quick convert to this whole bread thing. To say that it won him over would be an understatement. That seemed to be a recurring theme here.

I imagine if I’d grown up never really eating bread and was introduced to it in adulthood I’d be like “Where have you BEEN all my life?!” But also: the bread is friendship, the bread is the Mighty Nein, the bread is communion in the spirit of sharing rather than politics and appearances and power plays—things he thought he was fine without until they were foisted upon him.

Somewhere in the course of the multiple conversations going on at one time, Jester got an Idea, as she was prone to doing. He became increasingly aware of her talking about kissing, of all things, and this culminated in her shouting above the din, cheeks flushed purple though he hadn’t seen her touch any wine: “I have an idea you guys! Why don’t we all go around and say how many people we’ve kissed?”

Jester is the most wonderfully convenient deus ex machina if you ever need to insert an awkward or embarrassing conversation among the Mighty Nein, because this is exactly the sort of shit she would do.

Jester leaped up and slammed her hands onto the table. “Caduceus you’ve never been kissed?! That’s so sad!”

The firbolg was unfazed. He merely shrugged and said, “It hasn’t come up and I haven’t gone looking. Not something I’ve ever thought about, really.”

Jester’s tail lashed back and forth behind her like an overstimulated cat. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

Fjord went a bit wild-eyed at this. Caduceus smiled gently and said, “No thank you.”

Three things about this part:

1) Jester’s tail doesn’t get NEARLY enough mention in fic! If I’m playing (or writing) a character with a tail you can be damn sure you’re gonna know what it’s doing! Makes me wanna play a tabaxi tbqh.

2) Cad’s “No thank you” is the sum total of his sexuality, lol. Jester was raised in a pretty highly sexualized setting, didn’t really get out much before she fled Nicodranas, and can be pretty naïve, so she doesn’t really get the whole aroace thing; but it never crosses Cad’s mind that this would be “abnormal“ or ”sad” in any way—it causes him no distress, as it shouldn’t. This is yet another “Same planet, different worlds” moment.

3) Fjord is physically restraining himself from yelling “JESTER WHAT THE FUCK” lmao

Veth kept picking at it. “So you’re um. You know. Into the fellas?”

Beau snorted. “I could’a told you that months ago.”

“Yeah you could’a!” Veth pouted with a self-conscious curl to her shoulders.

I saw a comment on Tiktok that said Veth was being borderline homophobic, but that wasn’t my intent! It’s just that she inherited a certain blind spot for male queerness from her player, and as hard as she’d been trying to encourage Caleb to hook back up with his female ex, it never occurred to her that he had a male ex, too—and given that they’ve been so close for so long, she’s feeling pretty self-conscious about the fact that she never figured out that Caleb is bisexual in all that time, as well as kind of upset that no one—Caleb especially—told her. She’s having a moment of “Why didn’t I know this? Did you think it was going to change things between us? Did I make you feel unsafe?” And also a little bit of “Okay well, now I have to get him to hook up with TWO people AT ONCE because my boy deserves threesomes 😤”

Jester went goggle-eyed at him. “You’ve only been with one person?” she exclaimed. “But you’re like a hundred years old! And very handsome. I would have thought you’d get like, all the ladies.”

Ladies. Right.

Veth might not be the only one with a certain blind spot.

Beau gave her a funny look, snorting. “I dunno, he seems like the kinda guy who turns down those offers left and right.”

..…But Beau’s got his number, for more than one reason. She’s got super gaydar, for one, and has him pegged as the type who’s very choosy about his partners (also mind you, this was before demi!Essek was canonized by WoG, so I was still rolling with my hc that Essek got around when he felt like it).

The uproar was instantaneous. Everyone—almost everyone—started talking or shouting at once. Beau’s voice rang out among the din with, “HOLY SHIT ESSEK FUCKS.” Strangely pleased with himself, he downed the rest of his wine in one gulp and spent the next few minutes fending off increasingly prying, personal questions until the Nein grew bored with his lack of answers and someone changed the subject.

There it is, the line that spawned two entire scenes!

