#he obviously knows them better than I ever will | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hanfourz · 2 days ago

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― consume ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ | l.rw

pairing: fledgling!riwoo x human!reader (fem bodied)

genre: smut, fantasy

word count: 2.2k 0_0

warnings: blood!!, lots of kissing, biting, marking, cunilingus, use of riwoos real name (sanghyuk)

note: that pic is what inspired this whole thing btw... -🪼

walk with me... so riwoo fangs right..? what about fledgling!riwoo who just recently turned and his fangs are starting to fully grow (?).. so obviously they're kinda uncomfortable and cause him to need some sort of relief right?... do we see where i'm going with this?... oral fixation riwoo yes yes 🙂‍↕️

him needing to suck or bite something sooo bad it makes him wanna cry. and you’re always so willing to help him even though you're not a vampire yourself and don't fully know how it all works but you'd do anything for him. and at first he doesn't really tell you he's struggling with his new fangs but he winces when he's eating certain things and you see him constantly tonguing at his gums and kinda figure it out on your own. so ever the diligent partner, you start to do some research and figure out a couple remedies for his discomfort. a lot of the things you found sounded like things you would give to a teething baby and thought that idea wouldn't rly interest riwoo... but you saw something about biting and the cogs start turning.

so one day as you're chilling together you bring it up. you ask him how he'd feel about biting/feeding from you and at first he looks at you confused before saying something like 'shouldn't i be the one asking you that?' then he asks why you even thought of that. you tell him it might help with the fangs and he tries to brush it off and tells you he's fine and the discomfort should go away on its own. you don’t push it again that night but you hope he's at least thinking about it now because truth be told you couldn't really stop thinking about the idea of him feeding from you.

he does think about it. a lot. something he also didn't tell you was that your scent was so much stronger to him now and it was sooo enticing. he'd tried to ignore it, pushing away the urge to shove his nose in your neck and inhale when you walked past him. but it only got more and more intense as time passed which was the opposite of what he hoped would happen. it caused his fangs to nearly hurt with the need to sink them into your neck. but he withheld himself, absolutely refusing to tell you of this. he was pretty good at hiding it too, his behavior never really changing around you.

it was a day while you were cuddling that his last thin thread of control finally snapped. you had just gotten out the shower, hair washed and scent especially strong. you two were watching some show riwoo had put on. you were in a t-shirt and shorts while his head rested on your chest and your hands gently carded through his hair. he felt so peaceful like this, softly inhaling your scent and eyes starting to feel heavier. just when he was ready to doze off, he felt that uncomfortable tension in his gums again. he kept his eyes closed and tried to will the pain away but it was no use. it was only getting progressively worse, so much so that he had started to curl into you unknowingly. you’d already noticed when he tensed up but concern flooded you when you heard what sounded like a very quiet, pained whimper.

“baby? are you okay?” you’d asked softly, trying to look at his face that was now almost fully turned into your chest. he just whimpered softly again, not answering. “is it the fangs, love?” you heard a small sigh before riwoo nodded and lifted his head slightly. you tried not to gasp as you noticed his fangs now poking out from his top lip, much longer than they usually were. he leaned off of you and you followed, eyes holding bewilderment.

“baby, that looks painful…” you whispered, still keeping your tone gentle. riwoo had leaned off of you to get away from your scent but you didn’t know that so you leaned towards him to get a better look but were utterly shocked when he flinched away. confusion flitted across your features, a strong furrow to your brows as you looked at him. “sanghyukie… what’s wrong?” your tone was slightly hurt as you asked and he felt bad but how could he explain it to you without sounding like a freak?

“you.. your smell.. is a lot stronger now. it makes it difficult for me to think…” he answered eyes downcast and refusing to make contact. it all started to make sense to you now, his refusal of your original idea, his avoidance of the subject. he felt like he was losing control.

“will it hurt you?” riwoo looks up at you, brows furrowed.

“will what hurt me?” he asks, not understanding where this was going.

“feeding from me. would it hurt you?” you say, head tilted to the side in curiosity. riwoo stared at you for a minute.

“no but… it might hurt you, love.” he says, concern lacing his tone. he could see the cogs turning in your head, running over his words and thinking about it. then he watches as whatever you’re thinking solidifies and he already knows what you’re about to say. you have that determined look in your eye that tells him you aren’t budging on this.

“we don’t know for sure though, right? hyukie… if it might help, i wanna try. i don’t like seeing you suffering knowing i could help.” your brows are furrowed and your gaze is gentle as you watch him take your words in. he hesitates for a while, tongue running over his fangs out of sheer habit at this point. then he sighs and you think he’s giving in.

“we can try… but if it hurts you we stop. and… i’m not sure i’ll be able to think clearly but if it’s too much, you have to stop me.” he concedes and watches a small smile settle across your lips.

“okay, promise.” you say with barely contained excitement.

riwoo can’t deny that he finds your eagerness cute, even if the entire idea makes him nervous. he doesn’t really understand why you’re so eager about it though… he assumes it’s just because you want to help him. which is partially true but he’s unaware of your own selfish desires. when you start moving closer to him, his brows raise in surprise. you wanted to try, now?! he steadies himself as your scent starts to grow nearly suffocating, gums already starting that odd tingling sensation.

you take his hands in yours, pulling him a little closer while keeping that gentle smile on your face. he knows it’s supposed to help calm him but truly his heart feels like it might jump out his chest. everything about you was overwhelming him but he knows that he does want this. he wants to taste you, wants to be able to get that sweet smell straight from the source. the more he thinks about it, the more it starts to drive him insane.

when your lips meet his, he doesn’t even register it at first. his mind goes into overdrive and it’s like a shock goes through his entire body. he moans into your mouth as he kisses you much more feverishly than either of you were expecting. he doesn’t know what comes over him as he starts to press further and further into your space. all he can think, smell, feel is you, you, you. when you whimper quietly, he moans again in response. it’s the most desperate and needy you think you’ve ever seen riwoo. you move so you’re on his lap, legs wrapped around his hips and arms around his shoulders. he starts to trail his lips down your jaw to your neck, fangs grazing over a spot on your neck that makes you shiver. he inhales sharply as he tastes your skin on his tongue. he drinks your scent in, his cock twitching in his pants.

when you whine and tilt your head back to give him more space, he starts to suck on the spot right under your ear. he wishes he could see your face but he thinks he might die if he pulls his nose away from your neck right now. he softly tongues over the mark he just sucked into your skin. you can feel his heavy breaths fan over your skin. your hands find purchase in his hair, not pulling it but just resting them there. you feel it as his fangs press into your skin, him testing the waters for now as he starts to leave little love bites down your shoulder. riwoo always liked biting you even before he was turned into a vampire, it was his favorite way of marking you. and you always expressed how much you liked it yourself. now was no different but you were even more turned on this time. you grind down onto him, his hips stuttering up into you. when he digs his teeth in a little harder, you keen into him. you feel like he’s edging you as he continues this pattern of softly biting before he presses his fangs in harder but not enough to pierce your skin.

“sanghyuk… please, baby.” you whimper out, knowing you saying his name like that makes him weak. he sighs into your skin as his hands fully wrap around your waist. he runs his hands up your shirt and over your skin as he brings his lips back up to your neck. he inhales your scent again before he sinks his teeth into your skin. you fully moan at the feeling, a warmth like syrup spreading through your veins. riwoo loses himself as your taste fills his senses. he doesn’t even know he’s whimpering out and his hips are grinding into you. your hands scramble in his hair, tugging on it as you whine out again and again. you don’t know what you were expecting but it wasn’t this. you feel like you’ve taken three aphrodisiacs in one sitting. you’re completely consumed by the man attached to your neck, sucking your life force like it’s his own. like he needs the very air you breathe. like he might die if he doesn’t become one with your body. riwoo is faring much worse, almost cumming in his pants. and it only worsens when he feels you pulling on his hair and you grinding yourself down onto him.

he pulls away, pupils blown wide with his lips and fangs stained red. his entire face is flushed and his eyes are still locked on the marks his fangs left in your skin, blood oozing from the still open wound. he leans back in and licks over the marks until the bleeding stops, moaning lewdly at the taste. you’re still swimming in ecstasy as he pulls away again. he looks up to see that you’re flushed and your eyes are barely open. he brings a hand up to your face and you lean into his touch, sighing softly as you make eye contact. a small smile plays on your lips and he feels his heart jump in his chest.

“you’re perfect.” the words tumble from his lips before he can stop them. you can’t find your words quite yet so you lean forward and catch his lips in a heated kiss, not even caring about the taste of your own blood on his lips. when he softly sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, you push him down until he’s laying underneath you. the need to feel every inch of him consumes you as you move your hips over the bulge in his pants. he whines into your mouth and it only urges you on as you both start to undress. his hands roam over every inch of your body as you press kisses to his neck. you leave marks of your own down the expanse of his neck and shoulders. he stops you before you can move down his body any further, causing you to whine in protest but he shakes his head.

“need to taste you, please love.” he says breathlessly. you stare at him a minute before you nod and move so that you’re sitting next to him. he gets up quickly and you switch your positions with you now underneath him. he trails his hands down your sides until they rest on your thighs, watching the way goosebumps raise in their wake. when he spreads your legs apart you understand what he meant by tasting you. your breath hitches as you watch him lower himself between your legs. he starts to kiss and bite at your thighs, leaving hickeys and bite marks, before he sinks his fangs in again. you gasp and arch off the bed, moaning his name loudly. he doesn’t stay there long, suckling at the bite and licking your blood off before moving and doing the same in your other thigh. when he’s satisfied, he moves to get a taste of the juices leaking from your pussy. licking a long stripe up from your entrance and then circling his tongue around your clit. you grip the sheets hard as you moan out and his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs.

you let him consume you whole on that bed again and again until you're both completely spent.

tags : @onedoornet ||

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scourgeofmyownbrain · 3 days ago

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Now, I just want to start by saying I love BabBee and Dadimus. I do, 10/10 would enjoy again, but I think Y'all are neglecting the comedic and story potential of Bumblebee and Optimus meeting as ✨Adults✨ and still becoming a family.

Imagine with me, if you will, Cybertron ravaged by war. Things have fallen to shit. Megatron has been dragging these divorce proceedings out for years. Bumblebee was born around the beginning, give or take a few years, I don't care about specifics. His parents were sadly killed early on in his life due to something war related and Bumblebee has grown up alone. He manages to survive to adulthood, and he joins the Autobots. Bumblebee has been drowning in the consequences of this war since day 1 and he wants to help fix it. If Megatron won't sign the divorce papers then Bumblebee will. Yada Yada Yada Sad Backstory This is so sad, Alexa play The Less I Know The Sexy Back.

Anyhoo, Bumblebee is very good at his job as a scout. Top of the line shit, best of the best, 5 stars would eat here again. He's so good he gets promoted to work directly under Optimus Prime himself. Look at our boy go, we're so proud of him, you get that bag sister. Overtime, Bumblebee manages to become friends with Optimus (and the rest of Team Prime but we're focusing on Optimus rn) and they get pretty close. They're work besties, Bumblebee will make a joke over comms and Optimus will smile and say "I N D E E D, B U M B L E B E E.". Fucking insufferable, the both of them, it's so cute. You know how you can become friends with people twice/half your age when you're working at a hard job? That's what happened here, they've been through the (actual) trenches together, they've bonded.

So at some point, Bumblebee gets seriously injured while under Optimus's command, like some life threatening shit. Whether or not it's voicebox related is universe dependent , so we're not going to specify what happens, but it's serious. Bumblebee survives, obviously, but Optimus feels SO bad about it. Oh the Guilt is strong. When he's visiting Bee, some of this leaks out and Bumblebee tells him that he should not blame himself, Bee is choosing to fight, if he dies while fighting for the good of Cybertron, so be it. Better him than some innocent spark in the future. Plus, Bee only got hurt because of a stupid mistake he made, not anything Optimus did.

Bumblebee says this to try and reassure his friend/superior, but now Optimus feels WORSE. Bumblebee is like half Optimus's age (Bee and Optimus are whatever the Cybertronian equivalent of 20 and 40 are, respectively) and had nothing to do with the start of the war, and he's just as ready to die as Optimus is? And he's blaming himself for his injury? That he only got because Optimus told him to do something? Optimus is NOT going to let that slide, no he's not! Over his dead body! He is not crying in the club rn, what are you talking about.

Optimus has decided Bumblebee can not die now. He has declared, as the 13th Prime, that Bumblebee dying has become illegal and he will do everything in his power to enforce this new Law of The Universe That Should Never Be Broken Ever. Now, whenever the two are on a mission, Optimus tries to protect Bumblebee as best he can. He doesn't want to coddle him, Bumblebee is an adult and Optimus respects that but he'll be damned if he lets Bumblebee get seriously hurt when he could have prevented it. He also starts checking up on him when they're not fighting, asking how his day is going, how a mission went, making sure he see's a medic if he's hurt, making sure he's eating his energon, all that good stuff. Bumblebee is his friend, he's going to make sure he's okay, this is perfectly normal friend behavior. The rest of team prime is doing a similar thing, they all want to make sure Bumblebee is doing okay. Optimus isn't being parental in the slightest, he is being very normal. (Author's note: Optimus and Team Prime are being very Not normal about their emotions. All of them have some level of abandonment issues/lost-a-loved-one-itis and can no longer be normal about people they care about.)

Bumblebee recognizes what Optimus (and the rest of Team Prime) is doing. He knows that Optimus cares for him; he cares for him right back. Bee's not stupid, he knows that he's been getting some special treatment in the form of vaguely parental affection. And you know what? He likes it, a lot. He didn't get any growing up and now he's getting it from a guy he really looks up to, why would he pass this up. Bumblebee tries to return this affection he's being given in any way he can. He makes sure Optimus isn't overworking himself by visiting him while he's working, he makes sure Optimus is eating by inviting him to eat with him, he drags Optimus into the med-bay with him so he see's a medic every once in a while, he tries to make Optimus smile with his dumb jokes and antics, the whole kit and caboodle. Bee sees Optimus as some kind of parental figure, and he's going to make sure his newly acquired pop-pop is okay, just like he's doing for Bee. The Pop-Pop thing was a joke (Kind of). Why is he looking for cybertronian legal papers? That is none of your business, Bee just wants to see them for fun. No he's not drunk, the container of high grade started empty.

Life continues, Optimus (and Team Prime) continues to take care of Bee in his unknowingly parental way and Bumblebee is vibing with his newly acquired dad. It takes a while for anyone to acknowledge the new dynamic, Bumblebee just doesn't explicitly bring it up and Optimus hasn't pulled his head out of his suppressed emotion ass long enough to realize it. And keep in mind that Bumblebee is still an Adult and they are still technically coworkers, they still have a job to do, a war to win. Eventually though, maybe after the Autobots have left Cybertron, Optimus finally processes his emotions and realizes he see's Bee as family.

Optimus: Bumblebee, I care for you deeply, and I've come to see you as family.

Bumblebee: Aw, thank you! I consider you family as well. *Hands OP a data pad* In fact, you adopted me months ago.

Optimus (who did not sign any adoption papers at any time): I did what?

Bumblebee: I forged your signature.

At some point in the future, some guy is being a dick to Optimus, i don't really know what could happen, but Bumblebee steps in to defend Optimus with "That's my dad, you bitch!" and fucking slams the guy and Optimus is just standing there buffering, bc he's still getting used to showing and taking obvious affection and he approches Bee later to ask if he really considers Optimus as his dad. And Bee just kind of stares at him then points at the bumper sticker on OP's chest and says "yes, you idiot, I gave you that sticker for a reason" bc the sticker says "Worlds Best Dad" and it matches the "Worlds Best Son" sticker Bee got for himself and I'm rambling, I'll shut up now.