He was not a war mage, but he was experienced and wily, and he was damned good at what he did, and as long as there was breath left in his body, the Mighty Nein would not fall here.

Joke’s on me, motherfucker literally has the War Caster feat -_-

But like in my defense, that’s just what it’s called in the book. The feat just means that you have either the training or experience to cast well during a fight, which I see as not necessarily the same thing as a war mage, which was my way of saying an arcane caster who is a soldier.

Veth stared at her blankly as if willing herself not to understand. “Caleb? With who?”

She breathed steadily. “...Essek. Caleb and Essek.”

Beside her, Jester squealed and brought her fists to her face.

Veth was less enthused. “WHAT.”

Beau’s mental commentary here is dead on. Veth still doesn’t really trust Essek at this point and has been pretty vocal about that…despite being the one to declare him part of the Mighty Nein? Eh, she’s allowed to have complicated feelings on the guy, all things considered. But I find it kind of comical and very Veth (and very Sam) for her to be all full of zest for trying to get Caleb back together with the frigging Volstrucker who is actively working for his abuser and worst enemy but balk at him hooking up with Essek.

Jester “explained” in a delighted yell: “Caleb and Essek are gonna fuuuuuuck!”

I don’t know, is this too unsubtle to call foreshadowing? The line flowed naturally in the dialogue, but it’s also letting the reader know exactly what they’re in for next, lol.

“...He’s going to break that little elf twink, you know,” Veth said, sounding distant. Seemed she was having some difficulty processing. Not too surprising, considering how adamant she was about wanting their wizard to hook back up with his old flame, the fucking Volstrucker. “We’ve all seen his dick.”

This was 100% taken from Sam’s little throwaway line “It’s above-average” but it turned out to serve two purposes other than reminding the reader that all of these people have seen Caleb naked:

1) It’s yet another thing Veth thinks she understands about him but doesn’t. Caleb’s a top like Dalmatians are purple and if you disagree then I respect your right to be incorrect ;)

2) That said, it is, in fact, foreshadowing for the sequel, in which Essek experiences a great deal of frustration. (I haven’t touched the damn thing in weeks, feels like; I’ve been too busy with work, being exhausted from work, and being in a tizzy about my upcoming surgery.)

Fjord blurted out, “I’ll join you.”

Poor Fjord has had such an uncomfortable night!

Hoo boy that was a lot. Thanks for the ask, this was really fun!! And sorry it took so long; I work Saturday nights and things got really busy for a bit there.

[crimson-dxwn]

Love So Alike (Jango Fett x F!OC)

Summary: Jango Fett takes the occasional bounty posting to keep things interesting. This time, his ship gets hit and he crash-lands far from Kamino. Fortunately, he is found.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: mentions of blood and injury, mild lustful thoughts

This is going to be multi-part! Also many apologies for the sh*ttiest pic collage ever. I tried. HMU if you want to be on the taglist!

-------------------------------------------------------- This day has been fucked to shit, officially. His latest bounty had friends. Nothing he couldn’t handle, but Slave I, Slave I had taken more damage than he was prepared for. One of said Klatoonian friends nailed a lucky shot. Right to the damn hyperdrive, and now he was stranded in the Outer Rim, parsecs from Kamino. Jango’s next priority was picking which skughole to crash-land on and try to fix the damage. 

His bones protested the bumpy ride to the surface of the green and blue marble enlarging rapidly before him. Ralltiir, the most hospitable-looking planet in this system. It was about as populated as Concord Dawn, which wasn’t saying much. Fortunately not Republic controlled or occupied. The navicomputer helpfully told him that it was an agricultural world - great - with a few mid-size urban centers. The best he could hope for was to try and aim for one of those. The choking whine coming from the backside of his ship was leading him to believe that it wasn’t just his hyperdrive that was damaged. Smoke started to fill the cockpit, acrid and hazy, as he struggled to keep the controls on course for a settlement. His helmet could only filter so much particulate - every breath burned and his head swam. 

He entered atmo at the same time as a great boom echoed from below him, shaking the ship as his stomach lurched uncomfortably. This wasn’t going to be pretty. His hands were numb now on the controls and he struggled to keep them gripped to the joystick. The details of the world below were rapidly coming into focus as Slave I careened toward the surface. His head spun from the lack of oxygen, and he ripped his helmet off to find even more acrid air. Boba...his thoughts ran toward his son, left on Kamino in the care of the aiwha-bait while he chased bounties. He should’ve stayed with his son; he was gonna die on this planet, covered in mud, far from Kamino. There was way too much water, more than he judged when he’d briefly studied the map. If he overjudged his landing, he’d drown in the middle of nowhere with nobody to come looking.

The joysticks protested his efforts to pull the ship up parallel with the ground as trees whipped by, filling his windscreen completely. Solid ground blessedly met the flat landing platform of his ship as the g-forces nearly robbed Jango of consciousness and his head cracked against the console. Boba. He’d make it back. Just another bumpy landing, he thinks, as he stripped out of his harness, coughing black soot from his lungs. There was a little blood left on the back on his hand when he wiped his mouth. Nothing to worry about. He’d had worse. As soon as he could breathe fresh air, he’d be able to think straight and get out of this. When the edges of his vision weren’t blackening and closing in. Finally he made it down the lowered ramp. And his vision blacked out completely.

Through her binocs, Roha watched the man faceplant into the mud. His ship crashing had nearly blown both eardrums to smithereens a few minutes ago and she couldn’t resist clambering up on an outcropping of rocks to watch the ship come down, barely a klik from the homestead. He wore strange armor, from what she could judge that wasn’t soot-blackened or  covered in churned soil from the crash. She couldn’t identify his ship, but Roha guessed it wasn’t common from its unusual shape. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen in her roughly thirty years here. Truly, the man must be a skilled pilot to be able to crash-land so delicately that his ramp could still open. From the look of the back end of the starship, he’d taken some heavy damage, probably from some less-than-legal outfits. The man cut quite a figure until he fell, face-first, towards the ground. Part of her hesitated to help, worried that it might be a ploy. But the way he’d gone slack led her to believe that his need was genuine. And so she wiped her dirty hands on her skirt and hurried to the smoking hulk. She prayed she wouldn’t need the small vibroblade hidden alongside her right leg. Roha’s breathing was coming fast by the time she reached the prone figure. Not that she had much to worry about - he hadn’t moved a muscle since passing out. 

Roha crouched next to him, watching his back rise and fall shallowly for a few seconds before getting her arms underneath his torso. Flipping him on his back was going to be difficult. The man wasn’t tall, but he was thicker than she anticipated, dense with muscle and weighed down by silver fox armor. Mud squelched as she dug her boots into the mire, searching for some leverage. Finally she got him on his back. Soot streaked his face - his very handsome face. Joining the old scars lining the man’s rugged features was a new gash over his left temple, still oozing blood. Two fingers on his neck revealed a strong, regular pulse, and despite being minimally conscious he seemed to be relatively intact. 

The ship had hidden itself relatively well, nestled in a copse of trees at the bottom of the valley, though others were likely to have seen the craft. It was fortunate he’d landed where he did. Half a klik farther east and he’d be at the bottom of the ocean. He groaned a bit - that was encouraging - but didn’t open his eyes. He needed medical attention, that much was obvious. And shelter, that too. No use worrying in who’s shot him down at the moment. That was a worry for later. Now that she’d determined he was alive, the next problem was how to lug his unconscious body back to her cabin. 

She knelt in the mud as rain started to mist down on the two of them, him unconscious in the mud and her knee deep in the mire. Eventually she trudged back to the homestead in her soggy boots and harnessed her single orbak and constructed a makeshift stretcher for him to haul. The man was blessedly still breathing when she led the animal back to the crash site. His eyes were still closed and the oozing from his cut had stopped. Was she really about to bring this stranger into her home? Maybe he’d recover and be on his way. Roha checked his breathing again. Still his chest rose and fell, rapid and shallow, dark brows furrowed. 