#i can not be brief to save my life apparently #non-specific universe #this could be any of them I do not care #Optimus (about BB) is this... is this my boy? My Boy?#Bumblebee (about OP) FUCK YEAH I'M HIS BOY #bumblebee #optimus prime #tf bumblebee #tf optimus prime #macadam #macaddam #maccadam #optimus #transformers

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starswritingdorm · 15 hours ago

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“ you make me wanna make you fall in love! ”

synopsis: your three boyfriends just finished their practice and boy do they look fine right after playing..

- listen to Juno by Sabrina Carpenter for better experience -

cw(s): f!reader, poly, P in V, P in A, double penetration, oral sex (m!receiving), kisses, public sex (in the gym), (pink fuzzy) handcuffs, lmk if I missed any

───────── ⋆☆⋆ ─────────

sitting on the bench, I watched as the basketball team was practicing since they have a game against RSA if a few weeks, so every practice is needed. I watched as Ace passed the ball to Jamil then Jamil passing to Floyd which made the basket. I smiled seeing them work together for once. They always fought when passing the ball or trying to make a basket which results in Vargas to yell at them.

They finally found their own rhythm to work with each other and also keep their cool when one of the other doesn’t do what they planned right. After the whistle got blown, insinuating that practice was officially over.

“Great job, everyone! I’ll see all of you on Thursday at 3:40”

Vargas smiled before grabbing his things and leaving the gym. Right after he left, Floyd turned around before jogging over to me with a big smile on his face. “Shrimpy!! You came to watch us today!!” “I did! I finally had the time to” I smiled as floyd hugged me tightly, feeling his sweaty body against mine as floyd kissed my head. “Glad to hear you were free” Jamil came up to us as he had a smile on his face as he pushed some of my hair out of my face.

“Must’ve been hard to get grim off you” Ace said as he sat next to me, pulling me into a side hug as he smiled down at me. “Not really, I just gave him a lot of food and he passed out right after, so he’s just sleeping now” “shrimpy! Did you see how cool I was out there? Way better than these two” “huh!? I beg to differ! I was way better than you two” “all of you are wrong, I was obviously better”. Soon enough the three started to semi-argue about who was better. I couldn’t help but stare at them watching the sweat drip down their neck onto their chest, into their basketball jerseys.

As the three of them kept “arguing”, each of them would take their jersey and wipe their foreheads or neck, revealing each of their toned abs. “Y/N!” “I’m sorry? What?” “You airhead, I asked which one of us was better?” “Hey! Don’t call me an airhead! That’s not a nice way to talk to your girlfriend and besides I have a better way to settle this” “ehhh?? What is it Shrimpy? Better not be boring or I’ll get mad” “what do you have in mind, honey?” Jamil asked, giving me a questioning look.

“well, have you ever tried or considering this way?”

────── ⋆☆⋆

I felt myself letting out whimpers and moans as I felt Floyd thrust at a decent pace inside my hole. “Oh, fuck..!” I moaned as I gripped the bleacher seat. I was on my knees facing into the bleachers as I looked over to my side to see Ace and Jamil coming back from closing the gym door and soon went to my bag to look for a condom in my wallet.

“Eh? Look at this Jamil, I think our girl was planning this, not only did she have condoms in her bag but her pink fuzzy handcuffs we got her”

“My my, I didn’t know she was this horny, bringing stuff that’s for the bedroom only”

“She was begging for this I bet, she’s so needy”

Floyd chuckled after he said that, he had a huge smirk before leaning over to grab the fuzzy handcuffs and soon opening them as he puts one of the cuffs on his wrist and the other on the girl’s wrist so when he pulls his arm, she’s restrained a bit. “Shrimpy’s making a mess all over the bleachers, it’s everywhere” Floyd just chuckled more as he kept thrusting faster into her.

“Floyd, move, im going to be under her to take her pussy” Jamil smirked a bit before ripping the condom open. “Uh who said you’re taking her pussy?!” “Me, because I grabbed the last condom in her bag”. Jamil looked back over as Floyd pulled his arm that had the handcuffs which brought Y/N back with him, but not roughly, enough to make her pull with him. Jamil slide right under her before nodding that he was good. Floyd soon pushed Y/N back to her original position which had her toppled on Jamil.

Jamil bit his lip before sliding his cock into her pussy making her moan out loudly as she took her free hand and placed it on his shoulder to steady herself. “God she’s so fucking tight, I might just bust a but right now” Jamil soon bucked his hips before thrusting into her pussy at a decent pace. Y/N but her lip as she closed her eyes feeling herself get lost in the pleasure before feeling a hand grab her chin and make her look at them.

Ace smirked before he let go of her face and pulled his pants down, revealing his hard cock that sprung out of his pants. “Wanna help me out, baby?” “mmm yes..”. Y/N soon took Ace into her mouth as she sucked and bobbed her head lightly causing Ace to moan out softly. Ace ran a hand through his girl’s hair before tugging on it gently to mover her head at a fast pace.

“Also, Y/N, don’t think this is just it, baby, we’re all getting started, right guys?”

“You know it”

“Mhm..”

#love potions ˏˋ°•*#twisted wonderland smut #twst smut #twst x y/n smut #twst x you smut #twst x reader smut #twisted wonderland x you smut #twisted wonderland x y/n smut #twisted wonderland x reader smut #ace trappola x you smut #ace trappola x y/n smut #ace trappola x reader smut #ace trappola smut #floyd leech x you smut #floyd leech x reader smut #floyd leech smut #jamil viper x you smut #jamil viper x reader smut #jamil viper smut

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mustainegf · 2 days ago

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➜ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟓 — ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 ❞

It was very late, probably too late to be awake, but I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling. James hadn't come out of his room since I'd said that awful thing to him. It hung there still. In my mind, and his.

All I could do was replay it in my head. And that door slam…the kind that echoed in your bones. I hadn't known how much I'd hurt him until Kirk explained it all to me, but now that I knew…well, I knew I'd done something unforgivable.

I let out a heavy sigh, kicked the blanket off my legs, and swung them over the edge of the bed. There was only one thing to do. I had to talk to him no matter what. I needed to apologize.

The hallway was longer than it really was, with each step padding through the silent house as I stopped in front of James's door. I stopped at his door, my hand hovering just above the wood. The music had stopped and it was silent. I readied myself and knocked.

There was nothing. No movement. No sound.

I knocked harder this time. "James?"

I waited. My heart suddenly thudded fast. Maybe he was sleeping. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe I should just…

"What do you want?" His voice was different sounding… I couldn’t really put my finger on it.

I swallowed. My throat was dry. "Can we talk?"

"About what?"

I bit my lip, leaning against the doorframe. "Kirk told me… about… y’know."

Silence.

"I didn't know," I said lamely, my voice softer than I’d ever gifted to James. "About your mom, about… everything. I…look, I feel really bad about what I said earlier. I didn't mean to… I didn't know."

More silence. The creepy kind that made my skin crawl.

When James finally did speak, his voice was flat, even dismissive. "Doesn't matter."

I scowled, putting my ear closer to the door, trying to catch any suggestion of emotion in his tone. "It does matter. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just-" I let my breath out, sliding down the wall until I was sitting with my back against the door, knees up to my chest. "I was just being a jerk... But I didn't mean to say that.”

He said nothing, and it was in the silence that I felt his pain. But I needed to fill that space between us with something real.

“My dad left when I was nine…" I said, looking into my lap, into my hands. "He just walked out one day. I remember my mom crying on the couch for hours after he had gone… but she never told me why. He just wasn't there anymore."

I didn’t know why I’d told him that, he needed to know he wasn't the only one that was left behind.

"I didn't get it then…. I thought it was something I did, something I could've fixed if I'd been better or quieter or… I don't know. He didn't even say goodbye. Just vanished.”

I let my head fall back against the door, and the cool wood eased a pang into my scalp. "It's stupid, but it still messes with me sometimes. Like, always waiting for people to leave, even when they're right in front of me."

Silence.

I really thought that maybe he wasn't even going to say anything, and so I started to feel stupid, just sitting there, spilling my guts to this person who probably wasn't even listening.

But then, after what had felt like years, I heard a soft rustle from behind the door and then a question.

"Are you okay?”

His voice was louder now, not as muffled. He sounded like he was sitting on the other side of the door, leaning against it almost, and something about that sent a weird warmness through me… I pushed it away.

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Yeah," I whispered. "I'm okay.”

There was silence. Then, softly as if he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know, "Are you sure?"

I smiled slightly at the softness in his voice. It was so not him, at least to me anyways. "Yeah, I'm sure."

I wasn't, obviously. But for some reason, hearing him ask had made me feel a little more safe, like maybe I wasn't as messed up as I thought.

I'd turned and hesitated, asked the question to which I wasn't sure I wanted an answer. "Are you okay?"

Silence. I could have sworn I heard him thinking on the other side of the door, the slight rise of his breath, the shifting of his weight against the wood. Then in a much softer voice than before he replied,

"I'm okay.”

He wasn't convinced. But… It wasn't a lie either. It just was… enough.

Then we sat in silence. It was awkward of course, but somehow a little less so than before. I leaned my ear back against the door, wondering what he was thinking, if he too was as confused, yet comforted by this as much as I was.

"I didn't mean what I said," I went on to speak suddenly. My voice was sweet. "About your mom. I'm really sorry, James…”

There was a pause, and I expected him to brush it off again, to tell me it didn't matter like he had before. But instead, I heard him sigh…

"Yeah," he said, his voice quiet. "I know.”

"I guess we're both pretty messed up, huh?" I said, trying to lighten the mood, but my voice came out alot more vulnerable than I'd intended.

Beyond the door, James let out a weak laugh, almost silent. "Yeah," he whispered again. "Guess so."

I smiled, something inside my chest flipping over, something I couldn't place. It wasn't like we were suddenly friends or anything, but there was a thread of trust now.

"I'm glad you're okay," I whispered, not knowing I said it aloud.

I stopped then, and in the instant those words escaped from my lips, my face flushed to a hot heat. That was not spoken on purpose.

James didn't say anything immediately, and part of me felt like maybe I had said too much.

"Thanks..."

I bit my lip, the heat spreading through me again, as it had before, but without knowing what to do with it. We only sat there for a few more minutes, neither of us talking, but this silence wasn't like earlier… the awkward silence that I mean. This was something else, something almost. sweet..?

But I knew eventually I had to go. I wasn't just going to sit outside his door all night, no matter how big a part of me didn't want to break this weird connection we'd found.

"I should… I should probably get to bed," I said awkwardly.

"Yeah," James agreed, his voice just as awkward. "Me too.”

I got up slowly and, brushing off my pjs, for some reason, I didn’t immediately walk away. Putting my hand softly on the door-as if somehow I could show through the wood something that I had not said aloud.

"Goodnight, James," I whispered.

"Goodnight.”

Not much, but a start.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @killazilla777 @lcveslils @metallicaloverrr @frann4521 @ilovepapahet @morphica @ilovewrinklyoldmeninbands @hetfield89 @tupajiccc @fisshfissher @saturnitzy — comment or dm to join the taglist!

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krispdreemurr · 3 days ago

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(apologies if this has been asked before but) headcanons/thoughts on how kris feels about spamton? i personally see it as both feelings of pity and a cautionary tale of sorts, but im interested in your perspective

[tangled mass of screaming]

they started out obviously freaked out and not wanting to be there, like some man is just screaming at them and they want to leave. when it clicked that he knew things, though, they quickly got Desperate and attached. no one knows anything about what's going on (except maybe Ralsei who at bare minimum isn't helping), and he seemed to 1. understand 2. want to help and 3. be going thru similar shit himself. so they kind of force themself to ignore the red flags (agreeing to go into the shop alone, asking if they're friends (that second one breaks my heart), going to the basement alone, etc).

when it turned out he was in fact more locked in than ever and then he turned on them, they fucking shut down. just look at them during the cutscenes sometime - after he knocks them down, they don't even Move until the soul switch happens and the battle starts. (i half think that like if the "gaster intervened to force the swap" theory is true, it had to happen because Kris was just not participating and was kind of ready to give up.) they'd managed to accomplish nothing, the situation was inescapable, and the one person they thought understood wanted to kill them for something they don't even want. definitely some level of "if he wants it so bad he can have it" bitterness going on until they manage to rally.

but. but. on pacifist especially they find a way to try and help again. even with the betrayal, they still want one of them to get out. and he notices! he thanks them! they can be friends! kris can manage to change one thing for the better and help one person!

yeah.

they're heartbroken. they feel powerless and lost and back to being adrift. this one person who even Noticed and all they could do was hurt each other in the end. they're not friends. kris isn't a friend to anyone. not like this.

even if they hate him a bit sometimes. even if they think he should hate them. they wish he could have been free. that's all.

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romans-empire · 2 days ago

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It's no secret that Clover and Flowey have a very apparent power imbalance. Especially with Flowey in control of the timeline and acting as Clover's save point. So, it's pretty given that Flowey has the upper hand and most power in this duo. But I don't see anyone ever talking about how Clover goes against this power imbalance in other routes besides the vengeance route.

Starting off with the vengeance route, this is the most cut and dry portrayal of Clover's defiance towards Flowey. After mercilessly going through the Underground, enacting vengeance left and right, and defeating Zenith Martlet, Flowey unintentionally reveals his plan and tries to load another save file only to realize that Clover's taken control of it. Right then and there, the power dynamic shifts, Clover is the one in control and Flowey is the defenseless one. This is further affirmed when Clover kills Flowey as he insults and degrades them as a way to assert control and dominance over them, which obviously doesn't work.

On the topic of the vengeance route, I would like to shine some focus on the overall dynamic here. As much as Clover is following through with Flowey's suggestions of straightforwardly going through the Underground to get to the castle with no regard for anyone, he is not in control of them. He may be getting what he wants but it's in a way that doesn't follow through with his plan. Like Flowey said, Clover was reckless. They attract too much attention with their actions and that won't do for Flowey who wanted to attract as little attention as possible. Even when the two are the most similar in terms of goals and attitude, Clover does not allow Flowey to dictate their actions and when push comes to shove, they will assert their power.

In the neutral route, Clover, no matter what LV they are, defies Flowey by accepting Martlet's offer to live with her. In turn, Flowey kills Martlet and absorbs their soul. We know the psychological horror mindfuckery that is the Meta Flowey fight takes place in Flowey's mind as he tries to make them give up control, yet Clover never does. They resist all the way to the end and even go further by snooping in Flowey's memories. Clover never once gives in or falters to Flowey, they will not allow him to have control over them. They will not give him control over their soul no matter what incomprehensible horrors Flowey throws at them.

In the end, Flowey has to give up and reset the timeline because they would resist Flowey every time. I would like to remind you that it's implied that Flowey did this multiple times and never once did he succeed. For someone who doesn't have much determination to control the timeline, Clover has a lot of determination to resist Flowey in absorbing their soul.

Honestly, out of the three routes, the Pacifist route has the least obvious show of defiance from Clover. It's still there and very much so, but it tends to get overlooked due to the nature of the storyline of the Pacifist route. Clover's defiance comes with their choice to connect with the other characters of the game. Time and time again, Flowey tries to dissuade Clover from interacting and forming bonds with the others. He attempts to isolate them by repeating that he's their only friend and to ditch the others when they accompany Clover, like with Martlet when Clover first crashes from Ava. Flowey tells Clover that they're better than the Wild East and urges them to leave as fast as possible and head straight to the castle. And each time, Clover ignores him and continues to form these bonds anyways.

The last act of defiance against Flowey is Clover's decision to sacrifice their soul. It's indirect sure, but it is possibly the biggest 'fuck you' to Flowey. Clover probably didn't mean it as such but the point still stands. Despite this, Flowey acknowledges them as a friend, recognizes their sacrifice. And so, the power dynamic shifts again, this time to a lesser degree. Of course there's still the Omega Flowey fight but even then Clover goes against him, refusing his control and actions towards torturing the next human that falls.