The orbak huffs, indignant at being roped into extra work for the day. The sun had set below the mountains in the west and her breath steamed out in from of her face. There wasn’t much time before it became too cold for him to be lying out in the open, wet and covered in icy steel. She sighed and made her decision as the orbak stamped his feet, impatient for a warm stall. 

“Me too, boy,” she murmured to the beast. Using her full weight, she heaved the man onto the stretcher. The mud soaked through her skirt, so cold that it numbed her skin from her thighs all the way to her ankles. She couldn’t wait to light a crackling fire...maybe heat up some water for a bath. Her skin crawled at the thought. Darkness was falling, and the rain falling harder with it. She clicked in the back of her throat to urge the pony back home. He carried the man easily and she thanked her lucky stars she’d traded for him six months ago, though she lamented not trimming his feathered fetlocks which were - to her dismay - now caked in dark fertile mud. Another worry for tomorrow.

She got him back to the homestead. It had been hers for years since her husband had died. Modest though it was, it was enough. Though a main pitfall, she now realized, was the single bed. Not that she’d be sleeping much anyway, with an unknown man in her home. But part of this felt...right. If she left him outside like, she’d never forgive himself if he died. Damn the consequences. Still wouldn’t sleep a wink. 

Her heart breaks for her bedding when she finally rolls his mud-covered body on it with a pained groan. Though fortunately he’d gained a bit of consciousness on the trip to the cabin so she didn’t have to lug his dead weight through the threshold. She on the other hand, was absolutely exhausted. It was all she could take to strip him down to his basics to look at his abdomen and extremities. Hideous bruises covered his chest and stomach. It looked incredibly painful. The man hadn’t done much in terms of movement besides thrash his head from side to side and moan softly. He needed a medical droid, but there wasn’t one for a long ways. The best she could do was cool compresses for the bruises and keep him warm and hydrated. And pray he lived. 

---

When Jango wakes it’s because someone is touching his face. It wasn’t something that happened often. And when it did it filled him with prickly discomfort. He greatly preferred the security and anonymity of his helmet. The desert that was the back of his throat distracted him for the moment. He tried to get his bearings. No helmet, but he vaguely remembered removing it in the ship. No comforting weight of beskar on his chest. An arm reaches up to inspect exactly why he was in his basics and how he was going to escape….wherever this was. Forcing his stinging eyes open, he registered a slatted wood ceiling, the smell of woodsmoke and an undercurrent of earthy sweetness he couldn’t quite identify. 

A hand stopped his own and Jango grasped the attached forearm, hard. Time to break out. 

His abdomen strongly protested his efforts to sit up. Pain struck him, so overwhelming he almost blacked out, and he let out a pathetic noise that normally he wouldn’t be caught dead making. Half groan, half sob. He’d really done it now. Jango settled for simply turning his head and a woman came into view, forearm still trapped in his grip. When her pleading eyes met his, he dropped his hand. She was maybe the least threatening thing that his mind could conjure up at this exact moment. 

“Don’t try to sit up,” she said, “you’re badly injured.” He’d established that already, thanks.

“Where..” even talking hurt. He tried again. “--where am I?” 

“Ralltiir,” the woman replied, “in the Outer Rim. You crash landed--”

“I know that,” he interrupted. She shut up, wariness in her soft brown eyes. 

“Where is my armor?” 

She pointed to the foot of the bed she’d laid him on, and there it was, neatly stacked in a wicker basket. “And my blasters?”

“Confiscated,” she replied. She was rubbing her forearm where he’d grabbed her. Jango could see the marks from his fingers marring her skin. He didn’t make a habit of hurting women, but sentiment about which parts enemies had between their legs didn’t prevent them from killing you. 

“Your ship went down about a klik north of here. You passed out from smoke inhalation and I couldn’t just leave you facedown in the mud-” her speech was getting faster and faster; it was obvious she was scared of him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so gruff with her. After all, she could’ve just slotted his shebs outside Slave I. Jango reaches a hand up to his face. Quite the stubble growth. He had to have been lying here for almost a day. More than enough time for her to call any sort of scum - slavers, bounty hunters, or worse. He sighed as she babbled on, wringing her hands nervously. He decided to take pity on her and interrupt.

“-can I at least have my undersuit back?” She looked at him with a wide, embarrassed expression. Sheepishly, she went to the basket and pulled out his shirt and pants, neatly folded and suspiciously devoid of mud. 

“I’m Roha,” she offered, with a pregnant pause, obviously expecting him to return the favor. He supposed it was enough that she dragged him a klik back to what seemed to be her home and probably her own bed. 

“Jango,” he replied. Roha gave a small smile in response and started busying herself with rearranging the stacked armor and accessories in the basket. 

After his show earlier it was clear that he was going to need help sitting up. Frustration boiled deep in him - it wasn’t often he needed help. Especially from wilting female farmhands. From an upright vantage point he’d be able to get a better idea of his surroundings. Besides, being kept supine under heavy blankets was making his claustrophobia flare up. 

“Uh..” he started, “do you mind...” Maker, he hated feeling this helpless. Jango grit his teeth and tried again. “Can you help me sit up?” 

“Oh. Yes, of course.” She reached an arm out and he grasped her hand with his. It was still painful, but she was surprisingly strong. Soft brown curls fanned out from her face and there was a strand of something caught in it. Hay. A strange impulse to brush it away flashed across his mind, but he pushed it down. Roha stood back a few paces, still watching him carefully. It was good she was wary. 

Throwing off the woven blankets, he gingerly rose. Somehow his legs had survived mercifully intact, though now with his chest bare he could see the extent of the bruising that he could previously only feel with every breath. Moving was slow, and he needed to use the edge of the bed for support. Jango could feel the woman’s eyes still on him, skin prickling at the unwanted contact. It reminded him too much of his youth, stripped down to his basics, injured, helpless and trapped in an unfamiliar place. 

“Do you mind?” he snapped over his shoulder. He could practically feel her blush. It rose over her cheeks and down her neck, barely tinting her tanned skin. 

Her eyes snapped to the floorboards, looking chastened. “Sorry.” 

Jango got his bearings as he changed, taking in the little cottage. It was one spare room, likely with a fresher out the back, much like the ones he’d grown up in on Concord Dawn, except this one was made of light-colored wood. He imagined must have quite the concussion because all the sights and smells of such a humble place had begun dredging up memories he swore he’d forgotten forever. Maybe it was the osik’la jedi playing mind tricks - as they were wont to do - weaving a scene to get him to talk. Unbidden, his stomach rolled over and the room spun with it. He breathed hard through his nose, trying to steady himself. Blessedly, the nausea faded but he had to slow his movements to a crawl and focus on one point in front of him. He already felt less exposed with the flight suit on. It was something. 

“My ship?” he asked. 

“Besides the back end? Relatively unscathed,” she said, eyes still glued to the floor, “but I’m no mechanic.” 

No shock there. He made a noncommittal sound under his breath. Despite his suspicion of head trauma he did remember his hyperdrive getting shot to smithereens as well as the smoke pouring out the engine room and filling the cockpit. The question of where he was going to get parts to fix Slave I was a bit of an afterthought, as he currently could barely move. Plus, he’d been unconscious for hours and there were more pressing needs to take care of.

He cleared his throat. “Fresher?” 

“Out back,” she replied, and gestured at the heavy wooden door at the back of the homestead. “Can you walk?”

“I’ll manage.” He hoped he could keep his feet enough to manage a piss. Guess he was about to find out. 

When get returned, she was pulling something out of the ancient looking oven. It was a giant behemoth of cast iron with a chamber to feed in sticks of firewood. Whatever it was smelled...amazing. Jango was back on the bed, despite his best efforts to stay upright, and settled for simply watching her like a hawk from his perch, trying his best to ignore the ache that gnawed in his belly. 

“Why are you helping?” He’s a little shocked the phrase slipped out. But he wants to know. She should’ve just left him, called the cops or whatever passed for them in this backwater. He wasn’t used to blind kindness, to giving without some sort of transactional relationship. 