Overall, despite what some of the fandom believe, Clover is not completely helpless against Flowey. As much as he tells that to himself and even us the player, Flowey is not in control of Clover nor is he so powerful that they cannot fight against him. Clover has a sense of agency that Flowey cannot take away. Clover is free to make their own choices and he cannot stop them. Sure Flowey manipulates them but when has that ever succeed in the long run? When has that ever fully brought Clover to his side? Flowey may be the one with the most power in this relationship but that doesn't stop Clover from wrestling out of his control. Clover is free like a bird and no cage will ever bind them to Flowey.

#I've talked about this a bit in one of my reblogs but this is an in-depth version of it #Technically Clover does listen to Flowey in the Flawed Pacifist ending but I hardly call that a win #I may be reading too much into it but who cares? I'm absolutely insane for these two and I want to study them under a microscope #I could've written more of my Lucky Patch fic drafts but instead I decide to analyze them in a semi-essay. I have really bad priority issue #undertale yellow #lucky patch #uty clover #clover #flowey #clover uty #🍀🌼#🌼🍀#🍀🌼 ramblings #← This is the tag for all my Lucky Patch/UTY ramblings including ones I do in the reblogs of someone else's post #uty

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bloodyknucklesforme · 2 days ago

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Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!reader

Chapter 1

After a series of misfortunes you've found yourself in debt to Arno, a human trafficker operating in London. You work at his club, dancing and escorting, only to find yourself deeper and deeper in debt. One night you arrive at Nikolai's. He's handsome, abrasive, gross, tender at times and he might be the most dangerous man you've ever met.

cw: cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, cockwarming, body inspection, piv, Nikolai is evil but also kind in his own weird way

Masterpost

"Clothes off... all of them," A thick Russian accent said from the intercom. You looked up at the camera in the corner. He must have seen you hesitate, "I already paid. Don't waste my money."

It never got easier. The degradation and humiliation of stripping for strange men, being used like a toy and forced to pack yourself back up into your box till next time. It'd been almost a year now. As you dropped your coat to the floor your anger and shame hit the ceiling. You'd trusted your ex, he promised to help you when you lost your job, when you couldn't pay rent, when you needed to borrow money. You moved to London for better opportunities now you were in some stranger's house waiting to be used. You'd lost track of how deep in debt you were to him and his 'friends'. 10k? 20k? It made your stomach clench.

"Don't cry. You'll fuck up your makeup." is what those cunts back at the club would always say before you got in the car to a client's.

Marcus, your ex, now trafficker, hammered it in that this was a very important client. Probably another criminal. A rich one at that. His house was more of a warehouse. Large, stretching for almost an entire block. Nondescript from the outside beyond the vault like door and fancy keypad, one you were given a code to on the way there.

"Turn around," he ordered when the last of your clothes hit the floor. Checking for a wire or weapons you guessed. Knowing you were being watched like this made your skin crawl but it was better than being groped immediately on entry.

The room you were locked in was more of a safe room with steel walls and thick doors. One leading outside and the other leading further inside. No windows, just the camera, an intercom panel and a white gift box that sat on the floor.

"New clothes in the box. Put them on."

It was a too small lacy bra and matching too small panties. A washed baby blue, all mesh so you were fully exposed. There was a loud buzzer and the door unlocked.

Inside was nice. Made to look like a palace. Wood floors covered in large red patterned rugs. The walls had large paintings you recognized from an art history class years ago. You couldn’t tell if they were real or not. The details were obscured by the darkness. There was only one light on in the hallway, a door was opened down the way. It was a maw that beckoned you toward it.

You stood at the threshold. The living room was equally extravagant. The walls were painted a wine red lacquer, almost mirror like. The ceiling had complex molding, painted the same color as the walls. The windows were all blacked out with heavy velvet curtains. It felt cold in this room. To the left was a large bar with more bottles than you'd ever seen in your life. To the right was a large couch and projector screen. Soviet era antiques were scattered about. It felt more like a palace than a home. A palace for some dark god, one that ruled pain and death.

"You're prettier than the photo." You jumped at the voice. He was so quiet you didn't notice him on the couch. He was big, obviously tall but muscular with wide shoulders. He had a layer of fat that only worked to increase his intimidating stature. Dark hair slicked back with a widow's peak. Stubble covered the bottom part of an aged face. He wasn't old, older yes but whatever business he was in had aged him around the eyes. Dark eyes that hid any emotion from you.

He snapped his fingers and motioned for you to walk over. He had a cigar in the other hand. The smell filled the room.

"Good. You follow instructions. More than I can say for the last one Arno sent me." He motioned for you to spin around again, giving your ass a light spank and laughing when you yelped. "You fuck anyone else today?"

"No," you shook your head. He blew cigar smoke at you, watching the silver bisect around your middle.

"Good. I'd hate to waste more time cleaning you out. They never do a good job at that." He put his cigar in the ashtray beside him. "On your knees."

"What's your name?" He asked, making space between his legs for you. You answered softly, a lie. Never give them anything was what another girl told you. Give anything and they’ll take until there’s nothing left. Even your bones could be used to pick teeth. He held your chin between two fingers, moving your head around like a doll. "Open your mouth."

He leaned forward, looking inside you. A thumb hooked over your bottom row of teeth. It tasted like tobacco and sweat. You'd learned to hold back gags long ago.

"I don't like girls with rotten teeth." He ran a finger over your teeth, top and bottom, occasionally pressing on one. He frowned, "Stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you."

A lie, most likely. Men always said that before fucking you, like they could believe you were there willingly, like they didn't pick you out of a catalogue of girls. You clenched your fists in your lap and willed the fear out of your bones. Docile thing, something to be eaten to the core. You were always good. Arno controlled his girls with an iron hand. You’d heard the beatings other girls got when they disappointed. There were clients who had girls sent to them yet never returned them. Disappointing girls got sent there. Sacrifices to the gods of gold. Arno always wore gold.

"I like girls who like you." He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your jaw shut. "I paid to have you till morning. Make it worth it."

He leaned back with a sigh, grabbing a remote and turning on the projector. A hockey game flicked onto the screen, the noise from the stadium coming from speakers you never saw.

"Is there...uh...anything you want me to call you?" Men liked all sorts of names. Daddy, Master, Sir. Rarely creative, often repeated. Some used their real name but not many, no one wants the risk of their whore becoming too mouthy.

He looked down at you, like he already forgot you were there.

"Sir, when you answer my questions. Kolya, when I fuck you." He undid his belt and spread his legs wider. You knew your job. He picked up his cigar again as you undid the zipper on his pants.

He laid a hand on the back of your head, pressing down your hair. "Just keep me warm for now. Don't want to miss anything."

You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. He was thick and uncut. Intimidating even half hard. He didn't push as you worked your throat open, slowly bobbing your head. Sometimes men would ply you with liquor, help you to relax a bit more. You wish he had. The mix of salts from precum and skin filled your senses. A hesitant hand moved to rest on his thigh for leverage. He didn't shake you off.

You glanced up at him when you took him to the hilt. Hoping for some sign of approval, not for your ego but the sake of your security. Men in pleasure were less likely to be agitated.

"Good job, Kotenok." He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek, gold rings cooling your skin. He let you rest against his thigh, nose tickled by his dark pubes. Cigar smoke, the drone of the tv and the blood rushing around your head started to calm your nerves. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

He thrusted lazily during every commercial break. A hand holding your head steady against his thigh. He chuckled when you gagged. Everything was in Russian so you couldn't follow the game beyond his angry or excited, more so angry, ad libs.

He finally sighed and turned off the tv. He tapped your cheek softly.

"Kotenok, I need you to make me feel better about my team losing."

He made you walk ahead of him, directing you towards his bedroom. His dark eyes dug into your spine. A step below you and still a head taller. This is what a deer feels when the wolf stalks it.

His bedroom was dark, a single lamp sat on the side table. The walls were a lime washed white. The bed was antique, made of carved dark wood. The sheets were white silk with a matching comforter. It was unmade. More paintings lined the walls haphazardly. When you were younger you used to cut pictures from magazines and tape them up to your own bedroom walls. He had seemingly done the same.

You crawled onto the bed, swaying your hips as enticingly as you could manage. A hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you back to the edge of the bed. You yelped as his hips hit your ass, cock bouncing against your cheeks.

"Remember what I told you, Kotenok?" He pulled your panties down, calloused hands scraping against your thighs. "What to call me?"

"Kolya."

"Good girl." He dragged a hand down your back, knuckles bumping every ridge of your spine. You tried your best not to fidget under his touch, not to let the chill of the air or tickle of his fingers get to you. You heard clothing hit the floor behind you. You stared ahead, picking out one of the paintings to focus on.

A young woman stared back at you, perched in a carriage and dressed in black, a feathered hat on her head. She looked upset, like you were unworthy of looking at her and you should avoid your gaze.

Two fingers felt around your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine. You weren't wet enough, you knew that. You clung to the comforter, waiting for pain.

"I told you to stop shaking. I said I wouldn't hurt you." He rubbed a hand across your ass. He sounded annoyed. You closed your eyes and pressed your face against the silk. It smelled clean and floral.

There was the snap of plastic and cold fingers prodding at your cunt.

"Shhh...I don't break the things I buy." He didn't admonish you for hiding your face as he scissored you open. He was almost tender, rubbing your hip with slow circles. His fingers curved to press against that soft spot inside you, pulling soft whines from you. "There we go, Kotenok."

You were pulled back again till your pelvis was hanging off the edge of the bed, toes curling around the plush of the rug. He ran the head of his cock between your folds, nudging at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, groaning loudly as you whimpered and fidgeted. Despite the preparation it was a stretch and burn. He held you down by your hips.

"Good girl," he purred with one last push. The head of his cock bumped against your cervix , causing you to clench in pain. It only spurred him to start thrusting. Your face dragged against the sheets as he rocked your entire body. His thrusts were hard and deep, like he wanted to mark the inside of you.

"Close your eyes and let it happen. Most of them don't last long anyways," a girl said to you early on. You didn't remember her name or face anymore.

You forced out moans every time his hips smacked against your ass. Arching your back so he could think he was pleasuring you. There was a modicum of pleasure, chasing it was too much effort, especially with unreceptive partners.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand dipping between your thighs. He pinched your clit till you cried out. His chin tucked against your shoulder, pushing his full weight against you. His body was hot and the thick hair on his chest scratched at your skin.

"I don't like liars, Kotenok." He rubbed harsh circles till you moaned and shuddered. He hissed, "Cum on my cock or be quiet."

His other hand grabbed your shoulder and hauled you back up with him. Your back still pressed against his chest. Still rubbing your clit, he hooked an arm under yours and rested it between your breasts while holding your chin and forcing you to look upwards. There was a mirror on the ceiling. He smirked at you in the reflection. You dug your nails into your thighs, tears springing up in your eyes. It was horrific and erotic and disgusting and ugly and it made you wet. Some last threads of dignity snapping under the image of him fucking you.

"Say my name," He panted.

"Kolya...please...Kolya."

"Want to come on my cock? Beg me for it." He licked your ear.

"Kolya please...please Kolya. I want to come. Please. Kolyaaaaa!"

You watched yourself as he forced you up to your peak, clenching around his cock. He laughed harshly and smacked your pussy. He held you up as your legs failed to support you any longer. You came hard, grabbing at his arms, manicured nails digging into his muscles. You would have thrashed about if he hadn’t had such a tight grip on you.

He growled something in Russian before biting down on your shoulder. He filled you to the brim, his cock twitching inside your still clenching pussy. His cum was a familiar warm that leaked out around his cock and down your leg. He let go and you fell face forward against the bed.

"Catch your breath. I still want my money's worth." He patted the back of your thigh. You hiccuped softly as you regained sense. Limbs feeling heavy, your whole body stretched to its limit.

You turned your head as he sat down a carafe of water and two glasses on the side table.

“Need any?” He asked, filling his own glass. You nodded shyly. It was the first time you really saw him naked. He had a litany of tattoos across his chest and arms, too dark to make out details but you could see angels, skulls, cyrillic writing, a fighter jet, the virgin mary and a star on each of his knee caps. Near his groin was a pentagon with letters you couldn’t make out. A gold chain with an Orthodox cross hung around his neck. A layer of black body hair covered him, darkening everything even further.

“Thank you.” You gulped down your glass, water dribbling down your chin. He wiped it away as he took your glass.

“On your hands and knees now,” He said, pushing back his hair. You faced the woman again, glaring back at her as you presented yourself to him. The mattress dipped behind you. He said something in Russian before pushing back inside you.

You lost count of how many times he fucked you. You were pliant and submissive, following his lead as he bent you into whatever position he wanted. He was more virile than you expected. More gentle than you anticipated with a grossness you expected. The next time you asked for water he spit his glass into your mouth. He pinched and pulled but never bent you so hard you broke. Gagging, crying and cumming but never sobbing or screaming.

You woke up sore. Dried cum and bite marks covering your body. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, watching you sleep. He was already showered and dressed in a silk robe.

"You’ll shower before you leave. Scrub well." He slapped your ass before shutting the bathroom door and locking it from the outside.

Another extravagant room. Oxblood tiles and heated floors. A large marble counter and a mirror taking up most of the wall behind it.

It was a large shower but more importantly the water was hot. Not warm but hot. You could have cum just from feeling the jets against your skin. The body wash was luxurious - sweet and woody. You scrubbed well. These kinds of men didn't want their DNA wandering all over the place.

There was a towel left for you but no clothes and your lingerie from last night was missing as well. He did leave a cup of tea for you on the bedside table. There were painkillers too. You took it all in one scalding gulp.

You kept the towel wrapped around yourself as you walked back downstairs. You found him through the one open door in the hall. He was sitting at the dining table, typing on a laptop, cup of espresso cooling next to him.

"Come here, Kotenok." He tugged your towel till it fell to the floor. He tapped the inside of your thigh till you spread them. "Don't start shaking again. Need to make sure you cleaned up well."

You bit your lip. He spread you open with two fingers, tilting his head as he inspected you. You yelped when he forced a dry finger inside you, moving it around and dragging it against your walls. He pulled it out and stared at his finger for a moment before sticking in his mouth.

"Good girl." He nodded and got a money clip from his pocket. "I like you. I'll see you again in a week."

He handed you five hundred pounds. You stared at King Charles in disbelief. You'd been tipped before but never this much. You would have to hide it. You didn’t know where but you had to. If he kept tipping you like this it could make a dent in your debt to Marcus and Arno.

"Thank you, sir."

"Did I ask you a question?" He didn't look away from his computer.

"No...umm...Thank you, Kolya." An offering of affection, appease the god and receive bountiful gifts.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. An actual smile.

"If Arno takes that from you, tell me. That's your money. I paid him enough as is. Now go get dressed. Your car is here." He pointed back towards the front door.

You hurried off, afraid to go back to Marcus and Arno but also too scared of what Kolya would do if you delayed.

Here is the rewritten part 1! Part 2 will go up in the next few days. If you have any questions, comments, thirst messages about this fic please send them. I love talking about Nikolai and his Kotenok.

#nikolai x reader #nikolai x f!reader #nikolai cod #dark fic #my writing #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #pomegranate #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty x reader

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cconfusedkat · 13 hours ago

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💤 YELLOW! I am Kat-- or Ameer-- or Ameera-- or Sydney-- YEAH. You get the gist of it ^v^;; Buuuuut on this blog I am mainly known as Kat and Sydney ～ ( °∇^)］my pronouns are he/hxm/they (+ lamb & spider neos), but moots can use she/her for me. :-3c mascneu terms are Def preferred ,,, idm fem terms but Still,

💤 Its basically a surprise for me to keep a pinned post or same layout for more than three months... wwww... BUT I'm making this it anyways just cuz I think I'm comfy w my style ,, ANYWHOM! Lets get into this blogs shtick!!!