She was still fussing around the stove, conspicuously letting him have his privacy. He was more grateful than suspicious and so he fell silent, content to watch her work. Half her skirt was tucked into the thick leather belt wrapped around her waist. It was thick and worn, with a swirling tooled pattern, and much too big for her. It was fastened on its smallest setting, which happened to be a sloppily awled hole far from the rest of its counterparts.

“Is it just you all the way out here?” he asked, strength fading fast. 

Again, she eyed him warily, but replied, apparently dismissing him as a threat at present. “Yes, just me.” Without elaboration she went back to her cooking and Jango finally gave into his screaming midsection. Lying on the bed felt like such a relief. It had been a while since he’d been badly injured and he’d almost forgotten how much it took out of you. The clinking and shuffling from the other end of the room lulled him back under despite his best efforts, and he fell asleep wondering about Boba. 

———

That night Roha woke to Jango’s anguished murmuring, listening to him thrash from her nest of blankets in the corner. She’d wanted to get a little broth into him, but he’d fallen fast asleep after their brief, awkward conversation and she wasn’t keen on waking him again. He’d survive without broth for a night, at least. Now, though, he was fretful and she hoped it was a nightmare rather than his injury.  

Boba, he kept muttering, over and over. A name? His partner perhaps? A parent? A child?

Trying to get back to sleep was impossible. Roha settled back against the wall and willed him to calm. At first she thought it worked, until he started visibly shaking, large hands gripping the sheets. His muttering changed violently. He was almost yelling now, in a language she didn’t recognize - harsh and grating on her ears. She debating waking him once again. He was going to hurt himself. Tangled in the sheets, he kept shouting in the strange language. 

She was exhausted. Wary to wake him too suddenly, she kept her distance, though she knew he could barely sit and walk on his own. The moonlight spilled through the window to the bed, lighting his features in his half-sitting position, arm clutched over his midsection. 

And then he looked right at her. The eeriness of his wide open eyes struck her.

“Anade kyrayc...” 

“Jango?” she asked, her voice low and soft. She didn’t dare touch him. 

He hissed. “Ke’pare.” 

She started a little more strongly this time. “Jango.” He stilled and the absolute expression of anguish on his face broke her heart. 

“You’re safe,” she assured him. His dark eyes were glassy and stared less at her and more through her, still wandering in the land of nightmares. Though he calmed a little, breaths coming less harshly than a few minutes earlier. “Go back to sleep. You’re safe here.”

Relief weakened her knees as he paused and gingerly laid himself back down, still trembling ever so slightly. Noting his sweat-dampened head and soaked clothes, she rummaged in the storage space below the bed for a pair of Jet’s old pants and a tunic and set them at the end of the bed. She hoped they would fit, though right now she was too exhausted to care much. Curling up in her corner once again, she slept fitfully, chased by fretful dreams of her own and unable to get comfortable on the hard floor despite the cushioning of her quilts. 

Hours later, she was roused once again by the sound of someone foreign in her home. Jango was returning from the fresher, in his sleeping clothes. Deep purple circles ringed under his eyes. She felt the same - this cycle of waking the other was getting old. 

“‘Morning,” he said gruffly. 

“Good morning,” she replied. The warm orange sunrise was peeking through the window over the sink. As good a time as any to get up - the animals would be waiting to be fed. 

“I thought you might like a change of clothes,” she offered, nodding towards the tunic and pants. Jango squinted at them. “They were my husbands. If you’d like to bathe, the inlet out front is cold but clean...or I can bring water from the well for you?” 

“That won’t be necessary” 

“I’ll be at the barn, just yell if you need me.” 

He looked down, looking halfway bashful rather than stern. “Thank you,” he said finally. 

He glanced at the clothes again and Roha busied herself with the kitchen scraps for the roba, not wanting to pester him or reveal any more embarrassing details about herself. 

“There’s bread wrapped in the cloth on the counter,” she threw over her shoulder on her way out. Her own stomach was grumbling terribly, but it would have to wait. 

The barn was a ways from the house. Enough that any - unpleasant - smells wafted away in the wind, but close enough for a bearable walk when the snows fell. The chill of early spring was in the air and the breeze was clean and fresh, nipping at her cheeks and making her wish she’d thrown a shawl on over her thin top or under the quilts and furs on her bed. It was plenty warm in the house with a banked-low fire. The creamy white stones that lined the outside had been specially picked for their insulating properties. 

The chores whiled away mindlessly.  On her way to the pasture she heard the faintest creak of the front door back at the homestead. It shocked her that he’d refused her offer to heat him some bath water. Most men she knew would’ve jumped at the chance to be waited on hand and foot, all while denying that they liked it, or worse - expected it. 

Pouring the grain into the trough, she resisted the urge to look for him behind her. Though the tip of the inlet was a ways away, she still averted her eyes while she walked the path back to the barn. If he felt up to bathing, he was probably out of the woods for now. 

She heard the breath he sucked through his teeth when he realized how cold the water was and smiled. Maybe he’d changed his mind about that bath. She peeked just for a moment to the shore, just to make sure he was safe and not lying facedown on the pebble beach. The water was waist height, lapping at his lower back. His shoulders were tense, whether from cold or pain she couldn’t tell.

Roha couldn’t believe she’d mentioned Jet. She rarely spoke of him, let alone reveal to strange men staying in her home that she didn’t have a man of the house. Her mother would disapprove. What she  would also disapprove of his how long Roha has been staring at a naked and injured man’s heavily muscled back while he bathed. Heat rose to her face and for once she was glad she was alone out here. Insistent bleating of the gathered sheep in their shed finally drew her attention away from the very well-made man half-submerged in her little bay. 

She fed them their allotment of grain as usual, but something was off. Almost all her ewes were pregnant, and it was a little early for them to lamb, but the one with the cream fleece and black undercoat was nowhere to be seen. A little pit formed in her belly. It had frosted overnight, and if the ewe gave birth in the pasture, the lamb was vulnerable to hypothermia. Roha hopped the fence, leaving the rest of the flock to their breakfast and headed out into the pasture. Parts of the grass in the shade still crunch with frost under her boots. She’s lucky the ewe’s coat sticks out so much or she’d never have found her in the copse of trees at the far corner of the pasture complete with a tiny black lamb, curled up by its mother, barely moving. 

The mother was concerned, nudging the little creature with her nose, trying to get the little one to perk up. Crouching by the pair, she tries to rouse the lamb. It breathes fast, wet coat cool to the touch. She sighs. They’d need to be separated; the baby was too cold now to be kept in the shed. Roha prayed Jango was washed and dressed as she rushed back to the cottage. 

He was back in bed, dressed in Jet’s old clothes, breathing deep and even. The bath had taken a lot out of him, then. Oblivious, the tiny thing in her arms gave a weak cry. Jango opened an eye to assess and Roha busied herself making a nest out of a ratty old blanket and mixing formula she kept in the storage shed. 

When she glanced back at her guest, he was upright on the bed - a promising sign.

“What’s this, then?” he asked. 

“Little one came on an inopportune morning,” she replied, rubbing the lamb dry with the blanket and scooching herself closer to the fire for warmth. It took to the bottle well, fortunately, and drank its fill. Jango watched silently as she worked. She stroked the little whorls of wool on the lamb’s head absentmindedly. Jango didn’t look confused at why she had a farm animal indoors and she wondered if this wasn’t the first time he’d crash landed on a rural world and been taken in. She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. 

Sitting here, alone with him in the small house brought back the events of the previous night vividly. She’d never ask what he’d dreamed about. He likely wouldn’t remember, and the last thing Roha wanted was to dredge up any painful memories he might have. And by the amount of scars littering his body, he had many. What she couldn’t help beng curious about was the name he’d called out, distinct from the rest of his speech. 

She tried to be as nonchalant as possible.

“Who’s Boba?” 

One look at his expression told her that she’d made a wrong move. 

--------------------------------------------------------

Mando’a Translations

anade kyrayc - everyone’s dead

Ke’pare - wait