💤 This is my only blog (for now) so quite LITERALLY everything goes here,,, i will spam reblog, infodump, create many textposts, share blinkies, share my art (doodles mainly) tagged with fandoms or untagged, and just a little place for me to be comfortable and unmask with. I will use tone tags (/j, /srs, /hj, /nf, /silly, /p mainly) for my comforts so if you dont want them used with you let me know 👍👍

*To Be Frank I am not very interactive,, I follow over a thousand ppl and have constant different content everyday on my dash ,, so I usually interact better with people through checking my activity box and going through accs SKSKSKSKS

💤 I am disabled. I use a screenreader sometimes for my accessibility, so i dont ALWAYS typically rely on alt text but fonts are inaccessible for me ;;v;; i am often chronically fatigued and have a processing disorder + semiverbality so Please be patient with me 😭😭 i have to reread stuff in english a lot

💤💤 LASTLY.... I can go from being chronically online to being chronically offline and not knowing the latest hit social media trend . HELP

👎 Regarding a few boundaries: Do Not flirt with me (I am taken by my qp + I'm aro), i don't particularly like jokes making fun of my grammar and slow internet, you are allowed to use my art for things as long as you specify it's not yours/credit me, do not be overly sexual with me (just cuz I draw nsfw doesn't give you the right to. y'know. talk weirdly with me. thanks), please NEVER call me the t slur or anything intersexist as a joke (even if you yourself are intersex and or transfem), and refrain from directly mentioning to me anything about father issues and/or abusive fathers. Sorry

*I am obviously not going to share all my disabilities, but, BPD + NPD + autism + DID effect me the most regarding my behaviors ,, I only ask for people to be patient with me

👍 Positive boundaries: I will frequently tell my friends how much i love them (with the exception if theyre not actually okay with that, please let me know) I am OKAY with joking around meanly (kys jokes & homophobic jokes) as long as you yourself are okay with making them. I love receiving spam reblogs and likes, don't be afraid to use my inbox or talk to me! I prefer mentions > dms, but if its urgent you can totally dm me here! I just wont Really have energy to respond depending on the day,, you can reach me faster on discord (beelektra)

Now is My time to be Annoying (lovingly) AHEMAHEMAHEM ,, I don't rlly post abt them All consistently but just know they are there

🎉💜 my special interests (not in order) ; garten of banban, pizza tower, bendy and the dark revival, poppy playtime, cult of the lamb, the great comet of 1812, hamilton, camp here and there, will wood, love chunibyo & other delusions, the guy who didn't like musicals, hatchetfield, brainpop, puss in boots, ihnmaims, beastars, deadpool, spongebob, starlight express, CATS (1998), FNAF, Beetlejuice, realicide/centricide, political ideologies, sharks , snow leopards , sociology

🎉💜 current hyper fixes ; ghost (the band), pressure, jujutsu kaisen, cult of the lamb, mouthwashing, murder drones, hatchetverse & starkid

ND THOSE ARE ONLY MY SPINTERESTS ND HYPER FIXES!! I def like more things that aren't just those two big things :-]c I love animangas and reading a lot of Yuri and yaoi ^_^ mascot horror is my favorite thing Ever. I also rlly like Minecraft series stuff , and I rollerblade as a lil hobby of mine ,,

❤️‍🩹 [my f/o's (fictional others) are the following ; alhaitham, kaveh, dottore, neuvillette, dogday, miss delight, shamura, stinger flynn, eyefestation, elektra, brake van, munkustrap, ruin eclipse] ❤️‍🩹

❤️‍🩹 [familial others ; furina, lyney, bendy/ink demon, boris & allison] ❤️‍🩹

❤️‍🩹 *These are all related to my found fam , or my own source mems Lol ,, I am a fictive but I'd rather keep my sources to myself? ^^;; ❤️‍🩹

TAPS MY PAWS TOGETHER ,,,, OK LEMME JUST. PULL THESE OUT NOW,

★☆ My tags are the following:

#sydneys doodles (all my art nd doodles here, some untagged some tagged ofc)

#sydneys thoughts (My Yapping)

#sydneys writing (either Fics I posted , wips , or writing advice I save)

#sydneys asks (asks answered by me)

#sydneys blinkies (blinkies I've made)

#sydneys videos (videos I share from my games (screen recordings) or videos I make)

#sydneys wips (wips having to do with either writing or art)

#for the kat (things made for me! usually tagged a day after or immediately depending if I forget or not)

My other links are toyhouse, artfight, ao3, and you can friend me on discord as beelektra !! <<33 you can def ask me for my other socials since I'm almost always using twitter nd other stuff typically more :>c

Toodaloo～ (*≧з≦)

#MASTERPOST #That's all I can think of for now! Yes I did want to write this much LOL #I'd prefer if you'd like this post after reading... but to each their own :'-3.#I may have forgotten other things but that's basically what I have out for me

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jetii · 3 days ago

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Hehehehehhehe

I think they’re both under the impression that they’re just being friendly even though they’re so obviously not 💀

Cody has lowkey known about Rex’s feelings for ages. Not sure if they’ve ever talked about it directly (if they did there was probably alcohol involved), but Cody believes Rex would never actually do anything about it, so he’s going to let the little things slide. Plus he’d much rather have fun, playful Goldie around than scary, reckless Goldie, and Rex brings that out of her.

Anakin….Anakin is a little too self-absorbed and preoccupied to be paying much attention to them rn, and he’s probably still hung up on the possibility of her and Obi-Wan maybe being a thing/were a thing. Maybe he'll figure it out eventually omg

You def don't need to know this arc. i'm blowing straight through it into the next thing (which i'm SO excited for for my own selfish reasons omg). I just needed to get Obi-Wan out of here for a bit so we could have some Rex time 😭😂 Null does exist, and it is nearby Mandalore, and there is a castle owned by Dooku there, but it's a footnote in like one lore book so I'm just using it for my own fun.

Lastly yes Rex has been such a needed support for her 😭 he's such a good and deeply caring person, and I think he would've done that for anyone he cares about to some degree. But because it's her and he knows her history and how she is, plus with how in tune they seem to be, it hits him a lot harder. It probably bothers him a lot that this is a problem he can't solve, but he knows the best thing he can do is be there for her even if she says she doesn't want him to.

And there def would've been a significant Force event if she wasn't so drained from healing him right before. They lucked out there fr 🙏

Thank you so much for taking the time to type literally anything omg!! Ily and i hope you feel better soon so you can enjoy the rest of your vacay 💙💙💙

Event Horizon

Chapter Sixteen: Wishful Thinking

Chapter WC: 10,811

Chapter Tags/Warnings: minor blood/wound care, major grief/mourning themes

A/N: A lot going on in this one, but I couldn’t stand to break it into two chapters. This is one of the heaviest chapters so far, but also one of the sweetest. Hopefully that makes up for it somewhat!

And just getting it out now that I don’t plan on talking about Satine much in this fic, so please don’t set your hopes too high lol.

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

You’ve never met Duchess Satine Kryze, but she must be a beautiful and formidable woman to have such a hold on Obi-Wan after all these years.

He's always spoken of her with the utmost respect and detachment, but you can sense the truth that lies beneath. It doesn’t surprise you that he's the one who has been sent to Mandalore in the wake of the attack on a Republic cruiser by a Mandalorian saboteur, leaving you in command of the 212th.

It does, however, annoy you.

Though, not in the way you expect. In your youth, you were jealous of her, the thought of Obi-Wan being with another woman had caused an ugly, green-eyed monster to rear its head within you. As time has passed, and especially since your conversation in the gardens, that feeling has faded. Replaced by something else entirely.

Concern.

You've had a bad feeling about the situation on Mandalore ever since Obi-Wan told you about his assignment, and it's one that's been difficult to let go of. Obi-Wan is a good man, an excellent General, a brilliant tactician and negotiator. But as his history with the Duchess, and yourself, has proven, his ability to remain objective when it comes to the safety and welfare of those close to him is sorely lacking.

Your worry is compounded by the fact that the 212th is being called into action. A force of Separatist droids has sprouted up like weeds on Null, a short jump from Mandalore, and the Third Army is being sent to deal with them. As a Jedi, you can't ignore the call to arms, but as a friend, you're hesitant to leave Obi-Wan without the support of the 212th. You can only hope that he will have the clarity of mind to focus on the bigger picture, rather than the smaller, more personal details.

Not that you were unfamiliar with such distractions.

Null is a lush planet, filled with dense tropical forests and dramatic mountain ranges. It's also the home of one of Dooku's many retreats, an extravagant manor built into the side of a mountain, with a sprawling view of the valley and city below. A city that's now crawling with battle droids. An orbital bombardment is out of the question, and the Separatist defenses are proving difficult to penetrate.

So, instead of a quick, clean victory, it's going to be a messy, bloody slog.

You sigh and look down at the tactical display, your brow furrowed. You'd woken early this morning, arriving to the strategy room long before everyone else, and you've spent the past few hours pouring over the reports, trying to come up with a plan of attack. And a plan for how you can get inside the castle and deal with Dooku once and for all.

Yaddle's message is still fresh in your mind, her voice still ringing in your ears. Her words are still etched into your heart. You know what you have to do, and the temptation to do so is growing with each passing day. With each new casualty. With each loss.

But there's still the war to contend with, as well as the possibility of failure. If you attempt to go after Dooku and fail, if he gets the upper hand and kills you, the galaxy will lose a Jedi Master. And if you manage to kill him and survive, you will lose the moral high ground. The Order could brand you a murderer, and that would spell the end for your career, your life, and your friendships. There would be no going back.

No, it's not worth the risk.

At least, not yet.

You're so lost in thought that you don't hear the door slide open behind you, nor do you hear the footsteps approaching. It isn't until Rex clears his throat that you realize he's standing behind you.

You don’t startle, and it should surprise you, but it doesn’t. You're too used to Rex's presence by now, the warmth of his energy in the Force as familiar as the sun rising over Coruscant each morning, and the normal tension that comes with someone stepping into your space is absent. Instead, a sense of calm washes over you.

Your shoulders relax, your heartbeat slows, and a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You don't turn around, not yet. You continue staring at the hologram of the valley, letting the feeling settle in.

It's strange. You'd expected this closeness between the two of you to fade once you'd returned to Coruscant. But it hasn't. If anything, it's grown stronger, and it's no longer something that only occurs in the safety of an empty meadow or a darkened hallway, away from the prying eyes of the Jedi Council and the GAR. Now, it's everywhere. In every moment. No matter what the two of you are doing.

You've tried not to read too much into it, tried not to dwell on the implications. But deep down, you know the truth. Rex isn't just a distraction. He's something else, something more.

But you're not ready to admit that. Not yet.

But that doesn't mean that you're not happy to see him.

"Good morning, Rex," you greet him, a hint of amusement in your tone, and you move your fingers across the display, changing the angle of the hologram. "Come to save me from myself?"

"How did you know it was me?" he asks. His voice is low, his tone teasing. He's close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

"Don't tell me you were trying to sneak up on me," you tease, glancing over your shoulder and giving him a wry smile.

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head. "I haven't forgotten what happened the last time I tried."

You smirk, remembering the incident on Felucia. It feels like a lifetime ago that you were holding him at the end of your blade, your eyes locked on his. There's a glimmer of amusement in his eyes now, but the memory still stings. You can still see mark on his pauldron under the layers of blue paint, a reminder of your recklessness, your paranoia.

"Neither have I," you mutter, and then you turn back to the hologram, tilting your head and studying the display. "What brings you here so early?"

"I could ask you the same thing. I’m always the first one here," Rex says. He steps around to the side of the holotable, leaning against the edge. His head tilts as he regards you, his hands behind his back, and his eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail. "You look like you haven't slept."

"I've had a lot on my mind," you admit with a sigh.

A slight frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, his gaze flickering to the table between the two of you, before returning to yours.

"Anything I can help with?" he offers. "Or, are you just trying to show the rest of us up by coming up with the perfect plan before anyone else arrives?"

You chuckle and shake your head, the corner of your mouth turning upwards. "Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid."

"I see," he replies, and a hint of disappointment flashes across his face, before vanishing. He nods at the holotable, and then, hesitates. "Do you...do you want to talk about it? Maybe it'll help. Clear your head."

You pause, considering his offer, and then, decide against it. You can't bring yourself to tell him about Yaddle, about what she said, not yet. Not when the wound is still so raw, so fresh. And while Rex is an exceptional listener, and you know he would offer his full support, you're not ready. Not for the conversation that will inevitably follow.

So, instead, you give him a grateful smile and shake your head. "Thanks, but I'm okay."

"Alright," he concedes, though he looks unconvinced.

You're grateful for it. You appreciate his understanding, his willingness to respect your boundaries. It's a relief, really. There's no awkwardness or discomfort. It's natural. Easy. And that's something you've rarely found outside the Jedi Order. Or inside it.

"Well, hopefully this helps, then."

Rex moves his hand from behind his back and reveals a paper cup with a lid. Steam wafts from the opening, and you immediately recognize the scent of fresh caf. You perk up, your eyes widening.

"Is that...?"

"Freshly brewed?" he finishes as he sets it on the holotable in front of you. "Yep."

“For me?” you ask, even as you reach for it, wrapping your hands around the cup and reveling in the heat. You lift the cup to your nose and inhale deeply, the smell sending a shiver down your spine. “Really?”

Rex chuckles and shrugs, lifting up his own cup to his mouth. “Oh, well I was going to give it to Cody, but…”

Your jaw drops and your eyes widen, and he smirks before taking a sip, the teasing glint in his eyes telling you he's enjoying your reaction. You roll your eyes, and a soft laugh escapes your lips, your cheeks warming.

“But you like me more?” you challenge, and Rex snorts, nearly spilling his caf. He covers his mouth and swallows hard, shaking his head at you as you raise an eyebrow at him. "That's what you're going to say, right?"

"Yeah," he rasps, clearing his throat. He sets his cup on the table and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sure. That."

"Good," you say, smiling sweetly at him. You raise your cup to him in a salute. "Because I like you more than Cody, too."

“I heard that.”

You both straighten and turn as Cody strides into the room, a datapad in his hand, and the two of you exchange a sheepish look. You feel a flutter of nervousness in your stomach, and Rex lets out a breath, his shoulders slumping.

Cody raises his eyebrow as he walks around the holotable, glancing between the two of you. He looks like he's about to say something, but then shakes his head, his expression softening, and he turns to the display.

"What are we looking at?" he asks.

"A nest," Rex replies, his voice gruff, and he crosses his arms over his chest, any trace of amusement gone.

You're surprised at his sudden change in demeanor, and a part of you wants to laugh at the absurdity of it, but the other part, the one that's still slightly worried about being caught fraternizing, even if it's Cody, stops you. Instead, you nudge Rex with your elbow, giving him one last smile before you go over to stand beside the commander.

As you move, you take the first sip of your caf. You brace yourself for the bitter taste, but it doesn’t come. In fact, it tastes almost exactly like how you prefer to prepare it for yourself. You can’t help the noise of surprise that escapes you, and you eagerly take another sip.

Rex watches you from the corner of his eye, his mouth quirking into a half-smile, before turning back to the display.

Cody doesn't miss the exchange. His eyebrows raise, a curious look on his face, but he doesn't comment. Instead, he points to the map on the holotable.

"So, a nest, huh?" he asks. "And what kind of bird are we hunting?"

"A Krayt dragon," Rex says, and you snort, earning a glare from the captain. He huffs and continues, "A squadron of vulture droids, most likely from Count Dooku's estate, launched an attack on the nearby city and decimated the local forces. They're holed up in the surrounding mountains, and they're not giving up easily."

"Dooku's estate, you said," Cody repeats, and a thoughtful look crosses his face. "We'll have to deal with that later."

"Yes, we will," you mutter. He hums in return, and the three of you stand in silence, studying the display. The battle droids are well fortified, their numbers impressive, and you have a feeling that it's going to be a difficult fight.

You take another sip of your caf, savoring the rich flavor, and the caffeine courses through your veins, sending a jolt of energy through your body. It's enough to wake you up and sharpen your focus, and you can't help but smile. You look over at Rex and nod, mouthing a silent 'thank you'.

He ducks his head and turns away, but you can see the color rising in his cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He lifts his hand to his face, scratching the back of his head, and you have to stifle a laugh.

The doors slide open, and Anakin and the rest of the battalion's commanding officers file in, filling the room with a low murmur of voices. As they take their places around the holotable, Rex ends up next to you again.

"You're welcome," he murmurs, his mouth barely moving. He doesn't look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the map, but his arm brushes against yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

You hide your smile behind your cup, warmth blooming in your chest, and you take a moment to bask in the sensation before you shift, putting some distance between the two of you. The last thing you need is for someone else to notice the tension between the two of you, especially now that the room is full.

You're not ready to explain this...whatever it is, to anyone.

"Alright, everyone," Anakin calls, clapping his hands together. He steps forward and leans over the holotable, examining the map. "Let's get started."

The meeting passes quickly, and before long, the two of you are walking side by side through the corridors toward the hangar bay. The troops have already begun boarding the transport ships, and the hum of engines fills the air. Rex is at ease, his stride relaxed, his hands clasped behind his back. You, on the other hand, are anything but.

Your feet are dragging, a heaviness weighing on your shoulders that grows with every step. You're exhausted, and the thought of another battle, another confrontation, makes you want to curl up and sleep for days. The stress is beginning to wear on you, and the lack of a good night's sleep isn't helping.

Still, there's a nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you that this is your chance. That this is the opportunity you've been waiting for. To finally confront Dooku.

"So," Rex begins slowly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "Is there any way I can convince you not to go on this mission?"

You huff a laugh, and you shake your head. "I wish."

"I had a feeling," he sighs, and his gaze returns to the corridor ahead. "You have that look on your face. Like you're ready to jump out of an airlock."

"Is it that obvious?"

"To me, yes," he tells you. He stops, turning to face you, and he rests his hand on your shoulder. He squeezes gently, and you find yourself leaning into it, savoring the contact. His thumb brushes against your collarbone as he leans forward, his gaze softening. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'll be fine," you assure him, and a half-smile tugs at your lips. "Don't worry about me."

"You say that," he chuckles, his tone rueful, and his grip on your shoulder tightens. His eyes search yours, and the humor fades. "But I do. And I know something's wrong."

"I..." You start, but stop, biting your lip. You take a deep breath and look away, your heart hammering in your chest. "I don't know what to tell you."

"You can tell me the truth," he says gently. He tilts his head, trying to catch your gaze. "What's going on? Are you...is it the nightmares?"

"It's not that," you sigh, and you rub the back of your neck, your eyes drifting towards the floor.

You don't want to lie to him, not anymore, but you're not sure what to say. The truth is, it's more than just the nightmares. It's everything. The war, the Order, your past, your future. You've been struggling with it all, and it's getting harder and harder to keep it together. To maintain control. To hide your emotions. To ignore the growing desire for justice, vengeance, satisfaction.

You let out a shaky breath and shake your head. "It's just...a lot."

"Yeah," he nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and then clears his throat. "Can I...is there anything I can do?"

"Not this time," you answer, a sad smile on your face. "But thank you."

"Alright," he sighs, resigned. Rex drops his hand and looks around, taking in the bustle of the hangar bay. His eyes linger on the transport ships, a distant look on his face. "You think we have a chance?"

"At taking out the vulture droids or taking out Dooku?" you ask, and his gaze returns to you. He offers you a wry grin.

"Either. Both."

You shrug. "I think we'll be fine. As long as we stick to the plan and work together, we should have no problem destroying the droids. As for Dooku..."

"Yeah, that's the hard part, isn't it?" he chuckles, and you nod, the corner of your mouth pulling into a small smile.

"It is," you agree. "But with a little luck, we might be able to capture him."

"Right," he says, rolling his eyes. "Luck."

"Well, we have to stay positive, don't we?" you tease, nudging his shoulder. He chuckles and shakes his head, and the two of you share a smile. It fades quickly, however, replaced by a somber expression.

He glances around, making sure no one's paying attention, before stepping closer. His gaze meets yours, and there's a seriousness in his eyes that wasn't there before. He opens his mouth, then closes it, hesitating, before trying again.

"What would you do if we did?" he asks quietly. "If we had him."

"I..." you start, but then trail off, considering the question. You don't have an answer. Not one you can speak aloud. There are so many conflicting emotions, so many feelings, swirling inside you, and it's hard to separate them. To pick out the right ones. The good ones. The ones that matter.

But underneath all of that, buried beneath the surface, is something else. A burning desire for revenge. For justice. And it's a desire that you're struggling to contain, to control. Every day, it grows stronger, demanding release, demanding action And every day, you deny it. Ignore it. Push it down. But it never goes away. Never disappears.

And it's becoming harder and harder to keep it in check.

Now, you're afraid that if you do catch Dooku, you won't be able to hold back. That you'll lash out and do something terrible, something unforgivable.

You've never admitted that to anyone, not even Obi-Wan. You know he's under the impression that you've released most of the darkest parts of yourself into the Force, but that's far from the truth. You can't help it. You're only human, after all.

And like any other human, you're capable of horrible, terrible, things. You know that better than most.

But Rex...he might understand. He's seen first-hand what Dooku is capable of, the pain he's caused. If anyone could understand, it would be him.

You look up at him, your eyes searching his, and he stares back, his expression solemn, his brow furrowed. He doesn't pressure you, doesn't push, just waits patiently, giving you time.

"I don't know," you finally answer, and the lie burns your tongue, the words coming out thick and heavy. You swallow hard and look away, unable to meet his gaze.

"You can tell me," he says softly. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah," you nod, forcing yourself to smile.

"Good," he murmurs. "That's good."

There's an awkward silence between the two of you, and you stare at the ground, unsure of what to say. You can sense his eyes on you, and the intensity makes your stomach twist. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and a chill runs down your spine. You cross your arms, rubbing your palms up and down your sleeves.

"Just..."

You take a shaky breath and raise your head, meeting his gaze. His expression is gentle, kind, and it helps. It gives you the courage to continue.

"Just stay close to me, okay?" you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. You clear your throat and force a smile, and it hurts. Everything hurts. Your chest is tight, your throat dry. "Please."

Rex's frown deepens, and he opens his mouth to reply, but he's cut off by a voice echoing down the hallway.

"Rex! Where are you? We're ready to launch!"

He sighs and looks away, running a hand over his head. "I gotta go."

"I know," you tell him, swallowing past the lump your throat. You take a step forward and reach for him, resting your hand on his arm. "Be careful out there, okay? Don't do anything stupid."

He scoffs, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and he looks down at you. "Who, me?"

"Yes, you," you tease.

"I'm always careful," he retorts, and the two of you exchange a knowing look. You squeeze his arm and let go, stepping back, and his eyes linger on yours.

"Rex!" the voice calls again, more insistent.

"Go," you say. "Before Fives comes looking for you."

Rex smirks, and then gives you a nod. He turns and strides down the hall, and you watch him go, your heart aching, a strange feeling twisting in your gut.

You can't name it, can't put a word to it. It's not quite worry, not quite fear, not quite sadness. But it's all of those things, and more. A feeling of loss, maybe. Or regret. Or guilt.

Rex reaches the end of the corridor, and he turns, glancing back at you. You give him a small wave, forcing a smile, and his gaze lingers, his eyes searching yours. Then, he turns, and he's gone.

You stand there, rooted to the spot, staring after him.

Dread.

The feeling is dread.

Null, 21 BBY

An explosion rattles the ground beneath your feet, and you dive for cover, the deafening sound of blaster fire echoing around you. You roll behind a pile of rubble and lean against the stone, catching your breath. Across the dust-filled courtyard, Rex is hunkered down behind a broken statue, his blasters in his hands.

You lock eyes with him and he nods, holding up his hand, the signal to wait. You nod back and turn, peering around the edge of the stones, looking for an opening. The courtyard is crawling with battle droids, their laser fire tearing through the air, and it's impossible to tell where the droids end and the Republic troops begin.

A clone runs past, his armor streaked with blood, and a battle droid lunges out of the smoke, grabbing him. You reach out, calling upon the Force, and the droid flies through the air, slamming into a wall. The clone stares at you, and then nods, rushing back into the fray.

Another explosion rocks the courtyard, and the ground trembles, chunks of stone and dirt falling from the sky. You grit your teeth and push off the ground, leaping to the top of the rubble, your lightsabers igniting. A storm of bolts comes flying at you, and you deflect them, sending them back at the droids.

"General!"

You glance over your shoulder, and a squad of clones come running towards you, their weapons raised. They're led by Waxer, and they're covered in dust and dirt, but otherwise unharmed.

"Waxer, nice of you to finally join us," you shout, and the clones laugh, ducking behind the debris.

"Well, we couldn't leave our General hanging, now could we?" he retorts. He peers around the stones, scanning the courtyard, and then looks back at you. "Commander said you were having a rough time, thought we could give you a hand."

"How kind of him," you deadpan. You jump off the rocks, landing next to the clones, and you take a deep breath, letting the Force flow through you. Your skin tingles, and your muscles tense. The world around you slows to a standstill as your heart beats faster, pounding against your chest. You can see every detail, every movement, every particle.

"Any sign of Dooku?" Waxer asks.

You grit your teeth. The Force ripples around you, telling you what you already suspected from the moment you landed on Null. Dooku is gone, if he ever was here. Another lie. Another dead end. Another wasted opportunity.

"He's not here."

"You're sure?"

"Positive," you grunt, and everything comes rushing back. The sound, the smell, the taste of smoke and blood and sweat. It's overwhelming, but it's familiar, and your senses adjust quickly, settling back into their normal rhythm. "Looks like this is a vacation home, not a military base."

"Great," he sighs. He raises his blaster and fires, taking out a pair of battle droids before ducking back behind cover. "Well, at least the vultures are taken care of."

"That's one good thing, I guess." You crouch beside him, your brow furrowed, exhaustion tugging at your limbs. "Now, we just have to clean up this mess."

Rex darts across the courtyard, his blasters firing, and a stream of red light follows his movements. He slides to a stop beside you, and he leans against the rubble, his chest heaving. His helmet tilts towards you, looking at you over his shoulder.

"Good to see you, General," he pants.

"You, too," you reply, giving him a tired smile.

"Did we miss anything?"

"Not really," Waxer tells him. "We were just about to start mopping up."

The three of you look over at the troopers now pouring into the courtyard in a sea of blue and orange, their numbers quickly overwhelming the droids. It's a chaotic scene, with blaster bolts flying through the air and smoke filling the space, but the tide has clearly turned in the Republic's favor.

"Come on, then," you say, and you rise, stretching. Your muscles ache, and your knees protest, but you ignore them. "Let's get this done."

You turn and lead the way, jumping into the fray. Within minutes, the last of the battle droids fall, their smoking corpses littering the ground. You stand in the middle of the carnage, surveying the damage. There are scorch marks everywhere, bodies strewn across the stones, pieces of broken droids scattered about.

It's a mess, but it could have been worse.

Much worse.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, centering yourself. You deactivate your lightsabers and tuck them into your belt, a weary smile on your face. It's over. Finally. You'd been fighting for hours, and you're ready to rest.

"Good work, everyone," you call out, raising your voice so it can be heard above the din. "I think we're done here."

There's a loud cheer, and the troops start gathering their gear, cleaning up the battlefield. Rex approaches you, and the two of you stand together, watching the men work.

Rex lets out a loud sigh, and he takes his helmet off, wiping the sweat from his brow. His blond hair is matted with dirt, and his face is covered in grime. He glances over at you, and his eyes crinkle with a tired smile.

"Well, that was a fun morning," he chuckles, and the clones in the near vicinity laugh at the quip. Waxer gives him a good-natured slap on the back as he walks by, and you snort, shaking your head.

"Glad you enjoyed yourself," you retort, and his smile widens.

He turns and gestures to the castle looming in the distance. "Do we still want to take a look around?"

"We might as well," you say, shrugging. "It's not like we're going to get a chance like this again."

Rex nods and pulls out his commlink, tapping a button. A voice crackles to life, and he begins issuing orders, the clones splitting off into teams and heading towards the estate. He watches them go, and then he looks over at you, nodding.

"Ready when you are."

You take a deep breath and begin walking, Rex falling into step beside you. The estate is sprawling, a series of towers and spires rising up from the valley floor. It's surrounded by a high stone wall, and you can see turrets peeking out from the battlements. You've never seen a more dreary, impenetrable fortress.

The main doors are open, and a squad is standing guard, their weapons raised. As you draw nearer to the entrance, a sense of anticipation settles over you, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

Your hand drifts towards your lightsaber, and your fingers tighten around the hilt. You can sense something, but you can't put your finger on it. An energy, an electricity, a presence, but it's faint, just out of reach. Something inside you wants to run, either away or toward, and you can't tell which.

You hear a grunt beside you, and you glance at Rex. His face is pinched, and for the first time you notice him limping, his left leg dragging a bit behind his right. Concern flares inside you, and you stop, turning towards him.

"You're hurt," you accuse, and his eyes widen, his jaw clenching.

"I'm fine," he insists, but his voice is strained, and the pain is clear in his eyes. You shake your head and grab his arm, pulling him to a stop. Whatever is behind those doors can wait.

"Rex, what's wrong?" you ask, and he sighs, his shoulders slumping.

"Just a little bruised," he admits.

You arch an eyebrow, gesturing to his leg. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," he insists. "I'll be fine."

"Uh huh," you murmur. You step closer and lean forward into his space, looking into his eyes. He avoids your gaze, his cheeks reddening, and you narrow your eyes, sensing the truth. "Rex."

"What?" he grumbles.

"You should see a medic."

"I will," he promises, and his eyes dart over to the others, before returning to yours. "Later."

"Liar," you grin, and his lips twitch. You roll your eyes.

The two of you watch as the troopers file into the estate, disappearing from sight. When they're gone, he lets out a breath and looks at you, the tension in his body easing. You're grateful for the quiet, the stillness, the opportunity to collect yourself.

But it's also a relief to have him all to yourself, without the constant pressure of the others, the expectations and attention. And you can tell he feels the same.

"I am a liar," he admits sheepishly. He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, a shy smile spreading across his face. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Maybe," you tease, and his grin widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Sit down. I'll take a look at it."

"You don't have to," he starts, but you shake your head, cutting him off.

"No arguing. Sit."

Rex grumbles but does as you say, letting you lead him over to the half-shattered fountain in the center of the courtyard, the water long gone. He lowers himself to the ground, hissing in pain, and you kneel beside him. Together, you remove the armor from his leg, setting it aside. The fabric of his bodysuit is torn, and underneath is a nasty-looking gash, a mixture of dirt and dried blood caking his skin.

You bite your lip, worry bubbling inside you. You've seen worse, much worse, but there's something about seeing him hurt that makes your heart clench. You know you're being irrational, that the injury isn't serious, and that the medics will be able to treat him. Still, it hurts. To see him in pain. To feel his pain.

"It's not that bad," he mutters. He's looking down at you, his brow furrowed, and he gives you a reassuring smile. "Honest."

"Uh huh," you say, unconvinced, and he huffs a laugh. You reach out, tentatively, your hand hovering over his leg. "This might sting."

"I can handle it," he tells you. You raise an eyebrow, and he gives you a crooked grin. "Probably."

You roll your eyes and move your hand closer, your fingers gently brushing the swollen skin. Rex sucks in a breath through his teeth, and you wince as you're hit with a jolt of his pain, sharp and sudden.

You breathe deep, steadying yourself, and then you press your hand fully against the wound, letting the Force flow through you into him.

You're far from adept in the healing arts, one of many weaknesses in your skill set, and you're no healer, but you can do this much. It's not a particularly complex injury. The tissue needs to be repaired, the pain reduced, and if you syphon some of your own energy, it's not as difficult as it seems. At least, that's what you tell yourself.

Still, it's not easy. The injury is larger than you thought, and the pain is intense. Rex tenses underneath your touch, his leg twitching, and you can hear his teeth grinding. His jaw is clenched so tightly, you fear his teeth might crack. You blindly reach up with your opposite hand and rest it on his knee, trying to steady him.

"Easy," you murmur. His hand settles on top of yours, your fingers intwining. You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back, his thumb stroking your knuckles. "Almost done. Just breathe."

"Right," he says, his voice strained. He lets out a shaky breath and nods. "Keep going."

You let out a breath of your own, and you continue the work, draining your energy into him. After a few more moments, the wound is closed, the pain reduced, and you withdraw your hand, pulling back the fabric to examine the newly healed skin. It's a little pink and raw, but it'll do. He'll need proper medical attention, but for now, it'll keep him on his feet.

"There," you say, and Rex lets out a soft groan, the tension in his body fading. He looks down at the wound, and he turns his leg side to side, admiring your handiwork. "Good as new."

"Wow," he breathes. "That's...impressive."

"Yeah, I'm pretty great, aren't I?" you tease.

"Yeah," he nods. His hand is still holding yours, his fingers lightly tracing your knuckles. "You are."

The sincerity in his voice surprises you, and your cheeks warm, your heart skipping a beat. You swallow hard, and you give him a weak smile, trying not to read too much into his words.

"Thanks," you murmur. You let go of his hand and sit back, and he sighs, his eyes never leaving yours. You shift under his gaze, unsure of what to do, or say, and then, his expression changes, his head tilting.

"Why don't you do that more often?" he asks, and you frown, confused. He gestures to his leg. "Heal."

"Oh," you reply, just as a wave of exhaustion washes over you. You try to suppress a yawn and fail. "It's not something I like to advertise. I'd rather not burn myself out."

Rex raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate. You hesitate, biting your lip. It's not something you're proud of, and it's not something you talk about often, but for some reason, you feel compelled to share.

"I'm not particularly skilled in the healing arts," you admit. You look away, your brow furrowing. "Some can draw on the Living Force, use its power to heal others. I can't."

"But you did just now," he points out carefully.

"I did," you acknowledge, and a wry smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You turn and meet his gaze. "But it took a lot out of me, and I don't mean that metaphorically. If I'm not careful, if I'm not prepared, it could kill me."

Rex's eyes widen, and a look of panic flashes across his face. His hands clench into fists, and he shakes his head, scowling.

"Don't ever do that," he orders, and you chuckle. "Seriously. Don't. Not for me."

"If I didn't, you would have been laid up in the infirmary for a week," you tell him, trying to sound casual, but your tone is anything but. Your words come out more harshly than intended, a bit more bitter. "Besides, I wanted to. You're worth it."

Rex stares at you, stunned, a flicker of something passing over his features. Surprise? Confusion? A hint of fear? You're not sure, but it makes your stomach twist, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of your gut. You swallow hard, resisting the urge to look away.

"You shouldn't have," he tells you, shaking his head. "You could have-"

"But I didn't," you interrupt, and he sighs, the corners of his mouth turning down. You stand and brush the dirt and debris from your robes, clearing your throat. "And if you ever tell anyone I did that, I'll deny it. Got it?"

Rex snorts, the scowl vanishing, and slowly rises to his feet, testing his weight on his injured leg. He stretches and rolls his shoulders, his neck cracking, and then he nods. "Got it."

"Good," you huff.

You watch as he reattaches his armor, your arms crossed over your chest. He seems to have forgotten about the estate, about the mission, his mind on other things. His expression is thoughtful, his eyes distant, and you can't help but wonder what he's thinking. What he's feeling. Whether or not he's upset with you. With himself.

You know you've worried him, that he's afraid of what might have happened, but you don't regret it. Not one bit. He needed your help, and you gave it. It's as simple as that. Besides, you're a Jedi, aren't you? Isn't this what the Order teaches? That compassion and generosity are the most important aspects of your duty, your life?

Still, there's a nagging voice in the back of your head, a voice telling you that what you did was selfish. That you did it for yourself, not for him. That you did it because you care about him, because you can't stand the thought of him being hurt.

And, the truth is, it is. It is selfish, it is reckless.

You're not a healer, not really. You don't know how to channel the Living Force, how to heal the wounded, or cure the sick. You only know how to take, how to absorb the pain and suffering of others and give something of yourself in return, and you've never done more than a handful of healing sessions in your life. You're a warrior, not a physician.

And yet, here you are, playing medic, because it's Rex. Because you can't help yourself.

Rex finishes buckling his armor and looks at you, his expression unreadable. You meet his gaze, and a moment passes between the two of you. An understanding. A realization. Something is changing, something fundamental, and neither of you knows what to do about it. But you don't need to. Not yet.

"Listen," he starts, his voice soft. "I—"

"Sir!"

The two of you flinch, startled, and you turn towards the source of the voice, your hand drifting towards your lightsaber. Fives and Echo are jogging across the courtyard, their blasters raised. You relax, and Rex lets out a sigh, running a hand over his head.

"Yes?" he calls.

"General," Fives pants, and he skids to a stop, his helmet under his arm. "Sorry to interrupt, but we found something."

"What is it?" Rex asks, frowning.

Fives glances at you, and a grim expression settles on his face. He shifts from foot to foot, his eyes darting between the two of you.

"It's...just come see."

Rex nods, and he gestures for Fives to lead the way. The trooper hurries off, and you follow, Rex at your side. The four of you weave through the rubble toward the castle, Fives and Echo in the lead, Rex and you a few steps behind. You feel a chill creep up your spine, a sense of unease filling you, and your hand rests on your lightsaber, your thumb brushing against the hilt.

As the doors loom overhead, Rex looks over his shoulder and meets your gaze. You shake your head, a silent warning, and he nods, his expression hardening.

Whatever it is, it's not good.

You pass through the archway and into the darkened hall. The interior is massive, a high vaulted ceiling overhead, with ornate columns rising from the floor to the roof. The walls are lined with marble, and the floor is polished black stone. There are statues lining the walls, and they look like they were once pristine, but now they're covered in soot, and chunks of the ceiling have fallen, smashing the art. The place smells like smoke and death.

"This way," Echo says, gesturing to the left. The group turns and heads down the hallway, your footsteps echoing around you.

As you move deeper into the castle, the air becomes thicker, the smell of smoke and dust growing stronger. The hallways narrow, and the walls become rougher, the marble replaced by stone. Torches flicker along the walls, casting eerie shadows across the floor.

Your uneasiness only compounds the further you walk, and a knot forms in the pit of your stomach, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. You're starting to feel sick, the sensation only growing stronger with each step.

You glance over at Rex to find him already watching you, his brow furrowed. He slows, letting the others get a few paces ahead, and he leans towards you, his voice low.

"What is it?" he asks. "Do you sense something?"

"I do," you whisper. You rub your temples, your eyes drifting closed. "But I can't put my finger on it. It's..."

"What?" he prompts.

"Dark," you say. "Very dark."

"Shit," he breathes. His hand reaches out, hovering near your shoulder, as if he wants to comfort you, but he hesitates. "Do you want to go back?"

"No," you murmur. You take a deep breath and open your eyes, meeting his concerned gaze. "I'll be fine."

"Alright," he says, though the worry remains in his eyes. He steps back, putting a little distance between the two of you, and he nods towards the others. "Let's catch up."

You nod, and the two of you resume walking, following the clones through the gloom. The air is getting colder, the scent of smoke growing stronger, and you can hear a low hissing sound, like gas escaping from a broken pipe. You grit your teeth, doing your best to ignore it. Whatever it is, whatever is making you feel so ill, it's coming from up ahead.

After what feels like an eternity, the four of you come to a stop outside a massive wooden door, and Fives looks back at Rex, gesturing towards the handle. The captain nods, and the trooper takes a deep breath, reaching for the knob.

"Ready?" he asks.

"No," you answer, and the three of them chuckle, the sound echoing around you.

Fives nods and pulls the door open, and a wave of cold air rushes out, blowing through your hair and making the torches flicker. You shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin, and a lump forms in your throat.

There's a long, winding staircase leading down into the darkness. The walls are covered in soot, and the stones are slick with ice. The air is frigid, and your breath mists in front of your face. You can hear the sound of dripping water, and the scent of dampness and decay fills the air.

"I don't like this," Fives mutters, and Echo grunts in agreement.

Rex looks over at you, and a wry grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "What do you think, General?"

"It's creepy as hell," you deadpan.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he chuckles, and he steps forward, placing his foot on the first step. "Come on, then. Let's get this over with."

You follow him into the stairwell, and the rest of the squad falls in line behind you, the four of you descending into the darkness. The light from the torches quickly fades, and the only sound is the scrape of your boots against the ice-covered stone, and the occasional drip of water.

The further you go, the worse the feeling gets, and the air grows colder, the smell of rotting wood and mold invading your nose. You feel like you can't breathe, like there's a hand gripping your throat, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

"You sure you're alright?" Rex asks quietly. He doesn't turn to look at you, keeping his gaze fixed on the steps, his fingers gripping the railing.

"No," you murmur, and he frowns, glancing at you over his shoulder.

"Do you want to go back?" he asks.

"Not unless you do," you reply. "It's just..."

"Yeah," he agrees, nodding.

The stairs eventually level out, and the path opens into a cavernous chamber, the ceiling soaring high above your head. The walls are covered in stalactites, and the ground is slick with ice. You can't see beyond your hand, and you stumble forward, your foot sliding out from under you.

"Easy," Rex murmurs, grabbing your arm, steadying you.

"Thanks," you grunt, and you let out a shaky breath, trying to get your bearings. You draw your sabers, the yellow blades illuminating the room, and you hear the sound of the others' flashlights flicking on, the beams of light dancing around the space.

"What the hell is this place?" Fives asks. His voice is hushed, but it echoes around you, the silence deafening.

"I don't know," Rex whispers. He lets go of your arm and walks forward, his eyes scanning the room. You stay close, not wanting to lose him in the darkness. "It looks like some sort of dungeon, or..."

"A tomb," you finish, and he looks back at you, his brow furrowing.

"Yeah," he agrees. "It does."

You step forward, your gaze sweeping the area. The ceiling is high, the walls covered in icicles. The ground is smooth, with a layer of ice coating it, and you can see a path leading deeper into the cavern. You feel a tug, a pull, and your pulse quickens.

"Rex," you murmur.

"Yeah," he says. He follows your gaze, and he sighs, his expression grim. "I know."

You nod and begin moving forward, the others falling in line behind you. Your footsteps are muffled by the ice, and the air grows colder, a chill settling over the room. The light from your sabers doesn't seem to reach the walls, and the darkness presses in on you, like a living, breathing thing.

"General," Echo says, his voice low. "You don't think this is a trap, do you?"

"I don't know." You shrug, and the three clones let out a chorus of sighs. You turn and look back at them, arching an eyebrow. "If it is, it's not a very good one."

"True," Fives agrees. "Maybe Dooku isn't as smart as we thought."

"Or, maybe he's playing a different game," Rex says, his tone grim. He glances at you, his eyes lingering on yours. "Just...be ready."

"Always," you assure him.

You continue through the cave, the air growing colder, the ice thickening beneath your feet. The path twists and turns, and the ceiling lowers, until you have to duck to avoid the icicles hanging above.

Finally, the path opens into another large chamber, and you come to a stop, taking in the sight before you. The ground is littered with debris, chunks of stone and rubble scattered around the space. A row of unlit torches lines the walls, and you can see a series of steps leading down into the center of the room, the ground cracked and broken.

And there, in the middle of the chaos, is a pedestal.

You frown, stepping forward. There's something on top of the pedestal, but it's too far away to see clearly. You reach the edge of the broken ground, and you stop, peering down.

"What is that?" you murmur.

Rex comes up beside you, his brow furrowed. "Looks like a...box."

Your blood runs cold, and you turn, your hand twisting. The torches ignite, filling the room with light, and you see the box, the ornate wood gleaming in the torchlight. Its surface is scorched and dented, and it's covered in ash, but there's no mistaking it.

"Get out," you say, your voice hoarse.

"What?" Fives asks. "But we—"

"Get out!" you shout, and they flinch, stumbling backwards. "Now!"

Rex hesitates, his eyes darting from the box to your face, and you stare at him, your hands clenched into fists, the blood roaring in your ears. After a moment, he nods, and he raises his hand, signaling the others to fall back.

"Yes, sir," Fives murmurs, and he turns and begins marching back the way you came. Echo gives you a long look, his eyes lingering on yours, and then he, too, retreats. Rex doesn't move, and you turn, glaring at him.

"Go," you order.

"You told me to stay close to you, remember?" he retorts, and his voice is laced with anger, his jaw clenched. "Well, I am. And I'm not leaving."

You sigh, a headache building behind your eyes, and you shake your head. "Rex, I—"

"No," he growls. "Don't. Don't push me away."

"It's not—"

"You're not going through this alone."

"But—"

"I don't care."

His voice echoes around the chamber, and you swallow hard, the air rushing from your lungs. You stare at him, at his unwavering determination, his absolute refusal to back down, and a part of you wants to push him, wants to shove him away and send him back to the others. He's disobeying your orders, he's questioning your authority, and you should be angry. You should be furious.

But instead, you feel relieved.

You turn back towards the pedestal, the box gleaming in the flickering light, and a cold weight settles in the pit of your stomach.

"Alright," you sigh, deactivating your sabers and shoving them into their holsters. "Fine."

Rex's expression softens, and he reaches for you, his hand settling on your shoulder. You lean into him, his warmth comforting, and he squeezes gently.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

You nod, and the two of you begin the descent, slowly making your way down the broken path. The ground is slick with ice, and your feet slide a few times, Rex's grip on your shoulder tightening to keep you from falling. You finally reach the bottom, and you approach the pedestal, a lump forming in your throat.

You stand over the box, and you run your fingers along the surface. It's warm, and there's a faint vibration, the Force humming with energy.

"What is it?" Rex asks, his voice quiet.

"It's..." You trail off, and you swallow hard. "It's what I found when I went out that night."

He frowns, and then recognition dawns on his face, and his eyes widen. "You mean when you were attacked?"

"Yes," you whisper.

Rex is silent, and you stare at the box, a wave of emotion welling up inside you. Anger, sadness, grief. They mix together, churning in your stomach, and you clench your fists, the nails digging into your palms. You can feel the darkness swirling around you, a miasma of pain and fury, and it threatens to drown you. But you can't look away, can't turn your back.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs.

"Yes," you repeat, and the word comes out thick, the tears burning hot. "I'm sure."

"Then, it's him," Rex whispers, his voice laced with sympathy. He steps closer, his hand settling on your back, his thumb rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. "Isn't it?"

"It is."

You reach out and place your hand on the lid, and the wood is smooth and cool under your fingertips. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself, and then, with a single, smooth motion, you lift the lid. The hinges creak, the sound echoing around the chamber, and a cloud of dust swirls in the air.

The inside of the box is lined with a velvet material, the fabric faded and worn. The scrap of her robe is still there, along with the datapad, but that isn't what makes your heart seize in your chest.

It's the lightsaber.

You recognize it immediately, the sleek, silver hilt a stark contrast against the crimson fabric. It's the same design, the same length, the same width. You've seen it a hundred times, a thousand, more than you can count. But the last time you saw it, it was in her hands, a blaze of green light. Now, it sits, cold and lifeless, and the ache inside you only grows.

And when you reach out, your fingers brushing the blade, the hum that vibrates up your arm is unmistakable. The same hum, the same vibration, the same power. Her power.

"Is that..." Rex breathes, his eyes wide.

"Yes," you choke out, the tears spilling over.

You can feel his presence behind you, his energy warm and steady. But even his strength can't shield you from the anguish that bubbles up inside you, a deep, primal wound reopening. It's a wound you've spent the past ten years ignoring, pushing aside, burying deep, but now it's tearing you apart, the pain consuming you.

Your hand encloses around the hilt, pulling it to your chest. The metal is cold, and you can feel the steady, rhythmic pulse of the kyber crystal inside, a faint echo of her Force signature. It's been so long since you've felt her presence. Since you've been able to sense her power, her wisdom, her kindness.

It's like a knife to the heart, the wound reopened, bleeding anew.

Rex's hand grips your shoulder, a comforting weight, but the sorrow is a tidal wave, drowning you. It's all too much. The memories, the guilt, the regret. They crash over you, threatening to drag you under, and a sob tears from your lips. You're falling, the darkness consuming you, the void swallowing you whole. You're spiraling out of control, the pain overwhelming, and you can't stop it, can't hold it back. All you can do is cling to the hilt, to her weapon, and hope she can forgive you.

But as you fall to your knees, Rex is there. His arms wrap around you before you can hit the ground, a cry ripping from your throat, and the two of you sink down together, your head pressed against his shoulder.

You bury your face in his neck, the tears flowing freely, your body trembling. His hand finds yours, the one holding her lightsaber, and he entwines his fingers with yours, his other arm tightening around your waist. He's whispering something, his voice soft and soothing, but you can't make out the words, can't focus on anything but the pain. And as Rex holds you, your face pressed against his neck, you let go.

You let the emotions wash over you, the grief and the agony and the remorse. You let the darkness consume you, and you let yourself feel the pain. Because this is what she would have wanted. This is what she would have told you.

To let go. To release the past. To find peace.

So, that's what you do. For the first time in ten years, you let yourself mourn.

You mourn the loss of her, the emptiness in your life, the absence of her guidance, her friendship. You mourn the future that could have been, the bond the two of you shared. The connection that was severed, the wound that will never heal.

It's the most painful thing you've ever experienced, and the agony is a physical thing, clawing at your chest, tearing through your heart. It's the most intense emotion you've ever felt, and it's excruciating, but you don't pull away. You don't hide from it. Instead, you cling to Rex, his arms a steady, reassuring weight around you, and you let yourself feel it. All of it.

"I'm sorry," you gasp, your voice muffled against his armor. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," he murmurs, his voice strained, and his fingers tangle in your hair, holding you tighter against him. "It's not your fault."

"I couldn't...I wasn't...I tried to..." You can't get the words out, can't form a coherent sentence, and your head throbs, the pain blinding. "I couldn't save her."

"You did everything you could," he says. "You didn't fail her. You didn't fail anyone."

You want to believe him, to let his words soothe the ache, but the sorrow is overwhelming, the guilt crushing. And, even as you cry, a part of you feels guilty for showing him this side of you. For letting him see the weakness, the vulnerability. But the truth is, you've been weak for a long time, and he's been there every step of the way.

He's seen your worst, and yet, he's stayed.

"I miss her," you sob, the tears burning hot. "I just..."

"I know," he breathes. His cheek presses against the top of your head, his fingers stroking your hair. "I'm so sorry."

You don't know how long you sit there in the icy cavern, Rex's arms wrapped around you. You cry until there are no tears left, until the sobs turn to hiccups, and the hiccups turn to shuddering breaths. And all the while, Rex is there, his grip never loosening, his voice never wavering.

When the last of the tears have dried, you slump against him. Your body feels heavy, drained, and the lightsaber is a dead weight in your hand, the cold metal leeching what little warmth you have left.

You lift your head, and Rex's gaze meets yours. You're surprised to see his eyes are wet too, his lashes clumped together. His nostrils flare, and he lets out a shaky breath, trying to keep his composure. He gives you a weak smile, and you swallow hard, the words getting stuck in your throat.

"Thank you," you finally manage, and the words come out thick, the tears welling again. "I...I don't know what to say. I didn't expect—"

"Hey," he murmurs as his thumbs wipe away the tears, his touch gentle. "You don't have to say anything. I understand."

You nod, and he pulls you against him, his head resting on top of yours. The two of you fall into another silence, your arms wrapped around each other, the lightsaber clasped tightly in your fist.

Eventually, the sound of footsteps fills the cavern, and you hear the others calling out, their voices echoing around you. Rex pulls away, and he looks over his shoulder, watching as the troopers approach. His body shields you from view, protecting your privacy, and a wave of gratitude washes over you.

"Not yet," he says, his voice stern, and the footsteps stop, hesitating. "We need a few minutes."

"General," Fives calls. "Are you alright?"

"She's fine," Rex answers for you.

"Are you sure? We heard crying."

"She's fine," he repeats, his voice hardening. "Just...give us a minute."

You close your eyes, exhaustion tugging at your limbs, and you rest your head on Rex's shoulder, letting the sounds of his voice soothe you. The others are talking, whispering amongst themselves, but you can't make out the words. You're not sure you want to.

You don't know how long the two of you sit there, but eventually, the voices grow quiet, and you hear the troopers walking away, their footsteps fading into the distance. When they're gone, you open your eyes and stare at the ground, the tears drying on your cheeks.

"You didn't tell them," you say, your voice quiet.

"No," he admits. "I didn't."

"Why?"

"Because," he murmurs. He turns, his hand reaching up, his fingers tilting your chin towards him. Your gazes meet, his eyes soft, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. "You deserved a moment alone to grieve. Without the others staring."

You nod, and a weak smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, the tears welling once more. He cares so much, cares more than he should, and it warms your heart despite the cold surrounding you.

"Thank you," you whisper, and the words come out strained, your voice cracking.

"It's the least I can do," he replies. Rex lets go of your chin, his hand falling back to his side. "I wish I could do more."

"You're already doing more than enough," you tell him, and you mean it. If not for him, you would have lost yourself completely. The thought terrifies you, but also warms you. He's saved you, time and time again, without even realizing it. "I couldn't have done this without you."

"You could have," he says, his expression earnest. "But I'm glad you didn't have to."

"Me, too," you murmur.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, wrapped in each other's arms, the only sound the faint drip of water. The air is frigid, the chill seeping into your bones, and you shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin.

"Come on," Rex says. He gives your shoulder a squeeze, his hand trailing down your arm and coming to a rest on your elbow. "Let's get out of here."

"Yeah," you agree, and you let him help you to your feet, your legs shaking. You brush the dirt and grime from your clothes, and then look down at the box, your mouth pulling into a grimace.

"I can't believe he kept it," you mutter, placing the lightsaber back inside, the scrap of fabric on top of it. The lid falls shut, a loud thump echoing around the chamber.

"I'm not surprised," Rex replies, his tone laced with bitterness. He shakes his head, a scowl on his face. "He likes his trophies."

"He's sick," you mutter. The rage is starting to burn inside you again, the pain giving way to anger, a familiar, comforting emotion. "Do you think this was his plan all along? To lure me here?"

"Maybe," he admits, his eyes sweeping the area, his expression hardening. "But that doesn't matter now. What matters is that you have your evidence. You can finally get justice."

"Justice," you repeat. The word tastes like ash in your mouth. You shake your head, your lips pulling into a thin line. "All I want is revenge."

"Revenge won't bring her back," Rex murmurs. His hand rests on your lower back, his warmth seeping through the fabric. "You need to be smarter than that. We can't—"

"I know," you interrupt. "I know we can't."

"If it was up to me..." He trails off, his jaw clenched, his fingers flexing against your spine.

"Yeah," you sigh. You reach out and pick up the box, the weight of it heavy in your arms. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and then glance up at him, a wry smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "Wishful thinking, right?"

"Wishful thinking," he echoes, and the two of you share a chuckle, the tension in the air easing.

Rex looks at you, a softness in his gaze, and a strange feeling passes between the two of you, the understanding, the acceptance. This war is not about justice, it's not about peace. It's about survival, and the two of you have to fight tooth and nail just to stay alive. But the fact that he's fighting with you, the fact that he's by your side, means everything.

"Come on," he says, and he gently guides you towards the path, his hand lingering on your back.

You nod, and the two of you begin walking, your footsteps echoing around the chamber. You follow the path, Rex's presence steady at your side, and the darkness recedes, the torchlight growing brighter. You can feel the weight of the box in your arms, the pulse of the kyber crystal, the whisper of her Force signature.

Yaddle.

Your Master. Your family.

Gone.

And the one responsible, just out of reach.

But if you can make the Council listen, maybe, just maybe, you can find a way to bring him to justice.

Or maybe it's just wishful thinking.

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

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

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

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

@silly-starfish @veralii @chubbyhedgehog @lordofthenerds97 @meshlajetii

@heaven1207 @808tsuika @aanncummings @lugiastark @maniacalbooper

@sensitive-shark @kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees

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cliophilyra · 2 days ago

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Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @firehose118 - thank you Sam! 😊

How many works on AO3? 62

What’s your total AO3 word count? 228215

What fandoms do you write for? At the moment only 911 but in the past I’ve written for Supernatural, Sandman, Spiderman, Deadpool, other Marvel stuff & Sherlock.

What are you top 5 fics by kudos? Implausible Deniability (Spideypool) Put you mouth where your money is (Spideypool) Sex, Lies & Arguing About Chores (Spideypool WIP) Accidentally On Purpose (Spideypool) Sensing a theme here? The Other Shoe (Destiel)

Do you respond to comments? Yes! Always if I can.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably either When you’re tasting’ what he’s drinking (Saltommy - link below) or Therefore Love Moderately (Deanbenny SPN - link below) but I have a few.

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Probably - If it comes back (Saltommy - link below) - but most of my one shots have fairly happy endings.

Do you get hate on fics? Touch wood - No

Do you write smut? If so what kind? Yessss. Only M/M so far. I think I’m best at it when I don’t over think it and just write what I think is hot. I’m probably not good at the kind of smut that drives plot/character etc. Definitely want to try my hand at more kink stuff soon.

Do you write crossovers? Never have - I like reading some of them but I’m very picky :-/

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes, by the dreaded Wattpad 🙄

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! Two as far as I remember - one into Russian and one into Chinese.

Have you ever cowritten a fic before? Not properly, I have worked with Betas pretty closely in past but I would love to have a go at properly writing something with someone else!

What’s your all time favourite ship? I know there’s probably a bit of recency bias here but it’s genuinely a tie between Bucktommy & Saltommy. Obviously in total I have written more for Destiel and they will always be super important to me but there is something about the upwelling of ideas and inspiration for these two ships that has been amazing. I basically had writers block for about 5 years. In that time I wrote about 15 fics - almost all of which were super short. In the last 6 months that I’ve had 911 I’ve written 12!

What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Sex, Lies and Arguing About Chores - that was the one that brought on the writers block I think. I wrote myself into a sort of corner and got all stuck on peoples expectations of it and just froze up.

What are your writing strengths? I think I’m good at smut when I’m in the right mood and I like creating a sense of place and atmosphere and also I usually like my dialogue.

What are you writing weaknesses? PLOT. I suck at anything that requires a complicated plot or planning. Hence I don’t have many multi chapter things. Also character analysis - I always think other people are much better at this than me.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I haven’t done it much. Definitely wouldn’t attempt more than a couple of words without checking with a native speaker. I do not put it in italics lol

First fandom you wrote for? Sherlock (BBC)

Favourite fics you’ve written? Oh god this changes all the time, but today my top 6 would be: If It Comes Back - Saltommy second-chance reunion fic. When you’re tasting what he’s drinkin’ (are you thinkin’ bout me?) - angry jealous past-saltommy angst Calendar Boy - light hearted bucktommy fire calender PWP Like A Circus Wheel - saltommy secret relationship PWP Therefore Love Moderately - SPN Dean/Benny angsty PWP Implausible Deniability - silly smutty & occasionally angsty Spideypool adventure thing that I wrote as I posted it and was really happy with how it came out.

Also honourable mention to I’m Wasted (and I can’t find my way home) - Destiel endverse WIP which may never be finished but I really like what I have so far.

Tagging: @rdng1230 @thecarrott @rcmclachlan @alchemistc @nine-one-wanton @judymarch15

@marvelousbuckley @bangpop91 @racerchix21 @girlwonder-writes and anyone else who wants to play!

#tag games #writing #my writing #saltommy #bucktommy #destiel #spideypool #deanbenny #fic recs

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quillkiller · 3 days ago

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sirius and regulus as kids, naive and uncertain, experimenting with sex. clumsy handjobs and the likes. And as teenagers they blth remember it only sirius considers it a mistake of youth and half hopes regulus doesn’t remember it. while regulus spends his whole life waiting for sirius and wishing he’d change his mind, consciously or not choosing people who remind him of Sirius the most

!!!!!!

i think it’s soooo interesting to explore because like, neither of them are strangers to family members having to marry, their parents being second cousins and all. so i think familial love gets mixed up with all other types of love and feelings. wires crossed and misunderstandings of boundaries when it comes to brotherly affection / other types of affection because their only role models are already family members who are married. <- difference being that sirius and regulus are 1. siblings and 2. brothers (two boys) so it wouldn’t be encouraged, but it’s understandable that trying to understand how to be brothers in such a fucked up household would be. a Challenge

i think everything drastically changes because of the very fact that sirius gets sorted into gryffindor. suddenly his world opens up in a way it hasn’t for any other family black members in however long, and his little brother doesn’t follow because he’s sorted into slytherin. his world doesn’t open up, he’s stuck in the same cycle of abuse and has always been weaker to begin with it, so nothing changes for him. he follows his ancestors foot steps, sirius does not. <- that’s not to say slytherins are all bad / can’t break free from their roots, i mean look at andromeda etc etc. but! regulus never will ! and one reason, to me, is out of pure spite / wanting to prove himself / prove that he can be better than sirius

i don’t ever consider either of them being fully aware that they’re experimenting sexually together, but i do consider regulus being more aware of it and/or being more affected by it than sirius. sirius understands the basic concept of ’incest! bad!’ and he does think that his parents are incestuous freaks lmao, and most of this is because he got out. he gets sorted into gryffindor, gets to spend almost every day with people from families that are complete opposites to his own family, etc ! so like. he understands the concept of incest being bad, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he knows where the line gets crossed when it comes to his brother. he doesn’t fully understand what a big brother should and shouldn’t do for his kid brother, the lines have been smudged so long ago, have been crossed so many times. he’s fucked! up! they’re fucked! up!

regulus also understands the concept of ’incest! bad!’ but mainly in regards to his feelings for his brother. he doesn’t find it strange that his parents are second cousins. it’s about keeping the bloodline pure and the house of black is special !! however, reg and sirius are not cousins and they’re brothers (two boys), so he understands that what he feels for sirius is wrong. he knows he’s not going to marry his big brother, knows they can’t have children, etc, knows even that other purebloods would frown at them, so he knows he’s gross and awful and despicable for needing and wanting his brother the way he does. hates his girl cousins for being more appropriate candidates than he’ll ever be but never ever wishing he was sirius’ girl-cousin because he wouldn’t trade being his little brother for anything <- i don’t think that regulus fully comprehends that he’s in love with his brother

i think you’re sooo right about sirius hoping and wishing that regulus wouldn’t remember. like it was such a fucked up part of their youth where neither of them really understood when or where they crossed the line, so obviously it was never something that they ever communicated. it was simply how they loved each other as the black brothers, the heir & the spare, from a fucked up home where familial love and romantic love/lust so easily got mixed up or blurred together. and like. sirius was his older brother, and he’s the one who got out, a chance at normal, and when he finally grasps what went down between him and regulus when they were younger he never ever forgives himself for it. he was supposed to know better, was supposed to protect regulus, take care of him. and now he has to live with understanding what he did to his baby brother ! and maybe it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know better, but that also doesn’t always matter :/ sirius i Love you.. :( (<- to me, remus is the only marauder who knows about this and who sirius trusted with this. not that he wouldnt trust james, but i don’t think sirius would want james to know this about his childhood)

whereas regulus never gets a chance at normal. his world never opens up. things never change for him, and he will always love his brother just as much as he hates him, has always loved him as much as he hates him. he never tells anyone, never sits down and reconsider his childhood or his feelings for sirius because he simply doesn’t have those resources, his friend group comes from families similar to his own, his friends are people equally as fucked up as he is (<- two twins who entered an incestuous relationship when they were far too young and a kid with major daddy issues who simply grew up Wrong and thinks the rosier twins and their relationship is a perfect example of what family should be). so yeah, regulus never gets a clear view of his and sirius’ fucked up relationship. maybe doesn’t even comprehend that it was actually incestuous. and so he constantly tries ro recreate his fantasies with other people, but never tells anyone, and then one day barty offers his body and says ’you can pretend im him’ and regulus FREAKS out. because that doesn’t belong to barty. doesn’t belong to anyone but himself. it’s private. his disgusting perverse secret smothering his heart.

they make me! crazy !!!!!!! crazy !!!!!

#me: girl who cant SHUT UP !!!!!!!!#blackcest #asks

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edenfenixblogs · 9 months ago

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Well Drawfee is officially no longer safe media for me :(

Karina liked multiple tweets conflating a PSA for antisemitism with Israeli propaganda and claiming that Israel planned its assault to coincide with the superbowl…

Julia liked posts claiming that the war isn’t a war. Nobody has liked anything about antisemitism or even acknowledging Jews are in danger right now.

TBH I’m devastated.

I have Drawfee art all over my home. I was actually gonna become a patron this year. I’d literally been saving to make it feasible. This is crushing. I feel sick.

#leftist antisemitism #antisemitism #drawfee #heartbroken #debated putting this in the Drawfee tag or not #but ultimately I think it’s important #I don’t wanna start fandom drama or Discourse TM #I just want there to be a record of how their silence on antisemitism #and liking of conspiratorial tweets #is affecting a very fragile community #and Nathan being Jewish doesn’t change this for me #his Jewishness does not shield me from his coworkers antisemitism #even though I wanna believe that antisemitism is unintentional #and I’m so happy for Nathan if he feels supported by his friends and coworkers #he obviously knows them better than I ever will #and I’m not calling in Jews to take sides over this or anything #I’m happy that Nathan doesn’t seem to be affected by this #it must mean he has a wonderful support system and that his friends and coworkers are better #at showing their support irl than they are online #and that is important and valid #but it doesn’t change how it affects Jews like me who only experience them through a screen #and do not have a support system #they don’t owe me anything #I don’t expect anything from any of them #but I also cannot deny that I am harmed #by the fact that they didn’t acknowledge the conflict until it affected people who aren’t Jewish #and have still not acknowledged that it affects people who are Jewish #and I especially cannot handle Karina’s clear support for the idea that a Super Bowl PSA for antisemitism prevention #is somehow a sinister Israeli plot and not evidence of the terrible time that Jews like me are having rn #I feel like I lost a friend tbh

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josefavomjaaga · 7 hours ago

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No one is saying he shouldn't be held responsible for his actions, but at the same time it's not fair to turn him into a target of harsh judgment based on misinformation, biased assumptions and personal antipathy.

I guess arguing further will do nothing to align our points of view. But what you wrote above really hit me because spreading misinformation surely was not my intention. I will try to explain and give the information but please bear with me, this will get very long.

I will try to answer this point first and then adress the rest:

My whole point was that it's unfair to make Junot looking so much worse compared to his colleagues, when they were all military men who committed various degree of violence either directly or indirectly.

If Junot looks so much worse than his colleagues then that’s because apparently, in this aspect, he indeed was. Unless of course you can provide evidence that Murat, Soult, Duroc, Eugène, Bessières, Davout etc. also stabbed their wives with scissors? (Or any other woman for that matter. Or any similar acts of physical abuse.) If you can, by all means please do! I would love to change my mind on this.

I know of several incidents when husbands had every reason to suspect their wives of infidelity, Napoleon, Murat, Marmont, Louis Bonaparte, possibly Ney. I am unaware that any of them acted the way Junot did. Did general Foy, whose wife became Junot’s mistress, beat her in retaliation, for example? Heck, as far as I have read not even Hortense, who really describes Louis as the husband from hell in her memoirs, ever mentions any physical abuse.

Treating a woman like this was not normal. If it had been, Junot’s behaviour would not have caused such a scandal all throughout Paris.

I can totally understand hating a historical figure: I loathe some, but they don't deserve slander and constant bashing in serious discourse (and sometimes even some memes are in bad taste).

I really seem to be unable to make myself understood. I do not hate Junot. I do not find him very likeable in many aspects, that much is true, and if he was alive today I’d damn well try to avoid having to deal with him. What I do hate, and what has me truly worried, is how some people seem to normalise his behaviour or now seem to simply project it onto other historical figures (see your own quote above: when they were all military men who committed various degree of violence), in order to make Junot look better. That’s not fair to these other men.

Again, if you have evidence to the contrary, please provide it.

You accused him of murder, an act which has a specific definition you most likely ignored on purpose

I must admit that I did not use the term murder in its legal sense. Guilty as charged. And I’m not a lawperson but if we really want to come down to the question if what Junot did was attempted murder or only attempted manslaughter … well, let’s see if we can find arguments that would support an indictment for murder, shall we?

-> Trigger warning for domestic violence, obviously.

Previously you used the expression "attempted to murder"; now according to the definition, a murder is the unlawful premeditated killing of one human being by another.

Thanks for the definition. So, let’s see in how far Junot’s actions may have indeed been premeditated. The first question would be: when did he first learn about Laure’s affair with Metternich. For this, we have Laure’s testimony (translated from Turquan, La Générale Junot) about her first encounter with her husband after the latter returned to France in October 1808, after the evacuation of Portugal and the Convention of Cintra:

I arrived in La Rochelle. I met Alexandre again, but I found him changed in a thousand ways. He was moody and embarrassed with me. I saw that he was aware of my relationship with M. de Metternich [...].- ’ Would it be true,’ he said, ’that M. de Metternich is your lover? If I only had a notion based on some plausibility...’ And his voice trembled, his eyes wandered: he made me shudder. I hurried over to him: - ’My friend,’ I said to him, ’we are playing strange roles here: you act jealous when it is my turn to get angry [...].’

So, by October 1808, over a year before his attack on Laure, Junot is already more or less informed of what’s going on between Laure and Metternich. The couple merely avoids talking about it, which is all the easier for Laure as Junot is in a bad position to argue about her unfaithfulness, having just been mocked by British newspapers about the size of his serail that the Royal Navy had to transport to France and that was even larger than the one they had transported home from Egypt in 1801. The topic is not adressed further.

By the way, at this point Laure already merely endures marital sex with Junot. (As his spouse, she is in no position to refuse it, just to explain what she will write later.)

It was a fury of love that repelled me instead of attracting me. Often I would pull away from his arms, feeling a sharp pain produced by a bite or too much pressure: the senses were everything, the soul nothing.

Junot then returns to the Iberian peninsula and the siege of Saragossa with his ladyfriends, and Laure returns to Paris and her sweetheart Clemens.

The spouses will only meet again a year later, after the Fifth Coalition War. By that time, Metternich has long left France and has been made Austrian Minister of Foreign Affairs, he and Laure can only exchange letters at the time (that her chambermaid hides for her). The Junot marriage, however, is in full crisis, even if Laure desperately tries to cover it up:

Junot arrived from Zaragoza shortly after me. His mood was gloomy and harsh. He would hurl sarcasm at me in hushed tones; he would say words of love interspersed with insults. It was painful for me, but I submitted to it in atonement for my fault […] [...] However, I could not help noticing how gloomy and morose the Duke was. Sometimes he would look at me for half an hour and I would hear him muttering curses, then he would go out and bang the door violently.

So Junot is already treating Laure badly – while not abusing her physically yet – from October 1809 on, two full months before the Mareschalchi ball on 13 January 1810, and all throughout the winter months. At the bal masqué, hosted by Italian ambassador Mareschalchi, Laure dances in a much admired quadrille and thus has to leave her house early. Before doing so, she presents herself to her husband and asks for his opinion on her outfit.

He looked at me without answering. - 'Do I look bad then?’ I asked him, surprised by his silence. - ‘Bad? No, you look only too fine.' He came over to me and squeezed my hand hard. - 'I sometimes feel like giving you a scar that would disfigure you: you wouldn't look good any more.' This sentence, which would have made me laugh at any other time, made me shiver.

This is a clear threat, several hours before the actual attack.

Laure dances her part in the quadrille and after having changed her costume, she has a walk with Monsieur de la Vaugyuon before returning to the ball room.

We entered the room, which was so full of people that you could hardly move around. I was laughing in response to a remark by Monsieur de la Vauguyon, when I felt my arm being squeezed so violently that I cried out in pain. I turned around and saw a tall figure dressed in a black domino: a black mask covered his face and the mask's beard was agitated by rapid breathing. Monsieur de la Vauguyon's first reaction was to call this mask to account for the insult he was inflicting on a woman to whom he was giving his arm. But I had recognised Alexander and, freeing my arm from his, I took my husband's and, after giving him a sad smile, I was immediately dragged away rapidly by the Duke, who knocked over everything in his path and almost carried me through the streams of masks and joyful groups that filled the halls. When we arrived in the vestibule, he called in a thunderous voice for his people. They hadn't arrived, but mine were there, so we got into my carriage. There, tearing off his mask and beating his chest and face, I heard him utter the most dreadful expletives against M. de Metternich.

At this point, Joseph Turquan decided that "reproducing the scene that took place between the spouses" would be "pointless". So from now on I will translate from Nicole Toussaint du Wast, "Laure Junot, duchesse d’Abrantès", Paris 1985, a book that provides some more citations from Laure's so-called "Journal Intime". We continue from where we left off:

[…] the most dreadful expletives against M. de Metternich. - ’Recommend your soul to God,’ he said, ’you're going to die!’

So, let’s summarise: Junot, after already having threatened her, follows Laure to the ball. He does wear a costume so as to not look out of place. He gets called out on his misbehaviour yet ignores it. He then drags Laure out from the ball and brings her to a place where she is alone with him and entirely in his power, and he does so with the intention of killing her.

As I said, I’m not a lawperson. But I’m pretty sure that a prosecutor might be able to interpret this as a certain level of premeditation. Especially as Junot has suspected the affair between Laure and Metternich for over a year, his bad mood towards her has built up for at least over two months, and the shock of seeing his conspicions confirmed cannot have been that overwhelming but only seems to have given him the final incentive for punishing her.

Continuing from above:

And he shouted, smashing the windows of the carriage. That's how we arrived at the hotel. I couldn't walk. He seized me with the same violence and fury as a tiger taking its prey into its lair, and ran through the rooms, throwing me into an armchair when we reached the bedroom. He had to close the door and, crossing his arms, came and stood in front of me: - 'You have deceived me, betrayed me, dishonoured me,’ he shouted. I know everything.' […]

He then forces Laure through threats to bring him the box containing the letters she had received from Metternich. When she tries to convince him to not open and read them, he in turn tries to force himself on her:

I was crying and couldn't answer. He lifted my head and, wiping my eyes, kissed them, kissed my cheeks, his mouth came close to mine, his lips trembled as they approached my lips: as soon as they touched them, they clung to them with inconceivable strength. He sucked in my breath as if he wanted to draw my soul to himself. My tears redoubled, they probably ecitated him because he wanted to obtain the last favours with an ardour that I could not conceive. There was something ferocious about his caresses that made me shiver. I struggled on, and a sharp bite on my lip gave me new courage […]

And enough strength to free herself. And yes, this is the closest thing to a woman of the early 19th century describing an attempted sexual assault – the word rape she could not even use because at the time there was no such thing as rape in a marriage. To the contrary, in her thinking she had to explain how she dared to refuse her husband.

However, what I think becomes very clear in her description: She was crying – his kisses made her cry even harder which, instead of stopping him, only turned him on further, he was indeed trying to get to "the last favours", and she barely managed to struggle free.

So much about the attempted rape. Let’s get back to the question of attempted murder versus attempted manslaughter:

Furious, Junot then retires and takes the box of letters with him. Laure remains in her bedroom for the whole night. At dawn – this must be several hours after Junot has dragged her from the ball, enough time for even the most agigated mind to calm down somewhat, Junot goes to see the emperor. He returns at 9 am, enters her bedroom, locks the door twice (which I assume could again be understood as evidence of premeditation) and stares at Laure trembling in her bed. He tears a ring off her finger "avec violence", a ring she has received as a souvenir from Metternich, and lets her read a letter he plans on sending to Metternich, challenging him to a duel in Mayence. Laure jumps out of her bed and throws the letter into the fire. At which point…

- ’ You're trembling for him,’ he shouted, ’you wretch, because you still love him, don't you? Oh, tell me! So that I don't feel any remorse when I kill you!’ I was almost lifeless at his feet. - ’Speak a curse on him,’ he cried, ’tell me that you curse him, tell me that you hate him!’

At this point, the author Toussaint du Wast merely summarizes that Junot grabbed a pair of scissors, stabbing Laure in the throat and the chest. The book then continues with Laure’s own words:

He rushed at me and, knocking me over onto the ottoman, put both his hands on my throat, probably to strangle me. Just as I thought I was going to die, I felt his hand slip away and he cried out: - ‘I could never do it’. I opened my eyes and saw his face and hand covered in blood.

Again, summarizing: We are now several hours and one discussion with Napoleon away from the ball at Mareschalchi’s and whatever caused Junot’s original explosion. Junot has had ample time to calm down. Yet it seems that he is instead looking for a reason to go through with the killing that he has planned at least since they went home in the carriage, it seems that he wants Laure to offend him enough to push him over the edge: "Oh, tell me! So that I don't feel any remorse when I kill you!" - Premeditation?

This was not the end of the madness (in fact, Laure actually writes that she thinks this was the first instance of Junot showing his dementia) but the next step then rather involves Eleonore Metternich being dragged into this shitshow, so we can cut off here. It’s gotten long enough, and this is a good point to end because I do want to give credit to Junot for in the end not having the heart to go through with an act he seems to have tried to incite himself to commit.

--- End of ugly domestic violence story ---

Finally, just to adress some of your minor points:

you belittled his military feats as skirmishes

I was referring to the combat of Nazareth (not even Gros’ painting calls it a "bataille"), which seems to be seen as his greatest military feat, took place in the context of a much larger battle (Mount Tabor) and in which Junot commanded 400 cavalry.

How would you feel if someone kept posting about how Eugene Beauharnais was a mediocre lapdog, good only to lick Napoléon's ass?

That’s pretty much how many historians do refer to Eugène most of the time, though they tend to word it differently. So – already there? They do have a point in many cases, too.

Do you know how hard is to discipline oneself, especially if the person in question suffers from addictions - as Junot seemed to - and serious injuries that compromised their brain forever? Again, I'm not saying that mental illness is a justifications for one's acts, but if we really want to judge someone - like you are doing pretty often with Junot - , a little sympathy would be expected.

I’m sorry, but in a situation with a clear victim and a clear perpetrator, like in the case of the attack on Laure, my sympathy immediately seems to go to the victim first and foremost.

you accused him of beating and raping women as something customary to him, without providing evidence.

No, I did not. What I wrote was, in reference to the previous tags:

"Well, admittedly not all evil imperialists who were bad at military tried to rape and murder women..."

Plural "women" because the subject of the sentence "evil imperialists" is also plural. The evil imperialists would not all try to murder "a woman" (i.e. one and the same woman), would they?

And while I cannot provide evidence for Junot habitually mistreating specifically women, I have come across examples of Junot mistreating people who could not defend themselves or of him resorting to violence whenever something displeased him in daily life. But you probably know those better than I do.

#napoleon's generals #jean andoche junot #laure permon-junot #paris 1810 #journal intime

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